Mariannecdotes

Last week I watched Into the Abyss, Werner Herzog’s new documentary about the death penalty. The film wasn’t what I expected. I imagined a death-row inmate speaking intelligently and profoundly about his intimate knowledge of death. A knowledge that most of us can’t even grasp, because death is in the distant and unforeseen future. Even the death clock can’t really predict when the precise moment of our death will be. So what is it like knowing when you will die?

Herzog doesn’t actually explore that, which is a bit disappointing. However, he still treats the subject of capital punishment in a unique way in that neither inmate was particularly likeable.

It’s easy to tell the stories of death-row inmates who are innocent, or who have repented for their crimes. Yet this sends the message that only innocent or sympathetic “characters” ought to be spared, avoiding the truly difficult ethical questions altogether. But Herzog, early on in the film, makes it very clear that he’s opposed to this lukewarm opposition to the death penalty. A death row inmate may not be likeable, Herzog says. But he or she is still a human being, and should not be put to death under any circumstances.

(This is something I felt was lacking in the protests against Troy Davis’ execution. Davis may have been an innocent victim of racial profiling, but more than that- he was a human being.)

The ignorant, deluded tendencies of many of the film’s subjects- even one family member of the victim- was pitiful, repulsive  even. This is what makes the film so responsible and so moving.  Herzog is against capital punishment, but he’s clearly not opposed to truth- including shedding light on the many fictions we create, to survive the moments when death shows itself. Most recognizable is the belief in an afterlife, but we also avoid the reality of death by blacking out, or refusing intimacy. We also lie to cover up our guilt, and the guilt of others we find ourselves infatuated with.

As the film described the protocol of execution, I tried to imagine myself going through the motions- from eating my last meal to taking my last breath. It’s not a thought exercise you can sustain for very long. Merely thinking about knowing that I’m going to die felt “too real,” and my mind immediately recoiled.

There are some subjects who, in perfect grace, refuse to lie to themselves- yet their story doesn’t put a dent in the film’s gloomy outlook, despite the last segment titled “A Glimmer of Hope.” Those brave souls who don’t lie to themselves must carry the burden of guilt. Charles Richardson, who assisted in the execution of dozens of people, renounced capital punishment after having an inexplicable yet soul-shattering epiphany. One inmate’s father had a similar flash of insight, after being handcuffed next to his son in a prison van. These are men who have the courage and clarity to live with their guilt. It is the enormity of their guilt which absolves them.

Another important theme of the film is the well-known, but often undocumented cycle of generational violence and poverty. Although Herzog doesn’t explore this either, it’s this vicious cycle which I believe is a strong case against the death penalty. Mercy for mercy’s sake is unconvincing. But once we understand the ways in which violence begets violence, that we are a product of our environment, mercy can come more easily to us. The other inmate, Jason Burkett, is spared the death penalty for this very reason. His father, a former drug addict who was largely absent from his life, was overcome with remorse and convinced the jury that his son’s deviancy was his fault.

Such mercy is what we need to spare everyone the death penalty.