The defense attorneys (there were two) and the district attorney took turns with the voir dire questions. It was interesting to see their different personalities emerge: the DA was friendly and accessible, one defense lawyer was smart and informal and just a little arrogant, and the other defense lawyer was a little stiff and pretty clearly the least experienced person among all the professional courtroom folks.
I mentioned that all the potential jurors had numbers, and that we sat in order, but I didn’t mention that the first 14 people sat in the jury box (12 jurors plus two alternates). They were the de facto jury until/unless someone challenged their qualifications. Anyone could be challenged for cause, meaning that the judge agreed they were unfit to serve — for example, two people in the box said they thought defendants were guilty until proven innocent, and got booted for cause. So the next two people in line moved into their places.
Each attorney also got a certain number of peremptory challenges, meaning they could just kick you out without explanation (i.e., because they didn’t think you’d vote their way). And that’s where the gaming really started, as each attorney tried to figure out how to use their challenges to get the jury that would be most sympathetic to their perspective.
The two defendants were charged with breaking and entering with intent to commit burglary, and also with malicious mischief. And in the last round of voir dire questions, along comes the DA with a hypothetical scenario about refusing to give your two kids a cookie, then coming into the kitchen to find the cookie jar broken and the kids eating cookies. You didn’t know which one had climbed on the counter and broken the jar. Do they both deserve to be punished? How do you handle the situation? She started going around the room and picking jurors at random, and asking them to answer.
I was gobsmacked at the utter brass of her spinning the case to us and asking for a verdict. I was even more gobsmacked when people started giving it to her. Some people would give the kids time out. Some would ask questions to find out more details of who had greater responsibility. Some people would punish them both equally, since they were both actually eating the cookies. Punish, punish, guilty, guilty, no more cookies ever! And so on.
And then she got to me. “Juror 35, what’s your response?”
I was not happy, and I am sure it showed. I said, “I don’t have a response to offer to your hypothetical situation.”
She looked interested. “Okay. Do hypotheticals annoy you?”
I said, “This one does.”
She looked even more interested (she was very good at this). “Okay, tell me more about that.”
I pointed at the defendants. “It’s not hypothetical. You’re asking me to start thinking about a case that I haven’t even been presented with yet. And I’m not willing to do that.”
She smiled. And then she changed the subject completely and didn’t ask anyone else that question. It was a moot point since I was number 35, and there was very little chance I would get into the jury box unless they found a way to get rid of the 19 people in front of me. But I’m guessing the DA might not have wanted me on her jury (grin).
When it was his turn, the smart defense attorney gave a speech about how this case wasn’t about a cookie jar. The DA just kept smiling. The defense lawyer asked more questions. And he discovered Juror 25. Juror 25 was an engineer: he was calm, analytical, and confident enough to know that he would make a good juror but that he needed to be on a panel with people who thought differently from him, so that he could have more than just his own perspective to consider. The defense lawyer fell stone in love with Juror 25. He actually said, “I love jurors like you,” which I think was perhaps the one dumb thing he did all day: the DA smiled even harder. And when it came time to start excusing jurors from the panel, she kicked off one obvious bleeding-heart liberal and then stuck. The two defense guys clubbed together and started using their peremptories, but they could only get to Juror 23 before they ran out of challenges. The one defense guy damn near cried: he wanted Juror 25 on the panel so bad he could taste it. And the DA just kept smiling and saying, “The state is happy with this panel, Your Honor,” while I watched in admiration and thought I bet you are!
And then the rest of us got to go home. (Actually, I went to Goodwill and bought some go-go clothes, although I should have waited an extra day, but more about that in a future post. And isn’t that another Evil TV trick, teasing like that?)
It was a fun day for me. And I’m still thinking about it off and on. Especially about all the shifting psychological dynamics I found in myself. I wanted them to like me. I wanted to speak my truth, even if that meant they didn’t like me. I watched other people give Too Much Information in some cases, revealing things they hadn’t been asked about, and I understood that because I felt the same compulsion when it was my turn. I watched other people actually auditioning to be on the jury, and I understood that too, although I didn’t do it myself. I wanted to be on the jury because I’m curious about the experience. I was worried that if I was on the jury, I would get so busy being the Writer Watching How Everything Worked that I might miss actual important points in the testimony, and then I felt badly for putting my own curiosity ahead of the reality of the situation for the two defendants. I didn’t like one of the defense lawyers. I did like the DA, even though she pissed me off with her hypothetical. I wondered if I would be able to separate the liking/not liking from the verdict. And so on. And it was also interesting knowing that it was business as usual for the lawyers and judge and courtroom staff, huge stress for the defendants, an inconvenience for some of the jury pool… so many different experiences happening simultaneously in a few hours in a small room.
All those things you describe in your closing paragraph stir inside me every time I visit your blog. I’m not addicted to TV, but I am to your show / courtroom. Every day I come and read and think, I discover something about myself.
Like yesterday reading your thoughts around “And Salome Danced”, I realized that for all my apparent flexibility and leeway, my personal landmass of âIdentity and Desireâ is also home to a heavily-armored and hostile little country called “You are a prude: you shall not date younger people.” Ugh. And here I am again, volunteering more information than required.
I’m glad we can just jump in and comment. I’d be soooo heartbroken if I had to audition to participate in your conversations. Especially if I ended up holding number 25 when the panel got settled at 23. I’d have to become a hacker and sabotage a couple of internet connections to get the screening room re-opened.
And I’m curious about the go-go clothes. Nice cliffhangers. I’m sure your screenplay will be just as velcroed as your blog.
I had a very similar experience several years ago. A very curious process. Living in an area with a much smaller population many of the prospective jurors knew people involved. The pool was so limited that some of them actually got to stay on!!! I wish I could have gotten on that jury to hear the case. A young black man was being charged with some sort of violence toward the police. The case reeked of racism – and here everyone besides the defendant was white!! Frame of reference for “peers” please.
Thanks for describing the process so clearly . . . you did such a great job of it I remembered things I thought I’d forgotten.
Fascinating. I doubt I will ever be called to serve on a jury but I love the law, and this is a great view from one side.