On Jan. 14, 2021, I stood in a small chamber in the U.S. Penitentiary in Terre Haute, Indiana, while the federal government carried out an execution. Relegated to a spot 6 feet away from the gurney, I prayed with Corey Johnson, the “Gentle Giant” as he was known on death row.
He was one of the last of 13 people executed under then-President Donald Trump, who carried out an unprecedented killing spree during the final six months of his presidency.
This experience left me forever scarred. I could see on some of the faces of correctional staff that they also were deeply impacted.
President Joe Biden can and should ensure that no one faces this pointless and avoidable trauma by commuting all federal death sentences before he leaves office.
Corey was convicted in a 1992 case with several co-defendants of seven drug-related killings for which he took responsibility. He was deeply remorseful for his past actions and had a gentle and loving spirit.
He was also a person with an intellectual disability who tried and failed during his nearly 30 years of imprisonment to pass the GED exam. Because of his disability, he should have been protected by the Constitution against the death penalty, but neither the courts nor President Trump intervened.
In the days leading to his execution, Corey had labored to prepare a final statement, dictating it to me in the prison visiting room so that I could print and read it on his behalf. He was barely able to read because of his intellectual limitations and knew he would be too nervous to speak extemporaneously.
But when I entered the execution chamber after hours of waiting, I was told I could not touch him or read his last words, which he had slowly dictated to me the morning of his execution.
Corey had wanted his last words to begin: “I want to say that I am sorry for my crimes. I wanted to say that to the families who were victimized by my actions, and I want (their) names to be remembered. I would have said I was sorry before, but I didn’t know how. I hope you will find peace.”
In 29 years of solitary confinement without a visitor besides his legal team or me, Corey had discovered what it meant to be a human being. He was deeply remorseful.
As soon as the drugs began to flow, Corey’s suffering grew. I could see that he was in physical distress; his chest heaved, and he said his hands and mouth were burning. It took several eternal minutes for him to die.
Later, an autopsy showed that Corey had suffered flash pulmonary edema, an excruciatingly painful condition akin to being waterboarded. His lawyers had warned that this was a risk the government’s execution method presented, but the courts had allowed federal executions to proceed.
Nearly four years later, I am still haunted by Corey’s execution. I suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.
I still visit federal death row as the spiritual adviser to another prisoner who, like Corey Johnson, has an intellectual disability, likely caused by fetal alcohol syndrome. Also like Corey, and so many others on federal death row, this man survived a harrowing childhood of abuse, poverty and other trauma. And like Corey, and so many other prisoners to whom I have ministered over the years, he has shown a profound capacity for remorse, growth and change.
I have ministered to this man for more than 16 years, and I can attest that he, like Corey, is no longer the same person who was sentenced to death.
