“…and for each unharmful gentle soul, misplaced inside a jail,
We gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.”
— Bob Dylan

Was Marty Tankleff such a soul?

Imprisoned for 18 years for the 1988 murder of his parents, Tankleff never wavered in protesting his innocence; and now the New York State Attorney General, while stopping short of full exoneration, has moved to dismiss the charges. He is a free man at last.
Whatever one’s personal opinion about Tankleff’s guilt or innocence, one thing seems objectively clear: if this case did not meet the standards of “reasonable doubt” required for an acquittal, then the term has no real meaning. Finally, after 18 years and mounting exculpatory evidence, the state seems to have reached that conclusion.

During my three and a half years working in the Nassau County District Attorney’s office, I became convinced that most of those charged with crimes are guilty. The degree of their culpability may be in question due to a range of factors — their mental state, the circumstances of the crime, the involvement of others — but generally they have been charged because they were, in fact, involved in a crime.

But not always.

More and more, as DNA evidence works its magic on behalf of justice, we see people being released after years in prison — and sometimes from death row — their innocence firmly established long after they were found guilty “beyond a reasonable doubt.” Though finally given back what is left of their lives, and hopefully their reputations, they can never recover the years that have been stolen from them, nor undo the suffering and humiliation they have unjustly been forced to endure.

What, then, is a just society to do to protect the innocent? How do we balance the obligation to protect innocent citizens against violent crime, with the need to also protect the rights of innocent citizens falsely accused of crimes? Conversely, how do we put safeguards in place against wrongful convictions and unjust imprisonment, without the risk that we will endanger the public by mistakenly putting violent criminals back out on the street?

One effective approach, it seems to me — one now being advocated by Marty Tankleff, among many others — would be to require videotaping of all law enforcement interrogations of suspects. I’m not talking about preliminary questioning at the scene of a crime or the place where a suspect is first apprehended. I’m referring to the detailed interrogation at the police precinct or DA’s office, where such videotaping is highly practical and would be most helpful.

More than one Nassau prosecutor told me, when we would be discussing cases in the news where a previous conviction in some other jurisdiction had come under question, that you just can’t rely on confessions. That seems especially true in the Tankleff case, where a 17-year-old boy, whose parents had just been brutally murdered, was held for hours on end in complete isolation from family and friends, subjected to intense interrogation and ultimately lied to in order to induce a confession that he almost immediately recanted — but that was still used at trial as compelling evidence against him.

Videotaping interrogations would guard against false confessions being obtained through physical abuse, emotional duress, or deceit; but they would also protect police interrogators from being falsely accused of such tactics, and would thereby validate legitimate confessions. If our goal is to get at the truth, and protect the rights of all — suspects, police, the public — this seems like a no-brainer. At the very least, it should be taken up immediately for serious consideration by the state legislature.

In the meantime, if we now afford Marty Tankleff the presumption of innocence he was denied 20 years ago, we ought to take inspiration from this triumph of the human spirit.
How incredibly devastating it must be, as an innocent person, to hear those prison gates clang shut behind you; to feel the wrenching despair of being shut away for years for a crime you did not commit; and to experience the searing frustration of knowing that it is the justice system, which is supposed to protect you, that has committed this cruel injustice against you, and labeled you before the world as a criminal — in Marty Tankleff’s case, as the murderer of his own parents.

Yet Marty Tankleff never gave in to that despair. Rather, against all odds, he determined to work to clear his name and win his freedom. Staunchly supported by family and friends, and assisted by a team of attorneys that also never gave up, he took on the incredible power of the criminal justice establishment; and through setback after setback, he finally prevailed — a shining example to all of us when we are tempted to despair in the face of crises or obstacles.

We should now offer our prayers — for Martin Tankleff, as he moves forward in his life of newfound freedom; for all those who find themselves unjustly accused of crimes they did not commit; and for all in law enforcement and the judiciary, that they may have God’s gift of discernment as they strive — sometimes at great personal risk — to protect the public while also respecting the rights and dignity of those accused of crimes.