Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Trial By Jury
Like many of you, sometime in the past few months I had the opportunity to participate in a primary election. Here it was—democracy in action—and for once, I had the foresight to register in advance and discover the location of my nearest polling place. Although I had absolutely no knowledge of the candidates below the federal and state levels, it still felt nice to perform my civic duty and I walked home basking in a patriotic glow.
And then, just as I was musing about the potential benefits of involvement in local politics, I opened my mailbox to discover I had been summoned for jury duty. It was a cruel coincidence, and unlike my recent brush with federal jury duty, one whose consequences would not be circumvented thanks to the intervention of several feet of wintry precipitation. (Who said the Snowpocalypse was all bad?) One way or another, I would have to set aside my dissertation for a little while in order to serve my community.
So it was that with a curious mixture of anxiety at the thought of an extended trial and relief at being able to take a guilt-free break from writing about molecular electronics, I walked over to courthouse this morning. According to the summons, I was expected in the jury assembly room at 8:15, but I arrived a few minutes early in hopes of getting a good seat where I could settle in and do some reading. Unfortunately, even before I arrived the place was packed and at around 8:10, the woman in charge announced that it would be a particularly busy day and that they would need to start sending up potential jurors immediately. She called out the names of potential jurors in groups of forty and asked them to form two lines in the front of the room before sending them up for voir dire.
The process was repeated twice more and when my name wasn't called I was confident that soon I would be able to concentrate on my reading. But at the end of the third list, we were informed that twenty additional jurors would be needed for the case in question...and guess who was picked in that final batch? Yup, looks like my invisibility is reserved for the frisbee field and the classroom, not the criminal justice system.
We crammed into an elevator, an exhausted cross-section of humanity eager to follow directions and filled with hope that in doing so we might be able to leave a few hours earlier. Then into an empty courtroom to watch an instructional video cassette clarifying each of the questions on our juror questionnaire forms. Apparently the city's courts remain blissfully attached to analog systems, at least until the budget improves. Following the video our court officer explained that in all likelihood one out of every four of us would have to serve and suggested we get to know the people sitting next to us because we would be here for a while.
No one was thrilled with this news, but there was not that much time to let it sink in because soon it was off to the actual courtroom, complete with a judge, prosecutor, defense attorney, and a defendant. The judge informed us that the defendant was charged with a violent criminal offense, one that without going into any further details, would likely necessitate a two week trial. There were a few people who confirmed after hearing this news that they had commitments which simply could not be rescheduled--unlike, say, writing a dissertation chapter-- and they were dismissed. As for the rest of us, about half of us were taken into the jury room. I, however, was dismissed and sent off for a generous 2.5 hour long lunch break. I wandered around a nearby food court, wearing my juror sticker which, I was told, might entitle me to discounts on my meal.
I decided to take my time to find a good meal and wound up going to a surprisingly delicious Cajun-style restaurant that offered po boy sandwiches and entrees featuring alligator sausage. And they had a jury discount...what wasn't to like? Then I hiked over to a local bookstore and did some reading for a few hours before heading back to the courtroom.
There were about fifteen or so of us there, about three too many for a reenactment of 12 Angry Men. (Not to mention the extra gender) We waited in there, reading books or newspapers we had brought with us, flipping through the old magazines the court provided, or in my case, since I found it hard to concentrate while waiting for my juror number to be called, playing a quick game of solitaire I found on the table. (No better way to pass the time, right? And I ended up winning, which is something of a rarity for me.) One by one, people would go out. How long they were questioned varied considerably. There didn't seem a way to predict how long any given candidate would be out there. Basically, I had no idea what to expect when they finally asked me out to the jury box.
Actually, that's not quite true. I strongly suspected they would ask about one of the answers on my juror questionnaire. Unsurprisingly, the court wants to know if you have ever been an eyewitness to a crime. Initially, I put down that I had not, but then I remembered a certain incident which occurred in my classroom way back in 2003, one which had involved my traveling to the police station to provide a statement. This was relatively minor, and I never was called upon to testify in court on the matter, but it seemed significant enough to change my answer.
