OPINION: After failed execution, what happens next in Christa Pike case?

For months, Tennessee debated whether Christa Pike should die. 

On Sept. 30, the State attempted to answer that question. 

It tried to execute her. 

And Christa Pike survived. 

That fact should force Tennesseans on every side of the death-penalty debate to confront a question  far more difficult than whether we believe Pike deserves punishment: What constitutional  authority does the government have after it has carried out an execution procedure, inflicted the  punishment associated with it, and failed to produce the intended result? 

I have followed Pike's case closely, and I have repeatedly said something that bears repeating now:  Advocating for constitutional scrutiny in this case does not require anyone to minimize the murder  of Colleen Slemmer. 

Slemmer was 19 years old. Her life mattered. The brutality of her murder matters. Her family  matters. 

Pike was convicted and sentenced to death for that crime. 

But constitutional protections do not exist only for sympathetic people. In fact, their importance is  tested most severely when they protect people for whom society has little sympathy. 

Tennessee carried out its procedure. Pike did not die. 

This was not a last-minute commutation. It was not an execution canceled before the drugs were  administered. 

Tennessee attempted to execute Pike by lethal injection. 

The execution team administered two rounds of the state's lethal-injection protocol. Pike did not  die. She was ultimately transported from the prison to a hospital. 

Her attorneys now report that she is conscious and speaking, although she remains under critical  medical care and faces what they describe as a lengthy and uncertain recovery. 

That creates a legal and moral circumstance Tennessee cannot simply treat as though Sept.  30 never happened. 

Before the execution, the Sixth Circuit temporarily intervened to allow further consideration of  Pike's pending claims. Tennessee sought relief from the United States Supreme Court, which  permitted the execution to proceed over the dissent of Justices Sonia Sotomayor, Elena Kagan and  Ketanji Brown Jackson. 

The execution proceeded. 

Then something extraordinary happened. 

The sentence did not produce the result the State intended. 

Can Tennessee try again? 

That is now the question. 

The immediate reaction from some will be simple: She was sentenced to death, she is still alive,  so execute her again. 

Constitutional law should demand a more serious analysis. 

The Eighth Amendment prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. The Fifth Amendment's Double  Jeopardy Clause raises additional questions about repeated punishment, although Supreme Court  precedent makes that argument considerably more complicated than simply saying, “You cannot  execute someone twice.” 

There is historical precedent. 

In Louisiana ex rel. Francis v. Resweber (1947), the United States Supreme Court permitted  Louisiana to make a second attempt to execute Willie Francis after an electric-chair malfunction  caused the first attempt to fail. 

But that case should not end the modern conversation. 

Resweber was decided nearly 80 years ago. The circumstances were different. The Court itself was  sharply divided. And modern Eighth Amendment jurisprudence has developed considerably since 1947. 

Most importantly, the constitutional inquiry should examine what Pike actually experienced. 

How long did the procedure last? What drugs entered her body? In what quantities? What physical  injuries occurred? What did she experience consciously? Were protocols followed? Why did the  procedure fail? What did state officials know as events unfolded? And what would subjecting her  body to another execution procedure entail? 

Those are not emotional questions. 

They are constitutional ones. 

The death penalty gives government its most irreversible power. 

Gov. Bill Lee's decision to halt Tennessee executions for the remainder of 2026 and order an  independent review is appropriate. 

But the investigation cannot merely ask, “How do we make sure it works next time?” It must ask what happened to Pike. 

It must examine Tennessee's protocol, the actions of the execution team, the medical  consequences, the decision-making during the attempted execution and whether constitutional  boundaries were crossed. 

And those findings should be transparent. 

I understand why this case generates anger. 

Some people hear Christa Pike's name and immediately think of what happened to Colleen  Slemmer. They understandably ask why society should show concern for Pike when Slemmer  received no mercy. 

But constitutional rights are not rewards for good behavior. 

They are restraints on government power. 

That distinction matters. 

We can condemn what Christa Pike did while simultaneously demanding that Tennessee obey the  Constitution in deciding what it may do to Christa Pike. 

Those positions are not contradictory. 

This case is now bigger than Christa Pike. 

For those who support the death penalty, this case should matter because a government entrusted  with the power to execute must demonstrate that it can exercise that power lawfully, competently  and constitutionally. 

For those who oppose capital punishment, what happened Sept. 30 will undoubtedly  reinforce longstanding concerns about the possibility of suffering, error and government failure. 

And for those of us who remain focused on the rule of law, the question is more fundamental: What limits exist on the government's power to punish? 

Tennessee attempted to execute a human being. 

That human being survived. 

Whatever your opinion of Christa Pike, we should resist the temptation to reduce what happens  next to “try again.” 

Before Tennessee ever attempts another execution—Pike's or anyone else's—the public deserves  to know exactly what happened inside that chamber. 

And before the State ever attempts to execute Christa Pike again, courts should fully consider  whether the Constitution permits it. 

This is precisely when constitutional protections matter most—not when the answers are easy, but  when our anger makes us tempted to stop asking the questions. 

Tracy “TJ” Boyd, E.J.D., is a legal educator and founder and Head of School of The Law &  Leadership School in Nashville. He writes and teaches about criminal law, legal literacy,  constitutional government and the American justice system. Letters to the editor and guest columns are encouraged as a venue for readers to voice their opinions on local matters or the occasional state or national matter. Letters can be e-mailed to jksnpost@gmail.com.