Jury Duty

By admin

Unlike most people, I want to be on a jury. I’ve been summoned at least four times, but never made it to the box. Until now.

I am Juror 7. I am sitting in a criminal courtroom with 29 other prospective jurors. The judge is a man in his 50s, not humorless, but mostly businesslike at this stage of things. He explains that the cadence of his speech is a bit slow so the Mandarin Chinese translator can keep up.

The defendant is a 30ish Asian woman, slim, dressed in muted colors. The translator is for her, so she is, presumably, Chinese. She is accused of prostitution. Two undercover police officers will be testifying against her. Both attorneys are women. I am certain this is not a coincidence.

The judge asks each juror some basic info about marital status, occupation and jury experience. He asks our views on prostitution and if we have “any answers” to the questions on a sheet we were given outside the courtroom. (These are about impartiality and connections to law enforcement and lawyers.) I think his phrasing is odd. We all have answers to these questions; it’s just that for some of us the answers are all “no.” It’s the yeses he is concerned with, so I guess if the answer is “no” we don’t really have answers.

About half the jury pool has friends or relatives in law enforcement—both on the “law” and “order” sides of things. A few have had bad experiences with the police. Two have been victims of a crime. No one thinks this will adversely affect his ability to be fair and impartial in this case. Juror 5, however, insists that she thinks the police are always right, no matter what, because she is afraid of them. She says she never disputes her tickets because she knows she cannot win. The judge tries to discuss this point with her logically and fails.

The defense attorney appears to be in her 40s. She is wearing a brown, longish flared jacket unbuttoned over dark trousers and a white shirt. She has 10 minutes to question the jurors. She seemed almost timid during introductions, hard to hear—but not anymore. Now her style is rather professorial. I imagine this is what it’s like to be in law school. She speaks quickly and her sentences are a bit meandering and complicated. She starts by explaining an idea and then segues into a question. I have to pay close attention to figure out if my answer is yes or no. I feel badly for the people whose English is poor. She asks me a question, and I say, “Absolutely,” feeling lucky that I followed her Byzantine thought process. Her questioning seems random, but I’m sure it is as well-planned as it can be in the short time she had to prepare.

The prosecutor is younger. She had seemed very confident in her dark pantsuit, short jacket buttoned all the way, but now a few cracks are showing. She stands at the lectern with her notes, where the defender moved about during her turn. She even rests her head on her hand at one point. Her questioning goes very quickly. I do not think she used her whole 10 minutes. She tries to ask us if verbal testimony would be enough, or if we would require a tape recording for proof beyond a reasonable doubt. The judge cuts her off, saying she is asking the jury to make a judgment about evidence before we hear it. I feel a little bit sorry for her—but just a little. I wonder fleetingly if this is intentional, to garner sympathy from the jurors.

Jurors 9, 12, 19 and 30 all profess trouble with the English language. Most have been in the US close to 20 years. They say they cannot read. They have all taken a US citizenship exam—in English. They have trouble answering the judge’s questions. He is clearly trying to determine if they are using this to get out of jury service. Jurors 19 and 30 claim they cannot treat both sides in this case fairly. Nineteen cannot explain why, but talks in circles, similar to what I have heard my Russian and Armenian neighbors do. Thirty says it’s because she’s afraid she will not be able to follow the proceedings. After a sidebar consultation with the attorneys, the judge only dismisses Juror 9.

Her chair seems to be cursed—or blessed, depending on how you look at it. The next 4 jurors seated there are all dismissed.

Juror 2 has pink hair. She’s wearing Doc Martin 10-eye boots and a black leather jacket. She’s a dog walker and believes prostitution should be legal. She is dismissed by the prosecution—no surprise there.

Juror 3 is an actress. Nobody familiar. She sees prostitutes as victims. She doesn’t think the courtroom is the right place to help them. She is dismissed by the defense—I am shocked by this.

Juror 24 is a first year medical student. He is wearing very ripped jeans and drips attitude. But when he speaks I am impressed. He thinks prostitutes are often victims of sexual abuse or other childhood trauma. He is dismissed, too.

Juror 29 is an administrative judge. He is the only juror wearing a tie. I had to look up what an administrative judge is. According to thefreedictionary.com, he is “a professional hearing officer who works for the government to preside over hearings and appeals involving governmental agencies.” Oh. I was not around long enough to see if he was cut. He may be one of the few jurors left.

Juror 7 is a writer. She wears funky glasses and sips compulsively from a pink water bottle. She explains that while she believes that people should be free to do as they choose with their bodies and sexuality, prostitution holds so many opportunities for exploitation that she is not sure if legalizing it is a good idea. I am dismissed by the prosecution. I am disappointed but not surprised.

There is a consistent parade of jurors out of our courtroom. Within 15 minutes of being dismissed, I have my Certification of Jury Service and am heading for my car. I hear from Juror 24 that there are only a couple of us left. The judge is sending for more jurors. We wonder at the number of jurors who have been cut, but these musings don’t get very far. We get to the parking structure and part ways. I wonder if any of these people might have become a friend, if we had served together. I will never know.