by Mike Farrell
Johanna calls me back and gives me a number for Hertz roadside assistance. They need to talk to me directly, she says. Okay. Then the guy from the hotel calls back. He has my sunglasses in hand and will hold them for me. Great. All I have to do is figure out how to get back there. Oh, for some bread crumbs.
Hertz roadside assistance asks if I have my rental agreement. I do. I give her the number. She goes away and comes back. What is the mileage on the car? she asks. I push the button (I’ve figured something out on the dashboard, I’m proud to say) to get away from trip mileage(which is now over 3,300) and find the total mileage on the car, which is 17,000 and something. She says, “No problem. The message means the car needs an oil change, but it’s not actually necessary until you reach 19,548 miles, so when you get to that point you’ll need to come into a local Hertz facility and we’ll take care of it.”
Whoa. Easy. What a relief. I’m not in danger of losing Mule.
(Let me clarify something here. As you may have noted, I sometimes refer to Mule as a “he” and sometimes as a “she.” That’s not an error. Mule is a hybrid, after all, and sometimes he seems to be a he and sometimes she seems to be a she. And I’ve become accustomed to both.)
Amazingly, I somehow arrive at West Peachtree Street, Northeast, and look for the TV station. (Peachtree Street, or streets, is a whole other story in Atlanta, but I don’t have time for it here.) There’s a gate on the right and a big TV station behind the fence, so I pull in, park and walk into the reception area. Two women behind the desk light up when they see me and give me the biggest, most charming welcome, talking about what fans they are. This is obviously the right place. I thank them and say I’m here to do Atlanta & Company.
“Oh, sorry,” they say, “that’s the other station, on down to the end of the street.”
Pretty funny. So I thank them for the kind greeting and head back out.
At the right TV station I’m taken up to the studio and have a nice, live interview about the book and M*A*S*H and life and stuff. And then I’m done. Now we have to retrace the directions I’ve just followed to pick up my sunglasses. It’s kind of like doing a puzzle, but after only a few screams and a couple of U-turns, we’re there.
Glare compensated, we head downtown. Steve Bright’s office is a great place right across from the Federal Court. Steve says that when they moved in, he’s sure the Court said, “There goes the neighborhood.” His crew of miracle workers, at least the ones I get to meet, are mostly women and mostly quite young, and the impact they’re having is astounding. He says they’ve been able to fight the Georgia authorities to a virtual standoff. From twenty to thirty death convictions anually when he first set up shop in the ’90s, they’re down to just a couple per year, last year beating off all of them.
As a result, though they’re still involved in a great deal of prisoncondition lawsuits in Georgia, much of the death verdict appeal or trial defense they do out of this office is on Alabama cases, helping out Brian Stevenson and his Equal Justice Initiative.
Alabama, Steve says, is the pits. Brian is doing great work, but he’s overwhelmed by the kill-’em-and-kill-’em-quick attitude over there. The judges are all elected in Alabama and they campaign on how tough they’re going to be on crime and how much they support the death penalty. He says one of the things that stuns him is the absolute lack of any genuine feeling about it. Giving a death sentence is treated as casually as giving someone a traffic ticket. And worse, he says, the law provides a judicial override, so a jury can convict someone and recommend life without parole but then the judges can—and sometimes do—override their recommendation and sentence the person (usually black) to death.
Georgia is killing someone tonight, so Steve clearly doesn’t win them all here, but he says Alabama is becoming the next Texas.
This is a great guy, Steve Bright. He and Brian Stevenson and their staffs are truly American heroes, doing the toughest, most heartbreaking work by forcing the system to deal with real, caring, dedicated professionals and, when given a fair shot, beating the pants off them.
