A Broken System: Seeing Humanity Beyond Politics

There was a time, not long ago, when I believed everything could be fixed if the "right" person was in the White House. I thought that the answers to the world’s problems were neatly packaged behind policies and politics—if only we could get the right person in power, things would improve. I had my issues I believed mattered, and in the midst of every election season, I would often hold onto hope, convinced that the right human being could steer us toward a better future.

But that was before the storm—the storm that hit my family and shattered everything. The last three months have changed the way I see the world, and strangely, they’ve also changed the way I view politics and the systems of power that guide us.

It started with a betrayal so deep I could hardly grasp it. Learning that my father had abused my son was a blow that rattled me to my core. It’s the kind of betrayal no parent should ever have to face, and it left me feeling lost, confused, and overwhelmed with a tidal wave of emotions. Anger. Disbelief. A profound sense of hurt—not just personally, but in how I began to see the world itself.

As a parent, you never think you’ll be in a situation where you have to protect your own child from someone you once trusted. But there I was, forced to navigate a system that was supposed to help, that was supposed to bring justice. What I found, however, was something far different from what I had hoped. What happened next—what the system did, or rather didn’t do—opened my eyes in a way that politics never could.

I remember feeling suffocated under the weight of it all. I was furious that someone so close to me could do something so horrific to my son. And yet, there was this lingering hope—this belief that the system, and the political structures within it, would deliver justice. What I quickly realized, though, was that the very system I trusted to offer justice and safety was failing us in ways I never expected—not just for us, but for my father as well.

The Cruel Paradox: A System That Fails Both Sides

Yes, my father is the abuser. But as the days passed, it became painfully clear to me that the system was failing on both sides.

It’s a cruel paradox. On one hand, the system is designed to protect victims, to ensure justice, to offer healing. But on the other, it feels indifferent —more concerned with its processes and its procedures than with real people. It was as though we were being asked to fit neatly into categories that didn’t match our lived experience. There were forensic interviews, meetings with investigators and lawyers, and endless paperwork, all while the system seemed more focused on its own needs than on our healing.

We were treated like case files—us, the victims—caught in the machinery of a justice system that seemed incapable of offering true support. And my father, the abuser, was treated the same way—just another number in a broken system that couldn’t offer him the help or rehabilitation he so desperately needed. The system that was supposed to provide safety, justice, and healing wasn’t doing any of that.

The Victim: A Number in a System

For my son, justice shouldn’t just mean ensuring the abuser is held accountable. It should also mean offering him the support and care he needs to heal from the trauma he’s endured. But what I quickly discovered is that the system is woefully ill-equipped to deal with the complexities of trauma and the long-lasting scars abuse leaves behind. It’s more concerned with punishment, with sentencing, with making sure the “bad guy” stays away for as long as possible.

But when it came to my son—when it came to actually helping him, helping us—there was no plan. No understanding of how to heal the wounds of trauma. No consideration of us as human beings, just more paperwork, more processes, and more dehumanizing procedures. The system wasn’t designed to heal; it was designed to punish. And the more I saw this, the more I realized that the very system that was meant to protect us was pushing us into categories that didn’t match our needs or our experiences.

The Abuser: A Prisoner of a Broken System

And then there’s my father. It’s difficult to admit, but I’ve come to realize that, in some ways, he too is a victim—victim to a broken system. I don’t say this to excuse his actions. He is and will remain entirely responsible for what he did, and there is no justification for the abuse. But what the system is failing to do is offer him the rehabilitation or compassion he needs.

The system’s focus is on punishment. On processing offenders. On labeling them, categorizing them, and pushing them through the system as quickly as possible. There’s no opportunity to ask why he did what he did. No effort to understand the root causes of his actions, or to dig into his own traumas. Most days, the system doesn’t even offer him basic human rights, like access to the medications he’s been on for over a decade. Instead, it focuses solely on punishment.

Punishment is part of justice, but without an understanding of the causes, it becomes a revolving door. The system doesn’t allow for healing, either for the victim or the offender. And that, in the end, is where the real tragedy lies.

The Need for Humanity Over Ideology

And so here I am, on election night, realizing that what we truly need isn’t more division. We don’t need to declare one side right and the other wrong. What we need is to reclaim our connection to the very things that make us human: compassion, empathy, and understanding. The system is only part of the equation, but it’s not enough. What we need is a society that values healing—not just for victims, but for everyone. We need a society that sees people as human beings—not labels like "victim" or "offender," but people who need compassion and care.

In the months that have followed this trauma, I’ve come to understand that neither politics nor justice alone can heal the deep wounds my family has endured. It’s not about red or blue; it’s about the people who stand with you. The ones who show up, who check in, who listen without judgment. The people who offer support because they see you as a human being who is suffering, not just a case or another victim.

We live in a time where it’s all too easy to pick sides, to demonize the other, to fight for our beliefs as if we’re at war. But in my experience, I’ve learned that neither side has all the answers we need. What we need is to return to the fundamental truths of being human: kindness, empathy, understanding, and the ability to see beyond labels.

We need to recognize that a broken system doesn’t just hurt victims—it hurts everyone involved. And if we continue to view everything through the lens of political ideology—whether we’re Republican or Democrat, liberal or conservative—we miss the point entirely. True justice isn’t about picking sides; it’s about how we treat the most vulnerable among us, whether they’re victims or offenders, whether they’re on the "right" side of the law or not.

A Call for Compassion, Not Division

What the world needs now is compassion—real, unfiltered, unconditional compassion. We need a society that isn’t obsessed with winning political battles but focused on healing wounds. We need to stop pretending that the system has all the answers and instead acknowledge that true change doesn’t come from choosing the "right" side, it comes from choosing kindness over division. It comes from understanding that we are all struggling in some way, that we all carry pain, and that none of us can heal alone.

We can’t just be Republicans or Democrats, We need to be humans. And if we’re ever going to build a truly just society, we have to start there—with empathy, with understanding, and with a willingness to walk with those who are suffering, regardless of their label.

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