Page 133 of Judge Stone
Joe was pulling me away from Bria Gaines. Before the crowd swallowed her up, she waved at me, shouting, “Look me up in Chicago!” And then I was up on the makeshift stage, with white lights blinding me. The chairman’s voice blared through the speakers. “Judge Mary Stone has won reelection to her seat as circuit judge for a second term!”
Folks were whooping, applauding, stomping their feet. I was teetering once again, in danger of a crying breakdown. I didn’t let go, though. Took a deep breath. Thought about my mama. Making her proud. My people, generations of them buried in the soil of the Black Belt.
And I knew what to say.
“Friends, thank you for your support. I’m proud to serve for another six-year term. My roots are here, my heart is here. One thing you never have to doubt, that I swear to you tonight. Sitting at that bench, I’ll do everything in my power to see that justice is done in my courtroom in the state of Alabama.”
People cheered, some of them screaming at the top of their lungs.
And in the corners of the hall, I observed a few frowning faces. One man muttering something to another, with a formidable expression.
That was sobering. But I’m glad I caught it. It served as an important reminder.
In this job, I can’t make everyone happy. It would be dangerous to try.
A judge who wants to please everyone won’t bring justice to people in the Black Belt.
They need a judge who’s willing to fight.
Born and raised here, I’m as much a part of this community as the famous soil we stand upon. I understand the challenges we face; the injustices we’ve suffered. When I die, they’ll bury me on the land my great-grandfather bought, scores of years ago. That’s why I’ll never leave this place.
The people need me.
We need each other.