Asheville, North Carolina is supposed to be a three and a half hour drive and I have a radio interview at 6 p.m., so I say my goodbyes and soon we’re flying along through northeast Georgia on Highway 85. The speed limit says seventy, but most of these folks are doing eighty or more, and Mule is keeping right up with them. Suddenly, just over the top of a rise, everything is stopped, or stopping, before us! The car ahead of me slams on its brakes and I slam on mine, he goes right and I go left, he barely misses a car in the lane to our right and Mule and I squirrel around a bit on the edge of the grassy median to our left, my eyes flashing from the mess in front of me to the rearview mirror to see if we’re going to be hit from behind. No one smashes into anyone that I can see, but an SUV flashes by on my left and spins around out in the middle of the overgrown median, plowing up grass as he comes to a stop and sits there, obviously quite shaken.
PEOPLE OF FAITH AGAINST THE DEATH PENALTY
The questions surrounding the death penalty are questions of the soul as well as of public policy. They are questions that demand discussion, debate, discernment, and resolution—or they will be left unexamined and unresolved in our congregations as much as in our legislatures and courtrooms. As such, political leaders will continue to resort to using the death penalty as a simple and false solution to violent crime.
People of Faith Against the Death Penalty is a resource and catalyst for exploring the questions and answers around the death penalty and violent crime. PFADP works to educate and mobilize faith communities to act to abolish the death penalty in the United States. Founded in 1994, PFADP is the only grassroots, faith-based national death penalty abolition group headquartered in the former Confederacy, where eighty percent of executions take place. PFADP encourages pastoral leaders and laypeople to reflect on our nation’s use of capital punishment and to take personal responsibility to act for its abolition. PFADP has mobilized thousands of people and congregations to reflect and take action toward abolishing the death penalty.
PFADP was founded explicitly on a vision of restorative justice, on working toward healing all affected by violence—victims, the community, and offenders—and we offer policy alternatives to the death penalty and retributive justice.
As an interfaith organization, PFADP is composed of Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and people from other faith traditions (and some from no faith traditions). The religious leadership in America has now turned its thumb down on the death penalty. We believe that the Christian church must strengthen its role in undoing the harm it has caused through more than a millennium of giving its blessings and encouragement to this practice.
The work of PFADP’s thousands of members across the United States has helped change the aesthetics of the politics of the death penalty. With PFADP’s leadership, abolitionists are slowly gaining more control of the agendas around the issue, and they are nourishing a culture of abolition throughout America today that has begun to percolate into our courts and into our legislatures despite the fear and resistance of the leaderships of both dominant political parties. These changes will continue to grow if you get involved and make them grow.
The line of cars and trucks stretch out before us as far as I can see. And it’s not a pretty sight. There’s no exit and nothing to do, so we sit. The guy in the median sits as well. I look over at him as we have a chance to creep forward a bit and he looks to be okay, just allowing the adrenaline to stop pumping.
I think of that jam-up I noted on the other side of the highway down in Louisiana yesterday. This is worse. Worse because we’re in it, of course, but also worse because I can see for a hell of a distance and it’s a parking lot.
So we sit awhile, then creep awhile, then sit awhile longer, then creep some more. It’s awful. Every time we creep our way to a rise or around a corner, I pray the end will be suddenly visible. But no. A half-hour of this. Then another.
What to do? I call Johanna at
Akashic Books, of course, and tell her the situation. I had thought we had plenty of time to get there for the radio interview, but if this keeps up, I don’t know. She says she’ll call and alert the guy I’m to meet that there may be a problem. And we creep. And sit. And creep.
Finally, after about an hour and a half of this crazy-making situation, during which I note that the creeping is wearing Mule’s battery down to a very scary level, a sign tells me that we’re nearing a town: Commerce, Georgia. Edging into the right lane, I see that there’s enough paved surface beyond the legal right lane to slip along past the cars and trucks in front of us, so we move over and scoot along (pissing a lot of people off, I’m sure) until we come to the exit for Commerce and pull into the nearest gas station. Sure enough, I’m told, there is a way around the problem that brings you back to the highway above the accident, which is another mile or so up the road for the creepers. So off we race through the countryside and a couple of miles north find our way back to a Highway 85 that’s clear as a bell.
