RVA: Shadow of History: ENOUGH
Apr. 14th, 2015 08:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalEditorial: In case it isn't obvious now from my writing, I have a real problem with a justice system that favors retribution over redemption. Because one side is Justice, and the other is nothing more than Vengeance.
Yes, some crimes are horrible. Some are outright unforgivable. But to sentence a man or woman in their teens or twenties, to spend the rest of their life in prison with no possibility of forgiveness or redemption is wrong. I am not the asshole I was at 15 or 20. I can't assume a sixty or seventy year old man is the same fool who committed a crime at thirty.
In the past few decades we've come down too hard on the side of vengeance over justice, order over the possibility of making genuine, forgivable, mistakes in judgement.
And that's wrong.
Salli stood in front her parents, palms clasped tightly behind her back, feeling her toe claws dig into the soft carpeting on the floor. She tried to moderate her anger. Screaming her fury would do no good in this arena. Soft words, she reminded herself, would be more cutting.
Any more soft words in Ali’s direction, and I do believe she will bleed to death from them.
“May I ask you a question?” Salli said to her parents. Her mother looked back at her with a look of mild exasperation. Her father’s expression was more embarrassed. Good. She would keep her focus on Mother then.
“Is the about that Alinadar vixen again?” her mother asked. “I thought the matter was settled.”
“To your satisfaction, perhaps. Not to mine,” Salli answered tightly.
“What’s your question, Salli dear?” her father asked, shooting a quelling to look to Mother.
“What would be enough?” Salli demanded, flexing her finger claws against her palm pads. They dug in, little sparks of pain. Nothing compared to the pain in her heart, but enough to remind her of her goal here.
“What do you mean ‘enough?’” Mother asked.
“I mean that I know perfectly well you consider Alinadar an unsuitable spouse for me. She’s a Commoner. She’s a criminal. She’s a pirate. She’s a cub murderer. She’s insane. I know this.”
“Then why do you insist to defending her, to the point of risking your own reputation?” Mother demanded.
“Why should I not?” Salli asked in return. “In the Mother Goddess’ eyes no one is beyond redemption. Should I assume Ali is somehow blind to Her gaze? Should I make myself blind in turn?”
“You said it yourself,” her father said uncomfortably, “she’s a cub murderer.”
“And by Foxen law she should die for this,” Salli said impatiently. “And she has. Her heart stopped for thirty seconds on the operating table when we were rescued by the Red Vixen. Her spirit was killed decades before though.”
“Salli,” her mother said, her voice marked by a slight sing-song tone, as if she was addressing a petulant cubling, “You’re being unreasonable about this.”
“I challenge your definition of ‘unreasonable,’” she counted. “It is ‘unreasonable’ for someone to have their entire family murdered in front of them when they are six years old. It is ‘unreasonable’ for their foster family to be that same band of murderous thugs. It is ‘unreasonable’ for them to force her in turn either commit murder herself or be tortured and killed herself.
Salli narrowed her good eye, staring her mother down. “All I want to know is the answer to one simple question. What would be enough for you?”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“How much suffering, pain, and humiliation must Alinadar go through before you will say, ‘Yes, you’ve paid enough for you crimes. You can stop now. Stop kneeling before your betters. Stop eating dirt. Stop keeping silent while you’re plastered with every horrible label imaginable, ‘criminal’, ‘pirate’, ‘murderer’, ‘psychopath’, ‘slave.’ I saw her gut shot trying to defend me. I saw hung from a torture frame by Bloody Margo, bloody, wounded, shaved, to die in the cold and the rain. I saw her literally naked before me, to confess every crime horrible crime she committed. She had convinced herself by that point that she was beyond redemption, undeserving of love or forgiveness, only worthy of death. And I know she would have died, be more than willing to die, if it would have saved me.
Salli panted, fists clenched, empty eye socket throbbing in old ghost pain, angrier now than she could ever remember. “So I ask again: What is enough? What can Ali possibly say or do that would convince you she is worthy of being my wife, or anyone’s wife? Do you have an answer for me? Because if you don’t, I will walk away from you and from House Darktail and from all the woes that being a member of this family has brought me, and I will not look back.”
