Staying Righteous: When the Harm Comes From a Public Agency

There is a particular kind of grief — and a particular kind of rage — that comes from being harmed by the very systems that claim to protect the public good. It’s disorienting. It’s humiliating. And it’s profoundly lonely.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the Equity in Education Coalition (EEC) and the painful reality that our organization, and 39 partners across Washington, were harmed by a public agency’s decisions — not by our own mismanagement, not by our own incompetence, not by irresponsibility on our part — but by a rigid, punitive, and unnecessary interpretation of rules that were never designed to be enforced that way.

And yet, every time I walk into a new space — for an interview, a consultation, or just a coffee date with a friend — I still have to ask myself: “Do they know what Commerce did to us?” “Do they assume we must have done something wrong?”

Because here’s the truth most people don’t want to acknowledge: When a public agency inflicts harm, people instinctively trust the agency — not the community organizations they hurt.

The Myth of Government Benevolence

There is an unspoken belief that public agencies operate with fairness, neutrality, and professionalism. That they don’t retaliate. That they don’t misinterpret policy. That they don’t harm communities. That they certainly wouldn’t destroy the financial stability of small, BIPOC-led organizations doing frontline work.

So when a conflict arises, the assumption is: “Well… the agency wouldn’t do that. Something else must have happened.”

But this assumption is wrong. Public agencies are made of people — and people can choose punitive interpretations over supportive ones. They can choose rigidity over partnership. They can choose reputation over transparency.

Public agencies can cause harm. Public agencies do cause harm. And public agencies rarely, if ever, face accountability for it.

The Weight of Suspicion Falls on Us — Not Them

As small community-based organizations, especially BIPOC-led ones, we know this pattern too well:

• When something goes wrong, we are blamed first.

• When payment is delayed, we must have been irresponsible.

• When the rules suddenly change, we must have misunderstood.

• When harm is done, we must have deserved it.
  

The presumption of innocence does not extend to us. The benefit of the doubt does not extend to us. The assumption of expertise does not extend to us.

Public agencies get grace. We get scrutiny.

And that double-standard forces leaders like me to walk into rooms wondering who already believes a distorted narrative about us — and who recognizes the truth.

We Deserve to Stay Righteously Indignant

For a long time, I tried to be “neutral.” I tried to be “professional.” I tried to be “gracious.”

But neutrality in the face of harm is not professionalism — it’s erasure. And grace without truth is just swallowing injustice in silence.

So I’ve been giving myself permission to stay righteously indignant. Not bitter. Not jaded. Not stuck.

Righteous. Clear. Firm.

Because the harm that Commerce caused wasn’t a misunderstanding. It wasn’t an accident. It was a choice.

A choice to interpret rules in the harshest possible way. A choice to delay payments knowing it would devastate small organizations. A choice to dismiss the impact on community partners who relied on timely reimbursements. A choice to protect their bureaucracy instead of the communities they are funded to serve.

And we get to name that. We get to hold that truth. We get to stay indignant about it — because it was wrong.

People Assume Systems Don’t Harm — Until They Do

What I’ve realized is this: When harm comes from a person, people are quick to acknowledge it. When harm comes from a marginalized person, they are even quicker. But when harm comes from a public agency, people hesitate. We do this in public schools. We do this in healthcare.

We do this in housing.

We do this with elected officials.

Especially if that system is led by a person of color (more on this in another blog). We assume fairness where there is none. We assume competence where there may not be any. We assume justice where harm has actually taken root. We assume a commitment to racial and social justice -- because it's written in the vision statement. We assume a commitment to racial and social justice -- because their leadership is diverse. We assume a commitment to racial and social justice -- because somewhere they said they were committed to equity.

And in that hesitation, community organizations like mine are left carrying both the wound and the burden of proving the wound exists.

Staying Righteous Is a Leadership Practice

I used to worry that staying angry made me unprofessional. But I’ve come to understand that staying righteously indignant is not a failure of leadership — it is an expression of it.

Righteousness is clarity. Indignation is accountability. Anger is information.

Staying righteous means refusing to let people rewrite the story so the systems stay clean and the harm stays hidden.

Staying righteous means walking into rooms without shrinking, without apologizing, without over-explaining.

Staying righteous means remembering that harm was done — and that we do not have to pretend otherwise to make other people more comfortable.

Truth Is Not Bitterness — It’s Integrity

So yes — when I introduce myself to new boards, new partners, or new rooms, I carry this truth with me: A public agency harmed us. Intentionally. And it was wrong.

And I refuse to carry that truth quietly anymore. Not because I want pity. Not because I want a fight. But because naming harm is part of healing — for me, for our partners, and for the field of equity in Washington State.

Staying righteous is not about staying angry forever. It’s about refusing to let systems wash their hands while our organizations absorb the consequences of their decisions.

It’s about remembering what happened — and leading forward with integrity, clarity, and unwavering truth.

Because the only way harm gets undone is if someone has the courage to say: “Yes, this happened. And it wasn’t us. It was the system.”

And that someone is going to be me. It's going to be us. Stay Righteous. The system stays unaccountable because it relies on our exhaustion.