Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted. - AMENDMENT VIII
following is a rendering (lightly edited for spelling, punctuation and grammar) of a spontaneous conversation which took place on Facebook on January 18, 2014. In addition to Mr. Leuchter and myself, two other individuals contributed a few comments to the conversation - Kerry F. and Andre W. I kicked the whole thing off by posting the following web link to Mr. Leuchter's Facebook 'wall.' After my first comment, he graciously engaged me in the dialogue that followed. Thank you very much, Mr. Leuchter! Your courage and sincerity are an inspiration. - CMH] "Inmate's family sues Ohio after agonizing execution with untested drug protocol - Convicted killer Dennis McGuire struggled noticeably for his life during a lengthy lethal injection procedure in Ohio on Thursday, and now his family plans to sue the state for violating his Constitutional rights." http://rt.com/usa/mcguire-family-sues-ohio-787/#_=_
[The
www.rt.com
their European manufacturer refused to be involved is ridiculous. The state of Ohio must have a chemical engineer under its employ that could have synthesized the same stuff under license from the same company to keep everything nice and legal and tidy.
Fred Leuchter : The FDA is seizing supplies of drugs that can do the
job. The FDA has no jurisdiction since the "Drugs" are not for medical purposes but for killing!
Fred Leuchter : The chemicals have less than a 2 year shelf life so
the supplies may be useless!
8
Christopher Hayden : Why not public, if I may ask? Fred Leuchter : It causes a circus - hot dogs, popcorn - we need more
decorum when anyone dies!
Christopher Hayden : I agree with that for sure. But there is often a
circus atmosphere just outside the prison gates anyway. Wouldn't a live broadcast originating from an array of cameras inside the execution area be the same thing as a video tape recording - except that the psychological impact of knowing this is really happening now would lead to a very different experience for the viewer? I believe that essential difference is what would either validate the state's act or - as I would prefer - utterly invalidate it.
Kerry F. : Just use a firing squad, simple and effective. Fred Leuchter : Not simple, very messy and very painful! Fred Leuchter : That would work, Christopher but you would want to
restrict it to children!
Fred Leuchter : I imagine you go to sleep similar to freezing to death. Christopher Hayden : Much more peaceful than hypothermia,
actually. From what I understand, there is commonly a late stage of freezing to death where a person's core temp. has been lowered to the point where the relative 'warmth' of their surroundings actually feels burning hot to the touch. Many freezing victims are found with their clothes stripped off, something they did near the end, for this very reason. Were it not for this phenomenon, states might elect to execute people by placing them in a walk-in freezer, restrained on a gurney in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. This would certainly be an economical option. Every fast food restaurant on the planet has all the gear you would need! Jack London's TO THE MAN ON THE TRAIL comes to mind as a romanticized description of 'peacefully drifting off' in the freezing cold but, alas, the truth is rather less kind. And whatever happened to good old hemlock tea anyway? After all, Cicuta douglasii has been used in suicides for centuries.
10
Crito, we owe a cock to Aesculapius; please pay it and don't let it pass. - SOCRATES
Aesculapius was the God of Medicine and these words implied that Socrates felt that he owed a debt to the God of Medicine because of the cup of Hemlock he had just
drunk.
