The West Memphis Three are free today not because of any new
evidence, or, as is so often the case, a legal technicality; rather
they owe their freedom to the power and influence of America’s
celebrity culture and our shallow obsession with pop idols.
Like many, I first heard of the West Memphis Three — WM3
for short — while watching the 1996 documentary Paradise Lost: The Child
Murders at Robin Hood Hills. The film tells the story of three
teens, Damien Echols, Jessie Misskelley and Jason Baldwin,
convicted of murdering three eight-year-old boys, Stevie Branch,
Michael Moore and Christopher Byers, in West Memphis, in 1993.
Paradise Lost and its 2000 sequel were acclaimed
examples of cinéma vérité by two accomplished
filmmakers, Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, who seemed to have
taken Bertolt Brecht’s definition of art — not a
mirror to hold up to
society, but a hammer with
which to shape it — quite literally.
The filmmakers’ highly selective portrait
of the WM3 left more sentimental filmgoers convinced that the three
teens had been railroaded by a hick justice system. Less
sentimental filmgoers, myself included, suspected the directors of
telling half-truths, a hunch that was quickly proven correct.
Jessie Misskelley was convictedbased largely on his
multiple (albeit sometimes inaccurate) confessions, which he later
recanted. Damien Echols and Jason Baldwin were found
guilty based on witnesses’ testimony and Echols’ statements
to police containing firsthand knowledge of the murders. Misskelley
not only confessed to taking part in the murders, but told a weird
tale of witchcraft, the slaughtering and eating of stray dogs, and
sex orgies in West Memphis’ bayous. Echols, meanwhile, told
investigators that the murders were likely part of an occult
ritual. Two juries found the WM3 guilty of murder. Echols was
sentenced to death. An appeals court upheld the
convictions.
That might have been the end of the story
had not an HBO films executive serendipitously come across a report
of the arrests in the back pages of the New York
Times. After a few days kicking around West
Memphis, Berlinger and Sinofsky found
that every redneck cop and Arkansas
hillbilly was convinced of the West Memphis Three’s guilt.
Therefore, the teens obviously were
innocent.
ANYONE WITH EVEN a cursory knowledge of the facts,
however, could see that Berlinger and Sinofsky’s
films — which were largely responsible for shaping outside opinion
of the case — was heavily biased toward the WM3. For example, the
filmmakers made much of the fact that Misskelley was questioned for
12 hours, but failed to say that he confessed after
three and half hours of questioning. Instead, the filmmakers
stressed Misskelley’s low IQ, the inconsistencies in his many
statements, and alleged he was coerced into confessing, a fact
contradicted by the actual tape recording
of the confession. (Later the Arkansas Supreme Court
determined that Misskelley’s confession was not coerced and that he
did in fact understand its consequences.)
The filmmakers claimed the WM3 were
singled out because they were “outsiders” and “different.” Being
singled out for being different is guaranteed to pull on the
heartstrings of the sentimental Hollywood elite. And it
obviously worked. Stars like Eddie
Vedder, Winona Ryder, members of
Metallica and the Dixie Chicks, Trey Parker,
Johnny Depp (Depp and Echols eventually got matching tattoos), and
Margaret Cho (Cho wants to “help” Echols publish a book of poems)
wrote checks and rallied to the cause. Director Peter Jackson even
promised to put Echols in next latest film.
But how exactly were the WM3 different?
Echols and Baldwin reportedly dressed in black, had attitudes and
listened to heavy metal music. I am not from West Memphis, but I
lived a short distance from there in the early 1990s. My
recollection is that teens who didn’t have an attitude,
didn’t listen to heavy metal, and didn’t wear black were the
oddballs.
What’s more, the filmmakers deftly
skipped over unfortunate details, like the fact that the WM3 did
not have alibis, that the supposed ringleader, Echols, was not so
much a sensitive misfit with a poetic soul, so much as a severally
disturbed and ultraviolent dope fiend with a puerile fascination
with the occult. Echols reportedly told investigators that he was a
fan of Anton LeVay, founder of the Church of Satan, while the
Memphis Commercial Appeal reported
that “evidence indicated Echols was influenced by the
writings of the late Aleister Crowley, a proponent of human
sacrifice.” Talk of the occult, however, was used
by Echols’ celebrity supporters to paint prosecutors as a bunch of
fear-mongering, knuckle-dragging evangelicals. Indeed, every
Southern cliché was dusted off in order to denigrate the local
justice system.
Due to the case’s high-profile support, a new judge
ordered a new trial, while the new prosecutor insisted he couldn’t
win a retrial, telling reporters he’d have “his ass handed to him”
by Echol’s celebrity lawyers. Officially, the state of Arkansas
still considers the WM3 guilty of triple homicide and has closed
the books on the case. And yet, thanks to pressure of the stars of
stage and screen, the state has decided to release a trio of
convicted murderers, resentencing them to time served.
Residents of West Memphis are still trying to understand
how three convicted murderers could be released simply because of
the money and influence of a few Hollywood celebrities. Perhaps the
answer will be revealed in Paradise Lost 3,
coming soon to a theater near you.
