"We, the jury..."

I’ve had interactions with the American judicial system. Not just those pesky traffic tickets I’ve mentioned—although they’re nothing to laugh about; speeding is not a joke, and DUI is inexcusable—but serious business. 2006 marked the 10th anniversary of my troubles, so I no longer apologize or try to explain what happened. It’s complicated, involved a vendetta, and got me indicted and dragged into federal court. A few of my Constant Readers know the story; for everyone else, you’ll just have to follow along at home. If anyone has an itch to know, my e-mail is in the profile here, and I’ll tell you one-on-one.

Suffice it to say that my family was devastated, my life was damn near ruined, and like my father’s murder, I have never recovered from it. My experience with the judicial system affected my entire perception of the government, and confirmed my most cynical suppositions about the lengths bureaucrats will go to in order to justify their actions and cover their asses. I received a fair trial and a just outcome, but I will never trust a politician or a government minion again.

I have a rote speech composed in my head, just in case I ever get called for jury duty again. I would ask to address the court—restraining the urge to address “Your Honor” as “Your Highness” as I once did, to my great misfortune—and inform them that I have no prejudice towards the prosecution, and no particular sympathy for defendants, and would appreciate the privilege of doing my civic duty in a fair and impartial way. (Hey! I’m retired. Jury duty would be an easy way to earn a few extra bucks, and might be interesting. The last time I sat on a jury, I nearly busted a gut laughing. See “The Robbery”, posted somewhere in my archives on this blog.)

All that being said, where are they finding jurors these days? By my standards, I’m late in posting this commentary. That’s the price of growing old: I had to wait for a while, and cool down. I dumped five attempts at this blog post before deciding to embark on another adventure in writing. (The best adventures are when you set out with no idea where you’re going.)

I know where I’m going with this. First, that awful Casey Anthony woman skated away from a murder conviction. What she did to her child was unspeakable, and certain of conviction, I supported life in prison without parole, so she could wake every morning realizing the party’s over, and she could think about what she did to her only daughter. There are worse things than dying. (I joked that she should get the death penalty for monopolizing the news, and that the jury would give her the needle for making them be in court over the July 4th holiday, but bad jokes are often deflections of horror, and my sense of humor is darker than a cloudy day on Uranus.)

Instead, she gets time served and change for lying to the cops. That’s it, folks. The civil suits and investigative-expense liability vouchers are starting to stack up, but that’s money she doesn’t have, and the book deal and movie rights should cover them. Given the depth of hostility against her, I don’t think she can live in Florida any longer, but there are 49 other states where she can hide, with California and Alaska being in the Top Five. America is still a place where people can re-invent themselves, whether they deserve redemption or not.

I want to reiterate what I posted on Facebook™ in the heat of the moment: There is a God. My father’s killer fell under a truck and OJ will—hopefully—die in prison. I will have a passing interest in seeing how this soulless sociopathic bitch’s karma levels out. There’s a final judgment for her to face, but life on earth can get pretty ugly before that if you show up on God’s radar as irredeemably evil.

So, I’m trying to cool down and decide if I should even attempt a commentary on the Anthony travesty, and something else comes along and slaps me in the face.

My last two posts have concerned themselves with Jerome Ersland, the Oklahoma City pharmacist who defended himself against two armed robbers, and saved the lives of innocent bystanders in the process. I consider Mr. Ersland a hero; a man who was forced into playing for mortal stakes, and won.

Unfortunately, Mr. Ersland’s final resolution of the situation he found himself in was brought into question in a court of law. He dropped one of two assailants in a shoot-out, and ultimately gave the wounded thug five goodbye shots. For this, he was charged with murder, convicted of manslaughter, and at a sentencing hearing last Monday, was given life in prison.

This is so wrong!

There is footage extant of Marines on Iwo Jima giving fallen Jappers goodbye shots. I’m sure there is footage from Vietnam of the same actions being taken. A wounded enemy has the bad tendency to roll over and toss a grenade at your feet or shoot you in the back. Sometimes they will get to their feet and charge you with an 8-inch knife and a grenade. If you have the misfortune to find yourself in the lethal force zone, you must finish whatever got started. Those fake-bloody bullshit Hollywood movies are not training films or documentaries. “Down” is not “out”, and death can literally bite you on the ass when your back is turned.

Mr. Ersland’s opponent was down, but still moving. His hands were not visible. The adrenalin dump from an incident like the gunfight he had just engaged in is overwhelming. Mr. Ersland is formerly Lt. Colonel Ersland, and knows the facts of life. I’m obviously at odds with his Oklahoma jurors, but I find his actions entirely justifiable and defensible.

(When I taught combat/home defense shooting, I left out the detail that you always reload and deliver a goodbye shot to the head. If I have to find fault with Mr. Ersland, it’s that he sent five to do the job of one. We lose our edge with age and lack of range time, so it’s understandable.)

A murderess goes free, and a hero goes to prison for life. Like Lord Cornwallis, I want to cue the band to play “The World Turned Upside Down.”

Jerome Ersland has an appeals process. Additionally, the Oklahoma governor can pardon him or commute the sentence, and there is legislation pending in that state to expand their “make my day” law to include places of business and public access, as well as private residences. Hopefully, the Oklahoma legislature will “grandfather” this clause to include Mr. Ersland, and he will receive some true justice that way.

Jerome Ersland will have to live with what he did, and for him, it will be a moral burden only somewhat mitigated by the knowledge he did the right thing. Casey Anthony will have to live with what she did, and for her, it will be a smug assurance that she got away with murder. The party—“la Bella Vita” as her tattoo proclaims—will continue for her, at least for a while. She can move to L.A. and continue her drinking, bi-curious dancing, and flashing gang signs while she negotiates her best book, movie and reality show deals to pay off the civil suits that will follow in her wake.

Hopefully, when her decomposed remains are found under a freeway overpass, the authorities will identify her by that “tramp stamp” on her shoulder.

Hopefully, Jerome Ersland can eventually go home to his family, fade into obscurity and find inner peace. I don’t think he’ll be negotiating a book or a movie-of-the-week on Oprah’s network.

Now, show of hands: how many of you still want terrorists tried in civilian courts?