Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption

Summary: A narrative of the author’s work with the Equal Justice Initiative, representing death row inmates and other prisoners–people of color, the indigent, mentally impaired, and children–not always served well by our justice system.

Bryan Stevenson, a young black man from a poor community in Delaware, was on the fast track to a successful legal career as a Harvard Law student. All that changed after an internship in Georgia with the Southern Prisoners Defense Committee (SPDC), working with death row inmates, discovering that often one of his greatest gifts to them was simply listening to their stories. After graduation, he returned to work with the SPDC. One of the first cases, that he carried over into the new organization he show more eventually founded was to represent death row inmate Walter McMillian.

His investigation of McMillian’s case revealed a travesty of justice. McMillian was arrested months after the murder of a young woman killed at a dry cleaners. The main “witness” for the prosecution was mixed up in bad dealings with a white woman with whom McMillian, a black man, had made the mistake of having an affair. Ralph Myers, the witness, could not pick out McMillian and McMillian, in fact, had never met Myers. He was accused of forcing Myers to drive him to the cleaners in his “low rider” truck, where he murdered the woman. McMillian’s truck was only modified into a “low rider” six months after the murder. At the time of the murder, McMillian was at a family gathering miles away, corroborated by numerous family and friends. Nevertheless, he was found guilty. Because of a quirk in Alabama law, the judge reversed the jury recommendation, and sentenced him to be executed on Alabama’s electric chair.

Much of the book is Stevenson’s account of his efforts to appeal this verdict. In doing so, he encounters death threats, and a pattern of concealment of exculpatory evidence, including evidence that Myers’ testimony was coerced by the state. As you read, you find yourself shaking your head at the resistance of the justice system to admit its error, and do the right thing, and in fact the efforts of law enforcement and prosecution to send a man to death who clearly could not have committed the crime. His only crimes were being poor, black, and offending social norms.

Interwoven with the story of Walter McMillian are the stories of many others. He recounts the growth of the new organization he formed, the Equal Justice Initiative, not only in representing death row inmates but other indigent and mentally impaired clients, including those sentenced as adults while children. Often, these clients had lacked the resources for good legal representation that would have led to lesser charges, juvenile rather than adult sentencing, or even provision of mental health care that was needed. He notes the great cost society bears for all of this, even while prison privatization brings a windfall of profit to a relative few. He observes:

“One in every fifteen people born in the United States in 2001 is expected to go to jail or prison; one in every three black male babies born in this century is expected to be incarcerated.

“. . . Some states have no minimum age for prosecuting children as adults; we’ve sent a quarter million kids to adult jails and prisons to serve long prison terms, some under the age of twelve. For years, we’ve been the only country in the world that condemns children to life imprisonment without parole; nearly three thousand juveniles have been sentenced to die in prison.

“Hundreds of thousands of nonviolent offenders have been forced to spend decades in prison. We’ve created laws that make writing a bad check or committing a petty theft or minor property crime an offense that can result in life imprisonment” (p. 15).

Stevenson is not denying that in many cases crimes were committed. Rather, his contention is that justice has neither been equal, nor has there been mercy. In many cases, the race, economic status, and mental capacity of defendants deprives them of good legal representation, even while law enforcement and prosecutorial bias makes convictions all but inevitable, and often for far longer terms than crimes may warrant. Furthermore, given some of the egregious errors in capital cases that result in the innocent being sentenced to death, and in many cases executed, Stevenson raises the question, “Do we deserve to kill” (italics are the author’s).

This is not an easy book to read. Stevenson describes a world different from my own experience. I’ve served on juries and been impressed with the care given to instruct us on “innocent until proven guilty.” I know people in law enforcement and prosecutors who are honorable people. And yet, I consider the evidence Stevenson and others like Michelle Alexander present, and realize that the world I have experienced is light years away from the experience of some of our fellow citizens. In practice, we do not afford equal protection under the law for all of our citizens, at least not in all places around our country. We must ask if long prison sentences and mass incarceration of non-violent offenders really makes sense.

