[Deathpenalty] death penalty news----TEXAS, N.C., FLA., OHIO, KY., TENN. MINN., CALIF., USA

[Rick Halperin]

Sept. 1


TEXAS:

Texas Death-Row Inmate Fights for Mitigation Expert

Counsel for a Texas death-row inmate who killed his wife and daughters in a 
cocaine-fueled rampage told the Fifth Circuit on Friday he needs funding for an 
investigation that could get his sentence reduced to life in prison.

Jonesing for a dime bag of crack cocaine after 10 days sober, Abel Revill Ochoa 
asked his wife for $10 after they left church with their 2 daughters on Aug. 4, 
2002, according to the case record.

His wife Cecelia eventually gave in to his pestering. He bought the crack and 
she made him smoke it in the backyard of their Dallas home they shared with her 
father.

"While I was in the back yard, my wife's 2 sisters, Jackie and Alma came over. 
They all stayed in the living room and talked. After I smoked the crack I went 
into my "bedroom, and laid down on the bed," Ochoa wrote in a confession to 
police.

Ochoa, 45, said in his confession that as he lay on his bed he began to crave 
more crack, and he knew his wife, who controlled their money so he would not 
blow it on drugs, would not give him any more cash.

"I got up and went to my closet and I got my Ruger 9mm gun. The gun was already 
loaded and I walked into the living room where my family was. I started 
shooting while they were all sitting on the couch," he told police.

Ochoa fatally shot his 29-year-old wife, their 9-month old daughter Anahi, his 
father-in-law Bartolo Alvizo, and his sister-in-law Jacqueline Smith, and 
seriously wounded his other sister-in-law Alma Alvizo.

He went into his bedroom and reloaded and walked back into the living room and 
set his sights on his 7-year-old daughter Crystal.

"Crystal saw me with the gun and she started running away. I chased after her 
and I shot her. After I shot Crystal I went back into the be "room and got my 
wife's small plastic purse," Ochoa told police.

Ochoa drove to a shopping center and unsuccessfully tried to get money from an 
ATM. Police pulled him over and arrested him less than 30 minutes after the 
shootings.

A Dallas County jury convicted him of capital murder for killing his wife and 
his daughter Crystal in April 2013 on the 2nd day of his trial.

The trial judge sentenced him to death the next month after the jury decided he 
would be a future danger and there was not enough mitigating evidence to spare 
his life.

The lack of mitigating evidence is the basis of Ochoa's claims before the Fifth 
Circuit. He says his trial attorneys erred in not hiring a mitigation expert to 
vet his background until jury selection had already started and it was too late 
for a thorough investigation.

He asked U.S. District Judge Ed Kinkeade to give him funds to hire a mitigation 
expert in October 2013 as part of his federal habeas petition.

The judge rejected that request, finding the claim was procedurally defaulted 
because his state habeas attorney had not made it in his state court 
proceedings.

Kinkeade dismissed his federal habeas petition in October 2013 and he appealed 
to the Fifth Circuit in July 2017.

Ochoa's case got a boost from the U.S. Supreme Court in March, when the 
justices found the Fifth Circuit had improperly denied Texas death-row inmate 
Carlos Ayestas funding to investigate his mental health history.

Ochoa's attorney, Assistant Public Defender Jeremy Schepers, told a 3-judge 
panel of the Fifth Circuit on Friday that in light of the Ayestas ruling, they 
should remand the case to Kinkeade to explore whether he improperly denied 
funding for a mitigation expert.

But Texas Assistant Attorney General Travis Bragg said Kinkeade correctly 
determined any new evidence a mitigation inquiry turned up would not help 
Ochoa.

"The crux of the funding denial is the idea that the evidence Ochoa seeks to 
develop amounts to duplication of what was already presented," Bragg said.

He said Ochoa's trial attorneys put on 16 defense witnesses for the punishment 
phase of his trial, including Ochoa's father, who testified that he often drank 
too much alcohol and beat his wife when Ochoa was a child.

Texas argued in its brief to the Fifth Circuit that a death sentence for Ochoa 
was a "foregone conclusion" given the nature of his crime.

"Even by the standards of capital cases, Ochoa's crime is appalling," the 
state's brief says. "The record reflects that Ochoa - angry because his wife 
refused to give him money to indulge his crack-cocaine habit - went on a 
rampage and shot 6 members of his family, killing 5."

The Fifth Circuit judges seemed to side with Texas during the 45-minute hearing 
at the Houston federal courthouse.

U.S. Circuit Judge Jennifer Elrod, a George W. Bush appointee, agreed that 
Ochoa's trial attorneys did put on a good mitigation case even if they waited 
too long to hire a mitigation expert.

"This is very unusual for these kinds of cases. Usually there's very little 
mitigation evidence on the record in the trial court. This is the most 
extensive mitigation case the court would see," she said.

She asked Ochoa's attorney, Schepers, what would be uncovered by a new 
investigation.

"That his dad was a horrible alcoholic? I am not being flippant, but that was 
already gone over during his trial," she said.

Schepers stood firm.

"We believe that it could potentially show evidence of sexual abuse and mental 
illness," he said.

He urged the panel to remand the case to Kinkeade. He said after the hearing 
that if the Fifth Circuit refuses to remand the mitigation funding claim, he 
will appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.

The judges gave no indication of when they would rule.

(source: Courthouse News)




NORTH CAROLINA:

What Kindness Means to Death Row Inmates Like Me----Human beings insist on 
being social creatures, no matter how much you indoctrinate or denigrate them.

