Skip to main content

The Case Against Adnan Syed

 My understanding of the Adnan Syed story begins with a high-school love affair. A relationship ends, Adnan is hurt. The girl--Hae Min Lee--is found dead, murdered. It's easy to find Adnan guilty, because of racism and sketchy cell tower "evidence," and so Adnan is sent away for decades.


Legal advocates get angry. There is DNA that hasn't been tested. The man who "found" the body, Alonzo Sellers, later tries to assault a young woman in a car. Also, Hae Min's car was stored suspiciously close to one of Sellers's associates. Sellers shows moments of explosive rage on the stand. Could he be guilty?

Moments in the new HBO documentary seem somewhat unethical. By subtly tarring Sellers--without getting Sellers to talk on-camera--the documentary filmmaker could be almost as questionable as the prosecutor (Vicki Walsh) she is attacking. (There is hand-wringing about a bad polygraph test, but I've heard again and again that polygraph tests shouldn't count for anything. Why are they still in use?) Additionally, Hae Min Lee's brother--who would prolong Adnan's suffering simply because of "ruffled feathers"--comes off as a cardboard villain. A better filmmaker would have worked harder to get the brother to sit down for an interview.

Finally, the film seems weirdly uninterested in the "reacclimation" process. Adnan returns to society after twenty-plus years behind bars. We learn that he takes on a role at Georgetown--helping to reform the criminal justice system. This is inspiring--but what is it like for Adnan to talk to neighbors? To read about himself on Reddit? To contemplate dating? More could have been asked; more could have been reported.

Still, I watched with wide eyes. Such a strange story.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...