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3 months ago
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Day 1: Tuesday January 27th – Welcome to the Jury Pool
It was the fourth time in 15 years that I had been summoned for jury duty in the Superior Court of DeKalb County, one of the ten counties in metro Atlanta. Like many citizens I wasn’t keen to serve. Adding to my reluctance was that I had been assigned to the jury pool for a case involving a man in his 30s who had been charged with three counts of sexual molestation of a minor. The possibility of listening to sickening graphic testimony for several days even further heightened my wish to dodge jury duty.
However, I did decide ahead of time that I would not adopt a strategy of foolery, obfuscation, or prejudice to dissuade the prosecutor and the defense attorney from choosing me (as I heard a few others mutter to themselves prior to selection). Upon leaving the assembly room, each potential juror was given a numbered sticker to attach to our clothes for identification. I was juror #32. (I later sensed that these numbers along with the generic titles such “defendant,” “defense lawyer,” “the prosecution,” “the judge” are a means of depersonalizing the trial process to protect those involved in the trial from becoming too emotionally vested.)
Approximately 80 potential jurors were assembled in the courtroom and given the equivalent of auction paddles with their respective juror number. While the prosecutor and the defense attorney asked questions we were instructed to raise our paddles when answering in the affirmative. Such questions included: “Have you or anyone close or in your family ever been sexually assaulted?” (no – my answer). “Has anyone in your family ever been convicted of a felony and sent to prison?” (yes). “Have you ever given a statement to the police?” (yes-uh-huh-sorta). “Have you ever had a bad experience with a law enforcement officer?” (no). “Can you be impartial?” (yes, but I am supposed to be, right?) The lawyers from each team jotted down our responses. After lunch, 80 jurors were divided into smaller groups of about 20 to answer follow-up questions.
I was not asked much during the follow-ups, except about the family member who went to prison. “My sister was incarcerated briefly in the late 1980s for dealing drugs. She died in 2005,” I said. My other answer was about giving a statement to the police. But actually, it was my wife Denise who reported to the police the package that someone had stolen from our driveway. It was a trivial crime because the stolen package contained— and get this— pink and white M & Ms for an upcoming baby shower. It was caught on video surveillance. The police traced the license plate, and the man was arrested. We chuckled thinking of this criminal having to tell others on his cell block “what he was in for.”
But this explanation I kept to myself as I wanted to keep on the downlow. Also, my experiences cannot even compare with the glimpses you get in other people’s lives, especially narratives about sexual assault from relatives—voices cracking as these painful memories were dredged up. One woman said her son had been accused of rape, but the charges were dropped when the victim later recanted and said the sex was consensual. Some jurors requested privacy while answering sensitive questions, which was allowed. Revelations of these traumatic experiences reminded me of years ago, when I was being vetted for the jury of an armed robbery of a gas station. I was taken aback when so many potential jurors answered “Yes” when asked if they had ever had a gun pointed at their face. I realized what a sheltered life I was living.
At dinner that night, I confidently told Denise I was 90 % sure that I would not be called to duty the next day, but before I finished my dessert, I received the call to report at 8:30 the next morning. It would be the first of a string of my miscalculations about the legal system. Perhaps using a legal-friendly word like “incarcerated” put me on the lawyers’ radar? I don’t know.
Day 2: Wednesday January 28th – Meet the Jurors
I guess the Superior Court of DeKalb County had yet to receive the memo from the newly elected Trump administration about the abolition of Diversity, Equality and Inclusion in the workplace, government, and so on. Based on my personal observation, here’s the makeup of the original 14 jurors (12 plus two alternates) who were selected:
- Two older probably retired Black men; one was retired military
- Three younger Black men probably in their thirties. One was the father of four girls.
- Three Black women. One was in her late 30s and the other two were close to 60.
- Three younger white men probably in their 30s. Two had young children.
- One middle-aged white male with grown daughters.
- One near-retirement white male
- One retired white male who was turning 70 this year. I knew this for a fact since it was me.
Two of the jurors revealed during deliberations that they were gay.
