Not All Are Entitled
I am a liberal to my core; this means that I value the individual rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness while understanding that the government must protect the environment, provide for just distribution of wealth, and defend those whose rights are endangered by a tyranny of the majority. It is that last clause that causes me such consternation. In good conscience, I have to say that not all are entitled to live in our communities. Some present a clear and present danger. Some must be removed.
While working as a social worker, I came upon a client that we'’ll call "“JR."” Through no fault of his own, JR was born with diminished mental capacities. He had a diagnosis of mild mental retardation and had psychological difficulties. As one psychologist phrased it, he was "all id and no ego," that is to say that he had no ability to understand culpability for his criminal actions. JR was a sex predator. While on a 51-50 hold he stalked and raped at least two women that were under sedation. Later, when confronted, he responded, "they didn'’t say '‘no...'"
I believe in freedom from the government's intrusion into my life. I believe that I should be free from wire-taps without due process. I believe that the criminal justice system should be just and humane. I believe that war is rarely - if ever -– justified; that all wars need to be minimal in scope and subject to both the consent of the people and international law. Having said this, I also believe that JR should never be given the right to live with the general population. JR is incapable of distinguishing right from wrong, feeling remorse for his crimes, or understanding that he is victimizing others, and -– most importantly -– controlling himself. For the safety and wellbeing of the general population, he needed to be removed. The question is this: “Where should he be placed? The last I heard, he was at Wasco. This is hell on earth.
A Civilized Option?
That all cannot live in the greater society or that, some have committed crimes so heinous as to have forfeited their rights to live in that society justifies neither a death penalty nor its moral equivalent. The next person scheduled to die is not a Nobel Prize nominee. Neither is he a study in repentance. He is a case study for the death penalty: Clarence Ray Allen was convicted of ordering the murders of three individuals while he was incarcerated at Folsom State Prison for the crime of murder. Mr. Allen, a member of the Choctaw Nation, is currently 76 years old, suffers from diabetes, is blind, and uses a wheel chair. He is scheduled to die on 17 January 2006. The man that carried out the murders ordered by Mr. Allen, Mr. Billy Hamilton, is also on death row. Mr. Allen is a nefarious character. There is no doubt about this. But the question remains: how is justice served by the termination of this life?
The benchmark of a civilized society is that we are not all id and no ego. We have the ability to see beyond the need of vengeance and our desire for blood. The death penalty does little, if nothing, to address the causes of violence in our society. It does lend an air of credibility, however, to the idea of an eye for an eye. By condoning violence committed by the state, whether by warfare, unjust distribution of wealth and resources, or utilization of cruelty in our penal system, we become that which the law forswears. The bitterest irony is that we use the law and the mechanisms of the State to commit this act.
I don't expect that Mr. Allen'’s pending execution will draw the celebrity that surrounded the execution of Mr. Williams. And I have to ask, what good does the termination of this life do that cannot be accomplished in so many other ways? It is time to impose a moratorium on executions in this state and to put an end to this barberous practice.
_____ _______________ _____
Writing on January 14, 2006 - The Governor of California has announed that this execution will proceed as planned. The link to Reuters is here. And my question still stands: what is gained for the termination of this life. I fear when our penal system becomes a means of castigation rather than reform. It is curious that the word penitentiary derives from the word penitence, a place where a soul found a means to repent and to be restored to community. The origin of the idea was one of restoring, not destroying life. To mete out punishment is to harden a criminal and steel his or her resolve to continue a criminal. I do not belive that all can be reformed, for various reasons (some physiological, others moral). And I stand by my statement, not all are capable of life in the greater community. There must be a human system to address the people that choose not to accept the bounds of law. But having said that I must object that equally it is immoral for the State to take life.
-tDF
5 comments:
I believe in reincarnation for various reasons, and so even though I sort of support the death penalty, in that we use less resources on those deemed not rehabilitable, my beliefs says these people will just reappear in society in some form in a few years, and possibly cause the same trouble. So, no matter how hard it is, we should always keep trying to rehabilitate people, or keep them locked up. No death penalty.
I submit that such inane musings come from a deluded, superstitious mind. When one dies, one is more than likely DEAD FOREVER.
Now, for some REAL justice, peruse what I would do to that verminous old bastard Clarence Ray Allen.
A macabre flight of fancy…
On January 2, 2006, condemned inmate Clarence Ray Allen had yet another massive coronary; heroic measures being taken to save his life so he could be justly executed.
