For the past seven days, I served as a juror in a civil trial held at the United States District Court in Philadelphia - federal jury duty, a big time affair. It wasn't an eternal damnation, in fact I thought it was a lot like surfing.
The case involved age discrimination, a violation of the plaintiffs' civil rights. It had the promise of a decent swell and I was excited to be a part of something big. It was similar to the feeling I get when a tropical storm runs up the east coast. You know there will be waves, big waves. But you never know if they'll be clean or a mushy mess, a corduroy paradise of perfect sets or a washtub of inconsistency. It has been my experience in OCNJ that it is often a mix. With patience, you can sit through the mush to find a great set, catch a five-foot A-frame peeler and enjoy a nice ride. This case was the mashed washtub. It offered a few precious moments of exhilaration in short sets of the truth.
The start of the Trial - The jury selection process began with the voir dire and the first question was, “Is it a hardship for you to serve on a trial that may last one to two weeks.” All fifty or so potential jurors raised their hands and then the lawyers began to call us up one by one to explain why. It was like deciding to go surfing early in the morning on a cold rainy Monday in November, a harsh sea breeze blistering your face. You know you want to get in there, but you're beginning to second-guess yourself. Am I really this committed? Is this worth it? As a History and Constitutional Law teacher, I had been looking forward to my jury duty, but a two-week commitment? I felt it was my civic responsibility to at least answer the questions honestly and once I was selected, after the initial shock like ice coldwater filling my wet suit there was no time to for regret. The opening statements started right away. I had to paddle through waves of anxiety, get past the breakers of fear, and attain a level of comfort that comes from familiarity and knowing your surroundings whether it is the courtroom, the shoreline, the juror's box, or the beach break.
The Documents - The corporation provided Plaintiff's attorneys with thousands of pages of documents - an ocean of information. Both sides presented a lot of exhibits throughout the trial. As a juror I had to be patient. It was pretty obvious that many of the documents served as distractions to create a fog and mask the truth. As in surfing, I had to constantly scan the horizon looking for facts that rose out of the sea of information like small distant peaks of truth.
Arguments - Both teams of attorneys presented arguments that came in waves. The majority of the time they spent eliciting information from witnesses and documents, building up to the arguments. Technical jargon, corporate management-speak, economic and statistical data inundated the jury pounding us like fast hard breakers on a steep shore incline. Waves crashing in ankle deep waters too shallow, too dangerous to ride. It was painful at times. I had to sit on the outside and listen to the shoreline thunder but remain focused on the horizon. In the witnesses’ testimony, there was a lot of rambling, avoidance, the tops of waves blown off by the blowhards who continue to work for the corporation – the yes men and yes women. At times they seemed big and powerful and then they’d open their mouths and the potential for truth flubbed out. Yet, when the truth came it was unmistakable. I’d perk up, my heart beat a little faster, a little harder. My eyes grew wide and ears strained. I fervently jotted down statements in pursuit of the truth – paddling, stroking, stalking the big wave.
Truth - The truth is like a far off peak on the horizon. At first glance, you wonder if it is really there. Then it builds, begins to take shape, its cadence is clear. In its approach to the shore it suddenly rises up out of the ocean before you, unmistakable. A surfer has only a few moments to turn his board, strike out ahead of the rolling mountain of water, build enough momentum and catch a glorious ride on a perfect, peeling tube. It is the same for a juror. Hours of testimony, numerous documents, statements, depositions, exhibits, direction examinations, cross examinations, and then re-directs inundate the juror with information like a rough sea, strong winds, powerful currents, riptides pulling you this way and that. But when the truth appears, it is beautiful, easily recognizable, and glorious in its power.
Deliberation – At the conclusion of the trial, the judge instructs the jury on the law and the jurors decide the case on the facts. It is the juror’s duty to determine what is truthful. The deliberation for this surfing juror was a fantastic ride. I experienced a euphoric rush as we the jury unanimously agreed on the facts. The truth had risen up out of the sloppy conditions in the courtroom offering us a great moment. It was clear and beautiful like a perfect wave. Different jurors shared their experiences from the trial describing moments when they found the truth. At times it felt like a party wave – there were definite facts we all agreed on, moments we all shared. As we analyzed the testimony, some jurors' voices grew loud, a few expletives were tossed about, it was clear we were having a bitchin’ time.
As I left the courthouse, I felt a little disappointed. Our quest for the truth, like the surfer’s quest for a perfect wave had been fruitful but it was also fleeting. I have a renewed appreciation for our judicial system, its adversarial nature, and the ability of a group of 8 citizens from different areas of Pennsylvania to recognize the truth in a cloudy ocean of arguments. This case is over, like each unique wave that crashes on the shore its moment in time has ended. I walked away from the experience with the same feeling I have every time I walk away from the beach after a great surf session – grateful for the opportunity to be a part of something much bigger than myself, hopeful that I will have the chance to do it again, and sorrowful knowing the moment is gone. Like the inevitable end of summer - always bittersweet.
