In 1997, T. Rivers was 21 years old, hooked on drugs and barely able to read. He had snatched the purse of a woman walking down the street. While he was able to grab the bag and run away with it, probably taking a paltry sum of cash, he caused the 85-year-old woman to fall. Two weeks later, the elderly woman died from her injuries. Though the evidence presented at trial establishes that he never intended to kill or even harm her, Pennsylvania's concept of "felony murder" said that his crime would keep him in jail for life, without the opportunity for parole.
Today, Rivers is 43 years old and has spent more than half his life in prison. Growing up in a rough part of Philadephia, he didn't understand the concept of "life without parole" when it was handed to him. In prison, he took classes, he received drug and alcohol treatment, worked with hospice patients, and mentored the many young men who were arriving at the facility. "The student has become the teacher," he said.
In 1965, 26-year-old P. Davis was a captain in the Special Forces, leading a team of specialists who fought alongside a ragtag company of South Vietnamese volunteers. A grenade blasted out some of his teeth and blew off part of his trigger finger. As enemy fire took out his lead sargeant, then the demolitions specialist, then the only medic, he fired with his pinkie finger, and despite being shot five times, rescued teammates and refused to leave the fight. He somehow made it out alive and was immediately nominated for the military's highest recognition - the Medal of Honor. But somehow the Army misplaced his nomination.
At first, his commanding officer resubmitted it, and time and again the paperwork was "lost". His teammates pursued the nomination over the next few decades, but each time the request was met, they said, "with silence and indifference." Today, Davis is 81 years old, long retired from the Special Forces, and lives in Alexandria, Virginia. He harbors no ill will, but recognizes that something was not right about what happened to him.
I heard about both stories in a single morning, felt heartsick with compassion for both situations. You could say that they are at opposite ends of the spectrum - one at the point of causing the end of another's life, and the other at the point of risking his own life to save others. But the two men have something in common - they are both Black. At such young ages, they made decisions that would affect their entire lives. Why was the inquiry into the fairness of their situations so late in coming?
Tyreem Rivers acknowledges that what he did was wrong, and that someone died because of his actions. "I would like people to know that I am not a bad person," he says, "I made bad decisions in the past. I have a sense of regret and remorse for my actions, and I am a man of change." Where other states have sentences of 2 to 10+ years for manslaughter and give the chance for parole to allow a person to pay their debt to society and become "reformed", Pennsylvania does not. There are currently two groups suing the state on behalf of Rivers and five other people who were convicted in their late teens, who have already served a total of 200 years in prison. The Center for Constitutional Rights and the Amistad Law Project argue that the felony murder punishment is cruel and unconstitutional.
There are those who say, "let 'em rot in prison" but would those same words apply if it were your son, your brother, your cousin, whose bad decision, or reckless action, as a young person had resulted in the death of someone else? Why do we assign offenders to a "corrections facility" if there is no intention to see to their reform? Even the act of placing someone in jail for the safety of others requires that there be some result of that jailing. There are countless cases of Black men aging in prison for minor offenses like stealing a television set, or food from a convenience store. While some argue that this is essentially making an example for others, many agree that such harsh sentences only lead to a loss of hope - and hopelessness only leads to more recklessness.
The comrades of Ret. Col. Paris Davis received a sign of hope, after 55 years of trying. In January, Acting Secretary of Defense Christopher C. Miller personally ordered a review of the nomination to be completed by March. If it makes it up the chain of command and all sign off, he may finally be recognized for his bravery. In a recent interview, Davis shakes his head and smiles, downplaying the delays and oversights, "all this stuff, medals and all that," he says. "People need to keep on keepin' on. We've got to make this a better world. That's how I feel."
Can we make a better world? Can people change? Can we make a difference?
I believe that justice, even when it comes at the sunset of someone's life, is still due, and that it is often bittersweet when it finally arrives. If we cannot treat people compassionately and fairly, that says much more about us than it does the person on the receiving end. And just like sunset, at the close of the day, we all deserve to have a reckoning of our actions and be allowed some peace at the end.
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