Mos Def Challenges BET, Oprah, and Obama to Pay Tribute to Executed Prisoner Troy Davis

On September 21, 2011, at 11:08 p.m. in Jackson, Georgia, a death row inmate named Troy Davis, convicted 20 years ago for the murder of off-duty Savannah policeman Mark MacPhail, was executed by lethal injection. For decades, though, Davis, his supporters, and many justice advocates had proclaimed the prisoner's innocence. And in the final weeks leading up to his scheduled execution, celebrities and rap stars helped lead a last-minute push to save Davis's life, even pleading with President Obama to personally intervene. However, the Supreme Court denied any stay of execution. Obama did not act. And Davis's time ran out. But last night, halfway through the Black Star show at the Fillmore Miami Beach, Mos Def paused between songs to challenge the BET Hip-Hop Awards, Oprah, and Obama to pay tribute to the recently executed death row inmate. "The BET Awards are happenin' in Atlanta, Georgia, apparently this weekend on Saturday, right?," Def said. "I'm making a strong, serious recommendation and suggestion.

Mos Def message to BET Awards 2011 (Live at The Fillmore)

"In the interest of humanity and the rights of human beings all over God's spaceship, Earth," he continued while Talib Kweli stood with his arms crossed, nodding his approval, "if you are doing or hosting this event in Atlanta, Georgia, right after this young man, Troy Davis, was brutally murdered, in public for the whole world to see, you should definitely dedicate one part of your show. "If it's the opening, the beginning, the middle, or the end ... Bring his mama out there, show her your support and show her some words of comfort and encouragement. "This is not the moment for your silence, BET! Or anybody else! And that goes to every peep from Oprah to Obama: When you get a free moment, call Troy Davis mama!"

Funeral of Troy Davis Takes Place Today

More than 1,000 attend Troy Davis funeral

Funeral directors bring the casket of Troy Davis into the Jonesville Baptist Church before his funeral in Savannah, Ga., Saturday, Oct. 1, 2011. Davis died by lethal injection for the 1989 slaying of off-duty Savannah police officer Mark MacPhail. (AP Photo/Stephen Morton) (CBS/AP) Last Updated 3:46 p.m. ET

SAVANNAH — More than 1,000 family members and supporters gathered in Georgia on Saturday to say farewell to Troy Davis, who insisted even until his execution that he was innocent. The funeral at Jonesville Baptist Church in Savannah opened with a slideshow of photos of Davis in his blue-trimmed prison uniform with his mother, sister and other family members. The service, which lasted three and a half hours, took on a political tone with speakers calling for the death penalty to be abolished. "Troy's last words that night were he told us to keep fighting until his name is cleared in Georgia," said Benjamin Jealous, head of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, a leading civil rights group. "But most important, keep fighting until the death penalty is abolished and this can never be done to anyone else."

An undated photo of Death Row inmate Troy Davis. (Credit: AP/Georgia Dept. of Corrections) The 42-year-old Davis was executed Sept. 21 for the 1989 slaying of Savannah police officer Mark MacPhail. Courts ultimately upheld his death sentence, despite emotional pleas for his life from thousands across the globe. The Saturday funeral was also attended by Larry Cox, executive director of Amnesty International, and comedian and activist Dick Gregory. Davis' 17-year-old nephew, DeJaun Davis-Correia said his uncle, who spent hours helping him with homework over the phone, would want his loved ones to stay upbeat. "You really shouldn't be sad all the time, you should be happy and be positive. That's the attitude my uncle instilled in me," he said. Blue and white roses were placed on the casket because of Davis' love for the Dallas Cowboys pro football team. The Rev. Raphael Warnock, pastor at Atlanta's Ebenezer Baptist Church where the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. preached, delivered the eulogy. "I did not come here all the way from Atlanta to tell you this is God's will," said Warnock, who served as a spiritual adviser to Davis on death row. "God's will is not revealed in this tragedy." On Friday at a church memorial Davis was remembered as a gentle man who faced his execution with grace and dignity. More than 250 people, including NAACP president Benjamin Jealous and comedian and civil rights activist Dick Gregory, jammed the New Life Apostolic Temple in Davis' hometown of Savannah for the memorial that served as a prelude to Saturday's funeral. Friends, pastors, anti-death penalty activists and Davis' lawyer all took turns at a podium behind his closed casket, decorated with a spray of white and purple flowers. Supporters remember Troy Davis at memorial Longtime friend Earl Redman, who said he'd known Davis since age 8, told the crowd Friday that during prison visits Davis would often say that he expected to die in the death chamber. "He looked me in the eye and he told me, 'Don't let me die in vain. Don't let my name die in vain,"' Redman said as a church usher tore paper towels off a roll for teary attendees to dry their eyes. The Rev. Randy Loney, a Macon pastor who often visited Davis in prison, said he was always struck by Davis' gentle nature despite the death sentence looming over him. Referring to the catchphrase adopted by his supporters — "I am Troy Davis" — Loney said he came to realize that "in a lot of ways, we are not Troy Davis." "We did not wake up every morning and go to sleep every evening with the specter of the executioner in our eyes," he said.

