Insights from 2 Weeks of Grand Jury Duty

This summer I spent 2 weeks serving out grand jury duty in NYC’s narcotics court. It’s a narrow insight, but it was my start to understanding this system.

Part I
We’re all fucking racist

Day 2 of grand jury duty — our first time seeing a real case. 3 hours of training the day before apparently qualified us to decide someone’s fate. The first couple cases went by quickly. We were curious, and unsure of the procedure, but our warden was there to guide us through it.

On our first break, we sat in a small holding room waiting for the next case when 3 men walked into the room. I glanced up from my emails and thought, “Hmm.. haven’t seen them before.” My immediate thought after was more embarrassing. I’d rather not admit it, but I assumed that they were the defendants, ones guilty of committing a crime. In a room where 18 of the 23 jurors were white, and none of the 5 people of color in the room (including myself) was black, they stood out to me because of their skin color. I caught myself with these thoughts.

“Damn, that was fucking racist,” I muttered in my mind.

In theory, I knew that defendants didn’t come testify at grand jury, as this was repeated multiple times throughout our training. But it was a poor snap judgment that led me to assume they were here to defend their case. 5 minutes later, I discovered they were undercover cops. My face flushed with embarrassment and I couldn’t look them in the eyes when they were sworn into court.

How did I conjure up such a racist thought? If I’m capable of having these thoughts in a sterile holding room, then this must be the kind of thought that leads to detrimental judgments in an escalated situation. The ones that allow us to “reason” that Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old boy looking “bigger” than he should have, posed a legitimate physical threat to police officers holding real guns.

I like to believe that I’m free from discrimination. I pride myself in my empathy for others, but really it’s all ego, convincing myself that I’m free from these thoughts. It’s not OK, and this was my reality check — latent judgments pushed into consciousness, so that I could reflect and see my true self. I’m sorry for my actions, and I’m sorry to those I offended. But if I let these thoughts die in sorries, then nothing will have changed. I’m here openly admitting that I harbor these misperceptions in hopes that we can un-learn these stereotypes together.

If we work from the foundation that we’re all fucking racist, could we be more receptive to hearing our own actions critiqued? And maybe then could we be more honest with ourselves and admit when we’ve wronged?

Part II
You’re set up to vote one way

“Do they look like me? Don’t indict.”

That was a black man’s response to me saying I’m headed to my last day of grand jury duty. Of the 20+ cases we saw during the 2 weeks, all of them were indicted. Some I voted to indict, and others I voted to dismiss. But the reality is, it really didn’t matter what I voted. Here’s why:

1. Majority ruling
You only need a majority rule to indcit. We were coached to minimize discussion when there were disagreements (so we can get out early, and trust me, everyone wanted to get out early). No records are kept of the breakdown between # of votes to indict vs. dismiss. It all gets condensed into a little check mark on a flimsy sheet of paper, and just like that, your anti-vote is effectively removed with the stroke of a pen. There’s a big fucking difference between a 23–0 vote and a 12–11 vote.

2. Almost all the witnesses are cops
At least that was the case in our narcotics court. But can you imagine, when the defendant is a cop, how the witnesses will testify?

3. You only know the defendant’s name
Other individuals involved in the case are referred to either by their relationship to the defendant (defendant’s father), or their street nickname. I don’t know how this is handled in shooting cases. Do you know? Did they say the names Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, and Eric Garner?

4. You only hear the prosecutor side
It’s a choreographed dance — the witnesses are the dancers, and the prosecutor the choreographer. There’s a rhythm in how prosecutors reveal the case. First, they build up a witness’s expertise by asking how long he/she has worked in this unit. They dive deeper and cite explicit trainings the witness has done to be qualified in this area. And here’s the question that wows the jurors…

“How many cases like this have you worked on before?”

The answer is shocking — 50, 130, I think one cop even answered 1,000. Wow, indeed, you are an expert.

The case unfolds and then it’s clear why we spent 5 minutes building up the character background. It’s all to frame why this charge is reflective of the crime. Why possessing drugs in glassine bags shows intent to sell — because based on the cop’s experience, that’s usually the case. Why a couple of men standing under a streetlight at night gives reason for a cop to approach — because based on the cop’s experience, that’s usually the case.

You can ask questions, but you have to whisper it to the prosecutor. If the prosecutor feels like it’s relevant to the case, then he’ll answer it out loud. If he feels like it’s not relevant, then no one will ever know what you asked. You can ask for any witness and any evidence, but again, only if the prosecutor beleieves it’s relevant.

In truth, we were going to vote exactly how the prosecutor wanted us to vote.

Part III
Expanding oneness

Buddhists believe in oneness, and I took that meaning to side with black Americans and share in this outrage together. But I’m reflecting… It’s quite easy to empathize with victims, and it’s almost impossible to understand the person responsible for ending someone’s life. This experience with grand jury, exposing my poor judgments and hearing more cops speak than I ever have in my life, expanded my capacity to see myself as the police, too. I’m trying to see myself on both sides of the gun. Because if I can do this, if I can wrap my mind around the hate and fear that triggered these actions, then we can address the issues that make up institutions ill-prepared to handle these situations. Is it crazy to believe that if I can stand in the shoes of the police then maybe they can learn to stand in ours?

I know it’s frustrating that often the underprivileged are always burdened with the responsibility to explain these issues, see both sides, and create solutions — to be the bigger person. It’s bullshit and it’s tiresome. This is where allies can help share in that responsibility. Allies like Asian Americans, who share in the experience of being a POC, and tend to have the trust of white Americans because of the twisted “model minority” syndrome (that has it’s own issues, I know). Allies like white Americans who empathize with race relations and demand more from our society. Let’s shape our judicial system to take responsibility when individuals fail. We should follow California’s lead in abolishing grand juries in cases that involve indicting cops. But until we can make that happen, go serve in jury duty. And when you take those seats, speak up and break the like-mindedness in these rooms. Let’s share in this responsibility and bring our nation closer to oneness.

“We may not experience the hurt and suffering of others, but through solidarity we can come to understand and share the experience as our own. By having solidarity, we share an ethical responsibility to take on this challenge together.”

-Dr. Richard Parker