July 28, 2011

• Trial and error

  I have always wanted to be wrongly accused of murder, just for the intrigue of the situation.  Because court isn’t like working out a misunderstanding with your friends; you are only allowed to talk at certain times, and you can’t just say, as though it were a conversation, ’Ok, wait a second. You’re wrong there, here’s what really happened’ when the prosecuting lawyer makes a point against you.  Even if you are innocent you have to act in a way that is unnatural compared to real life, and thus every defendant, whether guilty or innocent, must put on the performance of a lifetime. 

  It is when you first sit before the jury that you realize how deeply sunk in you are.  You sit down and they look at you.  Your first thought is, ‘Just be natural, because you are actually innocent, so that will look innocent’ but then you realize that the way you naturally look could quite plausibly be seen as guilty.  So then you have to try to look innocent, which makes you think, ‘What does an innocent person look like?’  Now you try to look like that, but you suddenly realize ‘But now I look like I’m trying to look innocent, which is exactly what a guilty person would look like: like he’s trying to look innocent’.  So instead you try to look like you’re not trying, which really consists in not trying, and then you are back to just sitting there looking guilty, and you realize how deep in the game you are. 

  And all of this will continue to occur to you for your every look, every motion, and especially every word.

  And then just think if both lawyers raided my blog.  And then read about me writing about them raiding my blog.  In fact, every word I write—even these—further entangles a mess of hypotheses about the layers of psychological irony I am attempting to get away with.  Even that sentence could have put me behind bars for life if I ever am in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Wow.

  On the other hand, it would at least be great for my traffic.

  I was thinking about what on my blog would be evidence against me in a murder trial. I found these two relics:

  “So … where do you put the odds I’ve murdered someone?”  Great question to ask people when you first meet them.

  “I plead guilt—wait . . .” Mr. Nelson trailed off, thinking to himself and then looking briefly at his lawyer. “I mean not guilty,” he corrected, now remembering. ”Yes, not guilty.”  He glanced over at the jury and grinned a little.  His murder trial had not started as well as he had hoped.

  And then on facebook, just think if they ever found my status that said ‘I would kill to murder someone right about now.’  That would not look good in court.

  And is my bringing this up all just further irony? I know what my tone is, because I am the one thinking about it.  But could this all not be considered macabre just as easily as it could be considered facetious?  And what about pointing that out—is that more macabre of facetious?  Does the irony stop at ‘It’s funny because he’s innocent’ or ‘It’s dark because he’s guilty’?

  Oh my.

  It’s like when I was trying to get into Canada last month and I asked the girl at customs if they had polygraph machines while the guy outside raided my car.  Another dream of mine is to take a polygraph test at some point in my life.  But she said no, if we think someone is lying that’s all it takes to keep them out.  I said oh, so you guys probably study all the things that are indications of lies, like there not being very many details in the story, eye contact, and so forth.  Of course, I was just making friendly conversation.  But she is paid—probably quite handsomely—to be suspicious of people. So as I said this she looked straight into my eyes as I looked into hers, and she summoned all the powers of BS-detection and intuition that she had, and she stared straight into the deepest confines of my soul.  That moment I reckon is probably very close to what if would feel like to be on the receiving end of a Jedi mind trick.

  Some of this has come to mind recently because I was reading a long document of evidence for the Amanda Knox trial.  The evidence is very complicated.  Eventually I was so confused, I thought maybe I did it.  In hopes of an alibi, I searched my blog for the night of the crime, November 1st, 2007.  Sure enough, I posted the day before and the day after, but not on November 1st.  I officially do not have an alibi.

  That would be my ultimate downfall I think.  Court cases pose the question ‘Is the person guilty?’ before everyone’s minds, and so everyone has at least one hypothesis already in their heads: the person did it.  Facts are all compared to that hypothesis, and so it the most natural one to accrue support.  My downfall would be eventually caving internally, to seeing all the evidence stacked against me, and then wondering, ‘Wait, did I do it?’  Perhaps upon returning with a verdict of ‘Not guilty’ I would even climb on the table before me and cry ‘Shame on all of you!’

  I think I would feel a little sad if there was a great prosecuting attorney but I didn’t do it.  ‘He is on his game,’ I would think, ‘If only I had done it, he would have been perfect for putting me away.’ 

  Ok, well I am definitely guilty of dragging this on much longer than it needed to be.  The moral of all this is, remember to keep track of your alibis.  If you are only a bit worried, hang onto your receipts.  People more deeply worried are encouraged to install a recorder on their arm for Buzz Lightyear Mission logs.  The rest of us, those who like to live a bit more dangerously, will satisfy ourselves with the scintillating idea of leaving things merely to chance.

  • 8:48 pm
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