De Grazia’s “Sanctioning Voice: Quotation Marks, the
Abolition of Torture, and the Fifth Amendment” spotlights the case of Jeffrey
Masson, who sued for libel over alleged misquotes published in a New Yorker interview. Two courts ruled in favor of the defendants,
upholding their argument that, in the interest of maintaining a free press,
journalists are not responsible for inaccuracies in quoted material; rather,
they are free to extrapolate meaning from an interview subject’s words and
present it as a direct quotation so long as there is no “actual malice.” The Supreme Court revered this ruling
and restored quotation marks to “a unique standard of accuracy” (286). As with Feist Publications, Inc. v. Rural Telephone Services, we once again
see judicial procedures being used to encode interpretations of authorship into
law.
But it is De Grazia’s segue into the relationship between
quotation marks and sanctioned torture that truly caught my attention. De Grazia argues that “lax use of
quotations summons up the grisly shadow of compulsory self-incrimination, of
being forced to bear witness against oneself, in this instance by being made to
speak (or, more precisely, by being made to look
in print to speak) self-condemnatory words” (286). I agree with this argument, and wonder
about the possible implications for 21st century American
justice. The chapter itself speaks
of torture in the past tense; the title refers to the “abolition” of torture
and makes mention of “the shadow” of coerced confessions. But recent developments (or perhaps
more accurately, recent publication of past developments) coming out of the courts
suggest that this particular authorship issue—the coerced confession, the
institutional takeover of individual voice—is an ongoing point of concern.
In August of 2011, we witnessed the release of the so-called
“Memphis Three,” a trio of men who served eighteen years in prison for
murder. All three were convicted
on the strength of a confession elicited from Jessie Misskelley, seventeen at
the time, interrogated by police over a twelve-hour period with no parental
guardian or legal counsel present.
Another relevant case comes from Radley Balko, an award-winning former
investigative journalist with a focus on civil rights, who recently documented
the case of Thomas Cogdell, a twelve-year-old who confessed to killing his
sister after a multi-hour police interrogation. Balko used his blog to highlight the case as part of his
campaign to require all states to videotape police interrogations.
I think the call for recorded interrogations plays into the
historic tension between law and authorship. As our readings suggest, the law often enforces distorted authorship
definitions. For example,
Venuti points out in “Translation, Authorship, Copyright,” that American copyright
favors a view of translation that does not truly exist:
A translation is not regarded as an
independent text, interposing linguistic and literary differences which are
specific to the translating culture, which are added to the foreign text to
make it intelligible in that culture, and which the foreign author did not
anticipate or choose. The foreign
author’s originality is assumed to transcend any differences, so that the
translation can be viewed as effectively identical to the foreign text. (5)
I wonder if the effort to require the recording of police interrogations
can be framed as an effort to ensure that the authorship of the confession
matches the common perception of it (i.e., a confession is “the truth,” freely
offered).
Question
As a teacher of writing, I wonder if raising the specter of
this particular murky and violent issue of authorship with a young population
is a worthwhile idea? I wonder if
young readers need to be reminded that just because something is
in print, in a record, recorded by an institution with a kind of
built-in ethos, that does not mean it is completely accurate in the way they
might assume.
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