Christmas ’14, Part 1 – A Wonderful Life?

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

What am I thinking about? Good question, at least that’s what I tell myself. It hit me, like most revelations I encounter, at the end of a 10K run. It was a cool, crisp fall Saturday, perfect running weather and I managed the twenty-two laps around the hard gravel track with little problem. I was in the zone, fluid, smooth, constant stride propelling me forward. I wouldn’t have noticed the six guys lifting weights until I was asked the time on lap sixteen. I didn’t even miss a breath; I switched from “lap mode” to “time” with a finger push on the Ironman watch and announced, “1:22.” The laps rolled: 2:05 pace; 7:50 miles; it was a perfect run.

The entire time out there I’m singing tunes in my mind’s eye. I’m running through “Let It Be” and “Rambling Man” and “Son of a Son of a Sailor.” There’s a whole playlist in my head and I hear it and summon it on these runs. The words are etched in my mind from years of conjuring them up when I needed just “that song, just those words” to make sense of so much senselessness in my life. I sang and I told God between mind tracks I was doing well; and, I ran. I finished, shirtless and pouring sweat even with forty-five degrees, and drank water. I began to cool down and chill quite soon. Hat and sweatshirt took care of that. Then, the thought.

“A Wonderful Life.” My favorite Jimmy Stewart movie; my favorite Christmas movie, my saving hope during that first ugly holiday away. That was all before … before the filing and the decree, before the letter telling me “I’ve met someone,” before the college graduation, the wedding, the proms, cross-country races, law school, graduation, and finally before the remarriage. “A Wonderful Life.” I mattered to her and our two boys. I mattered to family and friends. This was a short chapter in my life’s book, I told myself. And, I had hope. No matter what would happen out there, eventually it would all work out.

The run ended, the cool down lap walked, and the thoughts began. Everyone was better off since my fall. A wonderful life my ass! She was remarried, happy and in love. The boys – those two amazing lives I held seconds after entry into the world, these two breathing, flesh and blood creations who I whispered “Forever Young” to over nine years apart as they let out their first exhales – they had done remarkably without me. The older, he graduated with honors from a prestigious liberal arts college. He’d gone to law school, married his college sweetheart; there’s been law review, awards at graduation, a clerkship. The younger had become an athlete – triathlons, teaching swimming, considering Navy Seals after high school. His girlfriend was gorgeous, blonde, blue-eyed athletic. He spent his senior high school year already in college. I had left a slightly pudgy, round-faced little eleven year-old. He had grown in my absence into a man.

The new husband, the new me, he’d taken my place with “the guys,” our collection of husbands from the small band of couples who socialized. “He’s not as funny as you,” one of my buddies who dared stay in touch told me. Still, he was me – or playing me, living in “my” house, using “my” Viking gas grill, sleeping in “my” room with “my” wife … except it wasn’t … mine … anymore. None of it: the house, the beautiful – though complex – soulmate, the sons, the social club. It was all gone and it was as if it never was mine. Everything, everyone had moved past me and I had faded; not slowly over time, no, I had been wiped clear of all their lives in rapid succession. The image overwhelmed my brain. Every breath, every thought as I stood there alone on the track with the last droplets of run sweat fading on my skin, “They are all better off.”

I showered and tried to drown out the words with music. I settled on the Beatles and began to lose myself in tune after tune until “Let it Be” began. I froze. The words from Sir Paul metastasized in my cortex. “Let it be … there will be an answer … let it be … whisper words of wisdom …” Where was my Mother Mary? Where were my words of wisdom? Everything I loved, everything I had ever truly wanted, ever truly valued, was gone. And there was no regret, no comparable loss from those out there. I thought maybe that’s better, maybe that’s good, they are whole, healthy, living. In the back of my mind I heard the whispers, “You’re fooling yourself. Too easy. You never mattered, you weren’t even needed …”

            “It’s a Wonderful Life.” George Bailey delayed everything he dreamt of, everything he wanted, to stay in tiny Bedford Falls. Then the bank examiner, and forgetful Uncle Billy, and criminal charges facing him. George is on the bridge. All is lost. Even God, the Being he prayed to and said “I’m not a real spiritual man, but show me the way …” had – it seemed – abandoned him. He looked at the water below, life insurance contract in hand, and knew he was worth more dead than alive.

