Tag Archive | Philip Vance

Broken Scales: Seeking Justice for Philip Vance

Broken Scales: Seeking Justice for Philip Vance
David R. Weiss – March 13, 2025

Two decades ago, Philip Vance’s life was set on the scales of justice. And found wanting. Convicted of murder, he was sentenced to life in prison. A jury found him guilty on all three counts: second-degree intentional, first-degree intentional, and first-degree premeditated. In just eight hours.

In fact, his direct appeal was denied (2006) as were four subsequent petitions for post-conviction relief (filed in 2007, 2008, and 2019 twice). As far as the justice system was concerned, there seemed little doubt that Philip Vance was guilty. But Philip himself knew otherwise.

When Minnesota’s Conviction Review Unit (CRU) was established in 2021, he was among the first to apply for relief. Although the CRU accepted his case for review, they have been unconscionably slow in their process. He had his final interview in March 2024 and—for the past year—has been waiting for a final report with no word on when it might come. That past year marked the twenty-second year of his wrongful imprisonment.

Which is why he recently (February 26) filed a new—fifth—petition in Dakota County District Court. At the heart of this petition, drafted by new legal counsel, is the claim that his case demonstrates an instance of “structural error”: that it was marred by actions so grave they fundamentally prevented the proceedings from delivering justice. The petition raises other concerns as well (ineffective counsel at both trial and appellate levels), but the allegation of structural error is most damning. It asserts that Philip never had a chance for a fair trial even before the proceedings were gaveled in. For him, the scales of justice were broken.

Here is what happened.

[NOTE: I wrote a longer description of these events back in 2023.]

In December 2002, a South St. Paul store clerk was shot and killed during an apparent robbery. Witnesses reported seeing two masked assailants but could provide no other details—not even skin color—although one witness said the killer spoke in what sounded like Spanish (Philip does not speak Spanish). Soon after the murder, Philip was identified as a primary suspect by the Minnesota Gang Strike Force (reorganized in 2005 as the Metro Gang Strike Force, MGSF). Arrested on an unrelated charge in March 2003, he was then held on this charge until his trial and sentencing.

From his first encounter with the police until today, some 8000-plus days, Philip has unwaveringly asserted his innocence. Including on the days he rejected plea deals because taking them would have required an admission of guilt he was unwilling—unable—to make.

Meanwhile, at trial, the prosecution offered no eyewitness identification or surveillance footage; no gun or DNA; no fingerprints, footprints, or tire tracks—no physical evidence at all connecting Philip to the crime. Nothing. So how did they make a case that resulted in such a resounding verdict (on all three counts) and in such short order?

Largely because they had a steady parade of witnesses who testified that they heard Philip make remarks linking him to the crime, including several who alleged he had directly acknowledged or confessed his role to them. These witnesses, framed by the prosecution’s narrative and supporting testimony from police officers, made a compelling case even in the absence of any physical evidence.

But what if all the witnesses were lying? (Jail house informants, as several of the witnesses against Philip were, are notoriously unreliable. Not because of poor character, but because they’re incentivized to bargain their words against the desperation of their own circumstances.) And what if, by some mix of harassment, threat, bargain, and bribery, even the other witnesses were set up by the police to finger a man about whose guilt they had no knowledge?

And what if a group of rogue police officers suppressed, mishandled, or even destroyed potentially beneficial evidence (including witness recordings and a possible alibi), and kept these actions unknown to the defense? If all that were true, you would have a case of structural error—an instance where the scales of justice were entirely prevented from functioning. Period. And that’s what this petition argues. With receipts.

It comes with sworn affidavits from twelve persons who have now, under oath, recanted their original testimony and/or supplied new evidence, while also disclosing the extent to which they were pressured by police during the investigation. It references the 2009 Review Report on the MGSF that found such widespread corruption (including mishandling and destruction of evidence and coercing witnesses) that it disbanded the whole unit. And it comes with evidence that both police and the prosecution knowingly withheld evidence or refused to correct testimony it knew was false.

Finally, the petition makes the case that far from being a string of malicious yet disconnected errors, these errors were concerted and coordinated in a pattern of actions that broke the very scales of justice that these proceedings depend on.

The claims are shocking—but substantiated with affidavits and other exhibits. They need to be heard. In the interests of justice, they ought to be heard swiftly. The petition seeks a new evidentiary hearing, to vacate the verdicts and conviction and, ultimately, to set Philip Vance free.

