June 26 TEXAS: Death penalty unacceptable to victim's children When the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968 in Memphis, Gretchen Burford and her husband were traveling in the South. Wanting to mourn the slain civil rights leader, they went to a white church, but no one there talked of King. Then they attended a service at an African-American church, where a charismatic black minister spoke movingly of the loss. "He told them that if you want to change things, you have to do it yourself," said Burford's daughter, Maureen, now 43. "That was a transformative experience for my mother." >From that point to her death by stabbing two decades later at a busy Peninsula intersection, Gretchen Burford's life followed her passion for social justice: She helped found a school in East Palo Alto. She crusaded for civil rights. And she became a criminal-defense attorney, defending some very bad guys. That passion, that experience, is one reason why her 2 daughters and son oppose the death penalty for the man finally accused of murdering her, Tyrone Hamel, 39, now a Texas prison inmate. It is an unusual case, all the more so because DNA evidence from a sweatband in a hat led authorities to Hamel 17 years after Burford's death. The crime sticks in memory: Prosecutors say Hamel lay in wait in Gretchen Burford's car on Feb. 26, 1988, forcing her to drive to a Wells Fargo ATM at San Antonio Road and El Camino Real. After she was unable to withdraw money, her assailant is alleged to have stabbed her in the side with a 12-inch knife as the car careened into oncoming traffic. Struck in an artery, Burford emerged from her Toyota Camry, saying "He stabbed me," and then died. Newly remarried 13 days before, she was 49. The Santa Clara County DA's Office has filed special circumstances against Hamel, alleging the killing occurred during a kidnapping and robbery. That could result in the death penalty. "If this isn't a special circumstances case, I can't imagine what is," said Chief Assistant DA Karyn Sinunu, who knew Burford. Life in prison As a practical matter, however, the DA's office has not sought the death penalty recently. And prosecutors point out that filing special circumstances also allows them to seek life in prison without parole. Nonetheless, Maureen Burford, now a counselor and musician in Vermont, has considered what she would say if called to testify during the penalty phase of Hamel's trial. She believes her duty to her mother would lie in speaking against execution. "She would have held out hope, even for someone who committed a crime like this," Maureen said. "She wasn't simplistic. She knew that not everybody is going to respond to the opportunity for change. But I don't think she viewed that as a process that ends with death." In an e-mail made public Thursday, Maureen Burford and her siblings, Peter Burford and Martha Burford, said their mother "believed in an intrinsic goodness at the heart of every person." Redemption "This is not to say that she did not believe in individual responsibility, or appropriate consequences for criminal acts," the e-mail went on. "It's simply that the words 'evil' or 'eternal damnation' were not in her vocabulary. We are certain that she would want justice served, yet hold out hope for redemption." When I talked to Maureen Burford last week, she told me she opposed capital punishment even in the months after her mother was killed. "I know that conviction isn't going to change," she said. "The one thing that did change is a sense of understanding of why people would advocate the death penalty." My guess is Gretchen Burford's children won't have to testify in a death-penalty phase. Hamel is already doing a life term plus 60 years for rapes and robberies in Texas. He isn't going anywhere. The case here promises to cement his life in prison. Yet you have to admire the convictions of people who honor their mother's legacy by saying that they aren't buying the easy notions of closure -- an eye for an eye, a life for a life. "The death penalty feels like a very simplistic way of looking at life," Maureen told me. "Not a wise way." (source: Mercury News) ****************************** Rally opposes death penalty With a hot sun blazing down, a speaker at an anti-capital-punishment rally said Texas is the true "hellhole" as far as the death penalty is concerned. "You are standing in a state that is the worst killing jurisdiction in the Free World," Rick Halperin of Dallas, head of the Texas Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, told about 300 gathered outside the Fort Worth Convention Center. The rally was held as a "public witness" against the death penalty and was part of the Unitarian Universalist Association national assembly, which continues through Monday. Some of the 4,000 delegates to the assembly carried signs reading "Death Penalty is Dead Wrong," "Fight the Urge to Kill" and "Death Doesn't Deter Crime." The Rev. William Sinkford, president of the Unitarian Universalists, prayed for prosecutors, prison officials and others whom he said participate in a flawed system "that metes out death." He also prayed