A visit to death row
By Glenys Alderton
[Brandon Astor Jones' regular column has apparently been delayed in the post. In its place, we print this account of a visit to him last December.]
It is Christmas Day, and I am sitting on a small, hard wooden stool. talking to my friend Brandon in a hot, stuffy visiting room. The physical surroundings are completely artificial and sterile; everything is plastic, concrete and steel. The walls are painted and faded. The hue defies colour description. The lighting is stark and equally artificial.
We are far removed from the beauty and wonder of nature on this frosty Christmas morning. Yet there is a warmth and deep humanity that invades my once numbed soul. I have had to disconnect from my feelings to some degree in order to visit the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Center; all of the prisoners around me have been sentenced to end their lives in Georgia's electric chair.
A short, stocky African-american man of about 25 is let into the visiting room. He paces up and down nervously for a few minutes as he awaits his Christmas Day visitors. Brandon calls him over and introduces us. He gives me a strong, warm handshake. He looks into my eyes and tells me his name is Curtis Asborne.
Moments later the door is unlocked again, and a beautiful little girl of about five comes running in towards him. His attention is immediately focused 100% on the little girl; he sweeps her off her feet and embraces her with such intensity that I feel as if I am intruding on a sacred moment.
Brandon explains to me that the little girl is Curtis' daughter. Her name is Le Kecia; her "daddy", as she calls him, has been on death row for more than two years. Le Kecia visits her father regularly; she obviously adores him. Today, she has come with her aunt and another relative.
There is another little girl with Le Kecia, who has beautiful dark brown eyes and black frizzy hair plaited into delicate and intricate braids. Brandon says that this little girl reminds him of his own daughter Lisa Ann, whom he has seen only three times in his 14 years on death row. I notice that he cannot take his eyes off her.
The girls come and talk to us. They tell us their names and bits and pieces about what they got for Christmas. The younger of the two is called Ca Tika. Brandon asks Curtis if he can give Ca Tika a hug, and Curtis readily agrees. Brandon, ever so gently, lifts Ca Tika onto his knee and wraps his arms tightly around her as she buries her head in his chest. He starts to tell her that she looks just like his little girl Lisa Ann once did, but then he becomes so filled with longing and love for his own child that he can no longer talk. I look on in a blur through tear-filled eyes, hardly able to breathe, sharing the beauty and sorrow.
Later, Curtis, Le Kecia and Ca Tika have found a tiny space in which they can play ring-a-rosie. For a few minutes, they are almost able to pretend that life is normal. The three sing and laugh; as Le Kecia shouts "they all fall down" on top of each other in a heap on the floor.
As I look into Le Kecia's eyes, I try to see her in the future. Is she going to visit her daddy every week for the next 10 years or so, until one day, as she enters her mid-teens, he is led into the death chamber and strapped into the electric chair, and the switch is pulled by an unnamed executioner? How can this beautiful little girl possibly grow up without bitterness? Will her daddy ever be shown mercy? In this country, where the Christian faith seems to be the norm rather than the exception, will he ever be forgiven?
It is just after three o'clock; visiting hours are over. As I walk through the last prison gate into the freezing December air, I start chatting with the woman beside me. Two years ago her son, Christopher Burger, was executed in this very place. She is back today, visiting a friend he made during his stay on death row. I am in awe of her courage.
[Glenys Alderton is a member of Australians Against Executions, which is attempting to raise funds to pay for a lawyer to defend Brandon at a re-sentencing trial later this year. So far, $5500 has been raised. Cheques can be made payable to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account and posted to 10 Palara Place, Dee Why NSW 2099. Or donations to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account may be made at any Commonwealth Bank, account No. 2127 1003 7638.]