He’s made the same inquiries no less than twenty different ways,
but a common theme is emerging. So I’m ready when it’s my turn. Yet once he realizes I cannot be
riled by his somewhat caustic query into the job title I provide on my
questionnaire, “Real Estate Executive”, I’m puzzled to discover I’ve escaped the grilling those before me endure, at least in Round One.
How to frame my
reservations consumes me from almost the minute my peers in the box begin entertaining
questions. I’m one of the random twelve seated for jury selection in a
civil case, surprised to find the jury in my head is still out when it comes to
deciding in this situation how unbiased I believe I can be.
I’ve lost count by now; it’s probably upwards of six potential jurors excused
before me. But no one has the
same issue I do. No one seems to be struggling with the moral dilemma bothering
me; they’re making it clear lost time at work will
be a problem or past experiences with law enforcement may have jaded them, just
a little. They all proclaim they’ll do their best to be fair and do what’s “right”, but even us amateurs can read between
their lines.
The judge and
attorneys are asking us to administer justice, as our society defines it, to
leave our philosophizing and thinking at home, to follow instructions as
dictated by the law. And it’s in this moment I realize I am my teenaged son; the one I’d describe as defiant. How many times have I said words to the effect
of “it doesn’t
matter whether you agree with the law, you need to follow it’? And here I am being asked
to put my own opinions to the side, to do the very same thing as a steward of our
judicial system.
When the plaintiff’s attorney finally makes it to me, I’ve decided. I need to
take my own advice. “Resolve your ethical issues early”, is what I always tell others, “They'll never go away.” And
so I say what’s on my mind. I feel my face burning as the words settle like
ash on those in the courtroom; I'm willing this Real Estate Executive to control
the flames engulfing her face whenever she puts a risky opinion out into the
world. I imagine how the defendant wishes he could prevent my imminent removal
from the panel; I wonder how the plaintiff feels about himself and his
situation upon hearing my words. But
mostly I’m curious about my fellow prospective
jurors. When they’re asked if they share my opinion, they all say no. Do they
really mean it? Or are they afraid to put
themselves out there?
As I’m driving home I ask myself, am I capable of following the
judge’s instructions and leaving my beliefs
outside the room? Yes, I’m capable. But given the choice, I’d prefer to abstain. We
don’t always get a choice, but I have a choice
today. I can speak my truth, and put
this deliberation in the hands of another citizen who, with a clearer conscience,
will have capacity to weigh the facts objectively, or I can keep quiet and cloud
the proceedings with my own inner turbidity.
In the end, I do exactly what we are asked to do in this process: Speak truth. My truth doesn’t
have to be everyone else’s truth. The plaintiff’s attorney thanks me for my honesty, acknowledging this is exactly
why they ask these questions. As I exit the courtroom, I swear I see a look of
respectful regret cross his face. Funny
thing is I know under different circumstances I’d
make a damn good juror. He knows it,
too.
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