            I choke up every time I see Jimmy Stewart on that bridge. I choke up because I know what’s coming. Clarence, George Bailey’s guardian angel appears, and soon it all becomes clear that George’s life mattered. He meant something to more people than he ever knew. I choke up because I know – at least in Hollywood – dramatic arcs come to conclusions and there are restorations, reconciliations, happy endings. Not this day, not the way I feel. There aren’t any happy endings …

            Happy. That’s a word we throw around so nonchalantly. “I want to be happy.” What does that mean? I think of my happiest days – the day I married her; hearing heartbeats on the ultrasounds; holding healthy baby boys. Yeah, happy days … and yet distant memories. All of it replaced; all of it set aside; all of it lost. This isn’t a movie. There’s no brother “Harry,” no “Mr. Martini” coming to my aid. And, “Mary” – she’s gone. Billy Wilder, you bastard! You made me believe I matter …

            “Unto us a Son is given;

            And the government will be upon His shoulder.

            And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace …”

            It’s the next morning, still dark, and I’ve had a lousy night. It’s Advent, expectation and preparation – “God with us.” I went to sleep trying to pray, trying to be hopeful, trying to …

            And the verse from Isaiah is there before me. There is clarity in those words; they make sense. And, the voice quiets. You know, it was a good life … it still is a good life. There are expectations for the future, a good future. And I realize. I was wrong. My watch alarm goes off – chimes – and I never have it on chimes. I think of the movie and little “ZuZu” telling her father, “teacher says every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” She might just be right.

 

Another Closing?

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

            The COs have been on edge the past few days. Rumors are circulating that another prison closing will be announced before Christmas. Given the age of the current facilities still in operation betting is on Buckingham or Nottoway, both level 3/4 prisons. I say “good.” The waste and mismanagement that permeates DOC is appalling. That so few know about it – or even care to understand it – is worse. Like regular German civilians who didn’t “want to know” what was going on behind the concentration camp fences, so too it seems are the vast majority of Virginians who choose to ignore the $1.2 billion annually spent to house 40,000 behind bars.

            As I’ve written repeatedly in these pages, Virginia’s prisons are run like self-contained fiefdoms. Department Operating Procedures put in place to provide uniform standards are arbitrarily enforced from facility to facility and inmate to inmate. Discipline and grievance procedures – created to provide constitutionally guaranteed due process rights, are ignored. It is virtually impossible for an inmate to prevail in a hearing where an officer has written a charge or where the facility has violated its own DOPs.

            It clearly is a tough time for DOC. A billion dollars is “real” money and probing eyes are beginning to look at how it’s spent by the prisons. And the easy answer for the director, his regional managers, and even the wardens themselves, is to cut back on the inmates: poorer food, less access to medical and programs, less rec, cutting back work hours and pay. But, those items are just small line items compared to the tens of millions spent on too many officers, counselors, and administrators who draw a check just for “watching.”

            It was reported in last week’s Washington Post that Texas’s prison reform efforts have yielded a “$3 billion savings.” Those efforts included sentence reductions, early release for nonviolent offenders, and more emphasis on community corrections. Great ideas all and yet Virginia DOC continues to ignore them and instead does the old “sweep in and close.”

            Virginia’s prison operation since the early ‘90s – when parole was abolished – has been built on a series of lies involving “tough on crime” slogans, the real cost of incarceration, and the effects these policies would have on crime rates and recidivism. Those lies are coming due and doors are being closed … and I say it’s about time.

           

 

Sentences: Beginning and Ending

 THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

            This week the last two men still here from our original Campus within Walls cohorts (group #2 who began in December of 2011) leave for home. “Mopey Joe” and “Chase” are leaving this place, this life (if you call living like this “life”) after 14 and 19 years respectively. I will miss both these men.

