Just Call me 113: Life in Max Security

I can’t tell you where I’m at, but I’m here. Trust me.

wrongly accused, prison, justice

This is where I spend most of my time. Thinking. Praying. Writing.

Behind cement, rebar and steel. The strip searches,

room searches, cooks in a trash bag, counting days between visits,

stealing stamps, standing in line to make that one call home.

They gave me 113 years, all told. Why?

 

I’ve been asking that one myself, since January 2011.

There’s no evidence, forensic report was clean, no priors.

They threatened to throw my wife in jail if she testified on my behalf.

I wasn’t even given a foresnsic expert for my defense.

I’m here because of my last name, but I can’t tell you that.

Hispanics are guilty until proven innocent, even if they were born in the US.

 

Would you –

plead ‘guilty’ to one count of rape, with a term of one year, or

plead ‘not guilty’ and take your 113 years for terrible crimes you never committed?

Just call me ‘113’ for short.

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