And indeed, that was the first question the judge asked me. I laid out the details of the story and he asked if I thought that might influence my judgment in a criminal proceeding. I said that I believed not and he was quick to ask if I meant that as a figure of speech or there were some deeper question of belief involved. In hindsight, I should have just answered "no" to avoid confusion. The judge then asked about my profession, if being a Ph.D. candidate really can be called such a thing, and asked if it would disrupt my classes to serve on the jury. I explained that I was in the midst of writing my dissertation and that it would not be an intractable hardship to serve on the jury.
That was all from the judge. The prosecutor asked some questions about my dissertation. When I told him the topic, he joked that he wished sometimes that he were a scientist. I held my tongue rather than admit that at times I share the same desire. He posed a question about my decision to stop teaching at Underwood and I responded that I do not dislike teaching and would like to return to that profession one day, though perhaps in a different setting. I confess to becoming a little self-conscious at that point. Did I come across as a bad person for deciding to leave? Did my involvement in incidents like the one I described for the judge bias me irrevocably against my students or people from similar racial or socioeconomic backgrounds? Who was it exactly that the judge, the attorneys, the defendant, and all the other minor courtroom officials saw sitting there in the jury box?
Obviously, I cannot say. My interaction with the lot of them lasted no more than 15 minutes. When offered, the defense attorney didn't even ask me any questions, at which point I was excused to a small antechamber. After a moment, the judge called me back in and informed me that I was free to go. The court officer signed me out and suggested I go grab a beer to celebrate my freedom. It was tempting, but I had other business to attend to now that I had a better sense of my schedule.
As I wandered home, having finally completed my civic duty, I continued to reflect on the day's events. For the defendant the trial was just beginning but my part in the story was over. My little role in this legal drama consisted mostly of answering questions about my teaching career, the past that lingers no matter how often I think I have left it behind. It's been nearly seven years since that first semester at Underwood and names and faces of my former students have started to fade away. Not all of them, but the vast majority. Perhaps I should have written more down, but it's hard to find time for reflection when you're struggling just to get through a school year as my former colleagues at Underwood are doing right now. So much has changed for me, but still my ties to that place remain strong. Perhaps I'll go back and visit before my fellowship ends, just to pay my respects.
Until next time, this blog is adjourned.
Like many of you, sometime in the past few months I had the opportunity to participate in a primary election. Here it was—democracy in action—and for once, I had the foresight to register in advance and discover the location of my nearest polling place. Although I had absolutely no knowledge of the candidates below the federal and state levels, it still felt nice to perform my civic duty and I walked home basking in a patriotic glow.
And then, just as I was musing about the potential benefits of involvement in local politics, I opened my mailbox to discover I had been summoned for jury duty. It was a cruel coincidence, and unlike my recent brush with federal jury duty, one whose consequences would not be circumvented thanks to the intervention of several feet of wintry precipitation. (Who said the Snowpocalypse was all bad?) One way or another, I would have to set aside my dissertation for a little while in order to serve my community.
So it was that with a curious mixture of anxiety at the thought of an extended trial and relief at being able to take a guilt-free break from writing about molecular electronics, I walked over to courthouse this morning. According to the summons, I was expected in the jury assembly room at 8:15, but I arrived a few minutes early in hopes of getting a good seat where I could settle in and do some reading. Unfortunately, even before I arrived the place was packed and at around 8:10, the woman in charge announced that it would be a particularly busy day and that they would need to start sending up potential jurors immediately. She called out the names of potential jurors in groups of forty and asked them to form two lines in the front of the room before sending them up for voir dire.
The process was repeated twice more and when my name wasn't called I was confident that soon I would be able to concentrate on my reading. But at the end of the third list, we were informed that twenty additional jurors would be needed for the case in question...and guess who was picked in that final batch? Yup, looks like my invisibility is reserved for the frisbee field and the classroom, not the criminal justice system.
We crammed into an elevator, an exhausted cross-section of humanity eager to follow directions and filled with hope that in doing so we might be able to leave a few hours earlier. Then into an empty courtroom to watch an instructional video cassette clarifying each of the questions on our juror questionnaire forms. Apparently the city's courts remain blissfully attached to analog systems, at least until the budget improves. Following the video our court officer explained that in all likelihood one out of every four of us would have to serve and suggested we get to know the people sitting next to us because we would be here for a while.
