Rep. Max Miller is staying in his Ohio race while denying abuse allegations from his ex-wife and a former girlfriend — and says Trump’s survival of the 2016 tape is his model for riding it out.
Ohio Rep. Max Miller is facing allegations serious enough to trigger a House Ethics investigation, a defamation fight and bipartisan calls for him to step aside. His response is not retreat. It is basically: remember when Donald Trump survived the “Access Hollywood” tape?
Miller, a former Trump White House aide, is trying to hold onto his seat while his ex-wife Emily Moreno and former girlfriend Stephanie Grisham have accused him of abusive behavior. Miller denies the allegations and has sued both women for defamation.
Moreno has alleged that Miller once threw boiling water at her and, in another incident, held a gun to her head. Grisham has also publicly accused him of abuse during their relationship, allegations Miller disputes.
The House Ethics Committee is investigating, and the controversy has transformed what was once a relatively safe Republican seat into a much more serious race. Democrats are pouring money into the district while Miller’s opponent, Brian Poindexter, is trying to turn the incumbent’s personal scandal into a broader argument about judgment and character.
Then Miller supplied the headline himself. Asked why he refuses to get out of the race, he compared his situation to Trump’s response after the 2016 “Access Hollywood” tape, when Trump stayed in the presidential race despite enormous pressure.
“He stayed in, and he was resilient,” Miller said of Trump. The comparison is politically revealing because Miller is not arguing that the scandal is insignificant. He is arguing that scandal itself does not have to end a Republican candidacy if the candidate refuses to leave.
That is one way to describe resilience. Another is that modern politics has reached the point where “my abuse scandal is like the Access Hollywood tape” can be presented as a reassuring campaign message.
Miller’s defenders say the accusations remain allegations and point to his denials. That distinction matters. None of the allegations described here have been proven in court, and the Ethics Committee has not issued a final finding.
But the political consequences are already real. Republicans who once treated the district as secure are watching voters weigh serious personal allegations alongside the usual questions about taxes, immigration and the economy.
Poindexter has leaned heavily into his working-class background, presenting himself as a union ironworker rather than a career political insider. That contrast is especially useful when the incumbent is spending part of the campaign explaining why he should survive an ethics investigation.
Miller has kept a lower profile locally while continuing to insist he will not be forced out by accusations he says are false. His strategy appears to be endurance: stay in the race, deny everything and trust partisan loyalty to outlast the news cycle.
Trump’s own political history gives him evidence that this can work. The “Access Hollywood” tape was widely described as campaign-ending in 2016, and Trump was elected president weeks later.
Still, there is a certain dark comedy in watching that moment become a campaign-management case study. What was once treated as an unprecedented political emergency is now apparently a motivational poster.
Miller’s comparison does not resolve the allegations against him. It does, however, make his strategy perfectly clear: he is betting that the best way to survive a scandal is to refuse to behave like it is survivable only if you leave.
