SMILE, YOU’RE ON JURY DUTY
“Jury duty,” my editor groaned.
His tone sounded like he’d been asked to clean the toilet.
“Why don’t you want to do jury duty?” I asked. “I loved it.”
I’d always been curious about jury duty, and last year, the court finally summoned me. At the time, I had been covering the court system and writing about the law for a daily newspaper that caters to lawyers.
I had covered month-long trials, and in addition to watching the legal strategy of the lawyers, I’d always paid attention to what for me was the most mysterious part of the justice system – jurors. When I covered a $1 billion trial about whether Samsung copied Apple’s iPhone and iPad designs, I looked carefully at the jurors for hints of whether they were bored by the details of patent claims, or skeptical of Apple’s boasts that their designs changed the world. After verdicts were read, I chased down jurors outside the courtroom to see if they could give me insight into their decision. Jurors are just average people making huge decisions. I was curious to try it out myself.
The first day, more than 100 of us were jammed into the courtroom. The lawyers introduced themselves and laid out the bare bones of the case.
A middle-aged man had gone to a public hospital in San Francisco for a routine procedure. Something had gone wrong between putting the IV in his arm and going for a CAT scan, and his arm swelled up and turned blue and purple. In the aftermath, he said, the incident still causes him pain. The man sued the hospital (and, therefore, the city) for negligence. We had to decide whether he was right, and if the hospital should pay him hundreds of thousands of dollars for his troubles.
Eh. It didn’t seem that exciting. I felt mixed about staying. But one by one, the first group of people called to the jury box were excluded. Some didn’t speak English, some had to take care of their kids, some couldn’t leave their jobs and had claimed financial hardship. As the juror seats emptied, new people were called to the front. My turn finally came. The questions became more specific. Some people left because they worked for the city. Some got to go home because they had had a medical incident and claimed they couldn’t be objective. Basically, anybody who had a strong opinion got bumped. I grappled with whether I wanted to dodge my civic duty as well. At the time, I only got a couple days of paid leave for jury duty, so I could probably claim financial hardship, right?
But I was torn. I really wanted to understand a jury from the inside. How seriously would we take the experience? What would it be like to participate in deliberations? Sure, some cases include billions of dollars in potential payouts or life or death decisions, and this case might have been piddly by comparison, but for me, it was an inside look at how our system functions and how justice is supposed to be served. I wanted a more intimate perspective. I stayed.
When 12 of us (with two alternates) were seated, armed with notebooks and pencils, the lawyers began their pitches. Our decision came down to answering whether the hospital followed proper protocol during the IV insertion and the scan.
The plaintiff claimed he felt agonizing pain when he was inside the CT machine. He screamed and waved his arms to alert hospital staff. The attendant, he said, stopped, adjusted the IV a little bit, and scanned again. The result was more pain and an extremely swollen arm. The man had pictures of his arm taken with his phone, and these were used often throughout the trial.
The first time I saw the photos, I gasped. They were disgusting, and made me feel like something had definitely gone very wrong. I felt sorry for him. His lawyer, astutely, continued to play the sympathy card. He told us how much the plaintiff loved his mother — he was her caretaker, but his shoulder bothered him so much after the incident that he couldn’t lift her wheelchair into the trunk of the car. The lawyer also claimed that the plaintiff couldn’t throw a baseball around with his nephew, or go bowling anymore (the government lawyer later convincingly proved during cross examination that the guy never bowled much or played baseball, for that matter).
The hospital and employees involved fiercely disagreed with the plaintiff’s account of the incident. They claimed that they never would have adjusted the IV in the way he described. One expert, a doctor not affiliated with the hospital, pointed out that the scans showed the man couldn’t have waved his arms. The plaintiff’s credibility in my eyes continued to deteriorate.
I was surprised by how interested I became. I really cared about getting it right, and all the other jurors were the same. People took copious notes. We were allowed to ask questions on paper if we needed clarity. Those questions were the only insight I had into what the other jurors were thinking because we were not allowed to talk about the case. That was the most difficult part – I really, really wanted to ask the other jurors what they thought about this guy. Was he credible in their eyes? What about that one nurse they brought in? Was she just a quack? She was the only one who seemed to think the hospital broke protocol.
I never got bored, partially because they also gave us lots of breaks and really long lunches. The days flew by. I read an entire book during the trial. I felt like I was on vacation from my normal life.
Then the moment came to deliberate. We were finally able to talk about the case! Though I had a few details I wanted to discuss with my fellow jurors, I had already decided the hospital had followed proper protocol and was therefore not liable. What happened to the man was unfortunate, but it wasn’t due to hospital negligence. All the evidence pointed that way. And the defense lawyer had caught the man lying a few times. I just didn’t find him trustworthy.
When the court marshal left us alone in the jury room, it was a little awkward. People were shy to speak, but we had to pick our leader or “foreman.” An unassuming guy agreed. We had only an hour to talk before the day was officially over. But before we left, the foreman suggested we each say whether we thought the hospital was at fault. Surprisingly, every person was on the same page: We didn’t think the hospital had messed up.
We agreed to come back and hash out a few more things the next morning before taking a final vote. The next day, after a half hour of deliberations, we were ready. The marshal marched us back to the courtroom. I felt bad for the man with the swollen arm when the verdict was read because he had put so much time and effort into this case. But I was also sure we made the right decision.
I know from my court reporting experience how rare it is for a case to go to trial. Almost everyone settles beforehand, because trials are expensive and risky. I think the plaintiff thought the nasty pictures would be enough to convince us, but we saw through that. The evidence just wasn’t there.
I don’t think the justice system always works. I don’t think juries always make the right decisions. But it’s rare to get a chance to participate in the process. And it’s important. Sure, most of us can vote, but sometimes that feels insignificant. When you’re on a jury, even if it’s just for one guy, in one small San Francisco courtroom, you have a big role.
