A Must Read for the Gullible

This is kind of stale but boy, do I love John Zmirak's piece on the film Longford from December '08. It's sort of a review/recommendation, but more than anything it's an illustrated condemnation of "misguided compassion". Zmirak quotes Mother Angelica as calling this folly "the reigning sin of our time" and he shows how the character and story presented in the movie gives us a perfect example of this vice. From his article:

Frank Pakenham, the Seventh Earl of Longford, was a kind and pious man. Born a British aristocrat, he flouted public opinion by converting to Catholicism in 1940. An accomplished historian, loving husband, and nurturing father -- one of his many overachieving children is historian Antonia Fraser -- Lord Longford was also active in politics. Long a member of the British House of Lords -- and a convinced socialist -- he led campaigns against pornography and gay activism, in the face of widespread mockery in the press. (It didn't help, I guess, that he insisted on conducting widely publicized fact-finding tours in strip clubs, with journalists in tow. Did I mention that Longford lacked the virtue of prudence?)

Educational reformer, chronicler of the Irish war for independence, visionary moral crusader: For none of these things do Englishmen remember the Earl of Longford. Instead, they know him as the British lord who tried to get Myra Hindley out of jail. Hindley's name is still a watchword for hellish cruelty; she was convicted in 1966 along with her lover Ian Brady for jointly kidnapping, sexually abusing, torturing, and murdering five children -- whose anguished cries they tape-recorded. The Moor Murders, and the subsequent trials, were the media sensation of the middle 1960s, and neither Hindley nor Brady showed remorse at their public trial. The two were sentenced to life in prison.

And that's where poor Longford came in. As a deeply religious Catholic, the Earl made a point of visiting prisoners -- which, you might remember, is one of the Corporal Works of Mercy. What you might also recall from Catechism class is that it nowhere says you have to try to get the prisoners out, assuming they're guilty. That distinction eluded the good Lord Longford, who responded to a letter from Myra Hindley requesting a visit.

As the film depicts their dawning (fawning?) friendship, it is clear that Hindley is a brilliant manipulator, skilled at reading Longford's character and telling him what he most wants to hear: That she is deeply, profoundly sorry for what she did. That she was an abused child, seized and dominated by a strong, sadistic lover, who forced her to take part in the murders. Oh yes, and that she is deeply attracted to Longford's Catholic faith. Would he consider sending her some Catholic books, including her in his prayers, and returning for future visits?

Zmirak goes on to reveal the horrifying and embarrassing results of what he brilliantly describes as the "slow-motion train wreck of the Little Choo-Choo That Could." He states that he favors the death penalty for this noble do-gooder by the end of the film. Although he is possibly exaggerating, Longford seems like a guy who, after pushing an enormous boulder down a mountain, claims that he had no idea that fifty goat-herders would be smashed. In other words, Longford is the kind of moral idiot who really poses a danger within society.

I said at the start I loved this article, and I do for the same reason that I love my Swiss Army knife and my all in one Epson printer. It's designed to take on a number of important jobs and complete them well. First of all, it shows the major attack on the virtue of prudence and how that attack takes shape in our society among the bleeding hearts. I especially like the point that helping the guilty get out of punishment is not a work of mercy.

Secondly, I sense a corollary here that I've seen play out in my life personally, viz., the more prudent one becomes, the more mean one seems to the aforementioned unwisely compassionate in certain situations. For example, if a fairly close in-law's sibling is "dating" an incarcerated pen-pal, starts falling in love with him and talking about marriage, you might be considered mean for stating that you smell a train-wreck. Not that you are told this directly to your face, however, you are told that you don't know this guy and that "...she feels that he really has turned his life around and gotten saved in prison." Then you ask what he's in for. "Well, he hasn't told her that yet, even though she did ask him." Oh. That's when you start feeling like you know this guy a lot better than everyone else involved. The most merciful event in that case was that the in-law got wise in time and called it off.

Thirdly, the argument against capital punishment has been blurred and marred by the fact that many of those fighting it choose the worst poster children. Remember the efforts of left-wing wackos to save Stanley "Tookie" Williams, a convicted multiple murderer who refused to help police whilst penning anti-gang children's books? From Wikipedia:

Williams refused to aid police investigations with any information against his gang, and was implicated in attacks on guards and other inmates as well as multiple escape plots. In 1993, Williams began making changes in his behavior, and became an anti-gang activist while on Death Row in California. Although he continued to refuse to assist police in their gang investigations, he renounced his gang affiliation and apologized for the Crips' founding, while never admitting to the crimes for which he was convicted. He co-wrote children's books and participated in efforts intended to prevent youths from joining gangs.

Not quite a graduate from the St. Mary Magdalene school of repentance, I dare say.

Fourthly, aren't there people out there who need assistance who have never spent a day in jail? I've found plenty of people to help out by various means, finding work for them, just chatting and being friends with them, etc. There are people who are called to prison ministry--obviously Longford was not among them. My guess is that other romantics have fallen prey to wily criminals in much the same way. This story also reminds me of the judge from Tom Sawyer who thinks he's rehabilitated the town drunk, before he's forced to think again. Should have stuck to being judgmental, Your Honor.

Finally, It seems like people tempted to rob justice to pay mercy should take a lesson to the thief on the cross who pointed out to the other other criminal that they deserved punishment. I suppose that St. Dismas was showing us that a lot of the misguided compassion toward which we might be tempted is self-directed.