The way the American legal system is supposed to work is that, in a trial, the court needs to determine two things: fact and law. In a jury trial, the jury decides issues of fact, while the judge decides issues of law. This may differ from the way legal scholars might describe it, but following makes sense to me. The ‘fact’ part has several components to it: 1. Whether the allegations are accurate, 2. whether the accused person undertook some or all of the actions alleged, and 3. whether it was a crime or not.
Sometimes, the second part is not even a question; the accused did it. There’s even a thing called an “affirmative defense,” in which the defendant says, yes I did it, but it wasn’t a crime. That’s the basis of a self-defense claim in a murder case. Or, the defendant did it on the 50-yard-line at the Super Bowl, with 125 million witnesses. A defense attorney probably isn’t going to waste time arguing the issue. There’s still number 1 and number 3 to argue.
So, I respect the “they have the wrong guy” energy. Maybe. But if Mangione didn’t do it, somebody else did, and that sentiment seems to agree that it was a crime. I’m not willing to concede that point yet. Consider that we have laws which let domestic violence victims make self-defense claims when on trial for killing their abusers. We also have class actions in court, whereby an individual, or small group of plaintiffs, brings a case on behalf of all similarly-situated persons. Combine the two concepts: Brian Thompson was the perpetrator of torture and killing through bureaucracy, and just like in so many domestic abuse cases, the legal system offered no recourse. The person who shot Thompson may have been acting on behalf of all of his victims. This could be the first class-action self-defense claim.
(Which would basically be the wonky, legal way to describe the feeling behind the support for jury nullification.)
The way the American legal system is supposed to work is that, in a trial, the court needs to determine two things: fact and law. In a jury trial, the jury decides issues of fact, while the judge decides issues of law. This may differ from the way legal scholars might describe it, but following makes sense to me. The ‘fact’ part has several components to it: 1. Whether the allegations are accurate, 2. whether the accused person undertook some or all of the actions alleged, and 3. whether it was a crime or not.
Sometimes, the second part is not even a question; the accused did it. There’s even a thing called an “affirmative defense,” in which the defendant says, yes I did it, but it wasn’t a crime. That’s the basis of a self-defense claim in a murder case. Or, the defendant did it on the 50-yard-line at the Super Bowl, with 125 million witnesses. A defense attorney probably isn’t going to waste time arguing the issue. There’s still number 1 and number 3 to argue.
So, I respect the “they have the wrong guy” energy. Maybe. But if Mangione didn’t do it, somebody else did, and that sentiment seems to agree that it was a crime. I’m not willing to concede that point yet. Consider that we have laws which let domestic violence victims make self-defense claims when on trial for killing their abusers. We also have class actions in court, whereby an individual, or small group of plaintiffs, brings a case on behalf of all similarly-situated persons. Combine the two concepts: Brian Thompson was the perpetrator of torture and killing through bureaucracy, and just like in so many domestic abuse cases, the legal system offered no recourse. The person who shot Thompson may have been acting on behalf of all of his victims. This could be the first class-action self-defense claim.
(Which would basically be the wonky, legal way to describe the feeling behind the support for jury nullification.)