FRANKFORT, Ky. — A Franklin County judge has ruled the state's protocol for carrying out the death penalty is unconstitutional. The ruling by Judge Phillip Shepherd came in response to a case filed by a group of death-row inmates, who argued corrections department regulations don't protect people with intellectual disabilities.

Nearly 20 years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court banned the execution of people with intellectual disabilities. Aaron Bentley, chair of the Kentucky Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, said the judge's decision highlights one of the many flaws in the state's system.

"What Kentucky is asking us is to trust that a person not only deserves - in their estimation - to be executed, but is fit to be executed,” Bentley said. “And what the decision from the Franklin circuit court shows is that we can't trust that."

Bentley pointed out the state once relied on IQ testing to determine whether or not a person could be considered intellectually disabled. In 2018, Kentucky's Supreme Court ruled IQ alone is not sufficient to determine mental competency. Bentley said corrections departments should be performing comprehensive psychological testing to ensure defendants have the ability to understand why they are being sentenced to die.

Litigation over Kentucky's execution protocol has been ongoing for more than a decade. Republican State Rep. Chad McCoy of Bardstown said Kentuckians should be aware that legal fees and other costs involved in death-row cases are draining state funds.

"Right now with the death penalty in Kentucky, since 1978, I think we've had 33 people sentenced to death, but we've only actually executed three. And of those three, one of them voluntarily said 'I'm not going to do any appeals; go ahead and do it.' And the other two actually went through the system,” McCoy said. “We waste just a ton of money on the appeals, that last literally for years, and years and years, and years."

The state spends an estimated $10 million per year on death-penalty court proceedings, according to the Kentucky Department of Public Advocacy.

By Christopher Blackwell and Loretta Pierre for The Appeal.
Broadcast version by Danielle Smith for Mississippi News Connection reporting for The Appeal-Public News Service Collaboration

About a year ago, a close friend, Garrett Felber, told me about a project close to his heart—the campaign to Free the Mississippi Five (MS5). 

The MS5 are the last remaining women in Mississippi sentenced to life with the possibility of parole after ten years before the state virtually abolished parole in 1995. Although they are, ostensibly, parole-eligible, the state has routinely denied their release without reasonable justification. They each have been imprisoned for more than 30 years.

The five have each taken responsibility for the harm they caused and spent decades pursuing growth and repair. Felber sent me interviews he conducted with each person about their lives and the repeated, arbitrary denials by the Mississippi Parole Board. One of the group, Loretta Pierre, has been denied parole 14 times, more than any other woman in the state’s history. 

The more I learned, the more I wanted to help. So I am sharing the words of Loretta Pierre, who tells us her story and introduces us to the other four women with whom she has spent nearly four decades in prison. —Chris Blackwell 

My name is Loretta Pierre. In 1985, when I was 20 years old and five months pregnant, I shot a woman during an argument. I immediately called 911 for help. But tragically, she did not survive. 

When the police arrived, I was arrested for aggravated assault and eventually charged with murder. Once my court proceedings began, I had five mistrials before I was convicted at my sixth trial. In 1989, I was sentenced to life with the possibility of parole after ten years. 

I have now been in prison for 36 years and denied parole 14 times. I hold the record in the state of Mississippi for the number of times a woman has been denied. 

Before my conviction, I had never spent a single day in jail. The son I was pregnant with then is now 38 years old, and he has three daughters of his own. I have never met them. My Mama, my strongest supporter, died in September 2017, brokenhearted that I was never released in her lifetime. My sister, who was 10 years old when I was arrested, is now 49. And my brother, who was 24, is now 63. My siblings still support me, but with each parole denial, our hope of reuniting becomes more elusive. Nevertheless, we communicate daily and refuse to let this unreasonable punishment break us. 

I have completed more than 50 classes, courses, and programs in prison. Yet, when I last met with the parole board in January 2022, my file was completely empty and looked as if I had wasted decades doing nothing. There was no record of the job I held for more than 23 years; none of the letters of support that professors, friends, and family had sent in; or the document promising me a job when I came home. What was available for the board was my disciplinary record—the rule violations levied against me for filing grievances against the Mississippi Department of Corrections (MDOC) during my captivity. 

It has been a never-ending cycle that I’ve had to endure, day after day, year after year. I was not sentenced to life without parole or death by incarceration. Nor were the four other women from MS5 I want to introduce you to.

Evelyn Smith, 82, aka Mama E, has been incarcerated for 32 years for murder. She is an amazing cook, always makes extra for her friends, and has a remedy for anyone who is sick. Mama E’s last parole hearing in January 2022 lasted three minutes. They told her to come back in five years. I delivered the board’s decision to her in the privacy of her room. We shared our pain together, aware that she may not have another five years left to live but her faith in God is strong and she still holds hope she will one day be released.

Lisa Crevitt, 59, was just 20 years old when she succumbed to drug-induced psychotic delusions and dropped her child from a bridge. She has held the same job during her nearly 40 years in prison and has never received a single rule violation report. Lisa’s ex-husband and the deceased child’s father is now a judge in Warren County, Mississippi. Many believe that his political influence has kept Lisa imprisoned. Her first parole date was in 1995. The board has denied her nine times. 