However, less than 24 hours after this petition was filed, Kathy Keena’s Office of Dakota County Attorney asked the Court to require no response from her office until 45 days after the CRU submits its final report. (Despite there being no timeline for when that final report is due!)

Her request appears disingenuous from multiple angles.

First, the 45 days she asks for more than doubles the 20 days allotted her office by the Court in its original January 2023 order. That’s a whole other story. Philip had delayed filing this new petition two years ago, to see whether the CRU process would work. The Court granted his request for a delay—necessary to keep his legal options alive—and in that order the Court gave Keena’s office 20 days after whenever Philip chose to file his petition to make its response. Thus, her request for 45 days, tries to alter the terms of that earlier order—and to further obstruct and delay Philip’s claim for justice.

Second, in her letter to the Court, Keena asserts the CRU has informed both parties that “a final report is expected soon,” but neither Philip nor his attorney have heard anything from the CRU in eleven months now, which is the very reason he brought this petition. Whether or not Keena is aware of the CRU’s total silence toward Philip and his attorney, her letter factually misrepresents the situation in seeking a further delay.

Third, and most importantly, one condition of the CRU is that applicants must forgo any legal claims while their case is under review. But by now Philip is convinced the CRU is more interested in silencing his claim of innocence than in honestly investigating it. It is, after all, staffed by prosecutors who seem more determined to protect the verdicts achieved by their peers than to genuinely explore the claims of innocence by their clients. By filing this new petition—in sincere pursuit of justice and freedom—Philip chose to exit the CRU process. The CRU was never his attorney, but as of the filing of this new petition, the CRU no longer has any authority in his case. He and his attorney have set a new course.

Ironically (an understatement at best!), twenty-two years ago, it was Kathy Keena herself, in one of her first cases as a prosecutor, who used all that false testimony to put Philip Vance behind bars. So, she might well prefer to have Philip’s allegations held in safekeeping by the CRU. But that’s no longer her call.

With this petition Philip is setting his life on those scales again. After twenty-two years, it’s time for them to deliver justice.

HOW TO HELP: Philip needs to raise $50,000 to cover the costs of legal representation for this petition. To date, we’ve raised over $43,000. To help us get to the finish line, you can donate here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/Please-support-philip-vance

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David Weiss is a member of the Free Philip Vance Campaign. With graduate degrees in theology and Christian ethics, he has taught religion Augsburg University, St. Catherine University, and Hamline University. He currently writes and speaks independently on contemporary issues. His blog is “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.”

Stamping Around with Mom

Mar3

Stamping Around with Mom
David R. Weiss – March 3, 2025

Mom was nothing if not frugal. This was not her most striking trait. I suppose that would be caring or listening. Long before it became a named thing, Mom was “holding space” for each of us in her own unique way. That was her foremost superpower.

But right there in the background was frugality. Making clothes, patching clothes, taking waists in, letting waists out. Fixing meals from scratch, with simple basic ingredients. Hanging the laundry out to dry whenever possible. Washing out and reusing plastic bags until they started to fall apart. And trimming stamps from unused return envelopes.

I’m not sure I realized the extent of this frugality until recently when we were cleaning out a desk drawer in the kitchen and found a little wooden box filled with trimmed stamps and a few decades old altogether unused stamps. Mostly small denomination: 1¢, 2¢, 3¢, 5¢, 10¢, but some as high as 42¢. But all of them firmly glued to the backing of trimmed envelopes.

On Friday I reaped the harvest of that particular frugality.

As you might guess, I have a zillion things on my mind these days, among them the impending radical prostatectomy set for Wednesday morning. “Radical” is such a jarring word. My politics are radical. My theology is radical. But my prostate? Well, the point is it’s coming out—completely. The whole damn thing. That’s what that radical about it.

But my prostate is not what’s had me in a frenzy these past few days.

I have a friend, Philip, who’s in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. (You can read more about his story here: “Philip Vance: Freedom is Calling,” an essay I wrote back in July 2023.) Philip has been fighting for justice ever since he was tried and convicted for murder—and sentenced to life in prison. That all began in 2003, and he’s been trying to clear his name—and regain his life—ever since.

But I’m not writing about Philip today, I’m writing about Mom—and her long-ago trimmed stamps.

