Not Guilty

“Not guilty.”

That's all it takes. Perhaps, in the timeless words of Yogi Berra, “It ain't over 'til its over,” but now it's over. That verdict ends it all (like a statute of limitations). You may be guilty of murder or of whatever other transgression you were accused, in fact you may brag about your guilt, but you beat the rap. They can never try you for the same crime again, even if there is new and irrefutable evidence of your guilt. It's over.

There are many similar instances when, because of a single occurrence, some hazard has been removed. Paradigmatic of such a situation are the words of Numbers (35:9-12), which describes “Cities of Refuge” to which one who has committed manslaughter may flee, so as to prevent his own killing by a family member of the victim. Until he is within one of those cities he is fair game for retaliation, but after that he is safe from any revenge. He had been in a very dangerous situation, but was now safe.

Generally speaking, there are numerous cases in which an individual moves from an insecure position – perhaps even a dangerous one – to one that removes the doubt and the risk, though the risks are of widely varying degrees of severity. A letter offering a job or acceptance to college, for example, may be a cause for celebration providing security that, until that moment was lacking. In those instances, however, the revocation of that position, though dishonorable, is possible, as contrasted with double jeopardy. In the case of a jury verdict there's no going back. Perhaps other charges will be filed, but you can never be tried for the same crime.

The security of a refugee reaching American land, as opposed to the risks faced a moment before, when the possibility, if apprehended, of immediate return to the land from which he was fleeing, cannot be minimized. And the protection provided by a church or some country's embassy is absolute (more true historically than recently). Perhaps it is a manifestation of the idea of sanctuary. The dangers faced until then were no longer to be feared. Those who entered have reached their own “city of refuge.” Certainly a border between countries provides at least temporary protection from retribution for violation of the laws of the land just left. And the possibility of death by abortion, an immediate and permanent risk, yields to the protection of the law immediately upon birth.

But crossing the Rubicon has its risks as well. Passing the “point of no return” leaves the past behind, but there are times when it would be preferable to be able to return. Ask any investor who missed his chance to “sell high” when he had the chance, but didn't do so before the market went rapidly downhill, or lost his chance to buy when the market was low. The previous conditions may return, but in the meantime he has squandered the possibility for profits this time around.

And in the heat of an argument, who has not said something that he later regretted? Sadly, you can't take it back once it's left your mouth. A relationship that had, until that time, been flourishing, can be damaged forever. Indeed, the same result may follow a “Freudian slip,” even if no conscious malice was intended. When you've given yourself away, there's no way to convince the hearer that you didn't really mean what you said.

We have all experienced missed opportunities. We have all missed a sale or rejected a job. We have all been in the wrong place at the right time or the right place at the wrong. Life is full of lost chances. For the most part, however, a missed chance is only a delay. Chances reoccur. A miss may be as good as a mile, but a mile is finite. You can “go home again.”

That's not always the case though. Wars, for example, leave casualties. So do accidents. And some injuries cannot be repaired. They leave permanent disabilities. We sometimes try to be philosophical about the situation, but our protestations are hollow. The euphemists among us avoid talk of disability, preferring “different ability,” but that doesn't change reality. However much we may wish, we can't make it so. There are times when we can't go back.

But nothing is more permanent than death. And nothing is more to be regretted than an unnecessary death. However saddened we may be when a loved one dies of “natural causes,” it is many times harder to comprehend and accept a death that was avoidable – either from war or violence. Our Constitution tells us that our country was formed with several aims, and among them was to “provide for the common defence [sic].” The promised protection was against foreign powers, with the against home-grown violence left to the States. There are failures in both cases, and we grieve not only for those directly affected but also for the society that cannot accomplish all it has pledged to do.

When the government itself chooses to take a life, however, it is understandable that, for many, grieving isn't adequate. The Supreme Court has forbidden capital punishment under some circumstances, but neither the Court, nor the Constitution, rejects it as an option. Still, there are many who believe that the state has no right to take a life. (Usually the popular proscription is aimed at capital punishment rather than war, but there are also those who are conscientious objectors to any form of violence.) The arguments are both philosophic – killing is wrong, and practical – the state may get it wrong and kill the innocent.

The latter possibility – the execution of someone who is not guilty – is, in many ways, very similar to the first case discussed. Both involve court rulings and in both cases the results are irreversible, though they are opposites. In one case the state provides possibly unwarranted immunity and permanent protection, in the other death – a similarly permanent result, even if exculpatory evidence later surfaces. Not all irreversible status changes are desirable – especially in this instance. An executed innocent soul may never have caused harm and certainly never will, but a freed murderer may kill others.

“Que sera, sera.” But it's not always for the best. And when it's unalterable, the potential for great evil exists along with that for great good.