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The Sun Does Shine: How I Found Life and Freedom on Death Row (Oprah's Book Club Selection) Hardcover – March 27, 2018
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Winner of the 2019 Christopher Award
Oprah's Book Club Summer 2018 Selection
The Instant New York Times Bestseller
A powerful, revealing story of hope, love, justice, and the power of reading by a man who spent thirty years on death row for a crime he didn't commit.
"An amazing and heartwarming story, it restores our faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.”
- Archbishop Desmond Tutu
In 1985, Anthony Ray Hinton was arrested and charged with two counts of capital murder in Alabama. Stunned, confused, and only twenty-nine years old, Hinton knew that it was a case of mistaken identity and believed that the truth would prove his innocence and ultimately set him free.
But with no money and a different system of justice for a poor black man in the South, Hinton was sentenced to death by electrocution. He spent his first three years on Death Row at Holman State Prison in agonizing silence―full of despair and anger toward all those who had sent an innocent man to his death. But as Hinton realized and accepted his fate, he resolved not only to survive, but find a way to live on Death Row. For the next twenty-seven years he was a beacon―transforming not only his own spirit, but those of his fellow inmates, fifty-four of whom were executed mere feet from his cell. With the help of civil rights attorney and bestselling author of Just Mercy, Bryan Stevenson, Hinton won his release in 2015.
With a foreword by Stevenson, The Sun Does Shine is an extraordinary testament to the power of hope sustained through the darkest times. Destined to be a classic memoir of wrongful imprisonment and freedom won, Hinton’s memoir tells his dramatic thirty-year journey and shows how you can take away a man’s freedom, but you can’t take away his imagination, humor, or joy.
- Print length272 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherSt. Martin's Press
- Publication dateMarch 27, 2018
- Dimensions7 x 1 x 9 inches
- ISBN-101250124719
- ISBN-13978-1250124715
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- Despair was a choice. Hatred was a choice. Anger was a choice. I still had choices, and that knowledge rocked me. I may not have had as many Lester had, but I still had some choices. I could choose to give up or to hang on. Hope was a choice. Faith was a choice. And more than anything else, love was a choice. Compassion was a choice.Highlighted by 211 Kindle readers
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From the Publisher
How I Found Life and Freedom on Death Row
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison for opposing a racist system in South Africa. Anthony Ray Hinton spent 30 years on death row because a racist system still exists in America. Both emerged from their incarceration with a profound capacity to forgive. They are stunning examples of how the most horrendous cruelty can lead to the most transcendent compassion. The Sun Does Shine is both a cautionary tale for all who think that a great nation can easily forget its past and inspiring proof of the inability to condemn a man's capacity for hope, love, and joy. An amazing and heartwarming story, it restores our faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.” - Archbishop Desmond Tutu
“No one I have represented has inspired me more than Anthony Ray Hinton and I believe his compelling and unique story will similarly inspire our nation and readers all over the world.” - Bryan Stevenson, New York Times Bestselling Author, Just Mercy
“If there is ever a story that needs to be told, it is this one. Anthony Ray Hinton is extraordinary, an example to us all of the power of the human spirit to rise above complete injustice. He is using his experience as a way to turn the broken criminal justice system upside down. He is a brilliant storyteller, and his book will make people laugh, cry, and change their own lives for the better. It will also inspire people to never accept the unacceptable, like the death penalty. The Sun Does Shine will be a book that people all around the world will never forget.” - Richard Branson
"I've met Anthony Ray Hinton, and he's an extraordinary man. He stands out among exonerees (and I know hundreds of them) for his dignity and gentle soul encased in his massive frame. His story is important and compelling. Bryan Stevenson, a national treasure and central character in this story, fought tirelessly for over fifteen years and won a rare and landmark case in the United States Supreme Court. The Sun Does Shine is the gripping and inspirational story that the public has been waiting for." - Barry Scheck, Attorney, Director of the Innocence Project
“[The Sun Does Shine], collaboratively written with Hardin, is a troubling, moving, and ultimately exalting journey through the decades Hinton lived under the threat of death while an unjust system that refused to acknowledge mistakes failed him repeatedly.” - Booklist, starred review
“A memoir of spectacular grace...as moving and inspiring as memoirs get.” - Garden & Gun
“An urgent, emotional memoir from one of the longest-serving condemned death row inmates to be found innocent in America. ... A heart-wrenching yet ultimately hopeful story about truth, justice, and the need for criminal justice reform.” – Kirkus, starred review
“In this intense memoir, [Anthony Ray] Hinton recounts his three-decade nightmare: awaiting execution for crimes he didn’t commit. … Hinton’s life is one of inspiration, which he wonderfully relays here in bitingly honest prose.” - Publishers Weekly, starred review
"A testament to the power of faith and the strength of hope, The Sun Does Shine is an unforgettable and timely read that illuminates the long overdue need for criminal justice reform in America." - Bustle
"This powerful memoir is testament to a man who survived against all odds and showed how powerful the human spirit can be." - The Malestrom
"Hinton’s ability to speak about the injustices he faces with such poise and composure is his greatest gift."
