"Racial justice? Bill that may be voted on this week would allow judges to throw out death penalties," by James Romoser appears in today's Winston-Salem Journal. Here's an extended excerpt from this must-read:
When Ramona Stafford's husband was murdered in Winston-Salem in 1993, she didn't care about the killer's race.
She just wanted him punished to the fullest extent of the law.
"This fellow was black. But our family just wanted the person that
did this. We just wanted justice and punishment," Stafford said. "Race,
nationality, whatever, doesn't come into play."
Her husband's murderer, a defiant 21-year-old named Robbie Lyons who
admitted the crime but never expressed remorse, was convicted and given
the death penalty. Nearly 10 years later, with Stafford looking on, he
was strapped to a gurney, wheeled into the state's execution chamber
and given an injection that killed him.
A black defendant. A white victim. For Stafford, race wasn't an
issue. But for critics of the death penalty, it can't be ignored.
That's the thinking behind a bill under consideration in the state
legislature that could change the way the death penalty is applied in
North Carolina. The bill, known as the Racial Justice Act, would allow
judges to throw out the death penalty in a specific case if they found
a trend indicating racial bias in other cases. The bill is up for a key
vote in the N.C. House this week.
Supporters say the bill is needed to address a legacy of racial
disparities in how the death penalty is applied, both nationwide and in
North Carolina. In their view, no single death-penalty case can be
fairly evaluated without considering the historical relationship of
race and capital punishment.
"You can't just look at an individual case, because each capital
case is a microcosm of the entire criminal-justice system," Mark Rabil,
a capital defender in Winston-Salem, said.
As a legal matter, the argument behind the Racial Justice Act is
controversial. It was rejected by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1987. And
it's rejected by most prosecutors, who insist that cases should be
decided only on their own facts, without reference to historical
patterns.
The question now before state legislators is, in the narrowest
sense, a strict policy question. But it's also fraught with issues of
politics, race, and life and death. The question boils down to this: In
a state that uses capital punishment, should a statistical pattern of
racial disparities be enough to preclude the use of the death penalty
against someone accused of first-degree murder?
And:
If it's approved in the House this week, it will be sent back to the
N.C. Senate, which has approved a previous version of the bill. Parmon
said the bill is likely to end up in a conference committee, where
House and Senate negotiators would try to work out a compromise bill
that could pass in both chambers.
The bill's passage would represent a foray into a largely untested
area of death-penalty policy. Only one state -- Kentucky -- has a
version of the Racial Justice Act on the books. But it's not a new
idea. Opponents of the death penalty in many other states, and in
Congress, have been floating similar legislation since 1987, when the
Supreme Court handed down an influential decision in a case known as McCleskey v. Kemp.
In that case, Warren McCleskey, a black man who was convicted of
killing a white man in Georgia, argued that the administration of the
death penalty was racially biased and that his death sentence should be
set aside. He cited statistical evidence showing that the death penalty
in Georgia was imposed far more frequently in cases with black
defendants or white victims. The reverse scenarios -- cases with white
defendants or black victims -- were less likely to end in the death
penalty.
The court rejected McCleskey's argument in a 5-4 decision. The court
acknowledged profound racial disparities in the application of the
death penalty, but it said they were not sufficient to establish that
any of the decision-makers in McCleskey's case acted with bias.
The McCleskey ruling does not prevent states from enacting their own
laws that allow statistics to count as evidence for bias. That's
exactly what the Racial Justice Act would do.
Under the bill, defendants could cite statistical racial disparities
from other cases in the state as a whole, or in their local
jurisdiction, as evidence of bias on the part of prosecutors or juries.
Prosecutors could counter with their own statistics.
Other, more traditional forms of evidence -- such as testimony from
attorneys or police officers -- could be offered to try to prove or
disprove bias.
If a judge sided with the defendant, the judge could prevent the
prosecutor from seeking the death penalty or, after a trial, the judge
could convert a jury's death sentence into a sentence of life in prison.
The opportunity to try to prove racial bias would be open to any
future defendant, and it would also be available to every inmate
currently on death row. The bill would give death-row inmates one year
to bring forth such an appeal.
Earlier coverage of the legislation is here.