Self-insights are usually few and far between, but recently thanks to the Casey Anthony trial I’ve had several.  Perhaps the most significant is an insight into why this “Hanged Juror” can’t find many judges or prosecutors to admire.

Sidebar: If you’ve read The Juror Hangs you know the last two characters in the novel to figure out what really happened are the judge and the prosecutor. Even the meter maid who tickets jurors’ cars outside the courthouse figures it out sooner.

Until yesterday’s epiphany, all the furor over the Anthony jury’s verdict and over the defense attorneys’ bills, and the utter bafflement of the judge and prosecutors, made no sense to me. What was I missing that everybody else in America saw? Why was I once-again so out-of-the-mainstream?

Then—flash! I got it. It isn’t me that’s missing something. It’s all those people out there who have never served on a criminal jury, especially one involving a serious crime: civil trials don’t put the same stresses on jurors; civil judges have less stake in the outcome; there are no prosecutors in civil trials, only plaintiffs.

1995 B. J. D. (Before Jury Duty)

Before I served on a criminal-trial jury, like everybody else I followed O. J. Simpson’s murder trial. I learned about hair-and-fiber experts, about blood-spatter experts, and all about DNA evidence—for the first time. I fell under the spell of CSI evidence. I was convinced that wife-beater O. J. did it, and I was shocked like 80% of the public when he got off.

2011 A. J. D. (After Jury Duty)

But by the time I served on a jury in 2005, the media had already sensationalized family tragedies of ordinary citizens (Laci Peterson’s family), investigators had already proven their incompetence (the murder of JonBenet Ramsey), and prosecutors had already over-reached (the Nanny Murder Trial).

So I was already skeptical when I raised my hand and swore “by the eyes of the all-seeing God” (I kid you not) to follow the law as the judge explained it to me. Of course, at that moment I still believed the judge would also explain to me the statutes as written by my elected representatives.

What This Juror Thinks

Yesterday I realized what it is about judges and lawyers that drives me crazy: they all want to tell me what to think. Not just tell me what to do—although they clearly want to be in charge, too.

Big Brother

Everyone in a courtroom except the defendant and the jurors thinks it’s their job to tell everybody else what to do. Who in a courtroom isn’t involved in law or law enforcement? Even the clerk of the court probably loves telling everybody, “All rise.”

Sidebar: I suppose the court stenographer isn’t particularly interested in telling anyone what to do or think. Instead I suspect that anyone who spends most of their productive, waking hours listening to and transcribing what other people say has a thought-avoidance problem. For what other reason would a sentient being want to make a career of transcribing other people’s thoughts?)

All the denizens of the courtroom believe it’s their job to tell the jury what to think and what to do. And that’s why Judge Perry and the prosecutors in the Casey Anthony trial are still baffled by the verdict. They told the jury to find her guilty of first-degree murder and aggravated manslaughter, and the jury just ignored them. They believe the jury must not have understood the science. They must have fallen asleep by the end of the trial. They must have engaged in improper speculation. Their minds must have been poisoned by the defense’s baseless accusations in the opening statement.

The jury very definitely did not think what they were told to think.

The End of a Trial

At the end of every criminal trial, the prosecution sums up its case against the defendant. The message of all such summations is: “The mountain of evidence we have shown you proves beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty. You must find the defendant guilty of each and every one of these charges.”

Then the defense sums up its case: “The prosecution has not fulfilled its obligation to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. One or more of the charges is highly questionable. You must not find the defendant guilty. You swore an oath to be fair.”

Then the judge reads a long, arcane list of instructions, the gist of which is that the law states that the crime in question consists of several elements, all of which the prosecution has shown to be present: “You must follow the law as I have just read it to you and reach a true verdict.”

But here’s what goes through every juror’s mind at the moment when the judge sends them into the deliberation room:

“The judge must believe the prosecution did its job properly, or he wouldn’t have let the trial go on to this point. The judge has tried to be fair to the defense, but clearly something isn’t right about what the defense attorney said. I was hoping the prosecution and the defense would both put on better cases, clearer evidence, more witnesses. I’m sure the defendant did something wrong, but I’m not sure it was exactly what the prosecution said it was. In fact, I’m thoroughly convinced it wasn’t what the prosecution said it was. Now the judge and all the lawyers have told me what I’m supposed to think, but none of it is what I think.”

Jury consultants of the world, I promise you this is what every juror thinks. And that leads me back to the title of this blog: If you could ask a prospective juror one question, what should it be?

If you’re on the defense team, you should ask every prospective juror this question:

How do you feel about being told what to think?

The jurors you want on your jury are like me. They’ll say, “I hate it.” Then let the prosecution try to excuse such an individual “for cause.”