The People's Press Conference Will Issue Demands To Governor Asa Hutchinson On Behalf Of Incarcerated Arkansans

The People's Press Conference Will Issue Demands To Governor Asa Hutchinson On Behalf Of Incarcerated Arkansans

LITTLE ROCK, Arkansas, July 1, 2020

For eleven weeks, Governor Asa Hutchinson has controlled the narrative through his daily press conferences. On Monday, June 1, 2020, the people take back the microphone.

In response to the state's lack of action to protect incarcerated individuals, we are demanding that Governor Asa Hutchinson take immediate action to protect our friends, family, and loved ones trapped inside the criminal injustice system.

On July 1, 2020, immediately following Governor Asa Hutchinson's press conference, the people

most impacted by the criminal injustice system will hold their own press conference on the front steps of the Arkansas State Capitol Building. Speakers will include formerly incarcerated advocates Kaleem Nazeem, Laura Berry, and Heidi Widder. Nazeem and Berry will offer some opening remarks and issue a list of demands to Governor Asa Hutchinson. Heidi Widder (released from an ACC facility one week ago) will share her experience, speak to the dehumanization of persons who are being incarcerated, and address the lack of action being taken by the department. Following the press conference, the speakers and others from

partnering organizations will deliver a list of demands to the Governor's office.

The People's Press Conference is a joint effort of the Arkansas Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, Arkansas Justice Reform Coalition, Arkansas Poor People's Campaign, decARcerate, and Seeds of Liberation is a weekly attempt to center the voices of those most impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic. For more information, visit www.thepeoplespressconference.org.

For More Information Contact:

Zachary Crow, decARcerate

zachary@decarceratear.org

Of Hosts, Guests, Gods and Philoxenos

Read Online at Open Door's Website I am a lover of language, particularly etymologies. The Greek word for hospitality is philoxenos, from philo meaning “love” and xenos meaning “stranger.” But what’s perhaps most interesting about the term xenos is that it can also mean “host.” So, in this one word philoxenos, there are actually three concepts all floating around together. Which makes the meaning a bit difficult to pin down. Perhaps it means love for the stranger. Or perhaps it means love from the host. Or maybe even love between the stranger and the host.

In ancient Greece, the practice of extending hospitality was associated with Zeus, the “father of gods and men,” the chief god ruling from the top of Mount Olympus. In fact, he was often referred to as Xenios Zeus, meaning “Zeus the Stranger.” It was believed that Zeus would visit in a stranger’s guise, testing humanity. And, because any stranger could be Zeus, there were many precautions one would take.

First, the stranger was to be provided with water for cleansing the feet. But it’s doubtful that the host would be the one to perform this act. More likely than not, it was done by the guest himself or was the work of a slave. Second, clothing, if needed, was to be offered to the guest. And finally, a meal was to be served. Until all three rituals were enacted and the meal completed, the host was not even allowed to inquire about the guest’s name, home region, or purpose of travel. The next morning, the guest was to be provided with rations for his journey and sometimes a guide to escort him until he had made his way safely out of the area. Occasionally, the stranger and host exchanged gifts, signifying a long-term alliance, and vowed to protect each other whenever one traveled in the other’s region.

In essence, these customs grew out of a desire to neutralize potential threats. Hospitality was about safety, both the stranger’s and the host’s. Strangers traveling in a strange land could easily fall prey to thieves or robbers. Many saw foreigners as threats and sought to mistreat them before they could do the same to the community.

This is seen quite clearly in Genesis 19, when the arrival of strangers results in mob violence

and the rape of Lot’s daughters. Part of Greek hospitality was a vow to provide the foreigner with protection, but this went both ways. It was also believed that by providing hospitality, the host was protecting himself. What if the stranger possessed magical powers of some sort? Or even worse, what if this was one of the gods in disguise? It was commonly held that a showing of abundant generosity might merit their favor. For this reason, the hosting of strangers was considered a gravely important task and often left to the leaders of a community, a notion that

Christ called into question every time he was hosted by those of ill repute.

These Greek notions of hospitality were deeply rooted in fear of punishment and retribution, beliefs that stand diametrically opposed to my understandings and convictions about hospitality as a Catholic Worker. Some of the rituals and modes of hospitality remain the same: the washing of feet in our Wednesday evening foot clinics, clothing routinely offered from our closet, and meals served throughout the week. But Jesus and the Gospel writers seem to be calling us out of fear and into the gift of community. It is on the road to Emmaus that the resurrected Christ, unrecognized until the breaking of bread, appears to two of his disciples. Luke leaves his readers to conclude that if we too, extend hospitality to the stranger, we may in some way experience the resurrected Jesus in our own midst.

We do not extend hospitality because the stranger might be Zeus waiting to punish humanity’s shortcomings, but because deep in our hearts we believe that “inasmuch as

[we] have done it to the least of these,” we have seen Christ enter into our home time

and time again. There, Christ checks his bag, receives a ticket, is dipped a bowl of soup

and sits among his people. May we only have the eyes to see.

Zachary Crow is a Resident Volunteer at the Open Door Community.

