If all goes as expected, voters this week will carve a
set of "victims' rights" measures into the Oregon Constitution.
While deadline constraints don't allow us to know the
final tally, it's clear that this is one political debate
that will continue for a while--after all, it's become
personal.
Just look at the pairing of Steve Doell and Arwen Bird.
The personal tragedies of this pair have been so well
publicized that Oregonians might feel they know each
one's blood type. In 1992, Doell's daughter, Lisa, was
killed when struck by a car driven by 16-year-old Steven
Whitaker. A jury failed to convict Whitaker of murder
and instead found him guilty of manslaughter. Doell
was outraged and became a victims' rights advocate ("The
Crime that Changed Punishment," WW, Sept. 23,
1998). As head of Crime Victims United, Doell believes
criminal defendants enjoy too many rights.
Bird has her own story. In 1993, a drunken driver smashed
into her car and paralyzed her. Instead of anger, however,
she's responded with compassion. As head of Crime Victims
for Justice, she believes that the passage of Measures
69 to 75 would gut Oregon's Bill of Rights.
Since September, the two have been debating one another
in public. And since September, Doell has been seething.
Like many in the victims' rights movement, he sees Bird
as little more than a good actress.
Doell's frustration is understandable. He's desperately
tried to paint his opponents--"our enemies," he calls
them--as "greedy defense lawyers" who backed the campaign
with $144,000 in contributions. But it's one thing to
shout down combative defense lawyer Emily Simon or those
bleeding hearts at the ACLU. It's another to go after
a 25-year-old woman with a sympathetic smile and a cumbersome
wheelchair.
During the campaign Doell took most of his shots at
Bird in private. For example, he made sure reporters
knew that she works for Michele Kohler, a Portland defense
attorney. He says that ruins her credibility as a victims
advocate.
The sniping continued when, on Oct. 21, they both trotted
out their usual lines on Lars Larson's radio show.
Bird says matters took an ugly turn around 3:45 pm,
when, during a commercial break, Doell waved his stage
prop, a picture of his murdered daughter, Lisa, in front
of her. "You can't even look at it, can you?" Doell
said.
Bird says Doell leaned across the studio console and
yelled at her with such rage that "I feared for my physical
safety." After that incident, she refused to debate
Doell without others from her group present.
Doell denies threatening Bird, but he concedes he was
furious. He says Bird consistently refuses to react
to his daughter's photo with the same level of sympathy
he receives from other audiences and that he wanted
to test her once again--in this case, seven years to
the minute after Whitaker killed his daughter. There
is "a smugness and arrogance about her," he says, that
he wanted to pierce.
Doell and Bird will have many chances to square off
again next year. Many of the people opposing this year's
package of ballot measures are promoting their own initiative
to reform Measure 11, which sets mandatory minimum sentences
for 21 violent crimes.
Bird says she is committed to the repeal of Measure
11.
Moreover, state Sen. Kevin Mannix will certainly keep
the issue alive as he runs for attorney general. (Sources
say the Salem Republican intends to announce his candidacy
Nov. 18.)
Mannix was a proponent of Measure 11 and a chief backer
of this year's victims' rights package. His likely opponent,
incumbent Attorney General Hardy Myers, also backed
Measures 69 to 75 but never publicized his support.
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 3,
1999
