The Day The Anarchists Were Sentenced in Texas

 Last week, an arch-conservative federal judge in Texas handed down a combined total of prison sentences stretching into centuries for the Prairieland defendants—many of whom had done nothing worse than wear black while attending a protest, or otherwise engage in what ought to be plainly First Amendment–protected activities. 

At the shortest end of the spectrum, one of the defendants received a sentence of 30 years in prison for transporting a box of anarchist zines. Prosecutors used this as evidence of a motive to "obstruct" the investigation. But the box contained material that ought to be shielded by the First Amendment anyway. Surely there's nothing criminal about possessing or reading anarchist literature. So how could hiding it be evidence of any criminal conspiracy? 

I've quoted Edgar Lee Masters's poem "Carl Hamblin" before in this context. I feel it's worth citing in full today, now that the sentences have come down, and the court system has evidently failed so spectacularly to protect our constitutional rights. If we replace a few key words—swap "hanged" for "sentenced," say, and "Chicago" for "Texas"—the poem reads as all too relevant today: 

The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked,

And I was tarred and feathered,

For publishing this on the day the Anarchists were hanged in Chicago:

"I saw a beautiful woman with bandaged eyes

Standing on the steps of a marble temple.

Great multitudes passed in front of her,

Lifting their faces to her imploringly.

In her left hand she held a sword.

She was brandishing the sword,

Sometimes striking a child, again a laborer,

Again a slinking woman, again a lunatic.

In her right hand she held a scale;

Into the scale pieces of gold were tossed

By those who dodged the strokes of the sword.

A man in a black gown read from a manuscript:

'She is no respecter of persons.'

Then a youth wearing a red cap

Leaped to her side and snatched away the bandage.

And lo, the lashes had been eaten away

From the oozy eye-lids;

The eye-balls were seared with a milky mucus;

The madness of a dying soul

Was written on her face

But the multitude saw why she wore the bandage."