“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
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.