Narrator: Imagine a room full of the most powerful lawyers in Los Angeles. They've been gathered on a Saturday by Robert Shapiro, the lead attorney for the most famous defendant in the world, O.J. Simpson. The evidence against their client is staggering, a mountain of forensic data pointing to his guilt in a brutal double murder. But in this room, the discussion isn't about innocence. It's about a narrative. The lawyers, most of whom privately believe Simpson is guilty, conclude that the only path to an acquittal is to put the Los Angeles Police Department on trial. They decide to frame the case not around the facts of the crime, but around the explosive issue of race. This calculated, cynical decision, made just days after the murders, would transform a homicide case into a national referendum on justice, celebrity, and the deep racial divides in America.

In his gripping book, The Run of His Life: The People v. O.J. Simpson, author and legal analyst Jeffrey Toobin provides a definitive, behind-the-scenes account of how this strategy was born and how it ultimately led to one of the most shocking verdicts in modern history.

Narrator: From the very beginning, the case against O.J. Simpson appeared open-and-shut. The evidence was so compelling that even the lawyers hired to defend him were convinced of his guilt. In a private moment, Johnnie Cochran, who would later become the face of the defense, admitted to a colleague that the case was a "loser." He privately told a journalist that Simpson "obviously did it."

This sentiment was shared by the team Robert Shapiro assembled. In a now-infamous meeting on June 25, 1994, Shapiro gathered two dozen of L.A.'s top legal minds. He began with an awkward question: "How many of you think he did it?" The silence was deafening. The lawyers knew that a defense based on factual innocence was doomed. Instead, they began to craft a counternarrative. The real villain, they would argue, was not O.J. Simpson, but a racist and corrupt Los Angeles Police Department. They would portray Simpson, a man who had famously transcended race to become a beloved celebrity, as a victim of a systemic conspiracy. This strategy wasn't about proving Simpson didn't do it; it was about creating enough reasonable doubt by convincing a jury that the police couldn't be trusted.

Narrator: The defense's strategy to "play the race card" was not conceived in a vacuum. It was made possible by the LAPD's long and troubled history with the city's minority communities. Toobin provides crucial context, recounting incidents like the 1988 raid on Dalton Avenue, where dozens of officers ransacked apartments in a predominantly black neighborhood, destroying property and assaulting residents, only to make two minor drug arrests. Officers spray-painted "LAPD RULES" on the walls, a chilling symbol of their view of themselves as an occupying force.

This history of excessive force and racial bias, epitomized by the Rodney King beating just a few years earlier, meant that a significant portion of the potential jury pool in downtown Los Angeles already harbored a deep-seated distrust of the police. When Detective Mark Fuhrman, an officer with a documented history of racist statements, claimed to have discovered a bloody glove on Simpson's property, the defense saw its opening. The glove, which should have been a damning piece of evidence, was transformed into the potential cornerstone of a frame-up. The defense didn't need to prove the conspiracy happened; they just needed to suggest it was plausible, and the LAPD's own history made it so.

Narrator: The O.J. Simpson case quickly transcended the courtroom and became a national obsession, fueled by an unprecedented media frenzy. The infamous slow-speed chase of the white Ford Bronco on June 17, 1994, captivated an audience of 95 million people. The public reaction to the chase exposed the country's racial fault lines. On freeway overpasses in predominantly black communities like Inglewood and Watts, crowds cheered "Free O.J.!", seeing a black man standing up to a biased system. In wealthier, whiter areas, the reaction was muted.

The media's framing of the case further deepened this divide. The Los Angeles Sentinel, a black-owned newspaper, immediately focused on Simpson being handcuffed, framing it as another example of racial injustice. Meanwhile, Time magazine sparked a major controversy when it published a darkened, more menacing version of Simpson's mugshot on its cover, drawing accusations of racism. This racially charged atmosphere created the perfect storm for the defense. They weren't just arguing a case; they were performing on a national stage where public perception was as important as legal precedent.

Narrator: While the defense presented a united front to the public, behind the scenes, the "Dream Team" was anything but. The team was rife with internal conflict, primarily driven by the clashing egos of Robert Shapiro and F. Lee Bailey. Shapiro, the initial lead counsel, was obsessed with his public image and media portrayal. He was a master of the plea bargain, not the courtroom battle, and quickly found himself out of his depth.

As the trial progressed, Shapiro's control slipped. He grew erratic, leaking stories to the press to undermine his colleagues and even floating a plea deal that infuriated Simpson. A scathing newspaper column by Mike McAlary, which detailed Shapiro's vanity and was clearly based on a leak from within the team, sent Shapiro into a rage. He publicly accused Bailey of being a "snake," forcing Simpson himself to intervene and demand his lawyers get along. Ultimately, the charismatic and strategically brilliant Johnnie Cochran emerged as the true leader, sidelining Shapiro. This internal chaos revealed that the defense's success was not due to a harmonious collaboration but was achieved in spite of deep-seated dysfunction.

Narrator: The outcome of the trial was arguably sealed during jury selection. The prosecution, led by Marcia Clark and Christopher Darden, made a series of critical miscalculations. Clark, confident in her rapport with black women, was shocked when jury consultant Donald Vinson's focus groups revealed that this demographic was Simpson's strongest base of support and viewed her as a "bitch." The decision to hold the trial in downtown Los Angeles, rather than the whiter, more conservative Santa Monica, resulted in a jury pool that was far more skeptical of the LAPD.

The final jury was composed of eight black women, one black man, one Hispanic man, and two white women. This group was demographically primed to be receptive to the defense's narrative of police misconduct and racial bias. In their opening statements, the contrast was stark. The prosecution laid out a methodical case based on domestic violence and a mountain of DNA evidence. Johnnie Cochran, in contrast, delivered a masterful performance, invoking Martin Luther King Jr. and framing the case as a "rush to judgment" by a corrupt system. He wasn't just defending a man; he was channeling the frustrations of a community. For this jury, that story was more compelling than any blood drop or DNA sample.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from The Run of His Life is that the O.J. Simpson trial was never truly a search for truth. It was a battle of competing narratives, and the more emotionally resonant story won. The prosecution had the facts, but the defense had a powerful story of racial injustice, police corruption, and celebrity persecution that tapped into deep-seated societal grievances. The defense team, led by Johnnie Cochran, masterfully exploited the LAPD's history of racism to create reasonable doubt where the evidence left little.

The verdict, which shocked so many, was not an aberration but the logical conclusion of a strategy that put the entire American justice system on trial. The case exposed the uncomfortable reality that in a courtroom, as in society, perception can be more powerful than proof. It leaves us with a challenging question that remains just as relevant today: Can there ever be true justice in a system so deeply fractured by race, celebrity, and the corrosive power of a good story?