"a northern Californian craziness"
Matthew X
profrv at nex.net.au
Sun May 9 11:40:05 PDT 1999
A hard-boiled detective who hates the big sleep
August 20 2002
Fighting the system ... Rachel Sommerville. Photo: Bryan Charlton
Penelope Debelle meets an Australian-born investigator who specialises in
saving American murderers from execution.
After saving a black American murderer from death row, Australian legal
investigator Rachel Sommerville received a thank-you note, much in the
nature of a courtesy note after a pleasant dinner. "Thank you for saving my
life," the young man wrote.
Its simple message helped validate the path she has taken. Motivated by a
deep hatred of, and opposition to, the entrenched role of capital
punishment in American law, she works as a criminal defence investigator in
San Francisco, saving killers when she can. Australia and Britain gave up
executing their worst criminals decades ago, but there are 600 Americans on
death row in California alone.
Sommerville, who went to the US for six months, married a local and now
lives and works in California, does not believe the laws are about to
change. A recent amendment excusing the mentally retarded from the death
penalty had given hope to some abolitionists but Sommerville says it means
the reverse: America is dealing with some of the grosser aspects of its
capital punishment laws just because they will remain in place.
"Politicians in America have to say they believe in the death penalty or
they are scared they will be seen as not tough on crime," she says.
In the Californian judiciary, which still executes about three people a
year, the final decision on execution is made not by a judge but a jury.
Sommerville, an Adelaide University graduate with a masters degree in
psycho-social studies, is one of a growing number of women whose job is to
collect material that will convince the jury that a person may be guilty of
a dreadful crime but they should not be put to death. They work as private
investigators, piecing together scraps of broken lives into a story that
might persuade a jury to sentence the accused to life in jail, not death.
This can call for courtroom tactics that exploit the emotions of jurors to
convince them that what they have before them is not an animal but a man.
"We do everything to give them their humanity back," Sommerville says.
"That can be as much as showing a photograph of our client holding his baby
brother in his arms, constantly showing he is a human being."
The concept of innate evil embodied in the fictional killer Hannibal Lecter
has done the anti-capital punishment cause enormous harm. The
popularisation through Hollywood of the idea of a killer as pure,
calculating evil emphasised the distance in most jurors' minds between the
murderer and his humanity.
"Hannibal Lecter is a very strong image in some jurors' minds," Sommerville
says. "They think these guys are smart, they think they know how to beat
the system, that they are highly dangerous. They are slightly shocked to
see even a smile from them - they don't see a human being in front of
them." To mount an argument that will explain in human terms why a person
committed murder, Sommerville delves into their lives, confronting family
members, neighbours, former friends or teachers who may know something that
helps to explain what they have become.
It also means driving to unfamiliar parts of California and entering
neighbourhoods where white women are not always welcome. She never rings
first - it is too easy for people to hang up - preferring to turn up on
doorsteps.
"You have about 30 seconds," she says. "And you have to talk really quickly
so they don't close the door on you and you don't scare them. You have to
make it sound like they are doing the most natural thing in the world to
tell you secrets."
The Australian accent helps because it throws them off guard and disarms
them. "Where are you from?" they ask. She tells them she is trying to help
someone they might remember who is facing a serious charge. "Most people
want to help," she says.
Sommerville believes murderers are moulded by life's experiences,
particularly in their relationships with others. She can almost pinpoint
the moment when life failed them and the killer started to take shape. One
young man faced such a moment when he went to live with a foster mother who
liked him and offered a role model and a value system he could follow. But
her son turned on him and the relationship broke down.
She interviews killer clients in shackles in unpleasant prison environments
and, with the exception of Donald - the man who wrote to her and who has
turned his life around in jail - will never see any of them again.
Every so often she returns to Australia - this time to holiday in Byron Bay
- so the poison can seep from her system and she can unwind. America is not
necessarily a more violent culture but she is wary of what she calls "a
northern Californian craziness" that puts everyone on edge to make sure
they are being heard. She was with a friend in Adelaide last week who beat
another driver to a parking space and laughed over it. "I would not have
done that in the United States. I would have let the other person get it
because I don't trust their reaction," she says. "A lot of people carry
guns. I am always asked where my gun is because I am an investigator."
The easy access to guns explains many deaths, she says, particularly among
youths where gang-related killings are daily ruining lives.
"The joke now is that these guys don't know how to fist-fight," Sommerville
says. "They are so used to pulling out their guns they don't know how to
survive in youth prison."
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