Det som fikk meg til å skrive

Da jeg lette etter noen å skrive til i fengsel i 2011 kom jeg over dette diktet skrevet av en mann som har sittet på Death Row i veldig, veldig mange år. Jeg har alltid vært imot dødsstraffen blant annet USA fortsatt praktiserer, så det var en av grunnene til at jeg så etter noen med akkurat denne dommen. Men det var altså dette diktet som gjorde at jeg satte meg ned og skrev til min aller første brevvenn:

Who’s to Blame?

A baby is born and the first toy the father gets him to play with is a toy gun and when
the child gets old enough to walk, he goes around pointing the gun at his parents and
others saying “Bang, bang, you’re dead!” And the parents exclaim, “Oh, how cute.”

He gets a little older and is bought bigger and better guns and started playing with
other neighborhood boys playing cops and robbers, cowboys and indians as well as
war and he shoots the neighbor boy who falls down dead only to get up again and
they start all over.

The father teaches him to shoot real guns and if he shoots well, his father doesn’t
praise him like the boy is looking for in a father, but rather puts more pressure on the
boy by the father telling everyone his son shoots as is expected of the offspring of his
family, but will also improve. But if the child shoots poorly, his father makes fun of him
in front of him, even in front of boys friends, putting even more pressure on the boy to
shoot better, so the son shoots straighter and better to please the father.

Later the father takes the boy hunting and if he makes a good clean kill, he is told he
did what was expected, but let the boy miss or make a bad shot and he is not only
made fun of, but a lot of his privileges are taken away from him, so he learns to shoot
better, kill cleaner and is put up against other boys to prove his skills against others,
including grown ups and punished if looses.

So he lives, shoots and kills, night and day to gain his father’s approval. Now the boy
goes into the service and eats, sleeps and breathes kill, kill, kill, and if he doesn’t, he is
punished, so he lives it day and night, awake or sleep.

Then he goes to war or what ever you want to call it and kills, kills, kills, and is even
given medicine whether he wants them or not, and has to act like it is a big thing even
though it makes him sick to be reminded by the medals and people around him of what
he has been made to grow up into at this point.

Later something happens and he kills someone and the same people that put medals on
him now want to kill him.

WHO’S TO BLAME?

bilde fra google.

Med å dele dette diktet prøver jeg absolutt ikke å bagatellisere noe som helst eller ta skylden bort fra den dømte - vedkommende har aldri påstått at han er uskyldig og fortjener også etter min mening å være i fengsel. Han er nå en mann på 70 år, har levd ett hardt liv og tjenestegjorde i Vietnam.

Det eneste jeg ønsker med å dele dette diktet er å minne om at alt er ikke bare svart og hvitt - det finnes så mange nyanser i det hele. Vi er alle bare mennesker og blir påvirket og formet fra det sekundet vi kommer til verden. Vi må alle stå for våre handlinger - slik er samfunnet - men det er viktig å huske at det finnes mye mer ved mennesker enn hva man kan dømme utifra en enkelt handling.

For meg har han vært en utrolig god venn og fått meg til å tenke.

'Till pen meets paper

Julie Wilhelmine