Today, I found myself watching commentary about the P. Diddy (Sean Combs) federal trial in New York. The discussion centered around victim experiences in the court system, but something struck me immediately: none of these commentators had ever personally stood in a courtroom as a victim witness against someone with power and influence.
As someone who unfortunately belongs to the group of people who have experienced being a trial victim witness against a (federally) empowered person, I can tell you that the “protection” these reporters confidently discussed exists more in theory than in practice.
When you’re a victim witness, cross-examination opens you up to deeply traumatizing questioning. Defense attorneys often twist the narrative of what happened, attempting to create doubt by distorting your experience. This alone is emotionally devastating, but it’s just the beginning of what victims face.
What many don’t realize is how the court system itself can feel like it’s retaliating against victims for coming forward. My experience revealed numerous disturbing realities:
Today, my convicted offender has only one year left on probation, yet he hasn’t paid a penny of restitution or court fees. The system that promised accountability has failed to deliver it.
Most chillingly, my offender sent me a meal delivery shortly after midnight on the very day the court updated my address record. The message was clear: he knows where I live, and the court’s supposed “protection” of my address information is meaningless, particularly with law enforcement officers on force who are so willing to leak protected information for a fast buck.
Given all of this, I find it audacious when commentators confidently assert that victims are “safe” when testifying against powerful individuals like P. Diddy or, in my case, a former special agent. Based on my experience, there is no genuine safety in American courts for victims who challenge the powerful.
But here’s what I’ve learned: despite the vulnerabilities and traumas of court proceedings, there is profound peace in standing up for what’s right, true, and just. That inner peace almost makes it worthwhile to endure the court system’s failures in order to hold empowered offenders accountable for their crimes.
As for the judge in my case? She now sits on the state court of appeals—the very court where my offender is attempting to gain entry. We can all imagine how this might affect my case moving forward.
Yet despite everything, I stood and spoke my truth. Like P. Diddy’s victims are doing now, I refused to be silenced. That courage—not the court’s verdict or the system’s failures—is my true victory.
When discussing trials involving powerful defendants and vulnerable victims, commentators need to acknowledge the genuine risks victims face. The system is not designed to protect victims as much as it claims to be. Instead, it often protects those with power, influence, and connections.
Victims who come forward against powerful abusers show extraordinary courage, knowing they face not just their abuser but often a system weighted against them. Their bravery deserves accurate representation in media coverage, not simplified narratives about “protections” that frequently fail in practice.
The next time you hear commentators discussing victim witnesses in high-profile cases, remember that those who haven’t walked in these shoes cannot truly understand the vulnerability, fear, and courage involved in speaking truth to power in America’s courtrooms.
Despite it all, standing for truth remains its own victory—one that no judge, court reporter, or broken system can take away.