See, I was trying to write about Philip. On Thursday he and his attorney filed a new and promising “petition for post-conviction relief.” In his case, it’s a petition for a new evidentiary hearing in the hopes it will finally bring him justice. Which would be freedom.

And, as part of the group of volunteers on the outside who are supporting Philip in this struggle, I’d offered to write an op-ed explaining the petition. In plain English. And compelling prose. In a well-respected Twin Cities online news source. To a waiting public.

I’d spent Thursday night well into Friday morning reading the petition and the accompanying memorandum, as well as the affidavits, other supporting exhibits, and several legal articles explaining some of the key concepts bandied about in the brief. My head was swimming.

So much to digest. How could I even begin to organize my own thoughts with so many of them racing about this way and that? And a very real deadline, demanded both by the timeliness of the issue, but also by my fast-approaching surgery? I needed to get this done by Saturday. But—the question that taunted me: how could I possibly do justice to the complexity of the petition in just 1000 words? And, in counterpoint: for Philip’s sake, how could I not?

This is where the stamps enter.

I walked by the desktop in our living room where the stamps sat in a couple waxed post office envelopes. I’m sure my breathing was shallow and my pulse quick because I could feel the anxiety rising in me. I needed to slow myself down. So I could think. So I could write.

And then the stamps called my name. Inviting me to just soak a few in a bowl of water to loosen the long-dried glue and soften the paper so the stamps could be peeled away. Distraction? Maybe. Procrastination? Who cares!

I put some warm water in a shallow bowl and pulled out a dozen 1¢ stamps, pressing them gently beneath the water. Ten minutes later, as I started carefully peeling them from their paper backing, fingertips and tweezers moving in slow steady motion, I began to feel my heartbeat slow down and my breathing deepen. I could sense stillness beginning to hold space for me.

I placed each damp stamp on a piece of paper towel to dry, then moved it to a plate for more drying. And I started the process again. And again. But in between rounds of “stamping” I paused and listened for my thoughts. And they were there! No longer frenetically circling, but now almost coasting. Still a lot of them, but moving with invitation, so that I could begin to see connections and images and themes. So I could begin to find those 1000 words that would do justice to Philip.

I did this for more than two hours. Not because there were that many stamps, but because I found myself pausing between rounds to capture thoughts and phrases so I could come back to them later.

Eventually I had several dozen stamps … shall we say, liberated. That is my hope for Philip, after all. Liberation, after all those years. I meticulously flattened the dried stamps and clipped them together in small bundles, then slipped them back into their waxed envelope ready for use. True, they won’t amount to much postage. It takes a good handful of 1¢, 2¢, 3¢, or 5¢ stamps to cover the gap from a 73¢ one-ounce stamp to the $1.01 for an additional ounce. Before I know it, all those “liberated” stamps will be gone.

But in the meantime, every time I use a glue stick to affix them to an envelope, I’ll be connecting with Mom all over again. Her whimsical frugality, but also her caring, listening presence. The stillness she held out to others.

And that op-ed piece? Thanks to the slow quiet time I spent soaking stamps, when I finally sat down on Saturday to write, the words flowed fiercely and freely. The confusing complexity met the passionate clarity of my words and an essay worth of Philip’s cause rolled off the same fingertips that had so tenderly parted stamp from paper the day before.

During the afternoon I spent “stamping around with Mom,” somehow, from across the grave, she held space for me and all my muddled thoughts until, in her stillness, they settled themselves into words, sentences, paragraphs with purpose. More than this, though, Mom also held space for Philip. For his story. His long years of anguish and hope. His refusal to settle for less than the truth about himself. His determination that there could be—will be—for him, a future in which the freedom that he still harbors in his heart blooms across the whole of his life.

What are the odds on that? I can just imagine Mom smiling and saying softly, “You can put on a stamp on it.” And I will.

Two notes. I’ve been part of the Free Philip Vance Campaign for about two years now. (1) Once my piece, “Broken Scales: Seeking Justice for Philip Vance,” runs (hopefully!) in MinnPost later this week, I’ll post it to my blog as well. (2) Seeking justice can be costly. Philip needs to raise $50,000 to cover the costs of legal representation for this petition. To date, we have raised over $43,000. To help us get to the finish line, you can donate here: www.gofundme.com/f/Please-support-philip-vance. Thank you!