This article was published in collaboration with the Marshall Project.

All of us condemned inmates were hurt when Chaplain Chestnut left the prison to 
pursue other opportunities and, he said, to save his marriage.

"Guys," he told us one day, "I spend more time on death row than with my wife. 
She gave me a choice: her, or my work. I love her, so I've got to go. I'm 
sorry."

Chestnut's departure was devastating because he'd always treated us fairly, 
even favorably, going out of his way to treat us as equals and as parishioners. 
Before and after executions, he provided counsel when no one else bothered. "We 
may never understand God's plans," he'd say, "but rest assured the deaths of 
our friends and loved ones - however unjust - do not go unnoticed."

Chestnut grieved with us, shedding tears in the privacy of his office after 
each of us was put to death.

But some of the other guards hated the way he felt about us. "Time's up, 
Chaplain," one said, during another of our grieving sessions, before hustling 
me down the hall to my cell.

Chestnut left in 2004, and was replaced by a series of chaplains who behaved 
more like the guards - sticklers for the rules more interested in making the 
staff feel comfortable. Nobody sought their counsel.

At the time, none of us connected his departure to any unwritten rule guiding 
interactions between inmates and staff, of which there are many in prison. The 
written policy against romantic or other fraternization between us and the 
guards is understandable. But human beings just insist on being social 
creatures, and no matter how much you indoctrinate or denigrate them, they 
remain as much. Officers are not emotionless robots any more than death-row 
prisoners are reducible to the crimes for which we have been convicted and 
sentenced.

Some other staff members have gone out of their way to be kind, patient, 
respectful, and compassionate. Ms. Johnson always gave us extra time for 
outside rec, waiting until a sergeant radioed her.

Mr. Sutherland liked talking about fishing - with anyone. If you could discuss 
the difference between saltwater and freshwater fly-fishing, he'd turn a blind 
eye in the chow line if you wanted another tray.

These were the simple courtesies that made our time and their job easier. TVs 
allowed to stay on after curfew, cell doors left open a bit longer than usual, 
maybe even a movie that a unit manager would bring us from home.

Before my friend Earl was put to death in 2005, Ms. Williams got transferred to 
the kitchen - because she couldn't stomach the thought that her employment 
might equate to a kind of participation in his execution.

Months after his death, Mr. Beryl quit too, because he wouldn't follow Lt. 
Wallace's lead in writing us up for petty rules violations.

Wallace enjoyed charging us the $10 write-up fee (a fortune for people in 
prison) and giving us extra "work" duty, which, since most of us didn't have 
actual jobs, meant having us pick up rocks on the rec yard and pile them in a 
corner. Beryl found this to be a ridiculous practice.

He also ignored the transgressions that his boss found unacceptable: unmade 
bunks, a family photo taped to the wall, having too much linen. "Y'all got 
death," he'd say. "In my mind you’ve already been punished enough."

But for most, the unwritten rule on death row has remained: disinterest, 
allegiance to policy, frequent staff turnover to reduce familiarity, and above 
all a belief in the status quo. Flouting the idea that inmates are "less than" 
is not to be accepted.

Some guards ask for transfers because accepting this rule means squelching the 
inclination to live and let live. Lt. Perry moved to another unit when every 
attempt he made to change the culture here was thwarted by the warden. His 
desire to run our cohort just like any other population made sense in terms of 
security, since there are fewer problems on death row than anywhere else at 
Central Prison.

But his requisitions for new equipment went unanswered. Perry found he had less 
to do, and less authority, as a unit manager of death row until and unless he 
punished us.

It happened to Dr. Kuhns too. From 2010 to 2017, he directed psychological 
treatment at Central Prison. A man of conviction, he established a number of 
therapeutic programs on death row: creative writing, chess, drama, yoga, 
Toastmasters, art and more. These groups improved our self-esteem, emotional 
maturity, and the overall behavior of our entire unit.

The problem with Kuhns’s recognition and nurturing of our humanity is that it, 
too, ignored the unwritten rule. After a more security-minded administration 
came into power, he and ten of his volunteers were scrutinized for their 
friendliness with five death-row prisoners. (I was one of them.) All of the 
programs were stopped.

The volunteers were scared away, and Dr. Kuhns eventually took a job elsewhere.

The shrinks who replaced him carry the administrative line into our therapy 
sessions: "Actions have consequences," they say during treatment.

And in January of this year, Sgt. Cross, too, retired. I remember meeting him 
for the 1st time in 1997 as a 19-year-old awaiting trial for capital murder. He 
saw how young I looked and pulled me aside. "Keep your head down and you'll be 
alright," he said.

Years later, I learned that Cross had participated in "death watch" alongside 
several of my friends before they were executed. In the final 72 hours of their 
lives, he stayed with them in what otherwise would have been complete 
isolation.

The guards assigned to death watch are connected more intimately to a death 
sentence than any judge, jury, politician, or voter.

I asked Cross about this before he left.

"Some of the guys ask for me to be there," he told me. "At least they can die 
with somebody they know, so they don't feel so alone."

