Time for a Change
Have you ever had the wind knocked
out of you. Stomach-wrenched and
breathless? That's how I felt when I
heard the Judge's words. Death. I'd
been anticipating, almost expecting it for over a month.
but, now it was here, I just felt the numbness sweep
through me.
The judge had told us we could not be
present for the sentencing unless we
showed no emotion; no matter what the
verdict. In that instant, after the
sentence was read, I didn't know how
to show emotion.
All I could do was stand there. Frozen.
All I could think about was getting out
of there, away from that courtroom,
away from the jury , away from the
prosecutors, just ...away.
It wasn't until I reached the hallway
that I could finally take a breath. But
when the breath came out, the tears
came with it. I wasn't really sure who I
was crying for, if I was crying for my
friend, myself, or some fusion of the
two.
I stood there, swept up by the horror of
the situation, and my memories threw
me back, full circle, to the moment
when it all started for me. It was like a
strange slow-motion nightmare;
winding toward an inevitable and
unstoppable conclusion. Initially,
shock, mixed with confusion, combined
with the absolute certainty that the
whole situation had to be some kind of
horrible mistake.
What did he say when he was
interrogated? Will anyone ever really
know? The State doesn't want any
prying eyes. No independent witnesses
to what they say or do. In this, the 2Oth
century , only the memory , human and
faulty , of the interviewers and their
subject can tell us what was said. A
tape recorder or video camera might
give witness to something other than
justice.
The detectives who came to interview
his friends weren't interested in the
truth. They only wanted to fill in the
picture of a preconceived jigsaw puzzle
that left no room for human decency or
kindness. Anything that didn't fit into
their picture was stupidity , naivete, or a
lie. There was no middle-ground.
To them, the man I knew was a figment
of my imagination, of my gullibility .
Anything not fitting their preconceived
notion was, if not a lie, then a
fabrication of imagination.
But, in the end, the truth remains. A
man, made up of both good and evil,
created his past and strives toward a
redemptive day. His choices liner his
past. They built his present. And they
will guide his future. But, I cannot
believe that I witnessed the righteous
hand of justice.
What I saw was petty men and women
grasping for power and prestige, at the
mere cost of a soul.
As I try to make some sense of all the
tangled trains of thoughts, words and
deeds, these words above all remain in
the forefront of my mind... "And now
these three remain. Faith, hope, and
love. And the greatest of these is
love..."
I, too, have made my choices, and they
are my own. I choose to believe in
redemption and the power of
forgiveness. 1 cannot change the
tragedy of what has already happened.
But, I will not waste what I have been
given. I am one person. I cannot
change the world. I can choose to
change myself. And. in that choice, I
can be an example to others. I cannot
in good conscience stand idle any
longer.
We, as humans, are too flawed, too
subject to error, to function with the
discernment necessary to judge a man
or woman incapable of rehabilitation
and reform. Life, any life, has a value
beyond price. There must and
reasonable alternatives to the death
penalty. A sentence of life served in
conjunction with restitution programs,
or a life served without possibility of
parole are among the reasonable
alternatives possible. The ARE other
options. Capital punishment is not
justice. It is a crime. I will no longer be
a silent witness to this crime. The time
for change is now.
by Deb Shilling
Texas State Coordinator
I've been having trouble finding my
voice, a means of expressing the way
that I really feel, as honestly as I can,
about my friend on death row, about the
death penalty , about where I stand in
the midst of all this. I got an e-mail
yesterday from a friend and his thoughts
on the value of a life brought me to a
place where I felt I could at least begin
to sort the odds and ends and make a
statement. A mission statement, if you
will.