The Metamorphosis of Lesra Martin (page 3 of 3)

Miscarriage of Justice

ARRIVING back in Toronto, Lesra couldn't stop talking about Carter. Over the next two years, through letters, lengthy phone calls and numerous visits to the prison, the entire household forged a strong friendship with Carter, slowly drawing him out of his shell.

       As they learned more about his case, the Canadians were convinced there'd been a terrible miscarriage of justice. They sent him gifts of food and clothing, but they could provide little more than moral support as Carter's lawyers pushed through legal appeals on his conviction.

       "How's your schooling going?" Carter asked in every phone call to Lesra. Learning, he patiently told Lesra, was not only a way to express himself but a means to take control of his life. Carter was intensely proud of Lesra and showed his school essays to other prisoners.

       Inspired by Carter, Lesra worked hard, earning high marks in his correspondence courses and, later, in an English night-school course. He routinely sent his marks to Carter. "What happened to the other two points?" Carter queried when Lesra received 98 percent on one of his papers. Lesra chuckled. Like Sam Chaiton, Carter expected him to do well. Yet for every step forward, another crisis always pulled him back.

       In the fall of 1981, he picked up the phone one day to hear his father's voice, dejected, slurred. "I have some bad news," Earl said. Listening, Lesra sank into a chair sobbing. Devastated, he passed the phone to Terry.

       The gifts he regularly sent home were prized by his family. But a knitted cap sent to Elston had been stolen, resulting in a fight that had gone too far: Fru accidentally killed another man while trying to get it back. Guilt ridden and in shock, he had waited for the police to arrive.

       Lesra wanted to go back and help his family, but the Canadians convinced him it was better to stay. Unable to concentrate on his work, he was sick at heart for weeks afterwards, anguished that his gift had caused someone's death. Fru would later be sentenced to five to 15 years for manslaughter.

THROUGHOUT 1982 the Canadians spent months studying Carter's case, reviewing court transcripts, tracking every detail in testimony. They tacked papers to the walls, sorting and analyzing the mountain of information. Aided by Carter, they compiled a one-by-three-metre chart of witnesses, noting every discrepancy in their testimony, then sent it to Carter's lawyers, hoping it would somehow be useful in an appeal in U.S. Federal Court.

       Then in November there came another blow: Carter cut off all contact with the Canadian household. He had lost another round of appeals, and in despair of ever being released, he stopped writing and phoning.

       For Lesra, it was torturous to think of Carter lost in despair. To ease his mind and heart, Lesra focused on his studies, finishing Grade 13, while preparing to enter the University of Toronto. He graduated high school that spring of 1983 with straight A's and was honoured as an Ontario scholar for his superior academic performance. The Canadians surprised him one day with his diploma, beautifully framed and wrapped.

       Smiling, Sam proudly told him, "The next one you frame will be your university degree!"

       Lesra carefully packaged copies of his diploma and the acceptance letter from the University of Toronto, mailing a set to his parents. They were very proud; he was the first in his family to attend university. Lesra quietly sent the other copies to Carter, the only way he could say "thanks" for the role Carter had played in his success.

Renewed Effort

EIGHT months after Carter had cut off contact with the group, he phoned the Toronto house again. This time his call, in late summer 1983, was to ask for help. The Canadians, inspired by Carter's continued fight, told him that no matter how long it took, they would fight alongside him to help secure his release from prison.

       To finance their efforts, the friends sold their Toronto house and moved into a smaller place. Chaiton, Swinton and Peters even moved to New Jersey to be closer to Carter, while Lesra stayed behind to attend school and help with the group's home-renovation business. The trio would devote the next five years, and contribute hundreds of hours of time and energy, to Carter's case.

       They researched more than 15 years worth of legal documents and evidence, and helped draft legal briefs that would be used to seek a writ of habeas corpus from a Federal Court judge, demanding that authorities justify the incarceration. In Carter's case, the writ alleged prosecutorial misconduct, suppressing evidence and improperly introducing a theory of racial revenge into the trial. If it failed, all avenues of freedom would be closed and Carter would spend the rest of his life in prison.

IN SEPTEMBER 1983 Lesra entered the University of Toronto. He had dropped the idea of becoming a lawyer, soured on a system that would allow Carter to be imprisoned unjustly.

