Texas Death Row Inmate Faces Execution as Prosecutors Used Rap Lyrics as Evidence
James Broadnax has spent over sixteen years confined to a six-foot-by-ten-foot cell on death row in Texas. To cope with the desolate days, he immerses himself in writing spoken word poetry, a creative outlet that provides a temporary escape from his grim reality. In a recent poem featured in the documentary Solitary Minds, Broadnax, now thirty-seven, articulates his process: "I've been here umpteen days never forgetting / To forget the absence of my fate. / Sloppy ciphered sentences become rage, / Provoking thoughts into words spoken / Across this blank page."
A Teenage Dream Turned Nightmare
While his current focus is spoken word, Broadnax's teenage passion was rap music. He aspired to become a successful rapper, meticulously filling notebooks with handwritten lyrics. This youthful ambition, however, has now placed him in mortal jeopardy. Scheduled for execution on April 30 in Huntsville, Texas, Broadnax will be lethally injected, a fate significantly influenced by the prosecutorial use of his poetic writings.
In 2009, Broadnax, an African American man, was convicted alongside his cousin for the murder of two white men, Matthew Butler and Stephen Swan, during a robbery in Garland, Texas. The jury was selected from a pool where Dallas county prosecutors had initially excluded all Black jurors, until the trial judge reinstated one.
Lyrics as Lethal Evidence
During the sentencing phase of his capital trial, prosecutors presented forty pages of Broadnax's notebook lyrics to the jury. They selectively highlighted verses containing violent imagery related to murder, robbery, and drugs, while ignoring lyrics about redemption and love. Under Texas law, securing a death sentence requires proving the defendant poses a threat of "future dangerousness." Prosecutors argued his "gangsta rap" writings demonstrated a "gang mentality" and labeled him a "psychopathic killer."
One excerpt read in court was: "Fade 'em, fade 'em, / Tape 'em up. I hit 'em later. / I am so high up and cloud proof, like a skyscraper." The lead prosecutor emphasized, "The root word of gangsta rap is gangster," and compared Broadnax to predators featured on Animal Planet. This strategy overshadowed mitigating evidence, including his abusive childhood and lack of a violent criminal record.
Industry Backlash and Supreme Court Appeal
Kevin Liles, a veteran music executive formerly of Def Jam Recordings and 300 Entertainment, now leads the non-profit Free Our Art. He advocates against using artistic expression as criminal evidence, a mission intensified by cases like Young Thug's, where misattributed lyrics were admitted in court. "My imagination shouldn't be an indictment," Liles stated. "My creativity shouldn't be a crime, my art shouldn't be used as evidence."
Alarmed by Broadnax's impending execution, Liles helped assemble an amicus brief to the U.S. Supreme Court, signed by sixteen artists including Young Thug, Killer Mike, T.I., Fat Joe, and actor Anthony Anderson. The brief argues that rap music is uniquely criminalized compared to other genres, citing examples like Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues" without legal repercussions.
Erik Nielson, a University of Richmond professor and co-author of Rap on Trial, maintains a database of 826 cases where rap lyrics were used as evidence, including thirty-three capital trials resulting in death sentences. "This only happens to rap music," Nielson asserted. "No other fictional form, musical or otherwise, has been targeted and criminalized in this way. You have to work really hard not to see race as the central factor."
Historical Context and Racial Bias
Rap music has faced institutional scrutiny since its emergence. In the 1990s, the NYPD established a "hip-hop police" unit, surveilling artists like Jay-Z. Prosecutors have leveraged societal biases; a 1996 Indiana University study found white participants rated identical lyrics as more offensive and threatening when labeled as rap versus country music.
The 2004 American Prosecutors Research Institute manual advised using "music lyrics" to "invade and exploit the defendant's true personality." This approach persists, with social media now providing easy access to artists' content for prosecutors.
Final Appeals and Personal Struggles
Broadnax's legal team has filed multiple appeals. One petition to the Supreme Court challenges the use of his lyrics as a violation of due process and equal protection. Another addresses the initial exclusion of Black jurors, which law professor Sheri Johnson connects to the lyric strategy: "If you want to make a racist argument about a defendant based on their rap lyrics, then you want a white jury to listen to it."
A state court petition seeks a new trial based on a sworn declaration from Broadnax's cousin, Demarius Cummings, claiming sole responsibility for the shootings. DNA evidence from the weapon and victim's clothing matched Cummings, not Broadnax.
As the execution date nears, Broadnax finds solace in poetry, sharing new works with his fiancée, Tiana Krasniqi. Their wedding is set for April 14 at the Polunsky unit, with a kiss through bullet-proof glass. In his poem Same Trees, Broadnax reflects on racial injustice: "So pour out some liquor because these are my homies – / All of my brotha's / All of my sistah's / Swingin' from those same damn trees …" His fate now rests with the courts, highlighting enduring debates over art, race, and justice in America's capital punishment system.
