Death Row

Anything the state does that's related to the death penalty is bound to arouse the suspicions of partisans on both sides as they try to figure out whether it pushes Maryland's stalled capital punishment system toward revival or extinction. But the surprise move of the state's five death row inmates from the downtown Baltimore facility once known as Supermax to the North Branch Correctional Institute in Cumberland shouldn't arouse condemnation on either side. It simply makes sense. The circumstances give the shift a greater air of drama than it warrants.

At great political peril, George Ryan did the right thing. Not to canonize the man. After all, the then-governor of Illinois was later imprisoned on corruption charges. But that doesn't change the fact that, in 2000, stung that 13 inmates had been exonerated and freed from death row in the previous 23 years, Mr. Ryan committed an act of profound moral courage, imposing a moratorium on capital punishment. In 2003, in the waning days of his term, he one-upped himself, commuting every death sentence in his state.

At the time of her brother's arrest and trial, Patricia Booth-Townes supported the death penalty — "an eye for an eye," as she put it. Even after her brother was sentenced to die, she says, she didn't waver. She just didn't believe he'd committed that heinous crime, despite the evidence presented in court. But years later, while studying criminal justice at Coppin State University, she found herself researching capital punishment. She almost couldn't avoid it, she said, because her textbook mentioned her brother's case, which set a constitutional precedent for the use of "victim impact statements" in sentencing.

Gov. Martin O'Malley plans to sign a law abolishing capital punishment in Maryland next week, though a referendum effort may be on the horizon. O'Malley's spokesman Raquel Guillory confirmed Thursday that the death penalty repeal law is scheduled to be signed on May 2. Maryland will become the sixth state in as many years to abandon state executions. Five men, all convicted of murders dating back to 1983, are on death row. O'Malley, who pushed for repeal, has said the men's fates will be considered on a case-by-case basis.  Maryland has had a de facto moratorium on executions since a 2006 court ruling overturned details in the process for carrying them out. The last execution in Maryland occurred by lethal injection in 2005.  After hours of impassioned debate in the General Assembly earlier this year, lawmakers voted 109-76 for repeal.

"Kill the bastard. Somebody has to if I can't. " It's been a decade since those words flashed across Charles Poehlman's mind. He's in a better place now, he says, anger replaced by acceptance. He still wants the man who killed his 17-year-old daughter to die, but he's come to terms with the fact that the state of Maryland won't execute John A. Miller IV. But neither Poehlman nor Miller feels justice has been done. Poehlman believes Miller finagled a system that coddles criminals to draw out proceedings and escape the death penalty.

I find it very difficult to compare children losing their playmates to parents being bound, gagged and stabbed to death by a neighbor ("A sister arrives at a different view," Feb. 10). Whether John Booth-El wielded the knife or not, he still participated in a vicious attack that resulted in the deaths of two people he knew, and he is therefore just as guilty of their murder. Peggy Alley, Baltimore Text NEWS to 70701 to get Baltimore Sun local news text alerts

The five men on Maryland's death row were quietly moved this week from the hulking Baltimore prison once known as Supermax to a Western Maryland facility hailed recently as one of the most technologically advanced maximum-security prisons in the United States. The transfer to the North Branch Correctional Institution near Cumberland was carried out amid such secrecy that even now state prison officials won't give any details — not even which day the condemned men were moved.

Moments after Gov. Martin O'Malley urged lawmakers that "it is time to repeal the death penalty in Maryland and replace it with life without parole" during his State of the State speech Wednesday, a Roman Catholic nun famous for her repeal work resumed the effort to secure the votes. Sister Helen Prejean, whose autobiography "Dead Man Walking" detailing her work with death row inmates was made into a movie, planned to meet Wednesday with undecided lawmakers. She said she was pleased that O'Malley had created a simple framework that cast the death penalty as an ineffective tool that isn't worth using.

I am tired of watching African-American men continue to become tangled in Maryland's criminal justice system. I am tired of their treatment and the myriad participants in the criminal justice system who provide "new and improved" cures for social ills. Without improved opportunities created by officials with a commitment to exceptional educational systems for all students, young men are easily lured by the glitz and glamour of a life of crime. Few men with decent jobs commit crimes, and even fewer college graduates wind up in jail.

