Abstract
Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, the new book by Equal Justice Initiative founder Bryan Stevenson, should be on the top three list of must-read books for anyone interested in Civil Rights, equality, and criminal justice reform. Exquisitely written, Stevenson compassionately writes the experience of the wrongfully condemned while both thoughtfully critiquing the system and the utility of the death penalty itself. While Stevenson has written this book in a way that is inclusive of many forms of social injustices, it is the racial injustice of our legal system that is most clearly at the center of this African American narrative. Stevenson strategically headquartered the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama, arguably one of the epicenters of racial injustice in the south. In his book, he chronicles the story of Walter McMillan, an African American wrongfully convicted of a murder he did not commit and sent to death row. As Stevenson recounts their journey together, it is quickly apparent McMillan’s real crime was dating a White woman, a sin to many in the south and to some worthy of framing a Black man in what amounts to a modern-day, institutionally sanctioned lynching.
Stevenson outlined what he considered to be the four institutions in American history that have shaped our country’s approach to race and justice: slavery, Post-Reconstruction racial terrorism, Jim Crow, and now mass incarceration. Each of these institutional chapters has a voice in how African Americans, and to some extent the poor, are set-up, profiled, framed, unfairly and arguable unconstitutionally tried, and convicted of crimes that their White, well-off counterparts would fair much better, if they had to endure indictment at all. These are not just the musings of a civil rights advocate but are supported by unequivocal facts. For example, in Georgia, you are 11 times more likely to get the death penalty if the murder victim is White than if the murder victim is Black. In Alabama, even though 65% of murders are committed against Black people, 80% of the prisoners on death row are convicted of killing White people. And, like in the case of Walter McMillan, we are not even sure that these convictions are legitimate.
Stevenson outlines a number of other antijustice atrocities as well: children sentenced to death or life in prison for acting out of fear or defending themselves from abuse or neglect; women being systematically raped in prison by their male guards with no recourse; the lack of qualified, ethical, public defenders sometimes getting compensated as little as $1,000 for out-of-court time; mentally ill and intellectually disabled individuals in need of treatment being incarcerated for crimes related to their illnesses; and executing the intellectually disabled or mentally ill for these crimes. And in the case of Mr. McMillan, no recourse and minimal compensation for the prosecutorial misconduct that resulted in his 7 years spent on death row. Even the Sheriff who spearheaded the judicial lynching was reelected. These facts highlight yet another problem with our criminal justice system: that those entrusted with the enforcement of our laws are not bound by those laws themselves. Active involvement in the Klu Klux Klan is not in-and-of-itself, a disqualification for an appointment to the Court of Appeals, bribing witnesses does not open yourself up to civil responsibility, and wrongfully and knowingly putting someone on death row does not make you indictable for attempted murder.
There was a point in reading this book that any normal-functioning human being would feel despair. In many ways, Stevenson’s work is akin to screaming for help inside a sound-proof, windowless container. You know people are out there, so you maintain some level of hope, but the chances of them ever hearing you are nonexistent. Right before you conclude that Stevenson must be a masochistic lunatic, he admits that his quest in pursuit of justice has broken him too, and you realize he is as human as the reader and as the people he is trying to help. Stevenson’s writing is that of a self-actualized man, devoid of a need for credit and without ego. His only agenda is to educate and expose so that his clients’ suffering would not be in vain. What results is a window into what it is like to be an advocate for those who have been forgotten in an unapologetic system where the odds are overwhelmingly stacked against you. It becomes clear that we cannot bear a judicial system so devoid of context and ripe with hysterical assumptions much longer and still call it “justice.” This country is in desperate need of criminal justice reform. Toward the end, Stevenson recalls the words of Vaclav Havel, the Czech leader during the era of Soviet domination.
The kind of hope that creates a willingness to position oneself in a hopeless place and be a witness, that allows one to believe in a better future, even in the face of abusive power. That kind of hope makes one strong. (p. 219)
That is the kind of hope we are all looking for, and Stevenson’s book helps us find a piece of that.