I’ll confess: the summons for jury duty at the Cook County Criminal Court got a very cold reception. I thought of ways to get out of it. I hoped that being an “alternate juror” meant I would not have to go. I prayed to not be selected for a trial. All to no avail.
Suddenly I was the foreperson on a jury trying a young man for the first-degree murder of another young man.
This may seem an unlikely source of inspiration for a blog on communications skills. It just goes to show: the real world offers as many lessons on the subject as writing a memo or giving a presentation. Here’s what I learned.
- Lesson #1: Look at people and speak clearly to connect with them. Not surprisingly, the teenage boys who were witnesses for the prosecution often looked down and mumbled. That made them harder to hear—and they often got angry when asked to repeat themselves. This also made them harder to believe. I learned from experience in dealing with teenage boys that they frequently look down when they’re lying (many parents can bear me out on this). And when the defense attorney asked questions that led them to contradict earlier statements, we had tangible reasons not to trust their testimony.
The expert witnesses (ballistics, coroner) and police officers all had been trained to look at the jury. So had the attorneys. Although our job as jurors was to listen to what people were saying, we couldn’t help but be influenced by how they spoke and appeared. After all, up to 93% of the information we receive from a situation is nonverbal.
- Lesson #2: Tell the truth. In his opening statement, one of the prosecuting attorneys told us a story about a young man who was celebrating his birthday for a second day. He was killed while his mother was cooking his favorite foods for dinner. This was obviously said to humanize the victim. But then the defense attorney told us the victim was no angel: he was a dealer, and the killing was related to a dispute over territories for selling drugs. And we later learned from the coroner that the victim was exceedingly drunk (a .14 level of alcohol in his blood when .08 is legally intoxicated). So we felt a little misled. That caused us to look closer at what every attorney was saying. While this was good for us as a jury, it cost the prosecutor some credibility points.
- Lesson #3: Speak in a way your audience understands. Our judge knew this. Before the trial began, she explained the process to us in plain English. She knew part of her job was to educate us, so we could do our job well. The only time she resorted to legalese was when she had to read the charges at the beginning of the trial, and the jury instructions before sending us to deliberate. Otherwise she went out of her way to ensure we didn’t feel as though she was talking over our heads or down to us.
- Lesson #4: Offer to answer questions or give feedback. When the trial concluded, the judge came into the jury room, ready to answer any of our questions. This was a highly emotional experience for the 12 of us, and we were glad for the chance to “debrief.” (We also got some comfort from the idea that, had this been a bench trial, she would have arrived at the same verdict we did.) She was followed by the two prosecuting attorneys. They were happy to answer our questions about why they presented some evidence and witnesses and not others. This helped give us a clearer picture of our experience.
- Lesson #5: Check your bias at the door. The only experience I’d had of a jury is watching the film “12 Angry Men.” My fellow jurors were the best group of people you could want to serve with. We had a wide range of backgrounds: a college student studying physics, an operating room nurse, a facility manager, a cook (with seven children: two of them in jail), a mother of a six-month-old, an IT professional. But all of us shared one interest: to interpret the evidence and come to a fair verdict. As the foreperson, it was my job to ensure that everyone was heard. I was incredibly lucky that no one felt the need to press an opinion on others. And when one person asked, “Yes, but what if we’re wrong?” we reviewed the definitions of first- and second-degree murder, and discussed the evidence until everyone reached the same conclusion.
- Lesson #6: Feel lucky. Everyone on the jury was just a tourist in the world of 48th and Drexel, which is where the murder occurred. We could go back to people who loved us; to homes where we felt safe. I can tell you, there’s nothing like the glimpse of a world where killing happens too often, to make me think twice before complaining about the annoying things in my life.
Personal Coda and Plea
I’m an old hand at speaking before groups. If I’ve got notes, I make sure to look up from them to make eye contact with my audience. But I must admit, when it came to reading a guilty verdict for first-degree murder, I chose to use my paper as a prop and not glance at the young man at the defendant’s table. Sending someone to prison for 45 years-to-life should give anyone pause.
According to the rules, I shouldn’t be called for jury duty for at least a year. I certainly hope never to sit for another murder trial. But now I know how important it is to go—and hope that you’ll choose to participate in the judicial process, too. As a good communicator, you can do some good there.
Lynn Franklin says she started Lynne Franklin Wordsmith 16 years ago because …”I was in danger of being made a partner at the world’s largest investor relations agency. Or because a tarot card reader told me to. Or because I wanted to prove my theory that wearing pantyhose didn’t make me more productive. All of those would be true.”
