The final insult
There are certain situations in life where all but the very worst of behaviour can be excused. Times when you can claim royal treatment due to a specific set of circumstances. Like, for example, when you’re sick; a bad dose of man-flu allows the afflicted party to carry on like a whining infant, requesting hot drinks, back rubs and fluffed-up pillows, bursting into tears should his demands not be met instantly. And his put-upon helper must tolerate this pathetic display, and with good grace too, knowing that any censure will simply lead to more tantrums, more recriminations.
On the other side of the coin, what man hasn’t been shamed into silence by the mention of PMT or some other intimate lady problem? A raging argument, one where you’re very much on the receiving end, can instantly be explained away by the rueful assertion that she’s “on her period” and therefore can’t be held accountable for her actions. You immediately back away, apologetic, regretful, eager to make amends, the slew of hideous insults hurled in your direction not seconds ago now forgotten.
And then there’s the one which applies to everyone, the one we all call in whenever we mess up spectacularly and have no other way out: “I was drunk.” In this country, there is no greater alibi than alcohol. We blame it for everything. Had a one-night stand with someone you wouldn’t usually be seen dead with? “I was drunk.” Told your best mate you’ve always fancied them? “I was drunk.” Got arrested for stripping off in the middle of town and running through the traffic with your bits out? “Well, your honour, you see, I was drunk.”
But whether we’re a bit sniffly, slightly hormonal or three sheets to the wind, there’s always a limit to what’s considered acceptable, a limit which, even in our most heightened of states, we know we must adhere to. Any sort of physical abuse, beating someone up, lashing out, is never okay – even if you’ve run out of Lemsip and can’t find the paracetamol. The same goes for sexual assault. It doesn’t matter how drunk you were, how impaired your judgement was, there is no excuse for forcing yourself upon an unwilling party.
Murder. The act of unlawfully killing another. That’s another one. It may well have been that time of the month, and he might have been acting like a complete idiot, but that’s not going to hold up in court, not yet anyway. The reason I added that caveat is because, as ludicrous as it may sound, it’s only a matter of time before someone charged with murder claims diminished responsibility on the grounds of inebriation, influenza or some other inanity unlikely to drive even the most irritable of souls to such grievous lengths.
Eric Locke was ultimately found guilty of the murder of Sonia Blount at Dublin’s Central Criminal Court on Monday, he will be sentenced tomorrow. This was a unique case, a crime formulated online; constructed and created through social media, finished off in an all too familiar fashion. But as shocking as the sinister methodology involved was, it paled in comparison to the depths plumbed by Mr Locke’s defence counsel in their quest for clemency.
The crux of their argument was that Mr Locke is not of sound mind and therefore couldn’t have been wholly responsible for his actions the night he murdered Ms Blount. It’s an age-old tactic, one we’ve become accustomed to seeing in one low-budget court drama after another; ‘plead insanity kid, it’s your only hope’. Practically every murderer tries it now, their eyes glazing over in their best impression of a madman as soon as the cuffs go on. But few covered as many bases as Eric Locke’s team did.
Here is a list of all the conditions the accused was alleged to suffer from: Anxiety, autism, pervasive developmental disorder, autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, borderline personality and depression. In addition to that wide range of conditions, Mr Locke’s legal team also cited their client’s hypospadias (deformity of the penis) and a sexual assault suffered as a teenager as mitigating factors in the murder. Like I said, they covered a lot of bases.
The first thing to note here is that none of the above conditions render their sufferers more capable of murder than anyone else. To suggest so is an insult to the millions of people living with these conditions every day. Intimating that anyone with autism or ADHD or depression is just one step away from arranging a meeting with an ex and killing her is not only abhorrent, it is a crime in its own right.
Let’s get one thing clear here; those who choose to end the life of another human being are, by definition, not entirely sound of mind. It takes a certain kind of person to do that, someone perhaps emotionally stunted, someone whose thought processes deviate wildly from the norm. But that doesn’t mean they’re insane. It doesn’t mean they can turn up in court, show the judge a doctor’s note and get sent to a relatively comfortable mental institute instead of prison where they belong.
Thankfully, the jury in the case of the murder of Sonia Blount saw right through Mr Locke’s defence, so much so that they returned a verdict within record time, deliberating for a mere 93 minutes before finding him unanimously guilty. As a result, this murderer, this man who brought masking tape, cable ties and an airgun to the hotel on the night he ended Ms Blount’s life, will receive the mandatory life sentence in court tomorrow. However, regardless of the fact that life, in this country at least, rarely means life, Mr Locke should really be facing a second charge with a separate sentence when he stands before the judge again tomorrow.
The only way to stop these egregious claims of diminished responsibility occurring time and time again, is to penalise those found to be falsely claiming insanity, or to be more precise, those attempting to cheat the system. In the case of Eric Locke, a cruel, calculating, cold-hearted murderer who, rather than answer for his crimes, sought to slither clear of them, an extra ten years could easily be added to his sentence for not only wasting the court’s time but for devaluing the life of his victim and suggesting she might still be alive were it not for his mental ailments, real or otherwise.
Pleading insanity should not be a potential escape route for those without options, a lifeline for those too cowardly to countenance life behind bars. It should be a means of separating those truly incapable of understanding the consequences of their actions from common murderers. Most importantly, it should only be utilised by a defence counsel when it’s clear that the accused has had more than a tough childhood, more than a difficult upbringing and a lonely life as an adult, but has a serious, debilitating, disability. Anything else is not only a crime against the court but a crime against humanity itself.
Sex on the brain
Having a degree in this country is not the status symbol it once was. Whereas once it was only the privileged few, the elites of this land, who could boast of third-level qualifications, now every feckin’ eejit has a Bachelor’s Degree in law, politics or sociology.
It’s reached the stage where having a bog-standard degree is nothing special, you really need to have a Masters if you wish to impress someone. Ideally you’d have a Doctorate, but them yokes are hard to get, the degrees of their day if you will.
But a note of caution to all those clamouring to get back to education, those investing in fluffy pencil-cases and fluorescent highlighter pens; the more educated an Irish person is the more likely they are to stray away.
A survey conducted by Victoria Milan, a website for people searching for extra-marital affairs, has revealed that of its 76,000 Irish members almost 70% have some form of third-level qualification. By contrast those who didn’t finish secondary school constitute just 5% of randy cheaters on the site.
Now obviously the fact we’re the biggest swots in Europe (latest figures show that 37% of us have degrees) should be taken into account here, but it’s worth noting that, according to this study, the reason educated people seek romance elsewhere is because they’ve got too much too time on their hands. Unlike their plebeian counterparts, these geniuses can afford to sit around all day, browsing the internet, looking for ways to get their rocks off. My advice? Marry down. Find yourself an amiable simpleton, a busy one who works really long shifts, giving you plenty of time to focus on your studies and get that elusive PhD.
