Next month, Moises Sandoval Mendoza is set to face execution by lethal injection in Texas, bringing an end to a 21-year-long saga. Back in 2004, Mendoza was convicted and sentenced to death for the murder of Rachelle O’Neil Tolleson, a 20-year-old mother. While I tend to oppose the death penalty, the heinous acts Mendoza committed make me question my stance. Authorities recount that Mendoza encountered Tolleson at a party. When she showed no interest in him, he confessed to the police, admitting that he kidnapped, sexually assaulted, stabbed, and then burned her before burying her disfigured body. Her 5-month-old daughter was found alone, left behind after the family reported Tolleson missing. Mendoza’s admission, along with DNA evidence and witness accounts, firmly tied him to the crime.
Despite my opposition, cases like Mendoza’s make me reconsider my position on capital punishment. The same conflict emerges with Matthew Johnson, another inmate scheduled for execution in Texas on May 20.
On that dreadful day in 2012, Johnson committed a brutal act during a convenience store robbery. Nancy Harris, a 76-year-old clerk, became his target as he poured lighter fluid over her head and set her ablaze. Footage from the store’s cameras captured Harris frantically trying to extinguish the flames as Johnson fled with stolen cigarettes, lighters, cash, and the ring he forcibly took from Harris. She suffered burns covering over 40% of her body and tragically passed away five days later. Though Johnson’s execution won’t undo the tragedy or heal the trauma left in its wake, perhaps it offers her family some form of resolution.
However, for the families affected by the 2019 Walmart shooting near the southern border, closure remains elusive. That fateful day saw Patrick Crusius, a young man from a well-to-do Dallas suburb, drive over 600 miles to El Paso to commit an atrocity fueled by hate. He sought out Latinos as targets, as detailed in a manifesto that praised white supremacy and previous racial terror acts. Armed with an AK-47-style rifle, Crusius unleashed one of the deadliest mass shootings in U.S. history, taking 23 lives, including young parents and devoted grandparents, and injuring 22 others.
Five years later, despite Crusius confessing to this horrific act, El Paso County District Attorney James Montoya revealed that they wouldn’t pursue the death penalty. Federal prosecutors also decided against it, settling instead for 90 consecutive life sentences after Crusius pleaded guilty to hate crimes in early 2023.
This decision stands in stark contrast with the actions taken against Mendoza and Johnson and raises questions about consistency in justice. What explains this disparity, where those responsible for fewer deaths face execution, yet the perpetrator of a massacre evades it? Looking at the demographics, such a discrepancy unveils a concerning pattern. Mendoza, who killed a young mother, is Latino. Johnson, who killed the elderly clerk, is Black. Both are slated for execution this year in Texas, and significant to note, both victims were white women.
Research from the University of Denver examining four decades of death sentences in Texas revealed a startling trend: those charged with killing white women are significantly more likely to be sentenced to death. Comparatively, Crusius’s targets were mostly Latino, and as a white man, he navigated a justice system that didn’t impose the ultimate penalty.
Even as I generally oppose the death penalty, the details surrounding Crusius’s case are challenging to reconcile. Why did his case receive more lenient treatment than Mendoza’s and Johnson’s, when the scale of devastation was far greater?
What lies beyond the surface of this troubling pattern where race seems intertwined with justice remains a critical question.
