Weaponized grief: How the death penalty dehumanizes us all


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Dzhokhar Tsarnaev

The arguments against the death penalty are clear and compelling, and I am not going to restate them here. Instead, I am going to attempt to show that the death penalty phase process, that is, the way in which we determine whether or not someone like Dzhokhar Tsarnaev is to be put to death, weaponizes the grief of victims and families of violent crime and ultimately dehumanizes all of us.

Tsarnaev committed monstrous acts of indiscriminate murder and terrorism. There is no excuse or justification for his crimes.

The way we determine whether or not the death penalty is to be applied is that a trial is separated into two phases. The trial phase, in which guilt or innocence is determined, and the death penalty phase, in which the jury considers whether or not the crimes are worthy of death.

Juries for death penalty cases are made up entirely of people who are pro-death penalty, at least in theory. In essence, every member of the jury disagrees with my assertion at the beginning of this piece, that “the arguments against the death penalty are clear and compelling.” Believing that the death penalty is wrong disqualifies a person from being on such a jury. Anyone with a religious or philosophical objections to the death penalty, and this would include many of the great moral leaders throughout history, are excluded from the process.

This is important because, when looking at the facts of the case, no one is more deserving of the death penalty, under the law, than Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. If the death penalty cannot be applied in the case of the Boston Marathon bomber, it applies to no one. Therefore, a jury of people who think that the death penalty is at least sometimes justified, is all but sure to apply it in the case of Tsarnaev. The jury becomes a loaded gun, and the prosecution merely needs to call the witnesses required to help pull the trigger.

During the Tsarnaev death penalty phase, the prosecution called family members of those who lost their lives. (For a complete picture of the process, see this excellent Washington Times piece.)

William Campbell Jr., the father of victim Krystle Campbell who was killed in front of Marathon Sports, was called to the stand Tuesday afternoon. The jury was shown pictures from Krystle’s entire life, including her prom picture.

‘I miss my hug everyday. She never left the house without giving me a hug.’

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Krystle Campbell

Jurors, says reports, “were brought to tears.”

As much as I am personally against the death penalty, I know in my heart that if my daughter was killed or grievously injured, I would be in court testifying for the execution of the person responsible, just like Campbell. I know that I would want my testimony to have the maximum impact. I would want the jury to understand that my daughter means as much to me as their loved ones mean to them. I would want them to imagine that my daughter was their daughter, and act on that emotion to punish the person responsible.

I could see myself throwing away everything I believe to satiate my need for vengeance and closure.

But in a world where there is no death penalty, my closure would not rely on the possibility of an execution. My closure and my healing would begin when Tsarnaev is locked away forever to dwell upon his crimes, never again to harm another person.

The death penalty phase asks victims and families of victims to use their grief, their loss and their misery as weapons. The only thing we truly have of those we lose is our memories, and this process requires that we use those memories not for joy and solace, but to punish and kill.

I cannot condemn those who choose to participate in the process and testify for the prosecution in the death penalty phase.

I would do no less.

But I do condemn a system that appeals to the worst in our natures, and encourages us to use all that we have left of our loved ones as an instrument of state sanctioned murder. Such a process is dehumanizing and worse: it forever darkens the legacy of those we have lost.

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Formerly incarcerated ACI dog part of World Series honor


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Rescue in Fenway
Rescue (lower right) is trained to assist people with disabilities.

Today I got a call from a friend in prison, asking if I saw his old cellmate in Fenway Park during the 7th Inning Stretch.  You might have missed it, during the World Series tribute to the Boston Marathon bombing victims.  There were plenty of people, smiling and waving, and James Taylor singing “God Bless America.”  A standing ovation.  I didn’t see his cellie.

If you look closely, there is “Rescue,” a black lab alongside a person who was wounded in the bombing.  Rescue is a NEADS dog, specially trained for months to assist people with disabilities.  He was trained by Steven Parkhurst, a man incarcerated in Rhode Island’s medium security facility.  He has trained several dogs like Rescue and taken solace in them going out to help people.  Steven is also pursuing a M.B.A. through correspondence with Adams State University, having been aided by scholarships from Transcending Through Education Foundation and the Davis Putter Scholarship Fund.

Steve and Rescue, in front of the ACI visiting room mural he painted.
Steve and Rescue, in front of the ACI visiting room mural he painted.

Steve told me that “The Joint went off,” when Rescue walked onto the lush green of Fenway Park.  This means the place went wild like fans watching a Big Papi grand slam.  It isn’t every day when you can turn on the TV and say, ‘Hey, I know that dude- he lived on my tier,’ or ‘that’s my old cellie!’  But there they were: a few hundred guys, mostly Sox fans, checking out Rescue’s major league debut.  It is a rare and precious feeling to be part of something so momentous, particularly for people in prison getting an opportunity to help others.

Its a little over an hour to drive from the prison in Cranston, Rhode Island to Fenway Park.  And during the 7th inning of Game 2, it got a whole lot shorter than that.

Terror in Boston hits close to home in Rhode Island


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Fenway Park, seven days before the Boston Marathon bombs. (Photo by Bob Plain)

There’s no doubt September 11 was more destructive and horrific and game-changing, but the week of terror that just played out in Boston hit a lot closer to home for me.

The target was not only physically closer but philosophically closer as well. For those who grew up in pre-Providence renaissance Rhode Island, Boston was our big city. I grew up wanting to be “Mayday” Malone pouring beers in Beantown, not Gordon Gecko making millions on Wall Street.

As such, I have been celebrating Marathon Monday since the long-gone days when we thought Rosie Ruiz was the biggest black mark that could ever happen to the world’s greatest road race. That, of course, all changed last Monday, when two homemade bombs probably forever skewed the security-to-civil liberties ratio at American sporting events.

A childhood friend, with whom I have enjoyed many a Patriots’ Day Bloody Mary, pinged me about it just before it hit my social media feeds. Not Boston, I responded. I shrugged it off as confusion with some car bombs that went off in Iraq that same day and ever-so briefly went back to not caring about terrorism. Seconds later it hit my Twitter timeline – my sorry, 21st Century stand-in for a real Walter Cronkite.

Terrorist bombings killed at least 33 people in Iraq on April 15, 2013 and, here in Boston, three. But it’s proximity, not volume, that makes terrorism effective. I very well could have been in Boston that day – in fact, just seven days earlier I was. One friend couldn’t find her sister-in-law who ran in the race, and another knew the Newport woman who was injured in the blasts. That was plenty close enough.

Then, on Friday, it got even closer. The day began with a post I wrote a month earlier going viral as the internet misidentified the man as a suspect. It ended when I learned the dead suspect was married to a woman who lives less than three miles from me. My Facebook feed exploded with kids I grew up with who living in the area, driving into the city or deciding to stay home.

My cousin who lives in Cambridge happened to be crashing at my mom’s house Thursday night. I spent the better part of the day texting with a good friend who lives in nearby Somerville. Another friend has a cousin who is a Cambridge cop, and his dad went to Cambridge Ringe and Latin High School. This was essentially a home game for me, to use a sports analogy.

Like most of America, I woke up to one of the most terrifying news cycles of my life: the suspects had killed again, carjacked an SUV and engaged in a shootout with police – in which they used homemade grenades – and one of them had eluded capture and was on the lamb.

A sort of de facto martial law had been declared to find what initially seemed to be a bad guy version of James Bond. As it turns out, it’s not easy for 9,000 law enforcement officers to locate one bleeding-to-death 19-year-old in the suburbs. I’m not sure which scenario is scarier for America.