It’s not exactly a secret that the justice system in our country is far from perfect. The institutions in place that motivate private prisons and the companies that supply them to continue incarcerating people (an inordinate portion of whom are minorities) are outright shameful and in desperate need of serious reform. This absolute mockery of the notion of the United States being known as “the land of the free” is only heightened with each passing year in which nothing is done. As if this point needed further emphasis, it turns out the prisoner on the cover of Megadeth’s 1992 album “Countdown to Extinction” is a non-violent drug offender.
Disgraceful.
Meet 88-year-old Rory Sullivan, currently housed in the Rhode Island Department of Corrections in Cranston, RI. In 1973, at the age of 37, Sullivan was pulled over in possession of a controlled substance with the intent to distribute, and ever since then he has been inexplicably held alone in a concrete cell on the top floor of a 14-story medieval fortress on his prison’s complex, despite a stellar behavioral record and the complete absence of prior offenses. In fact, he is so isolated that other prisoners held in the complex don’t even know he exists!
Wake up, America! Is this what we’re consigning ourselves to as we hold our hands to our hearts for the National Anthem?
To make this horrific injustice even more glaring, even the prison’s guards (who normally delight in treating the inmates with unspeakable levels of sadism) are confused as to why he’s left in solitary confinement and only fed a plateful of bones every day. Temperatures in the cell are known to dip below 50 degrees at night, and with nothing to cover himself but a single undergarment, Sullivan is often left shivering himself to sleep in a corner of his cell.
Who can put a stop to this inhumanity? Will you sit idly by, reading this article in relative comfort, while this poor man slowly wastes away atop his lonely tower of disservice? Shame on you!
If you were thinking “Why hasn’t the ACLU put the proverbial sledgehammer to this real-life ‘Cask of Amontillado?’” it’s not for lack of trying. Numerous lawsuits have been filed on Sullivan’s behalf over the past five decades, to no avail. Not only that but attempts to disable the automated vents that cause the pitiable wretch to levitate for two hours every day have also fallen short.
With all conventional means of ending this travesty having been exhausted, we find ourselves at an impasse. We can continue our silence (which is tantamount to complicity,) or we can raise our voices for the voiceless which, in this case, is the old man adorning the cover of Megadeth’s fifth-best album specifically. Certainly, “Sweating Bullets” was not a fair trade for the soul of America, but it may serve as a reminder for us to collectively gaze in the mirror and finally say “Hello me, meet the real me.”