Since
this
story is about my
friend Eddie
Guerrero, and Eddie
has been a guest of
the Michigan
Department of
Corrections for the
past 45 years, it
might seem odd that
it starts out in Joe
Nelson's Barbershop.
Joe Nelson's
Barbershop was in
Alma, Michigan and
Joe was widely
regarded by those
who knew him as
being the best guy
in town. Let
me illustrate the
extent to which this
was so:
At
this
point, I guess this
story really must
begin at Larry's IGA
in Alma. My wife,
Jean, daughter,
Hannah and I were
shopping at Larry's
on the afternoon of
Halloween back in
the year of 2009. I
was chatting with
the manager, my old
friend Larry Mott,
about our salad days
playing City League
softball back in the
1960's and 70's,
which was what I
usually did on one
of our frequent
shopping trips to
the IGA store. Larry
had been amusing
himself (and myself)
earlier by picking
up bricks of IGA
Extra Sharp Cheddar
Cheese from the
dairy cooler and
tossing them at
Hannah, while
looking at me and
calling out, “Think
fast!” Each time the
cheese bounced off
of Hannah's hands as
she gave out with a
short, sharp,
chirping scream.
This was a variation
on an old softball
drill. It was done
around a pulled in
infield and the one
conducting the drill
would look at one
player and throw the
ball at another
while calling out –
you guessed it –
“Think fast!” My dad
had taught me this
drill with hard hit
ground balls bounced
at my groin,
explaining that
trying to field such
balls would make my
hands faster. He was
right: it did. So
when Larry looked at
Hannah, and let the
cheese fly at me
with a little
mustard on it, I was
ready and fielded
the cheddar cleanly
as it smacked into
my waiting hands.
Larry still had a
pretty good arm and
I told him so.
Hannah said, “You
guys are too weird!”
and went off to find
her mother.
As
Larry
and I chatted
amiably at the
cheese section of
the dairy cooler,
Joe Nelson came into
the store with his
son, who was about
eight. Joe was
dressed in the full
regalia of a pirate
ship's captain in an
outfit that would
have made Captain
Jack Sparrow sit up
and take notice. The
young laddie was
equally well attired
in the uniform of
his first mate, and
both father and son
were having quite
the time rushing
through the store
and making
threatening pirate
gestures at the
startled customers.
“Avast there,
Cap'n!” Larry called
out to Joe. Joe
leered at us and
with a wink
answered, “AAAARGH!”
as his young matey
called out, “You
give 'em what for,
Cap'n!” They
gathered up some
candy and some
apples, made their
purchase with
plastic swords
pointed at the
Halloween weary
clerk, and were
quickly out the door
and on their way to
an event at Joe's
church that night
called, “Pirate
Joe's Treasure
Chest.” Larry, still
chuckling, looked at
me and said, “There
goes the best guy in
town!”
Now
this
was something coming
from Larry Mott.
Larry was the Babe
Ruth of Alma
softball and many
was the time he had
broken our team's
heart as one of his
titanic home runs
climbed silently and
quickly up into the
night sky and
disappeared over the
lights at the old
Euclid Street field.
And Larry was just
as well known in
Alma as the Babe was
in New York for his
generous acts,
genuine kindness,
and civic minded
contributions to our
community. He had a
shelf full of awards
from the various
civic organizations
and clubs around
town to prove it,
and had won the
“Order of the
Tartan,” the City of
Alma's annual civic
achievement award,
more than anyone
else. For a couple
of generations,
Larry had been
widely regarded by
those who knew him
as the best guy in
town, so it really
meant something when
he said this about
Joe. It was almost
as if the mantle was
being passed right
before my very eyes.
A
week or so before
this visit to the
IGA, I was in the
chair at Joe's
getting a haircut.
Joe ran a one man
operation and was
barbering to support
himself and his
family while he
pursued his true
vocation, which was
studying to be a
pastor. More
specifically a youth
pastor, as he was
clearly gifted with
a way with children,
and knew that this
was clearly what God
wanted him to be
doing. A blessed
position to be in
for anyone, and Joe
knew full well how
blessed he was. “One
is blessed as one is
a blessing to
others,” he used to
say and he was
certainly right
about that. A
blessed man is a
happy man and Joe's
shop was always a
quiet but cheerful
place to be.
