WAS CONTRABAND LAW WORTH PETIT GIRLS' LIVES?

Nothing in modern Connecticut history has been more excruciating to
more people than the murder of the Petit family in Cheshire in July
2007. The other day the whole state relived the horror as one of the
two perpetrators, Steven Hayes, was given a death sentence in New
Haven Superior Court and the survivor of the crime, Dr. William A.
Petit Jr., recounted at length the immeasurable loss of his wife and
two daughters.

In a few months a trial will be held for Hayes' accomplice, Joshua
Komisarjevsky, who, as Hayes did, has offered to plead guilty in
exchange for a sentence of life imprisonment without parole. In the
meantime Connecticut will reconsider capital punishment. The General
Assembly and the new governor, Dan Malloy, seem likely to repeal it
for future cases while leaving in force the death sentences for Hayes
and the nine others awaiting execution in the state.

But as hot as the debate over capital punishment remains and as much
as Hayes and Komisarjevsky deserve execution, Hayes' sentencing
raised a far more profound if overlooked issue: drug criminalization.
As Hayes told the court at his sentencing:

"I was a drug addict, a petty thief, and a person who could not find
his way in life. ... And even though I was not high when I committed
these crimes, drugs were the driving force. Any money I would have
taken would have gone for drugs. ... Many have tried to help me with
my problems, but I was too busy worrying about where I was going to
get money for drugs to accept any help."

Of course by itself anything said by someone like Hayes can have no
particular credibility. But his statement about his drug compulsion
matches everything in his long criminal record, which is full of
burglaries committed for drug money. Hayes' statement also matches
everything known about drug criminalization in America -- that
thousands of deaths are caused by criminalization and the contraband
price premium it puts on drugs for every death caused by illegal
drugs themselves.

Capital punishment is not the question Connecticut should be putting
to itself as a result of the atrocity in Cheshire. For there is no
doubt about the guilt of Hayes and those who got to Death Row here
before him. As much as the state recently has seen some horrible
wrongful convictions, convictions disproved by DNA evidence or
witness recantations, Connecticut is not Texas and won't be even if
Connecticut's capital punishment law remains in place; the law is
just too exquisite with its appeal procedures.

No, the question Connecticut should be putting to itself as a result
of the atrocity in Cheshire is whether denying Hayes an inexpensive
high was worth the lives of Jennifer Hawke-Petit and her beautiful
and beloved daughters, Hayley, 17, and Michaela, 11. Connecticut
should ask itself the same sort of question after every convenience
store robbery-murder, every drive-by shooting in its anarchic and
drug-filled cities, and every burglary in the suburbs.

Really, why not just give the addicts the drugs, and, for those who
want it, addiction therapy? Is it really the criminal law that keeps
people from becoming addicts? Was it really the criminal law that
kept Jennifer, Hayley, and Michaela from becoming addicts?

And if the criminal law does prevent some people from becoming drug
addicts, is their health really worth more than the lives destroyed
by the crimes resulting from criminalization? Was Hayes' health worth
more than the lives of Mrs. Petit and her children? Is there anyone
in Connecticut who, blessed with the chance to go back in time to
that horrible day in 2007, would not happily give Hayes whatever
drugs he wanted?

As most people do not become drug addicts, none of this mitigates
Hayes' guilt. If, as he told the court the other day, he really
accepts responsibility for his crimes and thinks that his death would
be "a welcome relief" for both himself and his crime's survivors, he
can prove his sincerity by withdrawing whatever appeals the law
allows him to withdraw and thereby hasten his execution.

That might not only give some justice to the survivors and avoid
enormous legal expense for the state. It also would spare Hayes'
public defenders the indignity of their own tediously contrived
arguments challenging his conviction and sentence, like the argument
that publicity irretrievably prejudiced everything. After all, Hayes
admitted his guilt for an unprecedented atrocity, and if publicity by
itself prevents justice, then the more atrocious the crime, the less
its perpetrator can be held to account. Even the defense lawyers at
Nuremberg didn't resort to that one.