Serial: Not a Monster

Sarah Koenig reached a conclusion. And it was not about the guilt or innocence of Adnan Syed, but about the lack of evidence and the poor case against him. Reviewing the evidence (again and again) and speaking to everyone who would speak to her, she could not assemble for herself a clear narrative backed up by evidence that pointed to his guilt. There were too many questions. And so she reached a conclusion that was clear from episode two: if she were on the jury, she could not have found him guilty.

So why did millions of people listen for 12 hours to a story that really could have been done in one or two? I think it was because we like Adnan, the Adnan on the radio. And that surprised us. I think ultimately what came out of this podcast was humanizing Adnan Syed. What I will think about for a long time is that he is not a monster, and that our prisons are full of people who are also not monsters.

For over a year, I have been writing letters to a death row inmate. I know a Catholic nun who matches people with inmates on death row in North Carolina, where there is such a history of racism in sentencing that a “Racial Justice Act” was passed that put a de facto moratorium on executions in the state in 2006. The conservative governor overturned that legislation in 2013.

Robby is the same age as I am. He has been on death row since 1998, a year longer than Adnan Syed has been in prison. When I first received his name, I Googled the crime he was convicted for and was horrified. I went into this with preconceptions. I expected him to be stupid and his letters to be full of platitudes. I expected that what he would write to me would mostly be lies. Even though my primary reason for writing him was Helen Prejean’s maxim that no one should be judged for the worst thing they’ve ever done, I thought the worst. Of course I did.

Robby is not stupid. He is an eloquent writer and able to write clearly about his experience, past and present. He has a very strong presence on the page, and his letters reveal a compassionate and likable person. His letters are structured well. He responds to things I tell him about my life and asks about people in my life.

The truth is, I don’t care if Robby is guilty or innocent. That doesn’t matter to me in terms of being his pen pal. I am interested in the world where he lives, his experience, and most of the time it grieves me. I want to let him know that he is not forgotten and he is not alone. I ask him about his childhood, his health, his friendships now and from before.

And in the voice of Adnan, I often heard Robby’s voice. There was that Southern lilt. There were also the same grammatical errors. And Robby, like Adnan, is so upbeat, so positive, so open and even surprisingly childlike. So much of life stopped in 1998 when he went to prison.

I have read more online about Robby’s case recently. Although he has never written to me about his case, news coverage shows he has always maintained his innocence. I don’t know what his role was in the murders for which he received the death penalty, but I do know he was not at the scene of the crime and that two other people committed it. Of the three, he is the only one on death row. That just comes down to the jury pool. In the case of one of his co-defendants, one of the jurors had a crisis of conscience and couldn’t bring herself to send someone (a white woman) to death row, and so, lacking unanimity, they voted for life in prison without parole.

The recent release of Henry McCollum after 30 years on death row in North Carolina has encouraged some of the inmates. The New York Times reported: “Mr. McCollum also spoke of the 152 men still on death row in the state prison, whom he called his family. ‘You’ve still got innocent people on North Carolina death row,’ he said. ‘Also you’ve got some guys who should not have gotten the death penalty. That’s wrong. You got to do something about those guys.’”

For me, this correspondence with Robby has been a real awakening. It makes me cognizant of my own freedom and privilege. I realize that privilege when I get angry that the state of North Carolina charges me a huge fee for sending a Christmas gift, or then confiscates that gift as a copay for a health appointment, when that wasn’t what I sent it for. Or when I don’t follow protocol on an amazon.com order of a few books for Robby and include a box of envelopes to get free shipping, then worry that they will return the whole order (they didn’t, just confiscated the envelopes). Or, you know, any time I experience my innumerable privileges and freedoms.

I look forward to his letters. I realize it is important to me not just to recognize him but that he continues to recognize me. It makes me more aware, too, of people right around me who might be forgotten or invisible or ignored.

Now that the first season of Serial is over, I know why I tuned in every week. I never expected Sarah Koenig to “solve” the murder or exonerate Adnan Syed. It was annoying that she kept acting like that was going to happen. I know what will stick with me the longest is the voice of Adnan Syed. Someone who is not a monster. Someone who should not have been convicted of murder, because of the lack of evidence and poor case against him. Someone we all turned our attention to for twelve weeks, and about whom we know so very, very little. Someone like Robby.