Jury Duty - for the only other 11 people who understand
At first I thought, who am I to judge? But on second thought, who am I NOT to judge? At least by judging I am standing up and saying “This is not OK”. I cannot stand for this.
From the start I knew I would be picked. And at first it was interesting to see all of the people from all walks of life. 60+ of us sitting before a judge and having 2 lawyers ask us random questions. Some were put on the spot. Still others were passed over. There seemed no plan or rhyme to their methods, at least not that I could see. The mood was tense. Most of us didn’t want to be there. I sat expectantly, knowing at the end that I would be picked. Gradually, the people one by one started fading away and you could see who wouldn’t be picked. I could have answered differently and saved myself the grief but I didn’t. I was honest.
When they called my name and I sat among 11 others, we were all unsure and all a little irritated- especially when the judge told us to expect to clear our schedules for the week. The rules were explained and we left.
The following day everything started so quickly. Statements were read and they lawyers stood on their box and could have won an Oscar for their acting. I really don’t know who was worse. The blue eyed hawk, the shabbily dressed jerk, the bauble head newbie, or the disapproving grandma.
And then you see her. At first glance she doesn’t seem like much. Certainly she was not anyone I would think twice about if I passed her on the street. And I might have passed her on the streets at one time or another. We could have been standing in the grocery line together. I would have never known. Then the witnesses were called. I felt such pity for him when it was his turn. To sit there and be judged by everyone in court. I couldn’t imagine having to explain it out loud to anyone much less 18 other people. And then to be picked apart by the defense attorney. You could tell that he was angry and maybe rightly so. Who up until now had believed him? Who up until now had protected him? Certainly not his family. Why should he think that this was any different?
The facts of the case were terrible to hear. But they could have been worse. No, the facts are not what torments me now. What bothers me is that you sit there for days straight staring at the defendant, at the victims, at the family, and even at the judge. And you wonder what they are thinking. What are they feeling? She didn’t show any remorse except when her mom showed up. Then she cried like a little girl who got caught doing something wrong. More than anything I wanted to know what he thought. How was he dealing with it? Would he be capable of moving past this and starting his own life?
The torment at nights was the worst part to me. I found myself constantly thinking about it. I cried every day after I left. My stone face during the day held back the water but once the first tear came down the levies were broken and the flood gates opened. I felt a huge burden was on my shoulders. I distinctly felt aware of how my actions were going to directly affect another’s life. How many people can say that and be aware of exactly how you will affect another?
Still worse than finding her guilty was deciding the charge. There are many that say if it were a man in the same position then give them the maximum penalty. I am a firm believer that you should look at the crime and not the sex of the offender. But hardly anyone else could see past the fact she was in fact a SHE and not a HE. Some asked if giving her 20 years was fair. An eye for an eye is what the bible said. When really, I didn’t care what was fair to her. She knowingly and intentionally sexually abused that boy for years. She didn’t care. She had no remorse. Why should I have remorse for her? And still some talked about rehabilitation and helping her. I personally think that she is beyond help. That anyone who would knowingly abuse a child can be fixed. Studies have shown that rehabilitation does little to cure the offender of their perverse desires. I could understand the desire to fix her but some things just can’t be fixed.
In the end we gave her 18 years in the penitentiary. And still, when the punishment was read out loud I searched his face to see what he felt. But I couldn’t read him from across the room. When I left that room I just kept thinking, “I hope he feels that justice was served.” It will never take back what was done to him. But hopefully it will prevent it from happening again for a long time.
Am I proud of what I did? No. But I did what I was called on to do. I did the right thing. I hope that justice was served. Can I explain it to other people so that they can feel a fraction of the emotions the 12 of us went through? No. But should I see anyone of you out there I will know that at least for one of the worst weeks of my life, you were with me. You supported me and we did what we had to do.
Next time I’ll think I’ll lie. I hope that there is no next time.
From the start I knew I would be picked. And at first it was interesting to see all of the people from all walks of life. 60+ of us sitting before a judge and having 2 lawyers ask us random questions. Some were put on the spot. Still others were passed over. There seemed no plan or rhyme to their methods, at least not that I could see. The mood was tense. Most of us didn’t want to be there. I sat expectantly, knowing at the end that I would be picked. Gradually, the people one by one started fading away and you could see who wouldn’t be picked. I could have answered differently and saved myself the grief but I didn’t. I was honest.
When they called my name and I sat among 11 others, we were all unsure and all a little irritated- especially when the judge told us to expect to clear our schedules for the week. The rules were explained and we left.
The following day everything started so quickly. Statements were read and they lawyers stood on their box and could have won an Oscar for their acting. I really don’t know who was worse. The blue eyed hawk, the shabbily dressed jerk, the bauble head newbie, or the disapproving grandma.
And then you see her. At first glance she doesn’t seem like much. Certainly she was not anyone I would think twice about if I passed her on the street. And I might have passed her on the streets at one time or another. We could have been standing in the grocery line together. I would have never known. Then the witnesses were called. I felt such pity for him when it was his turn. To sit there and be judged by everyone in court. I couldn’t imagine having to explain it out loud to anyone much less 18 other people. And then to be picked apart by the defense attorney. You could tell that he was angry and maybe rightly so. Who up until now had believed him? Who up until now had protected him? Certainly not his family. Why should he think that this was any different?
The facts of the case were terrible to hear. But they could have been worse. No, the facts are not what torments me now. What bothers me is that you sit there for days straight staring at the defendant, at the victims, at the family, and even at the judge. And you wonder what they are thinking. What are they feeling? She didn’t show any remorse except when her mom showed up. Then she cried like a little girl who got caught doing something wrong. More than anything I wanted to know what he thought. How was he dealing with it? Would he be capable of moving past this and starting his own life?
The torment at nights was the worst part to me. I found myself constantly thinking about it. I cried every day after I left. My stone face during the day held back the water but once the first tear came down the levies were broken and the flood gates opened. I felt a huge burden was on my shoulders. I distinctly felt aware of how my actions were going to directly affect another’s life. How many people can say that and be aware of exactly how you will affect another?
Still worse than finding her guilty was deciding the charge. There are many that say if it were a man in the same position then give them the maximum penalty. I am a firm believer that you should look at the crime and not the sex of the offender. But hardly anyone else could see past the fact she was in fact a SHE and not a HE. Some asked if giving her 20 years was fair. An eye for an eye is what the bible said. When really, I didn’t care what was fair to her. She knowingly and intentionally sexually abused that boy for years. She didn’t care. She had no remorse. Why should I have remorse for her? And still some talked about rehabilitation and helping her. I personally think that she is beyond help. That anyone who would knowingly abuse a child can be fixed. Studies have shown that rehabilitation does little to cure the offender of their perverse desires. I could understand the desire to fix her but some things just can’t be fixed.
In the end we gave her 18 years in the penitentiary. And still, when the punishment was read out loud I searched his face to see what he felt. But I couldn’t read him from across the room. When I left that room I just kept thinking, “I hope he feels that justice was served.” It will never take back what was done to him. But hopefully it will prevent it from happening again for a long time.
Am I proud of what I did? No. But I did what I was called on to do. I did the right thing. I hope that justice was served. Can I explain it to other people so that they can feel a fraction of the emotions the 12 of us went through? No. But should I see anyone of you out there I will know that at least for one of the worst weeks of my life, you were with me. You supported me and we did what we had to do.
Next time I’ll think I’ll lie. I hope that there is no next time.
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