The Unveil. Stepping Into The Reality of Tennessee’s Death Penalty

If you aren’t already aware,  this year I am serving with Tennessean’s for Alternative’s for the Death Penalty.  TADP strives to bring to light the concerns of the death penalty system in Tennessee, and I’m largely involved in reaching out to churches and schools and gearing up for our annual student conference in the spring.  Recently however, I was asked to write a brief blog post about my initial thoughts on my time working around the issue of the death penalty for our organization’s website.  I thought I might as well repost it here because thing is suppose to be informative n junk. So here it is:

Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

                                      James Baldwin

“Criminals get what they deserve.” Simple. This brief statement sufficed for a white kid with a comfortable life growing up in the suburbs of Birmingham. The statement served as an indication of how much thought I put into the matter of the criminal justice system, and the somber truth is that my life, for a time, never really asked for more investigation. No further inquiry was required beyond the media’s portrayal of criminals and their trials, or the legal material of my senior year level U.S. government class. The blurry lens of my privileged life molded my perception of the system and those incarcerated within.

Nothing much changed until a few years later, where I attended an informative event held on the campus of my university with the simple intention of extra credit. The speaker, Ray Krone, spoke of his wrongful imprisonment and death sentence for a crime he did not commit. Besides personal testimony, the presentation included other concerns the current death penalty system raises, and let’s just say my faulty perception of our institutions of “justice” became slightly less opaque that evening. “Criminals get what they deserve”, no longer became a valid statement for my take on the criminal justice system.

Fast forward a few years later and here I am, serving with the very same organization (TADP of course) that pulled a little of the veil off my eyes. Even though I have only been with this organization for a few months, I learn more and more about this issue each day. Perhaps the most valuable insight that has come to my attention is the tragic inattention given to the brokenness of our state’s death penalty.

So, what is so broken about it”? TADP works to bring to light many of the actualities we uncover when we look into the reality of Tennessee’s system of capital punishment. While many more concerns exist, here’s just a peak of what I’ve learned:

Tennessee has executed 6 people since 1977, while its current death row sits at 73.

A study conducted on capital sentencing in Tennessee found that defendants with white victims were 3.15 times more likely to receive the death penalty than defendants with black victims.

Almost no one on Tennessee’s death row could afford his/her own defense.

By examining available data, death penalty trials cost an average of 48% more than the average costs of trials in which life imprisonment is sought. (2004 Tennessee’s Comptroller’s Report) 

Forty percent of Tennessee’s death row comes from Shelby County, while half of the counties in the state have never sought the death penalty.

Over 150 people nationwide have been freed after evidence of their innocence emerged, including three in Tennessee.

 For those who are not directly affected by the death penalty, there is a natural propensity to assume that our ideals of the system and its reality are one in the same. Without investigation, without peeling back the thick layer of our own assumptions and looking into the actuality, we don’t confront what needs to be confronted. If it wasn’t for the happenstance of that one evening in Maryville, Tennessee, I could have continued to live without awareness of the grave problems of this institution, free from the sober and unfortunate reality.

Let’s start living in the real world. It’s time to face reality. It’s time to unveil.

You can learn more about the concerns of Tennessee’s death penalty at tennesseedeathpenalty.org

More updates to come soon folks.

Thanks!

Hot Chicken is Really Hot

I’m not sure if I know a better way to kick off than by a cute little ancedote on one of Nashville’s present day culinary gems: Hot Chicken.

This was a joyful time in the early months of Nashville. I had just moved in, gotten a bit of a feel for the town, heck I even took the time to JOG in my neighborhood on a Saturday morning (voluntary exercise on a weekend, HA! I’m practically Mark Wahlberg).  When moving into a new city, something that I like to do that may be a little OUTLANDISH is to sample the local food scene (you know, get a taste of what we’re dealing with here). With Austin it was queso, breakfast tacos, and brisket, with each dish equally and obnoxiously appraised as the best G-darn thing in the whole wide world…I do not miss Texas.  Anyways, as a city with a distinct blend old and new, Nashville is known for having a wide array of BBQ and dinnery type joints. In recent years however, what has apparently been a part of music city for generations is now more popular than ever, as our favorite bird all spiced up (“hot chicken”) is selling faster than its “cake” predecessor ever did (take that you smug flapjacks!).  Early on, I had the chance to throw back some of this spicy poultry at a swanky hipstery type of joint, “Hattie B’s”. Like most rich and vibrant traditions, it’s only a matter of time before my generation gets our grubby, obnoxious, iPhone smudgy hands on them and proceed to squeeze whatever purity or originality they have left and transform it into some kind of gimmicky new trend that you’ll hear on some god awful buzzfeed video, “People from Montana try pad thai for the first time” (WHOA THEY’VE NEVER EATEN THIS BEFORE! ISN’T THEIR SLIGHTLY SURPRISED REACTION  GREAT CONTENT FOR A VIDEO? WE THINK SO HERE’S 321381920 MORE!).