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David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, “writing into the whirlwind” of contemporary challenges, joys, and sorrows around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, peace, and family. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in Writing into the Whirlwind at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.

Celebrating the Release of Marvin Haynes—with Angry Joy

Dec11

Celebrating the Release of Marvin Haynes—with Angry Joy
David R. Weiss – December 8, 2023

This morning around 11am, Marvin Hayes walked out of Stillwater Prison a free man. After nearly twenty years of wrongful imprisonment.

Marvin had steadfastly maintained his innocence from the start, and at an evidentiary hearing in November, he and his attorney were able to present evidence demonstrating that his constitutional right to a fair trial in 2005 was violated, particularly in the prosecution’s reliance on notoriously unreliable eyewitness identification.

Marvin Haynes on the steps of the Stillwater prison – a free man

Indeed, it’s almost more accurate to say that the State, in its fervor to convict Marvin, set aside eyewitness identification to secure a guilty verdict. The single eyewitness to the murder described the subject as an adult black man … about 6 feet tall … thin build, weighing 180 pounds … with close-cropped hair. Haynes, meanwhile, was a 16-year teenager … five feet, seven inches tall … weighing 130 pounds … with a long afro. But police substituted a two-year-old photo of Marvin (with short hair), and after twice picking out someone other than Marvin, the eyewitness finally selected the man police wanted to put behind bars. There were other issues as well: no physical evidence—neither DNA nor fingerprints—and no video. Just one eyewitness who needed to be guided to pin a crime on an innocent black teenager.

It’s hard to believe it happened in the first place. Harder still that it took almost twenty years for the State to acknowledge and right this wrong. Except, this is the “logic,” NO, the ILLOGIC that drives the evil of white supremacy culture. It empowers police, prosecutors, and the courts to trample the truth and put a black man—in this case, just a kid!—behind bars under the false pretense of justice.

Some will see in today’s development, which is, of course, cause for joy, an affirmation of the claim, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” But I want to press back on that a bit. The simple phrase is a sound bite that can too easily gives false hope. As though Marvin Haynes’ freedom was a foregone conclusion all along; we just needed to wait patiently for the universe to sort things out. But Martin Luther King, Jr. didn’t utter those words from a spot on the sidelines of history. He invoked them from the midst of the messy fray of working tirelessly for justice himself.

I happen to believe that the universe does hunger for justice. That in ways we can never quite grasp (we use words like karma, grace, justice, and balance to reach toward an ineffable truth), the thrust of the universe opens toward complexity, freedom, agency, and purpose. But it guarantees nothing. It is we—who experience freedom, exercise agency, and pursue purpose—it is we who make the moral universe. Or fail to.

Ask Marvin Haynes—or his sister, Marvina—how interested the “justice system” was in working for justice in Marvin’s case. They (and all those who have been in solidarity with them across the years of this struggle) were, from first to last, bending the arc in the dark. Convinced of the truth. Convinced, too, that the universe was open to that truth—even hungry for it—and determined to not allow the forces of injustice to have the final word.

Marvin’s release today does NOT prove that the system works, albeit slowly. It proves that human beings, allied in deep solidarity with one another and with the call of justice—can (at times) overwhelm the resistance of the system itself. That “at times” is a dreadful but necessary qualifier. Even if the universe longs for justice, only those beings with freedom and agency (like us!) can pursue it. The universe’s longing rests on us. And there are forces arrayed against us, many of them woven into systems that prize power over justice. We won’t win every time. But today we did. And that is cause for joy.

But one last thing should be said. Today is cause for angry joy.

The “justice” awarded to Marvin today, egregiously late though it was, ought not be diminished. That’s the joy. At age 36 he has (hopefully!) years ahead of him to enjoy his freedom. But don’t imagine that his release somehow belatedly “rights a wrong”; how do you pretend that after having willfully stolen 19 years of a man’s life, there’s any way to right that? That’s the anger—or at least the tip of it. Today is a day for joy. Marvin Haynes is home at long last. But I suggest you save a little room for anger, as well. For several reasons.

After having been incarcerated for 19 years, Marvin’s freedom will be framed by the compounded trauma of those years. Having been denied justice for so long, having had so many years of his life stolen (the very years he should’ve had the opportunity to fashion an identity for himself), and having been subjected to conditions in prison designed to break a man’s spirit and misshape his soul. Most of us can feel the bright smile on his face today, but few of us can understand the long years of dehumanizing energy he’s been subjected to.

