CHAPTER 13: When I Closed My Eyes

What I Saw When I Closed My Eyes 

When I close my eyes I can still visualize my life while incarcerated. The sounds are tangible. The images are vivid. Even the smell is present as my eyes gaze closed while seeing cell block fixtures and stone faced correctional guards. 

In the eleventh year of my incarceration I was transferred from an Oklahoma private prison to Redgranite Correctional Institution in Redgranite, Wisconsin. They referred to it as The Rock in similitude to Alcatraz. It was located in East Central rural Wisconsin just southwest of Green Bay. It sat on a large natural plain of red granite stone. It was fenced in and surrounded by a large natural forest. There were no nearby houses to see. No highway with cars to watch. We were completely isolated and alone.

This facility was far from the tiers, stone cell blocks, and forty foot prison walls of Waupun back in 1992 when I first entered the Wisconsin Department of Corrections. In between those far reaching places that made up the canvas of my life for a total of fifteen years and the dreams of my heart when I closed my eyes, I found words as my Sword and Prayer. I used this sword to fight my way through the gates that imprisoned my body as well as those that attempted to encage my mind. 

Redgranite was the last prison I was in. I was released on September 12, 2006. This Facility was like no other. Most of the guards had only saw African-Americans on Television or seen them once or twice while visiting a larger city like Milwaukee or Green Bay. They did not know how to relate to us. Racism was fueled by historic ignorance and a lack of understanding. I rarely socialized with other prisoners. I sat in the back of the unit almost everyday, sitting in the cubicles that allowed prisoners an opportunity to study, read or just isolate themselves. One of the few men I spoke with regularly were Chauncey Hughes and Raymond Cowan, the real Stack Bundles, the father of NY slain rapper Stack Bundles. We exchanged intellectual conversations daily and shared stories from our past lives that gave us direction toward our futures.

Chauncey was a man determined to change the course of his future. He had children that he wanted to make sure he was there for. He was intelligent and very capable of excelling in many areas of life, particularly in education. We became close friends and talked in the cubicles almost daily. Stack Bundles was a true New Yorker, an old school cat with a big city perspective. He had gotten locked up in Wisconsin passing through visiting family while hustling on the low. His son was a talented NY Rapper that was about to make it big in the music industry. His buzz was heavy and his father was very proud of him. When the news reached me of his sons murder I knew it would rock Raymond hard. He was not only intelligent and a deep thinker, but he was a man with a conscious vision and a passion for righteousness and black pride. We sat in the cubicles quite regularly and it was in those moments of clarity and thought that him and I became good friends. 

While I shot the breeze periodically with such like minded men, I sat back there mostly working on my plans for release, whenever that day would come. I had already written over 15 manuscripts, a few of which my mother published and distributed independently back home in Michigan. At Redgranite I began finalizing my business plans and goals. I had been designing fashion portfolios when I was in North Fork Correctional Facility in Sayre Oklahoma between 1998 and 2002, so I focused on completing a large body of work in this field. With my portfolio just about complete, I focused on my educational goals. 

I was fortunate I had an opportunity to work as a tutor in the Education department with Dr. Robert Nash. He was a retired UW-Oshkosh professor and an absolute genius in developing alternative teaching techniques. He created Pure/Complete Phonics, a new and thorough curriculum designed to remediate dyslexia and teach English not only to dyslexics, but to non-English natives as a second language. I learned his methods and was certified by Dr. Nash as an independent instructor of Pure/Complete Phonics and a Trainer of Teachers in ESL in using  SMSIP (Simultaneous Multi-Sensory Instructional Procedure). To say Dr. Nash was a genius is actually an understatement. He trained a dozen prisoners like myself in this technique and equipped us all with a high level of academic proficiency in English Language Arts. It was literally amazing to see adult men, most with elementary reading levels excel after being tutored by us, to go on to graduate with their High School Equivalency diplomas. I saw many tears from these men during graduations. I would watch their families in the audience cry with them as they would hear the names of their sons, brothers or husbands being called up to receive their diplomas. Some of these men had struggled their entire life and most came to prison with 3rd and 4th grade reading and math scores. 

