The Monday Musings
“Justice will not come to Athens until those who are not injured are as indignant as those who are injured." –Excerpt from Ancient Greek historian Thucydides in his classic, The History of the Peloponnesian War
***For those who agonized last week as the jury selection process in the Ahmaud Arbery case moved at a snail's pace, I offer this morning a reminder of an old saying: "the wheels of justice turn slowly—but they do turn!"
Last week, as prosecutors and defense attorneys questioned approximately 60 of the several hundred people summoned for service, it was quickly apparent that finding 12 or so who had not "formed strong/fixed opinions" about the case would be akin to a Herculean labor in Glynn County, Georgia and the City of Brunswick, a relatively small enclave where the degrees of separation among townsfolk is minimal.
This aspect of the Arbery case reminds me of one I handled several years ago (while active) involving Casey Cason, a young Black woman who was charged with second degree murder in the death of her best friend, Alaina Szortyka in Live Oak, Florida. Szortyka was a young white woman who, unbeknownst to Cason, was involved with the same trifling man and when their argument boiled over into fisticuffs in Cason's front yard, with Szortyka reportedly bashing her friend’s head repeatedly into the concrete walkway, Cason defended herself by stabbing Szortyka in the neck with a kitchen knife that was in her robe pocket—killing her in the process.
Now Live Oak, Florida—like Brunswick, Georgia, is a small, rural town and on the first day of jury selection, it seemed as if everybody and their momma, literally, did all that they could to avoid serving on the case. By the time jury selection ended, the two dozen or so Blacks who were summoned dwindled to zero as each and every one claimed to either have been related to Cason, or that they held such strong negative views about the deceased Szortyka, how the local police handled the matter—or both—that they couldn't be "fair and impartial" in the matter.
For those reasons, the eventual jury in our case was all-white, and the racial tensions were at such an inordinately high rate as evidenced by reckless chatter on traditional media message boards, social media, and a courtroom that's pews were all Black behind the defense table—and all white behind the prosecutor's table. In fact, the tension that week was so intense that I slept with my .40 caliber Glock next to me in the bed—while my .30-30 Winchester rifle stood at attention against the wall within arm's reach—just in case someone wanted to pull up and act upon all of those threats they were making online.
Racial concerns aside, the jury returned a not guilty verdict, as they agreed with my argument that a woman's home is her castle and that Ms. Cason had a right to use deadly force because she feared that her life was in peril. After the verdict, the local sheriff insisted that I allow his deputies to escort me and my staff to the county line, a gesture that I eventually acceded to and will never forget so long as I live.
Thus, my sincere prayers that justice occurs in this exponentially more racially polarized Arbery case—and that justice ensues with no violence as well.
***I often wonder whether Republican Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis is a 43-year-old man, or a four-year-old toddler with the way that he contrarily pursues public policy.
Earlier this month, as President Joe Biden promoted "Indigenous People's Day" as an alternative to typical Christopher Columbus Day celebrations, Desantis issued a proclamation praising the Italian colonizer whose so-called "discovery" of America led to Native American genocide and the enslavement of Africans in the "New World" for over two centuries.
In similar fashion, last week, Desantis proposed that the Florida legislature offer $5,000 bonuses to out-of-state law enforcement officers who refused to comply with Coronavirus vaccine mandates in New York, Minneapolis, and Seattle, so as to entice them to relocate to the Sunshine State.
Desantis's move comes only months after he clashed with local school boards about mask wearing, moves that compel me to conclude that his politics surely have earned him the pejorative nickname "Death-Santis" due to his refusal to advocate on behalf of the public health good.
But alas, we have about 12-months left until election day when I actually do believe that for the first time since 1998, that Florida will elect either Democrat U.S. Rep. Charlie Crist, Agriculture Commissioner Nikki Fried, or State Sen. Annette Taddeo as our next governor.
Stay tuned...
