The Guardian's Katie Fretland was at Oklahoma state penitentiary to
witness the state's first double execution since 1937. It soon became
clear the procedure had been botched
We had been warned that the execution of Clayton Lockett, a convicted murderer and rapist who had shot his 19-year-old victim and ordered a friend to bury her alive, would take longer than usual.
Jerry Massie, a spokesman for Oklahoma's corrections department, explained to the group of witnesses permitted to watch the procedure that the first drug to be used under the state's new lethal injection protocol would take some time to have its desired effect.
“Don't be surprised," he said.
In the event, the warning rang hollow. It would be a full 43 minutes after the drug was administered before Lockett died – and only after he had thrashed on the gurney, writhing and groaning – as it became clear that the procedure had been botched.
The grim scenes were the culmination of an unprecedented legal and political dispute in Oklahoma that has propelled the state into a nationwide tussle over the growing secrecy surrounding the drugs used by states to kill prisoners.
The governor of Oklahoma, Mary Fallin, had even publicly challenged the authority of a panel of judges who temporarily put a halt to the execution, in order to consider the inmates' challenges over the constitutionality of the secrecy. The court backed down, and denied the prisoners' claims. Then, in a move that attracted international attention, the state scheduled the two executions on the same night, two hours apart, in its first double execution since 1937.
It was a decision that backfired badly.
The execution of Lockett was scheduled for 6pm. A group of 12 selected media witnesses, including the Guardian, were shuttled to the white-walled Oklahoma state penitentiary in McAlester from a nearby visitor's building. We waited in the prison law library, as inmates banged on their cells and hollered to mark the event.
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We had been warned that the execution of Clayton Lockett, a convicted murderer and rapist who had shot his 19-year-old victim and ordered a friend to bury her alive, would take longer than usual.
Jerry Massie, a spokesman for Oklahoma's corrections department, explained to the group of witnesses permitted to watch the procedure that the first drug to be used under the state's new lethal injection protocol would take some time to have its desired effect.
“Don't be surprised," he said.
In the event, the warning rang hollow. It would be a full 43 minutes after the drug was administered before Lockett died – and only after he had thrashed on the gurney, writhing and groaning – as it became clear that the procedure had been botched.
The grim scenes were the culmination of an unprecedented legal and political dispute in Oklahoma that has propelled the state into a nationwide tussle over the growing secrecy surrounding the drugs used by states to kill prisoners.
The governor of Oklahoma, Mary Fallin, had even publicly challenged the authority of a panel of judges who temporarily put a halt to the execution, in order to consider the inmates' challenges over the constitutionality of the secrecy. The court backed down, and denied the prisoners' claims. Then, in a move that attracted international attention, the state scheduled the two executions on the same night, two hours apart, in its first double execution since 1937.
It was a decision that backfired badly.
The execution of Lockett was scheduled for 6pm. A group of 12 selected media witnesses, including the Guardian, were shuttled to the white-walled Oklahoma state penitentiary in McAlester from a nearby visitor's building. We waited in the prison law library, as inmates banged on their cells and hollered to mark the event.
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