A Public Letter

Among the unexpected friendships that came of my time in cancer treatment in my early twenties is with a prisoner on death row in Texas named Quintin “Quin” Phillippe Jones. After reading a column I’d written in the New York Times about what I described as my “incanceration,” he sent me a letter, saying he had felt a resonance in our shared experience of facing mortality and of isolation—mine in the bubble of a hospital room, his in solitary confinement. We became pen pals, exchanging dozens of letters over the next three years. Later, while driving through Texas, I visited him and witnessed firsthand his humility, his humanity, and his decency.

Quin’s humanity is shown not just in his communications with me, but also in the dozens of other pen pals he has cultivated over the years. Quin’s upbringing was difficult beyond measure, including poverty, abuse, mental illness, drug addiction, and living on the streets starting at age 13. However, in the near-decade I’ve known him, he has never once blamed his circumstances for what he did. “I have accepted responsibility for my actions,” Quin has said. “In life we all have to accept accountability for our actions.”

I recently learned that Quin is scheduled to be executed on May 19, 2021. In hearing this, I was reminded of something he had said to me during our visit—“I don’t believe I deserve the death penalty, but I do believe I deserve to remain behind bars for the rest of my life.” 

Then and now, Quin is not asking us to forgive, not asking for us to forget, not asking for freedom. But I’m humbly asking Governor Abbott and the Texas Board of Parole and Pardons to reconsider his sentencing, to allow him to live out the rest of his life in prison.

With deepest gratitude for your consideration.

Suleika Jaouad