"I think I will go out and beat an old lady to death tonight. I don't have anything to worry about if I get caught. I won't even have to worry about being stuck with a needle because it might hurt too much."
—Letter to The Clarion-Ledger
We obviously struck a nerve. I have never seen such venomous responses to a court case as I read in The Clarion-Ledger's "Letters to the Editor" after the U.S. Supreme Court granted a stay of execution to Earl Berry on Oct. 30, 2007. They granted the stay to examine Mississippi's protocol for lethal injection; the Court was reviewing a similar case, Baze v. Rees, from Kentucky. The writers were uniformly incensed that the Court—or anyone—would care about the level of pain during an execution.
One wrote, "Our president made a big mistake in not going to Iraq during the war and bringing Saddam Hussein and his two sons to America and giving his sons full authority over our prison systems." Another opined, "We should put some weights on him (Berry) and shove him overboard in the Arctic." A third said, "Berry and other murderers should be chopped to pieces and flushed down the toilet where they belong."
There were more, including one with a bizarre reference to my mother.
What released this flood of ill will? The notion that lethal injection might be cruel seems counterintuitive. Oklahoma was the first to use lethal injections in 1977, as other execution methods (hanging, electrocution, gas) were held out as state-sponsored torture, not fit for a civilized society. Texas followed suit in 1982, as did most of the other states.
The notion was simple: Kill the condemned like vets euthanize animals.
But in practice, the "three-drug cocktail" instituted by Oklahoma and adopted by Mississippi and other states is far different than putting your pet "to sleep."
Thiopental is a short-acting barbiturate that temporarily renders a patient unconscious. In surgery, anesthesiologists use additional procedures and drugs to produce a "surgical depth" of anesthesia that prevent the unconscious patient from feeling pain.
Pancuronium bromide paralyzes all voluntary muscles, but does not reduce consciousness or the feeling of pain. Because it paralyzes the diaphragm, a conscious person given this drug chemically suffocates. The Tennessee medical examiner admits: "A conscious person who is paralyzed would be unable to breathe. And suffocating to death would be a most violent form of death."
Finally, potassium chloride induces cardiac arrest, which kills the prisoner. It causes the sensation that one's veins are on fire, before forcing a heart attack. The state expert in Baze said, "A conscious person given potassium in the concentration level Kentucky uses would be screaming in agony."
Veterinarians, by contrast, use Phenobarbital for euthanasia, sometimes aided by another drug that painlessly stops the heart. The American Veterinary Association holds that it is "unacceptable and condemned" to use potassium chloride in euthanasia unless the animal is "in a surgical plane of anesthesia, a level of anesthesia deep enough to ensure that the surgical patient feels no pain and is unconscious for the duration of the procedure." Neither the Kentucky nor the Mississippi protocols for execution require any means of determining if the prisoner has been anesthetized to this level, nor do they require training executioners to monitor the prisoner's consciousness.
Execution by the three-drug protocol can become torture when: (1) The connection with the vein is bad, injecting less anesthetic; (2) an executioner gives incorrect drug dosage or mixture; (3) unlike surgery, executioners don't monitor the prisoner's consciousness during an execution; and (4) the paralyzed prisoner, unlike the patient, can't signal that he's still conscious.
Why has it taken so long to challenge this practice? Until now, the protocol and personnel for lethal injection have been vague. Because the prisoner is paralyzed, he is unable to communicate that he is in excruciating pain. On rare occasions, the curtain has lifted, and only then do we see the reality of lethal injection. This happened with the executions of Joseph Clark of Ohio in May 2006 and Angel Diaz in Florida in December 2006. In Ohio, 20 minutes after his execution began, Clark lifted his head and repeatedly stated, "It don't work." During the next 90 minutes, Clark's moans and cries were audible; but the execution went forward.
Diaz's death was even more horrific. Observers saw that the executioners didn't find Diaz's vein, and he convulsed through the entire execution. Diaz's autopsy noted foot-long chemical burns in his arms, and concluded that he was suffocated while still conscious. The brutality compelled Florida Gov. Jeb Bush to order an investigation.
These cases are just the tip of the iceberg. Now, post-execution autopsies are gradually surfacing in litigation. Anesthesiologists report that the autopsies show conscious asphyxiation, internal burning and conscious cardiac arrest in prisoners who were paralyzed and thus unable to protest. It is a method of execution worthy of Poe or Orwell.
The Supreme Court took on the Baze case to decide whether the Kentucky protocol "creates an unnecessary risk of pain and suffering," and, if so, whether this would be a "cruel and unusual punishment" forbidden by the Eighth Amendment. Other counsel and I filed the same kind of lawsuit in Mississippi to stop the use of the "three-drug cocktail." That lawsuit caused the Court to halt Berry's Oct. 30 execution.
On Jan. 7, the Court heard argument in Baze. The state admitted that if executioners did not properly administer the drugs, they would inflict excruciating pain may be inflicted. Also, the state agreed that if that risk occurred in every case, Kentucky's lethal injection method would violate the Constitution. Kentucky's lawyer further conceded there was no need to paralyze prisoners to execute them, but that it was just for the sake of "appearances."
Both sides also agreed that a rapid dose of three to five grams of just the first drug (the barbiturate used in animal euthanasia) would cause death without suffocation or excruciating pain.
Justice Antonin Scalia, in his usual barbed manner, asked the prisoner's lawyer, "This is an execution, not surgery. … Where does that come from, that you must find the method of execution that causes the least pain? … Is that somewhere in our Constitution?"
The lawyer answered: "Justice Scalia, our position is that the pain that is inflicted here when this goes wrong is torturous, excruciating pain under any definition. We're not talking about a slight incremental difference. We're talking about the infliction of torturous pain."
A decision in Baze is expected by late June, and will likely be applicable to Mississippi. But the question is, does it matter? Do we care whether executions are painful? Do we want a justice system of which Saddam Hussein would be proud? In the final analysis, the issue of execution by torture is not about "them," the prisoners; it is about "us."
Jim Craig is a partner in the law firm of Phelps Dunbar LLP, is co-counsel in Walker v. Epps, the lawsuit that challenges the Mississippi lethal injection procedure. He is also a member of Mississippians Educating for Smart Justice (MESJ).
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