Jury's Out

Today I fulfilled a "very important" civic duty--or at least, I tried my best. Yes, I reported for jury duty. No, I didn't make today's cut. In fact, I was one of the first people to be dismissed.

There are two questions on the all-important juror questionnaire that I did not answer satisfactorily. When I was defending these answers, maybe I gave the prosecution a little too much lip. And so, I took my nine dollars and my juror discount card and went on my way. Actually, I went to Franktuary and had a veggie dog called "The Italy." It had fresh mozzarella, basil, and tomatoes on it. While consuming it, I tried to sort it all out. In the end, I mostly have questions, cynical ones.

Here's what happened.

I arrived at the Allegheny County Courthouse at 8:25. I proceeded to the third floor, to juror's quarters, so that I could promptly report for duty. A series of three rooms was filled with a cross-section of the local population: middle-aged soccer moms in tapered pants, rumpled young men who obviously did not understand "business casual," frightened looking young girls, etc. There was lot of bad clothes, bad hair, and stupid comments. 8:30, our report time, came and went, and we were all still waiting around, looking bleary and confused. The only preparation we'd had for jury duty at this point was the "summons" sent to us a few months before, and this prepared us only for our arrival time, location, attire, and acceptable use of electronic devices. Having already accomplished these things, we had nothing to do, and no idea what to expect.

There had been no instructions on the summons about what a juror actually does, or how the selection process works. But there had been a stiffly worded statement in an antiquated font that informed us how important serving as a juror is to the US judicial process. Serving as a juror, it informed us, ensured that citizens would be tried by their peers. And do you know what THAT means? That our government is run by the common people!

I ardently believe that democracy only works when "the people" can make informed decisions. Apparently, our judicial system disagrees, and believes that us commoners can decide another commoner's fate best when we have absolutely no fucking clue what we're doing.

Wait. Perhaps I'm being too judgmental. At 9:00, when we were finally led into the courtroom, given identifications tags, the questionnaire, and juror pens, we were offered free coffee and tea and given VERY explicit instructions for operating the coffee machine. It turns out that the new juror coffee machine was a bit unusual, and had just been broken the week before by a juror who failed to follow instructions properly. So, despite the fact that the instructions were posted on the wall by the machine, a cross, middle-aged admin with giant hair spent about 5 minutes explaining it. Then we were told how to get to the bathrooms, and not to venture outside the juror quarters. Then we had to fill out our questionnaire, and were left alone for about an hour to write out our names and answer 12 questions.

So, about those questions. One asked if you or anyone close to you had been accused of a crime. I had to circle yes, because two people "close to me" have been. Then, another question asked if you would be less likely to trust the testimony of a police officer because of his/her job title. First, I answered no. Then, I scratched that out, and answered yes.

Around 10:15, after much rustling in the front of the room, three attorneys walked in, along with two young black men, looking baby-faced and uncomfortable in too-big suits. As the jurors were put in order, the attorneys scrutinized us and took notes. I got the distinct impression that they were already deciding, based on appearance, who they wanted on the trial. Meanwhile, I was making my own snap judgments. The prosecutor, I decided, was a douchebag. He had an aloof, stony face, and didn't look anyone in the eye. One defense lawyer was just kind of a goof: he took his shoes off and tried to cheer up his client, who looked like he might cry and/or vomit at any time. The other lawyer, a distinguished black man in a formidable pin-striped suit, I felt some respect for: he maintained distance without being a snob. He was respectful to everyone.

Luckily, I was number 5. That meant I sat in the front row, just a few feet from the interview table. I made a lot of uncomfortable eye contact with a defense attorney and the plantiffs, especially the one closest to me, the one near tears. The charges were read, and it was to be a murder trial: the two boys were accused of shooting another guy to death in Homewood two years ago.

