“Why me?” is the question I asked as I sat in my chair awaiting to be assigned to a court case. I was pissed off for two reasons: One, my wife and I had made reservations at a hotel up in Monterey to spend a few days with the kids and we were supposed to be leaving that evening. Two, because I work out of my home the kids are with me throughout this long and boring waiting game. After waiting for about 2 hours, the clerk finally comes to the mike only to announce that my effort of getting here by 8:00am was in vain. “You are to come back here at 1:30pm” she said. Now I could have just went home to chill for a little bit, but word was out that there was a fatality on the 91 (that is one of the main arteries in the inland empire). So I had to do my ‘chillin’ ‘in the city for about 3 1/2 hours with my kids.
We get back to the courthouse @1 pm, just in time to drop them off at the child care facility located inside the courthouse and for me to do some more waiting to find out which jury pool I would be assigned. 2:00 came and went and finally about 2:15 I get my assignment instructions. Mind you, during this whole time I was crossing my fingers hoping that I would not make the finial cut. After all, I had more “important” things to do like go to Monterey.
As the elevator doors opened to my floor, I was flushed into a sea of people who were all waiting to hear someone call their name or case. Most of the chatter was in English being highlighted by Spanish from time to time. A quick scan of the room revealed that these people came from all walks of life–most who did not look too happy being their in the first place. It wasn’t hard to spot out the individuals who were on that floor who were about to serve as the defendant in their case. I was one of just a small handful of black men on the floor that was not surrounded by a small gathering of lawyers.
As I sat looking at this sea of humanity, our jury number was called. The assistant then called out a list of names of individuals who would possibly serve as the finial jury. Of course my name was near the top of the list.
As I sat in the jury box, I immediately saw whose fate we would be deciding: two young Black men.
As we reached to the close of a long day of swapping jurors for individuals who were able to convince the court that they could be fair and impartial to the case, I began to realize the importance of me being there. This was more that just a annoying request of my local government. This was the chance for me to give these two young men something that historically in this country has not always been given to young Black men: justice.
The judge called forth a Black man around my age to take the place of a juror who was just excused. As the judge went down the list of his questions, he then asked him “Do you think that you can be impartial in your judgment in this case?” This Black man paused for a minute and then answered “yes”. Noticing this pause, the judge then began to probe him about any negative experiences he may have had towards law enforcement. This man began to tell the court of a few experiences he had in the past with law enforcement where he was stopped by police for stealing his own radio. Needless to say, he did not have a positive view of law enforcement and he made that very clear. He also made it clear that he would be inclined to disregard any testimony from law enforcement and side with the defendants. Now part of me believes that he was ‘workin’ it’ in order to get out of court duty as were many other folks (folks who had been in this country for 9 years all of a sudden could not speak or understand English). But the other part of me believed that there was some truth behind his ‘frustration’ with law enforcement. He then expressed to the judge that he would like to be excused because he had a problem putting young Black men in prison. Little did he know that his last statement was creating a whole series of posts in my brain.
When this man was finally given his official excuse from the court from this case, I want to run out there and say the following to him:
“I don’t deny that you have been wronged by the police, but let me ask you this: If you knew of a few Black men who you knew were guilty of committing crime, would it be safe to assume that all Black men were criminals? Why then apply draw the same conclusions when it comes to law enforcement?
Now to your comment about you having trouble putting young Black men into prison, how do you know that they will go to prison? The greatest thing that we can give these young brothas is something that we as a people have been demanding for years: impartiality of the application of justice. By walking out on them, you have voluntarily removed your say in the fate of these young men–giving space for a possible juror who does not plan to be impartial.”
I, along with a few other jurors also expressed our displeasure of being in a position of passing judgment of these young boys–a judgment that could haunt them for years to come, but as I also expressed to the court, “someone had to do it”. And for that, I feel compelled to be impartial.
Honestly, I do not know what the outcome of the case will be. Will these boys be found guilty or innocent? Will they be sent to prison? These are the same questions that I am sure has been going through their minds for months. One thing is for certain, it is a lot easier to complain about ‘injustice’ in this country than it is to take part in the grunt work to apply justice–especially when you are not getting paid to do so.
May the Lord grant us wisdom in the fate of these young Black men.
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