A Missourian’s Take on Marcellus Williams

As a modern American, the word freedom has a few contradictory meanings in my lexicon. It can evoke foamy tides rolling along the New England coast, or cattle herded across the dusty Western plains. It can also mean every American can hypothetically earn the life they desire, regardless of circumstance. 

While these are nice sentiments, real experiences speak louder than image-laden concepts. Since America’s founding, freedom has been used to justify conquest and ownership as spiritual liberation for the land and slave owning founders of this nation. Millions were imprisoned, brutalized or slaughtered in the name of freedom.

Marcellus Williams, a St. Louis based-poet also known under the pseudonym Khaliifah ibn Rayford Daniels ‘Abdul-Qudduus, ponders these seeming prices of freedom in his poem “I! CAN’T! BREATHE!” — one of many works detailing his thoughts on the struggles of being a modern Black American

“Do some have to be lynched for others to be free?” Williams wrote.

In addition to being a poet, Williams was an advocate and death row inmate at Potosi Correctional Center. He was imprisoned in 2001 for the 1998 murder of St. Louis Post-Dispatch reporter Felicia Gayle, despite significant evidence contradicting his involvement with the crime and his repeated innocent pleas. 

Regardless of these glaring contradictions, Williams was executed by the state of Missouri Sept. 24 at 6:00 p.m.

Before his execution, many Missourians and out-of-staters alike were moved by Williams’ story and urged Missouri Governor Mike Parson to grant Williams’ clemency. Parson not only denied Williams’ team’s request for mercy, but has also denied every plea for clemency since his appointment as governor in 2018. 

Williams’ request then reached the Missouri Supreme Court and U.S. Supreme Court, both of which denied the request for a hearing, according to PBS News.

The execution of Marcellus Williams is a failure of the American justice system to the highest degree. The ruling doesn’t only show a blatant disregard for the dignity of criminals as citizens, but also the concept of justice.

Injustice runs deep in Missouri soil. The state sparked national conversation around slave ownership with the Missouri Compromise in 1820. The Civil War left behind a divided state, causing many scorned confederates to be left out of local politics as union supporters flocked to booming industrial hot-spots like St. Louis and Kansas City to hash out their own agendas, according to PBS.

Although some freed slaves found post-war refuge in rural areas, despite their newfound freedom their reality was often grim. Approximately 60 lynchings were reported between 1877 to 1950, most of which in central counties, according to the Community Remembrance Project. 

The freed slaves who found homes in the cities faced systematic issues including redlining, segregation and institutionalized racism.

Although lynching may have been criminalized, the legacy of lynching lives on through the death penalty. Incarceration rates also show in detail the perpetuation of systemic racism, with Missouri’s Black incarcerated population making up 33% of those imprisoned while making up just 11% of the population. 

The prison system’s insidious promise to protect Missourians’ right to continue living freely is what continues this cycle of injustice.

History doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Missouri will never be absolved of its racist past persistently rearing its ugly head in the culture and political climate of today. Marcellus Williams is a victim of Missouri’s blatant disregard for and unwillingness to acknowledge and change its racist present. 

As a native Missourian, I have experienced both the splendor and the brutality of America’s Heartland. It conflicts the heart to love a land with a history so repugnant. The marvelous Ozark waters are murky with spilled blood. My home, Kansas City, is in conflict with itself, desiring to become a progressive, booming city yet still vying to retain its antiquated identity formed on civil war battlefields.

Yet, in lue of it all, art and love persist. Williams was a brilliant poet and thinker despite the systemic shackle he had to work with. His mind’s freedom perseveres through his pen, living on despite Missouri’s suppressive justice system. 

Williams’ poetry exists after his death as a symbol of personal freedom, even in times of insurmountable strife. This injustice is a representation of Missouri’s unwillingness to move into the present, to let go of racist ideology and to become a state ready to accept the ever-changing nature of life.