My eyes are wide open today, but when I do close them I see all these contradictory windows, most facing away from each other, but somehow giving me a vantage point to see through them all when I close my eyes.

Chapter 13 Verse 2 (13:2)

WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES

I still see Tombstone brick walls When I Close My Eyes

Cell block souls tattooed with sin when I hear men cry

Uniformed soldiers caress the key of our dreams

Visual nightmares haunting my sleep while awake when I scream

Green pastures visible only thru fenced in hopes

Uniformed clad slaves entrapped after smoke scream dope

Warehoused realities mirror my life in sin

Similar to correctional facilities filled with black and brown skin

Sent off to war from the front porch of ghetto street blocks of cargo souls

Pimped since birth by histories legacy of battered hoes

Left for dead by a bullet grazing mentality in the memory of gun slanging misdeeds

Encaged in prison sentences behind economical Koch greed

Escaped only by delving deep within my mind

Traveling earthbound by spirit so I was freed thru judgement in time

Never wasted a moment in time to reflect

Always writing my thoughts with prized intellect

Still counting my blessings after every step

Witnessing my arrival by prophecy of all the past and present prayers

Granted God's gift descending from my newborn heir

Now I’m awake from my Tombstone sleep

Just in time to resurrect my faith from the fruit I Reap.

POEM: Until They Clear My Name, Parts 1,2 & 3

Part 1: Framed For Murder

They sought to make me famous............Like last century when they continued to chain us..........Parading Joe and I around in belly chains they wrongly prosecuted us..........Framed us........Convicted us..........And Sentenced us.............I wasted nights away in cell blocks learning to be Just........For justice is a cheap date.........I learned that the hard way..........Educated myself becuz they had no interest in it anyway...........Kept yall clueless about how they took my life away............An injustice of great magnitude why you think i constantly write away..........Poetically chanting about my tragic misery trapped in a cage.........Framed for murder i spent my life locked away writing this page..........Pleading for my freedom my lyrics speak in rage.........But my soul speaks first as i write my story in this page.........First chapter i barely escaped the street maze.........Survived bullet aims of street beef lead lost in a daze...........Never knew how to use my pencil's lead so i teach our youth before they end up in a cage..........Or worst yet left buried in a cemetary with no poem written about their name...........Rearrange this story and you'll learn all about my name..........Lets not forget about my life Milwaukee sought to frame.........After 23 years with no justice its time to start calling out names..........She crafted Krafty plots to convict me like Christmas Carols Im calling out her name........Next up a be the cop that started the plot like Farmers that seek sun Rays from the interrogation game..........Thats two of the collaborators that wrongly convicted me by a Frame..........But i fight back until the day they Clear My Name............In chapter two we get deeper in this Poetic saga until my freedom is gained...........Im just getting started so please bear with me as i bleed my pain.Part 2: Calling Out Names

