Around midnight on May 8th, 1981, while walking back to her dorm at Syracuse University, freshman Alice Sebold was grabbed from behind in a park pedestrian tunnel and viciously raped.

Such an odd redundancy. Viciously raped, as opposed to what? Gently, or perhaps thoughtfully raped?

Her injuries, in addition to the rape itself, included a lacerated nose, various cuts and contusions and blood and semen in her urine, according to a medical exam. When interviewed by police, she stated her rapist was a Black man, 16-18 years of age, with a small but muscular build. In an affidavit, she stated that she desired prosecution in the event her assailant was apprehended. The detective assigned to her case, without explanation, was skeptical of her account, noting it did not seem “completely factual.” Enigmatic and vague? Male insensitivity to rape, an historical allegation against male investigators? and yet…

As one would expect as is the case with many if not most rape victims, her psychological trauma exceeded her physical wounds. She now saw herself as tainted; as one who on the surface was afforded sympathy and compassion, but beneath, stigmata as old as civilization lurked. Had she somehow brought this upon herself? Why did she walk through a park in the darkness of night by herself? Again, self-doubts buttressed by societal victim blaming. Was she somehow behaving flirtatiously, or had dressed provocatively? No on both counts, but preconceptions die slowly. Did she somehow, perhaps subliminally, send a message to her attacker that she was fair game, or would not fight as hard as some others? She sensed that her own father believed on some level she was at fault.

Sebold had always aspired to be a writer, and later admitted that even during the rape she was aware she would eventually write about it.

She returned to Syracuse University in the Fall and enrolled in writing workshops taught by the noted writers Tess Gallagher and Tobias Wolff. One day , before class, she went to pick up a snack near campus and spotted a man on the street who she thought resembled her rapist. The man approached her and, according to Sebold, said, “Hey- don’t I know you?” The man was in fact addressing a police officer who was behind her, but she was certain he was addressing her. Her rapist, she was sure, was brazenly mocking her. She reported her encounter to Wolff, who exhorted her to contact the police. She sketched the man’s face, and Syracuse P.D. issued an alert. Paul Clapper, the police officer who the man had actually addressed, recognized the description. Several days later Anthony Broadwater, twenty, was arrested, nearly five months after Sebold’s rape. Two weeks later, Sebold was asked to identify Broadwater in a lineup. Five Black men, all wearing prison uniforms, stood in a line. Broadwater was #4. Sebold identified #5. Then, every guardrail ensuring a fair and just legal system, blew off the edges and fell into the abyss.

Gail Uebelhoer, an assistant district attorney, took Sebold aside and told her that Broadwater had deceived her by having a friend from jail who could have been his doppelganger stand in the #5 spot, and to stare threateningly at her. All absurd nonsense. Broadwater was not friends with #5, they bore no resemblance aside from both being Black males and no suspect in the history of jurisprudence has had the prerogative to select other members of a lineup. Yet Sebold, incredibly, accepted what Uebelhoer told her.

Broadwater could not afford an attorney, so a volunteer named Steven Paquette was assigned as his counsel. Knowing the demographics of white conservatives in Syracuse, he encouraged his client to opt for a bench trial. After the lineup debacle, he reasoned, the case would be dismissed, considering how weak and tenuous the evidence was. He was wrong.

The trial began in May, 1982, and lasted two days. Throughout the trial, the prosecutor mentioned repeatedly that Sebold had been a virgin. Broadwater was asked by his attorney to describe his unique facial characteristics, which included a scar beneath his chin, a chipped tooth and one eye that appeared different from the other due to surgery years earlier. None of these features were described by Sebold although she had described being a centimeter away from her rapist.

DNA analysis was not available at this time, but a forensic chemist testified that a pubic hair from a Black person had been recovered from the rape kit consistent with a hair sample submitted by the suspect. Hair comparison has since been dismissed as “junk science,” as reliable as reading tea leaves, and is now seen as a convenient way for amoral prosecutors to back into guilty verdicts. It is now estimated that thousands of wrongful convictions have been made by its application.

When Sebold testified she adamantly stated, “I could not have identified him as the man who raped me unless he was the man who raped me.” But she hadn’t identified him prior to being coached.

After closing, the judge, who chatted amiably with Sebold during breaks and told her he had daughters of his own, immediately declared Broadwater was guilty of rape in the first degree.

Let’s stare reality in its often hideous face. Removing the debunked hair follicle evidence, Anthony Broadwater, an innocent, hard working young Black man who loved his family, was a veteran and had no criminal record, was found guilty of rape because a young white woman said he was guilty.