The interviews began, and I decided that my first impressions were correct. The first woman to be interviewed was a housewife in her sixties. The prosecutor spoke first, and his tone reminded me of a pre-school teacher speaking to a class of four-year-olds. The goofy defense lawyer was no better. The woman had answered "yes" to the family member question, and there was much discussion about this. She had also answered "yes" to a different question about police officers. The goofy lawyer asked her why she would be MORE inclined to trust a police officer's testimony because of his/her profession. She said, "Because police are on the side of the law."

Later, after I had been interviewed, I found out that she had been selected.

As I listened to her, I suddenly really wanted to be a juror on this trial. Because her answers sucked. SHE sucked. She wasn't smart, and even though a person close to her had seen the inside of the judicial system, she still believed in it. In the goodness, the moral rectitude, of police officers.

When I was four, I watched, hysterical, as police officers jumped out of an unmarked vehicle and
forced my dad into their car. Later, I saw the mess they made of our house when they searched for drugs, and heard that they had threatened to take my mom to prison. For sixteen years I visited my father in prison and had to put up with lazy, fat-assed officers throwing their tiny portion of power into my face.

But it isn't just that. I watch the supposedly objective news. I hear about the racism, the sexism, the violence. Recently, in Homestead, a cop was caught having an affair with a 14-year-old neighbor. In the city of Pittsburgh last year, several cops were accused of domestic abuse, and none of them convicted.

I began to think that maybe those questions were a joke. Does ANYONE still trust police officers?

Soon it was my turn. I approached the table, sat down. The goof started in on me, with the others looking on. And suddenly I got that evil look in my eye, the one I get every time a cop pulls me over on the highway. The devil-may-care look responsible for my 7 speeding tickets.

I was asked, three times, to explain the problematic answers. The goof said, "I don't mean to pry, but..." and I said, "By all means, pry." It was a bad start. He said, "All of this amuses you, doesn't it?"

"Yes." In a perverse way, yes it does.

I told him the bare facts about my dad. I told him I thought I'd still be able to make an objective decision. The plaintiffs were looking at me with large eyes. One of them almost smiled when I said, "Because of my experiences, I'm not naive. I think there are certainly some great cops out there, but I think there are some bad ones, too. I am certain that, on the stand, I am perfectly capable of seeing the difference."

Douchebag prosecutor pushed me over the line. He announced to me that my experiences with my father had been very "formative." I heard myself saying, "Yes, most childhood experiences are." When did I reach this level of sass? He then put words in my mouth, saying that I had mentioned that I was aware of corruption in the judicial system. I called him on semantics and said, "I wouldn't--and didn't--use the word corruption."

Soon after this I was thanked for my time and sent home. Or, more accurately, to Franktuary, where I stimulated the local economy by using my juror discount.

As I ate my veggie dog, I got offended. It began to occur to me that the whole juror thing was a spectacle, just a spectacle of democracy. Being a juror was about free coffee and lunch discounts and total cluelessness. Jury duty is not about democracy.

Here's why I believe this. The lawyers say they want people who can be completely unbiased, who can put their experiences and beliefs aside in order to be make the best decision. But who can do that? Most people think they can, but they can't. Experiences and beliefs are as much a part of us as blood and guts. We can't just suspend them. The problem is, only thoughtful people understand this. The man sitting next to me in the courtroom got it: he leaned over to me and told me so. And then he got dismissed. So, does this mean that the only people who will be selected for juries are those who think they can be unbiased? The unthoughtful and uncritical?

Also--and here's what gets me--saying that you would believe a police officer more than an average person does not make you unbiased. It simply biases you in favor of "the law," i.e, the prosecutor, who probably has an office in the same building as the police chief. The lady who was chosen and I both gave biased answers, but the prosecution liked hers better than mine. They aren't looking for the unbiased, but instead, the conveniently biased.

The fate of two young black guys from a Pittsburgh ghetto will be decided by people who think that police officers are honest, noble, and disinterested. Which means they probably have chosen to ignore the vexed relationship between cops and young black men such as these. Which probably means they won't pay a whole lot of attention to the complex social forces that may have caused these two young men to shoot another man like themselves. Or, the forces that have blamed them for a crime they didn't commit.

Innocent until proven guilty? Sorry folks, but probably not.