David Franzoni

To His Excellency John Quincy Adams, Massachusetts member, House of Representatives. I have understood from Mr. Joadson that you are acquainted with the plight of the Amistad Africans. If that is true, then you are aware that we have been at every step successful in our presentation of their case. Yet despite this and despite the unlikelihood of President Van Buren's re-election, he has appealed our most recent favorable decision to the highest court in the land. As I'm sure you are well aware, seven of nine of these Supreme Court justices are themselves Southern slave owners. Sir, we need you. If ever there was a time for a man to cast aside his daily trappings and array himself for battle, that time has come. Cicero once said, appealing to Claudius in defense of the Republic, that the whole result of this entire war depends on the life of one most brave and excellent man. In our time, in this instance, I believe it depends on two. A courageous man at present in irons in New Haven, named Cinque... and you sir. Sincerely Robert S. Baldwin, attorney-at-law.

Yet the abduction of freemen from the British Protectorate of Sierra Leone and their illegal transportation to the New World, as described by Cinque, is not unheard of, is it?

On the other hand, let's say they aren't slaves. If they aren't slaves, in which case they were illegally acquired, weren't they? Forget mutiny, forget piracy, forget murder and all the rest. Those are subsequent irrelevant occurrences. Ignore everything but the pre-eminent issue at hand. The wrongful transfer of stolen goods. Either way, we win.

My clients' journey did not begin in Havana, as they claim and keep claiming more and more emphatically. No, my clients' journey began much, much further away.

I said this before the judge, this is almost how it works here, almost.

Yes. I deal with property. Sometimes I get people's property back, other times I get it taken away, as in this case. Every one of the claims speaks to the issue of ownership.

Baldwin, Roger S, attorney-at-law.

Yes. Well... intending no disrespect, Mr. Tappan, but if that were the way to go, well, then... Well, I wouldn't have bothered coming down here. Goodbye. I bid you gentlemen a good afternoon.

And this here, Cinque, is for me. More death threats. Some of them signed. By my own clients, no less. I should say former clients, shouldn't I? There is one more consequence to having no clientele to speak of. I am now free to sit here as long as it takes for you to acknowledge me.

I know you, Mr. President. I know you and your Presidency as well as any man - and your father's. You were a child at his side when he helped invent America. And you, in turn, have devoted your life to refining that noble invention. There remains one task undone. One vital task the Founding Father's left to their sons...

…before their thirteen colonies could precisely be called United States. And that task, Sir, as you well know, is crushing slavery.

They were first detained by officers of a brig off Long Island. They were conveyed to New Haven - under what authority, I don't know - and given over to the local constabulary. About forty of them, including four or five children. The arraignment is day after tomorrow. I can only assume that the charge is murder.

What is true, Mr. Tappan - and believe me when I tell you that I have seen this - is that there are some men whose hatred of slavery is stronger than any, except for the slave himself.

I am embarrassed to admit that I was under the misconception that our Executive and Judicial Branches were separate.

The ship is Amistad. It's too small to be a trans-Atlantic slaver.

Not necessarily. At least, they certainly don't look it. From the glimpse I caught of them on their way to jail. They have these - scars.

Your record confirms you're an abolitionist, sir. Even if you won't.

This man is black. We can all see that. But can we also see as easily that which is equally true: that he is the only true hero in this room? Now, if he were white, he wouldn't be standing before this court fighting for his life. If he were white and his enslavers were British, he wouldn't be standing, so heavy the weight of the medals and honors we would bestow upon him. Songs would be written about him. The great authors of our times would fill books about him. His story would be told and retold, in our classrooms. Our children, because we would make sure of it, would know his name as well as they know Patrick Henry's. Yet, if the South is right, what are we to do with that embarrassing, annoying document, The Declaration of Independence? What of its conceits? "All men created equal," "inalienable rights," "life, liberty," and so on and so forth? What on Earth are we to do with this? I have a modest suggestion.

