Oct. 30 NEW YORK: The anti-executioner's song----Play tackles death penalty Steve Earle's Karla part of his campaign for its abolition There have been 987 executions in the United States since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976. Each has been one too many for Steve Earle. He wears many hats. In the years since his release from jail and drug rehab, he has been voluble as an artist - six acclaimed albums, a short story collection, even haikus - and as a death-penalty abolitionist. The 2 personae merge in Karla, which he calls his "old-fashioned, 95-minute, 1-act play" about the first woman executed in Texas since the Civil War. We are having coffee off-Broadway, a block from the New York apartment Earle shares with new wife, Alison Moorer. "I badly needed, after the last election, to walk out my front door and see a same-sex mixed-race couple walking down the street holding hands, it just makes me feel more secure. And I'm not gonna see that in Nashville, Tennessee." We are a block from 45 Bleecker, the lower Manhattan outpost of theatre engage where Karla opened its limited run last weekend. "The play opens with her execution," Earle says, "and everybody in it's dead." It follows Karla Faye Tucker - a double murderer who found God while awaiting execution - into the afterlife, where she encounters, among others, her victims. It is, first and foremost, a play. "It is artistically motivated. I'm opposed to the death penalty, but the play isn't my diatribe." Nonetheless, the larger goal is to eradicate execution in the U.S., and "I do believe music and different forms of art can do that better than rhetoric." Earle never met Tucker, so memorably mocked by then-Texas governor George W. Bush, whose office presided over 152 executions during his tenure (there have been 550 executions in the country since hers). Earle did, however, have a scarring personal experience in the death-house. On Oct. 7, 1998, Earle was in the witness room in Huntsville, Tex., during the lethal injection of Jonathan Nobles. There was no saying "no." "I didn't get a chance to - it was a dying man's last request. Believe me, I've prepared myself for saying 'no' since - I don't even put myself in a position to be asked anymore. I don't get as close to inmates as I used to." Watching what he believes to be state-sponsored murder shook him to his foundations. "Yeah, it still ... it still is. It was in 1998. Jon was executed a few months after Karla was. And a lot of that experience drove this play. "My opposition to the death penalty doesn't have anything to do with saving anybody on death row. Most people don't know anybody on death row. Well, I did." Earle came to know 11 inmates. "And none of my guys were innocent. Jon was guilty of a particularly horrific crime, the kind you can't mitigate. He was what, on one hand, they created the death penalty for. It's about revenge; it's not about deterrence." When Nobles made his request, Earle turned for guidance to Sister Helen Prejean, immortalized by Susan Sarandon in the film Dead Man Walking. "(She) says that support for the death penalty in this country is a mile wide, but it's only an inch deep." Meaning education is the answer to filling in an ignorance-founded belief that is not deeply held by a majority of Americans. The Death Penalty Information Centre and the ACLU are storehouses of activist information on the issue. They lay bare what they contend are the biases of race and class that poison a flawed system. In a system whose best lawyers are its most expensive, the poor are assigned public defenders whose skills might be in question. So don't be poor and guilty. And don't kill a white person. One study in California found that although blacks and Hispanics were more likely to be slain, murderers of whites were three times more likely to draw a death sentence. In a study in Philadelphia submitted to the Cornell Law Review in 1998, a black defendant/non-black victim combination was found to be the most likely to result in a death sentence. Deterrence is a non-starter. The murder rate in the U.S. dropped in 2004 by 3.3 %, declining to 5.5 murders per 100,000 people, even as use of the death penalty dropped. Northeastern states account for 1 % of executions and have a lower regional murder rate (4.2 %) than the south (6.6 %), which accounts for 80 % of executions. Then there are the mistakes. Earle rises in his seat as he emphasizes that there is no way to know with certainty if the person being executed is innocent. "My opposition to the death penalty isn't about saving anybody on death row," he says. "It's about keeping me from going to hell." The ACLU concurs. It points out that 119 prisoners sentenced to death have been exonerated since 1976, many by DNA evidence. Without it, those convictions would have taken innocent men to their deaths. In the face of facts like these, Earle says, "The death penalty will die of natural causes." Perhaps the issue is DNA, in a broader sense. "We live in a society where the mistake-proof formula for making a film or writing a book or play is: You have a guy, and he gets the shit kicked out of him for the first 1/3. In the middle 1/3, he goes out and gets a bunch of f***ing guns. And in the last third, he kills every-f***ing-body." Karla is the opposite of that. "I think it's about forgiveness." Earle, of course, experienced his own redemption. The What-Makes-Stevie-Run question was answered in a solo performance Earle gave 2 weeks ago in 45 Bleecker. After a ragged, jaunty number about debauchery, he told the crowd he felt duty-bound to give the other side of the story. His story. He played CCKMP (Cocaine Cannot Kill My Pain) from the I Feel Alright album. Many musicians drop into the drug underworld and sail that pirate ship straight down the Styx. Not many