A line of people wait outside the Jonesville Baptist Church before the funeral of Troy Davis in Savannah, Ga., Saturday, Oct. 1, 2011. (Stephen Morton/AP Photo)

Family, friends celebrate Troy Davis' life at funeral

STORY HIGHLIGHTS "I am Troy Davis," chant those at the funeral Davis is called an innocent man put to death Many speak out against the death penalty He was the "soul of something profound," says his lawyer
(CNN) -- It was inevitable that the fiery politics of the death penalty would punctuate Saturday's remembrance of Troy Anthony Davis. His 20 years of claims of innocence on Georgia's death row earned him millions of supporters who believe the state wrongfully executed him on the night of September 21. Saturday, Davis' family and closest friends gathered inside the Jonesville Baptist Church to celebrate his life. A mass of flowers covered Davis' closed casket. Two photos flanked it -- one a color portrait of a young boy who grew up on the streets of Savannah's Cloverdale neighborhood and the other a black and white photo of a young man in a suit attending his murder trial. Those in attendance repeatedly chanted: "I am Troy Davis," the slogan adopted in the campaign to spare his life and one that went viral on social media networks. "Look at those last two lines of your program today," said Benjamin Jealous, president of the NAACP. "I am Troy Davis. And I am free." Jealous and other friends and advocates for Davis, including his lawyer, Jason Ewart, voiced Davis' last words before he was put to death by lethal injection. That he was sorry for the family of police Officer Mark MacPhail, but that he was innocent. "We're going to keep on fighting until his name is finally cleared and Georgia admits what it has done," Jealous said. "We're going to keep on fighting until the death penalty is abolished and this can never be done to anyone else." MacPhail was shot in the early morning hours of August 19, 1989, in the parking lot of a Burger King just a few miles north of the church where Davis was memorialized. Davis was tried and convicted for MacPhail's murder and sent to death row in 1991. But he and his family had always maintained that the jury convicted the wrong man. The MacPhails said they lived in agony as legal proceedings dragged on year after year. The case became controversial after several of the witnesses who testified against him at trial later said they were coerced to speak against Davis. It was battled in many courtrooms before his execution. But in the end, Davis lost all his appeals. "We are gathered here in a place of the most unjust execution of mankind," Ewart said. "Jesus was killed on the cross, not because he was guilty, but because we are. "Many have spoken of Troy as a symbol," Ewart said. "He was the soul of something profound." Ewart, a young antitrust lawyer signed onto defending Davis shortly after graduating from Emory University's law school in Atlanta. "I met him seven years ago. When I met him I was young. I was green," he said. "From the very first conversation I had with Troy I knew he could be my older brother, my friend, and eventually, he became just that." Raphael Warnock, pastor at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, invoked the 1994 book the made Savannah famous. "It's midnight in the garden of good and evil," he said. "But I am so glad God does his best work at midnight. When the adversary has our backs against the wall, that's when God does his best work. "Strange things happen in Savannah, Georgia," he said. "This city of cobblestone streets and verdant town squares ... you have become the ground zero for the struggle to abolish the death penalty once and for all. Savannah, Georgia, the world is watching you." Davis' mother, Virginia, died in April. She was not around to see the execution of her son, an act that would have surely been wretchedly painful to bear. Davis' sisters, Martina Correia and Kimberly Davis, attended the funeral Saturday, as did Correia's son De'Jaun Davis-Correia. Davis-Correia, born prematurely, said his uncle Troy was afraid to hold him when he was first born. He weighed only 3 pounds, 8 ounces. "He thought he would break me," Davis-Correia said. But he grew into a strong young man, he said, through his uncle's guidance. He spoke of how Davis, from death row, used to help his nephew with homework, even put his tests and exams on his calendar. People tell him now that he's a little version of his uncle. And that makes Davis-Correia, the nephew of an executed man, very proud. For all his life, his uncle lived 300 miles away, behind brick walls. But, he said, "It was always like he was home with us." The funeral was open to the public, but Davis was to be buried Saturday with only his family at his graveside. And then, just before people began streaming out of the church well into Saturday afternoon, a message recorded by Davis thanked his supporters all over the world for their efforts on his behalf. "Everything we do today will clear the way for a better tomorrow," Davis said. "We can correct all the wrongs if we band together. Don't give up the fight." The voice of the dead had filled the sanctuary.

