Monday, May 24, 2004
An Eye For An Eye
Yesterday, I attended a party celebrating my friend's graduation from law school (congratulations, Liz!). At one point, as was perhaps inevitable, the topic turned to the death penalty, its justice, and its problems. I mentioned that my husband's uncle had been murdered last year, and to my surprise everyone jumped to the conclusion that I must, therefore, be for the death penalty. In retrospect, this isn't surprising; it's almost a cliche that the family of the victim "hungers for justice" or whatever. At the time, though, I was completely taken aback -- because I'm not for the death penalty, even now.
I suppose that in an ideal world, where people in general and the justice system in particular are infallible, it might be a reasonable thing. I've never been persuaded of the validity of many of the stock phrases of the anti-death-penalty folk, in particular the notion that for the state to kill lowers it to the level of the murderer, or that execution is intrinsically an affront to human dignity. The reality, however, is more complicated. The moratoria that have been put in place are in response to various symptoms, but the same underlying cause. Men are not angels and probably never will be. Until they are, the entire system of determining not just guilt or innocence, but indeed the nature and severity of charges, the whole nine yards, is simply an approximation. As certain as we may think we are of the proper outcome, death is not an appropriate outcome for any procedure which inherently involves that sort of uncertainty.
"But what about the victim's family?" you may say at this point. Well, in truth, what about them? The justice system is for, well, justice. It is not a tool for vengeance. It is not a means for anyone, no matter how badly they were wronged, to inflict their will upon another beyond what is strictly just. And, in fact, even were one to do this, to see the murderer struck down in order to expiate his sin, what good does it do? It cannot bring back what has been lost. It cannot bring "closure", whatever that is supposed to mean. In the end, your loved one is still dead. There is nothing, no procedure, no retribution, no restitution, absolutely nothing that can change that.
It seems to me that the families, often, are so desperate for answers that they will grasp onto any clue, any shred. In practice, this means that they listen to the scenario of the police and of the prosecution to the exclusion of all else. No wonder, then, that normally they are so eager to see the most extreme punishment, and so very disappointed if the case is lost on appeal or never even brought to trial.
In truth, I do not understand the appeal of vengeance. It's a universal trait, of course, and I'm not saying I'm incapable of lashing out in retribution in the heat of the moment. But to sit, as people do, years after the fact, and be anxiously looking ahead to the day when the criminal's appeals are at last complete, and yet knowing they will be ultimately disappointed because the suffering won't be a tenth or a hundredth or a thousandth as great as what happened -- I can't fathom it. It sickens me, some, but mostly it makes me sad.
I would much rather be able to look at myself in the mirror and see the face of someone who mourns for someone wrongfully taken from her, who always will mourn, but who is at least confident that the fallible justice of this world didn't cause another mother or friend or niece by marriage to do the same.
Yesterday, I attended a party celebrating my friend's graduation from law school (congratulations, Liz!). At one point, as was perhaps inevitable, the topic turned to the death penalty, its justice, and its problems. I mentioned that my husband's uncle had been murdered last year, and to my surprise everyone jumped to the conclusion that I must, therefore, be for the death penalty. In retrospect, this isn't surprising; it's almost a cliche that the family of the victim "hungers for justice" or whatever. At the time, though, I was completely taken aback -- because I'm not for the death penalty, even now.
I suppose that in an ideal world, where people in general and the justice system in particular are infallible, it might be a reasonable thing. I've never been persuaded of the validity of many of the stock phrases of the anti-death-penalty folk, in particular the notion that for the state to kill lowers it to the level of the murderer, or that execution is intrinsically an affront to human dignity. The reality, however, is more complicated. The moratoria that have been put in place are in response to various symptoms, but the same underlying cause. Men are not angels and probably never will be. Until they are, the entire system of determining not just guilt or innocence, but indeed the nature and severity of charges, the whole nine yards, is simply an approximation. As certain as we may think we are of the proper outcome, death is not an appropriate outcome for any procedure which inherently involves that sort of uncertainty.
"But what about the victim's family?" you may say at this point. Well, in truth, what about them? The justice system is for, well, justice. It is not a tool for vengeance. It is not a means for anyone, no matter how badly they were wronged, to inflict their will upon another beyond what is strictly just. And, in fact, even were one to do this, to see the murderer struck down in order to expiate his sin, what good does it do? It cannot bring back what has been lost. It cannot bring "closure", whatever that is supposed to mean. In the end, your loved one is still dead. There is nothing, no procedure, no retribution, no restitution, absolutely nothing that can change that.
It seems to me that the families, often, are so desperate for answers that they will grasp onto any clue, any shred. In practice, this means that they listen to the scenario of the police and of the prosecution to the exclusion of all else. No wonder, then, that normally they are so eager to see the most extreme punishment, and so very disappointed if the case is lost on appeal or never even brought to trial.
In truth, I do not understand the appeal of vengeance. It's a universal trait, of course, and I'm not saying I'm incapable of lashing out in retribution in the heat of the moment. But to sit, as people do, years after the fact, and be anxiously looking ahead to the day when the criminal's appeals are at last complete, and yet knowing they will be ultimately disappointed because the suffering won't be a tenth or a hundredth or a thousandth as great as what happened -- I can't fathom it. It sickens me, some, but mostly it makes me sad.
I would much rather be able to look at myself in the mirror and see the face of someone who mourns for someone wrongfully taken from her, who always will mourn, but who is at least confident that the fallible justice of this world didn't cause another mother or friend or niece by marriage to do the same.
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The distinction between justice and vengence have long been intertwined. For millenia, an eye for an eye was the norm for systems of justice. The view that the law should not be used as a tool to extract revenge is very much a post-englightenment phenomenon.
I do believe that this is a form of progress; however, the urge for vengence is still very much a part of our character. I think that is why it was so startling to your audience to have you say that, even as a person who has been wronged, your desire is not vengence but justice. It flies against the expectations of our instincts.
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I do believe that this is a form of progress; however, the urge for vengence is still very much a part of our character. I think that is why it was so startling to your audience to have you say that, even as a person who has been wronged, your desire is not vengence but justice. It flies against the expectations of our instincts.
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