The following is the complete text of ash’s essay published by the State Journal-Register on Saturday, January 18, 2003. Since the article was an edited version (much to her dismay), she thought those who have read it might be interested in what was left on the cutting room floor, while those who didn’t see the article might enjoy it in its entirety.
This really will be the work of an outsider. Of the 160+ lives recently spared by now ex-Governor Ryan, I know no one. I knew none of the victims; know none of their survivors; none of the lawyers, prosecution or defense; none of the convicted or their families; no one involved in any of the cases in any way; no one.
If I am outraged, how must they feel? Setting aside supporters of the convicted (a special category exempt from this discussion by virtue of their circumstances), I can only imagine their reaction to the sight of George Ryan on Saturday afternoon talking-head television, displaying his gall to all who know better than to take him at face value. Of course, Ryan’s national press conference wasn’t held to speak to the citizens of Illinois in general, the overwhelming majority of whom disdain him, but to talk over our heads. He was actually addressing Francis Boyle, nominator of the Nobel Peace Prize, as well as the firmest anti-death penalty advocates, many of whom, unfamiliar with Illinois politics, may not have realized to what extent the message was tainted by the motives of the messenger.
As for those who do know better, shame on them. They willingly play dog to Ryan’s wagging tail. They exploit Ryan by applauding his decision to further their agenda as if it were altruistic while fully aware it is anything but. Some have the temerity to call him a hero, while it seems to me a hero is defined not merely by the act but by the incentive. Ryan, who at best did the right thing for the wrong reason, and who may even be implicated in involuntary manslaughter of six children in Wisconsin, hardly fits that criteria.
Regardless of your position on the death penalty, consider this. To these Illinois murderers no longer on death row, there is no fate worse than death. To normal, kind-hearted, law-abiding people, it may seem as if spending the balance of one’s life imprisoned, deprived of freedom, with nothing to look forward to but more of the same, would indeed constitute greater suffering. But a murderer, by definition, is not normal. In the mind of a murderer, who would callously snuff out a clerk behind a counter, a teenager on the highway, or a wife attempting to escape domestic abuse, the value of other people’s lives is inversely proportional to his own. When no one else counts, he counts that much more. When no one else’s life matters, his matters in the extreme. Furthermore, in the mind of a murderer, as long as he is alive, there is always hope. There is hope of escape; there is hope of being released. If nothing else, there is hope of transcending the misery of prison. Even in resignation, there is hope. Meanwhile, there are the relative pleasures of meals, recreation, showers, television, visits from friends and family, sleep. And there is time, lots and lots of time. There is a natural lifetime worth of time. While his victim’s time expired without warning, the criminal is spared a pre-designated death, of which I believe he is most afraid.
Only death is the death of hope. Murderers are as afraid of death as they are indifferent to their victims. Murderers, the ultimate cowards, are scared to death of death. This is precisely why the death penalty is justified. Punish the “worst of the worst” with what the “worst” most dread. Let them spend their remaining time knowing their time is limited, agonizing over that precise moment in that precise location when their time ends. Let the quality of their lives be severely diminished by staring into the face of death.
A prosecutor from Peoria, a man intimately acquainted with at least several capital cases, was interviewed on CNN last week. Though his reaction to Ryan’s then imminent speech was visceral, he kept his tone measured which only made his words more compelling. Among other comments he compared Ryan’s blanket reprieve with selling a car because it has a flat tire. I believe his point was actual innocence is one thing; what do we do with the actually guilty? Is actual guilt determinable, and if so, does George Ryan, who prosecuted none of the capital cases and could not possibly have reviewed the details of each one, qualify to reduce the sentences successfully sought by the prosecutors who did?
If there are flaws in the judicial system in Illinois and elsewhere, a moratorium puts the issue on hold. A blanket commutation only exacerbates it. As long as a moratorium is in effect, no innocent person dies. As long as a governor has the power to undo the strenuous efforts of prosecutors and to revictimize the victims, no guilty person dies either, and justice is thwarted.
As I write, George Ryan is leaving office. By the time this is published, he may well be indicted. Though it will be of little comfort to anyone involved in this sorry saga, Ryan, currently on tour to salvage his legacy, may become no more than the punchline in a gallows humor joke: “He received the Nobel Peace Prize behind bars.”