But what can we ordinary citizens do? We’ve learned the right words to say. We now know better than to blame the victim. We no longer pretend it’s just a family concern or a normal part of relationships, but we clearly have a long way to go. Fortunately, one of the most effective ways to stop this abuse is well within our reach. Boys who see their fathers beat their mothers will likely grow up to be men who beat their wives. Conversely, boys who are taught that physical violence is never acceptable will likely grow up to resolve their marital differences peaceably-or at least without their fists. If we, as parents, set a good example, we’ll make tremendous strides toward wiping out intimate partner violence.
I’m glad that the Simpson trial continues to provoke debate about these critical issues, but we should also not forget that two innocent people were brutally murdered. So I want to end this foreword by honoring Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman. We owe them a great debt.
By documenting the years of torture she suffered at Simpson’s hands, Nicole helped pave the way for new laws and organizations that aid the victims of spousal abuse. And because Ron Goldman surprised Simpson that night and fought so valiantly, we wound up with much of the evidence that proves Simpson’s guilt.
This edition is dedicated to you, Nicole and Ron.
– Marcia Clark,
February 2016
April 30, 1996
This is painful. I don’t even know where to begin. When I try to find a starting place, headaches, backaches, this damned cough that won’t go away, all pull me down. My confidence collapses out from under me and I have to curl up on the couch until I feel better. I hope for sleep. But sleep won’t come.
I drink Glenlivet, but then you probably know that. And you know that I smoke Dunhills. And you know, or at least you think you do, that my “addictions” include crossword puzzles and detective novels, and that I have “unpredictable” taste in men. I am reading now from People magazine. I’ve never talked to anyone from People, but they seem to like me. Funny-when the media likes you, they can take scraps that your friends toss out, and spin them into flattering fairy tales. (But when they don’t like you, they take the scraps from ex-husbands.) God, don’t get me started. I look at myself in the Globe and see a man-crazy lush. And then I look at Ladies’ Home Journal and see a serene professional woman at the top of her game. And I look and look and look and don’t see myself at all.
All the attention I’ve gotten-it’s something I still cannot wrap my mind around. There was a time when I would have been thrilled by it. Back in high school, I wanted to be an actress. No fifteen-year-old wants to be an actress without wanting to be famous. Somewhere along the line, I outgrew wanting to be famous. I wanted to do something truly useful with my life. I wanted to make a real contribution. The irony, of course, is that the most serious job I ever undertook turned into a damned circus.
During the fourteen years I spent as a deputy D.A. for Los Angeles County, I believed in justice. To me it wasn’t an abstract idea. Before the Simpson case, I’d prosecuted twenty homicides. I’d brought cases against twenty defendants who I believed in my heart were guilty. And all but one jury agreed. I felt The Force was with me, if you know what I mean. Even in the difficult cases, it had been my experience that when people got onto juries they usually acted in better conscience than they did in their private lives. I had faith they’d rise to the occasion.
On the morning of June 13, 1994, when Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman were found-their bodies butchered and discarded like grass clippings-all of that changed. Their murderer, O. J. Simpson, would turn justice on its head. By virtue of his celebrity, he would be coddled by worshipful cops, pumped up by star-fucking attorneys, indulged by a spineless judge, and adored by jurors every bit as addled by racial hatred as their counterparts on the Rodney King jury. O. J. Simpson slaughtered two innocent people, and he walked free-right past the most massive and compelling body of physical evidence ever assembled against a criminal defendant.
