 Br. MikeO'Grady, S.J., Prisoner of Conscience |
School of the Americas |
Letter from Mike O'Grady to Friends
January 2, 2004
January, 2004
Dear Friends,
I find myself dwelling upon the grace of community as I find myself absent from family and friends during this holy time. Lonely am I?... Perhaps. Certainly I'm conscious of the ways that community can be manifested even in light of the circumstances of engaged absence. The overwhelming volume of support and encouraging letters is, I believe, showing me threads of community can be woven in the most fraying circumstances.
Much support comes from strangers, many whom I'll likely never meet in this world, but who nonetheless share in the same spirit of Christian love, determination, and resistance to the evils of our day.
It is an embarrassment of riches to receive letters and observe the faces of men who've been in here for months and years and received nothing from family or friend or stranger. Tied into their choices (often terribly made) and circumstances (often terribly beyond their control) these men are locked in, warehoused, and forgotten. This vantage affords a privileged glimpse into the conditions which befall the men we regularly see on our street corners in South Cumminsville in Cincinnati .
As I help fellows to write letters—to daughters, wives, jail authorities—I see the terrible toll functional illiteracy elicits in these men. As guys see me writing they ask for my help. I see my riches in the face of this objective impoverishment and realize how little I do. In this is my poverty made manifest.
Today at midafternoon I was called out by a correctional office who discreetly and solicitously inquired as to my welfare—was I doing OK? Hows my physical health? Am I being threatened by the circumstances of this confinement? My first reaction was to be genuinely grateful for the attention. I still remain so.
I know many friends on the outside have been writing to various officials (including the boss who undoubtedly commissioned the visit) to illustrate the conditions inmates are subjected to in here. Perhaps this white Northerner sitting in a Southern jail full of poor black men causes the authorities to have legitimate concern for my health. I don't doubt this.
What strikes me is the contrast that indicates the lot of these men. No one cares about their situation. In the larger cultural vision—“They get what they deserve.” Again I'm accompanied by a great sadness; not anger, at least not anymore. Where, Oh Lord, is the solicitude that ensures these men adequate legal representation? Where, Oh Lord, is the care that affords these men a level of dignity commensurate with their status as children of God? Where, O Lord, is the spirit of rehabilitation, and how long will it be engulfed by the malign spirit of retribution?
Slowly these prayers rise from my heart. Slowly I wait for answers. Slowly I wait for insight. And slowly I ask of myself, what do you want of us, O Lord, those who claim to be members of your community? I know Jesus is patient with me in my ploddings.
Mike
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