CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
Or, more originally, Conscience and Conviction

At this point in my life, I have been called for jury duty more than a few times. The day after Labor Day, however, was the closest I've ever been to actually serving on a jury. It was also the most disturbing case for which I have been on a jury panel. Read this from the Houston Chronicle:

A jury Thursday sentenced a Pasadena woman to 77 years in prison after convicting her of murder for suffocating her 7-week-old son.

Elizabeth Jane Burke, 27, trembled and sobbed as the verdicts were read by state District Judge Carol Davies.

She was accused of holding a blanket over the head of Ian Nathaniel Noel on Oct. 14 because she was mad at her husband, Eugene "Eddie" Noel III.

He did not show up at the couple's trailer park home in the 1900 block of Red Bluff the night before because they had had a heated argument.

Burke confessed while being tape-recorded by a neighbor cooperating with police, and she later confessed to a Pasadena detective.

For more, click here.

The whole thing made me nervous. I was number twenty on a panel of sixty five potential jurors--I had a good chance of being selected. When I started to realize what the case was about, I became all the more anxious. I was relieved to learn that the prosecutor wasn't going for the death penalty, which I adamantly oppose. Unfortunately for me, however, the state wanted life in prison.

While I sat in the courtroom, I remembered the words I had recently written on Real Art concerning the murder of pedophile priest John Geoghan in prison:

Our prisons are horrible, violent, despicable places. Murder is commonplace in prison and seemingly most Americans have little sympathy for the victims. Rape is commonplace in prison and Americans joke about it. Racial hatred is encouraged by guards and wardens as a way to keep order. Health care behind bars is a joke. Most convicts leave the penal system as worse criminals than they were when first incarcerated. Our prisons are a clear example of cruel and unusual punishment. In the long term, they harm our society more than they help it.

My conscience reared its inopportune head: I didn't know if I was personally capable of sending someone to prison. I understand that society must protect itself by removing dangerous elements, so I do not condemn the jurors who ultimately sentenced Elizabeth Burke to prison. For myself, however, I really did fear that my own bias might paralyze my decision-making ability.

It was weird. As the grandmotherly judge asked the jury panel questions about their opinions, I saw a few people clearly trying to get out of their civic responsibility by taking bogus extreme positions--as Homer Simpson once suggested, "tell 'em that you hate all blacks," or something to that effect. I didn't really want to be inconvenienced, either, so I questioned myself about my bias. Did I really have a problem with sending someone, regardless of their crime, to prison? Yes, I did, and I do.

When the judge asked us about sentencing, I nervously spoke up. I've always been a pretty good public speaker, always quick to voice my opinions, but not that day: I publicly proclaimed that I might have a problem sending a child killer to prison. I must have sounded like a moron to all those people. I know I sounded scared. I said "um" repeatedly as I told her that what I had read about prisons made me think that I might have a problem being objective during the sentencing phase of the trial. I told her that I understood that society needs to do what it needs to do, but I didn't know if I could really be a part of it all, myself.

I felt the stares of everyone in the courtroom.

Later, during a break, one guy, about my age, told me he understood what I was talking about. That was the only uplifting event I experienced that awful day. Well, not being picked was uplifting, too. Or simply a relief.

When we were done, I got out of there in a hurry, hoping it would be a long time before I had to do this again.

So, what's my point in relating all this? I guess it's that following your conscience is often difficult. It would have been much easier to have kept my mouth shut. I'm not sure if I even did the right thing or not.

I do know, however, that I remained true to myself. For what that's worth these days.

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