By now, thousands of Madisonians have read attorney Bryan Stevenson’s astonishing book Just Mercy, picked as this year’s Go Big Read selection by the UW-Madison and the Madison Public Library. Even local police departments have asked officers to read it.
The book examines the various ways the justice system can become an instrument of injustice. Its central example is the case of Walter McMillian, a black man convicted of murder and sentenced to death by the state of Alabama. Though the evidence of his innocence was overwhelming, he spent six years on death row before his conviction was overturned in 1993.
Stevenson, who fought for this outcome only to find it would not end McMillian’s ordeal (read the book!), relates how he reacted, not just with gratitude but anger. “Your honor,” he told the court, “it was far too easy to convict this wrongly accused man of murder...and much too hard to win his freedom after proving his innocence.”
The book offers further evidence, if any were needed, of the justice system’s frightening capacity for error. It’s a critical subject in Dane County, which has on more than one occasion put innocent people (Anthony Hicks, Audrey Edmunds, Forest Shomberg) behind bars, and in Wisconsin, which is the subject of national attention due to a new Netflix series on Steven Avery, twice convicted of heinous crimes, at least once wrongfully.
And to those who think such things happen here less often than in places like Alabama, I would argue that the opposite is probably true. Here players in the justice system are perhaps even more unlikely to acknowledge mistakes, due to their bedrock conviction that they are smarter, better trained and more ethical than their counterparts elsewhere.
All of which raises the burden on the rest of us. An imperfect justice system imposes a moral obligation on citizens to agitate for just results. We know police and prosecutors don’t always get it right and are resistant to admitting when they may have gotten it wrong. This is the real world, not Blue Bloods on CBS.
Which brings us to Penny Brummer, convicted of the March 1994 murder of Sarah Gonstead, the best friend of Penny’s female ex-lover, after a night of barhopping. The case has all the hallmarks of wrongful conviction: No prior criminal history on Brummer’s part. No physical evidence tying her to the crime. No credible eyewitnesses, and one manifestly non-credible one.
Brummer had a compelling alibi, in recalling an unlisted program she watched on TV several hours before when Gonstead is believed to have died. Police overlooked leads that pointed to another suspect. Brummer has always maintained her innocence, and her case has long troubled those who make it their business to care about wrongful convictions.
Yet Brummer sits in prison, with no pending appeals. What can we do about it?
Last month, Brummer’s supporters announced a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Gonstead’s killer, which is perhaps what it will take to get Brummer out of prison. They have a website (whokilledsarah.com), which lists several ways to “Take Action,” and a hotline number (800-407-1178) for tips.
Nancy Brummer, Penny’s mom, blames her daughter’s conviction on anti-lesbian bias, saying police and prosecutors “concocted a theory about jealousy among lesbians,” something that “would not happen today.”
As far back as 1995, the case drew national attention in The Advocate, a gay and lesbian magazine, for its overtones of anti-gay bigotry. The publication said prosecutors “paint[ed] a picture of a twisted lesbian love triangle.”
According to the 2005 book, Who Killed Sarah?,” the screening questions for potential jurors excluded “only those who held extreme views,” like agreeing that lesbians are more violent than other people. From the book:
“Potential jurors were given a range of answers to describe their attitudes toward homosexuality in general. The most frequent response was ‘tolerant but not accepting.’ Many indicated that they view homosexuality as morally wrong, though some refined that later during individual interviews by drawing a distinction between homosexual orientation and homosexual acts.”
Another juror made the panel despite admitting he was “not a hundred percent positive” he could be impartial because of the extensive pretrial publicity.
In fact, no one has ever advanced a compelling motive for why Penny Brummer would want Sarah Gonstead dead, a void which may have been filled with notions that lesbians do crazy, violent things. It’s only one of many reasons that Brummer’s conviction merits renewed attention — from a populace that, thanks to Bryan Stevenson and Netflix, understands more than most that the justice system is not always just.
There are opportunities for heroism here. Patrick Fiedler, the judge at Brummer’s trial, overturned his own ruling and set Forest Shomberg free. One of Brummer’s prosecutors, the late Judy Schwaemle, worked to undo the injustice she helped visit on Anthony Hicks. Brummer’s best chance lies in having pressure from outside impact the conscience of those within. Let’s bring that pressure.
Bill Lueders, formerly news editor of Isthmus, is a Madison writer and associate editor of The Progressive.
