Hate Crime (30 page)

Ben didn’t know the doctor, didn’t know if he was the type who’d say anything, and frankly, didn’t care. If Drabble wanted to put him on, it couldn’t be good for their case, so he did his best to keep him off the stand.

“Your honor, this is not relevant,” Ben argued in chambers.

“It is rather unorthodox,” Lacayo said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressed against his lips.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Especially when we’re not running an insanity defense.”

“I don’t know that,” Drabble said calmly. “But even if they don’t use the word insanity, they will no doubt argue that this nice boy from a pleasant middle-class family couldn’t possibly commit this awful crime. We’re entitled to rebut that.”

“That is not what he’s doing,” Ben insisted. “He’s suggesting that because a man is a member of a certain organization—”

“Two, actually.”

Ben grimaced. “That his association with these groups incriminates him. It’s a First Amendment issue.”

Drabble waved his hands in the air. “All the witness will say is that the fact that the defendant was in antigay groups demonstrates that he was predisposed to harbor hatred toward gay people. Duh.”

“You know it won’t stop there,” Ben said. “The witness’ll be suggesting that because he went to some meetings where the use of violence was espoused, that meant he acted in conformity on the night in question. A clear evidentiary violation.”

“I will not argue that,” Drabble said, getting a little hot. “I don’t have to. Your client has confessed, remember?”

“Not to the murder.”

“Close enough.”

“This is like the O. J. Simpson prosecutors suggesting that because O. J. dreamed about hurting his wife that meant he did.”

“As I recall,” Drabble said, “the prosecutors lost that case big time. Maybe you shouldn’t protest so much.”

“You’ll go beyond that,” Ben said. “You’ll turn it into a—”

Lacayo held up his hands. “Quiet! I’ve heard enough. I’m going to allow the testimony.”

“Your honor!” Ben started.

“I said, quiet! I’m ruling. I’ll allow the testimony, but only for the purpose of showing that the defendant was psychologically capable of the crime. I want no assumptions that he did anything more than what he has confessed to doing.”

“Understood,” Drabble said.

“And I don’t want a lot of psycho mumbo jumbo that will only confuse the jury, either.” He peered across the desk at Drabble, and Ben felt certain a pointed message was being communicated. “I don’t think this is a complicated case. Let’s not turn it into one.”

“Dr. Pitney,” Drabble said, after exhaustively establishing the man’s professional credentials and that he had spent ten hours examining Johnny Christensen, “would you call the Christian Minutemen a hate group?”

“Absolutely.” The man had a bushy red beard which he seemed to have a hard time keeping his hands off of. “They deny it, of course. They justify all their beliefs in terms of carefully chosen scriptures. But by my standard, and that of most of my colleagues, an organization that opposes people based on who they are, based on being members of a discrete group, is a hate group.”

“Is there any documentation backing up your view on this point?”

“Of course. You’ve already admitted the group’s printed principles and tenets into evidence. I would invite the jury to read it when they have a chance. Pay particular attention to the passages about ‘the plague of homosexuality,’ the equation of ‘consensual sodomy’ with child abuse, the suggestions that homosexuality is a mental disease adopted by choice by the ungodly. Homophobia is all over the document—and this is something that is handed out to all prospective and new members of the organization.”

“Is this . . . unusual?”

Pitney shifted around in his seat. He was doing a good job, Ben noted, of making eye contact with the jury, but not in such a direct and obvious manner that it made them uncomfortable or feel they were watching a performance. “Depends on what you mean. When this organization was first created, about sixty years ago, its principles also included equally vehement passages about people of other races. That has fallen away, of course. In our modern world, that wouldn’t be tenable; they’d be perceived as a KKK—another supposedly Christian group. And the principles still have many incredibly sexist antifemale passages. As with many fundamentalist groups, they are very fond of the New Testament scriptures about a wife cleaving to her husband and being subservient to him. That, too, is falling out of favor, even with extremists. Homosexuality is another matter, however. Although times are changing, prejudice against homosexuals is still acceptable in many quarters, particularly with some religious groups. From the standpoint of an organization, it’s still a viable basis for hate.”