The judge, the defendant, the lawyer for the defense, and all the court employees including the police that were assigned to security were Black. Only the prosecutor and her assistant were white. Diverse. Economically, most of the jurors were still working their regular jobs. Nobody “dressed up” especially since the judge said there was no dress code. This included the defendant who wore a dark hoodie on the first day of court. (On subsequent days he wore a dress shirt and slacks, perhaps on the advice of his counsel.)
But there were other rules:
We were not allowed to talk about the case to anyone, including family members. We could not even talk to our fellow jurors about it until all the evidence had been presented.
Our electronic phones and devices (including digital watches) were confiscated while we were in the courtroom and the jury room. As the only person who had an analog watch from the 1970s (my father’s Seiko), I was the only one who knew what time it was while we deliberated. We were also instructed not to look up anything in our off hours on the internet about the case or the people involved.
To say the jury room was a conference room would be misleading. It was barely big enough to hold a long table and 14 chairs. There were two private bathrooms, a refrigerator, a coffee machine, and snacks. We were each given a blank stenographer’s pad to make notes, but these were not allowed to leave the premises. Except for a lunch break and to hear testimony in the courtroom, from 9 to 5 we were literally locked in this room. This would be our daily routine until we reached a unanimous verdict.
A unanimous verdict. That in itself seemed daunting. Given the country’s political climate and our diverse demographic makeup, it seemed a tall order that these jurors would be able to unanimously agree on anything except that the Atlanta Falcons football team is a miserable franchise (which was discussed). Until we could talk about the trial after all the evidence was presented, our conversation was limited to sports, automobiles, pets, and education. The interest in the latter could be attributed to juror #48, a Black woman who taught junior high. She was not shy about sharing (and explaining) her opinions from her classroom-life experiences perspective.
On Day Two, we heard the opening evidence from the side of the prosecution. The victim, an 18-year old Black girl, let’s call her Ayana, was 15 on the day in question. Her mother moved Ayana and her two younger sisters from Ethiopia to Atlanta several years ago and they lived in an apartment near the high school. During her testimony, Ayana described the events in front of the jury and the man she accused of molesting her. She was steady but understandably shy and did not provide many details.
The incident occurred in the apartment of one of her school friends. Ayana and her friend Elise (not her real name) lived in the same apartment building and often went to school together. On the day in question they finished getting ready for school in Elise’s apartment. Elise’s mother had already gone to work, but in the bedroom asleep was the mother’s “friend with benefits” as she later described him. The girls headed to school, but Ayana realized she had left her purse in her friend’s bathroom and went back to get it while Elise went on to school. Unexpectedly, Elise’s mother’s boyfriend was awake and answered the door, which led to the living room where the boyfriend allegedly touched her breasts (Count 1), her vagina (Count 2) and her buttocks (Count 3).
Later we heard testimony from Ayana’s mother, Elise, and Elise’s mother (the latter of whom vouched for the defendant). She was a law professor at one of the area universities and a polished witness. She dropped hints about Ayana’s character and mentioned offhandedly that Ayana was not allowed in the apartment. She was 20 years older than the defendant andcontinued the relationship even after the allegation.
At dinner that night, I was not allowed to talk to anybody about the trial. Instead, I texted myself a list of 13 brief statements and questions. It began with “I have my doubts” and it ended with the line “Lots of doubts” about what had happened.
Day 3: Thursday, January 29th – Troubling Evidence & Deliberations Begin
The third day began with the police and the investigator’s accounts of when Ayana and her mother came into the police station to file charges against the defendant. Factual, stoic, and quick, these two witnesses were accustomed to being in a courtroom and giving testimony. A professional woman in her mid-30s who specialized in crimes of this nature soon followed them to the witness stand, thoroughly explaining her qualifications and the process to the jury. It was a standard procedure that when a victim is underage a specialist is assigned to do the interview. In short, the investigator is trained not to “lead” the witness while encouraging her (or him)—in this case Ayana— to tell the story in her own words. The interview was videotaped while investigators watched through a one-way mirror in an adjoining room.
From the jury box, we collectively watched the video which lasted about 50 minutes.
