In 1984 I was a 22-year-old college student with a grade-point average of 4.0, and I really wanted to do
something with my life. One night someone broke into my apartment, put a knife to my throat and raped me.
During my ordeal, some of my determination took an urgent new direction. I studied every single detail on the rapist's face. I
looked at his hairline. I looked for scars, for tattoos, for anything that would help me identify him. When and if I survived the
attack, I was going to make sure that he was put in prison and he was going to rot.
When I went to the police department later that day, I worked on a composite sketch to the very best of my ability. I looked through
hundreds of noses and eyes and eyebrows and hairlines and nostrils and lips.
Several days later, looking at a series of police photos, I identified my attacker. I knew this was the man. I was completely
confident. I was sure.
I picked the same man in a lineup. Again, I was sure. I knew it. I had picked the right guy, and he was going to go to jail. If
there was the possibility of a death sentence, I wanted him to die. I wanted to flip the switch.
When the case went to trial in 1986, I stood up on the stand, put my hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. Based on my
testimony, Ronald Junior Cotton was sentenced to prison for life. It was the happiest day of my life, because I could begin to put
it all behind me.
In 1987, the case was retried because an appellate court had overturned Ronald Cotton's conviction. During a pretrial hearing, I
learned that another man had supposedly claimed to be my attacker and was bragging about it in the same prison wing where Ronald
Cotton was being held.
This man, Bobby Poole, was brought into court, and I was asked, "Ms. Thompson, have you ever seen this man?"
"I have never seen him in my life," I answered. "I have no idea who he is."
Ronald Cotton was sentenced again to two life sentences. Ronald Cotton was never going to see light. He was never going to get out.
He was never going to hurt another woman. He was never going to rape another woman.
In 1995, 11 years after I had first identified Ronald Cotton, I was asked to provide a blood sample so that DNA tests could be run
on evidence from the rape. I agreed, because I knew that Ronald Cotton had raped me and DNA was only going to confirm that. The test
would allow me to move on once and for all.
I will never forget the day I learned about the DNA results. I was standing in my kitchen when the detective and the district
attorney visited. They were good and decent people who were trying to do their jobs -- as I had done mine, as anyone would try to do
the right thing.
"Ronald Cotton didn't rape you," they told me. "It was Bobby Poole."
The man I was so sure I had never seen in my life was the man who was inches from my throat, who raped me, who hurt me, who took my
spirit away, who robbed me of my soul. And the man I had identified so emphatically on so many occasions was absolutely innocent.
Ronald Cotton was released from prison after serving 11 years. Bobby Poole pleaded guilty to raping me.
Ronald Cotton and I are the same age, so I knew what he had missed during those 11 years. My life had gone on. I had gotten married.
I had graduated from college. I worked. I was a parent. Ronald Cotton hadn't gotten to do any of that.
Ronald Cotton and I have now crossed the boundaries of both the terrible way we came together and our racial difference -- he is
black and I am white -- and have become friends.
Although he is now moving on with his own life, I live with constant anguish that my profound mistake cost him so dearly. I cannot
begin to imagine what would have happened had my mistaken identification occurred in a capital case.
Today there is a man named Gary Graham who is about to be executed because one witness is confident that Graham is the
killer she saw.
This woman saw the murderer for only a fraction of the time that I saw the man who raped me. Several other witnesses contradict her,
but the jury that convicted Graham never heard any of the conflicting testimony.
If anything good can come out of what Ronald Cotton suffered because of my limitations as a human being, let it be an awareness of
the fact that eyewitnesses can and do make mistakes.
I have now had occasion to study this subject a bit, and I have come to realize that eyewitness error has been recognized as the
leading cause of wrongful convictions. One witness is not enough, especially when her story is contradicted by other good people.
Last week, I traveled to Houston to beg Gov. George W. Bush and his parole board not to execute Gary Graham based on this kind of
I have never before spoken out on behalf of any inmate. I stood with a group of 11 men and women who had been convicted based on
mistaken eyewitness testimony, only to be exonerated later by DNA or other evidence.
With them, I urged the Texas officials to grant Gary Graham a new trial, so that the eyewitnesses who are so sure that he is
innocent can at long last be heard.
I know that there is an eyewitness who is absolutely positive she saw Gary Graham commit murder. But she cannot possibly be any more
positive than I was about Ronald Cotton.
What if she is dead wrong?
Thompson is a homemaker in North Carolina and does volunteer work with abused children.