There is a lot of talk about American greatness going around. Our system of justice, at its best is, I believe, one of the great things about our country. When we pledge allegiance to the flag, we conclude with the words “with liberty and justice for all.” It seems to me that if we love the flag, and the country that flag stands for, then we cannot ignore cries for justice like the ones in this book. It is what we have pledged ourselves to.

Just Mercy is the 2017 Buckeye Book Community selection. Seven thousand first year students at The Ohio State University have received and are discussing this book. The author will speak on campus Thursday, October 26, 2017. show less

I think one quote from the book sums it up - Capital Punishment means people without capital are the ones who get punished. Although as some reviewers noted the book focuses on cases where Mr Stevenson won reduced sentences or even won overturns of convictions, but it's through those cases you really get to see how unjust our justice system is and remains. Yes people like Mr Stevenson have helped to make some improvements, in particular in juvenile sentences, but there is still so much more to be done. Unfortunately capitalism has made incarceration a huge private industry with all of its lobbyists to grease the pockets in D.C. to keep it as is. Very well written. If you don't mind putting the book down at night and sitting there angry show more unable to sleep, then it is a must read. show less

I was amazed by the empathy and dedication at work in this book. I also definitely cried at least once. I wasn't sure at first what I thought of the structure -- one overarching story of a particular case combined with details on trends related to death row cases -- but I thought he did a beautiful job of showing where all of the threads of his career tied together. And while the book is technically about his career, this must be the most selfless memoir ever written. I feel like I learned a lot of these issues and especially about the individuals affected, too.

This is an amazing book that is more challenging than it is comforting. I was exhausted while preparing a sermon on how we fail to love one another and care for the widow and orphan, so I went in search of a relaxing read. I thought this book, Just Mercy, would be a nice break. I was so wrong! I loved the title and did not read the subtitle until it was too late and I was too enthralled to put it down. The author tells stories of our broken justice system, complete with statistics and undergirded by research. Because he is sharing the stories of people he has defended, one man in particular, it reads like a story. The content, however, is not fiction, and that is very unfortunate. The system is broken, and it is only through efforts show more like Bryan Stevenson's and other groups like the Equal Justice Initiative and the Innocence Project, that steps are being taken to remediate the inequality of the current system. He talks at length about the absence of compassion and the need we all have for mercy and justice. I carried this book with me to bible studies and church meetings the week I read it and many quotes found their way into my sermon. I strongly recommend this book to anyone who cares about those accused, those ignored, those on the margins. show less

After working for more than twenty-five years, I understood that I don’t do what I do because it’s required or necessary or important. I don’t do it because I have no choice. I do what I do because I’m broken, too. My years of struggling against inequality, abusive power, poverty, oppression, and injustice had finally revealed something to me about myself. Being close to suffering, death, executions, and cruel punishments didn’t just illuminate the brokenness of others; in a moment of anguish and heartbreak, it also exposed my own brokenness. You can’t effectively fight abusive power, poverty, inequality, illness, oppression, or injustice and not be broken by it. We are all broken by something. We have all hurt someone and show more have been hurt. We all share the condition of brokenness even if our brokenness is not equivalent. I desperately wanted mercy for Jimmy Dill and would have done anything to create justice for him, but I couldn’t pretend that his struggle was disconnected from my own. The ways in which I have been hurt—and have hurt others—are different from the ways Jimmy Dill suffered and caused suffering. But our shared brokenness connected us. Paul Farmer, the renowned physician who has spent his life trying to cure the world’s sickest and poorest people, once quoted me something that the writer Thomas Merton said: We are bodies of broken bones. I guess I’d always known but never fully considered that being broken is what makes us human. We all have our reasons. Sometimes we're fractured by the choices we make; sometimes we're shattered by things we would never have chosen. But our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing. Our shared vulnerability and imperfection nurture and sustain our capacity for compassion. We have a choice. We can embrace our humanness, which means embracing our broken natures and the compassion that remains our best hope for healing. Or we can deny our brokenness, forswear compassion, and, as a result, deny our own humanity. I thought of the guards strapping Jimmy Dill to the gurney that very hour. I thought of the people who would cheer his death and see it as some kind of victory. I realized they were broken people, too, even if they would never admit it. So many of us have become afraid and angry. We've become so fearful and vengeful that we've thrown away children, discarded the disabled, and sanctioned the imprisonment of the sick and the weak—not because they are a threat to public safety or beyond rehabilitation but because we think it makes us seem tough, less broken. I thought of the victims of violent crime and the survivors of murdered loved ones, and how we've pressured them to recycle their pain and anguish and give it back to the offenders we prosecute. I thought of the many ways we've legalized vengeful and cruel punishments, how we've allowed our victimization to justify the victimization of others. We've submitted to the harsh instinct to crush those among us whose brokenness is most visible. But simply punishing the broken—walking away from them or hiding them from sight—only ensures that they remain broken and we do, too. There is no wholeness outside of our reciprocal humanity. I frequently had difficult conversations with clients who were struggling and despairing over their situations—over the things they'd done, or had been done to them, that had led them to painful moments. Whenever things got really bad, and they were questioning the value of their lives, I would remind them that each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done. I told them that if someone tells a lie, that person is not just a liar. If you take something that doesn’t belong to you, you are not just a thief. Even if you kill someone, you’re not just a killer. I told myself that evening what I had been telling my clients for years. I am more than broken. In fact, there is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can’t otherwise see; you hear things you can’t otherwise hear. You begin to recognize the humanity that resides in each of us. show less

