In some bafflement, I watched on Sunday night the opening episode of a new BBC-TV series ‘Undercover’. I had been looking forward to it, as I am most interested in its theme. This is the terrible error of infiltrating undercover police officers into protest movements. Several of these men have actually lived with and fathered children by the people they were spying on.
I find this inexcusable in a free society, and cannot begin to imagine the betrayal felt by those involved, when (as must always happen) the treachery is uncovered.
It is an excellent subject for a drama.
So I was puzzled to find the action beginning on Highway 110, so-called, in Louisiana. I wondered if I was watching the wrong programme, as it seemed to be about the US death penalty, not British undercover police officers. I also think highway 110 may have been the wrong road, mistaken for a similarly-numbered route that leads from the state capital, Baton Rouge, to the Louisiana State Penitentiary (known until recently as Angola).
This prison was made famous in a tendentious Hollywood propaganda film, 'Dead Man Walking’ starring Susan Sarandon as a dedicated nun opposed to the death penalty, and Sean Penn playing an unquestionably guilty rapist and murderer.
Following the good Sister’s intervention, Penn has a character transplant and becomes regretful, after many years of denying his crime.
Both murderer and nun are based on real people. You can look it all up. No doubt some readers will think the nun is doing good. I think she may have misunderstood the gospels.
As I recall, heavenly choirs warble as a (finally repentant) Penn is melodramatically lifted on high in a semi-crucified position, strapped to a gurney, during his lethal injection (a largely fictional depiction of what is in fact a surprisingly dull and totally horizontal event, as I can testify, having witnessed one such in Huntsville, Texas).
Anyway, back to the BBC: The series heroine, played by Sophie Okoneda, was obviously in some way connected to an execution, which was being gloated about in a hateable Southern-fried voice on her car radio .
Then her phone, on the empty front passenger seat, started to trill.
If I were on death row in Louisiana I am not sure I would want a lawyer who responds to this by accidentally dropping the phone on the car floor, groping for it, then slamming on the brakes and taking the call while her car stands askew in the middle of a main road ( a giant truck bears down on her as this happens).
Nor would I want a lawyer whose phone battery starts to go flat (as it later does) during a crucial last-minute appeal to the State Attorney General. Didn’t she know it was going to be a busy day? Now would I want an advocate who leaves her car in a field with the door open. Is it still there? We weren't ever shown her going back to find out.
If I were the State of Louisiana (which is clearly identified in this programme) I would… well, I’ll come on that later.
But first, here are some interesting extracts from the unpopular newspaper reviews of the programme:
Daily Telegraph: ‘We first met Maya fighting desperately to get a stay of execution in Louisiana for a falsely convicted Death Row client about to die.’
Guardian:’ In two hours' time, Rudy Jones, who has been on death row for 20 years for a murder he did not commit, is about to be executed. The woman behind the wheel is his lawyer Maya … an impassioned and embattled London barrister on her way to make a last-ditch attempt to save him.’
Times : ‘She was introduced as a John Grisham hero, racing to rescue, then console, her Louisiana death-row client, Rudy… as the seconds ticked away to his execution.
Independent: ‘Only it opened in the US, where she was defending death row convict Rudy Jones …, a man falsely imprisoned for murder.’
Very interestingly, the reviewer for the ‘Independent’ went on to note: ‘If I hadn't read the episode synopsis before I watched the programme, I think I would still be clueless about 90 per cent of what happened’.
I’m not sure what synopsis she means, but could it be a special one, given to TV reviewers when they preview programmes? Because I hadn’t seen any such synopsis and, while not wholly clueless, it did take me some time to grasp what was going on. I could have done with a synopsis myself.
And how else were we supposed to know that the convict was wrongly-convicted? We were told nothing of the alleged crime, the trial or the case. Anti-death-penalty campaigners (as I have observed for myself) are quite ready to use all available means (including the sobbiest of sob stories) to prevent the executions of convicted killers they know or at least strongly suspect to be guilty.
I think we were supposed to assume he was innocent, to assume that the American justice system (which is undoubtedly flawed) is a seething mixture of redneck prejudice and insouciant racist callousness (the condemned man was portrayed as Black), against which civilised and enlightened multicultural Brits struggle in vain with the feeble tools of justice.
Is this so?
In New Orleans alone, the biggest city in Louisiana, there were 200 murders in 2011. I think there are about 500 killings a year in the whole state.
So presumably, if the BBC’s idea of reality is true, the execution chamber at Angola is busy day and night prejudicially killing unjustly convicted Black citizens in defiance of the evidence.
Well, not exactly:
Louisiana has executed 28 murderers in the last 40 years. But it has something in the region of 500 murders a year, around twice the murder rate in New York. Yet it hasn’t held an execution of anybody, just or unjust, botched or unbotched, Black or White, since January 2010.
On 10th January 2010, the major local newspaper, the Times-Picayune, reported ‘State’s death penalty becoming a rarity ; Bordelon’s execution was first since 2002’
‘Thursday's execution of Gerald Bordelon, happened only because the convicted killer waived his appeals, hastening his death by many years. His was the first execution since 2002, when Leslie Dale Martin was executed for the rape and murder of a Lake Charles woman in 1981.
'The dramatic decline in Louisiana executions since 1987, when the state briefly led the nation in that statistic, comes at a time when, nationally, both executions and the imposition of new death sentences have waned significantly.’
Bordelon, by the way, had strangled his 12-year-old stepdaughter, after kidnapping her at knifepoint and forcing her to, well, I won’t go on, it’s too distressing, look it up if you must. There was no doubt of his guilt. He showed police where he’d put her poor defiled body. But the crime was committed in 2002, and he was convicted in 2006. And he waived his right to appeal. And in the period during which his was the sole execution, approximately 5,000 murders were committed in that state. Call that a death penalty? Call it a deterrent?’
Since others appear to wish to make skin-colour an issue, I will note here that photographs of Bordelon, easily viewable on the Internet, show him as not being black.
There have, as far as I can discover, been no executions in Louisiana since Bordelon’s despatch. I can find no record of any botched execution by lethal injection there, either.
Before Bordelon, the last to be executed had been Leslie Dale Martin (also white, or pinko-grey, if photographs are anything to go by). He was executed in May 2002 for the rape and murder of Christina Burgin. The details of this crime (which took place in 1991) are too revolting for me to record them here.
Since the introduction of lethal injection by the state in 1991, 25 years ago, eight persons have been executed. Not such a good story, I know, but is it right or responsible for the BBC to portray the USA as it did on Sunday night? People take its dramas seriously, especially when they are based on real life events.