Sometimes it would
be only the two of
us, with me in the
chair and Joe
running the
clippers, and our
conversation
concerning Christian
ministry – his to
children and mine as
a jail chaplain –
often resulted in
long stretches with
the clippers humming
idly as Joe and I
talked.
On
this
particular day, a
warm, October
morning that felt
more like June than
it did like fall,
there was an elderly
gentleman sitting
next to the table of
old magazines that
Joe kept for his
waiting patrons.
When I walked in,
Joe said, “You're
next, Phil,” and
motioned me towards
the chair.
Introducing me to
the older man, he
said, “This is Ed,”
and he explained
that Ed was just
waiting and chatting
while his wife got
her hair done at
Hair-We-Are, the
beauty parlor next
door. Ed was dressed
in a well worn
flannel shirt and
work britches held
up by suspenders,
and looked every bit
the part of the old
farmer that he
described himself to
be. He was from out
west of Alma, near
Elwell, and we
quickly determined
that he had been
acquainted with my
dad and Uncle Orv,
and had been a
patron of their auto
repair business.
“Best mechanics in
town!” he said and,
of course, he got no
argument from me. He
mentioned that when
the war came he
remembered that my
dad had gone to the
Air Corp, Orv to the
Army, and that Ed
himself had enlisted
in the Navy and had
served proudly in
the Pacific Theater.
With
our
mid-Michigan
connections thus
neatly established,
Joe proceeded to cut
my hair while Ed
leaned on his cane
and stared out the
window at the
traffic passing by.
As usual, Joe and I
began talking about
Christian ministry,
and I had come in
there that morning
looking forward to
asking his advice
about a specific
situation that had
just come up. As the
Catholic jail
chaplain in Saginaw,
I was often called
upon to deal with
situations that
arose in any area of
prison ministry, and
I had recently been
given a letter that
had been received by
the Christian
Services Director at
the diocese from an
angry and
disgruntled inmate.
This was a well
written, but nasty
and vitriolic
letter, from a man
who had been
incarcerated for
nearly 40 years for
a brutal gang rape
that had taken place
when he was a
teenager. I had
looked him up on
OTIS, the “Offender
Tracking and
Information Service”
provided by the
Michigan Department
of Corrections, and
the photo of this
man on the web site
looked even more
unhappy than the
tone of the letter
he had sent.
As
I
was running all of
this past Joe, Ed
suddenly turned
towards us and,
pointing his cane at
us and squinting
with one eye closed,
he said. “Do you
know what the Japs
did to our boys when
they were trying to
land on those
islands in the
Pacific? At Iwo Jima
they had machine gun
nests on the side of
the mountain, and
the men had to get
out of the landing
crafts in chest deep
water due to the
shoals and wade to
shore. The Japs cut
'em to pieces with
machine gun fire and
the blood drew the
sharks in. You could
hear men screaming
from the sharks over
the sound of the
artillery and
gunfire.” Joe and I
just looked dumbly
at Ed, waiting to
see where this was
going. “You know
what they ought to
do with your rapist
friend? You know
what they ought to
do with all of those
assholes in the
jails and prisons?
If it was up to me,
they'd put 'em out
in the water like at
Iwo Jima, and then
hit 'em with machine
gun fire, and when
it was done let the
sharks clean the
mess up!” With that,
Ed angrily pushed
himself up on his
cane then walked out
the door and down
the street, still
mumbling about what
ought to be done to
alleviate the
problem of an over
crowed criminal
justice system.
“I
apologize for that,”
Joe said. “Ed's not
really such a nasty
old guy, he just has
some strong opinions
and likes to blow
off steam.”
I
assured Joe that I
understood. “While I
have to admit that
the example he gave
was one of the most
colorful I've heard,
he surely isn't the
only person who
thinks along those
same lines.”
Neither
of
us spoke for a few
minutes while the
hum of Joe's
clippers filled the
whole room with a
warm, electric buzz.
Finally Joe said,
“You know, I can't
imagine what it
would be like to
spend a day in
prison, let alone 40
years. How would it
affect somebody like
you or me to be
locked up that long
in that kind of a
negative
environment? What
would it be like
knowing that so many
people feel like Ed
does, or, maybe even
worse, they don't
care at all? Maybe
this guy – what's
his name?”
“Eddie
Guerrero,”
I said.
“Maybe
Eddie
Guerrero isn't such
a nasty guy either,”
Joe continued.
