Locked in the Dock: Men and the Law

The prosecutor probed deeper into the prospective jurors' lives. “Do any of you have family members who have been tried in the legal system, without being specific?”

One by one, people spoke up. “I have a son who…” “My son was…” "My son…son…son." Perhaps six or seven referenced a son who had run head-first into the law. “How do you feel about how the person was treated?” “Do you think it makes you unable to render a fair and impartial decision as a juror today?” Most held no grudges and felt themselves capable of serving.

One black gentleman explained that his ordeal had caused him to look negatively toward the legal system, yet he felt he could serve.

Another white lady explained her total distrust of “the system” and didn’t feel capable of serving. The young prosecutor honed in. “I don’t understand, Ms. ____. You are the system here.” I could tell the 60-ish lady was embarrassed by the attention, and I was embarrassed for her. She looked like a deer in headlights. I also wondered if she was simply trying to weasle her way out. Judge Milam questioned her response and reinforced her civic duty. In the end, regardless of her feelings about the system, she served that day.

But don’t daughter’s cause trouble , I wondered.

That answer sat a few feet in front of me: the defendant, a young woman, was there because she allegedly assaulted an officer. Yet I have never been able to shake from my mind all the sons—somewhere in the world that day managing their various affairs—who showed up in that courtroom, as if always a short-term memory of Justice. I left with Mr. Mulrooney’s words in The Road to Perdition ringing in my ears, words I hate: “Sons are put on this earth to trouble their fathers.”