In an op-ed for the Washington Post, Kenneth Rose, an attor­ney for the recent­ly freed Henry McCollum, expressed his frus­tra­tions with the death-penal­ty sys­tem that allowed such mis­takes to hap­pen in the first place: ​“I am angry that we live in a world where two dis­abled boys can have their lives stolen from them, where cops can lie and intim­i­date with impuni­ty, where inno­cent peo­ple can be con­demned to die and where injus­tice is so dif­fi­cult to bring to light. As I lie awake at night, mulling over the mad­den­ing details of this case, I won­der: How many more Henry McCollums are still impris­oned, wait­ing for help that will nev­er come?” He described the hard­ships McCollum expe­ri­enced on death row, includ­ing see­ing oth­er inmates being exe­cut­ed. ​“He became so dis­traught dur­ing exe­cu­tions that he had to be put in iso­la­tion so he wouldn’t hurt him­self,” Rose said. McCollum only saw his fam­i­ly on rare occa­sions when they could make the long dri­ve from New Jersey to North Carolina, and both his moth­er and grand­moth­er died while he was impris­oned. Read the op-ed below.

Rose went on to explain the immense hur­dles to prov­ing McCollum’s inno­cence, say­ing, ​“I couldn’t help Henry in a sys­tem where the deck was stacked against him. He had signed a detailed con­fes­sion before a change in laws to require con­fes­sions to be video­taped. I had no way to prove that the details in the con­fes­sion police wrote for Henry — down to the brand of cig­a­rettes smoked by the per­pe­tra­tor — were all pro­vid­ed by law enforce­ment.” Eventually, it was an out­side inves­ti­ga­tion that helped set McCollum free: ​“It took the Innocence Inquiry Commission, work­ing for four years and spend­ing hun­dreds of thou­sands of dol­lars, to final­ly prove my client’s inno­cence. Sadly, only a hand­ful of defen­dants ever get that kind of atten­tion and resources. In many oth­er cas­es, bio­log­i­cal evi­dence is lost, con­t­a­m­i­nat­ed or nev­er exist­ed to begin with.”

Op-ed:

I just freed an innocent man from death row. And I’m still furious.

Watching an inno­cent client walk out of prison is every defense lawyer’s dream, espe­cial­ly for those of us who rep­re­sent peo­ple con­demned to die. This week, I got to watch my client, Henry McCollum, North Carolina’s longest serv­ing death row inmate, regain his free­dom after 30 years behind bars. New DNA evi­dence turned up by the N.C. Innocence Inquiry Commission proved that anoth­er man, a ser­i­al rapist and mur­der­er, was the per­pe­tra­tor in the crime for which Henry and his broth­er, Leon Brown, were sen­tenced to death in Robeson County in 1984.

Finally prov­ing Henry and Leon’s inno­cence was a great vic­to­ry, but what I can­not for­get is that this case is, above all, a tragedy. Two inno­cent men — both intel­lec­tu­al­ly dis­abled — spent three decades of their lives being, essen­tial­ly, tor­tured by the state of North Carolina.

For Henry, it began when offi­cers held him in an inter­ro­ga­tion room for five hours and promised him he could go home if he signed a con­fes­sion. He was naive enough to believe them. Then the 19-year-old spent three decades watch­ing oth­er inmates be hauled off to the exe­cu­tion cham­ber. He became so dis­traught dur­ing exe­cu­tions that he had to be put in iso­la­tion so he wouldn’t hurt himself.

During those years in prison, he was a man con­vict­ed of rap­ing and mur­der­ing an 11-year-old liv­ing among a pop­u­la­tion that is noto­ri­ous­ly unfriend­ly to child sex offend­ers. He wasn’t able to hug his fam­i­ly, or even hold their hands. He saw them only on the infre­quent occa­sions when they were able to trav­el from New Jersey to Raleigh, an eight-hour trip. His moth­er and the grand­moth­er who helped raise him died while he was in prison.

Both Henry and Leon got new tri­als in 1991. Leon’s mur­der charge was dropped, but he was con­vict­ed of rape and sen­tenced to life in prison. Leon was also exon­er­at­ed and freed from prison this week.

Even 30 years of appeals aren’t always enough to dig up the truth.

I have been Henry’s attor­ney for 20 of those years, and he and his fam­i­ly plead­ed with me to prove his inno­cence. But I couldn’t help Henry in a sys­tem where the deck was stacked against him. He had signed a detailed con­fes­sion before a change in laws to require con­fes­sions to be video­taped. I had no way to prove that the details in the con­fes­sion police wrote for Henry — down to the brand of cig­a­rettes smoked by the per­pe­tra­tor — were all pro­vid­ed by law enforcement.

I was told that the police file on Henry’s case had been lost, so I could not tell how much evi­dence police had to ignore to pin this crime on two dis­abled boys with no his­to­ry of vio­lence. Until the Innocence Inquiry Commission unearthed that miss­ing file, I didn’t know that Roscoe Artis, the man whom DNA showed to be the true per­pe­tra­tor, was a con­vict­ed rapist who lived one block from the crime scene, or that, at the time of Henry and Leon’s arrest, Artis was want­ed for anoth­er, almost iden­ti­cal rape and murder.

I also didn’t know until I saw the file that, three days before Henry’s tri­al began, law enforce­ment asked the State Bureau of Investigation to test a fin­ger­print found at the crime scene for a match with Artis. This was an impor­tant request, con­sid­er­ing that no phys­i­cal evi­dence linked Henry or Leon to the crime. Unbelievably, the test was nev­er com­plet­ed, and the dis­trict attor­ney tried Henry and Leon for their lives. Artis’s name was nev­er men­tioned at the trial.

It took the Innocence Inquiry Commission, work­ing for four years and spend­ing hun­dreds of thou­sands of dol­lars, to final­ly prove my client’s inno­cence. Sadly, only a hand­ful of defen­dants ever get that kind of atten­tion and resources. In many oth­er cas­es, bio­log­i­cal evi­dence is lost, con­t­a­m­i­nat­ed or nev­er exist­ed to begin with.

Now, with Henry final­ly free, some peo­ple expect me to feel sat­is­fied, or even hap­py. The truth is: I am angry.

I am angry that we live in a world where two dis­abled boys can have their lives stolen from them, where cops can lie and intim­i­date with impuni­ty, where inno­cent peo­ple can be con­demned to die and where injus­tice is so dif­fi­cult to bring to light.

As I lie awake at night, mulling over the mad­den­ing details of this case, I won­der: How many more Henry McCollums are still impris­oned, wait­ing for help that will never come?

Kenneth J. Rose is senior staff attor­ney at the Center for Death Penalty Litigation, a non­prof­it that rep­re­sents inmates on North Carolina’s death row. He also trains cap­i­tal lit­i­ga­tors across the state.

(K. Rose, ​“I just freed an inno­cent man from death row. And I’m still furi­ous.,” Op-ed, Washington Post, September 4, 2014). See Innocence and Representation.