Am I supposed to feel sorry for a murderer?

In is May 9 column, "Reflections on a sentence of life without parole," John Mills begins with a question posed by his client: "What am I supposed to do, just die in prison?"

Am I supposed to feel sorry? Mills doesn't bother to tell us why his client is in prison, or why he was sentenced to LWOP, but we know it is because his client probably murdered someone. In other words, did something extremely bad and morally wrong. In fact, nowhere does Mr. Mills express any compassion for the family of the victim, or the inexcusable end of a human life, or the outrage that should accompany the heinous crime that his client committed. The entire article is an attempt to suggest that the perpetrator of a murder deserves compassion and that his punishment for murder is wrong or inhuman. He wasn't sentenced to death, like the victim who didn't have the benefit of a trial.

I agree with Mr. Mills that there is no joy here. It is a painful waste of life, not only the murder of the victim, but the defendant's own life, which he threw away. To me, Mr. Mill's point of view is the embodiment of this new era in California, where the word "punishment" is anathema, and compassion for defendants is embraced and elevated without any mention of the devastation the defendant caused to a human being. What I know from reading is that the history of rehabilitation is the history of failure, and I believe punishment for crime (defined here as taking away freedom) makes sense and is not a bad thing.

The defendant is distraught because he is suffering the consequences of his criminal act, reeling from his sentence. Mr. Mills tries to offer his client hope. They can appeal. The policy trend is that punishment is bad, so maybe in the future the Legislature and the courts will reconsider and they won't make him spend the rest of his life in jail. Reprieve is possible. Of course, the victim will never come back to life.

Even with LWOP, there is hope for defendants. The defendant has this opportunity to go on living free to think. He is, unlike the victim, still alive. He now has unlimited free time to think about what he did and why. How he snuffed out a human life, and what that means. Who knows, that victim may have gone on to cure cancer. Now we will never know. The defendant can read books in his small cell and maybe he, somehow, will be able to figure out a cure to cancer. "I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams." Shakespeare, "Hamlet."

Nobody is a winner here. Redemption does not mean that your client deserves freedom. It means that he does something to warrant forgiveness. I could be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but it seems possible that he could do something while incarcerated to make a difference. I am reminded of Burt Lancaster in "The Birdman of Alcatraz." He didn't need to be released to transform himself.

Yes, your client sits in a "cage." But he chose to do an act with a severe consequence.

I feel sad that those who knew Mr. Mills' client -- his family and friends and those who spent time with him and who chose to love him have also been hurt by his criminal act. His act didn't merely hurt the victim and the victim's family, but everyone who knew him and who had hope he would live a decent life. He dashed their hopes against the rocks, too. He can still be loved in jail.

I agree, with Mr. Mills: "Every human being deserves hope for redemption." But I do not believe his client's incarceration means that "the glimmer of that hope is fading." He is alive -- more than you can say for the victim.