***Cognizant that the primary reason that most Republicans across America oppose mask wearing and vaccine mandates is their deplorable belief that such measures detrimentally impact the economy, I realize that in the months ahead, these science denying and mandate defying sorts will continue to push measures on local, state, and federal levels to eliminate common sense health measures to "force" a not-so-normal return to normalcy in our nation.
Just last week, Republican U.S. Rep. Madison Cawthorn proposed the "Let Me Travel America Act," one so offered due to his stated belief that "Vaccine requirements for interstate travel are in direct opposition to the United States Constitution."
Cawthorn, like most of the modern day "know nothing" con men who masquerade as Constitutional Law scholars, is simply riding the conservative wave of public opinion across America (but most deeply entrenched in the South) that mask and vaccine mandates somehow restrict freedoms to travel and work.
And while I understand the pandemic fatigue that most Americans feel, I still cannot comprehend why so many refuse to see how mask wearing keeps nasty germs from being transmitted from one person to the next. Or, how the vaccine does not "cure" Covid-19, but does protect and limit the worst symptoms and outcomes for those who have been inoculated but remain immuno-compromised because of co-morbidities like diabetes, asthma, and cancer. But I suppose that their ignorance is not to be understood, but legislated against in a way so that the foolish cannot harm the wise.
***Speaking of travel, The Hill is reporting that the Allied Pilots Association, which is the labor union that represents 14,000 American Airlines pilots, has grave concerns that in-flight discussions among pilots about the airline's vaccine mandate is causing distractions during flights.
A memo from the Union that was released last week read, “The latest hazard we face may be the hardest, regardless of your personal views concerning the vaccine mandate. We are seeing distractions in the flight deck that can create dangerous situations..."
I haven't flown anywhere since the Pandemic began but to be honest, the above memo and the idea that pilots, crew, and passengers alike may be unvaccinated (and placing others at risk) does very little to make me want to fly anywhere anytime soon.
***October is usually Homecoming season in college football, including America's Historically Black Colleges and Universities, the majority of which host a week's worth of events that find tens of thousands of alumni and supporters heading to the Yard to reminisce, reacquaint, and revel in collegiate pageantry.
But as I wrote last week juxtaposing the recent shooting incident near Grambling's campus and an incident that happened only a few feet away from me in 1993 as I visited some of my best friends at Tennessee State's homecoming, the spectre of violence from non-students and students alike not only places lives in jeopardy—but negatively impacts recruiting for scholars and scholar-athletes as well.
Tragically, as Fort Valley State, a proud HBCU, celebrated its homecoming this past weekend, shots rang out at an off-campus party that left one dead—and eight students wounded, according to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.
Sigh…
Again, I can distinctly remember during my freshman orientation week at Morehouse College in 1990 that we had not been on campus four full days before one of our classmate's was shot while walking towards Popeyes in the West End area of the city. On a far more personal level, I will never forget the night in '93 when I stood in the front yard of a residence across the street from W.E.B. DuBois Hall (expressing my interest in pledging Kappa Alpha Psi) when, while talking with my friend and eventual Frat Brother Chris Ward, shots rang out in rapid succession—forcing Ward and me to duck down underneath a Suzuki jeep that was parked in the street. When the shots stopped, Ward, now an Atlanta judge, yelled "go" and right as we sprinted to the top of the porch, whoever was shooting must have reloaded and started shooting again; the fear didn't set in until hours later when I returned to my dorm in Kilgore Hall and realized that I could have been killed without the least bit of understanding as to who was the gunman—and why he was even shooting at the Nupes and prospective members.
My point is the same as last week, which is that college campuses are no damn place for guns and violence that could lead to death. I don't know what measures can be taken to stop what's occurring far more regularly these days, but I do know that the status quo cannot last as parents may shun these educational bastions of Black excellence if they fear that their children will not make it home alive.
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Excellent, informative, and entertaining. Thanks Chuck!