Ultimately, we must either abandon our reliance on stop and

“Ultimately, we must either abandon our reliance on stop and search or abandon any hope for a criminal justice system grounded in equality, impartiality and fairness.” These words of David Lammy, the British statesman and advocate for justice reform, resound like a judgment carved into the pillars of conscience. His warning is not merely about policing — it is about the soul of a nation. For when a society places fear above fairness, and control above equality, it loses not only its moral balance but its humanity. Lammy speaks as one who has looked upon the machinery of justice and seen that without reform, it corrodes the very principles it was meant to defend.

In the ancient world, the philosophers of law — from Solon of Athens to Cicero of Rome — declared that justice must be blind: impartial to wealth, color, and power. Yet the practice of “stop and search” exposes the eyes of justice as open and biased. It marks some as suspicious by nature and others as innocent by privilege. What Lammy calls for is not merely the end of a policy, but the rebirth of a moral vision: a justice system grounded in equality, impartiality, and fairness, where no citizen is judged by the accident of birth or the color of their skin.

The phrase “abandon our reliance” speaks to a deeper truth — that a nation addicted to distrust cannot heal itself. The stop and search tactic, born from fear of crime, has too often become an instrument of discrimination. It teaches young men — especially Black and ethnic minorities — that they are not citizens but suspects, not equals but targets. History is filled with such systems of false security. The Roman Empire, when it grew fearful of rebellion, turned its laws against its own citizens. The fear of danger made it blind to justice — and in that blindness, it decayed from within.

We may recall the story of Martin Luther King Jr., who faced police brutality in the streets of America. His marches were met with arrests, hoses, and dogs — all in the name of “law and order.” Yet King taught that law without justice is tyranny, and peace without equality is illusion. When the law becomes a tool of oppression rather than protection, it ceases to serve the people; it serves only power. Lammy’s cry echoes this ancient and modern wisdom alike: a justice system that degrades its own citizens cannot claim to be just.

There is tragedy in his words — but also hope. For Lammy’s warning carries within it a choice. Society can cling to its old tools of suspicion, comforting itself with the illusion of safety, or it can strive toward a new covenant of trust. To abandon unjust methods is not weakness; it is the highest form of strength. It is the courage to believe that fairness, not fear, is the true guardian of peace. The ancient sages taught that a ruler’s greatness lies not in the sword he wields, but in the justice he upholds — for justice, once corrupted, poisons every heart it touches.

The lesson, then, is both personal and collective. Each person must ask: Do I defend justice because it serves me, or because it serves truth? For justice cannot live in half-measures. It must be impartial or it is nothing; it must be equal or it is false. The young who are searched without cause grow into citizens who mistrust the state — and thus the state weakens itself. True peace is not maintained by fear, but by fairness; not by punishment, but by understanding.

So remember this, children of the future: a society’s greatness is measured not by how it treats the powerful, but how it treats the powerless. If we wish to walk in the light of civilization, we must build systems that see all as equal before the law. David Lammy’s words stand as both warning and prophecy: if we do not abandon the practice of injustice, we will abandon the dream of equality itself. The path to redemption lies not in defending the old ways, but in daring to create new ones — where justice is truly blind, and every man, woman, and child stands free beneath its gaze.