Inside the Jury Box
From the Jury Box to Trump’s Trial: A Personal Reflection as a Former Juror
Being a licensed attorney, you might think I know a thing or two about criminal law, but in reality, I don’t. There was the time I visited a prison to learn how I could volunteer to assist prisoners with their appeals. As soon as the prison gate shut, I immediately became claustrophobic and eager to leave — squelching my short-lived aspirations of being a modern-day Gideon’s Trumpet. I love crime procedurals on TV as a backdrop for storytelling — so much so that my improv troupe’s first performance was Law & DisOrder. My background in doing civil trials particularly in patent cases had always left me curious about the jury’s perspective. I wanted something beyond what focus groups could reveal in high stakes, bet-the-company litigation.
Despite periodic summonses to sit for a day or two in either a too hot or too cold courthouse while waiting for my turn at jury service, I’d never been selected. Usually, the prosecutor or defense would hear that I was an attorney, and they would decide that I was not their type. But in December of 2019, my luck changed during a criminal case in Portland, Oregon. I was probably the only person genuinely excited by the prospect of jury duty.
The case details were fairly dramatic, though they did not involve the more serious harm to victims I feared when I learned it would be a criminal case. On a particularly warm night in Portland, the defendant randomly entered several homes uninvited through side and back doors while the residents were at home resting or sleeping. At one home, he presented a gun and threatened a woman while her family slept upstairs to turnover her keys and phone. He took the keys and attempted to drive the car but couldn’t maneuver the stick shift very far. While being apprehended by the police, the defendant ended up barricading himself in a shed. There were a dozen counts against the criminal defendant for this alleged crime spree.
The Weight of Responsibility
Being sworn into a jury puts the reality of criminal proceedings into sharp perspective.
All those dramatized versions on television don’t compare to the solemnity of the courtroom, where the decisions you all collectively make directly impact someone’s freedom. It is a profound responsibility.
The solemnity was also amplified by the heightened scrutiny of the criminal justice system during that time. This case happened months before the deaths of Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd. Yet, we had had such police-involved deaths as Philando Castile and Tamir Rice. There had also been reported accounts of police officers in other states planting drugs and other evidence at crime scenes.
I just kept thinking that I wanted to get it right and for the system to be fair. If, heaven forbid, it was my family member at the defendant’s table, that’s what I would want every single juror to be thinking, too.
The Meta Moment
I remember when the first witness was called there was a metaphysical moment, what’s real and how do we know what we know about life. It’s the sort of thinking that is typified by the Chicago song where one of the main lyrics is, “Does anybody really know what time it is?”
How do we know anything? How do you know for certain that one plus one equals two? It’s not like in kindergarten you interrogated your teacher, “Yeah, but show me the proof!” The way we know things is that we don’t prove every item of knowledge for ourselves; somebody credible and knowledgeable needs to tell you that information so that you believe it.
In a unique way, court is its own universe. The only way that you as a juror know something about the case is that somebody within that room has told you about it. They must have direct knowledge and be credible enough for you to believe it.
Fairness in the Courtroom
Our judge went to great lengths to ensure the process was equitable and that everyone respected the jury’s responsibilities and time. The judge’s actions put me at ease so that I could focus on the task at hand. Despite the obvious lack of resources for putting up a defense in the case, the public defender presented a vigorous and zealous defense.
The Juror “Resting Their Eyes.”
I had done a fair number of focus groups in litigation and mock trials — to test our belief in a civil case. I remember the first time I saw a mock juror with their eyes closed during mock testimony. Their head was not bobbing or doing any of the other things that usually happened to me in the middle of my tax class. So, I knew they weren’t sleeping. Yet, it was a bit disconcerting to see just their eye lids for an extended period.