After his retirement, Cross returned once to death row, in a civilian outfit 
and with his wife and son in tow. He pointed out various prisoners he knew more 
about than some of their own families. Guys he'd spent his days with and worked 
with for decades. He and his loved ones walked around a bit, then left with a 
wave. It was the goodbye of someone who had been a part of our lives, just as 
we had of his, regardless of the rules.<P>

(source: Lyle May, 40, is incarcerated on death row at Central Prison in 
Raleigh, N.C., where he is awaiting execution for 2 counts of 1st-degree 
murder. He was convicted of killing a mother and her 4-year-old 
child----vice.com)






FLORIDA:

Killer Who Said Gays 'Must Be Put Down' Receives Death Penalty

Peter Avsenew, who called gays "a disease to mankind," has been sentenced to 
death for the murder of a gay couple in Wilton Manors, Fla.

The killer attacked Kevin Mark Powell, 47, and Steve Adams, 52, a few days 
before Christmas in 2010. He then stole their car and fled north. He was 
convicted last fall and sentenced this week. In January he told a jury he did 
not regret the act, and in March he told a judge he would kill again, the 
Sun-Sentinel reports.

"It is my duty as a white man to cull the weak and timid from existence," 
Avsenew wrote in a letter to Broward Circuit Judge Ilona Holmes. "Homosexuals 
are a disease to mankind and must be put down."

Awsenew, 33, is the 1st to receive a death sentence in Broward County since a 
law was passed last year requiring juries that choose execution to do so 
unanimously, according to the Sun Sentinel.

Avsenew's court-appointed attorney pleaded for mercy to Holmes, who had the 
power to override the jury's decision. He argued that events in the defendant's 
childhood led him down this path. The lawyer pointed out that his client's 
sister had been murdered, and he alleged that Avsenew was sexually abused by 
his father. However, Holmes decided the death penalty was appropriate.

Adams and Powell, who were together 30 years, had invited Avsenew into their 
home after seeing an ad he posted on Craigslist that was of a sexual nature.

(source: The Advocate)



OHIO:

Ohio's considered usage of Fentanyl in Capital Punishment is hauntingly ironic

[Opinion writer Tim Zelina argues Ohio's consideration to use fentanyl in 
executions reflects the drugs broader social impact.]

Ohioans are well aware of the ruinous effects of fentanyl. Many know of someone 
who has died from this horrific epidemic. Ohio is, as well as our neighboring 
states of Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Michigan, absolutely ravaged by 
fentanyl. Some police departments are so overloaded with responding to 
overdoses and opioid-related crimes that they rarely have time to respond to 
anything else.

For all its benefits of a pain reliever, fentanyl's most striking quality is 
its efficiency in killing over and over again.

Some 21,000 people, including legendary performance artist Prince, died of 
fentanyl overdoses in 2016, a 540 % increase since 2013. Ohio alone accounted 
for 2,357 of those deaths. To put that into perspective, over 1 in 10 of all US 
fentanyl-induced deaths occured in Ohio.

This staggering death toll failed to bother the pharmaceutical companies that 
continued producing and selling the drug in alarming quantities. One death from 
fentanyl, however, finally pushed the pharmaceutical companies into action.

In August of this year, the state of Nebraska used fentanyl to execute 
convicted killer Carey Dean Moore. Combined in a cocktail of 4 other drugs, 
Moore died 23 minutes after the toxic injection. The successful 
state-sanctioned murder of Moore was to be replicated in the execution of Scott 
Dozier, another convicted killer.

This usage of fentanyl was outrageous to the pharmaceutical companies who have 
happily made millions while their irresponsible drug production tears apart 
entire towns. Multinational pharmaceutical producer Pfizer cried foul at the 
usage of fentanyl as an execution method.

If the state of Nebraska used fentanyl as an execution method, then Pfizer 
would have trouble selling fentanyl to its customers. If it's used to kill 
people, their customers might have second thoughts about distributing it to 
their patients.

Hours before Scott Dozier was to be executed, a judge sided with the 
pharmaceutical companies, delaying the execution until an alternate method 
could be found.

There is an almost comical irony to these developments. These drug companies 
have never been bothered by the devastation their drugs have caused to those 
facing addiction and instead have focused on the profits they earn from their 
destruction. Now, however, one death has leaped them into action. Not because 
the dam has finally broken, and the pharmaceutical companies have realized the 
errors of their ways. No, the real issue in the pharmaceutical companies' minds 
is the bad PR.

One has to wonder if maybe Nebraska is on to something. A state like Ohio could 
do well to relegate fentanyl to do what it seems to do best.

Due to its extensive history of death, fentanyl should be embraced as the drug 
of choice for executing those on death row. Fentanyl has performed 
fantastically in its capacity to kill those who come into contact with it. What 
could be a better demonstration of this drug's impact on the world than to use 
it in executions?

(source: thenewpolitical.com)


KENTUCKY:

Commonwealth could seek death penalty in Siddens' case

The Allen County Commonwealth's Attorney's office filed a motion this week 
stating it intends to seek the maximum enhanced penalties in the Edward D. 
Siddens' case.

Siddens, 28, of Allen County, is accused of shooting Jimmy Neal Siddens, 73, 
and his wife, Helen Siddens, 72, who were his grandparents, as well as Jimmy N. 
Siddens II, 41, who was his uncle, on Feb. 19.

Their bodies were found outside a Ray Pardue Road residence near a front door 
entrance. Siddens was arrested later that same day in Sedgwick County, Colorado 
following a vehicle pursuit and was extradited to Kentucky.

Siddens entered a not guilty plea to 3 counts of murder (domestic violence), 
violation of a Kentucky Emergency Protective Order/Domestic Violence Order, 
theft by unlawful taking or disposition of an auto valued at $500 or more but 
under $10,000, convicted felon in possession of a firearm and convicted felon 
in possession of a handgun in May.

