Rolando Ruiz is set to be executed by the State of Texas this Tuesday, March 7th, at 6pm Central Time.
I write to Rolando and was able to meet him while visiting Ramiro in Texas last August. He’s been in prison since 1992. He is 44 years old and has been on death row for 22 years.
Rolando was hired to kill Theresa Rodriguez by her husband, Michael. Michael Rodriguez was executed in 2008 – not for Theresa’s murder, but for the death of Officer Aubrey Hawkins after he and six other inmates escaped incarceration in 2001.
Rolando, Ramiro and I started a little prayer group that has extended around the world. Over 24 years in prison, and three execution dates, Rolando has become an extremely spiritual person. More importantly, he is a very kind and gentle person and goes out of his way to support other Death Row inmates in the limited ways he can. He is lightyears away from the desperate, drug addicted young man who perpetrated such an inexcusable and evil act.
He is also one of the few people who has actually made the trip to the holding cell in Huntsville (steps away from the death chamber) and then returned to Polunsky. He’s been through this “last days” ritual before in 2007 – sitting in the cell, wondering why nobody was coming to strap him to the gurney…
If you can, please keep Rolando, his mother, his sister, his lawyers and the family of Theresa Rodriguez in your prayers or thoughts over the next couple of days. Texas is deluded if they think killing Rolando is going to make room for any kind of good in the world.
Terry had been on death row since 2002 for the murder of Mickell Goodwin and Tommy Walker. Terry, and his cousin, Kirk Edwards, decided to rob a Subway and Mickell and Tommy were murdered.
Kirk made a deal: he pled guilty to the robbery and was handed a 25 year sentence with the possibility for parole. Terry was charged with capital murder and received the death penalty, despite the fact that Terry had no gunshot residue on his body and Kirk was widely understood to be the dominant and more violent of the pair.
The prosecution also removed all eligible African Americans from the jury pool of 3,000 citizens and tried Terry in front of an all-white jury. Terry was a black man on trial for killing two white men.
Terry is the first man executed with whom I’ve had personal contact. To say we were friends is a stretch. More like friendly acquaintances. Last summer, he was part of a group of guys on Death Watch (the section of Death Row where those with a date are held) who banded together to send me a picture of Rougned Odor punching Jose Bautista in the face after they found out I teased one of their buddies about The Jays kicking the Rangers ass, and that The Bat Flip was one of the greatest moments in sports history. All through the ALDS series, I sent Terry newspaper clippings from The Toronto Star about how much his team sucked. Terry would let me know exactly how he felt about those clippings through Ramiro.
Terry was scheduled to be executed at 6pm CT (7pm ET) yesterday. Terry’s lawyers, making every effort possible to save his life, filed last-minute appeals. Terry sat in the holding cell alone, feet away from the execution chamber, for 3.5 hours past the scheduled execution time just waiting to learn his fate. The Supreme Court finally made the decision to deny his claims and he was dead by 10:17pm CT.
His final words: “Yes, I made peace with God. I hope y’all make peace with this.”
I have two friends on Death Row in Texas. Rolando Ruiz and, of course, Ramiro Gonzales. Rolando is scheduled to be executed on March 7th. Ramiro has yet to receive a new execution date.
Eff you Texas. Seriously. Your leaders repulse me. Your ability to spend so much of your money killing and incarcerating your citizens while struggling to find funds for your schools and social services repulses me. How you turn your back on the most vulnerable while simultaneously talking about protecting victims repulses me. Your propaganda repulses me. The very people you are hurting most are the people you’ve convinced you’re championing. So…eff you.
(Of course, inequality and corruption aren’t unique to Texas. But you are the only government who killed somebody I personally liked last evening.)
And while Texas as an institution repulses me, it is also the place where I’ve met some of the most lovely, dedicated, passionate people in my life. Keep fighting hard, my friends. Kick ass. Take names. Build on the strength of each other.
And please don’t move to Canada. I love y’all but we need you there to keep on keepin’ on.