            “Mopey Joe.” I gave Will that name shortly after I met him in 2011. He was a “grumbler,” who reminded me of the “Winnie the Pooh” character, “Eeyore.” But, he was a decent, quiet guy who committed an armed robbery shortly before his 19^th birthday (coincidentally, the “victim” was not a choir boy himself – he too was on the police “radar.” To avoid his own legal problems, he fingered “Mopey Joe.”). “Mopey Joe” did hard time at some not so nice high level facilities.

            Chase is approaching his fiftieth birthday. As a young man in Baltimore, he was not the man he is today. He found himself on the wrong side of the law more often than he may even care to admit, but it was always “2 years here, 2 years there.” Then, in Northern Virginia, he crossed a line – a violent robbery and lock up for the next 19 years. When I first met him he walked up to me and told me, “I’m not sure I can do this college program. I never even turned on a computer.” I watched Chase learn to type; I watched him learn to write well; I watched Chase succeed… and complete our program.

            Both men leave before Christmas. And I watch as they prepare for life after this place, after this experience, and I hope and pray they do well. Prison – contrary to what politicians and judges say when they seek to justify billions in spending and millions of lives wasted – is not transformative. No one ever leaves prison better because of prison. No, you leave here transformed in spite of the filth, and insanity, and violence. Character – real character – comes out in the worst circumstances. Both of these men are decent, caring, and compassionate. That doesn’t ignore the fact that they committed wrongs which led to their incarceration. It should make you ask, did they deserve so much time?

            Both men will see their sentences end next week. Both men will begin lives anew and try to forget the worst and maybe remember those few moments of joy and friendship that somehow even arise in places like this.

            Sentences begin. For Virginia’s ex-Governor, Robert McDonnell, he sits on the cusp of his sentencing. Shortly after the new year begins he will enter the main courtroom in the Federal Court building in downtown Richmond. There, the presiding U.S. District Court Judge will hand down his sentence and McDonnell will, undoubtedly be going to prison. The U.S. Probation Office filed its “pre-sentencing” report the other day and recommended “at least ten years.” McDonnell is in purgatory right now. His old life is over. He may be going through the motions, acting as if all is as it was, but it isn’t. He knows nothing about what is coming. Until you hear that door slam shut, until you are processed in, you don’t know anything about it.

            The ex-Governor will stand there and hear the sentence handed down and he will feel more alone, more lost than ever before. And, he will wonder if he can survive it all. Can he survive prison, and loss of reputation, and loss of wealth and privilege? That is the beginning; it feels so much like the end – the end of dreams, and lifestyle, and relationships – but it is the beginning.

            Then there is “fighting Joe” Morrissey, member of the Virginia House of Delegates, lawyer – once disgraced, then restored – who accepted an “Alford” plea (Alford plea says “I’m not admitting guilt, but I know you have enough to convict me.) On 1 count of misdemeanor “contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” Morrissey was given a 6 month sentence; he’ll serve 90 days at the Henrico Jail, my “home” for a year.

            The Morrissey case points out the problems inherent in the criminal justice system. A family dispute – estranged parents – and the father notifies authorities that Morrissey is engaged in an “improper sexual relationship with his underage daughter (question: can there ever be a “proper” sexual relationship with someone underage?) Allegations of nude pictures on his cellphone (“child pornography”), underage drinking, and more come out in the press. Morrissey denies it all and vows to put up a fight.

            Both the girl (the alleged “victim”) and her mother claim nothing inappropriate occurred. The press eats it all up. After all, love him or hate him, Jim Morrissey brings ratings. Then, at the courthouse, just moments from beginning trial, the parties announced the plea. And Morrissey? He showed up at the Henrico Jail and smiling – genuinely smiling – he began his 90 day sentence.

            I like Joe Morrissey, always have. He thumbs his nose at the “civil,” the elite who rely on their status to maintain their comfortable lives. Morrissey regularly spoke out for the disenfranchised, the poor, the poorly educated, those behind bars. But, I can’t help and think that by accepting this plea he is admitting he crossed a line, a line no reasonable adult can justify.

            Morrissey will do his 90 days. His sentence is short but the repercussions to his career, his reputation, may last the remainder of his life. That is the thing with most sentences: they have beginning dates and end dates but the results may go with you.

