Jury duty. How many red flags are too many?

Listen to the podcast by NotebookLM

Performing my civic duty

When the jury duty summons arrived a couple of weeks ago, I was certain history would repeat itself—I would express my true opinions during selection and be excused, just like I was a decade ago. This time, however, fate had different plans.

As a product manager, researcher, and tax-paying member of society, I couldn't help but scrutinize the entire process from the moment I set foot in the courthouse. The experience raised several red flags that left me questioning the efficiency and effectiveness of our judicial system.

Upon arrival, I presented the letter instructing me to appear for jury duty and was promptly handed a paper form to fill out with my contact information. I wondered why this was necessary and how the information would be used. Tablet terminals stood idle nearby, clearly designed for electronic data collection but now gathering dust. Instead, a couple hundred paper forms were precariously stacked on a table, just waiting for a gust of air to scatter them across the waiting room—a chaotic contrast to the unused technology at hand.

After waiting about an hour, names were called, and we were sent to a specific courtroom. There, we all gathered, and once everyone settled, the bailiff began calling names again. I was the fourth person called and received a tag with the number four. This continued until all 60-plus of us had numbered tags. Having a low number meant I was automatically in the jury box; the only way out would be to be screened out during selection.

First Red Flag: The judge introduced herself, the clerk, and the bailiff, explaining what was about to happen—the type of case and how long the trial was expected to last. It was scheduled for three days, starting Tuesday afternoon, with the possibility of spilling over to Monday. We were told to expect deliberations to start Friday afternoon. This immediately concerned me. Starting deliberations late on a Friday seemed unwise; jurors might rush to reach a verdict to avoid returning on Monday, potentially compromising justice.

Jury selection began and didn't wrap up until Wednesday morning. It was intriguing to see some people blatantly fabricate excuses to get out of jury duty. Their lack of sincerity was so obvious that the judge kept them until the last minute, perhaps to make a point, but they were ultimately dismissed because they wouldn't take the duty seriously.

The trial commenced Wednesday after lunch. We were sworn in, and the judge reiterated the prosecution's burden of proof, the presumption of innocence before proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and the concept of reasonable doubt itself. She also delivered the necessary admonitions and mentioned that everything was being recorded electronically, eliminating the need for a court reporter—a nod to modern technology that I found encouraging. Then she handed over to the attorneys for opening arguments.

Second Red Flag: The prosecutor attempted to project photo evidence during her opening arguments but couldn't make it work. The judge commented, "There was a software upgrade, and that thing stopped working... but rest assured, you will see these photos before the trial is concluded." Throughout the trial, it was evident that the judge, the clerk, and both attorneys were uncomfortable with the courtroom technology, and there was no one available to assist. It was painful to watch and made me question how such technical difficulties could impede the pursuit of justice.

Aside from these hiccups, the trial proceeded much like a TV courtroom drama, complete with objections, overrulings, sustainings, and statements struck from the record. I found that part fascinating.

However, all the evidence presented was circumstantial. There was no direct evidence linking the defendant to the crime. The defense capitalized on this by highlighting inconsistencies in witness statements regarding the color and type of fabric of the defendant's clothing and pointing out the police officers' failure to collect direct evidence. I had to agree that this was a significant oversight. Moreover, the quality of the exhibits was poor—the photos were grainy stills from body cam videos worn by the officers.

We heard from four witnesses. After lunch on Friday, the attorneys delivered their closing arguments, and we began deliberations mid-afternoon.

Third Red Flag: Some of us couldn't recall whether the first witness had confirmed she recognized the vehicle involved in the event. We asked the bailiff for the testimony transcript, only to discover there were none. Instead, we were taken back to the courtroom to listen to the entire testimony, which lasted about 40 minutes, even though the relevant part was in the last 10 minutes. We quickly agreed that we wouldn't make this mistake again.

Fourth Red Flag: All the objections that had been sustained and statements "stricken from the record" were present in the audio replay, renewing our memories of information we were supposed to disregard. This made me wonder: would this have happened if a court reporter had been present? If you know, please share your thoughts in the comments below.

Deliberation was an eye-opener.

Fifth Red Flag: The trial scheduling seemed to influence the jury's decision-making process. There was an unspoken goal among the jurors to reach a verdict by the end of Friday, but our unexpected return to the courtroom derailed that plan, as some of us had obligations like picking up children from daycare. This collective desire to conclude quickly persisted on Monday, where two jurors, despite initially holding different opinions, were quick to side with the majority. Ambiguous legal definitions and obtuse responses from the judge contributed to their change of heart.

As an experienced product manager and former researcher, I couldn't help but compare this to conducting a focus group with only 12 participants and relying on qualitative, anecdotal data to make critical decisions. In product development, we would never base significant decisions on such a small, subjective sample without substantial quantitative data to back it up.

This process felt inherently flawed—subjective, non-blind, and fraught with design issues. Is there a better system? Absolutely. But the root causes of these problems are numerous and deeply embedded in societal structures, many of which lie beyond my expertise.

Where should we start? Perhaps by addressing the initial flaws in the process—the lack of direct evidence, the technological failures in the courtroom, and the scheduling that pressures jurors into hasty decisions. Witnessing these systemic issues firsthand left me pondering: Can we, as a society, afford to overlook them any longer?

I don't have a simple solution. As an engineer and product manager, I want to solve this problem, to address the root causes. But this is a societal issue with complexities that extend beyond any one person's scope. It's not something that can be fixed alone.

Performing my civic duty turned out to be an enlightening experience, one that exposed me to the complexities and imperfections of our legal system. It reinforced the importance of each individual's role in striving for justice and the collective responsibility we share in seeking improvements.

What are your thoughts? Have you had similar experiences with jury duty or observed flaws in systems that are supposed to serve us? Feel free to share your insights or suggestions in the comments below.