Executed Prisoners’ Last Words:Read Them and Weep

Read Online at Open Door's Website I recently listened to National Public Radio’s “The Execution Tapes,” an hour-long radio program originally broadcast in 2001, which makes use of subpoenaed audio recordings of executions in Georgia going back to 1983. It begins with a prison guard matter-of-factly describing the murder of Ivon Ray Stanley in great detail, and then come the voices of the executed themselves. These final words were almost more than I could handle: just a few simple words, and then they were gone. I found myself recognizing names and remembering stories kept alive in oral tradition by Murphy Davis, feeling connected in some way to these men killed by our state. But, while I found the recordings difficult to listen to, I continued, feeling as though listening to them was somehow important. In their final minutes of life, those who had been mostly kept silent by the state were given a few moments to speak.

As of this writing, Georgia has killed 53 men since 1983. Over the last several weeks, I’ve been scavenging newspaper articles and other online resources, tracking down their last words. For this article, I’ve tried my best to select what feels like a fair representation of the themes, thoughts and feelings expressed. Forgive my failure; it was a virtually impossible task.

Like Jesus, several remained silent before the state during their last moments. Ivon Ray Stanley, Alpha Otis O’Daniel Stephens, James E. Messer Jr., Thomas Dean Stevens, Nicholas Lee Ingram, Darrel Gene Devier, Ellis Wayne Felker, William Howard Putman, James Willie Brown,

William Earl Lynd, Curtis Osborne, Jack Edward Alderman, Carl Junior Isaacs, Mark Howard McClain, Brandon Joseph Rhode and Emmanuel Hammond declined the offer to make

a final statement.

Others cried out with the same pain as Christ on the cross: “eloi eloi lama sabachthani!” Some were filled with sorrow, others with remorse. Some resonated with the words of the prophets; others fumbled through. Some cried out for peace; others lamented injustice. Language itself is limiting, but here, at the time of their deaths, it was all they had.

For many Americans, a condemned prisoner’s last words offer a way of categorizing and further distancing themselves from “the other,” those they deem not like themselves. But if we learn to read and listen with the ears of Christ, with a prejudice toward love and liberation, these words have something to teach us, something about our own humanity. “I love the Lord, and I hope that you all love him, too.”

— Roosevelt Green Jr., executed January 9, 1985

“To my supporters, I send my — all my deepest respect. Thank you. It was — it has been due to your effort that I have received the degree of justice in my case. To the world, I suggest that people need to reach out more and help the needy and the homeless. To my family and children, I send you all my love, and I want you to know that I love you very much.”

— Van Roosevelt Solomon, executed February 20, 1985

“The poor . . . don’t have a chance because the courts don’t really recognize them. People look on them as between human and animals, but we’re all from the same creation. . . . This is the way America will always be. . . . Being born black in America was against me.”

— John C. Young, executed March 20, 1985

“I am Jerome Bowden, and I would just like to state that my execution is about to be carried out. . . . And I hope that my execution being carried out that it may bring some light to this thing that is wrong. And I would like to have a final prayer with Chaplain [inaudible] if that is possible.”

— Jerome Bowden, executed June 24, 1986

“It has taken me some time, but I have learned that I’m a part of everyone, and everyone is a part of me. And that no matter where I go or how I go, everyone goes with me.”

— Richard Tucker Jr., executed May 22, 1987

“I am a product of your creation. I responded as programmed. . . . You seem to think that executing criminals is the answer, but an overhauling of our entire society is the real answer. No matter how sterilized and sanitized you make this execution, it is still murder. . . . You are as much guilty as I am and will be held accountable one day.”

— William Boyd Tucker, executed May 29, 1987

“He asked me to be strong and to fight for the rights of others. . . . If he could relive that night, he would forfeit his own life rather than take that individual’s life.”

— Attorney for Henry Willis III, executed May 18, 1989

“I pray that one day this country, which is supposed to be civilized, will abolish barbaric acts such as this death penalty.”

— Warren McCleskey, executed September 25, 1991

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

— Larry Grant Lonchar, executed November 14, 1996

“My God has forgiven me, and I have forgiven all who have done me wrong.”

— Fred Marion Gilreath Jr., executed November 15, 2001

“If I had a million lives, I couldn’t say I’m sorry enough. . . And what happened in that case changed me so much. I’m not the same person I was 25 years ago. In our society, we hear and say, ‘What would Jesus do?’ You can believe I don’t believe Jesus would do this. . . . It allows no room for redemption. . . . [The death penalty] dragged the victim’s family and my family through living hell. It’s incredibly sad that we live in a society that feels it has to kill people.”

— Ronald Keith Spivey, executed January 24, 2002

“Amen.”

— Robert Dale Conklin, executed July 12, 2005

“I’m here because of a travesty of justice”

— William Mark Mize, executed April 29, 2009

“I’d like to address the MacPhail family. Let you know, despite the situation you are in, I’m not the one who personally killed your son, your father, your brother. I am innocent. The incident that happened that night is not my fault. I did not have a gun. All I can ask . . . is that you look

deeper into this case so that you really can finally see the truth. I ask my family and friends to continue to fight this fight. For those about to take my life, God have mercy on your souls. And may God bless your souls.”

— Troy Anthony Davis, executed September 21, 2011

Zachary Crow is a Resident Volunteer at the Open Door Community.