I had jury duty recently, in New York State Supreme Court, based on my residency in Manhattan. I had postponed earlier in the year because of some other commitments, so I had to go. I’m staying with David while I get my apartment remodeled, so this meant driving in to the city to park in my garage, then taking the subway downtown to 100 Centre Street.
I don’t mind jury duty, as inconvenient as it is. It’s a civic duty, and whatever the flaws of our justice system, the notion of judgement by fellow citizens is overall a positive one, in my opinion. Yes, jurors may be challenged and dismissed, and in some cases juries are formed in unfair and impartial ways, but the idea of a jury, at its most ideal, is a sound one for participatory democracy.
The building at 100 Centre is an old one, and a large one, home to both New York State Supreme Court as well as New York Criminal Court. I was surprised at how for north it was; exiting the Q train station at Canal street, I walked a few minutes and there it was.
It was easy to walk into the wrong entrance; on the north end, west side, I was told to go back out and come in farther south; this was a mistake I would make again coming back from lunch. The proper entrance had doors each for employees and the public. The only difference was that on entry, you either walked right in or walked to a security checkpoint.
Phone, watch, coins, keys, anything with metal went through the belt-fed scanner, with humans going through a frame scanner, followed at times by a wand-down. Then, up to the fifteenth floor for the jury room.
I had arrived quite a bit early, mostly to avoid traffic. When the appointed hour came, the jury administrator explained the paperwork and played a couple of videos on how juries work, including one on implicit bias; I thought this was a good addition, though I can imagine most people tuning it out.
By that point it ten in the morning, and we basically just sat for two hours waiting to be called. We would be given a lengthy lunch, and by half past three, we were informed we could go home. No cases were called, and we were all considered to have discharged our duty.
It might be strange to say, but walking in such an old building, it’s hard not to feel a sense of ongping-ness, to think about our justice system, flaws and all. There are lengthy glories to justice chiseled in stone on the outside, and plenty of homages to the ideals of justice inside, juxtaposed with more mundane signage of which way to go for this court or that, for arraignments, for the cafeteria (this was reduced to a place selling muffins and coffee, cash only).
More to the point, in riding the subway, walking to a municipal building, I felt a connection to my longtime home that I had not for a while; the subways were full again, and my fellow jurors and I all rejoiced at the news of our early release. Suffering together, that is a key aspect of living in a large city. We’re all strangers, sharing a moment.