Five years ago, as something of an experiment, I was asked to write a song for use in one of Rosedale United Church‘s Advent services. It was for Magnificat Sunday. I finished the words to “May it Be” 20 minutes before singing it. I stood before the congregation, seven months pregnant, channeling my own anxieties about becoming a new mother into the music. As the last line in the piece states, I was afraid.
The next year, I had a 10-month-old baby. As I sang the song again for our congregation, I was reflecting on what a wild ride the first year of motherhood had been. I sang the piece with joy.
Sorrow filled my heart as I sang “May it Be” a third time. I had miscarried only days before and by the third verse, I was singing through sobs and tears. That day, I sang the song in grief I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
The week before year four’s performance, Simon made his acting debut as Baby Jesus in the church Christmas pageant. Our family was complete.
Last year, our congregation started leading 17 community groups in their goal of sponsoring Syrian families attempting to make a better life for their children in Canada. I sang “May it Be”, after watching my second son be baptized, while thinking of all the frightened mothers only wanting for their children to be well, safe and happy.
Tomorrow will be the sixth time singing this song at Rosedale United Church. It has now been sung in various congregations around Canada and the United States. I received a message it will be played in the UK tomorrow. It might be the song I am most proud of writing. It represents anger, fear, longing, hope and promise. Team Flannel (our family) is about to embark upon some big changes in 2017. Tomorrow I will be reflecting on what the last five years have brought – love, family, and community – while thinking ahead to the uncertainty and adventure of our new journey.
My heart is filled with affection and love for everybody in my circle this evening. May this season be filled with peace for all of you.
As you can imagine (and as I was prepared for), the reactions to the Star article were very mixed. I’ve received many supportive messages, and for those, I am quite grateful. I’ve had the chance to speak with people from around the world. Some have shared their own experiences with writing men and women on Death Row. Some have said that because of the article they’ve decided to start corresponding with Death Row inmates as well. I’ve really enjoyed reading these messages and comments and am touched that so many have felt moved by Amy’s article.
I’ve also read some messages and comments that have been critical of my choosing to enter into relationship with Ramiro because of the horrific crimes he has committed.
These complaints can be roughly and imperfectly separated into the following categories:
I am an attention seeking nut job
I am a bad mom
I am a bad wife and my husband is a loser
I need psychiatric intervention
I should be trying to befriend Bridget Townsend’s family or the relatives of other murder victims
Except for posts to my Facebook Fan Page, I have tried to restrain myself from responding to public comments sprinkled around the internet. But I do want to answer to some of the general themes.
I’ve included some examples of the public posts.
1. I am an attention seeking nut job
I don’t really know how to respond to this except…
I can think of approximately 1654 easier ways of “seeking attention”.
Seriously. I could shave my head. I could tattoo Rainbow Brite onto my face. I could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel filled with lobsters while naked. All of those would be easier than this experience has been – and it’s only going to get harder.
In my very first conversation with Amy, I asked her if there was any way my work as a singer/songwriter could be left out of the Toronto Star article. I was worried because I knew there would be accusations of trying to capitalize on Ramiro’s situation to promote my music. Amy heard me out but explained it was important for people to know what I do and who I am. Writing music and performing is a fundamental part of this.
I’d also like to suggest that it’s unlikely these accusations of “seeking attention” would be levelled at me if I was not a woman. Society’s tolerance for women wanting to be seen and heard is much lower than it is for men. I have never heard of a male activist on either side of the capital punishment debate accused of “seeking attention” when talking about his experience and what he believes in. Women are charged with this all the time.
2. I am a bad mom
Ok, here’s the thing – I am with my kids a lot. I mean a lot a lot. My oldest son just started Junior Kindergarten this week, and for 4.5 years I have been his primary caregiver. I spit my coffee out when I read these kinds of comments. Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? I don’t know how I could spend more time with them and remain a sane, functioning human being.
And yes, my husband does “pitch in to help” because he is awesome andbecause we are a team and they are his children too.
I was going to sit here and talk at length about how I write to Ramiro when my kids are in bed and that aside from the time I was in Texas this summer, none of this has taken me away from my children. But I’m not going to do that because I don’t think I have to justify how I choose to spend my time — also something I wouldn’t be expected to do if I was a man. Just saying.