Ive been bleeding pain thru the verbal whips of my poetic rain while calling out the guilty by name..............Those that took part in the "In"justice system that defamed my name...........Rearranged my life by unjustly convicting me and Joe by a corrupt frame............Rewind to part 1 and see why Im calling out names................Next up is another district attorney with no shame...............Hiding behind a White cloth while singing Carol's soliciting false testimony as part of the frame.............Rodney stood up in court and said you the one that solicited his perjury all just to convict my name...............Together they all contrived to continue the lie while labeling me guilty of a murder although I had an alibi.........So I bleed my pain while I cry seeking redemption for their treacherous lie...............Left stuck with a homicide that they try to hide while me and Joe weep for help with nowhere to hide...............So Im calling out names of those responsible for this tragic frame.............If you listen closely you'll hear exactly how to pronounce their names.........Like Farmers in the sun Ray is but one name.................Say it in reverse and you'll know how to pronounce his name...............If you want to sing Christmas Carols while eating Kraft cheese you'll hear clearly the DA that convicted my name...........With no shame her partner in crime has a similar name.............From the White paper I pen in ink while scribbling her name i feel no shame............Call her Carol White by name..............While the other is Carol Kraft so much the same............But Detective Ray Farmer is the one that played the interrogation game..............Tricked Marc Henry into falsely implicating himself while playing the interrogation game............So you see how i got stuck with a conviction all becuz they twisted justice and played it like a game..........Spent 15 years in prison fighting to clear my name..............Its been over 21 years and I still haven't cleared my name.............So I guess I gotta keep writing poems calling out names...........Pointing out their lack of shame.............Until............Until They Clear My Name.

Part 3: Put On Notice

They've been put on notice............I haven't been writing this testimony without focus..............Truth is I was unjustly framed for murder so Im putting everyone on notice............Spent 15 years buried behind cement walls..........Left for dead while barely able to crawl.............Stood the test of time in spite of my life's worst fall...........So when I speak its because my words unveil the truth of a tragic crime...............Wrongly incarcerated my life so I spent way too much time............Locked away for a prosecutorial injustice which was the biggest crime.............Called out their names in part one and two so go back and rewind...............Listen closely to my pleas just one last time.................Had it not been for Lenard Wells I'd still be locked away trapped in time...........But courage guided him to free me..............Took a chance and invested it in me..............Been home 7 years fighting not just for me.................Traveled across this country speaking up for both you and me................Got our youth trapped in between street lore and another homicidal tragedy...............Still trying to overturn this wrongful conviction that still haunts me.................So I write about it on stage until they free me............Speaking of my freedom it was taken so vividly............Milwaukee police detectives conspired to incarcerate me....................With the help of Kraft and White they did just that to me...............So unjustly............So I plead my case so publically................Exposing the testimony of witness perjury................Coerced by a DA who sought to frame me.............Evidence is clear yall owe me..............Not only my freedom but my humanity.............and my sanity...............Damn it I demand it.........It belongs to me!!!!!!

EXEGETICALLY SPEAKING: Proverbial Lyrics From the Pulpit of a Wordsmith, 2012 unpublished manuscript, Hakim Nathaniel Crampton

The Opening Chapter from my Autobiography: FROM THE STREETS TO THE PEN (Introducing Young Bones)

It took many years for me to finally Grow Up; but once I did, I was suddenly engulfed by the depth of discoveries and the brightness of the light that shinned over me. How I Grew up led me from my birth to the streets to having spent 15 years incarcerated for a murder of which I had no involvement. When I was in the tenth year of incarceration in 2001 I decided to write about how I learned from my past and then matured in life while imprisoned and how that subsequently led me to Grow up. I now present to you a section from the opening chapter of my life story.

INTRODUCING YOUNG BONES

(How I Grew Up)

Detroit was a volatile city in the late 60’s and my father and mother were right in the midst of its urban landscape. They lived on Linwood and Dexter, a neighborhood rampant with drugs, prostitution and gambling. Unfortunately, in my teenage years it became a place that inspired my curiosity and interest, as the street life  captivated me more and more as I witnessed the hustle and bustle of urban life. Just west of Detroit’s metropolitan area lies Jackson, Michigan, a city notoriously known for being the site of the state’s central prison, the world’s largest walled penitentiary. This is where my mother is from and where she met my father. 

My father migrated from St. Louis in 1964 with his family, some of whom had already settled in Detroit in the 40’s and 50’s. By the late 60's my father and mother were living in the midst of the hustle life that so many others in Detroit were involved. My father, nicknamed Pimpin Sam, didn’t earn his name by chance; rather he was a well known pimp in the 60's that turned infamous marijuana dealer in the late 70’s. Unfortunately my mother found herself on the wrong side of my father’s hustle in the 60’s and as the Cass corridor area of Detroit became a stroll for most of the city’s women of the night, my mother sought to escape.

