Octavia E. Butler — Amen I Say to You! Amen!

Posted on February 12, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

Octavia E. Butler went where no Black women writers had gone before – her writing is out of but of this world!  Butler was the first science fiction writer to ever receive the MacArthur Fellowship.  And though Butler can be considered a science fiction writer, she was much more.  Indeed, Butler did not want to be shackled to a genre, for very good reasons.  Her “science fiction” is unlike the science fiction written by white males, who dominate the genre.

I was not a big science fiction fan.  I am not a Trekkie, even though I sporadically watched the Star Trek series as a kid and I’ve watched a number of the various movies.  I didn’t come to science fiction as a fan until my early 20’s, when my “book buddy” recommended Dune.  I read the first book and then devoured the next four in the series.  Shortly thereafter I discovered Octavia E. Butler, who is considered the godmother of Afrofuturism.  Butler’s sci-fi is different than the typical fare because Black writers look at the world through a different lens than white writers, although some of the same themes are addressed.  My favorite book by Butler is Wild Seed, which has two Black Immortals, Doro and Anyanwu.  My next favorite books by her are The Parable of the Sower (1993), which was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year, and The Parable of the Talents.  Biblically literate people will know these parables, but they should read Butler’s take on them.  Can I get an Amen?

This book recommendation, Kindred, is probably Butler’s most well know novel, and if you haven’t read her, then begin with this book.

I would recommend any book by Butler, for anyone who likes a good story.  Don’t think of Butler as a genre writer.  She defies being categorized!

I hope, with my book recommendations this Black History Month, that I have become your “book buddy.”

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A Love Letter to George Jackson

Posted on February 11, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

“When was the last time you hand wrote a personal letter?”

Twice a year, in the fall and spring semesters, for a number of years, Lawrence Mamiya, Professor Emeritus of Religion and Africana Studies at Vassar College, who passed away on September 15, 2019, invited me to his class to lecture on “prison literature.”  I began my lectures with that question to a classroom of approximately 40 students. One, maybe two hands, went up.

“Writing letters are important in the history of writing – Belles Lettres – and, for the most part, letter-writing is becoming a lost art.  Who writes letters?”

“Prisoners!” a couple of eager students would shout out as their hands went up.  They know this because Professor Mamiya had been bringing Vassar students into Green Haven prison for more than 25 years – the maximum sentence in New York for people convicted of class A-1 felonies – and all of these students have been to Green Haven!  At Green Haven, these students got an education that couldn’t be bought or taught at Vassar!  In fact, Professor Mamiya’s classes often changed students’ career trajectories, becoming lawyers, and even professors teaching for colleges that have/had higher education college courses at prisons.

“Right!  People in prison.”  I correct the language.  “I believe that the art of letter-writing is becoming a lost art, a lost art that people in prison, and people in the military, are keeping alive.”

Soledad Brother, this book of letters, is a classic, and it demonstrates the power of this “genre.”  Soledad Brother captures a moment in American history – the Decisive Decade – from behind prison walls.

George Jackson, a young Black man, was imprisoned nearly at the beginning of the Decisive Decade, 1961, for a $70 armed robbery, to which he was sentenced to an indeterminate sentence of one year to life.  (This is off topic for now, but note this sentence, a sentence that could keep an individual involved in the criminal legal system for life!)  Ten years later, on August 21, 1971, Comrade George was assassinated, allegedly during an escape attempt.  He never made it out of this system!

Yesterday I posted about Angela Davis’ book, If They Come in the Morning, in which George Jackson has a piece.  In fact, in his book of letters, there are some to Angela.

This book, and The Count of Monte Cristo, were two books very important to my thinking – I also read this book as a teenager.

Since Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, I’m going to suggest that, in addition to whatever you are going to do for your love, write a love letter.  When I was courting my wife, I hand wrote her love letters.  Some I mailed to her.  No one had ever done this for her!  Well, I am a poet, and some of us are hopeful romantics.

I write these words and I’m going to send them home to you
I’m going to write a letter, send it home
First class, first class baby
Let them know where I’m going to be
I’m going to write a letter, send it home
Just as fast, as fast as you can mister postman
If you please.

                                  — Write a Letter, JJ Grey & Mofro

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They Came in the Morning, and Returned that Night

Posted on February 10, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

This book was originally published in 1971, three years after Richard Nixon declared his War on Crime when he was campaigning for the U.S. presidency.  As I have written elsewhere, Nixon’s declaration of war in 1968 marked the beginning of what would be called “mass incarceration.”  Loic Waquant, a sociologist and social anthropologist, takes on using “mass incarceration” to describe the disproportionate imprisonment of Black and Brown men and women.  “Hyperincarceration,” Waquant argues, is a more accurate term, since these here United States do not incarcerate “the masses.”  But that’s another story.

The ”introduction” to this book is a letter James Baldwin wrote to Angela Davis.  Baldwin knows that if we allow the carceral state to come and take people in the morning, then surely “they will be coming for us that night.”  We know that agents of the state come in the early morning hours with “no knock” warrants, that specialized tactical law enforcement teams (TNT: Tactical Narcotics Teams) explode on the scene and into people’s homes when they are asleep and leave death in their wake, think, most recently, Breonna Taylor, but also think Fred Hampton, assassinated by law enforcement on December 4, 1969.

Angela Davis is a living icon, and I have had the pleasure of crossing her path three times in the last 20 years, all at events dealing with some aspect of the carceral system.  Most notably, about 15 years ago, at an American Studies Association conference in Connecticut.  Three of my colleagues, including Bell Chevigny, editor of “Doing Time: 25 Years of Prison Writing,” proposed a panel discussion on “prison literature” to the American Studies Association, and it was accepted.  Our argument was that the American Academy needed to value writings from prisons and jails, and that they should be taught in the ivory towers.  I think of Dostoevsky and Alexander Solzhenitsyn, how the American Academy uplifts and values the writings of these “Russian prisoners,” but not their own.  In fact, I’ve been in literary circles, and when I stated, “Right now, as we speak, there’s someone in an American prison laboring over what could be the next ‘Great American Novel,’” my counterparts, whom I could accuse of literary snobbism, would give me that look, as if I didn’t know what I was talking about.

I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, for the most part, but the American Studies Association scheduled Angela Davis’ panel discussion and ours on prison literature at the same time!  Of course, more attendees went to Angela’s panel discussion.,  (I would have gone, too if I weren’t a presenter!)  The Association should have known that these two panels would draw the same crowd, and thus not schedule them at the same time.  After the panels, we ran into Angela in the hall of the hotel hosting the conference.  We told her we wanted to come to her panel discussion but that we were presenting at the same time, our panel on “prison literature.”  Angela said she wanted to attend our panel discussion, but obviously could not!  Perhaps Angela’s panel should have been in the morning, and ours that night.

I highly recommend this book to all concerned about justice, which is far more elusive than “finding Waldo.”

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Almost Sonnets

Posted on February 9, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

Today I have a bonus book recommendation.  I confess it’s a bit of self-promotion, since it is my book.  In fact, I began Black History Month by recommending my award-winning book, Black Shadows and Through the White Looking Glass: Remembrance of Things Past and Present.

This book, The Black Feminine Mystique, is a collection of poetry, a tribute of sorts, to Black women.  It’s a perfect Valentine’s gift, the poetry better than the lame words in greeting cards, even if I say so myself.  Black and Brown women might even want to purchase this book for their grandmothers, mothers, aunts, sisters, daughters, granddaughters, nieces and friends, as well as themselves.

The poetry in this book is written in the form Shakespeare made famous in English, the sonnet.  Shakespearean sonnets are difficult to write, in large part because English is a rhyme-poor language.  I often joke how Black artists make up words in order to run with a rhyme scheme – the gift of story and song.  In fact, I have written elsewhere that when Africans were forced to learn European languages, especially English, it tortured and twisted their tongues and their native tongues because Africans communicated differently than Europeans, think Click Song.  With this in mind, with a near perfect understanding of the Shakespearean sonnet and its tortured and twisted linguistic syntax, I set out to write what I call, “Almost Sonnets.”  Most of the structure of a sonnet is there, but I threw my pen at the Bard and wrote as a 20th century Black man in America – I began writing the poems before the New Millennium.

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:

To make a poet black, and bid him sing.

–Countee Cullen
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The Gift that Keeps On Giving

Posted on February 9, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

J.A. Rogers is probably the greatest autodidact in the history of the world!  Not only was Rogers self-taught, but he was also self-financed and self-published.  Talk about self-determination and controlling the narrative!

I would recommend any book by Rogers.  Among my first recommendations this Black History Month was his From Superman to Man, a short polemic challenging most of the sacrilegious cows of white supremacy.

