Barely 24 hours after I had returned home from Brandeis Admitted Student’s Day, the Boston Marathon bombing happened. As the story and subsequent manhunt unfolded, I followed the news not as a concerned American but as a concerned Brandeisian and perhaps Bostonian. This episode was the new association I had with my new identity as a Brandesian, as I feared for the safety of the place I had recently decided upon as my new home. 

It seems fitting that  now, as part of the community whose safety and identity I had once so feared for, the case of Dzhokhar Tzarnaev again becomes centrally important nearly two years later. Now victims of the violence will see their attacker brought to justice, but at what cost?

Last week, Tzarnaev was once again denied an appeal to have his trial held outside the Boston area. Set to be tried under federal law, the death penalty looms over his head, despite Massachusetts being a death penalty-free state. The combination of these facts primes this trial to be one of the most significant human rights questions we will all face while at Brandeis. Tzarnaev’s innocence is not really the question that we are confronted with. According to the New York Times, the prosecution has provided the court with 590 law enforcement witnesses and 142 civilian witnesses, including an eight-year old boy. Many legal experts believe that the trial will be an easy victory based on the overwhelming amount of first-hand accounts, photographic evidence and erstwhile confessions. 

Of course, it goes against the fiber of our legal system to assume guilt, and I do not think we should speculate on the innocence of Dzhokhar. Currently, Tsarnaev and his attorneys must decide whether or not he should change his plea to guilty. The trial inevitably won’t be about assigning guilt, but instead it will be about about sentencing.

Nonetheless, I think it is not only acceptable but, rather morally imperative to speculate on the punishment of Tsarnaev. We are confronted with the unjustness of the death penalty and whether it is an appropriate punishment for the magnitude of his act. Obviously, he is complicit in the deaths of three people and the injury of 260 others. But how does setting a precedent of cancelling out violence by committing more violence provide a solution to this problem? 

As American citizens, how we punish those who break the law reflects directly upon us. It is an indication of our collective values about some of the most primordial emotions: fear and retribution. It is a cliché of rom-coms and mothers alike to say that hard times reveal a lot about the character of a person. The Dzhokhar Tzarnaev case is not different. 

According to a 2012 Amnesty International report, over two thirds of countries have outlawed capital punishment. However, as of 2010, the United States had company with countries like China, Iran, North Korea and Yemen in practicing these executions. The United States isn’t keeping good company. Also, the death penalty  is expensive. A Seattle University study found that a case seeking the death penalty cost the state about $3 million, a million more than a non-death penalty case. 

Not to mention, the death penalty is also racially biased and ineffectual. A 2007 study by Yale Law school found that African-American defendants receive the death penalty at three times the rate of white defendants when the victims are white. Additionally, a 2009 National Research Council study found that 88 percent of criminologists believe that the death penalty is not a deterrent to murder. Non-death penalty states consistently have lower rates of homicide according to FBI crime statistics. 

Yet, despite these arguments, I believe we should be indignant about the choice to pursue the death penalty not out of pragmatism but out of passion. 

As a Massachusetts transplant, I am proud to be a part of a state that adheres to its convictions. Massachusetts has not executed anyone in 67 years. Boston is a vibrant and educated city, where 43 percent of residents have at least a bachelor’s degree, the fifth ranking city in the nation. Many Bostonians are aware of the nuances of the death penalty and familiar with the arguments against it, as the Boston Globe finds that only 33 percent of Boston residents support capital punishment. In short, Massachusetts is a just and principled state. We know better, believe better and should act better than our most basic instincts when pursuing a punishment for Dzhokhar Tzarnaev. 

I understand the fervent desire for closure. What Tsarnaev did to his many victims is inexcusable, and he should be held accountable. The choice to hold Tsarnaev’s  trial in Boston is an overtly political one—Boston deserves to finish what it started. While that choice is questionable at best and unfair at worst, it is essential to remember that closure and retribution are not the same. 

The word “amnesty” comes from the Greek amnestia, or forgetfulness. And, of course, in popular usage, it does mean to forget, but pushing something out of our immediate consciousness does not mean we condone it. At its core, the idea of amnesty is not weakness, but rather, the strength to recognize universal human dignity. The tribulations of the Boston Marathon proved to a pre-Brandeis me that Boston has that strength and that it was a community worth being a part of. I hope in the months to come, Boston calls upon that strength to make the decision that the city, at its core, knows is the just one. The death penalty is never justified, even in the worst of times. 

—Christa Caggiano ’15 is the co-president of Amnesty International.