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In the wake of George Floyd's death, the Minnesota Freedom Fund (MFF) rocketed from obscurity to national prominence. After Kamala Harris urged people to "chip in" to support protesters, more than $40 million poured in from celebrities, politicians and well-meaning donors. MFF promised a moral corrective to a broken bail system. In practice, it became a cautionary tale of unchecked idealism turned dangerous.

Instead of vetting cases, MFF posted bail indiscriminately — for everyone from peaceful protesters to violent repeat offenders, including accused rapists, domestic abusers and murderers. No strings. No oversight. No regard for the safety of the communities it claimed to champion. And when the inevitable happened, when some of those released committed atrocities, MFF doubled down instead of taking accountability.

Greg Lewin, the group's former interim executive director, once admitted: "I often don't even look at a charge when I bail someone out." A Hennepin County clerk was even more blunt: We hate when they bail out sex offenders.

Let's consider some of the individuals it freed:

MFF posted bail for a man, out on domestic assault charges, who went on to shoot and kill a man in a road rage incident.

It paid for a twice-convicted rapist facing new kidnapping and sexual assault charges, who then skipped supervision.

It freed a man accused of raping an 8-year-old girl.

It helped a man repeatedly caught with guns and explosives.

And it bailed out a man, tied to multiple drive-by shootings, who later violated release conditions and triggered a police standoff.

Posting bail for these individuals wasn't an unfortunate oversight; it was the model. MFF wanted to disrupt the system but never bothered to understand it. These aren't outliers; they're the logical, horrifying result of an ideology-over-reality approach. MFF didn't just challenge the bail system — it bulldozed through it, releasing dangerous individuals without oversight, safeguards or accountability.

Now, almost five years after cashing in on progressive guilt, MFF is walking away from bail altogether ("Freedom Fund to stop paying pretrial bail," front page, May 15). Executive director Elizer Darris recently announced, "We cannot bail and bond our way out of the harmful systems of pretrial detention." MFF says it will pivot toward advocacy and education.

This isn't a pivot — it's a white flag dressed up as a victory lap. A desperate rebrand by an organization that knows its approach is indefensible. MFF wants us to remember the people it helped. Fine. But let's also remember the people it hurt, the victims, the grieving families and the communities left to pick up the pieces.

Traditional bail, for all its flaws, requires accountability. If a defendant or family member puts up money or property, that defendant suddenly has skin in the game. They're more likely to appear in court, and more likely to behave. There's a price to pay if they don't. But when MFF swept in with no-strings-attached bail, there was zero accountability. No vetting. No conditions. No consequences. Just a get-out-of-jail-free card for anyone, no matter how violent, dangerous or unpredictable.

Recognizing the danger of these unregulated bailouts, Minnesota Republicans introduced legislation to restrict such practices. Their bill would have prevented nonprofits from bailing out individuals accused of violent crimes or registered sex offenders, and required public disclosure of who was being released. The DFL-controlled House refused to support the measure. Politics trumped public safety and sent a chilling message to victims: Your safety matters less than our ideology.

Supporters of MFF argue that the cash bail system is unjust, and in many ways, they're right. No one should sit in jail for weeks because they can't afford $200 for a petty offense while someone wealthy walks free on a felony. But there's a difference between fighting inequality and fueling lawlessness. MFF didn't just erode trust in bail reform, it obliterated it. And in doing so, it made the path harder for bail reformers who believe in addressing system disparities while still considering victim and public safety.

There is a responsible path forward. One that doesn't include checkbook activism with blanket bailouts and zero conditions. Minnesotans deserve reform that is both compassionate and responsible. They deserve leaders who protect the vulnerable, not empower the dangerous. And they deserve a criminal justice system that doesn't rely on viral fundraising and activist slogans to make life-or-death decisions.

Justice isn't just about the accused. It's also about the victims. It's time we remember that.

Brandi Bennett is a longtime Minnesota resident who works in criminal justice, focused on victim services. The opinions here are her own and do not reflect those of her employer.