@syzygy2600 – So…it’s better to end up putting innocent people to death (which has in fact happened and, as thousands have been let off death row after the revelation of DNA evidence, will continue to happen) than to risk the possibility that someone who was on LWOP instead of on Death Row might escape, regardless of whether the likelihood is so remote as to be zero?
Further, as @ragingloli hints at partially, note that the average stay on death row is several years.
@JilltheTooth – I understand what you’re saying, but please understand what you’re doing when you appeal to emotion with that post.
There is absolutely nothing that either having the DP or not would have done to affect the outcome of that scenario because Bundy was neither tried nor convicted. Therefore, the DP couldn’t possibly change what happened.
Except in one way: it may in fact increase the urgency or desire of the defendant in custody to try to run if they think they might get death. It might scare them so much they take any opportunity they see to get away. I know, in fact, that if I was facing death – that’s when I would REALLY try to run prior to trial.
The problem with the example is that it’s an appeal to the emotion of the victim’s families and makes it seem callous to not want the death penalty. But it’s an emotional link that is false as the argument has nothing to do with that scenario.
Briefly – think about the family of the man who is executed. What have they done to deserve being so victimized by the state?
From PeaceWorks Magazine
I am the daughter of a man who was executed. It was several years before I learned this truth and many more years before I was able to speak out about it.
My father’s parents raised me, and I spent weekends and holidays with my mother and stepfather. I knew that my father had died when I was a baby, and my grandmother told me that he died of an illness. I wasn’t very inquisitive about my father because I trusted that what my grandmother told me was the truth. She had a picture of my father and mother on their wedding day, and she always made a point of telling me that I was wanted and loved. Although we didn’t talk about my father, each year we made a trip to the graveyard and put flowers on his grave.
One day when I was about 11, I was coming home from rollerskating with friends. The mother who was driving us, after asking me some routine questions about myself, asked, “Wasn’t your father executed?” There I was in the company of my girlfriends, hearing something shocking that I had never heard before. I was devastated, and when I got home I immediately said to my grandmother, “I can’t believe you lied to me!” My grandmother had never lied to me, so it had never occurred to me that she might be telling me something that was not the full truth.
But she said, “Yes, your father was executed. I knew that one of these days I was going to have to tell you, but this was not the day that I expected to have to do it.” She didn’t go into a lot of detail. All she said was that he had gotten into some trouble and that they were a very poor family and couldn’t get good legal counsel.
…
I think it’s important to realize that when the state kills, the people they kill have family members. Any time there’s a homicide, an entire family is affected, and that’s just as true when the state is the one who kills.
My mother told me that the night my father was executed, she and my grandmother had to go down to the Ohio State Penitentiary and wait to receive the body. Still, today, I have a hard time imagining that. How do you sit in a room somewhere and wait to receive the body of your son that somebody is deliberately putting to death? How do you live through that?
My grandmother was 46 when her first-born son was arrested; I was 46 when my first-born son was arrested. But my grandmother didn’t have a voice. She couldn’t say the kinds of things that I can say, and although I can try to imagine it, I can’t know all the things she felt. I hope that by sharing this story, I can help another mother who is dealing with such a loss be able to find her voice.