- The Harvard Crimson
"A must for anyone involved in criminal justice. Suggested reading for anyone interested in learning more about death row and its horrors." - Library Journal, starred review
“The Sun Does Shine could be the most impressive book you’ll lay eyes on." - Houston Style Magazine
"Illuminating and emotionally powerful, simple and complex, and destined to become a classic in American prison literature." - The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“A shatteringly beautiful memoir…[Hinton’s] message is ultimately like a cold shower that sobers you up to the reality of injustice in the legal system, while also lifting you up as you consider the resilience of the human spirit.” - Lupita Nyong’o
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Sun Does Shine
How I Found Life and Freedom on Death Row
By Anthony Ray Hinton, Lara Love HardinSt. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2018 Anthony Ray HintonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-12471-5
Contents
Title Page,Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
Foreword by Bryan Stevenson,
1. Capital Offense,
2. All American,
3. A Two-Year Test Drive,
4. The Cooler Killer,
5. Premeditated Guilt,
6. The Whole Truth,
7. Conviction, Conviction, Conviction,
8. Keep Your Mouth Shut,
9. On Appeal,
10. The Death Squad,
11. Waiting to Die,
12. The Queen of England,
13. No Monsters,
14. Love is a Foreign Language,
15. Go Tell It on the Mountain,
16. Shakedown,
17. God's Best Lawyer,
18. Testing the Bullets,
19. Empty Chairs,
20. Dissent,
21. They Kill You on Thursdays,
22. Justice for All,
23. The Sun Does Shine,
24. Bang on the Bars,
Afterword: Pray for Them by Name,
Acknowledgments,
Notes,
About the Author,
Copyright,
CHAPTER 1
CAPITAL OFFENSE
But more so than the evidence, I have never had as strong a feeling in trying any other case that the defendant just radiated guilt and pure evil as much as in the Hinton trial.
— PROSECUTOR BOB MCGREGOR
There's no way to know the exact second your life changes forever. You can only begin to know that moment by looking in the rearview mirror. And trust me when I tell you that you never, ever see it coming. Did my life change forever the day I was arrested? Or did the life-changing moment happen even earlier? Was that day just the culmination of a whole series of fateful moments, poor choices, and bad luck? Or was the course of my life determined by being black and poor and growing up in a South that didn't always care to be civil in the wake of civil rights? It's hard to say. When you are forced to live out your life in a room the size of a bathroom — a room that's five feet wide by seven feet long — you have plenty of time to replay the moments of your life. To imagine what might have happened if you had run when they came chasing you. Or if you had gotten that baseball scholarship. Or married that girl when you had the chance. We all do it. Replay the horrific moments of our lives and reimagine them by going left instead of right, being this person instead of that person, making different choices. You don't have to be locked up to occupy your mind and your days trying to rewrite a painful past or undo a terrible tragedy or make right a horrible wrong. But pain and tragedy and injustice happen — they happen to us all. I'd like to believe it's what you choose to do after such an experience that matters the most — that truly changes your life forever.
I'd really like to believe that.
Jefferson County Jail, December 10, 1986 My mom sat on the other side of the glass wall that separated us, looking out of place in her ivory gloves, green-and-blue flowered dress, and her wide blue hat rimmed in white lace. She always dressed for jail like she was going to church. But a nice outfit and impeccable manners have always been used as weapons in the South. And the bigger her hat, the more she meant business. That woman wore hats taller than the pope's. Looking at my mama in this visiting room, you would hardly guess in her own Southern way she was armed to the teeth and ready for battle. During the trial and even on visiting days, she looked a bit dazed and bewildered by it all. She had been like that ever since my arrest a year and a half ago. Lester said he thought she was still in shock. Lester Bailey and I have been friends since he was four years old and our mothers told us to go out and play together. I was six then and far too old to play with a four-year-old. But even though I had tried to lose him that first day, he stuck with me. Twenty-three years later, he was still sticking with me.
