"If it doesn't fit, you must acquit"
About this Quote
A courtroom becomes a theater the moment a defense lawyer can compress reasonable doubt into a chant. "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit" is Johnnie Cochran turning a murder trial into a memory trick: eight words, two internal rhymes, a simple conditional, and a punchy moral command. It sounds less like argument than inevitability. That’s the point. Cochran wasn’t just persuading a jury; he was building a shortcut around the prosecution’s complexity.
The specific intent is tactical: anchor deliberation to a single visual test, the infamous glove demonstration. By making the verdict hinge on fit, Cochran recasts the case as a binary problem anyone can solve, not a web of timelines, motives, and forensic probabilities. The line smuggles in a premise - that the glove’s failure equals contamination, incompetence, or frame-up - and dares the jury to contradict its logic without seeming unreasonable.
The subtext is power. It tells jurors they don’t need to be experts; they just need to trust their eyes and protect themselves from the shame of convicting on doubt. It also reframes the defense as the guardian of procedure in a system already under suspicion, especially amid 1990s Los Angeles, where policing and race were raw, public wounds. Cochran understood that trials run on narrative coherence as much as evidence. This rhyme doesn’t merely summarize; it colonizes the jury’s internal monologue, giving them language they can repeat to justify uncertainty as virtue.
The specific intent is tactical: anchor deliberation to a single visual test, the infamous glove demonstration. By making the verdict hinge on fit, Cochran recasts the case as a binary problem anyone can solve, not a web of timelines, motives, and forensic probabilities. The line smuggles in a premise - that the glove’s failure equals contamination, incompetence, or frame-up - and dares the jury to contradict its logic without seeming unreasonable.
The subtext is power. It tells jurors they don’t need to be experts; they just need to trust their eyes and protect themselves from the shame of convicting on doubt. It also reframes the defense as the guardian of procedure in a system already under suspicion, especially amid 1990s Los Angeles, where policing and race were raw, public wounds. Cochran understood that trials run on narrative coherence as much as evidence. This rhyme doesn’t merely summarize; it colonizes the jury’s internal monologue, giving them language they can repeat to justify uncertainty as virtue.
Quote Details
| Topic | Justice |
|---|---|
| Source | Johnnie Cochran , closing argument, O.J. Simpson murder trial (1995); spoken line: "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit". |
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