Always About the Lyrics

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER, 2014.

           True story: Folk singer Woody Guthrie, who had stood with the unemployed at the height of the depression, watched as thousands of Oklahomans, and Kansans, and Texas panhandlers headed west to California during the dust bowl, was incensed over Irving Berlin’s “God Bless America,” that melding of civil into religion that should give any devout Christian pause. Guthrie’s response was to pen “This Land is Your Land”

            “This land is your land, this land is my land

            From California to the New York Island;

            From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters;

            This land was made for you and me.”

            I love that song. I love the imagery Woody Guthrie creates with Biblical clarity as “the fog was lifting, a voice was chanting, this land was made for you and me.” The lyrics; it is always about the lyrics. They can move you, sustain you, give you hope. Nowhere is that truer than in here.

            Each morning around 4:00 I begin my day with the Episcopal liturgical calendar. I’m not Episcopalian, but on my 50^th birthday a dear friend delivered the Episcopalian “Book of Common Prayer” to me at the jail. I’ve had it with me ever since and begin each morning with the day’s verse selections. Each day begins the same with Psalms, lyrical poems of praise, or anger, or fear, or just asking God “why” – why this, why me? Each morning I take a 3X5 index card and jot down a verse to contemplate throughout the day. The Psalms, those lyrical, powerful, gut-wrenching Psalms, provide me clarity – and hope.

            I don’t get most music today. I’m stuck in a warp of great old tunes, songs that mattered. I don’t get singing – or rapping – about “bling,” and Hennessy, and large butts, but I pause and think often of Peter, Paul and Mary singing “If I had a Hammer” or “Blowin in the Wind.” Folk singer Pete Seeger penned “Where have all the Flowers Gone.” He was blacklisted and attacked by a drunken, hateful Senator McCarthy during the red baiting of the ‘50s. Pete just kept on singing … about civil rights, and war, and the water. McCarthy fell and died in alcoholic oblivion; Pete kept singing into his 90s.

            They told Peter, Paul, and Mary if they marched in Selma they’d never sell another record south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The trio said the music mattered more than record sales. For almost 50 years they sang – in the face of Nixon’s battle with Vietnam War protesters, in El Salvador standing with the churches decrying the killing by both left and right. The lyrics mattered. The lyrics always matter.

            Almost every blog I write has some song lyric or Bible verse attached. Those words give me direction. I keep a large folder of song lyrics in my locker, close to two hundred songs. There are songs that speak of heartbreak and lost love; songs of the future; songs of protest. Each one contains lines which cry out with emotion and truth. And truth is so hard to find these days.

            Today begins the Christmas season, Advent, the coming of the long-expected Messiah, Emmanuel, “God with us,” Hymns, beautiful hopeful hymns I recite as I run the track. And, while hearing those songs, I remember John Prine’s “Christmas in Prison.”

            “It’s Christmas in prison

            There’ll be music tonight

            I’ll probably get homesick

            I love you. Goodnight.”

            Psalms, songs, poems, lyrics all speaking to who we are, who we want to be. The lyrics matter, especially in here.

 

The Promised Land (2)

On June 11, 1963, a reluctant young President Kennedy addressed the nation. For the second time in his administration he was forced to federalize a state’s National Guard to ensure that black students were able to enroll in universities, which were deemed “off-limits” to people of color.

            Kennedy was not a champion of civil rights at the time. His ventures into the increasingly violent white reaction to a black minister’s call for an end to “Jim Crow,” a call for equality under the law regardless of the color of one’s skin, were often politically motivated. But now, with a Southern Governor standing on the threshold of his state’s flagship university and refusing admittance to two qualified black students in defiance of a Federal court order, with fire hoses and attack dogs let loose on peaceful children (some as young as six) marching and singing, Kennedy had seen enough.

            Race, he said, was a moral issue. America cannot be the land it professes to be as long as some of its citizens are denied the American dream, denied equal citizenship because of their color. He said, “Race has no place in American life or law.”

            That night, a young black wife and her children waited for a husband and father to arrive home in Jackson, Mississippi. This man – soft spoken and well versed – was the face of the civil rights movement in his state. As his wife and children walked out the front door of their home to tell him of President Kennedy’s words a shot rang out. Medgar Evers lay dead in his driveway. His crime? He believed in “the promised land.”

