Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's last-minute decision to shorten the prison sentence of Esteban Nunez, the son of former Assembly Speaker Fabian Nunez, brought immediate condemnation from victim's groups and the San Diego County district attorney.
But while Schwarzenegger's action was seen as evidence of political cronyism, the former governor gave some hope to one group seeking shorter sentences, or full pardons, for some convicted killers: women who have struck back at their abusers.
Schwarzenegger took action in two cases where women were never given a chance to present testimony that they had suffered from "intimate partner battering," a condition formerly known as battered woman syndrome.
One is Sara Kruzan, a woman who, at 16, shot and killed her pimp at a Riverside County hotel. According to the commutation document [PDF], the pimp spotted her walking home from school one day when she was 11 years old. George Howard, 31, drove a red Mustang and offered her an ice cream cone, she said. Having suffered abuse at home, Kruzan accepted.
That day, Howard molested the pre-teen, the commutation record says. The abuse continued until she was 13, records show, when Howard began to pimp Kruzan for profit. Kruzan fought back, shooting and killing Howard.
She was convicted of first-degree murder with special circumstances and sentenced to life in prison without the chance of parole for the 1994 crime. Schwarzenegger changed that sentence, giving Kruzan, who has served 16 years in prison, a chance at parole nine years from now.
“The case of Sara Kruzan demonstrates why we should never sentence a child to life without the possibility of parole,” said state Sen. Leland Yee, D-San Francisco. “The neuroscience is clear; brain maturation continues well through adolescence and thus impulse control, planning, and critical thinking skills are not yet fully developed.”
In a second case [PDF], the former governor granted a full pardon to Rose Ann Parker, a woman who shot and killed a boyfriend who had beaten her.
According to documents in Parker's case, her boyfriend had threatened her life and that of her children when he learned that she was pregnant by another man. At 27, she killed him. Parker never had a chance to present a defense based on her history of abuse, according to the commutation record:
Although Ms. Parker suffered from Intimate Partner Battering Syndrome and its effects at the time of the murder, expert testimony explaining this condition was inadmissible evidence at the time of her trial. The sentencing judge in her case later noted he always believed she 'should have been acquitted, or, at most, found guilty of voluntary manslaughter.'
The Deputy District Attorney who prosecuted Ms. Parker wrote … 'I am now, and always have been, of the opinion that Ms. Parker truly believed that she needed to use force and violence as a result of her prior abuse at Mr. Boga’s hands. Absent that abuse I doubt that the killing would have occurred.'
The website of the Free Battered Women project includes similar stories of women who were released on parole under Schwarzenegger. His administration, though, has drawn some criticism from groups that advocate for domestic violence victims.
In late 2009, the governor used his line-item veto power to eliminate $20.4 million in funding to emergency domestic violence shelters. Many have closed or are on the verge of closing, according to news reports. In just one day in 2009, an advocacy group documented [PDF] that 333 California women seeking emergency housing were turned away.
And in one rural part of Northern California, volunteers are setting up “safe houses” in response to the shelter cuts and closures. That trend, according to a report by KQED’s Sarah Varney, comes with a whole new set of hazards:
Since the shelter closed, a handful of 'safe houses' have opened in the area. One sits at the end of a long gravel road, surrounded by pear and apple orchards. Like the others, the homeowner has no real crisis training and receives no payment. It's risky – unlike a shelter, there's no high-end security system or full-time staff. Their only protection is that their location is a secret, and so Johnson asked NPR not to reveal anyone's names.
In the kitchen, different colored ribbons mark each person's cupboard. The rooms are decorated with purple bedspreads and soft reading lamps. The homeowner is a calm, deeply religious woman, and says she feels compelled to help women in crisis. ...
The host makes it clear that she's not a trained counselor. Her guests who need support are told to call the local domestic violence hotline. She's also aware of how dangerous what she's doing really is since 911 is her only backup.
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