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Serving as Juror Puts Objectivity on Trial

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The scene was all too familiar.

Outside the courtroom where Laura Small’s lawsuit was to be deliberated, the usual cluster of print, radio and television reporters materialized, as if out of nowhere. Some reporters impatiently paced the hallway, while others sat browsing through newspapers.

Many of the press people I know who were assigned to cover the controversial cougar-mauling court case waved amiably as I sauntered toward the courtroom. They expected me to blend into the media maw.

Then, one by one, they noticed I was not carrying my notebook; the white and gold badge I was wearing did not indicate my press affiliation. That day, I was not one of them.

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I had been called to the case as a potential juror.

As I walked into the wood-paneled courtroom, leaving the other reporters behind, I heard some of them guffawing in disbelief.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be outta there first,” one fellow reporter told me as I sauntered past. “There’s no way they’ll keep you.”

I chuckled, acknowledging the seeming absurdity of the situation. Here was a reporter being called not to cover but to serve on this high-profile court case.

For the next two days, I went through jury selection, while my colleagues waited in the hallway. Occasionally, one would peek curiously through the narrow courtroom-door window and catch my eye, as if looking for some inside information.

I was one of the first 18 prospective jurors to be picked out of the 80 or so who packed into the courtroom during the selection process. We were the first batch to undergo a battery of questions about our knowledge of the case and our ability to be fair and equitable to both sides.

“You see,” Superior Court Judge Francisco Firmat told us as we sat stolidly in the jurors’ box, “jury selection is a lot like a job interview.”

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That, I found out, was an understatement.

The selection process--called voir dire--was a lengthy procedure that included questions about what we did for a living, whether we knew anyone--including potential witnesses--involved in the case and whether we had ever served on a jury before.

Sitting up in the box, it felt as if I was on trial, since the lion’s share of questions on the first day were directed at me.

The Smalls’ attorney, Wylie A. Aitken--an intelligent, tough but smooth-as-silk lawyer--gleaned from me that I had referred to Laura’s mauling briefly in a story I wrote about a mountain lion that had made its way to the back yard of an Irvine home.

He asked if I, in my “unique position in the newspaper industry,” could withstand the desire to read about the case, a no-no during the upcoming trial. He then asked about my knowledge of Ronald W. Caspers Regional Park, which was limited.

By the middle of the second day, Barry Allen, attorney for the county, began his “job interviews.” He conspicuously bypassed me as he went from juror to juror asking questions.

To no one’s surprise, I was the first one dismissed from the panel.

As I walked off the platform, I realized that despite my earlier bravado in front of my colleagues outside, I was disappointed.

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After all, I knew I could be fair. I knew I could effectively perform my civic duty and judge the case purely on the basis of the evidence presented in the trial.

Hadn’t I taken Fairness and Objectivity 101 in journalism school?

My disappointment turned to indignation. I began to feel as if Allen’s rejection was a personal affront to my integrity. After all, I thought to myself, isn’t it my job as a reporter to weigh all sides in a matter and judge them equally?

Of course, a lot of people, including lawyers, don’t believe that happens.

But I felt that I didn’t get the chance to prove my ability to be equitable in a court of law.

A week later, I had my vindication.

I was picked to be a juror on a driving-under-the-influence case. In the span of four days, I listened to testimony, deliberated with my peers behind closed doors and came up with a verdict.

After we delivered the verdict, I had the opportunity to ask the prosecutor, Deputy Dist. Atty. Scott Well, why he had picked me for the panel when others had not. He said that he had considered the question himself and had remembered the standing rule among lawyers: Journalists are too liberal.

So I asked again: “Why me then?”

“I saw it in your eyes,” he said, adding that the selection process often comes down to a gut feeling, a choice that defies scientific definition.

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Silly me. And to think I was taking it all personally.

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