            Race in America. President Kennedy was right. Until we deal with it, lay it out there and move forward, America will never get to the Promised Land. I write this blog in a moment of deep distress over what I saw in here this week among young men who are – purportedly – seeking an education and a future. As I have written so often, prison is a reflection of the society at large. The views, the prejudices, uttered in here are the same as those out there. That thought distresses me.

            A Humanities class is being taught. The subject the African-American experience. It is taught through great American literature and it is taught by a petite white woman. The class is equally divided: eight whites, eight blacks. It wasn’t intended that way; that’s just how the college student pool in here breaks down.

            From the outset of the class I heard carping from white students. “Why do I need this bullshit?” My response: Have you ever read ‘A Raisin in the Sun”? Have you ever read Richard Wright? Do you know who Langston Hughes is? Maya Angelou? Have you ever dissected Dr. King’s letter smuggled from the Birmingham Jail?

            They reluctantly agree to give the class a shot, all the while muttering code words for the “N” word: “Yams,” “Canadians.” There are dozens of words tossed around in prison that white guys use to degrade blacks without uttering the “N” word.

            So now I’m pissed. I can’t believe I’m having to justify Dr. King to a bunch of idiots – worse, idiots who profess a belief in the teachings expressed by Jesus yet they fail to see that everything Dr. King wrote and preached began with this pure statement of faith:

            “We as a people will get to the Promised Land … Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”

            Powerful, heartfelt words of faith and determination, and hope, uttered-ironically – less than 24 hours before he too was cut down by an assassin’s bullet.

            In frustration I run and wonder how professing Christians can ignore Paul’s words to the citizens of Athens (Acts 17) as he proclaimed “the God who made the world and everything in it … He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on the face of the earth.” We are so far from the Promised Land.

            I was frustrated and angry … and it got worse. For now there were the black students, members of offshoot black supremacist groups acting under color of religion: the IVOI, Moors Temple, 5%ers. They profess intellectual acumen yet they are forged and schooled in the same dearth of prejudice and ignorance I just confronted with the whites.

            “Why do you want to teach this material?” One guy asks in class. The question, at first blush, seems innocuous; but it isn’t. Moments before, I heard this same Einstein shake his head and say, “I got to listen to this European lady talk about black issues.” “European,” that’s black “supremacy” lingo for “cracker.”

            “Why do you want us to read Native Son? Why do you want us to read 12 Years a Slave?” Each question is a challenge to her. He might as well say, “What gives you the right to delve into the black experience? You aren’t black!” And I get more frustrated, pissed off, angry. “When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?”

            “I don’t know what the future holds … but I know who holds the future.” On one of the darkest days of the civil rights struggle – bombings, murders, beatings, - a fearful group of parishioners gathered in an all-black church on a sweltering day. Dr. King, from the pulpit, uttered those words and from around that church came soft murmurs of “Yes, Lord.” “The Promised Land” is so because He deems it to be so. God – not man – will deliver His people to the Promised Land.

            A story I have never shared with anyone. I was a sophomore in college living in a wild party-filled dorm across campus. In the room next to mine was a young black guy from Dayton, Ohio – Johnny D. Johnny and I shared some common interests in music, food, girls. I thought I was cool – I had a black friend.

            One night we had a party on our floor. There was way too much alcohol and weed; there were girls everywhere and we were all getting way too sloppy and out of hand. I’d spent some time with “Charlotte” a tall, gorgeous girl from Valdosta, Georgia. We were making out, getting friendly, when she saw Johnny looking our way. In her sexiest Southern drawl she told me the “N” was making her uncomfortable. I turned toward Johnny and laughing said, “he’s a harmless n-----.” … As the word came out of my mouth I had a flash of sobriety. I saw his face and what my saying that word had done. In my rush to win over some beautiful, though obviously ignorant, girl I had done something harmful.

            “Look, Johnny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to impress her.” He looked at me and said, “It’s ok. I’m used to it.” The truth is you never are used to that.

            I have never used that word since. I still feel guilt over saying it then. “The promised land.” Will we ever get there?

            “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Powerful words that describe the dream of America written by a slave owner from Virginia.

            “Jesus loves the little children

            All the children of the world

            Red and yellow

            Black and white

            They are precious in His sight

            Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

            Will we ever get to the Promised Land? We have to walk through the valley of fear and ignorance. In God’s eyes there is no black or white, no yellow or brown. In spite of this week’s race baiting and ignorance on both sides I still have hope. As Dr. King so eloquently put it in his Letter from Birmingham Jail, America will overcome the scourge of its racial past because,

            “The sacred heritage of our nation and the

            eternal will of God are embodied in our

            echoing demands.”

