The following is an excerpt from the internal death row magazine, Lethal Injection, for which Leroy Mann is a co-founder and co-editor.
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| Protestors at UNC |
Writing can be a
powerful tool when used in the construction of bridging the gaps between
cultures that differ to the point where stereotypes dictate our
interactions. Writing is like a sales
banner hanging from the tail of an advertisement plane. Parked inside of a hanger, this banner is
secluded from the public eye. But when
the plane takes flight the banner rides the winds of freedom for all to see the
influential message it bares.
Writing has encouraged
some of the greatest movements of our time.
It has also forecasted some of the darkest moments known to man. Not even the stain of a death sentence can
prohibit the moral duty of a scribe representing a community marked by the
words of condemnation.
Here, in the U.S., exercising
your first amendment right to free speech, and expression is not exclusive to
any particular race, religion, gender or political placement. Most recently, NBA ballers, Lebron James and
Derrick Rose have expressed their support for the family of yet another victim
of police brutality, Eric Garner. They
wore t-shirts baring the words, “I Can’t Breathe.”
Students attending
prestigious universities are sprawled across the campus lawns and walkways
emulating unjustifiable homicides by the hands of law enforcement agents. Others carry signs of protest to combat the
injustice surrounding the untimely demise of Michael Brown, in Ferguson.
Writing is a culture
that continues to grow here on North Carolina’s death row. George Wilkerson has become an engaging
presence within. As the editor of the
long-running newsletter, “Compassion,” (http://compassionondeathrow.net/pubs/current.pdf
) and a revitalized drive for visual art, his expressions are becoming a mark
of hope for death row prisoners throughout the United States. Some might even say, George is giving us a
reason to breathe.
Lethal Injection (L.I.):
How long have you been on the row?
George Wilkerson (G,W.): I received my death sentence on December 21,
2006. Time perception is a funny thing:
sometimes it feels like only yesterday; other times it seems as if my entire
life is prison. I am 33 years old, and I
was 23 when I was arrested.
L.I.: Taking on
the position as editor of a published newsletter must be pretty demanding. Do you have any other projects on your
creative table?
G.W.: It’s
challenging in many ways, but not so demanding in terms of time and energy
because I don’t have the luxury of consulting with contributors – hence the
challenges. I have to figure out what
they’re saying and sometimes must make judgment calls about what to
change/cut/add if necessary, and hope I got it right.
As to other creative projects, I’m always working on new
visual expressions. I just finished a
book of poetry, which I sent out to be prepared for publication as an
e-book. I’m indecisive about whether to
focus my energy on writing a devotional, a collection of topic essays, or a
series of poems. I’ve also been asked to
write for a parish magazine in England, that has a distribution range of 7,000
readers/church members.
L.I.: You’ve
obviously been pushing the pen, but what are your aspirations as a writer?
G.W.: I want what
I do to be meaningful. I would like to
be as productive and helpful as possible, which is qualitative rather than
quantitative, i.e., being prolific doesn’t necessarily mean I achieved
that. So, I’m very intent on what I
write, over how much I write. I can’t
write for the sake of writing. I don’t
exactly have to see how a thing can help, only must believe that it can and
hope it will. It is the intent. I aspire to stay true to that core.
L.I.: I have to
say that I agree with your perspective on qualitative writings. Just because you can pick up a pen, or punch
a key doesn’t necessarily mean you have something profound to say. In saying that, I strongly believe when a
death row prisoner’s words transition into global sentences pertaining to
humanity, he/she becomes an activist for the cause of humanity. So tell me, how do you feel about the tension
stirring across the country, concerning the Ferguson and NYC decisions to not
indict police officers for their usage of excessive force?
G.W.: I watch
very little t.v. and read very few newspapers.
Although I am familiar with the cases you refer to, I’m not familiar
with all the details, but from what I can gather, it seems like there is
something deeper going on and the incidents themselves were only the proverbial
back-breaking straws.