This book recommendation, Africa’s Gift to America: The Afro-American in the Making and Saving of the United States, is a testament to what W.E. B. DuBois wrote about, that is, the “gifts” Africans and their descendants in America gifted to America: the gift of story and song; the gift of sweat and brawn; and the gift of the spirit.

Gift this book to both young and old this Black History Month.  In fact, if you are looking to start or supplement your library, stock it with all of J.A. Rogers’ books.

As I’ve written elsewhere and will continue to write and proclaim to my last breath: Black History is American history.  In fact, there is no American history without Black History.

Finally, a note to detractors: Almost anyone who emigrates to the United States should wrap their minds around some fundamental lessons of Black History.  Black folk state that we “make a way out of no way” – well, Black folk made it easier for almost everyone else who comes to these here United States, having borne “the whips and scorns of time,” and having challenged America to live up to her lofty ideals.

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Reconstruction Revisited

Posted on February 8, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

This book is, for the most part, unknown, even among history buffs, as I am.  (I actually stumbled upon it more than 30 years ago. Someone had placed it among the trash!)  This book though covers one of the most important periods in American history, after the Civil War (1861-65), and after Reconstruction (1865-77), specifically 1877 (the end of Reconstruction) through 1919 (the end of World War I).

The Reconstruction years pointed towards what America could be, if she wanted to live up to her lofty ideals, for all people in the continental United States, and beyond.

The year 1876 marks the election of Rutherford B. Hayes, the 19th American president.  To this day, President Hayes’ election is the most contested election in American history – Trump’s presidency will be an aberrational footnote in American history – and was certified because of a compromise, the Hayes-Tilden Compromise.  In a nutshell, Southern power brokers negotiated this Compromise, getting Hayes and his party to withdraw the last Federal troops occupying the South.  With that done, Southerners returned to business as usual, terrorizing Black people who asserted their newfound rights, and nullifying the post-Civil War Amendments (the 13th, abolishing slavery unless duly convicted of a crime; the 14th, revolving around basic fundamental rights of all Americans, that is, Black people; and the 15th, giving Black men the right to vote).

I often write and talk about the Decisive Decade (the 1960’s), but what happened in the aftermath of Reconstruction set the stage for what America was for the next 100 years: the origins of hyper incarceration; legal segregation; race riots; the wholesale brutalization of Black people; the destruction of the Black Wall Street, etc.

In this book there’s a section on the portrayal of Black people in the media, even the “liberal” media, during this period, shameless caricatures that play into stereotypes even to this day (think white people in blackface, how this stereotype tickles their funny bones).  The book is worth its price for this alone!

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A Good Black Man is Hard to Find: The Pathological World of Alice Walker

Posted on February 7, 2022 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

Dear God!

Once upon a time – it seems that long ago – I was working on a Master of Fine Arts (MFA).  I was reading Alice Walker.  She had accused Black men, specifically Black male authors, of not reading Black women authors, adding that Black women read everything that came down the pike that Black men wrote.  So, I set out to read even more Black women authors.  I began with Alice Walker.  I read her first two collections of short stories, and then her first three novels, the third being “The Color Purple.”  As a Black male it is hard to read Alice Walker, which led me to flirting with the idea of going after my MFA.  Since I had read Walker’s first five books, I said I might as well write my thesis on her fictional world. For me, titles are important.  In fact, before I begin any writing, I begin with a title in mind.  My working title for Walker’s work was, “A Good Black Man is Hard to Find: The Pathological World of Alice Walker’s World.”  In Walker’s first five books, those two collections of short stories, and three novels, there is so much violence against Black women.  One Black father cuts off the breasts of his college-going daughter because she is dating a white male!  The violence against Black women is off the chart!  There is not one good Black man in Alice Walker’s “fictional” world.  And although Walker, in an interview, states that she is not writing “protest novels,” as some Black male authors have, in a very strong way her writing is a protest against the violence against Black women, by both white and Black males.  But Black males bear the brunt of Walker’s ire.  To state that Walker’s world sickened me is not hyperbole.  If there was a shred of truth in Walker’s World, then we were in very bad shape.  I think that I am a good Black man, and I know many good Black men, including my father, who grew up in the Jim Crow South and served in the segregated U.S. Army during World War II, despite how white America attacked Black manhood.  My father was the best he could be given the world he was born into.  When I think of all the stories of Black fathers missing in action, I think of my father, who was always there and, historically, I think of all the Black fathers who were fathers to all the children Black women bore as a result of the rape of white men for hundreds of years during slavery. But that’s another story!

