For those who believe in Kelly Gissendaner, the moment her execution was postponed Monday night ignited new hope that her life might be spared.
“I feel like it was God intervening,” said Kara Tragesser, 38, who said her life was changed by Gissendaner while they were in prison together. “We were all praying for a miracle.”
Tragesser had driven from Chattanooga to join the vigil outside the Georgia Diagnostic Prison in Jackson. She said there was stunned silence when news came down that the execution would not move forward. And then joyful cheers. And then, profound uncertainty about what will happen next.
Gissendaner, a 46-year-old mother of three, still faces a death sentence for persuading her lover to murder her husband in 1997. She is set to become the first woman executed by Georgia in 70 years.
But her supporters – women whom she counseled in prison, clergy who believe her redemption is authentic, family members who’ve forgiven her – are heartened that state officials postponed her execution, as well as that of another inmate, over concerns that the execution drug had gone bad.
“It was as though the Holy Spirit showed up as a cloud in that drug,” said the Rev. Kimberly Jackson, who is helping to organize support efforts. “We’ll take that as a win.”
The effort to save her life has received national attention. There are Facebook and Twitter campaigns, a petition drive signed by scores of Georgia clergy, vigils attended by hundreds.
Sister Helen Prejean, the Louisiana nun who penned “Dead Man Walking,” tweeted: “Kelly Gissendaner has prepared for death & come within hours of it twice in less than a week. This is torture, plain & simple.” (Prison officials delayed her execution a week ago, citing treacherous weather conditions.)
Supporters stress that Gissendaner did not physically commit the crime. They say she has shown her transformation in the number of inmates she has counseled, and that she would continue doing so if her sentence were commuted to life without parole. And they want to spare her children, who’ve already lost their father, the pain of another parent’s death.
Megan Chambers ,who now lives in south Atlanta, was on suicide watch when she met Gissendaner at Metro State Prison.
“I didn’t care about anything during my 10-year sentence (for robbery), until I met Kelly,” said Chambers, 31. “She made a lot of us look into ourselves. I realized how selfish I was.”
At this point, many of her supporters acknowledged they don’t quite know what to pin their hope on, save intervention from on high. But they’re not ruling that out.
Gissindaner has exhausted her court appeals, and two attempts at clemency failed before the state Board of Pardons and Paroles. Some hope that the stay on Georgia's scheduled executions will allow time for a legislative effort to end the death penalty. But given the current political climate, they acknowledge that is a faraway dream.
“If we’re still waiting, there’s still hope,” said Tragesser, who met Gissindaner during a writing course in prison. “I was young, 21, and in prison you can decide to become a better criminal or a better person. She helped me become a better person.”
Gissendaner is the only woman on Georgia’s death row. According to the Death Penalty Information Center, only 15 women have been executed in the United States since 1977.
In general, society finds it more difficult to put women criminals to death. Researchers call it the "chivalry effect," said Deborah Denno, a professor at Fordham University School of Law.
“There is a desire to protect women, as though they were gentle creatures,” she said. “We open doors for women, we pull out chairs for women.”
Some have even suggested – without benefit of any real evidence – that Georgia officials are hesitant to execute Gissendaner.
“It sounds like some Georgia state officials are desperately trying every trick in the book to not execute Kelly Gissendaner,” the magazine Christianity Today opined Wednesday on its website. The editorial went on to argue that her sentence should be commuted.
The Rev. Jenny McBride was with Gissendaner Sunday. She said the convicted woman’s actions on what she thought would be her last night spoke to the truth of her redemption.
“She was writing letters to fellow inmates, not to worry about her, and to encourage them,” she said.
McBride said Gissendaner had spent the day with family and loved ones. “She was trying to live in the moment and be there with her children and those she loved. Then she was moving into weeping and having to say goodbye.”
Monday eveing, with the execution imminent, McBride remained with Gissendaner’s children. She said there was an intensity in every moment, clinging to hope, yearning for mercy.
She said word of the postponement brought no outward celebration, just a silent sigh of relief.
And more uncertainty.
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