A whole world you are technically from, but no longer of

by Kevin Foster

There is something fascinating about seeing the world through the internal bars on a prison transport van. Watching the countless cars go by as your driver speeds to your destination. Wondering where those people are racing off to and who they are. Observing buildings flashing by with unknown purposes being fulfilled within. Then marvelling at technological miracles such as L.E.D. billboards, something that either didn’t exist in your day or was too expensive. Cars all slick and shiny in models you’ve only glimpsed in commercials. This buzzing river of humanity as it flows down a highway in quests to do any number of things.

You sit, a passive observer seeing a whole world you are technically from but no longer of. And you wonder why? Surely in some of those nameless people there are those less honorable than you. Some who are more self involved. Perhaps more dangerous. And you realize that you may have once been dangerous due to ego or stupidity or selfishness, but now all these years later you yearn for any chance at redemption. To once more be trusted enough to be a faceless, nameless and most importantly, numberless human being. Not a slave in a cage. Not someone else’s property who must do the master’s bidding or face punishment.

Meanwhile all those humans hurry about their lives oblivious to the fact that the white van they pass is carrying those the state has condemned in their name, by their proxy. Even if they did know, I doubt that in their myriad of challenges and obstacles they face each day many would concern themselves with the plight of such wastes of humanity.

I don’t blame them. When I was free, I was oblivious too. Like them I had far, far too much to do, you see. And such a huge and fascinating world to explore. Adventure and new sights at every turn. Colors and sounds and feelings long forgotten.

The point of such musings is to my mind two fold.

First, there are some people in those cars, buildings and walking various streets that do care, and in them we glimpse a compassion and generosity we should aspire to. For in the madcap world full of rushing to and fro with never enough time in a day, the fact anyone would willingly choose to share any of it with us is a miracle.

Second, and I hope equally important, is the fact that just because someone did something wrong, hurt someone or committed some crime, does not invalidate them as a fellow human being with all the innate goals, hopes, and dreams free world people have. We just know as slaves ours are going to be infinitely harder to achieve. And for many of us the main goal is simply a chance at redemption. A chance to walk down the street unchained and not having to see the none-too-subtle change when our escorts tell those wonderful hardworking people, “He’s death row”, in a none too quiet whisper.

True freedom doesn’t lie in unfettered access. It lies in knowing other people trust you just enough to walk the streets and in being honorable enough to deserve it. As one of my favorite philosophical quotes goes, “Be kind to everyone you meet, for you do not know what they are dealing with.”

And as you race from hither to yonder every once in a while imagine the world from someone else’s perspective. Even that of a convict on a prison van. As we so often imagine yours.

May we all be more honorable, compassionate, and kind.

Kevin Foster, a resident on Florida’s death row for many years, studied architecture and writes science fiction.