I promise you that the following news item isn't intended for comedy or clicks; I'm using it as an example for this column's topic only.
Allen Osborne, 32, of Owensboro, Ky., is sitting in the Muhlenberg County Detention Center facing a Class D felony charge for sexual abuse of an animal.
Osborne was arrested by police on Feb. 21 after a driver called 911, reporting a man having sex with a dead deer on Phillip Stone Way in Central City.
Arriving shortly after 7 p.m. on the scene, officers found Osborne in a disgusting state: His clothes were covered in blood and hair, and his pants weren't where they should've been. Even after changing clothes in jail, the deer hair remained visible.
The conviction carries a possible sentence of one to five years in prison.
People in Kentucky were shocked by the headline, yet shock shouldn't replace honesty. Behavior that extreme doesn't erupt out of nowhere. Severe untreated mental illness often builds quietly until it explodes in public. Families see warning signs, make phone calls, beg for help, and they hit a wall.
Under the current law, once a person turns 18, they're a legal adult, and options shrink fast. Judges, social workers, and crisis teams face strict guidelines before they can mandate treatment. Unless somebody poses an immediate danger or meets narrow criteria, those troubled souls are released back into the same unstable environment, leaving families terrified and professionals frustrated.
That's the work environment my middle daughter works in daily, standing between worried parents and an adult who insists nothing is wrong, and she knows the gaps firsthand.
President Donald Trump addressed that gap in an executive order issued Jul. 24, 2025, which directs federal agencies to expand civil commitment options and support long-term institutional care for people who can't safely care for themselves or pose risks to others. The policy emphasizes structured treatment rather than endless cycling through emergency rooms, jails, and short-term shelters.
Critics call the idea of rebuilding asylums outdated or harsh, a reaction that ignores the reality families face. Community-based programs work for many, but fail for those with severe psychosis, deep addiction, or dangerous delusions. When beds disappear and standards tighten, the burden shifts to police officers and county jails.
Central City officers handled the immediate crisis in Osborne's case, which they always do when systems earlier fail. Officers become first responders to untreated schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and severe addiction, arresting, documenting, transporting, and repeating the process weeks later with somebody else entirely. Communities absorb the fallout, while families absorb the fear.
Older state institutions once housed thousands who needed long-term supervision and medical care. Many facilities closed after abuse scandals and budget cuts.
Reform was necessary, and replacement never arrived at scale. States promised modern community care, but rarely funded enough secure beds for the most unstable cases, leaving a dangerous vacuum.
Civil commitment laws already exist in every state; judges order treatment when somebody poses a clear risk. The bar sits so high that families must wait until their loved one spirals into criminal behavior or serious harm before any help becomes available. It's a model that protects autonomy in theory while abandoning safety in practice.
Trump's policy push signals a willingness to revisit that balance. Long-term facilities with medical oversight, due process protections, and periodic review protect both individual dignity and public safety.
Structured treatment doesn't equal punishment; it recognizes that some illnesses rob people of the ability to make rational decisions about their own care.
The Kentucky arrest illustrates what happens when warning signs go unanswered. Osborne now faces prison, which isn't a treatment center, guards aren't psychiatrists, and a cell doesn't stabilize a mind trapped in crisis.
Families deserve tools that work, judges deserve standards that allow earlier intervention, social workers deserve available beds, not apologies, and police deserve backup from clinicians rather than a revolving door of repeat calls.
Every disturbing headline like the one out of Muhlenberg County reinforces the same truth: Pretending mental illness will sort itself out doesn't protect liberty; it abandons responsibility. A system that forces families to wait for a disaster before acting isn't humane.
It takes a lot of money to rebuild long-term treatment capacity, as does endless incarceration, emergency medical care, and social breakdown. Leadership means choosing prevention over chaos.
President Trump has placed civil commitment reform back into the national conversation. lawmakers at every level need to take the issue seriously. Real compassion requires structure, and real safety requires action.
Serious mental illness can't be managed with wishful thinking and empty beds. Kentucky's disturbing case shows what happens when intervention comes only after public outrage.
Editor’s Note: With President Trump back in the White House, the state of our Union is strong once again.
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