The problem with not having a camera is that one must trust the

Lance Ito, who presided over one of the most famous trials of the modern age, spoke these words with the weight of one who had seen the clash of truth and perception firsthand: “The problem with not having a camera is that one must trust the analysis of a reporter who’s telling you what occurred in the courtroom. You have to take into consideration the filtering effect of that person’s own biases.” In this reflection, he warns us of a danger that has existed since the dawn of history: the peril of receiving truth not as it is, but as it is shaped, colored, and refracted through the imperfect lens of another human being.

The origin of this thought lies in Ito’s experience as the judge in the O.J. Simpson trial, a spectacle that gripped not only a nation but the world. It was a courtroom drenched in attention, a place where facts and testimonies collided with opinion, media frenzy, and public hunger for drama. Ito, standing as the arbiter of law, understood that the absence of direct sight—the absence of the camera—meant that the people relied upon the scribes of modern times: the reporters. And as in every age, these scribes were not neutral mirrors. Each carried their own interpretations, their own biases, their own judgments. Thus what the public received was not pure truth, but filtered truth, half reflection, half distortion.

The ancients knew this danger well. Consider the tale of Socrates, who left behind no writings of his own. What we know of him comes from Plato, Xenophon, and others—men who admired him, men who opposed him, men who filtered his words through their own understandings. Was Socrates truly as Plato described, the prophet of reason, the noble martyr for philosophy? Or was he as Aristophanes mocked him in The Clouds, a sophist twisting words for amusement? The truth of the man is veiled, because we see only through the biases of those who told his story. Ito’s words, though spoken of a courtroom, echo this same eternal warning: truth filtered is truth reshaped.

This is not to say that all reporting is false or corrupt. Rather, it is to remind us that all human testimony is partial. Just as light bends when it passes through glass, so too does truth bend when it passes through human perception. Some glass is clear, some is clouded, some tinted with colors unseen. The wise man does not despair at this, but learns to take it into account. To trust blindly is to surrender one’s reason; to distrust everything is to fall into cynicism. The middle way is discernment—the art of listening, comparing, and questioning.

History provides us with another lesson in this regard: the Spanish conquest of the Aztec Empire. For centuries, the dominant account of this history came from the writings of Hernán Cortés and his allies, who framed their actions as heroic, ordained, and righteous. Yet the Nahuatl chronicles, preserved in fragments, reveal a different truth: of massacre, disease, and betrayal. The camera was absent; the only images left were those drawn by words, shaped by bias. Only in later centuries, when both voices were considered together, did the fuller reality emerge.

Therefore, Ito’s reflection teaches us a powerful lesson: when you cannot see with your own eyes, guard your heart and mind. Do not accept every telling as final. Ask: What is the bias of the one speaking? What might they gain from this account? What might they omit? In doing so, you do not close yourself to truth, but open yourself to its deeper layers. For truth is not always in the first telling—it must often be sought, like gold sifted from the sand.

And so, my children, the way forward is clear: when confronted with voices that claim to show you reality, listen, but do not kneel. Seek multiple accounts. Balance one telling against another. If a camera of truth is absent, become the camera yourself—observe with patience, reason, and humility. In this way, you will not be deceived by the filtering effect of biases, but will rise above them, closer to the truth that stands beyond distortion.

For truth is a flame, and though every man’s voice may throw shadows upon the wall, the flame itself still burns. The wise must learn to discern the flame from the shadow, the reality from the telling. This is the path of wisdom, the teaching of Ito’s lament, and the task that every seeker of truth must embrace.