She left my father and that life six months after I was born. My older brother and I never witnessed that part of her past life as we were growing up. Nevertheless our upbringing wasn’t oblivious to it’s reality in the community around us. She went back to school, college and found full time employment, far away from the life of the streets. However, while growing up knowing of my father’s life and his past, I aspired to follow in his footsteps and take on his role as big city hustler, as his name alone evoked respect and admiration from all sectors of the hood.

In the early 80s I was deeply involved in the new emergence of Hip Hop culture. I began breakdancing in the Shahan while attending Hunt Elementary school. I became very accomplished and joined the Uno Express.  My breakdance name was Solo Uno. I was one of the few dancers that could compete as a solo breaker within our group. I then began spray painting graffiti under the guidance of Shango. He was from Atlanta and had family in Jackson. My graf name was Tripple C, or CC Chill which stood for Crampton Can Chill. By the time the mid 80s came, breakdancing became obsolete.  Crack hit the streets and I was ready to change professions.

My other brother on my father’s side, Ebin and I began the same quest, and together we started out young in the game. I was known as Young Bones and he was called Bird. We were about 12 years old when we started hustling together. Prior to that I had interactions with weed sales as early as the 6th grade. Once my brother and I hooked up there was no stopping our notoriety; together we were the sons of Pimpn Sam, and every older hustler, drug user, gambler, etc. knew of our game and respected our hustle. No one dared try to rob or cheat us; fearing the wrath of our pops and the sheer respect they had for him earned us our recognition.

While in middle school I ran with the Beastie crew. My cousin Jeff Poole had recently returned from living in Los Angeles and was a full fledge Black Pea Stone Blood. He was the first person from the West coast to bring the LA street gangs to Jackson. The iconic movie Colors hadn’t even hit the screen when my cousin Jeff or  Jay Capone as he was called, represented the hardest of street culture Mid Michigan had saw. He created the Beastie Crew and although not all were as ruthless and hardcore as Jay, we were the most respected and remembered group in middle school during the late 80’s. We were a small but formidable little crew, such as Tray Capone, M-Killa, Butch, Jamie Armstrong, Donald and Dooney, Dinka, Norm Rock-Ski, J-Wells, Geno, Lil D, GT, Hollywood and a few others that occasionally tagged along.

Some of us ended up being some real cats in the streets while some changed their life. Yet a few others turned out to be classified as fake in the game and are now recognized as either snitches, dope feigns or what is termed “lame.” I began selling crack in the 8th grade and found myself hanging out at the Arcade on Francis and High streets. Ebin and I always had access to large amounts of marijuana from "pinching" out of the large supply of our father's weight as well as that of his step-father Robert's supply too. We had the weed and the rocks and were out there living day to day trying to make money in the game. 

I then moved to Lansing in 1989 when I was 16 years old and it was there that the prelude to the final defining moments of my street life took its fate. Having endeared the enmity of most of Lansing’s natives, I couldn’t go anywhere without packing a pistol or pump. I had beef with everybody. With several shooting victims under my belt, most were too afraid to retaliate while the few shoooters weren’t quick enough on the draw. We ran a Westside neighborhood that spanned from Logan to Walnut (West to East) and from Oakland to Shaiawassee (North to South). Our crew was deep. It consisted of homies from both east and west sides of Detroit. They were Pooh, Jeff-Ski, Macktown, Spider D, Big Dave, Big Pine, Nook, Lil Dee, Neke, Myron, Eli, Hawk, Fat Cat, Shon, Tee, Money Mon’e & Mike, Roo Dog, Jamarc, Montrell, T-Bone, Pee Man, DJ, and host of all others from various cities. Roo Dog, Fat Cat, Macktown, Shon, and Vern all got shot in either 89 or 90. They all survived. In April of 91, however, Montrell was fatally killed in a shooting on Shaiawassee as retaliation for a shooting the month before. A Cat named Jawan Mask, the cousin of shooting victim Derrick Oliver put two Shoutgun shells in his chest. This was the result of a beef that started in 1990 when Jawan and Derrick shot Roo Dog. They left him with eight bullets in his neck and back. We retaliated. They retaliated. That’s how the streets were. 