After Socrates' death opinion in Athens turned against his accusers. - http://www.age-of-the-sage.org/greek/philosopher/phaedo.html
--------------------------------------------------------------------------MY FACEBOOK POSTS GET AUTO-CANNIBALIZED FOR OTHER PURPOSES FREQUENTLY. I OFTEN FIND THAT SOMETHING I DRAFT OFF-THE-CUFF FOR A RANDOM COMMENT OR POST COMES OUT MUCH BETTER - OR AT LEAST MORE NATURALLY - THAN WHEN I WRITE WITH THE CONSCIOUS INTENTION OF SAYING SOMETHING IMPORTANT. AND SO I BROKE OFF FROM MY DIALOGUE WITH MR. LEUCHTER. BORROWING LIBERALLY FROM THAT CONVERSATION, I WROTE MY MESSAGE TO OHIOS GOVERNOR JOHN R. KASICH AND THEN SENT IT TO HIM VIA THE ONLINE 'CONTACT THE GOVERNOR FORM PROVIDED BY HIS OFFICE AT THE STATES OFFICIAL WEBSITE. - CMH
11
Dear Governor Kasich The medieval character of the outrageous events which just transpired in Ohio's death house are all the proof any rational, reasonable arbiter could ever want to demonstrate the very real and ongoing need for the thoughtful and civil brand of expertise that Fred Leuchter was once permitted to bring to these matters before Jewish hysteria over his involvement in the Canadian 'holocaust denial' trial of Ernst Zundel led to his un-ceremonial 'disqualification.' I am personally opposed to capital punishment but, if it is going to occur, we must do better than randomly pumping any old combination of untried toxins into the bloodstream. You might as well have authorized your kill team to have pumped ammonia into one arm and bleach into the other 'just to see what would happen' like a child with a magnifying glass burning the heads off bugs in the sunlight. By no coincidence, I have been in communication with Mr. Leuchter regarding this grotesque and heinous error in judgment. Mr. Leuchter asserts, and I quote, "If nothing else they should fire the man who made the decision since he knew, or should have known that would have happened."
12
Of course, you did know the condemned man would likely have 'breath terrors' or whatever it is called because the press was citing this possibility, proffered by independent experts, prior to the execution. Mr. Leuchter went on to say, "I assume breath terrors are associated with suffocation. That is probably true. What I do know is that you cannot substitute a tranquilizer for anesthesia and expect it to work. This is common sense and the persons in charge of the execution know better. These people should be fired forthwith!" Governor Kasich. It is my sincere hope the condemned man's family are able to win a large monetary judgment against the state of Ohio. I further hope this throws a monkey wrench in all pending executions in Ohio and elsewhere. As I understand it, they overdosed the man on a tranquilizer and an opiate. The opiate agent would have caused respiratory failure all by itself and so the idea of using the tranquilizer is obviously flawed to the extent that the idea is to kill the man quickly. To do this 'humanely' with these chemicals it most certainly would have been better to administer the tranquilizer in a massive dose and then give it time to render him totally and utterly unconscious prior to the lethal overdose of opiates - and of course I am talking about an hour or more total, which is unacceptable from the point of view of the witnesses, which included his adult children. So the whole scheme was a misadventure from the beginning. And the fact that a US company refused to sell the state the ordinary death cocktail because their European manufacturer refused to be involved in American executions is ridiculous. The state of Ohio must have a chemical engineer under its employ that could have synthesized the same stuff under license from the same company to keep everything nice and legal and tidy. I have seen the statistics on public support for the death penalty and I always say "Bull**t." The reason this punishment is so popular is because the whole protocol has been to sanitize it and hide it behind a curtain. Maybe I am wrong but I believe that if ordinary, tax paying, decent people were given the option to watch the process live on television and really see what their government is doing in their names
13
that it would ultimately be banned, as it has been in most of the civilized world. (And if that didn't work I would want watching the executions to be made mandatory.) To me, the idea of all these petty little corrupt state governments having the power of life and death over their citizens is just insane. They can't even keep the pot-holes out of their busiest roadways. Responsible people around the world are shaking their heads in dismay with your name on their lips, Governor John R. Kasich. This is a bad mark against you as a leader that will surely prove to be indelible. Good day, sir. And may God have mercy on your soul. - CHRISTOPHER HAYDEN
BURLINGTON, VT
Fred Leuchter : Good for you, Christopher! Fred Leuchter : Thank you Christopher Hayden : Thank you, sir.
14
Andre W. : I agree. I believe the torture session was deliberate. Christopher Hayden : You know, Mr. Leuchter, as I have already
said, I oppose the death penalty. I was born with a natural tendency to distrust government and for me that kind of arbitrary and capricious power is just beyond anything I would ever willingly agree to cede to the kind of people who work for state corrections departments, to say nothing of the lawyers in black dresses with their gold-fringed flags. A life sentence with no hope of parole, enhanced in the worse cases with permanent solitary confinement, would certainly be less desirable than the easy way out, as far as I am concerned. If you ever have a few minutes, please consider reading my short story SHE WAS ENGLAND. [It is posted - free to all - here : http://www.scribd.com/.../SHE-WASENGLAND-A-Short-Story ]
Fred Leuchter : I will, Christopher! Fred Leuchter : I wonder if the Governor has seen all this? Christopher Hayden : Well, given the circumstances I'm guessing
his inbox is pretty full but I did send it and eventually someone on his staff will read it. They probably read every word that comes in through that portal just to make sure he isn't being threatened.