James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington… John Adams. We've long resisted asking you for guidance. Perhaps we have feared in doing so, we might acknowledge that our individuality, which we so, so revere, is not entirely our own. Perhaps we've feared an… an appeal to you might be taken for weakness. But, we've come to understand, finally, that this is not so. We understand now, we've been made to understand, and to embrace the understanding… that who we are is who we were. We desperately need your strength and wisdom to triumph over our fears, our prejudices, ourselves. Give us the courage to do what is right. And if it means civil war? Then let it come. And when it does, may it be, finally, the last battle of the American Revolution.

Well, gentlemen, I must say I differ with the keen minds of the South and with our President, who apparently shares their views, offering that the natural state of mankind is instead - and I know this is a controversial idea - is freedom. Is freedom. And the proof is the length to which a man, woman or child will go to regain it once taken. He will break loose his chains. He will decimate his enemies. He will try and try and try, against all odds, against all prejudices, to get home.

Well, when I was an attorney, a long time ago, young man, I err... I realized, after much trial and error, that in the courtroom, whoever tells the best story wins. In un-lawyerlike fashion, I give you that scrap of wisdom free of charge.

Does that pretty much sum up what you are? A Georgian? Is that your story? No you're an ex-slave whose devoted his life to the abolition of slavery, and overcoming the obstacles and hardships along the way, I should imagine. That's your story, isn't it?

You and this young so-called lawyer have proven you know what they are. They're Africans. Congratulations. What you don't know, and as far as I can tell haven't bothered in the least to discover, is who they are. Right?

This is the most important case ever to come before this court. Because what it in fact concerns is the very nature of man.

Caesar. Cicero's appeal was to Julius Caesar, not Claudius. Claudius would not be born for another 100 years. You were right, there was one of them.

Your Honor, I derive much consolation from the fact that my colleague, Mr. Baldwin here, has argued the case in so able, and so complete a manner, as to leave me scarcely anything to say. However... why are we here? How is it that a simple, plain property issue has should now find itself so ennobled as to be argued before the Supreme Court of the United States of America?

How is it that a simple plain property issue should now find itself so ignobled as to be argued before the Supreme Court of the United States of America? I mean, do we fear that all courts which found for as easily somehow missed the truth, is that it? Or is it rather our great and consuming fear of Civil War that has allowed us to heap symbolism upon a simple case than ever has been? And now it would have us disregard truth, even as it stands before us tall and proud as a man. The truth... the truth, has been driven from this case like a slave from court to court, wretched and destitute.

One tries to govern wisely, strongly. One tries to govern in a way that betters the lives of one's villagers. One tries to kill the lion. Unfortunately, one isn't always wise enough or strong enough. Time passes and the moment is gone. Now, listen, Cinque, listen, we're about - we're about to bring your case before the highest court in our land. We're about to do battle with a lion that is threatening to rip our country in two. Huh? And all we have on our side is a rock. Of course, you didn't ask to be at the center of this historic conflagration anymore than I did; but, we find ourselves here, nonetheless, by some mysterious mix of circumstances and all the world watching. So, what are we to do? Huh?

Cinque, look, I'm being honest with you. Anything less would be disrespectful. I'm telling you. I'm preparing you, I suppose. I'm explaining to you. That the test ahead of us is an exceptionally difficult one.

Alone? In deed, not. We have right at our side. We have righteousness at our side! We have Mr. Baldwin over there.

Truth has been driven from this case like a slave, flogged from court to court, wretched and destitute.

The Queen again and again refers to our 'incompetent' courts. Now, what I wonder would be more to her liking? Huh? A court that finds against the Africans? Well, I think not. And here is the fine point of it. What Her Majesty wants is a court that behaves just like her courts - the courts this 11 year old child plays with in her magical kingdom called Spain. A court that will do what it is told. A court that - can be toyed with like a doll. A court , as it happens, of which our own President, Martin Van Buren, would be most proud.

'Cause I can assure you, sir, having been over there, only one thing occupies his thoughts this time of the year, being all things to all people, which, of course, means be nothing to no one. In other words, gettin' himself re-elected.

