I finished Jury Duty today. It was the first time, after four previous invitations, that I made it to a jury. I figured I wouldn't get off as easy as before -- with three times not even having to show up at the courthouse -- because I was called to report to Los Angeles' downtown criminal courts building. Los Angeles' most serious cases are tried at this courthouse, primarily because of its proximity to the Mens Central Jail.
I haven't driven downtown in more than a year. It was a nostalgic journey that seemed to pass much quicker than it did when it was part of my daily grind and I was met on the other end by my nemesis, the spork lady, and a whole mix of untouchables that made up my team of co-workers.
I reported to the 11th floor, as my summons directed, and was greeted by a crowded hallway of less than jovial prospective jurors. I was tired and a little hot, as I was toting my laptop around with me. We filed into the Jury Assembly Room, which we were told was recently remodeled for our enjoyment. The staff then bragged about the excitement which was Jury Appreciation Week in May, during which they give out free treats and organize some sort of field trip. Our service was in July. Why exactly did we care about this? Perhaps it was attempt to distract us from the fact that the Jury Assembly Room did not have WiFi.
Please, someone explain to me why the Los Angeles County Superior Court, which boasts being the largest court of its kind with an operating budget of more than $850 million, can't spring for a couple of $35 wireless routers for its jurors? I work at a hospital that provides free WiFi throughout for its visitors. Not it's patients, but the visitors who are paying nothing to be in the building. Why can't the court do the same?
It wouldn't matter. After escorting away a group of 100+ prospective jurors for a trial expected to last 15 days, I was called in the next group. A motley bunch of 75. We were told that this trial was expected to last for no more than 8 days, so the court would be less likely to consider excuses related to hardship. We headed to the courtroom on the 9th floor.
We had to go through security again on the 9th floor. I beeped going through even though I didn't in the lobby just a couple of hours earlier and in the same clothes. This seemed weird. I would later learn that this is the only floor with additional security, and that the security is more thorough than in the lobby. We were, apparently, on the floor where they try only the most serious offenders. Our case was an alleged rape.
We were given randomly assigned numbers: 1 through 75. I had drawn number 46. Very high in the list for a jury that would need only 12 members. I had visions of being released that first day, unquestioned and unchosen. I'd be rejected even by the court.
The questioning started with a group of 27. Anyone with a passing familiarity with John Grisham could've guessed accurately at what questions would be asked. I have to say I was a little shocked by the answers. The Academy would be impressed by the measures some would take to avoid service. My dog is sick and needs medication every 2 hours. My college friend's cousin was date raped in 1942. I can't be objective, I just can't. Sitting here I know he did it. Many who left the first day would be returned to the jury pool. Maybe they'd end up on a longer case. Some would be sent to civil court where the trials are often much longer and more tedious. The devil you know. The devil you know.
By the end of the first day and after a serious round of peremptory challenges, the potential juror pool was slight. Very slight. I had gone from having a 34 person buffer between myself and the 12th seat in the box to being only 2 spots away from being juror number 8. By lunch on the second day, I would have found my home in Juror 8's seat. Not having been a victim of violent crime, not knowing anyone in law enforcement, not having any strong feelings about the crime, the accused, or the alleged victim, I was going to serve on this jury.
This was a Los Angeles jury. We were joined by 3 alternates. Of the 15, there were 3 Latinos (a woman and two men) with poor English skills. They were joined by another Latino man who was stoic but with gentle eyes and a young Latina who just graduated college. There was an African American woman, a teacher, and an African American man, a student. There was an Asian female teacher, an Asian man who had also just graduated from college, and the white Nurse and single mother of 2 girls getting ready for college. There was a young white woman who worked in the entertainment industry and older white man who was a retired mechanic. I can't forget the middle-aged writer from Burbank or the young father of 2 boys, a white guy from the San Gabriel Valley. And there was me, Juror #8.
We would decide this man's fate.
Several years ago, my father sat on the jury of a rape trial. I wonder what his experience was like, before there was DNA evidence. In our case, there was DNA evidence that conclusively linked the defendant to a sex act with the alleged victim. Now we need to know whose story to believe.
