askyermom

Look, this may never happen again. The first jury selection passed on me and the second didn’t want me either, but we were down to the final alternate spot and there must have been someone behind me they wanted just a little bit less.

I was expected to sit still and pay attention with a group of citizens who were also missing work or missing something else to be there. I nearly fell asleep by the end of the day, but that is only a function of fatigue met with inadequate coffee. The case was surprisingly dramatic and bizarre–the sort of jury duty you hope to get–short and weird.

We, the jurors, were dying to talk about the case, but forbidden. During one of our many breaks, the other alternate juror and I nudged right up to the line of discussing procedural questions together, but we remembered to behave.

I found it extraordinarily encouraging that fourteen adults could be disciplined enough to restrict our chatter to travel and hobbies such as parenting in college years. We drifted into political territory a time or two, but there was a forcefield of civility that prevented any incendiary topics from entering our safe little room.

Back in the courtroom, our very lightly attended trial was set like a stage play. The judge was elevated a few feet above us and security guards flanked the central aisle. The overly warm wood paneling was everywhere, but the room was physically quite open, except for a security barrier in front of the clerk. I speculated that he had a stalker and that was why the extra safety was warranted.

After opening statements that mostly established the defense lawyer was going to struggle to communicate clearly, a police officer was called as a witness. He explained his experience, verified the images and videos being introduced in evidence and answered questions about his thoughts and choices during the subject encounter. He was visibly upset to revisit the experience.

The videos told the entire story, including the call to 911. The defendant had been distraught and was saying he didn’t want to go on living. His behavior and early morning drunkenness alarmed his family and the emergency call was made. The officers were told he spoke only Spanish and he might have a knife. They knew that there were other family members in the house and the officers were given the access code to get into the property.

As they entered, the defendant was standing up with a beer in hand. He had smears of blood on his shirt and was slow to understand what they wanted when they shouted manos several times. He tossed his beer aside and eventually raised both hands. The police moved in swiftly to pull his manos behind his back, while his wife cowered by the front door.

His instinct, while flawed, was somewhat understandable. He shrugged the men off and pulled a knife out of the back of his pants, since his hands were already there. He forgot to drop the knife and was accused of wielding it as the officers yanked him around in an attempt to gain control. He was tased and then berated by the Spanish speaking officer a bit later when she arrived on the scene.

The family, in testimony, was able to convey how confusing and upsetting his life, crisis, and encounter with the law had been. The police were also upset by the encounter, especially since his knife was a very large chef’s knife, wholly surprising as a weapon concealed in anyone’s butt. We only saw a large photo of the knife, with a ruler to provide scale. Everyone in testimony agreed it was the same big, deadly weapon involved.

Even so, it was obvious to us, hearing and seeing the event exactly as it unfolded that they could have and should have waited for a Spanish speaking officer. Adrenaline should not be in charge of confronting a wild drunk in his home.

Even if they had been perfectly trained in pouncing distraught drunks, it’s just not the best way to approach, in my opinion. Pouncing was their directive however. Controlling the suspect was the goal.

I think prior conversation was called for. They did not tell the wife to get out of the house, they did not ask about the blood or even whose it was. They had no way to communicate any of the questions anyone would have in seeing a wobbly, bloody man in his living room.

For his part, it was clear that the defendant, while very confused, was assuming they had the wrong house and they were mistaking him for an intruder. Mi casa, he said many times.

The family was in jeopardy, we could see. The defendant and his family wept through all their testimony. He had already been in jail for several months awaiting this trial and I, for one, was impressed that his immigration status was never discussed, except for mention of his having suffered trauma in his childhood in another country.

When it came time for the jury to deliberate, my fellow alternate and I were not needed any longer, but the judge did something remarkable and invited us to his office to talk about the case.

He knew we were dying to discuss it, he said, and he was interested to know what we thought. He made the most of the opportunity to educate us on how the system is supposed to work and succeeded in giving me a new appreciation of the professional care that goes into managing crazy situtations and their fallout.

I told him I thought the weapons charge was most compelling, since the defendant could have dropped the knife and avoided the appearance as a threat. He agreed with me and said that resisting arrest was also pretty strong.

This surprised me. They never said he was under arrest. It turns out, at least in this situation, when the law puts hands on you, you are being arrested, probably. So our guy was likely to be considered guilty of either a concealed weapon or resisting arrest, we realized. He was also incredibly lucky that he was only tased. The officers did not pull their guns out and some of their peers surely would.

A jury doesn’t have to agree on the law the way the judge sees it and in this case, they did not. He was found not guilty of all charges and pretty swiftly, too. I felt proud of the jury and agreed that in practical terms he had suffered enough for the incident and really needed help more than punishment.

The judge offered advice to the defendant that he could work with his lawyer to have the charges removed from his record in this situation and it would be a very good move for his future. I hope the translation came though on that one, because he only said it once. Borrar, eliminar, erase, delete, I can’t find a translation for expunge.

Knowing how people self-destruct and particularly understanding those of us with a taste for the boozy side of life, I am not very optimistic about our sad amigo. He was given a squint of hope and I’d like to think he made the most of it.

Nobody knows what became of the knife.

Love,
yermom

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