We like to think of authoritarianism as something that happens elsewhere. In Russia, China, Venezuela, Cuba. Places where a single party controls the media, silences dissent, manipulates the courts, and disappears critics. But what if some of those same dynamics are quietly at work right here in America— not across the whole country, but in the machinery of our criminal justice system? What if the authoritarianism we condemn abroad has found a microcosm in our prisons, courts

For nearly five years, I fought to fix what I believe is the gravest and most ignored humanitarian crisis in America: our criminal justice system. I gave everything I had to that battle—my time, my intellect, my resources, my money, my hope. I tried to alleviate human suffering at its source. I gathered evidence, created social media brands, submitted formal reports, amplified the voices of the silenced, and confronted those in power with truth and humanity. But I’ve reached

In a world where complex global challenges like mass incarceration, healthcare inequality, and climate change are intertwined, there is a growing need for leaders who can combine intellectual diversity with compassion. This blog explores the intersection of the polymathic mindset, which promotes interdisciplinary knowledge, and the cultivation of compassion as described by research on compassion as a human phenomenon. By integrating these frameworks, I argue that polymathic i

What strikes me most about the criminal justice system is just how deeply, relentlessly heartbreaking it is—from every possible angle. At first glance, you might think the pain lives solely with the incarcerated or the victims of crime. But the heartbreak runs deeper. It’s embedded in the entire structure. It weaves through every hallway of every courthouse, prison block, probation office, and public defender’s cubicle. It is systemic, suffocating, and tragically normalized.

Innocent people are being convicted in America—not by error, but by design. The popular imagination understands wrongful conviction as a tragic mistake: the result of faulty eyewitnesses, coerced confessions, or prosecutorial misconduct. These are the cases that make headlines, spur Netflix documentaries, and fuel bipartisan calls for criminal justice reform. But there is another, quieter category of wrongful conviction—one that hides in plain sight, fully sanctioned by the l

It is one of the darkest truths in modern American life: in the so-called “land of the free,” you can be imprisoned for decades—not for what you did, but for what someone else did. You can lose your home, your family, your job, your pets, your freedom, and your mental health—because someone else made a terrible decision and you were nearby, or loosely affiliated, or just unlucky enough to be caught in the net. And worse still? It was legal. This is not just injustice. It is

Something you may not know about me is that I come from plain people. Yes, I’ve become a “fancy doctor lady.” I’ve worked for presidents, earned elite degrees, and built a life that — on the outside — looks polished. But my roots are raw and real. My mother was a Cuban refugee who spent part of her life on welfare and Section 8. She never got a four-year degree — she was a legal secretary. A simple woman, traumatized by life and failed governments. First the Spanish Civil War

Scott Anthony Smith ’s case is a tragic example of how America’s excessive sentencing laws have not only wasted taxpayer money but also failed to address the root causes of crime —poverty, addiction, and mental illness. His 1996 conviction for meth possession sentenced him to life in prison under the Three Strikes Law, treating his addiction as if it were a violent crime. For 27 years, the state of California spent hundreds of thousands of dollars annually to keep him locked

America does not have a justice system. It has a punishment economy. A sprawling, multi-billion-dollar industry designed to entrench suffering, not prevent crime. A system that siphons public money into the pockets of prison guards, bureaucrats, and private vendors while locking away the poor, the mentally ill, and the addicted— not because they are irredeemable, but because their incarceration is profitable. We are in an economic crisis. Housing is unaffordable. Healthcare