When I feel strongly about something, I have to write it down instead of holding it in.
Going to Angola on a sociology field trip was one of the most emotionally draining experiences I’ve ever had.
When we arrived on the property, the guard pointed out Death Row and informed us that we would not see the area.
The whole place was too calm. The guard matter-of-factly referred to some inmates as the “scum of the earth.”
We arrived at the main compound, and I noticed a man and woman kissing inside a fenced-in park.
I wondered if she was his wife, sister or girlfriend. How long had it been since he last saw her, and what had he done to get here?
We walked to listen to a tired white man in jeans and a maroon T-shirt. He had been doing life for 21 years. I’m not sure what I expected a prisoner to look like. I figured a criminal would be rough looking.
However, this man was not. He was soft-spoken. Perhaps years away from his sons had broken his spirit.
He told us that Louisiana doesn’t give life with parole – only life, no chance of parole. Out of the 6,000 prisoners there, 90 percent would die at Angola.
I thought of the 6,000 students at Loyola and never seeing 90 percent of them again.
We then went to lunch. I walked solemnly up the path near Death Row to have lunch, and I couldn’t help but wonder who was behind those barred windows. The doors opened for us to get our lunch served by prisoners. I didn’t really pay it much mind. I wasn’t scared something would happen, but I could not help but wonder if I was staring into the face of a rapist or murderer.
We walked out of the cafeteria and back into the main administration area.
As we waited, I glanced into an office full of white boards. Some boards showed the list of who was on what shift and who was in each cellblock.
I looked farther into the office and saw a white board right in the doorway. I could see something written in purple: Execution Dates-May 10th, Leslie _____, May 20th, Robert _____.
I think this shocked me most of all. It took me by such surprise that execution, dying, taking a life, was as easy to write and wipe away as a dry erase marker, like one on a dorm door.
As the tour continued, that picture of the white board never left my mind.
I spent the rest of the day asking myself, “Should I feel sorry for these prisoners or happy they are locked away?”
I wondered about the death penalty, and about how I would feel if someone raped and killed someone close to me.
How does a victim’s family handle the hurt – how do they ease the pain? What is just?
It’s difficult to say that I think a person deserves to die, but it’s just as difficult to say who doesn’t. Now there are more questions that I feel I cannot answer.
The entire trip took a lot out of me. It made me think long and hard about what my views are, and helped me rethink my views.
I’ll never forget what I saw on that white board and how it made me feel. It made me sick to think that I had been whining and wishing that school was over, talking constantly about only two more weeks and how I hoped it would end.
Then, I’ll be back in Texas, and two people will be dead.
Sara Kincheloe is a psychology freshman.