Justice, Manhattan style

In 1997, O.J. Simpson’s lawyers played the race card to get him acquitted of the murder he had clearly committed.

Commenting on the verdict, the columnist George F. Will remarked wittily: “That goes to show yet again that a black man can’t get a fair trial in America.”

Yes, but can a white man? Apparently not, especially if his name is Donald Trump and the court is in Manhattan.

That’s why the other day he was convicted of sexual assault supposedly committed almost 30 years ago. His accuser, the columnist E. Jean Carroll, is now some five million richer as a result – and American justice infinitely poorer.

Justice should never defy reason, the way politics routinely does. And when justice does defy reason, then it’s usually because politics interferes.

I wrote about this travesty of a trial the other day, so I’m not going to recount the details. In very broad strokes, Miss Carroll claimed Trump had raped her in a dressing room of the upscale Manhattan department store Bergdorf Goodman.

According to her, she kept silent throughout her ordeal and, in any case, there wasn’t anyone on the floor to hear her even had she screamed. “I’m telling you he raped me, whether I screamed or not,” said Miss Carroll.

That’s an extremely unlikely story. The only reason that comes to mind for a raped woman not to scream is a threat to her life. However, for all of Trump’s boorishness, I can’t imagine him brandishing a knife at Bergdorf’s and telling Miss Carroll he’d slit her throat if she made a sound.

And you know what? The jurors agreed. That’s why they acquitted Trump of rape, for which I applaud them. However, they still convicted him of sexual assault, for which I rebuke them.

Let me see if I understand this correctly. The standards of proof are looser in a civil case than in a criminal one. Instead of proving the charge beyond reasonable doubt, the plaintiff must only prove it on the balance of probability.

Weighed in that balance, Miss Carroll was found wanting. In other words, the jury decided her accusation of rape was false. Let me rephrase: she was found to be lying. Then on what balance of probability was she found truthful when claiming sexual assault?

Without going into salacious detail, sexual assault can these days mean something that in the past barely qualified as bad manners. Rape means something very specific, but sexual assault no longer does. It can mean an uninvited kiss or a pat or a light squeeze – something for which a telling off or perhaps a slap in the face used to be deemed sufficient punishment.

So how could the jury decide Trump was guilty of some or all of those transgressions? On what balance of probability? On what evidence?

The only evidence was that old chestnut, her word against his. And her word was already found to be untruthful on her claim of rape. What suddenly made Miss Carroll trustworthy on a lesser charge?

The logic escapes me, but the political motivation doesn’t.

Americans either love Trump or hate him. But that dichotomy doesn’t apply in Manhattan. Most of its denizens loathe Trump with unmitigated passion. A prophet is not without honour… and all that. Though I can’t ascribe prophetic powers to Trump, he certainly isn’t honoured in his own land, Manhattan, where he has lived most of his life.

Manhattan is a heavily Democratic borough, and always has been since the days of Tammany Hall, the political machine of the Democratic Party founded before the party even got its name. Trying a Republican presidential candidate there was like trying a homosexual Jew in Saudi Arabia.

Thus Miss Carroll had a reasonable expectation of success. Still, suing anyone, especially a man with deep pockets, is an expensive undertaking. Had she lost, the legal fees would have ruined her, wouldn’t they?

They would, had she paid them. But she didn’t. Her lawsuit was funded by Reid Hoffman, the founder of LinkedIn, a lifelong Democrat donor and campaigner for Democratic causes. So Miss Carroll was playing with house money and couldn’t lose whatever the outcome.

That fact was known before the trial, which to my legally unsophisticated mind seems like a valid reason for dismissal. But evidently not in Manhattan.

America’s founders knew that justice and politics can only ever converge to the detriment of both. Yet not only in America but throughout the West the courts are becoming increasingly politicised. That can damage a country more surely and devastatingly than any economic downturn short of a total meltdown.

Independent judiciary, evidence-based jurisprudence, judges impervious to political pressures or ideologies – these are the bricks of which the foundation of the West is built. Remove them, and the whole structure does a Jericho.

That verdict also brings into question the continuing validity of the jury system. Jurors are randomly selected from an available pool of humanity, and if that pool is poisoned with ideologies, justice can quickly become very unjust indeed.

I’ve been wondering for a long time whether it’s any longer statistically probable to find 12 (in civil cases, sometimes nine) good men who understand what guilt means, what evidence is, and whose judgement isn’t queered by political afflatus or class hatred.

My friends who are sometimes involved in trials in various capacities assure me the jury system still works. However, lately their assurances have been offered rather half-heartedly.

Perhaps we should adopt elements of the French system, where any jury panel includes one or two lawyers who understand basic legal concepts. On second thoughts, scratch that idea. It may work in some places – but certainly not in Manhattan. And not in London either, come to think of it.

P.S. Speaking of politics, Yevgeniy Prigozhin, whose private military company Wagner is trying to take Bakhmut, no longer seems to have much time for Putin.

Commenting on yesterday’s parade in Red Square, he said: “The happy Grandpa thinks everything is going well… What’s the country to do, what are our children and grandchildren to do, how are we to win this war if (hypothetically) it so happens that this Grandpa turns out to be a complete arsehole?”

He didn’t have to specify who the hapless Grandpa is, but he didn’t have to. If I were Prigozhin, I’d be looking over my shoulder.