The Poet's Eye
commentary by Lightning Rodthe Poets' Eye is skeptical
without being cynical, innocent
without being naive and
critical without being
judgemental
Fond Memories
06-21-04
I know a little bit about what it means to live in a completely repressive
and controlled society. I spent Ronald Reagan's second term as president
locked up in what was called, at that time, The Texas Department of Corrections.
Of course it had nothing to do with corrections. It was a warehouse for
lives.
The prison authorities could do anything they wanted with me. They owned
me like livestock. They could tell me when to sleep, when to eat, what
to eat, how fast to eat it, whether to sweat, whether to crap, what to
wear, when to shave, what work I was to do, when to shower and how hot.
They could restrict my behavior in almost any way they chose. But I never
felt more secure.
The one thing they couldn't stop me from doing was reading. And I read.
And I read. All I did was read. I may be deluded but I think that kept
me from going insane. Riding on the single page of a book I could pass
through the razor wire and scoff at the steel bars and concrete.
In a literal sense, literature kept me alive.
Many of my hapless companions at the Wynne Unit of TDC were, like myself,
POW's in the War on Drugs. I was there for being a little too creative
with my chemistry set. I sat in cells with men who, for a handful of pills
or a sprig of tea, had lost, not only whatever years of productive life
that they had spent behind those bars, but had also lost, For Life, their
basic Constitutional rights of citizenship (like the right to vote or
bear arms).
Nationwide, somewhere in the neighborhood of four million citizens, a
majority of them black and poor, have been systematically stripped of
their franchise due to the ridiculous con-game called the War on Drugs.
Not one drug has been killed or even wounded in this war. The War on Drugs
is a War on People and their rights and their Body Sovereignty. It is
a predatory industry staffed by cops, lawyers, bondsmen, prison keepers,
probation officers and counselors. The raw material for this industry
is people's lives. The lives of the POW's in the War on Drugs are put
completely asunder, as are the lives of their families. Much more real
damage is wrought by the remedy than by the disease. And even after you've
served your time, you can't vote.
The last presidential election would have no doubt seen a different outcome
had four million more votes been cast by ex-felons who had been stripped
of their franchise by the drug laws.
A study by sociologists Christopher Uggen of the University of Minnesota
and Jeff Manza of Northwestern shows that felons vote overwhelmingly for
Democrats — at a rate approaching 70 percent. Maybe that's because
convicts read so much. It might have saved us a trillion dollar war if
we hadn't systematically disenfranchised millions of our citizens.
Some people in prison become very accustomed to the regularity and security
of that environment. They are very happy there. It's called being institutionalized.
You relinquish your will and judgment in return for comfort and security.
There are no worries about rent or electric bills. You never have to fret
about food or clean clothes. Freedom is a small sacrifice.
The Poet's Eye has a little tear of nostalgia for those prison days, especially
since the Patriot Act has made this whole country so secure and familiar
and reminiscent of being behind bars. I guess I'm just sentimental in
the same way that any veteran of any other war is likely to be when recalling
days of hardship and camaraderie. Some even remember the slaughter of
D-Day fondly. But at least the veterans of that war can still vote.
.
SECURITY
Oh,
ain't it a polite police state!
The prison is the ultimate in civilization.
No focal point for righteous horror
but just outside the gates
we know the guns are waiting for us
oiled and grinning.
Like just outside the borders
we know the bombs are waiting for us.
Because we keep our missiles hidden and
our military behind neatly clipped hedges
our citizens accept the myth of liberty.
I tell you: before the end of this century
they'll have all our pictures on ID cards
and there will be a friendly officer on
every corner to check it for you.
And you'll feel safe as I do in this penitentiary.--
Lrod-1988
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