In its motion, the commonwealth's attorney stated that he gives notice to 
Siddens "pursuant to Kentucky Revised Statute 532.025 that will rely on the 
aggravating circumstances of murder committed when an act or acts of killing 
were intentional and resulted in multiple deaths."

The motion further states that after the commonwealth attorney consulted the 
victims' family and discussed longtime future safety issues, he intends to seek 
"potential maximum enhanced penalties under KRS 532.025(2)(a)(6) up to and 
including the option of the death penalty" and ask that the jury receive all 
verdict options including the death penalty.

Allen County Circuit Court Judge Janet Crocker had set Friday as the last day 
in which the commonwealth attorney could file a motion stating whether or not 
he would seek the death penalty in the case.

Siddens is due to appear back in court on Oct. 24 for a pretrial conference, 
during which the judge said the court will look at where the case is regarding 
the commonwealth attorney's discovery and how to move forward with the case.

(source: Richmond Register)




TENNESSEE:

Jones Trial First Capital Case In Greene County In 20 Years<P>

The Greene County Criminal Court trial of Erick Eugene Jones Jr. gets underway 
on Sept. 17.

Prosecutors and defense lawyers have spent months preparing for the trial, 
which is the 1st capital murder case in Greene County since the 6 defendants in 
the notorious 1997 Lillelid murder case were to be tried in February 1998.

The state will seek the death penalty for Jones, 25, who is charged with 3 
counts of 1st-degree murder and 4 counts of aggravated child abuse reflecting 
different theories in connection with the December 2014 deaths of 13-month-old 
Kynsleigh Easterly and 2-month-old Trinity Brooke Tweed in a house on North 
Hardin Street in Greeneville.

Jones maintains his innocence in the deaths of the girls.

A capital murder is any murder that makes the perpetrator eligible for the 
death penalty. Lead prosecutor Dan E. Armstrong, 3rd Judicial District attorney 
general, filed paperwork in 2016 indicating the state will seek the death 
penalty for Jones.

A motion hearing was held Aug. 24 in the case before presiding Judge John F. 
Dugger Jr. Final announcements relating to the case will be heard Sept. 7.

Evidentiary issues and other questions pertaining to the case have been 
resolved, and the trial appears ready to proceed on schedule, court officials 
said.

Jury selection in the Jones case will begin Sept. 11.The jury will be drawn 
from another county. Opening statements and testimony are scheduled to begin 
Sept. 17 in Greene County Criminal Court.

The Jones trial could last up to 2 weeks, court officials have said.

There are at least 10 other capital cases pending elsewhere in Tennessee, 
according to the Administrative Office of the Courts. Such cases are unusual 
for the 3rd Judicial District, which includes Greene, Hamblen, Hancock and 
Hawkins counties, court officials said.

All 6 defendants in the Lillelid case entered guilty pleas on the eve of their 
February 1998 Greene County Criminal Court trial to 3 counts each of 1st-degree 
murder, aggravated kidnapping and other crimes.

The East Kentucky natives are currently serving prison sentences of life 
without parole for the April 6, 1997, shooting deaths of Vidar Lillelid, his 
wife, Delfina, and their 6-year-old daughter, Tabitha. The family was shot on a 
remote road near Interstate 81 in northern Greene County. The couples’ 
2-year-old son survived the shootings.

Jones has been held in protective custody in the Washington County Detention 
Center after he was assaulted in May by 2 other inmates in the Greene County 
Detention Center, after he authorized his release into the general inmate 
population.

The complexity of the Jones case has resulted in several continuations of the 
trial.

"The family has waited long enough," said Assistant District Attorney General 
Ritchie" Collins, 1 of the prosecutors in the case.

Jones was caring for the girls and another daughter of Kendra Lashae Tweed 
while she worked in the early morning hours of Dec. 17, 2014. Jones was charged 
several days later in connection with the deaths. Tweed, 25, was later charged 
with 1st-degree murder and aggravated child abuse in connection with the case.

Tweed's case is pending.

A Greeneville police detective testified at a 2015 preliminary hearing that 
autopsy results showed the girls suffered blunt force trauma injuries, 
including cerebral hemorrhaging, a spinal cord injury, contusions and 
abrasions. Jones, who had an on-and-off relationship with Tweed, was living 
with her at the North Hardin Street house in December 2014.

Court officials said that expert witnesses for both sides have finished 
reviewing reports relating to Jones' mental health and events during his youth 
that could be presented as mitigating factors should the case reach a 
sentencing phase.

Collins said that in a death penalty case, all procedures must be followed to 
the letter to avoid later potential legal complications.

Earlier this year, Dugger granted a motion by lead defense lawyer Douglas L. 
Payne to have a jury drawn from another county because of pre-trial publicity 
the case has received. The case will be heard in Greene County.

The prosecution team includes Armstrong, Deputy District Attorney General Cecil 
Mills Jr. and Collins.

In June 2017, Dugger denied a motion by Payne to deny a jury the option of 
considering the death penalty for Jones.

Payne argued that the death penalty constitutes cruel and unusual punishment, 
while Armstrong argued that there is legal precedent in Tennessee for the death 
penalty and the penalty applies to the facts of the case.

Tennessee reinstated the death penalty in 1978. Capital punishment remains in 
place in 32 states, while it is banned in 18 others. On Aug. 9, Tennessee 
executed its 1st inmate since 2009, when Billy Ray Irick was administered a 
3-drug injection series. Irick had been convicted in the 1985 rape and murder 
of a 7-year-old girl.