Marvin’s universe was bent toward injustice against his will for a couple decades. No bright smile on a Monday morning is going to undo that. So, let there be some anger alongside the joy to feed the determination to accompany Marvin through the hard work of reclaiming a life on the outside. The State will want to wring its hands a few times, maybe write out a check to Marvin, and then say, “our work here is done.” And maybe it is. Given that most of the State’s work has been to harm Marvin, maybe it’s best for the State to step aside. But the rest of us dare not.

As much as Marvin may have needed us to help bend the arc toward his freedom, he will need even more help now to sustain the freedom he’s been granted. Because owning that freedom will involve healing from all the harm that’s been done “in the name of justice.” That’s where angry joy enters—because it recognizes that today’s jubilation is only the first step in a journey toward freedom that remains arduous and fraught.

But also, angry joy because there are so many others whose stories differ from Marvin’s only in the details. Philip Vance, for instance. I’ve written about Philip’s story elsewhere; he is also a man whose innocence could not protect him from wrongful imprisonment for twenty years—and counting.

Philip will no doubt rejoice in today’s news—when word of it reaches him where he sits in solitary confinement at same prison that Marvin walked out of earlier today. See, Philip was sentenced to solitary (for 180 days!) as retribution for his role in a peaceful protest against inhumane conditions in the prison. Ironically, the use of extended solitary confinement is itself viewed as inhumane by the United Nations, and the terms of Philip’s current placement in solitary appear to openly contradict Minnesota law. But, again, this is the “logic,” NO, the ILLOGIC that drives the evil of white supremacy culture. In fact, I suspect the severity of Philip’s placement is a direct result of the energy he’s invested in recent months in asserting his innocence.

Well, one action of angry joy that you can take right now—one fine way to celebrate Marvin’s freedom while acknowledging that it is not nearly enough, is to sign this petition calling for Philip’s release from solitary. Because this, too, is bending the arc in the dark. And, honestly, it’s only in the dark (with no guarantee and through our tireless efforts) that the arc ever bends.

I am filled with angry joy at Marvin’s release. Overjoyed he is finally home. Angry at the healing he has yet to do. And angry for those not yet free. I hope you are, too. (Now, sign that petition! Thanks!)

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David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, doing “public theology” around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, diversity, and peace. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in Writing into the Whirlwind at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.

The Train Tracks of the Moral Universe

Aug10

The Train Tracks of the Moral Universe
David R. Weiss – August 8, 2023

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Martin Luther King, Jr.’s famous declaration was on my mind as we marched along the boulevard that carries his name just past the grassy lawn in front of the Minnesota State Capital.

Moments earlier we were gathered in a circle on that grassy lawn, summoned by Philip Vance’s cry for justice—for freedom. Philip has spent twenty years imprisoned for a murder he had nothing to do with. Convicted in an absence of physical evidence, based solely on the (now recanted) testimony of multiple jailhouse informants and the work of a corrupt (and since disbanded) police gang unit, Philip has unwaveringly asserted his innocence. (Read a fuller account of his story here.)

Two years ago, Philip was hopeful that the newly launched Minnesota Conviction Review Unit would finally open a pathway to the truth. He has been sorely disappointed. Perhaps betrayed is the better word. The Unit is so underfunded and understaffed, that its soaring rhetoric seems to mock the magnitude of injustice—of real human lives—waiting to be addressed. Worse, the Unit appears to be seeded with skepticism from the start—as though its goal is not so much to recognize wrongs and right them, but to defend those wrongs from ever being righted.

Although it was Philip’s innocence—in fact, Philip’s urging—that brought us together on Tuesday afternoon, he wasn’t alone in the circle formed by the couple dozen of us who’d gathered. We heard Philip’s daughter—just two when he was sent to prison—name her anguish for her dad and her gratitude for our presence through bitter tears. Then others spoke. Family members shared the stories of Marvin Hayes, Kemen Taylor, Tobie Johnson, and Deaunteze Bobo—all innocent men behind bars in Minnesota. They represent a mere fraction of those whose freedom is sacrificed—24 hours at a time, running on for years—to support the illusion of justice in our society.