The Only Woman Electrocuted in Georgia's Electric Chair

The Only Woman Electrocuted in Georgia's Electric Chair Such is the story of Lena Baker, an African-American mother of three, who was electrocuted at the Georgia State Prison in Reidsville. She was convicted for the fatal shooting of E. B. Knight, a white Cuthbert, Georgia mill operator she was hired to care for after he broke his leg. She was 44 and the only woman ever executed in Georgia’s electric chair. For Baker, a Black maid in the segregated south in the 1940’s, her story was a tough sell to a jury of 12 white men. And rumors that she was romantically involved with victim E. B. Knight did not help. Her murder trial lasted just a day, without a single witness called by her court-appointed lawyer. She was convicted and sentenced to death. John Cole Vodicka, director of an Americus-based inmate advocacy program known as the Prison and Jail Project, said Knight had kept Ms. Baker as his "virtual sex slave." She was his paramour, she was his mistress, and, among other things, his drinking partner. If you read the transcript and have any understanding of black-white relations, Black women were often subjected to the sexual whims of their white masters, their white bosses, or some white man who had control over their lives or the lives of their families. "Here is one who resisted and paid the price.” The undertaker who brought her body back to Cuthbert buried her in a grave that went unmarked for five decades, until the congregation of Mount Vernon Baptist Church raised $250 for a concrete slab and marker. Relatives are still trying to clear her name with the Georgia Board of Pardons and Parole. Lena Baker, who had a sixth-grade education, stated publicly her innocence to the very end. “What I done, I did in self-defense," she said in her final statement. "I have nothing against anyone. I am ready to meet my God.” A novel, The Lena Baker Story, authored by Lela Bond Phillips, chronicles her life. This book was the basis for a screenplay by actor/director Ralph Wilcox filmed in 2007 in Southwest Georgia. The film, also entitled "The Lena Baker Story," stars Tichina Arnold in the title role, Peter Coyote, Beverly Todd and Michael Rooker and is due for theatrical release in Spring 2009. 'The Lena Baker Story,' by Lela Bond Phillips

He was 14 yrs. 6mos. and 5 days old --- and the youngest person executed in the United States in the 20th Century

He was 14 yrs. 6mos. and 5 days old --- and the youngest person executed in the United States in the 20th Century

