10 Horrifically Botched Executions

Capital punishment is often sold to the public with a strange kind of marketing: clinical, efficient,
humane. Like a government service you’d rate three stars on an app“Pretty good, but the waiting room magazines were
outdated.” The problem is that executions aren’t an app, and “mostly works” is a terrifying standard when the procedure ends
a human life.

This article looks at ten widely documented cases in which executions went wrongsometimes because the technology failed,
sometimes because people did, and sometimes because the whole process turned into a slow-motion collision between medicine,
law, and bureaucracy. We’re going to keep descriptions non-graphic and focus on what broke, why it mattered, and what these
failures reveal about the death penalty system.

What counts as a “botched” execution?

“Botched” doesn’t mean “an execution I dislike.” Researchers and legal observers often use it to describe a breakdown or
departure from the protocol for a given methodunexpected problems, delays, or incompetence that can cause unnecessary
suffering or expose serious flaws in administration. One widely cited estimate found roughly 3% of U.S. executions from 1890
to 2010 were botched, with lethal injection showing the highest rate among modern methods in that dataset.

That context matters because each “new and improved” execution method arrives with the promise that mistakes will be a thing
of the past. History has… a politely skeptical eyebrow about that.

The List: 10 Infamous Botches and Breakdowns

1) Willie Francis (Louisiana) When the first try didn’t “take”

In the mid-1940s, teenager Willie Francis became one of the most infamous examples of a failed execution attempt in U.S.
history. The initial electrocution attempt did not kill him, launching a legal battle over whether the state could try again.
The U.S. Supreme Court ultimately allowed a second attempt, and Francis was later executed.

What makes this case linger isn’t just the malfunction; it’s the legal and moral question it forced into daylight: if the
state’s machinery fails, is repeating the process “justice,” or is it compounding cruelty? In modern debates, Francis’s case
still pops up whenever courts argue about “risk of pain” versus constitutional limits.

2) John Louis Evans (Alabama) Electrocution and a protocol that wouldn’t finish the job

John Evans’s 1983 electrocution in Alabama is frequently cited in debates over whether electrocution can be carried out
reliably. Reports described sparks, smoke, and flames at the electrode area, physicians finding signs of life after the first
application of electricity, and additional jolts being administered before he was pronounced dead.

The grim lesson here is that “mechanical” does not mean “predictable.” Electricity is physics plus flesh plus human setup.
And when the setup fails, it fails loudly.

3) Jesse Tafero (Florida) A small substitution with huge consequences

Jesse Tafero’s 1990 execution in Florida is often discussed as a case where the details of implementation mattered
enormouslyreports pointed to issues linked to materials used in the apparatus, followed by intense scrutiny and debate over
whether electrocution was being carried out as intended.

If you’re sensing a theme“one little change in equipment choice becomes a big problem”yes. Executions are supposed to be
controlled procedures. Botches show how fragile “controlled” can be.

4) Pedro Medina (Florida) When “Old Sparky” sparked

Pedro Medina’s 1997 electrocution drew national attention after witnesses reported flames during the execution, triggering
renewed scrutiny of Florida’s electric chair procedures and equipment choices.

Even without graphic detail, the basic reality is enough: if a method is defended as “humane,” it shouldn’t generate a
spectacle that looks like a malfunctioning machine in a horror movie. The public reaction wasn’t just emotional; it raised
practical questions about oversight, maintenance, and whether states can guarantee a consistent outcome.

5) Ángel Nieves Díaz (Florida) Lethal injection, misplaced lines, and a statewide pause

In 2006, Ángel Nieves Díaz’s lethal injection became infamous after reports indicated the IV placement did not deliver the
chemicals properly into the vein, contributing to a prolonged and problematic execution. The fallout was significant enough
that Florida’s governor temporarily suspended executions while the state reviewed its protocol.

Lethal injection is often framed as medical. But states generally don’t allow the same transparency, staffing norms, or error
reporting you’d expect in actual medical practice. When something goes wrong, the system’s instinct can be to hide the
“how,” not to publish a peer-reviewed incident report.

6) Joseph Clark (Ohio) “It’s not working” and a curtain drawn

Joseph Clark’s 2006 execution in Ohio was delayed for an extended period as the team struggled to establish IV access. The
episode became widely discussed because of reported distress and because observers’ view was blocked during part of the
process.

When a procedure is defended as orderly and constitutional, transparency matters. A curtainliteral or legalcan turn “public
accountability” into theater.

7) Romell Broom (Ohio) A failed attempt and the question of “try again”

Ohio’s 2009 attempt to execute Romell Broom was called off after prolonged unsuccessful efforts to place IV lines, with
reports noting numerous attempts at different sites. The incident led to years of litigation over whether the state could
attempt execution again and how the law defines when an “execution” truly begins.

Broom’s case shows how botches aren’t only about biology and equipmentthey become legal puzzles: What counts as punishment?
What counts as an “attempt”? And who bears responsibility when the state’s process can’t be carried out as designed?

8) Clayton Lockett (Oklahoma) The modern case that rattled the country

Clayton Lockett’s 2014 lethal injection in Oklahoma became a national flashpoint after serious problems emerged during the
procedure, including issues tied to IV placement and protocol execution. Reporting and later analysis highlighted how
secrecy, drug sourcing challenges, and procedural improvisation can collide in ways that leave little margin for error.

Lockett’s execution didn’t just spark outrageit triggered policy ripples. States reconsidered drug combinations, courts
revisited constitutional arguments, and the public got an uncomfortably clear view of what “experimental” can look like when
the experiment is conducted by the government on a gurney.

