Waiting in Limbo on Death Row

Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others. ~ Plato

It’s pouring rain here, and the perfect day to sleep in, or laze around and do absolutely nothing. Instead, as I’ve done for the past five Sundays, I went to Qigong class--and then I went to Mass. Why?

Because I could.

Because I don’t want to take these two simple activities that I enjoy for granted. You don’t go to church for what you get out of it, by the way. You go for what you bring to it. Today I brought a grateful heart and a loud singing voice that probably embarrassed those closest to me.

Too bad. I was there to celebrate and give thanks for the many blessings in my life. I was there to share my joy with the body of Christ.

My joy, however, has little to do with what Louis is experiencing. It seems this blog will have to become ‘Louis central’ for the time being. While I appreciate all the calls and cards and emails of support and encouragement more than you can know, I’m really not the one going through these deprivations, and, as much as I’d like to, I can’t keep updating y'all individually, or I won’t get anything else done.

So here goes: Nothing has changed in the last ten days. Louis has been transferred, as most of you know, unexpectedly and without warning, to a place that has no room for him.

So today is his 11^th day on Death Row—it was the only place they had a cell for him, apparently—and just like the rest of us, he’s awaiting news of his fate.

This could take a while, because no one seems to know what’s going on.

Generally, when you’re in isolation, you periodically see the Program Review Committee (PRC), be it weekly, monthly, or quarterly, as determined by them, and they then determine when you will be released into population. PRC meets where he is, two days a week instead of one. His facility apparently has the biggest Restricted Housing Unit in the state, as it also houses over 160 Death Row prisoners.

It also contains the Special Maximum Unit, sort of a hole within a hole, which is where the violent and hard-to-control prisoners are sent. Louis spent four years there in the late 1990s. You might say he ‘graduated’ from the program.

All I know is it’s where he got his college degree, and, through that educational process, took the first steps toward becoming the man he is today.

Do I credit his time in the SMU for any of that? No. They took his college books away until he went on a hunger strike to get them back. No encouragement there. So he refused to see the PRC for years, not wanting to get out, wanting to study 16 hours a day instead. From what I've witnessed and experienced, having known him these past ten years, it's clear to me that PRC hearings are just a shell game the state plays with men’s lives and families, telling them one thing one week, another thing the next, all the while telling the inmate to "be patient."

Back then he refused to have anything to do with the game. Now he still knows it’s a game, but also knows all the cards are stacked against him, so he shows up for his hearings anyway, polite, respectful, non-violent, and hopeful. Now he’d rather be in population than in the hole.

He arrived on a Thursday, so he patiently bided his time over the weekend--a weekend during which the weather was awesome, and he missed all of it--and spent most of the following Tuesday waiting to see PRC. Finally, he says, someone comes around at 3:30 and says, “You don’t need to see PRC, you’re just waiting for a cell to open up.”

But then this Thursday, he gets called into PRC. Surprise, surprise. They tell him someone has marked him down as Long-Term Confinement, because he’s a danger to someone else in population (the facility has over 1700 men--pick one) and he’s going to have to be put into Administrative Custody indefinately.

Hearing over. They’ll see him again on Tuesday.

This means he remains in isolation, and all that that entails. But get this…the people watching over him in the hole still believe he’s “just waiting on a cell.” So…when you’re “just waiting” to be moved again, you’re not allowed to have your personal property. They figure you’re going to be moving any day now, so why bother unpacking and packing up again when you move?

But PRC says something completely different.

So in the meantime, Louis sits in limbo. Prohibited from having what little personal property he has—books, magazines, toiletries, envelopes, food—reduced to one 15-minute phone call per month, and locked up 23 hours a day Monday through Friday, 24/7 on weekends.

And all because some functionary somewhere decided to move some faceless man on paper to a facility that has no place for him in reality.

Overnight, that man’s life was drastically altered, with everything he enjoyed and/or looked forward to having been summarily ripped out of his life, and now he’s camped out on Death Row indefinitely.

His fellow inmates—condemned men all--have been the most generous and helpful throughout this bureaucratic whirlpool. They’ve provided him with paper, envelopes, books, magazines, and offered food. “But I can’t take their food,” he says. “I need to lose a few pounds anyway.”

They remember Louis from when he was there before, in the SMU. He left 14 years ago. What does that tell you about how long some of those men have been existing on Death Row? Can you even imagine living under those conditions for decades while the state tries to figure out what to do with you? They can’t even figure out what to do with Louis, and his situation is relatively straightforward. His original paperwork says he is supposed to be transferred “from” population “to” population. No hole stops in between.

So what went wrong?

I have no clue, but I do know what's going right. One inmate in particular, whom I will not mention by name so as not to get pulled into any political discussions, because he has his own website and has written books and given interviews, thanked Louis for inspiring him to get his bachelor’s and master’s degrees while in prison.

He thanked Louis for inspiring him.

As do I. Louis inspires me daily, to take advantage of all the simple pleasures I can. Yesterday evening I went for a 45-minute walk around my neighborhood, simply because I can.

Every time I open my refrigerator and see the array of food I have to choose from, I smile and give thanks, because I am aware that I have a choice.

Every time I get in my car to go somewhere, I am grateful, because I have the freedom to do so.

When I look at the stars I am grateful, because I even get to see them.

When I reach for the telephone I am grateful, because I’m not limited to one call per month, and I don’t have to put in a written request just to use the phone.

And when I look at all the paper, pens, stamps, and envelopes around my desk, the books upon books on my shelves, the piles of magazines I don’t take the time to read, and the television I barely watch…

I realize I am taking all of it for granted.

True, I never killed anybody, but neither did Louis. He was there that day, he was present, he helped to dispose of the murder weapon, and is therefore considered an accomplice. But that was 34 years ago. His debt to society for being young, brash, and stupid was paid a long time ago.

Now the man just wants to live in peace. Even if it has to be in prison.

Apparently, however, that’s not to be.

Interestingly enough, this was today's second reading.

Beloved: If you are patient when you suffer for doing what is good,
this is a grace before God.
For to this you have been called,
because Christ also suffered for you,
leaving you an example that you should follow in his footsteps.
He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.

When he was insulted, he returned no insult;
when he suffered, he did not threaten;
instead, he handed himself over to the one who judges justly.
He himself bore our sins in his body upon the cross,
so that, free from sin, we might live for righteousness.
By his wounds you have been healed.
For you had gone astray like sheep,
but you have now returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.

1 Peter 2: 20b-25