So, when we began to march along MLK Boulevard, the arc of the immoral universe that held these men seemed determined to continue its bend toward injustice. Undeterred, we held signs high as we walked: “Free Philip Vance” and signs naming the other men, too. In turns, we chanted their names and made other calls for justice. We lifted signs, words, voices against an unbending and unjust system. We were met mostly by indifference. The people in the few cars that passed either looked out with mild interest or they focused their gaze straight ahead, determined not to notice our little procession.

On the tracks (before the trains arrived).

When we reached the intersection of Park Street and University Avenue we circled again—this time spreading ourselves across Park Street … and the Green Line tracks running alongside University Avenue. Signs raised and chants continued, though at only two dozen persons we were hardly an imposing presence. But now we were standing on the arc of the moral universe itself. Drivers along University could not help but read our signs. People standing on the train platforms could not help but be curious about our cause. Cars trying to cross Park had to wait or turn away.

And then, around 1:05 pm, a pair of Green Line commuter trains headed in opposite directions approached. Some of us (I’ll admit, I was among them), shifted uneasily. Not for fear of the trains; we were in plain sight and the operators immediately slowed their trains to a stop. Rather, for fear of arrest. More bluntly, simply for fear of stepping out of line … in a universe where the lines have almost always worked to our benefit. That is, with some exceptions, those who held the tracks were mostly persons of color. Persons whose very skin set them outside the lines already. And persons whose kin were behind bars. And those of us who shifted slowly off the tracks, we were mostly those whose (white) lives would go on with privilege intact at days’ end.

I don’t mean to dismiss our presence. Our signs remained high. Our presence remained a palpable witness to the dozen whose bodies held the tracks. But these others, they seemed to carry more deeply in their gut an anguished longing for justice and the piercing knowledge that the arc of this moral universe doesn’t bend on its own. It bends when the weight of witness and the conviction of conscience exert so much force that it cannot help but bend in response.

And for almost fifteen minutes on Tuesday afternoon our comrades bent the train tracks of the moral universe and held the Green Line at bay.

We were, of course, an inconvenience in the afternoon of the riders. Many of whom, I imagine grew impatient; a few of whom even got off the train to yell at us. But ultimately, we delayed their day by less than one minute for every year of Philip’s life stolen by a criminal injustice system happy to lock up young black men regardless of their guilt. Around 1:20 pm, now with multiple police cars and officers on hand, we allowed the trains to resume—our goal accomplished. Every passenger stared at our “Free Philip Vance” signs as the trains carried them on into their afternoon. Okay, some glared. But one passenger had even hopped off, grabbed a ”Free Philip Vance” sign, and was holding it up in the window as the eastbound train went by. And everyone on both trains knew his name. And that he ought to be free.

One essential act of justice is helping the voices of those pushed to the margins—in Philip’s and Marvin’s and Kemen’s and Tobie’s and Bobo’s cases, the voices of those locked away—to be heard at the crossroads of public life. Next to the Capitol, along MLK Boulevard, and there on the tracks of the Green Line.

The arc of the moral universe is long, but it is not distant. It runs right through our communities. Right through our lives. Right through the places we choose to plant ourselves. By our choices we bend the arc. And Tuesday afternoon, for fifteen minutes, we bent the arc so that cries for justice and freedom could sound.

Those in our group who commandeered the tracks bent the arc with the conviction borne in their bodies. The rest of us, more timid than we may have wished, bent it ever so slightly with our nearby witness. (And maybe we bent it a bit inside ourselves, stretching the place we might choose to plant ourselves next time.)

Free Philip Vance! Free Marvin Hayes! Free Kemen Taylor! Free Tobie Johnson! Free Deaunteze Bobo! With each bend of the arc, freedom is calling. And it’s calling them—by name.

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David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, doing “public theology” around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, diversity, and peace. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in writing Community Supported Theology at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.

Philip Vance: Freedom is Calling

Jul1

Philip Vance: Freedom is Calling
David R. Weiss – July 1, 2023

Find the website with further information about Philip’s case HERE.

After twenty years in prison, it’s time for Philip Vance to be free.

Actually, almost two decades ago it was time for Philip Vance to be free. He’s in prison for a murder he had nothing to do with. He shouldn’t have been arrested for it, tried for it, sentenced for it, let alone imprisoned for it. The whole thing has been a grotesque miscarriage of justice—except even those words fall short of describing what it’s meant for Philip to have been torn from his family and freedom for all those years. “Miscarriage of justice” doesn’t even come close.

