AdministrativeErasure.org

This is not a closing. This is a charge. In this final statement, Samara Dorn doesn’t just summarize a case—she detonates it. The courtroom was silent. The algorithms weren’t.

Listen now. Hear what they tried to bury. (Also features excerpts from THE AI HATERS REBUTTAL.)

☢️ Closing Statement – Dorn v. UnitedHealthcare

This is not a conclusion—it’s ignition. Samara Dorn delivers a final blow in the battle against healthcare profiling, metadata weaponization, and transgender erasure. This statement is part of the broader narrative, also featured in THE AI HATERS REBUTTAL.

🎧 Listen to the Opening Statement in Webamp Player

Below is the Actual words in the Complaint Opening Statement pages 2 -4 Closing Statement pages 146 - 148

OPENING STATEMENT “What is done cannot be undone, but one can prevent it happening again.” — Anne Frank.

“My silence will not protect me.” — Audre Lorde.

“On the first day, we will revoke Joe Biden’s cruel policies on transgender treatments. We will protect our children—and stop taxpayer funding for transgender procedures and drugs.” — Donald J. Trump, October 16, 2024.

“Gender ideology is a cult and it’s being used to harm children and mentally ill adults.” — Senator J.D. Vance, March 2024.

This is not a privacy case.

This is not a civil dispute.

This is a reckoning—against two giant corporations who chose the role of collaborators over caregivers.

The Defendants—UnitedHealthcare of Colorado, Inc., and its wholly owned subsidiary, Rocky Mountain Health Maintenance Organization, Inc., doing business as Rocky Mountain Health Plans—knowingly and unlawfully disclosed the Plaintiff’s protected health information to law enforcement without a warrant, subpoena, court order, HIPAA-authorized exception, or any other formal legal request of any kind.

What did they hand over? Her gender identity. Her surgical history. Her mental health diagnoses. Her medications. Audio recordings of her distressed but lawful calls. And most chilling of all—their own narrative framing her not merely as dangerous, but as a potential national security threat—first invoking the Department of Homeland Security. And when DHS declined to act, they took a second shot—turning to the Grand Junction Police Department as a last-resort mechanism to criminalize, profile, and potentially disappear the Plaintiff under color of law.

Why? Not because she committed a crime, but because her existence is inconvenient to a regime of denial, silence, and shame.

Because she dared to say three words—“Deny. Defend. Depose.”—a legal critique of healthcare denial, which Defendants twisted into a coded threat, drawing a false parallel to political violence. They exploited fear, fabricated meaning, and gave the police the script. They turned protected speech into surveillance. And they didn’t even wait for a judge!

This wasn’t a glitch. This was policy, in practice. This was HIPAA turned inside out—as a weapon.

The Defendants acted with full knowledge of what was happening in America. A presidential frontrunner calling for trans erasure. Federal allies demanding investigations into trans care. A climate of fear, hate, and political scapegoating. And when they had the choice to resist—they complied. They didn’t just obey. They helped. They handed her to the state because it was easier to disappear her than to defend her. The First Amendment doesn’t require politeness. It protects protest. The Fourth doesn’t ask whether you’re inconvenient. It prohibits warrantless search and seizure—especially by proxy. And the Fourteenth? It promises equal protection, not selective persecution based on gender, diagnosis, or defiance. The Defendants violated all of them—not with handcuffs, but with metadata. Not with a knock at the door, but with an email to the police. This wasn’t a mistake. It was a message. A message to every other trans person: Don’t raise your voice, or we’ll make you disappear, too.

Defendants didn’t just break the law. They became the law. Judge, jury, and courier—delivering personal truth into the hands of armed state power.

Surveillance becomes isolation.

Isolation becomes disappearance.

Disappearance becomes death.

Gulags began with clerks.

Gas chambers began with intake forms.

History shows us that genocide does not begin with violence

—it begins with systems. It begins with paperwork. And genocide always—always—begins with bureaucrats doing their job.

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” — Anne Frank

This complaint is that moment.

This is not just legal. This is moral.

This is a declaration—that trans people will not be flagged.