My homie Shon, originally from East 8 Mile, notorious as a drug dealer and killer, was my ace boon coon and together we crisscrossed between Detroit, Lansing, Saginaw, and Muskegon. While packing pistols and pumps, dope and an attitude of NWA, little did we know that our tour of duty together was coming to an end.

Later that year my homie Vern and myself were on our way to stick up some Colombians on the north side of Lansing. Before we made it there a swat team intercepted us and took us into custody.

A cat named Young snitched on us. He was the one that had the drop on the Colombians and in order to go get out of a drug possession case, he set the Colombians and us up.

After 4 days in the county we made bail. Knowing that I was going to get some time for possession of firearms, I began my last relentless quest for riches. By the time my sentencing came around four months later in April of 1991 I had made thousands, lost the same in drug raids and ended up serving time in Ingham County Correctional Facility. Upon my release in August of 91 the streets quickly abandoned me as I was out only three and a half months when I was arrested for a trumped up homicide charge in Milwaukee that I had nothing to do with. I became the victim of police interrogation tactics that induced a 19 year man named Marc Henry to falsely confess to a murder that neither of us had any part in. Ten years later I began telling my story from a computer terminal in a prison classroom in Oklahoma where I was transferred in 1998 due to overcrowding in the Wisconsin Correctional system. The year is now 2001 and the pages of my life are beginning to unfold in the next few chapters as I reveal a few Memoirs of my life.

I probably will never tell my whole story or even finish narrating most of it. My whole life was spent in the shadows of my father and that of the streets where I’ve sold drugs, shot people and attempted to take over whole Lansing neighborhoods. I’ve witnessed murder, suicide, prostitution, drug addiction, and alcohol abuse at the highest level. Yet how I grew up is an aspect of my life that gives me direction for a new future. While I’m actively involved with organizations and programs designed to help solve many of these problems within our community that I helped create, I believe my lesson in life will prove to be my legacy to others whose life is affected in ways unable to be adequately told in an autobiography. Growing up looking out of project windows and abandoned crack houses,  while loading magazine clips and cooking up cocaine, finding the words to tell you my story is as difficult as it is to tell you How I Grew Up.

The Story of A False Confession That Lead to a Wrongful Murder Conviction

HOW A FALSE CONFESSION LEAD TO A TRAGEDY OF JUSTICE

The True Story of How Nathaniel “Hakim” Crampton & Joe Robinson Were Wrongly Convicted of Murder

There I sat, behind prison walls, bars and and a judgement of conviction for a murder of which I was 100% innocent. I was arrested in November of 1991 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin along with three others for a simple fight at a liquor store on Silver Spring Drive and North 60th street. While in police custody, detectives played the "interrogation game" by separating each of us, handcuffing us to a wall and telling us that the others confessed to the murder of Fernando Peralta, killed on October 17th, 1991 on the corner of 51st and Hampton. Neither of us had any knowledge of this crime. 

However, after 5 days of these interrogation tactics, 19 year Marc Henry falsely confessed and implicated myself and Joe Robinson after Detective Ray Farmer’s repeated lies telling Henry that Joe and myself had  already confessed and implicated him. This was a blatant lie. We went to trial six months later and were found guilty in April of1992. Before my sentencing my mother secretly tape recorded myself and Marc Henry over the phone as Henry explained how he was coerced and tricked to falsely confess and implicate Joe and myself. We took a signed recantation statement to Judge John Foley, who nevertheless upheld my conviction. Hence, subjected to the realities of prison life, sentenced to 45 years and over 400 miles away from my Michigan home, I was transferred to Waupun Correctional Institution with very little hope of returning home to my family. There  I focused on educating myself. I knew I had to acquire knowledge if I was to ever to mount an intelligent defense to prove my innocence. 

