tom and jury

Jury service is a once in a lifetime experience. Unless, like me, you’re unlucky enough to get called up twice. This is an insight into what it’s like to be a member of a jury, and not a factual account of what went on the night Mr Harper strangled his wife with a rope in…ahh, I’ve said too much.

Where did my jury service take place?

For 2.3 weeks I was asked to attend Basildon Crown Court. To get to the court you have to pass its neighbouring building, Basildon Job Centre, which takes sympathy on those who don’t feel like working. The irony is that these unsavoury characters, grown men dressed in tracksuits and women who barely attempt to cover themselves at all, are committing crimes against fashion on a daily basis.

It wouldn’t surprise me to discover that a small majority end up in Basildon Crown Court at some point in their lives too, but cuffed and suited. If the reason to build the Job Centre in spitting distance of the court was to remind anyone thinking of claiming false benefits just where they’ll end up, it’s a stroke of genius on the part of the town planner.

How does jury service work?

Before each case begins 16 members of the public are ushered into the courtroom. 12 are picked at random to sit in on the case. The unused jurors return to the waiting room whinging that the ‘raffle’ process is a complete waste of their time, but their frustration actually stems from watching too much X Factor and being conditioned to think that being rejected means your life is over.

A case can stretch for up to two weeks. When you’re sworn into court the judge asks that you do not disclose the full case with anyone other than the jury. You convince yourself that you’ll keep that promise, which to a certain degree, you do. Revealing different parts of the case to friends and family members separately doesn’t count. The chances of them all meeting to piece together the puzzle is slim. You’ll be fine.

At lunch you’re free to return to the general waiting area where you can buy weak coffee for a small fortune. Or read yesterday’s newspaper. Or find a spot in view of the communal television, which is turned down so low that you can’t interpret the dialog of Loose Women but loud enough that five cackling, alcoholic panellists disrupt your reading.

How do you reach a verdict?

Each member of the jury is responsible for voting guilty or not guilty once the prosecution and the defence have put forward their case. The judge can accept a 12-0, 11-1 or 10-2 majority decision. If a majority decision is not reached, the judge will dismiss the jury and take it from there. But there are reasons why a jury may not be able to see eye to eye.

The white van driver will form a decision in the first 10 minutes on hearing the outline of the case. Guilty of course. Arms folded. Job done. A guilty verdict will also be given by the teenager scribbling West Ham United logos in the notepad that is provided specifically not for that purpose. He won’t remember any facts or persuasive arguments. But the defendant looks guilty, which is all that matters.

Two or three pragmatists will give the defendant the benefit of the doubt and look down on those who aren’t bright enough to entertain the thought that there’s good in everyone. The remaining jurors will pray that no one asks for their opinion as they are frightened that it will shape the course of the defendant’s life. Which is their duty. Instead of thinking rationally, they’ll mimic the verdict of the juror who spoke last.

Unfortunately, I can not comment on how my case ended, as I will no doubt find myself in a spot of ethical soup with a certain judge. A fine point on which to end.