            Two sentences end, two sentences begin and for each man their lives go forward.

 

 

Who we aspire to be

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

            They beheaded him. It made “Breaking News” like all the others before him. Was he a journalist, an aid worker, or just a guy who saw abject suffering and it gnawed at him until he decided to do something, to witness what horrors man continues to inflict on his fellow man and to say, “At least with me, no more.” They cut his head off all the while filming the entire brutal, ugly incident. They filmed and they scoffed.

            And we react with revulsion at the barbarism and inhumanity, at the lack of moral clarity in the act and the words. We cry out for “justice,” yet it isn’t justice we seek, its vengeance. We demand retribution all the while ignoring the blood that is on our own hands.

            The issue, we are told this week, is whether “enhanced interrogation techniques are effective in stopping terrorism.” The issue, we are told, is given the nature of our enemy, what is acceptable in a “war unique in the annals of history.” I respectfully disagree. The real question is: does our conduct in war – and peace – keep with the ideals of this country? Or, as Senator John McCain so eloquently put it, “Does this represent who we were, who we are, and who we aspire to be?”

            I speak of the recently released report on CIA activities during the days following 9/11. In truth, I speak beyond that to the foundational notion that exceptional nations act exceptionally. Americans understand in their gut that the reason government must always vest “in the people” is because governments – like all human – failed creatures that we are – institutions are capable of evil. As a believer in the redemptive power of God’s grace. I understand all too well that we are all fallen, we are all sinful, we are all capable of doing the “wrong” thing at any given time. But, we are called to see, as President Lincoln, described it, “the better angels” in ourselves. When we justify the use of torture in the name of a “war” against anyone, we are no more moral, no less evil, than those who attack us.

            Fear causes us to do extraordinary things. I remember those first weeks after 9/11 when we weren’t sure if more attacks were coming, when we weren’t sure even how many were dead. There were rumors attacks; anthrax scares. And my immediate reaction was one of bloodlust. “Kill them all,” I thought. That was hardly a unique perspective.

            It has been that way throughout our collective history. In the Civil War we held soldiers in horrendous prison camps. Sherman burned a path through Georgia and the Carolinas; Lincoln usurped the Constitution and set aside habeas corpus relief. In World War I, German-Americans were rounded up; Congress passed numerous laws which denied basic First Amendment rights of dissent and speech. World War II and we rounded up American citizens of Japanese descent. We put them in “internment camps” and took their property.  In the name of victory we bombed cities in Germany: Cologne, Dresden, Hamburg, killing tens of thousands of innocent men, women, and children, noncombatants. Against Japan we vaporized two whole cities.

            During Korea we allowed Senator McCarthy and his band of red-baiters to destroy fellow citizen’s lives by declaring them “communists.” Vietnam and we watched our air force drop napalm on villages, Agent Orange defoliage on our own troops; we had My Lai and other atrocities. No, our history is replete with our own acts of barbarism.

            Men have been held at Guantanamo Bay for over thirteen years without charge. Our government tortured men: waterboarding, “rectal” feeding, threats with sexual attack, sleep deprivation, solitary confinement, cold and chained to a wall; in the name of saving our country. But what is worth saving if we commit to that type of behavior?

            “Who we aspire to be.” I have the utmost respect for Senator McCain. He knows full well the pain and anguish of torture. In the hands of our Vietnamese enemy, McCain was repeatedly beaten. He was hung by his arms until his shoulders came out of socket. He was kept in solitary confinement, deprived of food and medical care. Senator McCain says he would have done anything, said anything, to stop the torture. Torture is just that – torture. I read in Louie Zamperini’s amazing biography, “Unbroken,” of the horrendous treatment he withstood at the hands of sadistic guards. Is that who we aspire to be?

            British philosopher Edmund Burke said “the only thing necessary for evil to succeed is for a few good men to do nothing.” Evil is never overcome by evil. You overcome evil by good. An editorial cartoon published on the day the CIA report was released shows a grinning OBL in hell holding up a sign that says, “We win.” “Who we aspire to be.”