(source: greenevillesun.com)



MINNESOTA:

A controversial sculpture commemorating the hanging of 38 Dakota Indians has 
been dismantled and interred in a secret location - with the blessing of its 
creator.

They are called the Dakota 38.

On December 26, 1862, in Mankato, Minnesota, 38 Dakota Indians were led onto a 
scaffold the size of a 2-story house and simultaneously hanged.

It was (and remains) the largest mass execution in U.S. history. But that year, 
after more than 20,000 casualties at Shiloh and 25,000 at Antietam during the 
Civil War, headlines did not take much notice of another 38 deaths, especially 
given the prevailing sentiment at the time about
Manifest Destiny.

The moment has been largely forgotten by our non-Native populace, but the 
traumatic historical event returned to the headlines in May 2017, when 
Minneapolis' Walker Art Center unveiled Scaffold as part of the planned 
reopening of its sculpture garden. The wood and steel sculpture by artist Sam 
Durant was a representation of 7 gallows used in historic U.S. government 
executions, including that of the Dakota in Mankato. It was designed in a way 
that allowed visitors to climb the staircases and stand on the gallows 
platform.

"Scaffold is neither memorial nor monument, and stands against prevailing ideas 
and normative history," Durant said in his written statement. "It warns against 
forgetting the past. In doing so, my hope for Scaffold is to offer a platform 
for open dialogue and exchange, a place to question not only our past, but the 
future we form together."

In spite of his intention, the outcry and criticism were immediate and intense.

Prior to its arrival in Minneapolis, Durant's sculpture had been exhibited in 
Scotland, Germany, and at The Hague in the Netherlands. But for the Dakota 
elders, its display on land once owned by their ancestors was intolerable.

"My first response was shock and disbelief and deep sadness," says Ron Leith, 
spokesman for the Dakota Elders Council. "The fact that the scaffold and all of 
its intricacies was built true to scale was absolutely alarming. The Walker Art 
Center plan was to turn the post-exhibition display into a play area for 
children and families. Visions of children swinging from the hangman's nooses 
horrified me and others, who thought that couldn't be the truth. Drinking wine 
and eating ciabatta bread sandwiches under the scaffold beams just could not be 
in anyone's thought process."

Memories of Mankato remain vivid among the Dakota descendants. "In our St. 
Paul, Minnesota, home of the 1950s and '60s, the Dakota Uprising was always a 
topic reserved for only late-night discussions - not a topic to be spoken of in 
the light of day for fear of public reprisals," Leith recalls. "Even though it 
had been over 100 years since the Dakota Conflict of 1862 and its tragic 
aftermath, there was still an inherent fear and apprehension of that 
conversation in the Dakota community."

The seeds for the conflict that history books would call The Great Sioux 
Uprising were planted in 1851, when the Dakota Sioux signed a treaty ceding 
most of their territory in Minnesota, about 28 million acres, to the U.S. 
government. In return, the tribe (numbering about 7,000) was to be granted 
annual payments of $280,000 over 50 years and a 20-by-70-mile reservation. In 
1858, a new treaty ceded 1/2 of the reservation to the federal government in 
exchange for increased annuity payments.

In 1862 the payment was late but was on its way when 5 members of the hungry 
and desperate Dakota Sioux killed 5 settlers. The violence escalated, resulting 
in the deaths of hundreds and entire towns burned to the ground.

Retaliation was swift and severe, culminating in a battle on September 23 at 
Wood Lake that forced the Dakota to surrender after heavy casualties. In the 
military tribunal that followed, more than 300 Dakota were sentenced to death.

"The trials of the Dakota were conducted unfairly in a variety of ways," wrote 
the late Carol Chomsky, former professor at the University of Minnesota Law 
School and a scholar of American Indian legal history, in an in-depth (and 
heavily footnoted) 1990 article, "The United States-Dakota War Trials: A Study 
in Military Injustice," for the Stanford Law Review. "The evidence was sparse, 
the tribunal was biased, the defendants were unrepresented in unfamiliar 
proceedings conducted in a foreign language, and authority for convening the 
tribunal was lacking. More fundamentally, neither the Military Commission nor 
the reviewing authorities recognized that they were dealing with the aftermath 
of a war fought with a sovereign nation and that the men who surrendered were 
entitled to treatment in accordance with that status."

After further examination of the evidence - and, in Chomsky's estimation, 
bowing to "enormous pressure on the president to punish the Dakota for the war" 
- President Abraham Lincoln issued a decision on the fate of the men on 
December 6, 1862. He reduced the number of condemned to 39 (1 would ultimately 
receive a reprieve), having arrived at the number based on his judgment to 
approve for execution only those convicted of participating in civilian 
massacres.

The mass execution took place the day after Christmas.

The following year, the Dakota Sioux were relocated once again, to a 
reservation in South Dakota.

At the Scene of the Mass Execution

"At 10:00 a.m. on December 26, 38 Dakota prisoners were led to a scaffold 
specially constructed for their execution. One had been given a reprieve at the 
last minute. An estimated 4,000 spectators crammed the streets of Mankato and 
surrounding land. Col. Stephen Miller, charged with keeping the peace in the 
days leading up to the hangings, had declared martial law and had banned the 
sale and consumption of alcohol within a 10-mile radius of the town.

