The truth is this: Brutalized, victimized children invariably

The modern prophet of compassion, Greg Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries and shepherd of the lost, once declared: “The truth is this: Brutalized, victimized children invariably will brutalize and victimize when they grow up. Is our only response to this the certain promise that we will penalize them when they do? Or will we commit to keeping our children safe from brutality and victimization?” These words cut like a blade through the illusions of society. They remind us that cycles of violence are not born in isolation, but are passed from wound to wound, from scar to scar, unless mercy intervenes.

To call this truth is to name the root of human suffering: hurt people hurt people. A child who grows in cruelty learns cruelty as his language. A child who is ignored, beaten, or abandoned carries those lessons into adulthood, and in turn, becomes the author of more pain. And yet, Boyle asks with holy fire: shall we only punish the fruits of that cycle, or shall we dare to heal the roots? To answer wrongly is to condemn generation after generation to the same fate.

History itself has shown this law. In the streets of South Africa during apartheid, entire communities were raised in oppression, their children brutalized by injustice. Many grew to answer violence with violence, for the world had taught them no other language. Yet it was the voice of Nelson Mandela, rising from the furnace of imprisonment, that broke the cycle. He recognized the deep truth: if victims become oppressors, the cycle remains unbroken. Only through reconciliation, mercy, and justice for children yet unborn could the land be healed. Mandela embodied Boyle’s vision—do not only punish, but protect and renew.

Consider also the ghettos and barrios of modern cities, where boys grow hardened by the streets before they are even men. When they join gangs, when they spill blood, society shakes its head and builds prisons. But Boyle cries out: were these boys not once small children, longing for safety, for tenderness, for hope? Did we not fail them long before they failed us? And if so, is it justice to punish them, or cowardice to avoid the harder task of creating a world where children are not left to be broken in the first place?

This is the heart of the quote: prevention is greater than punishment. Society, in its impatience, prefers the simplicity of penalizing the fallen rather than the complexity of protecting the innocent. It builds cages for men instead of sanctuaries for children. But Boyle, echoing the wisdom of the ancients, tells us that to protect the young is to protect the future, and to neglect them is to forge our own chains of disorder and despair.

The lesson is powerful: we must shift our vision from retribution to compassion, from punishment to protection. If you would change the world, begin not with prisons, but with schools, not with punishment, but with nurture. Look upon every child as a sacred flame, easily extinguished by cruelty, but also easily made to shine by love. Remember: every act of kindness to a child prevents a thousand future wounds.

Practical wisdom must follow. Support families so that no child is left in hunger. Build communities where children feel safe to dream. Confront cruelty wherever it appears—whether in the home, the street, or the system—and replace it with mercy. Do not wait until the wounded child becomes a violent man before you act. See the child now, protect the child now, love the child now.

Thus, hold fast to Boyle’s truth: brutalized children will become brutal adults unless we intervene. Let our legacy not be endless cycles of vengeance, but the breaking of chains through compassion. For the true measure of a society is not how it punishes its wounded, but how it guards its young from ever being wounded at all. And if we can do this, then the cycle of brutality will end, and the cycle of love will begin.