Post by Anja Nieser on Sept 19, 2006 17:45:04 GMT -5
federal death penalty
Death penalty jurors pay a huge toll, expert says----Jurors in federal
capital trials say that deciding whether a person should be executed is a
harrowing and unforgettable experience.
The 7 women and 5 men who soon will hold the life of Alfonso Rodriguez Jr.
in their hands all promised they could set aside their personal opinions
on the death penalty and decide the case on facts and the law.
But it won't be easy, many said in pretrial interviews with Judge Ralph
Erickson, prosecutors and defense attorneys.
"I think anybody who's a juror in this case is going to have a tough
time," said a juror who grew up on a farm and lives in Fargo, noting the
broad public awareness of -- and outrage over -- the abduction and murder
of Dru Sjodin.
"All of a sudden I'm supposed to put it in neutral, and that's tough to
do," he said.
The oldest member of the jury, a 71-year-old woman from Lisbon, N.D., said
2 sons told her Rodriguez "should be done away with."
Could she set her sons' opinions aside? Erickson asked.
"They say a lot of things that don't influence me," the retired
health-care worker said. "I'm pretty much my own person."
As to the death penalty, "I can't really say it's right to take another
life, but there are situations where it could be right," she said. "When
you consider some heinous crimes that are committed, it's fair."
1/3 of the jurors who serve on death-penalty juries report trouble
sleeping and eating during the case and for a long time after, said Scott
Sundby, a Washington and Lee University law professor who interviewed
1,000 jurors for his 2005 book, "A Life and Death Decision: A Jury Weighs
the Death Penalty."
Many said they would do anything to get out of another death-penalty case.
Their decision "often comes down to whether they believe the only way to
keep this person from doing more harm is to execute him," Sundby said.
"Jurors often are very skeptical about what 'life without parole' means,"
he said, "and they will vote for death unless they are absolutely
convinced he'll never be let out or cause harm to anyone in prison."
Other potentially critical factors, Sundby found, include whether the
defendant shows remorse, how jurors perceive the victim's family and the
effect of expert witnesses.
Rodriguez has shown virtually no emotion throughout his trial, and he has
not testified. Members of his family have tried during the penalty phase
to give jurors a portrait of a kind, caring but troubled younger Alfonso,
or Tito, as they call him. His mother, Dolores Rodriguez, especially seems
to have struck a sympathetic chord with some jurors.
"Family testimony can be very important," Sundby said. "Up to that point,
jurors probably viewed Rodriguez as this two-dimensional monster. All they
had heard about was this terrible crime and his past crimes, and they saw
him as something less than human.
"Just learning he has a mother reduces the chance of a death sentence by
50 %."
But jurors have heard from Sjodin's mother, too, and from her father.
Their continuing grief was clear despite restrictions Erickson, the judge,
imposed seeking to limit emotional appeals.
Jurors have also listened to a dizzying array of expert testimony, getting
graduate-level instruction in such subjects as DNA, neuropsychology,
pharmacology and mental illness.
3 executions so far
Since the federal death penalty was reinstated in 1988 in legislation
aimed at combating drug traffic (and expanded in 1994 to be available in
virtually all homicides occurring in federal jurisdictions), 192
defendants have faced the penalty.
In the cases where juries reached the point of choosing between a death
sentence and life in prison without parole, a little more than 1/3 were
decided for death (95 life sentences, 51 death sentences), according to
the Federal Death Penalty Resource Project.
There have been 3 executions: Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh and
drug kingpin Juan Garza in 2001, and in 2003 Louis Jones Jr., who killed
Army Pvt. Tracie McBride, 19, of Centerville, Minn., near her Texas base.
Most of the other cases are still under appeal.
All of the lethal-injection executions were carried out at the federal
penitentiary in Terre Haute, Ind.
Jones, a decorated Gulf War veteran, said that exposure to nerve agents in
Iraq in 1991 caused severe brain damage that caused him to rape and murder
McBride in 1995, bludgeoning her with a tire iron.
