Let's Not Make a Federal Case Out of This

My guest blogger today is Rob M., a.k.a. Freakin' Angel's husband. Enjoy. 

My sister has a tendency to get worked up when discussing, well, anything – which is sorta like saying the sun has a tendency to rise in the east every day. Growing up, when my sister was wound up, my dad, the late great Bob MacPherson, would quell the madness by dropping one of his go-to phrases into the conversation. A common one was “OK – let’s not make a federal case out of this.” So it was with this soundtrack playing in my head that I passed through security with a smirk on my face at the Federal Building on 6th and Market last Tuesday. I had been chosen for jury duty in the federal court – and there was a possibility that I would be making a federal case out of my work week. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit on the inside.

I reported to the jury assembly room on time and my mind immediately started grappling with the day’s biggest issue – with all of these great options, where should I have my downtown lunch? (Ended up at Campos - chicken and broccoli rabe - seeded roll). My game-planning was disrupted when a young lady entered the room and began making announcements. Before she was done, she called 30 names, including mine, to form a panel. Our panel was escorted to the trial room, where our group of 30 would become eight, and the eight would serve as the jury for the case. We endured "voir dire" questioning by the judge – a process meant to expose any biases or prejudices which might make one a less-than-impartial juror. The highlight of this process was my fellow panelist from South Philly (he told us, I’m not assuming) who explained that his book-making uncle and loan-sharking cousin were the relatives with whom he most looked forward to sharing a glass of vino, thereby making him sympathetic to the cause of the petty criminal. I haven’t had a relative behind bars in years, so I really couldn’t play that card, nor could I think of any other way to weasel out of my patriotic duty. After a few more minutes and a bundle of lame excuses, I was called as a juror – juror number 5 – and I and seven others would serve as the proverbial jury of ones peers, with the responsibility to render a verdict in the case.

The case was a civil proceeding. A man from West Philly – the plaintiff - was alleging that three different Philadelphia police officers from the 19th district used unlawful force in arresting him on two different occasions. He was looking for financial compensation. Long story short, after about a day-and-a-half of testimony and a half-day of deliberation, the plaintiff received nothing and the cops were exonerated.

Then things got interesting. The judge’s deputy – our main point of contact throughout the process and a good dude – asked us to stay for a few more minutes because the judge wanted to talk to us – he said it was common practice. The judge entered the deliberation room with the deputy, his law clerk and a couple of interns. He explained to us that our system of justice, while not flawless, is the greatest in the world. Eight fellow citizens just decided the fate of a man’s complaint – not a king, not a dictator, not a magic eight ball. This man received justice based on the findings of a jury of his peers.

After his preamble was over, the judge asked us a few questions and answered some of ours – including one about the whole jury selection process. Striking his most Socratic pose and squinting his eyes just so, he asked “Why do you think you were selected?” After enduring a few incorrect answers from this group of legal neophytes, he enlightened us, informing us that we were not selected, rather, we were DE-selected. The “crazies” are the first to go, he told us, then anyone who would appear to be overly-sympathetic one way or the other usually gets struck – each attorney gets three strikes. What are left are 45-year-old guys from Delaware County with anglo names whose relatives earn a taxable income (that description actually fit two of us). And two guys from Horsham, a woman from Willow Grove, another from Lititz (near Lancaster), another from New Tripoli (north of Allentown), and one from Northeast Philly – all white. The plaintiff was an African American man from West Philly – and we formed the jury of his peers.

Suddenly it hit me – I felt like Chazz Palminteri at the end of "Usual Suspects." In being de-selected from the panel and becoming a member of this jury, I had been profiled to meet a set of criteria favorable to the defense – the attorneys for the police. The irony was thick – we as a jury had just ruled that the plaintiff was off base in his own profiling allegations, while our mere presence on this jury came as a direct result of being profiled. The defense wanted as many “me’s” on the jury as it could find – trying to make the jury as non-peer-like as possible to the plaintiff. The plaintiff’s side was fighting an uphill battle from the time he filed his paperwork – considering the geography from which the jury pool was drawn and the uniquely urban environment from which the plaintiff hailed, the odds of this man receiving a trial featuring a jury of his peers were Calista Flockhart-slim – even if his attorney had 10 strikes.

So – knowing now that the system was not real plaintiff-friendly, do I regret our decision? No. The burden of proof was on the plaintiff, and he and his attorney failed to meet that burden. Instead, I was left with an uneasy feeling about how little I really know about our legal system. I’m glad I had the opportunity to serve as juror – the process was fascinating, and many of my long-held beliefs about human nature – good and bad – were affirmed. As the judge said, the system is not flawless. Having said that, as I write this, there is someone wallowing away in a third-world prison, jailed unjustly by a corrupt government, who would give all he or she has for the chance at justice my plaintiff just received.

If I am ever in need of the system – there are days where people cause me to want to commit crimes - I would not hesitate to lawyer-up and file my petitions. I’m just not likely to make a federal case out of it.