"As the men took their assigned places on the scaffold, they sang a Dakota song 
as white muslin coverings were pulled over their faces. Drumbeats signaled the 
start of the execution. The men grasped each others' hands. With a single blow 
from an ax, the rope that held the platform was cut. Capt. William Duley, who 
had lost several members of his family in the attack on the Lake Shetek 
settlement, cut the rope.

"After dangling from the scaffold for a half hour, the men's bodies were cut 
down and hauled to a shallow mass grave on a sandbar between Mankato's main 
street and the Minnesota River. Before morning, most of the bodies had been dug 
up and taken by physicians for use as medical cadavers.

"Following the mass execution on December 26, it was discovered that 2 men had 
been mistakenly hanged. Wicapi Wastedapi (We-chank-wash-ta-don-pee), who went 
by the common name of Caske (meaning 1st-born son), reportedly stepped forward 
when the name 'Caske' was called, and was then separated for execution from the 
other prisoners. The other, Wasicu, was a young white man who had been adopted 
by the Dakota at an early age. Wasicu had been acquitted."<P>

Letter from Hdainyanka to Chief Wabasha written shortly before his execution:

":You have deceived me. You told me that if we followed the advice of General 
Sibley, and gave ourselves up to the whites, all would be well; no innocent man 
would be injured. I have not killed, wounded or injured a white man, or any 
white persons. I have not participated in the plunder of their property; and 
yet to-day I am set apart for execution, and must die in a few days, while men 
who are guilty will remain in prison. My wife is your daughter, my children are 
your grandchildren. I leave them all in your care and under your protection. Do 
not let them suffer; and when my children are grown up, let them know that 
their father died because he followed the advice of his chief, and without 
having the blood of a white man to answer for to the Great Spirit."

Reprinted with permission from the Minnesota Historical Society, mnhs.org. 
Letter source: History of the Sioux War and Massacres of 1862 and 1863, by 
Isaac V.D. Heard, NY: Harper & Bros., 1865.

Pavel S. Py, curator of visual arts at Walker Art Center, recalls first seeing 
Scaffold in Germany back in 2012. “I thought it was an incredibly powerful 
piece, which I read as a comment on the history of capital punishment and mass 
incarceration in the United States. I perceived it as a work that addressed a 
big issue. When I arrived at the Walker, at which point plans for the sculpture 
garden had already been completed, I had not foreseen how the work would 
resonate."

The artist was similarly surprised, and after meetings with Dakota elders and 
museum officials, all parties involved agreed that Scaffold should come down. 
Durant signed over the copyright of the piece to the Dakota people and left the 
fate of the sculpture in their hands.

"Of course the first reaction of many was to burn the wood," Leith says. "But 
working within the spiritual context of Dakota tradition and cultural values, 
we realized that using fire in a negative, destructive manner was not 
respectful of fire itself. Fire has a spirit, and it is much too powerful to be 
used in a destructive manner, especially in relation to this historical issue. 
So the decision was finally made to shred and bury the wood in a private, 
undisclosed location."

That decision did not sit well with everyone, including anti-censorship groups. 
Considered alongside the removal of statues of Confederate soldiers and 
generals throughout the South, it raises the question of whether art has an 
inherent right to exist or should be subject to the discretion of the 
community.

"It's a really interesting question that I believe everyone is wrestling with," 
Py says. "We are living in a moment in the U.S. where the culture is so 
polarized that it triggers very strong responses. These topics are also being 
argued on social media, which produces very rapid and loud exchanges that are 
not as productive as they could be."

However, both sides agree that had there been some discussion of Scaffold and 
its inspiration prior to the sculpture going on display, the furor may have 
been avoided. "Walker did not reach out to the Native American community to 
discuss this work. We failed in having those dialogues," Py admits.

"[Had] there been proper vetting and consultation with the Dakota community, 
there could have been an entirely different outcome," Leith says. "Having 
direct participation and involvement would have turned an injustice into a true 
learning opportunity, possibly with constructive outcomes."

But in the end, even that might not have been enough to save the sculpture.

"The scaffold, the only one of its kind in that day and time, is not art, was 
not art, and was never intended to be art or any other structure except that 
for which it was made - to execute human beings," Leith says. "There has to be 
a point in time where a community, any community, has to draw a line and seek 
to quell any affront to its culture, essence, and dignity. In this case, it 
needed to be done right away."

(source: cowboysindians.com)



CALIFORNIA:

Will lame duck Jerry Brown commute sentences of every single death row inmate 
in one of his last acts as California governor?

Robert Boyd Rhoades kidnapped 8-year-old Michael Lyons while he was walking 
home from school in 1996, stabbed him up to 80 times with a fishing knife and 
kept him alive for nearly 10 agonizing hours before dumping his body in the 
Feather River, just up the street from the child's home.

The 'Grim Sleeper' killed 9 women and a teenage girl over the course of 22 
years, targeting drug addicts and hookers and tossing their naked bodies along 
roads or in the trash.

And the 'Trailside Killer'  preyed on hikers along trails in state parks near 
San Francisco, telling cops that he reveled in making his victims beg in vain 
for their lives, before shooting them in the head, execution-style.

These are just some of the 744 inmates currently on California's death row.

But as Jerry Brown's tenure as governor of California draws to a close in 
January, capital punishment supporters have raised the specter that he could 
commute many, if not all, of the sentences.