During every visit, it was as if my mom couldn't understand why I was still in jail. Three months earlier, I had been found guilty of robbing and murdering two people. Three months since twelve people decided I was no longer of value and this world would somehow be a better place if I weren't in it. Their recommendation was that I be murdered. Oh, the sanitized way of saying it is "sentenced to death." But let's call it what it is. They wanted to murder me because I had murdered.
Only they had the wrong guy.
I was working the night shift in a locked warehouse when the manager at a Quincy's restaurant fifteen miles away was abducted, robbed, and shot. I was mistakenly identified. The police claimed an old .38 caliber pistol owned by my mother was the murder weapon. The State of Alabama claimed this gun was not only used in the Quincy's robbery and attempted murder but also two other murders in the area where restaurant managers had been robbed at closing time, forced into coolers, and then murdered. That old gun my mom owned, I don't think it had been used in twenty-five years. Maybe longer. I had never even been in a fight, but now, I was not only a killer but the kind of cold-blooded killer that would hold a gun to your head and pull the trigger for a few hundred bucks and then just go about my business like it was nothing.
God knows my mama didn't raise no killer. And during those months of waiting for the official sentencing from the judge, her demeanor hadn't changed from before I was convicted. Did she know I was one court date away from the death chamber? We didn't speak on it, and truly I wasn't sure if she was pretending on my account, or I was pretending on her account, or we were both just so caught up in this nightmare that neither of us really knew how to face what had happened.
"When are you coming home, baby? When are they going to let you come home?"
I looked at Lester, who stood behind her, one hand resting on her left shoulder while she held the phone up to her right ear. He usually came alone to see me, and my mom came with my sister or the neighbor. Every week, Lester would be the first in line on visiting day, stopping in on his way to work to say hello and put some money on my books so I had the essentials. He had done that for the last year and a half, like clockwork every single week. He was the first one there no matter what. He really was the best, best friend a guy could have.
Lester looked back at me and shrugged and then shook his head a little. My mom always asked when "they" were going to let me come home. I was the baby of the family — her baby. Up until my arrest, we were together every day. We went to church together. Ate our meals together. Laughed together. Prayed together. She was my absolute everything, and I was hers. I couldn't think of any big moment in my life when my mom wasn't right there by my side, cheering me on. Every baseball game. Before exams and school dances. Graduation. When I got home from work in the coal mine, she was always there waiting to hug me no matter how dirty I was. When I went to my first day of work at the furniture store, she was up early to make me breakfast and pack me a lunch. And she was there every day of my trial. Smiling up at everyone in that courtroom in her best dress with the kind of love that can just break a man's heart into a million pieces. She believed in me — always had, always would. Even now. Even though a jury had found me guilty, she still believed in me. I could feel the lump form in my throat and my eyes start to sting. She and Lester were probably the only people in the world who knew what I knew: I was innocent. They didn't care that the press made me out to be some kind of monster. The fact that these two people never doubted me for a second — well, let's just say I hung on to that like my life depended on it. But even if I were guilty, even if I had murdered those two people in cold blood for a little cash, my mom and Lester would have still loved me and believed in me. They would have still been right where they were. What does a man do with a love like that? What does a man do?
I looked down until I could get control. I had tried my best to keep my feelings and emotions in check throughout the trial because I didn't want to upset my mom. I didn't want her to see me cry. I didn't want her to feel my fear or my pain. My mom had always tried to protect me, to take away my pain. But this pain was too much for even a mother's love to contain. I couldn't do that to her. I wouldn't do that no matter how hard they pushed me. It was all I had left to give.
After a few moments, I looked back up and smiled at my mom. Then Lester and I locked eyes once more.
He shook his head again.
When you've known a guy as long as I have known Lester, you have a kind of unspoken language. I had asked him not to let anyone talk to my mom about my sentencing. My sister had wanted to sit her down and make her understand that they could put me to death and that I was never coming home. Make her face it and deal with it. Lester put a stop to all that talk. I would come home someday. I didn't want my mom to lose her hope. There's no sadder place to be in this world than a place where there's no hope.
When Lester came to visit alone, he and I could talk freely — well, as freely as two guys can talk when their every word is being recorded. We had a sort of code. But since my conviction, it didn't seem to matter much anymore. Time was running out, so we had talked about my options openly.
I put my hand up on the thick glass that separated me from my mom, and I readjusted the phone's handset against my ear. She leaned forward and stretched her arm out so that her hand was pressed against the other side of the wall that separated us.
