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Saturday, Aug. 22, 2009

Mike Tharp: Hurry up and wait in court

Jury duty:

Sacred civic trust.

Or pain in the rear?

If three recent days in Merced County's Superior Court are any gauge, around here it's much more of a pain than good citizenship.

That's important because some 1,600 Mercedians are called each week to report -- under penalty of fine or a jail sentence if you fail to show.

It's also important because this is ground zero where government reveals itself to citizens and voters. What happens in the courthouse helps define your reaction to how government treats you. The social rubber meets the political road in tens of thousands of these seemingly minor deals every day in America.

If you come away satisfied, or at least not PO'd, at how that deal has gone down, your trust in government stays the same or may even go up. However, if that basic encounter between you, a private citizen, and government, in the form of public servants, leaves you with a sore bottom and a head-shaking cynicism about how the system works or doesn't ...

Well, then, democracy takes another hit from the people the system is designed to represent and serve.

Three-and-a-half hours sitting in the 160-seat jury room the first day could be considered reasonable, or at least in line with other jurisdictions.

But once called to a courtroom, where the weeding-out process began, citizens were treated like so many sheep. The judge, prosecutor and defense attorney took turns questioning prospective jurors. The judge repeated the questions so often that people not sitting in the jury box but out in the bullpen were groaning quietly and shifting their weight from cheek to cheek. "I don't want to repeat myself too many times," the judge said, repeating himself too many times.

Boring, but endurable.

What's out of whack is that after the judge insisted that all 55-plus prospects be on time for future sessions, the process always started late. If he said 10 a.m., the doors didn't open until 10:20. Dozens of people sat, stood and milled the hallways outside the courtroom.

A 1:30 p.m. cattle call became 1:50, 9 a.m. became 9:25. A lot of people wasted a lot of time.

Why? Oh, for sure the judge and attorneys could offer plenty of reasons why sessions didn't start on time. But it all boils down to this: they don't think they have to play by the same rules as those of us who carry driver's licenses and vote and hold jobs or go to school or raise families and get the summons.

Do they think they're better than we are? Do they think their jobs are more important than whatever it is we do?

Here's a hint: they're not. And their jobs are no more important to them than ours are to us. Last time we checked, taxpayers paid judges' salaries, as well as those of the DAs and public defenders. They work for us. We're glad to give our fair share to the process -- but only if they treat us with respect.

Making us stand in the hall because they're disorganized, because they don't think our time is worth as much as theirs -- that's bogus. "Even though it seems tedious and never-ending..." the judge once intoned. "We're making fairly normal progress in jury selection," he added later.

That's the problem. "Fairly normal progress" for the robes and suits and those who pull the roller suitcases filled with files. It's not normal in the private sector, where people have to punch a time clock or otherwise be held accountable for when they start work.

There may even be a glimmer of self-awareness. The judge said, "If I asked for anybody who wanted to leave could leave ... that's why I'm not asking that question."

Simple solution: start on time. Each and every session. Give a little more credit to potential jurors' power of concentration, and don't repeat the same stuff over and over. Show us some respect.

Then government may keep or regain credibility in the eyes of its citizens. Then a pain in the rear may again become a sacred civic trust.

Executive editor Mike Tharp can be reached at (209) 385-2456 or mtharp@mercedsun-star.com