Worse, despite its name, the “justice system” is set-up to protect convictions—even if wrongly decided—rather than pursue justice for human beings. Occasionally wrongful convictions do get overturned, but only with great effort and good fortune. So far, despite the great efforts of many (not least Philip himself!), good fortune hasn’t yet visited Philip Vance. That’s not entirely true. Philip would tell you he’s been blessed in many ways. But those blessings don’t yet include freedom. This is his story.

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Shortly before Christmas 2002, a South St. Paul store clerk, Khaled Al-Bakri, was shot and killed during an apparent robbery. That much is clear. And criminal. Someone killed Al-Bakri. Witnesses reported seeing two persons fleeing the scene, but they were wearing masks; neither their faces, nor even their skin color was seen.

Soon after this Philip Vance was identified as a primary suspect in the case by the Minnesota Gang Strike Force. He was subsequently charged with murder in March 2004, found guilty by a jury in September 2004, and sentenced to life in prison in October 2004. Today, he’s serving that sentence at the Stillwater Minnesota Correctional Facility.

Philip has asserted his innocence vigorously from Day One … and for the next 7400+ days since then. Unwaveringly. He was so much innocent that he actively cooperated when police initially questioned him. Why wouldn’t he? He had nothing to hide. Indeed, he had an alibi: he was with a friend at her place that evening—a fact she confirmed to police during the investigation. (More recently, cell phone records have proven that she used Philip’s phone to call her sister that night.) And unflinchingly. He was so much innocent that he refused to accept any plea deal. Why would he plead to a lesser charge? That would be to acknowledge even a lesser guilt that was never his—at all. Indeed, at the trial there was no physical evidence that linked him to the crime. No gun. No fingerprints. No footprints. No DNA. No tire tracks. No eyewitness identification. No physical evidence at all.

But somehow neither his innocence nor his persistent assertion of it, neither his alibi nor the complete absence of physical evidence carried the day. How did an “enthusiastically” innocent young man wind up sentenced to life in prison for a crime that he swears—for seven-thousand-four-hundred days and counting—he had nothing to do with?

The uncomfortably short answer is that Philip Vance found himself caught in a tangle of lies—none of them his own—all of them orchestrated by the Minnesota Gang Strike Force (renamed the Metro Gang Strike Force in 2005), a police unit comprised of officers from across the metro area. If the name of that unit rings a bell, it’s likely because it was disbanded in disgrace in 2008, after a state panel found it was riddled with corruption and misconduct. But in 2003-2004, during the investigation of Al-Bakri’s murder and the subsequent prosecution of Philip Vance, the Strike Force was still in full-out rogue mode, featuring “high-performing” officers determined to get results by any means necessary.

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In Philip’s case, the Strike Force first pressured an outside informant to set up Philip so they could arrest him on an unrelated gun charge (the gun he sold was not the weapon used to kill Al-Bakri). Police had this informant wear a wire; then claimed she had elicited a confession from Philip. But that recording was later described by police as having such poor audio that it was unintelligible; in fact, it was never produced—perhaps it was never even made. In any case, that informant later recanted her testimony, alleging she was told by police to make false statements about Philip, which she did to avoid being brought up on charges herself related to her own chemical dependency.

Then, once he was in jail, the Strike Force bribed and threatened six jailhouse informants to testify against Philip. Some were offered reduced sentences of their own, others financial rewards; in at least one case officers threatened to go after an informant’s brother if he refused to cooperate. Ultimately, all six implicated Philip in the murder.

It should have been a red flag from the start. By now it’s well-documented that using jailhouse informants to secure convictions is so problematic as to be immoral. As of 2020, at least 197 wrongful convictions (nationwide) have been overturned because of issues with such testimony. In fact, a report by a Harvard professor specializing in this area concludes that the use of multiple jailhouse informants (as in Philip’s case) ought to immediately call into question their reliability. Unlike corroborating testimony from multiple “disinterested witness,” jailhouse informants have an inherent incentive to bargain their words against another inmate to secure better deals for themselves. Moreover, they’re likely to collaborate (align their stories) in jail to make their testimony as “valuable” to police as possible, regardless of its connection to the truth.