Even Bill Carroll on Newstalk1010 suggested he was in a position to judge how I spend my time when I’m not with my children.
You can hear Bill discuss how he “finds the whole thing disgusting” at 32:00. You can also hear how (I think) John Moore received some flak for saying he would “not allow”(!) his wife to start writing to a Death Row inmate.
(The entire segment runs from 21:50 to 35:50 and for the record, Ryan and Jay were quite lovely and polite to me while they were conducting the interview.)
Speaking of wives…
3. I am a bad wife and my husband is a loser
(I had to find the definition for what a “Beta Male” was. My husband and I had a good laugh about this one.)
My husband, Jason, has been so incredibly supportive of Ramiro and me through this entire experience. When Ramiro asked if I would go to Texas for his execution, I called Jason immediately. Without hesitation he said, “If you want to go, we can make this work.” Comments criticizing my husband, quite frankly, piss me off.
Here’s one of my favourite pictures of us together:
Aren’t we cute?
4. I need psychiatric intervention
My going alone had more to do with a) the cost of the trip and b) not wanting to expose my children to a maximum security prison environment. I can’t even imagine how many more “I’m a bad mom” comments would have been put out there if I had brought my children along. I didn’t go alone because of “unresolved issues”. I went alone because it was more practical and so I could protect my kids.
5. I should be trying to befriend Bridget Townsend’s family or the relatives of other murder victims
I’ve left this section for last because I think it is the most important one to address and deserves the most space.
I think of Bridget Townsend and her family ever single day.
Every. Single. Day.
I have read all the court transcripts. I’ve seen the media reports. I am outraged that Bridget was raped and murdered. I am outraged it took so long to find her. Transgressions of this magnitude demand outrage. But I can simultaneously hold being outraged at the injustice of Bridget’s murder with the injustice of Ramiro’s probable government sanctioned homicide.
We talk about compassion and empathy as if they are finite resources. If I show compassion for Ramiro, I won’t have any left over for those he has harmed. If I hold empathy for somebody who has violated women in the most egregious ways, it must mean I’ve turned my back on victims and their own experiences of suffering. When I hear people assuming I don’t care about those who have been affected by Ramiro’s actions, I want to set the record straight. In a few years, I will be a psychotherapist. I will be spending a great deal of my time working with those who are the products others’ violence and failures.
But I also understand that people who perpetrate and perpetuate violence are often victims themselves. My hope is that by working with people who have experienced cruelty, we can help to stop the violence trickling down. Although Ramiro owns his actions and the pain he has inflicted, I don’t believe he would have harmed his victims if he hadn’t fallen through so many cracks. I want to help stop violence on the back end before it blows up. As somebody who has experienced sexual violence themselves, I am desperate to see a change.
And yes – I understand that even if Ramiro receives a commutation of his sentence, he will not be released from prison. But how we treat those who are furthest on the margins of society is not a reflection of their transgressions. It is a reflection of our capacity for understanding and acknowledging our responsibility for their failures. Ramiro is so far out on the margins he is about to be pushed off the cliff. I am trying to cushion his fall.
As for trying to befriend Bridget’s family, it is not that simple. Ramiro posted a profile seeking friendship. I responded to that ad. Bridget Townsend’s family left Bandera years ago. I can’t very well track them down, describe who I am, explain that I’ve been corresponding with the person who killed their daughter/sister/niece, but I’d like to be their friend too so let’s get ice cream. It would be entirely inappropriate and is an impossible standard to hold me to. If Bridget Townsend’s family were to get in touch with me, I would welcome the opportunity to sit and hear them.
When I was in Texas, I did spend a short time talking with a woman who’s daughter was raped and murdered. It was incredibly moving, and I am so inspired by her strength and capacity for empathy after this tragedy. She’s been added to my list of spiritual heroes.
This is a long post, so thanks for making it this far.
