A Killer's Penalty

The quality of mercy is politicized

With TV cameras looking on, Normandale Park shooter Benjamin Smith was sentenced to life in prison with no parole for 55 years.

The cameras are gone now. Stories about Smith’s sentencing already have moved off the top of news websites. Now for another side of the story: The well-publicized sentence Smith received may not, in fact, be the sentence he serves.

If he’s cut loose early because of age, infirmity or compassion, Smith can thank the politics of the protesters he shot.

Much of the criminal justice reform that has taken place in the past several years has benefited criminals. It wouldn’t be surprising if June Knightly, the protester Smith shot dead, and the four others he wounded — one now paralyzed — supported the concept of de-incarceration.

Consider that on Monday, the day before Smith’s sentencing, the Oregon Parole Board ruled that aggravated murderer Patrick Harned (who legally changed his name to Jessie Payne-Rana) was not worthy of parole but could try again in four years.

What does this have to do with Benjamin Smith? Harned/Payne-Rana was originally sentenced to Life Without Parole for killing a 7-year-old girl he hoped to have sex with. How then was he able to score a parole hearing? Former Gov. Kate Brown commuted his sentence.

Truth in sentencing is not a popular issue with Portland progressives, and it wasn’t why Knightly and the other victims gathered regularly at Normandale Park and elsewhere to protest. Their cause grew out of Black Lives Matter and the 100-plus nights of protests led by Antifa during the summer of 2020.

Normandale Park in Northeast Portland seemed far removed from that action in February 2022. One aspect of Portland’s protests that receives little attention is the socializing. Protests can be fun and invigorating — if you’re not the one stuck in traffic or having your business vandalized or your quiet evening at home interrupted.

The victims who were shot might disagree, but protesting was probably an important part of their social life. It brought them together. In Portland, protesting can be treated like a hobby.

On the night of the shooting, Knightly and her friends were setting up a protest honoring Patrick Kimmons, a black gang member who shot and wounded two other young gang members in downtown Portlands. Kimmons was, in turn, shot dead by police.

Smith lived in an apartment complex across the street from the park. Fed up with BLM protests and armed with a handgun, he angrily confronted the women, calling them “cunts.” He took aim and fired. After killing Knightly and wounding three other women and a young man, another protester armed with his own gun, shot Smith and ended his attack.

On Tuesday, Smith sat in a wheelchair in Multnomah County Circuit Court Judge Christopher Marshall’s packed courtroom. At 44, Smith looked haggard and much older than his age, with brownish-grey hair past his chin and a scraggly beard.

He showed no emotion as the victims took turns offering what is known as “victim impact statements.” These statements came out of legislation last century when there was a move towards law and order to fight escalating crime.

Allie Bradley, 36, who was shot four times, recalled that the night of the shootings, she found Smith to be pale, small and afraid.

“Our strength emasculated you, and you tried to destroy us for it,” she said.

Dajah Beck, 40, who was shot once, was wearing a helmet with a GoPro camera that captured the chaos and terror of gunfire in a crowd: “Is there an ambulance coming!?”

She tried to comfort Knightly, dying of a gunshot to the head. In the courtroom, Beck turned to look directly at Smith and said he gave no warning at what he was going to do.

“It was gunshot, gunshot, gunshot… .”

The most moving testimony was from someone who was not in the courtroom and didn’t use her full name. “DEG” was shot in the neck and is now paralyzed from the shoulders down. She needs a ventilator to breath and speak.

Her audio testimony was punctuated by long pauses and the hissing sound of the ventilator assisting her. She is entirely dependent on her family, friends and caregivers.

“(It’s) overwhelming for both my parents and myself,” she said.

She misses the sound of her own laugh, her own voice.

At age 30, this is her life.

“I’ve lost the future I saw for myself,” she said.

Judge Marshall told her, “I have a feeling you will continue to be a voice. I hear a strong voice.”

On the other side of his courtroom door, out of the judge’s hearing, stood Rabbi Ariel Stone, looking at Marshall through the narrow windows.

“Shut up! Shut up!” she ordered.

Rabbi Stone had been out in the hallway, listening to DEG’s testimony via livestream since the courtroom was full. The judge’s words struck her as patronizing.

“His words were not indicative of empathy, and allowed no room for her words to sink in, but rather sounded like ‘little lady you sure are brave,’” Rabbi Stone said later. “In his own way he took her voice away from her, as well in those moments as he dismissed her reality as she described it.”

It struck her “as a more genteel form of the misogyny that the women had been subjected to, in their own words, in the intersection of white patriarchy violence and hatred of women, which in their view lay behind the murderer’s actions.”

Inside the courtroom, the judge offered Smith a chance to speak before sentence was imposed. He declined. He let his attorney, John Sarre, stand and say: “Mr. Smith knows he can’t take back his actions, as much as he wishes he could. … Mr. Smith does not believe he can express the unfathomable remorse he has for these folks.”

Whatever narrative Smith’s victims expected from him, he failed. Without a gun, he was a coward.

Bradley stormed out of the courtroom, yelling “Fuck you!”

Beck shouted at Smith: “Nothing? You’ve got nothing? Go fuck yourself.”

Actually, Smith does have something. He can appeal.

It’s true that he pleaded guilty to second-degree murder, four counts of attempted murder and four assault charges. But guilty pleas don’t stop appeals.

Once Smith is ensconced in prison, where he will have time to ruminate and chat with other inmates — including jailhouse lawyers — he can explore his options.

One peculiarity of his sentence was the use of consecutive sentences. Usually multiple charges involving the same incident lead to concurrent sentences. Smith received multiple consecutive sentences adding up to 55 years before he could be eligible for parole.

Should Smith try challenging that and lose, he could then file for something very popular: post-conviction relief. That’s a legal phrase most Oregonians don’t immediately recognize, but they are probably paying for it in the form of court-appointed attorneys (and this state pays more than most).

Post-conviction relief is what it sounds like. A person has been convicted and sentenced, and they want some relief — freedom or a shorter sentence.

On what basis could Smith appeal for post-conviction relief? He can claim unfairness in the case — prejudicial publicity, the Portland culture of protesting, whatever. If that fails, he can go after the judge or the prosecutor. If all else fails, he can go after his own attorney and claim he was inadequate.

Meanwhile, DEG will remain paralyzed.

That’s how awful crime can be. The victims are forgotten, while the offenders (if they’re caught and convicted) sit in prison and make plans.

It’s worth remembering if you’re looking for something to protest.