CANADA
Latimer
10 years on: No regrets
Toronto
Star Jan. 24, 2004.
A decade
after killing his disabled daughter, Tracy, and igniting a national
debate on euthanasia, Robert Latimer offers no regrets, no excuses
and no apologies.
"It
was the right thing to do," Latimer said yesterday in a
rare interview, at the minimum-security William Head Institution,
30 kilometres west of here.
Overlooking
the Pacific Ocean on a dreary winter's day, Latimer, 50, spent
two hours reiterating what he has said from the outset of this
intensely emotional case: He ended Tracy's life a month short
of her 13th birthday to stop the excruciating pain that ruled
it.
It's
a belief that he insists has never wavered since Oct. 24, 1993.
That day, while the rest of his family was at church, Latimer
wrapped his 38-pound daughter, who suffered from severe cerebral
palsy, in a blanket, put her in the front seat of his pickup
truck at their farm in Wilkie, Sask., attached a hose from the
exhaust to the cab and started the ignition.
It's
a belief that has prevailed despite his having been found guilty
of second-degree murder at two trials and despite the upholding
of the verdict at the Saskatchewan Court of Appeal, a final
loss at the Supreme Court of Canada and, as of last Sunday,
three years in the federal prison system.
And
it's a belief that allows him what he calls "a feeling
of contentment" even as he denounces the courts, politicians
and those he insists are among the minority of Canadians who
feel his conviction and 10-year minimum sentence are just.
"I
have a positive frame of mind in knowing that what I did was
right," Latimer said. "That's certainly not something
that all their rulings would ever darken."
Clad
in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, Latimer looked more relaxed
than the pictures shot as he made his way to prison three years
ago. His face has thinned and his gray hair has turned grayer.
But the handshake is still the firm grip of a Saskatchewan farmer.
And even though he's somewhat shy at the outset, he quickly
warms up, punctuating his comments with nods of his head and
comfortable laughter.
Even
though his blue eyes harden as the subject turns to his anger
and frustration at a verdict he considers unjust, his tone of
voice remains soft, reasoned, thoughtful.
"I
just have some real problems with their decision, as does much
of the country," he said of the Supreme Court's 2001 ruling
and its refusal a year later to reopen it.
There
have been calls for clemency and the top court even referred
to the federal cabinet's ability to exercise a so-called royal
prerogative of mercy on Latimer. But Latimer said it's "pointless"
for him to apply for one as long as there's a belief, as the
ruling concluded, that he could and should have done more to
ease Tracy's pain.
"To
our opponents, Tracy's pain was a side issue, something they
are very capable of ignoring," he said. "But to us,
it was a very real situation confronting us every day."
Tracy
Latimer was born in North Battleford, Sask., in 1980. Brain-damaged
at birth, she was soon diagnosed with severe cerebral palsy,
a condition that typically causes the body to be wracked by
painful seizures. She did not walk or talk and was unable to
feed herself.
Tracy,
whose mental age was estimated at about three months, had four
operations by age 11 in an attempt to increase mobility and
alleviate pain, including back surgery in August, 1992, in which
two stainless steel rods were put on either side of her backbone.
"When
you held her, her back was as stiff as three-quarter-inch plywood,"
Robert Latimer said yesterday. In the final months of her life,
Tracy had up to eight seizures a day, no longer slept and frequently
cried out in pain, he said.
Asked
about trial testimony and comments from others who knew Tracy
and said she enjoyed music and loved lying in front of the television
to listen to the roars of Hockey Night in Canada telecasts,
he smiled at the memories but said that had stopped much earlier.
"That
was from a very different time in her life," Latimer said
softly.
Tracy
was due to have a fifth operation, in which a feeding tube would
be inserted to try to strengthen her for surgery on a permanently
dislocated hip that was to include removing a part of her upper
leg.
It was
a pain her father decided she could not be asked to endure.
"Ultimately,
I've always believed this case should have been decided by a
jury, but that wasn't allowed to happen," Latimer said.
"That's just wrong."
Actually,
juries did convict Latimer. But his anger arises from the fact
that in the second trial, the 12 members wanted him sentenced
to one year in jail and another under house arrest. The judge
obliged but was overruled at the Saskatchewan Court of Appeal,
which imposed a 10-year minimum jail sentence. His defence of
a necessity to kill was also rejected.
"I
certainly have my opponents but I know the thinking people in
this country are on my side and for that I am ever grateful,"
he said. "Their support is amazing."
While
Latimer and his wife, Laura, remain "overwhelmed"
by the support they've received in letters, pleas for clemency,
candlelight vigils, $250,000 in donations to a family trust
fund and other acts of generosity, he said that it would not
surprise him if he stays in prison until Dec. 8, 2007, when
he's eligible for day parole.
"It's
their game and you have to play by their rules," he said
of the law.
Latimer
has been jailed since Jan. 18, 2001, the day the Supreme Court
of Canada ended his judicial appeals in the case. The top court,
which had earlier ordered a new trial after revelations of jury
tampering at the first one, upheld both his 1997 conviction
for second-degree murder and a 1998 ruling from the Saskatchewan
Court of Appeal that he must serve a mandatory life term with
no chance of parole for at least 10 years.
While
acknowledging that Latimer "faced challenges of the sort
most Canadians can only imagine" and his care of Tracy
"for many years was admirable," the seven justices
nevertheless concluded killing her was wrong, even if he called
it an act of mercy.
"His
decision to end his daughter's life was an error in judgment,"
they ruled. "The taking of another life represents the
most serious crime in our criminal law."
The
decision of the Supreme Court justices was unanimous. The judgment
of the rest of Canadians has been anything but.
Latimer's
many critics believe that far from being an act of compassion
by a loving father, killing Tracy was playing God and wiping
out a precious life. They believe, in the words of prosecutor
Randy Kirkham at the first trial in 1994, that condoning such
an act would be tantamount to declaring it "open season
on the disabled."
But
to a legion of supporters, including hundreds who offered to
serve one month of his sentence and thousands who wrote letters
on his behalf to the Supreme Court and federal and provincial
politicians, Latimer did nothing more than end the agony of
a beloved child. Jailing him prolongs the pain and, they argue,
represents cruel and unusual punishment.
Since
early October, Latimer has been serving time at William Head,
a
160-inmate facility on 34 hectares of prime waterfront real
estate in the suburban community of Metchosin. Prisoners live
in groups of five in residential-style, two-storey duplexes.
Each has his own bedroom and can order groceries they cook themselves
in their kitchen.
Latimer,
who spent nearly two years at the medium-security Bowden Institution
in central Alberta, is enrolled in an electrician's course William
Head. He also spends time taking long walks along the shoreline
of the sprawling grounds, the main exercise he now uses to keep
his weight at about 200 pounds, 35 pounds lighter than when
he was jailed.
Although
it's a much longer journey for his family than the four-hour
drive from the farm to Bowden, Latimer's wife, Laura, and their
youngest son, 10, visited recently, staying with him in a separate
house for a few days. His oldest son, 20, and 18-year-old daughter
may come over Easter, he said. Other family members who live
nearby also drop by.
"It's
probably one of the nicer surroundings if you have to be in
prison," Latimer said with a laugh in a room that looked
down on to a beachside playground, a swing set, teeter-totters,
picnic tables and a couple of big yellow toy trucks left sitting
in a sandbox.
But
also within view are stark reminders that this is no West Coast
bed and breakfast - a tall chain-link fence topped with razor
wire and, further off in the distance, a watchtower.