“Maybe he
has some strong
opinions and just
needs to blow off
steam. Maybe his
letters don't get
answered, maybe no
one pays any
attention to him,
maybe he's
frustrated and maybe
he's hurt because,
you know, no matter
who you are and what
you've done, you
still have the right
to be respected and
treated like a human
being. Maybe what he
needs to know from
you is that somebody
does really care.
You know, Phil, if I
were you, I think
what I would do is
write Eddie Guerrero
a letter and just
start a
conversation. Get to
know him. Find out
who he is, what he's
all about, and see
where it goes from
there. Maybe you
can't fix the
injustices he's done
to others or the
injustices that have
been done to him,
but you can at least
offer the basic
justice found in
compassion, caring
and common courtesy.
And, who knows, he
may just surprise
you.”
I
looked up and saw Ed
huffing and puffing
back up the street
towards the
barbershop. “Don't
worry. I won't say
anything to him
about compassion,”
Joe said under his
breath with a laugh.
Ed pushed the door
open and made his
way back into the
shop. The old
fashioned little
bell on the door
jingled as he
plopped back down
onto the black vinyl
seat of the tubular
chromed steel chair
next to the magazine
table. Once he
caught his breath he
looked at Joe and me
and said, “Well, did
you boys get all the
world's troubles
figured out while I
was gone?”
“We
worked
on it a little bit,”
said Joe calmly.
“Machine
guns
and sharks!” Ed
exclaimed, looking
at us with one eye,
“Machine guns and
sharks!”
Before
we
move on to the
subject of Eddie
Guerrero and his
story I must wrap up
this story about Joe
Nelson by telling
you that this was
the last
conversation we ever
had. Joe had some
kind of an issue
with blod clots in
the brain. He had
gone to the doctor,
had been reassured
that his situation
was easily
treatable, and he
was told that
everything was all
right and that he
was going to be just
fine. Except one of
these blood clots
caused Joe to have a
stroke. Joe was
driving his car down
the street when the
stroke occurred, and
he managed to steer
to the curb and
stop. And that's
where a passerby
found him – slumped
over the wheel dead.
I
won't go into how
devastating this was
for Joe's family and
friends (myself and
Larry Mott
included), or how
the whole town came
together to support
his grief stricken
wife and kids, but
as you sit reading
this know that it
was every bit as sad
and sorrowful as you
are imagining it
must have been. Many
of the fine
Christian folks in
Joe's church, the
Catholic parish
Larry and I belonged
to, and many others
found themselves on
their knees all
asking the same
basic question,
“Why, God, why?”
Larry Mott said, “We
just have to accept
that God's justice
is beyond our
understanding
sometimes and we
just have to take it
on faith that there
is a deeper reason
and higher purpose
in this that we
mortals just aren't
capable of seeing.”
He was right, of
course. I likened it
to a summer course
in English
composition I took
once at Montcalm
Community College.
When three weeks
into the term I
handed in a paper
that met the
criterion for
completing the
class, I received it
back with this note
written upon it:
“You have finished
the course. Your
grade is 'A.'”
That's how I handled
it. I knew Joe had
submitted his life
to God and I figured
God had it handed
back to him with the
same note on it:
“You have finished
the course. Your
grade is 'A.'”
I
had taken Joe's
advice but by the
time I got a letter
written the diocese
had received a
second and even more
pointed letter from
Eddie. In this
second letter, he
had made reference
to his brother,
Raymond, and so I
called him and asked
him about his
brother. “Eddie is
still my big brother
and I love him and
look up to him,”
Raymond told me. “He
has made some
remarkable changes
in his life and he
has accomplished a
lot. He is not at
all the same kid who
went to prison all
those years ago. He
hasn't been for a
long time. He has
educated himself, he
understands what he
did, he is truly
sorry for it and,
after 40 years, he
just wants the
chance to come home.
He gets angry and
frustrated because
every time he
believes he is about
to get released on
parole, the door is
slammed in his
face.” Then Raymond
suggested the same
thing Joe Nelson
had: “Don't take my
word for it. Get to
know my brother. See
for yourself.”
I
scrapped my initial
response and I wrote
one that responded
to both letters and
I did so in a caring
but not overly
emotional way that
told Eddie that I
wanted to help. The
reason Eddie was
writing the Diocese
of Saginaw was
because he had
applied for a
commutation of
sentence and was
anxious to know if
the Catholic Church
would be able to
provide any support
services for him
should he be
released. He thought
he had a reasonable
chance at coming
home this time.
