In May, on the day decorated Gulf War veteran Jeffrey Hutchinson was to be executed, I was working at the license and tag plant at Union Correctional Institution in Raiford, Florida.
My friend Cisco appeared next to me. In a low voice, he told me that Hutchinson had received a stay of execution; he heard Hutchinson’s name appeared on the laundry list at our facility, which suggested he had clothes needing to be laundered and would be returning from the death watch building. Cisco himself had spent 20 years on death row, so I trusted him. As the news spread, the group of 10 or so veterans working in the plant began to celebrate. All of us, veterans and former death row residents alike, had been following Hutchinson’s case closely.
We high-fived. One of us even did a happy dance. We felt like we were the ones who had received a stay. We all knew Hutchinson as a fellow veteran, a war hero and an Army Ranger with Gulf War syndrome.
But it turned out my friend was wrong, and we had celebrated prematurely. Hutchinson’s execution had been delayed while the courts reviewed his final appeals for a stay of execution — but it was not granted. By the time the information made its way through the prison pipeline to us, it was too late.
When we returned to the compound, we saw Hutchinson’s prison photo on the TV. He was dressed in an orange uniform, with a slight smile on his face. He was scheduled for execution in 30 minutes, the newscaster announced.
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. We all did.
Like Hutchinson and many of the more than 180,000 veterans incarcerated in the U.S., I have struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder, substance abuse disorder, anxiety and depression. And like Hutchinson, I was unable to get support because, in the 1980s, PTSD was considered a combat-only condition. I lost trust in my peers and superiors and wound up in prison largely because no one would listen. After 40 years of bad times and bruises, one person finally did believe in me, and I got help. My life changed forever.
Hutchinson wouldn’t have that chance.
In 1998, Hutchinson killed his girlfriend and her three children, a horrific crime whose severity I will not downplay. I understand that many people are still suffering due to his actions. But something doesn’t sit right when I think of Hutchinson’s death at the hands of the state. I think he deserved another chance.
The Roman Catholic community here holds a prayer vigil before every execution. It was at one of these vigils that I had a spiritual awakening about the death penalty. Our volunteer was talking about another man being put to death: “He’s 69 and probably would never hurt anybody again.” At that moment, everything put itself in perfect logical order in my mind. We have a saying: “I don’t care what you did. I care about who you are now.”
In the 1990s, Dr. William Baumzweiger examined and diagnosed Hutchinson with Gulf War syndrome with neurological damage. During Hutchinson’s trial, the psychiatrist concluded that possible exposure to chemical or biological weapons resulted in Hutchinson’s “diminished mental state” at the time of the murders, according to 2001 reporting from The Tampa Bay Times. But the judge agreed with the prosecution’s psychiatrist and ruled there was no established correlation between Hutchinson’s diagnosis and the murders.
Experts who evaluated Hutchinson in 2025 determined that he lacked a rational understanding of Florida’s plan to execute him. They reported that Hutchinson viewed all updates in his case as part of a larger conspiracy against him. Despite this finding and after hours of expert testimony, a state judge found Hutchinson “sane and competent to be executed.”
Still, no federal court ever considered whether Hutchinson’s life should be spared because of the physical and mental trauma he suffered in the military. His federal appeals were dismissed due to a filing deadline his attorneys missed.
Hutchinson was executed on May 1, despite protest and appeals, including an open letter to the Florida governor signed by over 100 Army veterans.
According to Hutchinson’s family, he immediately started showing signs of PTSD when he got home from combat. He showed classic symptoms of the disorder, including disassociation, withdrawal and detachment. Stressed all the time, his short-term memory suffered and he could not remember directions.
In a video made by Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty, Hutchinson’s family described how he went to a Veterans Affairs clinic in 1991 with rectal bleeding and blood in his vomit. At the time, the VA and Department of Defense did not recognize Gulf War syndrome. According to his family, they turned Hutchinson away at the clinic.
If Hutchinson’s death sentence had been commuted to life in prison, he could have been released into the veterans program cellblock at Union Correctional. We have participants in the veterans program here at UCI that used to be on death row. I know that Hutchinson would have been accepted at the Catholic services without judgment.
There are fellow veterans here who take the time to listen to you as an individual, which is a transformative experience. There are public service projects to get involved in. We hand make burial urns for homeless veterans and greeting cards for nursing homes. We govern ourselves, with an advisory board that is periodically elected.
Hutchinson could have participated in the PTSD program or taken other classes in anger management, communication, victim impact and more. He could have had the chance to become a pillar of this small community, as others have. Here, he might have found meaning to his life, and something like grace.