Raising Caine

As usual, what happens in prison in the name of “justice” turns out to be a caricature of everything wrong with calling this place a “corrections” center.  The people who run this place, the people in charge of the Department of Corrections, cut corners, use threats of investigation and going to “the hole” to intimidate, and daily break the very rules they put in place to comply with constitutionally dictated minimum standards of conduct.  It’s all done in the name of corrections. It’s all done in the name of justice.  And, it’s all done wrong.

On Wednesday, “Caine” – named for his dealership expertise in powdery substance – was led out of the building in handcuffs and taken to the hole.  He’s under investigation for “inciting a riot”.  Next to murder or sexual assault, no charge in prison is as serious as inciting a riot.  But, inciting a riot doesn’t mean mayhem.  No, in prison-speak inciting a riot means attempting to organize any collective action on the part of the inmate population.

Inmates are prohibited from organizing.  There can be no petitions for redress of grievances; no hunger strikes, sit downs, work stoppages, collective requests to the administration.  Anyone caught engaging in that behavior is subject to immediate “isolation confinement”, having your good time taken, and seeing your security level raised to “max”.  In short, you end up at Red Onion (Virginia’s notorious level 6 Max security prison). 

So what did Caine do to incite a riot?  In January, the Warden sent out a memorandum announcing that inmates were no longer permitted to own weight lifting gloves.  “All gloves must be shipped home through property or disciplinary charges will follow.”  So Caine did the right thing.  He filed a grievance.  In it, he noted that the Constitution does not allow property to be taken by the Government “without due process granted and just compensation paid” (sounds like a lawyer wrote that doesn’t it?).  Caine pointed out that DOC’s own regulations require it to compensate an inmate when property legitimately purchased is later ruled contraband.

Thirty days after every inmate mailed their gloves home without compensation, the Warden found in Caine’s favor.  He was reimbursed.

Caine realized no one else had been paid.  So, he had a contact make dozens of copies of the grievance decision with his name blacked out.  And, he gave copies to guys in every building.  And just like that inmates around the compound began to request reimbursement.

“Where’d you get the copies?” they asked him as they were going through his stuff and hauling him away.  Making copies, you see, is also prohibited.  Information is power.  Information exposes the reality of this disgustingly pathetic, failed system.

Later that afternoon, I was assisting our computer class when the investigators came through.  They went back to the school office and pulled Craig in.  “You making copies for people?”  Of course Craig wasn’t.  Neither he, nor I, would jeopardize what we’re doing at the school.  Still, the heat Craig felt was real.  Get guys to snitch, tie the school in, ruin the educational opportunities being related.  It happens all the time.  It’s a constant battle.  Ignorance drives most of the criminal behavior evidenced by the inmate population.  Ignorance is job security for the rank and file who work at DOC.

As I write this Caine sits in isolation.  He’ll be fine.  He’s done twelve years already.  He knows in a week or two he’ll be back in college classes.  He didn’t incite a riot.

The same day Todd received his “update sheet”.  Update sheets are the summary of our annual review.  They are based on a 100 point scale.  Hold a job?  20 points.  Have a vocational/treatment plan and meet the terms?  40 points .  Stay infraction free?  40 points.  Everything included in the annual review, including the setting and awarding of security level and good time earning level is controlled by a department operating procedure, DOP 830.3.  Prisons may not arbitrarily act for or against any prisoner; that is a fundamental tenet of the law.  Depriving a man (or woman) of their freedom does not give the government carte blanche to do anything they want.  DOC must follow due process and 830.3 sets out specifically what must be done.

But rules are regularly ignored and violated by the administration.  In Todd’s case, last March he received two charges:  one a 200 series charge for crossing a restricted line.  The second charge was for taking an onion from the chow hall.  This was always considered a series 200 contraband charge until two days before Todd was caught.  Then, it was elevated to a 100 series “stealing charge” (question:  how do you steal food off your tray?).

So Todd wore two charges.  And 830.3 specifically states that a 200 series charge leads to a 10 point deduction and a nonviolent 100 series charge leads to a 20 point deduction.  And 830.3 further states you must have 85 points (minimum) to earn full good time (4.5 days per month).  70 points to 85 and you earn 3 days per month.  Under 60, no earned good time.

