Jury Duty, New Zealand style

I was tickled when I got the letter asking me to serve as a juror in New Zealand. I'd lived in the US for 48 years and never got called to jury duty there, and now I got called after only living here for 2 years! Although many of my friends and colleagues recommended that I get excused, I wanted to serve. As a Social Studies teacher, I wanted to learn more about the justice system here. Think of it as Professional Development. And another step in my cultural experience education.

I dutifully showed up at the courthouse on Monday morning at 9:00, armed with a book to keep me entertained during the long waits. There were about 150 of us in the large holding room. My name was called to report for a rape case in Courtroom 3. Hurray!

They took about 25 of us potential jurors in and starting choosing names from a spinner, just like on Lotto. When my name was called, I gathered up my book and bag and started walking toward the jury box as instructed. But before I reached the juror seats, the defense lawyer called out "Challenge!" What? This meant he wanted to use one of his challenges to keep me off the jury.

I turned around and went back to my seat while grumbling to myself. What's wrong with me? I can be an impartial juror! While they finished choosing 12 perfect jurors, I tried to determine what made them more perfect than me. Did the lawyers want men on the jury? (yes) Young people or old people? Guys in suits or students in torn jeans? I decided it was the book that lost me a selection. I vowed not to look so literate next time.

Back in the holding room with the other rejects, I waited for my name to be chosen for another case. I couldn't help reading my book, but rationalised that the defense lawyers wouldn't see me in here.

Then my name was called again, this time to Courtroom 8 for a double rape case. I stashed my book and followed the line of potential jurors, assessing my chances of being chosen this time. The two defendants were standing in the dock, trying to look tough and intimidating. I hated them already. The first name called by the Lotto announcer was an older woman. They challenged her. They must not want old women. The second name was another old woman. No challenge. What? Why is she OK and the first one wasn't? I'll never understand this. My name was called by Mr. Lotto. With my book safely hidden in by backpack, I headed to the jury box but was challenged again anyway. Grrr.

Back to the holding room. Since there were no more trials beginning today, we were excused until tomorrow and I headed back to school for a few hours. When I told my colleagues about being rejected twice, they recommended that I wear holey jeans and a dirty T shirt saying something sux or maybe a beer ad ... then I might get chosen. Sorry, but I don't have any beer T shirts. I guess I don't have a very good chance of getting chosen either.

The next day, I repeated the process one more time, getting rejected yet again. I was sad. My big introduction to the NZ justice system turned out to be a big flop. I should have known things wouldn't go well when I took the bus to the courthouse on the first day and as I got on, a teenage girl gave up her seat for me. She was sitting in the front seats that are reserved for elderly or disabled. And she gave up her seat. For me.