Jury Service: A Civic Inconvience

The summons to appear found its way to my mailbox and was hastily perused, then promptly tucked away to be reconsidered another time. I greatly dreaded the thought of going and to me the summons represented little more than - pardon the cliché - a giant thorn in my side. In the past, one could easily be excused for the most basic of reasons: “I have itchy feet syndrome,” which would have been a valid and that would be it. These days, however, it’s next to impossible to get out of service: I have a split personality named “Ralph” who surfaces at random and recites Haiku poems in Russian,” which now seems to only get: "sorry, see you on your appointed date."

Later on as I stared down the summons, it seemed that my choices were few: Option 1: be a model citizen and go; Option 2: postpone it as long as possible; Option 3: throw the summons away and feign non-receipt. Unfortunately the karma-conscious being in me was repulsed by the throw-it-away option and postponement would just prolong the agony, so I was left with no choice but to be a model citizen and go. I was fortunate in that my work paid for five-days which helped take some of the pain out of going; I actually even started to believe that it might be an interesting experience after all.

So I packed myself up and drove downtown on the requested date and after a couple of re-reads of my summons, found the jury parking area located at The Disney Music Hall. This architectural masterpiece had me in awe, but was unfortunately situated at what seemed like a several mile hike away from the court. Thankfully, I had good walking shoes on and made it to the jury assembly room where myself and the other prospective jurors sat with varying degrees of pained looks, while we received our introduction on the process of being a model juror, as well heard the requisite “it's your duty speech” from a judge who just happened to be passing by. At that point we were all left to wander through whatever stage of ennui we saw fit, while we waited together in utter silence - a certain overall sign of the collective misery that held us all in its grip. (Note: bringing Saul Bellow's "Henderson The Rain King" along was instrumental in preventing me from jumping out of the closest window I could find).

Before long, I was part a selected group that was ushered to a court room to potentially be put on an attempted murder case. The judge informed us that the trial would take anywhere from 10 – 15 days and if we had a problem with it, to let her know later that day during the extreme-hardship portion of the jury selection process. She further explained that extreme hardship does not necessarily include financial hardship, but everything would be considered. I kept thinking, isn't any hardship already a superlative; are there really that many discernible levels to a personal hardship that can be determined by another? Isn't the fact that one is going through any hardship enough? But out of fairness, I supposed the judge does have to impose limits or everyone would have been out of there pronto.

In any case, with only five paid days that meant I would potentially have to eat ten days without pay...ouch! Considering that I live paycheck to paycheck and recently had to take five mandatory furlough days off, as well was given a five-percent pay cut awhile back, collectively that would have greatly impacted my already broken budget; with that, I considered mine a clear example of extreme-most hardship. But would that be enough for the lady in black? Would the judge also want me to display a limb nearly consumed with flesh eating bacteria to get off the case?

So at the appointed time, myself and the other woebegone (potential) jurors were brought back to see the judge and one by one had to express why we couldn't give the courts our free time (well almost free, they pay $15 a day). Some people actually wept as they spoke (perhaps good acting?). When the microphone got to me, I was literally sweating bullets after watching the judge be a tad difficult with the other jurors. I honestly felt as if I were on trial as I expressed the financial trouble I would be in if I went for several days without pay. The Judge was ultimately moved by my pleas and even expressed empathy after hearing that I had recently taken the furlough days off (the Supreme Court had just taken its first furlough day off in its history the prior day). After a parting blow from the judge to the fact that my artist wife should get a real paying job, I was ordered to return to the jury assembly room to await my fate.

It was now 2:30 pm and I thought I was in the clear, however, my name was quickly called for yet another group and I was brought to an assault case that was projected to run about five days. Well, there goes my financial burden argument (at that point I had lost all desire to partake out of curiosity in the legal system and had experienced enough). As I sat there pondering my plight, something else came to mind that greatly disturbed me.

Out of all of the potential jurors who seemed to represent an equal mix of Caucasians, Asians, and Hispanics, there was only one who appeared to be of an African American decent (actually they looked Mulatto). The trouble I had with that was the case before me, as well as the one I got out of earlier, both involved African American defendants. I kept thinking, where are all the African American respondents to jury duty; am I the only one noticing this? Is there a fair balance here?

While I don't personally have issues with race, I have lived in Los Angeles long enough to know that people are not as evolved as they should be in what I consider the most fundamental aspect of being human, and that this defendant could potentially not get a fair ruling if the decision was on the fence and could go either way; in my opinion it just seemed that people would more than likely gravitate to their core beliefs rather than sticking with the facts - which is what the judge thoroughly makes an attempt to press you to do. Do they really believe people can simply shake off their street clothes and done the robes of justice just like that?

Unfortunately time ran out for the day, so it was requested that us jurors return the next day so the selection process could be continued. During the course of the following day, the judge would ask a series of questions, which the jurors could respond to and explain their position on. If something was private in nature, it was permitted that a side bar be held with the judge, prosecutor, and the defendant's lawyer so the matter could be discussed discreetly.

I requested a side bar due to the fact I felt uncomfortable expressing my trouble with there not being a greater show of African American jurors to a room full of ears, as well as to the burly defendant who kept staring down the jurors with a most disturbing look on his face – would he misunderstand that I was actually on his side through my nervous ramblings?

During the side bar, I was met by a volley of questions that could make one look almost criminal if they were not answered correctly: “So could you follow the law and make a decision going by the facts only?” I could only answer that I thought so, but would feel compelled to side with the defendant due to an imbalanced cross-section of the races in the potential jurors if the decision was close and could go either way. I was sent away feeling like I was trying to reason with aliens, but was eventually released by the prosecutor and instructed to return the jury assembly room to finalize my service and get signed out.

A few thoughts entered my mind as I made the trek back to my car, chiefly: why were there literally no Africans Americans in the large number of jurors who showed up on the days I was there, and did this showing characterize a fair mix of “the people” who represented Los Angeles? I also reflected on the flaws of the system. Every potential juror I spoke to did not want to be there. Many were not paid for jury service and were worried about the financial impact that it would have on them. I wondered if selected under that kind of pressure, would the jurors be focused enough to hear the case and judge it fairly while worrying about the bills they would not be able to pay, or would they be more interested in wrapping up the case as quickly as possibly, just to high-tail it out of there?

I also wondered what's up with this walk. As a juror, I am potentially going to have to convict someone in full view of angry family members and friends who are present at the trial, and then am going to have to walk a gauntlet back to my car! Perhaps I'm just being paranoid here.

Honestly, after the OJ Simpson case my faith in the legal system has plummeted. In spite of this, I’m of an optimistic character and would like to believe that we have the best legal system in the world. However, that doesn't mean it's not without flaws. I wondered as I trekked on (it’s uphill on the way back) if there is actually a common people anymore suitable to fairly decide on cases. In Los Angeles at least - with its mixed bag of cultural and educational backgrounds - jury service seems analogous to randomly calling upon something of a jagged round-peg of mixed culture and education and asking it to conform to the “leave human-nature aside, just the facts only” square peg of the legal system.

Here's a thought - perhaps unrealistic though - make jury service a paid job that would ensure that people are suitably educated to understand the facts of the case, as well as would mentally want to be there. As well, make it required that upon passing the bar new lawyers be required to do a paid stint (like a medical internship) as a juror for a year. It would be ideal training for them. Never mind, I just remembered the state’s budget crisis.

I don't know that there is any viable solution, but do know that the whole situation left me scratching my head as well as soaking my aching feet.