that Texas lawmakers "may find the courage to put aside the understandable impulse for punishment" and create a system that protects residents "without taking more life." The Rev. Craig Roshaven, minister of First Jefferson Unitarian Universalist Church in Fort Worth, presided at the rally and recognized members of other religious faiths participating. Ralph McCloud, director of pastoral and community services for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Fort Worth and a former Fort Worth City Council member, said the time must come when people focus on reconciliation and redemption. "We people of faith, gathered here today, envision a day when we will no longer have capital punishment," McCloud said. Linda White, chairwoman of Murder Victims for Reconciliation, whose 26-year-old daughter was a murder victim, said the death penalty offers false hope to the families of those who die from violent crime. "So many have found out after waiting 10 or 15 years to see someone executed that it doesn't bring closure or peace," she said. Opposing the death penalty is not new for the Boston-based denomination of 225,000 members. At the first general assembly 44 years ago, when Unitarian and Universalist denominations merged, delegates approved a resolution calling for an end to capital punishment. (source: Fort Worth Star-Telegram) ********************************* State presents case in Mendoza punishment The state rested after a full day of graphic testimony in the punishment phase of the Moises Sandoval Mendoza capital murder trial Friday. Mendoza was found guilty Thursday in the 401st District Court for the capital murder of Rachelle O'Neil Tolleson. Tolleson was 20 years old when Mendoza strangled and stabbed her to death, later burning her body and leaving it in an eastern Collin County creek bed near Farmersville. Since Mendoza has been convicted of capital murder, he is eligible to receive the death penalty. The state called a new series of witnesses who testified on Mendoza's previous aggravated robbery crimes, subsequent bond violations and violent history with women. The jury heard from 2 Dallas Police Department detectives, Tim Stewart and Paul Demaagd, who investigated two separate aggravated robbery incidents that took place in March of 2003 on the Richland College campus involving Mendoza and a group of unidentified males. In both instances, Mendoza and the other males approached a vehicle, produced a fake weapon and demanded the driver's wallet and car keys. Both detectives said the victims in the cases were asked to identify Mendoza in a photograph line up and both made positive identifications. Victims of both the robberies also testified before the jury. Nhat Thine Vu, a Texas Instruments manufacturing specialist of Fort Worth, testified he was sitting in his car in a parking lot talking with his girlfriend when 3 Hispanic males, one of which fit Mendoza's description, parked behind his car. 2 of the males approached the passenger side and the 3rd approached the driver side, producing weapons and demanding that Vu and his girlfriend exit the car and lie on the ground. During the transfer, Vu wrestled the gun out of the gunman's hands and pointed it back at him. The assailants said they told him the gun pointed at his girlfriend was real and later fled the scene. He reported the incident to the DPD where he learned his girlfriend escaped from the attackers unharmed. He later identified Mendoza in a photo lineup. Melissa Chavez was robbed by Mendoza and his gang on March 24, also in a Richland College parking lot. She was sitting in her car that evening talking on her cell phone when Mendoza approached her and asked if he could use her cell phone. He then asked if he could have her car keys. She said she thought he was kidding. Mendoza produced a weapon, pointed it to her head and ordered her out of the car. She said she saw another vehicle parked behind hers with 4 other people sitting inside of it. Mendoza ordered Chavez to climb into the trunk, but she refused. As his gang members were growing impatient, she said Mendoza told her to walk away from the scene. She ran to the nearest phone and called police and then her parents. Chavez said she never went back to college after the robbery. She also said she was able to identify Mendoza in a photo line up so quickly because she will "never forget his face." Stewart said following his arrest, Mendoza voluntarily waived his rights and offered a written statement regarding his role in the aggravated robberies, which were admitted into evidence along with the photo lineups by First Assistant District Attorney Gregory Davis. Defense Attorney Juan Sanchez objected claiming the statements were coerced by the police officers. Mendoza later took the stand where he claimed a police officer slapped a 2-inch open wound on his arm at the scene of his arrest. "He was trying to get me to talk," Mendoza said. "I told him he can't do that and he told me 'I can do whatever I want.'" Mendoza said he feared for his safety since his father was roughed up by police officers the week before his arrest. "I really don't like