Jury summons

I answered a jury summons for the first time today. I’ve never lived long in a town that has jury trials, and being in a regional centre, I guess the odds of being called up are fairly high, probably much higher than a capital city.

I arrived at 9am instead of the appointed 9.15am, hoping to be excused. When I received the summons it was a novelty and I thought there was no chance the lawyers would take a newspaper editor. Then the reality started to kick in that they might.

A four-day trial. Hardly any staff working after the Easter holiday. My deputy editor reporting the trial because we were short staffed. Who would get the paper out?

The clerks told me I was too late to flee. They said I would have to ask the judge himself to be excused. The judge. I’d feel more comfortable asking my wife if it’s okay to visit a brothel.

I was given the number 64 and told that I might not be required. The clerk tried to cheer me up by saying there was only one trial this week, so if I didn’t get called I was clear.

By 9.35am there must have been 100 people milling outside the two courtrooms. Kalgoorlie has a semi-modern 1970s decor concrete courthouse, rather squat and ugly.

It definitely wasn’t designed with the safety of jurors and witnesses in mind. They congregate in a tiny waiting room with villains and their families.

I thought all those people were potential jurors and started to think my odds diminished. It became apparent though that many were waiting for the Magistrate’s Court session to open. For some of the Aboriginal families from the bush it’s probably quite an occasion.

The jury hopefuls were led into the courtroom about 9.45am and shown a 10-minute video about our important role in the justice system. The clerk told us to turn off our phones, doh! and some people to remove their sunglasses.

We were told that numbers would be called at random, and if our number was called, to make our way to the jury box, during which time one of the lawyers could “challenge” us without reason and we would be excused.

Surely they should have to give a reason! It’s rather offensive and antisocial to have it implied that you can’t make a fair decision. That’s the part of me hoping that I might be called, wrestling with the pragmatic sensible majority self who realised it would stuff the week up.

The judge came in and I swear he looked a dead ringer for Dr Pat Giddings. Pat was our family GP at Bright and was later one of my PR clients when he ran a medical training group. It was rather disconcerting to see his clone on the bench.

There were only 42 of us and I was number 64. Figure that out. Apparently 55 people failed to show and now face a $300 fine. As each random number was called and the first seven places were filled without challenge, I started to feel secure.

Then the challenges started; several in a row, and the numbers remaining dwindled. I had rehearsed my speech to Pat, I mean the judge. “Pat, your honour, sorry, I can’t stay for this cosy gathering. My deputy is reporting this trial for the paper. That’s a conflict, surely, and who’s going to get the paper out? The defence don’t want me. I think they should bring back flogging.” That type of thing.

A disabled woman on crutches had her number called and made her way to the jury bench with great difficulty. At the last minute the defence counsel called “challenge” and she hobbled all the way back again. Probably seen as too sympathetic to victims.

Eventually the 14 jurors were empanelled and I breathed a sigh of relief. They were sworn in individually. And would you believe it, one woman couldn’t read? Pat, I mean the judge, was very considerate and asked her to repeat after him. I was sure she’d be kicked off or challenged.

After the tension and drama I went next door to watch a few cases in the Magistrate’s Court. It struck me that many young men facing traffic offences simply don’t care. They were in jeans and ragged clothes, lounging about with their mates. One bloke couldn’t stop giggling.

That enraged the magistrate, who called him the “laughing cavalier” and threw him out to compose himself.

Two defendants on remand were brought through the security doors. One started crying as his toddler daughter, obviously missing him, called out “daddy”.

The court system is an important part of a community’s social fabric. People should make the effort to watch it in action.