The Black male with the most redeeming qualities in Alice Walker’s World is Grange Copeland, in “The Third Life of Grange Copeland.”  In his first two “lives,” Grange gets nothing right, especially fatherhood.  In his “third” life Grange has to kill the son, Brownfield, that he has turned into a monster, in large part because of his absence from his son’s life.  Brownfield has killed his wife, and after a bit in prison he is released and is intent on destroying his daughter, Ruth.  This is when Grange knows beyond a reasonable doubt that he has to kill his son in order to stop the cycle of violence, with an act of violence.

Having made it through five of Walker’s books, having diagnosed her, I was ready to commit her to a hospital for the criminally insane, or I would end up there myself!  I came to the conclusion that I was not Walker’s intended audience, and I was okay with that, but I felt like I was a target, and for that reason perhaps I was part of her intended audience.  And then I read this book; and then it all made sense.  With a clarity even her harshest critics couldn’t deny, Walker lays it out in her collection of nonfiction, “In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose.”  It was then that I got it.  For Walker, it really doesn’t matter what happens to Black men in the whole wide world.  There’s no excuse to come home and take it out on their women and children.

Dear God!

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A Funeral, Two Graduations, and a Milestone Birthday Celebration

Posted on June 13, 2021 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

In a six-day span, I attended my baby brother’s funeral, our two daughters’ graduations, from middle school and high school, and my sister Cheryl’s milestone (60th) birthday celebration.

At Whitney’s funeral, I spoke on behalf of our family. Here, I want to share those words.

The last seven days I have cried more than I have in my 60 years of life. I am tired. I have been wrestling with God these past seven days, fighting him over the death of my baby brother.

I barely understand the mystery of life. I certainly do not understand the mystery of death. “The Last shall be first?” Is this what you mean, God?

Whitney was the last child born of our mother and father. He was born into a household of a mother, a father, a brother, and three sisters.

Whitney was the comedian in the family. If you were going to meet him for the first time, then my sisters would joke and apologize in advance. Whitney had a wicked wit — I called him Whit — and although he never said anything offensive, my sisters were just covering the bases, because we really did not know what Whitney might say or do.

I am the historian in the family, and I fancy myself a storyteller. I am going to tell you two stories. Spoiler alert! They both are about the love we, my sisters and I, have for our baby brother.

But before story time, I want to thank everyone for their love and support for my family, and Whitney’s extended families, and of course, Whitney’s fiancee, Cynthia.

Cynthia and Whitney were to be married on August 21st. We had planned a wedding. Instead, we are at Whitney’s funeral. Whitney was the best man at my wedding. I was to be his best man at his wedding. That’s how the Waters brothers roll!

Cynthia, I believe we have three stages of life. We, men, barely get it right the first two times. Whitney was in his third life. He reconnected with you, the love of his life. When I got married, Whitney told me he had never seen me happier. I had not seen him happier once he committed to marry you.

STORY ONE

In one of the pictures in the slide show, Whitney is 10 years of age, at our mother’s funeral. He is surrounded by a cousin, and his three sisters, his guardian angels, dressed in white.

Jeanette, on that day, became Whitney’s mother. I know that grief cannot be quantified, and our grief is exponential, four times the greatest number, but Jeanette’s grief is double ours, her siblings. She was Whitney’s sister, but became his mother when she was 19. Obviously, she did a great job raising our brother.

Growing up, Jeanette was known as “Fighting Jeanette.” She had some epic rumbles in the concrete jungle of the Marcy Projects that would have made Muhammad Ali proud. Jeanette, if she had to, would fight for our brother, would put her life on the line for him.

Cheryl embodies our mother’s spirit. If she had not heard from Whitney in two or three days, then she would call him until she got him, telling him that he could not let two or three days go by without calling one of us. The “Us” referred to one of his three sisters.

Cheryl, Whitney’s Guardian Angel.

Wanda was the baby until Whitney came along. From the very beginning, she fiercely loved him. Wanda had to compete with our mother and two sisters for facetime with our baby brother. She was last in the pecking order to hold him and spend time with him.

Wanda does not remember this, She was 5 or 6, but one day, she finally had her facetime with Whitney. She was in our parents’ room, cuddling him. I snatched Whitney out of Wanda’s arms. Our mother had a tabletop sewing machine right next to the bed. On it was a disposable razor. One second I was holding Whitney, the next I was holding my shoulder, a gash on it, and Whitney was back in Wanda’s arms. She moved like a ninja!

