Dearly Beloved

A note from our own Chris

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Dearly Beloved friends, SOA watchers,

Your dedication pierces through these gray cement walls, and in the delivery of letters I bathe with such a remedy for the confinement, you protect me from melancholic, that malady for which St Thomas Aquinas recommended a good cleanse. Oh the news you bring startles me out of self consciousness; that filth washes down the drain as I soak in the message. “It is not about you!” I rub my skin pink with the news of the Ohio death row inmates on hunger strike since Jan 3^rd. When you attend to me this way, I experience not the host of a single body, but the blessed guest of suffering humanity. Now my soul arises. No stone can suffocate my inspiration from your fasting in solidarity with Guantanamo detainees. Here I too render a-piece the fear that birds, turn from images of prison, the stereotypes of a prisoner, and encounter myself surrounded by whole men. I admire the ceaseless echo of laughter in this dorm chamber. Truly spoke the reverend Dr King when he spoke of judging by the content of one’s character, not by the color of his skin or whether he wears the get up of a gulag class. I want you to meet these men, to come tell jokes with us, share a baloney sandwich or play chess, dominoes or cards; cheer with us the victory of the Seahawks to victory over the former champs; hop to your feet at a Hassleback touchdown pass, bellow with joy, clap hands & slap back with us; know the camaraderie of a company of men grateful to be alive, together whose every laugh mocks the mercilessness of our prosecutors. Would that you could attend Tuesday night church with us, just to hear the honey pop voices stand out for solo after solo with simple refrains like “Thank you Lord” crooning after God with every note of praise. –Behold listen to the earnest questions of these men who gather nightly for prayer call. Their affection for God sparkles, polished by assiduous reading of the work of God. Take your place in our circle, link, and make chorus the prayer Jesus taught us. “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” In the strident soldierly intones, hear the militant conviction of hearts emblazoned in hope. Taste our fortified spirits and become one in the body of Christ. We are 56 meek men prodding to the mess hall in our Jackie eher slippers. Lest we forget a guard reminds us “Hands behind your backs, Shoulders flush to the wall.” Laughter, muttering we march in single file with heads bent but not bowed. One restores our dignity by holding open the door, thereby reclaiming his own. Another will share his biscuit with his neighbor. A third will surreptitiously slip hot dog into a baggy and wedge it into his underwear, while a fourth has surrendered his right to a meal, remaining in bed. He dreams of his three year old. My neighbor voluntarily offers me his watered down PowerAde and I am deeply satisfied that my fast allows so many an extra portion. I have sat with these men purposefully. ICE immigration and customs enforcement detainees, transfer from another dorm, their hygiene & food stocks that they had purchased on commissary were stolen. Argument ensued the discovery; none confessed, the guards who offered no protection were blamed. They laughed through the night unbowed.

I sat beside Roberto who now serves three years for a repeated attempt to immigrate clandestinely. He previously lived in the US for eight years. After he serves the time, then the government will deport him once more to Honduras. He describes the repression he witnessed in the summer of 2009. In the wake of a military coup, the acting President criminalized anyone with a tattoo. In the draconian commanders all with visible tattoo were lined up and subject to his fusillade. Roberto lifted his shirt sleeve to reveal his brush with death; since it all took place without trial he knew many innocents had perished. Oddly he expressed relief not just for himself but for the circumstances in jail.

It turns out that in October of 2009 he suffered an imprisonment far worse than I could possibly imagine. In order to reenter the states members of the Zetas kidnapped he and three companions including a mother, a friend and female cousin. I was familiar with the nefarious reputation of the gang from accounts of warfare in Northern Mexico. The tales of indiscriminate murder of civilians in street side cafes, or the delivery to a doorstep of a severed head decapitated or a threat forced into a forehead. How had he survived? By ransom. Fortunately, another brother ransomed the four by salvaging $22,000 from savings and rushed sale of property. Meanwhile, the waiting for rescue was made less likely than the five of those who were stampeded to a riverside for execution. To the Zetas all were chattel, either to make profit with or else exercise the psychological terror techniques many Zetas acquired while serving with the military in training from United States facilities including SOA/WHINSEL. Roberto recounted what they would do with rats, pulverizing the kidnapped to the brink of extinction. His was a grizzly tale of fetid cramped quarters not the size of our dorm. It was through the garage he and others were herded into a two story house trap for 120 held for ransom. To have heard his story is to know he would not let the terror deter him.

I am proud to know in him the gumption that the poet William E. Henley called Invictus His unconquerable soul, the fell clutch of circumstances and “Horror of the shade, He the master of his fate, the captain of his soul; for him have I been called to witness the glorious compassion of God, in this time in this place."

Thankfully yours

Christopher

Oh, I had thought to write you of my trial but as yet I have had none to speak of. Even my legal team expressed surprise when the US Marshalls at first would not allow reading material into the court, never mind it was the Bible. My testimony before the Judge could have careened into the harangue of two words, but light shone in the darkness, and the Word became flesh. I listened to the prosecutor Captain Gladding with pity and with self restraint thought along the lines of St Augustine who meditated on the mystery of Christ’s birth: “Unspeakably wise, he is wisely speechless.” My advocate made a motion that the government had failed to give evidence of my guilt and the judge ignored him. Still it was self-evident that my case was allowing the judge not to protect the military interests. I therefore kept my inflammatory thoughts to myself and uttered not a word of solidarity. Not surprisingly, I received the maximum sentence. Yet the judge convicted me of an enigmatic charge for which I seek appeal and a precedent!

Keep the Vigil, dear SOA Watch