       He decided instead to major in anthropology and sociology. Listening to the other students, he was secretly pleased that he could speak and write as well as they did. Chaiton had taught him well.

       But instead of drinking in the success of his academic achievements, he was haunted by self-doubt. On the outside he appeared articulate and confident, but inside, his old fears were never far away. The ghetto was around every corner. Once, leaving a campus building, he opened the door and thought he saw not the lush school grounds but the scarred streets of Bushwick.

       Midyear, he was assigned to write a political philosophy paper on social justice issues. He knew how to research his papers, yet he found himself frozen with fear. His mind churned in panic as his deadline approached. The night before his paper was due, he sat down to write, snatching ideas from the top of his head. He was shocked when his paper was praised as "original" and later considered for publication. That paper became a talisman, something he would look back at whenever his confidence failed him.

       By 1985 Lesra was working full-time in the renovation business, rising at 6:30 a.m, putting in a full day, then rushing off to night-school courses and doing homework. He longed to be in New Jersey, helping his friends work on Carter's case. When he could, he researched trial transcripts, often dashing down to New Jersey for weekend visits.

Freedom

YEARS of exhaustive work by Carter, his lawyers and the Canadians paid off in November 1985 when Federal Court Judge Lee Sarokin overturned the 1976 convictions, citing grave "constitutional violations." He ruled that Carter's conviction, and that of his codefendant John Artis, was based on "racism rather than reason, and concealment rather than disclosure" by New Jersey prosecutors.

       After 20 years in prison, Rubin Carter was at last set free. The miraculous outcome left Lesra overwhelmed with joy.

       Emotional upheavals at home, however, continually tugged at his heart. Both of his parents had developed cancer, and Earl suffered seizures from a brain tumour. Lesra saved his money and, in the summer of 1986, brought them to Canada on a rare visit. He bought a new suit for his father and new shoes and a white chiffon dress for his mother on her birthday.

       Struck by Lesra's self-assurance, Alma proudly gazed at her son. "You've become a real man," she told him. She had been tough on him while he was growing up, preparing him for the world she thought he would have to live in, but it had created a gulf between them that had hurt Lesra deeply. Now, though, he finally understood his mother. His leaving had brought them closer together.

       One night at the house, Lesra tucked his frail parents into bed. Shortly afterwards, Earl reappeared. "I want to give you something," he said quietly, motioning his son to follow him upstairs. Curious, Lesra followed, then sat on the edge of his parents' bed.

       Earl cleared his throat, then slowly, gently hummed and sang a song he'd written for his son. It was called "The End is Near."

       Lesra felt his eyes brimming with tears. His father had rarely talked about his long-lost hopes for a singing career, and Lesra sensed that he was deeply ashamed of how his life had turned out. This was a truly special gift from Earl.

       That fall of 1986, Lesra, now 23, took stock of his life. Carter, along with Chaiton, Swinton and Peters, was living in New York, responding to legal appeals that would drag on for another 26 months. Like the rest of the household, Lesra had carried a big load, going to school and working in the group's business to help finance Carter's case. He felt drained and wanted some time for himself.

       So Lesra struck out on his own, moving into an apartment near the university.

Taking Stock

IN APRIL 1988 Lesra was studying for his final exams when he was jarred by the ringing of his phone. It was Lori, his older sister; their mother had been hospitalized with severe abdominal pains. He rushed home.

       In New York Lesra sat by Alma's hospital bedside, stroking her hand as he stared into the worried faces of his family. He stayed several days, and when Alma appeared to regain her strength, he returned to Toronto. A few days later she passed away. Devastated, he buried himself in studying for his final exams, anything to avoid grieving.

       On a mild day in September, Lesra set out on a 19-hour drive to Dalhousie University in Halifax, where he planned to study for his master's degree in anthropology. For the first time in eight tumultuous years, he had hours and hours to think. His life had been a series of extraordinary events unfolding at breathtaking speed: his life in the ghetto, the struggle to read and write, the fight to free Carter, his mother's death. Now his father was dreadfully ill with cancer. Everything had taken its toll.

       He felt the weight of unspoken expectations -- the likelihood of someone from Bushwick making it this far were slim to none. Yet he had. The future suddenly frightened him. What if he failed?

       He finally understood what an unselfish decision his mother had made that day in 1979 when she asked Earl to decide. It was a bittersweet memory. He was proud of his parents, yet saddened they would not share in his success. Why am I doing this? What difference does it make now?

