Friday, December 4, 2009

One Wrong Move

The one thing that distinguishes me from a murderer is that I have not committed any murders yet. One decision. One movement of the finger. A moment of madness. It may even be less than that. Surely, there are people in prison at this very moment who have been convicted of murders they did not commit. To society, they are murderers as well. In thought, a criminal and myself have no other distinctions. I'm sure I process similarly to many other men and women convicted of crimes. One day, they were citizens, the same as you and I. They had families, friends, Christmas celebrations and bills to pay. Then, one thing led to the next. A car was stolen, a bitter woman pressed charges after a drunken night, a policeman happened to catch you in the wrong place at the wrong time with drugs in the car. Now, jail. Employers look down on you. Family members don't talk about you in the same light. Are we not the same people we were the day before?

Perhaps I, two, ten or twenty years down the line, will become enraged at someone. Maybe they stole from me, hit my girl, or assaulted me. I will lose my restraint and furiously hit them with a bat. I've thought about how I would most likely murder someone, and it would almost certainly come in a moment of emotional fury with a blunt, nearby object. I have lived moments where I lost my temper. The rest of my life would be determined by the courts, my freedoms forfeit despite an entire life of being a good friend, worker, brother, uncle, son, husband. Forfeit because of one act. One moment.

I hate the laws. I hate the coldness of it all. I hate the interference from parties which care nothing for your emotional well-being and everything about politics and getting the job settled. Once, there was a time when men settled things between men. If a man raped or assaulted your daughter, he would be tracked down and killed, or at least had his legs broken, and that was that. Now, we are expected to sit quietly in our homes while oblivious officers instruct the criminal of his right to a lawyer and "fair" trial, where random people who have never met either party will decide what is "fair." We are powerless. The men who believe in an eye for an eye are punished for taking care of it themselves rather than sitting idly by. Why is it wrong to react according to your emotions when someone has wronged you or someone you love? Why is it that beating up a lying, thieving jerk is a crime at all, let alone one that could result in fifteen years in prison? Why do we have to prove it to a judge when we already know what is true from what we've seen from our own eyes? When we've lived the violations, why must we take it and explain it carefully and calmly, hoping that they will be punished as we see fit? It is not settling, to the victim, to have it taken care of by the police. Jail is rarely the right answer. Our punishments are uncreative and gentle when there are thousands of ways to hurt people, physically, mentally and emotionally. Why must I sit and deal with the pussification of the American justice system rather than cut out the meddling middle man and handle my own issues? Why aren't we allowed to take care of ourselves? Because it means they would lose power. They would lose money and influence. Because men in suits are afraid that deregulation means chaos. How does it feel to be a bear in a zoo? A bit like this, I would imagine. "Sure, they could roam free on their own, but what if they...! No!" say the zookeepers. "It's best to watch them from afar. Put them in a cage. We will feed them, and watch over them. That is what's best." But, it's not. It kills the beast within. It's murder.

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