Injustice Strikes Again: the Execution of Troy Davis

by Stack Kenny

Justice Clarence Thomas, for reasons unknown to me, was picked to represent the U.S. Supreme Court in the dramatic last-minute decision whether or not to allow the State of Georgia to execute Troy Davis, the 42-year-old African American man who had been on death row for 20 years, falsely charged with murdering a Savannah police officer, Sgt. Mark MacPhail. The buck stopped with Justice Thomas, and he chose to crucify, ending Mr. Davis’s life at 11:08 p.m. on September 21, 2011.

I have heard opposing views on President Barak Obama’s legal power to
offer clemency to Troy Davis, though I seem to remember other
presidential clemencies in the past. I’m sure Mr. Obama is wary of
rocking any boats right now as he looks toward his political survival.
Furthermore, he is already on record as a supporter of the death
penalty. Whatever his opinion of this case, we haven’t heard a word from
him about the tragic injustice done to Troy Davis and his family.

By now, we can assume, the details of this case are well known: Troy
Davis maintained his total innocence to the very end; this was the
fourth time in twenty years he had walked the “last mile,” the first
three stopped by last-minute stays; his personality, background,
upbringing, and strong family values made him totally unlikely to be the
murderer of anyone; there was absolutely NO physical evidence found
anywhere to connect him with the crime.

The only “proof” the prosecution offered was based on the accusations of
nine witnesses, seven of whom have since recanted under sworn
testimony, claiming police harassed them into signing statements; one of
the two who did not recant is the person who fingered Mr. Davis and is
widely believed to be the true murderer.

Four jurists on the case have signed affidavits saying they would have
acquitted if the trial had not been tainted by police and prosecutor
misconduct. Twenty years after the fact, anyone connected with this
case, along with everyone who’s looked into it, is absolutely certain
that Troy Davis was innocent of killing Officer MacPhail. Everyone, that
is, except the prosecutor, three of the five members of the Georgia
Board of Paroles, and, of course, Clarence Thomas.

Mr. Davis’s case received international attention. It put into question
the role of the United States as a leader in the practice of fair
justice. More than a million signatures collected worldwide were sent to
the Georgia Board of Paroles asking for clemency for Troy Davis and the
abolishment of the death penalty.

These pleas were joined with intense lobbying efforts by such groups as
NAACP, Amnesty International, ACLU, and many anti-death penalty and
justice organizations. This is one of the highest-profile cases ever in
the American justice system because the flaws and cover-ups of the case
are so glaring and obvious. Everywhere people prayed and hoped that the
light of American justice would shine.

Instead, the Georgia Board marked an “X” under “Execute” and sent it along to Clarence Thomas.

I’ve always wondered why they seem to allow these death sentence cases
to go unresolved right to the last minute. It’s cruel to give false
hope, and stringing along inmates, families and everyone else strikes me
as especially barbaric, as if the prosecutors, judges, and prison
wardens are looking at themselves through the lens of some Hollywood
movie, a soundtrack with strings in the background, maybe a last-minute
clemency, joy, and tears. But there is no soundtrack behind this
decision. Only silence. There are no tears of joy. It is a sad day in
America.

Clarence Thomas and Troy Davis were both raised in Savannah, Georgia.
They came from similar neighborhoods and backgrounds, with middle-class
African American Christian moral upbringings. Is there any irony that
Troy Davis’s last chances in life were in the hands of Clarence Thomas
and Barack Obama, two black Americans who decided to let justice slip
through the cracks? Maybe. We all know what some people would be saying
if either man had put an end to this travesty. Obama and Thomas would be
accused of racial preferences, favoritism, and being “soft on crime.”
It doesn’t matter though, it’s past that now: neither man stood up to
find out.

The bigger issue goes well beyond Thomas and Obama and into deeper
questions concerning the abuse of justice and the racism inherent in the
prosecution of law. The Savannah Police Department understandably made a
priority of finding the killer of one of their own officers: to kill a
cop is the greatest of crimes. But we’ve seen this movie before, too. In
their urgency to find the murderer, mistakes were made, the law was
bent, and witnesses were harassed, even coerced.

Troy Davis was chosen in haste as the appropriate “perp,” and from that
moment on, all information was manipulated, ignored, or hidden, as
necessary. The authorities needed to make it all stick. They had a
“killer” to convict, and they made sure to convict him. And Troy Davis
was locked up and shoved inside the process of trying to prove his
innocence for the next twenty years.

And he did prove it, as the record shows. There was, and is, no physical
evidence to connect him to the crime. Witnesses recanted under oath as
to what happened in those first few days after the murder. They admitted
they had been forced into accusing Troy Davis lest they find themselves
in trouble. The detectives and the prosecuting District Attorney picked
the wrong guy.

Yet the State of Georgia, the President of the United States, and the
Supreme Court threw up their hands and said, “Sorry, there’s nothing we
can do. It’s the law….”

What they are truly saying to us is that they have to execute an
innocent man in order to protect a series of mistakes made by police and
their attorneys. They told us with this execution that it is more
important to manufacture and maintain the perceived, and false, “honor”
of the police and security establishments than it is to preserve the
principles of truth, a fair trial, and proof of innocence beyond “any
reasonable doubt” that are—or were—the foundation of our jurisprudence.
This is the law of the land.

Sorry. Too bad. Bye, Troy.

I once tried to send back a plate of old shrimp that was served to me in
a restaurant. The manager came over and tried to tell me that it was
fresh shrimp. He refused to admit he was wrong and wouldn’t take back
the bad food. The Chinese call it “saving face.”

I had it easy: I paid the bill, walked away, and never went back to that
restaurant. But in order to “save face” under the system of American
law, Troy Davis never got that luxury.

A reporter who witnessed the execution tells us that in Mr. Davis’s last
words he offered peace to the souls of his executioners. Troy Davis had
no need to “save face.” He was already saved.

America is in deep trouble.

We are all Troy Davis.