death sentence

Courage in politics is rare.

It’s especially difficult and fraught for a politician such as Gavin Newsom, who has Oval Office ambitions and everything to lose from a misstep. Playing it safe is playing it smart.

On Thursday, Newsom took what can only be described as a courageous stand, a risky stand — commuting the death sentences of the 548 men and women condemned to die in California, and instead seeking to change their sentences to life without parole.

Many people will stop reading right now because honestly, do you care what happens to those on death row? They’ve raped, murdered, robbed, tortured — you name the heinous crime, one of them has done it. They are not the most sympathetic lot, and in truth many of us have ambivalent feelings on the death penalty.

It’s that ambivalence, that uncertainty, that makes Newsom’s move so interesting. We are in the most unlikely of moments — witnessing a self-inflicted test of political endurance from a savvy politician who didn’t need to go there. What happens in these strange days when a presidential hopeful takes an unnecessary risk simply because he believes it’s the right thing to do?

Newsom will be roasted by those claiming to be tough-on-crime types. They predictably will cry that he is circumventing the will of the people and disrespecting crime victims and juries. Some will say he cares more about criminals than victims. Fox News is going to have a field day.

Newsom has publicly pondered this decision for some time, calling it a “rocking chair” choice, one he’s likely to look back on someday to judge whether he lived up to his own ideals. He has said he is morally opposed to the state killing to prove killing is bad. As he terms out of office, he had only a couple of months left to take action on that belief before the power to end the largest death row in the Western Hemisphere slips out of his hands.

“Faithfulness to our values is measured by how we act when it’s most difficult to uphold them,” Newsom wrote in a letter to Californians announcing his decision. This, he said, was one of those moments for him.

“Americans are looking for leadership that is more principled,” civil rights attorney Bryan Stevenson told me, arguing Newsom’s move is actually in sync with the electorate. Stevenson is one of the people Newsom has talked to about the death penalty, and the founder of the Legacy Museum in Alabama, which traces the line from slavery to mass incarceration.

The shocking blue-wave midterms showed that Americans aren’t just tired of cruelty for cruelty’s sake, he said. They are tired of injustice, tired of selfish, self-serving leaders, tired of fearing that their own government might crush them simply because it can.

Across the country, voters elected political leaders who stood for something — who bucked the trends to run on their values and vision of a better America, even if it wasn’t mainstream or safe.

So whether Americans agree with Newsom’s decision to commute these sentences to life without parole or not, voters are at a moment when I suspect, as Stevenson does, that they may embrace his courage to stand for something, even if they don’t agree with what that something is.

The death penalty is the ultimate expression of that power of government to crush. Support for it has been mixed for years, even among liberals — though young people are less likely to back it. It has been banned in nearly every Western democracy including almost all of Europe, Canada and New Zealand.

Twenty-seven U.S. states either have abolished it or have gubernatorial moratoriums on it (Newsom enacted one in California a few years ago). And President Biden commuted the death sentences of most federal inmates in his final days of office, as have several other governors over the years.

There also has been a growing understanding in the U.S. that race bias is baked into how we use the death penalty. Black and brown people make up the majority of those on death row, and crimes in which the victim is white are more likely to draw the death sentence — even when we get it wrong.

More than 200 people on death row have been exonerated across the United States since the 1970s — including eight in California — meaning that for every eight people we have put to death, there has been one other who was going to be killed by the state until we figured out they were innocent.

So while there’s a moral argument to be made against the state killing people to prove killing people is wrong, there’s also a practical one: It turns out we’re really bad at imposing a lethal sentence fairly, or even correctly.

Vicente Benavides Figueroa is proof of that. After 25 years on death row, the justice system finally realized it had made a terrible error in his conviction. Figueroa wasn’t just railroaded into a lethal sentence — for the murder, rape and sodomy of a toddler — the crime itself likely never actually happened.

Figueroa was a seasonal farmworker, a Mexican immigrant with less than a high school education, who was watching his girlfriend’s kids in the Central Valley in 1991 when he lost track of the youngest, Consuelo, for 15 minutes. When he found her, she was in the front yard, unresponsive and vomiting.