Anyways, I tried it and it was pretty good. Props to the B’s there I guess.

So, a few weeks later in the middle of work, I noticed a rumble in the ole belly and googled to see what was around my area.  What do ya know, “Bolton’s Hot Chicken and Fish” popped right up. “Oh boy,” I thought to myself. “What an excellent opportunity not only for food, but also to get another go of this local delicacy.”  Looking back, I was neither short on optimism nor hunger…how things would soon change.

So, as the restaurant was but a short .6 miles from where I worked, I set out on my humble quest for some spicy grub. When nearing my destination, I was almost thrown off by the meager exterior and almost complete lack of signage. Then, it came to full view.  A faded, slanted wooden plank read, “Bolton’s Hot Chicken and Fish” right in front of clearly aged door. I chuckled to myself as I knew I was not to be mistaken by the feeble looks of the place, in fact, there was no better indication that I had found what I was looking for. After several people passed by me with quizzical glances whilst I stood in front of the restaurant nodding my head with a feint yet satisfied smile for two minutes or so, I decided to not waste another second and stepped inside. With the door swinging loosely behind me, I surveyed what laid at my feet. “Here we go”, I thought to myself, surveying the place. “No fancy electronic signs, TV’s, or basic lighting; a counter and a fryer, the bare essentials.” It looked like there was only room for about 8 and a half people inside, but I think that’s honestly a plus. You ever wonder that there might be an inverse correlation between cubic feet and taste? No? I’m clinically insane? Right then. A few tables were crammed together as the pathway to the counter was fairly narrow. After casually glancing at the menu, I mozied on up to place my order. Much like hot wings and taco bell sauce, with hot chicken there are a certain number of “levels” of spice you can request-usually mild, medium, hot, fire, extra fire, everything hurts, remember me well, Oh Captain My Captain, etc. Boltons has four, with “Xtra Hot” leading the way.  After pondering the “hot” option (I had downed the Hattie B’s “hot” with superb ease) I decided to play it safe and go “medium”. After all, I didn’t want to embark on an exotic fiery adventure during work hours, not wise my friend.  I ordered a large dark plate with some green beans and mac and cheese. As I waited, I noticed the line had already reached out the door, as a few local construction workers stepped up to place their orders (extra manly construction men FYI). This silenced any doubts I had about the authenticity of this joint and I began to feel more pride than any man should for literally walking down the street and ordering some chicken. I might as well had just become the first customer at Chipotle or invented that cell phone watch thing; what was wrong with me.

Well my order soon arrived and I wasted no time getting back to work, food in hand. The brown paper bag was pipping hot and I removed the tasty treasures inside with great haste. I opened up the styrofoam container and was immediately bombarded with a waft of smoke, right to the kisser (POW). I wiped the smoke off my lenses and gazed down at the golden brown chicken; the blackened spices sprinkled throughout like zesty accents on a deliciously savory canvas. Woooweee I was ready to GET. IT. ON.  I cut into the first piece and scarfed it down much like a lion does to a wounded gazelle. The spices packed a pretty distinct punch, but I took no concern and quickly cut into my second bite. Around 14 or 15 bites later I was already about halfway done, all while working up a mighty thirst.  I reached for a nearby bottle of water, but my arm suddenly froze in place, like the hand on a clock, and just for a brief, quiet moment on that September afternoon, time and space stood still.

What was occurring here could be best described in terms of sulfur dioxide (S02).  Emissions of this can be carried via the air following a standard volcanic reaction:

The effects of SO2 on people and the environment vary widely depending on (1) the amount of gas a volcano emits into the atmosphere; (2) whether the gas is injected into the troposphere or stratosphere; and (3) the regional or global wind and weather pattern that disperses the gas. Sulfur dioxide (SO2) is a colorless gas with a pungent odor that irritates skin and the tissues and mucous membranes of the eyes, nose, and throat. Sulfur dioxide chiefly affects upper respiratory tract and bronchi. The World Health Organization recommends a concentration of no greater than 0.5 ppm over 24 hours for maximum exposure.

