In a development so predictable it could have been written by a committee of alcoholic monkeys on typewriters, the trial of a Norwegian hitman has spectacularly imploded. Yes, dear reader, a jury has deadlocked. The justice system, that grand old theatre of the absurd, has once again proven that it is about as effective as a chocolate teapot in a sauna.
Let us set the scene. A man, let's call him 'The Nordic Nightmare', stands accused of being a professional killer. The details are murky, as details so often are when washed down with aquavit and lies. But what is clear is that a room full of twelve good and true citizens, presumably recruited from the same pool as those who think pineapple belongs on pizza, could not agree on whether he did it or not. So they threw their hands up, declared a mistrial, and sent everyone home.
The prosecution, no doubt, is now drowning its sorrows in cheap coffee and regret. The defence is popping champagne corks with the enthusiasm of a football hooligan at a cup final. And the victim, if there is one, is probably spinning in their grave like a rotisserie chicken. But this is the world we live in, a world where justice is not blind, it is merely short-sighted and prone to fits of hysteria.
What does this say about the state of the Norwegian legal system? It says that it is a creaking, dilapidated apparatus, held together by gaffer tape and good intentions. It says that a jury, entrusted with the solemn duty of deciding a man's fate, can be stymied by a single holdout who is either a contrarian genius or an irredeemable idiot. Probably both.
One cannot help but wonder: is this a failure of the system, or a triumph of the human spirit? After all, is not deadlock a form of democracy? It is the jury's way of saying, 'We have no idea what is going on, so let us adjourn to the nearest pub.' And who can blame them? They have been subjected to weeks of legal jargon, forensic tedium, and the sight of a hitman in a suit. Anyone would crack.
The hitman himself, presumably, is now a free man. Or at least, he is free until the state decides to have another crack at him. In the meantime, he can go about his business, sharpening his knives and polishing his guns, secure in the knowledge that he is protected by the finest legal system that money can buy. Or that taxes can fund. It amounts to the same thing.
So let us raise a glass of something strong to the Norwegian jury system. To its glorious ineptitude. To its unwavering commitment to not making a decision. And to the hitman, who now has a story to tell his grandchildren: 'I was once put on trial for murder, but a dozen Norwegians couldn't agree on whether I did it, so they let me go.' This is the stuff of legend. This is justice, Norwegian style.
