The pumping sounds repeated over and over through a reggae tune on my car stereo, “I’m a Human being y’al!” hit me hard since I had just left the visitors’ room for the death row residents in the Washington State Penitentiary. Michael Franti’s song, A Little Bit of Riddim, was washing over my ears as I drove out of Walla Walla. It was my initial visit to the small city of Walla Walla, Washington State Penitentiary, and my first time to meet the man on the other side of the glass partition.
They stand in front of River Park Square, shackled together, heads down, nameplates dangling around their necks, bearing the names of men and women killed on America’s death row.
Cal Brown. Teresa Lewis. Cameron Todd Willingham.
Behind them, stands Victoria Ann Thorpe. Dark makeup paints her cheeks and she waves a bloodstained-painted sign above her head, “Their blood is on our hands.”