I wouldn't dream of contributing to America's fascination for O.J. Simpson. I am not his illegitimate son. I'm not a "close friend" of Nicole's, either. I didn't drive past him on the highway that fateful day, I didn't notice the way he shoved Nicole out of that Rodeo Drive boutique, and I didn't hear him sing "Memory" in the courtroom. I am just an ordinary citizen who should mind his own business.

And like all Crimson editorialists, I wish that there were more people like me.

I find it a bit shameful and debasing to write about O.J. Simpson. I get the feeling that I have jumped on the band-wagon-payroll of a sleazy market tabloid, and that I have a duty to throw raw meat to lions.

It's not real news to me, not worthy of more than a small item on the court docket column of the newspaper. Or a brief mention on only one of the major networks, without a picture and at the end of the broadcast. A 30-second news spot in a morning radio show: "O.J. Simpson, the Hall of Fame running back, was today arrested in connection with the murder of his ex-wife, Nicole."

One other spot a few months later announcing the verdict, and I would think that the news services had done an admirable job of it.

I must be from Mars. Every room with a television, newspaper or radio in it seems like a Circus Maximus, in true American style. The story of the Simpson snowball goes something like the following. The story breaks in mid-June, and North America is treated to a four-hour Ford commercial. Bronco sales must have skyrocketed: "What a stunningly handsome car! I'll take one with the O.J. option package please--with revolver."

O.J. is arrested and spends a few nights in jail. Prices of O.J. dolls skyrocket, fetching more than $400 each and edging Barbie out of the market. Every kid on the corner sports an authentic "Turn the Juice loose" t-shirt, $10 while supplies last. A new line of trading cards comes out, three dollars each, or two for five dollars, emblazoned with a stylish "Murder I" logo in blood red and flattering photos of, among other things: O.J.'s knife, O.J.'s lawyer, O.J.'s friend, O.J. and O.J.'s white Bronco, (Ford must be opening a new plant soon.)

Tour buses start to parade past the Simpson home on North Rockingham Avenue (but alas, he's not home, he's at the Men's Central Jail in downtown L.A., our next stop). And finally, just last week, the ringmaster himself authorized the sale of a $15 exercise video he had recently completed, as well as signing 300 sports cards to be sold at $1,500 each. That's almost half a million dollars, made in an afternoon in jail. This guy's got talent.

He's not the only one. The Times' Frank Rich has called O.J. "a self-perpetuating cultural industry, with tentacles reaching into every branch of show biz." Where there is show-biz, there are bound to be glitter-seekers. A woman who lied about seeing O.J. at the murder scene made more than $10,000 from a tabloid show. Other sleazy tabloids will pay anyone remotely associated with O.J. or his ex-wife to tell them a story. Whether these tales are based in reality or in their own money-hungry delusion is another issue. Jurors, if selected, could refuse to support a majority verdict to later attract a book contract. At this rate, unemployment should plummet and people might have enough money to buy a second Bronco.

The pit of this massive feeding frenzy is the Los Angeles courtroom, out of which fly the bits of juicy meat that titillate and sustain the O.J. industry. That pit is wired for live action: the TV networks have flown in their war-coverage equipment from Haiti and erected scaffolding several stories high, portable satellite dishes and stages around the courthouse. With Dan and Connie chomping at the bit, CBS news, always a leader in entertainment, has laid 55,000 feet--more than 10 miles--of cable.

With so much pressure to do a little song and dance, even the judge cannot resist being drawn into the spotlight. The Times reported that Judge Lance Ito has been trying out some of his new improv stuff on all the new publicity he's been getting. In his latest bon mot to potential jurors, the judge suggested that they "distract themselves from O.J. news by watching "The Simpsons'--the TV show, I mean." He probably shouldn't quit his day job. He should also realize that there are two TV shows by that name, and that he stars in one of them.

Ito realizes what Frank Rich writes, that "As long as the judge is on television...he has the ability to make and break stars, upstage the election campaign and destroy the productivity of the American workforce [barring the productivity, of course, of Ford Bronco plants]." Would Lance Ito ever consider losing this power and this audience by banning media coverage? The fact that he capitalizes on his center stage situation tells us a bit about the cost of our circus, and what we've become in supporting it. The judge-turned-jester now runs the court.

Justice has been annexed into the domain of show business, packaged and scented for maximum consumer appeal. In America the right to free speech supersedes the right to a fair trail because we don't have any qualms about pointing a gun to someone's head if it makes us laugh.

In a uniquely American way, the tyranny of the majority to have top-notch entertainment has cost one individual his privacy and his justice. O.J. will be not tried by 12 jurors. He is playing in a system that reduces justice to the lowest common denominator, and in which every viewer, reader and listener can proclaim a verdict.

The twilight of the Roman Empire was characterized by a once-great people overindulging in the excesses of an unproductive, decadent, circus-filled life. That's what America is. Instead of getting on with our lives, we watch O.J. squirm. Instead of producing, we rehash murder scenes for dirty, empty profit.

The Romans had only one Circus. Always better, American mass culture is a varied beast, moving from orgy to orgy, never fully satiated and always looking for another way to (inadvertently) sell Fords.

Patrick S. Chung '96 is a frequent contributor to The Crimson's editorial page. He has given up watching the O.J. Simpson television extravaganza in favor of "Sesame Street."