The Confession

The Confession argues that one of the main problems the legal system in the US faces is the country’s centuries of deep-seated racism. Given that the population of death row is disproportionately Black, the novel investigates how many different ways anti-Black bias affects the determination of justice.

Because the state’s case against Donté Drumm is weak, both Detective Kerber and DA Koffee rely on the simmering racism in the town of Slone in general, and among the all-white jury in particular, to boost their successful prosecution of the innocent young man. They are not driven by the need to locate Nicole Yarber’s actual murderer; rather, they are simply intent on railroading the easiest to convict person. Kerber seizes on the anonymous tip of Joey Gamble, a white teen in Donté’s high school who is motivated by racially-tinged jealousy: Joey envies that Nicole, a white young woman, clearly prefers Donté, who is Black, to Joey; Joey also resents the promise of Donté’s football career, including his well-deserved college scholarship. Racial profiling drives Kerber’s team of white detectives in Slone to illegally manipulate the interrogation process; certain of Donté’s guilt despite the lack of a body, evidence, or eyewitness, they psychologically torture a child into signing a false confession. In turn, Koffee purposefully seats an all-white jury despite the significant Black community in Slone and plays subtly to the jury’s vestigial horror over the idea of an interracial couple.

Protests over Donté’s execution—staged almost solely by Slone’s Black community—pitch the town into eye-for-an-eye violence as Black and white churches are set on fire. Meanwhile, the white community’s reaction to Donté’s football teammates’ boycott of a single game attests to the plantation-mentality still driving Slone: They are not up in arms about an innocent Black life, but about Black players refusing to play. The novel presents the Black population of Slone as a model minority—an instance of benign racism that undercuts the novel’s message. Regardless of the amount of provocation, they remain dignified and peaceful. While Nicole’s mother Reeva enflames the public with interviews rife with racist dog-whistles, Donté’s mother pleads for the violence to stop and for both sides to come together. White authority figures run the gamut from hopelessly corrupt and brutal to passive and unconcerned: Texas Governor Newton banks on the fact that the majority of white voters in Texas support the death penalty; when his staff meets to consider Donté’s approaching execution, they worry not about injustice, but only that “Blacks are pissed” (174). Meanwhile, Reverend Johnny Canty, the Black pastor of the Bethel African Methodist Church, delivers a powerful address that asks for compassion for Donté’s and Nicole’s families, reminding the crowd that the power structures in Texas use the Bible to pit “[them] against each other” (164).

The novel finds hope in the most basic unit of human relationships: the family. Reverend Schroeder maintains constant communication during his tense and entirely illegal trip to Texas with his wife, whose encouragement, despite her own misgivings over the dilemma posed by Travis Boyette, sustains Schroeder. Her unstinting commitment to the cause of staying Donté’s execution provides Schroeder himself with the confidence to pursue what could easily become a self-destructive course of action. Whether in mourning over their murdered daughter Nicole, in smug insensitivity while playing to the cameras for money, or in horror that they have spent nine years demonizing an innocent man, the Yarbers are close-knit and mutually supportive. The novel demonizes Nicole’s mother Reeva, but allows her a family-centered redemption: Once she realizes the magnitude of the mistake the justice system has made in executing Donté, and her family’s complicity in it, the Yarbers grow muted and somber. The memorial service for Nicole, far from the cameras, allows the family to come together and grieve all over again as they bury Nicole’s recently recovered body and prop up an overwhelmed Reeva, who “simply wasn’t up to” (492) attending the service.

Conversely, Travis Boyette shows readers what happens when family fails. Raised by dysfunctional and abusive parents and subjected to years of molestation by an uncle, Boyette emerges deeply psychologically damaged. The cold toxicity of his parents produces the novel’s vicious and malignant villain.

The Drumm family emerges as tight-knit, loving, and compassionate despite the justice system’s railroading of the innocent Donté. They rally the Black community in Slone to retain its dignity and peaceful nature in the face of the upcoming execution, and the calming presence of Donté’s mother Roberta helps quell the near riot that almost erupts. Even Flak, who is only figuratively related to the Drumms in his quest to free Donté, draws strength from this family’s bond. The scenes in which Donté meets with his family are the novel’s most emotional. Donté’s long stand to keep his mother from witnessing his execution comes from his love—he cannot bear to see his mother in distress. Later, the scene in the funeral home when Donté’s mother, a career nurse, sadly, slowly prepares her son for his burial is the novel’s most poignant moment as it reveals the depth of a family’s love. The image transcends the earthly connection between mother and son and evokes religious iconography of the Pieta—Mary cradling the crucified Jesus, a pose often captured in art and sculpture.