Some of you may think I’m one of those do-gooders or sob-sisters who feels for the murderer and doesn’t give a damn about the victim of the killing.
Congratulations. You’re so wrong I can smell the decayed shit clear from Pennsylvania.
Troy Davis didn’t die for my sins or for yours. He died perhaps for his own. The question is: did he actually kill the off-duty cop in the parking lot? We may never know that because Davis insisted he was not the shooter and even seven of the nine jurors recanted their original testimony and said “No, it wasn’t him.” Letters came in from people with nothing to prove and nothing in common except a faith in a supreme being, however that being is worshiped. Nothing helped. Last night Troy Davis was strapped to a gurney in the Georgia State Prison and an undisclosed dosage of Nembutal was pumped into his veins.
I’ve seen cats and a dog put down, and the vet always used phenobarbital–also a relatively simple chemical that stuns the central nervous system and kills the victim in seconds.
When did a human being become a cat or dog? I’ve seen cats die. I’ve seen a dog die. I’ve even seen a human being die. Except for the human, they went with dignity, easily and gratefully, because they were suffering and I believe they were truly outside their suffering bodies. Did they believe in God or some higher power? Does it matter? We as their human guardians and protectors claim to believe in such things. I happen to believe in such things because I’d like to believe I’m some flavor of Christian.
What about the people who put down Troy Davis like a piece of festering rubbish last night? What happens to the executioners who injected the chemicals? How do they carry home their knowledge to their wives and children? “How was work today, dad?” “Oh, nothing special. I helped kill a man.”
I don’t know if Davis was guilty. We’ll never know. I don’t know if the bastards who dragged James Byrd down a back road while he was chained to their pickup truck were truly guilty or were just racist scum. The two things are not necessarily the same. I don’t know if the piece of shit who shot a shop worker in the face was a victim of society as she became his victim. I don’t know if pretend Catholics like Sean Hannity know what the hell they’re talking about. Probably not.
How many more have to die to protect this republic from its citizens, good or bad? The worst among us need our prayers even more than the best. Saint Catherine of Siena used to accompany condemned men to the scaffold and pray for them. That may be one of her several claims to sainthood: that nobody was so low that they were undeserving of redemption.
And I don’t want anyone killed in the name of Justice anymore. Not in my name. Or yours.