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NC Coalition for Alternatives to the Death Penalty

Committed to ending the death penalty and creating a new vision of justice

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Tilmon & Kevin Golphin

Learn more: The death penalty is racist

Tilmon & Kevin Golphin as childr

In 1998, a jury was called to decide the fate of brothers Tilmon and Kevin Golphin, black teenagers who were accused of killing two white law enforcement officers during a traffic stop. Tilmon was 19 and Kevin was just 17 when the crime occurred, yet under the law at the time, both faced the death penalty.

The shooting happened in Fayetteville, but because of a media frenzy, the trial had to be moved. The judge chose Johnston County, a heavily white, conservative county that for many years welcomed visitors with a sign advertising it as the home of the Ku Klux Klan.

A Ku Klux Klan billboard in Smithfield, N.C. STEVE MURRAY NEWS & OBSERVER FILE PHOTO

During jury selection, a black member of the jury pool overheard two white members agreeing that the brothers “never should have made it out of the woods” where police arrested them. The black juror reported this baldly racist comment to the court. Yet, the judge made no attempt to identify or remove the white jurors.

Instead, the prosecutor aggressively questioned the black man about why he reported the incident, then struck the black man from the jury, citing his report as one of the reasons.

The same prosecutor questioned potential black jurors about whether they listened to Bob Marley or were familiar with Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie, implying that they might sympathize with black defendants who practice Rastafarianism. No white jurors were asked similar questions.

In the end, the prosecutor struck all but two of the black jurors. The defense attorneys had to strike another who they felt wouldn’t be fair to their client. That left a jury of eleven whites and one black woman to decide the fate of two black teens. The white jurors who made racist comments were never identified, so it’s possible they were members of the final jury.

In front of this skewed jury, the prosecutor depicted Rastafarianism as a white-hating cult, rather than a religion that preaches black empowerment and redemption. The Golphin brothers were badly abused children growing up in a culture of violence, addiction, deprivation, and racism, factors that could have led the jury to choose life sentences. But the boys’ tragic life story sparked no mercy in a jury with such limited understanding of their backgrounds.

Both were sentenced to death. Kevin later received a life without parole sentence after the law was changed to prohibit death sentences for children.

In 2012, Tilmon was temporarily removed from death row and sentenced to life without parole after his attorneys proved, under the Racial Justice Act, that prosecutors used racist jury selection practices. It’s illegal to strike jurors because of their race, but a judge found that’s exactly what happened at Tilmon’s trial.

However, Tilmon was soon sent back to death row when his Racial Justice Act case was overturned on a technicality. In 2020, the N.C. Supreme Court once again ruled that he could not be executed because of the clear evidence of racism in his case. He is now serving life without parole.

Watch Tilmon’s longtime attorney Ken Rose and poet Cameron L. Bynum speak about the case at the Carolina Justice Policy Center’s Poetic Justice event in 2018.

Filed Under: Racial Bias

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NCCADP
3326 Durham-Chapel Hill Blvd.
Building D, Suite 201
Durham, NC 27707
noel@nccadp.org
919-404-7409

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Pauli Murray said it best: "Hope is a song in a we Pauli Murray said it best: "Hope is a song in a weary throat."

We honor those who came before us – Black, queer, Southern leaders like Pauli Murray – who knew that fighting the death penalty is fighting for justice.

Their work laid the foundation. Ours is to carry it forward.
On this Juneteenth we invite you to learn about an On this Juneteenth we invite you to learn about and advocate for #EndTheException, a campaign of @worthrises, to pass the Abolition Amendment. 

People who are incarcerated and detained across our country are disproportioately Black and Brown and forced to work for pennies an hour to no pay at all under the threat of additional punitive measures, such as the loss of family visits and solitary confinement.
Ten years ago today, nine Black worshippers were m Ten years ago today, nine Black worshippers were murdered during a Bible study at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Ten years. A measure of time that cannot touch the grief or honor the grace of those left behind.

We remember the names of those whose lives were taken: Cynthia Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor, Rev. Clementa Pickney, Tywanza Sanders, Rev. Daniel Simmons, Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, and Myra Thompson.

Among those grieving is our friend and fierce partner in this work, Rev. Sharon Risher, who lost family and friends on that day. In the decade since, Rev. Risher has spoken the unspeakable aloud on stages, in sanctuaries, and on pages inked with her truth. Her book, For Such a Time as This: Hope and Forgiveness after the Charleston Massacre, does not simplify the complexity of grief or forgiveness. Instead, she invites us to hold them both, trembling, in our hands.

Last year, Rev. Risher joined us in North Carolina and offered a living example of how to walk through fire and still find language for love. She continues to teach us what it means to mourn collectively, to resist hate, to believe that justice without compassion is incomplete. Rev. Risher is a powerful advocate for gun violence prevention and abolishing the death penalty.

This piece from USA Today traces what ten years have – and haven’t – changed (link also in bio): https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2025/06/16/charleston-black-church-emanuel-massacre-anniversary/84186073007/?fbclid

Today we honor the lives lost, the families forever changed, and the communities that carry their memory. And we give thanks for people like Rev. Risher, who show us again and again that remembrance is a sacred act and love is a kind of protest too.

(Photos of Rev. Risher speaking at last year’s NCCADP commemoration of 18 years since North Carolina’s last execution.)
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