From Literary Hub:
I knocked on the door before I made my entrance. Officer Mickey Carillo announced, “All rise. This is Part Two Criminal Court, the Honorable Judge Victoria Pratt presiding.” I stepped onto the bench and took my seat. I saw an assembly of substantially impoverished, overwhelmingly addicted Black and Brown people, many with mental illness, and all suffering from uninterrupted trauma. Most people believe that court resembles the procedural police and courtroom shows, like the Law and Order franchise. That, however, is Hollywood.
The scene before me was of everyday, abandoned America. These folks were facing direct and collateral consequences based on the decisions that would be made in court that day. Incarceration, eviction, loss of government benefits, loss of employment, suspension of a driver’s license, and insurmountable debt were just a few of the catastrophic events that could result from a court appearance, upending a person’s life when they already live in poverty.
“What is that putrid smell?” I gagged as police officers brought the people held in custody of the city jail into the courtroom, chained to one another. My nose involuntarily restricted my breathing to object to the entrance of the suffocating odor through my nostrils. I held my breath until I was forced to take in a gulp of rancid air. My saliva glands immediately went to work to expel the burning taste from my mouth. The court administrator sprayed Lysol to cover the odor. No luck. A police officer burned incense and hung it on the window frame to cut through the foulness. It didn’t work. As the daughter of a garbageman, I’ve smelled some unpleasant odors. The stench that day was so overpowering that I began to feel ill.
“What is it?” I demanded.
Officer Carillo approached the bench and whispered, “It’s the guy on the end, Judge. His foot has gangrene.” Continue reading >>>
|
|
|
|