And so off to prison he went. As a convicted sex offender, he was targeted by other inmates. Violence surrounded him. A friend he had made was killed standing next to him in an Auburn prison. He was transferred to various prisons, and at Attica, he presented portions of his transcript to a Muslim Imam, who after reading them convinced other inmates that Broadwater was innocent.

Broadwater appealed his conviction and was denied. He was caught in a catch 22. A condition of early release from his 25 year sentence, was taking sex offender treatment programs. He denied he was a sex offender. No treatment, no parole. To his astonishment, he was released after 16 years for being a model prisoner. He was 38 years old. Jobs were menial and difficult to get. He was a social pariah. A registered sex offender. And what of Alice Sebold during the period Broadwater was in prison?

She pursued her writing career. In 1999 her memoir “Lucky,” dealing with her rape and subsequent trial, was published, with initial meager sales. Then, in 2002 her novel “The Lovely Bones,” about a teenaged girl, who, after being raped and murdered, looks down from heaven at her struggling friends and family. It became a best seller and sold 10 million copies. Then it was released as a movie in 2010. After the enormous success of “The Lovely Bones,” renewed interest in “Lucky” resulted and 1 million copies sold. Then another twist.

With greater attention to “Lucky” (so titled because an investigator said she was lucky she wasn’t killed during her rape) inconsistencies and judicial misconduct became apparent, such as the assistant D.A. prompting Sebold about the lineup and lying to her that Broadwater tried to have it rigged. When she appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show, Oprah found her account of recognizing her rapist on the street fishy. Film director Jane Campion wanted to adapt “Lucky,” but as more people on Campion’s team read the book, the more incredulous it appeared. By this time the hair follicle nonsense was generally acknowledged. Finally, in June of 2021, Timothy Mucciante, the film’s financier was removed from the project when production funds never materialized. Perhaps vindictive, Mucciante hired Dan Myers, a former sheriff turned P.I. to investigate the entire rape case. He interviewed Paul Clapper, the cop who had actually been addressed by Broadwater years before. Clapper mentioned the lineup fiasco, then opined that the wrong man may have been convicted. Soon, Myers contacted two attorneys, Dave Hammond and Melissa Schwartz, who specialized in wrongful convictions. Both of them read “Lucky” and were flabbergasted. Where’s the evidence? The attorneys presented the trial transcript to William Fitzpatrick, a D.A. Schwartz had once worked for. It was so short he read it in an hour. “I couldn’t believe, in a 1981 non-jury trial, a guy could get convicted on that,” he concluded. Things started moving quickly up the flagpole. Gordon Cuffy, the judge who was reviewing Broadwater’s case, asked Fitzpatrick if the lineup scenes and subsequent commentary by Uebelhoer described in “Lucky” were accurate. Fitzpatrick contacted Sebold and she conceded they were. Five days later judge Cuffy vacated Broadwater’s conviction. He had been convicted on a debunked hair analysis and a tainted lineup.

Shortly after the exoneration, Broadwater sued the State of New York for wrongful imprisonment. They settled for 5.5 million. If only he could sue to get the 40 years wrenched away from him back. And what of Alice Sebold?

I wonder if at any time between Broadwater’s conviction and his exoneration, during that 40 year period when she was racking up fame, fortune and survivor hero status, if she ever doubted she fingered the right man? A woman of no small degree of intellect and sophistication, not recognizing she was coached by an unscrupulous D.A. and she had identified the wrong man in the lineup? Certainly she is well read and and informed. During those 40 years was she unaware of the debunked hair analysis? As Broadwater was living in Hell, did she ever consider that her success was parasitic on the innocent man she helped convict? I am by my own admission a skeptic and cynic. I wonder if she ever truly believed Broadwater was guilty. Her emailed apology to him has been dismissed by some as a glorified form letter. He has stated publicly that he is forgiving, but is disappointed there has been no face to face mea culpa. I would never forgive her. Do I feel sorry for her? No. I feel sorry for him.

And just as women must be to some degree always on guard against predators, Black men must also be on guard. They must be forever vigilant to make sure it is not their footsteps being heard behind the lone white woman walking briskly to her car; that it is not their shadow sprawled upon the asphalt beneath her feet. Their innocence provides no shield. Accusations need no validity. They must be forever vigilant to not get too close or be perceived as a threat, however illusory that perception may be. Their own vulnerability is etched within their pigment- always.

Theirs is a peculiar kind of Hell, where a false move isn’t even necessary to crank up the burners.