In June 2014 I walked out of a courthouse lugging my briefcase and sighed a huge sigh of relief, because I was SURE it would be the last time I would ever have to do so (if you've never heard me explain why being a trial attorney was never my bag, baby, then come find me later). But fast forward to July 2016, and there I was waiting in line for the metal detector clutching a jury summons.
To say I was not excited to be serving jury duty is a gross understatement. Just being in the courthouse itself brought back those same feelings of anxiety and dread. And you can imagine my stomach tightening when my number was called to report to a courtroom upstairs. And tightening some more when I realized the "lottery" had placed me in the front row of the jury box. I was going to be on this jury unless I could give them a reason not to. I tried, folks.
When I heard it was a first-degree murder trial and was expected to last at least a few days, I explained that my schedule would make that problematic, as I didn't have anyone to stay home with my kids toward the end of the week. The prosecutor quipped that 'surely someone else could watch my children for a few days,' and the judge not so subtlety assured me that we would be done by mid-week (for a murder trial?!). Then, I figured the info on my juror questionnaire would make me an unappealing juror. Some of you might not be aware but even licensed, practicing attorneys are eligible for jury duty, but I personally would have never allowed a fellow suit in my jury box. Well, since I am technically still licensed to practice law, I listed my current occupation as creatively as possible: executive assistant at The Gathering UMC/licensed attorney. Surely that would raise enough eyebrows for them to at least question me during jury selection. Wrong! Either they didn't notice or didn't care, because no one asked me a thing about what I do (or used to do) for a living. You should have seen the look on my face when my number was called to remain in the jury box.
I won't go too much in depth about the case we decided, but I'll give you the overview: it was a first degree murder case. There was a dead body found weeks later across the river, blood DNA in an apartment, a bullet, and the testimony of criminal informant. No confession. No gun. No motive. Lots of unanswered questions.
It was a tough case, and it was a challenge to be on the other side of the jury box. I had always wondered what went on in the jury room and now I was getting the chance to experience it for myself. But I will admit that going into jury duty, and even as the trial began, my attitude was horrible. Those who know me well know I have a tendency to approach things with cynicism, sarcasm, and snark, and while that would be an easy posture to assume for the duration of the trial, I knew it wouldn't be right, that the fate of one man and justice for a grieving family was hanging in the balance, and they all deserved better. So the morning the trial started I sat in my car in the parking garage and said a quick but sincere prayer that God would change my attitude and help me keep in mind the responsibility that had been given to me. And I absolutely felt the weight of that responsibility through the rest of the trial. [Full disclosure, I may have openly sighed with frustration when the cross-examination of the state's main witness crossed over into the FOUR HOUR mark, and there may have been a slight eye roll or two when some particularly egregious cliches were dropped in closing arguments... (some things will never change!).]
And apart from a better attitude, I noticed and appreciated things that my usually pessimistic self would have ignored or missed. I noticed how quickly twelve strangers can bond when they are forced into an uncomfortable situation together. How twelve people from such different and varied backgrounds can civilly discuss and disagree and find common ground. How every bailiff, clerk and other court employee treated me and those around me with the utmost respect. And how sincere the judge was when he thanked us for our service.
Just before we were excused at the end of the trial, the judge shared something that really struck me. He explained that he often has international law students who intern in his courtroom. They come from China, South Korea, Kazakhstan and everywhere in between. And he said that hands down the one aspect of the American judicial system that they just can't get over is that we would entrust the fate of the accused to twelve 'ordinary' citizens. That's pretty awesome when you stop and think about it. When I was a trial attorney, I often assumed that once a jury disappeared to the jury room all bets were off--that they ignored instructions, went with their 'gut' and argued like petulant children about irrelevant facts with rampant speculation, but that's not what happened in my jury room this week. While no one felt good about the outcome: a woman was dead and her family may never receive the justice that they are so desperately looking for. We felt like we gave real meaning to the presumption of innocence and the burden of proof, and we can be proud of ourselves for that.
While a small part of me still wishes that I could get those three days of my life back, I'm mostly glad for this experience, because it taught me a lot more about the criminal justice system, and myself, than I expected.
And for those of you who are still not convinced of the merits of jury duty and are wondering how to avoid a similar fate, I recommend quoting the Bible (start with "Judge not, lest ye be judged..."), wearing a politically-charged tshirt, and/or voicing an opinion on every question the attorneys ask the panel, even if they don't apply to you. Good luck!
