Dear Editor,

On October 14, 2025, at 11:27 pm, my car was stolen from my home. Like most law-abiding citizens, I did what I was taught to do: I involved the police.

I believed that reporting the crime would lead to help, protection, and a swift resolution. What followed instead was a weeks-long ordeal that cost me time, money, emotional well-being, and ultimately my faith in the very systems designed to serve us.

Two hours after the theft, a friend spotted my vehicle. The police were notified immediately, and the car was retrieved. At that moment, I felt relieved. The worst, I thought, was over. I was wrong.

At the scene I was instructed to make my way back to the police station to file a report. The vehicle was impounded, and I was told to follow the legal process. I complied fully. I was advised that I would be contacted when needed. Days passed. Then weeks. No updates came.

As the absence of my vehicle began to severely inconvenience my daily life — especially with a two-year-old depending on me — I visited the Criminal Investigations Bureau (CIB) several times to enquire about its release. Each visit ended the same way: No information, no timeline, no sense of urgency. Eventually, I was told the vehicle could not be released until a court hearing took place.

That first hearing occurred on November 17, 2025 — more than a month after the theft. At the hearing, a request was made to have my vehicle released, and it was granted on a bond of $500,000. Relief returned, briefly.

I followed the instructions given and went to the court offices with all required documents, only to be told that the printers were down. I returned the next day. And the next. And the next. Five days in a row, I was met with the same explanation. On the sixth day, I finally received the letter needed to retrieve my car.

I went straight to the police station, expecting the end of this nightmare. Instead, I encountered yet another set of obstacles.

My vehicle was blocked in by two other cars inside the pound — vehicles that did not appear to be in drivable condition. I was informed that I would need to make arrangements, at my own expense, to have a wrecker relocate those vehicles before I could access mine. Exhausted, angry, and disheartened, I left the station that day feeling the weight of a deeply unfair process bearing down on me.

The following day, I returned with a wrecker. The officers were notified, and preparations were made to access the pound. Then, without warning, I was asked whether I had settled the bill for the wrecker that originally transported my stolen car to the pound.

That moment broke me.

This cost had never been mentioned — not at the scene, not during my many visits to Criminal Investigations Branch (CIB), not at the hearing, and not when I collected the release letter. Now, standing there with no real options, I had to step outside to collect myself, to avoid reacting in a way that might land me in trouble with the law.

I returned inside seeking clarity. None was offered. Faced with a choice between paying yet another unexpected fee or leaving without my vehicle yet again, I paid. I had reached the point where resistance felt futile.

I drove away not with relief, but with defeat.

In the end, I suffered losses on every level. Items were stolen from the car. The vehicle was damaged by a bullet when officers shot at the driver during the recovery. The radio malfunctioned. The reverse camera no longer works. Air-conditioning vents were broken. I incurred financial losses far beyond what I could afford. I endured emotional and psychological distress, compounded by the trauma of the theft itself and the prolonged separation from my only reliable means of transport — while caring for a toddler.

And for what?

There was absolutely no benefit to calling the police that night. The car was located by a friend. The recovery led not to support, but to months of bureaucratic hardship, escalating costs, and indifference. The choice to involve the authorities is one I am still paying for — financially, emotionally, and psychologically.

This is not written lightly, nor without reflection. I understand the role of law enforcement in society. I understand procedures, evidence, and due process. But when the systems in place punish victims more harshly than perpetrators, we must ask hard questions.

If doing the “right thing” results in compounded loss, prolonged suffering, and a complete erosion of trust, then something is fundamentally broken.

My story is not unique. It is simply one more voice saying what many have already learnt the hard way.

Frustrated citizen

deeliminglee@gmail.com