We can’t keep losing our brothers to the aftermath of injustice. We can’t call it “freedom” if we’re still dying from what they did to us.
Prisoners come to terms with the return of capital punishment in Louisiana.
People still say, ‘That’s not the Jessie I knew.’ But most didn’t know what he endured at home – and that’s likely what drove him on that day, psychiatrists say.
Beyond the condemned, I've seen the harm done to family members, victims, prison guards, and even jurors. There may be too many people harmed by executions for Louisiana to bear. We don’t need this. Execution is not the solution.
Dr. Joseph Antognini travels across the nation, being paid over $500 an hour by government officials who rely on him to vouch for their execution protocols.
It has always struck me as odd that our ministers preach the Beatitudes (“Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy”) while our prosecutors promote revenge.
Glenn Ford taught me that every chance for life matters. It was easy to see why: prosecutors told the court Glenn was innocent 30 years after he was wrongly convicted of murder and sent to Death Row. Despite being sentenced to death, Glenn and others on the Row refused to forget their humanity.
As Louisiana restarts executions, stories about the state’s death penalty — from condemned men, victims, families, and those who work in the death chamber.
"I remember feeling a flush of anger that the State of Louisiana was giving Bordelon what he wanted, relief from his guilt," writes the author, who visited Angola with a film crew in 2010 as Louisiana was preparing to execute Gerald Bordelon. "My husband had died a few years before that, leaving me a widow and mother to two small children. Death, for me, was not something a governor should casually enter into with a signature — or that Bordelon could chase, to relieve his personal agony."