WHY ADNAN SYED MATTERS, AND WHY HE DOESN'T (PART I)

OBSESSION

You’re reading this because, like me, you’re obsessed with Sarah Koenig’s Serial. Like me, you may have used that word in describing your experience to a friend: “Have you listened to Serial? I’m obsessed.” Or variations thereof: “I’m addicted.” “I’m totally hooked.” “I can’t wait until next Thursday.” But let’s be honest with ourselves. Are we actually obsessed? Is the podcast completely consuming our lives? Have we missed work or lost nights of sleep obsessing over it? No. Even Koenig herself admits in the first episode that she’s not obsessed, but rather fascinated. And so are we. But why?

Because Serial is, first and foremost, entertainment. I don’t say this in a disparaging way. I make my living in entertainment, specifically in television. And Serial is a very powerful, deep and important form of entertainment – which I’ll explore below.

If you think of Serial through this entertainment lens, the “obsession” of its listeners bears a striking resemblance to the ways in which people experience TV shows. They use the same language: obsessed, hooked, addicted, can’t wait. They post recaps and reddit threads. They dissect each episode with their friends, argue over its merits and its flaws. They try to anticipate where its going and how it will end.

And this is why Adnan Syed doesn’t matter – to you at least – any more than a fictional character in a fictional murder mystery truly matters to you. Of course Adnan matters in an objective sense. Adnan is not a fictional character. He’s a real human being. And we’d all agree that any human being matters. But let’s face it – Adnan’s guilt or innocence does not affect your life in any meaningful way. For those of you leaning toward his innocence, you’re not going to organize a rally in front of his correctional facility or put in a call to the Maryland Governor’s office demanding Adnan be pardoned. For those of you who lean toward his guilt, you don’t wipe your brow with relief and breathe easier believing justice has been served. Adnan’s journey only matters to us insofar as his is a ripping good story.

But stories matter. In big ways. And so Adnan Syed does matter. As a character...

JUROR VS. AUDIENCE

David Haglund, a senior editor as Slate, has begun posting a “Slate Spoiler Special” about Serial. There are currently two installments, the first having begun with episode 5. During these two podcasts Haglund discusses the latest Serial episode with colleagues. In the second installment one of those colleagues is Mike Pesca, the creator of Slate’s excellent podcast “The Gist.” Pesca makes an important distinction between his bifurcated experience of the show: juror vs. audience member.

Pesca makes the point that if one were to consider Adnan’s case purely as a juror, numerous red herrings and instances of fuzzy testimony would be tossed aside due to lack of legal heft. He cites the “Neighbor Boy” as a prime example. And yet, as an audience member, he appreciates how Koenig is crafting the story to build suspense and tension, using misdirects like the “Neighbor Boy” as a way to challenge your assumptions about Adnan’s guilt or innocence.

This distinction becomes a focus of conversation among the participants – what Koenig is doing as a story-teller. Rarely do they refer to Serial as piece of journalism. More often they compare it to an Agatha Christie novel. They question the structure of the story, talk about tone and style, the importance of narrative “sign posts.” These are the ways in which one would discuss a piece of art, not a piece of journalism. Had the internet existed in 1972, can you imagine a podcast devoted to Woodward and Bernstein’s structure, tone and style? Perhaps you can. But my point here is that Serial is more art than it is journalism. It lulls us into believing we are jurors. But in fact we are simply an audience.

THE STAIRCASE and THE PERVERSE WISH

In 2004 French filmmaker Jean-Xavier de Lestrade released an eight-part docu-series called The Staircase. It followed the trial of novelist Michael Peterson, who was arrested and eventually convicted for the murder of his wife, found dead in a pool of blood at the base of a staircase with multiple lacerations on her head. In form and feel, it’s the closest thing you’ll find Koenig’s Serial. The story is told in serialized episodes, constructed to challenge your assumptions with reversal upon reversal, revelation upon revelation. Watching it you find your allegiances shifting constantly. And the central question is perfectly analogous to Serial – did Michael Peterson do it or didn’t he?

Here is the the docu-series’ description on imdb.com:

“Academy Award-winning documentary filmmaker, Jean-Xavier de Lestrade, presents a gripping courtroom thriller, offering a rare and revealing inside look at a high-profile murder trial.”

The operative phrase here is “courtroom thriller.” Michael Peterson is a real man. His wife’s death actually happened. People’s lives were irreversibly disrupted. And yet this story is presented as a “thriller.” That is the jargon of entertainment. Granted, the description is from imdb, so an entertainment lens is apt. But consider this from the New York Times review of the series:

"It may seem ludicrous to say that a movie running more than six hours is well edited, but "The Staircase," by Jean-Xavier de Lestrade, is. And not only is the editing prize-worthy, but the whole film is also so brilliantly conceived, reported, filmed and paced that you may come to wish it were twice as long.

