--H.L. Mencken

[Note: I'm actually writing this very late in the night of the 10th. My favorite journal-writing concert is once again playing, through the magic of RealAudio, and, with a bunch of scribbled notes to jog my memory, I'm about to try catching up on a whole lot of entries without copping out too outrageously. Here goes...]

I was supposed to be back in court at 9:30 AM on Wednesday. I was up way before then, but got sidetracked putting together an online photo album, and noticed the time just when I was getting done, at around 9:10 or so. I quickly put it up and sent out a note about it, before running off to court, which was about 15-20 minutes away by foot, at about 9:20.

And so I ran off, bitterly ruing the fact that, despite the heat, I was dressed formally, with a dress shirt, suit jacket, and shoes, rather than my accustomed T-shirt and sneakers.

I haven't had a watch in ages, so I don't know what time I actually arrived. About 9:40, I suppose. It didn't really matter, because we ended up waiting at least another half hour before we were called back into the courtroom, during which time I repaired to the men's room about three times for paper towels, so I could mop my brow, which refused to stop sweating for a little while after arriving. Really, it's the transition from the heat to an air-conditioned area that's the worst... and when combined with the way I was dressed, and the fact that I'd been running, it was no wonder.

By this morning, to the best of my admittedly imperfect recollection, four people had been sworn in as jurors, and about fifteen, or perhaps twenty, had been rejected. They needed fourteen to go to trial -- twelve jurors and two alternates. Three (?) more were sworn in not long before lunch, while another dozen or so were let go. And then the names of the next bunch of randomly chosen candiates were called. And I was #2 on the list.

As an aside, the guy reading out the names didn't even try to pronounce mine. He settled for spelling it out.

Then we took a break for lunch.

I'd better backtrack a week or so, to a phone conversation I had with my cousin.

[This being a bit daunting, I let myself get sidetracked at this point, until late Monday night. Yeesh. At this rate, I'll never catch up.]

See, we were talking about jury duty, and he mentioned that while, in theory, he agreed that serving was a Good Thing, in practice, he probably wouldn't be able to serve as a juror, because he wouldn't be able to judge somebody guilty unless his guilt were proven to the extent required under Jewish law... which is much more demanding than the American justice system. "Reasonable doubt" isn't good enough; actual eyewitness accounts from at least two witnesses, who agree on all the particulars, would be required, for starters.

This is not to say that he felt that there was a problem with the American justice system having a different standard for evidence. However, given that he studies matters of Jewish law pretty much full-time, and has done so for years, he didn't think he was capable of putting everything he knows aside and doing things their way, when other standards are already ingrained in him.

Which, given that he really feels that way, is fair enough, and I said so. However, I didn't think I'd have any such problem. After all, the role of a juror isn't to decide what he thinks should be done in the case at hand; the role of the juror is simply to be a cog in the Wheels of Justice, and to apply the rules given by the judge to the facts at hand. So even if I were to disagree with the laws I was to apply, I figured I could apply 'em anyway, provided that I felt the state had the right to make those laws in the first place.

That final clause comes in only with regard to one issue, offhand, which would be the death penalty. I'd never be able to serve on a case involving that, as I consider the death penalty to be immoral -- a particularly odious form of murder, worse, in its way, than that committed by an individual -- and I absolutely reject the notion that it is ever justified, or that any human government has the right to impose it. But I couldn't think of anything else on that level.

When you come right down to it, the problem is this: The role of a juror is to use his or her common sense, to determine whether the evidence presented meets the standard of proof explained by the judge. Just common sense.

I realized along the way that I don't have any common sense.

No, I'm not being flip here. Lemme put it this way. The prosecuting attorney -- to whom I took an immediate disliking, but never mind that -- in trying to explain our potential mission, asked us which we'd think was more reliable: merchandise bought from a street vendor, or merchandise bought in a store. The answer he was looking for was the latter. After all, in the case of a store, they'd be there to complain to the next day if the product broke, which might not be the case with a street vendor.

I didn't buy that. I still don't buy that. It depends on the store, and on the street vendor. Just because, statistically speaking, a higher percentage of stores might be considered reliable than that of street vendors does not mean that you can make sweeping statements about them.

In short, if common sense involves the ability to generalize, to make categorical assumptions about the way things are... well, no, I'm afraid that's an ability I lack.

When interrogating earlier witnesses, he dragged in the fairly famous story of King Solomon and the two mothers and the baby. Which, in a nutshell, is as follows, to the best of my recollection, which is sketchy, so the details are likely off:

Once upon a time, two women came to King Solomon. It would seem that both had given birth around the same time, but the baby of one of them had died shortly thereafter. Each claimed that the living baby was hers.

Solomon thought the matter over, and announced that, regrettably, as there was no solid evidence, there was only one thing to do: cut the baby in half, and give each mother 50%.

The first woman agreed. If she couldn't get the whole baby, neither would the other. And, well, justice was justice, right?

The second woman said "Don't kill it! I renounce my claim; let her have the baby."

"AHA!" proclaimed Solomon. "The second is the true mother!"

This was a ridiculous claim.

For one thing, to the best of my recollection, at the end of the story, the first woman confesses that she is not, in fact, the mother. And it's that which gave Solomon the right to turn the kid over to the second. But I will grant that I may be wrong about that.

Either way, it's a moot point, because there's an obvious distinction here. Civil law and criminal law operate according to different rules. Each has utterly different standards of proof, and different criteria to be applied to the evidence.

The case of Solomon, above, is quite clearly a matter of civil law. Each woman was claiming ownership of an object; in this case, a baby. This has nothing to do with criminal activity; it's a simple question of property rights. The matter would have been different indeed if either woman had been accused of kidnapping, a criminal offense. And Solomon's gambit at the end would have been utterly insufficient in the latter sort of case.

The catch is that the prosecuting attorney was, indeed, trying to apply it to a criminal case. A murder case, to be exact. Which was misleading at best.

It's a good thing he didn't bring it up by the time he got to my group. I would have contested it.

And this was the truth. I wasn't saying it just to get out of jury duty.

But until actually getting up there and being faced with the actual decision, I hadn't thought I'd have a problem.

Like I said, I'm still working out just what this says about me.