Anita Krecic, 65, has been incarcerated since 1987, after her then-boyfriend shot and killed a Mississippi Highway Patrolman. Anita’s co-defendant, who shot the trooper, was executed in 2002. While incarcerated, she has consistently worked a job, earned over 100 college credits, and maintained an exemplary behavior record. She displays strong values, morals, and ethics in her daily life and is currently enrolled in seminary school. But in the lead-up to each of her parole hearings, signs opposing her release are typically posted throughout the county where she was convicted. In 2022, she was denied by the board and told to return in 2030. 

Linda Ross, 62, has been incarcerated since 1989 for killing a man who attacked her. She has maintained a job throughout her incarceration and is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree. She is very generous and loves to cook for friends. Linda loves to share stories with those incarcerated with her. 

Each time we are denied parole, the board cites the “serious nature” of our crimes. None of us can change what we did—only who we have become since. I have completed every program MDOC has made available to me. That this doesn’t seem to matter makes me think that those with authority see no value in the department’s rehabilitation courses. These programs feel like a sham, nothing more than a way for crooked authorities to generate funding while putting on a show for the public. 

Change will not happen unless the public pressures those who oppress us without oversight. Without transparency and accountability, we five—and many like us across the country—will be forced to die behind these towering walls—not to provide safety for our communities, but for retribution and punishment. 

For this to change, we need your help! Our website includes our clemency petitions, ways to support us, and addresses to contact us—please share on social media so others can learn about our plight. Relationships and correspondence can be life-saving forms of support. For too long the parole board in Mississippi has been able to act as judge, jury, and executioner. We must build our collective strength to combat this repressive system. It is far past time for us to get a chance to return to our communities. 


Christopher Blackwell and Loretta Pierre wrote this article for The Appeal.


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Ten years ago today, 12-year-old Tamir Rice was shot by Cleveland police while holding a toy gun, sparking national protests for police reform.

Today, a Detroit man who spent nine years wrongfully imprisoned has turned his own experience into a force for change.

Eric Anderson, wrongfully convicted of armed robbery in 2010 at age 20, was exonerated in 2019. He's now cofounder of the Organization of Exonerees, a nonprofit supporting those who are wrongfully convicted. Anderson said his own testimony helps train police officers.

"With the hope that them hearing our stories, they can approach their job cautiously," Anderson explained. "We also let them know, 'If y'all do nefarious things, it's going to come back and bite y'all.' Keep it clean across the board. Don't plant evidence, don't lie, don't try to take away stuff in order to get a conviction."

At the time of the crime he was accused of, evidence revealed Anderson was more than 10 miles away at a restaurant, where he'd been shot in the foot as a bystander to an altercation. Experts believe 1% to 3% of people in prison nationwide could be innocent, which may mean up to 1,000 people in Michigan are wrongfully incarcerated.

After a four-year effort, Anderson and other advocates for safer policing are making a final push in Michigan's lame-duck legislative session, for the Police Improvement and Community Relations Bill Package, which includes guidelines for police use of force, would boost transparency in investigations and improve training on de-escalation and bias.

Anderson loves the proposals, mainly for their focus on officer training and de-escalation.

"Being an officer of the law and a person that's here to serve and protect us, you're supposed to be fluent in the skills of de-escalation," Anderson contended. "Trying to calm somebody down so you can come to the conclusion about what's really going on and the next course of action."

As of 2023, Michigan's compensation fund has given more than $50 million to exonerees, although delays persist for some in getting support.

Cities and states are struggling with mounting homelessness, and West Virginia is no exception.

A recent report points to potential solutions and immediate actions local governments can take to reduce the number of people on the streets.

A different report, released this year by the state's Department of Human Services, found homelessness is up by 24% compared to 2021.

Providing jobs such as trash cleanup for homeless individuals, and managing public spaces, are effective - said Lisel Petis, senior fellow at the R Street Institute.

She said in several states local organizations are working with businesses to create safe designated places for people living in cars to go at night.

"One that I've spoken with where they have seen success in working with businesses and using parking lots and giving people some privacy," said Petis, "so that they can transition from their car back into houses."

According to the state report, nearly 60% of individuals experiencing homelessness were male, and nearly half were between the ages of 25 and 44.

Thirteen percent identified themselves as Black or African American.

Petis added that while encampment sweeps reduce the spread of disease and reduce pollution, they can also displace people without offering viable alternatives and destroy personal belongings and important documents - increasing barriers to long-term stability for unhoused people.

She said she believes the surge of anti-camping laws popping up across the nation is a knee-jerk reaction to a complex and long-simmering problem.

"Homelessness across the nation has been growing year over year since about 2016," said Petis, "so we know that just by kind of slapping a band aid on isn't going to stop this growing issue."

According to a 2019 report from the National Homelessness Law Center, 72% of the 187 cities surveyed had at least one law enforcing public camping bans, a 92% increase from 2006.




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