"Soon, Mama," I said. "They're working on it. I plan to be home soon."
I had a plan. Lester knew it. I knew it. God knew it. And that was all that mattered. Now that I had blocked out all the sadness, I could feel the anger rising up through me and fighting to get out. It had come in waves ever since my conviction. Tonight I would pray again. Pray for the truth. Pray for the victims. Pray for my mom and for Lester. And I would pray that the nightmare I had been living for almost two years would end somehow. There was no question how my sentencing would turn out, but I would still pray for a miracle and try not to criticize it if the miracle didn't look like what I expected.
It's what my mama had always taught me.
Jefferson County Courthouse, December 15, 1986
It was nothing less than a lynching — a legal lynching — but a lynching all the same. The anger I had tried so hard to stuff down and pray away was back in full force. My only crime was being born black, or being born black in Alabama. Everywhere I looked in this courtroom, I saw white faces — a sea of white faces. Wood walls, wood furniture, and white faces. The courtroom was impressive and intimidating. I felt like an uninvited guest in a rich man's library. It's hard to explain exactly what it feels like to be judged. There's a shame to it. Even when you know you're innocent. It still feels like you are coated in something dirty and evil. It made me feel guilty. It made me feel like my very soul was put on trial and found lacking. When it seems like the whole world thinks you're bad, it's hard to hang on to your goodness. I was trying, though. The Lord knows I was trying. I had been all over the Birmingham newspapers from the time of my arrest and then throughout the trial. The press had judged me guilty from the second I had stepped out of my mama's yard. So had the police detectives and the experts and the prosecutor — a sorry-looking man with a weak chin, saggy jowls, and a pallor that made it look like he had never worked a day outside in his life. Now, if I had to judge anyone as evil in that courtroom, it would have been Prosecutor McGregor. There was a meanness that came out of his small, close-set eyes — a hatred that was hard and edgy and brittle. He looked like he could snap at any moment. Like some sort of rabid weasel. If he could have executed me right then and there, he would have done so and then gone about having his lunch without further thought. And then there was Judge Garrett. He was a large man; even in his loose black robe, he looked overstuffed and uncomfortable. He had a ruddy color to his cheeks. He preened and puffed and made a big show out of everything, but it was all a farce. Oh, sure, they all went through the motions. For almost two weeks, they paraded out witnesses and experts and walked us through the chain of custody and exhibits A to Z, all of which I guess gave legitimacy to what was already a foregone conclusion. I was guilty. Hell, as far as the police and the prosecutor and the judge and even my own defense attorney were concerned, I was born guilty. Black, poor, without a father most of my life, one of ten children — it was actually pretty amazing I had made it to the age of twenty-nine without a noose around my neck. But justice is a funny thing, and in Alabama, justice isn't blind. She knows the color of your skin, your education level, and how much money you have in the bank. I may not have had any money, but I had enough education to understand exactly how justice was working in this trial and exactly how it was going to turn out. The good old boys had traded in their white robes for black robes, but it was still a lynching.
"Your Honor, the State rests."
"All right, any witnesses for the defense?"
I watched incredulously as my attorney declined to question the second bailiff who had just lied about me under oath. I never told either bailiff that I knew how to get one over on a polygraph test. I had spent almost two years waiting for my trial — purposefully not talking to anyone about anything to do with my case — and now supposedly in the hallway outside the courtroom, I had confessed to a bailiff that I had cheated to pass my polygraph, a polygraph the State wouldn't allow to be admitted because it had proven that I was innocent? It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
My attorney turned away from the judge and looked at me. "Do you want to testify?"
I could see the bailiff smirking as he got out of the witness stand. Did I want to testify? They were about to sentence me to death, and nobody was speaking up on my behalf. There were things that needed to go on the record. My wrists were shackled and cuffed together, a heavy chain linking them to the leg irons around my ankles. For a moment, I imagined wrapping that chain around all their necks, but then I unclenched my fists and placed the palms of my hands together as if to pray. I wasn't a murderer. Never had been, never would be. I looked over at the jury, at McGregor, who stared back at me with hatred and self-righteousness, at the judge, who looked overheated and bored. I had spent a good many years testifying for God in church, and now it was time to testify for myself in this courtroom.
I nodded at my attorney. "Yes," I said, a bit louder than I meant to. Inside my head, I was screaming, Hell yes, and I accidentally banged my chains against the table as I stood up from my chair.
"Is there any way he can have these handcuffs removed, Judge?"