But we’re not going to make the interview. Johanna stays in touch and says the guy, Ronald, is being a prince. Not to worry, he says, if I make it on time, fine, and if not, we’ll figure something else out. He’s a fan, Johanna says, and it’s his birthday, so he’s hoping we can at least meet.
Racing through the beautiful, rolling, tree-covered hills of South Carolina, then passing into virtually the same landscape in North Carolina, makes me think of my friend John Denver’s song about West Virginia. Wonderful song. Terrific man. What a talent. What a loss.
Once in Asheville I pull up and run into the hotel. Ronald is there with a friend and they tell me not to rush, take it easy, do what I need to do and they’ll walk me over to Malaprop’s, the bookstore. Nice folks.
At Malaprop’s, there’s a large crowd waiting. The event is cosponsored by People of Faith Against the Death Penalty (chaired by Steve Dear, whose brother John is the priest I met in Santa Fe), Veterans for Peace Chapter 099 (of which Ronald is a member), and the Buncombe Green Party. It’s another warm and fun evening. Good questions are asked and a lot of stories are told. I love the mix of talking about the death penalty, the political situation, M*A*S*H, human rights, Shelley and whatever else is on people’s minds. One woman asks about my association with the Cult Awareness Network and what I think about this terrible situation with the kids from the polygamous Mormon cult in Texas. A really tough one. I understand that there’s been a ruling holding that the kids were not molested, something I personally find hard to believe.
One very touching thing happened tonight. When we were talking about the death penalty I mentioned the number of people exonerated from death row. I said this direct evidence of human error ought to be enough to end the use of state killing all by itself. I mentioned Glen Edward Chapman, the 127th death row exoneree who was freed last month here in North Carolina and is, as I understand it, living in Asheville.
Someone called out, “He’s here.”
I said, “Yes, here in Asheville.”
She replied, “No, he’s here,” and pointed to a black man a couple of rows behind her.
I was knocked out that he was there. Fourteen years of this young man’s life had been wasted as he was locked away by society for something he didn’t do. Not only had he spent those years in prison, but under the torturous conditions of death row, knowing that you were lower than dirt, worthy only of being disposed of by a society that had determined you were not fit to live among them—or even to live. Fourteen years of humiliation and degradation by guards and an administration only concerned with its own preservation. Fourteen years of dehumanization by a system that offered you nothing but the promise of impending death.
I had read of Chapman’s decision to get a job and show that he could be a productive citizen rather than becoming lost in anger and a desire to strike back because of the wrong that had been done him. I asked him to stand and told him there was, in my view, no way to repay the debt this society owed him. The audience gave him a warm welcome. If only the politicians who support this awful system had his courage …
After some books were signed and some pictures were taken—and I had a chance to talk further with Ed Chapman—I went to dinner at a vegan restaurant with Ronald, the birthday boy, and two of his Veterans for Peace colleagues.
And when I get back to my hotel room I learn that Steve Bright and those with whom he works have not lost after all. Samuel David Crowe was not executed. Two hours before he was to die, the Georgia State Board of Pardons and Paroles decided to commute his sentence to life in prison without parole, this after the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals had refused to consider a request for a stay because it had not been properly filed.
Two hours before they strap you down. How’s that for torture?
DAY FOURTEEN
Friday, May 23, 2008
CITY OF ORIGIN: ASHEVILLE, NC
CITY OF DESTINATION: RALEIGH, NC
MILES TRAVELED: 246
VENUE: QUAIL RIDGE BOOKS & MUSIC
EVENT COSPONSORS
People of Faith Against the Death Penalty, North Carolina Justice Center
Asheville seems to be a bit of a hippie enclave in the North Carolina mountains, complete with shops, health food stores—not only natural food but vegan restaurants (like last night’s)—and a lot of people looking like they’re living in the ’60s. I love it!