However—lest we presume this suggests jailhouse informants lack a moral compass, it’s important to remember incarcerated persons exist in a matrix of oppression, usually with roots running deep into their past, present, and future. The choices they make are shaped by forces unknown to many of us but driven also by their own desire to be free. Although these persons are hardly saints, the real villains in this scenario are the officers who leverage power and vulnerability to achieve goals quite disconnected from justice.

As a result, between pressure from Strike Force officers and informants’ own self-interest, a whole series of crafted falsehoods were joined to a set of innuendos (circumstantial evidence suggestive of nothing except when framed by lies) to convince a jury of Philip’s guilt.

How do we know this? One of the truths about lies is that they inevitably unravel. Unfortunately for Philip, that unraveling didn’t begin until after he was sent to prison. But all told, at least eight of those whose testimony was used to convict Philip Vance have since signed affidavits recanting that testimony—admitting that it was false and made at the behest of Strike Force officers intent on securing a conviction regardless of guilt—or, in Philip’s case, innocence.

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That alibi Philip provided? It was never shared with the jury; Philip’s friend was never called to testify. In fact, the prosecutor told the jury that Philip could not account for his whereabouts the night of the murder—despite police having confirmed his alibi. And the only witness who was (momentarily) in the store at the time of the shooting—she had just entered the store and backed out when she realized a robbery was in progress—besides seeing two persons, fully masked, of unknown skin color, fleeing—also described hearing the person who shot Al-Bakri shouting to his accomplice in a language she knew was not English and believed was Spanish. This also was never shared with the jury.

Other witness testimony has also been called into question. And the credibility of the Strike Force’s integrity has been shattered. More to the point, because a human life is at stake, the credibility of Philip Vance’s conviction is in shreds. So, of course, the system is quick to correct itself in such cases, right? WRONG. We want to believe that courts administer justice. And I suppose sometimes they do. (Although in an adversarial- and punitive-based legal system, whatever justice is rendered is thin at best.) But when they administer injustice, they are loathe to acknowledge that. The system is designed to cover its own mistakes whenever possible, by prizing procedure above all else. Including truth.

Despite filing multiple appeals seeking to have his conviction reversed, each appeal has been denied, largely for procedural reasons. Meaning that none of these courts has seriously engaged Philip’s claim of a wrongful conviction. None of them has asked the question, “Was justice done to this man?” They’ve been content to inquire only, “Were the i’s properly dotted? Were the t’s correctly crossed?” Never mind whether those dotted i’s and crossed t’s … put an innocent man away—for life.

Finally, how innocent is Philip Vance? Well, character doesn’t “prove” innocence; it really only proves character. But Philip Vance’s character is, by now, beyond question. Sent away from children, other family, and friends for life, Philip had every reason to grant rage and despair free rein in his soul. Instead, he’s chosen education, exercise, personal improvement, and service to others (mentoring fellow inmates) as his purpose while behind bars—some of the blessings he acknowledges. For a man 7400+ days into proclaiming his innocence, Philip Vance’s character adds one more bit of compelling evidence. If it doesn’t prove his innocence, it ought at least to compel someone to hear him out.

In 2004 an innocent man was put away—for life. But today freedom is calling. Sometimes, in the still of the night in his prison cell, Philip Vance can almost hear it calling his name. Let’s hope that one day soon, it does.

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PLEASE SHARE THIS POST. Philip and a team of his supporters have been working diligently and passionately to right this injustice and secure Philip’s freedom. Thus far, to no avail. It’s time for Philip’s story to become WIDELY known. At some point Philip and his team may ask more of you. Right now they’re asking you to learn his story and share it. You can share this post by its URL or as a pdf file. You can print out and post this flyer at your favorite coffee shop, bookstore, water cooler, or other community place. The flyer includes a QR code that takes people to the pdf of this post. PLEASE AMPLIFY PHILIP’S STORY.

FREEDOM IS CALLING

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David Weiss is a a Twin Cities-based writer, activist, theologian, and poet, doing “public theology” around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, diversity, and peace. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in writing Community Supported Theology at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.

This essay relies heavily—and gratefully—on the “Vance Research Narrative” drafted by the University of St. Thomas Legal Services Clinic and revised June 21, 2021; authors: Kathryn Quinlan, Sophia Maietta, Christiane Dos Santos, Sara Hunemiller.