Could a helping hand have changed the life of a SC death row inmate?

A young man in Maryland named Sura Sohna was recently released after serving two years of a 14-year prison sentence. I was overjoyed when told a judge had decided to free him a dozen years early, but that joy was tempered by the knowledge that a young man I know named Jerome Jenkins remains on death row in South Carolina.

I’m happy Sohna has gotten a second chance, but haven’t stopped silently grieving since finding out Jenkins may one day face a firing squad or be strapped into the electric chair.

I know Sohna through Brandon Reid, a senior at Davidson College, in Davidson, North Carolina, where I teach.

Reid will likely head to law school in a few months. About a year ago, Reid approached me about an independent study focused on telling stories about the ignored and forgotten. He had several ideas, including doing a series of stories on people still suffering from the effects of crime long after the headlines faded out of the news.

We even considered having him interview the sister of one of Dylann Roof’s victims, Marjorie McIver, a woman I know well, as part of that series. But the more we talked and the more research he did, it was obvious Sohna’s story was the one he needed to tell.

He needed to tell it for Sohna, who began getting into trouble when he stole a bike when he was 12, and the victim and a police officer told him he deserved a life sentence. He needed to tell it for himself.

Sohna participated in multiple burglaries, which is why he was slated to remain behind bars for 14 years – until Reid stepped in.

Though he had been making his way through the world in elite spaces like Davidson, as well as a prestigious high school where he and Sohna’s paths began to diverge, he never forgot his friend.

That’s why he didn’t blink when I told him the project would require getting in touch with each of Sohna’s victims, the prosecutor and officers involved and everyone else who could help him craft a rounded view of Sohna, what he did, why, its effects. Looking away from the tough stuff wasn’t an option.

Reid didn’t look away, so when he stood before the judge advocating on Sohna’s behalf, he could confidently explain why Sohna’s was a life worth saving.

I am convinced Jenkins wouldn’t be on death row if he had a friend like Reid. I’m convinced the people Jenkins was convicted and suspected of killing would be alive had there been someone like Reid in Jenkins’ corner, to commit to steering him toward a better direction.

Jenkins’ early life was as unstable as Sohna’s, including a father already in prison.

Or maybe that’s the fantasy I’ve been telling myself to cope with my grief about Jenkins, who I mentored when he was in high school.

He had a teacher, Marsha Tennant, who spent countless hours advocating for him and nearly got him into Job Corps at Horry-Georgetown Technical College, a program that offers free education and vocational training that likely would have changed the course of Jenkins’ life.

He was that close from being set on a path that would not have ended with his image on a convenience store surveillance camera murdering a clerk.

When you deal with this part of the criminal justice system, there are many bad days that can make you doubt the value of your efforts. If only for a brief moment, Reid provided a good one.

Issac Bailey is a columnist for The Sun News.

This story was originally published February 20, 2022 at 6:00 AM.