The man on the other end of the phone didn't know me. His voice was as smooth as crushed concrete, his personality as comforting as a cold sore. It was his job, though, to inform me of where I was to go, how I was to get there, and what I was to bring. Like a rookie CIA operative - or a nervous James Bond, first day on the job - I felt compelled to follow his instructions, fearful of the position I could put myself in if I failed to comply.
Many had told me this was fulfilling a responsibility to my country, a patriotic obligation to the land that grants me freedom. An insider's view of the system that turns bad people into good people and really bad people into ... the same really bad people. Anyway, it sounded interesting. And so, with my assignment in hand and directions mapped out to fine detail, I answered the call of duty.
Jury duty.
An Erie County Jury Summons came to my mailbox about two months ago, and while it couldn't have come at a worse time - my mother's impending wedding, buying and moving into a new house, let alone all of my school work - serving on a jury sounded like what my mother would call an "experience." She also referred to summer camp, attending professional sporting events and eating sushi as "experiences," so this was sure to carve another notch in the tree trunk of life's vivid and unrequited memories.
It reminded me, as things of political nature often do, of my high school U.S. History teacher, Mr. Bovino. He was rough-cut and shaggy, but he was brilliant in the fields of politics, government and all that stuff I didn't get. Every day, no matter the topic or lesson, he ended the class with one question:
"What are you willing to do for your country?" Mr. Bovino asked with a gleam in his eye, so patriotic in tone you questioned whether he meant it rhetorically.
It was this exercise in democracy and patriotism I thought of when I read my instructions for jury week. The likelihood of my number getting chosen for an actual jury was slim, but I knew it was there. The chance of being on a jury for a case regarding anything other than traffic violations or misdemeanors was also rather small.
If I am chosen to serve alongside fellow taxpayers in deciding the fate of another fellow taxpayer (or not, depending on the case), can I live up to Mr. Bovino's quest for political divinity?
The scenarios surrounding this dilemma require political and moral thinking. It's not clear-cut, by any means. Two come to mind as serious possibilities. One: the possibility of having to decide on a possibly gruesome or violent crime, like murder or rape. It's a situation I don't imagine myself in, so it's hard to ponder what I would do. I had a family friend who was called and picked for a rather high profile murder case here in Buffalo a few years ago. She had to face the decision of "guilty" or "not guilty"; a man's future. Yes, of course, his future was already determined when he allegedly committed the crime. But if the system is to work, it has to work on the assumption that he hasn't done anything wrong. How could I be the one who might add curve to that already shaky scale of justice? I have no qualifications to handle that. My critical thinking is weak, at its best, and my ability to trust people when first meeting them has scarred me on many occasions.
Two: being called to a jury is one battle, but being called to the army is another one. They are two separate entities of the government - defense and justice - yet they offer two of the most active roles an average citizen can have in sustaining the mission of our Constitution. Could I make my commitment to the country's defense as palpable as those who make it their lives? There's a reason they wear that uniform and I don't - I can't do it. I couldn't, no matter how noble or courageous the effort, risk my life so that others wouldn't have to. I realize the absurdity in this notion, especially at a time when patriotism and heroism is a trendy way of life. It seems the threat of being called to duty is not so much a question of if, but when, especially during these difficult and turmoil ridden days. Although my mom says they wouldn't take me ("They're not looking for out-of-shape diabetics"), it's still the government's call whether I'm ready.
Whether Mr. Bovino was actually waiting for an answer to his question, I have one now, four years later.
For my country, I promise to uphold the laws of the Constitution; act as an honest, respectable citizen; pay my taxes, parking fines and tuition bills; contribute to charity; raise my children the way I was raised; and be as decent of a human being as I can be.
If there's something in the job description I missed, please let me know.