I, Frank Gonzalez, the duly sworn Chief Executioner of San Quentin, sat in the warden’s office that afternoon feeling remorse, realizing that I may not have the opportunity to execute Mr. Allen in the death chamber, using my trusty, sawed-off, Mossberg 935 12 gauge magnum autoloading shotgun. As with Tookie Williams, a review panel appointed by Governor Schwarzenegger had determined that lethal injection was much too merciful for a depraved monster like Clarence Ray Allen, and that the method of execution chosen for him would be lethal shotgunning. I would administer the sentence, using four blasts from the Mossberg, timed one minute apart, in respectful memory of the four victims he ordered murdered.
“Don’t worry, he should recover from his unfortunate heart attack, the physician in charge performed a quadruple bypass,” said the warden.
“Yes warden, but after that Tookie Williams affair a month ago – ”
“How many times do I have to say this Frank – you executed Stanley Tookie Williams on orders of the state of California and Governor Schwarzenegger. Just because you spoke to him before you blew his head off is no reason to castigate yourself.”
“Before that incident, I never violated prison procedure once in my thirty five years of employment at San Quentin, my record was perfect.”
“And it still is, no one, not even Governor Schwarzenegger, held against you what you said to Tookie, in righteous anger I might add, before you blew his head off.”
“But – ”
“No buts,” said the warden, “To the matter at hand, if condemned inmate Allen survives, will you, following the directives of the review panel, slaughter him mercilessly with a sawed-off shotgun?”
“Yes sir, you only have to show me the death warrant; I am the Chief Executioner of San Quentin,” I answered with firm resolve.
“Very good,” said the warden.
Condemned inmate Allen recovered, due to the devoted care of San Quentin physicians. As his health improved over the following week, I was pleased to learn that I would indeed have the opportunity to execute him by shotgunning on January 17, 2006.
The welcome day arrived, and Clarence Ray Allen was prepared for his well-deserved execution. Half-blind, nearly deaf but not one bit remorseful, the condemned prisoner was ushered into the hall via his wheelchair.
“Do you think that bloodthirsty old geek can walk to the green room in the shape he’s in?” I asked.
“Sure, he’s virtually knocking on Hell’s door,” said the warden with a smile, “The doc says his heart’s like a hammer now, with no need to worry about the stress of his execution inducing another heart attack beforehand. His physician also his him on anticoagulants, so there’s no chance of a stroke disrupting the execution either.”
“Excellent,” I replied. He handed me hearing protection earmuffs and the shotgun, again loaded with four hotloaded, brass cased 00 buckshot shells, one for each of his victims. Walking into the green room, I took my seat and placed the sawed-off Mossberg in my lap.
Yelling at the top of his lungs into Allen’s nearly deaf right ear, the warden pronounced the death sentence to him in the hall. The condemned was ordered to rise from his wheelchair for the final walk to the death chamber and his self-inflicted rendezvous with destiny.
Guards lined the path; a half-blind Allen stumbling down the hall, followed by the warden. One smirking guard put a leg out, tripping Clarence, who landed on the floor with a thud.
“That’s enough of that Lieutenant Jones,” said the chuckling warden, looking to the officer.
“Sorry warden, my foot slipped.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it did.”
I observed the condemned rise to his knees and say to Jones in a slurred voice, “I forgive you for tripping me.”
“Who does he think he is, Jesus or something?” asked the coroner while other guards broke into laughter, a smile crossing my face.
“Get up you murderous old half-breed injun and die like a man!” the warden yelled as Allen struggled to his feet.
Allen steadied himself and stumbled into the deathhouse, taking a seat within. He stared at me, angry, with sullen eyes.
Guards strapped him down tightly, the officers walking from the death chamber when their chore was completed. Allen looked to the warden and asked in a slur, “Any word from the governor on my appeal?”
“What appeal might that be?” the warden yelled into his ear. Laughing, he turned and left the deathhouse while the condemned man stared at him in astonishment. The disgusted warden had tossed Allen’s latest appeal in the trash that afternoon, and, out of sheer spite, had faxed Governor Schwarzenegger a blank sheet of paper instead.
“Close the door to the green room so we can kill this evil old bastard,” said the assistant warden, leaving the condemned and I in the death chamber.
Rising from my chair, I put on my shooting glasses and hearing protection muffs, released the safety, and cocked the shotgun.
“You may proceed, executioner,” said the warden over the intercom, giving me a thumbs-up.
“Yes sir,” I replied with a smile.