One thing led to another — a “reckless” investigation, as his civil attorney Salomon Zavala, describes it; faulty translators; a mostly white jury who werefar from his peers; and erroneous medical testimony — and Figueroa was convicted. The machine of justice was so grinding that Figueroa did not understand he had been sentenced to death until he got to San Quentin.

Decades later, the doctors who claimed Consuelo was raped and sodomized would realize the injuries were likely because of trauma from medical workers attempting to insert an adult-sized catheter. They recanted. New experts, hired by the defense, theorized the child had been hit by a car, causing the extensive internal injuries that killed her. The witnesses now agreed the child never had been raped or sodomized.

Figueroa’s conviction was overturned by the state Supreme Court in 2018, citing false evidence in the original trial.

“No matter what your moral position is on the death penalty, I think we have to look at it from a standpoint of institutional responsibility,” Zavala, the lawyer, told me. “We have to really think about whether we, as a society, are comfortable with executing someone that could potentially be innocent.”

I’m of the mind that erroneously killing one person in the name of justice is one too many — that the death penalty is an unacceptable risk.

I take nothing away from, nor mean to diminish, the importance or pain of any victim, their story or their point of view. Their pain is real and enduring, and surely there will be some who feel Newsom’s decision robs them of some sort of final resolution.

But pain cannot define justice.

It’s easy to forget that Newsom is married to a survivor of violent crime, and knows as well as anyone how complicated and difficult and personal the journey to recovery is, and how that suffering affects not just victims, but also families and communities.

But whether or not the state should be in the business of killing has to be a bigger decision that we consider collectively in moments when we are not in distress.

Newsom’s decision does that, seeking to go beyond “these performative sentences that just represent a lot of fear and anger,” Stevenson said, and move our justice system toward one that lives up to the ideal of promoting safety and fairness over vengeance. And even then, the state Supreme Court will have a say in the majority of these clemencies, since Newsom needs their approval in cases where there are repeat felonies.

But it’s a can of worms he didn’t have to open — the clearest statement we’ll ever get of who Newsom is as a leader.

And it’s a welcome reminder that sometimes, occasionally, values still have a place in politics.

With not-terrible odds heading into the 2028 Democratic primaries, Gov. Gavin Newsom is getting one shared warning whispered in his ear by roughly 3,729 political consultants right now: Do not mess with the murderers.

Do not, under any circumstance, follow that inner voice that may be telling you to commute the death sentences of the 563 killers on California’s death row to life without parole, as Newsom recently admitted he was considering. Doing so would be a stupid move for an Oval Office wannabe, one already hobbled by the progressive persona of the Golden State.

“I’m getting all those people in my ear,” Newsom said during a podcast conversation with Bryan Stevenson, one of the preeminent death penalty lawyers in the country. “Don’t do it. Politics.”

Newsom already dismantled San Quentin’s execution chamber a few years ago, so the state can’t kill people even if it wanted to. But the governor has made it clear that he opposes the death penalty in principle because every year the evidence mounts that its implementation is flawed and racially biased. As he put it, the decision on commuting the largest death row in the Western Hemisphere may be his “rocking chair test,” a measure of whether he will have lived up to his own ideals when he looks back on his life.

Most other western countries have already banned the death penalty, leaving the U.S. in the company of places including North Korea and Libya when it comes to this punishment. Twenty-three states have abolished it, and three besides California have a moratorium. Nine governors over the years have commuted their entire death row, including one Republican. In 2024, on his way out of office, President Biden commuted the death sentences of 37 federal prisoners, in part, Stevenson said, to prevent the Trump administration from using executions as theater.

But none of that is why Newsom should do it.

He should do it because we, the voters, are exhausted by the venality of politicians whose every move is controlled by politics and self-dealing. We need to believe that conscience is not a relic of America’s past, and roll reality back to a time when, occasionally, leaders acted because they believed in something, even if it wasn’t popular.

He should do it because our president glorifies violence and death (more on that in a moment) and people need a reminder that the America of hope and dreams, the America that always strives to be better, may be down, but she’s not out.

He should do it simply because he thinks it’s right.