law enforcement," Mendoza said. "Not hate them, just fear them." Both of Sanchez's objections were denied and overruled. The state also called Plano Police Officer Scott Kramis who pulled Mendoza over during a traffic stop and issued him with a criminal trespass warning in Sept. of 2003, and Kareem Hart, a Dallas County Adult Probation electronic monitoring supervisor, who testified that Mendoza's electronic monitoring ankle bracelet stopped transmitting 3 months after he posted bond for the aggravated robbery charges. The state closed its round of testimonies with two Farmersville teenagers involved in a sexual assault incident that took place at a birthday party in November of 2002. Matt Raymond, 19, of Sachse said he attended the party where he witnessed an 18-year-old Mendoza having sex with a 14-year-old while their encounter was being videotaped. Raymond said the girl had been drinking heavily and didn't appear to be enjoying the experience. He said the videotape was later played in the living room in front of others who attended the party. Raymond said Mendoza was "laughing" as he and his friends watched the tape. He also said when the girl came out of the bedroom and saw the tape and started crying, Mendoza made no effort to console her or turn off the VCR. The videotape eventually was erased. The 14-year-old girl, now 16, later testified as the state's final witness. She said Mendoza and another friend picked her up to drive her to the party. She also said during the state's cross-examination that she did not have her parents' permission to go the party. While sobbing heavily, the girl said on the way to the party that Mendoza sexually assaulted her in the back seat of the vehicle. When she arrived at the party, she got "really drunk really fast" and was told to go into the bedroom where Mendoza raped her and had someone videotape their experience. (source: McKinney Courier-Gazette) NEW YORK: Former Death Row Inmate Exonerated by DNA Evidence Speaks at NYCLU Forum A former death row inmate spoke appeared in Melville on June 23 to speak of his experiences as a man imprisoned for a murder he didnt commit. Ray Krone was the 100th man to be released from prison after he was proven innocent through new DNA evidence in 2002. He was exonerated from Death Row in Arizona for the sexual assault and murder of a local barmaid. But on Thursday, he was the keynote speaker at a program entitled, "The Death Penalty: It Aint Over Till It's Over," a forum sponsored by the Nassau and Suffolk chapters of the New York Civil Liberties Union (NYCLU), New Yorkers Against the Death Penalty and the Amityville-based protest group PeaceSmiths. Father Bill Brossiti, a Catholic priest from the Wyandanch parish, and Abigail A. Ferguson, former project administrator for the ACLU Captial Punishment Project, also spoke at the program, which took place at the Civil Service Employees Association (CSEA). Both of them expounded the Catholic Church's and the ACLU's opposition to the death penalty respectively. Krone delivered a stirring speech where he talked about his tour in Vietnam, his civilian life as a postman, the sub-standard legal counsel he received as well his time in prison. "[Krone] is a caring, sympathetic individual who was about to pay the ultimate price," says Jared Feuer, executive director of the NYCLU in Suffolk County. (source: LOng Island Press) US MILITARY: A war within----A GI's story illustrates the challenges the military faces in delivering mental health services to troubled soldiers Pfc. Jacob Hounshell wrote his goodbye on notebook paper, wrapped it around a photo of himself in uniform, left it on his bed and climbed into his pickup. He was supposed to be heading back to Fort Hood. But he had no plans to make it that far. He'd already figured out what he would do -- drive as fast as he could into an oncoming 18-wheeler. Less than three months after returning from a 14-month hitch in Iraq, Hounshell had come undone. He could barely remember the excitement he carried to Iraq in early 2004. He was an excellent soldier, by most accounts, even though he was only 18 when he left. On one memorable night, his quick thinking helped his platoon defeat a group of insurgents in Baghdad. Today, the same soldier, now 20, is wanted for desertion, a particularly loathsome act during wartime and one that could bring a prison sentence. Hounshell's problems began after he returned to Texas in late February. He couldn't sleep, often wandering through Killeen's all-night Wal-Mart. He had panic attacks and sometimes exploded in anger at the slightest change in plans. He played chicken with other drivers on Central Texas highways. When he asked the Army for help, he said, he was greeted mostly with indifference. "I told them numerous times, 'I'm having problems here. I'm seeing ... [things] at night.' They didn't take it seriously," he said. "They did the minimum thing they had to do." Finally, in May, at the end of an emergency leave, he vowed never to go back to Fort Hood. It was May 15 when he wrote the suicide note. His mother found it before he could leave the driveway. She jumped