JOT: Shades of Gray

JOT has been published
since 1991. Some back
issues are available. Single
issues are $5-10.Support NWA.
Receive a year of JOT with
a gift of $25 or more.
Give today.

WInter 2003

SHADES OF GRAY

JOT Writers on the Criminal Justice System

Don’t miss this latest issue JOT! In the tradition of “That Day” and “Lost In Darkness,” “Shades Of Gray” explores the theme of crime, punishment, and the role the justice system plays in all of our lives.

This 80 page issue features

Cover art by Tony Fitzpatrick
Photo contributions by John Brooks and the women of Beyondmedia
Writing by 46 JOT writers from nine of our writing groups
Introduction by scholar and activist Beth Ritchie.

STARS AND BARS
ByYvetta Logan

She thought he hung the moon and stars
Her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now
And he’s behind bars….

With his silky pony-tailed hair
He had style and flair
Her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now
And he’s behind bars…
Fancy cars, Versace clothes and chains of gold
What price is paid…perhaps one’s soul…
Her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now
And he’s behind bars
Cognac and brandy came first
This did not quench the thirst
Smoking pot and sniffing coke
They laughed--it was all a joke
That was then…this is now….

And he’s behind bars…

There was distress in his caress…
But her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now…
He’s behind bars….

The cars, the clothes, the gold was gone…
The yoke got tighter, he came undone…
She denied the fate, she could not hate
For her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now…
He’s behind bars…
He needed his hit, his cocaine treat…
He said to her, “Take to the street”
Her love for him was more, more, more
She went through that door…
That was then…this is now . . . .

In a stupefied rage, he bashed the landlord in the head.
The cops came and threw him in a cage…
That was then…this is now…
He’s behind bars….

Alone, afraid, despondent too, she was so very, very blue…
She had no hope, she could not cope…
That was then…this is now….

Her funeral was held the other day…
She took a gun…blew herself away…
Her love for him was more, more, more…
That was then…this is now . . . .

When he heard what she had done
He screamed and shouted, “Oh no, dear God…
She was the only one,
My love for her was more, more, more
But I never told her so…”
This is now…that was then
He’s still behind bars…

FLICKERING EMBERS
By Arthur Holland

The law said, “There shall be no burning or open flame within 25 feet of an establishment or building”

The garbage can glowed with sparkles flickering on its exterior, fueled with a broken dresser. Parts and shards of whatever would burn crackled as embers floated like drunken fireflies in the damp air.

The snow covered the streets in high piles and the neighborhood kids shoveled to clear the sidewalks. The day was cloudy and bitterly cold in anticipation of more snow, so to keep warm and to dry our gloves and mittens we huddled around the fire in the receptacle between tasks.

A green and white squad car pulled up a few feet from where were standing, and two policemen approached us and said, “Pick it up and empty it and replace it to where it belongs!” I said to myself, “This !@#$% must be out of his mind!” Under my breath of course.

No one was going to touch that can glowing and looking menacingly like molten lava; the aftermath of a volcano. The policeman hit me with the billy-club on the leg!

I quickly put my hand down on the spot where I had been struck . . . when he hit me again! This time the blow cracked across my knuckles and I screamed.

I kicked the can over into the street. Its hot contents made a loud hissing sound as it hit the cold, wet snow. Billows of steam plumed skyward as I continued to kick it, rolling it until it was empty. By then it was cool enough to stick a small shard of wood through the handle and pick it up, replacing it in front of the building from whence it came. Was this Law and Order? Or a case of brutality? In the 1940s this was the rule rather than the exception.

I was a good 14-year-old kid, responsible, and adept at controlling a small fire near the curb. We were also performing a civic duty by removing the snow from the walk-ways. Is this justification for being assaulted by officers of the law?

There were no civil rights systems then. What about now?