Attorneys defending Rodriguez are trying to persuade jurors in his case
that mental defects caused by exposure to toxic farm chemicals should be a
mitigating factor.
"Jurors engage in a moral balancing process," Sundby said. "The nature of
this crime and who the victim was cries out for moral redress. But hearing
the story of the defendant's life can cause a juror to pause and reassess:
'Gee, if I had gone through all that, I'm not sure I would have turned out
normal.'
"The argument most likely to resonate with jurors is that this individual
realistically never had a chance to choose the high road. They have to be
convinced he was consciously making these decisions."
As of June 28, Rodriguez was one of 62 defendants on trial or awaiting
trial on capital charges.
Nearly 3/4 of the defendants against whom the U.S. attorney general has
authorized federal prosecutors to pursue the death penalty since 1988 have
been members of minority groups, and defense attorneys have argued that
Rodriguez, who is Hispanic, cannot receive a fair trial in North Dakota.
Also, defense attorneys have called his mother and others to testify about
racist taunts he endured as a child, and mental health experts have
testified that such treatment at an early age likely contributed to his
maladjustment.
Erickson denied motions for dismissal on those grounds and for a change of
venue.
Name-calling, broken hearts
In 2004, jurors who heard the case against sniper Lee Boyd Malvo, who had
terrorized the Washington, D.C., area, fell into name-calling when
debating a sentence, the Washington Post reported. 4 jurors held out
against death, and Malvo was sentenced to life in prison.
"I couldn't understand how people sat in the same trial and didn't feel
the same way," said Susan Schriever, who favored execution. "I felt it let
the [victims'] family members down. It really broke my heart."
After a 2003 death-penalty trial in Florida, juror Marianna Basile told
the Sarasota Herald-Tribune that she had nightmares and woke up in a cold
sweat before joining in a unanimous decision for death.
"You've got someone's life in your hands," she said. "It's one of the most
important decisions we all made in our lives."
Nearly all the jurors in that case cried as they marked their secret
ballots.
The Rodriguez jury is expected to begin deliberating its life-or-death
decision later this week.
(source: Minneapolis Star Tribune)
Death penalty jurors pay a huge toll, expert says----Jurors in federal
capital trials say that deciding whether a person should be executed is a
harrowing and unforgettable experience.
The 7 women and 5 men who soon will hold the life of Alfonso Rodriguez Jr.
in their hands all promised they could set aside their personal opinions
on the death penalty and decide the case on facts and the law.
But it won't be easy, many said in pretrial interviews with Judge Ralph
Erickson, prosecutors and defense attorneys.
"I think anybody who's a juror in this case is going to have a tough
time," said a juror who grew up on a farm and lives in Fargo, noting the
broad public awareness of -- and outrage over -- the abduction and murder
of Dru Sjodin.
"All of a sudden I'm supposed to put it in neutral, and that's tough to
do," he said.
The oldest member of the jury, a 71-year-old woman from Lisbon, N.D., said
2 sons told her Rodriguez "should be done away with."
Could she set her sons' opinions aside? Erickson asked.
"They say a lot of things that don't influence me," the retired
health-care worker said. "I'm pretty much my own person."
As to the death penalty, "I can't really say it's right to take another
life, but there are situations where it could be right," she said. "When
you consider some heinous crimes that are committed, it's fair."
1/3 of the jurors who serve on death-penalty juries report trouble
sleeping and eating during the case and for a long time after, said Scott
Sundby, a Washington and Lee University law professor who interviewed
1,000 jurors for his 2005 book, "A Life and Death Decision: A Jury Weighs
the Death Penalty."
Many said they would do anything to get out of another death-penalty case.
Their decision "often comes down to whether they believe the only way to
keep this person from doing more harm is to execute him," Sundby said.
"Jurors often are very skeptical about what 'life without parole' means,"
he said, "and they will vote for death unless they are absolutely
convinced he'll never be let out or cause harm to anyone in prison."
Other potentially critical factors, Sundby found, include whether the
defendant shows remorse, how jurors perceive the victim's family and the
effect of expert witnesses.
