pr i z e day
Chris MacDonald with his parents Scott and Debbie and his sister Anna ’16
than to tell you that my mother and sister were in New York, and were both ill, and to remind you of a truth from another passage in the Bible, that “there is a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together.” It was back in New York that I made the decision to run for district attorney. I was tested many times during that campaign, and I do not pretend that I aced every test. But like you, I graduated. It is said that a political campaign is the best preparation for public office, and I think there’s some truth to that. The campaign trains you to speak concisely, in ways that might not be distorted even if taken out of context. The campaign trains you to live your life knowing that everyone you meet has an iPhone, every iPhone has a video camera, every video camera uplinks to YouTube, and in the archives of YouTube awaits eternal embarrassment. I learned those things, and more, from a campaign. But as preparation for public office, the most important lessons are the ones I was taught here at Groton, the ones about the relevance of enduring values. Not long after I took office, I encountered a case of unprecedented celebrity. It was a case in which even the most routine court appearance brought out an army of media from around the world, with an encampment like a small city surrounding our offices. That case involved a famous, powerful, and wealthy defendant, and a complaining witness of very modest means, and an accusation of sexual assault. The case set in conflict virtually every value at stake in the criminal justice system: the presumption of innocence, equal justice under the law, protection of the powerless. It was the kind of case where, every time we surmounted one challenge, an even bigger one, even harder to anticipate, lay behind it; and if you don’t believe me, when it was all done, when we had completed our investigation and made our decision and summoned the media to our offices to announce our resolution, the press
30 | Quarterly Fall 2012
conference was disrupted by an earthquake, measuring 5.8 on the Richter scale. And on that day, I can assure you, the voice of the Lord was not in the earthquake. But my point is, that in such a case, it is impossible to do justice unless you are able to set aside every other consideration, other than the law and the facts, and unless you are able to tune out the noise surrounding you, and listen instead to the voice inside you that speaks to the most fundamental value judgments—in this case, the very principle upon which our legal system rises or falls: proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Now, an investigation may uncover outrageous immorality and mounds of suspicion; but when thorough investigation up until trial fails to produce convincing evidence of guilt, we must not proceed—regardless of any public pressure to move ahead. Put simply, if we are not convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty, we can’t ask a jury to find him guilty. Frankly, such cases comprise one of the most agonizing parts of our work. Nonetheless, making such tough decisions defines a prosecutor more than any conviction reported on the front page of a newspaper. That is the best illustration I can offer of the relevance of my Groton education. It was an education that wagered everything on the belief that a life could be guided by enduring values. It was an education premised on the notion that we could not anticipate the problems we would face, but that by striving to live a life of character, at the most difficult times those values would lead us to the solutions. You leave this place without a road map, but with a compass. You will find within you that guidance that will orient you toward what is right and true, even when you see no familiar landmarks along your way. This is the life for which your education prepares you. It has not been an easy preparation, but neither will life be easy. Any life well lived will be a life well tested. When you live long enough, you will come to see every comfortable assumption dissolved, every skill you have acquired rendered obsolete. And just when you think your day is ending, just when you think the torch has already been passed, one of you may be invited back to this stage, to give the commencement speech at Groton. And on that afternoon, you will realize that, in the years since your graduation, everything has changed. Except the five declensions. You will be reminded, as I am reminded today, that wherever your odyssey takes you, you can always find your way, guided by the values you have taken from Groton and from your family, that often—in your toughest challenges—speak to your conscience in a voice that only you can hear. Thank you.