“A lot of people in this country want a leader who is not trying to promote themselves, who’s not trying to advance themselves, is not always scheming for the angles and the corners,” Stevenson told me. “That’s not trying to just do what makes them get the most votes.”

Showing mercy to murderers historically has not been popular with voters. The tale of Willie Horton, the convicted murderer whose subsequent felonies tanked the 1988 presidential ambitions of then-Massachusetts Gov. Michael Dukakis, is still invoked like a Biblical lesson about the sin of soft-on-crime.

Horton’s warning happened during what now seems like the benign and civilized days of the President George H.W. Bush era, though. This moment is different, and all the advice about dodging this dodgy issue is now wrong.

America is increasingly in the death business, to steal a phrase from the late Supreme Court Justice Harry Blackmun — or at least our leaders are. Under the Trump administration, brutality, cruelty, corruption and even killings are being used as misguided and ugly proxies for strength and power. Fear is a weapon, death the point — the state can kill you if you make its leaders mad.

“It’s a handful of people whose view of the social order is very violent. It uses power. It abuses power. They think death is good for demonstrating strength,” Stevenson said.

Think that sounds overblown?

Just ask the family of Renee Good. Or Alex Pretti. Both Americans were killed by masked federal officers only 10 months ago. But so many other deaths have happened since then, they’re just ghosts in our collective psyche — haunting reminders that faceless, nameless agents are now empowered to roam our streets.

Most of us can no longer place the name Nurul Amin Shah Alam, the near-blind Rohingya refugee dumped by federal agents in the freezing cold on a February night. He was found dead five days later, his passing ruled a homicide.

Do you remember Lorenzo Salgado Araujo? Or Johan Sebastián Duran Guerrero? That’s what the business of death does, normalizes killings until they blend and fade in significance.

What about the 120 Iranian children, many of them little girls, who were killed when the U.S. bombed their school?

Then there are the roughly 238 people who have been executed by U.S. bombings of boats in the Caribbean and Pacific, allegedly while transporting drugs, though the killings took place with no arrests, no trials and no real evidence. Four of those killings happened in October, though they barely made news.

And there is the profiteering from death — the talk of resorts on the shores of Gaza, the government money saved by Elon Musk cutting off aid to starving children.

Now, if Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has his way, a year that began with televised footage of the death of Good and Pretti will end with the live-streamed execution of Nidal Hasan, the paralyzed, wheelchair-using former Army psychiatrist who 17 years ago killed 13 and wounded 32 at Fort Hood in Texas. If the grotesque spectacle happens, it will be a throwback to the days of the Roman Colosseum when the business of state-sponsored death was at an apex, combining public violence with propaganda, politics and social control.

Stevenson warns that “we’re in the midst of a narrative struggle, and this struggle is for the soul of America.”

Newsom has the chance to, if not change that narrative, offer an alternative one — an America that rejects killing as the ultimate display of power. An America that seeks justice with dignity and wisdom, not arrogance and gore. An America that feels safe because our leaders act with integrity and honor, not with a slavish, intemperate ego.

Though there is a political risk inherent in striking out in a solitary direction, there can also be reward. As Stevenson told Newsom, that’s the “beauty of struggling for things that are right, struggling for things that are moral, struggling for things that are just — all kinds of people will come along, and when you feel like you just can’t take another step, there’ll be something there. There’ll be somebody there.”

My mercy isn’t for those on our death row, many of whom are guilty of gut-churning crimes. I’m not arguing that they are victims themselves, or even that some may have been unfairly tried, or even innocent, though that may be true. I acknowledge some families of victims may be angry if Newsom commutes sentences, though some will not.

My mercy is reserved for America, and those who are exhausted by the business of death, this business Trump wants us to believe is just American business — necessary and unavoidable.

A commutation of California’s death row sentences would be a rejection of Trump’s manic desire to pull us ever lower; a rejection of our growing cynicism that there is no such thing — Republican or Democrat — as a leader who acts from conscience. An assurance, instead, that it is still possible to heed an internal moral compass that is more powerful than the need for power.

Would voters really reject the leader who offered that?

Would you?