Part One: The Fallen
Years ago, while in prison in Tucson, I was falsely accused by staff and put in the Special Housing Unit (SHU) as retaliation, which, in the Bureau of Prisons, happens far too often. As I was ushered to the dark halls of the isolated cells, I carried a tremendous burden, wondering where my faith was.
I honestly thought, even in prison, that if I kept my faith, and trusted God, and did my best to help others, then God would protect me. But in the face of injustice, it seemed to me now that God seemed to protect the oppressors more than the oppressed, and the slave masters more than the slaves.
As I entered the cell, my head was down; I was dejected and near hopelessness, entering a cell as empty as a shell. But, as I looked up into the cell, I saw a person standing apprehensively on the opposite side of the cell, looking at me, eyes fixed with determination. The guy looked young, with sandy curly hair, unkept, with a bright orange jumpsuit fully buttoned, but it was his stance that gathered my attention.
He stood, as if ready to fight, but his red eyes hinted that he didn’t want to. His face was full of anxiety. Yet, in the same moments he looked with trepidation, then his eyes widened. He knew me, and then I recognized him.
“Josh?”, I asked quietly, almost a whisper, as the cell closed behind me and locked.
“Fred?” he said, as if asking if what he was seeing was true. “Are you my cellie?”
It seemed obvious to me. The officer locked the door, so logic dictates that I clearly was his cellmate, but Josh asked again, still in his defensive stance.
“Tell me you’re my cellie! Tell me!” Josh said, trembling with the query.
I didn’t understand the need to confirm the obvious, and usually I employ humor to break the ice in conversations, but for the life of me, I had none. I was broken, and in my current state of mind, empty of faith. I had nothing left to declare anymore, except the obvious.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I said, defeated in my surrender, and disappointed in myself, looking down to the floor.
It was then that Joshu paused, then dropped his tensed hands, slumped to the floor, and began sobbing heavily.
I immediately looked up, and across the cell to the person I knew from general population as a decent friend, a good person who made mistakes in his life, as we all did. He was put in the SHU for reasons I knew not, and I wondered why, although none of that mattered now. At the sight of a broken young man, the emptiness of my heart due to the injustices I faced, and my momentary lack of faith now filled with compassion. As broken as I felt, Josh obviously was more so, and he needed my help.
But then the horror of his sadness seemed painfully obvious to me. If this young man in the SHU is so full of pain and sorrow, I could only think of one reason.
Josh was raped.
Whatever doubts or questions I had of myself or God had to wait. More is required of me. A life was ravaged. How might I help repair that? There is nothing I can do; I cannot turn back time, I cannot heal this atrocity. For seconds I stood there, as Josh cried deeply and emotionally, on his knees, over the bottom bunk. His sudden release of emotion was proportionate to his trauma the trauma he had endured.
Knowing I was now his cellmate allowed him space to grieve. Josh didn’t need to tell he was raped…I knew. My heart felt pierced by the indifference of officers here at this prison, and how they treat prisoners so inhumanely, as I witnessed first-hand, the pain and trauma of a rape victim.
Moments passed, and I realized I had to do something. My Lord and my God…what am I supposed to do? Perhaps the first thing that I needed to do was let him grieve, knowing there is nothing I can say that will change how he feels. Let him empty himself of his sorrow, until I hopefully can find something to say. As lost as I was in this situation, looking at this human being crying with no help whatsoever, I slumped to the floor, in great sadness, for a friend.
“My God, if there is such a thing as love in this world, where was it when he needed it?” I whispered, challenging the God Almighty of everything the world is made of. I was forced to look at the tragic end of a human being, and locked in a cell, I could not turn away, nor could I not stop the sounds of his pain.
I could do nothing but get angry. I wanted to find out who did this to Josh and hurt him or worse. The venom of hatred began to well in me, as I felt my hands tensing. I felt anger towards the prisoner who did this, and any officer involved as well, knowing that often times, officers will intentionally put a person in a life-or-death situation as retaliation for perceived disrespect.
These officers put this kid in a situation to be raped, and I hated them for it.
I asked myself what the point of believing in a loving God is when hate and cruelty runs amok. Where is the help? Where is the love? Where is the promised protection? I challenged, angry maybe at God, maybe at myself for not preventing this, hating the world for being so evil.
Josh’s cries began to soften, and I looked at him, realizing that I was crying myself. I felt the dampness of my clothes, as tears ran for him, and for my inabilities and frustrations. I wondered why couldn’t God, who can do anything, be here?
“More is required of you” was a soft tone in my head. I looked at the hurting Josh, who had seemingly cried himself to exhaustion.
“Fred, I can’t go on with this. I’m going to kill myself today.” he softly said, without looking at me.
“You can’t Josh. Not like this.” I said, not sure if I had a right in the world to persuade a rape victim not to end his life. Honestly, I didn’t know if I could stop him, and if he is successful, what then is left of me? I’m already on fumes with my faith, a simple push would put me in a very dangerous spiritual situation, let alone the mighty shove of a suicide of a rape victim who is my friend.
I cannot win here. There is only one way this ends.
To be continued…
No Comments