State-sanctioned death
By Brandon Astor Jones
LIFE'S EMOTIONAL GUTTER
Trying to wade through the treacherous middle-mire of the inner being's need for familial-stealth
We sometimes, quite inadvertently, encounter those ageless parental-beginnings and endings of what usually is a myriad of others
So many, in fact, that a well intentioned quest for "meaning" can be sadly reduced to little more than an ancestral desire for wealth
In which vanities, long lying unconsciously in their pristine dormancies, rise up in arms against the sought "Self" we then smother
Hiding, child-like, amid the Goodness and Innocence of a spirit-mind too long wasted that falls into its own very bad health
And therein, too late we realise that TRUTH'S ILLUMINATION is not our mindless descent into, but instead, the ascension out of
LIFE'S EMOTIONAL GUTTER
In this space, late last year, an essay was published featuring the poem above. In reference to the poem, I wrote, "I will compose a poem in the hope of bringing readers and myself closer together. The poem will be published again when one reader — whose critique of the poem ... tells me in a clearly printed letter what (s)he feels is the central message conveyed by the poem." And I asked such readers also to write a poem that I in turn would critique in this space.
Thank you to those who responded. I would especially like to thank James Douglas Andrews, who wrote, "Reading [your poem] ... reminds me of me. I once thought that my heritage defined who I am. [Your] ... poem suggests the danger in that [thinking]. [You] address a universal concern — the need to discover one's purpose. In seeking meaning, especially in one's roots, empty standards of [self-] measure are often found. These vain standards must be ignored if truth is to be disclosed. Absolute Truth is: that identity only knows of its own existence as one escapes [and/or embraces his or her own] originality." Critiques are subjective, of course, but this one is accurate. Thank you, Mr Andrews. Now to your poem:
JUSTICE BLINDS
And justice for all
their jobs they must keep
And justice for all
they spare no Black sheep
And justice for all
accused am I
And justice for all
they plucked out my eye
And justice for all
could not see to fight
And justice for all
lost my last right.
I read a duality in this poem that both Mr Andrews and the scales of justice, in the symbolic robed form of womanhood, are speaking to me through it. The age-old adage that suggests that justice is supposed to be blind to one's class and station in life comes to mind as one realises that Mr Andrews' skin colour had as much — if not more — to do with his being sentenced to death as anything else at his trial.
Unfortunately, the death penalty in the United States is a business, and everyone in it must do their job if the business is to prosper and continue housing, feeding and clothing its work force's families. Therefore, it is logical to presume that justice will continue to pretend to be blind so that she cannot see or fight the racism, classism and sexism that is the heart and soul of capital punishment in the USA. Mr Andrews' first right is his right to life, but being subjected — as he is — to the backward standards set forth by the evils of US politics, he has but one right now and that is his "last right" — more commonly known as state-sanctioned death.
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns (include your name and full return address on the envelope, or prison authorities may refuse to deliver it). He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-77, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA.]