01.28.06
Gay Jury Duty? I just read an interesting Lesbian Nation “Jury Duty” article
Jury Duty
Can being queer land you in contempt of court?
01.25.06 By L. A. Vess
When you receive that little notice in the mail telling you that you’ve been selected for jury duty, it creates an odd mixture of dread and curiosity. Virtually no one really looks forward to spending endless hours trapped in a courtroom for the tiniest amount of compensation you can think of. Yet, there is something intriguing about the process. You never know what kind of weird, scary or dramatic case you might land on.When I got a notice for jury duty in South Carolina shortly before I moved to Seattle, I groaned and complained. I didn’t have time for this crap! However, I am a firm believer in participating in my government as much as possible - and that means fulfilling my responsibilities as a citizen.
Jury duty may not be fun, it may be even be a joke sometimes - but it is one of the ways we pay back our society for the right to our freedoms and liberties. Plus, who knows, it could end up being some really interesting case, right?When I showed up, I knew right away that it wasn’t going to be a high profile case. The tiny court room was located in a shopping center. The windows had black curtains on them, making it look like a gay bar in a bad neighborhood. I trudged into the court “building” with heavy head. Immediately was accosted by a security guard who took all my stuff and rifled through it like I was the criminal on trial. Alas, I can’t really complain - I don’t want some crazy maniac with a weapon bursting in while I’m sitting in there. So I grinned and bore it.
Then I sat and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, after I had already read most of my Atlantic Monthly, the room was called to order. There were about 35 or so other potential jurors in the room. We listened as the judge (a very Southern lady) droned on forever with an explanation about the jury selection process. It turned out that we were all there to be potential jurors on a DUI case - and that is all I can say about that. The defendant had chosen to have his case tried by a jury instead of decided by the judge.
The minutes ticked by, and I resisted strongly the urge to dive back into my magazine. Instead, I tried to pay attention, though I couldn’t figure out why it was taking so long just to be told that we would be asked questions and should answer honestly. That should be a given when you turn up for jury duty, right?
Eventually the judge stopped lecturing and started questioning. Before anything else, we had to go around the room and state our name, address, length of residence, employment, education, legal marital status and our spouse’s employment. I was immediately angry. Right there in my face was another screaming example of discrimination. South Carolina, unlike Massachusetts, of course, does not allow gay couples to marry. Otherwise my partner and I would already be legally hitched. But because we are not allowed to marry, my legal marital status is regarded as single.
I am NOT single. I am as married as a person can get without access to that damn piece of legal paperwork called a marriage license. But here I was, standing in a court of law, where my relationship with my partner meant absolutely nothing. When the questions came around to me, I was legally bound to say I was single - because according to the law, I was.
I thought about it hard as the judge went around the room asking for everyone’s personal information. Since my last name starts with a ‘V’, I was near the end. Finally, when the judge came around to me, I said out loud what I had been practicing in my head. I didn’t care if I got in trouble, I just had to say it - I felt morally obligated.
I gave my full name, my address, my length of residence, my employment and my education. Then, I said: “I am gay and partnered, but not legally allowed to marry my partner under the laws of the state of South Carolina. So I guess that means, under the legal definition, I would erroneously be labeled ’single’.”
And then I promptly sat down. The judge gave me a very nasty look, perhaps she was considering if I could be held in contempt of court. And, in a way, I did have contempt for the court - and the legal system - and the government. I have major contempt for the legal institutions that prevent me and my partner from being equally recognized and given the same rights as straight married couples.
The judge paused. The prosecutor (a police officer), the defense attorney, the defendant and virtually every juror stared at me for a long moment. Then, the judge moved on to the next person.
After a long day of questions and answers, waiting and sitting, I was eventually dismissed. I don’t really think it was because of my open declaration of my queerness. There were 35 people in the room, and they only wanted six jurors. I just didn’t fit the right profile.
Looking back, I am very glad that I was chosen for jury duty. It may have meant nothing in the larger scheme of things, but I was proud to stand up in that court room and declare in front of all of those people that I was gay and that I was a victim of legal discrimination. I was happy to put a face on the issue of gay marriage rights for those in that court room who may have never met a gay person, or heard one speak out. Which, unfortunately, is true for a lot of people in South Carolina - and across the country.
There are so many ways every day that we can make ourselves known. Stand up in a court room. Stop referring to your partner as your ‘roommate’ at the office. Mark out ’spouse’ on your patient form at the doctor and write ‘partner’ and your partner’s name. Or just write your partner’s name under ’spouse’.
The more we put a face on the issue of gay rights, the harder it will be for people to say that we are a ’small population’ or ‘all freaks and perverts’. I am as normal looking as you can get, as average as it comes - and no one picks me out as a lesbian at first glance. It surprises them when I say I am, and they are forced to re-evaluate their idea of who gay people are.
Equality begins with visibility - and visibility begins with you.
© 2006 Laura Vess, All Rights Reserved