Dedicated to all Victims of Judicial Murder

Don't give me "Capital Punishment"

My name is M. I’m 18 as I write this. It’s two days before Christmas - and whatever the hell you believe, today is, quite literally, the darkest time of the year.

Nearly half a decade ago, my country decided that a man named Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr. should have a backyard facing the National Mall. Since that time, nothing really big has happened here in Uncle Sam. Maybe our taxes have increased, maybe it’s easier to get a sex change - or maybe not. I don’t know and I honestly don’t care. What I do know is that this man, in an inconceivable act of apparent kindness, chose to save the lives of 37 individuals destined to be ritualistically murdered by our good, trusted Uncle.

I have yet to discover if this decision is really Mr. J. Robinette’s work - after all, he can’t even orate his speeches clearly - but regardless of whether the mass pardon is his or the DNC’s secret handywork - regardless of whether it is a genuine act of kindness or simply a political stunt, I regard it as something beautiful… beautiful, but still troubling.

Why? Because while we’re hailing this man for his Amazing Grace, three human beings have quietly lost their hope of ever going home again.

I have spent much of my life brooding over the institution of Judicial Murder - and no, after discovering the phrase I just used, I have no intention of ever calling it “Capital Punishment” again.

Why does this one facet of society disturb me so deeply? I could go out on a limb and say it’s all in my conscience. I could tell you that I’m simply afraid of what corrupted power can do. But I know that this feeling of disgust, this emotion of deep and utter despair can only come from one place.

It’s knowing.

When I was very young, the subject of Judicial Murder came up in our dinner conversation. I had never heard of it before, and my parents found themselves explaining. “Sometimes,” said my mother, “If you kill someone, the people in charge kill you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s a punishment,” she said.

“But, why?”

This was as far as the conversation went. I knew that Murder was wrong. I’d been told that from the very beginning… and now they were telling me that in some cases, Murder was right? I didn’t ask how this sort of murder was done - honestly, asking such a question didn’t even occur to me. But as I became older, I learned about the Hangman’s Noose, the Electric Chair, the Gas Chamber, the Lethal Injection Machine…

I knew they were wrong, and it didn’t take a conscience to tell me so. One could say I became morbidly fascinated with these different methods. I knew they were barbaric, and I knew that the whole notion of Judicial Murder was barbaric and obscene. I am happy to say that I still know this.

Many of my favorite stories and songs are based on the notion of Judicial Murder. “Frankie and Johnny.” “The Green, Green Grass of Home.” The obscure but nonetheless heartbreaking Irish ballad “Grace.” To this day, no story has moved me more than Franz Kafka’s nightmarish fantasy “In the Penal Colony.” Such was my fascination with the Death Chamber.

I am terribly sad to say that a great many people who I’ve known and loved support this Institution. My wonderful grandfather, the Radical Individualist, whose work and beliefs I firmly endorse… for the most part… has stated his belief in it. Still, though, I take comfort in knowing that, if given the chance, he would never flip the switch on a condemned person. (Grandpa, if you’re reading this, know that it only means I love you all the more.) And then, of course, there is Donald Trump, whose policies I mostly support. I almost cried when I learned that he had pushed for federal executions - in fact, I felt betrayed. Then again, no one is perfect.

But back to our outgoing president. I don’t want to downplay the fact that he granted the most wonderful Christmas gift to 37 men who had lost all hope, but still, it troubles me that he didn’t have the heart to save the three most controversial lives in America. True mercy doesn’t pick and choose.

It’s getting late. It is, quite literally, the darkest time of the year. I’m tired. I might go practice some carols on the piano. This was a day of complicated emotions. I hope that, rather than becoming hostile as I sometimes do, I can go to bed feeling confident in a new day - a “new and glorious morn,” if you will. I invite you to do the same.

Merry Christmas to everyone - especially those suffering in our country’s penal system. I hope the next four years will treat all of us better.

M.