A prominent figure, the head of one of the largest corporations in the world, stands trial. He has long been held in high esteem by many, and the charges against him are shocking, nearly unbelievable in number and severity.
The jury listens closely as the counsel for the prosecution covers the list. The defendant is accused of using his office for the propagation of literature that promotes bigotry based on sexual preference, race, religion, and gender. He is charged with inciting members of his company to harm others, including the infliction of death. The prosecutor makes a comparison to Charles Manson. The members of the jury frown as the prosecution states their intention to pursue the death penalty.
The counsel for the defense smiles graciously at the jury. Surely, she says, the alleged crimes are nothing compared to the good that the defendant is directly responsible for. The defendant is perhaps the most respected man in the world. His corporation, it cannot be doubted, has done more good in the world than any other. Its altruism is well documented. Untold numbers of people have benefited from the time and money it has donated to feeding the poor, to clothing the needy, to educating the young, to counseling the troubled, to comforting the bereaved. The corporation's head is practically Santa Claus, she says, and urges that her client be found innocent, that he should remain unsullied by the vicious attacks against his character.
The prosecution calls witness after witness to the stand. The first tells of members of the corporation who accosted him in an alley, beating and cajoling him. All, he says, because he is gay. A pregnant woman tells of how she was horribly chastised for inquiring about abortion. She says she was verbally abused in public, made to feel like a criminal. Still another speaks of crimes done to her grandparents, tortured and murdered because their ideologies differed from those of the corporation. She says she, too, has been abused for the same reasons. And the last witness speaks of ignorance. He says that the corporation did not permit him to learn outside of corporation-related things, claiming that they were false or trivial. The corporation, he claimed, prevented him from growing intellectually.
The defense cross-examines. Did not the corporation, she says to the homosexual man, feed and clothe you when you were hungry and living on the street? To the pregnant woman, she speaks of adoption. Did the corporation not share information on such services with you? To the third, she says simply that those who harmed her and killed her grandparents were misguided, not really true representatives of the corporation. And to the last, she flatly denies his allegations, claiming that the corporation exists only to share enlightenment with the world.
Finally, the prosecution calls the defendant to the witness stand. Alas, the defendant is not present. The defense attorney again smiles, but makes no apology.
The judge bangs his gavel in an attempt to quell the shocked murmurs filling the courtroom. Then he himself speaks in outrage, demanding to know the whereabouts of the defendant and his reason for not being present. He cannot attend the trial, the defense attorney explains. Like Howard Hughes, he is a bit of a recluse.
To the jury's surprise, the prosecution puts forth one further accusation: that the defendant does not, in fact, even exist!
Gasps sweep the courtroom. The defense attorney objects vehemently, but the judge quickly overrules, urging the prosecution to continue.
There is no evidence, the counsel states, that the defendant is at all real. There were, he argues, many such corporate figureheads in the past who turned out to be fictitious. As examples, he names the board of directors of a famous corporation in Greece, long since revealed to be false, and also cites the Roman firm that took over the corporation. He names well-known leaders from Egypt, Mexico, and the Nordic countries. He drops name after name, nearly all of them familiar to those present, and all of them known equally to be fictitious. There is no real evidence, he concludes, that the defendant exists.
The defense asserts that there is no proof that her client does not exist, but the prosecutor points out that there does not need to be any such proof. The assertion being made is that he exists. It is this assertion that must be proved, not disproved. Such is the process for any assertion, he states. If someone claims to have found a cure for cancer, he must prove it. If one claims that Julius Caesar was, in fact, a woman, she must prove that as well. It is not for the rest of the world to disprove the claim. If the defendant exists, bring him forth.
Further, he goes on, it does not matter what good deeds a person may have done in his life. It is not a matter of which traits are greater, good or bad. A Boy Scout will still be tried in court if he assaults the elderly woman that he just helped cross the street. For the purposes of this trial, the only things that matter are those charges leveled against him. If they are found to be true, then the defendant, whether he exists or not, is guilty.
The prosecution turns to the jury, seeming to look directly into your eyes, and says, "You decide."