“And the Christian Minutemen have been involved in hate crimes against gays?”

“Its members have. More than thirty in the past five years. Of course, the organization always disavows any responsibility for the crimes, just as it has in the present case. But it still happens. Repeatedly. You draw you own conclusions.”

“Where do these people come from? How do they become the way they are?”

“It’s hard to explain. Because it’s always a combination of factors. Almost never a single linear event. I’ve yet to meet a member of one of these groups who was actually harmed in some way by a homosexual. But there is a great appeal in some psyches to having someone to hate. Some cause to rally around, some mission. And in some cases, an excuse for violence.”

“In your experience, Dr. Pitney, is this an example of failed parenting?” A pointed question, Ben knew, because Johnny’s mother was listed as a witness for the defense.

“Sometimes. But you know, I’ve examined large families where one of the parents—usually the father—promoted prejudices to his children. Some of the offspring adopted it lock, stock, and barrel, and even as adults engaged in the same racist slurs and attitudes. And some of the children reject the hate education while still in their teens. By the same token, I’ve interviewed young people who grew up in good homes with well-educated, non-prejudicial parents who ended up joining radical militia groups. That’s not the most common scenario, but it does happen.”

“What makes the difference?”

“I don’t know.” Ben looked up; that was something he didn’t hear often from an expert witness. “It’s a combination of nature and nurture. Sometimes it’s a part of teen rebellion, either to adopt or to refuse to adopt these prejudices. Sometimes it’s personality—some people, happily, are just not predisposed to hate, no matter what the situation. Some young people are exposed to a forceful personality at a critical juncture who transforms their way of thinking. Education is obviously a factor, as is wealth. But you know what I really think makes the difference? And I’ll admit up front I have no way of proving this. But I think in the long run it has to do with the subject’s . . . how to say it? . . . exposure to ideas. Never once have I encountered a well-read man who was also a hatemonger. There are no Ph.D.s in the KKK. I truly believe that people who expose themselves to the arts—fine arts, visual arts, poetry, literature—people who expose themselves to
good ideas
will not end up adopting bad ones. It’s the guys who don’t come into contact with new and better thoughts—who do their work and pay the bills but aren’t exposed to new ideas in any way that influences them—who are most likely to hang on to the old bad ideas they learned as a child.” He paused. “Or in a keenly bigoted fraternity house.”

Drabble nodded, turning a page in his notebook. “Now, Dr. Pitney, you’ve had a chance to examine the defendant, Jonathan Christensen, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Pitney detailed the hours he spent, the tests he performed, records he reviewed, laying the foundation for the testimony to come.

“Did you reach any conclusions regarding the man’s sanity?”

Pitney nodded. “John Christensen is all too sane. Plagued by hate. More than ready to act upon it. But unfortunately, that does not make him insane. Not even temporarily.”

“Based upon your time with him, why do you believe he committed this horrible crime?”

“Objection,” Ben said, grateful to have an excuse to interrupt. “It has not been established that Johnny committed any crime.”

Drabble smiled. “I’m so sorry. I’ll rephrase. Why do you believe he committed the horrible beating to which he has confessed?”

“It all comes down to the one word: hate. I believe he nurtured these antigay sentiments for some time. He attended an ultrafundamentalist church and no doubt heard some of it there. But it really mushroomed when he joined the fraternity and started going to the Minutemen meetings. He was totally indoctrinated.”

“How so?”

“Historically, Jonathan has not been an especially bright student, nor has he been good at sports, nor has he been very popular. He was one of the kids who slip through the cracks. Till he joined the Minutemen. I believe he was so glad for the companionship, so pleased to feel a part of something larger than himself, that he was particularly susceptible to hate teachings. Fraternity houses have historically been hotbeds of sexism—guys playing macho for their friends by talking trash about women. That sort of language, of course, has become politically incorrect in recent years. In many respects, homophobia has filled the gap.”

Drabble looked puzzled. “The problem is, Doctor . . . it’s one thing to privately harbor some prejudices. But to snatch someone from a public place and quite literally beat him to a pulp—that’s something else again.”

