A few days ago a man in Florida named Michael Zack was executed. In his last letter he wrote, “I did things that have hurt a lot of people—not only the victims and their families and friends, but my own family and friends as well. I have woken up every single day since then filled with remorse and a wish to make my time here on earth mean something more than the worst thing I ever did.”
The “worst thing” was a sequence of murders involving sexual assault and torture.
You can never afford to lose sight of the humanity of people who commit awful acts, and the influence that drugs, mental illness, abuse, and a broken social system can play on the choices they make. And the possibility of redemption and amends. In Giving Up the Ghost, Hilary Mantel writes, “I believe people do change; there’s no mileage, really, in believing the opposite.”
But you also can’t lose sight of the victims, how crimes like these radiate outward to everyone.
In A Morning for Flamingos, James Lee Burke makes a pretty clinching argument (to me at least). In the book, Dave Robicheaux is transporting two condemned men, one of whom he suspects to be innocent of the crime he was convicted of, the other a mass murderer who ‘deserves it’ as much as anyone could.
Burke is a writer who never shies away from evil or downplays its effects. He’s not someone who believes you can commit acts of violence and come out better for them. Robicheaux embodies a streak of frail humanist yearning coupled with barely-controlled self-annihilating rage.
Here’s the exchange between Robicheaux and the other guard:
“Have you ever been to one?” I asked.
“I never had to.”
“Would you go?”
“I figure the guy sitting in that chair knew the rules.”
“Would you go?”
“Yeah, I would.” He turned his head and looked boldly at my face.
“It can be an expensive experience.”
“But they all knew the rules. Right? You snuff somebody in the state of Louisiana, you get treated to some serious electroshock therapy.”
“Tell me the name of one rich man the state’s burned. Or any state, for that matter.”
“Sorry. I’m not broken up about these guys. You think Jimmy Lee Boggs should have gotten life? Would you like him back around here on parole after ten and a half?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
I’m conflicted on capital punishment as a concept. As practiced, I’m against it. Race, money and political factors tilt the scales far too much. Admittedly no system will ever be perfect, but the stakes are someone’s life. I don’t have answers, but Burke states the problem as indisputably as I’ve ever heard it. “Tell me the name of one rich man the state’s burned.” (Marie Antoinette and Tsar Nicholas don’t count)
(To end this on a slightly lighter note, my friend keeps buying me fictional detective mugs. You can get the Robicheaux one from Burke’s website, with all proceeds going to the Humane Society.)
Burke has a nice touch with dialogue. Let's each character's voice do the work. No extra baggage.
I had that conversation with a friend yesterday, talking about jury duty and the death penalty. She said she thought she could decide for it but if she was faced with the choice for real, she wasn't so sure. I said I was against it, on principle, and it made my decision easier. Talking about Burke, I don't remember in which book he had a passage about prison. What he said stuck with me. He said (I'm not quoting exactly), people aren't locked up for punishment, retribution or rehabbing. They're locked up because society cannot let them live among other people for its survival or protection. So it's putting the problem away, separation. Burke is a most sensible man. I wish everyone in the justice system was as sensible.