Joseph Shatraw

“A Milk Crate and a Man Forgotten: The Story of Joseph Shatraw"

By Amber Hwang

In the sweltering heart of Central Florida lies Highlands County, a place that presents itself as quaint and quiet. But beneath its surface is a machine that feeds on technicalities, bleeds families dry, and never forgets the names of those it targets—even when their crimes are decades behind them.

Joseph Shatraw is one of those names.

Born in 1958, Joseph has spent more than half his life carrying the weight of a label society never lets him forget. He did his time—years ago—for crimes he does not deny. And when he was released, he tried to live quietly, without incident. He registered like the law demanded. He kept his head down. He followed the rules, even when they didn’t make sense.

But in Highlands County, compliance is never enough.

A MILK CRATE

In 2024, Joseph was arrested again. Not for a new crime—not for hurting anyone—but for a milk crate.

Yes, a milk crate.

Under Florida Statute § 506.509, possessing a dairy case—a simple branded milk crate—is a crime. It is presumed stolen unless proven otherwise. That crate, likely picked up off the roadside or given freely as junk by someone clearing out their garage, became the basis for prosecution. In a county where probation violations and obscure infractions fuel an entire local economy of bondsmen, jailers, and court-appointed attorneys, Joseph became just another number on a growing list of men targeted for technicalities.

They didn’t see a 65-year-old man, trying to survive. They didn’t see someone who had followed every demand for registration, who had stayed out of trouble for years. They didn’t see the toll it took on him to live in poverty, to be shunned by neighbors, to carry the shame society kept pressing into his chest every time he tried to breathe.

They just saw a crate.

And it was enough.

The deputies, acting under the direction of a system that thrives on cruelty masked as order, cuffed him like he was a threat. They called it a “shopping cart” violation—another arbitrary code that gives them permission to drag men like Joseph back into cages.

He was booked into jail once more. Another record. Another court date. Another fee. Another black mark. Another scar.

His name will never be cleared. The state will never say, “We were wrong.” And no one will ever go to prison for destroying what's left of a man’s dignity over a milk crate.

But Joseph’s story—like those of so many others—won’t stay buried.

This is more than a story of one man and a crate. This is a story about how a system designed to rehabilitate instead grinds the souls of the forgotten. In Highlands County, the law is wielded not as justice—but as a weapon. And Joseph, like many others, is just another casualty of that war.