Re: jury duty

I spent a good deal of my childhood sneakily watching Night Court. I wasn't allowed to, due to the graphic nature or something like that. But while my mom made dinner, I'd watch and learn about things like hookers and bailiffs. Only one of these came in useful in my time at Jury Duty, you'll have to read on to determine which. (Note: A similar sneaking-of-forbidden-media-involving-prostitutes situation arose with Pretty Woman, but that's the subject of another blog. This one concerns courts.) So I was summoned for Jury Duty in Kings County on Monday. I was very excited about it, not only was it a change of scenery but it seemed like a great opportunity to see a real slice the lives of people in my community. Errr... borough. People in my
community are 34 years old and generally have two kids who they dress in expensive tights and progressive silk-screened Ts. "Babies Against Bush." I showed up at 8:45 on Monday and was told to "have a seat." Over the next two hours more and more folks came in, some of whom had
been waiting to be called all day Friday, some of whom had already been Voir Dire-ed and selected for a jury. We all waited. We got intricately detailed instructions, repeated 6 times, about how exactly to tear the perforations on our cards and how to cross out our name or
addresses if they were listed incorrectly. We watched a video hosted by Jane Pauley and Ed Bradley (of 60 Minutes). It gave examples of how much the legal system has improved since the Dark Ages when folks were bound and thrown into a lake to determine guilt or innocence. If they floated, they were guilty. Sank meant innocence. (This is like the Salem witch trials although for some reason I had always imagined this being doubly barbaric because if the person sank, I thought they would automatically be dead. The video cleared this up by showing the
townspeople waiting a given amount of time and then rushing in to recover the newly acquitted and very wet detainee.) The video also told us that if we felt like we were just wasting time, waiting around, we were wrong. We were in fact not only fulfilling our civic duty but upholding the institution of democracy. I felt good about that, but still thought I was wasting my life. We waited and waited. At 12:30 we were dismissed for a 1.5 hour lunch. I shopped along the
Fulton Mall in downtown Brooklyn. I found some amazing bargains, especially on shoes, in stores white people don't shop at. I ate a Thai lunch special of basil chicken. I went back to the room. I waited for another hour. At 3pm my name was called. I felt smug parading past all of the other folks who had to keep waiting, I was going to be Voir Dire-ed. In truth, one of the reasons I was so excited about Jury Duty was the possibility of a really juicy case. At some level I was hoping
for a murder, or some capital crime, so I could trick my way onto the Jury, vote against the death penalty, subvert the whole system... this illusion was shattered for two reasons. 1. I am fairly sure, though could confirm this via a quick google, that New York state is on a
moratorium when it comes to the death penalty. 2. As soon as we got into the questioning room, I was told it was a civil car accident dispute. Damn.
So we were asked questions about ourselves, our families... our experiences in car accidents... and eventually the jury was selected. Almost everyone was picked, noticeably not the man who asked for a "private conference" with the attorneys. The jury of six was myself, a 40-something white "designer" who went to Cooper Union, had lived in Williamsburg for 20 years and seemed to be a self-righteous gentrifier. There was also a 20-20yr old Latina, a 50-something Filipino man, a 60-something Polish man and a 50-something Jamaican woman. It was interesting that only 2 of 6 were US-born. A jury of one's peers.

DAY 2:

We were instructed to arrive at 9:30, I rolled in at 9:45 and very anxious. Partially because I didn't want the Jury police on my tail but mostly because I was afraid of getting booted off the Jury and having to wait in that room another day. I entered the holding pen, it was filled with a lot of new people (including my talkative co-worker, by chance) and a lot of people who had been waiting since the day before. I didn't see anyone I recognized from my jury and got anxious for a moment. Once again, I was told to "take a seat." I reheard the instructions on tearing at the perforations. This day I was prepared and had arrived with an issue of Time, one of the Nation and a novel (far trumping the academic non-fiction I had brought the day before.) I waited and waited. I thought for a long time how adult we all were. I mean, obviously we are all adults, but the ability to be told to sit in a chair and wait there for an undetermined amount of time and actually do it... seems like it fights against all of our insticts and is the result of a lifetime of socialization. Waiting and waiting, we were finally called by the bailiff (!) and brought to the courtroom. I felt underdressed. We waited in the jury room some more. We came into the courtroom, everyone stood for us. The trial started. The judge, bailiff and court reporter were all black women, I found this interesting. The Plaintiff testified through an interpreter. His lawyer had a wandering eye and didn't once pronounce his name correctly. The other lawyer was named Barbie. She spoke very preceisely except for referring to us as "youse guys." We kept getting sent in and out of the jury room. The defendant never even showed up. We got another long lunch, I ate turkey on a bagel at the promenade. I saw the interpreter there but wasn't sure if I was allowed to speak to her. We came back to court. Waited some more. Deliberated. I felt bullied by the Polish and Filipino guys, they kept interupting and I wondered if it was a gender thing. Or maybe an age one. Hard to tell. We reached a verdict, the Filipino man was the foreperson. They all said foreman even though the judge said foreperson, maybe it was a gender thing after all. I went home. Democracy.