George Junius Stinney, Jr., [b. 1929 - d. 1944] In a South Carolina prison sixty-six years ago, guards walked a 14-year-old boy, bible tucked under his arm, to the electric chair. At 5' 1" and 95 pounds, the straps didn’t fit, and an electrode was too big for his leg. The switch was pulled and the adult sized death mask fell from George Stinney’s face. Tears streamed from his eyes. Witnesses recoiled in horror as they watched the youngest person executed in the United States in the past century die. Now, a community activist is fighting to clear Stinney’s name, saying the young boy couldn’t have killed two girls. George Frierson, a school board member and textile inspector, believes Stinney’s confession was coerced, and that his execution was just another injustice blacks suffered in Southern courtrooms in the first half of the 1900s. In a couple of cases like Stinney’s, petitions are being made before parole boards and courts are being asked to overturn decisions made when society’s thumb was weighing the scales of justice against blacks. These requests are buoyed for the first time in generations by money, college degrees and sometimes clout. “I hope we see more cases like this because it help brings a sense of closure. It’s symbolic,” said Howard University law professor Frank Wu. “It’s not just important for the individuals and their families. It’s important for the entire community. Not just for African Americans, but for whites and for our democracy as a whole. What these cases show is that it is possible to achieve justice.” Some have already achieved justice. Earlier this year, syndicated radio host Tom Joyner successfully won a posthumous pardon for two great uncles who were executed in South Carolina. A few years ago Lena Baker, a black Georgia maid sent to the electric chair for killing a white man, received a pardon after her family pointed out she likely killed the man because he was holding her against her will. In the Stinney case, supporters want the state to admit that officials executed the wrong person in June 1944. Stinney was accused of killing two white girls, 11 year old Betty June Binnicker and 8 year old Mary Emma Thames, by beating them with a railroad spike then dragging their bodies to a ditch near Acolu, about five miles from Manning in central South Carolina. The girls were found a day after they disappeared following a massive manhunt. Stinney was arrested a few hours later, white men in suits taking him away. Because of the risk of a lynching, Stinney was kept at a jail 50 miles away in Columbia. Stinney’s father, who had helped look for the girls, was fired immediately and ordered to leave his home and the sawmill where he worked. His family was told to leave town prior to the trial to avoid further retribution. An atmosphere of lynch mob hysteria hung over the courthouse. Without family visits, the 14 year old had to endure the trial and death alone. Frierson hasn’t been able to get the case out of his head since, carrying around a thick binder of old newspaper stories and documents, including an account from an execution witness. The sheriff at the time said Stinney admitted to the killings, but there is only his word — no written record of the confession has been found. A lawyer helping Frierson with the case figures threats of mob violence and not being able to see his parents rattled the seventh- grader. Attorney Steve McKenzie said he has even heard one account that says detectives offered the boy ice cream once they were done. “You’ve got to know he was going to say whatever they wanted him to say,” McKenzie said. The court appointed Stinney an attorney — a tax commissioner preparing for a Statehouse run. In all, the trial — from jury selection to a sentence of death — lasted one day. Records indicate 1,000 people crammed the courthouse. Blacks weren’t allowed inside. The defense called no witnesses and never filed an appeal. No one challenged the sheriff’s recollection of the confession. “As an attorney, it just kind of haunted me, just the way the judicial system worked to this boy’s disadvantage or disfavor. It did not protect him,” said McKenzie, who is preparing court papers to ask a judge to reopen the case. Stinney’s official court record contains less than two dozen pages, several of them arrest warrants. There is no transcript of the trial. The lack of records, while not unusual, makes it harder for people trying to get these old convictions overturned, Wu said. But these old cases also can have a common thread. “Some of these cases are so egregious, so extreme that when you look at it, the prosecution really has no case either,” Wu said. “It’s apparent from what you can see that someone was railroaded.” And sometimes, police under pressure by frightened citizens jumped to conclusions rather than conducting a thorough investigation, Wu said. Bluffton Today - 'Crusaders look to right Jim Crow justice wrongs' by Jeffrey Collins Photo: South Carolina Department of Archives and History

[video] Mother of Slain's man reaction of Troy Davis put to death in Georgia CNN

States that she can't believe it's over after 22 years. She say's it's a relief that justice has been served. She know's that Troy Davis's family is suffering now. Mother states that's the way he did it so that's the way it ended now.