Captain Joe Byrd Cemetery is located in Huntsville, Texas. It is the final resting place for inmates who die within the prison system and whose bodies are not claimed. Although most of the graves contain inmates who died of natural causes, those with stones marked with an ‘X’ were executed by the state. For many years, the headstone was a simple cross with only the prison number of the deceased, omitting their name.
I’ve spent 10 hours over the past few days visiting with my friend, Ramiro Gonzales. Ramiro is currently on Texas Death Row for a crime he committed when he was 18 years old. Today was originally set to be his execution day.
But I should back up…
Saturday night I drove the 90 minutes from Houston to Livingston to make it to the Alan B. Polunsky Unit, where all Death Row inmates are housed. I was very nervous. I was nervous about being in a maximum security prison. It was pretty intimidating. I was nervous about meeting Ramiro. We had never spoken face to face before. I was nervous we would run out of things to talk about. What if this all went wrong?
My visit was scheduled for 8:00pm. I was encouraged to show up an hour early to make it through security and get snacks for the two of us from the vending machines. I was told this would be the best food Ramiro would receive all week(!). When I walked up to the security building, the officer quickly waved me away and told me to come back at 7:55pm to go through security. I went back at 7:50pm.
Going through security at the prison is much like going through security at the airport, except you’re always selected for a pat down, and there seems to be more emphasis on the breasts. The only things that can be brought in are your ID, keys and a Ziploc bag with $25 in change. In a country without $2 coins, this is a lot of change. I handed one of the officers my passport and drivers licence. There was a problem entering the IDs into the TDCJ system because of the lack of ZIP and State codes, so that took up about 15 minutes. The confusion was now eating away at the two hours I had scheduled with Ramiro. One of the officers suggested I come earlier next time. 🤔
Because I was stuck behind the rest of the more experienced visitors, I wasn’t able to follow them into the next building where the visitations take place. The officers in the security building explained to me where I needed to go. Unfortunately, I am hopeless with directions. By the time I approached the next building, there were two doors that I could see, and I wasn’t sure which one to walk towards. Door A was closer. Door B had a kitty sitting in front of it. Obviously, I went to the door with the cat. Door B was the wrong door. No big deal if I had been visiting a shopping mall. Much bigger deal in a maximum security prison.
“Excuse me, Ma’am? STOP! STOP Ma’am!!”
The kitty ran away. I guess he wasn’t supposed to be there either.
“Turn around and walk back where you were. You can’t be here. Go in the other door.”
I went through the door (the one without the cat) and found my way to the visiting room. Ramiro hadn’t been brought out yet, so I went to the vending machines and bought him some food. This took quite a while (lots of snacks and no toonies), and the guard had to help me because I was not allowed to touch any of the food that went to him.
Finally, they brought Ramiro out. He was beaming. I must have been beaming too. It was so incredible to see him. There are no contact visits on Death Row, so I sat in front of the glass with my telephone receiver, waiting for them to take off his handcuffs and lock him in his tiny booth.
Any of the anxieties I had about meeting him melted away instantly. The time went very fast. We certainly didn’t run out of things to talk about. Saturday is photograph day, so we had one taken (see above). They don’t really train the officers in flattering photo composition. The camera looked like it was purchased in 2003.
It felt like I was only there for half an hour. At 10:00pm, I was told to leave. I was tired but excited. It hadn’t felt like it was the first time we had met. It felt like we’d been talking together for years. We have been exchanging letters for a long time and meeting face to face seemed simplyjust to be an extension of that.
Yesterday I arrived at Polunsky and Ramiro had this piece of artwork ready for me. It’s a gift for my son.
Today was our last visit before I head back to Toronto on Sunday. As we approached hour three, we both started to acknowledge how sad we were to say goodbye. We couldn’t even say, “See you in November!” with any happiness, because I won’t be coming back in November unless his execution is moving forward. I won’t be back until Texas is ready to kill Ramiro. It was hard to think about before. It’s even harder now.