15
16
PROCESS 38
A SHORT STORY It was in a sweaty little east Texas town near the Louisiana Border that I met up with Dagz and we settled on a plan. Over heaping plates of dry barbecue washed down with Budweiser we agreed we were both there to proceed past the talking stage. We were sick of talk. There had been too much talk. Dagz was a brainy redneck with a red bandanna tied on his skull and a battered copy of Hemingway's FIRST 49 SHORT STORIES shoved into the breast pocket of his red, plaid, flannel buttondown which had been relieved of its sleeves all the way up to the frayed shoulders. He wore it open and unbuttoned, revealing a white, bony chest emblazoned with a bad tattoo of a skeleton swinging a saber. The skeleton was also wearing a red bandanna. Sitting there across the picnic
17
table from me on a grassy lot just outside a worn out old joint called Uncle Billy's Big Time Barbecue, I would look at him as we ate and think, "This guy is perfect." I had dressed as I always do when I'm on the road with my Harley. Blue denims and black leather, a bit dusty from the road but clean enough to eat in. My head was shaved to the scalp and burnt dark by the southern sun, to which my Yankee hide was not accustomed. I kept my voice down in an attempt to conceal the fact that I do not drawl. Our table was set off and away from the others anyway. The other patrons of Uncle Billy's paid us little mind there in the cloudy and sweltering Sunday afternoon. Dagz was talking to me in a low voice with his mouth half full of pig, "I'm in for one reason. They don't want to listen. They don't care if they get it wrong and kill somebody innocent. They don't see the wrongness of it." I nodded and chewed and swallowed, answering him, "I've always said that killing people is no way to teach people that killing people is wrong. It never made any sense to me." I pointed at him then for punctuation and added, "Even if they have the right guy, I'm against it. But the fact that there is no guarantee that they even get it right makes the whole thing just insane to me." "Insane." Dagz agreed, chewing. "And morally wrong." I added. "How can killing somebody teach everyone else that killing is wrong? You're basically saying killing is okay so long as it's done by these guys over here but not those guys over there. So long as it's sanitized and hidden from the public view, premeditated murder and conspiracy are okay-just-fine. It's bullshit." Dagz pulled a piece of unchewable gristle out of his mouth and dropped it on the edge of his plate. "But you still think this is the way to go?" He was studying my face with a ton of doubt expressed in his own, "We're gonna kill a cop, man. A cop. Just up and blow his head off. Soon as they announce they've executed Manuel Garza, we're gonna do a cop in retaliation. Then it's gonna get announced in the World press why we did it. And we're going to keep doing it every time a state executes someone. This week it's Texas. Next week it's Texas again. Next month they've got one they're gonna do in Colorado. By Christ,
18
we're gonna go to Colorado and kill a cop there too. If the Feds execute Bobby Jameson this winter we're gonna pick us out a F.B.I. man and dust him. And so on. Until they stop this bullshit." I half stood and reached across the table, grabbing his forearm with my fist and squeezing. I looked him in the eyes and assured him, "I think it is the only way to go. I think if we do this, and do it right, the national discussion will get a kick-start and maybe we can end this thing for good." Finally, I added, In the Name of Christ. I unhanded him and sat back down, making a thoughtful and confident face which Dagz instantly emulated, probably unconsciously. I added, "So if there has to be a little puddle's worth of blood spilled to stem the tide, so be it." "So be it." Dagz agreed. We sat there eating for a little while. Dagz then said, "You know this is Texas." "It took me two days to get here, Dagz. I know where I am." "So you know what's waiting for us if something don't go right." "Yeah. I know. I ain't thought about much else since the pastor called me in and set this thing up." "Let's not talk about the pastor." Dagz winced. "Let's not mention anyone else from here on out until we're done with it and part ways. Okay?" "I'm sorry." I told him, nodding my assurances. "That's the best way for everybody." "Indeed." He nodded. When we had filled our stomachs with the salty-sweet fare of Uncle Billy's Big Time Barbecue, Dagz jumped in his dilapidated Chevy pick-up and had me follow him out to the edge of that east Texas town to the motel I was to stay at. When we were about to pass the place, he tossed some litter out his window to let me know this was it. I applied the brakes to my bike and rolled into the parking lot of an old soggy strip motel called, typically, THE COLONIAL INN. Dagz kept going. I watched his truck until it rounded a slight bend a ways down the highway. Now that we had met and sized each other up and still
