Candace Talmadge

The state courts, at least in the county where I reside, mete out much the same treatment to potential jurors as suffragists received a century ago. Officials offer glowing lip service to the importance of jury duty, similar to pompous lectures about women’s paramount domestic role. The hot-air distraction was/is designed to keep women and juries from recognizing their sequestered and powerless condition.

Gruel.

Juries powerless? Surely these panels’ decisions can be a matter of life or death sentences in capital crimes. True, but the maneuverings of attorneys on both sides of a case combine with rulings by the judge to keep jurors separate from a lot of background information that might actually help them.

Any testimony juries do hear and see has all been scripted after extensive behind-the-scenes wrangling, like a legal version of professional wrestling. And appeals courts can and do overturn jury verdicts on what seems like the nit-pickiest of technicalities. Why did we all bother to show up in the first place?

Then we can always follow the money when it comes to remuneration, or rather, the pitiful lack thereof. According to the National Center for State Courts (NCSC), a nonprofit that educates the public about how our courts operate, the average daily pay for jurors in the 50 states and the District of Columbia is all of $22. That’s a whopping $2.75 per hour for eight hours, nowhere close to minimum wage.

No one else — not even the night janitor— earns so little to work in a courtroom. That’s probably why it’s so difficult to convince Americans that jury duty really is a critical and fundamental responsibility of citizenship. The pay grade tells them otherwise.

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Nonetheless, the NCSC is making a valiant effort with a graphic novel about jury duty. It’s part of a series of such novels exploring and explaining different aspects of the legal system. This latest installment follows a high school graduate named Matthew Foley and his experiences after receiving his first jury duty summons. The young hero has no superpowers, makes no dramatic rescues, and doesn’t foil the bad guys. But he does find out a lot more about why jury duty counts in a way that is accessible to readers from a wide range of backgrounds and education levels.

A generation ago I was a juror in a civil trial, and have sat through more than my fair share of voir dire proceedings. (Don’t know what that means? Read Justice Case Files 3—The Case of Jury Duty and find out.) The character of the presiding judge has always made the difference in my courtroom experiences.

As one example, the civil trial I participated in was in the hands of a low-key jurist who ran his courtroom efficiently and with courtesy toward all. He was a delight. A more recent jury-duty summons was nearly a full day of torture meted out by a judge in love with the sound of his own voice who did not mind belittling the attorneys, the jury pool, and anyone else within striking distance. Happily he vacated the bench to run for district attorney but never made it past the primary.

Even more than police, firefighters, nurses, or teachers, jurors enable this nation to function somewhat in the manner envisioned within our Constitution. So what does it say about us, about how we value justice (or not), that we aren’t willing to pay jurors more for their invaluable contributions to our republic? Do we really want the answer to that question?

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