The Scars of False Accusation Never Fully Fade
Please Don’t Pre-Judge Others — A Personal Story of Injustice
Dear friends - no wit or humor today,
I don’t often talk about this part of my past. But in light of recent headlines—of people being rounded up, denied due process, and stripped of their rights under the flimsy cover of “law and order”—I feel compelled to share a story that shaped me in ways I’m only beginning to fully understand.
Just before my 18th birthday, I was caught in a so-called “juvenile drug sweep” in my small hometown. It was a politically motivated effort, hastily thrown together to address what the authorities claimed was a drug problem among the youth. But the truth? The real issue was among adults—those over 18—who were largely left alone. Instead, the net was cast over teens, many of whom had no history of drug use, including me.
My name came up in a list of “attendees” at a party on a student’s farm. That name-drop, made under pressure by other students in the principal’s office with police hovering, was a lie. I wasn’t there. I had been working that night—earning honest pay at a job I cared about. I had never attended any drug-related parties in my town or anywhere else.
But that didn’t matter.
We were juveniles. And as such, we had almost no civil rights. We weren’t allowed legal representation. We weren’t allowed to speak freely in our own defense. One judge held all the power. The conditions of our probation were extreme: no driving, no after-school jobs, and house confinement unless accompanied by a parent. We were effectively imprisoned—punished without proof, without trial, and without recourse.
For me, the trauma of losing my freedom—especially because of a lie—was too much to bear. I left the country and went to Canada. For several months, I lived in exile, a scared teenager trying to breathe again. And in Canada, I found something beautiful: kindness, compassion, and a community that welcomed me with open arms during one of the darkest periods of my life. I will always hold a deep love for that country and its people.
When I returned at 18, I was technically free—the judge’s power no longer extended to me. But the damage had already been done. I was falsely labeled as was my family. We moved. That experience changed the course of my life and it took years for me to recover the pieces of myself lost from that experience and get back on my intended track.
And now, I watch in horror with what the administration is doing.
We are seeing stories of people being rounded up without due process, ”illegal immigrants,” “terrorists” and all the disparaging terms they can use to dehumanize people to garner public support for their actions. Being targeted using decades-old, obscure laws. Being painted as enemies—before any trial, before any chance to defend themselves. It’s chilling. And it has reawakened memories I thought I had buried. I have had nightmares. My body remembers what it feels like to be powerless. To be falsely accused. To recall the false and disparaging labels and headlines. To be erased by a system that didn’t care to get the facts straight.
So I’m writing to ask just one thing:
Please, don’t pre-judge others.
Please don’t assume someone is guilty because a system says so.
Please remember that behind every headline, behind every mugshot, is a human being with a story.
I was that accused once. And I know how fast the world can turn on someone based on nothing but a rumor and a rush to appear “tough on crime“ and in hate.
Let’s be better than that.
Let’s be kind. Let’s be fair. Let’s demand real justice, not show trials.
Let’s never forget that the soul of a nation is measured by how it treats the most vulnerable—especially when they’re falsely accused.
With sincerity and hope,
Julie Bolejack, MBA
