The Trials Of Ms Americana.127 Link

Chu turns to the composite defendant. The mosaic of eyes blinks. All 1,000 of them, in unison.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” she begins. “You are not here to judge Ms. Americana. You are here to judge yourselves. Every time you have watched a woman fall—from grace, from a pedestal, from a corporate ladder, from a marriage, from a diet, from a standard she never agreed to—you have been the bailiff, the clerk, and the gallows.” The Trials Of Ms Americana.127

One hundred and twenty-seven iterations. One hundred and twenty-seven distinct charges. And the verdict, each time, is the same: Not guilty of what they say. Guilty of what they don’t say. Hung jury on her own existence. The series, conceived by the elusive artist-jurist collective known only as The Venire (a Latin term for a jury pool), began in 1999. The first “Ms. Americana” was a pregnant Staten Island waitress named Desiree Falco. She was tried for “excessive hope.” The prosecutor: a disembodied voice modulated to sound like every male news anchor from 1987. The defense: a single, looping voicemail from her mother saying, “You could have been a lawyer.” Chu turns to the composite defendant

The audience begins to laugh. Then the laughter thins. Then someone is crying. Then everyone realizes the crying is part of the sound design—a low, continuous thrum, like a refrigerator in an empty apartment. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” she begins

“I don’t know why she can’t just breastfeed like the rest of us.” “If she really wanted the promotion, she’d work weekends.” “Her trauma is not an excuse for being late.”