No one was thrilled with this news, but there was not that much time to let it sink in because soon it was off to the actual courtroom, complete with a judge, prosecutor, defense attorney, and a defendant. The judge informed us that the defendant was charged with a violent criminal offense, one that without going into any further details, would likely necessitate a two week trial. There were a few people who confirmed after hearing this news that they had commitments which simply could not be rescheduled--unlike, say, writing a dissertation chapter-- and they were dismissed. As for the rest of us, about half of us were taken into the jury room. I, however, was dismissed and sent off for a generous 2.5 hour long lunch break. I wandered around a nearby food court, wearing my juror sticker which, I was told, might entitle me to discounts on my meal.
I decided to take my time to find a good meal and wound up going to a surprisingly delicious Cajun-style restaurant that offered po boy sandwiches and entrees featuring alligator sausage. And they had a jury discount...what wasn't to like? Then I hiked over to a local bookstore and did some reading for a few hours before heading back to the courtroom.
There were about fifteen or so of us there, about three too many for a reenactment of 12 Angry Men. (Not to mention the extra gender) We waited in there, reading books or newspapers we had brought with us, flipping through the old magazines the court provided, or in my case, since I found it hard to concentrate while waiting for my juror number to be called, playing a quick game of solitaire I found on the table. (No better way to pass the time, right? And I ended up winning, which is something of a rarity for me.) One by one, people would go out. How long they were questioned varied considerably. There didn't seem a way to predict how long any given candidate would be out there. Basically, I had no idea what to expect when they finally asked me out to the jury box.
Actually, that's not quite true. I strongly suspected they would ask about one of the answers on my juror questionnaire. Unsurprisingly, the court wants to know if you have ever been an eyewitness to a crime. Initially, I put down that I had not, but then I remembered a certain incident which occurred in my classroom way back in 2003, one which had involved my traveling to the police station to provide a statement. This was relatively minor, and I never was called upon to testify in court on the matter, but it seemed significant enough to change my answer.
And indeed, that was the first question the judge asked me. I laid out the details of the story and he asked if I thought that might influence my judgment in a criminal proceeding. I said that I believed not and he was quick to ask if I meant that as a figure of speech or there were some deeper question of belief involved. In hindsight, I should have just answered "no" to avoid confusion. The judge then asked about my profession, if being a Ph.D. candidate really can be called such a thing, and asked if it would disrupt my classes to serve on the jury. I explained that I was in the midst of writing my dissertation and that it would not be an intractable hardship to serve on the jury.
That was all from the judge. The prosecutor asked some questions about my dissertation. When I told him the topic, he joked that he wished sometimes that he were a scientist. I held my tongue rather than admit that at times I share the same desire. He posed a question about my decision to stop teaching at Underwood and I responded that I do not dislike teaching and would like to return to that profession one day, though perhaps in a different setting. I confess to becoming a little self-conscious at that point. Did I come across as a bad person for deciding to leave? Did my involvement in incidents like the one I described for the judge bias me irrevocably against my students or people from similar racial or socioeconomic backgrounds? Who was it exactly that the judge, the attorneys, the defendant, and all the other minor courtroom officials saw sitting there in the jury box?
Obviously, I cannot say. My interaction with the lot of them lasted no more than 15 minutes. When offered, the defense attorney didn't even ask me any questions, at which point I was excused to a small antechamber. After a moment, the judge called me back in and informed me that I was free to go. The court officer signed me out and suggested I go grab a beer to celebrate my freedom. It was tempting, but I had other business to attend to now that I had a better sense of my schedule.
As I wandered home, having finally completed my civic duty, I continued to reflect on the day's events. For the defendant the trial was just beginning but my part in the story was over. My little role in this legal drama consisted mostly of answering questions about my teaching career, the past that lingers no matter how often I think I have left it behind. It's been nearly seven years since that first semester at Underwood and names and faces of my former students have started to fade away. Not all of them, but the vast majority. Perhaps I should have written more down, but it's hard to find time for reflection when you're struggling just to get through a school year as my former colleagues at Underwood are doing right now. So much has changed for me, but still my ties to that place remain strong. Perhaps I'll go back and visit before my fellowship ends, just to pay my respects.
Until next time, this blog is adjourned.
Comments:
Post a Comment