            For the last six and a half years I have seen some of the worst in men … and some of the best. I have had to rethink every preconceived notion I held about justice, law, and my obligations as a Christian, a citizen, a human being. I know that evil will never be overcome by evil. We must aspire to be like the Good Samaritan, to show mercy to those in need and forgiveness to those who cause us harm.

            As the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer was led to the gallows, the SS doctor observing his execution noted he had never seen a man so at peace as he faced his death. “They may kill your body, but they can’t kill your soul.” Those words are in the Gospel of Luke. They killed Bonhoeffer on a spring day in 1945 but his memory, his writings, his faith lives on. And his executioners? Long forgotten. Who do we aspire to be?

 

Thinking about Noel’s Words

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

            Noel is a 17 year old serving a robbery sentence in a California juvenile corrections facility. When he turns 18 he will leave the juvenile system and be transported to San Quentin. That’s no place for a teenager, even one who committed a robbery. Noel submitted an essay to The Beat Within, a juvenile justice writing workshop. I read his piece (sent in to me from outside). He writes in a mature style with a weariness not typically seen in one so young. He reflects on why “the system” – i.e. the prison system – is so successful. Much of what he writes on that subject is “prison myth,” the great government conspiracy theories that abound in here.

            But, his words have value and should be listened to if we really care about the young, disenfranchised, mostly men of color. He begins,

            “The way I see it, somehow, like a game of chess, the government has thought an incredible number of moves ahead …”

            The conspiracy we are told, is to destroy young men of color, to subjugate them and leave them and their progeny forever in poverty and helplessness. I have been told repeatedly by young African American men that this country hates blacks; that the law is used to enslave and annihilate them.

            “We are the state’s cash cows (we, being prisons), the reason why more prisons are being built than schools … There’s big money in slavery, pimping, extortion – just ask the IRS. These taxes are used to pay the interest on our debts as well as brainwash our citizens to fight and terrorize other countries who refuse to go along with America’s plans.”

            Another “myth” you hear inside prison – namely, that states make money off inmates and that’s why no one gets out. No, prisons drain scarce dollars from schools, healthcare, and roads. It is true, however, that our “words” don’t match our “deeds.” We talk of freedom and human dignity and yet we live daily with a prison-industrial complex that holds 25% of the world’s prisoners, that has more prisoners held in solitary confinement than the rest of the world combined, that allows the government virtually unfettered violations of our privacy in the name of “security;” that allows police to choke a man to death whose alleged “crime” is the misdemeanor sale of cigarettes without paying the tax. I understand how myths arise.

            “Mine is an imprisoned generation,” Noel writes. He explains his comrades attraction to street gangs and the exploitation of his community by the entertainment industry, “our men are being taken, or brainwashed into believing a righteous path includes maiming our brothers and abandoning our women, while robbing themselves of their most valuable possession – trust in the human race.”

            I understand Noel’s words. Each day I spend hours helping and talking to young men for whom hope is a 4 letter word. Like Noel, they are bright, creative men who have so very much to offer. We must find a way to harness that creativity, to re-instill hope, to create an environment of second chances. Too many lives are being lost. Noel’s words matter.

 

 

 

Holton Hears a Who

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

            My apologies to Dr. Seuss, but sometimes things just show up in my mail and I read them and realize “this says it all!” Such was my reaction when I read Walter Holton’s op ed on prison reform, “Changing the Priorities of a ‘Prison-Happy Country.’” Who is Walter Holton? He’s the former United States Attorney for the Middle District of North Carolina. He was chief federal prosecutor in his district and he handled more than his own share of criminal prosecutions. He understands the “system.” So, his insights, his critiques, should carry weight. Funny thing is, he sees prisons – and this nation’s love affair with incarceration – as in dire need of change.

            “We are a prison-happy country with five percent of the world’s population and 25 percent of the world’s prisoners. Our prisons are overrun with non-violent offenders hit with mandatory minimum sentences or longer sentences than were previously imposed for the same crimes.”

            How about this from the former federal prosecutor:

            “Research now shows conclusively that longer prison sentences do not reduce crime …

            Prison punishes – that’s it. Prisons take people out of work. Prisons remove parents from children and from child support obligations. Prisons almost certainly guarantee that the prisoner returns home less educated, less trained, and less employable. As a result, crime goes up, not down. The numbers don’t lie.”