Rodriguez has shown virtually no emotion throughout his trial, and he has
not testified. Members of his family have tried during the penalty phase
to give jurors a portrait of a kind, caring but troubled younger Alfonso,
or Tito, as they call him. His mother, Dolores Rodriguez, especially seems
to have struck a sympathetic chord with some jurors.
"Family testimony can be very important," Sundby said. "Up to that point,
jurors probably viewed Rodriguez as this two-dimensional monster. All they
had heard about was this terrible crime and his past crimes, and they saw
him as something less than human.
"Just learning he has a mother reduces the chance of a death sentence by
50 %."
But jurors have heard from Sjodin's mother, too, and from her father.
Their continuing grief was clear despite restrictions Erickson, the judge,
imposed seeking to limit emotional appeals.
Jurors have also listened to a dizzying array of expert testimony, getting
graduate-level instruction in such subjects as DNA, neuropsychology,
pharmacology and mental illness.
3 executions so far
Since the federal death penalty was reinstated in 1988 in legislation
aimed at combating drug traffic (and expanded in 1994 to be available in
virtually all homicides occurring in federal jurisdictions), 192
defendants have faced the penalty.
In the cases where juries reached the point of choosing between a death
sentence and life in prison without parole, a little more than 1/3 were
decided for death (95 life sentences, 51 death sentences), according to
the Federal Death Penalty Resource Project.
There have been 3 executions: Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh and
drug kingpin Juan Garza in 2001, and in 2003 Louis Jones Jr., who killed
Army Pvt. Tracie McBride, 19, of Centerville, Minn., near her Texas base.
Most of the other cases are still under appeal.
All of the lethal-injection executions were carried out at the federal
penitentiary in Terre Haute, Ind.
Jones, a decorated Gulf War veteran, said that exposure to nerve agents in
Iraq in 1991 caused severe brain damage that caused him to rape and murder
McBride in 1995, bludgeoning her with a tire iron.
Attorneys defending Rodriguez are trying to persuade jurors in his case
that mental defects caused by exposure to toxic farm chemicals should be a
mitigating factor.
"Jurors engage in a moral balancing process," Sundby said. "The nature of
this crime and who the victim was cries out for moral redress. But hearing
the story of the defendant's life can cause a juror to pause and reassess:
'Gee, if I had gone through all that, I'm not sure I would have turned out
normal.'
"The argument most likely to resonate with jurors is that this individual
realistically never had a chance to choose the high road. They have to be
convinced he was consciously making these decisions."
As of June 28, Rodriguez was one of 62 defendants on trial or awaiting
trial on capital charges.
Nearly 3/4 of the defendants against whom the U.S. attorney general has
authorized federal prosecutors to pursue the death penalty since 1988 have
been members of minority groups, and defense attorneys have argued that
Rodriguez, who is Hispanic, cannot receive a fair trial in North Dakota.
Also, defense attorneys have called his mother and others to testify about
racist taunts he endured as a child, and mental health experts have
testified that such treatment at an early age likely contributed to his
maladjustment.
Erickson denied motions for dismissal on those grounds and for a change of
venue.
Name-calling, broken hearts
In 2004, jurors who heard the case against sniper Lee Boyd Malvo, who had
terrorized the Washington, D.C., area, fell into name-calling when
debating a sentence, the Washington Post reported. 4 jurors held out
against death, and Malvo was sentenced to life in prison.
"I couldn't understand how people sat in the same trial and didn't feel
the same way," said Susan Schriever, who favored execution. "I felt it let
the [victims'] family members down. It really broke my heart."
After a 2003 death-penalty trial in Florida, juror Marianna Basile told
the Sarasota Herald-Tribune that she had nightmares and woke up in a cold
sweat before joining in a unanimous decision for death.
"You've got someone's life in your hands," she said. "It's one of the most
important decisions we all made in our lives."
Nearly all the jurors in that case cried as they marked their secret
ballots.
The Rodriguez jury is expected to begin deliberating its life-or-death
decision later this week.
(source: Minneapolis Star Tribune)