in the pickup and wouldn't let him leave. His family is desperate to get him help, but they have no idea where to turn. "We're not trying to hurt our soldiers overseas, and we didn't want this fight with the Army," said his mother, Bobbie Hounshell. "But my son had problems when he came home, and all he was told was, 'Drive on.' " An Army spokesman said Hounshell got help and should have taken the initiative if he needed more. His commander took his situation seriously enough to begin the process of discharging him early, Maj. Scott Bleichwehl said. "The bottom line is, he got the counseling," said Bleichwehl, spokesman for the 1st Cavalry Division, to which Hounshell was assigned. "He had the attention of the command. He had access to all the services and counseling that all soldiers do. "The vast majority of our soldiers make the right decisions, and they don't go AWOL." Whatever happened to Pfc. Hounshell, his story illustrates a challenge facing the U.S. military amid the first massive, extended deployment of troops in a war zone since Vietnam. Thousands of soldiers are returning home mentally and emotionally spent, some of them with symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. The Pentagon is making unprecedented efforts to help them deal with the trauma, including sending counselors to the battlefield. But the military's culture keeps many troops from seeking help, fearful of being labeled weak or damaging their careers. "Some commands are sensitive to the fact that not everybody is Superman," said Steve Robinson, executive director of the National Gulf War Resource Center in Silver Spring, Md., and a retired Army Ranger. "But those soldiers that do need help should not be belittled. They should not feel as if the military does not support them. "Because none of us should forget that the soldier supported the nation." Soldiers' symptoms American troops in Iraq are dealing with an unpredictable and unseen enemy, close-up urban fighting, complicated rules of engagement and yearlong deployments. The conditions have taken a toll on many soldiers and Marines on a scale not seen since the late 1960s. One in six soldiers and Marines reported symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, major depression or anxiety after deployment in Iraq, according to researchers at Walter Reed Army Institute of Research in Maryland. The findings were published in the New England Journal of Medicine last summer. Things might be worse now, some experts said. Walter Reed conducted its survey in 2003, well before the insurgency escalated and before the deadly Sadr City uprising and the bloody attack on Fallujah in 2004. The Army is trying new approaches in the field of mental health, including sending professionals to Iraq for on-scene counseling and quizzing every soldier about potential problems when they come home -- part of a process known as reintegration training. But several advocates for soldiers said getting help still requires a sympathetic chain of command, which is not always present in the Army's warrior culture. A majority of soldiers who reported mental health problems in the Walter Reed study said they had no intention of seeking help because they would be viewed as weak, their commanders would blame them or their leaders would treat them differently. Martha Rudd, an Army spokeswoman at the Pentagon, said the Army's leaders are working to lessen the fear of stigma. "Command influence is the most powerful tool," she said. "When a commander tells his staff that something is important to him, they will pay attention to it. That's the way the Army works." Deploying to Iraq Hounshell enlisted in June 2003, eager to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, who fought in World War II. He selected the infantry, knowing that he would go straight to Iraq. The thought of war excited him. He was, after all, a kid from a sleepy farming community north of Brownwood. His town, May, had one blinking traffic light. Hounshell flew out of Fort Hood on Jan. 9, 2004, with a cast on his right foot. He had broken his ankle in a fight during Christmas break and needed crutches to climb the stairs to the plane. He trained for almost a month in Kuwait until his unit -- D Troop, 9th Cavalry Regiment -- prepared to move into Iraq at the beginning of February. It took them 3 days to drive to Baghdad, escorting a group of non-combat Army units. Hounshell drove a Humvee the entire trip, braking with his left foot because of the cast on his right. In Baghdad, Hounshell monitored the radios and did desk jobs in the headquarters platoon until his cast came off in late March. His commanders told him he'd be going to 1st Platoon and driving for a highly experienced combat veteran and sniper, Sgt. Daniel Osborne. "Me and him got along great," he said. "We were both from Texas. He was older, probably in his late 20s, and he knew a lot. He'd been on, like, seven combat deployments. He was an ex-Marine. I didn't have to watch what I said with him. I trusted him." Their newfound friendship was forged April 8. Five trucks and 18 soldiers were patrolling an area north of Abu