19
intended to go forward with the plan, the idea was to minimize the number of people who could place us together. I was fine with that. I climbed off my bike and took a look around. The place was okay as far as those types of places go. Fresh paint on an old building and a surprisingly robust and well-tended garden growing beside the oval pool, which was empty except for the knee-high weeds growing out of the meandering crack that ran down the center of its pale pink floor. That was okay. I wasn't here to swim. I walked into the office and was instantly chilled by the air conditioning, which the proprietors had cranked way up. A young Asian man, probably still in his late teens, signed me in and counted out my change. I paid for three nights in advance. He gave me the keys to room 106. Without starting her up again, I pushed my bike over to the parking spot directly in front of my room and grabbed my helmet and travel bag before going inside. A few dog-eared looking people were taking some sun out in front of their rooms. I suspected they were "pay by the weekers" who lived here more or less permanently. The room was small and clean. Cable TV. Microwave. Mini-fridge. AC already running. The bed was oversized and firm enough when I kicked my boots off and dropped onto it. I was exhausted from the road; the two-days ride had been chock full of anxious moments that kept my guts fluttering the whole way. With a belly full of the local fare and better than twentyfour hours to keep myself entertained until show time, I thumbed on the TV with the remote and set it to CNN. I waited for any mention of the pending execution Texas was planning for the next evening and as I waited I dropped into a deep sleep, still fully clothed and with the bed made up beneath me. I slept a long time and had a dream just before waking. During the ride down to Texas, a rude and snippy Black girl in her late teens had sold me a bucket of chicken at a KFC just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. She had rolled her eyes a certain way when I asked for extra napkins and it must have bothered me on some level. In my dream there in room 106 of THE COLONIAL INN I was, for reasons that escape my memory, beating the snot out of that same Black chicken girl with a tire iron. I
20
think we were on an abandoned back road somewhere in the middle of America. I was not angry as I did it. Rather, I was shocked and disgusted by my own violence even as I kept hitting her and hitting her. The tire iron made the most awful, hollow, thumping sounds when it connected against her body. Throughout the beating she kept getting to her knees and then her feet and I kept knocking her back down, bashing her for all I was worth. She was screaming fit to raise the Devil. I smashed her across her shoulder blades. I cracked her on the top of her cranium thrice. I beat her in the ribs and then her guts and then her ribs again. Finally she stayed down. When she was close to unconsciousness and her shrieks had finally turned to a low sobbing, laying there at my feet as I stood trying to catch my breath, she looked up at me with a make-up stained face and said, in an angry, choking voice, completely devoid of any shred of fear, "I ain't gonna be able to have kids...." I woke up then. My clothes were soaked through with sweat. I tried to shake it off as I undressed and jumped in the shower. I killed a bunch of people in Iraq; it never bothered me much. I 'd go back and do it again right now if they asked me to. Even so, I confessed it all to Jesus Christ when I was alone in the woods the night before the pastor baptized me one Sunday morning, last year, in Ogden, Utah. But that dream of that chicken girl really had me tipped over for a few days. That kind of shit always fucks me up.
21
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Novelist. Poet. Journalist. Musician. Film maker. Artist. Social critic and political activist. Born in Portland, Maine and raised in Cape Elizabeth. Began writing in the late 1980's. Founder of the digital media label MODUS ARTS GROUP and experimental rock music project WHITE DEVIL WHISKEY. Lives in Burlington, VT. Mr. Hayden recently purchased an electric violin and intends to spend 2014 learning how to play it.
www.modusartsgroup.com
22
And as for me, just look and see I'll kneel here by the Cross Christ's company - no tyranny Lucifer's Fall - no loss. And as for me, just wait and see I'll stand tall with the Man A Crown of Life upon my head What don't you understand? - CHRISTOPHER HAYDEN
23
24