How anticlimactic. At the beginning of March, the US District Court chose me as a possible juror. Twice since then I have received summons to show up at the courthouse in Bridgeport at 8AM, only to call the night before and find out that I'm not actually needed. Last night's confirmation call ended differently, requiring me to show up.
Jury duty - an opportunity to make sure justice gets served and all that democratic jazz. I was not overjoyed.
It had been a while since I'd spent more than 5 minutes in Bridgeport (at least, outside of the Arena at Harbor Yard). Exit 27 - the bus terminal and train station where I'd spent more than my fair share of time and money coming home or going out. The unremarkable courthouse on Lafayette Boulevard was barren in front, devoid of life until guards searched me at the entrance. The USB flashdrive on my keychain caught their attention more than the copy of Essential Works of Marxism in my jacket pocket - this I'd hoped for, as it's easier to explain that USB is less of an immediate threat than socialism to the courtroom than vice versa. On to the fourth floor, where I took a seat in the jury room at 7:55 and skimmed through a packet describing the basics of jury duty.
Having been told to arrive at 8, nearly a quarter of the prospective jurors arrived at 8:15, in time to watch a government film: "Chosen to Serve." “Remember, each court may do things a bit differently, so we can’t explain everything in this video, from laws of your jurisdiction to where to find food.” Groan. By 10:30 all introductions to the court clerks had been made, juror numbers had been assigned (I was 38) and we were lead to the courtroom to watch the clerks try to turn the house audio system on. After a new battery, we were in business.
All that buzz about a jury being a selection of your peers seemed to be complete crap. The majority of people in the room were over 40 and white. This may be the the average demographic for Fairfield County, but nonetheless the defendant was young and Latino. The judge explained in the vaguest of terms that the defendant was suing (yes, this was a civil case) seven corrections officers from the state of Connecticut for mistreatment. He never did say abuse, but we were all thinking that. Rodney King was even brought up during conversation.
As some people were excused for medical or other reasons, the sixteen remaining jurors with numbers between 1 through 25 were called to sit in the jury box. We learned that juror 1's brother works in a PA correctional facility, that juror 10 has a pending lawsuit she'd rather not talk about, and that juror 17 lives alone in Stamford and watches Law &Order. As people were excused, others in the line were called to the jury box for questioning. Have you had any negative experience with any law enforcement or correctional officers? Have you ever been or seen someone else being mistreated by law enforcement or correctional officers? Most people preferred to explain these things to the judge in a sidebar. Given the chance, I would have railed against my AO's lieutenant in the NYPD for the RNC, and the countless times I've seen protesters dragged down the street. Could I be impartial? Yes, in fact, I could. In reality, we only got within 8 people of juror number 38, and the jury (with "alternates") was chosen.
The rest of us, feeling unexplicably dejected, walked out into the April sun and went our separate ways.
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