The Sun Does Shine

by Anthony Ray Hinton

  “Your Honor, the State rests.”

  “All right, any witnesses for the defense?”

  I watched incredulously as my attorney declined to question the second bailiff who had just lied about me under oath. I never told either bailiff that I knew how to get one over on a polygraph test. I had spent almost two years waiting for my trial—purposefully not talking to anyone about anything to do with my case—and now supposedly in the hallway outside the courtroom, I had confessed to a bailiff that I had cheated to pass my polygraph, a polygraph the State wouldn’t allow to be admitted because it had proven that I was innocent? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

  My attorney turned away from the judge and looked at me. “Do you want to testify?”

  I could see the bailiff smirking as he got out of the witness stand. Did I want to testify? They were about to sentence me to death, and nobody was speaking up on my behalf. There were things that needed to go on the record. My wrists were shackled and cuffed together, a heavy chain linking them to the leg irons around my ankles. For a moment, I imagined wrapping that chain around all their necks, but then I unclenched my fists and placed the palms of my hands together as if to pray. I wasn’t a murderer. Never had been, never would be. I looked over at the jury, at McGregor, who stared back at me with hatred and self-righteousness, at the judge, who looked overheated and bored. I had spent a good many years testifying for God in church, and now it was time to testify for myself in this courtroom.

  I nodded at my attorney. “Yes,” I said, a bit louder than I meant to. Inside my head, I was screaming, Hell yes, and I accidentally banged my chains against the table as I stood up from my chair.

  “Is there any way he can have these handcuffs removed, Judge?”

  My attorney was finally doing something right. Fighting a little. I knew at this point it was more about saving face and winning something than about believing in me. When he was assigned to my case and told he would get paid $1,000, I heard him mutter, “I eat $1,000 for breakfast.” He was going through the motions, but I knew his heart wasn’t in it. He either thought I was guilty or he didn’t care much one way or the other. I was just another file in a big stack of files. We had been together for almost two years, but he didn’t know me. Not really. Not in the way you would want someone to know you when he holds your life in his hands. Still, I needed him. He knew that, and I knew that. So I was polite and respectful. If today went the way everyone knew it would go, I would still need him.

  I held my wrists out to the bailiff. He smirked again as he unlocked my cuffs. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mom in the second row. Lester sat on one side of her, and my sister Dollie sat on the other. Our neighbor Rosemary was also there. I looked all the way over my shoulder as the handcuffs came off, and she gave me a little wave. I glanced at Lester and he gave me a quick nod. We had an endgame in mind.

  I walked up to the witness stand and turned around and looked out over the courtroom. I was happy to be able to see my mom and face her eye to eye. She smiled at me, and I could feel my heart tighten. God, how I was going to miss her. No matter how big her smile, I knew she was scared, and all this legal mumbo jumbo might as well have been a foreign language. When she had left after that last visit, it had made her smile to hear me say I would be home soon sitting at our table and eating one of her Sunday afternoon cakes. She could bake a cake so good it would make the devil himself confess his sins and beg for mercy just to have a bite. Sometimes, late at night, I would close my eyes and see her red velvet cake with buttercream frosting so clearly in my mind, I swear I could actually smell all that butter and sugar. My imagination has always been both a blessing and a curse. It helped me get through some rough times growing up, but it had also gotten me into some trouble. Nothing like the trouble I was in now.

  Every day since they had arrested me, I had thought, Today will be the day. They’ll know I was at work. They’ll find the guy that really did it. Somebody will believe me.

  It was all some bad dream that I couldn’t wake up from.

  I smiled back at my mom, and then I looked over at McGregor. He had been glaring at me for two weeks. It was a famous tactic of his. Stare at the defendant until he cowers. Show him who’s the alpha dog. Well, I wasn’t a dog, and I wasn’t about to cower. On the inside, I was scared to death. I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to die. But on the outside, I had to be strong. For my mom. For my friends. Martin Luther King once said, “A man can’t ride you unless your back is bent.” So I sat with my back as straight as possible in that courtroom, and when McGregor stared at me, I straightened my back even more and stared right into his eyes. He was trying to ride me, all right, trying to kill me. And I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him, or for any of them, than it already was.

  “Judge,” my attorney began, “let me make aware to the court that Mr. Hinton has requested the opportunity to testify. I have no particular idea of the subject matter of testimony, so there’s no way of questioning him. I don’t see how it could make any difference if he just testifies.”