After the mock testimony, I was able to watch the focus group deliberate the case from behind mirrored glass. While they were deliberating, the restful juror didn’t say very much. I recall starting to feel a bit miffed as we had paid for the mock jurors to participate in the mock trial and it seemed that this one hadn’t done even the minimum to be attentive. Yet when a crucial question came up, that person knew exactly what was said and even the time of day. A senior attorney explained that sometimes people like to eliminate the distractions of the visual to better listen.
In my jury in the actual criminal case, I noticed that there was one member of the panel that did rest their eyes. Sure enough, during the deliberations, they were the person who remembered a crucial piece of testimony related to one of the counts.
Observation as a Job
As a juror, I scrutinized every detail, including the demeanor of witnesses. I recall a particularly nervous police officer was one of the first witnesses, which led me to question his credibility. Although an experienced officer, he seemed uneasy as he was speaking. Were these just nerves? Or, could something else be lurking behind the testimony?
Since my job was noticing things as a juror, I noticed everything, even the little things like Oh, that attorney’s hair looks different today? Or, The judge looks a little tired today.
The Non-linear Nature of Evidence
The presentation of evidence in court isn’t straightforward. It’s akin to assembling a jigsaw puzzle without having the picture on the box in front of you for reference. You know your puzzle is a bridge, but you don’t know exactly what kind of bridge. You also quickly realize that mixed up within your puzzle are some other puzzle pieces from a different board, too. So, you’re trying to figure out first, ‘Is this a piece to my puzzle?’ and if so, ‘where does it fit?’ The non-linear presentation was a bit disorienting at first.
When I worked on trials as an attorney, I always thought we were presenting an easy-to-understand and compelling narrative. I see now that we definitely were not and possibly could never do so. The truth was that for these cases that we spent years working up, we knew the story and the law. As a juror in the criminal case, I didn’t know the story or the law.
I felt like I sucked as a juror that first day. I wanted to write down everything and remember everything because I didn’t know what was and wasn’t important. But, as the ‘jigsaw puzzle’ started to come together, I wrote down less and less and became more confident.
Attorneys are not the center of the universe.
I used to work on trial teams where attorneys believed they were the pivotal elements in the courtroom, primarily because of their self-proclaimed eloquent speaking skills and their ability to ‘connect with the jury.’ If I could go back in time, I would probably take those bloviators down a peg or two, or even three. I certainly would rethink my entire approach to jury trials. While I would aim to present the best case for my client, one thing I know I would do differently is leave snark and antipathy at home. The prosecution’s unwarranted disdain towards the defense’s expert witness was distracting and didn’t serve the case. My role as a juror was to weigh the evidence, not to get caught up in the prosecution’s personal opinion.
The Complexity of Judgment
One of the most surprising aspects of serving on a jury was realizing how complex the decision-making process is, even when the evidence seems clear. I scrutinized every single word of the counts to make sure I understood them and that the prosecution had met its burden of proof. Even after realizing the verdict should be that the defendant was guilty on most charges, it was still hard to say it. I had to take some time to myself to come to grips with what we were about to do.
The defense had successfully humanized the defendant, presented a narrative that evoked sympathy, provided some evidence of their mental state in defense, and highlighted systemic failures that could have contributed to his actions. Balancing empathy with the law’s demands was challenging. As I reflected, I realized my job was not to measure a life or even a night that could have gone differently “if only.” To do so would be to essentially invent evidence that did not exist in the record. The defendant’s actions were scary to the victims of the crimes who had done nothing more than enjoy a pleasant night in their homes. The defendant’s actions had shown why there’s a risk to leaving your screen door unlocked on a hot night. There must be accountability and consequences for the harm caused to them — and society. Accountability and consequences are the essence of the rule of law.
The verdict was that the defendant was guilty on 11 out of 12 counts: first-degree robbery, second-degree burglary, unlawful use of a weapon, unauthorized use of a vehicle and identity theft. He was acquitted on one count for first degree burglary because the prosecution had not met its burden on one of the key elements.
