#We Want To Do The Talking

Behind the Curtain - The Iron Curtain

"You said the courts wouldn't press charges."  He yelled

"I know, I know I said that Alan. And give me some time, I will fix it."

"What the hell will you do? The court's ruling is final. It was a stupid mistake, alright so what I stole from that lousy supermarket."

"Well, the company did not take the offence lightly. But just trust me, I will fix this."

Alan Whisker was a young boy, a fourteen-year-old to be precise. He didn't particularly stand out at first, he seemed like a person who was still figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. They say youngsters are like wet clay, very sensitive to the touch and can be easily bent, or possibly misguided, but small slip-ups can cost one a lot. 

The conversation had no fruition, for Ms Anne brought no truth to her promise. She did nothing to change the reputation of state-provided defenders in court. He now sat in a cell too small for himself, definitely not for two people.  It had now been two months, he hadn't seen his parents on either of the 2 visits. He didn't know what to say to them. He only corresponded through letters, and if he did he always mentioned that he was fine.

The opposite was in fact true. Because of the lack of media coverage juvenile cases received, the conditions inside the cells was atrocious. These are children, confined to a single room for countless hours in a day, with no access to most basic services. What it gave them instead, was a lot of time to reflect. He didn't witness any of the atrocities himself, but word sure does travel fast. Strip searches, shackles and chemical sprays; physical and sexual abuse: these were scary words that were all too common. The details of his sentence were highly cryptic as if the US justice department was playing a game of keep away.

It was only to be a few more days, a few more days and he would be home. What punishments would await him there, he didn't know. But right now his goal was to get through what was left of this 'sentence' with minimum incidents. He didn't speak to anyone, didn't make eye contact, and that seemed to work for him, for a short while at least.

It was a Wednesday, and according to police reports, nothing had really happened. Because supposedly for the 5 minutes that the incident took place, the cameras had stopped working; surprisingly no other guards were supposedly present, and all the other children had no recollection of the incident. But this event, which didn't happen, practically destroyed Adam. He had been taking his food to the seat in the corner beside the bin, where he could eat with limited human interaction. He was looking down to avoid eye contact and didn't see the guard. All he saw, were a pair of black boots, and then grey mush on the top of one.

"Hey!" His voice was gruff and perpetually angry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you there." Adam looked at the guard's shirt, not wanting to make eye contact. The guard's nametag was a laminated white card, and Adam could just make out the word Clint from the scribbles. "I was just trying to walk towards my seat."

"Are you saying it's my fault?" The guard had clearly misunderstood. He was proving to be very obtuse.

"No, no" He gulped. "I didn't see you. I was looking down, and I just didn't see you." He proceeded to walk towards his seat.

"Easy there, I'm still talking to you"

He put his hand out, but Adam evaded it, showcasing his agility. In frustration, however, the guard grabs the back of his shirt. "Where do you think you're going. Acting a little smart are you?"

The guard grabs the back of his neck and throws the boy to the ground. Adam lands on his hands and knees before he is kicked in the stomach by the older man. He rolls on his stomach, coughing. The guard kicks him again. In the distance, he can see hear a guard yell "Clint! That's enough! It's a child." Ignoring the other man, clint kicks Adam again, this time causing him to cough up blood. He quickly curls into a foetus position to protect himself, and receives a few quick kicks, before the other guard pulls Clint away. 

From Adam's eyes, we see that the world has lost all colour, apart from a few splotches, the white of the cafeteria tube lights, the yellow from the signs on the walls, and red from the blood.

He woke up 2 days later, and the first thing he saw was a white ceiling fan. He was on his back, and only a bit of his vision had returned. He groaned and heard his mother put her book down and come running. She looked at him, and let out a little tearful smile. She hugged him and wept into his shoulder. He was still a little dazed, and so he couldn't form full sentences, but it felt good.

It turns out, that this guard knew someone really high up, and managed to get away scot-free. For their silence, he was released early. Adam, however, was infuriated, this wasn't justice, this wasn't fair.

The sad truth is that for offences such as these, these have no immediate solutions. If the authorities within this jailed community misuse their power, then there is no one to stop them. Prison reforms are a big problem, and in the cases of children, children who cannot protect themselves can cause a lot of harm. This was the realisation that dawned on Adam. As an individual who had seen in the inner workings of these places. He understood the change that was needed.

This now brings us to the present, Adam, now 32 sits in front of the TV and watches the news intently. The bill he has worked on for 3 years now, the bill that may change the conditions of 'detention centres' forever. He listens intently, to the newswoman standing in front of the Senate. "This Just in" she begins. "The Juvenile Detention Reform Bill, 2043 has officially been approved by the senate."

Adam smiles.

#WeWantToDoTheTalking