Hi friend,
I write today with a heavy heart. My friend Quintin Jones was executed last night around 6:40 pm, Texas time. Just before he entered the execution chamber, he called me for the last time. In his final minutes, he told me he was so grateful for everyone who fought so tirelessly on his behalf. It brought him hope until the very end and a measure of peace.
A couple months ago, when I told him someone had offered pro bono legal counsel to help him seek clemency, Quin’s voice broke. He said, “I’m not used to people caring about me.” What everyone has done collectively has helped show him that the hard won transformation he achieved in his 21 years on death row did not go unnoticed, and that his courage and his vulnerability and his hope—both in life and in death—have not been in vain.
Justice was not served. The world is not a better place because Quin is gone. May his needless death fuel us to fight for a better, more compassionate, more just, more equitable, more tender-hearted world.
In parting, Quin told me he was sad, but he was so grateful that his story had touched those who didn’t even know they needed to be touched. He hoped people would pick up the pebble and throw it into the next pond, and let it ripple out. His last words, to me, to all of us: “Keep doing the good work.”
It has been a long month, and I’m going to take some time off—to rest, to grieve, to figure out where to go from here. If you’re a paid subscriber, we’ve rescheduled this week’s Studio Visit with Melissa Febos. We’ll be meeting next Sunday, May 30, at 1pm ET instead. We’ll send more information soon.
And instead of sending a prompt this Sunday, we’re sharing one today, inspired by a poem by Cameron Awkward-Rich that I came across only hours after I learned Quin’s clemency petition had been denied. It made me reflect on how difficult it can be to keep a tender heart—to open ourselves up to great love, and to the possibility of great loss. But I am certain of this: we miss so much beauty if we armor ourselves against the hard things.
We sent Quin off the best way we knew how, with a second-line through speakerphone. Thank you to everyone who supported Quin—who wrote him letters, who signed our petition, who listened to his story and let it touch your life. May his memory expand our capacity for grace and mercy.
Hand on my heart,
Suleika
148. “Meditations in an Emergency”
by Cameron Awkward-Rich
I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.
Your prompt for this week:
Write a meditation that you can return to in your most difficult passages. Write of the beauty you see in the world—the things that bowl you over, break you open, and touch the tenderest part.
May rest eternal and the peace of light and love be with Quin. Thank you for sharing this. I know what such care and effort costs our hearts. I just fought for two years to get my mentally son out of a brutal jail situation with a possible 4 year prison term. He was told he should take the deal, that he wouldn’t get better. Finally he is in a treatment program, where he’s needed to be. He was shot at close range in the back 4 times, mortally wounded, and lost internal organs. His shooter, a trained military gun specialist, used what amounts to a CA stand-your-ground law from the 19th century to justify this action against a delusional, unarmed man seeking help in his disorientation. Our justice system is in need of people who care for inmates and also advocate for deep reform. I had to fight hard from the other side of the continent. Holding on to hope was one of the most difficult emotional tasks of my life. I’m grateful to read how Quin gained a sense of being a significant human, unconditionally cared for as he faced death. Blessings to all who were present to him and supported his dignity.
I am so sorry the execution was carried out, and embarrassed that this country still does such a thing. Sending love and healing energy to you and to all those who fought for his life. I hope that his story and your efforts will continue to have an impact on our "justice" system. Thank you for sharing his story and yours.