Is justice a funnel or a bridge back to each other?

In a Substack post I wrote a few months ago, I stated the following: “Only about 20% of those who experience sexual harm will report their experience to law enforcement. Of those who report, even fewer will result in a formal charge or conviction. In fact, for every 1,000 rapes committed, only six people will serve prison time.”

It’s hard to look at that figure without feeling a sense of deep frustration, maybe even despair. To understand why, we must look beyond the numbers and examine the system’s structure.

The simple answer lies in what is known as the criminal justice funnel.

When we think of the criminal justice system, we often think of places — police departments, jails and prisons, and courtrooms. But justice isn’t a place; it is a promise. A promise that continually fails people — victims and offenders alike — because the journey isn’t a straight path. The journey through the criminal justice system is a series of tight squeezes.

The opening of the criminal justice funnel holds all of the moments of harm and violence, crimes and violations, people who have been victimized, and people who have caused harm. We rely on the justice system because of the promise that, when crimes occur, offenders will be apprehended and processed through the system from start to finish.

But as you move downward or through the funnel, it narrows. And narrows. And narrows.

At the widest point of the funnel, all conceivable crimes exist. Not crimes that people report. On average, only about 40% of people who are victimized will ever report to law enforcement. As I wrote in my previous post, sex crimes are the least likely to be reported. We estimate that only about 20% of sexual offenses are reported to law enforcement. They are also the most complex cases to prove; predictably, they rarely result in an arrest, a formal charge, a conviction, or a criminal sanction.

When it comes to sexual harm, the vast majority of survivors never make a formal report. They weigh the costs of coming forward. Reporting means retelling the worst moment of their life to strangers. They wonder if anybody will believe them. They don’t want to be retraumatized. They have seen what happens when people speak up. Some have legitimate fears about interacting with law enforcement. Many come from communities that have little reason to trust the police. Some are immigrants. Some are queer. Most just want to survive. The funnel narrows.

Of the 20% who do decide to make a formal report, they are now at the mercy of police discretion. The evidence that a sex crime occurred may be insufficient or hard to prove. These cases are so often deemed “he said, she said.” Unless there is a forensic examination and someone is considered an “ideal victim,” it is difficult to justify referring the case to the prosecutor. A case is labeled “unfounded.” Someone decides there is insufficient to proceed. No one calls it injustice. It’s just procedure. The funnel narrows again.

Of the cases that police refer to the prosecutor’s office, even fewer are formally charged. Some charges are declined. Some cases are pled out. Indeed, over 90% of all cases end in a plea deal because resources are limited and because, even though all of us have a Sixth Amendment right to a speedy trial by a jury of our peers, if every case went to trial, the system would grind to a halt. The funnel narrows.

Finally, the narrowest segment of the funnel included convictions and sentences. For sexual violence, what remains is shockingly small. Remember, for every 1,000 rapes committed, only six people will serve prison time.

The funnel functions correctly. It works exactly as designed.

And yet, we keep asking the same question of survivors: “Why didn’t you report?” As if the entrance to the funnel was a welcoming place rather than a place where the majority of reports go to die.

That question assumes the funnel is safe and fair, where everyone is on equal footing. Where justice is truly equal, ignoring what so many people already know — the system was never designed to hold their story.

Asking this question assumes the failure of individual survivors.

Yet the funnel worked precisely as intended.

And yet, we keep asking the same question.

The criminal justice system is a narrow tool. It is designed to follow rules, not to reflect the inherent value of our humanity. Yet, we rely on it to solve profoundly human problems.

By design, it erases our stories and our pain. In doing so, it rewrites new stories of pain and trauma for those who are shoved through the narrowest part of the funnel.

We’ve gotten it all wrong. When we rely on this funnel system, we confuse the punishment of a few with success.

The promise of justice is bigger than what the funnel can provide. It must make room for our full humanity. Justice requires that we believe and support survivors and that we create pathways to accountability for those who have caused harm.

Justice should not be a funnel. It should serve as a bridge back to ourselves and to each other.