On March 28, California's Supreme Court issued an administrative order making 
it possible for Brown to commute the sentences of grant clemency.<P>

Michele Hanisee, president of the Association of Deputy District Attorneys in 
Los Angeles County, told the Orange County Register earlier this week that this 
removes any impediment Brown may have faced. Before that, a governor had to get 
the approval of the majority of the state Supreme Court in the case of an 
inmate with 2 or more felony convictions.

"They basically have green-lighted the governor to grant clemency to 
anyone...and said they won't interfere," she said.

California has the largest death row population in the country, but only 13 
have been executed since capital punishment was reintroduced to the state in 
1978, with the last one occurring in 2006. Appeals that drag out for many years 
are common. Last year, there were 400 death penalty appeals pending.

CALIFORNIA SUPREME COURT BACKS PLAN TO SPEED DEATH PENALTY CASES

Despite its liberal reputation, more than 1/2 of California's residents have 
expressed support for the death penalty, striking down referenda calling for it 
to end.

Brown, a former Jesuit seminarian who as a young man demonstrated against 
capital punishment, made his opposition to it clear during his political 
campaigns, but also said he'd respect the law regarding it while serving as 
attorney general and governor.

Asked if the governor was considering commuting death sentences, a spokesperson 
for Brown told Fox News: "A request for commutation is a serious matter, and 
every applicant is carefully and diligently vetted. The Governor issued 
commutations earlier this month... California inmates can petition to have 
their sentence reduced or eliminated by applying for a commutation of sentence.

"To be clear, no individuals on dath row have received commutations."

Many families of victims of California's death row inmates have been outspoken 
about capital punishment, with some supporting it and others opposing.

Beth Webb, whose sister and some friends died in a 2011 shooting at a hair 
salon, said at a 2016 press conference: "Neither me nor my mom will find 
closure in the death of another human being."

Michael Lyons' mother Sandra Friend, told the LA Times in 2016: "From the first 
inflicted wound to Michael, it was 10 hours to the last one.

"For a grown man to inflict that kind of painful torture on a child - he got 
the right sentence. He got the only sentence that would bring any justice."

Kent Scheidegger, an attorney who argued for Proposition 66 - a measure to 
speed up executions -  said that anything is possible as far as Brown and 
California politics, but he believed the governor would not commute death 
sentences.

"Despite his personal opinion, he said he'd enforce the death penalty," said 
Scheidegger, who is legal director of the Criminal Justice Legal Foundation in 
California.

Scheidegger expressed concern about the state high court's order appearing to 
give Brown more sway over commuting death sentences, telling Fox News: "That's 
worrisome."

Since executions rarely have been carried out in California and elsewhere, some 
have called the death penalty symbolic, and pointless.

Scheidegger said he disagrees.

"It's important because there are some crimes for which anything less is simply 
not justice."

Some of California's more notorious death row inmates are:

--Scott Peterson, who murdered his pregnant wife, Laci. Prosecutors said 
Peterson began plotting his wife's murder after he began an affair with a woman 
named Amber Frey, who testified against him.

--Robert Boyd Rhoades, who kidnapped 8-year-old Michael Lyons while he walked 
home from school. Lyons' body was found the day after in a river near where he 
lived. Rhoades was on parole, and had been convicted on child molestation 
charges, when he kidnapped Lyons.

--Charles Ng, who along with an accomplice carried out a string of murders in 
1984 and 1985, including torture and grisly killings of 6 men, 3 women and 2 
babies. They killed the man for their cars and to steal from them. They turned 
the women into sex slaves and videotaped some of their crimes.

--Lonnie "Grim Sleeper" Franklin was convicted of killing 9 women and a teenage 
girl from 1985 to 2007. Detectives believed he may have killed up to 25 people. 
He targeted women who were young and vulnerable. They were drug addicts or 
prostitutes. He dumped their naked bodies along roads or in the trash.

--David "Trailside Killer" Carpenter, who preyed on hikers. He killed 7 people, 
raping some. Detectives said that he engaged in "putting the victims at some 
point in a position of pleading for their lives."

--Run P. Chhoun, the suspected leader of the San Bernardino-based Tiny Rascals 
gang, was found guilty of murdering Nghiep Thich Le, 48, and his father, Hung 
Dieu Le, 73, during a home invasion robbery in Sacramento; and Miguel Vargas 
Avina, of Pomona. Authorities said Avina was killed because Chhoun and his 
accomplice Sam Pan mistakenly thought he was a rival gang member.

--Richard Farley, a former employee of ESL Incorporated in Sunnyvale, stalked 
co-worker Laura Black for 4 years starting in 1984, sending her around 200 
letters over the period. Black obtained a temporary restraining order against 
him on February 2, 1988, with a court date for February 17, 1988, to make it 
permanent. On February 16, he shot and killed 7 people at ESL, and injured 4 
more including Black.

--Randy Kraft, known as the 'Scorecard Killer', murdered at the very least 16 
young men over a period of 11 years beginning in 1972. He is also believed to 
have committed the rape and murder of up to 51 other boys and young men. Many 
victims had been enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. He would typically ply them 
with alcohol and tranquilizers, before torturing, binding and sexually abusing 
them, before killing them usually by strangulation, asphyxiation or 
bludgeoning. He obtained his nickname after investigators discovered a coded 
list of 61 printed terms and phrases believed to refer to each of his victims.

--Ramon Salcido murdered 7 people, including his wife and 2 of his daughters, 
aged 4 and 22-months in 1989 after a night of drinking and taking cocaine. His 
3-year-old daughter, Carmina, survived, even though she was slashed across the 
throat, and was left lying in a field beside the bodies of her sisters.

