RALEIGH, N.C. — When DeAndre Hurst was roughly five years old, he unexpectedly learned about the grim reality of his father’s future. In a sobering conversation, his father, Jason Hurist, who has been on death row for two decades, told him, “I’m never coming home. I killed somebody.” Young DeAndre’s life was thrown into a profound state of confusion and turmoil, one that would steer the course of his formative years and beyond.
The knowledge of his father’s incarceration for murder and subsequent death sentence set DeAndre on a rocky path. He recalls feeling betrayed upon learning the harsh truth, after initially being told his father had merely broken rules at his job. His challenging youth included a period when his mother was in rehab, and he was moved between various guardians and state care systems where he often found trouble, including instances of running away and turning to gang-related activities as a means of coping.
Jason Hurist, now years into his incarceration, reflects deeply on the repercussions of his actions, acknowledging the numerous challenges his son has faced due to his absence. DeAndre, now 27 and diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, struggles with mental health issues and is in pursuit of disability status, a testament to the ongoing impact of his troubled upbringing.
The familial strains experienced by the Hursts are far from isolated within the walls of North Carolina’s Central Prison in Raleigh, home to all men given a death sentence in the state. About half of the 136 men on death row are fathers, often confronting the heartache of strained or severed relationships with their children.
The effects of parental incarceration on children are broadly documented and grim, with outcomes ranging from diminished academic performance to heightened risk of behavioral issues and psychological distress. However, the unique struggles faced by children with parents on death row include the additional psychological burden of knowing their parent’s life is earmarked for execution, further complicating their emotional and mental well-being.
Amid a de facto moratorium on executions that has persisted since 2006 due to legal challenges surrounding capital punishment, many on death row, like Jason, have little prospect of leaving. Such indefinite timelines only exacerbate the mental toll on inmates and their families, leading to what some describe as a prolonged, cruel waiting game.
Efforts to ease the burdens on families vary, with certain programs enabling some incarcerated fathers to engage with their children through structured visits, though these are often non-contact and offer limited relief from the emotional toll of separation. Additionally, those on death row face restrictions in participating in various programs available to other inmates, increasing their isolation.
In the absence of physical presence, some like Jason and Deandre have cultivated their relationship through phone calls, especially poignant since a policy change allowed more frequent contact. Despite the circumstances, these calls have become lifelines through which fathers and children attempt to foster connections, offering mutual support and rekindling bonds broken by incarceration.
Further complicating matters, the stigma and societal challenges faced by families of those on death row can lead to additional hardships, isolating them further and perpetuating cycles of trauma and disadvantage.
In this challenging context, advocates for inmates and their families argue for more comprehensive reforms, including expanded visitation rights and even clemency in some cases, to mitigate the harsh impacts of death row on familial ties and to foster rehabilitation and connection rather than perpetual punishment.
As debates continue and legal battles persist, the stories of individuals like DeAndre and Jason Hurst serve as poignant reminders of the profound personal and familial consequences of America’s criminal justice policies, particularly the use of the death penalty and its far-reaching effects not just on the individuals sentenced but on entire families left in its wake.