Do you know the feeling of anticipation? The anxiety before taking a big test, standing up and giving a big presentation, or walking into an interview? The stomach−lurching feeling just before that moment, the sense of being at the height of a roller coaster, wondering why you got on the ride? Can you imagine having a terrifying appointment at 7:00 p.m. tonight, and checking your watch to find that it's 6:25 p.m.? Maybe you pace nervously. Maybe you rehearse what you are going to say, what you need to do. What if you knew that, in just a couple of minutes, you had to take a deep breath, ignore the quickening pounding in your chest and tell yourself, "I got this." Then you had to walk into a room, sit down, take a needle in the arm and die. Forever.
For as long as I can remember understanding it, I have been unable to believe that the death penalty is right. For almost every other crime imaginable, the punishment is fine or imprisonment, never an eye for an eye. But, somehow, there is still a sentiment among some that execution is a valid form of "justice," that killing a killer makes everything OK in the world, and that the government should have the power of life and death over the citizens it arrests.
Wednesday marked a tragic event in the realm of capital punishment. A 42−year−old man by the name of Troy Davis counted down until 7:00 p.m., when he was to be executed in the state of Georgia. His conviction was the killing of a police officer. The case against him was built nearly exclusively on witness testimony; no gun was ever found. Despite seven of the nine key witnesses in the case against him having rescinded or disputed all or parts of their testimony, courts continually ruled against him. He maintained his innocence, offering to submit to a polygraph (lie detector) for questioning; his request was denied.
I had tried to do what I could to intervene. Tuesday evening, I called Judge Penny Freesemann, asking her not to allow this to happen. I emailed the executioner, urging him to refuse his task. I signed numerous online petitions, joined Facebook groups and events and watched the public ground−swelling of support on Twitter and in protests around the world. I created a pin and wore it Wednesday, hoping that the uninformed would ask me what it was for. I even participated in a symbolic "Die−In" event on campus, sponsored by Tufts Amnesty International. I spent a good 20 minutes lying "dead" on the Tisch Library patio, startling the passersby as my arm shot up to offer him a handout, my eyes still closed and my body still parallel to the ground.
But this issue wasn't up to a student vote; my actions had little effect. Just before 7:00 p.m. Wednesday evening, the U.S. Supreme Court stepped in to consider a stay of execution for Troy Davis. At around 10:30 p.m., they returned their verdict: denied. The same evening, Texas inmate Lawrence Russell Brewer was executed at 6:21 p.m. CST.
In the face of a government leading its citizens into death chambers, Anne Frank once wrote, "Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart." The fact that we have "death chambers" in this country terrifies me, yes. The fact that our government sanctions executions like some ancient barbarians or French revolutionaries disgusts me, yes. But I know there will come a day when the citizens of the United States will join with the 15 abolitionist local states and 137 countries worldwide in stopping the tears and bloodshed. One day, the Supreme Court will acknowledge the meaning of cruel and unusual, renew the precedent of their 1972 decision, and end this.
That won't happen until the public is outraged. That won't happen until the hundreds of protestors in Georgia become millions of protestors around the world, standing up not for one man, but for every human being the United States has slotted for extermination. That won't happen until people like us, students on college campuses around the country, speak up.
Wednesday night, I was shaken. Wednesday night, Troy's sister and even Officer MacPhail's family were shaken. Let the country shake, shake and wake up.
I can live without the death penalty. Couldn't you?
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