wanted to scream. I wanted to beat my head against the wall or pound my fists against something. Barbara sat in solitude, surrounded by well-meaning people, and wept uncontrollably. She held herself, in the absence of Donnie’s embrace, rocking back and forth in her seat.
“God,” I thought, “look at what’s happened to these people.” I was beginning to understand the implications of the issues that surrounded this circumstance and untold similar others.
Back in my college days, sitting in my dorm pounding away on my keyboard, I never imagined a day when something so morose would touch me in such an intensely personal way. I wasn’t sure I understood exactly what had happened in that courtroom, and I decided I needed to know more. I’d managed to get myself tangled up in the system, even if it was indirectly. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do, or should do, for that matter. But now that I was thinking about it, it seemed as if the process was about getting that pound of flesh, an eye for an eye, the ultimate in retribution and penance.
So who really looks out for the victims? Who consoles them and sees to it that they’re made whole again, at least as whole as they can be, given the circumstance? And what happens to those we punish?
Did you know that it only takes about 90 days to acquire a habit? That’s right! Do anything for 90 days and it’s yours!
I have a good friend named Jennie who left the city to take a job on the East Coast a few years back. She returned for a brief visit last year. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to see her. Jennie, Linda, and I went out for dinner and talked about old times and good friends, but the conversation felt unnatural and forced. It was strained and superficial. I tried my best to ignore it, to make things the way they had been, but I couldn’t.
The discussion moved to what our hopes, aspirations, and personal ideologies had been when we were young. Jennie asked if I still thought I could save the world. She laughed as she recounted me holding hands with “those people,” singing “We shall overcome.” I suddenly realized that Jennie was being insensitive and less empathic than I had known her to be. The more we talked, the more aware I was that I no longer knew her. I remembered her as a wonderful person, but her once clever, gentle wit now had an edge of malevolence to it. She seemed stuffy and arrogant.
She’d only been gone a few years. She worked with affluent people in a richly diverse community. Yet here she was, undeniably different, with different wants, needs and expectations. She had changed the way she dressed and how she talked, and she now espoused some rather demeaning and socially unhealthy attitudes. We’re still friends, but our relationship was irrevocably redefined that evening.
Jennie lived in a wonderful community, surrounded by wonderful people, and had a wonderful job. She’d left home intending to better herself but instead experienced a dramatic transformation for the worse. Imagine what other adverse changes might have occurred if she’d been surrounded by people with no morals, no ambition, and little or no compassion for others, instead of wonderland.
Take a moment to think about what happens to people when they’re confined to small spaces for extended periods of time. What happens when there’s no freedom? What would happen if you were told when to eat, when to sleep, when to recreate, when to medicate and when to change the linen on your bed? What if metal bars accentuated your view of the world and you could only exercise behind a fence your keepers called a pen? People set free from conditions such as these are expected to become paragons of societal virtue, exemplifying everything good and pure in our communities. But how could anyone reasonably expect that to happen?
When people are released from prison, they generally have no money, no job, no friends, no house, no car, no respect, and no hope. Their families are often estranged and offer little in the way of support. The “good people” of our society won’t associate with ex-offenders. They’ve been labeled “bad” and we don’t associate with “bad people.” Every police department in America has either a written or unwritten rule that doesn’t allow police officers to associate with known criminals. And all of America generally subscribes to the same precept.
All of that sounded a little heady, didn’t it? I’ve been hanging around Dylan too long. I’ll tell you more about him later. Since I started learning about the system I get excited when I talk about it. Come to think of it, that probably came from Dylan, too.
In the meantime, “Everybody makes mistakes.” We’ve heard that a thousand times. With or without strong guidance, some of us are likely to make mistakes that could subject us to adjudication within this system I’m talking about. Once offenders have paid their debts to society, we—society—have to be willing to show compassion and forgive the transgression. If we ostracize offenders, how can we expect them to become useful, productive members of society? For offenders to rehabilitate, they must be included in normal societal activities. Imagine what the human condition would be like if religious personages adopted similar attitudes and refused to associate with people they believed had sinned.
If we used this rationale in the rearing of children, we’d not only punish our offspring, but also exclude them from future family involvement forever. We wouldn’t talk to them, eat with them, or allow them to contribute to the family. Of course, we’d never do that. If you care about people, you don’t just give up on them. In fact, we generally work harder to ensure they have an opportunity to redeem themselves. We spend more time working with a child who’s having problems than one who isn’t. We do it out of love and desire for them to succeed. When you care about people, you refuse to throw them away when it’s no longer easy or convenient. People are not disposable.
There I go again, getting ahead of myself. I have got to stop doing that! After Donnie went to prison, I started asking questions. I wanted to know more about the system. I’d led a fairly sheltered existence and really knew nothing about the courts, the judges, or anything about the system, except for what I’d read in the paper, saw on the six o’clock news, or watched on the reruns of COPS.
In the city where I lived at the time, there was a lot of friction between the police and the minority community, and it got me to thinking about what I, as a citizen, could do to make it better. I happened to be reading the Journal one evening, and noticed that our new police chief was going to speak at the Civic Center. I thought this would be a good way for me to gain some insight into the issues I’d opened myself to. I had no idea what to expect, having never attended a Chamber meeting, and I most certainly didn’t expect what I got.
Chapter 2
Alan Attends a Chamber Meeting
“Assigning the police responsibility for the maintenance of order, the prevention of crime and the apprehension of criminals constitutes far too great a burden on far too few. Primary responsibility rests with families, the community and its individual members. The police can only facilitate and assist members of the community in the maintenance of order, and no more.”
—George Kelling
I couldn’t believe I was going to be late. It always seems to happen that way, doesn’t it? Whenever you have something important to do, something else comes up at the last minute and messes it all up. Not only was I late leaving the office, but it appeared as if everyone on the road had forgotten how to drive or was an intentional obstructionist. I was stuck behind this guy that couldn’t make up his mind whether to turn left, right, or go straight ahead. I really didn’t care what he did as long as he got out of the way. He was straddling the line and taking up both lanes. His left signal was flashing, yet he clearly hadn’t decided which way to go. Then he swung wide to the left, so I started to pass, and just as I did, he suddenly came back hard to the right. I laid on the horn, swerved half-way onto the shoulder, and had to slam on the brakes
