Even after my brother’s murder, I know Missouri’s wrong to execute Johnny Johnson | Opinion
I am a neighbor, nurse, mother, wife and sister. We live next door in southeast Nebraska just a few hours away, and we love Missouri. Branson is an eight-hour trip. Our entire family has enjoyed the friendly visits there, like the recent “What’s Your M-O?” tourism commercials. We are Kansas City Royals baseball fans. We love the skill and diversity of the team. We wish they could win more.
I am also a mother and have two adult children, born in the early 1980s. My husband has been gracious to allow me to continue on my mercy missions, sharing my story about the lack of closure and trauma the penalty brought to my family when my brother was murdered in 1985.
I came to Missouri this week to speak out about the upcoming execution of Johnny Johnson. As your neighbor, we are starting to talk about your “M-O” in Missouri — and your reputation for state murder.
Our lives changed forever when my brother James was found that day, coinciding with my dad’s 65th birthday. James had been missing for some time, and we later discovered that he had become radicalized by false and dangerous beliefs, including white supremacy, which was completely unlike the Mennonite theology he grew up with.
Tragically, he had fallen victim to a sinister cult led by Michael Ryan in Rulo, Nebraska, where punishment was seen as a means of seeking forgiveness. Along with 5-year-old Luke Stice, James became a victim of torture, ultimately leading to their deaths. The horror of those events, even 30-plus years later, remains just a few keystrokes away, haunting our memories.
In the chilling Nebraska winter, James and another cult member were tied by the neck outside. James was subjected to horrific torture in a hog shed over two agonizing days. Five cult members held his left hand as each shot off a fingertip. Their leader Ryan also inflicted severe harm, attempting to skin James’ lower leg and even subjecting him to bestiality and other inhumane acts.
The pain and suffering James endured were beyond comprehension. Ultimately, he was buried at the Stice family farm in Rulo. He was a beloved brother, and his loss fills me with immense anger and grief. We had always believed James was destined to become a minister, and we struggle to understand how such a tragedy could be allowed to happen under God’s watch.
Faith tells us to forgive, not to seek revenge
Ryan was ultimately sentenced to death. The prosecutors took advantage of the pain and suffering felt by our family and made it seem as if we had no other choice but to pursue execution. Hate was never how I was raised, and I knew I needed to hold on to the teachings of my faith. The only way forward was to forgive each deed and pray for my own soul.
The idea of seeking revenge through a death sentence didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to be consumed by the same hate I saw in some of my family members. I couldn’t accept the idea of giving Ryan power over my life, either.
Instead, I chose a different path. I opted to embrace forgiveness and find a better use for all the resources spent on seeking the death penalty. Waiting decades for justice wasn’t the solution I sought. I wanted to live a life of forgiveness and contribute to positive change instead.
I recently learned the details of Johnson’s case, who is scheduled to be executed in Missouri on Aug. 1, pending the outcome of a stay granted by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eighth Circuit. I felt compassion and sorrow when learning about pleas to Gov. Mike Parson from the murder victim’s father, Ernie Williamson, to stop the execution.
Taking Johnny’s life will not bring back Casey Williamson. It will leave in its wake more murder victim family members. My career as a nurse and my faith as a Mennonite teach me about healing and forgiveness, not vengeance and revenge.
Missouri should not execute Johnny Johnson. We, as a society, have the power to create a world that upholds the sanctity of life and seeks understanding rather than retribution. By choosing a path of healing and forgiveness, we honor the memories of our lost loved ones and move toward a future that values humanity above all else.
Miriam Thimm Kelle is a registered nurse in southeast Nebraska. She started working a decade ago to convince lawmakers to abolish the death penalty.
