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Jury Duty

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I’ve been swept up in associate dean tasks (including a healthy dose of administrivia, a word new to me but apt) that have let me little room for blogging.  But, blogger at heart that I am, I’ve composed many a post in my head.  This one seems right for July 4th weekend.
 
I got the initial jury summons last year, and it asking me to report for service in October, smack in the middle of the semester.  This being Athens, Ga, a small town, I knew whom to call. I silver-tongued my way to dispensation until December.   Rescheduling classes would be a hardship not just for me, but for all those poor law students, after all.
 
Then came December and for personal reasons I deferred again. They were good reasons–a death in the family, and the season already overwrought with shoving in holiday and exam grading and new semester prep.
 
And so in May the long-dreaded hour finally came.  Jury duty.  What a waste.  Especially for me, who abhors all things litigation. Self-pityingly I dragged myself to the courtroom at the unreasonable, unseasonable appointed hour of 8:30 (explanatory note: I rise at 5:30 each morning but am not fit for company until 10).
 
And jury duty was a miraculous thing.  The case was an assault and battery–nothing momentous, just a private altercation that got out of hand. The judge, the prosecutor, and the defense counsel each explained to us how important our job was.  The burden of proof.  Whether any bias might creep in that would taint our ability to serve as jurors. 
 
There were lots of easy ways out.  One question was whether there was some important obligation that would keep us from service.  What? I thought?  Could I have scheduled a doctor’s appointment to get out of this?  Only a few people raised their hands and approached the bench.  Another question was, “Do you think that the judicial system is broken?”  This one gave me pause.  I know some public defenders.  And some prosecutors.  Both will tell you the system is flawed.  Answering yes would have been rational, since it would have guaranteed me a ticket out of that courtroom.  But that didn’t feel right.  No one answered yes.
 
Because by then I was surprised and humbled by what was unfolding in that small-town courtroom.  Each of those lawyers, and the judge, must have gone through this routine innumerable times before.  But it never sounded rote.  Each treated us, the potential jurors, and the process itself, as solemn and meaningful. Even a litigation-phobe like me found it beautiful.
 
Of course I was struck.  I knew I would be.  Last time I was called, years ago, the prosecutor glanced at my jury questionnaire  form and said, a touch condescendingly, “I see you’re a student at Georgia Law.  How long have you been studying there?”  ”"No,” I replied, “I’m a professor.”  He blanched and looked at the paper again–”So you are. ” He stumbled out a few questions, but I knew I was off the hook .
 
This time no one mistook me for a student–how much difference 9 years makes!  The prosecutor and defense attorney alike had iPads, not paper questionnaires.  And it was the judge–a senior judge with more years on the bench than I have lived– who endearingly remarked that having a professor in the jury panel made him nervous.  He basically begged the attorneys to strike me, and they obliged.  For which I was obliged.
 
All told I spent about 5 hours (including a lunch break, when I popped home, because Athens), chatted with several current and retired professors, saw a few acquaintances I hadn’t seen in a while, and renewed my faith in the judicial system.
 
What a wonderful country.


Source: http://www.theconglomerate.org/2015/07/jury-duty.html



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