My late mother Kathy stood side by side with me mounting a legal defense with the hiring of Milwaukee attorney Patrick C. Brennan. We fought....and fought.....and fought, until the Wisconsin Innocence Project took my case in 2005 with the eager and capable law students of Karl P. Hayes and David Saltzman, who took my case to the then Wisconsin Parole Chairman, Lenard Wells, who looked closely at my case and of the time I spent in prison. Mr. Wells took an extraordinary chance on me and ordered my release from prison in 2006 on discretionary parole, allowing me to return home to my family in Michigan. It's been 8 years and I still remain on Parole until 2036, still wrongly convicted and still fighting to vindicate myself. 

The number of innocent men and women currently incarcerated as well as innocent people that have served certain amounts of time that were subsequently released without being exonerated, is one of the most important issues affecting America and its Criminal Justice system.The United States Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics, admits that statistically 8% to 12% of all state prisoners are either actually or factually innocent. That could mean as many as 2,000-3,000 people in prison wrongly for every 20 to 30 thousand incarcerated persons. That is an extreme high number.

In Wisconsin State Appellate Judge Schudson’s dissenting opinion in my favor, he stated:

“Crampton’s mother, a State of Michigan Corrections Agent, secretly tape recorded telephone conversations with Marc Henry, in which he disavowed his trial testimony and explained the incentives and inducements that had led him to testify falsely. Additionally, he signed a statement prepared by a defense investigator, summarizing his disavowal.[5] Still, as the State points out, at the post-conviction hearing, Henry again altered his account, and dismissed the significance of his phone conversations. But significantly, as Crampton contends, Henry could not explain away his phone comments; his claim that he made them out of fear was unsupported and illogical.[6] 

Crampton declares that “[t]he tapes do not lie,” and he repeatedly implores this court to give them the most careful consideration. He contends:

The tapes themselves were admitted into the record and the trial court indicated that it would listen to them before rendering a decision. (TR. 9/14/95, p. 90-97). Because these recorded conversations are at the heart of appellant’s post-conviction challenge, and because their true character can only be discerned by actually listening to them, appellant respectfully requests that this Court consider the tapes themselves (Exhibits #9-14), and not simply rely upon the transcripts which were received into the record.

The State does not dispute the importance of the tapes and/or transcripts. Yet, for reasons unknown, the record on appeal contains neither the tapes nor the transcripts of the tapes. 

Thus, I have serious misgivings about reaching any conclusion on Crampton’s appeal on this issue without first reviewing that portion of the record Crampton deems most important. If forced to decide based on the incomplete record before us, however, I would conclude that Crampton has satisfied the standard of State v. McCallum, 208 Wis.2d 463, 561 N.W.2d 707 (1997), and, therefore, that a new trial is required.

Accordingly, on both issues, I respectfully dissent.""

As you can see Joe and I lost not only the Trial, Post Conviction Hearing and the Appellate Review.....But we lost our FREEDOM. Joe was sentenced to a total of 15 years and I was sentenced to 45 years in Maximum security prison. If you haven't heard about my story, welcome to my Life....of which I spent 15 years in prison wrongly incarcerated. The last 8 years have been spent traveling this country sharing my tragic story thru Spoken Word Poetry, speaking at Schools, Colleges, Juveniles, State Prisons and Cafes. 