L.I.: Oh, I
wholeheartedly agree. I don’t believe
for one minute that Eric Garner was murdered because he was selling “looseys”
without paying taxes.
G.W.: I’ve seen
such things get exposure – as they should – only to fizzle out. It disturbs me because the problems are pervasive,
systemic even, so these places aren’t isolated incidents. I don’t believe race relations are at the
heart of the problem, but rather there seems to be an across – the – board
dissatisfaction in our country. E.g.: In
here, I often see guys who are unhappy… and they seek out problems with others,
latching onto the smallest “wrong” even after evidence shows it wasn’t how it
at first seemed. They just wanted an
excuse…
L.I.: An excuse
to target?
G.W.: Well, an
excuse to argue or fight, to vent their frustrations or whatever. The world is ripe for revolutions, and it’s
like our country is soaked in gasoline looking for a spark.
L.I.: Speaking of
sparks; what can a death row prisoner/humanitarian activist do to assist the
nonviolent demonstrations taking place on the campuses of Duke, Carolina and
North Carolina Central?
G.W.: Off the top
of my head, I don’t know. I suppose it
comes down to who we know or are connected to.
If there were an open communication link between a death row prisoner
and someone connected to an organizer, then it’d be about resources and goals:
what resources do they have in terms of influence/manpower, time, money,
willingness, etc. A clearly defined goal
along with a thorough analysis of the resources is a prerequisite. A death row prisoner could be a resource
depending on his connections and intelligence.
And such a one has immeasurable potential.
L.I.: Our
creative writing class has featured several lectures by Duke University
professors. Through theological history,
Arabic studies, and political science we learned the magnitude of writing from
captivity and civil disobedience. I
don’t think it is farfetched to believe that some of these campus protestors
are students of these very same professors.
Six degrees of separation is not always coincidental. The connection you speak of may merely be a
lecture away.
G.W.: I try not
to get caught up in things I can’t change, or aren’t the areas I believe I need
to be working on. I’m not saying the
incidents aren’t important, I’m just saying I’ve got problems popping up at
every turn. I believe everyone has a
role and position; I’m maintaining my position and playing my role – that’s all
I can do.
L.I.: Fair
enough, George. Share some of your
humble urban beginnings with our readers.
G.W.: My mother
is Korean and my father is a white American.
He was in the army, got stationed in Korea and met my mother there. I’m American born and raised – though from
Korean heritage. We were living in
Germany when my youngest brother was born.
My parents were divorced while my dad was stationed at Fort Bragg, North
Carolina.
The insulation in our trailer accidentally caught fire and a
few minutes later, we were homeless in the snow, which is how we ended up in
the projects. I was six, with one older
brother, and two younger. I began to
understand the concept of poverty. The
socio-economic lines were clearly defined – all the white kids were middle
class and up. Everything else was
poor. Kids can be cruel, and the
differences in status also became associated with race
superiority/inferiority.
The teachers were quick to discipline us, so we got into a
lot of fights. My family was only one of
two that weren’t black, in my neighborhood.
We experienced years of racism against us, having to fight almost
daily. Eventually everyone saw us as
just people. Drugs and criminal activity
were the norm. Welfare checks were
delivered to the big square communal mailboxes on the first of the month.
The whole neighborhood would be posted up around the
mailboxes. The mailman just stood there
with a bundle of envelopes calling out apartment number after apartment number;
similar to mail call in here. There’s a
saying in Latin: “Humani nil a mi alienum puto” – nothing human is alien to me. We thought we were free, but we were only
hammering out our chains, enslaving ourselves.
L.I.: Heavy. I think this quote from First Lady, Michelle
Obama is a suitable response to your words.
“The only thing that happens in an instant is destruction. Build something… Earthquake; it’s gone, but
everything else requires time. Don’t let
the struggle discourage you because it’s hard.
It’s supposed to be hard.” Keep making your mark, George. Your role in all of this is much bigger than
you realize.
Always 100,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann
