[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 127 (Wednesday, August 2, 1995)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E1585-E1586]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


    THE EXECUTION OF THOMAS LEE WARD: ``THE DEATH PENALTY IS NOT A 
                               SOLUTION''

                                 ______


                          HON. GERRY E. STUDDS

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                        Tuesday, August 1, 1995
  Mr. STUDDS. Mr. Chairman, earlier this year the House adopted 
legislation which severely restricts the right of State prisoners 
awaiting execution to challenge the constitutionality of their 
convictions or sentences in Federal court. If this legislation becomes 
law, it will increase the likelihood that persons who are unjustly 
convicted will be put to death.
  Given the apparent willingness of this House to embrace such a 
result, I wish to share with my colleagues a powerful and sobering 
article which appeared in the Boston Sunday Globe on June 4, 1995. It 
is an account of the execution of Thomas Lee Ward, a death-row prisoner 
in Louisiana, written by David A. Hoffman, a Boston attorney who 
represented him, without fee, through 9 years of appeals in the effort 
to secure a new trial.
  Mr. Hoffman's tribute to his client is one of the most moving and 
persuasive statements I have ever read on the evils of the death 
penalty. His client, an indigent 59-year-old African-American man, was 
executed by a criminal justice system that denied him a fair trial and 
then chose to take his life rather than admit its mistake. As Mr. 
Hoffman writes:

       Thomas Ward's case is a good example of the unfairness and 
     arbitrariness of our death penalty system in the United 
     States. . . . [O]ur legal system does not have any reliable 
     means of sorting out who deserves death and who does not. As 
     a result, the people on death row are often there simply 
     because, as in this case, they did not have enough money for 
     ``dream team'' lawyers or even competent lawyers. Or they had 
     prosecutors who, as in this case, withheld evidence. Or, as 
     in this case, the courts announced new principles but refused 
     to apply them to people who had already been tried. This case 
     leaves me more convinced than ever that, because we lack the 
     wisdom to know who should live and who should die, our legal 
     system should not be in the business of killing people.

  The case of Thomas Lee Ward is not an isolated occurrence. As the 
number of executions continues to increase, and as new barriers are 
imposed on post-conviction appeals, such stories will be commonplace.
  Two weeks from now, on August 17, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is 
scheduled to execute Mumia Abu-Jamal, an African-American radio 
journalist convicted 14 years ago of killing a police officer at a 
routine traffic stop. Mr. Abu-Jamal alleges that his conviction was 
obtained through police intimidation, a false confession, the 
suppression of evidence, and the incompetence of his counsel. He is 
seeking a new trial before the very judge who oversaw his conviction 14 
years ago. According to the New York Times, the judge has been ``openly 
contemptuous of the defense'' throughout the hearing, declaring at one 
point in the proceedings, ``Objection is over-ruled, whatever it was.''
  Mr. Chairman, people who commit heinous crimes should pay for what 
they have done. But when we condone the execution of defendants who 
have been unjustly convicted, it is we as a society who pay the price.
              [From the Boston Sunday Globe, June 4, 1995]

                ``The Death Penalty Is Not a Solution''

                         (By David A. Hoffman)