9) Joseph Wood (Arizona) Nearly two hours and a credibility problem

In 2014, Arizona’s execution of Joseph Wood drew extensive attention because he was not pronounced dead until nearly two
hours after the process began, making it one of the most prolonged lethal injections in modern U.S. history.

A key issue with high-profile lethal injection botches is that they puncture the main argument for the method: that it’s
smoother and more reliable than the visibly violent options it replaced. When the timeline stretches dramatically, the
public naturally asks whether the “medicalized” framing is more public relations than reality.

10) Doyle Lee Hamm (Alabama) When “can’t find a vein” becomes the whole story

In 2018, Alabama attempted to execute Doyle Lee Hamm, but the effort was called off after prolonged difficulty establishing
IV access. The case drew intense scrutiny, legal action, and public debate about the limits of lethal injection when IV
placement is challengingespecially for inmates with serious health issues.

Hamm’s case fits a pattern seen again and again: lethal injection isn’t just about drugs. It’s about venous access, staffing,
equipment, training, time windows, and what a state is willing to do if the “simple” method becomes technically difficult.

Why do botched executions keep happening?

If this list feels modern-heavy, that’s not an accident. Lethal injection has been plagued by practical obstacles that make
“protocol compliance” harder than it sounds on paper. One major factor is drug availability: pharmaceutical companies have
restricted how their products can be used, and states have faced ongoing difficulty obtaining drugs, pushing some toward
secrecy and substitution.

Another factor is execution-team experience. Executions are relatively rare events, and some jurisdictions go long periods
without carrying them out. When a state ramps upor tries to compress a scheduleconcerns rise about training, stress, and
error rates.

And then there’s transparency. Several states have adopted secrecy provisions that limit what the publicand sometimes the
courtscan learn about drug sources and personnel qualifications. Critics argue that secrecy makes oversight and correction
harder, especially after failures.

What botches reveal: the death penalty isn’t just a sentence, it’s a system

A “botched execution” is often discussed like a freak accident, the way people talk about a rare plane incident. But plane
safety improved because crashes are investigated transparently, findings are shared, and protocols are changed across an
industry that’s incentivized to learn. Execution systems are different: secrecy, litigation strategy, and politics can all
reduce feedback loops.

That’s why botches become more than isolated tragedies or scandals. They’re stress tests. They show whether the system can
consistently do what it claims to dounder real conditions, with real bodies, and with real human error.

Witness-room reality: experiences people describe after botched or difficult executions

Most of us encounter the death penalty as an abstraction: a headline, a court ruling, a policy debate, a talking point.
But botched executions have a way of yanking the subject out of abstraction and into the very human realm of memorybecause
when the procedure drags, breaks down, or looks visibly wrong, everyone in the room becomes part of the story.

Start with the people tasked with carrying out the execution. An NPR-reported investigation into execution staff described
how participation can reshape workers’ views, with many interviewees later opposing the death penalty after experiencing the
process up close. These accounts often emphasize a clash between expectation (“This will be controlled and quick”) and
reality (“This is messier than anyone admits”), especially when something goes off-script.

Former wardens and corrections officials have also warned that rushing execution schedules can magnify risksnot only for the
condemned but for staff. The job involves rehearsals, role assignments, and intense pressure in a high-stakes environment.
When a state tries to execute multiple people in a short span, former officials have argued that emotional strain and reduced
procedural familiarity can compound the chance of mistakes. In real-world terms, “execution team fatigue” isn’t just a
metaphor; it can look like missed steps, delayed decisions, or a team that’s doing something rare without enough time to
process what they just did.

Then there are witnessesvictims’ family members, journalists, attorneys, spiritual advisers. Botched executions don’t just
delay death; they can prolong uncertainty. In a typical execution narrative, witnesses brace themselves for a difficult
event and then, within minutes, it ends. In botched cases, the “end” becomes unclear. People describe watching clocks,
scanning faces, and trying to interpret small movements while being separated from the condemned by glass, distance, and
(sometimes) institutional barriers. When a curtain is drawn or information is withheld, witnesses are left with only sound,
speculation, and the uneasy sense that something is being hidden.

Botches can also leave lasting ripples outside the chamber. After high-profile failures, states sometimes pause executions,
revise protocols, or pivot to new methods. But that “policy response” is experienced differently depending on where you sit.
For abolition advocates, it can be proof that the system can’t be trusted to administer death without unnecessary suffering.
For death penalty supporters, it can feel like the state is being forced to “fix” a process they believe is legally justified.
For victims’ families, the aftermath can be especially painful: the case returns to headlines, the finality they were promised
is delayed or complicated, and grief becomes a public argument again.

Even when people disagree about the morality of capital punishment, botched executions force a shared confrontation with the
same uncomfortable fact: executions are carried out by humans, through fallible procedures, under political constraints, with
limited transparency. The “experience” many witnesses report is not catharsis. It’s disturbancesometimes the kind that
follows them long after the chamber lights go off.

Conclusion

The common thread across these ten cases isn’t just tragedy; it’s predictability. Each botch happened in a system that
promised reliability, operated under constraints (drug sourcing, staffing, secrecy, time windows), and then met the reality
of human error and biological complexity.

Whether you see the death penalty as justice or as state violence, botched executions raise a basic question that refuses to
go away: if the government can’t guarantee a controlled, consistent process, what does it mean to keep using the most
irreversible punishment?