Broken Systems Break People

I’ve seen a lot of things over the past few weeks that weigh heavy on my heart. It seems like every time I open social media, I’m greeted by another cruel post mocking people who have lost access to their SNAP benefits or belittling those who are homeless and begging for help. The tone is almost gleeful, as if other people’s suffering is some kind of entertainment now. That kind of cruelty cuts deep, and I know that because I know the struggle firsthand. I’ve seen what happens when people are left behind by the very systems that were meant to protect them. And once you’ve seen that, you can’t unsee it. It stays with you like a scar on your soul.

When someone loses their job or faces an unexpected illness, it doesn’t take long for everything to unravel. A missed paycheck turns into a missed rent payment. A missed rent payment becomes an eviction notice. Before long, that same person is standing in line at a food bank, praying there’s still something left when their turn comes. These are not failures of character. They are failures of systems.

Broken systems break people and the most heartbreaking part is that many of the people pointing fingers have no idea how close they themselves might be to the edge. A single crisis... one car repair too expensive, one unexpected hospital stay, one layoff... can be all it takes to bring someone from stability to survival mode. It can happen faster than most people think.

There’s a tendency, especially online, to turn every issue into a political argument. But the crisis we’re facing isn’t the fault of just one political group. It’s not only the Democrats, or only the Republicans, or the Independents, or the Green Party, or any other political party. Every single one of them bears some responsibility for the situation we are in. Each has had a hand in how bad things have gotten and how many people are paying the price for political games that never seem to end.

While our leaders argue about budgets, talking points, and who gets credit for what, real people are suffering in silence. Families are going hungry. Veterans... the men and women who once wore our country’s uniform to protect us, are sleeping in their cars or under bridges. Parents are skipping meals so their children can eat, pretending they aren’t hungry just to make it through another day.

These are not faceless statistics. They are our neighbors, our coworkers, our family members, and our friends. They are the people bagging our groceries, teaching our children, or caring for our elderly loved ones. They are the ones who smile through the struggle because they’re too proud or too afraid to ask for help.

And what they are facing right now can only be described as horror; the kind that strips people of their dignity and hope piece by piece until all that’s left is the quiet ache of survival.

It’s easy for some to dismiss the homeless or the hungry because statistics feel abstract. But behind every number is a story. When someone says “thirty percent of Americans are food insecure,” what that really means is that somewhere, a mother is pouring water into her child’s milk to make it last another day. When someone says “forty thousand veterans are homeless,” it means that someone who once fought for freedom now fights to stay warm on a park bench.

We forget that these numbers represent human lives... lives that once had plans, dreams, and laughter. Many of them still do, though those dreams have been forced to shrink to fit the limits of survival. Some of the people I’ve met over the years never imagined they’d be in that position. They worked hard, paid their bills, and followed every rule society told them would lead to success. But when medical bills piled up, or when their spouse died unexpectedly, or when their job moved overseas, those same systems that were supposed to offer support turned them away. Too often, the safety nets we rely on have holes big enough for entire families to fall through. And once they fall, it can be almost impossible to climb back out.

One of the most painful things to witness is how quick people are to judge those in need. The narrative that homelessness or poverty equals laziness is not only false but deeply damaging. It takes strength to survive when the world keeps closing doors in your face. It takes courage to keep trying when every attempt to get help leads to another dead end or another “we’re full” sign on a shelter door.

The truth is, no one chooses to sleep in the cold. No one dreams of standing on a street corner holding a sign that says “anything helps.” But judgment is easy when you’ve never had to choose between paying rent and buying groceries. It’s easy to look down when you’ve never had to look up from rock bottom.

I’ve met people who were turned away from shelters because they didn’t fit the right category; single men, couples without children, people with pets, individuals who had mental health challenges or substance use disorders. Each was told, in one way or another, “you don’t qualify.” When systems draw lines around who is “worthy” of help, those lines become walls. And walls don’t protect... they isolate.