Those giraffes you sold me, they won't mate. They just walk around, eating, and not mating. You sold me… queer giraffes. I want my money back.

Listen to me. Learn from me. I was not the best because I killed quickly. I was the best because the crowd loved me. Win the crowd and you will win your freedom.

Ultimately, we're all dead men. Sadly, we cannot choose how but, what we can decide is how we meet that end, in order that we are remembered, as men.

I am Proximo! I shall be closer to you for the next few days, which will be the last of your miserable lives, than that bitch of a mother who first brought you screaming into this world! I did not pay good money for your company. I paid it so that I might profit from your death. And just as your mother was there at your beginning, I shall be there at your end. And when you die - and die you shall - your transition will be to the sound of...

Gladiators… I salute you.

So Spaniard, we shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures. And the great whore will suckle us until we are fat and happy and can suckle no more. And then, when enough men have died, perhaps you will have your freedom.

That's enough for the provinces, but not for Rome. The young emperor has arranged a series of spectacles to commemorate his father, Marcus Aurelius. I find that amusing since it Marcus Aurelius, the wise, the all-knowing Marcus Aurelius, that closed us down. So, finally after five years of scratching a living in flea-infested villages, we're finally going back to where we belong. The coliseum. Oh, you should see the coliseum, Spaniard. Fifty-thousand Romans. Watching every movement of your sword. Willing you to make that killer blow. The silence before you strike. And the noise afterwards. It rises. It rises up like - like the - like a storm. As if you were the Thundergod himself.

So, Spaniard. We shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures. And a great whore will suckle us until we are fat and happy and can suckle no more. And then, when enough men have died, perhaps you will have your freedom. Here, use this.

I know that you are a man of your word, General. I know that you would die for honor, for Rome, for the memory of your ancestors. But as for me? I'm an entertainer.

Rise. Rise. Your fame is well deserved, Spaniard. I don't think there's ever been a gladiator to match you. As for this young man, he insists you are Hector reborn. Or was it Hercules? Why doesn't the hero reveal himself and tell us all your real name? You do have a name.

The general who became a slave. The slave who became a gladiator. The gladiator who defied an emperor. Striking story! But now, the people want to know how the story ends. Only a famous death will do. And what could be more glorious than to challenge the Emperor himself in the great arena?

You wrote to me once, listing the four chief virtues: Wisdom, justice, fortitude and temperance. As I read the list, I knew I had none of them. But I have other virtues, father. Ambition. That can be a virtue when it drives us to excel. Resourcefulness, courage, perhaps not on the battlefield, but… there are many forms of courage. Devotion, to my family and to you. But none of my virtues were on your list. Even then it was as if you didn't want me for your son.

I search the faces of the gods... for ways to please you, to make you proud. One kind word, one full hug... where you pressed me to your chest and held me tight. Would have been like the sun on my heart for a thousand years. What is it in me that you hate so much?

If you're very good, tomorrow night I'll tell you the story of emperor Claudius who was betrayed by those closest to him, by his own blood. They whispered in dark corners and went out late at night and conspired and conspired but the emperor Claudius knew they were up to something. He knew they were busy little bees. And one night he sat down with one of them and he looked at her and he said, "Tell me what you've been doing busy little bee or I shall strike down those dearest to you. You shall watch as I bathe in their blood." And the emperor was heartbroken. The little bee had wounded him more deeply than anyone else could ever have done. And what do you think happened then, Lucius?

Lucius will stay with me now. And if his mother so much as looks at me in a manner that displeases me, he will die. If she decides to be noble and takes her own life, he will die.

And as for you, you will love me as I loved you. You will provide me with an heir of pure blood, so that Commodus and his progeny will rule for a thousand years. Am I not merciful?

And now they love Maximus for his mercy. So I can't just kill him, or it makes me even more unmerciful! The whole thing's like some crazed nightmare.

It's a dream, a frightful dream… life is…