Justice is Peace

He was guilty. Of that, all 12 jurors agreed. But, was there enough evidence to convict?

Last summer, I had the amazing opportunity to sit on a jury in a criminal case. Here is a brief rundown: On a summer day about 10 years ago, a man (H) allegedly sexually assaulted a six year-old girl (C). C never told anyone, until, 9 years later, on her way to her final dance recital as a senior in high school, she bumped into H at a gas station. She reacted to the trauma, broke down in tears, and arrived home to tell her mother what had happened that day when she was six. Her mother contacted the police. C did not perform in her dance recital that night.

After C made the allegation against H, K also came forward. As a little girl growing up in the same neighborhood as C, K had also been assaulted by H. She had told a friend in 7th grade about the incident; sworn to secrecy, that friend never told an adult. But after C came forward, K was able to gather the courage to tell what had happened to her when she was six years old.

So there we were, 12 strangers chosen to decide H's fate.

For a week and a half, we listened to the evidence. It was hard to hear. H had been a trusted friend and member of the community. His own children played with C and K. Listening to the evidence, I kept an open mind. But it became all to clear that H had committed the acts against these two small girls. What sealed it for me was the testimony of another little girl who had accused H of assaulting her at a Chuck E. Cheese. He was brought to trial at the time (in 1996) but was found not guilty.

Listening to C and K testify, it was clear that they were telling the truth. Why would they lie? C looked fragile, as if the events of the past few years had given her a wisdom, and a pain, beyond her 20 years.

As jurors, we were not allowed to discuss the case with anyone, including other jurors, until the testimony was completed. I longed to share what was happening in the courtroom with my family and friends. I like to hear the opinions of others; I make my decisions by weighing others' opinions and feelings before coming to a resolution. But this time, I was on my own. I had to trust myself, that voice inside of me that whispered my own truth.

After the closing statements were made (H pleaded not guilty), I found myself in a small room with eleven strangers. We started carefully weighing the evidence. The case for C was clear; he had done it, nobody had any doubts, guilty of rape and sexual assault of a minor. The case for K was less clear-cut. Her memories were vague and spotty; after all, we are talking about an incident that occurred more than ten years ago, when she was just a little girl. All jurors agreed that he had done it, that she was telling the truth. But was there enough evidence to convict?

At the beginning of deliberations, we were split pretty much down the middle, with a slight lean towards not guilty in the case of K. As I listened to the other jurors, I became more convinced of the truth of K's testimony. But, little by little, the other jurors that agreed with me were swayed. There wasn't enough evidence. Her memory was spotty. It couldn't have happened the way she told it. Yes, he did it, but there's not enough evidence to convict. It was so long ago. Besides, he is going away for a long time on the guilty verdict for C. So, there would be justice for K in that.

No, there wouldn't. Rarely have I ever felt such passion as I did in that deliberations room, fighting for K. I even shed some tears. The other jurors (particularly one man) told me that I shouldn't let my emotions, or my feelings for K, get in the way of justice. "I am fighting for justice," I told him. "K was assaulted. We all know she was assaulted. How can you go back into that courtroom, look her in the eye, look her family in the eye, and say not guilty? I'm sorry, but I can't live with myself if I did that."

Frustrated, after a long day of deliberations, it was 11-1 in favor of not guilty. I was the lone hold-out. We decided to come back for another day of deliberations.

The next morning, I entered deliberations with apprehension but a conviction that K should receive the justice, and peace, she deserved. I fought with everything I had. I stated my case clearly, with confidence. H had done this. We know he did it to C, and he did it to the little girl at Chuck E Cheese. Of course he did it to K. WHy would she lie? She had told a friend in 7th grade. It takes courage to speak of a sexual assault, especially when the victim is a child. Why would K put herself through the pain of a public trial if it had not happened? Yes, maybe the facts were blurred after 10 years. But, the bottom line is that the child had been assaulted. And as a jury it was our responsibility to give her the justice she deserved.

One by one, jurors came around and saw my side. I gained strength and conviction as the tide started to turn. Finally, after lunch on the second day of deliberations, we were unanimous: H was guilty on both counts, C AND K. The other jurors thanked me for sticking to my values and for fighting for what I felt was right. It felt like the world had been lifted off of my shoulders and I cried with relief. For now I could go into the courtroom, face K's family, and make a judgment based on truth.

Throughout this process, I learned a lot about myself as a person. I have always been indecisive and easily swayed. But I learned that when push came to shove, and the stakes were high, I could trust my own instincts and stand up for what I believed in. My voice is important and can make a difference. One person is enough.

After the trial, I heard that K had gotten a tattoo that read "Justice is Peace". I, too, am at peace, that I played a part in getting a young woman the justice she deserves.