       On May 15, at 11:41 p.m., I said good-bye to 59-year old 
     Thomas Lee Ward, my client for the last nine years. Thomas 
     was an inmate on death row at Angola Penitentiary in 
     Louisiana. Half an hour later, Thomas was dead from a lethal 
     injection administered by prison officials.
       I spent the day with Thomas, as my colleagues and I spent 
     many days with him during the last nine years. This time, 
     however, instead of focusing on our appeals and legal 
     theories, we talked about his family. We looked at dozens of 
     family photos he had received from relatives during the 11 
     years he was on death row. Thomas has 14 children and almost 
     that many grandchildren. We spent two hours constructing a 
     family tree.
       While we talked, we waited for word from the US Court of 
     Appeals and the US Supreme Court, where his last round of 
     appeals was being considered. We also waited for word from 
     the State Pardon Board, which had scheduled a vote for the 
     afternoon. Earlier in the day, I had met with the governor's 
     chief legal counsel and urged commutation regardless of the 
     Pardon Board's decision. My colleagues in Boston filed the 
     last set of papers with the Supreme Court and stayed in close 
     touch with the courts.
       Thomas was not optimistic about the outcome. He had long 
     ago made his peace with the fact that his trial was botched 
     by a court-appointed lawyer who had not properly investigated 
     the case. Thomas never denied killing his father-in-law. 
     However, he resented the fact that the jury convicted and 
     sentenced him without hearing evidence about the family 
     quarrel that led up to the shooting. The prosecutor withheld 
     that evidence, and argued for the death penalty on the 
     grounds that Thomas was a child molester and lifelong 
     criminal. His lawyer never told the jury that most of the 
     charges against Thomas in those other cases were dismissed or 
     dropped. The jury sentenced him to death because they 
     believed Thomas was an evil man who had premeditated the 
     murder. Both beliefs were unfounded.
       By supper time, our appeals had almost run their course. 
     The phone rang: The Pardon Board had voted 3-2 against 
     commutation, and the Court of Appeals 3-0 against hearing the 
     case, with one judge expressing misgivings about the result. 
     Thomas shook his head gently as the news registered. As an 
     African-American with no money, he had never believed that 
     his appeals would be taken seriously.
       Separated by the bars at the front of his cinderblock cell, 
     we leaned toward each other and went back to the family 
     photos. In one, his 80-year-old mother presides over 153d 
     Street in Harlem, wearing a dashiki; in another, his daughter 
     Tarsha looks out from her office desk in San Diego. Tarsha 
     had written a moving letter to the Pardon Board to no avail. 
     One photo surprised me: It showed Thomas without the knit 
     skullcap and graying beard he had worn for as long as I had 
     known him.
       The prison warden arrived to supervise the arrangements for 
     executing Thomas. He asked if there were anything he could do 
     to make things easier--food, access to the phone, a chaplain, 
     anything. Thomas asked to use the phone. While he called his 
     mother, siblings and children, the warden confided to me that 
     this was his first execution and that, as a Christian, he 
     found it difficult. He wanted it to go smoothly and asked me 
     how Thomas was feeling. What a question! Resisting the 
     impulse to say something impertinent, I told him that, 
     considering the circumstances, Thomas was at peace with 
     himself and handling the pressure well. The warden asked me 
     how I was doing, and for the first time, I felt the tears 
     well up. I had kept a lid on my grief and anger all day, but 
     the warden had inadvertently pried open the vessel. I 
     reminded myself that, as Thomas' lawyer, I was supposed to 
     act professionally. I looked away and said, ``I feel like I 
     am losing a friend.''
       The warden asked me if Thomas
        wished to make a final statement of some kind. He wanted 
     Thomas' death to have some sort of meaning. I said I would 
     discuss it with Thomas later. My mind was focused on the 
     slim chance that the US Supreme Court or the governor 
     would intervene. Two days before, a federal district court 
     judge had denied Thomas' request for a new trial, but had 
     written that he was ``gravely troubled'' by the case. The 
     judge suggested that he would have granted a new trial but 
     Supreme Court precedent stood in his way. Thus, we waited 
     for the court to speak.
       Thomas' wife called. Linda Ward had testified against him 
     at trial and at the Pardon 

