‘You help me with this horrible ordeal in this cage... You keep me with hope’

It was more than two years ago that I first read an advertisement about Human Writes, a voluntary organisation through which one can write to Death Row prisoners in the United States. The idea stuck with me – bringing a bit of Yorkshire light and colour through the cell windows across the Pond seemed like a good thing to do.

I wrote to Human Writes, explaining who I was and my circumstances. They replied, giving me the name and address of Martin*, in a State Penitentiary. They also advised on prison regulations regarding what cannot be sent (pens, paperclips, calendars with metal spirals etc) and urging that you do not ask your correspondent (who has volunteered to receive/write letters) about the reasons for incarceration.

My first letter was cautious – I told him of my life and family, my daughter, my career, home in Yorkshire, my trips to the US – and of my practice (inherited from my late mother) of corresponding with a child in Africa. His first letter in reply was extraordinary – a moving account of his own troubled childhood, of low income housing, surrounded by (and engaging in) drugs and petty crime.

He showed interest in my correspondence with an African child, telling me he had been writing to a nun in Kenya – “she taught me a lot about Africa, and to appreciate the things we have in the US”. He would send her gardening advice, until her convent was attacked by rebels. I immediately warmed to this man.

In that same letter, to my surprise, he offered an explanation of the murder for which he was sentenced – 17 years ago. His brother was killed and Martin was convicted of the subsequent shooting dead of the killer. He denies the offence and tells me that the chief prosecution witness (a friend of his brother) has subsequently confessed to the shooting.

Do I believe him? After open correspondence for all this time, touching on politics, interests, loved ones, faith and beliefs, I do – but it matters not. My commitment is to write to a Death Row prisoner, regardless of guilt or innocence.

Martin is locked in a solitary cell for most of each day. He gets two hours of outside exercise per week, sometimes playing basketball. He has books (mainly legal, to help with his on-going appeal which takes up much of his time) a radio and a television – so he’s aware of, and writes knowledgeably about world news and current affairs, as well as comparing notes on movies he has seen.

When I told him of going to see a stage version of The Grapes of Wrath he expressed huge interest and begged me to send him the book – which I did. He was delighted with it, and told me how the characters reminded him of people he knows. His reaction to my account of The Crucible was the same. He tells me of his family, some of whom come to visit him. He has a daughter the same age as mine, studying forensic science at university.

At first I was nervous of telling him too much about what I was up to, places I was visiting, for fear of triggering yet more frustration in him, yet over time I’ve become aware that he is brimful of extraordinary curiosity. His letters, always referring to mine, are full of questions, seeking more information – about me, my neighbourhood, my daughter, film and theatre – and even my team (Leeds United).

He sometimes sends four or five (handwritten) sides of A4 paper, and occasionally magazine articles. I’ve shared my lifetime experiences with him– schooldays in York and Leeds, working as a volunteer teacher in the Sudan, travel in Europe and North America and a trip to Cuba.

I’ve told him of my “Martin Moments” – which seem to happen most days. Whether it be snow, spring flowers, a beautiful view, an historic building – I find myself thinking of him and wondering how much he would enjoy it.

I regularly send picture postcards, or my own photos – Kew Gardens, York, Rievaulx Abbey, the North York Moors Railway, Whitby: he responds with great enthusiasm and dozens of questions.

The last “Martin Moment” was on Good Friday, listening to Handel’s Messiah in an 800-year-old church in North Yorkshire: what, I wondered, would Martin make of this?

I have photos of him and his daughter. Most months I send him US stamps (bought from Human Writes), magazines – Amnesty International, The Big Issue, Yorkshire Life – and newspaper articles. At Christmas I send a Yorkshire calendar – he tells me every month which view is hanging on his cell wall.

One of the most surprising things is an almost total lack of expression of any bitterness about his situation. In the early days of our correspondence he told me of the deprivations of prison life, the poor quality food, the 24/7 guards, and of missing his family and friends, but now it’s hardly ever mentioned.

He’s quite clearly a great believer in a Christian God, and (given his own circumstances) shows a remarkable concern for others across the world. Occasionally the stark realities of his circumstances appear: he told me recently that while talking with a man in the next cell, the guards came to take his neighbour off for execution – the state governor’s sign-off had just arrived.

When I first started writing, I expected it to be one-way traffic, hoping to bring some light into a prisoner’s life. To my surprise (and delight) I get as much as I give. Martin’s letters, so full of enthusiasm, are a source of great joy to me.

He recently wrote: “You always help me with this horrible ordeal, of being in this cage. You keep me with hope, a will to move forward and a feeling of being loved.” What more could I ask for from this man? Awareness of him and his circumstances has given me a whole new sense of gratitude – for my upbringing in a close supportive family, for living in this beautiful part of the world – and for my freedom.

Watching Werner Herzog’s recent Channel 4 documentaries Death Row was particularly moving for me (and all other Human Writes correspondents). Sitting at home and seeing a man talking from behind a glass screen after 17 years on Death Row in Texas was like conversing with Martin in my living-room.

Even more moving was an interview from the Penitentiary where he is locked up, with a man who said he hadn’t felt rain in 12 years. Herzog’s movie Into the Abyss, takes a look at the broader issues around capital punishment.

In one case, a man in Texas was taken for execution to “the Death House”, on a four-hour car journey across the state. He marvelled at the countryside (unseen for years) and likened it to the Holy Land. On arrival, and made ready for death, he was given a stay, granted by the governor 10 minutes before the allotted time.

Human Writes produce a regular newsletter, featuring messages to and from correspondents, and beautiful articles, poems and cartoons from prisoners – I send a copy to Martin. At their annual conference last year there was an impassioned speech from Bud Welch, the father of a young woman killed in the Oklahoma bombing in 1995.

He had always been a supporter of capital punishment – until he met the father of Timothy McVeigh (the man executed for the bombing), whose suffering was even greater than his own. He now spends his time publicly advocating abolition of the death penalty.

There are some 3,400 prisoners on Death Row in the US: in 2001 there were 40 executions. Whatever your views on capital punishment, the giving (and receiving) involved in correspondence with a prisoner is worthwhile.

For more information about the Human Writes scheme visit www.humanwrites.org or write to 4 Lacey Grove, Wetherby, West Yorkshire, LS22 6RL.

For reasons of confidentiality, the prisoner’s real name, and state location have been omitted.

The statistics of death row

According to Amnesty International, since 1973, 140 people have been released from Death Row after their original conviction was found to be unsound. During that same period, more than 1,200 prisoners have been executed.

Figures also show that many of the 3,400 prisoners on Death Row have been there for 10 years or more.

America’s Deep South accounts for 80 per cent of all executions in the US, yet it also has the highest regional murder rate with numerous studies concluding the death penalty fails to act as a deterrent against the most serious crimes.