Commentary: Dustin Higgs was executed last month; he was my client

On Jan. 15, executioners at the Federal Correctional Center in Terre Haute, Indiana, administered lethal injections to prisoner 31133-037: Higgs, Dustin John.

Dustin was my client.

Over 20 years ago, Dustin was convicted and sentenced to death for complicity in a triple murder on federal land in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C.

The judge and jury that tried and sentenced him could not have known, of course, that when the sentence was carried out — two decades later — the man they had condemned to die was a peaceable prisoner, spiritually grounded in his Muslim faith, and an extremely talented artist who worked with acrylics. Most important, he was a loving, supportive father to his son, Da'Quan, who was born while Dustin was in prison.

Da'Quan, who grew up in Prince George’s County, Maryland, was, in effect, raised by his father via intermittent phone calls from death row in Indiana. As Da'Quan was to put it in a moving clemency plea to save his father’s life:

“I cannot imagine or think of where I could’ve ended up without the love and encouragement of my father … I am a better man, a better son, a better brother, a better friend because of him, and there are no words to express my gratitude.”

When our government executed Dustin, it not only extinguished a caring, talented human being and a life of unique value. It also condemned his son to a life of imponderable loss.

I was appointed by the court to represent Dustin in many post-conviction proceedings. I served as local counsel. The heavy lifting was done by the awesomely skilled and dedicated lawyers from the Capital Habeas Unit of the federal public defenders’ office based in Philadelphia. My Philadelphia colleagues, especially Cristi Charpentier, had far more contact with Dustin than I. But I know that Dustin and I “connected.” We had a number of phone calls, and I paid him two visits with Cristi on death row in Terre Haute.

In the beginning the talk was always conventional: new developments in his appeals, life on “The Row,” and family events in P.G. County and sports. Dustin’s favorite Baltimore Raven was Ray Lewis, mine was Ed Reed. But no matter; Dustin and I bonded over the NFL.

It was on my last visit to Terre Haute that a more serious and emotional bond developed.

On a cold and windy day in the late fall of 2014, Cristi and I were escorted through the maze of security checkpoints in this most secure of prisons to a tiny windowless room. We took seats on one side of a small table that was fastened to the floor to await our client.

Dustin was brought in through a separate door. His wrists were manacled and his legs shackled. He shuffled to the empty chair across from us. The conversation, once again, was routine. This time, however, Dustin seemed preoccupied.

The reason became clear when the guards signaled that time was up and we rose to leave. Dustin reached for a letter in his shirt pocket. I couldn’t tell whether his hand trembled from emotion or the weight of the manacles, but there were tears in his eyes as he reread the letter and passed it to us.

The letter was from a college admissions office, welcoming Da'Quan into an incoming class. Cristi and I, our voices choked with emotion, offered congratulations. Dustin was unable to speak without breaking down. Before the guards took Dustin away the three of us managed an awkward hug.

The emotions that roiled Dustin were undoubtedly complex: the pride of a parent in his son’s accomplishment; pride, too, at having played a large role — from death row — in that achievement. But I am certain that the emotion that Cristi and I witnessed that day also expressed one of humanity’s profoundest emotions: the love of a father for his son.

I last spoke with Dustin a month ago. Cristi arranged the call and took the lead. She and Dustin discussed the shrinking legal avenues that might extend the execution date a mere five days — which would put it beyond the Trump administration’s last-minute crescendo of state-sponsored killing and into the administration of President-elect Joe Biden, who has vowed to eliminate the federal death penalty.

I began with the light stuff. I asked Dustin who his favorite Raven was now that Ray Lewis was gone. With mock incredulity at my stupidity, he named the National Football League’s reigning Most Valuable Player, Ravens quarterback Lamar Jackson.

I turned the conversation serious because there was something I wanted — I needed — to say to Dustin. I told him I had served scores of clients in my many years. I said he was among the handful of whom I was proudest. I told him I admired his grit and determination in the fight against the Trump administration’s grisly killing spree. I said I respected the seriousness of his religious commitment. I said I was impressed with his artistic accomplishment. But I told him I admired most of all what he had done for Da'Quan — from death row, 700 miles away. I said I felt privileged to have witnessed their love for one another.

Dustin responded with a simple, “That means a lot to me.”

We never spoke again.

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