Getting into
the
mind of a criminal
Commentary by ADAM
TANOUS
In future
years, Andrea Yates will be associated with one word: infanticide. It is a
term that is attached to a few, infamous others such as Juana Leija, Susan
Smith and Christina Riggs. While the act can be described by a single
word, the Yates case brings to the fore a much more complicated picture.
For those
unfamiliar with the case, Yates lived in the Clear Lake section of
Houston, Texas, with her husband and five children: Noah, 7; John, 5;
Paul, 3; Luke, 2; and Mary, 6 months. In June of this year, she called the
Houston 911 dispatcher and said she had drowned all of her children in a
bathtub. The responding police officers found all five bodies in the
house.
The first
question that comes to mind, of course, is how could someone possibly do
that?
Parents
will likely have a more complicated reaction to that question than those
who haven’t been bewitched by children. To a parent who knows the
overwhelming joy and sense of purpose children bring into their lives, the
thought of losing a child, in any way, is so horrifying that it can hardly
be contemplated. It is a thought that sits in the back corner of every
parent’s mind but one never acknowledged for fear of disturbing the
precarious equilibrium of life.
At the same
time, I am sure that every parent—whether sleep deprived or under stress
financially or emotionally or for other reasons—has felt a flash of
anger towards his or her child. It is a sensation that, moments later,
fills a parent with fear like no other. It is fear, because for those few
seconds, what you know of yourself, is not the person in the room. And
perhaps the difference between a normal parent and a child abuser or even
murderer simply resides in the intensity and length of time that surge of
anger lasts. For most it is a momentary spike, for others it might be a
sustained rage. But with true anger, in either situation, rational thought
and morality—intertwined as they are—may get pushed aside.
Last week
Yates pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity to counts of capital murder
against her. In the past Yates has suffered from postpartum depression and
has attempted suicide twice. A court ordered psychiatric evaluation is
said to deem her competent to stand trial, meaning she understands the
court proceedings, but that she suffers from severe mental illness.
The public
reaction to this plea is predictable enough. There has long been a
societal bias against depression, namely that it is a cop out. Everyone
gets knocked down in life, the argument goes; you just have to pick
yourself up and get through it. That attitude is changing, of course, as
people learn that there are real chemical abnormalities that take place in
the brains of those suffering from the illness. The old "pull
yourself up by the bootstraps" argument is akin to telling someone
with a cold to get with it and stop sneezing.
But, is
depression a form of insanity, in so far as the law goes? Generally, a
person is not criminally responsible if at the time of the crime he was
"laboring under such a defect of reason from disease of the mind as
not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing, or if he did
know it, he did not know he was doing what was wrong" (the M’Naghten
Rule). Could depression becomes so severe that one breaks completely from
reality, becomes divorced from the accepted norms of right and wrong? Talk
to anyone who has suffered through serious depression and they will tell
you it seems entirely possible.
Two themes
of William Styron’s "Darkness Visible," a memoir of his
struggle with depression, are the indescribable nature of the pain of
depression and the loss of rational thought. That people will take their
lives to end the pain is proof enough that depression is a wholly
different and real phenomenon. Suicide is a thought that seems
inconceivable to me until I consider the analogous situation in the realm
of physical pain.
I can
imagine suffering from a terminal disease and extreme pain, so much so
that I would opt out of the picture. I’ve seen others go through it, and
I have had the normal experiences with physical pain so that the scenario
is, at least, conceivable. The point is we tend to be accepting of
seemingly irrational behavior in the case of physical pain but not so with
mental pain.
So if
Andrea Yates could get to the point of wanting to kill herself to end the
pain, could she also get to the point of killing her children if she
perceived them, "through defect of reason," to be the source of
her pain? For those of us in the rational world that extrapolation seems
like a big one. But again, we are trying to examine something on the other
side of a great divide.
Trying to
evaluate whether a criminal action is understandable is not an attempt at
forgiving the action. It is only important in determining what to do with
these people. We have always seen a distinction between a crimes committed
out of malice and those out of sickness. The latter is a mitigating
circumstance only because it implies a less than absolute free will on the
part of the offender.
The
prosecutors in the case are seeking the death penalty for Yates, which
underscores the arbitrary nature of the punishment. Under the 14th
Amendment, every citizen is guaranteed the "equal protection of the
laws." Susan Smith killed her two children in South Carolina, lied
about it for days, then was spared the death penalty and sent to prison
for life. Juana Leija drowned her children, supposedly to free them of
their father’s sexual and physical abuse, and received probation.
Christina Riggs smothered her two boys in Arkansas and was executed.
Depending on what state a person lives in or the political climate at the
given moment or the perceived mental state of the offender, the punishment
for the same crime can vary dramatically.
The basic
question cases like the Yates case raises is: To what extent do conditions
or situations in the offenders’ life mitigate their culpability for
their actions? The question speaks to our ambivalence as to what is the
relevant issue with crime: the frame of mind during the crime or the act
itself. To what do we give more weight as a society: the level of malice
in the heart or the body count that results from it?