6 Degrees of Obsolete

Hotep, 

I haven’t driven a car since the global positioning system was made available to everyday citizens.  I haven’t travelled by train or enjoyed the first class treatment of an airline flight crew in this post-911 era.  Frequent flyer miles may as well be bungee jumping to me; I just don’t do it.  Na mean?

I still read newspapers that are hand delivered.  The phenomenal usage of the I-Pad escapes me whenever I moisten my fingertips to turn the page of my reading materials.

The closest I’ve come to ‘Skyping,’ is hearing the voices of my loved ones – once a year – by way of a land-line.  I’ve never sent anyone a text message; I’m still writing love letters, and I still anticipate snail mail.  Real talk.

I still enjoy rappers that haven’t experienced the instant success of ringtones.  Does that make me obsolete?  Nah, just old school, but the radio is still my main source of musical display.  An I-Pod would probably send me into a state of rhythmic bliss.  The freedom of listening to my own music selections is currently passé, but not unattainable.  Feel me?

My years spent inside of this box, is equivalent to being placed inside of a time capsule; nothing changes if no one intervenes.  The radios, televisions, plumbing, ventilation systems and penitentiary mannerisms, eventually become obsolete to a person who chooses to rise above the stillness perpetuated by those who choose not to intervene.  Thinking outside of the box has been the mental calisthenics that strengthens my need to proceed; time capsule or not.  Word is bond!

My production within the last, nearly three years has relinquished some fears – nudging others forward to facilitate the voices of men.  In their wake others are enlightened by the accessibility of ‘The Pen.’ Facilitators will never become obsolete.  Ya heard?

I still wake up everyday with the will to regain my freedom.

I’m still pushing this pen with the genuine aspirations of a go-getter, until the ink runs dry. 

My focus remains the same today, as it was the first day I reached out to this blogosphere (“The Basement,” 3/31/2010): unveiling the guise of ‘blind justice;’ bringing awareness to the deliberate indifference of prosecutors when selecting jurors; sharing the inadequacies of ineffective counsel, while eliciting the obsolete protocols of crime lab investigations.  This is my position of interrupting the stillness within the time capsule.  Na mean?

My purpose may be pertinent to those on the wrong side of the gavel, but not exclusive to them.  This movement is the key to exposing the obsolete logistics of racial injustice practiced in our courtrooms everyday.

Freedom isn’t free, but it’s still far from becoming obsolete.  For that matter; so is the legacy of W2TM.  Ya heard?

Keepin it 100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood

King Day 2013

As we honor the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on his birthday, let’s examine the progress that’s been made since the Civil Rights Movement he led during the 1960s.

Gains made by African-Americans can clearly be seen in the commercial success and notoriety of black entertainers and athletes.  They are immensely popular, earn millions of dollars and are global icons.  And, of course the historic re-election of Barack Obama as president of the United States could be considered the culmination of all that Dr. King stood for.  These are things that African-Americans and really all Americans can look to with pride at the strides we’ve made as a nation.

When we look beneath the surface however, its another matter entirely.  Segregated schools; the cause of much heated debate and bloodshed during the 1960s are now back in vogue.  Education budgets are being slashed nationwide to fund unprecedented prison construction and mass-incarceration.

The result being, uneducated kids who will become targets to fill these new prisons as inmates.  Cornell West, the noted scholar and author said, “if young white people were incarcerated at the same rate as young black people, the issue would be a national emergency.”

African-Americans, while comprising only 19% of the U.S. populace, make up nearly 58% of the prison population.  The percentage of black men imprisoned in America is higher than in South Africa during Apartheid.  The black family has been disintegrated in the process and a strong family is essential to solid communities; the backbone of every nation.

The full picture is as that of an apple that is lovely on the outside, but rotten to the core on the inside.  I think is would break Dr. King’s heart.  He once said, “The Negro was willing to risk martyrdom in order to move and stir the social conscience of his community and the nation…”

That social consciousness is absent now, at a time when it is so desperately needed.  We honor Dr. King by channeling his spirit, his energy, his passion; his courage; his outrage – or we do his memory a disservice.  Let us celebrate the monumental achievements, but we must rediscover our outrage where it is needed.

Mr. Blue

Copyright © 2013 by Paul Brown

Door 5316, Volume 4: Mann On the Move

Hotep,  

It was my 18^th day of recovery when Dr. Truth entered cell 5315 holding a pair of scissors in her right hand and a nurse that referred to himself as, “Gus No Fuss,” by her side.  She cut the soft cast from my toes to the bottom of my knee.  She then removed my ashy leg from the cast and instructed me to roll over on my stomach.

Gus No Fuss then removed 25 staples – ranging from my left hamstring, down to the base of my ankle.  The first staple was the only one I felt.  The other 24 were detached from my swollen flesh while I was engaged in an uplifting conversation with Dr. Truth.  She informed me that she would start the paperwork for me to be discharged at the conclusion of Gus’ handiwork.  That was Tuesday, November 27^th.  I wasn’t officially released until Thursday, November 29^th.  Why it took two days for me to be moved down the tunnel is beyond me.  SMH.

Three weeks in the prison hospital was long enough, in fact, too long.  My neighbor in 5317 was becoming a conversational lush.  I mean, don’t get me wrong; I enjoy good sports talk just as much as the next sports fan, but when the sports talk leads to a discussion about your alleged glory days – running the Teamsters as Jimmy Hoffa’s right hand man – its time to pull the plug and bury my face into an E. L. James novel.  Real talk.

My neighbor in 5317, Mr. B, also revealed to me that he was awaiting a liver transplant.  He was more than anxious about the possibility of a liver becoming available while he was serving his current sentence for writing bad checks.  He could be released from prison as early as this coming spring.  His main concern was an available liver going to a law abiding citizen – bypassing his urgent needs because of his current lockdown status.  This gave me every reason to believe that the mysterious Mr. B. has everything to gain if an unsuspecting death row prisoner falls into the trap of openly discussing the particulars of his/her case.  Na mean?

I don’t discuss the particulars of my case with anyone – other than my attorneys.  When cats like Mr. B. start sharing war stories, I generally walk away.  In this case, I couldn’t walk away.  So, I facilitated my discharging process by filing a grievance.  It’s only right.  I mean, the hospital staff treated me as though I was a detriment to my hospital surroundings.  So why slow walk my discharge proceedings?  SMH.

My return to the row would be an unbelievable event in most societal circles.  I was received by my comrades like a long, lost relative.  Stepping onto the rec yard was like a pregame introduction before the home crowd.  I heard my name repeatedly, as my peoples gathered around me to express their concerns about my 20-day hiatus.  Word is bond!

I gotta shout out my barber, “The Carpenter,” for arranging an emergency grooming session (I elected to go without a shave for the duration of my time behind door 5316.  I had no idea I was capable of growing a beard.  Lol.).  Good look Dunn!!  Your MannofStat has never looked better.  Ya heard?

My follow up with Dr. C. took place four days after I returned to the row.  So far; so good.  My boot is on order, so I’ll be stomping through the halls of unit 3 with “Philly” on my leg; a more productive new year on my mind; and the holiday spirit in my heart.  Until next time, Blogosphere, make every day count.

Happy Kwanzaa,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann