11:13 pm - February 23, 2025
Brad Sigmon, a 67-year-old inmate on South Carolina’s death row, is once again asking for his execution to be postponed. His lawyers have not yet received the autopsy report from the state’s most recent execution, which took place two weeks ago. Sigmon’s execution is currently scheduled for March 7, and his legal team argues that the lack of transparency regarding the state’s lethal injection process makes it impossible for him to make an informed decision about how he will die. This is not the first time Sigmon has sought a delay; earlier this month, the South Carolina Supreme Court rejected a similar request. However, with a February 21 deadline looming for Sigmon to choose his execution method—lethal injection, firing squad, or electric chair—his attorneys are urging the court to reconsider, citing the growing urgency of the situation.
Sigmon was convicted in 2001 for the brutal murders of his ex-girlfriend’s parents, who were beaten to death with a baseball bat in their Greenville County home. Investigators reported that Sigmon moved between the two victims, attacking them in separate rooms until both were dead. After the killings, Sigmon kidnapped his ex-girlfriend at gunpoint, but she managed to escape from his car and ran for help. Sigmon fired a shot at her as she fled, but missed. During his confession, Sigmon chillingly stated, “I couldn’t have her, I wasn’t going to let anybody else have her,” revealing a twisted motive rooted in possessiveness and control. These crimes earned him a place on death row, where he has now spent over two decades.
If Sigmon does not choose an execution method by the deadline, the state will default to the electric chair, a method his lawyers say he wishes to avoid. Instead, Sigmon is considering lethal injection or the firing squad, but his hesitation over lethal injection stems from troubling reports about its implementation in recent executions. In the past few months, South Carolina has carried out three executions using pentobarbital, a sedative, in large doses. Witnesses to these executions have described a disturbing pattern: inmates appear to stop breathing and moving within minutes, but they are not officially declared dead for at least 20 minutes. This discrepancy has raised concerns about whether the process is as humane as the state claims.
The autopsy report for one of these executions, that of Richard Moore on November 1, has been released, but it has only added to the controversy. Moore was given two large doses of pentobarbital 11 minutes apart, a deviation from the state’s stated protocol of a single dose. A defense expert who reviewed the autopsy results found that fluid in Moore’s lungs likely caused him to experience the sensation of drowning or suffocating for the 23 minutes it took for him to be pronounced dead. While a state-hired anesthesiologist disputed this interpretation, arguing that the fluid is a common post-mortem occurrence and that Moore was likely unconscious within 30 seconds, the lack of transparency about the execution process has fueled doubts.
Sigmon’s lawyers are still waiting to see the autopsy report for Marion Bowman, who was executed by lethal injection on January 31. Additionally, no autopsy was performed after the execution of Freddie Owens on September 20, as Owens, a Muslim, had requested no autopsy for religious reasons. This lack of information has left Sigmon’s legal team in the dark about the true nature of South Carolina’s lethal injection method. They are seeking more details about the drug itself, as well as the procedures used in previous executions, but their requests have been repeatedly denied. The state’s 2023 shield law, which protects the identities of drug suppliers and execution team members, has further complicated efforts to uncover the truth.
The broader context of South Carolina’s death penalty system adds another layer of complexity to this case. After a 13-year hiatus, the state resumed executions in September 2023, driven in part by a new law aimed at addressing the challenges of obtaining lethal injection drugs. For years, pharmaceutical companies had refused to supply the necessary medications, citing concerns over transparency and ethical objections to their use in executions. The shield law, passed by the state legislature, allows officials to keep the identities of drug suppliers and execution team members confidential, effectively shielding the process from public scrutiny.
Despite these efforts, South Carolina’s execution process remains shrouded in controversy. Sigmon’s lawyers, who also represent other death row inmates, are pushing for a longer gap between executions—extending the current five-week interval to 13 weeks. This, they argue, would give them enough time to review autopsy reports and other critical information, ensuring that each inmate can make an informed decision about their execution method. South Carolina has carried out 46 executions since the death penalty was reinstated in the U.S. in 1976, placing it among the states with the highest number of executions. However, the ongoing debate over the humanity and legality of lethal injection has cast a shadow over the state’s resumption of capital punishment.
In summary, Brad Sigmon’s case highlights the ethical, legal, and procedural challenges surrounding the death penalty in South Carolina and beyond. As his execution date approaches, his lawyers are fighting for transparency and accountability in a system that often prioritizes secrecy over accountability. The questions raised by Sigmon’s case—about the humanity of lethal injection, the need for transparency in execution protocols, and the rights of death row inmates to make informed choices about their own deaths—are not just legal technicalities but deeply human concerns that deserve careful consideration.