澳彩开奖

Scarlette Annette Orso once dreamed of having children of her own to add to her already large family.

鈥淚鈥檝e always loved children. 鈥� I guess because I was the baby of 10, I鈥檝e always wanted 10 kids,鈥� she told the 澳彩开奖 in late October. 鈥淚鈥檓 fixing to be 57 and don鈥檛 have any.鈥�

Orso鈥檚 brothers and sisters did give her 鈥渂eaucoups of nieces and nephews,鈥� she said. With no children of her own, she babysat them before she went to prison, along with any other children in her South Alabama community who needed looking after. One of her nieces describes her as 鈥渁 rock and a pillar to the community 鈥� a babysitter to everyone鈥� who has 鈥渉osted multiple benefits for people in need.鈥�

Orso could be back home today if not for Alabama鈥檚 broken parole system that keeps her behind bars, serving a 20-year sentence for a crime few people believe she committed.

鈥淚鈥檝e missed out on life itself,鈥� Orso said of the 12 years she has spent in Alabama Department of Corrections custody for manslaughter. 鈥淚鈥檝e missed out on my nieces and nephews growing up and graduating, birthdays, getting married 鈥撀營鈥檝e just missed out on everything.鈥�

Earlier this year, the Alabama Bureau of Pardons and Paroles set a parole hearing for her on Sept. 30. Orso, who has earned her GED diploma in prison and has had only one disciplinary infraction in 12 years, lined up an after-hours janitorial job at a day care center run by a friend. All she needed was for the Alabama Board of Pardons and Paroles to grant her early release from prison.

But when Sept. 30 came, her parole was denied.

Orso鈥檚 case is an example of how the board denies parole to even the best candidates. Her story is the first in a series by the 澳彩开奖 that will explore the human cost of the Alabama parole board鈥檚 decisions, which have shown a predisposition to deny parole to incarcerated people who have for years 鈥� often decades 鈥� abided by prison rules, completed classes and maintained behavior that should prompt serious consideration of a release by parole.

The board鈥檚 record is particularly noteworthy in a state grappling with dangerously overcrowded prisons that have prompted Department of Justice reports detailing shocking violence by correctional officers and systemic failures. The board, which faces a backlog of about 4,000 people, according to a by the ACLU of Alabama, could help address the overcrowding issue by clearing cases in a fair and equitable manner.

For her latest parole hearing, more than a dozen letters of support for Orso from her friends and family poured in, along with online petitions and messages on social media. Many described her as a threat to no one and a valued member of the community. Earlier this year, a correctional officer wrote in a general letter of support that she believed Orso 鈥渨ill do well in the free world.鈥� She is described in another correctional officer鈥檚 report as 鈥渨ell adjusted鈥� and a 鈥渉ard worker 鈥� always willing to work without being instructed to.鈥� Orso has also completed nearly a dozen prison education programs.

It isn鈥檛 clear whether or how seriously the board considered such information. What is clear is that the board viewed the offense of manslaughter as serious. One board member called Orso a 鈥渞isk to public safety,鈥� according to the board鈥檚 Sept. 30 notes.

鈥淭hey just saw that I was here on a violent crime,鈥� Orso said. 鈥淎nd they denied me. I don鈥檛 think they dig deep ... it鈥檚 like they just don鈥檛 have a heart for people with violent crimes, they won鈥檛 give us a chance.

鈥淭hey just see murder or manslaughter, and they鈥檙e just like, 鈥楧enied.鈥欌��

Orso was devastated by the board鈥檚 decision. But the denial was even more bitter because she and others believe she is in prison largely because of a false confession.

A plea of 鈥榥ot guilty鈥� after a 鈥榗onfession鈥�

Orso grew up in Mt. Vernon, near Citronelle in the northern outskirts of Mobile.

鈥淚 always felt safe in my hometown. We sleep with the doors open and the windows up. I鈥檓 from the country,鈥� Orso said. Growing up, she also had the protection of her older siblings, many of whom treated her more like their daughter than their sister. 鈥淚 just say yes ma鈥檃m to all of them. That鈥檚 just how I grew up,鈥� she said.

In April 2006, Orso鈥檚 sense of safety in the country disappeared when the man she lived with off and on, Arthur 鈥淓mmitt鈥� Snow, was killed in her home by a blast of shotgun fire by someone she had considered a friend.

