From The Seven Deadly Virtues, Hollywood writer and producer Rob Long tackles justice, a complicated concept “with lots of moving parts and a terrifying margin of error.” “Justice,” he says, “is karma on a timetable.” — [Ed.]
“Your Honor, I have a problem,” the prospective juror said to the judge during jury selection a year or so ago. The prospective juror—just so you don’t get the wrong idea—was not me.
I’m a good citizen and a patriot, and I believe in the process—messy and flawed—of justice. So when I get a summons to appear for jury service in Los Angeles County, I obey it. (I postpone it several times, of course, and then whine about it constantly, but I do eventually show up.) I have a wide and expressive face, one that radiates a kind of sunny fairness— you’re just going to have to take my word for that—and so I almost always make it to the jury box for the voir dire process. I usually last until I announce my occupation—I work as a television writer and producer in the entertainment industry—at which point the defense attorney thinks to himself, This guy is a pampered plutocrat who hates minorities and the underclass, and the prosecutor thinks, This guy is a guilty white liberal who thinks all defendants are innocent. And I end up excused for another two years. (Ironically, both lawyers are essentially correct.)
Last year, though, I made it through a couple of rounds. The prospective juror to my left—female, thirties, expensive watch, Kate Spade tote—squirmed nervously as it became clear that the jury selection process was winding to a close and that she was going to be on the panel. So she raised her hand in a desperate gambit to get out.
“Your Honor, I have a problem.”
Her problem, she told the judge, was that the defendant in the trial—it was an assault case, and a pretty serious one—had come to court in his prison jumpsuit. He was surrounded by people in suits and court uniforms and here he was, the unfortunate, in a costume that screamed “Guilty!”
“How can I be impartial when I keep seeing him in that outfit, like he’s already guilty?” she asked.
The judge explained, carefully, that each defendant in the hot and dusty county of Los Angeles has the right to appear in court wearing pretty much whatever. The defendant could have worn a suit. He could have worn a scuba outfit. He chose, probably on the advice of counsel, to wear his orange prison overalls.
“But why would he do that?” she asked.
“Well,” the judge said carefully, “that’s what we’re going to find out during the trial, right? What his story is.”
She shook her head. “I just can’t see him impartially,” she said. “Not in that outfit.”
The judge looked annoyed. “Justice, ma’am,” he said, pointing to the Great Seal of the Los Angeles County Courts, with a depiction of Lady Justice, the Greek goddess Themis, who holds up the scales with her eyes blindfolded, “is blind.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But I’m not.”
And with that, she was excused from jury service. “Nice one,” I whispered to her as she shuffled past me. She shot me a dirty look.
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To read more from Rob Long and other great conservative writers on why the virtuous life is funny as hell, purchase a copy of The Seven Deadly Virtues on Amazon. Dad doesn’t need another tie; it’s the perfect holiday gift!
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