The Wrongfully Accused

On the walls are the remnants of past lives, memories, and lessons never to be forgotten. One stands out among the others. It is the lasting memory of a false prosecution. It is the memory of the darkest three years of my life. Having sacrificed and suffered through so much, those three years will forever stand alone. 

I have always stood on principles. I have always done what I believed was right. In my younger years, I accepted that the ends might justify the means. That the guilty deserved the “just deserts.” That what was “right” was balancing the scales. That, sometimes, it meant violating the confines established by man in order to deliver what was “just.” Maybe in war, in a world of chaos, such things are necessary. 

War makes it difficult to collect evidence and convict beyond a reasonable doubt. Sometimes, beyond a reasonable doubt does not exist.  Sometimes, what matters most is the money in one’s pocket and the influence one holds, not the principles of “justice.” Sometimes, in war, the greatest good means violating the laws of man. Though, sometimes I still struggle with this notion. I still wonder if what we did was always “right” or “just.” 

Domestically, I have seen the complexity of the world. I have stood for the “righteous ends.” I have stood for the ends achieved through the confines established by law. I have championed the confines of probable cause and beyond a reasonable doubt. I have struggled with the innocently accused and convicted and the unwillingness of society to admit when they were wrong. I also struggle with the guilty going free and the victim without their “justice.” This is why I am so tedious and dedicated; to prevent the guilty from going free, and more importantly, to prevent the innocent from being accused.

What was once a hypothetical is now a visceral reaction. Every time someone argues that the ends justify the means, it makes me angry. Not only does it violate the founding principles of our country, but I go back to the darkest three years of my life. I impress upon others what that feels like. It is an experience so few could ever argue with. I stand there as one of their own. I try to turn those darkest three years into something good. To turn that visceral reaction into an agent of change. In moments when I want to cut corners, I go back to those three years. I go back to what it was like to be falsely accused. 

Then, I use that to round every corner. 

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Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.