In the tragic stabbing death of 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska on a Charlotte light rail train in August 2025, we witness a stark illustration of how accusations of hate crimes are often wielded inconsistently, driven by political agendas rather than evidence. Zarutska, who fled Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 seeking safety in America, was pursuing the American dream—working at a pizzeria, attending community college to improve her English, and nurturing her passion for art and animals. Yet, on August 22, surveillance footage captured the horrifying moment when Decarlos Brown Jr., a 34-year-old repeat offender with 14 prior arrests including armed robbery and a history of mental illness, stabbed her three times from behind without provocation. Brown, who was homeless and out on bail despite his violent record, later made comments referencing her race, reportedly saying things like “I got that white girl,” fueling demands for hate crime charges.

This case exposes a troubling pattern: one side—often conservative voices and right-wing media—quickly brands the attack as a hate crime, emphasizing Brown’s racial comments and the racial disparity (Brown is Black, Zarutska white) to critique “soft-on-crime” Democratic policies in cities like Charlotte. President Trump and allies like Attorney General Pam Bondi seized on it to decry bail reforms and urban crime, leading to “Iryna’s Law” in North Carolina, which limits cashless bail, bolsters involuntary mental health commitments, and paves the way for resuming executions. However, authorities have not pursued federal hate crime charges, attributing the motive more to Brown’s untreated schizophrenia and criminal history than targeted bias. Critics, including some civil rights groups like CAIR-NC, have called for a hate crime probe based on the video evidence of racial remarks but simultaneously condemned the politicization that stokes anti-Black racism.

Conversely, when clear hate crimes occur—such as attacks explicitly motivated by prejudice against protected groups like immigrants or minorities—denials emerge from those same quarters, downplaying bias to avoid broader accountability for systemic hatred. In Zarutska’s murder, the unprovoked nature of the attack on a stranger simply minding her own business underscores how generic hatred can be the sole driver: no robbery, no dispute, just random violence against an “other.” Brown’s family and local officials, including Charlotte’s mayor, pointed to judicial failures and mental health gaps as root causes, not racial animus. Yet, the selective outrage reveals deeper issues: crimes against white victims are amplified for political gain, while those fitting traditional hate crime narratives (e.g., anti-Semitic or anti-LGBTQ+ attacks) face resistance if they implicate certain ideologies.

This hypocrisy erodes trust in justice systems. True hate crimes require evidence of prejudice influencing the act, per federal definitions, but politicization muddies waters—turning victims like Zarutska into symbols rather than prompting genuine reforms like better transit security or mental health integration. Generic hatred, devoid of specific grudges, thrives in under-resourced public spaces, preying on the vulnerable. Zarutska’s story demands we prioritize facts over agendas: investigate biases thoroughly, hold repeat offenders accountable regardless of narrative, and address root causes like mental health without racial scapegoating. Only then can we prevent such senseless losses and ensure safety for all strangers just trying to live their lives.