Thirteen years ago yesterday, I stood in stunned silence--along with millions of others across the country--as OJ Simpson was acquitted for the murders of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman. I remember it like it was yesterday: I was in Manhattan, at a music PR company that I was working with at the time on Gramercy Park, with a handfull of other publicists. Somebody announced that the verdict was about to be read and we all huddled around the TV. Just before the verdict was read, I peered down from the sixth-floor window onto Park Avenue; it was emptier than I'd ever seen it.
Within minutes, the verdict was read and, sadly and surprisingly, the reactions in the room were divided totally along racial lines. It was a phenomenon that I'd heard about and witnessed from afar, and witnessed in other times and places, but never did I think I'd witness it among intelligent, open-minded adults. A few seconds after the verdict was read, there was a mix of cheering, honking horns, and cursing on Park Avenue. I wondered if those cheering really believed that Simpson was innocent--and hoped and prayed that they did.
Yesterday, Simpson was convicted on all counts (12 of them, including armed robbery and kidnapping) for his latest cocky, egregious, criminal acts. There was no cheering or cursing in the streets that I know of. And, though nobody will dare even think it out loud, everyone knows that there were at least 14 counts, not 12, of which Simpson was found guilty.
The story has all the components of a Greek tragedy, except that Simpson has more than one tragic flaw. Hubris, though, may be at the top of the heap. Aristotle would have welcomed this case as illustration of his Poetics.
I have a mix of feelings about this. When Simpson was acquitted of murder, I felt that he'd live in his own kind of prison--that he'd become bitter, old before his time, that his friends would leave him, his fortunes would dwindle. I didn't wish it on him, but I thought that, even though he "got off," he'd have to live with himself. But psychopathic narcissists love living with themselves; Simpson seemed to be incapable of feeling guilt, shame, or even sorrow, and immune to any sort of negative ramifications.
Yesterday, for the first time, OJ Simpson looked old and tired. I wish I could have cheered, but I don't have it in me. Though I'm glad that justice is being served, I couldn't be "happy" about someone else's sorrow. Because I thought of his mother, and the hopes she had for her son and the heartbreak she suffered instead. And his children, who will now live with no parents at all. And, of course the people whose lives I believe he took and their families. And ironically, I thought of OJ Simpson and what could have and should have been for a man who once had talent, dreams, and determination, and now, even if deservedly so, has nothing.
Within minutes, the verdict was read and, sadly and surprisingly, the reactions in the room were divided totally along racial lines. It was a phenomenon that I'd heard about and witnessed from afar, and witnessed in other times and places, but never did I think I'd witness it among intelligent, open-minded adults. A few seconds after the verdict was read, there was a mix of cheering, honking horns, and cursing on Park Avenue. I wondered if those cheering really believed that Simpson was innocent--and hoped and prayed that they did.
Yesterday, Simpson was convicted on all counts (12 of them, including armed robbery and kidnapping) for his latest cocky, egregious, criminal acts. There was no cheering or cursing in the streets that I know of. And, though nobody will dare even think it out loud, everyone knows that there were at least 14 counts, not 12, of which Simpson was found guilty.
The story has all the components of a Greek tragedy, except that Simpson has more than one tragic flaw. Hubris, though, may be at the top of the heap. Aristotle would have welcomed this case as illustration of his Poetics.
I have a mix of feelings about this. When Simpson was acquitted of murder, I felt that he'd live in his own kind of prison--that he'd become bitter, old before his time, that his friends would leave him, his fortunes would dwindle. I didn't wish it on him, but I thought that, even though he "got off," he'd have to live with himself. But psychopathic narcissists love living with themselves; Simpson seemed to be incapable of feeling guilt, shame, or even sorrow, and immune to any sort of negative ramifications.
Yesterday, for the first time, OJ Simpson looked old and tired. I wish I could have cheered, but I don't have it in me. Though I'm glad that justice is being served, I couldn't be "happy" about someone else's sorrow. Because I thought of his mother, and the hopes she had for her son and the heartbreak she suffered instead. And his children, who will now live with no parents at all. And, of course the people whose lives I believe he took and their families. And ironically, I thought of OJ Simpson and what could have and should have been for a man who once had talent, dreams, and determination, and now, even if deservedly so, has nothing.
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