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resource centers around the country were forced to close. We had never received state
support for our work, and without the federal dollars we faced serious financial challenges.
We scraped along and found enough private support to continue our work. Teaching and
increased fund-raising responsibilities got piled on top of my bulging litigation docket, but
somehow things progressed. Our staff was overextended, but I was thrilled with the talented
lawyers and professionals we had working with us. We were assisting clients on death row,
challenging excessive punishments, helping disabled prisoners, assisting children incarcerated
in the adult system, and looking at ways to expose racial bias, discrimination against the
poor, and the abuse of power. It was overwhelming but gratifying.
I received a surprising call one day from the Swedish Ambassador to the United States, who
told me that EJI had been selected for the Olof Palme International Human Rights Award.
They invited me to Stockholm to receive it. I had studied Sweden’s progressive approach to
the rehabilitation of criminal offenders as a graduate student and had long marveled at how
focused on recovery their system appeared. Their punishments were humane, and their
policymakers took rehabilitation of criminal offenders very seriously, which made me excited
about the award and the trip. That they were giving an award named after a beloved prime
minister who had been tragically murdered by a deranged man to someone who represented
people on death row revealed a lot about their values. The trip to Stockholm was planned for
January. They sent a film crew to interview me a month or two before the trip, and the crew
also wanted to speak with a few clients. I made arrangements for them to interview Walter.
“I can come down for this interview,” I told Walter.
“No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t have to travel, so I’m okay to talk to them. Don’t
spend time driving all the way down here.”
“Do you want to go to Sweden?” I asked, half-joking.
“I don’t know exactly where that is, but if you have to fly a long way to get there, no, I’m
not too interested. I think I’d like to stay on the ground from now on.” We laughed and he
sounded fine.
He then became quiet and asked one final question before we hung up. “Maybe you can
come and see me when you get back? I’m okay, but we can just hang out.”
It was an unusual request from Walter so I eagerly agreed. “Sure, that would be great. We
can go fishing,” I teased. I’d never gone fishing in my life, and Walter found that so
scandalous that he never stopped questioning me about it. When we traveled together, I never
ordered fish to eat, and he was sure I didn’t eat fish because I’d never caught a fish. I tried to
follow his logic and made promises, but we had never gotten around to taking a fishing trip.
The Swedish film crew was eager to meet the challenge of finding Walter’s trailer in the
backwoods of South Alabama. I told them how to get there. I’d always been with Walter
when he spoke to the press, but I felt like this was probably safe.
“He doesn’t give speeches. He’s usually very direct and succinct,” I told the interviewers.
“He’s great, but you should ask him good questions. And it’s probably better if you talk to
him outside, too. He prefers to be outdoors.” They nodded sympathetically but seemed
confused by my anxiety. I called Walter before leaving for Sweden, and he told me that the
interview had gone fine, which was reassuring.
Stockholm was beautiful, despite the constant snow and frigid temperatures. I gave some
speeches and attended a few dinners. It was a short, cold trip, but the people were lovely and