Judicial focus on rights of individuals valuable if imperfect

A few days before the jury returned with a verdict, I read a Time magazine story about the summations in the case of the state of Florida v. Casey Marie Anthony, she being the 25-year-old mother accused of murdering her 2-year-old daughter and leaving her to rot -- literally -- in a plastic bag discarded in the forest. There was duct tape on the little girl's face.

I remember reading the story and thinking, "Glad I'm not on that jury."

Once in my life I've been a juror. DUI case. We acquitted the defendant, who I'm pretty sure was guilty. So, why, you ask, did I vote to acquit? Because the prosecutor didn't do his job. Because the burden is on the state to erase reasonable doubt in my mind. Because, had the prosecutor, prior to excusing the arresting police officer, asked, "Did you ever lose visual contact with the vehicle and its two occupants while making this traffic stop?" then I would have argued vigorously for a guilty verdict. But he didn't. Which offended me, frankly, because it seemed to presume that the 12 of us citizens would quite naturally believe the testimony of a sworn peace officer and disbelieve the testimony of a Mexican refrigeration worker.

I voted to acquit because, much to my surprise, I have this passionate belief in our judicial system, however imperfect it might be. I was one of those geeks in high school and college who just loved history, see. And to this day there are governments that, should you run afoul of them, can and do throw you in jail or summarily execute you just because they can.

Not in America. In America, you are innocent until proven guilty.

So, back to Casey. The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. I mean, really? You want me to believe that your daughter drowned in a swimming pool (which the defense did not/could not prove), that your father colluded with you to cover up the death (his motive?) and, incidentally, your father sexually abused you in childhood?

But -- and this was huge -- the state did not/could not prove the cause of death, either. So, an objective juror could not have known how Caylee died. It follows logically, then, that an objective juror could not have known why Caylee died. Or by whose hand. And, short of any other witnesses or additional evidence, all they had was a back-fitted argument of likelihoods and probabilities.

So, a jury of Casey's peers returns the verdict "not guilty." And Casey walks. And, like a lot of Americans, I have this gut feeling that she got away with killing her daughter. The prosecution either did not or could not remove reasonable doubt. Conclusion? The system worked.

Our judicial system makes sacrosanct the provision and protection of rights of citizens vis-a-vis the power of the state even if it means that murderers sometimes walk. The Constitution says, in effect, that protecting citizens in this gross imbalance of power matters more in some cases than justice itself. More sometimes even than truth.

The last time I planned any weekday evening around a television program, it was "Hill Street Blues" (1981-1987). In one memorable episode, two punks break into a nunnery. They sexually assault, torture and murder a nun. In the absence of a confession or corroborative witnesses, police Capt. Frank Furillo and ADA Irwin Bernstein collude to drop the charges and release the perpetrators, knowing full well that an angry mob is waiting outside. Sure enough, one punk jumps up and turns on the other punk.

But Capt. Furillo will sleep alone that night. Because his girlfriend, public defender Joyce Davenport, is angry. Disappointed in him. Struggling to respect him. She says, "My client would have confessed to killing Abraham Lincoln to avoid that mob tonight."

"I went by my instincts, and they were right," Furillo protests.

"You can trust your instincts, Frank," says Joyce. "Maybe even I can trust your instincts. But I can't trust everybody's instincts. I want there to be rules. And I want them obeyed, especially by people wearing badges and guns. You perverted the law tonight. And you're so damn happy about snagging your confession, you don't even see it yet. Please see it, Frank."

And Furillo goes home. Alone.

On his way home, he stops off at his local parish, kneels in a confessional, and says, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Las Vegas Psychiatry and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Sundays. Contact him at 227-4165 or skalas@ reviewjournal.com.