Lucy Letby is a callous monster ─ the most despicable specimen of humanity; however, can I really frame her existence within the context of what I believe it is to be a human being? Surely, she defies every conceivable convention of compassion: the cornerstone of our creation. She is the embodiment of pure evil; and consequently, she must face the same fate that she bestowed upon the innocents who were so tragically placed under her pathological grip.
As a postgraduate criminologist and former senior police officer, I am supposed to have a deeper understanding of what makes or creates human deviancy, and thereby qualify what measures are more successful in protecting the rest of us from such hideous acts. But, even in the face of the fact that capital punishment isn’t the solution, my overwhelming desire for retribution remains white hot. What is the solution to this crippling conundrum, or are such acts of cold-blooded murder enduring episodes that we have to accept, even if the immediate pain knows no bounds?
The last acts of capital punishment in the UK took place on 13th August 1964 when Gwynne Evans and Peter Allen were hanged for the murder of John Alan West. Less than two years later, child killers Ian Brady and Myra Hindley were sentenced to life imprisonment; many others have since been convicted of the same repulsive acts. Would the deterrence of a death penalty have altered their thinking? The facts suggest not.
In the US, where capital punishment is still a judicial tool available in all fifty States, it is nonetheless rarely instigated. There are various drivers that influence the selection of this option, albeit there is indisputable evidence – assimilated from international studies – that murder rates decline after nation states abolish the death penalty.
But isn’t retribution alone a valid reason to maintain this final option?
In the direct aftermath of the sentencing of Letby this basic instinct remains dominant in my thoughts. As a father, I cannot process what unrelenting horror the parents and their extended families are enduring. It is something from which nobody can ever recover, and that in itself is a life sentence of paralysing pain.
Why is revenge such a frowned upon conclusion?
This is, I suspect, far easier to assert if you are not a relative of a murder victim, since the direct opposite is prevalent within this group. If in doubt, take some time out to read their stories, typified by Marie Verzulli following the murder of her sister Catherine: “I couldn’t imagine what, if anything, could bring me comfort or lessen my pain and despair, but I knew it wasn’t the death penalty.”
The criminal justice system is fallible, and indictable offences, such as murder, are ultimately decided upon by jurors – people like you and me ─ emotional and fallible, as evidenced in the last few weeks by the case of Andy Malkinson who was cleared of rape after seventeen years in jail.
So, where does this journey leave me?
My own sense of what it is to be human has grown, but my trust in others has diminished, especially those who continually silenced the medical professionals who raised the red flags, only to be persistently ridiculed and harassed into drawing a line under the obvious suspicions of Letby. Dr Ravi Jayaram and his colleagues stand proud, but they too will carry the scars of what could have been.
The fact that Letby will only ever be released from prison in a coffin gives me a modicum of comfort. However, like every other loving parent, a piece of me dies every time a child is murdered by those whose role is to protect and preserve the lives of the most vulnerable. If there is a hell, then Letby will be welcomed; in the meantime, I sincerely hope that her existence is a living hell.
©Ian Kirke 2023
@ianjkirke
Title photograph by The Good Funeral Guide on Unsplash