My attorney was finally doing something right. Fighting a little. I knew at this point it was more about saving face and winning something than about believing in me. When he was assigned to my case and told he would get paid $1,000, I heard him mutter, "I eat $1,000 for breakfast." He was going through the motions, but I knew his heart wasn't in it. He either thought I was guilty or he didn't care much one way or the other. I was just another file in a big stack of files. We had been together for almost two years, but he didn't know me. Not really. Not in the way you would want someone to know you when he holds your life in his hands. Still, I needed him. He knew that, and I knew that. So I was polite and respectful. If today went the way everyone knew it would go, I would still need him.
I held my wrists out to the bailiff. He smirked again as he unlocked my cuffs. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mom in the second row. Lester sat on one side of her, and my sister Dollie sat on the other. Our neighbor Rosemary was also there. I looked all the way over my shoulder as the handcuffs came off, and she gave me a little wave. I glanced at Lester and he gave me a quick nod. We had an endgame in mind.
I walked up to the witness stand and turned around and looked out over the courtroom. I was happy to be able to see my mom and face her eye to eye. She smiled at me, and I could feel my heart tighten. God, how I was going to miss her. No matter how big her smile, I knew she was scared, and all this legal mumbo jumbo might as well have been a foreign language. When she had left after that last visit, it had made her smile to hear me say I would be home soon sitting at our table and eating one of her Sunday afternoon cakes. She could bake a cake so good it would make the devil himself confess his sins and beg for mercy just to have a bite. Sometimes, late at night, I would close my eyes and see her red velvet cake with buttercream frosting so clearly in my mind, I swear I could actually smell all that butter and sugar. My imagination has always been both a blessing and a curse. It helped me get through some rough times growing up, but it had also gotten me into some trouble. Nothing like the trouble I was in now.
Every day since they had arrested me, I had thought, Today will be the day. They'll know I was at work. They'll find the guy that really did it. Somebody will believe me.
It was all some bad dream that I couldn't wake up from.
I smiled back at my mom, and then I looked over at McGregor. He had been glaring at me for two weeks. It was a famous tactic of his. Stare at the defendant until he cowers. Show him who's the alpha dog. Well, I wasn't a dog, and I wasn't about to cower. On the inside, I was scared to death. I wanted to go home. I didn't want to die. But on the outside, I had to be strong. For my mom. For my friends. Martin Luther King once said, "A man can't ride you unless your back is bent." So I sat with my back as straight as possible in that courtroom, and when McGregor stared at me, I straightened my back even more and stared right into his eyes. He was trying to ride me, all right, trying to kill me. And I wasn't going to make it any easier for him, or for any of them, than it already was.
(Continues...)Excerpted from The Sun Does Shine by Anthony Ray Hinton, Lara Love Hardin. Copyright © 2018 Anthony Ray Hinton. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- Publisher : St. Martin's Press (March 27, 2018)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 272 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1250124719
- ISBN-13 : 978-1250124715
- Item Weight : 1 pounds
- Dimensions : 7 x 1 x 9 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #382,038 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,156 in Criminology (Books)
- #1,285 in Black & African American Biographies
- #12,114 in Memoirs (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Born in Alabama in 1957, Anthony Ray Hinton was 29 years old when he was wrongly convicted of the murders of two restaurant managers. Held on death row for nearly 30 years he was finally released on 3 April 2015 after his appeal was taken right up to the US Supreme Court, which ruled that his case should be retried. Since his release he’s become a popular and powerful speaker, planning to devote the rest of his life to help counter discrimination, bolster justice and share his message of hope and forgiveness.
LARA LOVE HARDIN is a literary agent, author, prison reform advocate, and president of True Literary. Her memoir, The Many Lives of Mama Love is a 2024 Oprah Book Club pick and a New York Times bestseller. She has an MFA in creative writing and apart from her own book, is also a five-time New York Times bestselling collaborative writer, including the #1 New York Times bestseller Designing Your Life, and 2018 Oprah Book Club pick, The Sun Does Shine, which she coauthored with Anthony Ray Hinton about his 30 years as an innocent man on Alabama’s death row. In 2019, she won a Christopher Award for her work “affirming the highest values of the human spirit,” nominated for an NAACP Image Award, and short-listed for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize. Lara is also the co-founder of The Gemma Project, a gender-responsive organization serving incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women with integrity and compassion. Love Hardin lives in La Selva Beach, California.