“True, this was an extreme case—but that’s not all that uncommon, unfortunately. These things start small—just some guys sitting around talking. The tension builds, the need to act upon their words becomes more urgent. And the next thing you know—someone’s swinging from a rope. In this case, Johnny has admitted he was in the company of a like-minded friend who had performed violent acts in the past, and he claims that the victim made sexual advances to them. For two people in this mind-set, that could be more than sufficient provocation to trigger a violent episode.”

“In his statement, the defendant has always claimed that his friend, Brett Mathers, was the principal actor.”

“And that may well be. But what difference does it make? I wouldn’t have done what he did, or permitted it to happen, no matter what a friend did. Neither would you. But John Christensen did. Not out of insanity. Out of cold-blooded hate.” He shook his head, at once moved and disgusted. “John Christensen isn’t crazy. But he is evil.”

“Objection!” Ben said, rising.

Judge Lacayo craned his neck. “The man’s an expert, and he’s entitled to his opinion.”

“But that had nothing to do with psychiatry. I hardly think that’s common jargon in his field!”

“Overruled,” Lacayo said. “Please continue, Mr. Drabble.”

Ben sat down beside Christina and whispered into her ear. “I’m not going to cross this guy.”

“Agreed. Just get him out of the jury’s face as soon as possible.”

Drabble continued his direct. “And you’re sure about this conclusion, Doctor?”

Pitney paused, gathering his thoughts. “Remember that the beating is acknowledged to have taken something like half an hour. Now imagine being beaten, knifed, hammered for that long a period of time. You know that poor boy cried out for mercy. The defendant has acknowledged that he did. Probably offered to do anything if his assailants would only stop hurting him.”

Pitney wiped his brow, visibly shaken. “Frankly, most people, even if they started, couldn’t have gone on after that. Even most deranged psychopaths couldn’t have continued. John Christensen wasn’t fueled by insanity in any way, shape, or form. He was driven by his selectively sociopathic hatred. Even now he believes what he did was justified. Maybe even believes it was some sort of divine intervention. Someone like that isn’t crazy. But he is absolutely without question the most dangerous element in any society. The one capable of unspeakable evil. The one most important to stop.”

37

JOURNAL OF TONY BAROVICK

Roger changed my life. He really did. I can’t claim that he was my first lover, or even my first male lover. But he was the one who mattered. He always will be.

He came in on Friday night with a bunch of other guys from a drag racing strip. Most of them grabbed one of the video consoles and started scanning the pictures, not so much looking for love as entertaining themselves. But Roger held back. I saw him, sitting at the table, quietly sipping a margarita. And the more I watched him, the more I had a sense that although he was part of the gang, he wasn’t. That he didn’t belong. And that started me thinking . . .

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have perfect radar, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that he was gay. I waited on his table attentively, made a few casual remarks, dropped the names of a few gay haunts, felt him out. When the rest of his buddies left, he stayed. I went off duty, had Shelly make us another round, sat down with him and talked. And talked and talked and talked. It was easy—we had so many of the same interests and preoccupations. We agreed on almost everything. And made a date to meet the next Thursday for lunch. So we could talk some more.

The first time Roger spent the night, I thought that might feel strange, but I was wrong. It felt terrific, calming, thrilling. Not just sexually, although that was certainly part of it. But it was more. It was feeling, for the first time in my life, that I didn’t have to hide anything, that I didn’t have to put on a show. That I could just be who I really was, without repercussions. That’s a wonderful, freeing feeling.

Roger wants to meet my parents. Well, I have to be honest—I’m not ready for that. And what would be the point? My father wouldn’t speak to him any more than he will speak to me. I’m not sure my mother would be much better, no matter how hard she tried. Roger isn’t just gay, he’s black. Not that that should have anything to do with anything. But I lived with those folks for seventeen years. I know how they think, and I’m very afraid of what they might say. It’s sad that I can’t share the most glorious thing that has ever happened to me with my parents, but that’s the way it is. You can take the hard line with your kids and feel very self-righteous about it, but it always results in a division. A lack of closeness. And a lack of trust. And things are so good with me and Roger right now, I just don’t want that intruding upon our happiness.