Another execution date set for Robert Roberson
By Kyle Childress
On July 16, 2025, the beautiful and ornate 1914 Anderson County Courthouse in Palestine, Texas was the sight of a grotesque 19th century law being used to order a wrongfully convicted man to death, by a 21st century judge at the behest of a corrupt politician with 18th century justice perspectives that combined a primitive lust for power with the biblical doctrine of sin. At least, that seemed to be the opinion of much of what I overheard from most of the crowd while standing in line and sitting in wait in the courtroom that day.
I had gathered with about a hundred or so other folk mostly united in our opposition to the death penalty and in support of Robert Roberson, convicted in 2004 of shaking his toddler daughter to death. Since then, the “shaken baby” hypothesis, has been widely discredited and the evidence specifically in Mr. Roberson’s case points to his wrongful conviction. One of his attorneys said, “Everyone who has taken the time to look at the evidence of Robert Roberson’s innocence—including the lead detective, one of the jurors, a range of highly qualified experts, and a bipartisan group of Texas lawmakers—has reached the same conclusion: Nikki’s death was a terrible tragedy. Robert did not kill her. There was no crime.” Of course, none of this caused Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton to hesitate in asking the court to hurry up and schedule Mr. Roberson’s execution even though the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals (CCA) is currently considering this new evidence.
I was standing in the one of the long lines slowly making their way through a metal detector and a pat-down by a sheriff deputy, when members of two families in opposition over the guilt or innocence of Mr. Roberson, came close to an outright fight with plenty of cussing and yelling, before being separated and threatened with removal by several deputy sheriffs.
Inside the courtroom security was tight with sheriff deputies standing watch every twenty feet or so. Television news cameras lined the aisle with various reporters sprinkled throughout the crowd. During the hour long wait, I attempted some small talk with those around me but mostly I simply sat, content to overhear other conversations. “I’m standing against that crooked attorney general and the governor because they slam my transgender grandson,” said one gray-haired East Texas woman to another, in her unmistakable small-town twang. Nearby a “big ol’boy” wearing a red, white, and blue t-shirt with an American eagle flying across the front and holding his ubiquitous ball cap proclaiming his loyalty to Texas A&M, said, “I’m sick and tired of all this. My cousin is in jail because of something he didn’t do.” His neighbor sitting next to him said, “Yeah, I was wrongfully convicted of something I didn’t do and was exonerated. That’s why I’m here today.” Across the way, a middle-aged black couple holding hands were in deep conversation with a younger Latina woman about the ludicrous irony of Texas killing people in order to discourage killing people, “We’re Baptists and our Lord and Savior was executed by the State for something he didn’t do.” The younger woman responded, “I’m Catholic and this is just not right.” A couple of rows in front of me were a dozen or so law students from around the country, all interning in Texas during the summer, and all united in their opposition to the death penalty. One young legal aid sat next to me was a part of The Innocence Project opposing the death penalty. I told him I was a Baptist preacher from about an hour away representing the Texas Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty. He said, “TCADP? Yeah, y’all do good work.” I responded, “The hard part is sticking to it.” He nodded in agreement.
Finally, Robert Roberson, in his black and white striped prison garb and shackles, was escorted in by more deputies, and greeted by his defense attorneys, while we waited another half an hour for the district court judge to enter the courtroom. Mr. Robertson’s attorney made her arguments before the judge while he listened respectfully before ruling that Mr. Robertson’s new execution date would be October 16, 2025. A gasp went up from the crowd. The black couple holding hands leaned upon one another as she began to cry. The Aggie said, “Shit!” The various gray-haired grandmothers shook their heads and patted one another. And I leaned over to the young legal aid, “We don’t give up.”
