A Taste of Perotism on Jury Duty

The essence of Perotism, the new political movement sweeping the country, is an electronic version of power to the people.

After hearing Ross explain the issues, we would communicate with him in some yet undetermined way. He’d count the votes and follow our advice.

I’d like to see him use talk radio.

“Hi Ross, this is Bill in L.A.”

“Yo, Bill.”

“First-time caller, Ross. I’m a little nervous.”

“Just relax, Bill. What’s on your mind.”

“It’s Congress, Ross. I think we should get rid of it.”

“Good idea, Bill. A lot of those people in Congress are goofy. A lot of them are adulterers, too. I’ve got tapes.”

Ross--or one of his people--would record my vote and if enough people felt like me, Congress would be history.

Many pundits, professional politicians and professors think this sort of citizen participation is goofy. No doubt these pointy heads think Ross is a little goofy, too.

But at this very moment, I am engaged in an activity that illustrates the practicality of power to the people. It’s called jury duty.

I know that everyone has been knocking juries since the cops were acquitted in the Rodney G. King beating case.

But, if you’re in the decision-making business, you’re going to make a few bad calls. Remember the old saying about heat in the kitchen.

The fact is, with all its flaws, jury duty is the one place in American life where rank-and-file citizens, the silent majority, are actually a part of government. Since that’s just what Ross wants, jury duty is a perfect laboratory to observe Perotism at work.

As Ross might have warned me, there’s not much glamour to it.

Jurors endure a boredom that grows worse with each passing day. Mostly, they just wait.

On my first day, we got together in the jury assembly room of the Hollywood Municipal Court, next to the Salvation Army facility on Hollywood Boulevard. We were given many instructions and lectures. Be on time. Call if you’re late. Always wear your juror’s badge. Don’t talk about your case, even to your spouse, kids or friends. Don’t talk to the attorneys or the defendants. The judge is the boss of the courtroom.

On the second day, we had a rare taste of excitement. My group of jurors was brought into a courtroom for possible selection on a jury for a battery case. Sixteen members of the panel were called up. Each time one was rejected, another panelist was questioned by the judge.

When my turn came the following morning, I was turned down. But, a few years ago, I actually made it to a jury and found it pretty exciting. I love trials and the duty of actually deciding someone’s guilt more than simply writing about it.

Adding up the pluses and minuses of being juror, I found the experience much like my job of reporting about government--long stretches of tedium interrupted by flashes of high excitement.

That’s what most of government is like. Although public service is a lofty goal, it usually involves unglamorous but essential tasks. Only the elevated few negotiate with Yeltsin. Most work on roads, waste disposal and street signs.

The highs and lows of my jury experience point up a weakness of Perot people power.

Few people voluntarily accept long stretches of boredom, except to earn a living. Aware of this, the courts have made jury duty mandatory. A series of notices and warnings in the mail impress recipients with the seriousness of the duty. The no-nonsense demeanor of the courthouse jury supervisor brings rebelliousness into line. The hours of waiting, interrupted only by bailiffs herding jurors to courtrooms for questioning and lectures by judges, break down any vestige of resistance.

On jury duty, I’ve learned that Ross’ system won’t work unless it’s compulsory. Only the faithful would bother to participate after the novelty has faded.

I’ve got an idea that might help Ross pull it off. Truly interactive television.

Saturday night will be Ross Night. He’ll explain the issues to us on TV. Some of us will talk to him on the “Ask Ross” portion of the show. Then we’ll vote through our interactive television.

Here’s the kicker: If I don’t vote, I’d find the doors locked. A voice from my television (which can’t be turned off) says, “Sorry, Bill. Your doors will remain locked until you vote. And your car has been disabled.”

The pointy heads may think this is no way to run a democracy--locking people in their houses to make them participate. But as Ross would say, the pointy heads are goofy. Sometimes you’ve got to use extreme methods to get things done.