The | Trials Of Ms Americana.127

One hundred and twenty-seven iterations. One hundred and twenty-seven distinct charges. And the verdict, each time, is the same: Not guilty of what they say. Guilty of what they don’t say. Hung jury on her own existence. The series, conceived by the elusive artist-jurist collective known only as The Venire (a Latin term for a jury pool), began in 1999. The first “Ms. Americana” was a pregnant Staten Island waitress named Desiree Falco. She was tried for “excessive hope.” The prosecutor: a disembodied voice modulated to sound like every male news anchor from 1987. The defense: a single, looping voicemail from her mother saying, “You could have been a lawyer.”

Twenty-five years later, Ms. Americana.127 is not a single person. She is a composite. A generative avatar stitched from 50,000 anonymous witness statements submitted online. She is simultaneously a 19-year-old climate striker with a nose ring and a 47-year-old PTA president who just discovered her husband’s second Venmo account. She is a Black woman being told she’s “too angry” and a white woman being told she’s “not angry enough.” She is a trans athlete, a postpartum CEO, a child-free cat lady, and a mother of four who can’t afford insulin. The Trials Of Ms Americana.127

The sentence: Ms. Americana.127 must continue to exist. She must wake up tomorrow. She must shave or not shave. She must work or not work. She must have children or not have children. She must apologize or not apologize. She must grow older. She must be seen. One hundred and twenty-seven iterations

She is Ms. Americana. And she is on trial. Again. Guilty of what they don’t say