[[Page E1586]]
     Board hearing. On the phone that night, she told Thomas she had thought 
     the courts would stop the execution. Thomas ended the 
     conversation abruptly; he had no use for her remorse.
       We watched the 10 o'clock news: ``Time is running out for 
     death row inmate Thomas Ward as he waits for word from the US 
     Supreme Court. A vigil of death-penalty protesters continues 
     at the governor's mansion.'' We watched the report on the 
     Simpson trial--a study in contrasts. Thomas' lawyers were no 
     dream team; his trial lasted a day and a half. We speculated 
     on whether O.J. did it alone or with an accomplice.
       All evening long, a guard from the prison's ``tactical'' 
     squad sat by us, listening to every word and keeping a log of 
     Thomas' phone calls and activities. Thomas seemed used to 
     this intrusion, but I finally lost my patience and asked him 
     to back off so that my client and I could talk privately. 
     With squadrons of guards surrounding Camp F (the ``death 
     compound'' at Angola), there was little risk that we were 
     going to hatch an escape plan. The guard slid his chair to 
     the corner of the tier, but kept his eyes riveted on Thomas.
       One of the guards brought in a tub of butter pecan ice 
     cream, which we dished out into Styrofoam cups--the only 
     thing either of us had eaten in many hours. Thomas, a 
     diabetic, had been on a low-fat, no sugar diet--until today. 
     ``Do you want to write a statement?'' I asked. ``The warden 
     seems to think your death will have more meaning if you make 
     a statement.'' Thomas shrugged his shoulders and said, ``You 
     know how I feel--you write it.'' I typed out a statement on 
     the laptop computer I had brought with me from Boston.
      Thomas studied it through the bars, dodging his head back 
     and forth so that he could read the screen. He suggested a 
     few changes, and then said it was OK:
       ``The warden has asked me if I would like to make a final 
     statement. I do not wish to do so. I have asked my lawyer to 
     inform the press as follows: I am leaving the world at peace 
     with myself and with the Almighty. I feel remorse for the 
     things that I did. I hope that young people today will learn 
     that violence is not an answer. I hope that the legal system 
     learns that lesson, too. The death penalty is not a 
     solution.''
       One of the guards summoned me to take a phone call at 10:45 
     p.m. It was my office. The Supreme Court had turned down the 
     appeal. The governor had decided against commutation. A spike 
     of disappointment shot down my spine. I thought I was 
     prepared for this news. I was not. I was convinced that our 
     claim for a new trial was both legally and morally 
     compelling. I felt betrayed by the courts.
       All emotion drained from my face as I returned to the 
     cellblock to share the news with Thomas. He was quiet. He 
     nodded his acknowledgment that we had reached the end of the 
     road. He took off two rings and handed them to me. ``I want 
     you to have these,'' he said. ``One of them is my wedding 
     band. The other is just a trinket I picked up years ago in 
     California.'' I told him I would give the wedding band to 
     Tarsha (Linda and Thomas' oldest child) and keep the other 
     ring myself.
       At 11 p.m., the warden returned. I gave him a copy of the 
     statement, and he shook my hand and thanked me. The statement 
     obviously had more meaning for him than for Thomas. One of 
     the guards told me I had to leave because prison rules permit 
     lawyers to stay with their clients only until an hour before 
     execution. I asked for a few more minutes with Thomas. Under 
     the bulldog gaze of the officer, Thomas and I stretched our 
     arms through the bars and gave each other as much of a hug as 
     the bars would allow. We said our good-byes as we held each 
     other, and then I left the cellblock.
       A deputy warden told me that I would have to leave the 
     building and the prison complex. I asked him what would 
     happen between 11 p.m. and midnight; he said that, according 
     to prison regulations, only a ``spiritual adviser'' could 
     remain with Thomas until midnight. Since Thomas had declined 
     to meet with the prison chaplain, he would be alone for that 
     hour. The chief warden stepped into our conversation and 
     asked if I felt I could be Thomas' spiritual adviser. He 
     pointed out that Thomas considered himself an Israelite (an 
     African-American Jew) and I was Jewish (I had mentioned that 
     to the warden when he brought up the subject of 
     Christianity). I said I felt I could do that. Neither of us 
     was fooled by this collusion. He did not want Thomas to be 
     alone.
       I returned to the cellblock, but conversation did not come 
     easily that last hour with Thomas. He withdrew as we talked 
     about death. He wondered what was on the other side. He felt 
     confident that something better lay ahead. He told me he had 
     lived a long life--unlike his brother, who was stabbed to 
     death on the streets of Harlem at age 26. He said he had not 
     begged the Pardon Board to spare his life because his 
     diabetes was causing him to lose sensation in his 
     extremities, and he did not wish to spend his life as an 
     amputee in prison. He said he had seen such inmates in the 
     sick bay, and he described the way they were treated by the 
     guards as monstrously degrading. He said he was ready to go.
       At 11:41 p.m., the warden arrived with the phalanx of 
     guards who would accompany Thomas to the death room. I would 
     be permitted to walk by his side until we reached the witness 
     room. I was not on the approved witness list, and I had no 
     desire to be.
       We marched out of the cellblock, past a row of guards. No 
     one spoke. As Thomas was marched through the witness room, I 
     waited in an adjacent cinderblock room with a few guards 
     while the state did its work. I typed out my own statement to 
     give to the press. I hoped the press would be outside the 
     gate, but I feared I would lose my composure if they were.
       At 12:11 a.m., the warden, several guards and a lab-coated 
     official walked single file out of the death room. Everyone 
     stood up as they walked by, except me. I could not. A lawyer 
     for the prison system stopped at my chair and said, ``He 
     handled it well. He was OK.'' I thanked him for telling me 
     and left.
       The press talked with the warden in his office as the 
     guards ushered me out of the prison gate. There was no one to 
     give my statement to. The night and a dark road lay ahead. I 
     leave my statement here as a small tribute to a client and 
     friend:
       ``Thomas Ward's case is a good example of the unfairness 
     and arbitrariness of our death penalty system in the United 
     States. Mr. Ward, who was poor and an African-American, did 
     not receive a fair trial. My colleagues and I have worked for 
     nine years, trying to get Mr. Ward a new trial. But the 
     bottom line is that no matter how fair a trial he received, 
     our legal system does not have any reliable means of sorting 
     out who deserves death and who does not. As a result, the 
     people on death row are often there simply because, as in 
     this case, they did not have enough money for ``dream team'' 
     lawyers or even competent lawyers. Or they had prosecutors 
     who, as in this case, withheld evidence. Or, as in this case, 
     the courts announced new principles but refused to apply them 
     to people who had already been tried. This case leaves me 
     more convinced than ever that, because we lack the wisdom to 
     know who should live and who should die, our legal system 
     should not be in the business of killing people.''
     

                          ____________________