I would challenge anybody who is a proponent of the death penalty to spend some time getting to know somebody like Ramiro. Write with them. Meet them. Learn about their life story. Do it with an open heart and then at the end decide whether or not this person should be killed. It’s one thing to talk about the statistics and theories around capital punishment. It’s another to enter into relationship with somebody who has been condemned. There is humanity in each of us, but it’s frightening to think of sharing in a common humanity with somebody who has caused so much hurt and destruction. It means we have to confront our own darkness. By acknowledging the capacity for good that we share, it means we also have to acknowledge our shared capacity to hurt and create suffering. We don’t want to do that, so we paint these broken people as an Other. But we are all broken.
“As long as we are on earth, the love that unites us will bring us suffering by our very contact with one another, because this love is a resetting of a Body of broken bones. Even saints cannot live with saints on this earth without some anguish, without some pain at the differences that come between them. There are two things which men can do about the pain of disunion with other men. They can love or they can hate. Hatred recoils from the sacrifice and the sorrow that are the price of this resetting of bones. It refuses the pain of reunion. But love by the acceptance of the pain of reunion, begins to heal all wounds.”
I am sad, but I am also filled with so much love and gratitude. Sad because I feel like I am abandoning my friend. It was so hard to walk away. Love and gratitude, because I know there are many people supporting me through this journey. To everybody who sent me notes of encouragement, to those who gave financial assistance through The Yellow Rose Cabaret, to my church community for all your prayers, please know how appreciative I am.
Ramiro’s execution date is November 2nd. His birthday is November 5th. I am hopeful he will see his 34th birthday.
I am currently sitting in the Columbus airport on a four hour layover waiting for my connecting flight to Houston. I can’t say I’ve ever felt a burning desire to see Ohio, but I have had a burning desire to sing this song:
Because, CAROL BURNETT!
After landing in Houston I will have to find my rental car. Wish me luck! I found out I need to get to the rental kiosk via shuttle and I’m not particularly good with directions. I then head over to my Airbnb. This booking was shockingly inexpensive and I’m choosing not to believe it has anything to do with the fact that nobody really wants to visit Houston in August.
Tomorrow I drive out to the Alan B. Polunsky Unit in Livingston to visit Ramiro Gonzales, my friend and Death Row inmate (in that order). We have never met in person. I only know him through his letters. Ramiro’s execution date had been set for August 10th. Originally, I was travelling to Texas to be one of the witnesses to his death.
However, a few weeks ago, Ramiro’s date was withdrawn and rescheduled to November 2nd. Everything was already in place for this trip, so here I am, drinking bad coffee in a nondescript airport. My plan is to travel back to Texas in November, or whenever it looks like the State will follow through with their plans to kill him.
Ramiro’s date being withdrawn was the first hope I’d felt since April. This is when he was taken to Medina county and told he had about four months to live. There is no question of guilt or innocence. I was told over and over again not to get my hopes up because his was a pretty “cut and dry case”. He killed Bridget Townsend. He admits he killed her. I was told many times to prepare myself for his death.
So, you can imagine my excitement when I woke up on July 16th to one Facebook message, two text messages and 10 missed calls from my friend Catherine. She had been trying to get a hold of me all night. It was the one night I didn’t have my phone on because I was sleeping over at my mother’s and in bed with my toddler.
Catherine lives in Calgary, so she was still awake when the news came in. As you can see, she was really excited. So was I.
Pushing the execution date back means more time for lawyers to do their lawyer things and work their lawyer magic. Hopefully, they can find reasons not to execute Ramiro that are convincing enough to judges who seem reluctant not to kill their fellow citizens that they shouldn’t do it in this case. It also means more time for Ramiro to complete the things he’d like to get done for his family, if he does end up dying in November.
For me, it means hope. I had been gently told so many times not to have hope, I had become resigned to the fact I was almost certainly going to be watching Ramiro be murdered on August 10th. I was still doing everything I could to help stop that from happening, but I had very little hope that my efforts (or anybody else’s efforts) were going to make a difference.
Now, I have a new spark of hope. And as we all know from the great literary classic…
And it means that for this trip, I will get to visit with my friend without the immediacy of his impending death. We have a lot to figure out and talk about. He’s certainly not out of the woods. But he will not be dying during this trip, and I will not be watching it.