Ghraib in Baghdad, "an area in constant combat between Coalition and anti-Iraqi Forces," according to the Army's report of the incident. At 9:15 p.m., the lead truck spotted 20 insurgents armed with rocket-propelled grenades and rifles preparing a roadside bomb. The platoon attacked. Osborne did not have a night-vision scope on his rifle and couldn't see. Hounshell gathered all of the flares from the platoon and shot them into the air with his grenade launcher, a tactic that no one had taught him. Osborne, suddenly able to see, killed six insurgents, and the platoon captured numerous weapons as well as bomb-making material. "Hounshell was directly responsible for the platoon's victory," read the citation for an Army Commendation, signed by his company commander. His picture appeared in Stars and Stripes after he and another soldier stopped a car carrying makeshift bombs, and his father proudly recounted his son's wartime exploits in the Brownwood Bulletin newspaper. Louis Vivian was a sergeant in D Troop during the Iraqi deployment and remembers Hounshell favorably. "I thought he was a good soldier," Vivian said. "He followed orders." On his 19th birthday, Hounshell received a four-day pass to relax in the "Green Zone" of Baghdad, where he ate a whipped cream pie and called his mother during a mortar attack. "I never had any problems over there," he said. Still, it was a war zone, and 2004 was a tough year for the 1st Cav and its units. Hounshell rolled down "IED alley" virtually every day, waiting to see which coalition vehicle would be the target of a roadside bomb, or "improvised explosive device," as the Army calls them. He picked up the rotting bodies of Iraqis killed for collaborating with the Americans. He stood guard at roadblocks, wondering whether the next car might carry a suicide bomber or if he might get in trouble for shooting an innocent civilian who made a threatening gesture. He killed people, too. He keeps a photograph of his first in the back of his scrapbook. Seeking help Once back home, in late February, he couldn't sleep or eat at first. Then, during his scheduled leave in March, he began jumping at loud noises. He screamed at his family for inexplicable reasons and had panic attacks in crowds. "His 30-day leave here was a nightmare," his mother said. In early April, he was hospitalized in Brownwood for a bacterial infection in his intestines, his family said. About a week later, his mother met with D Troop's first sergeant, William C. Davis. Her son was under tremendous stress, she told Davis, struggling to adjust after Iraq and weighed down by a series of medical crises in his family. The meeting, as she described it, did not go well. Davis, she said, was curt and seemed disinterested. Frustrated, she cursed at him and went with her son to a psychiatrist on post, she said. Hounshell said he answered a series of questions on a computer and was told that he had three disorders, including paranoid schizophrenia. The doctor, he said, told him she would forward her recommendations to his company commander, Capt. William O. Hickok. "I never saw any paperwork, though," he said. "She told me she couldn't let me see it." Shortly after, he went to see an Army chaplain, at the suggestion of his commander. "He told me the same crap -- you're OK. It'll pass. There's nothing wrong. If you need someone to talk to, call this hot line," Hounshell said. "It was the same crap they give you at reintegration training." At the same time, family pressures were bearing down on Hounshell. His older brother's first child was stillborn, and he didn't get permission to attend the funeral. His father had gallbladder surgery. His mother had to quit her job at a dry cleaners to handle the family's medical problems. His commanders, he said, were unsympathetic. "The Army says they support families," Hounshell said. "It's true, if you're married. They'll bend over backward to support a soldier who's married. But if your family is your parents, your family don't matter." The Army declined to make Davis or Hickok available for an interview. Hickok responded generally to questions through Bleichwehl, the division's public affairs officer. Bleichwehl said he would not engage in a "he said, she said" regarding Hounshell's account. But he said Hounshell's commanders communicated often with him and tried to help, including granting the emergency leave in early May. "He's had access to all the same post-deployment training and services that all soldiers do," Bleichwehl said. "If he wasn't getting it, there are recourses other than going AWOL. "You could call the IG [inspector general]. You could call the 800 numbers. You could go to the walk-in clinic. It's ludicrous to say that they prevented him from doing any of it." Hounshell was also told that he was "being processed for separation," a non-punitive method of granting soldiers an early release from their enlistment, Bleichwehl said. It sometimes happens, officials said, when a soldier is no longer fit for duty. They are told to seek care from the Department of Veterans Affairs, said Jaime Cavazos, a spokesman for the Army Medical