Basic personal items
were easy enough to
come by. Housing was
a little tougher but
could be done. As
for spiritual
resources, Raymond
attended St. Joseph
Catholic Church in
Saginaw, which was
nicknamed the
“Mexican Cathedral”
because the majority
of its parishioners
were
Mexican-Americans.
Two of my best jail
ministry volunteers,
Robert Delgado and
Albert Vasquez, were
both parishioners. I
called each of them
and asked if they
would be willing to
help Eddie get
established in the
parish community and
both were very
positive and willing
to do all they
could. However,
Robert also told me
that he was familiar
with Eddie's
situation and told
me that we shouldn't
count on him
actually being
released – now or
ever. When I asked
Raymond about this
he told me, “Eddie
has some powerful
people in high
places who want him
to stay in prison
for life. So far,
that is what they
have accomplished.
This is why Eddie
gets so angry and
frustrated.”
I
didn't expect to
become friends with
Eddie Guerrero, but
that's what
happened. We began
exchanging letters,
we got to know each
other, and it turns
out that Raymond was
right about his
brother. Eddie's
story goes like
this:
On
the
nights of October
19, 20, and 21,
1971, Eddie Guerrero
and four companions
abducted and raped
three different
women. It was a
series of heinous
crimes. That's not
my word for it,
that's Eddie's.
Heinous. This series
of rapes was the
result of a drug
binge of several
days duration fueled
by a combination of
amphetamines and
LSD, and the crimes
began as an attempt
to hijack a car from
the Fashion Square
Mall parking lot in
Saginaw. The first
victim was a small
and attractive 20
year old female, and
while the original
intent was to merely
take her car, the
incident escalated
to robbery and
forcible rape.
Ingesting more drugs
and now intrigued by
the thrill of the
previous night's
crime, these same
boys perpetrated a
similar crime on the
following night and
continued this
behavior into the
next before being
arrested and
stopped.[1]
Eddie
ended
up in the Saginaw
County Jail. He had
turned 17 on October
10, 1971 and another
of his companions
was nearly 18. This
young man was bonded
out of jail and
proceeded to commit
two more rapes
before being
re-apprehended. In
Michigan, seventeen
years old is the age
at which a juvenile
offender can be
tried as an adult,
and Eddie was
seventeen by 9 days
when the first
incident took place.
The three boys who
were sixteen were
tried as juveniles
and were sentenced
to one year each at
the Michigan Boy's
Training School
before being
released back into
the Saginaw
community. Two of
them live in Saginaw
to this day, and the
other boy moved to
Adrian, Michigan,
shortly after his
release in 1973.
Eddie was tried as
an adult, convicted,
and was given three
concurrent parolable
life sentences. He
begins his 46th
year in prison in
October of 2016.
Complicating
this
situation for Eddie
was the fact that
one of his victims
happened to be a
relative of the
Saginaw County
Sheriff. Eddie was
not a model teenager
by any means, had
been in trouble as a
juvenile, and was
under juvenile
probation when the
more serious – the
heinous – crimes
occurred. Eddie
claims that his
probation officer
signed a letter
stating that he had
been previously
released from
probation for “good
behavior” the day
before the first
crime took place. He
hadn't, but this
made it possible for
him to be tried as
an adult. He also
claims that this
same victim and her
family “...continues
today to oppose my
every effort for
release.”
Eddie
Guerrero
is not a big man
today and at 17 he
was 5 feet 4 inches
tall and weighed one
hundred and thirty
five pounds. I'm
sure the Saginaw
County Jail was not
a kinder and gentler
place in 1971 than
it was when I was a
chaplain there, and
I have no trouble
believing that Eddie
endured a lot of
abuse from inmates
who were black and
didn't like
Mexicans, inmates
who were white and
didn't like
Mexicans, inmates
who didn't like
rapists, inmates who
liked to pick on
those who were more
vulnerable, and jail
staff who didn't
like the idea that
one of his victims
was a relative of
the boss. That seems
to add up to a
perfect storm of
motivation, and the
violence Eddie says
he encountered and
endured is surely
understandable. I'm
sure he was beaten,
beaten again, beaten
severely and beaten
some more, just as
he says. It is also
understandable that
this kind of
violence followed
him into the
Michigan Department
of Corrections and
helped to shape him
into an even
angrier, uglier and
more belligerent
individual than the
one who committed
the ugly crimes that
put him there. Eddie
learned to fight
back and fight
dirty, and he fought
both the discipline
of the prison system
and anyone who got
in his way.[2]
But
little
by little and day by
day, Eddie Guerrero
grew up in prison.