Yes, some crimes are horrible. Some are outright unforgivable. But to sentence a man or woman in their teens or twenties, to spend the rest of their life in prison with no possibility of forgiveness or redemption is wrong. I am not the asshole I was at 15 or 20. I can't assume a sixty or seventy year old man is the same fool who committed a crime at thirty.
In the past few decades we've come down too hard on the side of vengeance over justice, order over the possibility of making genuine, forgivable, mistakes in judgement.
And that's wrong.
Salli stood in front her parents, palms clasped tightly behind her back, feeling her toe claws dig into the soft carpeting on the floor. She tried to moderate her anger. Screaming her fury would do no good in this arena. Soft words, she reminded herself, would be more cutting.
Any more soft words in Ali’s direction, and I do believe she will bleed to death from them.
“May I ask you a question?” Salli said to her parents. Her mother looked back at her with a look of mild exasperation. Her father’s expression was more embarrassed. Good. She would keep her focus on Mother then.
“Is the about that Alinadar vixen again?” her mother asked. “I thought the matter was settled.”
“To your satisfaction, perhaps. Not to mine,” Salli answered tightly.
“What’s your question, Salli dear?” her father asked, shooting a quelling to look to Mother.
“What would be enough?” Salli demanded, flexing her finger claws against her palm pads. They dug in, little sparks of pain. Nothing compared to the pain in her heart, but enough to remind her of her goal here.
“What do you mean ‘enough?’” Mother asked.
“I mean that I know perfectly well you consider Alinadar an unsuitable spouse for me. She’s a Commoner. She’s a criminal. She’s a pirate. She’s a cub murderer. She’s insane. I know this.”
“Then why do you insist to defending her, to the point of risking your own reputation?” Mother demanded.
“Why should I not?” Salli asked in return. “In the Mother Goddess’ eyes no one is beyond redemption. Should I assume Ali is somehow blind to Her gaze? Should I make myself blind in turn?”
“You said it yourself,” her father said uncomfortably, “she’s a cub murderer.”
“And by Foxen law she should die for this,” Salli said impatiently. “And she has. Her heart stopped for thirty seconds on the operating table when we were rescued by the Red Vixen. Her spirit was killed decades before though.”
“Salli,” her mother said, her voice marked by a slight sing-song tone, as if she was addressing a petulant cubling, “You’re being unreasonable about this.”
“I challenge your definition of ‘unreasonable,’” she counted. “It is ‘unreasonable’ for someone to have their entire family murdered in front of them when they are six years old. It is ‘unreasonable’ for their foster family to be that same band of murderous thugs. It is ‘unreasonable’ for them to force her in turn either commit murder herself or be tortured and killed herself.
Salli narrowed her good eye, staring her mother down. “All I want to know is the answer to one simple question. What would be enough for you?”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“How much suffering, pain, and humiliation must Alinadar go through before you will say, ‘Yes, you’ve paid enough for you crimes. You can stop now. Stop kneeling before your betters. Stop eating dirt. Stop keeping silent while you’re plastered with every horrible label imaginable, ‘criminal’, ‘pirate’, ‘murderer’, ‘psychopath’, ‘slave.’ I saw her gut shot trying to defend me. I saw hung from a torture frame by Bloody Margo, bloody, wounded, shaved, to die in the cold and the rain. I saw her literally naked before me, to confess every crime horrible crime she committed. She had convinced herself by that point that she was beyond redemption, undeserving of love or forgiveness, only worthy of death. And I know she would have died, be more than willing to die, if it would have saved me.
Salli panted, fists clenched, empty eye socket throbbing in old ghost pain, angrier now than she could ever remember. “So I ask again: What is enough? What can Ali possibly say or do that would convince you she is worthy of being my wife, or anyone’s wife? Do you have an answer for me? Because if you don’t, I will walk away from you and from House Darktail and from all the woes that being a member of this family has brought me, and I will not look back.”
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