We sat through testimony for three days. Courtroom drama television shows do Americans a disservice. We think we have an idea of what trial is like. Jury Duty quickly destroys any romance created by Dick Wolf or David E. Kelly. Trial is tedious. Most questions are procedural. And no one asks the question you are thinking.
Attorneys are trying to prove their side, or, in the case of the defense, at least disprove a side. They aren't necessarily concerned with the truth. There will be information they will keep from you and you will resent them for it. You will have to use the evidence they decide you get to see to make a sound judgment.
Credibility plays an important part of this process. After our decision, walking back to the garage, one of the jurors who works with children said that she is going to use this experience to stress why it's important to be good citizens. Why no crime is a minor crime. A person's criminal record -- even if only minor crimes -- can be crippling in the future. It's hard to believe a felon. Very, very hard to believe a repeat felon. Very, very, very hard to believe a repeat felon for whom there is no evidence supporting his story.
We the jury... This is our job this week. After closing arguments that would make
Alan Shore cry out in pain we were sent to the jury room. It was late in the day. Could we get anything done today? We could pick our foreman.
Guess who was the foreman? After a rough few months where I would question my own self-worth, I was once again reminded that I do have some remarkable traits and leadership is one of them. I didn't say or do much, but I was chosen by my peers as the foreperson.
This was important to me as well, as there is a pace, a clip to the way I do things and I work better when I have some control. That is a lesson I've learned in these months. I need some control. Jury Duty is not about control. Being a foreman is. I didn't make up people's minds for them or even try, but I got to structure the discussion and support those who could've been railroaded. Plus, I got to write on the board. And stand a lot. I like standing.
Halfway through the first full day of deliberations, at the lunch break, I was resigned to at least another day of this process. The evidence was clear to me, but there seemed to be some genuine resistance. But maybe the others sat and marinated in their thoughts over lunch as my french dip from Philipe's marinated in its own gravy and spicy mustard. Mmmm... spicy mustard.
After returning, things picked right up again and the conversation had an enlightened flow to it. Sensing that many arguments had been repeated, I suggested an anonymous poll. It came back unanimous. After about an hour or more of finalizing some details and wrapping up the technical aspects, we had completed the task before us.
Three buzzes for the bailiff and he'd start preparing all the necessary players. The ADA was there with a different hair style than she wore through all of last week. This was more humanizing and more feminine. I liked it. The defendant was there as well with his Public Defender. That must be the hardest job in the world.
Do Public Defenders make what District Attorneys do? I know San Francisco is one of the few municipalities that has a publicly elected Defender to match the prestige of the publicly elected District Attorney. Why does our judicial system, that just demanded 6 days from my life costing me hundreds of dollars, place such little value on the defense that is so critical to the system itself?
These are all questions for another time. Today, in this moment, the 12 of us, led by me, will have a major impact on human lives. One of these lives faces us.
Guilty.
He cried. As did a few jurors.
There are questions I have today. More than anything, the case was reopened 6 years after the crime. He almost got away with it. What changed?
What does this mean for the victim, a woman who has carried this with her for 8 years. Will she sleep better tonight? Who told her the news?
What will become of the defendant's family? His wife? His kids? Dad's been in jail for a long time, is tonight different? What is the state prepared to do to help this mother and her kids now?
What will be his sentence? This is California and he has quite a record. Was this his third strike?
I think it's good that these questions didn't come into my mind in that Jury Room.
The jury experience is unique. It must be the best system in the world, but the burden is extreme. Hundreds of dollars, which for me hurts enough, but for many in this jury I imagine it will be weeks before they recover. Emotionally, the result isn't nearly as fleeting. In a few weeks, most of the sting of seeing a grown man, a convicted rapist, break down in tears will subside. It may take longer for the humble images of a working single mother tearfully recounting a senseless and violent rape in her own home to drift out of my consciousness.
And for every day that these images remain, I am told 10,000 more Angelenos will funnel into Jury Assembly rooms across the county, deprived of WiFi and grumbling their dissatisfaction about their impending hardship. And on floors above and below, defendants, victims, DAs, and Defense Attorneys, are thanking God for those jurors and hoping for a fair shake and equal opportunity before the law.
