By IVOINE INGRAHAM

Laws are not poetry. They are not suggestions. They are not guidelines to be interpreted based on who is asking, who is connected, or who can afford a silk-suited defence team.

Laws are designed to create a clear, firm, unmistakable line between what is acceptable and what is not. Once that line becomes negotiable, once it shifts depending on status, address, or associations, the law ceases to be law.

It becomes theatre.

And in too many instances across this country, that’s precisely what our regulatory and enforcement systems have become: an uneven performance where the powerless are punished with cruelty. At the same time, the powerful are handled with velvet gloves.

The disparity is not subtle. It’s glaring. It’s corrosive. And it’s destroying public confidence in the very institutions meant to uphold order, fairness, and justice.

Consider how society treats the petty thief versus the polished criminal. A young man steals a phone, a bottle of liquor, or food to survive. He is hunted down like an animal and dragged through the system. Shamed publicly and locked up in degrading conditions. His name circulates, his face is plastered all over, his future effectively erased before it begins.

Meanwhile, a man in a plush office—well spoken, well dressed, well connected—skilfully outsmarts his clients, siphons millions through paper trails and legal gymnastics, and hires a hotshot law firm when the walls begin to close in. He’s not paraded. He’s not humiliated. He’s not treated as a threat to society. In too many cases, he walks free or negotiates a slap on the wrist that amounts to a rounding error on his balance sheet. The message could not be clearer: crime is not the issue.

Poverty is.

This is not justice. This is class enforcement masquerading as law.

It becomes even more disturbing when we examine violent crime and how selective outrage is applied. There have been incidents—well-known, widely discussed—where individuals accused of heinous acts were treated with shocking leniency. Bail granted based on logic that defied explanation. Sentences handed down that left the nation stunned. Decisions that made citizens question whether the law was blind or simply looking the other way.

At the same time, in ordinary “over-the-hill” neighbourhoods, wayward sons caught with unlicensed firearms are treated as if they are irredeemable monsters. Thrown into the harshest conditions. Denied mercy and held up as examples.

Yet in other cases—cases involving multiple firearms and ammunition—there is a wink and a nod. Quiet handling. Soft language. Explanations that strain credibility. Outcomes that never seem to reach the same level of punishment.

This is not a coincidence. It’s a pattern. And patterns teach people how systems truly work.

What is most troubling is the brazenness of it all. There’s no shame anymore—no attempt to hide the double standard. Laws are diluted openly to appease some, while others are crushed under their full weight. The inconsistency is so routine that it has become normalised, and normalisation is how injustice becomes permanent.

The same dysfunction plagues our regulatory environment.

Take zoning and building regulations, for example. The 25-foot setback rule from the road is supposedly clear. It exists for safety, aesthetics, and order. Yet in practice, it applies to some and not to others. One small business owner is denied permission outright, while another constructs a shop or apartment complex just feet from the sidewalk without a single objection from the regulatory body.

No warning. No stop order. No enforcement.

Why?

Who decided that this rule was optional for one applicant but mandatory for another?

Then there are the temporary roadside shacks—erected overnight, used for a few weeks, abandoned without consequence. They rot in place, becoming eyesores, magnets for vermin, and symbols of neglect. They litter specific neighbourhoods. No follow-up. No enforcement. No accountability.

Yet in other areas, such a structure would not survive a single day.

The same selective blindness applies to derelict vehicles. In some communities, rusted hulks sit abandoned for years, leaking fluids, breeding mosquitoes, and dragging down property values. In other neighbourhoods, that situation would be unthinkable. Enforcement would be swift. Notices issued. Removal enforced.

The law has a postcode.

There is no consistent pattern, no clear standard, no predictable outcome. And when rules are applied randomly, they stop being rules. They become invitations for argument, manipulation, and circumvention.

This inconsistency creates confusion among citizens and businesses alike. People no longer ask, “What does the law say?” They ask, “Who is applying?” or “Who do you know?” or “How much trouble will they really give me?” That mindset is deadly to civic order.

It teaches that compliance is optional, that obedience is for the naïve, and that success depends less on integrity and more on access. It breeds cynicism, resentment, and quiet rebellion.

Worst of all, it destroys respect for authority.

Regulatory bodies exist to provide clarity, fairness, and predictability. When they fail to stick to their own decisions—when approvals are reversed, violations overlooked, and rules relaxed because of who is asking—the public is left baffled and angry.

What prevents authorities from standing firm? Why does enforcement soften when the applicant is influential? Why are regulations rigid for the small man and elastic for the big one?

These are not academic questions. They go to the heart of whether this society believes in equal treatment under the law or merely pays lip service to it.

A system that enforces selectively is worse than a system that enforces poorly. At least incompetence can be fixed. Bias, once embedded, becomes culture. And culture is far more complex to dismantle.

When people see inconsistency everywhere—courts, police, regulators, inspectors—they begin to believe that “anything goes.” That belief spreads quietly, but relentlessly. It seeps into everyday decisions. Why follow the rules if others don’t? Why comply if compliance only disadvantages you? Why respect a system that does not respect you, which is how lawlessness is born.

Not from rebellion, but from disillusionment.

The tragedy is that laws themselves are not the problem. Most regulations exist for good reason. The problem is the human willingness to bend them for convenience, relationships, or pressure.

Until regulatory bodies reclaim consistency—tangible, visible, uncompromising consistency—the erosion will continue. Trust will keep bleeding out. Respect will keep evaporating. And the line the law was meant to draw will fade until no one remembers where it once stood.

A society cannot survive on selective justice. It cannot function on optional enforcement. And it cannot prosper when its people believe that fairness is reserved only for the connected.

The law must mean the same thing to everyone. Or it will soon mean nothing at all.