Last Thursday, I performed my civic duty and went to court as a prospective juror. I had never done this before.
Recently, my life and some form of government have increasingly become intertwined. On Tuesday, I went to the State Capitol building in Sacramento, wearing my new suit and tie, and was interviewed by one of the staff members of State Senator Carole Migden (D-District 3, Eastern San Francisco and Marin County). The interview went great, and when all was said and down, I was asked when I could start. I'll begin in two weeks once my finals end.
One part of the whole experience about going to the State Capitol that I didn't expect was the attention people gave me. Since I looked like a staff person, I got quite a few questions from the tourists wandering around the hallways and the rotunda, asking me if I knew where the Assembly galleries were, what does the Speaker of the Assembly do, can I take their picture...? Had I worn my regular clothes, no one would have even bothered. But with just a snappy change of clothing, everything changes.
Thursday was my jury day. Last month or so, I got a letter from the Superior Court of California for the County of Yolo telling me I've been summoned for jury. I sent in a reply that said I wasn't available because I'm a university student. But because I sent it out relatively late, it was best to admit I wasn't available for a trial in person, just so the judge could hear my words herself.
I drove up from Davis to Woodland, where our county seat is, to go to the Yolo County Courthouse, a big gray stereotypical American courthouse with Greco-Roman columns looking like it had been built around the New Deal. Once I got past the sheriff deputies at the metal detectors, I walked up to the upper floor, where I was pointed to a blurry glass door that said JURY ROOM 303 or something to that effect. I walked in to find a large room filled with around forty people, talking amongst each other, reading Time, Us Weekly, the Sacramento Bee, or simply just staring into space. Most of the people there were all older folks, either seniors or Baby Boomers. Only two other people my age were there: a young guy from Sacramento City College and a cute girl who I never heard talk.
After about a half hour of waiting, our room was led down to the courtroom by the black-uniformed bailiff, where we were seated in the back of the room. As quickly as the forty or so of us had filed in, we returned to exactly what we were doing in the last room: more waiting. Five minutes later, the bailiff returned to read us our legal obligations, where we raised our right hands and agreed. The judge then came out to be seated behind her big wood desk. She was a middle-aged woman--either late forties or early fifties--and told us what was going to happen in the next few minutes, remarking how it was easier to do this these days because people watched Law and Order. That got some to chuckle.
The bailiff began reading out names of people immediately selected to be seated in the jury box. There were about sixteen or eighteen seats available in the front left hand side of the room, facing the judge, the lawyers, and the person on trial. I was hoping the bailiff wouldn't read out my name; every time she did, I thought: well, that at least eliminates some possibility of my name. But on the second last name she read out, my name came. Damn, I thought. Later I realized that this actually was a blessing.
As we were seated, the judge read out more things regarding the trial, telling us the nature of the trial and how long she believed it was going to last for. She then asked for anyone in the jury box to raise their hand if there was some conflicting interest that blocked our ability to attend. My arm joined the two others who had their hands raised.
One man stated he had a business trip to attend. The other said something that I don't exactly remember. When the judge looked at me and said, "Mr. Hookey, what is your case," I stated it.
"I'm a student at the University of California, Davis, and I have final examinations starting next week."
The judge wrote it down and looked back up at me. Sometimes you really don't know how intimidating a judge can be. When you're watching a trial from the back and have no part of it, the judge's a distant figure. I remember when I was in the third grade and visited the county courts in Santa Cruz, the judge who talked to our class was simply an older figure who sat behind a big desk for much of the day. We thought nothing more than that. But when you're in the jury box and a black-robed person is looking down on you, asking questions directly to you, it's daunting. Even if the judge is being very courteous, you cannot deny this: the law is looking down on you. The law is asking you questions.
"And when do they start, Mr. Hookey?"
"Next Tuesday." My first final report is due no later than Tuesday.
"And for what class?" the judge asked.
"Chinese history, 1946 onwards." I meant 1949, but we've gone over 1946 quite extensively, and it was the first year that came to my mind. Close enough.
"Pretty hard, eh?" the judged smiled.
"Oh yeah." That got the court to chuckle.
The judge then went one to state a few more rules and asked the jury more questions regarding mental stability and our pasts. Were we abused as children? No. Do we know the lawyers and defendant directly? No. Have you experienced domestic violence? One person raised their hand. Have you known people who have experienced domestic violence? Another raised their hand. Are any of you involved in organizations regarding domestic violence? Two raised their hands and explained.
The judge then asked us one by one to then state our names, our occupations, our education, if we had children, and if we had prior jury experience. After we all did that, the questioning was turned over to the defense and prosecution lawyers. The lawyers asked the two men who raised their hands before mine why they couldn't attend the trial. It was a short grilling. I expected to be asked next by the lawyers, but they didn't proceed to.
After the questions were again handed back to the judge, she excused the two men and asked them to leave the court. Then she looked down on me and with a little smile said:
"Mr. Hookey, good luck on that final."
'Thank you."
I was excused.
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