Post by Admin on May 20, 2007 16:31:03 GMT -5
Couple crusades for inmate rights
Staughton and Alice Lynd read through the stack of mail they receive each
day, searching for opportunities to win small victories for Ohio's
inmates.
At their small ranch house in this Youngstown suburb, hundreds of files
are piled in the spare bedrooms, the basement and the garage. Staughton
Lynd studies them with a single-minded purpose: to overturn convictions of
death row inmates and force authorities to treat thousands of other
prisoners with the respect he says they deserve.
The Lynds have earned significant victories in recent years, including one
involving how inmates are selected to be sent to the Ohio State
Penitentiary, the state's toughest prison. They also increased the
accountability of guards who handle fights and riots.
But the couple, approaching their 80s, are far from satisfied.
"There's very little rehabilitation anymore," Staughton Lynd said. "Do you
think it is good for someone to sit in a cell for years and then be dumped
on the street? Do you think it's good for us?"
The Lynds' critics applaud their unrelenting passion but say the couple
often refuse to listen to any side except the inmates'.
"They definitely have their own agenda. It's for the inmates," said Daniel
Hogan, who has prosecuted two death row cases that the couple have fought.
The Lynds' work is an extension of what they have done for more than 50
years, pushing for civil rights, workers' values and peace.
"They are incredibly persistent," said Jules Lobel, a law professor at the
University of Pittsburgh who has worked with the Lynds on several cases.
"They have the inmates' emotional and physical needs at heart."
The Lynds prayed with death row inmate George Skatzes last month on the
day the state executed Willie Williams of Youngstown, the 18th inmate put
to death since the state began resumed executions in 1999.
"If you look up the meaning of 'aggravated murder' in state law, it
describes a premeditated killing," Staughton Lynd said. "That's exactly
what a state execution is, a premeditated killing."
Skatzes told the couple of the emotional pain in watching men about to be
executed meet with their families for the last time. With Skatzes, the
couple have fought against conditions in the $85 million supermax prison
in Youngstown, where prisoners are held in isolation 23 hours a day in
cells the size of Volkswagens.
Skatzes was convicted with others in the slaying of guard Robert
Vallandingham during the 1993 riot at the Southern Ohio Correctional
Facility in Lucasville, during which 9 inmates also were killed.
In his book, "Lucasville: The Untold Story of a Prison Uprising," Lynd
said prosecutors botched the cases of Skatzes and 4 others by making
sweetheart deals with gang leaders and killers to become informants.
Prosecutors scoffed.
"There was never an attempt at balance in that book," said Hogan, who
prosecuted Skatzes and Jason Robb, another inmate leader. "That's clear
from the outset."
The American Civil Liberties Union, the Lynds and other volunteer
attorneys sued the state over the prison in 2001. A year later, a federal
judge ripped prison officials in an opinion in which he ruled that the
state sent men to the supermax without explaining why or providing the
opportunity to appeal.
"We can do better," Staughton Lynd said. "We have to do better. Remember,
most of these people are going to come out one day."
(source: Cleveland Plain Dealer
Staughton and Alice Lynd read through the stack of mail they receive each
day, searching for opportunities to win small victories for Ohio's
inmates.
At their small ranch house in this Youngstown suburb, hundreds of files
are piled in the spare bedrooms, the basement and the garage. Staughton
Lynd studies them with a single-minded purpose: to overturn convictions of
death row inmates and force authorities to treat thousands of other
prisoners with the respect he says they deserve.
The Lynds have earned significant victories in recent years, including one
involving how inmates are selected to be sent to the Ohio State
Penitentiary, the state's toughest prison. They also increased the
accountability of guards who handle fights and riots.
But the couple, approaching their 80s, are far from satisfied.
"There's very little rehabilitation anymore," Staughton Lynd said. "Do you
think it is good for someone to sit in a cell for years and then be dumped
on the street? Do you think it's good for us?"
The Lynds' critics applaud their unrelenting passion but say the couple
often refuse to listen to any side except the inmates'.
"They definitely have their own agenda. It's for the inmates," said Daniel
Hogan, who has prosecuted two death row cases that the couple have fought.
The Lynds' work is an extension of what they have done for more than 50
years, pushing for civil rights, workers' values and peace.
"They are incredibly persistent," said Jules Lobel, a law professor at the
University of Pittsburgh who has worked with the Lynds on several cases.
"They have the inmates' emotional and physical needs at heart."
The Lynds prayed with death row inmate George Skatzes last month on the
day the state executed Willie Williams of Youngstown, the 18th inmate put
to death since the state began resumed executions in 1999.
"If you look up the meaning of 'aggravated murder' in state law, it
describes a premeditated killing," Staughton Lynd said. "That's exactly
what a state execution is, a premeditated killing."
Skatzes told the couple of the emotional pain in watching men about to be
executed meet with their families for the last time. With Skatzes, the
couple have fought against conditions in the $85 million supermax prison
in Youngstown, where prisoners are held in isolation 23 hours a day in
cells the size of Volkswagens.
Skatzes was convicted with others in the slaying of guard Robert
Vallandingham during the 1993 riot at the Southern Ohio Correctional
Facility in Lucasville, during which 9 inmates also were killed.
In his book, "Lucasville: The Untold Story of a Prison Uprising," Lynd
said prosecutors botched the cases of Skatzes and 4 others by making
sweetheart deals with gang leaders and killers to become informants.
Prosecutors scoffed.
"There was never an attempt at balance in that book," said Hogan, who
prosecuted Skatzes and Jason Robb, another inmate leader. "That's clear
from the outset."
The American Civil Liberties Union, the Lynds and other volunteer
attorneys sued the state over the prison in 2001. A year later, a federal
judge ripped prison officials in an opinion in which he ruled that the
state sent men to the supermax without explaining why or providing the
opportunity to appeal.
"We can do better," Staughton Lynd said. "We have to do better. Remember,
most of these people are going to come out one day."
(source: Cleveland Plain Dealer