They Ticketed Her for Existing

They Ticketed Her for Existing

Yesterday, I witnessed something that stayed with me long after I left the train station. A woman who was clearly unhoused was standing quietly at the platform. She was not bothering anyone. She was not causing a disturbance. She was simply trying to exist.

Law enforcement approached her.

And they ticketed her.

A fine she cannot pay.
A punishment for being poor.
A system that refuses to see the truth of her situation.

She needs support, not a citation.

I took a photo without showing her face, because she deserves dignity and privacy. She is a human being, not an object for public spectacle. But what happened to her cannot be ignored. Moments like this happen every day in our cities, and we have grown far too used to seeing them.

This is not an isolated event. It is part of a pattern that is built into policy and procedure. It is often framed as public safety, yet it targets the most vulnerable people and adds more pain to lives already filled with struggle.

Tickets. Trespass notices. Loitering charges. Compliance orders. These do not fix homelessness. They do not fix trauma. They do not fix poverty. All they do is push people further into despair while allowing society to pretend everything is under control.

We do not reduce homelessness by punishing those who experience it.
We do not address trauma by adding more harm.
We do not solve poverty by criminalizing survival.

People working on the front lines know this.
Researchers know this.
People living through it know this most of all.

The problem is not her presence.
The problem is that her presence reminds others of a failing system.
So the response becomes removal. Move her along. Push her away. Make her invisible.

But she is not invisible. She is right there in front of us.

A woman carrying more winters in her bones than anyone should face alone. A woman with a story most people will never hear. A woman who deserves warmth, safety, and a place to rest without fear.

I do not know her name.
But I know she is not the threat.

The threat is a system that chooses punishment over compassion.

At some point, we have to decide who we are. If we can ticket her, then we can help her. If we can penalize her, then we can support her. It is a choice that reflects our values as a society.

I choose to speak.
Not because I think I have all the solutions.
Not because I believe I am better than anyone else.
But because silence protects the system, not the people harmed by it.

Compassion is becoming an act of resistance.
So I choose compassion.
I choose to see her.
I choose to speak.

We need housing, connection, and community.
Not fines.
Not citations.
Not punishment wrapped in the language of safety.

What happened to her yesterday is not public safety.
It is violence against the vulnerable.

And as long as I witness this, I will use my voice to challenge it.

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