I was going to write about the flood of illegal aliens again today, but the death of O.J. Simpson was announced yesterday and I can’t let the moment pass without saying something about it.
Simpson, a former NFL running back and celebrated TV personality, died after a long battle with cancer. He was 76. Despite his celebrity, he is most well known for the infamous “Trial of the Century” in which he was tried and acquitted for the brutal murder of his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ron Goldman. Some years later he was found guilty of an unrelated armed robbery and kidnapping and sentenced to 33 years in prison. He served nine before being released in 2017.
Simpson was my first sports hero. He already played for the NFL’s Buffalo Bills (1969–1977) when my parents moved our family to upstate New York. The Bills were my team and OJ—”The Juice!”—was my favorite player as my budding awareness of sports in general, and football in particular, took flight.
I remember being fascinated by his raw athleticism on the field and my friends and I would trade stories and talk smack about how great he was. He was the first running back to rush for 2,000 yards in one season (1973). I remember buying a pair of athletic shoes that looked like the shoes he wore on game day. The number 32 was an icon for me long before I moved to Chicago where its reverse (23) was even more iconic (Michael Jordan).
But his association with the murder of his ex-wife ruined the admiration I had for him. It was clear to me and to the country as a whole that Simpson was the murderer. The judge allowed the trial to be televised, and it became obvious that while the trial was about whether or not the accused was guilty of the crime, the black public was watching it as a soap opera about race.
Blacks were hoping he would be acquitted not because he didn’t commit the crime, but because he was black. I wanted him convicted because I was sure he had committed the murders.
I remember where I was—in an office, at a counter by myself, where a small radio was relaying the news—when the jury returned a verdict of “not guilty.” I couldn’t believe it. But what was truly astounding was the glee with which the verdict was greeted by (mostly) blacks.
They cheered. They celebrated. It was as if they had won something.
It’s one thing to believe he’s not guilty and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over, but it’s quite another thing to cheer and celebrate as though Simpson had just completed his record 2,000-yard season. A woman and her friend had been murdered—and nobody seemed to care about that part, even when it was transparently clear that Simpson had done it.
Remarkably, years later we finally got a look at the truth behind the incomprehensible verdict when one of the jurors admitted that they knew Simpson killed Nicole and Ron, but were determined to acquit Simpson for revenge.
She says it was payback for the acquittal of four LAPD officers who beat Rodney King in March1991, which led to the Los Angeles riots of 1992.
The black jurors, instead of doing their duty as American citizens, decided that they’d use their power to let a murderer go free.
To get even with whitey.
She and the rest of the jurors should be ashamed of themselves. But they’re not.
Personally, I think we can draw a straight line from the OJ Simpson case to the racial conflict we are experiencing today.
Have a good weekend.