He became more
introspective and
began to see himself
and his actions in a
more realistic way,
and he discovered
that he not only
didn't like the man
in the mirror, but
that he desperately
needed to change him
and improve him.
In
1977,
Eddie began taking
college courses and
discovered that the
high school student
who was told he
couldn't learn now
thrived on learning.
He would go on to
earn two degrees.
Eddie learned that a
lot more could be
accomplished by
leading with his
keen mind than with
his clinched fists,
and he joined and
became a leader and
organizer in
numerous prisoner
organizations. He
founded Hispanic
Seeking Justice:
Flight for Freedom,
an organization
aimed specifically
at addressing the
special needs of
Spanish speaking
inmates. In 2003,
his work would be
officially
recognized when he
was awarded the
Consulate of
Mexico's highest
honor, The Consular
Award for Service to
the Hispanic
Community. As he
wrote to me in a
recent letter, “I
had become
responsible for
others, and that too
made a difference in
my attitude. I was
helping others!” He
now earned the
respect of his
fellow inmates
rather than
demanding it, and,
in particularly, he
gained the respect
of the prison
authorities. The
words “model
prisoner” began to
appear on his
reports, and this
description remains
with Eddie to this
day.
While
education,
introspection and
counseling surely
played a role in the
transformation of
Eddie Guerrero, the
key event that
changed his life was
a Cursillo weekend.
As he says in his
own words, “Finally
the COMPLETE 180
came after
completing the
Cursillo in 1981.
Like Jesus reached
out and touched the
guy in Mark 5, he
touched me. I have
been on this road
since then!” The guy
in Mark 5 Eddie
compares himself to
is, of course, the
Gerasene demoniac.
This
road
of faith that Eddie
Guerrero has been on
for the past 35
years has taken it's
twists and turns
through many of the
dozens of prison
facilities in the
Michigan Department
of Corrections. He
has been in several
since I have known
him, and is
currently at the
Lakeland
Correctional
Facility in
Coldwater. Lakeland
is a facility that
specializes in
treating inmates
with long term
medical and mental
issues, especially
elderly inmates, and
Eddie asked to be
transferred here so
he could be of
service to the
wheelchair bound and
others who need
extra assistance or,
more importantly,
need an advocate who
knows his way around
in a system in which
it is sometimes easy
to be overlooked. In
my work as a
spiritual director,
Eddie was always
there for me
whenever I needed
his help with an
inmate who was
troubled or in need,
and on numerous
occasions, I've
known him to take a
younger man under
his wing and look
out for him and then
report his progress
back to me so I
could provide him
better counseling.
My personal
experience with
Eddie is that you
can't ask for a
better friend and I
can only imagine how
much more this is
true in prison than
on the outside.
Eddie
is
a devout Catholic
and a vocal one, and
he is continually
lobbying the
Catholic Church, and
everyone else of
interest, on all
issues from
providing access to
the sacraments in
the local prisons to
the most intricate
criminal justice and
judicial issues on a
state and national
level. He is a
prolific letter
writer and his
letters are
regularly and
routinely addressed
to everyone from the
local parish priests
who come in to
provide Catholic
services, to
individual bishops,
the Michigan
Catholic Conference,
politicians at both
the state and
national level
(including the
president), prison
officials, and even
Pope Francis
himself. Eddie is
never shy and never
pulls any punches no
matter who it is
he's writing to,
including and
perhaps especially
when it is those in
positions of
political power or
ecclesial authority.
When I once told him
that his lack of
diplomacy
demonstrated an
institutional
mentality, his
response was, “What
do you expect? I've
been
institutionalized
for over 40 years!”
And while he often
uses his own
circumstances as an
example, especially
when communicating
with politicians,
prison
administrators and
those who influence
policy making, he
does so knowing and
stating that what
pertains to him also
pertains to many
others. I know of no
one else who is as
well read,
knowledgeable and
well versed
concerning the state
of criminal justice
and the judicial and
corrections
processes as he is,
and he'd also be the
first to tell you,
from his own
experience and his
research, that there
is lots and lots of
room for
improvement.
