Once again I find myself riveted by a murder trial that comes 
replete with sex, lies and videotape. As I write this post I am battling that sense of emptiness that comes when some anticipated something I was looking forward to has suddenly been withdrawn.
The trial of Casey Anthony for the murder of her two-year-old daughter went dark on Sunday after a drama-filled Saturday session that ended with defense lawyer Jose Baez being soundly chastised by a serious-as-a-heart-attack Judge Belvin Perry. The pit-bull prosecutor Jeff Ashton had been springing out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box on speed, objecting every two minutes or so it seemed. Now THIS is the stuff Perry Mason episodes were made of!
So I rose early this morning in order to get my laundry started and the dog walked before court re-convened at 9 a.m. One would think I had been stood up at the altar, I felt so crushed when the judge recessed court this morning before it ever got started. The jury had been hanging out in the jury room from 9 a.m. until around 10:30 a.m. while Judge Perry continued his harangue against the lawyers’ combative behavior and held several in-camera huddles in his chambers. Suddenly, he called a recess until 9 a.m. Tuesday!
Exactly what is going on here? I am always searching my conscience trying to determine the underlying reasons for whatever I am feeling at the moment. As a student of human behavior, I am also trying to figure out what would cause an otherwise rational human being to camp outside the Orlando, Florida courthouse all night with the hopes of getting one of the 50 seats in the courtroom open to the public. My poor brain went on sensory overload when I watched a petite woman deliver a left-hook upside the jaw of a man twice her weight and a foot taller. One of them – I still don’t know which – had the audacity to try to cut into the line at 3 a.m., and fisticuffs ensued.
I have completed my analysis of my own motivation and now understand what is driving me to stay riveted to this case, much as I was when O.J. Simpson had his friend Al Cowlings leading a “low-speed police chase” around Los Angeles County.
I find it nearly impossible to grasp the mindset of a person who deliberately kills another innocent person. I’m not at all sure I would even be able to shoot someone who was threatening to harm me, much less plot the demise of anyone. I look for signs in the accused of the insanity that I am convinced resides in anyone capable of doing such a thing.
Then there is the sheer gravity of the proposition that the defendant – in this case a 5-foot-tall twenty-five-year-old woman – could be executed by the state if found to be guilty of first-degree murder. In a sense, the state of Florida is empowered to commit a kind of first-degree murder itself, and sometimes I struggle mightily with that notion.
Much like the antics our elected politicians frequently demonstrate, the courtroom players often seem to get so caught up in their personal “performances” in the courtroom, they lose sight of the ponderous responsibility they have been given in a life-and-death scenario and get tangled in theatrics.
The jury of Casey’s so-called peers sit there trying to decipher the science-speak of one forensics expert after another, only to have experts of allegedly equal status refute the previous testimony from the other side. These ordinary citizens on the jury must sift through all this unintelligible jargon to try to glean an understanding of how, when and why little Caylee Anthony died and at whose hands.
While the prosecution places its long and tedious evidentiary testimony into the record, the defendant Casey Anthony sits stoically with the flat-faced affect of a person in a catatonic trance. When her mother mouths the words “I love you,” after testifying for the prosecution, Casey rolls her eyes slightly and looks annoyed.
When the defense is cross-examining a witness or when graphic photographs of her tiny daughter’s remains are flashed on the courtroom screen, Casey becomes animated and tearful, anguish creasing her pretty face into an ugly caricature. Is this real? Is this remorse or is it guilt? I strain to see the answering signs.
This is Jose Baez’s first capital murder trial. It shows. He bumbles and stumbles, misspeaks and misleads. He was reportedly chosen by Casey Anthony at the suggestion of a fellow inmate. Watching prosecutor Ashton making mincemeat of Baez’s witnesses is at first entertaining, but later becomes cringe-worthy. As I watch even my untrained eye can spot the bases for appeal piling up.
At some point Baez is going to have to flesh out the sensational allegations he made in his opening statement that little Caylee drowned in the family pool; that George Anthony, Casey’s father, encouraged and helped execute a cover-up; that while Casey is an admitted habitual liar, she does so because she had been sexually abused by both her father and her older brother, Lee. The fodder for those with prurient interests in the dysfunction of the Anthony family will be abundant. The fireworks between the defense and the prosecution will be undoubtedly spectacular.
In the meantime, the judge has accused Baez of deliberately ignoring a portion of his order regarding discovery and depositions. Judge Perry has mentioned the possibility of a contempt of court charge against Baez, or a referral to the Bar.
