Discriptive Piece: Ralph Chaplin

Vishal

Periods: 1, 5

Dear Mother Jones,

I cannot believe what the government has done to me! They have given me a twenty year jail sentence. All I have done is expressed my opinions, I haven’t broken any laws. I am writing this letter to you from a dirty, dingy jail cell. The air smells sewage and rat droppings, and the food is barely edible.

My followers and I were prosecuted with ‘An intent to obstruct the prosecution of war.’ How is that possible, when all we were doing was spreading our beliefs in different ways? This country is a free country, and I have a right to free speech. The government didn’t even produce one witness that could accuse me of this so-called crime. They think that the articles, meetings, pamphlets, and other means of spreading information that I used was creating agitation in the public.

I believe that the big businesses and the government are in league with each other. Both profit from war. The government wants non-educated people, who don’t even know what they’re getting themselves into, to join the army. I feel that it is my job to educate them, and show them how they are being exploited and used.

The businesses also profit from war because the army needs products to operate. Most of the guns, ammunition, backpacks, uniforms, etc. are made by private companies. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. It is unfair. And to make things worse, now I’m in jail.

However, I am going to use this time wisely. Instead of just sitting around, I’m going to write poems. I haven’t had time to write any before, but now I have all the time in the world. If people, don’t want to come to my meetings, I will get their attention by presenting my beliefs in a creative way. The public must listen, or this wonderful country is ruined.

My bleak surroundings will help me focus on my goal. My cell is so small that I can walk to the back of it from the door in two strides. It has a dirt floor and no bed. The whole place reeks of feces and urine. Some prisoners are so weak that they don’t ask the guard if they can go to the bathroom. They just go in their cell. The walls are ice cold, everything is cold. Little warmth gets through the tiny barred window that is in my cell. Most of the time, there is silence, each prisoner lost in their own thoughts. Sometimes I get so agitated that I want to scream to break the silence.

Mother Jones, please hold the fort while I am gone. I know it is a lot to ask, but our country depends on you.

Sincerely,

Ralph Chaplin

Image found on: http://art.laborarts.org/small/28203t.jpg