"We're supposed to sentence people fairly after fully considering their life circumstances, but instead we exploit the inability of the poor to get the legal assistance they need - all so we can kill them with less resistance." - Bryan Stevenson

This work of non fiction deserves to be exalted and shelved in the Pantheon of Honor alongside "The New Jim Crow" and "The Warmth of Other Suns". Bryan Stevenson founded the Equal Justice Institute (EJI) in Alabama, to change the lives of death row inmates and then to go all the way to the Supreme Court to eliminate life sentences for juveniles. He tells shattering stories of Southern black men and boys, women and girls, who were railroaded into prison with no hope of freedom, until Stevenson and show more his colleagues at EJI took on their cases.

Most prominent and painful is the saga of Walter McMillan, accused of murdering a white woman while he was surrounded by friends and family, whose testimony was ignored as white sheriffs, prosecutors, and juries lied to get the conviction they sought.

The book is not only full of painful stories of injustice, but Stevenson shares his sorrow and rage as he keeps pushing against the uncaring racist tide. He is a true hero, not only for starting this critical work, but for growing it and for refusing to quit.

A must read, even though it might keep you up at night. Also a remedy for those people who love to tell you "My parents didn't own slaves, so why should I feel guilty? Why don't black people just get over it?" Tell them to read the brief chapter about an Alabama man charged with murder who was examined by a Dr. Ed Seger, who denied that the man was mentally ill, resulting in him receiving a life sentence. Dr Ed Seger was later revealed to be a fraud with no medical training who had performed "competency evaluations" for 8 years before he was finally caught. The black man with the life sentence was denied a new trial. And this is the tip of the iceberg in the South. show less

Humans have so many flavors of absurd cruelty. Expanding my awareness of one enrages, in fueling an inextinguishable simmer sort of way. But worse, it further diminishes my hope that we can ever exist in a less asshole-ish manner. Even when the messenger and fighter of this specific flavor is a clear beacon of hope. SO MUCH DISRESPECT FOR LIFE. Are we skewed beyond reach of a tipping point? How about within myself?

Breath in. Breath out. Do better.

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My work with the poor and the incarcerated has persuaded me that the opposite of poverty is not wealth; the opposite of poverty is justice. Finally, I've come to believe that the true measure of our commitment to justice, the character of our society, our commitment to the rule of law, show more fairness, and equality cannot be measured by how we treat the rich, the powerful, the privileged, and the respected among us. The true measure of our character is how we treat the poor, the disfavored, the accused, the incarcerated, and the condemned.

We are all implicated when we allow other people to be mistreated. An absence of compassion can corrupt the decency of a community, a state, a nation. Fear and anger can make us vindictive and abusive, unjust and unfair, until we all suffer from the absence of mercy and we condemn ourselves as much as we victimize others. show less