The
parolable
life sentence that
Eddie Guerrero
received in 1972 was
never supposed to be
the de
facto life
without the
possibility of parole
sentence that it has
become for him. When
this sentence was
handed down, it came
with an initial review
for parole
consideration at ten
years and every five
years thereafter. The
most common scenario
for others in Eddie's
position has been to
be denied parole (or
“flopped”) at the ten
year review, and maybe
at the first five year
review, but release
usually comes with a
maximum of 20 years
served. The “life”
sentence, which is the
maximum time that can
be served (or the
“tail” as inmates call
it), is only for those
relatively few
individuals who, in
the process of
incarceration, show no
improvement. Eddie
Guerrero is the poster
boy for transforming
one's life in prison,
an accomplished and
model prisoner by all
accounts, and a man
whose psychological
profiles over several
decades all state that
the likelihood that he
would ever re-offend
is minimal: no more
than any of the rest
of us. The Michigan
Department of
Corrections has been
recommending his
release to the parole
board since 1983. And
Eddie is a man of
integrity who never
asks anyone to take
his word for anything,
including me. I have a
file of documents
several inches thick
that back up these
statements and more.
In fact, I have never
met anyone who can
make his case for
parole in the way that
Eddie can. Yet the
reality for him is
that he appears no
closer to release
today than when he was
first incarcerated in
1971.
In
June,
2012, the issue of
juvenile offenders
convicted as adults
and sentenced to life
without the
possibility of parole
gained national
attention when the
Supreme Court of the
United States ruled
this practice
unconstitutional, and
ordered that all such
cases must be
reviewed. Three
states, Louisiana,
Pennsylvania and
Michigan, argued that
they were not bound to
do this retroactively,
which resulted in an
expanded court ruling
in January of 2016,
which stated that they
were indeed so bound.[3]
Since this ruling was
aimed at juvenile
offenders who were
charged, convicted,
and sentenced as
adults for murder, and
who were given life
sentences that were
not parolable, it puts
Eddie Guerrero in the
curious position of
not being eligible
under this ruling,
since his sentence is,
technically,
parolable. It is
possible, if not
likely, that
individuals who are
guilty of murder, and
who have much less
time served, will be
reviewed and released
before Eddie Guerrero
ever breathes the
fresh air of freedom.
Heinous as his self
described crimes were,
he didn't kill anyone
and justice under the
law, as well as common
sense, demands that he
should not be treated
more harshly than
those who did.
Eddie
has had 5 reviews
for parole since his
ten year review and
his sixth is
approaching.
Including his
requests for the
commutation of his
sentence, he has had
13 reviews. Each
time he has been
given reason to hope
that he would be
successful in
gaining his release,
and each time he has
had these hopes
dashed. Eddie
Guerrero has had the
support of former
Michigan governor
William Milliken,
the bishop emeritus
of Lansing, Carl
Mengling, and many,
many other notable
and influential
individuals. As
Antonio Meza
Estrada, the Head
Consul of Mexico in
Detroit (and also
one of Eddie's
supporters), wrote
to the Michigan
Parole Board in his
letter of June 19,
2003, “As I first
reviewed Mr.
Guerrero's complete
file, the first
thing that caught my
attention was the
volume of positive
recommendation
letters written on
his behalf for
various parole
processes. Community
leaders, high
ranking clerics,
prison wardens,
attorneys, and
judges have all gone
out of their way for
Mr. Guerrero.” Yet
Eddie remains in
prison and his
current attorney has
been told off the
record that he will
never be given
serious
consideration for
release because his
case is, “too
political.”
What
does “too political”
mean? It means that
one of the victims
of one of Eddie
Guerrero's heinous
crimes, and her own
powerful supporters,
have been able to
successfully
influence the parole
process behind the
scenes and, as Eddie
puts it,
“...continues today
to oppose my every
effort for release.”
While debating the
rights of victims as
opposed to the
constitutional
rights of
perpetrators is
beyond the scope of
this written piece,
it does,
nonetheless, give
one pause to ponder
what exactly this
means in what is,
supposedly, a free
society. Too often,
we see those who
have been hurt by
crime encouraged by
the court system
itself to interpret
justice as a
realized vendetta
rather than as an
opportunity to
explore forgiveness
and reconciliation.
And the question I
will leave you to
ponder is, simply,
which truly leads to
the closure victims
seek?
