Five days of civic duty

My scintillating tour through the inner workings of The Law is complete, and after a week’s worth of arguments and direct examinations and sustained objections to the phrasing of this-and-that question, this is what I have to say about our criminal justice system:

I could TOTALLY commit crimes and get away with it.

Seriously, do you have any idea how much evidence it takes to prove somebody’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt? A lot. Which is great, really – because of course, the law is specifically set up to allow for the least possible likelihood of an innocent person being wrongly convicted, and that means that those who are probably-but-not-evidently-guilty are bound to slip through the cracks. And while I’d learned about this concept in school, seeing it in action was fascinating in a way that contemplating it in the abstract just isn’t.

For those interested, here’s a rundown of the trial:

Day 1: The defendant is on trial for taking part in a mugging, at gunpoint, that occurred in 2005. (Cue confused looks from the jury; all of us are wondering why it’s taken so long, but as it turns out, you are not allowed to raise your hand and ask questions in court. Unless you need to go to the bathroom.)

(Cue worry that, if permitted a bathroom visit, the court record will reflect that you took a really long time in there.)

The People charge that the defendant served as a lookout/blocked the victim from escaping while his pal -- who is conspicuously absent from these proceedings -- did the robbing.

Day 2: The victim, who was mugged while visiting the scene of a murder for his job as a crime reporter (irony!), testifies about being robbed of his cell phone, ID, and about $20 in cash by two young men. There’s one of those straight-from-Law-and-Order moments:

“Do you see one of those men here today?”
“Yes, he’s sitting right there.”
“Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant.”

We learn that the victim identified the defendant in a lineup about six months after the incident occurred. We also learn that the victim spoke to whomever was in possession of the stolen cell phone a couple of times in the weeks following the mugging, but every time things start to get interesting, the defense attorney objects and everyone leaves the room to… well, we have no idea. Perhaps they are playing hopscotch.

Day 3: Cross-examination! The defense attorney is an excellent public speaker and delivers his questions much more smoothly than the prosecutors, but he’s also wearing a diamond earring, which makes him look less like a well-mannered orator and more like an uncontrollable sleaze. He casts some doubts upon how good of a look the victim really got of the men robbing him (“Wouldn’t you say that you focused your attention on the man with the gun, and not on the lookout?”), but not enough. So far, the prosecution has it…

Until the detective on the case takes the stand and admits to having “misplaced” pretty much all the documentation related to the case. DUDE. We also see a picture of the lineup in question, which is, undeniably, pretty bad.

(Approximation of the lineup.)

We hear testimony from the NYPD officers who responded to the scene of the crime (more misplaced records!), from a police record-keeper who explains that 911 calls are automatically deleted after six months (and more!), and from a Sprint representative whose entire job, apparently, is to travel the country and testify in court about phone records (a.k.a. the only evidence in the entire case which isn’t lost somewhere). Unfortunately, none of this is as interesting as the outfit of one of the prosecuting attorneys, who is a) wearing a full-on seersucker suit, and b) has an enormous stain on his pants.

And then, out of nowhere, the People are like "We rest." (Cue entire jury looking at each other, all, Wait, that’s it? What the hell?)

Day 4: The defense calls an expert witness whose testimony is undoubtedly the most annoying of the trial; she’s one of these people who says “Sure!” before answering every question, regardless of whether or not it makes any sense to do so.

“Can you tell the jury about your academic background?”
“Sure! Blah blah masters degree blah blah PhD blah academic review.”
“And where do you currently work?”
“Sure! Blah blah blah laboratory.”
“And what was the outcome of that study?”
“Sure! Blah blah blaaaaah.”

She also explains that, in situations involving a weapon, crime victims may focus on the lethal object and not on the faces of those involved (i.e. making eyewitness identification a crapshoot at best.) So chew on that, jury.

And the defense rests.

We hear closing arguments, pointed reminders about presumption of innocence and the burden of proof, and instruction from the judge about The Law as it applies to this case. The jurors adjourn to deliberate.

At least, that’s what they say – I’m an alternate and am not allowed to accompany them, so for all I know, they’re having a party in there.

Day 5: The other alternate is called in to deliberate and I spend the entire day sitting in a room all by myself. Court officers periodically come by and say, “Oh, are you all alone?!” before locking me into the room again, until 4:00, when somebody suddenly ushers me out of the room and informs me that the entire trial is over. I didn’t get to see the verdict! I’m pissed.

The Verdict was: Not guilty. (Duh. Cue general consensus among jurors that the defendant Totally Did It, but the burden of proof wasn’t met. This is also the point at which I decide that I could Totally Commit Crimes without fear of conviction.)

-Fin.