The thing that will keep me riveted to this trial, though, will be the multiple opportunities for the cast of characters in this drama to run the trial off into a ditch. With all the courtroom tricks and schemes, all the drama outside the courthouse, all the admonitions and threats of contempt of court issuing from the bench, the spirit of a little girl whose remains are on display like a prop for a TV show awaits justice. Are we mere humans even capable of delivering?
replete with sex, lies and videotape. As I write this post I am battling that sense of emptiness that comes when some anticipated something I was looking forward to has suddenly been withdrawn. The trial of Casey Anthony for the murder of her two-year-old daughter went dark on Sunday after a drama-filled Saturday session that ended with defense lawyer Jose Baez being soundly chastised by a serious-as-a-heart-attack Judge Belvin Perry. The pit-bull prosecutor Jeff Ashton had been springing out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box on speed, objecting every two minutes or so it seemed. Now THIS is the stuff Perry Mason episodes were made of!
So I rose early this morning in order to get my laundry started and the dog walked before court re-convened at 9 a.m. One would think I had been stood up at the altar, I felt so crushed when the judge recessed court this morning before it ever got started. The jury had been hanging out in the jury room from 9 a.m. until around 10:30 a.m. while Judge Perry continued his harangue against the lawyers’ combative behavior and held several in-camera huddles in his chambers. Suddenly, he called a recess until 9 a.m. Tuesday!
Exactly what is going on here? I am always searching my conscience trying to determine the underlying reasons for whatever I am feeling at the moment. As a student of human behavior, I am also trying to figure out what would cause an otherwise rational human being to camp outside the Orlando, Florida courthouse all night with the hopes of getting one of the 50 seats in the courtroom open to the public. My poor brain went on sensory overload when I watched a petite woman deliver a left-hook upside the jaw of a man twice her weight and a foot taller. One of them – I still don’t know which – had the audacity to try to cut into the line at 3 a.m., and fisticuffs ensued.
I have completed my analysis of my own motivation and now understand what is driving me to stay riveted to this case, much as I was when O.J. Simpson had his friend Al Cowlings leading a “low-speed police chase” around Los Angeles County.
I find it nearly impossible to grasp the mindset of a person who deliberately kills another innocent person. I’m not at all sure I would even be able to shoot someone who was threatening to harm me, much less plot the demise of anyone. I look for signs in the accused of the insanity that I am convinced resides in anyone capable of doing such a thing.
Then there is the sheer gravity of the proposition that the defendant – in this case a 5-foot-tall twenty-five-year-old woman – could be executed by the state if found to be guilty of first-degree murder. In a sense, the state of Florida is empowered to commit a kind of first-degree murder itself, and sometimes I struggle mightily with that notion.
Much like the antics our elected politicians frequently demonstrate, the courtroom players often seem to get so caught up in their personal “performances” in the courtroom, they lose sight of the ponderous responsibility they have been given in a life-and-death scenario and get tangled in theatrics.
The jury of Casey’s so-called peers sit there trying to decipher the science-speak of one forensics expert after another, only to have experts of allegedly equal status refute the previous testimony from the other side. These ordinary citizens on the jury must sift through all this unintelligible jargon to try to glean an understanding of how, when and why little Caylee Anthony died and at whose hands.
While the prosecution places its long and tedious evidentiary testimony into the record, the defendant Casey Anthony sits stoically with the flat-faced affect of a person in a catatonic trance. When her mother mouths the words “I love you,” after testifying for the prosecution, Casey rolls her eyes slightly and looks annoyed.
When the defense is cross-examining a witness or when graphic photographs of her tiny daughter’s remains are flashed on the courtroom screen, Casey becomes animated and tearful, anguish creasing her pretty face into an ugly caricature. Is this real? Is this remorse or is it guilt? I strain to see the answering signs.
This is Jose Baez’s first capital murder trial. It shows. He bumbles and stumbles, misspeaks and misleads. He was reportedly chosen by Casey Anthony at the suggestion of a fellow inmate. Watching prosecutor Ashton making mincemeat of Baez’s witnesses is at first entertaining, but later becomes cringe-worthy. As I watch even my untrained eye can spot the bases for appeal piling up.
At some point Baez is going to have to flesh out the sensational allegations he made in his opening statement that little Caylee drowned in the family pool; that George Anthony, Casey’s father, encouraged and helped execute a cover-up; that while Casey is an admitted habitual liar, she does so because she had been sexually abused by both her father and her older brother, Lee. The fodder for those with prurient interests in the dysfunction of the Anthony family will be abundant. The fireworks between the defense and the prosecution will be undoubtedly spectacular.
In the meantime, the judge has accused Baez of deliberately ignoring a portion of his order regarding discovery and depositions. Judge Perry has mentioned the possibility of a contempt of court charge against Baez, or a referral to the Bar.
The thing that will keep me riveted to this trial, though, will be the multiple opportunities for the cast of characters in this drama to run the trial off into a ditch. With all the courtroom tricks and schemes, all the drama outside the courthouse, all the admonitions and threats of contempt of court issuing from the bench, the spirit of a little girl whose remains are on display like a prop for a TV show awaits justice. Are we mere humans even capable of delivering?
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you choose to comment as Anonymous but you want me to know who you are, just sign your comment in a way I will recognize. Thanks!
WARNING: This site cannot receive comments from iPads, unfortunately. I am trying to find a solution.