Justice, meet Mercy

The Naramore trial is over

THIS EDITORIAL is dedicated in loving memory to Thomas Naramore, 17 months old. His ordeal is over and so is the criminal prosecution of his father that followed his sad death. For this was a trial in more than one sense of the word: not only by law but by public opinion.

Now the living can begin to heal. They include little Thomas’ grieving father and mother and kin, not to mention all those who followed this case in the morning paper with rapt attention. For it engaged the sympathy, even empathy, of so many in this state. And when the verdict was finally announced—not guilty—the courtroom rang with cheers. Though there were many quiet sobs, too. For no one could call this denouement a happy ending. But it was a just one. Indeed, it embodied the highest form of justice: mercy.

But the accusations still flowed here and there, as did the emotions this case generated. Advocates dedicated to a cause cannot be expected to just cut off their emotional reactions after a verdict is announced. For they’re only human, too. “I’m just glad this proceeding is over,” said a defense attorney. “It was cruel.” But then she had to add: “I have serious concerns about the moral compass that [the] prosecutor’s office, from the top down, operates under. From the beginning of that investigation all the way through that closing argument, it was wholly inappropriate and, in my opinion, unethical.”

Yet the prosecutors were just doing their duty, too, as they read the law to the best of their ability. One of them seemed to understand the wave of sympathy for the Naramores in the courtroom: “These people are humans. The point, though, was not about passions and sympathy, but about accountability. I respect the jury’s decision. I expected the jury to be hung given the amount of passion the jurors had shown. In the end, what matters is that he got a fair trial.”

After the presiding judge had sent the jurors back to deliberate after they reported that they were split, they finally did reach a decision. The jurors, it turned out, were only human, too, and they did their duty.

In one exchange, a deputy prosecutor asked Wade Naramore what his most important job was the day he lost his son. “My family,” Judge Naramore replied. But didn’t his family include young Thomas? “And you failed him, didn’t you?” the prosecutor asked. “I lost awareness my son was in the car,” Wade Naramore replied. “It’s the most horrible thing I can ever imagine happening.” Which was an answer any father could understand. At that moment the sympathy for Wade Naramore in the courtroom was palpable. It was also a reminder of an old warning that advocates ignore at their peril: Never ask a witness a question without anticipating the answer—and its effect on the jury.

This case has been full of lessons for all. When it comes to education, the courtroom is a school of its own.

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