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By the time most Rhode Islanders think about the justice system, it’s already too late. A loved one has been arrested. A job is on the line. A family is scrambling to figure out how to pay for freedom.

We like to tell ourselves that our state is different—smaller, fairer, more humane. But inside our courtrooms, a hard truth remains: in Rhode Island, justice still has a price, and poor people pay the most.

Every day, people charged with low-level, nonviolent offenses sit in jail not because they’ve been convicted, but because they can’t afford bail. Someone with money walks out the same day. Someone without it stays behind bars, watching their life unravel in real time.

The irony is that someone with money who can afford bail can also afford to flee the jurisdiction. The poor are often trapped here.

This isn’t about public safety. It’s about economics.

A few days in jail can mean losing a job. A missed paycheck can mean losing housing. Parents are separated from their children. Medical care is interrupted. And all of this happens before a judge ever determines guilt or innocence.

Once you’re inside the system, the pressure only grows. Public defenders—often dedicated and capable—are stretched thin by overwhelming caseloads. Courtrooms move fast. Decisions with lifelong consequences are made in minutes. For many defendants, the choice isn’t between guilt and innocence. It’s between pleading guilty now or sitting in jail indefinitely while waiting for a trial they can’t afford to reach.

So people plead. Not because it’s right, but because it’s survivable. Maybe.

Then come the fees. Court costs. Probation fees. Mandatory programs that cost money people don’t have. Miss a payment, and the consequences escalate. Suddenly, poverty itself becomes a violation.

We don’t call it a debtors’ prison, but the logic is the same: pay, or suffer. As a police officer, I spent many hours in court. I saw people held for months awaiting trial for lack of $1000, $500, or even $100 cash bail, simply because they were poor and the system of justice is slow and laborious.

This system doesn’t just harm individuals—it destabilizes entire communities. Neighborhoods in Providence, Pawtucket, Central Falls, and Woonsocket feel the impact when wage earners disappear, when parents are jailed, and when records follow people long after their sentences end. Children learn early that the system is not designed to protect families like theirs.

Meanwhile, those with resources experience a very different system. Bail is a formality. Lawyers are accessible. Fines are inconvenient, not devastating. For them, justice feels fair.

That contrast should trouble all of us.

A justice system that treats wealth as a proxy for worth is not neutral. It is making choices—about who gets mercy, who gets patience, and who gets locked away.

Rhode Island can do better. Justice should not depend on the size of your bank account. It should not punish people for being poor. It should keep people working, parenting, and contributing to their communities while their cases move forward.

Our state is small enough to see the damage clearly. That also means we’re small enough to fix it—if we choose to. And, while this is focused on Rhode Island, the realities are universal in the United States.

The problem affects every American, and this inequality will continue unless we seek a solution.

Until then, the promise of equal justice under the law will remain just that: a promise, carved in stone, but too often denied in practice.