Let us not mince words. In the grand theater of policy, we speak of ‘=’, ‘justice.’ But when justice abandons her post, the innocent bleed—literally, as in the case of an unthinkable, fatal train attack in Charlotte.

A repeat offender—armed with fourteen prior convictions—was wafted back into society by the doctrines cooked up in the offices of Roy Cooper and Josh Stein. In 2020, following the George Floyd incident, Cooper launched his Task Force for Racial Equity in Criminal Justice—equity defined not by safety, but by softness. Stein, as Attorney General co-chair in the same shibboleth, and now as governor, keeps the machinery humming.

Is it any wonder the streets in Democrat-controlled jurisdictions are no longer safe corridors of commerce and family life, but hunter’s grounds for the wickedly emboldened? These are not accidental failures—these are ideological blueprints, meticulously crafted, sanctimoniously waved, and politically cultivated to tilt the scales away from punishment and toward “equity metrics.”

Look. Cooper’s COVID reign was less public health than personal theater. Many businesses, parks, churches, and more were shut indefinitely while queer bars and abortion clinics remained open—illogical, unconstitutional, and a glaring example of moral selective enforcement. As an appeals court recently found, the differential treatment was “arbitrary and capricious,” violating the rights of bar owners to earn a livelihood. Rules based on vague “greater risk” sounded proactive—until courts called them irrational and unfair.

And when it came to abortion, Cooper posed as a champion of reproductive rights—vetoing SB 20, stalling a 12-week ban, championing “doctor-patient freedom.” Yet when the categorical override came, he watched passively while the ban tore open North Carolina’s healthcare infrastructure.

Today, Stein has built on that faulty foundation with executive orders enshrining North Carolina as a sanctuary for abortion—blocking cooperation with prosecutions and fortifying patient data protections. All while legislative hardliners flirt with six-week bans.

So—one asks, with bated breath—what happens when an offender with fourteen convictions walks free because of “equity”-driven prosecution policies, bail alternatives, diversion preferences, and sentence review boards? That’s right, a human being dies. A mother’s daughter’s daughter, an innocent commuter like Iryna Zarutska, is stolen from the world.

Let me spell this out in crystal clarity:

• Cooper advocates equity, not justice.
• Stein continues, now in seduction from the governor’s mansion.
• The result? Repeat offenders on public transport—and innocent citizens paying with their life.

The blood on that train is not just tragedy—it is testimony. Every loosening of accountability, every pushed plea deal, every cut in prosecution priority, every reviewed sentence, every “healthcare first” mandate that softens enforcement—it builds a pathway for evil. And right now, that pathway led directly to Charlotte.

Are Cooper and Stein sympathetic? Are they uninformed? Are they victims of “California-lite” ideology—wishing North Carolina to become progressive by decree? Frankly, I don’t care. They are responsible. Their policies weren’t accidental misfires—they were crafted, promoted, and defended. And now, they have blood on their hands.

If the reader knows nothing of the train tragedy, let this be their introduction:

A man with fourteen prior convictions boarded a train in Charlotte—riding free. He ended a life.

Let that sink in.

The argument is simple. When public policy prioritizes ideology over security—and when the public ceases to demand punishment in the name of “equity”—chaos becomes homework. Cooper and Stein empowered that chaos with pen and vow.

And so we return to the core question, sharpened like Occam’s razor: Does “equity” matter more than life? Because policy texts, executive orders, and ideological crusades cannot excuse dead commuters. Those policies killed her. And those who voted for them carried the hammer.

No ambiguous consolation. No soft landing. Just the cold and persistent assertion that Cooper and Stein are accountable. Their policies paved the way. And the blood of the innocent is their burden.