            Harsh critique from one who was on the inside. Holton understands what one day in here proves – prisons fail. They don’t make society safer, they don’t reduce crime, and they don’t deter future criminal wrongdoing. Holton isn’t saying there should be no prisons. But, prisons, historically used for the violent; are now overrun with most non-violent offenders serving abnormally long sentences.

            How did we get to this place?

            “We made mistakes,” Holton writes. “One big one is promising states money to build prisons if they agree to lengthen prison sentences. They did. Prisons sprang forth and have filled. We have incarcerated prisoners at a world-record pace, taking in the violent and the non-violent. Oops. (Don’t you just love it when a federal prosecutor uses the term “oops.”) …

            Federal and state prison budgets now eat one-third of the money available for the public good. The United States Department of Justice … now feeds one-third of its total budget to the prisons.”

            Feeling safer American? Prisons bleed money and lives. Prisons – for all but the most violent and unrepentant – serve no positive societal purpose. Prisons destroy human dignity, hopes, lives.

            The real tragedy behind America’s love affair with incarceration is that people just don’t know. They don’t know:

1. Almost 900,000 behind bars are there for nonviolent offenses;
2. 330,000 + are behind bars for drug offenses
3. 125,000 + are over the age of 55 (studies show that inmates over 30 have a 3% recidivism rate);
4. 40% of the incarcerated suffer from a diagnosed mental disease or disorder. Prisons have taken the place of mental hospitals
5. Over 50% of those incarcerated had a monthly income of less than $2000 in the month prior to their arrest
6. On any given day one in ten African-American males below age 30 will be behind bars.
7. 2.7 million children under the age of 18 have a parent behind bars
8. There are more African-American men behind bars or on probation/parole than were enslaved in 1850 before the Civil War
9. 65 million Americans have passed through the adult or juvenile criminal justice system (that’s almost one out of every five citizens)
10. There are more mental health patients in prisons than in all hospitals combined.

  

Mr. Holton understands all that. “I once was blind but now I see.” I get his conversion. See, its easy being “tough on crime” when you don’t know the truth, when you’re comfortable in your perfect American life. That was me. Then, everything came crashing down. I stood before a judge, remorseful (not just my opinion, but a state-employed forensic psychiatrist). The judge sentenced me to fifteen years of active time, more than most second degree murderers, more than most child pornographers and sex abusers. It was, pure and simple, a sentence built on punishment. There is no “rehabilitative” program available for me; no job retraining or education. It certainly won’t help with the restitution owed to my former employer. It has cost Virginia’s taxpayers over $200,000 to keep me behind bars these past six years. Is the Commonwealth safer? Were there alternatives? Will I leave here a “better” man?

            Holton writes what I see daily. Prisons are refuse centers. They are dumping grounds. For most of the pathetic men I’ve seen in my time in here, their incarceration was a forgone conclusion. The proverbial deck – with poor schools, dysfunctional families, economic inequality – was stacked against them. And their trip – or trips – here makes them even less likely to become productive citizens. And those who work here? They spend their time “minding” – watching over men, performing rote, perfunctory tasks. This isn’t skilled labor; it isn’t meaningful work. It just is … a check.

            Mr. Holton didn’t suddenly come to his epiphany. No, it was his years in the system that told him something just didn’t seem quite right. It took a while, but Mr. Holton finally heard the “who.” Do you hear it?

 

 

Words Can Be Dangerous

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

            Words; language; the ability to communicate and convey thoughts and ideas. Words are an amazing thing. Words have the ability to lift you higher than you can imagine and words can break your heart. Words can make you think; they can make you feel. Words can be complex and difficult to navigate or they can be simple and sweet and make you smile, or warm, or feel love. Words can be dangerous. They can incite and ignite; they can lead people to violence; or, they can lead people to freedom. Words, they are the first and the last thing we hear in our earthly lives.

                I read a piece recently about Ulysses, author James Joyce’s seminal novel about one day in the life of one man. I must confess, I was never overly impressed with Mr. Joyce or his novel. I read it because it was known as “America’s most banned book.” At its publication in the early days of twentieth century it was deemed pornographic and lurid, too lurid for “decent” society.