This is why A New Tomorrow must exist. Because people deserve a place where they are seen, supported, and helped without judgment. We’ve forgotten what true community feels like. It’s supposed to mean showing up for one another when times are hard. It’s supposed to mean helping without conditions, without expecting something in return. At A New Tomorrow, our mission is simple: to restore dignity where it’s been lost, to provide shelter where there is none, and to create opportunities where hope has been forgotten. Every person who walks through our doors deserves to be treated as a human being first; not as a case number, not as a burden, not as a problem to be solved. They deserve to be heard, to be helped, and to be given the chance to rebuild their lives.

This work isn’t easy. It’s messy, unpredictable, and often heartbreaking. But it’s necessary. Because while others debate policy, we are busy trying to feed the hungry, clothe the cold, and remind people that they matter. The world doesn’t need more political speeches about compassion. It needs more people willing to live it.

We’ve spent too long waiting for politicians to fix what’s broken. Decade after decade, we hear the same promises wrapped in new words, and still the same people remain hungry, cold, and unseen. How many more winters must pass before something changes? How many more children must go to bed hungry while politicians argue over funding formulas? How many more veterans must die on the streets they once defended before anyone calls it unacceptable?

Every delay has a cost, and that cost is measured in human lives.

When people are hungry, they cannot focus on school, work, or personal growth. When they are cold, they cannot rest or heal. When they are dehumanized, they begin to believe the lies told about them... that they are worthless, that they are beyond saving. But no one is beyond saving. Not a single soul. That’s the truth that drives A New Tomorrow. We refuse to accept that broken systems are the end of the story. We believe that people can rise again when given a fair chance, and we are committed to being part of that chance.

If waiting for a political solution has taught us anything, it’s that help rarely comes from the top down. Real change begins in our communities... at the kitchen tables, the church halls, the neighborhood meetings, and the grassroots movements where people still care enough to act. Compassion doesn’t require a title or a platform. It only requires willingness. Maybe that looks like donating a meal. Maybe it’s volunteering a few hours a week. Maybe it’s simply refusing to join in when others mock those who are struggling. Every act of kindness matters. Every small gesture builds the foundation for something bigger.

Imagine what could happen if every community decided to take care of its own, without waiting for permission or funding. Imagine if we measured success not by profits or policies, but by how many people we helped stand back up.

That’s what A New Tomorrow stands for... helping each other for the betterment of everyone.

There’s a quiet strength in compassion. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t seek recognition. It simply acts. Compassion doesn’t ask whether someone deserves help. It asks how we can help. It doesn’t assign blame or seek validation. It listens, it comforts, and it rebuilds. The world could use more of that right now I think... more listening, more helping, more rebuilding. Some people think compassion makes you weak. But it’s actually one of the bravest things you can do. It means opening your heart in a world that teaches you to close it. It means choosing to care even when it’s easier not to.

And make no mistake... the road ahead will be hard. There will always be storms. There will always be moments when it feels like the darkness is winning. But if we hold on to one another, if we remember that we are stronger together than apart, then there is nothing we can’t overcome. Hope doesn’t come from ignoring the brokenness. It comes from facing it and choosing to do something about it. Every day at A New Tomorrow, we see hope take root in small ways; a warm meal shared, a volunteer lending a hand, a guest finding their first job after months of searching. These moments remind us that change doesn’t have to start with a miracle. It starts with us. If we want to live in a world that values human dignity, we have to start building it ourselves, one act of compassion at a time.

We may not be able to fix every broken system overnight, but we can refuse to let those systems break us. We can choose kindness where there is cruelty, action where there is apathy, and unity where there is division. Because the truth is simple: people helping people is still the most powerful force on Earth.

So here’s my challenge... not just to those who read this, but to myself as well. Let’s stop waiting for permission to care. Let’s stop pretending that someone else will handle it. If you see someone hungry, feed them. If you see someone cold, give them warmth. If you see someone struggling, reach out a hand instead of turning away. The change we need won’t come from Washington or Montgomery or any other capital. It will come from communities like ours, small towns, neighborhoods, churches, and individuals who decide that enough is enough. That’s how A New Tomorrow will grow. Through compassion. Through community. Through people who refuse to accept that broken systems get the final word.

Because they don’t.

We do.

Broken systems may break people, but together, we can rebuild them.