| 
		 
		The Locked Gate: Standing 
		Up for My Brother on Death Row 
		 
		My brother and I don’t always agree, 
		but I defend his innocence, and I’ll never walk out on him again. 
		
		 
		by Martina Davis-Correia, as told to  
		
		
		Yes! Magazine, 
		May 10, 2011 
		
			
				
				  | 
				Twenty years ago, Troy Davis 
				was convicted of murdering a police officer and sentenced to 
				death. Davis maintains his innocence, and his family, including 
				sister Martina Davis-Correia, have appealed the case with help 
				from Amnesty International. Davis’ final appeal was denied by 
				the U.S. Supreme Court, paving the way for the  state of Georgia 
				to set an execution date. 
				 
				Information about the case, and to sign a petition to help save 
				Troy:
				
				justicefortroy.org 
				 
				Mama, my younger sister Kim, and I were visiting my brother, 
				Troy, like we did most weekends. Inside the prison in Jackson, 
				Ga., death-row inmates and family members sat in a narrow 
				corridor, a locked door with yellow bars and a guard separating 
				us from the non-death-row inmates and their visitors. | 
			 
		 
		
		After Troy and I went over the latest developments in his 
		case, we started talking about religion. Troy has always prided himself 
		on knowing as much as he could about all religions. He’s studied the 
		Bible, the Torah, the Quran, and the Book of Mormon. Troy has friends 
		from all different religions and ethnic groups, and he wants to 
		understand all their faiths.  
		 
		We got into a heated debate 
		about Bible verses. But when Troy began reciting the Bible to me, 
		throwing in some passages from the Torah and Quran for good measure, I 
		got mad. “I don’t have to listen to this!” 
		 
		I got up, left the prison, and went and sat in the car, pouting, waiting 
		on Mama and Kim. 
		 
		The argument wasn’t really about a Bible verse. Most likely I wasn’t 
		even right about the verse, and I knew it. My daily frustration about 
		Troy’s case and the legal system just came to a boiling point that day. 
		I couldn’t get Troy’s lawyers to do what they were supposed to do. They 
		knew Troy was innocent, but they didn’t have the resources to properly 
		defend him. 
		 
		Troy’s sense of impotency ran far deeper. He had no control over his own 
		life or over Georgia’s justice system, which is trying to kill him. 
		Every weekend, I sat in there with Troy, while he dissected police 
		statements and pointed out enormous contradictions and inconsistencies 
		in witness testimony. He had nothing to do all week long aside from 
		examining his case file. And he had nowhere else to pour out his 
		frustrations, except when he was with us. I was trying my best to get 
		him out of there, trying my best to get someone to listen. And then, 
		Saturday after Saturday, I had to relive the case with him. My 
		irritation mounted each time Troy found and parsed a new detail about 
		his case … how could he have been convicted on such flimsy evidence? 
		 
		About an hour later, Mama came out to the car. Every few minutes, Troy 
		had gotten up and gone to the gate looking for me, she said. He thought 
		maybe I had gone to the restroom and was coming back. 
		 
		An hour after we got home, the phone rang. It was Troy. He wanted to 
		apologize to me. 
		 
		That’s when I realized: I could get up and leave when I felt like it, 
		and Troy couldn’t. He was powerless to leave, powerless to go after me. 
		And, frustrated as I was with his case, Troy’s sense of impotency ran 
		far deeper. He had no control over his own life or over Georgia’s 
		justice system, which is trying to kill him. And then, on top of it all, 
		his older sister walked out on him, and he couldn’t do anything other 
		than twist his neck as far as he could to look out the locked yellow 
		gate to see if she was coming back. 
		 
		With everything else stacked against him, he couldn’t stand the thought 
		that his big sister was angry with him. No wonder Troy called me right 
		away to tell me he was sorry, even though I had been the one who was 
		wrong. 
		 
		I hung up the phone and bawled. 
		 
		I will never walk out on Troy again. Not unless he is free to come after 
		me. 
		 
		Martina Davis-Correia and Jen Marlowe wrote this article for Beyond 
		Prisons, the Summer 2011 issue of YES! Magazine. Jen is a human rights 
		activist, author, and documentary filmmaker. She is currently working on 
		a book with Martina. 
		
		
		 
		VIDEO AND MORE INFO 
		
		HERE. 
		
		 
		
		 
		
		
		HOME  |