I have a confession to make: I have absolutely no idea what I would do if I were sitting on the jury in the Lindsay Clancy case. At this point, I’m beginning to think I may be the only person on the planet who can watch the same trial and somehow argue both sides of it—with myself.
I am apparently incapable of making up my mind.
I can’t imagine what it must be like for the people sitting on that jury. Because here’s where I find myself:
- I believe Lindsay Clancy had serious mental-health problems. I don’t have any trouble believing that something was profoundly wrong with her.
- I believe mental healthcare — ALL HEALTHCARE — sucks.
- But there are three dead children.
Three.
And Lindsay did that.
Those two things don’t cancel each other out.
That’s what makes this case so difficult for me. I don’t think she’s evil. “Evil” is a remarkably convenient word because once you use it, you don’t have to understand anything else.
I can, however, imagine that she was spoiled. Entitled. Perhaps accustomed to getting what she wanted. Human beings can be complicated enough to be all of those things—and still be desperately mentally ill.
Then there are the details that keep making me swing back and forth.
I don’t buy the voices.
Maybe I’m wrong. Obviously, I wasn’t inside her head, and neither was anyone else. But I have a hard time accepting that explanation simply because it is difficult for me to understand how someone can hear voices telling her to do something so horrific and then carry it out.
On the other hand, I don’t necessarily buy the idea that every search or use of technology surrounding the murders proves careful planning, either.
For example, the discussion about using Google Maps to determine how long she had makes me stop. I’ll map a restaurant because I’m trying to figure out what time I need to place an order so it will be ready for pickup when someone arrives.
That’s not sinister.
It seems like people watching this trial divide into camps. And I’ve noticed something else that bothers me: sometimes it seems as though which “side” people are on has something to do with their political beliefs.
I’m not sure that’s fair.
Mental illness shouldn’t belong to one political party.
Neither should personal responsibility.
Neither should compassion.
And neither should the recognition that three innocent children are dead.
I don’t know what the correct verdict is.
There. I said it.
Being a juror is an enormous responsibility.
I’m thrilled it’s not me on that jury and that I can forget all about what’s going on and enjoy my family.
Jurors can’t do that — and there are no winners here no matter what the verdict (or lack of one) is.
There are three children who will never grow up.
There is a mother whose life—and the lives of everyone who loved those children—has been destroyed.
And there is a jury being asked to make sense of something that, to me, still doesn’t make sense at all.
Now you know: Pierre and Marie Curie knew that radiation was burning them and that similar x-rays were known to be lethal, but they didn’t take any protective measures against radium over decades.