The loudest objection to Gavin Newsom's mass commutation is that voters said no. They did, twice: in 2012 and again in 2016, Californians declined to abolish the death penalty. That deserves a real answer, and the answer is that the people who voted to keep capital punishment never got the thing they voted for.
They got a ritual. California hasn't executed anyone in more than twenty years. For two decades the state has sentenced people to death, housed them at enormous expense, litigated their cases for a generation, and then not killed them. Families of murder victims were told that justice was coming, sat through trials and hearings and appeals, and were handed a promise the state had no intention of keeping. Newsom's critics call the commutations a betrayal of victims. The betrayal started long before Thursday. It was the system that kept dangling an execution date it couldn't deliver, and it demanded that grieving relatives keep showing up for it.
The governor's stated reason is stronger than it first sounds. He said that picking only some of the condemned for clemency would treat victims unequally. That is the whole indictment of the death penalty in miniature. Who ends up on death row has never tracked the worst crimes. It tracks the county where the crime happened, the prosecutor's appetite, the quality of the defense lawyer, and the race of the victim and the defendant. A majority of California's condemned are people of color. Nearly 200 people nationwide have been exonerated from death row since the 1970s, which means the machine has been wrong often enough to be measured. A punishment that can't be applied evenly and can't be undone should not be left to a state that has never shown it can run it.
Yes, the list includes serial killers and child murderers. Newsom's opponents will make those names the face of this decision, and they will be effective. These are people who did monstrous things. But the question was never whether they deserve punishment. They are going to die in prison, with no possibility of parole. Life without parole is not mercy. It is a sentence that takes everything except the date of death. The choice is between a punishment that actually happens and one that exists mostly as a spectacle.
The Left should not applaud too quickly, though. The way this was done is a problem. A governor in his final weeks, acting alone, undoing what voters twice declined to undo, is a vulnerable position, and abolitionists have no one to blame but themselves for leaving it as their main path. The political work was never finished. Democrats spent years letting the moratorium stand in for a majority, preferring quiet executive action to the harder job of persuading the public. If the California Supreme Court balks at some of the commutations, which it is expected to review, the movement will learn what that shortcut costs. Clemency can be a moral act and still be a poor substitute for law.
District attorneys say they will keep seeking death sentences, and they are right that nothing here repeals the statute. So the real test comes next. Governor-elect Becerra has pledged to keep the moratorium, but a pledge is not a policy. If California means what Newsom said, the Legislature and the voters have to finish the job, and not leave it hanging on one man's signature.
But let's not pretend the status quo was the neutral, democratic option. It was a dead letter that cost billions, and a study often cited by abolitionists put the figure around $4 billion. It punished almost no one by the means it promised, and it left victims waiting. Ending it honestly is not a failure of justice. It is a long-delayed admission that California stopped believing in executions years ago and finally had the nerve to say so.


