Abe's "Altar of Freedom"

My wish for all of you this holiday season!

Today concludes all the Day of the Dead celebrations, and with November we officially step into the holiday season of Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, and Los Tres Reyes Magos. For me personally, I approach my twentieth year of holidays away from any semblance of family or friends and surprisingly find myself blessed with everything I will need for another year of advocating for justice, not only for my own case and life, but also for the underlying promise of what this nation was founded on—freedom, justice and equality for all. Of course, the gifts I receive don't come wrapped with expensive paper or decorated with bows or ribbons, but that's only because they're things like empathy, optimism, laughter, intelligence, health and peace. And, in some strange way—despite the accoutrements of steel, cement, and razor-wire that replace the mistletoe and holly—I enjoy the holidays more than I ever did before, because prison has afforded me the ability to see with new eyes what I never saw before: that things like equal rights and freedom can't be given or gifted, they can only be achieved through collective cooperation, continual effort, and vigilance. A much needed reminder as we likewise approach a new presidential election, and potentially even a new era of American democracy.

Of course, this holiday season feels more anxious and tentative than festive. Which probably has to do with the divided polarity of the nation. Because regardless of what the tallied votes tell us on Tuesday, nobody will actually win, because irrespective of what the popular vote or electoral college says the outcome is, the remainder of the population is going to find itself further entrenched in its general unwillingness to accept, cooperate, or otherwise contribute to the re-edification process that will determine if America is going live up to its edicts on freedom, justice, and equality, or become—something else altogether.

While anxiety and stress are normal responses to these shifting ideological extremes, let us not be deterred from pursuing right over wrong and fairness as the overarching principle of what it means to be free. For in the moment we give in to apathy is the moment we lose the achievements of every sacrifice along the way that have made this nation into something special in a world where freedom and equality are all to frequently not even part of the lived reality that people confront. Because the truth is, concepts like justice, equality, and freedom are not obvious, just as they are not easy.

In fact, there was a time, relatively speaking not too long ago, when this nation spoke about justice and freedom while actually condoning slavery. And then, 161 years ago, an unlikely man named Abraham Lincoln became President, took inventory of the divided nation in which he lived, and pointed out to all those gathered there before him after he was reelected to a second term that, "[i]n any great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall have as weak and as strong, as silly and as wise, as bad and as good. Let us therefore study the incidents in this as philosophy to learn wisdom from and none of them as wrongs to be avenged." Pertinent advice that we need to heed as we move beyond this election cycle into what this nation will become, because what it will become will not be by chance, but by choice; and it will not be determined by who the President is, but rather, by what we do with what we have, despite whoever resides in the White House. Which brings us tentatively to the "Altar of Freedom" that Abe so often referred to in his writings and speeches.

Whether we realize it or not, we all have something to place on the Altar of Freedom. And if my life must be that thing where I speak, from within a prison, on the realities of facing down bureaucracy and injustice then I eagerly embrace my purpose as a sacrifice placed diligently on that same altar. For we cannot be more than what we are, as Theodore Roosevelt wrote in a book on Abraham Lincoln¹, "human nature will not change."

Which is precisely the observation we should always begin with: we might do different things and make better choices, but ultimately our nature is the constant in the equation of our humanity. At times we are inherently kind, and in other moments inherently cruel. Yet, we are all torn from the same cloth. I wear a prison uniform now, and my personal clothing is limited to four white t-shirts, a long sleeve thermal, and a very old sweatshirt. I don't mention this as a complaint, just an observation of fact, like mentioning the weather or a beautiful sunset on the horizon. But it brings to the forefront a pertinent observation previously stated by Roosevelt, in that, "[we shouldn't] refuse to do what is possible because [we] cannot accomplish the impossible."

What is possible for me right now is to give my time, intellectual capacity, and maybe even my sanity to the cause of speaking truth to a monolith of bureaucracy and general incompetence that doesn't want to listen. Will it change my circumstances, prison sentence, or where my days will come to an end? I don't know. What I do know is that the injustice I wake up to every day isn't specific to just me, or just the wrongfully convicted, it's universal and transparent in every aspect of every life whether we choose to see it or not. Which is why the sacrifices of time, talent, and sanity that I place on freedom's altar are not given with an expectation of return or reward. I give them only because they are the best of who and what I am, and with them comes the hope that there will come a time when justice is as universal as injustice is today.

People constantly tell me that I'm pursuing a pipe-dream, because "the courts are corrupt" or "your Mexican" or "the victim's family is too powerful" or (and perhaps my favorite) "justice isn't real." All these statements could very well be the cause and truth to the predicament in which I find myself, but they aren't definitive, nor will they deter me. Because for me, difficult is the only thing worth doing, and wherever we may find ourselves in life is never definitive. Today I write to an audience of a few hundred, but ten years from now there is no way to know where I might find myself, or with what opportunities—on the inside or outside—and justice and freedom will be the continued pursuit of my life. Which really brings us to the heart of what it means to be thankful as we step into this holiday season.

If you are fortunate enough to be surrounded with your family and loved ones this season, do so with an awareness that they themselves are the gift. Yes, family and friends have a way of making us crazy at times, but ultimately they give us abilities in more ways than one to confront the hardships and uncertainties of the new year to come. I didn't understand this truth when I was younger, as many of you can probably relate, but rather than experience sorrow I find great joy recalling to memory the family gatherings with loud uncles and ugly sweaters, awkward dancing and the food that only finds itself on the table once a year. I am thankful, not only for all that I have, but also for all that I've had—and even feel thankful for whatever awaits me around the corner. Moreover, my wish for all of you this holiday season is collective cooperation, continual effort and vigilance as together we confront a challenging but better tomorrow built upon the very nature of our humanity—the good and the bad—so as to arrive at our fullest potential of what is neither impossible or probable, but altogether inevitable. Happy Holidays!

FOOTNOTES:

1. “The Papers and Writings of Abraham Lincoln,” Edited by Arthur Brooks Lapsley

Image courtesy of www.FreePik.es