Gissendaner denial another state secret

For decades, parole board’s work has been confidential.

Georgia’s parole board did more Wednesday than deny clemency for death row inmate Kelly Renee Gissendaner — it created another state secret.

Virtually every aspect of Gissendaner’s case before the State Board of Pardons and Paroles is – and will remain – confidential. Her clemency hearing Tuesday was closed to the public, except for a brief photo opportunity at the beginning. Deliberations by the board’s five members are private. No public record is kept of how each member voted — or of whether any favored mercy.

Since the 1950s, state law has deemed the vast majority of the parole board’s work to be state secrets. Unlike a court, which typically issues a written opinion, the board gives no public explanation for its rulings. In fact, its members rarely deliberate together or even discuss cases with one another.

In a news release Wednesday, the board said only that it “thoroughly reviewed all information and documents pertaining to the case.” Even Gissendaner, condemned for her husband’s murder in 1997, will not learn the board’s reasons for denying clemency. Her execution, originally scheduled Wednesday, was postponed until Monday because of bad weather.

The parole board’s clandestine nature was highlighted by investigative reports last year in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. The newspaper reported that the board had quietly restored the right to own and carry firearms to hundreds of convicted felons, many of them violent offenders.

Before the Journal-Constitution published the articles, board members declined requests for interviews and instructed senior staff members not to answer questions about the agency’s operations. In a later interview, however, the board’s executive director, Michael Nail, explained the clemency process.

When the board learns of a scheduled execution, Nail said, members turn their full attention to the condemned inmate’s case. “Their business stops with the exception of that,” he said.

A staff member interviews the inmate by videoconference, then gives board members a report. The board’s attorney prepares another report, based on trial transcripts and prison records.

Later, the board schedules a clemency hearing that is held behind closed doors. In what Nail called a “free-flowing conversation” with board members, the inmate’s lawyer can argue for mercy. Then, the prosecutor and, in most cases, members of the victim’s family, come in to oppose clemency. The inmate’s lawyer is not present; no one representing the inmate may question the prosecutor or victim’s relatives.

Afterward, the board members meet to discuss the case, then split up for individual deliberations. Each member casts a ballot in secret — “yes” to grant clemency, “no” to allow the execution, or “delay” to get more information.

Only two people ever know how the members vote, Nail said: the board’s lawyer, who counts the ballots, and the board chairman.

If the process were open, Nail said, board members might be susceptible to political pressure or intimidation. He said board members’ lives were threatened while they were considering clemency for Troy Davis, an inmate whose case had drawn international attention. Davis was convicted of killing a Savannah police officer in 1989, but his guilt was called in- to question when virtually every eyewitness to the shooting recanted their testimony. The board denied clemency, and Davis was put to death in 2011.

Before Davis’ execution, Nail said, protesters produced T-shirts with pictures of board members and the caption, “Wanted: Dead or Alive.” As a precaution, Nail said, board members temporarily moved out of their homes.

The parole board sees no reason to change its process, Nail said. “That’s the way it’s always been,” he said.

State lawmakers may force a change, however. The General Assembly is considering a bill that would make repeal many of the board’s confidentiality provisions, turning state secrets into public records.