Robert Torsney: Imperfection and Madness

Robert Torsney, a New York City policeman, was already unhappy and on edge when he walked into a bad area of the city to investigate a call about a man with a gun. It was Thanksgiving day and he was angry that he couldn't be at home with his wife and kids. After conducting a routine investigation of the shooting, Torsney and his fellow officers were returning to the station when three black teenagers approached them. Without warning or (as it seemed) provocation, Robert Torsney shot one of the boys, fifteen-year-old Randy Evans in the head. Evans died almost instantly and Torsney, at that moment, did not know what had happened.

It is scary enough when a person kills out of a long-standing psychosis, an emotionally taxing event, or drugs. Torsney's case, to me, is even more terrifying. Here we have a man who had a stable job, a happy marriage, and all his wits seemingly about him. On the one hand it seems like temporary insanity is the only reasonable option in this case and on the other it seems like an out of character, but completely lucid, act of cold-blooded violence. Torsney was found not guilty by reason of insanity after a whirlwind series of events (as if, given the other posts on this blog, you haven't come to expect that) that even caused me, the committed psychology major, to shake my head. It seemed like in this case--and the author notes this too--that Torsney's legal teamsimply played the system better than the prosecution. To me the ethical dilemma here is how much of our legal system is playing the game better? When does a trial cease to become about justice and start to become a system that can be manipulated? I'm not sure if I have an easy answer to that question but more on that after you understand Torsney's case.

Torsney insisted when he was able to recount the murder that he had committed it out of self-defense, that his victim had pulled out what looked like a gun from his pocket. After hypnosis and an injection of sodium amytol (more commonly called "truth serum") his testimony did not change. Yet all evidence showed that Randy Evans did not have a gun nor anything that looked like a gun near him at the time of the shooting. The defense psychiatrist claimed that Torsney's thoughts were delusional, possibly the result of an epileptic seizure. The prosecution claimed that Torsney's mistaken perception was due to panic in a stressful situation. Although the persecution's description of the events is a lot more easy to understand, the defense had the important implication that "only a crazy man would shoot an unarmed, fifteen-year-old boy without provocation." In the end this seemed to convince the jury. Torsney was sent to the Mid-Hudson Psychiatric Center psychiatric center when the trial was over.

You can already see one problem with the insanity defense in this case. The two psychiatrists both agreed that Randy Evans did not have a gun or anything resembling a gun when Torsney fired at him. They also both agreed that the shot had been out of mistaken perception. Yet they both came up with two takes on whether he should be diagnosed. If Torsney was in fact sick, wouldn't the psychiatrists, assuming that they are both highly-trained and good at their jobs, both have agreed on this? As the author points out "psychiatrists ought to be reliable at diagnosing mental illnesses if we are to take any of their opinions seriously." This is an example of forensic psychiatrists constructing two different situations to get the jury to sympathize with their views. The court brought up these inconsistencies when Torsney's case was appealed about a year and a half later. Because of the disagreement over insanity, the appellate court was forced to accept the ruling. As a rule, an appeal can only be made based on the facts of the case and in Tornsey's case, based on the facts presented, there was no way of knowing the truth. Since insanity could not be proven, Torsney was released from the mental health system, free and clear.

Torsney walked free largely because of a convincing lawyer and rules of the legal system that operated in his favor. So what does this say about our legal system? If someone knowledgeable enough (or lucky enough) can manipulate it, should it really be used to determine justice? I wish I had a more suitable answer than yes. I don't claim to know the legal system backwards and forwards, but I know that it does work in most cases. Despite its flaws, it is probably the best possible system. So what does that mean for us as Christians? Should we just "deal with it"? I think my best answer is to recall Jesus' call to "give to Caesar what is Caesar and to God what is God's." We can work as juries, as advocates, as attorneys, as to instill a sense of God's perfect justice and mercy within an imperfect system. Above all we can realize that trials are not just a contest between two attorneys. They are about real people in tough situations who deserve an honest trial and the best possible solution.

That's all for now. Have a happy Halloween!

~Kelsey