Mistrial

Having never sat on a jury before, this was to be a novel experience for me. Not really wanting to serve but at the same time intrigued, I was curious as to how the process would unfold. Never in my wildest imagination could I have foreseen what went down.

It took several days before the jury was seated. There were so many excused on the first day that there simply weren’t enough people to choose from. The next day, as each potential juror was questioned, several more were eliminated while others remained though quasi resolute. It was a criminal trial; however, no physical violence had occurred. Assured there would be no retelling of such, one juror who had disclosed her inability to hear details of brutality such as in rape, consequently agreed she thought she could proceed.

It was uncomfortable for me from the start. The threat of physical violence, even possible murder, was alleged as was false imprisonment—all of which I have experienced. That did not cause me to feel I could not render an impartial verdict; I needed to hear the details to make a determination. And details were forthcoming: recordings of 911 calls, photos, witnesses, even a statement from the grave. Then the defendant took the stand.

His outward appearance was off-putting, slightly menacing though he was obviously overweight and past his prime. As he answered the Prosecutor’s questions, he eventually admitted more than I’m sure his attorney would have advised and in fact had stated to the contrary. Then, while being questioned about prior felony convictions of rape and attempted rape, he disclosed a gruesome detail which he obviously thought would partially excuse his behavior in said crime. At that point I felt my insides cave, and the juror who had disclosed her inability to hear details of such brutality collapsed onto her knees sobbing. Before she was led from the courtroom she leaned over the jury box, jabbing a finger at the defendant while hysterically screaming condemnations. The rest of the jury was asked to leave the courtroom for a 15-minute break. Within an hour or so, after questioning each juror separately, the proceedings were halted and a mistrial declared.

Shaken, I returned to my car and drove home. This world, I thought. Entitled bullying under the guise of free speech. Rising aggression and threats of excusable violence. Unbridled disruption of necessary dispensations and safety nets. I felt an unavoidable tightness in my chest; my stomach hurt. Given a chance I am certain we, the jury, would have rendered a fair verdict.

Will we, the people, be given a chance to render a fair verdict—one that can turn around the disruption of our democracy? Or are we doomed to live in a state of unremitting mistrial?