Here is the story:
At murderer's sentencing, grieving fathers find unlikely bond
A story of addiction, death and forgiveness
By JULIA O'MALLEY
jomalley@adn.com
(07/12/08 02:06:03)
In a downtown courtroom Friday, Rob Kagel didn't know what to feel as he looked for the first time on Osaiasi Saafi, the man who'd shot and killed his son.
What is the father of a murder victim supposed to feel?
Saafi, 30, hung his head in his chair at the defense table, a lawyer at his side, his own father and a minister behind him. He looked like a warrior, stoic and sad.
A jury had convicted him of murder. He faced the prospect of spending most of his life in prison.
Kagel knew prosecutor John Skidmore was asking for 25 years. That sounded right to him. Saafi needed to take responsibility for his son's death, Kagel explained. He needed to feel bad for what he'd done.
Still, as Kagel looked at the young man in the orange prison clothes, he felt something inside him shift.
A special education teacher from Arizona, Kagel thought of his dead son, Josh -- a smart, compassionate boy who kept losing his fight with addiction after his mother's suicide, he said.
What would Josh have wanted, Kagel asked himself.
Josh came to Alaska in his late teens, looking for a new life after a string of drug-related run-ins with the law in Arizona. For a half-dozen years, Kagel and his other children rode the bipolar cycles of Josh's drug addiction, tracking his recovery or relapse over long-distance calls from Alaska.
Sometimes Josh seemed well: He married. Held jobs. Had a son.
Sometimes he wasn't well: Minor brushes with Alaska law. Meth. The horrible brittle quality in his voice when he called high after months of being straight.
A month before he died, Josh hit bottom. He called Kagel and said his addiction was costing him his wife and son. He was determined to kick his habit. A turning point, father and son agreed.
But it wasn't.
On Aug. 28, 2005, high again, Josh fought with his wife on an Airport Heights Drive. Saafi was a cousin to Josh's wife; he felt responsible for protecting her. He intervened. Josh jumped Saafi, threatened to kill him.
Saafi went in the house and got a gun. He unloaded seven bullets into Josh, pumping shots long after Josh's body hit the ground.
Josh died in his wife's arms. He was 25 years old.
Saafi had no history of violence, no criminal record. He'd never even gotten a speeding ticket. He called the police himself.
At his trial for first-degree, meaning intentional, murder, Saafi's lawyer argued it was really self defense. The jury found him guilty of second-degree murder.
Back in Arizona, Kagel only knew what he read about his son's death -- news stories online and anonymous reader comments on adn.com declaring the shooting of his son justified. Josh deserved to die, they said. He was an addict. A meth-head. Saafi "should have emptied the clip."
Such viciousness from strangers made Kagel think the world was a broken place.
Addiction was only part of Josh, he said. He was also tender-hearted, a goofball brother who called his sister at 3 a.m., a charmer who got smiles out of police officers.
The family wondered what Josh's killer felt. Was he sorry? Kagel's daughter, Shayna, visited Saafi in jail. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't speak.
In the courtroom Friday, it was time for Kagel to talk. Saafi should get a serious sentence, he told the judge, long enough to teach him the value of human life.
"My wish for you is that you not throw your life away out of a stubborn refusal to accept responsibility for your actions," he said to Saafi.
Then it was Saafi's turn. He accepted the decision of the jury, he said quietly. He prayed every day for the family to forgive him. He was sorry for the heartache his actions had caused.
From his seat in the gallery, Kagel believed Saafi was sincere, believed he would be burdened for life by what he'd done.
Suddenly, locking Saafi up for most of his life seemed a waste. Then two young men would be destroyed, Kagel explained later. He knew Josh wouldn't have wanted it.
Judge Michael Wolverton called a recess. When court reconvened, Kagel asked if he could make one last statement.
He'd changed his mind, he told the judge. Please give Saafi the minimum sentence, he said.
"We do forgive you," Kagel said to Saafi. "For reasons we don't understand, we love you; we do."
Saafi nodded. Behind him, his father Henry Saafi wept.
Wolverton listened. He wasn't used to hearing victims speak so eloquently on behalf of a defendant, he said. It rarely happens.
He would take Kagel's wishes to heart and adjust his sentence to the minimum -- 10 years in prison, Wolverton said.
Saafi clearly acted in a fever of adrenaline and fear, protecting his family, the judge said. It's unlikely he'd ever do something like it again. Just to be safe, he added 20 years of suspended time that can be imposed if Saafi strays.
Wolverton wished Saafi luck. Uniformed guards led him out of the courtroom through a metal door.
Kagel and Saafi's father stood and looked at each other. Strangers before that day, they embraced -- father of the murdered and father of the murderer, their faces wet with tears.
"It's the single greatest thing I've ever done in my entire life," Kagel said.
WildbadshootAlaska TM
