[Reader-list] Da'rryl Durr on the death penalty

[Jeebesh]

 > To see this story with its related links on the guardian.co.uk  
site, go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/apr/20/darryl-durr-death-penalty
 >
 > Da'rryl Durr on the death penalty
 >
 > In a telephone call from death row, Da'rryl Durr describes capital  
punishment as 'murder by the state'
 >
 > Erwin James
 > Wednesday April 21 2010
 > The Guardian
 >
 >
 > http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/apr/20/darryl-durr-death-penalty
 >
 >
 > "We don't say a prisoner was executed, we say he was murdered by  
the state," says Da'rryl Durr, speaking from Ohio State Penitentiary  
in Youngstown. He was there on formal deathwatch until Monday, when he  
was transferred to the state's maximum-security facility in Lucasville  
to await his execution.
 >
 > Durr, 46, had been placed on Ohio's death row on 10 January 1989,  
for the murder of 16-year-old Angel Vincent. When I spoke to him on  
the telephone last Saturday evening, he had less than 72 hours to his  
time of execution.
 >
 > Vincent was discovered missing from her home in Elyria, Ohio, when  
her parents returned from a night out on 31 January 1988. Just 20  
minutes earlier her mother, Norma Jean O'Nan, had spoken to her on the  
telephone; Vincent told her that a friend, Deborah Mullins, was in the  
house with her. Mullins, she said, was waiting for her boyfriend,  
Da'rryl Durr, to arrive.
 >
 > Several days later, Vincent's mother confronted Mullins about her  
daughter's whereabouts. Mullins suggested she had probably "run away".  
Three months later, on 30 April, Vincent's decomposing remains were  
discovered by some boys playing in a local park, though they were not  
immediately identified.
 >
 > After examining the remains, the deputy coroner concluded that the  
remains were those of a young girl who had died as a result of  
"homicidal violence". The extent of her decomposition made it  
impossible to ascertain if there had been any ligature marks, scrapes  
or skin tears, but the deputy coroner declined to rule out  
strangulation, citing the flexibility of the internal cartilaginous  
structures of the victim's neck. Due to the severe infestation of  
bacteria present on the remains, testing for the presence of  
spermatozoa was also inconclusive, rendering it impossible to confirm  
whether or not Vincent had been raped.
 >
 > Durr was charged with her murder five months later. Following his  
arrest for two unrelated rapes ? to which he pled guilty on the advice  
of his lawyers, but then later denied ? Mullins went to the Cleveland  
police and told them Durr had murdered Vincent. X-rays on the body in  
the park then confirmed the remains to be those of Vincent. Durr stood  
trial and, although there was no physical evidence to connect him to  
the crime, he was, on the sole testimony of Mullins, found guilty of  
aggravated murder, rape, robbery and kidnapping. He was sentenced to  
death and placed on Ohio State Penitentiary's death row.
 >
 > There appear to have been some racial overtones in the case against  
Durr. He is African American. Angel Vincent and Deborah Mullins are  
white, as is Durr's former common-law wife Janice. At a later review  
of the original trial's verdict and sentence, Durr's attorney William  
Lazarow attempted to have the original trial judge, William  
McAllister, taken off the review due to remarks he was alleged to have  
made in chambers while the jury were considering their verdict. Durr's  
trial lawyer Jerry Milano signed a sworn affadavit in which he stated  
that McAllister said he "wanted to see [Durr's] nigger ass in the  
chair for messing with white women". The judge denied making any such  
comments, but Milano stands by his statement. The request to have  
McAllister removed was denied. A policeman in the case also told  
Durr's stepfather that he didn't like him because he looked "like  
Martin Luther King".
 >
 > Despite several appeals and hearings, Durr remained on death row.  
Yet he appears to have used his time in prison in as constructive a  
manner as the limitations of his existence would allow. He taught  
himself law, then volunteered to advise and assist other prisoners in  
legal and civil matters, helping imprisoned fathers to establish and  
preserve their parental rights. He staged a hunger strike in his early  
years of imprisonment, to get the cells on death row cleaned and  
painted, and has made numerous donations to a children's charity that  
raised funds through the selling of craftwork. Durr also embraced  
religion and encourages others to lead a spiritually healthy life.
 >
 > I ask Durr how the other prisoners "on the row" react when an  
execution has taken place. "There is a grieving process. Some guys  
fast," he says, "others give away money. Some go into a self-imposed  
solitary confinement, not wanting to talk to anybody. They won't talk  
to guards, won't talk to other prisoners. They get traumatised.
 >
 > "These are people that we live around ? you get to know each  
other's families, their life stories. You learn how damaged people are  
when they come to prison ? but you also see how guys change and make  
growth in their lives while you have known them. By the time the state  
murders that man, you wonder: what was it all worth?"
 >
 > Durr's voice is measured and dignified, which I find remarkable for  
a man within hours of being strapped to a gurney and given a lethal  
injection. He knows I am a journalist, but expresses no bitterness or  
anger. I ask if he thinks he has grown in prison. Is he the same man  
he was 22 years ago?