Will not be profiled. Will not be erased.

That our medical records will not be twisted into indictments. That when the next history is written, it will remember not just what was done—but who refused to be silent.

The Plaintiff survived. She speaks. And she is not alone.

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XIII. Closing Statement

There is no justice in waiting 35 days to turn a transgender patient’s plea for medication into a criminal profile.

 There is no emergency in dredging up call recordings and mischaracterizing political frustration as violence.

 There is no “good faith” in crafting a narrative to police that begins, not with fear—but with justification.

Defendants will claim they acted to protect safety. But their own employee admitted otherwise. When first contacted by police, the UnitedHealthcare representative hesitated—stating plainly, “I’m not supposed to do this…” before turning over private audio files, internal metadata, gender identity, surgical history, medication, and psychiatric information. That is not legal confidence. That is admission of a breach—a confession made in real time, before she hit send.

And she did hit send—thirty-five days after the fact. Not on Day One.

Not on Day Two.

Not even on Day Ten.

There was no 911 call. No escalation to crisis services. No clinician referral.

Just silence—until it became strategic.

After the calls had stopped. After the medication had been filled. After the perceived “threat” had evaporated—if it had ever existed at all—they made their move.

Not out of fear.

Out of control.

They had already alerted the Department of Homeland Security—who took no action. DHS did not issue a warning. Did not call back. Did not escalate. Because there was no threat.

But Defendants weren’t satisfied with that outcome.

 So they tried again. They made a second attempt to erase me—this time by reaching out to the Grand Junction Police Department, re-framing the same audio with an even more sensationalized narrative, hoping this time someone would act.

Let’s be clear: the Defendants sat on this for 35 days!!! 35 DAYS!!!, YES, you heard that right.

Their bureaucrats passed it back and forth behind closed doors. They debated liability. They knew HIPAA prevented this. They knew there was no threat.

And still—they chose to do it!

They weighed liability versus erasure.

They weighed silencing me versus this lawsuit never being filed.

And they bet their money on that!

They packaged five recorded calls. They printed my name, date of birth, phone number, surgical history, medication, and gender identity. They flagged quotes stripped of context. They linked me to national violence. And they delivered that packet to law enforcement under the guise of public safety—while quoting me as saying, “I kinda mean what I say.” And Defendants now hinge their entire justification on that moment—on a vague, distressed expression, said under duress, in the middle of a desperate plea for hormone medication.

They treat that one sentence as if it nullifies my right to privacy, care, and personhood. But that quote wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t a warning.

It was a cry for help. A reaction to being denied care—again. And the fact that they needed 35 days, legal review, and law enforcement embellishment to weaponize it proves that even they knew it wasn’t enough.

This was not a protective act.

It was a bureaucratic hit job. Let’s call it what it really was. It punished protected speech. It criminalized transgender identity.

It stigmatized psychiatric disability.

It created a police record.

And it sent a message: that vulnerable people who resist insurance abuse can be reclassified—not as patients, but as threats.

And beneath that message, a deeper one: That I would disappear.

That the stress and stigma of police contact would destabilize me.

That this document would never exist, and no complaint would ever be filed.

That I would be erased quietly, and they would never be forced to answer for what they did.

That is not care. That is not oversight. That is RETALITION! I do not bring this lawsuit lightly. I bring it because my existence—already marginalized by gender, disability, and trauma—was targeted and reframed as dangerous for the crime of asserting my rights. I bring it because if insurers can do this to me, they can do it to anyone whose life is inconvenient to defend.

This Court is not merely a forum for contracts and compliance. It is a bulwark against institutional abuse dressed up as diligence. A firewall against bureaucratic dehumanization cloaked in corporate policy.

What was disclosed—my hormones, my trauma, my identity—was mine alone to share. Defendants had no legal right to weaponize that data against me. And they most certainly had no moral right to do so under color of safety, 35 DAYS after the moment had passed.

Five phone calls. Thirty-five days of silence. One irrevocable breach.

The law must mean more than procedural permission to harm. It must mean protection for those who have already been harmed too many times before.