            Ulysses is just one in dozens of books – both great works of literature and mediocre musings – which find their way to be banned, prohibited from view, because someone thinks the words can cause harm. Words are dangerous. Remember the book burnings in Germany as Hitler and his henchmen came to power? Remember Salman Rushdie and his “death sentence” by fatwah for allegations of defaming the Islamic prophet? Remember the Chinese Christians locked up for having Bibles? Words convey ideas, dreams, frustrations. Words can change the course of history and topple governments. Words are powerful.

            The other week, Veterans Day to be specific, there was a concert held on the Washington Mall featuring a host of popular entertainers. Rap artist Eminem in his performance shouted out “Happy F----n Veteran’s Day.” Words can offend.

            In the past three weeks we have seen this nation’s ugly racial problems play out. Grand juries, first in Ferguson, Missouri and then just this week in New York City, refused to indict white police officers in the deaths of black men. The rhetoric on both sides has inflamed the tension. And I thought much during this time about our seeming inability to hear each other. Amid the shouting and the video bits of looting and protests, with dozens of “talking heads” trying to convince us what we should think, the meaning of it all gets lost in the cacophony of words.

            “There’s no excuse for violence or looting,” I heard that a lot. Wasn’t it the Black Panther leader Stokey Carmichael who said “violence is as American as apple pie.” And there’s truth in those words. The American Revolution wasn’t a quiet debate between agrarian intellectuals and London elites. It was bloody and barbaric. The Boston Massacre, years before the start of the revolution, was incited by a rioting mob attacking British soldiers. Violence was, violence is unfortunately, a corner-stone of this country’s history. There was nothing “civil” about this nation’s civil war. We are a nation littered in blood and violence. From “Bloody Kansas to Bloody Selma,” from the burning of Washington to the burning of Watts, we are a people steeped in rioting, and conflict, and turmoil. It is our visceral reaction, our birthright. So, breathe deeply and relax, this too shall pass.

            Five St. Louis Rams football players enter the stadium last Sunday. They raise their hands signifying “hands up, don’t shoot,” the chant which has overtaken the Ferguson protests. The five are pilloried for taking a political stance at a game. “They don’t have the right,” we hear. Except, they do. And the league can discipline them. This is, after all, America and at least – in theory – you can protest, you can speak out. You may lose your job, but you still have the right. And, it doesn’t escape my sense of humor that we react with awe and admiration when a young Chinese man tries to stop a tank in Tiananmen Square but we are offended when traffic is stopped on the Brooklyn Bridge.

            “Now we are engaged in a great civil war testing whether that nation – or any nation – can long endure.” Immortal words from President Abraham Lincoln on November 19, 1863, at the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. His words that day – less than 300 words penned by him – continue to reverberate in this nation’s conscience. I find myself turning to those words to try and understand what does this country stand for, what do we mean?

            It is time for a “civil” dialog. Words matter and words today can make all the difference. This past week two NBA greats – television commentators Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith – engaged in a civil dialog. Both successful Black men, they see the incidents in Ferguson and New York City differently. To Barkley, rioters/looters are “scumbags.” “Not all black people are good and not all white people are evil. We need the police in our poor neighborhoods.” To Smith, “if you are on an island with no way off, some will rise above, some will act in horrific ways, and some will lose hope.” A funny thing happened as these two men disagreed. As Charles Barkley said, “Kenny’s alright with me.” In their debate, in their disagreement there was commonality, there was “civil” discourse.

            A personal reflection. On a number of occasions I’ve had people try and tell me I should shut down the blog or not write some of what I put out. I’ve had gang bangers threaten me, ignorant white and black inmates tell me to “keep they business” off my pages. I’ve had COs tell me “higher ups” review my blogs. “Don’t write about security or senior staff or they’ll go after you,” a few officers have told me. I keep writing because words matter. Words can illuminate and educate and bring about change. And perhaps that’s what makes them so dangerous.

            You can burn books; you can ban writers; but words are ideas. And ideas make us human and will endure.