At the beginning of the interview. Ayana was a chatty teenager, eating chips and telling the specialist about high school and then it gradually shifted into the details about the day in question. When Ayana first showed up at the apartment to retrieve her purse the defendant let her in and then scolded her (“in a fatherly way” as he described it later in his testimony) for dressing in a skirt too short for school, and said she needed to change her clothes. The defendant sent Ayana back to her apartment (just down the hall) to change clothes and return, to come back and show him that she was dressed properly for school. This request was to be a key element in the case. While Ayana went home to change she texted Elise about the boyfriend’s request and Elise texted back “WTF”.
When Ayana returned to Elise’s apartment the defendant complimented her and pulled a $10 bill out his pocket to reward her and testified later in his words “gave her a hug and sent her on her way.” However, Ayana remembered it differently. He complimented her on how beautiful she was and then asked if the boys at school had ever touched her breasts or her vagina, which he then demonstrated by touching her in those areas. He even reached around to her buttocks. Ayana mentioned how uncomfortable she became and said to the specialist, “I was afraid he was going to rape me.” An understandable fear, given that he was head and shoulders taller than her.
We learned later that had she not been a minor (under age 16) this video would not have been made.
The defendant took the stand briefly and admitted to the court that he had given her “fatherly advice” (his words, but he wasn’t her father) but maintained that he did not request that she return, but that she just showed up. He admitted— in a short and brusque manner— that he did give Ayana the money, and a short hug before he quickly sent her on her way.
In the early afternoon we heard closing arguments from the defense and prosecution and by mid-afternoon the jury returned to its small room to begin deliberations. (At this point, the two extra alternates were dismissed.) As soon as the door closed, the room erupted in loud conversation with everyone talking at once. It was the first time in two days we were allowed to talk to anyone about what we had seen and heard. It was a relief. The junior high teacher juror #48—one of the three Black women on the jury—immediately volunteered to be the foreperson. From the beginning she stood out wearing a pair of rainbow-colored framed glasses and a big yellow hoodie sweatshirt with the name of her daughter’s grade school emblazoned on the front. Without any debate the other jury members were more than willing to give her that responsibility. At the time, I didn’t appreciate that her experiences in controlling a rowdy classroom would be invaluable in keeping us “on task” for moving toward a verdict.
We ended the day with a show of hands for guilty or not guilty. Only three or four jurors raised their hands for guilty (along with juror #48) while most of the remaining jurors voted not guilty. This is significant for two reasons. It established that we’d vote throughout the deliberation by a show of hands and not a secret ballot. And secondly, we had a long way to go. It was disheartening that we’d have to return for a fourth day. I was pissed. Would deliberations go past the weekend?
Day 4: Friday, January 30th – Lengthy Deliberations
The first item of business the next morning was a vote (by a show of hands) whether to continue deliberating the felony molestation charges or if we should consider reducing the charge to misdemeanor battery. Not much had changed overnight with only three or four jurors believing the defendant was guilty. At this point, I began to lose hope that we would reach a unanimous verdict. The word “mistrial” was floated in the room, but this was not an outcome we sought. If the jurors were like me, then they felt they had invested considerable time already. Moreover, we knew little of the ramifications of a mistrial. If we were a hung jury would the case be retried or dropped? Could a new set of jurors reach consensus?
Also, there was renewed discussion about the video from the previous day. Several of the men, as I recall, did not think Ayana was serious enough in the 50-minute video and therefore did not believe her and maybe Ayana engaged was some kind of joke or conspiracy to get even with the defendant. Our foreperson suggested that we should request to watch the video again and we all agreed.
In the jury room (and in my own mind) the grave consequences of a possible conviction were ever present. Several jurors voiced their concern about sending an innocent person to prison, especially in Georgia where the deplorable and unsafe conditions in the state’s prisons had been widely reported by The Atlanta Journal-Constitution (62 confirmed or suspected homicides among inmates in 2024; up from 38 in 2023).
The jury’s request to see the video again had to be handwritten and delivered by a court police officer to the judge’s chambers. We waited for a while before we were summoned back into the courtroom, and we could see that the video was cued up for replay. Before the video started the judge reminded us in no uncertain terms that our responsibility was to determine if the defendant was guilty or not guilty and the aftermath should not be our concern—that was her responsibility. What the judge also meant was: Focus on reaching a verdict period and forget about a mistrial.