  He didn’t know the subject matter? The subject matter was this court just convicted me of two cold-blooded murders without any evidence. The subject matter is my attorney just let them find me guilty of two capital offenses based on a third attempted murder that happened while I was at work. The subject matter was my attorney hired a ballistics expert who could hardly see and who was crucified on the stand. The subject matter was the State of Alabama wanted to strap me to Yellow Mama and murder me for crimes I didn’t commit. The subject matter was somebody was trying to kill me and I was fighting for my life. That was the subject matter.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said the same prayer I had prayed in my head a thousand times. Dear God, let them know the truth of things. Let them see into my mind and my heart and find the truth. Bless the judge. Bless the DA. Bless the victims’ families who are in pain. Dear God, let there be justice. Real justice.

  “First of all, I did not kill anybody. It is important to me that the families know this. Believe this. I wouldn’t want anyone to take the life of someone I loved. I couldn’t even imagine that pain. I know what it is like not to have a father, to be brought up with that missing in your life, and I wouldn’t cause it to happen for anyone. There is a man up above who knows I didn’t do it, and one day, I may not be here, but he’s going to show you that I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t dare ever think about killing, because I can’t give a life and, therefore, I don’t have a right to take a life.”

  I could hear my voice shaking a little, so I took another deep breath, and I looked directly at the widow of John Davidson. “And if you … if the family’s satisfied that they’ve got the right man, I’m sorry, but if you really want your husband’s killer to be brought to justice, get on your knees and pray to God about it, because I didn’t do it.”

  I looked up at Judge Garrett. “Do with me what seems good to you, but as sure as you put me to death, you bring blood upon yourself and upon your hands. I love all people. I’ve never been prejudiced in my life. I went to school and got along with everybody, never been in a fight. I’m not a violent person.”

  My mom was nodding. Smiling at me like I was in a school play or giving a recital. I kept going. “I’ve been praying to God for the DA, for this judge, and especially for the victims. You got to give an account for what you done, and it don’t matter to me, because if I can recall, Jesus was prosecuted, accused falsely for things he didn’t do, and all he did was try to love and save this world, and he died and suffered. If I have to die for something I didn’t do, so be it. My life is not in this judge’s hands. My life is not in your hands, but it’s in God’s hands.”

  I spoke to the bailiffs who had just lied on the stand. I told them that I would pray for the Lord to forgive them. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

  “You all sent an innocent man to prison. You kept an innocent man locked up for two years, and I begged, I plea
ded with you to give me anything that you believe in. Truth serum, hypnosis, anything. I have nothing to hide.”

  I saw McGregor shake his head and roll his eyes and then give a half snort, half laugh.

  I looked directly at him. “I’m praying for you,” I repeated. “I’m praying that God will forgive you all for what you have done, and I hope that you have enough wisdom to ask God to forgive you. You’re going to die just like I’m going to die. My death may be in the electric chair, but you’re going to die too. But one thing—after my death, I’m going to heaven. Where are you going?” I looked at the judge and the bailiffs and the district attorney and the police detectives. “Where are you going?” I asked again. “A lie should not carry in God’s sight. When the police came and arrested me, I had no idea what they were arresting me for. And I want the family to know that if I had killed somebody, you wouldn’t have found me in my mama’s backyard cutting grass. I had nothing to hide, and I didn’t know anything about these murders.”

  My attorney was looking down, scribbling on his notepad. I was rushing to get everything out. God only knew if I was making sense.

  “Since I been in jail, I’ve read the paper every day, and hardly a day goes by where people haven’t been forced in a cooler, and you going to read about it again. Somebody’s going to get killed. Maybe by then, you’re going to realize you got the wrong man. But I pray to God it don’t happen that way. I just pray that the man that really did it—I just hope the Lord will put enough burden on their heart where they can just come and tell you. But then, I’m not convinced you going to want to believe them. But when God is in the plan, I ain’t worried about what you believe. I don’t want to be electrocuted, but whatever way the Lord have me go, I’m ready to go. And you know I looked and I’ve seen prejudice in this courtroom. You people don’t want the truth. You people don’t want the right person. All you wanted was a conviction.

  “I never, ever committed such a violent crime. Yes, I got off on the wrong track, and I stole and I wrote some bad checks—but I didn’t try to hide it. I admitted it, and I paid for that. How long do I have to pay for that? I’m not up here trying to reopen this case, but I think every one of you, you got some doubts. You got some doubts. I’m sorry we don’t live in a just world. My Bible tells me every knee must bow and every tongue must confess.”

  Rosemary yelled out, “Amen!” and I watched my mom pat her on the arm.

