I have always been confused by the Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. The language of the amendment is clear enough. It simply states that no person “shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself.” This is, obviously, the basis for the phrase “plead the Fifth,” which is pervasive on television courtroom dramas.
But here’s my problem: When a person invokes his right not to incriminate himself, it seems to me that he is admitting his guilt.
The amendment says you don’t have to testify against yourself. But it doesn’t, at least not explicitly, allow you to withhold testimony in any other situation. You can’t refuse to testify for yourself; you have no right against self-exoneration. Thus, it seemed to me, a person can only invoke the Fifth Amendment if they did something wrong, something, um, incriminating.
I have asked several people about this but never received a satisfactory explanation. Until today, when one of my fellow editors, Jonah, cleared up the whole messy thing.
In my head, the Fifth Amendment scenario was always something like this: During a murder trial, the defendant is on the stand. On cross examination, the prosecutor asks the accused, point blank, “Did you murder the victim?” And instead of denying it, the defendant pleads the Fifth. Everyone in the courtroom is flabbergasted. This guy did it.
Under that circumstance, no, pleading the Fifth doesn’t make a lot of sense. But that isn’t how it really happens, Jonah tells me. Unless the defendant is going to unequivocally deny the crime, the defense would never put him on the stand in the first place (a strategy that represents a more common use of the Fifth Amendment than actually invoking it under questioning).
Instead, the Fifth Amendment comes into play with regards to ancillary details. A falsely accused innocent man might say, “I did not rob that bank.” The prosecutor then might ask him, “But isn’t it true that you own the same model of gun and the same getaway car as were used in the crime?” It is a time like this when the Fifth Amendment gains some appeal.
Indeed, in Ohio v. Reiner, the Supreme Court says the following: “This Court has never held, however, that the privilege is unavailable to those who claim innocence. To the contrary, the Court has emphasized that one of the Fifth Amendment’s basic functions is to protect innocent persons who might otherwise be ensnared by ambiguous circumstances.”
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When it comes to birthday wishes on Facebook, I’m fickle. My usual strategy is to limit happy birthdays to people I would stop to chat with if I saw them at a grocery store, gym, or county fair.
Such a principle would not be necessary if I didn’t have so many Facebook friends whom I hardly know in reality, but their admission into my online clique was an unavoidable consequence of an ongoing competition between Rachael and me to see who can make more virtual “friends.”
Despite every effort to enforce my would-stop-to-talk-to-him-or-her rule, I have found myself forgetting the birthdays of my closest real-life friends while extending well-wishes to, say, the friends of my real friends’ younger siblings. I write happy birthday on the walls of people I wish I knew rather than those I actually do.
If I had a point, this is probably where I would have come to it. Alas, these feelings posts are really more about idle observation than cohesive argument.
I will say, though, that while thinking about this it occurred to me that the word friend has lost much of its meaning. Friends are the people I have known for years, with whom I have shared tears and laughs and long, reflective nights. But friends are also the people who allow my inner voyeur access to their relationship statuses.
It strikes me that my life would probably be better if I didn’t take the time to ponder things like a strategy for choosing who to wish a happy birthday. It would probably improve further if I invested the mindless hours I spend on Facebook doing just about anything else instead.
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A beard competition strikes me as the best possible way for apathetic slackers to actually succeed at something. Just sit around for a couple of years, and you’ll have a giant beard. Growing a beard requires so little effort, it’s primary requirement is to not do something (shave).
Beard enthusiasts would probably protest, arguing that much labor and care goes into grooming a world-class beard, but waxing your mustache, no matter how vigorously, is not exactly quantum physics.
***
Lt. Col. Michael Rowells flew from Afghanistan, where he is in the middle of his first combat tour, to Dubai to play a round of golf with Tiger Woods. Rowells beat 16,000 other amateurs for the chance to play a round with one of his heroes. It’s a nice story, but if I were Rowells’ wife, Molly, I might be a little nervous. She hasn’t seen her husband in months, and now he is spending a day with the world’s most famous adulterer.
***
We’re more than a month into 2011, and I’m feeling pretty good about my resolutions. I haven’t eaten a French fry. And I have only taken a single sip of soda, unwittingly, when I sampled a cocktail Rachael was drinking.
I have not dined at any large national chain restaurants, which I defined as those with 50 locations or more. I have eaten at a couple of smaller chains: Dewey’s Pizza (17 locations) and Bar Louie (46 locations).
Bar Louie was a close one, and not surprisingly, I didn’t love it. Maybe next year, I’ll cut out smaller chains, too. More likely, I’ll have moved on, dedicating myself to some other seemingly meaningless cause.
