A split jury and a lie sent him to prison. Now he’s working to change Louisiana’s law

BATON ROUGE, La. (AP) — As 18-year-old Bobby Gumpright rode his bike home from his bartending job in New Orleans in 1999, he began to concoct a story about why he didn’t have any money. In the throes of addiction and not wanting to admit he had spent his paycheck on drugs, Gumpright lied to his father and said a Black man had robbed him at gunpoint.

The fabrication spun out of control when a detective, armed with photos of potential suspects, asked Gumpright to point to the culprit.

Across town, Jermaine Hudson, a 20-year-old Black man, was pulled over for a traffic stop and taken into custody. He figured he would soon be released to go home to his pregnant wife and 10-month-old daughter.

Instead, he was charged with a crime he didn’t commit.

Even though two jurors didn’t believe Gumpright’s story, Hudson was found guilty by a split jury, a practice that 20 years later would be deemed unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court, which acknowledged its origins from racist Jim Crow laws.

Nearly 1,000 people convicted by split juries remain in prison in Louisiana.

Now, 25 years after Gumpright’s lies sent Hudson to prison, the two unlikely friends are sharing their story in a push for legislation to give some of those people a chance to have their cases retired.

A split decision

As Hudson sat in the courtroom in 2001, he grappled with a reality that he didn’t create.

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought my life would have been at a standstill … missing out on my kids’ life, on my life,” Hudson told The Associated Press last month.

Two witnesses testified: the officer who responded to the 911 call and Gumpright.

As Gumpright took the stand, Hudson prayed the stranger would acknowledge the wrongful allegation and his nightmare would end.

A prosecutor asked Gumpright, who is white, if he was sure it was Hudson who robbed him. He responded, “110%.”

In a 10-2 vote, the jury convicted Hudson of armed robbery. The judge sentenced him to 99 years in prison.

A practice rooted in racism

At the time of Hudson’s trial, only Louisiana and Oregon allowed convictions if one or two jurors disagreed.

Louisiana adopted the practice in 1898, fueled by efforts to maintain white supremacy after the Civil War. Diluting the voice of Black jurors allowed the often-white majority to determine the outcome.

In 2018, Louisiana voters did away with the use of nonunanimous jury convictions, two years before the Supreme Court ruling.

Of the 1,500 people in Louisiana prisons from split jury convictions at that time, about 80% were Black and most were serving life sentences, according to a Project of Justice Initiative analysis.

Following the high court decision, Oregon’s Supreme Court granted new trials to hundreds of people. But Louisiana’s Supreme Court rejected arguments to apply the ruling retroactively, leaving people like Hudson locked up with scarce legal options or waiting on a miracle.

Waiting 22 years for freedom

Years of Hudson’s life dwindled away as he missed the birth of his second daughter, graduations and other milestones. He prayed Gumpright would “come forward with the truth.”

“This can’t be my final destination. This can’t be the end of my life,” Hudson often thought.

Gumpright tried to numb his guilt with drugs and alcohol, but it never went away. “I was either gonna kill myself or I was gonna come forward,” he told the AP.

In 2021, Hudson was preparing to take a new deal: plead guilty to armed robbery in exchange for a sentence of time served. Just days before the bargain was finalized, Hudson received news he long waited for. Gumpright, who had entered a drug treatment facility, had come clean about his lies.

After spending 22 years behind bars, Hudson was released.

A few months later, Gumpright answered a phone call from a blocked number.

“I bet you never thought you’d hear from me,” Hudson said.

Fixing an injustice

A packed committee room at the state Capitol fell silent last month as a man wearing a suit and tie took to the microphone.

“My name is Bobby Gumpright,” he said, his hand trembling. “I come before you as a citizen of Louisiana. … I’m also a man who lives each day with the consequences of a terrible sin.”

Gumpright told lawmakers his story, the true one. Sitting behind him was Hudson.

The pair first met in New Orleans, six months after Hudson’s release. They have spent the past two years advocating for a bill that would give inmates convicted by split juries the opportunity to ask for a retrial. The measure does not automatically grant a retrial.

The duo say their story is an example of how an innocent man can be imprisoned for decades under an unconstitutional practice and that it’s never too late to right a wrong.

“I couldn’t change the past, but I could refuse to live the lie any longer while injustice continued,” Gumpright told lawmakers. “Louisiana can’t change the past. But Louisiana can refuse to let its injustice live on.”

The measure failed last year, but a legislative committee backed a similar bill in April. It still needs approval from the governor, House and Senate, which could debate it this week

People cheered as the bill cleared its first hurdle. Gumpright and Hudson hugged, holding each other up, as they cried tears of joy.

An unlikely bond

Both men said they needed one another to heal.

Hudson wanted to know why Gumpright lied. Gumpright sought forgiveness.

“I’m not the type of man to hold grudges or to hate anyone,” Hudson said. “I have a forgiving heart. And in order for me to really move on I forgave him, because I understood what he was going through.”

Sober for four years, Gumpright, 44, is now an addiction counselor. Hudson, 47, moved to Texas, got married, bought a house, is starting a business and spends time with his two grandsons.

Gumpright attended Hudson’s housewarming and met his family. They text each other words of encouragement every day and keep photos of each other close by.

“My friend? That’s an understatement,” Hudson said about his relationship with Gumpright. “He’s my brother.”