I tell this story because it speaks to, even at a young age, the fierceness of Wanda’s love for Whitney. From this day on, I will remember this scar on my shoulder as a symbol of Wanda’s fierce love for Whitney.

In this story, Wanda is the Equalizer. Think Latifah reprising the role of Denzel Washington, in The Equalizer, on the small screen. And me, even at my young age, I just wanted to spend more time with my baby brother. I had lived in a household with three sisters, and they have this sisterhood thing going on. Always have. Then, even though I could not articulate it, with the birth of my brother, we now had a brotherhood.

And now for a commercial.

Brothers, there’s this book The Body Keeps Score. All you need to know about it is that the body remembers everything, what has happened to it. I know we sometimes think we are invincible, and when younger, immortal. But we’re not. If you are experiencing pain, then do not ignore it. Your body is trying to get our attention, to tell you that it needs something. Don’t hesitate to go to the doctor. Most ills are preventable or treatable. Sisters, nag the men yin your life to go to the doctor until they go to the doctor!

STORY TWO

In the last chapter of the Gospel According to John, the Risen Christ has a conversation with Simon Peter. He asks him the same question three times. Do you love me? To which Simon Peter says yes.

To fully understand this exchange, we need to know that Jesus and Simon Peter are using two different words for love. Those wise Greeks had five words for love. (What we call the New Testament was originally written in Greek.) I’ll roughly translate.

Jesus says, do you have this great, unconditional love for me?

Simon Peter answers, I love you like a brother.

Jesus says again, do you have this great, unconditional love for me?

Again, Simon Peter replies, I love you like a brother.

Knowing that this is as good as it gets, the third time Jesus says to Simon Peter, do you love me like a brother?

And they really are not on the same page. For the third time Simon Peter says, Yes, I love you like a bother! He says this as if Jesus finally gets it!

I love my brother like a brother. He was my brother. But I also loved my brother with the great, unconditional, nonjudgmental love that Simon Peter could not articulate to Jesus.

In conclusion, I want to leave you with two lines from a song.

At I.S. 318, I was in the chorus. Our signature song was Diana Ross’ “Touch Me in the Morning.” Tuesday morning [June 1, 2021], Jeanette and I touched our baby brother after he had breathed his last breath, and through my grief that song flooded my mind.

Wasn’t it me who said that nothing good’s gonna last forever?

And wasn’t it me who said, let’s just be glad for the time together?

We are glad for the time together with you, Whitney!

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Prosecuting Murder Most Foul!

Posted on April 15, 2021 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

In 1976, a childhood friend, at age 16, was charged, tried and convicted of felony-murder as an unarmed nonkilling accomplice, where robbery was the underlying felony, in which an individual was killed by one of my friend’s codefendants, with a knife he took from the victim. My friend was held without bail for a little more than a year before he literally had his day in court — his trial lasted one day! He was summarily sentenced to 20 years to life after the killer testified that my friend was with him when he killed the individual. Note that the killer was sentenced to 18 months as a juvenile delinquent!

This made me think of Kimberly Potter, the former cop who shot and killed 20 year old Daunte Wright. She was charged with manslaughter, which carries a maximum sentence of 10 years in Minnesota. After being booked, she posted $100,000 bond and was back on the streets in six hours. My friend was not back on the streets until 24 years later!

As someone who has studied the law, who has a degree of expertise in the felony-murder rule, a much criticized law by legal scholars almost since its common law inception in around 1526 in England, when the January 6th Insurrection went down, and when a number of insurrectionists were arrested, I wondered then and I wonder now why none of them have been charged with felony-murder for the death of a Capitol police officer. The felony-murder rule is a strict liability crime — so strict that at one time if police officers were apprehending the persons of interest and shot and killed either one of the suspects or an innocent bystander, the suspects would be charged with the homicide the police committed — and practically stands alone as a crime where prosecutors do not have to prove each and every element of the crime. Prosecutors know it’s the easiest pathway to a murder conviction. In fact, when New York State was in the process of revising its Penal Code, in 1967, there was some support for abolishing the felony-murder rule, but there was strong opposition from prosecutors. So, more than 50 years after New York overhauled its Penal Code, the archaic felony-murder rule remains on the books, as it does in most states.