The Humanity of It
One woman was resting on her couch after having returned from her workout. She was sitting there when the defendant entered by her side or patio door, brandishing a gun. She was so nervous she couldn’t find her phone but was able to give the intruder her car keys. One man at a different house talked to the defendant and tried to keep him calm so that he would leave peaceably. An elderly woman, who was sleeping and saw an intruder walking her hallway, managed to call 911 without waking her husband who was also sleeping beside her. She feared that if her husband awoke, he might confront the intruder and escalate the situation. These were regular Portlanders, I didn’t know them, but I felt anyone of them could have been my neighbor. In a society that increasingly seems to shoot first and ask questions later, these incidents could have had a tragic outcome for them and the defendant.
My time on the jury challenged my perceptions, tested my empathy, and left me with a deeper appreciation for the complex workings of our justice system. Serving on a jury is a civic duty that is an anchor or bedrock of the legal process. To quote from the thank you letter, I received following our case:
As a well-known attorney once said, the jury is the conscience of the community. In these most critical matters we trust the interest of the community, not highly trained experts, towering intellectuals, or even elected officials. We entrust our welfare to the American people. We rely on their conscience and good will and the wisdom of their collective experience to do the right thing, without which liberty is a meaningless abstraction.
So, the next time you get a summons for jury duty, I hope you’ll go to the courthouse dressed in layers with an extra sweater ready to be a bedrock on which our country stands.
Beyond the Jury Box: A Different Perspective on the Trump Trial
As I catch the news coverage of the criminal trial of our former president, there are a couple of things that stand out for me as a former juror.
Down the hall from my case was a high-profile case for Portland with a significant law enforcement presence. I recall feeling relieved that I wasn’t on the jury for that case. Even so, I had some slight concerns about my identity and what could happen if the defendant harbored a grudge. However, the anonymity of jurors, the respect shown, and the collective decision-making process put me at ease.
For those reasons, I feel for any juror in the Trump criminal cases. My case was not high-profile, nor did it involve celebrities or the former leader of the free world. My case did not involve a defendant who has openly plotted and privately planned for revenge against his political opponents and former allies on Day 1 of getting back into power. Yet, I still had worries. I would hope a judge in a high profile case with a vengeful and potentially powerful defendant would ensure that the jurors can solely focus on doing their civic duty — and not who the witnesses or defendant are, or the case’s repercussions.
As I write this, criminal defendant Trump has been found in contempt of the court 10 times due to social media posts that even lie about the jury, raising “the specter of fear for the safety of the jurors and of their loved ones.” The judge also admonished the defense attorneys to warn the defendant about his cursing audibly and shaking his head during a witness’ testimony, which is a contemptuous act. Given the defendant’s status as the former leader of the free world and a candidate to be the next leader of our country, these feel like bullying or intimidation tactics. I hope the judge is laser focused on the jury’s needs for an orderly administration of justice.
Also, viewing the 34 felony counts against criminal defendant Trump through the lens of my experience as a juror yields a different perspective than I would have had before. Before my service, the number of counts would have seemed relatively abstract. Using my case as a reference point, the enormity feels more concrete. I considered 12 counts indicative of a one night crime spree. Criminal defendant Trump’s 34 counts in the voter deception case feels like a staggering crime wave. His total of 88 charges across several criminal cases on the East coast feels like a full-blown criminal enterprise.
I want to clarify where I stand as I conclude. My observations are not about political allegiance but are about having a commitment to the rule of law which brings justice for the victims and the defendant. If your family member was at the defendant’s table, I am sure you would want every juror to take their oath solemnly and their responsibilities seriously while understanding that the rule of law requires that wrongs must be held accountable and consequences must happen.
For our criminal system to work, justice must be a desire that persists no matter who the defendant may be or their alleged crimes — even if the defendant would not afford the same level of respect and fairness to you. And, we need people to be willing to do their civic duty to the best of their abilities to make that happen.
~ Karen Spencer, May 2024
