AMERICA TOOK A hit Tuesday. It's too soon to tell whether it was a glancing blow or a knockout punch, but there was definitely damage done. Twelve people struck this blow, twelve people whose collective actions represented a victory for emotion over reason, fear over justice, race over national identity.
I grieved for my country Tuesday night, which in itself is odd. Sometimes (mis)identified as a cynic, I do share one thing with such people: I don't grieve often and I don't grieve well.
Such is largely the case here. I don't feel badly for the prosecution team, which was lobbed a beachball-sized opportunity of a case, and by the time they got done flailing away at it, were left with a knicked-up golf ball to present the jury.
I certainly don't feel sorry for the LAPD, under whose brutal nightstick I grew up. A decades-long reign of institutionalized and winked-at racism led to a rancid system in which a Mark Fuhrman could be left to roam freely.
There is sympathy in my heart for the Brown and Goldman families, who must forever deal with the holes left in their lives and the salt being poured into their wounds in the form of an incredible verdict. But I feel that they will gain a measure of justice when they prevail in civil court, where the burden of proof is not the strict "beyond a shadow of a doubt," but rather a mere preponderance of evidence, something which only the blindest of people will deny exists.
The Simpson kids need to be looked out for, as they must now grow up in a household headed by a demon. It's fairly certain they will grow to learn the truth, that their father butchered their mother, then bought his way free. That is the bitterest of ironies--he was allowed to get away with murder because of a racial identity he spent most of his life running away from.
The defense lawyers are beneath contempt. They do not seek justice; they play to win. And win they did, through obfuscation and trickery, faux religious fervor and racist tactics as vile as any employed by the LAPD.
And what of O.J. Simpson? He now stands free but broke, acquitted but forever branded. Well, to hell with O.J. Simpson. He's a useless piece of would-be white trash, a scar on America. I could care less what happens to him now. He might make another fortune or he might become a pariah. Doesn't matter either way.
Heck, he might be walking down the street one day and be on the business end of some street adjudication. That wouldn't be right, but it wouldn't be totally wrong, either. The arrogant bastard released a statement that he was going to use his resources to track down the "real" killer or killers. That shouldn't be too hard; after all, how much does a mirror cost?
No, I grieve for America, a country reeling under the weight of divisiveness and pettiness, now given one more load to shoulder. It is not the country I had hoped to be living in at this stage of my life.
Growing up in L.A., I was swept up in the civil rights movement which deeply touched the lives of my friends, most of whom were black. I was too young to completely understand the issues and their ramifications, but I felt the rightness of the movement and reveled in the successes.
I remember each victory, hard-won and completely just. America was opening its eyes, throwing off an oppressive cloak which had held it back for centuries and was well on its way to fulfilling its national promise. It was a heady time.
Even from this great distance, I clearly remember feeling these were victories to savor and to cling to. And I took great solace in the knowledge that these had been battles which would not have to be fought again. Their obvious rightness would see to that.
This was a naiveté of gargantuan proportions. For indeed we have to fight civil rights battles daily, as the judicial and legislative branches of government, driven by a shortsighted sense of populist urgency, retreat from that which is right toward that which is expedient.
I thought America would be a much better society today than it was (or, sadly, than it is). I wasn't foolish enough to believe racism would be nonexistent, but I sincerely felt we as a nation would be inexorably grinding away at it, driven by an unquestionable feeling of righteousness.
Instead of righteousness, we have pettiness and fractiousness. Instead of harmony, we have shouting matches. Instead of justice, we have racial scorecards.
Over the past few weeks, I have spoken with many African Americans concerning the Simpson case. I was astounded by the number who supported a not- guilty verdict, on a proportion equivalent with those shown by national polls.
Eventually, I reached a place of profound sadness, realizing things are so bad in this country that black people will cheer a verdict which they see as one step toward evening up a national legacy of injustices. Many wrongs somehow making a right. That things are so bad that black people must rally around a crackhead, a rapist and a wife-killer out of a sense of racial solidarity.
Only Rodney King was deserving of sympathy, yet Tyson and now Simpson are viewed as icons of a struggle against racism.
I don't doubt the sincerity of the people who erupted in cheers when the verdict was read. I don't impugn their integrity nor seek to question their ability to think rationally. Rather, I decry the direction in which our country has drifted and curse the morass in which we are stuck.
I'm not sure where we're headed, but we just picked up speed.