       He pulled off the road, exhausted by the emotions crowding his head. He closed his eyes and tears slid down his cheeks.

       Headed for a new life in Halifax, he had everything in the world to look forward to. Instead, he felt hollow inside.

       LESRA'S years of illiteracy still shaped every decision he made. He rushed headlong into the demanding course load for his master's degree. Not long after his arrival in Halifax, he befriended a young woman at school. Longing for some kind of stability, he married her in the spring of 1989.

       Shortly afterwards, in May, his father passed away. Once again, Lesra blunted his grief with work, turning to his sister Lori for solace.

       His pace never slackened. Every time he passed Dalhousie's law school, a lump burned in his throat. That's where I should be, he now thought. It remained an unfulfilled dream and he decided to act. He was accepted at law school in 1990 and figured he'd juggle that with his master's degree.

       But by the following spring, Lesra felt his life spinning out of control. He had somehow squeezed in a full-time job between his classes, working night shifts. Running at breakneck speed throughout his day, he barely found time to crack open his books.

       He was never home and his marriage -- complicated and unhappy -- unravelled. Miserable, he was forced to take a hard look at his life. Nothing he started ever got completed. Work on his master's degree had fallen by the wayside. Tackling law school before he was ready left him unable to focus. He made the painful decision to withdraw, before he lost that dream, too.

       Lesra soon realized his downward slide had begun with the death of his parents. He had lost his sense of purpose. He resolved to complete his masters degree and one day return to law school.

       Two years later, in 1993, Lesra handed in his master's thesis, prepared to delay his plans for law school after learning he'd been accepted into the University of Toronto's sociology doctorate program.

Rekindled Desire

ON A FREEZING, snowbound day in February 1994, Lesra pulled up to his doorstep in Toronto. As he got out of his car, he was startled to see Rubin waiting and shivering in a Jeep. "Lez, I need a place to stay," he said, stepping out to give Lesra a big hug.

       In the years since his release, Carter had lectured, written and travelled in the United States, living on and off with the Canadians. Now, waylaid by snowy weather on his way back to the States, he decided to stop over at Lesra's apartment, then continue on the next morning.

       They had seen little of each other in recent years, each going his own way. As they sat talking the next day, Lesra realized he wanted to spend more time with Carter. Yet he worried about derailing his goals, taking on too much. But suddenly he blurted out, "Why not stay for a while?"

       The next few weeks, they discussed the idea of working together. They moved out of Lesra's flat and into a larger home. Lesra grew to appreciate Carter hollering "son" as soon as he stepped through the door.

       Once, on a flight back from giving a speech, a flight attendant mistook them for father and son. Carter turned to Lesra and made a surprising revelation. "I told your parents I would take care of you if anything happened to them. I'd be honoured if you accepted me in that role."

       Lesra was deeply touched.

       He continued to work on his doctoral degree, and together he and Carter wrote, lectured and travelled, sharing their remarkable journey with others. Carter became the executive director of The Association in Defence of the Wrongly Convicted, a volunteer organization formed to address the problem of wrongful convictions internationally. On behalf of the organization, they researched cases, and Lesra's interviews with lawyers and judges rekindled his desire to be a part of the legal system.

       One chilling visit to death-row inmate Rolando Cruz left Lesra deeply unsettled. Bleak and menacing, the Illinois prison was set high on a precipice. The clang of cell doors, Cruz's hands and feet shackled in chains, the vivid sights and smells, reminded Lesra of his first prison visit with Carter. Afterwards, as their car wound down the hill from the prison, Lesra slumped in his seat, emotionally drained.

       He remembered how horrifying it had felt to leave Carter behind. It was no different with Cruz. Eventually, Cruz would be cleared and freed, but for Lesra, the helplessness he felt that day only added fire to his desire to return to law school.

       Everything he had ever wanted was happening. He was pursuing his doctorate and working with Carter. Yet if he didn't pursue his dream, he would always wonder if he'd made the right choices. Returning to Toronto, he reapplied to law school. But that meant leaving Carter.

Beating the Odds

WHEN LESRA returned to Nova Scotia in September 1994, he was no longer afraid of what lay ahead. Now 31, he was on a mission, more clear and focused on his goals than ever before. He immersed himself in his studies and joined several student associations. At one meeting in the fall of 1995, he noticed a slender young woman with delicate features who seemed just as curious about him.