 >
 > "Of course not," he says, assuredly. "Change is inevitable. But  
growth is optional. I have studied law, religion, history and people.  
But I try to communicate with people on a level that I might be able  
to make a change, not only in my life but in their lives."
 >
 > He tells me it has been important not to stagnate on death row. "If  
there is a difference that you can make in the life of another person,  
you want to make that difference. After I have spoken to you, I want  
to feel that I have taken something from our conversation and it has  
made me a better person ? and I want to leave you the same way."
 >
 > After 22 years of confinement, I find his calm reasoning  
impressive. "If there is something that enriched you from our  
conversation that you can share," he says, "then please let people  
know there is humanity even in these places."
 >
 > I have read of his claims of innocence, but now, speaking to him,  
knowing what he faces, I am embarrassed to ask if it's true. Yet I  
feel I should, to give him a chance to say it out loud. I take a deep  
breath and ask him outright. "Yes, absolutely," he says without  
hesitation. Clearly I am speaking to an intelligent, empathetic,  
rounded human being. The idea of his life being wilfully extinguished  
fills me with dread. "You should know that it is really not about any  
issues you have," he says. "If you have bad judges, it doesn't matter  
if you are innocent or guilty."
 >
 > Durr then tells me about a fellow death-row prisoner, who  
maintained his innocence for 15 years. The state refused to DNA-test a  
piece of evidence: blood on a tennis shoe that he said was his, and  
not the victim's, as argued by the court that convicted him. Finally,  
the test was allowed and he was proved right. Yet no court would allow  
his appeal. If the then governor of Ohio had not granted the prisoner  
clemency, he would be dead. Instead, his sentence was commuted to life  
without parole. "This is what happens in the state of Ohio," Durr says.
 >
 > Last year, Durr asked for DNA-testing on biological material  
belonging to Vincent. This was allowed and the test came back  
negative. Officials then refused a second test, saying the first test  
only came back negative because the evidence was old and had been  
mishandled. The second test related to Vincent's necklace. Though  
records show it has never been out of police custody, that too is said  
to have been mishandled ? the DNA test was denied.
 >
 > In a last-minute attempt to stay his execution, Durr's lawyers  
submitted the argument that he was allergic to the anaesthetic used in  
the administration of the lethal injection. They needed more time,  
they said, to investigate his medical records. "My lawyers have filed  
with the judges," Durr says, "but it's the same three judges who threw  
out my earlier claims. You can expect that they will deny me again."
 >
 > How does he feel towards Vincent's family? "I would hope, if they  
think I did this and harmed their family, that they could forgive me.  
I understand their pain, their loss, having suffered the same thing  
myself ? and I'm sorry, I really am. I maintain my innocence, but that  
doesn't negate the pain they feel and I'm sorry for their pain. I  
really am."
 >
 > I ask how his society, the people of Ohio, feel generally about the  
treatment of people in his position. "I think they support the process  
as they are led to believe it operates. People are given a candy- 
coated version of what a prisoner's life is like. But the average  
citizen will never experience it. If more people actually knew what  
one year, two years, three years of prison life was actually like, I  
think more people would be appalled. They would press politicians and  
other people in society to make effective changes in prison  
conditions, so we wouldn't have the reoffending rate that we have, or  
the intra-prison violence.
 >
 > "In America, they spend more money incarcerating people than they  
do on educating people. You're talking almost $2m to murder someone on  
death row. If they took that money and gave you 30 years to life or 20  
years to life, they could use the rest of the money and educate five  
people who want to go to college."
 >
 > Finally, I ask Durr why the state insists on killing people; what  
they think it achieves. (There have been 37 executions in Lucasville  
since 1999 ? with one a month scheduled for the next 11 months.) But  
it is too late for him to answer. Our time is up. "I'm sorry," he  
says, "this will probably be our last call."
 >
 > Except it wasn't. Durr was transferred to Lucasville on Monday,  
after all his appeals were turned down. The same day, the governor of  
Ohio, Ted Strickland, refused his appeal for clemency, and on Monday  
night the supreme court rejected his lawyers' application for a stay.
 >
 > But this morning, I was allowed to make a final, brief call to  
Durr, two and a half hours before he was due to be killed. This time  
when he picks up the phone, his voice is deep and sombre. "Hey," he  
says, "how's your spirit this morning?"
 >
 > I tell him I was thinking about him, and it isn't good. I ask if  
there is anything else he would like to say.
 >
 > "Yes," he says. "Please give my love to everybody that supported me  
and tried to help me. And when you write about me, do me a favour and  
please ? are you familiar with St Paul's treatise on love?" I tell him  
I am. "Tell them that's what I believe: in faith, hope and love ? and  
that the greatest of these is love."
 >
 > Da'rryl Durr was killed by lethal injection [http://abcnews.go.com/TheLaw/darryl-durrs-allergy-claim-fails-delay-execution/story?id=10420538 
" title="ABC News: Death Row Allergy Claim Fails to Delay Darryl  
Durr's Execution] today, right on schedule.
 >
 >
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