Op-Ed: Tragedy + Poverty = Calamity

By Giovanne Schachere, CEO of Mystis Adult and Family Services

When Kevin “Tugg” Watson was murdered live on Facebook, America gasped. A 42-year-old father, sitting in his car, greeting someone he seemed to know—and then a gunshot. Strangers became witnesses to his death in real time.

To me, that moment wasn’t an anomaly—it was the broadcast of what I see every day. At Mystis, where I lead services in Washington and California, our clients experience tragedies like this on a regular basis. Their stories just aren’t livestreamed.

We see women fleeing domestic violence, where 77% of domestic violence–related homicides happen upon separation, and violence increases by 75% for at least two years afterward. We support LGBTQ+ clients rejected by their families, pushed into unsafe situations. We serve people battling untreated mental illness or addiction. We support children grieving the sudden loss of a father—the breadwinner, the glue holding things together. This is the pattern: a disagreement, a bruised ego, desperation, and untreated illness. Add a gun, and it's final.

And when you combine tragedy with poverty, you get calamity.

Poverty means a grieving mother isn’t just mourning—she’s trying to pay rent, keep food on the table, and be both parents. Poverty means fewer safe options for DV survivors. Poverty means untreated trauma shelved until it blows. Poverty means kids inherit suffering.

This isn’t just happening in Chicago—it’s everywhere: Tacoma, Federal Way, Seattle’s Central District, Compton, Watts, Vallejo, Richmond. Families left grieving are never prepared for this. Grief has no timeline. A mother doesn’t “move on” in a year. A father’s death leaves kids adrift. Often, that one anchoring person carried everyone else—and when they go, the structure collapses. This is especially entrenched in communities of color.

Guns aren't disappearing. They’re mass-produced, smuggled, even 3D-printed. Policy tweaks help edgewise, but the supply endures.

Humanity has always lived in survival mode. Cavemen with rocks, wild animals lurking—now, it's men with guns, untreated trauma, nothing to lose. Survival’s always been the game; the tools have just evolved.

Survival also means mental health. Millions in the U.S. walk around with mental health issues, visible or hidden. Some wear gangster faces. Others, millionaire masks. Some drink or smoke themselves to death. Others quietly unravel until tragedy happens.

Homelessness isn’t just visible—overdoses at bus stops in front of parents trying to get kids to school. But the same mental illness exists behind closed doors. We’ve seen families destroyed in Seattle and Bellevue by those who looked “fine” until they weren’t.

I don’t see isolated issues. I see a pattern: Domestic violence. Gun violence. Hunger. Addiction. Mental illness. Ego. Poverty stacked on these struggles—and families buckling under it all.

The stark facts make it worse. In 2022, the U.S. recorded 48,204 firearm deaths—one of the highest ever, and firearms are the leading cause of death for children and teens. In 2023, about 128 people died from a firearm every day in the U.S., and 4,700 of those were children or teens. Since 2020, guns have outpaced car crashes, cancer, and drug overdoses for youth deaths.

This is why I tell my clients: you can’t always control the world, but you can control how you meet it. Calm down. Find peace when you can. Let reason—not angst—guide decisions. Because I’ve seen people let ego and desperation end lives.

I’ve seen survivors who live on edge, battered deeper than they thought possible. Parents are trying to hold a family together. That’s not just grief—it’s calamity.

This world we’ve built is complicated, tough, dog-eat-dog. Weapons, laws—don’t pretend they will save us. Human frailty persists.

I think about mortality. Most people don’t want to die, but we’re tricked into thinking we’ll live forever. The average lifespan is 80 years—30,000 days. Live until 90 and still walk, think, love? That could be enough.

None of us asked to exist. We beat absurd statistical odds—from sperm to birth. That alone should humble us.

But humility is rare. I see people governed by anger, ego, and untreated mental wounds. The wealthy unravel in silence. On public streets, people nod out on fentanyl in front of kids. That’s why people avoid transit; homes offer no safety. Poverty hides on both ends, but when untreated illness sits alone, tragedy often follows.

So when I step back, I see a nation in crisis.

That’s why Mysti's exists. We can’t erase violence. We don’t stop every crisis. But we do catch people between collapse and survival. We provide housing, counseling, job readiness, and crisis intervention. We help DV survivors, LGBTQ+ clients, grieving families, and those standing on the edge of ruin.

Here’s the truth: Care is infrastructure. Without it, tragedy + poverty always equals calamity. With it, families get a fighting chance.

Kevin Watson’s death shook people because it was livestreamed. Most tragedies are silent. Invisible. No less real.

We can’t eliminate guns, ego, or desperation. But we can decide whether families are abandoned or supported.

That’s why sustained investment in care—like Mystis—is non-negotiable.

Because as long as tragedy and poverty collide in America, care is the line between collapse and survival.

#JusticeForTugg