The Illinois Supreme Court ruled yesterday that former Gov. George Ryan had the right to commute the sentences of all the states death row inmates before he left office last year. The decision is the latest chapter in the debate over death penalty laws, which exploded in 2000 when Ryan instituted a moratorium on executions. He acted after it became evident that 13 death row inmates had been wrongly convicted. In January 2003, Ryan moved 167 prisoners off Illinois death row, commuting their sentences to life in prison.

Having won approval in both chambers of Maryland's General Assembly, a landmark bill to abolish the state's death penalty awaits only Gov. Martin O'Malley's signature before becoming law. It is a tremendous political and moral victory for Mr. O'Malley, a long-time opponent of capital punishment who campaigned for a repeal during his first term only to come up short. That leaves only one major item of unfinished business on his agenda regarding the issue: Commuting the sentences of the five men currently on Maryland's death row to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

Many of us believe that capital punishment, first used in the Province of Maryland in 1638, should have been relegated to the trash heap long ago. Politicians in Annapolis had overwhelming evidence of its costly and debilitating flaws for many years, but too many refused to attach their names to repeal. Even in a state where they outnumbered Republicans 2-1, numerous Democrats feared being labeled soft on crime if they voted to end state executions. Indeed, the longtime president of the Senate, a Democrat, offered to personally inject poison into a convicted killer.

Efforts to end Maryland's death penalty moved forward late Monday as the Senate squashed attempts to retain the death penalty for what one senator called "the worst of the worst. " Senators resumed an emotional debate they left off Friday evening, considering Monday whether to keep capital punishment for people convicted of murdering police officers or inmates who kill correctional officers. Both amendments, offered by Republicans in the Democrat-controlled chamber, failed by wide margins.

As Maryland legislators debate the repeal of the state's death penalty, everyone should go to see an excellent documentary, "West of Memphis," directed by Amy Berg. Sadly, three teenagers were falsely convicted of murders which someone else committed and they had their youth taken from them. Only because of the dedication of so many supporters were the three released after serving around 19 years in prison. However, they can't be compensated by the state of Arkansas because the government refuses to admit its malfeasance.

I find it very difficult to compare children losing their playmates to parents being bound, gagged and stabbed to death by a neighbor ("A sister arrives at a different view," Feb. 10). Whether John Booth-El wielded the knife or not, he still participated in a vicious attack that resulted in the deaths of two people he knew, and he is therefore just as guilty of their murder. Peggy Alley, Baltimore Text NEWS to 70701 to get Baltimore Sun local news text alerts

Sandra Richardson and Bonnita Spikes have much in common. Both live in Upper Marlboro and are churchgoing Christians who have worked in nursing. Both have dealt with the pain of losing people they loved in murders. When it comes to the death penalty, however, the two women are on opposite sides of one of the most divisive issues facing the General Assembly this year. Richardson, 74, hopes to go to Annapolis this week to testify against Gov. Martin O'Malley's effort to end capital punishment in Maryland as she did when the governor made a similar effort four years ago. She'd like to tell lawmakers about her 38-year-old daughter, Lisa Richardson, who was strangled at her Charles County home in 2001 by a man who received a life sentence in a plea bargain.

ANNAPOLIS -- Lawyers for death row prisoner Wesley Eugene Baker have asked the U.S. Supreme Court to hear his appeal, contending last week that his death sentence was illegal because the judge had no authority to hand it down. Harford County Circuit Judge Cypert O. Whitfill, now retired, had temporarily moved to Baltimore County but had moved back to Harford by the time of Baker's sentencing in 1992, said Stuart Robinson, one of Baker's lawyers. State courts have denied Baker's request for a hearing on the merits of his claim and Maryland's highest court ruled against Baker last year.

One night last month two incidents -- a music award and a killing -- pointed up the relationship between artistry and violence that defines Death Row Records, the nation's hottest producer of "gangsta rap" music:The debut album of Snoop Doggy Dogg, Death Row's charismatic superstar, took top honors at the Soul Train Music Awards. A few hours after the show, a 28-year-old fan was fatally stomped at a party the company threw for its out-of-town retailers and promoters.The slaying was the latest example of how Death Row's meteoric rise has been marked by violence and legal problems involving its key figures.