The Mechanics of the Death Penalty, Vividly Depicted By Men In Its Grip https://ift.tt/esVtJxz
Content Warning: This interview and the collection it references includes descriptions and discussions of capitalpunishment.
“How does one begin to tell the story of an organization that routinely outlives its members?” With that arresting question, Katie Owens-Murphy invites us to join her somewhere we may be reluctant to go: inside the minds and hearts of the men on Alabama’s death row. Ghosts Over the Boiler: Voices From Alabama’s Death Row is an anthology of voices that, as the very existence of their organization suggests, are ultimately silenced by execution.
This moving collection of poetry and prose provides a rare window into the world of death row writers while shedding light on the socio-political issues surrounding capital punishment. These literary writings also encourage a broader conversation on human rights, justice and empathy. Made possible through the partnership of Owens-Murphy and Project Hope to Abolish the Death Penalty (PHADP), the only abolitionist nonprofit founded and led by those on death row, the collection chronicles the PHADP’s inception in “Part 1: Beginnings” – marked by the execution of Cornelius Singleton (a mentally handicapped man convicted of murder despite an absence of physical evidence)– and culminates in the 2020 landscape with a section dedicated to “Botched Rulings and Botched Executions” (Part V).
Readers of Ghosts Over the Boiler should prepare to experience a powerful and complex blend of emotions. As I absorbed its pages, I found myself compelled to research the crimes each author had been convicted of and then try to reconcile their alleged actions with the humanity so evident in their words. Adding to the gravity is the realization that many of these voices belong to men the state of Alabama has already executed. The effect is nothing short of heartbreaking.
Behind this impactful collection is editor Katie Owens-Murphy, an Associate Professor of English and Graduate Coordinator of the Masters of Arts English program at the University of North Alabama (UNA). She serves as Principal Investigator for the Restorative Justice Lab at UNA and the state coordinator for the Inside-Out Prison Exchange Program. In addition to Ghosts Over the Boiler: Voices from Alabama’s Death Row, her work with people in prison has appeared in Humanities, Critical Criminology, Mississippi Quarterly and The Chronicle of Higher Education.
I spoke with Katie Owens-Murphy over email to learn more about her experience of editing this poignant collection.
How did you become involved with this project?
I began working with Project Hope to Abolish the Death Penalty in 2017. I had been bringing death row exonerees to campus to talk about capital punishment with our students, and one of our guest speakers was Gary Drinkard, who had been a member of PHADP when he was on death row. When I discovered their newsletter and began exploring back issues, I asked them if anyone had ever approached them about publishing their work in a broader, more public forum. They said no, and that they were very interested, as their mission is to educate the public about the death penalty. So we worked up a proposal for a curated collection, and I contributed an introduction, research notes and some interview material. All told, the collection took about five years to put together.
How did you decide which pieces in the collection to include?
This was difficult. I went through all of the back issues I could access. There are a number of early issues that are missing, and we only have hard copies. Most of the more current issues are digital and cataloged by an indefatigable volunteer named Brandon Fountain. Obtaining those earlier issues was a challenge, and once I did, we started an archive at the University of North Alabama’s library so that there could be a repository for the group’s work. They also began sending photographs, letters, records, and other documentation– that, too, made its way into the book. I wanted to use this group’s history and activism to tell a broader story about the death penalty and its development in Alabama over and against the story about the death penalty nationwide. So, I selected pieces that really spoke to the policy and practice of capital punishment, and that helped to propel that story alongside PHADP’s political resistance.
How did you balance showcasing the individual voices of the death row inmates with the need to create a cohesive collection?
