From a compelling piece in the latest Atlantic, Bush as governor on the death penalty cases:

During his time in office Bush made numerous statements to this effect, among them “I take every death penalty case seriously and review each case carefully” and “Each case is major, because each case is life or death.” In his autobiography he wrote, “I review every death penalty case thoroughly” and added, referring to his legal staff, “For every death penalty case, they brief me thoroughly, review the arguments made by the prosecution and the defense, raise any doubts or problems or questions.” Bush always maintained that this review provided what he called a “fail-safe” method for ensuring due process and certainty of guilt. Asked about the governor’s handling of capital cases, Johnny Sutton, Governor Bush’s adviser on criminal-justice policy, told The New York Times in May of 2000, “This is probably the most important thing we do in state government.”

According to this story, based on documents obtained under the state’s Public Information Act, the decisions were apparently based on skimpy written memos from his then-legal advisor, Alberto Gonzales. Gonzales went on to become the Texas Secretary of State and then onto the Texas Supreme Court.

He is now the White House counsel and a right-winger seen as Bush’s likely Supreme Court nominee.

Gonzales’s summaries were Bush’s primary source of information in deciding whether someone would live or die. Each is only three to seven pages long and generally consists of little more than a brief description of the crime, a paragraph or two on the defendant’s personal background, and a condensed legal history. Although the summaries rarely make a recommendation for or against execution, many have a clear prosecutorial bias, and all seem to assume that if an appeals court rejected one or another of a defendant’s claims, there is no conceivable rationale for the governor to revisit that claim. This assumption ignores one of the most basic reasons for clemency: the fact that the justice system makes mistakes.

A close examination of the Gonzales memoranda suggests that Governor Bush frequently approved executions based on only the most cursory briefings on the issues in dispute. In fact, in these documents Gonzales repeatedly failed to apprise the governor of crucial issues in the cases at hand: ineffective counsel, conflict of interest, mitigating evidence, even actual evidence of innocence.

The case of Terry Washington was typical. Gonzales devoted nearly a third of his three-page report on Washington to the gruesome details of the crime. He informed Bush that the victim, Beatrice Huling, was a twenty-nine-year-old restaurant manager, and wrote, “An autopsy determined she suffered 85 stab wounds, seven of which were fatal, and was eviscerated.” But the summary refers only fleetingly to the central issue in Washington’s clemency appeal—his limited mental capacity, which was never disputed by the State of Texas—and presents it as part of a discussion of “conflicting information” about the condemned man’s childhood. (The page containing this discussion is missing from the copy of the summary signed by Bush, raising the possibility that he never actually saw it before authorizing Washington’s execution.) Most important, Gonzales failed to mention that Washington’s mental limitations, and the fact that he and his ten siblings were regularly beaten with whips, water hoses, extension cords, wire hangers, and fan belts, were never made known to the jury, although both the district attorney and Washington’s trial lawyer knew of this potentially mitigating evidence. (Washington did not testify at his trial or his sentencing.)

Gonzales’s lack of attention to Washington’s mental retardation is particularly surprising because demand was growing nationwide to ban executions of the retarded, and because the most highly publicized case of a retarded defendant, that of Johnny Paul Penry, was even then playing itself out in Texas courts. The miscarriages in the Washington case were also precisely the kind of thing Bush claimed to want to be told about. “I don’t believe my role is to replace the verdict of a jury with my own,” he wrote in his autobiography, A Charge to Keep (1999), “unless there are new facts or evidence of which a jury was unaware, or evidence that the trial was somehow unfair.” Such information had indeed come to light in Washington’s case, yet Gonzales’s memorandum did not tell Bush about it.

Not only did Gonzales ignore Washington’s mental limitations, but he didn’t mention that Washington’s trial lawyer had failed to enlist a mental-health expert to testify on Washington’s behalf (although he was entitled to one under a 1985 Supreme Court ruling), which in a death-penalty case clearly suggests ineffective counsel. Nor did he mention that ineffective counsel and mental retardation were in fact the central issues raised in the thirty-page clemency petition. Gonzales noted only that the petition had been rejected by the Board of Pardons and Paroles, a body that one federal judge condemned in 1998 for its tendency to rule on clemency appeals without any investigation or discussion among its members.

Gonzales declined to be interviewed for this story, but during the 2000 presidential campaign I asked him if Bush ever read the clemency petitions of death-row inmates, and he equivocated. “I wouldn’t say that was done in every case,” he told me. “But if we felt there was something he should look at specifically—yes, he did look from time to time at what had been filed.” I have found no evidence that Gonzales ever sent Bush a clemency petition—or any document—that summarized in a concise and coherent fashion a condemned defendant’s best argument against execution in a case involving serious questions of innocence or due process. Bush relied on Gonzales’s summaries, which never made such arguments.

If you don’t care about death penalty issues yet, you will after reading this. (I’m not against the death penalty per se, but I’ve seen far too much abuse of the legal process to believe everything a cop or D.A. says.) This article defines executive clemency, and explains the political use of it to rectify cases in which the legal process did not allow the introduction or consideration of exculpatory evidence.

Alberto Gonzales told me in 2000 that in his execution briefings he always presented Governor Bush with a “detailed factual background of what happened,” along with “other outstanding facts or unusual issues.” Yet a close examination of the written execution summaries he prepared for Bush certainly raises questions about the thoroughness of Gonzales’s approach—and, ultimately, given the brevity of the summaries and the timing of their arrival at the governor’s office, about the level of attention Bush could possibly have devoted to the clemency process. In his summaries of the cases of Terry Washington, David Stoker, and Billy Gardner, Gonzales did not make Governor Bush aware of concerns about ineffective counsel, essential mitigating evidence, and even compelling claims of innocence. These were all matters of life or death, requiring in-depth explanation and discussion, that no attorney in Gonzales’s position should leave out of a written case summary or save for a thirty-minute oral briefing—especially if both are to be delivered on the very day of a scheduled execution. In a state where the criminal-justice system has erred with well-documented regularity, this was a grave failing.