A follow-up to The Cost of Looking Away; on what happens when you try to work with the system.

Today I had lunch with one of the people who helped me after the assault. We're building something together: mobilising the neighbourhood, connecting victims, in general creating something positive out of all this.

That meeting was the good part of my day. Everything before and after it was a lesson in how institutions can fail you even when you're doing exactly what they ask.

"If you see them, call 112"

That's what I've been told. Repeatedly. By the police, by the neighbourhood officer, by everyone in the system.

So this morning I saw them. And I called.

The officer on the other end told me they couldn't send anyone. They were moving, so by the time a car arrived, it would be pointless. My case already had reported photos and videos. It didn't matter.

The frustration isn't just about one call. It's about being told to do something, doing it, and then being told it's useless. That cycle is exhausting. It adds stress on top of stress, and it makes you question why you bother reporting in the first place.

I wasn't polite when the call ended. I regret that; the person on the phone was just doing their job. But the accumulated frustration of being asked to report and then told it's pointless is hard to contain.

"We can't note that"

After the call, I thought: at the very least, my file should reflect what happened. That I called, that I reported, and that I was told nothing would be done.

I asked if that could be added to my report. They said no. Internal conversations can't be included in the record. So there's no trace that I tried, no paper trail that the system didn't respond.

The day before, I had called to ask why, twelve days after the assault, no witness had been contacted. The witnesses' numbers are in the report I spent over three hours filing at the station. They said they'd get back to me.

They did get back to me. To tell me the investigators are "most likely busy." Twelve days busy.

Two reports, no link

Then came a call from an officer closer to the case. She seemed well-intentioned, but she repeatedly asked to speak to someone in Dutch because she "couldn't explain certain things" in English. Her English was perfectly clear to me.

She explained that there are two reports: one filed by the officers who responded to the 112 call on the night of the assault, and one I filed myself at the police station. The detailed one, the one that took three hours, the one where I pressed charges and provided witness contact information.

These two reports, she said, were never linked. That's why the follow-up didn't happen.

Do I believe it? Maybe. Does it sound like an excuse? Also yes. Even if only looking at my report alone, the one with the charges, the evidence, the witness numbers; that should have been enough to start.

"You are not the most important case"

I tried to explain my situation. That I have to live with the knowledge that this will likely escalate again. That it will have repercussions on me or my property. That I have to live with this fear, every day, while nothing moves forward.

She told me I'm not the most important case in the Netherlands. That other people have more serious problems. That it is what it is, and I need to accept it.

I asked her if she has kids. Maybe it was rude. But I wasn't trying to be clever. I just wanted her to see my vulnerability, to consider what it feels like to be in this position with a family to protect.

She went immediately defensive and ended the call.

The lesson

Here's what I'm learning: doing the right thing has a cost, and the system doesn't offset it.

You report. You follow up. You call when you see them. You provide evidence. You cooperate. You stay calm. And at every step, the message you get back is: it doesn't matter. You're not important enough. We can't do anything. Accept it.

This is how trust erodes. Not through one dramatic failure, but through a thousand small ones. Each time you're told to do the right thing and it leads to nothing, a piece of your faith in the system breaks off.

And yet. I'm not giving up.

The neighbourhood is mobilising

The meeting was productive. We're connecting people, sharing stories, building a network of neighbours who refuse to accept that this is normal. We're not waiting for institutions to act first. We're organising despite them.

People are stepping up because they understand that if the system won't protect them, they need to protect each other. Not with violence, but with solidarity, visibility, and collective action.

I promised the people I'm working with that I'll keep pushing, and I will. Not because the system rewards it, but because giving up is exactly what impunity needs to thrive.

To the institutions

I'm not asking for special treatment. I'm asking for the bare minimum:

• Link the reports. Or don't use as an reason for not following up, I reported that was my duty.
• Contact the witnesses.
• When someone calls 112 as instructed, at least log it properly.
• Don't tell victims to "accept it."

If you want people to trust the system, the system needs to show up. Otherwise, you're not just failing individuals; you're creating the conditions for exactly the kind of breakdown you claim to want to prevent.

A note of respect

I want to be clear: I respect the police and I understand the weight of their job. They deal with things most of us never have to face, under pressure, understaffed, and often without the recognition they deserve. The officer who called me today was probably doing her best within the constraints she has.

My frustration is not with the individuals. It's with a system that puts well-intentioned people on both sides of the phone in an impossible position. Officers who want to help but can't, and citizens who want to cooperate but are told it's pointless.

We need each other. I still believe that. And I write this not to attack, but because I think the relationship between institutions and the people they serve is worth fighting for.

I'll be back with more updates. In the meantime, stay safe, keep doing good,
and don't let anyone tell you it's not worth it
🙏 🌍