Watching the replay of the video had a profound effect on several jurors (including myself) as they dramatically shifted their attitude toward believing her testimony. Ayana seemed more credible than frivolous and now most of the jurors believed that the defendant was guilty of touching her breasts (Count 1) and vagina (Count 2) but agreed to drop the charge that he had touched her buttocks (Count 3) because in her video and courtroom testimony she never mentioned being touched in that area. There were still two or three holdouts who maintained that he was not guilty. Again, what stands out is that these votes were done by a show of hands and not a secret ballot. Jurors allowed themselves to speak openly on why they changed their mind while several voiced their misgivings. Looking back, what amazes me is that people were allowed to express these thoughts and opinions freely. There was dialogue. There were no harsh words or hands thrown up in frustration the entire time.
After a short lunch break, the jurors continued to shift their verdict to guilty on Count 1. Ayana’s testimony on the witness stand, and in the video were corroborated by the text messages she sent to Elise. More importantly, the time stamps of the text messages proved that she had spent enough time in the apartment to be molested, which contradicted the defendant’s testimony. It took time and diligence to decipher the time stamps of the text messages. Finally, there was a unanimous agreement of guilty of Count 1 but our verdict on Count 2 remained in limbo.
Ultimately, Count 2 remained not guilty because there was not enough evidence to convict. What I believe also played a factor (and this was not voiced by others) is that at this point in our deliberations we had already convicted on one count, and we were satisfied with that judgement. This man was not going to get off the hook. He was going to be punished. However, our foreperson was adamant that if the defendant was guilty on the first count he was guilty on the second count. She said something to the effect of, “I need to know clearly in my mind what is the difference between Counts 1 and 2. Why can we convict on 1 and not 2?”
Juror #40, a sleep-deprived male in his mid-thirties (newborn in the house), was the last holdout on Count 1 but he had the answer to juror #48’s dilemma about Count 2. In the original deposition to the police the day after Ayana was molested, she did not include being touched in her “private parts.” A seemingly small nuance, but this was enough for the foreperson to change her mind. We voted not guilty unanimously on Count 2. On that Friday afternoon around 3 p.m. we notified the court officer to inform the judge that we had reached a verdict. It was an hour before we returned to the courtroom.
As we waited, the jury room burst into a flurry of chatter and some scattered laughter. One juror voiced displeasure about people being disrespectful given the gravity of what had happened and was going to happen to the defendant, but I interpreted it as a manifestation of relief. When we returned to the courtroom all the principals had been gathered along with about six police officers poised to take the defendant away. Each juror had to recite their verdict to the court and say that he or she had not been coerced in making their decision.
Recap: Fair and Impartial
But there was a surprise when we returned to the jury room to gather our things (except our notes which had to be left behind). We were joined by the judge who handed us letters thanking us for our service and a “get out of jury duty free” reprieve for the next two years. She wrote, “By answering the call to jury duty, you have discharged one of the highest duties of citizenship. A fair and impartial judicial system is essential for our democratic system.” I knew it was a form letter, but a form letter worth keeping.
The defense attorney and the prosecutor joined the judge in the jury room to answer any of our questions about the trial or the process. Oddly, after being there for three full days we were no real hurry to leave. We asked if the defendant ever was offered a plea. Shockingly, before the trial he was given the chance to have the charge reduced to a misdemeanor and probation, but he refused and went forward with the trial. Another example of his poor judgment.
The lingering moment of this experience came as we packed up and said our goodbyes. Our foreperson gave her fellow citizens kudos, reminding us that this diverse group of individuals of different colors and political views were able to come to an agreement to interpret and uphold the law. It was like the teacher telling her class that she was proud of them. It felt good erasing the slight taste of bitter irony I had coming from the knowledge that while 12 ordinary citizens did their civic duty, our nation’s “highest leaders” demonstrate daily that they do not give a goddamn about breaking the laws for their own benefit and no one holds them accountable. But on this day—and hopefully in jury rooms all over the country—these not-so-ordinary citizens earnestly met their civic responsibilities.
Murray Browne is a writer, publisher and bookseller living in Atlanta (murray-browne.com). His latest book is A Father’s Letters: Connect Past to Present. This is his tenth piece for Tropics of Meta.
