For Immediate Release
Tuesday, September 29, 2026
STARKE, Fla. — Tonight, We the People of the State of Florida executed Curtis Wilkie Beasley, Sr. for the 1995 murder of Carolyn Monfort. In this gubernatorial administration alone, that makes him the 44th execution, the 13th veteran, the 14th senior citizen, and the 27th person condemned to die despite a non-unanimous jury vote for death.
Carolyn Monfort was murdered in her own home by someone she knew and had welcomed there. She had a family, a life, and people who expected to see her again. Her life deserves our recognition in its own right, even as we oppose the way Florida chose to bring her story to its conclusion.
Some executions command the attention of our state and even our nation. Others happen quietly, while most people go about their Tuesday evening. Florida’s unprecedented and remarkable pace of executions over the past two years makes that possible. Before we have finished saying one person’s name, another death warrant is signed. The names blur and the numbers rise, and those who aren’t closely following along are none the wiser. This is part of the administration’s plan to overwhelm and desensitize. To let everyday Floridians forget that all of this killing is happening in their names.
Curtis’ case drew comparatively little of the attention that others have drawn. But the facts deserve to be heard nonetheless. Curtis‘ case is a prime example of the arbitrariness of Florida’s death penalty. Over the past month, his lawyers have fought to bring this disparity to light. The courts continue to turn a blind eye.
Curtis was sentenced by a non-unanimous jury, a practice found almost exclusively in Florida. Florida requires a jury vote of 8 to 4 to sentence someone to death, while Alabama requires a supermajority of 10 of 12 votes. Every other death penalty state has rejected this practice.
The right to a jury trial is firmly rooted in our nation’s fabric. So is the history of denying some jurors a meaningful voice. Nonunanimous jury rules took hold in the Jim Crow era as a way to let Black people sit on juries while allowing other jurors to disregard their votes. In a 2020 landmark case called Ramos v. Louisiana, the U.S. Supreme Court confronted that history and held that a jury must be unanimous to convict someone of a serious crime.
This term, the Supreme Court will consider another part of that promise: whether the right to a jury trial requires twelve jurors, rather than the six Florida uses in most criminal cases. Florida asks a full jury of twelve to decide a capital case, but permits a death sentence even when one, two, three, or four of them believe life without parole is the appropriate sentence. The questions before the Court are different, yet they reach the same concern: whether the state can call people to serve on a jury and then diminish the force of their voices. That is exactly what happened to the two jurors who believed that Curtis Beasley should live.
Before drugs and alcohol carved a destructive path through his life and led to the violence that landed him on death row, Curtis lived a life that many of us would recognize. He played Little League baseball and went to Bible camp. He won the Perfect Attendance award in 4th grade. He had an after-school job at a T.V. repair shop, started a garage band with his friends, and listened to country music. He was president of his senior class. He volunteered to serve our country in the Army, and did so honorably, during a time of intense anti-military sentiment. He was a father, a son, and a brother. He was more than the 44th, 13th, 14th, or 27th – more than a statistic in this steady stream of violence.
We will keep telling these stories, including the ones that receive less attention as Florida continues to carry out executions at a pace unrivaled by any time period in the State’s recorded history. Tonight we remember Carolyn Monfort and the life taken from her. We remember Curtis Beasley as a whole person, too. Neither should disappear into the count.
###