--Marcus Wesson, the patriarch of a cult-like clan, was sentenced to death 2005 
for killing 9 of his children, many of whom were born of incest and sexual 
abuse. He was also found guilty of sexually abusing the daughters and nieces 
who grew up in his house.

(source: zlotonews.com)





USA:

Feds to seek death penalty against 3 defendants charged in 2013 slaying of 
Loomis guard Hector Trochez

Federal prosecutors in New Orleans will seek the death penalty against 3 of the 
6 defendants charged in a 2013 robbery that left a Loomis armored truck guard 
dead outside a Carrollton bank, according to court documents filed Friday.

The decision to seek execution for Chukwudi Ofomata, Lilbear George and Curtis 
Johnson Jr. required approval from U.S. Attorney General Jeff Sessions, who 
along with President Donald Trump has pledged to pursue the death penalty in 
more cases than the Obama-era Justice Department did.

There are a number of reasons why the government wants the death penalty for 
Ofomata, George and Johnson, Assistant U.S. Attorneys Michael McMahon and 
Brittany Reed explained in court memos.

Ofomata is singled out as the man who fatally shot guard Hector Trochez. The 
federal prosecutors also noted that state authorities have separately charged 
him in the 2008 slayings of Jarnell Sanders and Candice Gillard in a 7th Ward 
store.

Meanwhile, the filings state, George has demonstrated no remorse following 
Trochez's murder, saying he wished he had killed a specific, unidentified 
person and then planted his gun on that person to throw authorities’ attention 
away from himself.

George also is accused of participating in another armored car robbery in 
December 2007, outside a Capital One Bank branch less than a mile from where 
Trochez was slain. Robbers exchanged gunfire with a guard in that holdup, but 
no one was killed, and charges were not filed before the statute of limitations 
lapsed.

Additionally, George is fighting charges of illegal gun possession and 
conspiracy to deal heroin in a separate case, prosecutors said in Friday's 
filings.

All 3 men also are accused of willingly playing a part in a violent, 
well-planned robbery that left Trochez's family devastated, although no other 
crimes are cited in the document relating to Johnson.

Federal prosecutors have won several death sentences in recent years, but those 
punishments are rarely carried out. The most recent federal execution was in 
2003.

According to a review of online records, the last time that federal prosecutors 
in New Orleans received authorization to seek the death penalty may have been 
in 2005.

That is when prosecutors pursued the death penalty against 3 men charged with 
killing Orleans Parish Sheriff's Office Deputy Sidney Zaffuto during a bank 
robbery in Algiers in 2004.

One of those defendants ended up being sentenced to death. But U.S. District 
Judge Helen "Ginger" Berrigan ordered a new sentencing for him, citing various 
errors. He later received a life sentence.

Berrigan ruled another defendant ineligible for execution because of a low IQ, 
and the 3rd died in jail.

Since then, federal prosecutors have opted against seeking execution for some 
of the city's most notorious criminals, including Central City drug kingpin 
Telly Hankton as well as members of the violent 39'ers street gang.

Trochez, a Kenner resident, was gunned down in early afternoon 1 week before 
Christmas outside a Chase Bank at South Carrollton and South Claiborne avenues.

A group of people in masks fired pistols and a rifle at Trochez while he 
delivered money to the bank's drive-through automated teller machines. Trochez 
drew his .40-caliber service pistol and fired back, but the 45-year-old native 
of Honduras was shot once in the head and died.

The robbers took a bag containing roughly $265,000 and fled in a stolen 
Chevrolet Tahoe.

An unidentified witness followed the Tahoe to a home in the 1700 block of Adams 
Street, about 10 blocks away. The robbers ditched the Tahoe, piled into another 
car and fled. Investigators soon recovered the abandoned Tahoe.

With a few months, the names of two suspects, George and Jasmine Theophile, 
became public.

An April 2014 federal court filing said that George's DNA was detected on a 
screwdriver found in the Tahoe. The document also accused George of fleeing 
Louisiana with a group of men, driving another car belonging to Theophile.

Then, in November 2017, the feds unfurled charges in Trochez's death against 
George, Theophile, Ofomata, Johnson, Jeremy Esteves and Robert Brumfield III.

Prosecutors either didn’t seek or didn't receive approval to pursue execution 
for Theophile, Brumfield and Esteves. Theophile is accused of obstruction of 
justice and Brumfield of being the getaway driver.

All of the defendants except Brumfield had been arrested when the indictment in 
the case was unsealed, and they have pleaded not guilty. Brumfield apparently 
remains at large.

Trochez's family has kept a low profile in the years since his slaying. 
However, when news broke about the indictment, a Facebook page titled "In 
Loving Memory of Hector Trochez" posted a 2-word message in reaction: "Death 
penalty!!!"

Attempts Friday to contact attorneys for George, Ofomata and Johnson were 
unsuccessful.

A jury trial is tentatively set for Oct. 9 in front of U.S. District Judge 
Lance Africk.

In a separate but similar case, Loomis guard Jimmy McBride was fatally shot 
during a botched robbery outside a Mid-City bank on May 31, 2017.

Prosecutors had the option to pursue the death penalty against 3 men charged in 
that case. An attorney for 1 of the defendants has said the government 
indicated it won't pursue that option. But a notice saying as much hasn't been 
entered into court records.

(source: The New Orleans Advocate)