Ashland, Kentucky: Where Cruelty Has Become a Sport

There’s a heaviness in my chest that’s hard to shake—a knot that tightens with every new story, every memory that resurfaces, every act of cruelty I’ve seen unfold before my eyes. And lately, in Ashland, Kentucky, cruelty doesn’t just happen. It thrives.

I've witnessed people being malicious, intimidating, and outright cruel to the most vulnerable members of our community—our unhoused neighbors. I've watched as people we know have been targeted, harassed, and even hunted. It’s not just disturbing—it’s terrifying.

A few nights ago, I was simply trying to grab a bottle of water from the back of my car. My hatch was open, I wasn’t expecting anything. Then, out of nowhere, a truckload of what looked like young adults or late teens roared up behind me. The blaring horn, the sudden screams—it was designed to scare me. And it worked. My PTSD made that moment echo through my body for hours. They didn’t know, but let’s be honest—would they have cared?

Then came the story that chilled me to the core. I was in the area when it happened. A group of young people spotted a man, known in our community—a homeless man sleeping peacefully. They thought it was funny to take selfies with him. Then they escalated it. They chased him, jumped him, beat him—and in a sickening final act, threw him into traffic. He was struck by a car. The worst part? No one seemed to care. Not the ones who did it. Not the ones who watched. That man’s life was treated like a punchline.

But this violence isn’t isolated. There’s a red truck that has been harassing unhoused people across Ashland—revving the engine inches from them, stalking them, pretending to run them over. One report said he drove up on a curb to terrify a young man. This isn’t a prank. This is terrorism.

And then came a personal violation I won’t forget. That same group—now larger—surrounded my car one night. They parked with their headlights glaring into my home, sitting there for hours. Targeting. Harassing. Intimidating. That was no coincidence. That was a message.

What is happening to us?

Where is our empathy? Where is our basic decency? These are not harmless stunts. These are acts of cruelty—with deep, lasting psychological and physical consequences.

Friday, a young homeless girl and her dog were attacked by that same group. And when she defended herself, the police came—not to help her, but to threaten to arrest her. This is what injustice looks like.

And now, the most devastating news of all: I’ve been told about an older man in a gray truck, preying on homeless women. Attacking. Raping. Taking advantage of those with nowhere to run, no one to call, and no protection.

This is more than heartbreaking. It is a crisis. And it’s a test of our community’s soul.

I do believe that compassion still exists. I see it in the small, quiet acts—the stranger who offers a sandwich, the passerby who says, “I see you.” But these small lights are being overshadowed by a darkness that is spreading.

We need to ask ourselves: What values are we passing down? What kind of society do we want to be? One where people are hunted for sport? Where victims are blamed and the cruel walk free?

There are no easy answers. But there is a path forward:

We must hold people accountable.

We must protect the vulnerable—not punish them.

We must teach empathy, respect, and human dignity again.

We must refuse to be silent.

Because if we don’t—if we keep ignoring this, justifying it, laughing it off—then the weight of cruelty will suffocate what’s left of the light in our communities.

Ashland, this is our call to wake up. To stand up. To do better.