God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
You know what? That’s adorable. Let me give you the criminal justice system version:
God grant me the serenity to accept that the system is fundamentally f*cked up, the courage to show up anyway and do the tiny little bit I actually can, and the wisdom to know that I’m not fixing jack sh*t but maybe…just maybe…I can help one person today. Amen. Or whatever.
The Things I Cannot Change (AKA: The Entire Damn System)
Let’s start with the acceptance part, shall we? Because there is a whole, whole lot to accept, and none of it is good.
I cannot change that America has built a system that treats poverty like a crime. Cash bail? Fantastic idea! Let’s just make sure poor people stay in jail while rich people go home. Nothing says “justice” like your freedom being directly proportional to your bank account balance.
I cannot change that we’re the world champions of incarceration. USA! USA! We cage more humans per capita than any other nation on Earth. We’re number one at something, guys! Woo hoo! American Exceptionalism in action!
It’s just too bad it’s something absolutely horrifying.
I cannot change that prosecutors are incentivized by conviction rates rather than, you know, actual justice. I cannot change that public defenders are drowning in caseloads that would make Sisyphus say “damn, that’s rough.” I cannot change that mandatory minimums exist, or that they’re racist as hell, or that judges often have their hands tied even when they want to do the right thing.
I cannot change that we’ve decided the best response to mental illness and addiction is prison. Because apparently, we time-traveled back to the 1800s when nobody was looking.
I cannot change the school-to-prison pipeline. I cannot change that we’ve criminalized being young, Black, and in the wrong neighborhood. I cannot change that a teenager’s entire future can be destroyed over something that should’ve been handled with a conversation and maybe some community service.
I cannot change that everyone wants to be “tough on crime” until we actually talk about what that means, which is destroying lives, families, and communities while doing absolutely nothing to make anyone safer.
And I really, truly cannot change that most people don’t give a single sh*t about any of this until it happens to them or someone they love.
The Things I Can Change (AKA: This Embarrassingly Short List)
Ok! So, here’s where the courage comes in. The courage to keep showing up even though I’m basically trying to bail out the f*cking Titanic with a teaspoon.
I can listen to one person today. Really listen. Not the performative “I hear you” while I’m already thinking about the next fifteen articles I’ll be writing, but actual listening. Treating someone like a human being with a story that matters.
I can fight for one case at a time. I cannot dismantle mass incarceration, but I sure can argue my ass off for this particular person in front of this particular judge today. I can make someone’s attorney do their actual job instead of sleepwalking through a plea deal.
I can document everything. Every screw-up, every constitutional rights violation, every time the system chews someone up…I can write it down. Maybe someone, someday, will use that documentation to make things slightly less terrible.
I can tell the truth. When people ask me how the system works, I can skip the Law & Order fantasy and explain the bullsh*t that actually happens. I can make people incredibly uncomfortable with reality. That’s free, and I can do it every day.
I can show up. Even when it feels pointless. Even when I know I’m going to lose. Even when the outcome was predetermined before I even walked in the room. Because someone needs to be a witness to what’s happening, and sometimes I’m the only one paying attention.
I can remember that behind every case number is a person. A whole person with people who love them, and dreams, and things they wanted to do before everything went sideways. The system treats people like widgets, but I don’t have to.
The Wisdom to Know the Difference (AKA: The Part Keeping Me Sane)
This is the hardest part. Knowing what I can fix and what I can’t. Knowing when to fight and when to just… survive the day.
I cannot save everyone. I cannot even save most people, because the machine is too big, too hungry, and it’s got too much momentum.
And I can be honest about that. I can stop pretending that if I just work hard enough or care enough or fight enough, I’ll somehow transform a system that was designed, yes, designed, to work exactly the way it’s working.
The wisdom is knowing that I’m not being lazy or defeatist when I acknowledge reality. The wisdom is understanding that accepting the system is broken doesn’t mean that I endorse it. It means I’m clear-eyed enough to see it for what it is. To call a spade, a spade.
The wisdom is knowing that “I can’t fix this” and “I should stop trying to help people” are two completely different sentences.
So, Here We Are
The criminal justice system is a fucking disaster. It’s unjust, it’s racist, it’s classist, it’s cruel…and it’s operating exactly as intended. I didn’t break it, and I can’t fix it.
But I can show up tomorrow. I can do the small things that are actually within my power. I can refuse to let the system’s brutality make me brutal. I can document this nightmare while we’re living in it.
Is this heroic? Oh, hell no. It’s survival. It’s sanity preservation. It’s the absolute bare minimum of human decency in a system designed to strip all that away.
God grant me the serenity to know I’m just one person, the courage to be that person anyway, and the wisdom to know that sometimes all you can do is show up and refuse to look away.
And maybe, on a good day, help one person feel a little less alone in the machine.
That’s it. That’s the whole prayer.
Now get back to work. These articles aren’t going to read themselves, and somewhere, someone needs me to at least witness the bullsh*t that is about to happen to them.
Serenity now. Insanity later.