Apparently the so called “World Health Organization” had never been to “Bolton’s Hot Chicken and Fish”, for every inch of my mouth began to feel like I had just witnessed the first-hand destruction of Pompeii, a front row seat, jaw agape. “Crap”, I thought to myself as I began to softly tremble in my seat, much like a cellular device; my body was going into shock.  The room began to spin as I struggled to encounter the joyful memory that only occurred a moment ago.  I was so happy as I thanked the cashier and proudly walked out of the store.  What a mistaken feeling this was. I imagine it was how Hanzel and Gretel felt in the middle of consuming all the delicious ordinations of the Witch’s hollow, before almost being baked into a human meat pie. Anyways, I gathered myself from the initial wave of paralyzing searing oral magma, and luckily remembered what I was doing prior to the onslaught of the second burning of Rome taking place between my gums. I deliriously grabbed the half full water bottle and drained its measly contents; not all the liquid in the Gulf of Venezuela could appease the atrocity of what was taking place. “Why is this so hot? WHY?” my mind racing to come up with an answer. No use. Questioning it was the only thing I could do at this point, as I knew I would be a fool to attempt to fight back, the pain probably thrived on resistance, that bastard chicken. It was at this point when my boss casually walked in from her office to retrieve her lunch, probably something in which the memory of eating would not come back to jar someone awake in the middle of the night. Lord, this packed a punch-an army of punches. As she walked back she casually glanced over at what used to be a somewhat together, competent employee, but whose poor lunch decision had now reduced him to a damp, exasperated shell of a human being, gasping for breath as he barred the peppery inferno that roared within him. “You OK?”she asked as I quickly attempted to wipe the flowing stream of tears off of my face with the inside of my arm as to avoid eternal blindness. “F-fine…H–hot chick..chicken…” It’s all I managed to spurt out as I fought back the urge to high tail it for the supply of water bottles that lay just behind her. “Oh did you go to Boltons?” she asked with a smile on her face. I simply nodded my head to hide my sheer anguish (Churchill’s quote on, “going through hell” came to mind). However, once she made it back to her office I jolted over and gulped water like a malnourished goldfish.  “And to think I pondered hot,” I thought, practically numb from the unbridled anguish the few bites of lunch had caused. It was all too true though. The possibility had casually sauntered through my mind like I was trying to decide which pair of shoes I was going to wear to a party at Buffalo Wild Wings. “Medium heat…MEDIUM! HA! In what kind of satanic dimension is this considered medium??? I demand answers!” It was all I could do to laugh at this moment, attempting to engage with some kind of coping mechanism.  “…my pride,” I was still standing by the water bottles. “Showing up in a place of which I knew nothing about and ordering a middle level spice…what was I thinking. CURSE YOU EGO! FOOLED AGAIN BY MY MISTAKEN TOLERANCE FOR MEDIUM SPICED CULINARY OPTIONS!!!” I leaned against the wall, waiting for death.

When things came to a point of graspable tolerance (this felt like a millennium), I finally made it back to my seat to look upon what I thought would just be a “normal lunch”.  Next to ending of Toy Story 3, this was the only non human to give the go ahead for Niagra Falls to emerge from my tear ducts. In a funny way, I had respect for it, and due to a strong believe in eating what I pay for, I carefully peeled off the toxic skin and gingerly consumed the remainder of the chicken.  While still fairly intense, it was peanuts compared to the events of what transpired before it.  While both my humanity and my palate may have took a toll, I survived.

All in all, I’ll never forget my first time eating Bolton’s.  I haven’t been there since, but I can’t help but smile at the little joint as I drive home from the days end.  Rather than a gentle nudge, sometimes life hits you hard in the face, or in my case, a large plate of very hot, “hot chicken”.

Thanks for stopping by folks. More to come soon.

Coming soon…again!

Hello!

You’re witnessing the beginning. It’s not every day you find yourself staring into the origins of what is destined to surely become a GOLDMINE of sheer WordPress excellence.  How about taking advantage of the rare opportunity by  channeling your excitement through the passionate hug of a loved one or a lively quest to seek homely refuge for a blind parakeet or something?  That’s my kind of Tuesday.  I believe in you.

So, if you’ve managed to make it through that paragraph of utter nonsense, you’ll be happy to know that this blog will sound nothing like this (well…not entirely true), rather it will merely become the online chronicling of my feeble attempts to produce cohesive reflections about my time as a Young Adult Volunteer, this time in Nashville, TN. While this may not be the sparkling oasis of pros worthy of the Lifetime Movie or Bravo reality spin-off you might have longed for, I can only hope my words can offer resonance, whether that’s insight, empathy, a laugh, or a reason to try Thai food (cue excessive mouth foaming).

In all seriousness, I am happy you are here. Thank you and stay tuned for more posts, both upbeat and sobering a like as I journey forward with a year of service in the Music City.

This year I will be working with Tennessean’s for Alternatives for the Death Penalty

Stay Tuned!

And…

If you’re not already familiar, be sure two check out my awkwardly short blog of my time in Austin, TX! Things happened!