![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsJury duty, day one.
In the morning, I and thirty-nine other people are "invited" up to Judge Prochnau's courtroom to go through the process called voir dire, meaning "to speak truth," and it's how courts pick jurors. We need only thirteen jurors out of this pool of forty.
First, the judge asks "for hardship." Five people raise their hands. Their cases range from the "I'm the sole provider for myself" to "My company will fold if I'm not there this week." The last judge for whom I sat in the pool was a hardcase and barely let anyone go; Judge Prochnau lets all five go. I was number 18. Now, I'm number 14 (some of those let go were above me and did not discount my number). Any more and I'm doomed.
Now comes the hard part. The judge describes the case to us. She has a curiously close-lidded look to her face as if she were tired, her only animation the back-and-forth wave of her head, sweeping the room with the whole of her gaze like a Disney animatronic robot, as she recites the ancient litany of our duties as jurors. It's a soft-tissue medical liability case. The plaintiff, Miss T, was driving when her car was struck on the driver's side by the defendent's car. The defendent, Frank, isn't in the courtroom today. As it will later turn out, he's never in the courtroom. His lawyer, Mr. Koenig, twigs my sleaze detector when he insinuates that Frank will not be in the courtroom at all "for health reasons." Perfectly valid thing to say, but wins Frank sympathy points that may or may not be deserved.
Miss T is represented by Mr. Landry, a soft-spoken man who has the slow, calm moves of a puma. In contrast, Frank is represented by Mr. Koenig, who's tall, lean face and body, with too many lines around his soft, rubbery lips, closer approaches the mien of a rooster.
Voir dire takes a while. Mr. Landry talks about issues of soft tissue damage and our recognition of fairness and health. He asks if we can handle the idea that different people respond to similar injuries differently. There's lots of talk from the jury box about unreasonable compensation-- thank Gnu nobody mentions the McDonalds coffee case.
Mr. Koenig talks about how his client has already accepted responsibility for the incident. This case is about how much responsibility he has for Miss T's long-term care, and whether or not he should be asked to pay for care that, in the opinion of his medical expert, lacks the evidence and trial basis for justifying its continued use. He looks over the written survey we filled out and then calls on me, seemingly at random. "Juror 18, you said you had strong feelings about the justice system. Tell us about that."
I related just that I'd been through a number of civil proceedings, and had been on juries before, and on every ocassion I had been impressed both with the quality of the work and the earnestness with which everyone goes about doing it. To the extent that the system is made up of ordinary human beings, it seems to be making a superb attempt to deliver as much justice as we can all stand.
Koenig talks on for a while, and asks us about our experience with medicine and so forth. He wants to be assured that we're all fit and capable of sitting in the jury box for two hours at a time without discomfort or pain.
Someone goes. I'm in the jury box. Four more people go, none of them me. The plaintiff's lawyer, surprisingly, asks only for one dismissal; the defendant's uses all four of his challenges.
Damn, I'm in.
The judge gives us the oath of the juror, and then gives us a pleasant surprise. The jury will be allowed to ask questions of the witnesses! We'll have to submit them in writing and, after conferring with both lawyers about the appropriateness of each question, the judge will ask them verbally of the witness. We're also told that one of us is the alternate, but we're not to be told who. All thirteen of us are to listen closely and with an eye towards rendering a verdict, but one of us will not be asked to participate in the final deliberations. We'll be told which one of us it is when the time comes to start deliberations. It's like a lottery-- sure, you get to go home a day early, but you've also blown your week for nothing. That sucks.
We're then let go for lunch.
In the morning, I and thirty-nine other people are "invited" up to Judge Prochnau's courtroom to go through the process called voir dire, meaning "to speak truth," and it's how courts pick jurors. We need only thirteen jurors out of this pool of forty.
First, the judge asks "for hardship." Five people raise their hands. Their cases range from the "I'm the sole provider for myself" to "My company will fold if I'm not there this week." The last judge for whom I sat in the pool was a hardcase and barely let anyone go; Judge Prochnau lets all five go. I was number 18. Now, I'm number 14 (some of those let go were above me and did not discount my number). Any more and I'm doomed.
Now comes the hard part. The judge describes the case to us. She has a curiously close-lidded look to her face as if she were tired, her only animation the back-and-forth wave of her head, sweeping the room with the whole of her gaze like a Disney animatronic robot, as she recites the ancient litany of our duties as jurors. It's a soft-tissue medical liability case. The plaintiff, Miss T, was driving when her car was struck on the driver's side by the defendent's car. The defendent, Frank, isn't in the courtroom today. As it will later turn out, he's never in the courtroom. His lawyer, Mr. Koenig, twigs my sleaze detector when he insinuates that Frank will not be in the courtroom at all "for health reasons." Perfectly valid thing to say, but wins Frank sympathy points that may or may not be deserved.
Miss T is represented by Mr. Landry, a soft-spoken man who has the slow, calm moves of a puma. In contrast, Frank is represented by Mr. Koenig, who's tall, lean face and body, with too many lines around his soft, rubbery lips, closer approaches the mien of a rooster.
Voir dire takes a while. Mr. Landry talks about issues of soft tissue damage and our recognition of fairness and health. He asks if we can handle the idea that different people respond to similar injuries differently. There's lots of talk from the jury box about unreasonable compensation-- thank Gnu nobody mentions the McDonalds coffee case.
Mr. Koenig talks about how his client has already accepted responsibility for the incident. This case is about how much responsibility he has for Miss T's long-term care, and whether or not he should be asked to pay for care that, in the opinion of his medical expert, lacks the evidence and trial basis for justifying its continued use. He looks over the written survey we filled out and then calls on me, seemingly at random. "Juror 18, you said you had strong feelings about the justice system. Tell us about that."
I related just that I'd been through a number of civil proceedings, and had been on juries before, and on every ocassion I had been impressed both with the quality of the work and the earnestness with which everyone goes about doing it. To the extent that the system is made up of ordinary human beings, it seems to be making a superb attempt to deliver as much justice as we can all stand.
Koenig talks on for a while, and asks us about our experience with medicine and so forth. He wants to be assured that we're all fit and capable of sitting in the jury box for two hours at a time without discomfort or pain.
Someone goes. I'm in the jury box. Four more people go, none of them me. The plaintiff's lawyer, surprisingly, asks only for one dismissal; the defendant's uses all four of his challenges.
Damn, I'm in.
The judge gives us the oath of the juror, and then gives us a pleasant surprise. The jury will be allowed to ask questions of the witnesses! We'll have to submit them in writing and, after conferring with both lawyers about the appropriateness of each question, the judge will ask them verbally of the witness. We're also told that one of us is the alternate, but we're not to be told who. All thirteen of us are to listen closely and with an eye towards rendering a verdict, but one of us will not be asked to participate in the final deliberations. We'll be told which one of us it is when the time comes to start deliberations. It's like a lottery-- sure, you get to go home a day early, but you've also blown your week for nothing. That sucks.
We're then let go for lunch.