come out of it and go on to produce six of their best records along with writing haikus, short stories, half a novel and a play. I point this out to Earle, and the fact that other destructive artists - say, Courtney Love - are unlikely to rack up six great albums after the hangover's gone. "Yeah, she's gotta get one in a row," he says, but the topic is serious. "Yeah, I coulda died. And if you die you die, and I didn't and I don't know why. "I happened to decide I wanted to live." (source: The (Montreal) Gazette) ALABAMA: One who kills a child may deserve a life sentence In May, I prosecuted Chris Wesson in the Bessemer Division of Jefferson County. Wesson had been charged with the crime of capital murder in that he intentionally caused the death of a child, 14-month-old Austin Terry. On May 25, after 7? days of testimony, a jury was essentially told to crawl into the head of Wesson and determine whether he intended to kill Austin Terry when Wesson beat Austin on Nov. 2, 2002. The jury deliberated eight days and found Wesson guilty of manslaughter instead of capital murder. In other words, the jury concluded he recklessly, rather than intentionally, caused Austin's death. Wesson was immediately sentenced by Circuit Judge Dan King to 20 years, the maximum penalty allowed by law for the crime of manslaughter, a Class-B felony. This verdict was a complete mystery to me in light of the evidence presented. During the trial, Wesson admitted that while he was hung over from taking 2 Oxy Contins, Austin started pestering him. He admitted he hit Austin once in the stomach and, after the baby stood up and swatted back, Wesson hit Austin again in the head. While Wesson did admit he hit Austin twice, he nevertheless minimized his actions toward Austin. The autopsy showed that Austin died of a bilateral subdural hematoma to the brain. He had 2 groupings of bruises consistent with the knuckle marks on his abdomen and 5 of the same type of bruises all over his head. The physical evidence proved that Austin was beaten far worse than Wesson admitted. I strongly disagreed with the jury's verdict. After 12 years as an assistant district attorney, this was not the first time I disliked the outcome of a case, and I am confident it won't be the last. The difference with this case, however, is that 11 out of 12 jurors also agreed with me. In court after the foreman read the verdict, as I always try to do, I held myself together. I tried to show no emotion. I left the courtroom without speaking to any of the jurors. I did not want to hear what they had to say. They were wrong. I soon found out they were a persistent group, and nine of the 12 jurors came to my office refusing to leave until I spoke with them. In the end, I relented and spoke with them in the law library of the district attorney's office. They told me there was one juror who could not believe a person could intentionally kill a child. Even after numerous charges from the court explaining that intent can be inferred from the circumstances surrounding the event and/or the event itself, and the pleading by at least 10 of the jurors for this man to deliberate with them, this one juror would not budge. The 11 remaining jurors were concerned if a mistrial was declared, another jury may somehow possibly let Wesson go. The 11 knew he was guilty and did not want to chance it, so in the end, they changed their vote from capital murder to manslaughter. Do I agree with their conclusion? No, but I admire these jury members' commitment and the responsibility they took on to see that Wesson did not walk. After 2 hours of conversation with these amazing individuals, along with a lot of tears and hugs, I left the library knowing we had to change the law in Alabama. Twenty years was not enough time for what Wesson did to Austin. Now, 4 months from the verdict, a bill has been drafted and is soon to be pre-filed for the next legislative session. State Rep. Paul DeMarco, R-Homewood, will sponsor the bill in the House and seek to change the penalty provisions of Alabama's manslaughter statute. The amendment would make manslaughter a Class-A felony in cases involving the death of a child under 14 years old. The range of punishment for a class A felony is 10 years to 99 years or life. This change will give judges the discretion to order a sentence that reflects the facts of the crime committed. I know there are child death cases that are truly manslaughter cases where a certain degree of leniency may be justified. I have handled several over the past decade. Then there are those cases such as Austin's (and Brittany Crawford's) where there are numerous marks of a severe and brutal beating. After one punch, maybe there is an argument for leniency. After three, 4 or 5 punches, several seconds have passed, thoughts are processed and the reckless act changes to an intentional act. A judge must be able to punish accordingly. I will not bend in my opinion that repeatedly hitting a child in the head or abdomen with blunt force, be it with a fist or a Coca-Cola bottle filled with M&Ms, is an intentional act. It is not reckless conduct. When the victims are helpless, defenseless children, the verdict should be capital murder. This law revision, however, will allow a judge to exercise discretion and give an appropriate sentence when a jury finds that death by severe beating is merely a reckless act. Austin's killer, by law, may not deserve what Austin received. However, for this precious, blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy's life, Wesson needed to at least serve a life sentence. (source: Opinion, Birmingham News - Jill Ganus is a longtime assistant district attorney in the Bessemer division of Jefferson County who specializes in prosecuting cases where children are victims of physical and sexual abuse)
