By AmberLi Emery
We place an extraordinary amount of trust in uniforms, titles, positions, and the institutions that employ the people wearing them.
When a first responder arrives at our home, when a caregiver enters the room of an elderly parent, when someone is entrusted with our children, or when a professional steps into our lives during moments of extraordinary vulnerability, we make certain assumptions.
We assume they have been vetted.
We assume someone has investigated their background.
We assume that allegations of previous misconduct, particularly those involving vulnerable people, have been thoroughly examined.
We assume that the people responsible for hiring them have exercised the judgment necessary to distinguish between someone who deserves compassion and someone who can safely be entrusted with authority.
But what happens when those assumptions are wrong?
What happens when the same psychological dynamics that allow communities to overlook troubling behavior begin influencing the institutions responsible for protecting us?
What happens when familiarity replaces scrutiny, personal relationships replace independent judgment, and the desire to believe the best about someone becomes more important than examining the possibility that they could harm someone else?
I believe there is a profound difference between forgiving someone and entrusting them with another person’s safety.
A person can be forgiven without being placed in a position of authority.
A person can be welcomed into a community without being given unrestricted access to vulnerable individuals.
A person can be treated with dignity without having every concern about their past dismissed.
And someone can genuinely deserve a second chance without automatically being entitled to every position of trust.
These distinctions matter.
Because when institutions fail to recognize them, the consequences aren’t necessarily borne by the people making those decisions.
They’re borne by children, elderly people, individuals with disabilities, victims of violence, and families who reasonably believed that someone had already done the work necessary to protect them.
Perhaps one of the most unsettling aspects of this dynamic is that institutional failure doesn’t always begin with some elaborate conspiracy or malicious intent.
Sometimes it begins with something as ordinary as people being unwilling to ask uncomfortable questions about someone they know.
And sometimes the most dangerous words in a small community are simply:
“But I’ve always known them to be a good person.”
Knowing someone socially is not the same as knowing what they are capable of privately.
And being personally treated well by someone does not invalidate the experiences of those who may have been harmed by them.
We must be capable of holding both truths simultaneously.
We can believe in redemption while recognizing the necessity of accountability.
We can extend compassion without abandoning discernment.
And we can acknowledge the humanity of someone who has committed wrongdoing without allowing that humanity to overshadow our responsibility to protect those who cannot protect themselves.
Because ultimately, the question isn’t simply whether someone deserves another chance.
It’s whether someone else should be required to bear the risk of giving it to them.
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