Command in San Antonio. "It's not a case of the military wanting to get rid of the individual," he said. "If the Army has done what it can, at some point the decision is made to refer them to the VA. ... We're interested in caring for soldiers. We wouldn't have all these programs in place if we didn't." But Robinson, of the National Gulf War Resource Center, said that, too often, busy top sergeants and commanders in front-line combat units expect soldiers "to buck up and move on." Junior enlisted troops are in no position to say otherwise, he said. "What the Army has to recognize -- and I was part of the Army -- [is] that we have this mentality that 'if I can't use you, you're not worth anything to me,' " Robinson said. "But you want these guys to recover. You want to help them recover. There is treatment and care to get these guys back on their feet." Going AWOL Hounshell went AWOL a few weeks before he probably would have been discharged. After he contemplated suicide, his parents sought help at a hospital in San Angelo but said they were told that the hospital couldn't admit an AWOL service member unless given approval by the soldier's commander. A hospital spokeswoman said last week that she was unaware of such a policy. It's unclear what will happen now. "I want my son back," Bobbie Hounshell said. "I'm a strong woman, but this is very hard. He deserves a normal life." Hounshell mostly spends his days tinkering with electronics and doing odd jobs for petty cash. He began using methamphetamine, he said, because it's the only thing that helps him control his anxiety. His family is in financial difficulty. Jacob Hounshell had been the primary wage earner, his parents said, and his father, Larry, is disabled and doesn't work. His military health benefits and pay ceased when he went AWOL, so he has yet to see a mental health professional or drug treatment counselor. He probably ruined his chances of receiving care from the VA, which does not treat veterans who have been dishonorably discharged. He knows there will eventually be other consequences. "What happens to me, I don't care," he said. "But I want parents to know that the Army is not helping their kids the way they're supposed to. You're a piece of equipment to the Army. If you're broke, they throw you away." IN THE KNOW Casualties of war Conditions in Iraq -- including close-in urban warfare, harassment from a sometimes-invisible enemy and longer tours of duty -- have created tremendous stress for U.S. troops on the battlefield, according to the Department of Veterans Affairs and a study by Walter Reed Army Medical Center. "Taken together, these unique features of the war in Iraq create the conditions whereby stress hormones are released excessively, with unknown, but likely significant, consequences regarding health maintenance, restoration and coping capacity," said Brett T. Litz, author of a VA report. Here are some facts about the toll on today's military: - Almost 20 % of soldiers and 17 % of Marines qualified as having "moderate or severe" mental health problems when surveyed in late 2003 after returning from Iraq. - Of those, 65 % said they would not seek help because they would be seen as weak, and 51 % said their leaders would blame them for the problem. "Rather than focusing on their medical needs, they must weigh the risk of self-reporting mental health concerns and the possible career stigma attached to it. The military is aware of service members' fears of career stigma, but to date has not broken down this crucial barrier to care," wrote Steve Robinson of the National Gulf War Resource Center in a report titled Hidden Toll of the War in Iraq. - One of the most common illnesses is post-traumatic stress disorder, which results from exposure to an extreme stress involving threat of death or serious injury. The trauma, although most often associated with combat, can also happen after rapes or other violent crimes. - Symptoms of PTSD include sleeplessness, extreme anxiety or hyperalertness, frightening dreams, depression, social withdrawal and outbursts of anger. - Studies suggest that most people who experience even horrifying combat adjust, adapt and do well in life. But others, particularly if the PTSD is untreated, are more likely to be unemployed, have lower incomes, show poor problem-solving capabilities, express violent tendencies and use more government and medical services in their lives, a VA study said. - Through April 2005, the Army had evacuated 1,118 soldiers from Iraq for psychiatric reasons, mostly depression, PTSD and suicidal thoughts. That represented 6 percent of the total medical evacuations. The Army prefers to treat and counsel soldiers in Iraq, as close to their units as possible. - The Department of Veterans Affairs has treated and/or counseled 6,400 men and women for PTSD who served in Iraq or Afghanistan and are no longer in the military. - The Army's suicide rate fell from 12.8 per 100,000 in 2003 to 11 in 2004. So far this year, the rate is 6.7. The Marine Corps' rate rose from 13.8 in 2003 to 16.6 in 2004. So far this year, the rate is 14.7. - 40 soldiers and 9 Marines