A Summons

 

It is rare that we get summoned to do our duty, a summons that, by law, one cannot ignore.

This week I received a jury summons, and I was glad to go. Not just glad but intrigued. I’d never been summoned before, and this would be a new experience. I vowed to be attentive to every detail.

I arrived dutifully at the courthouse well before the appointed time of 9.30 a.m.  We filed in, showed our summons and ID and were registered and sent off to different courtrooms. Overflow potential jurors remained in a cafeteria area, communicating with the courtroom via video. I was seated in the second row, right in the courtroom. We were packed into the benches, possibly about 100 people in all.

The court registrar explained the proceedings. The crown counsel and defence lawyer entered. We waited. The two lawyers exited the courtroom to confer privately with the judge. We waited. The lawyers returned to the courtroom, this time, the defence lawyer with his client, the accused. We waited. 

Impatience wasn’t what I felt and I had no need to remind myself to pay attention. Every detail was fascinating, from the equipment check in the courtroom to the assembly seated around me.

The cast of lawyers were dressed as expected, in robes. The registrar, who had been casually ambling around the courtroom in dress-shirt and trousers, put on his black cloak and his own fancy white collar that he pulled out of a Ziploc bag, before announcing “Oye, Oye, All rise…”  as the judge entered. We all rose as instructed. Yes, like in the movies. When the registrar mentioned ‘The King’s court’ I was a bit confused and then remembered, oh right, Charles!

And what a judge! His voice boomed with clarity and authority as he spoke to us, thanking us for coming, acknowledging that it was an inconvenience and in many cases a sacrifice, but reminding us of our duty as Canadian citizens. He said our country doesn’t demand much of us, doesn’t ask us to enlist, but it does ask us to serve on a jury panel. He spoke about the weighty responsibility of being a juror, digging deep to examine and put aside the conscious and unconscious biases we all carry as a result of our conditioning or experiences. No one is exempt. (So true. I’m suspicious of people who say they are absolutely unbiased and unaffected by age, colour, creed, race, accent etc.). The judge rocked it. I was all in.

Then began the process of elimination of potential jurors who wanted to be excused. The judge spoke clearly and concisely about each reason, asking the jurors to step forward to the podium to ask to be excused. People lined up for each reason: not being able to fully understand English (the trial would be conducted solely in English), hard of hearing, medical appointments in the next couple of weeks that could not be rescheduled, medical issues of their own or people in their sole care.

The next big question was: Given the charges in the case, do you think you will be unable to be unbiased? There were two charges: a) sexual assault and b) confinement.

Half the room stood up and filed to the podium. The judge did not press for any personal information from each person, but simply asked if they thought they could not be unbiased. A few people gave further explanations as to why they felt the way they did.

The judge stopped part-way, explaining that it was unusual for so many to ask to be excused, reminding us that we shouldn’t look at it simply as a way of getting out of jury duty.

I remained seated, confident that with my logical, analytical mind, I could focus on the evidence and remain objective. I wasn’t about to get up and ask to be excused when my country was asking something from me, something I felt I would be able to give. A trial on sexual assault would not be easy to sit through (the judge estimated about ten working days, but could not guarantee the timeline), but it would be do-able. It would not be a grave disruption in my life.

With half the room now gone, there was only one other reason up for assessment: undue hardship. The judge reminded us that this didn’t mean inconvenience or sacrifice (time off from work, drop-offs and pick-ups, rescheduling etc.). Everyone in the room was inconvenienced. It meant exactly what it said – undue hardship. This time the judge did ask specific questions. Some were excused, others were asked to return to their seats, their reasons unsatisfactory.

Finally, the remaining juror numbers were put in a drum (like a bingo drum) and random numbers drawn. One by one, numbers were called, and jurors lined up against the wall, approached the podium and asked if they could serve, unbiased. The judge asked the two lawyers for any comments or objections. If none, the juror was sworn in or affirmed (their choice). And then they had the complete panel: 12 jurors and 2 alternates.

My number was not called. I returned home to my desk, tired but also, I had to admit, a bit deflated and disappointed. I thought I would have made an excellent juror.