As the clock strikes 10:00 pm on Independence Day, I’ll be confined in a prison cell in Talladega, Alabama, watching the distant fireworks illuminate the night sky. For the past 26 years, I’ve yearned for freedom while enduring the monotonous routine of prison life. The 4th of July only intensifies the ache for family and the normalcy of being with loved ones.
Memories of my unfair trial haunt me, recalling the day I was sentenced to 40 years for a victimless crime of selling marijuana. The injustice of being separated from my wife, newborn son, and family echoes through the dark walls of my cell. Despite the passage of time and the hope for redemption, I remain incarcerated, a casualty of the failed war on drugs.
This year’s 4th of July will be like the countless others spent behind bars—lonely and disheartening. As fireworks fade into the night, I cling to the dream of being free and the possibility of justice and equality prevailing. But in the end, these are merely unfulfilled wishes, lost in the silence of my prison cell.