A little bit of my faith in the US justice system was restored this week, thanks to these 11 people.
I served on a federal jury.
We convicted a man of making false statements to a financial institution and bank fraud.
It’s kind of been on my life’s list to serve on a jury. I know. It’s weird. I’ve always wondered what it looked like behind those closed doors. How would I do? Could I handle the responsibility? Could 12 people from disparate backgrounds who had never met before really come together and decide unanimously? On anything?
“Could 12 people from disparate backgrounds who had never met before really come together and decide unanimously? On anything?”
The first week of trial coincided with the first day of school. It was terribly inconvenient. I dropped a lot of balls. My work colleagues had to pick up some of my workload, my students and families had to wait until evening for email responses, my teens had to fend for themselves. I had never really thought much about how much of a burden it is to broader society to maintain the right to a jury of one’s peers.
After one week of trial, deliberations began. On day one, the only thing we all agreed on was that we had to get it right. Someone’s life would be changed by our decision one way or the other. I was chosen as foreperson. Only because nobody else wanted the job.
The evidence was really complex. One loan application alone filled a three-inch binder. There was so much paperwork, the judge had the lawyers provide an index. We spent the first two days simply pulling out the relevant details and putting them on post-its to make a timeline on a whiteboard. For the first few days, we were literally and figuratively all over the map.
Group dynamics evolved. Some talked a lot. Some weighed in when asked. Some listened. Some had not much to add. Some had a lot to add. Some were animated. Some were pensive. Some needed a lot of processing. Some were over it. We reached frustration point on more than one occasion. Voices were raised. Breaks had to be taken.
I was surprised by how mentally exhausting it was. The moral imperative to pay attention to every detail and take accurate notes during trial. The hours on hours of making sense of evidence. The different ways of viewing it. The debates, arguments, opinions, frustrations, personalities of 12 strangers trying to understand and be understood.
Throughout it all, it was clear that every person in that room was reasonable, conscientious, and fair. Even so, we took a count at least six times and got different numbers. It was fascinating how rational people could look at the exact same information and see different things.
“It was fascinating how rational people could look at the exact same information and see different things.”
I learned from Mr. Nelson, my 7th-grade social studies teacher, that it's more important to find an innocent person not guilty than a guilty person guilty. I always thought I'd be the Henry Fonda juror in 12 Angry Men being the only hope for an innocent defendant. So I was surprised by how quickly I and one other juror arrived at guilty. The picture was so clear to me. Not yet for others.
By day three, people started resigning themselves that we were going to be hung jury. We sent a note to the judge that we couldn’t reach unanimity and asked for further instructions. Back in the courtroom, he reminded us of our duty to look at the whole picture and sent us back to deliberate some more.
By day four, we managed to arrive at guilty on two counts. What was interesting to both observe and be a part of was that each of us was on our own timeline for making sense of the information. By listening to others, trying to see from their perspective, playing devil’s advocate, discussing individual words, splitting hairs, and going back over sticking points, each of us came to the same conclusion about what must be the truth beyond a reasonable doubt.
We were still hung on two conspiracy counts. For 10 of us, the evidence was clear. For two of us, it was not. And so once again, we sent a note to the judge. In the courtroom, he asked me directly if I thought we had reached an impasse. I didn’t expect to be put on the spot, but in all honesty, I didn’t think we had exhausted all possibility of coming to agreement. He sent us back a second time.
Some of my fellow jurors were not happy that I kept us longer. They felt like we were done and minds couldn’t be changed. It had been two weeks of trial and deliberation. But I felt the duty to give it another try, so I had us all change seats as an exercise in physically changing perspective. We ran through the facts again. I asked one of the jurors to make the argument for guilty so the rest of us could poke as many holes in it as possible. It was one last effort for me to see if I could see the not guilty verdict from the other two jurors’ side. Then we went home for the night.
On day five, we came together one last time and went around the room. Each person had the chance to speak for themselves to solidify their verdict in their own minds. Then we took the final count. Nobody was surprised that we were still hung on two of the counts. But at least we were all sure.
I sent a note to the judge saying we had a unanimous verdict on two counts and unanimously agreed that we reached an impasse on the other two.
We filed back into the courtroom where the verdict was read. As soon as we were back in the jury room, I burst into tears out of responsibility and relief. It was heavy. I was proud of us.
When the judge came back to talk with us, he reassured us that it was obvious through the questions we sent him and the time we spent deliberating, we had performed our duty well.
Not one of us in that room could walk out of there without feeling like we had done right by the defendant.
“Not one of us in that room could walk out of there without feeling like we had done right by the defendant.”
When we get those jury duty cards in the mail, almost all of us grumble. But this process has confirmed that it is one of the most important responsibilities we can step up to as citizens. To rely on regular folks to learn and understand the specifics of a case and come to unanimous decision, well, that is downright enlightened. Having the opportunity to be a part of that process has been a privilege. Next time you get the chance, go. It's a profound experience.
We can all agree that justice isn’t always served, even with a jury trial. Far from it. But today, I believe it was. I’m still in awe that 12 strangers could start off with so many differing perspectives and reach unanimity without reasonable doubt. It was messy, but I daresay, we also reached mutual respect. Many of those strangers are now friends. After these past few years of widening political divides, they give me hope, not just for our system, but for us all.
“We can all agree that justice isn’t always served, even with a jury trial. Far from it. But today, I believe it was. ”
One thing’s for sure. If I am ever convicted of a crime, I would be so lucky to have this group of 11 others deciding my verdict. May the defendant graciously accept our decision. May every one of us be at peace.
“You have performed one of your most important duties by serving, and have also upheld one of our most precious civil rights as Americans, the right to trial by jury.””
