Jaymes Osborne pens letter about Rick Southerland withdrawing from his candidacy

To the Democratic Party and the community,

I do not anticipate anyone caring to read this in its entirety because we have observed the culture over the years to silence or ignore survivors or people that we deem inadequate. Over the past few days, my life has been reduced to a headline and a story circulating throughout the community. When I learned that WHQR had been anonymously tipped off and was investigating both my life and my association with Mr. Southerland, I was not entirely surprised. By the time the article was published, the questions and inquiries had already begun.

For those who did not read the story in full, it is far more nuanced than the headline might suggest. I appreciate that the reporting itself attempted to present the facts fairly. What has been difficult, however, is hearing inaccurate assumptions and character judgments from excitable people who do not know my life, my history, or the circumstances that led me here.

I want to be clear about something important: the label of “sex offender” does not automatically define someone as a predator. That distinction matters. It certainly matters to me, because it does not reflect who I am and I refuse to allow anyone to feel emboldened to associate my existence as such. I am a survivor of trafficking. For years I lived with the shame and silence that so many survivors experience. Evidence of my abuse exists, yet when I sought justice and restitution through the proper channels, the outcome ultimately left me bearing the consequences of circumstances that were far more complex than a single label can capture. During that time, I also lost my mother while I was in detention.

Those experiences could have defined the rest of my life in the worst possible ways. Instead, I have spent years working to rebuild. That process has required extensive therapy, accountability, and the support of people who believed that healing and rehabilitation are real. It has also required the courage to continue showing up in the community with honesty about my past and commitment to doing better. Rick Southerland is one of the people who showed me that kind of support. He treated me with dignity while understanding the complexity of my story and the work I have done to move forward. I commend him for standing firm in his character and for continuing to advocate for students and families in this community. Running for public office is no easy task, and his desire to serve our schools reflects a genuine commitment to helping young people succeed.

Some have argued that his association with me and holding my public record trauma in confidence as a betrayal or a failure of judgment. I believe that interpretation is unfair. Supporting someone who has taken responsibility for their past and is working to rebuild their life should not be seen as a moral failing. If anything, it reflects a belief in accountability, rehabilitation, and the possibility of change – values that many of us claim to support.

As a citizen who registered as both a Democrat and as someone complying with the requirements placed upon me, I believed I was answering a call to participate in the democratic process and contribute positively to my community. I volunteered my time and skills because I care about the wellbeing of children and families here. What has been most painful in the aftermath of this story is the level of judgment and potential ostracism that has followed. The same principles we often say we stand for; equity, accountability, rehabilitation, and second chances, seem to disappear when they are tested in real life.

I understand that people react strongly to headlines involving sexual crimes. In a world shaped by the revelations of figures like Epstein and countless stories of abuse, those reactions are understandable. The harm caused by real predators is devastating, and communities are right to be vigilant about protecting children. It is also important to recognize that not every case fits the assumptions people may immediately make. Rehabilitation and accountability must mean something in practice, not just in theory. If people who have acknowledged their mistakes and followed every legal requirement are permanently denied the ability to participate in civic life, then the concept of rehabilitation becomes meaningless.

I have not tried to hide from my past and have followed the protocols required of me. At the same time, I continue to work toward becoming a productive member of this community. I have sought connection, purpose, and ways to contribute to something larger than myself. Organizations like Keep Your Hands Off Me, which work to educate and support survivors, and Coastal Horizons, which provide a myriad of resources, remind us how important it is to give voice to people who have experienced trauma and injustice. My story may not fit the expectations many people have, and I may not be the messenger some would prefer. But I will continue using the voice I have found to advocate for survivors and for a more thoughtful approach to justice and rehabilitation.

My life is not a finished story. It is still being written. I will continue living openly, taking responsibility for my past while striving to contribute positively to the world around me. I hope our community can reflect on the values we say we hold – compassion, accountability, and the belief that people can grow. Think of the lesson taught to children when told, “Do not judge, Help those in need, Protect your friends, Be supportive,” and do not follow that advice. Those values matter most when they are tested. I still believe we can live up to them, and I intend to keep doing my part, no matter if my confidence takes pause in that belief.

Thank you for reading and not silencing me again.