W ant to know how the state of North Carolina would treat you after admitting it held you captive for three decades in its most notorious prison for a murder you did not commit? I learned while watching my father, Ken Rose, represent Henry McCollum, a death row exoneree.
Imagine you are McCollum. You were 20 when you received a death sentence for the rape and murder of Sabrina Buie, an 11-year-old girl. You had nothing to do with the crime, but you ended up on death row.
Each time you met with your lawyers, you restated your innocence. The evidence you needed was buried in the basement of the Red Springs Police Department, and your lawyers lacked subpoena power to retrieve it. After each agonizing appeal, you were reconvicted and sent back to your cell.
You had a bit of luck on your side, if you can believe it. You appealed to the North Carolina Innocence Inquiry Commission, the only state institution singularly dedicated to innocence claims. It subpoenas evidence from the Red Springs Police Department. The police produce a box of evidence, and DNA on a cigarette butt found at the crime scene implicates Roscoe Artis as the true perpetrator. Artis was a cellmate in Central Prison. You called him a friend.
Imagine being in the courtroom with your entire family present, still loyal to you despite your status as a convicted murderer. The district attorney drops charges against you — he knows there is no case, a rare moment of justice from a person in a position that has long been your most fervent antagonist. The judge declares you innocent. The justice system says you can walk free, yet they make you spend one last night in Central Prison. Cherry on top.
Of course, no stretch of the imagination will allow you to empathize with the injustice this state imposed upon Henry McCollum and other innocent people in the prison system. Know that they lived it, every day, for 30 years.