       Who is this guy? Cheryl Tynes, 28, wondered when she heard him speak. Private and reserved, she was drawn to his warmth, confidence and outgoing nature. They became instant friends. As they spent long hours together studying for their gruelling law exams, they discovered many similarities in their backgrounds. Both were from large, poor families living in racially tense neighbourhoods, and both valued education as a way to succeed in life.

       One wintery day in January 1996, Lesra confided to Cheryl that he was attracted to her, but she brushed him off. "You're not in my five-year plan," she told him bluntly, afraid her own hard-won goals would be disrupted.

       Lesra heeded her feelings and didn't call for weeks. But one day he phoned to say "hi," catching her off guard. Cheryl couldn't hide her excitement at hearing his voice again.

       By April Lesra had finished his second year of law school. Needing a break, he met his sister Lori in New York, then travelled with her back to her South Carolina home. Late one afternoon, they telephoned Elston. The siblings laughed and talked for hours. Lesra hung up and looked at Lori, his eyes sparkling. "Let's surprise Elston with a visit!" he grinned, and they made plans to go back to New York.

       That night, however, as Lesra settled on Lori's couch, the phone rang. It was his younger brother Damon. His voice broke as he told Lesra that Elston had been shot and killed on the streets of Harlem.

       Lesra staggered to his feet. Dazed, he lurched into Lori's room. Too shocked to speak, he handed Lori her bedside phone.

       "No, no, no!" she sobbed.

       In the hours that followed, they learned what had happened. A niece had argued with a man at a nightclub. She called home and Elston left to pick her up. Getting out of his car, Elston asked his niece what happened. A patient man, he liked to rock back on his heels and cross his arms when he listened to others. As he lifted his arms to fold them over his chest, the man who'd argued with his niece fired, hitting Elston.

       His brother's senseless death wounded Lesra even more deeply than the deaths of his parents. Elston was the man Lesra would have been had he stayed in Bushwick, trapped by a lack of education. Violence defined their neighbourhood, yet Elston was a gentle man who worked and raised his family, never troubling anyone. Grief stricken and haunted by guilt, thinking he should have been there instead of Elston, Lesra felt he had lost a part of himself.

       Lesra drew closer to Cheryl as she helped him cope with his sorrow on his return. Her compassion made him realize how much he loved her. In 1998, a year after he graduated from law school, they married.

       Lesra articled with a Vancouver law firm and a year later moved to Kamloops to work in the Crown counsel's office. In May 1999 he stood in an oak-panelled room of the Kamloops courthouse, his black robes swirling about him. Family and friends packed the courtroom, smiling and crying as the newly called lawyers rose to take their oath before a B.C. Supreme Court judge. Carter sat next to Cheryl, his eyes alive with pride and love. He had never dreamed that Lesra would be the catalyst upon which his own freedom rested. Now he was watching yet another miracle take place. He and Lesra had both beaten the odds.

"The Hurricane"

THIS PAST January Lesra and Cheryl found themselves on a plane to New York. They were going to attend a United Nation's special screening of The Hurricane, the movie dramatization of the events surrounding Carter's release from prison. Bushwick, a place that once held no hope or future, was only a subway ride away from the UN, an irony not lost on Lesra.

       As he worked during the flight on a speech he was to deliver to the UN, the tears wouldn't stop. Lesra felt as if he had come full circle. He was back in his parents' living room, waiting for their decision that would allow him to leave. For him their sacrifice was heroic.

       He remembered how complete strangers had made a commitment to help him better his life, then kept that promise. He wondered if Elston would still be alive had he been given access to a proper education, too. He wondered how many other kids were in places like Bushwick, their promise held back by illiteracy.

       He knew that when he stood before the UN delegates, he would have a story to tell: How compassion, courage and hope can change lives forever.

THE RELEASE of the movie The Hurricane has proved to be another life-changing event for Lesra. In demand as a lecturer, he has taken a leave of absence from his Crown prosecutor's job and speaks passionately about the issues surrounding literacy.

       "I'll always be a lawyer," he says. "But right now I can make more of an impact speaking about the importance of education, the freedom I found in reading and the value of learning.

       "I'll never forget where I came from. I'm still on a journey -- I'll be on it for the rest of my life."

PHOTO: © RICHARD PIERRE