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Thanks to his late mother and a very dear friend, Lester Bailey, who visited him regularly and helped him spiritually not to give up. Anthony Ray kept himself mentally alert by establishing a library for the prisoners on Death Row. His imagination also kept him sane during his long term on Death Row. His cell was near the execution cell where many of his companion inmates were electrocuted on the electric chair or gurney. He heard the screams and smelt the faeces and vomit during the execution process. It was a traumatic experience for him as he knew that despite his innocence this would be his fate. The Alabama State Court, its judges and prosecutors were racist and hated the blacks. They were also not prepared to even accept evidence to prove Anthony Ray’s innocence. The book is a strong, emotional read and we read how cruel capital punishment really is and how it achieves nothing to prevent criminal murders. One cannot help sympathising with Anthony Ray. It appears that the proportion of criminals receiving capital punishment that they did not deserve is also mentioned here. Eventually, Bryan Stevenson, an attorney sensitive to Anthony Ray’s plight took over his defence without pay as he was convinced of his innocence. After a legal fight over 15 years, Anthony Ray was acquitted and freed. After reading this book, one cannot help but feel strong empathy for those, who received the death sentence and of course for the writer himself. The book is well written and holds one’s interest throughout. A recommended read for those interested in human rights and justice.
If there are books and there are novels, this is a story. It’s a powerful story full of loss, love, pain, honesty, hope, and, ultimately, survival. There is, however, no redemption here. There was no reason to ever believe that Anthony Ray Hinton was guilty of these crimes. None. But that’s not what the legal system is all about. And ultimately it is only the system that can be redeemed. The rest is just human tragedy.
I have been a peripheral witness to the legal system for a long time. And I have known many who are intimately involved in the service of justice who can say little more in defense of the system than, “It’s the best of the alternatives.” That is seldom an acceptable standard for much of anything, but it should never be an acceptable standard when we are consciously and deliberately executing people.
The problems are not simple. Thugs walk free every day for the same reasons that people like Anthony Ray are wrongly sent to death row. Truth is seldom binary. Scientific discovery is a function of probabilities, not absolutes. Facts always exist in context and must be evaluated within that context. And that context is never as simple or as one-dimensional as it seems—or we would like it to be.
The system is over-worked, the ‘jury of peers’ that may have existed in an 18th Century New England farm town is an illusion today, and our politics and our legal system have been corrupted by money at a time when the divide between rich and poor is rapidly expanding.
This is a story with elements of legal injustice, racism, and the plight of the poor. But none of these exist in isolation or is as personal, in the end, as we make them out to be. All of these things do exist at a personal level. The cause and effect, however, are structural. And that’s where both the injustice starts and where it must be confronted.
The author claims that one in ten prisoners sitting on death row today is innocent. If you doubt that I encourage you to go to your local courthouse today and observe a trial in process. You will find a lot of hard-working people; some good and some bad. But you will not find a search for truth. You will find an urgent commitment to justice as defined by the institution itself.
In the end, this is Anthony Ray Hinton’s story. And it is beautifully and simply told by Anthony Ray and Lara Love Hardin. It is, however, a story about us. We are the context. Anthony Ray and the people around him simply shine a light inside the institution that we live within. But it’s up to us to open our eyes and see. “The sun does shine.” But you have to open your eyes to see it. And that, ultimately, is the message of this book.
This is more than a must read. If this book does not become a best seller, shame on us; things are worse than I feared. It’s that important.
Top reviews from other countries
Ray's story, alas, is not unique. Another innocent black man, Roger Mc Gowen, has been incarcerated for more than 20 years in anothet USA grim prison. His story, written with Swiss writer Pierre Pradervand, under the title: "Messages of life from death row" is equally inspiring.
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Comment peut-on arriver à pardonner d’avoir été condamné à mort à 28 ans pour un double crime non commis, sans aucune preuve, après être passer au détecteur de mensonges et en ayant un alibi ? d’être resté dans le couloir de la mort pendant 30 ans avant d’être libéré ?
Incompréhension, rage et désespoir sont la trame de cet émouvant récit dans lequel l’auteur révèle les injustices du système judiciaire américain sur fond de racisme en Alabama. Anthony Ray Hinton n’a jamais cessé de croire qu’il sortirait un jour.
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Depuis 1973 aux USA, plus de 160 personnes ont été libérées du couloir de la mort grâce aux preuves de leur innocence. Entre 1973 et 1999, il y a eu en moyenne 3 libérations par an. Entre 2000 et 2011, il y a eu environ 5 libérations par an.
Sources: deathpenaltyinfo.org