Prosecutors often now reject harsh penalties
ORLANDO, Fla. — In Tampa, the top prosecutor says too many children are charged as adults. In Houston, the district attorney will no longer press charges in low-level marijuana cases. And in Chicago, prosecutors will no longer oppose the release of many nonviolent offenders who cannot afford to post bond.
Two more newly elected prosecutors, in Denver and Orlando, have vowed not to seek the death penalty, even for the most egregious killers.
They are part of a new vanguard that has jettisoned the traditional lock-’em-up approach, instead winning over voters by embracing alternatives to harsh punishment. But in their eagerness to enact changes, some are facing a backlash from law-enforcement groups and more conservative politicians.
In Texas, Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick, a Republican, warned that failing to punish drug crimes would make Houston akin to a “sanctuary city” for illegal enterprise. In Chicago, a suburban police chief warned that a move to classify more shoplifting cases as misdemeanors was “a slippery slope.”
But nowhere has there been more vitriol than in Florida, where a battle over the death penalty shows just how volatile an issue capital punishment remains, especially when the death of a police officer is involved.
Aramis D. Ayala, the new chief prosecutor in Orlando and a Democrat, announced in March that she would no longer seek the death penalty. Almost immediately, Gov. Rick Scott, a Republican, moved to replace her in the case of Markeith Loyd, who is charged with killing his pregnant ex-girlfriend and, during a subsequent manhunt, an Orlando police officer.
“Every citizen should be outraged,” he said of Ayala’s decision.
This week, state legislative committees proposed cutting her budget by more
than $1 million, saying it was to cover the costs of other jurisdictions that are assigned her capital cases. Some lawmakers are calling for her suspension. On Thursday, Ayala supporters from across the state traveled to Tallahassee for a rally, while her opposition protested in Orlando.
In court papers, Ayala, the state’s first black elected prosecutor, said removing a prosecutor because of a disagreement over her use of discretion was “unprecedented.” The NAACP, the Florida Legislative Black Caucus and other groups denounced the governor’s intervention, with one caucus member calling it “a lynching.”
Ayala appeared in court earlier last week to argue for a delay while she fights Scott’s order. She was represented by Roy L. Austin Jr., a former Obama White House official who also served as a high-ranking civil-rights lawyer for the Justice Department. Florida law allows the governor to appoint a special prosecutor in cases where he finds “good and sufficient reason” that “the ends of justice would be best served.”
Chief Judge Frederick J. Lauten of the 9th Circuit Judicial Court denied her request, saying that Scott’s order should be presumed legal.
Ayala is adamant that her moratorium on the death penalty was not based on emotion, but rather on research that shows that states with capital punishment are no safer than states without it. She said she could not look victims’ relatives in the eye and promise an execution, knowing that the inmate would in all likelihood appeal for decades.
One of the inmates on death row in her state was convicted when she herself was just 2 years old.
“This is not a moral decision; it is not a personal opinion,” she said. “When I look at this, it’s the right decision based on the facts.”
The new breed of prosecutors was helped into office by voters skeptical of wrongful convictions, mass incarceration and evidence of racial bias in law enforcement. As candidates, many received help from liberal billionaire George Soros, who spent millions on campaigns in states including Arizona, Mississippi and Missouri. Of the 15 candidates supported by his political-action committees, 12 were victors.
But some changeminded prosecutors won without Soros money, showing that attitudes across the country are changing regardless of outsize political contributions, said David A. Sklansky, a professor at Stanford Law School who closely follows the issue.
“It’s now possible in at least some places for district attorneys to campaign successfully and win office on a platform that’s not just harsher, harsher, more, more punishment,” he said. “That was unheard of 10 years ago.”