So Todd works all year; he becomes a certified dog handler; he completes the IT program with honors and becomes A+ certified (a national IT certification); and, he gets admitted to a four-year Virginia university on his release.

But, his counselor and the administration change his good time level.  They don’t deduct 30 points based on his charges as DOP 830.3 requires.  No, they deduct 50 points.  Why?  The counselor told him, “we’re not gonna give you full credit for school because you pulled these charges.”  That’s not what 830.3 says.  Their response?  You’ll have to make Richmond tell us.”

Ironic isn’t it.  Governor McDonnell tells the press “inmates have civil rights” then his corrections department personnel act in illegal ways to “manage” the facilities.  Disrespect for their own rules breeds disrespect in the inmate population.  It’s time people outside demand better from those paid to enforce the law and guard the rights of citizens, even the incarcerated.  It’s time to “raise caine” for real justice, even in the prisons.

Pardon Me

This past week the Richmond Times-Dispatch reported on the number of felons who have had their civil rights restored by Governor McDonnell.  This Governor, it appears, is on pace to exceed rights restoration for felons by his predecessors.  The Governor should be applauded for his efforts.  But, 300,000 Virginians still wear the scarlet letter “F” for felon and are denied their basic right to vote.

This isn’t about civil rights, perhaps it should be.  Suffice it to say, this Nation was founded on a principle that rights derive from God, not man. While society has an absolute right to legislate certain behavior and enforce a code with criminal penalties, Virginia is in the minority of states who do not automatically restore a felon’s civil rights at the conclusion of his (or her) sentence.   That Virginia stands out with such a hostile position on rights restoration is ironic given the Commonwealth’s history as the focal point of this Nation’s democracy and the home to revered figures such as Jefferson and Madison.

But that isn’t the point of this piece.  This is about the lack of political will by Governors to use their power to pardon.  Exercising that power is not without risk.  Former Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour pardoned 200 present and former inmates on his last day in office and was publicly skewered, mostly by CNN talking head Anderson Cooper.  As an aside, I wonder if Cooper’s continuing interest in Barbour’s pardons is the result of Barbour being a Republican (Anderson said nothing when New York State Governor Andrew Cuomo (Democrat) released thousands to reduce his state’s huge budget deficit).

Barbour acted, as he said, out of a deep sense of “Christian faith” that everyone deserves a second chance.  That sentiment is shared by men such as former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee (R) who coincidentally is also an ordained Baptist Minister.

And the exercise of that power has historically been routinely used by Governors to manage prison populations, correct miscarriages of justice and to make far-reaching statements about our criminal justice system.  Somehow though, as the call for more religion in our society has grown, we have become a Nation using the criminal justice system solely for retribution.  The demand for longer, harsher sentencing, and the public’s indifference to the horrendous conditions in our Nation’s prisons, are completely devoid of the fundamental premises of Christianity which so many politicians and pundits espouse.

No less an authority than United States Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy along with the American Bar Association wisely recommended in 2004 that both the President and Governors “revitalize the clemency process”.  This plea has, it appears, fallen on deaf ears.

Virginia currently has as its Governor, Robert McDonnell, a graduate of Pat Robertson’s Regents University Law School, a school dedicated to the practice of law in keeping with the tenets of Christian faith.  McDonnell, during his election run, routinely spoke about his faith as he courted Evangelical voters.  Throughout his first two years in office he has spoken eloquently about his faith. 

And yet, McDonnell has done virtually nothing to alleviate overcrowding in Virginia’s prisons.  He has done virtually nothing to institute meaningful sentence and prison reform.  Last year he released two terminally ill inmates on conditional release so they could die at home with their families, just two.  Meanwhile, the number of inmates over the age of 50 has grown dramatically.

McDonnell’s parole board releases less than three percent of the inmates who appear before them, an abysmal number.  Inmates are all treated the same regardless of the efforts they show to be remorseful and rehabilitated.

I wonder how differently the growth of Christianity would have been if Jesus, when confronted by the lawyers holding the adulterous woman had said, “Give me the rock.  She broke the law.  She deserves to die.  No mercy.”

But, thankfully for all of us, that isn’t what He said, or did.  He set a high bar – for all of us.  We are called to show mercy.

Governors have that power.  It’s high time they use it.  Prison is supposed to create an atmosphere of rehabilitation and remorse, not a breeding ground for revenge and retribution.  Governor McDonnell can be a leader in the effort to bring real faith into the system.  Pardon me, Governor.  Isn’t that what our faith is all about?