Concerning
forgiveness, it
should be mentioned
that Eddie Guerrero
has tried for years
to express his
remorse and seek the
forgiveness of those
who were injured and
damaged by his
actions. I
personally know one
priest who has
approached Eddie's
victim, offered an
apology at Eddie's
request, and has
offered to moderate
a meeting between
her, her family and
Eddie for the
purpose of seeking
reconciliation and
healing according to
the restorative
justice model. These
efforts have been
rebuffed, and
Eddie's effort in
seeking to offer
such an apology, in
person, is
interpreted as
merely and solely a
grandstand attempt
on his part to get
himself out of
prison. From my
conversations with
him, I know that
coming to the full
realization of what
he had done, and
accepting the
responsibility for
it, was part of
Eddie's conversion
experience at the
Cursillo back in
1981. The bitter
tears he wept at the
time have given way
to 35 years of
Christian life and
service, and this is
testified to by
many, myself
included. Eddie is
not one to wear his
heart on his sleeve,
and he can be brash,
and even abrasive,
in his passion for
the causes in which
he believes and for
which he fights. I
also know him to be
a sensitive and
honest man and, as
his spiritual
counselor, he has
never given me any
reason to question
the sincerity of his
repentance or the
reality and depth of
the conversion that
brought him to it.
The
greater
question Eddie
Guerrero's case poses
for us going forward
is that of what kind
of justice we want
defining America in
the 21st century – a
time in which we are
increasingly seeing
the removal of
religion, and
particularly the
Christian religion,
from the position of
influence in society
that it once enjoyed.
The result of this is
a wildly spinning
moral compass that has
us moving in the
direction of a
profound
marginalization of the
most vulnerable among
us by increasingly
removing them from
access to their
constitutional rights.
Interestingly enough,
this means that we are
now seeing a body
politic shaped on the
left by the desire of
Democrats to ensure
that those who might
pose a risk, or be a
burden to society, are
separated from their
rights and eliminated
in the womb. On the
right we see a
halfhearted desire on
the part of
Republicans to restore
and preserve this life
in the womb so that
the neediest of these
individuals might
later be denied their
right to opportunity,
and so be exploited
through an ever
increasing and growing
gulag of prisons and
detention camps in
which we “lock them up
and throw away the
key.”
The
danger inherent in
removing God from
our political
discussion in the
way that we have can
be seen in the fact
that the justice of
men is demonstrated
in the cross,
whereas the justice
of God is found in
the resurrection.
While we in Alma
mourned the loss of
our Christian friend
Joe Nelson, “the
best guy in town,”
we did so believing
that who he was and
how he lived removed
him from the
terminal justice of
men and into the
eternal justice of
God. Like Larry Mott
said, “We just have
to accept that God's
justice is beyond
our understanding
sometimes and we
just have to take it
on faith that there
is a deeper reason
and higher purpose
in this that we
mortals just aren't
capable of seeing.”
When we allow those
who seek no such
deeper reason nor
higher purpose to
determine the state
of the nation, we
separate ourselves
from God's justice,
and this leads us as
a society to the
Golgotha of the
culture of death. We
witness this in the
wanton murder of the
unborn through
abortion as well as
in old Ed's approach
to criminal justice:
“If it was up to me,
they'd put 'em out
in the water like at
Iwo Jima, and then
hit 'em with machine
gun fire, and when
it was done let the
sharks clean the
mess up!”
When
individual citizens,
even those who are
the victims of
crime, are able to
remove an individual
from his right to
due process, then it
is not just Eddie
Guerrero who has
lost, it is all of
us. Liberty and
justice for all
means just that, and
when we allow
ourselves to believe
that it is all right
to remove the rights
of some of us, such
as the unborn and
the imprisoned, then
we need to
understand that in
doing so we have
also removed the
rights of all of us.
Eddie Guerrero is
widely regarded by
those who know him
as being “the best
guy in prison.” He
has been trying his
best and waiting for
decades to receive
that paper that
says, “You have
finished the course.
Your grade is 'A.'”
If political
correctness has
gotten to the point
where Eddie's
consideration for
release on parole is
“too political” then
how long will it be
before life, liberty
and the pursuit of
happiness will be
“too political” for
the rest of us?
The
truth
we may well be
discovering in 21st
century America is
that when we absent
God from our political
discussion we all end
up imprisoned. And
when He Who was hung
upon the cross is
denied, who will hang
there in our place?
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