Imperfection
Reporting live from an East Los Angeles courthouse
The plaintiff’s attorney was a short, older New Yorker, mostly deaf. The defense attorney, a Latina with a big smile, often stared at the ceiling when she needed to rephrase a question. Nothing started on time. No coffee machine, no Law and Order snap. Outside our courtroom, a large computer display, meant to convey information about the day’s cases, was immobilized, stuck in its blue desire to be restarted.
The wheels of justice, I discovered this week, turn on Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, at least in East L.A.
I’d never served on a jury before. I’ve been called several times, but always dismissed—prosecutors don’t love journalists asking questions. But this was a civil trial, and during jury selection, enough people voiced enough strident, loud opinions, both pro and con, about the nature of the case—a real estate group seeking compensation from a tenant who’d stopped paying rent due to seemingly uninhabitable conditions—that my modest manner put me in the docket, a dozen of us (and two alternates) listening to arguments from about nine or ten in the morning until four p.m.
A chemistry professor, a nurse, a data analyst. An unemployed older guy, an after-school tutor younger guy. Races varied, ages varied, all of us supplied with a pencil and pad to take notes.
The law, as it was explained to us by the judge, was confusing. What we’d be called to do in deliberation was confusing. Nothing worked perfectly, or even smoothly. The lawyers bickered constantly, objecting nonstop—though they spent their breaks chatting, talking about other trials, the recent fires, like enemy soldiers meeting on the field. The witnesses were unprepared. Evidence was blurry. The defendant didn’t speak English, and multiple jurors who spoke Spanish said the translation wasn’t top-notch.
But this is American justice: messy, flawed, and strange. Also fascinating and rarely boring, partly because we never knew what would happen next.
(We couldn’t talk about the trial this week—it just wrapped—so my friends were in the dark, leading one to ask if I was part of the A$AP Rocky trial, and did I see Rihanna, and if the glove didn’t fit, etc.)
My favorite part, the most beautiful, was when we entered deliberation. Tiny room, stained ceiling, the twelve of us around a large table—and when no one wanted to be the foreperson, yes, I volunteered. Though what I loved is where it went next: for several hours, the dozen of us, strangers to one another, had an extremely civil, nuanced, thoughtful conversation. People didn’t interrupt. Almost everyone took voluminous notes during the trial and approached things seriously—we sifted evidence, sent questions to the judge, we laughed over the inefficiencies and talked about our sympathies, and heard one another out.
Being Angelenos, we also held a contest for who had the longest commute.
There were twelve of us present in that room, meaning also dozens more—memories connected, friends who’d been through shit; all messy humans trying to do our best with what we brought to the experience. But through all that talking and listening, figuring out what to focus on and what to overlook, we were able to answer unanimously on nearly every question the judge asked, and we rendered a verdict by lunchtime.
There really are no differences between people but differences of degree. Thanks to my service, I’m out of the system for a year, but will I do it again, if called? Law and Order doesn’t hold a candle.
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“Meditations in an Emergency” is a weekly essay from writer Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with three-plus things to love, plus the monthly “Humans Being Humans” ballyhoo.
Rosecrans is a correspondent for GQ, a contributor at Travel + Leisure, and the bestselling author of Everything Now: Lessons From the City-State of Los Angeles, winner of the California Book Award. Other books include The Last Kid Left and Paris, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down. His debut novel, You Lost Me There, was a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice.
For books, articles, bio, and contact info: rosecransbaldwin.com.
Rosecrans, thanks so much for this.