Jury duty is a big responsibility, and a privilege

When my jury duty summons arrived in the mail, as mine does without fail every year, I felt the usual dread. I crossed my fingers when I called to check in the night before, hoping they wouldn’t need me.

Over the years, I’ve only been selected once, and that was for a civil trial. We briefly sat in the courtroom before they sent us off to lunch. While I’d sat enjoying a DiNic’s roast pork sandwich in Reading Terminal Market, the case was settled. I took my $9 check and headed home. Altogether, an enjoyable experience. I considered myself lucky.

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This year, I worried I’d be asked to serve, maybe even for a criminal case. The idea of sitting through days, maybe weeks, of evidence and testimony about a violent crime made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to know about it.

When I called the night before, the recording instructed me to arrive at 8:15 a.m. That morning, I went through the metal detectors and was funneled into the selection room.

As we sat filling out our forms, I’m sure each of us — at least most of us — was hoping our answers would provide us with an out. In the past, I assumed it was my answers that made me undesirable for jury duty: I know police officers, and I have been the victim of multiple crimes. In previous questionnaires, they asked if we knew lawyers. I did. Questions about the death penalty are gone, but when asked in the past, I was always against it. Still, I felt confident that I wouldn’t be called.

However, this time I was picked, and for a criminal case — homicide. Exactly what I had been hoping to avoid.

As I sat with the other jury members, the judge instructed us that throughout the trial, we were not to talk to anyone about the case or watch the news or read the newspaper. We were not to discuss it even amongst ourselves until we were in deliberation. This was serious.

For days, I sat with my peers in the courtroom, listening and taking notes. I felt alone as I went home each night and considered that day’s testimony. I was sitting in judgment of another person. A person’s future was in my hands. The responsibility kept me awake at night, yet I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. When the time came for a verdict, would it be clear to me?

After closing arguments, the judge gave us our instructions. We went into deliberation. As a middle-aged woman, I may have been the oldest one in this diverse group. Once we began discussing the details of the case, I relaxed. I was lucky — I was on a jury of thoughtful and engaged people. I was not in this alone.

After sharing our opinions, we reached a verdict quickly, in under an hour. The evidence was clear. We were all of the same mind: guilty of first-degree murder. We would not be present for sentencing; the judge would do that the following week. But we knew that the defendant would not be released into our city’s streets to commit another crime, to take another life. He would remain in prison, perhaps for the rest of his life.

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I recognize the impact of our decision. This man was still young, and our verdict would change his life — and the lives of his loved ones — forever. I did not take the decision lightly. But faced with the evidence, I felt like the jury had no other choice.

Over the past few years, I have, at times, felt helpless and even hopeless with the violence in my Spring Garden neighborhood. I hear gunshots in the night, in the afternoon. Boys are shot on playgrounds. Men exchange bullets outside the corner bar. Helicopters circle above. I know that our justice system is flawed, but this was an opportunity to have a voice in it.

By showing up for jury duty, we were doing our civic duty. By showing up for jury duty, we gave the defendant his day in court after years of waiting, made even longer by COVID-19. By showing up for jury duty, we brought justice to the victim’s family.

It felt good to be in the courtroom for myself, my community, and the city I love. To realize, there is something I can do. To understand now, I was lucky to serve.

Susan Barr-Toman is a writer, teacher, and lifelong Philadelphian.