The Confession

In the character of Texas Governor Gill Newton, the novel continues its indictment of the system that has condemned Donté to death: At all points, the ostensibly truth-seeking and impartial legal process actually hinges on the actions of flawed individuals motivated by selfish or near-sighted goals, which makes explicit The Fallibility of Capital Punishment. The novel’s Republican governor—“brash, loud, and vulgar in private” (174) and known for his “straightforward shoot-from-the-hip honesty” (174)—has been elected as a conservative with a platform of strict law and order; thus, if he grants a pardon, he risks looking weak on meting out harsh justice in a timely and efficient manner. In theory, the governor’s stance is an expression of the will of the people; however, in practice, he represents only the interests of his base, white Republican voters, minimally educated, who see executions as an expression of the Biblical injunction to take an eye for an eye. The governor and his staff play to that mentality, knowing that the policy exploits the division between white and Black votes. This means that Newton has little incentive to be concerned about the whole population of Slone. He knows that “Blacks are pissed, and they got demonstrations all over the state” (174), but since he received nearly 71% of the white vote in Slone’s county, he decides only to monitor the situation and have state troops on the alert. To assure himself of the rightness of the execution, the governor plays and replays the videotape of the confession, willfully blinding himself to the clear sense that this is simply a teen’s desperate attempt to extricate himself from police custody.

As Slone prepares for the execution, the novel touches on The Relationship Between Justice and Race. The town’s Black community rallies in support of Donté, decrying the punishment as a modern-day lynching. In contrast, the white community is outraged that Black football players want to vote to suspend team practice and boycott a game with a cross-county rival scheduled for the night after Donté’s execution. Texas football fandom may approach a religious dimension, but the novel makes it clear that this white anger is racist: White folks enjoy the fact that the majority-Black team wins games and brings their town state-wide recognition; their inability to empathize with the players’ grief shows how much the white football fans objectify these young people.

Boyette’s personal history exposes another aspect of The Dynamics of a Family Under Pressure—in this case, as another factor in the legal system. Despite their differences, the Yarbers and the Drumms, who share a concern for their children, draw their strength from the faith, and cling to each other in times of emotional trauma. The family of Travis Boyette, in contrast, is terrifying in its dysfunction. The abuse, sexual assault, and neglect Boyette and his brother experienced isn’t meant to create sympathy for Boyette or excuse his four decades of violent crime. However, Boyette’s backstory does continue the novel’s argument that the justice system and its punishments fail in their efforts at reform. Jailing Boyette as a juvenile offender—feeding a scared and angry kid into the prison system—means making this environment stand in for a functional family. Boyette feels he was doomed to a life of crime: “I weren’t born this way and sure didn’t want to do what I did” (202), he says, but “The juvenile justice system does nothing but cultivate career criminals” (207).

In these chapters, Reverend Schroeder agrees to transport a paroled convict across state lines—an entirely illegal action that underscores The Need for Activism. Drawing on his Christian sense of mercy and righteousness, and on his newfound knowledge of the inequities of death row, Schroeder embodies the moral dilemma of activism. In leaving behind his family, risking his career, and putting himself in harm’s way, Schroeder dedicates himself to a cause he sees as more important than himself, more valuable than safety.