The Return of the Mob

Last week, the people of Massachusetts found that the United States Attorney General Eric H. Holder had approved a motion to pursue the death penalty in the case of the Boston Marathon bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.

Many local politicians came out in support (or at least acceptance) of the attorney general’s decision, much to the chagrin of Boston Globe columnist Joan Vennochi, who correctly found this compliance to be mere “timidity.”

The Tsarnaev case is a federal one, and as such should not rely on the standards of justice specific to Massachusetts. Imagine the opposite scenario: a similar case occurs in Texas, the state that leads the U.S. in executions. This hypothetical case ends up in federal court where, based on the evidence, the attorney general decides not to pursue the death penalty. This decision rests solely in him or her. It would be absurd for the people of Texas—especially those closely impacted by the crime who are likely far from impartial—to decry the decision and demand the death penalty. This is simply not their jurisdiction.

Since 1988, the Attorney General has approved seeking the death penalty in 492 cases. Ultimately, during that time period only 190 death penalty cases were brought to trial; of those, only 34 percent were sentenced to death.

Given these statistics, the attorney general’s decision is hardly surprising; it is far from a guarantee that Tsarnaev will end up on death row. This has not stopped people from jumping to conclusions about what his sentence should be.

While these people have every right to express their opinions, we must acknowledge that we, as a society, are perpetuating a culture of decision-making without the facts.

The Tsarnaev case is just one of a great number of criminal cases that demonstrate a concerning carelessness on the part of lay citizens who are not informed about all the details of a case but nevertheless jump to conclusions and attempt to influence the justice system.

The legal consequences for this general attitude are myriad. Particularly, it makes it difficult to find impartial jurors who lack preconceptions about the defendant. It also creates an environment where potential jurors are confused about courtroom procedures, such as innocence until proven guilty, or the concept of reasonable doubt. It also diverts attention to futile attempts to influence court proceedings, when such passions could better be spent on legislative efforts.

Another recent example is the tragic case of Trayvon Martin. The Twitter hashtag #IfIEverSeeZimmerman made an appearance on the popular social media outlet after Zimmerman’s “not guilty” verdict was announced. Zimmerman’s acquittal, which many believe was racially motivated, was no doubt difficult for Martin’s friends and family. However, this hardly excuses the behavior present on social media, with some calling for the murder of Zimmerman.

This mob mentality is not limited to cases in the courts. Consider the aftermath of Dylan Farrow’s accusations that Woody Allen molested her.

Eric Sasson of the New Republic wrote an excellent piece on the “knee-jerk” reaction of many online columnists—and by extension, the bloggers and amateur commentators who reign over social media. I believe Farrow’s case is tragic, and regardless of what is the truth—whether she was molested by Allen or whether she was brainwashed by her mother Mia Farrow—it seems clear that she needs love and support.

But those who write so firmly agains Woody Allen forget the fact that an expert medical team concluded at the time that Farrow had not been molested. And the people who call for a trial of Allen forget that the statute of limitations is long over. Perhaps, one could argue that the statute of limitations should be extended for child abuse cases; however, this should not occur on a case-by-case basis, and certainly should not occur retroactively.

Of course, public opinion is an important aspect of democracy and can rightly be targeted in order to change laws that the public does not agree with. The Massachusetts death penalty was originally banned on constitutional grounds by the Commonwealth’s Supreme Judicial Court, and legislative efforts have continually blocked reinstatement of the death penalty since its prohibition in 1984. If people’s passions are aroused enough, there is potential to change and improve the criminal justice system. But we should be wary of channeling these feelings into an Internet witch hunt in an attempt to ruin a person’s life without regard for evidence of basic legal protocols.

The most tragic example of the social media kangaroo court involves Sunil Tripathi, a young Brown student who was falsely accused of orchestrating the Boston bombing.

Harsh words written with haste and no thought swarmed his Facebook page, and his family was harassed by police and the media. Ultimately his name was cleared—only for Sunil to be found dead in Providence, RI.

Of course we all have a right to free speech. However, we should be mindful that this right comes with the responsibility to use it wisely, for greater transparency, not greater obfuscation.

Tez M. Clark ’17, Crimson editorial writer, lives in Wigglesworth Hall.