Now, here’s the kicker in my childhood friend’s case. The prosecutor charged, tried and convicted another one of my friends with felony-murder for the same crime, but under the theory that he was the actual killer! Scott Turow, in one of his legal thrillers, wrote something like, “It’s a practical impossibility to try and convict two people for the same crime.” Only in fiction, Scott, only in fiction! I have evidence that two childhood friends, one the actual murderer, was charged with killing the same person, at separate trials, before the same judge, which illustrates another point: when prosecutors and even judges brag about their conviction rates, then you know that there is something fundamentally wrong with our criminal legal system, which allows people to not serve justice, but their individual careers.

The criminal legal system is not a system of justice. It incentivizes judges and prosecutors to seek convictions at the expense of the truth. In fact, I have one more childhood friend who was tried and convicted for a murder Brooklyn prosecutors knew he did not commit. At the time of his trial, the prosecutors knew that he was in the state of Florida when the homicide, in Brooklyn, went down. He spent two decades in prison. Had not Kenneth P. Thompson, the first Black D.A. in Brooklyn, set up a Conviction Integrity Unit, and my childhood friend’s case was not one of the cases the Conviction Integrity Unit looked at, who knows, my childhood friend would not have been exonerated. The evidence of my childhood friend’s innocence, the fact that he was in Florida when someone else committed the murder, two decades later, remained in his case folder. This exculpatory evidence had not been turned over to my childhood friend’s attorney, clearly a violation of the rule of law, of ethics, of humanity. For cases like this, where prosecutors blatantly disregard the law and send people they know to be innocent to prison for years, there should be a severe penalty. If this was me, I would rather the prosecutor spend 20 years in prison for knowingly using false testimony against me than the millions the City paid out to my friend. Who knows, he might have made those millions on his own, as we grew up in the same neighborhood, Marcy Houses, as Jay-Z and Tracy Morgan.

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Palm Sunday, the Crucifixion, and the Criminal Justice System

Posted on March 28, 2021 by William Eric Waters, aka Easy Waters

Today is Palm Sunday. All lectionary churches read from The Passion of Christ from the Gospel According to Mark, believed to be, according to Biblical scholars, the first written account of the four Gospels. (It’s actually one Gospel, with four accounts of the life and death of Jesus – from Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John.)

When I studied theology, I learned about the different ways to look at Biblical texts. There is the religious-confessional approach (think the Nicene Creed); the historical-critical approach; and a literary-critical approach. However, as a criminal justice practitioner, I tend to look at certain texts in the Bible from a criminal justice lens.

The arrest, trial, conviction, sentence and execution of Jesus reads like a true crime story one would read today. The accusers and prosecutors are people who have something to gain; the “eyewitnesses” are unreliable; Jesus’ co-conspirators or codefendants betray and deny him; Jesus has no lawyer to defend him (note that before the 1963 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Gideon v. Wainwright, there was no universal requirement that people accused of crimes and standing trial would have legal representation); Jesus has a speedy trial (ironically, something most people do not get today; think Kalief Browder, a teenager, who was held on Rikers Island for nearly three years awaiting his day in court for a crime he did not commit); Jesus is sentenced to the death penalty; he has an indifferent judge who could care less if he lives or dies; a blood thirsty public that calls for his execution as they mock and abuse him; police brutality on his way to death row; and faithful women who are there till the end.

A number of years ago, I gave a homily on this passage, entitled, “We Are All on Trial.” In it I stated something like what the cross revealed that fateful day was where all the players stood in relation to the cross, to justice. How they responded in that moment revealed where they stood on the important issues of crime and punishment. Today, the cross still carries that message. Every crime implicates the People of any given state, in that everything that plays out in the criminal legal system is done in the name of the People, The People of the State of New York v. Anyone Accused of a Crime.

If this thing called criminal justice is done in our name, then we ought to make it as fair and impartial as humanly possible. Otherwise, justice is just a word. But it should be more than that, because people are deprived their precious liberty, held in prison for extraordinarily long periods of times, and sometimes executed in the name of People.

One of my favorite justice quotes, which I almost always looked to find a way to sprinkle in a legal brief or motion, was, Fiat justitia ruat caelum. I would cite it just like that, without the translation, hopefully sending opposing counsel and the judges, who might as well had been dead to the idea of justice, thus their penchant for communicating in a dead language, to the definitive legal dictionary, Black’s Law Dictionary.

“Let just be done though the heavens fall.”

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