Magee: Personal responsibility makes for an uncomfortable state of executions

Almost two weeks ago, I was officially connected to a man's killing.

Other Tennesseans can say the very same thing, since Cecil Johnson's Dec. 1 execution by lethal injection was conducted by the state. As residents, we own everything from state buildings, highways, colleges and universities, parks, prisons, and yes, even executions.

That's why almost two weeks later I wondered why Mr. Johnson's death, representing more than 6 million Tennessee residents including myself, did not bother more than it did at the time.

I knew that the convicted murderer was slated for execution by the state and logged online early in the morning with coffee in hand to read the news and see if the job had been done. I remember reading that Mr. Johnson died at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution in Nashville from lethal injection. I also remember reading the grisly details of Mr. Johnson's 1980 crime that landed him on death row.

After robbing a convenience store in Nashville, he killed three people, including a 12-year-old boy he shot in the head.

Seemed Mr. Johnson did owe a large debt to society, having claimed three innocent lives in first-degree murder.

Following momentary pause for the sadness of it all, the pain and suffering he caused followed by his death through execution, I went about my business without giving another thought.

Days later, without warning, the realization that executions conducted by the state are done in representation of the people who call it home struck from seemingly nowhere, landing potent clarity. When Tennessee killed a man on Dec. 1, so did I in a way since the state and its laws represent nothing but its citizens.

Not that I could have done anything about it. An appeal for a stay of Mr. Johnson's execution was filed in the final hours before his death but denied. Prayer vigils held outside the prison and at an area church did not stop the execution either, with state law prevailed over pleading. The lethal injection was given and Mr. Johnson's debt was paid almost three decades after the crimes he committed.

The sixth death row inmate executed in Tennessee since 1960, Mr. Johnson's case was similar to the others in that he deserved the most severe punishment possible, short of execution. Life in prison without parole and mandatory work assignments to benefit victims seem more reasonable, since when the state kills, it does so in the name of its people.

As one, I've come to realize that Tennessee's role as a retribution killer does bother me, considerably.