Evanson was sentenced to death in 2002 and released in 2025. Speaking to him five months after his release, he remembers, to the day, how long he spent on death row during his time in prison: 16 years, 3 months, 26 days.
“If you’re not strong, it will break you.”
Evanson Mitcham and his attorney, Talibah Byron-Chiverton, the day after his release.
Evanson would know. In 2007, he was moved to the condemned cell and was read his death warrant. Describing the physical space of the cell, Evanson remembers that if “…you look through the door, you can see the gallows”. Having been read his death warrant, he was able to make three calls. One to his mother and two to his lawyers.
Following our last-minute application to the court, Evanson was read a stay of execution, mere hours before he was due to be hanged.
However, he was forced to remain living in that condemned cell for more than a decade. Given his direct view of the gallows – which he believes was a deliberate choice by the prison – Evanson witnessed the last execution in St Kitts in 2008.
Getting the death sentence, you get a kind of light-headed feeling. From the time they put you in the holding cell you don’t want to see anybody, you don’t want to hear from nobody… Your friends and family might come but you’re not answering them because you’re mentally depressed.
Reflecting on his time in prison, Evanson hopes that conditions will improve one day. He describes making it through the years on death row by dividing the time into more manageable chunks. Six months here, a year or two there – setting short goals for himself. Nevertheless, Evanson’s time in prison was characterised by habitual violence and cruelty from the officers. “They see it as just pure punishment, they make your life more miserable than anything.”
Families need a pass to visit a death row prisoner. Evanson received 15-to-20-minute visits once a month, usually from his mother. It is these visits, he says, which kept him going during his time on death row. “If you have nobody to come see you, the authorities take advantage of you in the prison. They lock you away, take your rights because they don’t want you to spread what you know.”
Hearing support for the death penalty was hard during the years in custody, but not uncommon. Ultimately, Evanson thinks that people support the death penalty because they cannot imagine themselves, or individuals that they know, in the situation he found himself. Compassion and knowing a condemned prisoner’s story should be at the heart of abolitionist sentiment, in Evanson’s view. With a wry smile, Evanson recounted to us how even lyrics in his favourite type of music, calypso, could hold a pro-death penalty sentiment at times.
Shortly after entering prison, Evanson’s son was born. In counting the time he would spend in prison, he resolved to be a free man by the time his son was 20. While he missed that date, they just celebrated his son’s 24th birthday in October 2025.
Evanson no longer plans his time in manageable sections. He is looking forward to the future and is planning on setting up a business, using construction skills he acquired in prison. Recently, he has helped his old masquerade dance troupe organise a music festival – he performed with them in November 2025 at Port Zante in Basseterre. When asked if they played calypso, Evanson doesn’t answer, but laughs.