have committed suicide in Iraq since March 2003. At least 20 soldiers and 23 Marines have committed suicide after returning from Iraq. - Most of those troops commit suicide at their home installations, and the majority use firearms. The largest number of suicides were in 2 age categories -- 21 to 25 and 36 to 40. - Desertions -- defined as being absent without leave for longer than 30 days -- have decreased significantly in recent years. In 2001, 4,597 soldiers deserted. In 2003, 3,680 deserted. In 2004, the number had dropped to 2,436. (source: Fort Worth Star-Telegram) NORTH CAROLINA: Forgiving a father He killed their mom. They hated him. They believe he's different now. So are they. It was a 5th-grade essay, the sort of assignment that elicits stories of vacations, sports victories and beloved pets. John Syriani, age 10, wrote about the day his world blew apart. My mom is the most prettyest woman in the world. I hate my stupit dad he killed her ... I was in the car with her. That day in Charlotte in July 1990, Elias Syriani stabbed Teresa Syriani 28 times with a screwdriver. The next summer, in a case hailed as a victory against domestic violence, a jury sentenced him to die, the 1st death penalty verdict in Mecklenburg for killing a spouse. John and his three sisters -- Rose, Sarah and Janet -- went to live with aunts outside Chicago. They grew up united in their hatred of their father, on death row in Raleigh's Central Prison. They are adults now. And much has changed since the day John wrote his essay. Last summer, the four traveled to Raleigh and confronted the man who robbed them of their mother and their childhoods. They had come for answers, for closure. But that day, they received an unexpected gift. They believe it came from their mother. Everything made her father angry, 14-year-old Rose testified during his trial. The family moved to Charlotte in 1986, leaving Calumet City, outside Chicago, after Elias lost his job as a machinist. In Calumet City, they lived in an Arab community, among Assyrian Christians like themselves. The marriage was at times rocky. Elias sometimes struck Teresa. In Charlotte, things got worse. Money was tight, and Teresa's decision to take a job at a gas station deli outraged Elias, who held traditional Arab beliefs that wives belonged in the home. Once, Elias tried to hit Teresa with a baseball bat. After that, Teresa took the children to the battered women's shelter, then to relatives in New Jersey. But she soon returned to Charlotte. In 1990, she filed for divorce and got an order requiring Elias to leave their house. Days later, as she drove home from work with 10-year-old John beside her, Elias blocked their path with his van and opened her car door. Armed with a screwdriver, he stabbed Teresa repeatedly in the head, face, hands and arm, according to court testimony. He struck with such force that he drove the tool into her brain. At the trial, John testified that he tried to push his father away from his mother, then ran home and screamed for his sister to call police. "I new that she was going to die," John wrote in his fifth-grade essay. "I didn't sleep for 6 nights. I was so scared that he was going to kill me to." Teresa died 26 days later. She was 40. Raising themselves For years, the children tried to push memories of their father from their lives. They spoke of Elias Syriani as "him," never "Dad." Sarah took scissors and snipped his face out of family photos.Without parents, they helped raise each other and grew up closer than many siblings. After their father's arrest, they lived with his two sisters, immigrants from Jordan like their father. The women spoke little English, so Rose, starting at 13, often served as parent, shopping for groceries and attending her siblings' school functions. With support from teachers, counselors and neighbors, they grew into strong adults. A couple of years ago, Sarah began dating a man seriously. And she realized she was beginning to think more about her father. "I would find myself driving to and from work, and he's in my mind," she recalled. "Am I feeling sympathy? Am I feeling anger? I don't understand it." Of the 4, only John, at age 18, had ever visited Elias. But he felt too sorry for his dad to ask about the murder, and his father seemed unready to give answers. By 2004, though, all 4 children talked of visiting their father together. Their reasons differed. Sarah wanted to rid her heart of anger before she married and had children. Rose wanted to confront her father, to tell him he couldn't hurt her anymore. Their resolve to visit strengthened when they read a biography prepared for his appeal. Written by a Middle East expert who'd interviewed their father, the affidavit described forces that shaped Elias Syriani. Neither his children nor the jurors who sentenced him had ever heard this. Born in Jerusalem, Elias was 10 when his community became part of the newly created state of Israel. Israelis imprisoned his father and released him to Jordan two years later. His family joined him there, but after a mental breakdown in prison, the man never worked again. As the oldest