I think the newsletters already achieve this balance very nicely. Each column or piece is a contribution by an individual author, but it is also part of their collaborative story. This organization tends to do a lot of collective reflection, especially during the anniversaries of its founding; they also engage in remembrance rituals, where they memorialize those who have been executed. The collection does try to capture a variety of authors, but some were more prolific than others, and some held executive-level positions (such as editor) that required them to publish regular columns. In terms of cohesion, I added contextual research notes that include cross-referencing so that a footnote in one piece will refer readers to a similar topic in another piece. I also worked with the editors at Vanderbilt University Press to standardize the formatting and regularize numbers and capitalization. Finally, I organized the material into subsections to help with cohesion, as well, but the titles of the subsections are in vivo: each title is taken from the language of a newsletter in the previous section in order to bind the material together more organically.
What do you hope readers take away from this collection, both in terms of their understanding of the death penalty and the experiences of those on death row, as well as their appreciation for the craft of the pieces themselves?
I hope that readers gain a fuller understanding of the mechanics of the death penalty, particularly in Southern states like Alabama. Discussions about capital punishment are almost always framed by questions of morality and whether or not a defendant deserves to die. This collection highlights the policies and practices that exacerbate inequality based on race, class and access to adequate legal counsel. I also think we are reluctant to think about the mechanics of the death penalty in terms of execution methods. Lethal injection, in particular, has created the illusion of a sanitized, medicalized procedure, but the accounts presented in this collection tell a very different story. Finally, I think it is important for those directly impacted by capital punishment – in other words, those facing execution – to speak directly to readers. PHADP members do a wonderful job of advocating for themselves, which the collection showcases.
What was your editorial process like for this collection? Were there any challenges or unique considerations, given the nature of the material?
Because each piece has a different author, the question of what to standardize or “regularize” was something I wrestled with quite a bit, which is something I discuss in the editor’s note. Occasionally, I would run into an error and have to decide whether or how to correct it. In most cases, I was not able to ask the authors what they meant because they had been executed. This is one small dimension of the emotional difficulty of working on this collection as an editor. Making my way through the back issues of the newsletter and creative writings of PHADP members, I felt like I came to know each of the authors – and then suddenly, they would disappear from the record because they were executed. When I see the names that appear in execution alerts now, I recognize them. This is part of the intention behind this work – to bring full personhood to each author so that we see them as more than the worst thing they have ever done or have been accused of doing. But it also makes this work pretty heartbreaking because all of the authors are facing the same fate.
Were there any particular pieces or authors in Ghosts over the Boiler that stood out to you? If so, why?
The poem that became the collection’s title knocks me out of my seat every time I read it. Darrell Grayon’s work is incredibly moving and poignant. The way that he depicts the lived experience of those on death row is just unparalleled because it captures the many impacts of capital punishment in such vivid visual and auditory detail – the officer who discovers the body of Preacher and “lights a cigarette and leans” as he waits for assistance; the “plaintive wail” of the person who has just been sentenced to die in the “mellow-colored” courtroom; the crying of mothers who enter and leave the visitation room. These are haunting glimpses. I also really enjoy Jeff Rieber’s pieces. I revisit his essay on volunteerism quite a bit because it presses on so many contradictions of capital punishment, which, as his essay’s title suggests, is part suicide, part euthanasia and part homicide when it comes to those who voluntarily give up their appeals. These authors are very talented thinkers and writers who have certainly shaped my own worldview.
How has editing this collection affected you or shaped your views of mass incarceration and the death penalty?
Until I moved to Alabama eight years ago, I used to be naïve enough to think that the death penalty was an archaic system that was on its way out. All of the states in which I had previously lived had either already abolished the death penalty or else were not actively executing anyone. My privilege was showing. Here, people are executed, depending on the year, every few months. We must continue to build a nationwide consensus around abolition because there is no sign of capital punishment slowing down in states like Alabama. Literature is a powerful platform for this type of consensus-building because it invites us to inhabit the perspective of the author. Editing this collection and working so closely with PHADP has also taught me the importance of amplifying and working alongside those who are directly impacted and who are already engaging in the work of self-advocacy. This work belongs to PHADP, and I am happy that it has allowed them to showcase their activism to the broader public.
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