Turning to Clarence Ray Allen, without hesitation I aimed at his legs and pulled the trigger, the blast of buckshot shredding his prison uniform and blowing off chunks of flesh from both legs. As a brass shell casing bounced off a wall, smoke filled the death chamber, an overhead exhaust fan automatically coming on.
“Hold for one minute,” said the warden.
I nodded; noting with dissatisfaction that Clarence Ray Allen hadn’t flinched, neither had the expression on his face changed. He looked at me with a cold angry stare as blood poured in torrents from his leg wounds. Turning to the warden, I put my hands up, not knowing what to say regarding Allen’s apparent insensitivity to pain.
“What’s wrong with that senile asshole – why isn’t he crying out?” asked Jones.
“Who knows, maybe his strokes killed off his nerves,” answered the uncaring warden, looking to his watch. “One minute has passed, proceed with the second shot, executioner.”
“Yes sir.” Taking a gut shot, I pulled the trigger, blasting open Allen’s abdomen, chunks of bowels and bile, laced with feces, splattering on my clothing, a shell casing flying past my head and clattering to the floor of the death chamber.
“Goddamnit!” I exclaimed in disgust, pulling off my shooting glasses and wiping away the foul debris.
Condemned inmate Allen continued to stare at me, not moving or speaking.
“Hold for one minute.”
I looked to the warden and nodded, replacing my shooting glasses.
“I’ll say one thing, Allen’s one tough son of a bitch,” said the assistant warden.
“That, or he’s dead from the ass both ways,” said a smirking Jones.
“Shoot away Gonzalez, blow off one of his arms like you did with Tookie,” said the warden, his voice coming over the intercom.
“Yes sir,” I answered, placing the muzzle near Allen’s left forearm. Looking the condemned in the eyes, I pulled the trigger. Another deafening blast came from the sawed-off Mossberg, the buckshot severing the arm, another casing bouncing off a thick glass window.
Allen sat there; apparently oblivious to the pain as more smoke filled the death chamber.
“Christ, that injun must be dead!” the warden exclaimed.
“No sir, he’s still breathing, this old bastard’s as tough as nails,” I answered, “Should I just blow his head off and be done with it?”
“No, hold for one minute, per the orders of the review board and Governor Schwarzenegger.”
“Yes sir,” I answered with a nod.
Allen continued to glare at me, not showing the slightest sign of pain or fear. His piercing stare unnerved me; that of an evil monster who couldn’t care less what was happening to him.
“Time’s up Frank, blow that bastard’s head off his shoulders!” the warden yelled over the intercom.
Nodding, I moved the muzzle to Allen’s neck and pulled the trigger, the final spent shell ejecting from the Mossberg. The blast severed his skull at the base, the eyes finally showing a response to the assault, becoming glazed over after his head bounced off the floor of the death chamber. Blood squirted like a fountain from the headless body, covering my right arm in gore.
“Son of a bitch, he didn’t even care,” I said to myself, looking to the blood still flowing from the torn arteries.
The door to the death chamber opened, the warden and coroner stepping in.
“Good job Gonzalez, you executed Allen in the fashion he deserved,” said the warden, taking my blood-covered hand in his. Turning to the coroner, he asked, “He’s dead, right?”
“No shit, Frank turned him into Gaines burgers,” answered the coroner.
“You’d better get cleaned up; Christ, you look worse than when you slaughtered Tookie,” said the warden.
“Yeah,” I replied, “I’ll tell you one thing boss, Allen was so damn mean, I’ll bet we could’ve poured molten lead down his throat and he would’ve smiled at us, and shit out Brenneke slugs.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said the warden, looking to justly executed corpse of Clarence Ray Allen. “You two, get that hunk of shit out of here and clean out the deathhouse,” he added, looking to a pair of trustees.
“Yes warden,” they answered, charged with returning the green room to its usual immaculate appearance.
Later, the remains of Clarence Ray Allen were dumped outside the prison walls, his blood covered, mangled carcass feeding stray dogs, ravens, and condors, with ants later nourishing themselves with the tasty marrow of his bleached bones.
I debated about posting this comment. I have always believed in an open dialog and, for that reason, posted it. The author's lust for blood speaks for itself and has made my argument more cogently than I could have.
- tDF
That's due to the obvious fact that you are an idiot.
George -
I have been away for a while. Please feel free to comment (even question my intelligence or position). I generally do not allow name-calling or personal abuse to be posted, however. Next time, feel free to disagree without having to resort to personal attack. Thank you.
-tDF.
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