On day two of his manslaughter case, Daniel Penny ceased having a name.
He became merely “the white man.”
During the prosecution’s opening statements on Friday, they asked why Penny, 26, did “not see Mr. Neely’s humanity.”
On Monday, the Marine Corps veteran — facing 15 years for the subway chokehold that killed mentally ill homeless man Jordan Neely — was reduced by the same prosecution to his race and sex.
Over and over.
This started when 19-year-old Ivette Rosario, a bystander on the train that day, was called to the stand. Rosario, appearing visibly shy and nervous, captured a short, shaky video of Penny holding Neely in a chokehold on the uptown F train.
It became clear that Rosario, whose voice at times, was barely audible, did not know Penny’s name so she referred to him as “the white guy.”
But she was not corrected by Assistant DA Jillian Shartrand, nor did the lawyer inform Rosario of the defendant’s name. Instead, Shartrand adopted it as her own, calling him “the white man.”
Shartrand continued to question Rosario, referring to the defendant as such, more than a half a dozen times. It was jarring to hear it repeated so casually.
Given the racial undertones of the case, with BLM protesters hurling accusations of Penny being a “racist vigilante,” it felt doubly reckless. Even if it wasn’t wholly malicious.
In fact, when Penny’s defense attorney, Thomas Kenniff, got up to cross examine Rosario, his client’s name was the first order of business. He clarified that “the white man” was indeed his client and kindly agreed with Rosario that they’d refer to him as “Danny” and Neely as “Jordan.”
Thus, “Danny” — sitting almost motionless in court — was finally back in the room.
So was the fear Rosario, a regular subway rider, felt on May 1 2023. The Bronx resident testified she, like most New Yorkers, has seen her share of underground nonsense and “situations,” she said, pointedly adding: “But not like that,” of Neely’s outburst when he boarded the train at 2 Avenue. According to witnesses Neely said “someone is going to die today” and he was “ready to go to Rikers” prison.
And on that short but harrowing ride, she was so nervous, that she testified how she buried her head in her friend’s chest and thought she might pass out.
“I got scared by the tone. It was an angry tone,” she said of Neely’s voice and threats of violence.
Rosario’s footage which was shown to the jury darted around, barely capturing a clear shot of Penny and Neely, their figures obscured by her friend’s coat.
The one object that was very much in focus: Rosario’s non recording hand, shaking violently in the frame.
In the video, one onlooker can be heard saying, “He’s dying — you gotta let go!” as another said, “Let him go.”
She told jurors, “Yeah, you can hear it in the video, but in the moment, I couldn’t hear it in the moment.”
Later the jury was shown a far more graphic video, this one shot by Mexican journalist Juan Alberto Vazquez, who lives in Brooklyn. Through a translator he testified that his journalistic instincts kicked in, leading him to film Penny holding Neely as the struggle ensued – and another man helped to restrain Neely’s arms.
The unfolding horror and tragedy, understandably proved too much for Neely’s father, Andre Zachary, who left the courtroom as it played for the jury.
For his part, Penny seemed to be staring straight ahead, briefly glancing toward the large screen for a split second before his head almost reflexively snapped back.
It’d be easier for us to all look away. Ignore how our city’s disastrous, “compassionate” policies toward the mentally ill and unhinged violent drug users have endangered everyday New Yorkers.
But one man didn’t look away during the chaos. And he’s standing trial for it.
