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6 MARCH 2009
NO 1409
I am your neighbour
Throughout his criminal trial, the defendant's deadly stare never varied. It was his beacon of hate, warning everyone to stay away. If the eyes are the window to the soul, the defendant's soul was in the firm grasp of Beelzebub.
The young man in my courtroom in Brooklyn was charged, along with two cohorts, with gunning down another young man execution style. The defendant was no stranger to the system, and when the jury returned a verdict of guilty, it seemed as if his deadly gaze only increased in intensity.
Every day for two weeks, the victim's family attended the court sessions. On the day of sentencing, his mother and grandmother addressed the court.
Generosity
Ordinarily, when the victim's kin speak at sentencing, they choose not
to speak to the defendant directly. On those occasions when they do,
they usually express in virulent terms their repulsion at the defendant
and his deed.
When this victim's mother approached the assistant district attorney's table, she turned slowly toward the convicted killer. Looking into his hateful stare, she began to speak in muted tones. There was no primal call for revenge or retribution. Instead, her message was distilled by days of endless grief. "I have no bad feelings," she said. "I could never hate you."
For the first time since the trial began, the defendant's eyes lost their laser force and appeared to surrender to a life force that only a mother can generate: nurturing, unconditional love.
Following the brokenhearted mother, the grandmother also looked directly into the defendant's eyes and spoke unflinchingly about her loss. She told him she was sorry he committed the crime because "you're a nice-looking man." Her message was simple and clear: "So you did the crime and I am sorry you've got to do the time. You broke the golden rule: loving God with all your heart, soul, and mind. You broke the law: loving your neighbour as yourself. I am your neighbour."
"So anyway," she continued, "you have my address. You want to write, I'll write you back, because I sat here two weeks, and for 16 months I tried to hate you. But you know what? I could not hate you. I feel sorry for you because you made a wrong choice."
After the grandmother finished, I looked at the defendant. His head was hanging low, There was no more swagger, no more stare. The destructive and evil forces within him collapsed helplessly before this remarkable display of humaneness. In light of all that preceded it, the sentence I imposed – thirty-seven and a half years to life in prison – seemed insignificant.
ALBERT TOMEI
Tomei, Albert. (1998). I am your neighbour. The
New York Times.
