You Say You Want A Revolution:
A Prison Letter To Yoko Ono
BY SUSIE DAY
Dear Yoko Ono,
Years, years, and
years ago, in 1980, a
pathetically deranged
man murdered the love of your
life. You were walking home, into
the Manhattan building where
you lived, and suddenly this man,
seeking the world’s adoration,
gunned down your husband, John
Lennon. Mark Chapman was given
a 20-to-life sentence.
After almost four decades, he remains
in prison. You want to keep
him there for the rest of his life.
One year before John Lennon
died, across the river in Brooklyn,
a 21-year-old woman and her
teenage friend broke into an apartment
and killed the elderly couple
who lived there, stabbing them 70
times when they refused to hand
over money for drugs. Valerie Gaiter
was given a 50-to-life sentence.
She entered prison 40 years ago
and died this August in the Bedford
Hills Correctional Facility of
untreated esophageal cancer, having
been told for months that the
pain in her throat was just acid
refl ux.
That’s what sending someone
to prison for the rest of their life
means. Aging into sickness and
death in a place where the food is
bad and healthcare barely exists.
Because, gratifying as it may feel
to see people sent off to rot behind
walls, there are two unseen realities
in play: (1) People who want
someone to die in prison usually
have no idea of what prison is like;
and (2) Bad as prison can be, people
inside can and do change.
Since 2000, when Chapman
became eligible for parole, you,
Yoko Ono, have written letters to
the New York Parole Board asking
that he be denied, saying Chapman’s
release would “bring back
the nightmare, the chaos and confusion”;
that for the safety of your
family, and his own safety, Chapman
should remain locked up.
In later years, you’ve relied on
your attorney to convey the message:
John Lennon and Yoko Ono staging their 1969 “bed-in” in Amsterdam.
“Lennon’s widow Yoko Ono
has consistently opposed release.”
Out here in the world, we, who
also miss John Lennon, take little
notice. Like you, we’ve gone on to
weather AIDS, 9/11, an exploding
prison population, and so much
more.
Back in 1979, Amber Grumet,
the daughter of the couple Val Gaiter
helped kill, couldn’t bring herself
to attend her parents’ murder
trial. She still has trouble holding
herself together. Last year, she told
City Limits that she didn’t know
if she wanted Val Gaiter released.
But Amber Grumet did think prison
sentences seemed too long; that
more emphasis should be placed
on rehabilitation.
“I’m very torn between my own
individual situation and my politics
and philosophy,” she said. “I
tried to bring myself together into
one human being. I fi nally gave up.
That’s the way I exist.”
That’s pretty much how we all
exist, Yoko Ono.
Remember, when so many of
us — activists, students, artists
— were trying to keep the 1960s
together? When we either were
following Che and creating “Two,
ERIC KOCH/ ANEFO/ COURTESY OF WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
Three, Many Vietnams” or imploring
the world to “Give Peace a
Chance?”
To paraphrase another John
Lennon song, whether or not we
wanted full-on revolution, we all
did want to change the world.
Remember those photos of
peaceniks confronting stalwart
American GIs with fl owers? They
seem unbearably quaint now. We
smile wistfully at the memory of
you and John in 1969, protesting
the Vietnam War by spending
a highly publicized week of your
honeymoon in an Amsterdam
bed, promoting “bed-ins for world
peace.” The Peace Movement you
endorsed welcomed home US soldiers,
as long as they decried the
war crimes this country had sent
them to carry out. These were often
men who killed or tortured
hundreds of Vietnamese. No prison
time for them.
Then Victory — the war ended!
But, as the peace movement disbanded,
new, stealthier wars commenced.
Today, we can’t name all
the countries where the US has
sent its military; we can’t count
the deaths for which this country
is responsible.
P E R S P E C T I V E : S n i d e L i n e s
Back in 1980, as the US government
began sending aid to the
Contras, Valerie Gaiter was beginning
her prison sentence. When
she died, 40 years and many proxy
wars later, Gaiter still had 10 years
to go before she would be eligible
for parole.
At Bedford prison, everyone who
knew Val Gaiter attested to how
she had changed over decades.
She worked training dogs for veterans
with PTSD. She jumped at
every opportunity for education or
personal growth the prison could
offer.
In 2012, despite 20 letters from
the prison staff, Governor Andrew
Cuomo denied her petition
for clemency. A few months before
she died, Val wrote in a letter, “The
impact of what I did and the pain I
have caused… will live with me for
the rest of my life and forever be a
reminder of what I was and how I
can never be again… For that I am
totally remorseful.”
Mark Chapman, with a clean
prison record since 1994 and designated
a “low risk” of recidivism,
will probably go before the New
York Parole Board again in 2020.
He’s said he feels “more and more
shame” every year for what he did;
that he knows the pain he caused
will linger “even after I die.”
My letter to you isn’t only about
Mark Chapman. It isn’t only about
the thousands of people aging in
US prisons, who express profound
remorse yet are too often refused
by parole boards that won’t look
beyond “the nature of the crime.” It
isn’t even about the restorative justice
projects now beginning to offer
some hope. It’s a question I want to
ask you, Yoko Ono.
What has Mark Chapman being
in prison all these years done
to heal your loss? Or ours, for that
matter?
I would never dare ask you to forgive.
Yet who is not worthy of being
mourned? When and how should
mourning determine Justice?
Your answer, Yoko Ono, will help
us to see, if it was ever, ever, possible
to Give Peace a Chance.
GayCityNews.com | September 12 - September 25, 2019 29
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