son, Elias struggled to support his family as a mechanic. Home life was grim. Elias said his mother treated his father worse than a dog. Elias immigrated to the United States following his 1974 arranged marriage to Teresa, 12 years his junior. She'd come to America from Jordan several years earlier. In Charlotte, when Teresa took a job and made her own friends, Elias saw his authority slipping away. The affidavit describes his desperate efforts to hold onto his wife and children using the violence considered acceptable in the patriarchal culture he was raised in. Rose, Sarah and Janet read the affidavit and wept. "We had never realized what my father and his family had gone through," Rose says. Their father's past didn't excuse his actions, but it helped explain the tension and violence that plagued their family. The visit Last August, they flew to Charlotte, then drove to Raleigh. By the time they arrived in a visiting booth at Central Prison, Sarah's stomach felt queasy. I don't know if I can do this, she told her siblings. Before she could back out, a line of inmates appeared behind the glass. And there, among the tall, muscular young men, they spotted their graying father in a red prison jumpsuit. John waved. Rose waved. Elias Syriani waved back. His face broke into a smile. Even before he spoke, Rose noticed: This is not the angry father whose dark eyes could frighten with a single look. He has changed, she thought. At first, they talked about safe things. What did he do every day? What did he eat? He asked Rose if she flossed daily. After 45 minutes, Sarah rose to leave so her aunt could take her place. I love you, baba, her father told her, using an Arabic term of endearment. He repeated it. 3, 4 times. Sarah hesitated. She wanted to respond, but worried it would offend her siblings. She didn't know it, but they were feeling exactly as she was. Please, Janet thought, even if you don't mean it, just let him hear it. I love you, too, Sarah told her father. At that moment, she felt 14 years of hatred leave her. When they returned to the motel, Sarah worried she had betrayed her dead mother. She tried to remember the bad things her father did. She tried to summon anger. It wouldn't come. This was forgiveness, she realized, and it was a gift. "I knew my mother and God were saying, `We don't want you to feel this way.'" Father admits mistakes When they returned to prison the next day, their father attempted to explain his crime. He told them he felt he was losing his children, losing everything.Not until the 2nd before he attacked, he said, did he imagine he was going to hurt their mother. All my ways were wrong, he told his children. I admit that. I love your mother, he said. I thank her for bringing my 4 children into this world. His daughters cried when it was time for him to go. But Elias beamed. These are my kids, he told the guards. I'm the happiest man in the world. Since their visit, Elias has received letters from his children. Janet, only 8 when he killed her mother, is his most prolific correspondent. "Now," she says, "I have the father I've always wanted." This month, the four siblings visited him again. As they become reacquainted, they recognize the traits they share with their father. John, 25, and Sarah, 27, have his sense of humor. Janet, 23, got his aptitude for math. They love hearing his memories of their mother -- memories they had forgotten. And they marvel at how he has changed. The Arab man who once believed women should be married by 18 shocked Rose, now 28, when he told her not to rush into marriage, not to settle. Fighting another death Of 176 people on North Carolina's death row, Elias Syriani, 67, is the third oldest. Only 8 inmates have been there longer. His case has been appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court. Syriani deserves a new sentencing hearing, his lawyers argue, because his trial lawyer didn't hire a mental health expert to examine him and present mitigating evidence. A competent defense, they say, would have kept him off death row. The Supreme Court will likely decide in October whether to hear Syriani's case. Chances are remote, experts say. If the court declines, his execution would be set for this year. His lawyers would file a petition for clemency with Gov. Mike Easley. This month, Rose, Sarah, John and Janet came to Charlotte to tell their story at a conference on helping children of domestic violence. Rose now works at a Chicago marketing firm. Janet is an accounting student. They live near Chicago, sharing a house with John, who sells cars. Sarah lives outside San Francisco. She married in February and starts cosmetology school this summer. At the conference, they talked of forgiveness, and how it has allowed them to heal. They talked about how Teresa Syriani would have wanted this. They explained why they want the state to spare their father's life, and what they would say if they could speak to Gov. Easley. "If this execution is carried out, we'll have 2 parents murdered," Rose told the audience. Sarah wiped a tear from her eye. "We've suffered enough," she said. (source: Charlotte Observer)