That would be a perverse wish, but it's a perverse film, thick with shocks and subtle revelations, and it's hard to quit watching."

The “perverse wish” is what jumps out at me. That you want more more more. That this “perverse film, thick with shocks and subtle revelation is hard to quit watching.” And it’s not because we are – in our heart of hearts – are concerned with Peterson’s fate. It’s because we want the Answer with a capital A. Did-he/Didn’t-he? And we enjoy the ride of not knowing, of trying to figure it out. We like being whiplashed from one assumption to the other. We feed on the mystery. It’s thrilling.

So let’s correct ourselves once again. We’re not obsessed with Adnan’s story. We’re not fascinated either. That’s just a palatable substitute for what we actually are, and what we probably don’t want to admit – we’re thrilled.

WEST MEMPHIS and CENTRAL PARK

Serial is part of a tradition – the story of butchered justice, the person wrongly accused of a crime they didn’t commit. For Serial, as with The Staircase, this is posed as a question rather than an argument. Consider two recent documentaries that take the latter approach – West of Memphis (directed by Amy Berg) and Central Park Five (directed by Sarah and Ken Burns, and David McMahon). Both are notorious murder cases which drew national attention. And both – like Serial – involved teenagers being convicted.
The West Memphis Three were a trio of misfits who stood out from the crowd. They drew disdain from their conservative community because they dressed and acted differently from the norm. When the bodies of three eight-year-old boys were found in a muddy creek, the apparent victims of a brutal murder, the West Memphis Three were soon arrested, charged and, despite a flimsy argument by the state with virtually no substantive evidence, they were convicted. The State argued that the murders were part of a satanic ritual. And the three teenagers charged fit the bill. West of Memphis picks apart the state’s case. And one of the most compelling theories is that the strange lacerations found on the boys’ bodies were the result of turtles who had gnawed at the corpses in the creek, not evidence of bizarre satanic acts. The documentary’s point is to show how a community will quickly point to the fringes for blame, how fear of “the other” can result in a miscarriage of justice.

Similarly Central Park Five has a sociological point to make. New York City’s police, press and populace was quick to assign guilt to five boys of color who were accused of killing the Central Park Jogger. The police coerced confessions. The media amped up the case and dispensed with objectivity. The populace – frustrated from decades of crime – was predisposed to assume guilt before innocence. And these boys were perfect targets – they were the collective portrait of what White America feared – packs of wild hooligans running rampant throughout the city.

In both cases, the convicted were eventually exonerated and released. And in both cases there are strong (and probably correct) theories as to who actually committed the murder. What we can be certain of is that in neither case the people charged and convicted of the crime were guilty. And the point of both documentaries is to show how our own fears and cultural prejudices can overwhelm fact (or the lack of facts) to construct false, dangerous narratives.

Even The Staircase makes similar points. Michael Peterson was an outsider in his own community. He wrote about corruption in the local government. During his trial homosexual behavior came to light. He’s an odd-ball – how he looks, how he sounds, how he conducts himself. People in his community wanted him to be guilty. And as evidenced in the follow-up series released eight years later – The Staircase 2: The Last Chance – judicial and police corruption were partly to blame for his conviction.

But while Serial is part of this tradition of docu-storytelling, it does not offer what the previous three examples do: social commentary. To be fair this may come in later episodes, but to date it’s merely hinted at – a possible anti-Islamic element to his conviction. Six episodes in, however, Koenig has not pursued this, and it’s hard to believe that this far into the series it will become a major point. And you can see why it wouldn’t be...

Adnan Syed was not an outsider. Rather he was well-liked and gregarious. He was not targeted or oppressed because of his race or religion (at least the story has not been presented that way). The State did make the case that Adnan’s motive was related to his religious guilt, but the real case against him rests on Jay’s testimony, not motive. There was no ostensible corruption on the part of the authorities. Perhaps some questionable detective work, but if anything Koenig is deferential and empathetic with regard to the police who worked on the case. Boil it down and there is no larger social issue at play here. It’s simply the case of a teenager who may or may not have committed a murder.

But does Serial need to provide social commentary for it to be “legit”? For it to be important? The answer is no. Because the nerve that Serial strikes in us is deep and primal and universal. It’s not touching upon cultural or political matters. It’s exposing the human condition itself…

Which I’ll explore in PART II