  I looked directly into McGregor’s eyes. “I don’t think the people really care who’s innocent. I’m just one black man, and that don’t mean nothing to you. I don’t know what color God is, but I can tell you he loves me just like he loves you. You might think you’re superior in this world, but you’re not. I had a life just like everybody else had a life, and I don’t hate you. Mr. McGregor, I don’t hate you. But for a slight moment during the trial, I was beginning to hate you, I really was, but I thank God that it came to me that I can’t make it into heaven hating nobody.”

  “Amen,” I heard again.

  “I love you. You might think I’m crazy for telling a man that I love him that’s done prosecuted me and is trying to send me to the death chair, but I love you.”

  “Amen.” Rosemary was holding her hands up like we were in church and there was a good sermon going on. My sister had her eyes closed. Mom was just smiling and nodding, and Lester looked grim.

  “You know, I haven’t told many people this, but when I was coming up, I took business law in school, and I loved it. And I wanted to be a judge, thought perhaps of going to college and being a DA or something, but you know, I’m glad that I didn’t do that. I’m glad because we don’t really know when a person is innocent or guilty. You have proven that.”

  I closed my eyes then. If I could put my heart in the judge’s heart, he would know I didn’t do it. He would know I wasn’t violent. I have always cared about all people—white, black, green, purple—if you needed help, I would help you. It’s how I was raised, and it’s who I am. I knew right from wrong. And what happened in this courtroom was wrong. It was all wrong.

  “You people got a joy out of prosecuting me,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure how to say this exactly, but there was an excitement to it. During the whole trial, it had felt like McGregor and the detectives and the State’s experts were enjoying themselves—like taking away my life was some sort of sporting event.

  “Everybody that testified for me testified the truth. I can’t say that about the people you called. They got to give an account for that, and you reap what you sow, believe me. And I feel sorry for those twelve people that found me guilty. I feel real sorry for them, but I ain’t mad at them. If you happen to see them, tell them I ain’t mad. I’m always going to pray to God that he forgive them, and in my heart, I know he is a forgiving God. There’s no doubt about it.

  “Might sound crazy, but I got joy—even with leg irons on me. The joy I got—the world didn’t give it to me, and the world can’t take it away. That’s a fact. Your Honor, I thank you for letting me have my say. Mr. McGregor, I’m praying for you real hard. Ever since I seen you, you’ve been constantly in my prayers, and I’m going to continue to pray for you. Wherever they send me, God can hear my prayers. Now, what would really make me worried is if you could isolate me from God, but you can’t do that. You took me from my family, but you can’t take me from God.

  “You know, I’m proud to be black. I would be proud if I was white. And it’s sad when a police officer that is supposed to uphold the law tells you you’re going to be convicted because you’re black, and you got a white jury and you got a white DA. You know, that’s sad. It’s sad—real sad. If you talk to Lieutenant Doug Acker, tell him I’m praying for him also.

  “Now, I look at those little kids back there, and that’s a sad thing to know that their father won’t be around no more. I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like.”

  I looked again at Lester sitting next to my mom. He would take care of her for me. That gave me some peace. But I worried that if this could happen to me, it could happen to him. Or one of my brothers. Or any black man in Alabama. Or any black man anywhere.

  “The only harm I’m guilty of is I looked like somebody. And you know what y’all always say—we all look alike. But it’s a funny thing—we all look alike, but you can positively identify us in that time of trouble. You know what Lieutenant Acker told me? ‘Take this for your rap, because if you didn’t do it, one of your brothers did it because y’all always helping one another, so take this.’ And that’s sad.”

  I paused and took one more deep breath.

  “The saddest thing of all is that you’re ready to close the case. This judge is glad it’s over. The families are going home thinking the man’s been brought to trial. The police case is closed. But God ain’t closed the case, and he ain’t about to close it. He’s going to reopen it. It might be a year from now, it might be tomorrow, it might be today—he’s going to reopen it.”

  Lester nodded at me, and I nodded back at him. This case was going to get reopened by God, but Lester and I were going to do everything we could to give God a little help.

  It was time for the judge to sentence me. This was my fate from the second they arrested me. Someday they would know I didn’t do it. And then what? What do you say to a man when you find out he didn’t do it? What would they all say then? I sat up as straight as I could. I wasn’t going to beg for my life.

  “I’m not worried about that death chair. You can sentence me to it, but you can’t take my life. It don’t belong to you. My soul, you can’t touch it.”

  * * *

  It was a brief recess. Just three hours until they were bringing me back into that courtroom of rich wood and white faces for the last time. I listened as my attorney made one last attempt to object to them trying me for two capital offenses that were only related to each other by circumstance and not related to me by any evidence whatsoever. Somehow, the State of Alabama was able to consolidate the cases, relate th
em to a third, and put the death penalty on the table. This was the real capital offense.

  The judge banged his gavel. Cleared his throat.