Update July 15, 2016: Ramiro Gonzales’ execution date has been withdrawn and rescheduled to November 2nd, 2016.
July 12, 2016
Governor Greg Abbott Office of the Governor P.O. Box 12428 Austin, Texas 78711-2428
RE:Clemency Request for Ramiro Gonzales #999513 (Execution set for August 10th, 2016)
Dear Governor Abbott,
My name is Bri-anne Swan.I am a resident of Toronto, Ontario and a friend of Ramiro Gonzales (#999513). I will be one of his five allotted witnesses if his execution is carried out on August 10th, 2016.
I am writing to ask for clemency for Mr. Gonzales and a commutation of his sentence.
Admittedly, I have had the privilege of only knowing the best of Ramiro, while the family of Bridget Townsend has only been exposed to his worst.Ramiro murdered Bridget when he was only two months past his 18th birthday.While the crime he committed was heinous, the man who is set to be executed is not the same boy who killed Bridget 15 years ago.18 year old Ramiro was broken, hopeless and severely addicted to drugs — substances he turned to as a teenager to cope with the loss of a beloved aunt and years of sexual abuse by a male relative.33 year old Ramiro is a gentle and kind man who has a deeply spiritual life.He has created artwork for my four year old son.He has listened and provided advice during my own life’s challenges.He continues to positively touch the lives of those with whom he corresponds around the world.
Ramiro speaks of an almost unbearable regret and remorse for his actions.This is not because he fears death, but because of the devastating impact his crimes have had on his family and the family of Bridget.Ramiro deserves to be punished, but he does not deserve to die.He is a good person who committed a terrible crime.Killing him will not rectify the tragedy of Bridget’s death.It will not keep the public safe.It does nothing to kill Ramiro in Bridget Townsend’s name.
But it will break my heart. My son doesn’t know his friend Ramiro is in prison and he certainly doesn’t know that he is scheduled to die in less than a month. Someday, when he is old enough to understand, I will have to explain to my child why the State of Texas killed his friend—a friend who sends him gifts of artwork and poetry and words of kindness and love.
Pope Francis has declared this year a Jubilee of Mercy and has asked for a moratorium on executions worldwide.I optimistically hope, and humbly beg, that you might take the time to reflect on the fact that Ramiro’s death would only augment an already existing tragedy with no discernible good.There is no benefit to snuffing the life out of somebody who now shines light into the world.
A couple of weeks ago I asked Ramiro Gonzales if he would like for me to post something on his behalf.
This is his offering.
There was a man who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn not to judge things so quickly, so he sent them each on a quest, in turn, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away.
The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in the summer and the youngest in the fall.
When they had all gone and returned, he called them all together to describe what they had seen. The first son said that the tree was ugly and bent and twisted. The second son said, no, it was covered with buds and full of promise. The third son said, I disagree. It was laden with blossoms that smell so sweet and looked so beautifully, it was one of the most graceful things I had ever seen. The last son disagreed with all of them. He said that the tree was ripe and drooping with fruit full of life and fulfillment. Continue reading “THE PEAR TREE”→
Ramiro Gonzales is not the only person who failed Bridget Townsend on January 15, 2001.
My inbox has been busy. I’ve been receiving a lot of email related to this blog post about my correspondence and friendship with Ramiro Gonzales, an inmate currently on Death Watch in Texas.
Many of the emails and comments have been very kind, and if you are somebody who sent such an email—thank you. I’ve been very touched by the support offered by my friends, acquaintances and strangers.
I’ve also received many angry emails and negative comments. I’ve had people write to me and say they’ve been listening to my music for years but now will never listen to my albums ever again. “What about the victims?” has been a common theme. “Please stop this garbage from filling up my newsfeed” is another. I’ve also received a few messages telling me what Ramiro did that led to his conviction and death sentence, as if maybe I didn’t already know. Perhaps he never told me? Maybe I don’t know how to use Google? It’s puzzling. Continue reading “THERE IS PLENTY OF BLAME TO GO AROUND”→