Saying Goodbye to Tookie

[Editor's Note: This is the edited text of a speech given by Bianca Jagger at Stanley Tookie Williams' memorial service.]

When I learned that there was going to be a public viewing of Stanley Tookie Williams' casket for friends and the public to pay their respect, I couldn't help thinking about the tragic irony -- Williams had to be executed before he could be free to visit this church. I can imagine how often he must have dreamed about the possibility of wandering out of prison during those long lonely years in jail. We must rejoice for him, for he is Free at Last, and no one can prevent him from being here, not even Arnold Schwarzenegger.

On Nov. 21, I met Stanley Tookie Williams at the San Quentin State prison. That morning the weather was beautiful, and the sun was shining. A prison guard escorted me; we walked approximately 1,000 meters before we arrived at the death row unit. I had expected to meet Williams behind a barrier of glass and wire partition, as I had when I met Karla Fay Tucker and Gary Graham in death row in Texas. Instead, I was going to meet Williams face to face. He was already inside a small cell with Jesse Jackson and Barbara Becnel, his co-author and longtime supporter. Before I entered, Williams put his hand behind his back through a small aperture in the metal door for the guard to handcuff him. Once I was inside and the door was closed, they removed the handcuffs. He reached out to say hello. Williams was tall and had a muscular build. It was visible that he was once a bodybuilder.

He appeared calm and at peace with himself as I shook his hand and sat next to him. I had so many questions and knew my time with him was limited. I told him I had recently listened to a debate about his case on National Public Radio, and felt very disturbed when his defender had to admit that he was not willing to apologize or express remorse for the murders for which he was convicted and condemned to death. I asked him why.

He answered in a calm and measured voice, "I am innocent. I did not commit the crimes for which I was sentenced to death. I cannot ask for forgiveness and express remorse for a murder I didn't commit, even if by refusing to do so, I risk losing my life. I cannot lie in order to live."

I asked him why he thought he was convicted and sentenced to death for a crime he didn't commit. "I had a nasty reputation, and my reputation was put on trial. I had co-founded the street gang the Crips, and had earned a bad reputation for being violent and beating up people. I was tried, convicted and sentenced to death by an all-white jury. The prosecutor, Robert Martin, dismissed three prospective black jurors, because he was seeking an all-white jury; he is notorious for engaging in racial discrimination when composing a jury."

"In addition, I had an incompetent legal counsel," he said in a lower voice. "I have apologized on many occasions for my crimes, and I genuinely have tried to redeem myself."

How? I asked.

"I have written nine books to bring young people away from a life of violence and street gangs. I educated myself and became an autodidact. As you can imagine, this place has little room for rehabilitation. It was up to me to change."

"For the first eight or nine years, I gave this place hell. I spent years in solitary confinement. My redemption came by virtue of my education. I reflected on my life, I developed a conscience. I have written nine books to encourage kids to stay away from gangs. I worked with churches, schools, and communities to warn kids about the pitfalls of gangster life. I wrote a 'Peace Protocol.' It was used to create a truce between rival gangs in New Jersey and other states."

By the time I met him, his case had receive widespread support among religious leaders, Nobel Prize winners, celebrities and international figures, and his execution has further ignited the debate into America's barbaric, medieval and outdated death penalty policy.