I picked up the New York Times at Malaprop’s and the proprietor, a Hungarian refugee, said lovely things about last night and promised that the people here will work hard on all the issues we talked about.
Heading out 40E toward Raleigh, I’m struck by the vivid patches of wildflowers lining the entrances and exits from the highway. Fabulous colors; Shelley would have loved this.
This area is as green as Alabama, but the mountains give it a special grace. It’s interesting that these mountains are the highest east of the Mississippi—Mount Mitchell, the highest of all, is less than 7,000 feet. Not so tall when compared to the Rockies, but they sure are beautiful.
The drive to Raleigh is long and largely uneventful. I’d been warned by last night’s dinner companions that the North Carolina cops are very vigilant about speeders. “They’ll give you five miles over the posted limit,” I was told, “but any more than that, they’ll be all over you.” And as we tooled along, that understanding seemed to be widely shared. With few exceptions, people pretty much stayed to about five miles over the limit, so Mule and I went along fine for most of the way. Then I saw a backup on the other side, heading west. Sure glad we’re not going that way, I thought. Then, remembering the one I’d seen in Louisiana and what happened after that, I hoped it wasn’t an omen. But sure enough, as we neared the turnoff for Raleigh, red lights appeared ahead of us and pretty soon we were at a dead stop.
Traffic is the bane of modern civilization, American style. Too many people in the cities. Fortunately, though, we were able to cut over, take a turnoff and avoid what looked like a continuing snarl up ahead.
NORTH CAROLINA JUSTICE CENTER
The North Carolina Justice Center is the state’s leading progressive advocacy and research organization. Our mission is to eliminate poverty in North Carolina by ensuring that every household has the services, resources, and fair treatment it needs to access opportunities to achieve economic security. To that end, we do advocacy and research in the areas of public education, health care, the state budget, taxes, consumer protections, and housing.
We are unique in that we employ five strategies in our work for progressive change:
• Lobbying to secure laws and policies that improve the lives of low- and moderate-income families
• Litigation of high-impact cases that protect and expand the rights of disadvantaged groups
• Research on how policies impact low-income North Carolinians and how they can be improved
• Community education that improves local groups and individuals
• Media outreach that shapes p
ublic opinion
The Justice Center includes a nine-member legal team that stands up for the rights of immigrants and migrant workers—an especially urgent need in our state. Law-enforcement agencies in seven North Carolina counties have signed up to partner with federal immigration enforcement, which they believe gives them license to harass immigrants and engage in racial profiling. This leaves Latino communities without law enforcement they can trust to protect them.
The Justice Center is leading an effort to ensure police and sheriffs’ departments grant immigrants the human and legal rights they are due. We monitor the conditions in detention areas, help families locate loved ones who have been arrested, and guide immigrant communities in making preparations should they become the targets of a raid. We also spread the word about the aggressive, discriminatory, and sometimes unconstitutional immigrant enforcement tactics that are being used.
The Justice Center helps hundreds of low-income immigrants every year apply for legal status, including asylum. The burdens of proof for asylum seekers are almost insurmountable, and the legal requirements are impossible for anyone without experience in immigration law to negotiate. That’s where the Justice Center steps in, providing free legal services to those whose lives depend on having a competent attorney but who cannot afford to hire one.
The Justice Center is committed to supporting opportunity and prosperity for everyone in North Carolina, regardless of race, ethnicity, or country of origin.
Checking into the hotel, I have time to see how far behind I am on my e-mail, but can’t do much about it as we have to get over to Quail Ridge Books & Music for tonight’s event. Steve Dear’s organization here in North Carolina, People of Faith Against the Death Penalty, is cosponsoring again this evening, as is the North Carolina Justice Center, which is run by a very bright woman named Jill Diaz. Introduced by Nancy Olson, the proprietor, Jill opens the evening with an explanation of the work of her organization, then throws it to Steve, who introduces me.