Orso said she was hiding during the shooting. Afterwards, she said, the man who pulled the trigger threatened to kill her if she didn鈥檛 take responsibility. He fled as law enforcement officers headed to the scene, according to Orso. When the Washington County sheriff鈥檚 deputy arrived, she said that she had killed Snow, believing it to be the safest option for her at that moment.

Orso was indicted nearly a year later.

By then, she no longer felt threatened and pleaded not guilty. The actual shooter, according to Orso, became a state鈥檚 witness and alleged that she had killed Snow.

As the case headed to trial, Orso鈥檚 attorney struggled to locate a key witness for her defense, a woman Orso said was at her home and hiding when Snow was killed. Afraid she might lose at trial, Orso pleaded guilty to manslaughter just after a jury was selected.

She went to prison, and when she came up for parole, the victim鈥檚 sister, Virginia Reed, made sure she stayed there. Reed exercised the ability offered to victims鈥� family members by parole guidelines to give input to the board on its decisions.

Whether Orso had lied in 2006 to the sheriff鈥檚 deputy didn鈥檛 matter much to Reed, according to Reed鈥檚 daughter, Jamie Byrd. Reed, who died in 2019, 鈥渢hought that [Orso] should be punished for lying, if that makes sense,鈥� Byrd told the 澳彩开奖.

Though Reed鈥檚 logic helped deny Orso her freedom, she understands. 鈥淚f someone killed my brother ... I would want somebody to pay for it, too,鈥� Orso said.

Members of victim鈥檚 family support release

Today, Byrd, who is Snow鈥檚 niece, is a strong advocate for Orso鈥檚 release, stating in a letter to the parole board this fall that 鈥淪carlette Orso has never been a threat to me nor my family.鈥�

Before she was imprisoned, Orso鈥檚 care for children had brought them together. 鈥淪he鈥檚 been an excellent friend,鈥� Byrd said. 鈥淪he raised my kids, they called her 鈥榓unt.鈥� That鈥檚 the way that is. She treated my kids like they were her nieces and nephews. She was a part of their lives and mine.鈥�

What鈥檚 more, before Byrd鈥檚 mother died, she was ready to stop opposing Orso鈥檚 release, according to Byrd. 鈥淪he wasn鈥檛 going to fight it anymore,鈥� Byrd said. 鈥淪he was done with it.鈥�

Nevertheless, in September, all three parole board members marked 鈥渘egative input from stakeholders (victim, family of victim, law enforcement)鈥� as one of their reasons for denial. The records obtained by the 澳彩开奖, however, do not make clear who, if anyone, offered negative input.

Notes taken by Board Chair Leigh Gwathney at the September 2020 hearing show she focused on Orso鈥檚 confession, even though the board is not charged with the responsibility of determining guilt or innocence, a duty of the courts.聽 Orso 鈥渢old [the institutional parole officer] someone else shot the victim,鈥� Gwathney noted, 鈥渂ut she confessed to shooting him at the time.鈥�

What鈥檚 more, it鈥檚 unclear whether Gwathney was aware of the belief among the victim鈥檚 remaining family that Orso is now telling the truth. That includes Byrd, whose letter was submitted to the board.

Orso wants the parole board to 鈥渄ig into our cases, don鈥檛 just look at what we鈥檙e labeled as,鈥� she said. 鈥淒ig deep and give us a chance to go home. ... I would just ask them to have a heart. Put themselves in our shoes. Put their children in our shoes, their grandchildren in our shoes.鈥�

The parole board鈥檚 decision is hard for Orso to accept, but she has a way of coping. On her birthday, Nov. 5 鈥撀爅ust over a month after her parole denial 鈥� her friends at the Birmingham Community Work Center presented her with a gift:聽a T-shirt they鈥檇 made especially for her, which reads 鈥淚t鈥檚 all wrong, but it鈥檚 alright.鈥�

The saying comes from a blues song that has become a motto for Orso in prison. 鈥淚n prison, it鈥檚 all the little things that go wrong,鈥� she said. 鈥淓very time something goes wrong, like when I didn鈥檛 make parole, I just say: 鈥業t鈥檚 all wrong, but it鈥檚 alright.鈥� The way things go sometimes is wrong. But it鈥檚 also alright, because we can鈥檛 do anything about it.

鈥淚t has to be alright.鈥�

Read more about the聽Freedom Denied聽蝉别谤颈别蝉听here.

Illustration by Ryan Simpson