You are innocent until proven guilty. And if folks have come

When Matt Rosendale declared, “You are innocent until proven guilty. And if folks have come forward, whether it is Judge Roy Moore or whether it is anyone else, and they have evidence to convict someone of a crime, then they should go through the legal process and do so,” he spoke not merely of law, but of the sacred order that separates civilization from chaos. His words carry the weight of a principle older than nations — the belief that justice must rest on evidence, not emotion, on truth, not accusation. To be “innocent until proven guilty” is not a technicality of courts; it is the guardian of liberty itself. For without it, men become prey to the passions of the mob, and truth is buried beneath the noise of judgment.

In the style of the ancients, one might say that Rosendale spoke in defense of one of the highest pillars of human governance — due process, the idea that fairness must stand even when fury rises. His statement is not merely a defense of any one man, but a defense of the idea of fairness itself. For justice, to be worthy of the name, must remain blind to power and prejudice alike. The ancients knew this truth well. In the courts of Athens, they placed the statue of Themis, the goddess of justice, blindfolded and holding the scales — to remind all who entered that truth cannot be seen through eyes clouded by anger. Rosendale’s reminder is the same: accusations, however grave, must pass through the fire of evidence before they are believed, for to condemn without proof is to destroy not only the accused, but the very fabric of justice.

The origin of this quote lies in the American tradition of constitutional law, rooted deeply in the heritage of English common law. The presumption of innocence, passed down from the Magna Carta and solidified in modern jurisprudence, is the cornerstone upon which the rule of law stands. Rosendale, as a public servant and representative of this lineage, invoked that ancient covenant — that no man, however despised or controversial, should be stripped of his dignity until proven guilty beyond doubt. His mention of “Judge Roy Moore” merely reflects the political tempest of his time; the principle, however, is timeless. It reaches beyond names and moments to affirm the eternal truth that justice must serve reason, not rage.

History has shown, time and again, the peril of abandoning this sacred principle. In the dark years of the French Revolution, the cry of “justice for the people” quickly turned into a cry for blood. The guillotine, born as a symbol of fairness, became an instrument of terror — cutting down the guilty and innocent alike. There was no trial, no proof, only accusation. And so, the Revolution devoured itself, as every movement of vengeance does. The lesson was written in red upon the pages of history: when justice is ruled by fury, it becomes tyranny. Rosendale’s words, in their calm and clarity, are a safeguard against this ancient temptation — the temptation to judge before knowing, to condemn before understanding.

Yet, his statement also honors the courage of those who come forward with truth. He does not dismiss the voices of the wronged; he demands that they, too, be heard — but within the bounds of law. The ancients would call this the balance of justice — mercy for the innocent, accountability for the guilty, and dignity for all. By calling for “the legal process,” Rosendale reminds us that truth, to be righteous, must be proven, not proclaimed. In this way, his words are both shield and sword: a shield to protect the innocent from false judgment, and a sword to strike down the guilty with rightful conviction once proof has been found.

This principle of innocence until guilt is proven is not a cold legal abstraction; it is a moral necessity, born of humility. For who among men is without flaw? Who would not tremble if every whisper were treated as truth? The ancients taught that the measure of a just society is not how it treats the powerful, but how it treats the accused — the weak, the despised, the condemned. To allow every rumor to become a verdict is to return to the age of stones and torches. But to demand proof, to insist upon fair trial and evidence — that is the mark of a people who have learned wisdom through the centuries, who know that justice must walk hand in hand with mercy.

The lesson of Rosendale’s words is thus both stern and liberating: guard the sanctity of due process, even when emotion tempts you to bypass it. Listen with compassion, but judge with reason. Let your conscience burn for truth, but not for vengeance. The law, though imperfect, remains the truest servant of peace when guided by principle rather than passion. To future generations, his teaching stands as both warning and guidance: never trade fairness for fury, nor truth for convenience. For the day a people abandon the presumption of innocence is the day they lose their freedom to fear.

So let these words be carved upon the pillars of every court and the hearts of every citizen: “You are innocent until proven guilty.” It is not merely a phrase of the law — it is a hymn to justice, a covenant between mankind and morality. Uphold it, and a nation stands strong; betray it, and even the mightiest republic crumbles from within. Let every man and woman remember this: to defend the rights of the accused is not to defend evil — it is to defend civilization itself.