By Richard A. Webster
Washington Post
June 18, 2020
Three years ago, Louisiana Gov. John Bel Edwards signed into
law a major criminal justice package designed to reduce the state’s
overflowing prison population. The bill, which Edwards said would make
Louisiana’s title as the most incarcerated state a
thing of the past, has resulted in a 6 percent overall decrease.
One
part of the prison population, though, remains high: those serving life
without parole. Louisiana’s so-called lifers number nearly 4,700, more
than Alabama, Arkansas, Mississippi
and Texas combined, according to
the Sentencing Project. Experts blame draconian sentencing standards
and ineffective counsel. And unlike most states, Louisiana prohibits
inmates from challenging their convictions on either of those grounds,
permanently cementing their status.
That
could change, however, as the Louisiana Supreme Court considers the
case of Derek Harris, a 1991 Gulf War veteran who was prosecuted as a
habitual offender after selling $30 worth
of marijuana to an undercover police officer in Abbeville, La., in
2008. Harris, whose previous offenses included theft and dealing
cocaine, was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, though
he had no record of violent crime. Currently serving
his sentence at Angola, Harris is asking the court to reinstate the
ability of inmates to contest their sentences on the grounds that they
are excessive and the result of inadequate legal representation.
The
case is part of a larger movement, in Louisiana and across the country,
to reconsider the use of life without parole, which critics contend has
been unfairly used against minorities,
juveniles and those convicted of nonviolent offenses. African Americans
account for 73.4 percent
of all lifers in Louisiana, though they make up 32 percent of the state’s population.
Tough-on-crime
politicians, prosecutors and sheriffs take pride in the state’s high
number of people serving life without parole, boasting that in Louisiana
“life means life.” Attorney
General Jeff Landry previously said the state’s changes were “reckless”
and “dangerous” while emphasizing the “need for truth in sentencing,” a
term that typically refers to the reduction or elimination of parole
eligibility.
Advocates for reform had hoped Edwards would release some lifers, many of whom are elderly or chronically ill, during the coronavirus pandemic.
But like most governors, he focused his release efforts largely on nonviolent offenders.
“It’s
disheartening,” said Marcus Kondkar, an associate professor of
sociology at Loyola University in New Orleans. “Any serious plan to
scale back the prison population in this state
will have to confront the harsh sentencing practices that have sent so
many people to prison for most or the rest of their lives. And it will
also have to reckon with the thousands of men, mostly black men,
convicted of a violent offense.”
Edwards
provided a statement to The Washington Post highlighting the five
commutations he signed for people serving life without parole during the
pandemic. In addition, he pointed
to the 2017 criminal justice overhaul package, which allows for people
convicted of second-degree murder between 1973 and 1979 to become
eligible for parole after serving 40 years, provided there is a
unanimous vote by the parole board.
Louisiana’s
sizable lifer population is driven largely by its approach to
second-degree murder, which is defined by the absence of premeditation. A
common example is when a robbery
goes wrong and someone is inadvertently killed. Under the law, both the
person who pulled the trigger and the person driving the getaway car
can be charged with second-degree murder.
Only
in Louisiana and Pennsylvania is the punishment for such an offense
automatic life without parole. Those convicted of second-degree murder
make up more than 50 percent of Louisiana
lifers.
A
life sentence in the state used to carry parole eligibility after 10
years and six months until 1972, when the Supreme Court struck down the
death penalty. Legislators reacted by
pushing back eligibility to 20 years, then 40 years until abolishing it
altogether in 1979.
As a result, the lifer population exploded. Louisiana now has nearly
three times the number of people serving life without parole
than its entire prison population in 1970, according to the Sentencing
Project.
That
has created an older and more sickly population, which puts a financial
burden on prisons. Correctional facilities with high percentages of
older prisoners — who are not eligible
for Medicaid or Medicare — pay 14 times more for medication and five
times more for health-care services than prisons with younger
populations, according to Pew Charitable Trusts. During a 2019
budget hearing, the Louisiana Department of Public Safety
and Corrections noted that it spent $3.7 million a year on one inmate’s
pharmaceutical needs, a price that isn’t unusual for elderly or severely
ill patients, according to
various reports. It costs an average of nearly $23,000 annually in Louisiana to house a single inmate.
Advocates
for the restoration of parole eligibility point to studies showing that
after decades in prison, the majority of people no longer pose a threat
to society. A Louisiana State
University study of
offenders who have served decades in prison and were released by pardon
found that the recidivism rate was virtually nonexistent: zero for
those convicted of second-degree murder and 2 percent for those
convicted of first-degree murder.
Law
enforcement groups, though, remain committed to the current system when
it comes to violent offenders. As part of the state’s criminal reform
efforts, legislators considered reinstating
parole for those lifers who have served 30 years and are at least 50
years old. The district attorneys’ and sheriffs’ associations, both of
which wield significant political power, objected, and the proposal was
abandoned.
With
efforts to restructure the system currently stalled, the only avenue
available for lifers is the clemency process. In four years in office,
though, Edwards has approved 46 commutations
with 111 still awaiting his signature; more than 1,100 people applied.
Loren Lampert, executive director of the Louisiana District Attorneys Association, said the state’s laws are tough for a reason.
“At
some point, people have demonstrated an inability to function with
others in society without doing significant harm,” Lampert said. “Then
there is the general deterrent effect.
You did something bad, others see what happened to you, and decide not
to make that same choice.”
In
Louisiana, that policy often extends to juveniles. A 2012 Supreme Court
ruling eliminated the use of life without parole for juveniles except
for the “rare” and “uncommon” child
whose offense reflects “permanent incorrigibility.” Since that ruling,
57 percent of all juveniles charged with murder in the state have
received life without parole, according to the Louisiana Center for
Children’s Rights. Renée Slajda, communications director
for the center, says that’s a blatant violation of the Supreme Court
mandate.
“District attorneys are telling these kids, ‘You can’t change and become better people. You are never redeemable,’ ”
Slajda said. “That is fortunetelling and especially egregious for children because their brains are literally not developed yet.”
Claims
of excessive sentencing and ineffective counsel are two of the most
common grievances among lifers and the basis of Harris’ case before the
state Supreme Court. He alleges his
attorney failed to raise his military service and subsequent mental
health and substance abuse issues when arguing against a sentence of
life without parole.
New
Orleans Chief Public Defender Derwyn Bunton said this is a recurring
problem, as public defense is historically underfunded in Louisiana —
$59 million annually compared with $145
million for prosecutors. Most of that money is spent during the trial,
leaving little for the sentencing phase, Bunton said.
Because
public defenders lack the money to hire experts like a psychiatrist,
who could give context to someone’s actions and lead to a lesser
sentence, judges are given a one-dimensional
picture of their clients — and that compromises the entire system,
Bunton said.
Louisiana’s
public defense funding — which is raised through court fines and fees,
traffic tickets and seat-belt violations — has all but disappeared during
the pandemic. Advocates say that has further endangered public
defenders and the ability of the children’s rights center to continue
representing juveniles facing life without parole.
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