Judge Says California Inmate on Death Row for 33 Years Must Be Released or Retried
Nationwide — A federal judge has mandated the release or retrial of Curtis Lee Ervin, a convicted murderer who has spent 33 years on California’s death row. This decision follows California Attorney General Rob Bonta’s request due to prosecutorial misconduct in jury selection decades ago. The Alameda County prosecutor’s office now has 60 days to retry the 71-year-old Ervin or release him. Ervin was convicted for a 1986 murder-for-hire case.This ruling is part of an ongoing review of numerous death penalty cases by Alameda County District Attorney Pamela Price. Price contends that former prosecutors systematically excluded Black and Jewish jurors, a practice dating back to the 1980s. The review has unveiled deliberate exclusion of these jurors in many cases, including Ervin’s, leading to the current legal actions.
According to CNN, Ervin’s conviction stemmed from the murder of Carlene McDonald, the ex-wife of his co-defendant, Robert McDonald. Both men were found guilty in 1991, with Robert McDonald dying in prison. Despite the significant judgment, there is uncertainty about how Ervin’s case will proceed. The Alameda County prosecutor’s office has until September 30 to make a decision. The office has not yet disclosed its plans.
Ervin’s attorney, Pamala Sayasane, expressed her client’s disbelief and joy at the ruling. Having been incarcerated for 38 years, Ervin is thankful to those who supported him. Sayasane highlighted that such concessions from the state attorney general are rare and significant, with potential implications for other death row inmates. She pointed out that all six Black women and three Black men were excluded from Ervin’s jury, a clear violation of the 14th Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause.
Price’s investigation into jury selection misconduct also covers the case of Ernest Dykes, convicted in 1993. Evidence of racial bias in jury selection has been uncovered, leading to plans for resentencing Dykes and another death row inmate. Price’s office discovered notes from former prosecutors indicating deliberate exclusion of Black and Jewish jurors. These notes are part of the ongoing settlement negotiations involving the California Attorney General’s Office and lawyers representing death row inmates.
Legal experts suggest that retrying such old cases would be challenging. Defense attorney Linda Kenney Baden noted that witness deaths and reliance on transcripts would complicate retrials. She also mentioned that new prosecutors might be reluctant to risk their reputations on controversial cases. The Alameda County DA’s office has shared notes from the Dykes case, revealing biases against Jewish and Black jurors, with some jurors’ race and religion explicitly marked as reasons for exclusion.
Pamela Price, facing a recall, has stated that racial profiling in jury selection was likely widespread and known under her predecessors. Studies indicate racial bias patterns in jury selections across various states, not just California. Price’s office continues to negotiate settlements for inmates whose cases are under review, aiming to rectify the injustices of unconstitutional trials.
My husband filed for divorce as if he were filing a complaint.
No conversation. No therapy. Just an envelope delivered to my office with the documents inside and a sticky note on top: “Please don’t make it difficult.”
That was Caleb, always polite when he wanted to be cruel.
He was also seeking full custody of our ten-year-old daughter, Harper.
In court, he described me as “unstable,” “financially irresponsible,” and “emotionally volatile.”
He painted himself as the calm, organized, and reliable father. With an impeccable suit and a soft voice, he seemed convincing. And people believed him.
In the courtroom, he held my gaze for only two seconds before looking away, as if I were some shameful object he had already discarded.
Harper sat next to me and my lawyer on the first day of the hearing.
Her feet weren’t touching the floor.
Her hands were folded in her lap.
That careful posture broke my heart.
I didn’t want her there, but Caleb insisted. He said she would help the judge “see reality.”
Apparently, the reality was a little girl watching her parents destroy each other.
Caleb’s lawyer spoke first.
“Mr. Dawson has always been the primary caregiver,” she said with practiced gentleness. “He manages the child’s upbringing and provides stability. However, Ms. Dawson has unpredictable mood swings and has exposed the child to inappropriate conflicts.”
Inappropriate conflicts.
I had evidence: text messages, bank statements, unexplained absences, money diverted to an account I didn’t even know existed.
But my lawyer asked me to remain calm. Everything would be presented in order.
Even so, the judge’s face remained neutral. That kind of neutrality that makes you feel invisible.
Then, as soon as Caleb’s lawyer finished, Harper moved.
She raised her hand. Small. Firm.
“Harper…” I whispered, trying to gently stop her.
But she stood up anyway. She looked directly at the judge with a seriousness that belied her ten years.
“Your Honor,” she said, her voice trembling but brave, “can I show you something? Something Mom doesn’t know.”
The courtroom fell silent.
Caleb abruptly turned his head toward her. For the first time that day, his composure crumbled.
“Harper, sit down,” he said, tense.
She didn’t sit down.
The judge leaned slightly forward.
“What do you want to show me?”
Harper swallowed.
“A video. It’s on my tablet. I saved it because I didn’t know who else to tell.”
My stomach sank. A video?
Caleb’s lawyer stood up immediately.
“Your Honor, we object—”
“I’ll review it,” the judge interrupted. Then he looked back at Harper. “But tell me first: why doesn’t your mother know this?”
His chin trembled.
“Because Dad told me not to tell anyone,” she whispered.
Caleb went pale.
My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the edge of the table.
“Officer,” the judge said firmly, “bring the child’s device.”
Harper walked to the front of the courtroom, small in that vast space, and handed over the tablet with both hands, as if offering something sacred.
When the video started playing on the court screen, my heart pounded so hard it felt like it hurt my ears.
The image appeared.
Our kitchen. At night.
And there was Caleb, looking directly into the camera, smiling in a way I’d never seen before.
Then his voice filled the courtroom:
“If you tell your mother about this,” he said calmly, “I’ll make sure you never see her again.”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
The judge paused the video. She looked at Caleb. Then at me. And back at Harper.
“The hearing is adjourned,” she announced. “And this court will take immediate action.”
That day, I didn’t have to say a word.
My daughter spoke for both of us.
And it was there, in that silent room, that I understood:
The truth may take time…
But when it arrives, it comes from the most unexpected voice—
And the bravest of all.
