I’d like to take a moment to discuss the state of Georgia’s recent execution of Troy Davis (September 21, 2011 at 11:08 p.m. Eastern Time).
Yes, I know. This is a writing blog.
But I am a political person, and I can’t let this go.
I would venture that, like me, the vast majority of people who rose up to decry this exercise of capital punishment had no idea who Troy Davis was before this week. You’d never know that by watching the news.
We, as a culture, put on a good show of loving justice, though we each have our own ideas of what exactly that is. More than this, we seem to love the chance to rail against injustice. Maybe it’s because this is an easier path–a quick flash of indignation and rage, a little seething and grousing after, then back to our regularly schedule program. I’m not blaming anyone for this cherry-picked approach. Because once you start looking, really looking, you’ll see injustice everywhere. This is our world. And living with eyes open to this is exhausting. I know this from experience.
This is a blog about writing, a blog about the creative process, a blog, ultimately, about imagination.
And this is where I fail you.
Because I cannot imagine how the execution of Troy Davis was just. I cannot imagine the world as a better, safer place because one man is no longer in it. It doesn’t even matter that he was very likely innocent of the charges which led to his conviction and execution.
A man died last night to feed the machine.
Each of us has the individual responsibility of deciding how this does–or does not–effect their life.
And the wheel spins on.