The cards are laid on the table and the names and numbers are called. People wait in a basement area below and appear as they hear their names. Twenty of them emerge into the courtroom. They are a mixed bunch: men and women of different ages. Most of them are wearing neat, formal clothes.
These will be the men and women of the jury. In Court 24 of the Circuit Criminal Court in Dublin's Four Courts, 12 will be selected to decide the guilt or otherwise of a young man in his 20s who is accused of assaulting another man and has pleaded not guilty. Each potential juror comes forward. One or two give reasons for being unable to serve and are let go. Others are objected to by one or other of the legal teams. With all the commotion in the crowded court-room, it is impossible to know why a respectably dressed woman in her 50s is objected to by the defence, or why a tough-looking man in a suit is objected to by the prosecution. But then each side may challenge seven potential jury members without giving a reason.
The oath is sworn: "I swear by Almighty God that I will well and truly try the issue whether the accused is guilty or not guilty of the offences charged in the indictment preferred against him and a true verdict give according to the evidence." There are eight women and four men, ranging in age from their late 20s to early 40s, all looking solemn at the prospect of the weighty decision before them.
The judge speaks kindly to them, telling them which courtroom to go to and informing them of the need to elect a foreman. The accused is handcuffed to a garda and led out.
There are many other people waiting downstairs to be called for jury service, but the judge tells them they are free to go until tomorrow. It is hot and sunny outside and they file out smiling, a marked contrast to most of the other, serious faces around them. One woman says happily, peeling off her jacket: "I'm going to take the rest of the day off now." So, how does it all work? This reporter, a complete novice in all matters legal, tried to unravel the whole murky business, starting with one conundrum: why was the 82-year-old mother of a colleague recently called for jury service? Each county has a county registrar, who is responsible for jury selection through the electoral register which is only updated once a year and does not give the person's age. That is why you can have people who have already died being called, or people who are over 65 and therefore not eligible. More juries have to be selected in Dublin than in any other part of the country. Some 25,000 people in Dublin are chosen randomly each year, and about two thirds of these are actually picked. It really is random: apparently Charlie Haughey was called one year, and the Chief Justice last year. A large number of people are exempt, including TDs, practising solicitors, barristers, dentists, priests, vets, and anyone with a criminal record.
The jury summons is accompanied by an easily understood leaflet which explains what jury service involves, such as a minimum commitment of 10 working days. If you are on a trial you must stay until the verdict is given and the judge discharges you. This can take several weeks in some cases, such as in the murder trials of Anna Maria Sacco and Joe Delaney, both of which ended last week with the juries being discharged after failing to reach a verdict.
Apparently the first thing people called for jury service want to know is whether they will be paid, or have their parking expenses reimbursed. Unfortunately all you can expect out of jury service is a free lunch. If you are unable to serve due to illness you must supply a doctor's certificate, or if ineligible for any other reason, you must explain why. Some employers will continue to pay you during your jury service, but self-employed people may find themselves going into a period of several weeks without an income.
Back to the knotty and fascinating issue of why certain potential jury members are challenged by legal teams. A legal executive who does most of her work in the Circuit Criminal Court in Dublin, is involved in the empanelling of juries on behalf of a criminal defence solicitor.
"I obtain a list of about 200 jurors every fortnight. There is a name, an address and, if I'm lucky, sometimes their occupation, although they are not obliged to give that." After the jurors appear in the courtroom she has only a couple of minutes to decide whether to make an objection.
If she has an objection, she stands up and says "Challenge on behalf of the accused". There are various reasons why she might object, sometimes based on an instinct, or simply how the person is dressed, or perhaps how the person looks at the accused. There are further considerations, based on what she may know about their occupation: "I don't want a lot of bank officials if my client has robbed a bank. I also don't want a nervous housewife if my client has committed a burglary."
After objecting to seven people without having to give her reasons, she can make further objections "with cause": "For example, if this person lives on the same road as my client, it might mean that he or she is prejudiced in a certain way, so I would object."
She has other preferences: "If it was a sexual assault case, I'd like a mixture of men and women in the jury. With a fraud case, I'd be looking for people who are smart - semi-professional or professional people who could grasp the concepts." In general: "I like where possible to have most people from a similar background to my client on the jury. So they will have empathy towards the client, and some concept of where my client is coming from."
What about that oft-circulated rumour that no-one likes having an accountant on a jury? She says "in a complicated fraud case you might want an accountant or two, but in general, most of my clients are from the socially deprived sections of the city, so I'm not looking for accountants".
A young barrister adds: "There is an old wives' tale that certain people on a jury are more likely to convict, especially accountants. I've never seen it myself, but I have heard it said by older barristers." He echoes the sentiments of the legal executive, in that it is preferable to have a jury who will be sympathetic to his client: "If it's a drugs case and I'm defending, it's better to have young people on the jury, because they are more likely to be in favour of legalising drugs."
In general, he says, old men and young women have been found to be most sympathetic to the accused, but trying to guess what a jury will decide is still "an inexact science".
The situation in the US is very different, he notes, where social scientists can be called in to ask endless questions that might give an insight into what the jury members will decide: "The O.J. Simpson case is the best example of jury vetting gone wild." The legal executive does not think what happens in the US is better: "It is far more intrusive for the jurors, delving into their background, beliefs, how they vote in elections. I don't think Irish people would be so willing to serve on juries if that happened here."
Jim Dwyer, a columnist in New York with the Daily News, has served on American juries many times, and covered plenty of court cases: "As a juror you are asked a series of questions, like whether you know anyone involved in the case or whether you can listen to the evidence and make a fair judgment. You're asked personal questions, about your occupation, where you live, your economic status. They want to find out if you have something in your life that might act as a bias, like a phobia about cops." In New York state the number of exemptions for jury service used to be too large, so two years ago the law was changed to make everyone eligible, from lawyers to movie stars.
Dwyer notes that "the real wild stuff" only happens in a few high-profile cases such as the O.J. Simpson trial, or the Oklahoma city bomber (McVeigh) trial: "Both sides spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on scientific jury selection. Mock trials are staged to find out who the juries cotton on to. They found O.J. did well with black women, for instance. This helps defence lawyers to be able to predict who might be unsympathetic during the real trial, so they can knock them off [object]. It's like market research. A new flavour of pudding is tried on 12 people to find out the ones who won't spit it out."
"Challenging is a big deal in the US, where jury trial is much more common," says a senior Dublin barrister. "There's a lot of mythology surrounding the whole procedure, but it's mostly a question of instinct and appearance. Solicitors usually do the challenging, but may take advice from barristers. I would usually just take what comes." He is in favour of the jury system and regrets that since the Courts Act of 1988, jury trial in a number of civil actions has been abolished in Ireland ("due to pressure from insurance companies who believed juries awarded too much in damages"). There are several reasons why he believes we should have more cases tried by juries rather than judges: "In a case which involves State officials who may be lying, you have a much better chance with a jury than with a judge. In a criminal case, if there is a question of reasonable doubt, the judge will take a legalistic approach, while the jury will be guided more by common sense and knowledge of the world. With a jury you have a better chance of a decision that represents the standards of the community."