However, Im free not because I was finally vindicated. Instead I'm free because a lot of people fought for me, bringing my case to the attention of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, who was once a Champion boxer and was framed for murder and too wrongly incarcerated. His organization, The Association In Defense Of The Wrongly Convicted based in Canada passed my case onto the Wisconsin Innocence Project, who ultimately helped win my freedom through a Parole Grant by Lenard Wells. Mr. Wells assessed not only my merits while incarcerated (wrongly i might add), but he also looked at my case, discussed it with attorneys, community activists and of course, my mother, who was the backbone of my whole 15 year fight for my freedom. Mr. Wells granted me a release on Parole and allowed me to return home to Michigan on September 12, 2006. Ironically, one of the law students who fought for my innocence graduated with his law degree and now works for the prosecutors office that tried and convicted me. His name is Karl P. Hayes and he is still one of my supporters along with Madison attorney David Saltzman.

As of today, my freedom is continuously in jeopardy of re-incarceration as I remain on parole 8 years later, having to abide by curfew, restrictions on travel, monthly reporting, etc. 

Although I did accept these parole conditions upon being released, for such reasons as to regain a freedom that rightfully belonged to me, and to finally return home to my late mother who had fought and waited a lifetime for her son to come home. Nonetheless I should not be subjected to any form of supervision or incarceration as a result of a wrongful conviction. As my trial attorney, Patrick C. Brennan says, “parole is incarceration without bars.”

I’ve held full time employment, volunteered at dozens of schools, mentored thousands of students across the State of Michigan, was a featured speaker/presenter at over 30 community events including Toledo’s 2 Mile March 2 End Gang Violence, The Annual Save Our Youth March in Jackson Michigan, helped organize Jackson’s Stop The Violence campaign, directed the documentary “A Mother’s Cry,” published three books along with a companion DVD/CD through The Academic Mentoring & Education Network, won or received nearly a dozen community awards and recognitions, received three National Poetry Award nominations in 2012, won the Spokenword Billboard Award’s Hot 100 Ranking Artist of the Year 2012, was selected as one of 2011’s Best, Bright & Most Beautiful People of Lansing by the New Citizens Press, wrote the column “At-Risk Youth Within Our Community” that appeared in the Jackson Blazer News from 2008-2009, performed before Judge Greg Mathis at Jackson Colleges Annual MLK Celebration in 2012, was the recipient two community awards from SAVE OUR YOUTH as well having had my name inscribed on The National Wall Of Tolerance, and am currently nominated by the Los Angeles Black Book Expo for The Most Innovative Award in 2014.

Im fighting not only to vindicate myself of a crime I am innocent of, but too I am impelled to call the attention to the continued ignoring of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of innocent men and women currently incarcerated and those subsequently released that did not win exoneration. The United States Senate must call hearings on this issue. A reexamination of Prosecution tactics and Police interrogations must be looked at. Accountability for those wrongful convictions must be established. Its not fair that those guilty of crimes are held liable while those who wrongly incarcerate innocent persons are not themselves held accountable.

These are the nine (9) most common reasons people are wrongfully convicted:

1. Improper or mistaken eyewitness identification

2. Lack of adequate defense counsel

3. Improper or false police testimony

4. Loss or destroyed evidence (forensic fraud)

5. Lack of alibi for defendant

6. Fabricated evidence by the prosecution

7. Improper jury instructions

8. Prosecutorial misconduct

9. False confessions

I lost my freedom due to numbers 1, 3, 6, 7, 8 and 9. I was only eighteen years old and lost all of the formative years of my life sitting in prison for a crime I did not commit. I am just about to turn 41 years old and have yet to clear my name.

To learn more about this issue and my fight to vindicate myself, you can email me at: Hakimcrampton@gmail.com or log onto the following links:

SPOKEN WORD POET HAKIM CRAMPTON USES HIS PAST AS A TOOL TO INSPIRE OTHERS 

http://www.mlive.com/news/jackson/index.ssf/2014/02/spoken-word_poet_hakim_crampto.html

EDUCATION Vs. INCARCERATION: One Man’s Triumphant Journey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTsAW7RefcY and watch the video