The system is almost completely built on plea bargains. Very few people have their day in court, even though it is constitutionally guaranteed. Over 95% of convictions are resolved through negotiation, not evidence presented to a jury. The system is not designed to find truth. It is designed to resolve cases.
Due process is severely lacking. Many lawyers over-promise and under-deliver. Pretrial detention punishes people before any finding of guilt. Bail systems criminalize poverty. The presumption of innocence is a legal principle that the machinery of prosecution routinely undermines before a single witness takes the stand.
Silence is better than honesty — because whatever you say will be used against you, good or bad. The Fifth Amendment exists because the system cannot be trusted to interpret a person’s words charitably. Cooperating with law enforcement without counsel is one of the most reliable ways to make your situation worse, regardless of what the truth is.
The Week That Broke Something
This particular week, Missouri Governor Mike Parson and Attorney General Andrew Bailey allowed — and arguably fought hard for — the state-sanctioned execution of a man the evidence strongly suggested was innocent: Marcellus Williams.
Williams was convicted of the 1998 murder of Felicia Gayle in St. Louis County. In the years following his conviction, DNA evidence recovered from the murder weapon did not match Williams. The lead prosecutor in his original case joined his legal team in seeking to vacate the conviction. St. Louis County Prosecuting Attorney Wesley Bell filed a formal motion to set aside the verdict.
Despite this — despite a prosecutor asking for a new trial, despite DNA exclusion evidence, despite public outcry — Missouri Governor Mike Parson declined clemency. Attorney General Andrew Bailey actively opposed efforts to halt the execution. Williams was put to death maintaining his innocence.
The Innocence Project called it a profound miscarriage of justice. It was paid for by taxpayers. It cannot be undone.
It’s vile.
It’s rotten.
It’s America.
I hear complacent judges and lawyers claim, “the system isn’t perfect, but it’s the one we’ve got.” And that phrase makes my stomach churn. It is the sound of someone who has made peace with a machine that kills people, and decided that peace is more comfortable than accountability.
A Crisis of Conscience
As a criminal justice professional, I am having a crisis of conscience. I am sure I am not the first.
Day in and day out, I meet people who know the very real pain of losing a loved one to the criminal justice system. I am studying for my LSATs and will be taking them in October. Right now, it is hard to get excited about that.
Because I do not trust the system as it stands. I am afraid I will end up part of “the problem.” I am terrified that I care too much for people. That I will grow bitter watching the system destroy and kill people. That the distance required to function inside these institutions will cost me the very thing that made me want to enter them.
Many people smarter and more experienced than me know, based on available data, that there are better ways of doing things. There are problem-solving courts that work. There are diversion programs that reduce recidivism and restore communities. There are prosecutors and judges who lead with evidence and humanity. They exist. They are not the norm.
Many prosecutors, judges, and attorneys general have little interest in actually healing the communities they work in — because doing so would slow the machine. And the machine has powerful beneficiaries who have no desire to see it reformed.
Where We Go From Here
I have been distraught over this all week. I am not sure where we go as a country. I am not sure what is next. If I told you I had an inkling, I would be lying.
But I am hopeful that there is something that can be done about this nightmare system that has been created. That there are people just as saddened by this as I am, who want to change the world. That the moral injury so many of us feel is not a reason to leave — but a reason to enter, carefully, with eyes open, without letting the institution hollow us out.
One day, maybe justice and equity will prevail.
But today, I am not holding my breath.
— Written September 26, 2024, two days after the execution of Marcellus Williams.
