It turns out that this is now a growing trend of sorts and is about to receive its first serious legal challenge in the Empire State:

Rosie, the first judicially approved courtroom dog in New York, was in the witness box here nuzzling a 15-year-old girl who was testifying that her father had raped and impregnated her. Rosie sat by the teenager’s feet. At particularly bad moments, she leaned in.

…

The new role for dogs as testimony enablers can, however, raise thorny legal questions. Defense lawyers argue that the dogs may unfairly sway jurors with their cuteness and the natural empathy they attract, whether a witness is telling the truth or not, and some prosecutors insist that the courtroom dogs can be a crucial comfort to those enduring the ordeal of testifying, especially children.

The new witness-stand role for dogs in several states began in 2003, when the prosecution won permission for a dog named Jeeter with a beige button nose to help in a sexual assault case in Seattle. “Sometimes the dog means the difference between a conviction and an acquittal,” said Ellen O’Neill-Stephens, a prosecutor there who has become a campaigner for the dog-in-court cause.

There are Confrontation Clause implications, to be sure: the dog’s “nudging” the reluctant witness at key moments seems to give the witnesses testimony an added air of credibility and evoke lord knows how much sympathy in the jury for the complainant:

His lawyers, David S. Martin and Steven W. Levine of the public defender’s office, have raised a series of objections that they say seems likely to land the case in New York’s highest court. They argue that as a therapy dog, Rosie responds to people under stress by comforting them, whether the stress comes from confronting a guilty defendant or lying under oath.

But they say jurors are likely to conclude that the dog is helping victims expose the truth. “Every time she stroked the dog,” Mr. Martin said in an interview, “it sent an unconscious message to the jury that she was under stress because she was telling the truth.”

“There was no way for me to cross-examine the dog,” Mr. Martin added.

Ah, but if Mr. Martin had bothered to check the website for Courthouse Dogs, he’d have found this:

Avoid using the term “therapy dog” because the use of this term may create grounds for a mistrial or raise an issue on appeal. This term originated in the medical and psychiatric fields and connotes that the recipient of the dog’s attention is in need of physical or psychiatric therapy. A defense attorney could argue that the use of the term “therapy dog” by the judge or the prosecutor implies to the jury that the witness is in fact a victim in need of therapy and could be construed as a comment on the evidence. It is up to the jury to decide if the witness was victimized by the defendant. You don’t want to retry a case and put the witness/victim through this ordeal a second time.

Martin hits it right on the head, by the way. Anytime the proponent of a new technique strongly (the above paragraph is in bold on their website) advises you to avoid the use of a term so that it can be admitted in court, you can safely bet that the discouraged description fits precisely.

The trial judge, in permitting the use of this therapy dog, draws an analogy to the use of a doll by a child witness by testifying. The analogy rings hollow, to me. A doll is inanimate and moves only when the person holding the doll gives it energy to move. A dog, on the other hand, has its own motives and moves on its own, in all its doggy wisdom. How do we ask the dog why it chose that precise moment to nudge the witness or nuzzle up against it?

Scott, in his post on this, highlights the problems with dog-aided-testimony:

The point of confrontation is to confront, to make the witness uncomfortable, to challenge their finely-honed direct testimony so that the narrative can be tested and, if false or mistaken, shown to be wrong so that an innocent person isn’t convicted.  Of course we feel sorry for the putative victim, though whether the person on the stand is a victim is often at the heart of the question.

But we must feel similarly bad for the person convicted on erroneous testimony.  We should no more want a wrongful conviction than a traumatized child-witness, and when the comfort of a dog alleviates the normal stress of giving testimony, a significant part of the system is compromised.  Witnesses should feel stress. Witness words and demeanor under cross are critical to the determination of truthfulness and accuracy.

…

As  wonderful as it may be to have a dog like Rosie sit at the feet of a young lady who endured the rape and impregnation of a sick and disgusting father, the next child-witness may be accusing her parent of being a witch in Salem.  We cannot presume that the child isn’t wrong, or isn’t lying, and that the real victim in the courtroom isn’t the defendant.

Defendants, on the other hand, are only permitted completely shaved cats.

no self-respecting dog would nuzzle up to him

it matters not, the Court said
if an error wasn’t preserved
if certain conditions are met
we’ll give it the review it deserved

And so the court issued
its seminal holding
in the case of
State v. Monica Golding

The State huffed and puffed
and fumed and schemed
to get the court to ignore these errors
it daily dreamed

In every case
the State cried foul
“but that precise claim wasn’t raised”
it bleated with a scowl

And then the Court changed
as members came and went
the State continued to try
to put in Ms. Golding a dent

And as the years went by
the Court became less receptive
to these pleas of error
the State considered defective

Lo, it finally came to pass
in Kitchens, Akande and Mungroo,
that to instructional error
the Court would now say
“sorry, no can do”

If you do not object
or even stand silently by
as erroneous instructions
the jury must apply

If you do not state
with exacting precision
the specific problems
with the court’s instruction

The court will deem that you have waived
the client’s right
Due Process? Fair trials?
you cannot seek this constitutional might

The court can err
confuse and mislead
but for this Constitutional infirmity
only you will bleed

You must be prescient
You must be attentive
because the Court has become
anal retentive

And now that Ms. Golding’s
been sent to the Kitchens sink
What are we to do?
What are we to think?

Ask for copies
and then ask for time
and if you forget
just remember this rhyme

One thing is certain
One thing is sure
For our clients’ ills
We are the only cure.

And now the prose version for those who either tl;dr-ed the above or who just didn’t understand what the hell it meant:

We’ve all been there: the trial has just concluded, you’ve delivered the closing argument that you spent many nights working on and frankly, you’re exhausted. The judge starts giving the long, boring instructions to the jury – you know what I mean – which they’ll rely on to analyze the evidence and apply it to the law of the land. You tune out, your eyes glaze over, you just want a damn drink.

And in the midst of your reverie, the judge instructs the jury that the defendant has the burden of proof beyond a reasonable doubt to prove his innocence. Since you were preoccupied with visions of a drunken sleep, you didn’t notice. The jury, obviously, convicts, since there was no defense case in chief. You are upset, the client is led away and you go home to curl up in the fetal position and bemoan juries predisposition to convict.

Then your client appeals and the sharp, astute, awake appellate attorney notices the erroneous instruction. Oh no! This was instructional error! The judge gave the jury incorrect instructions! But you didn’t object! And so the error wasn’t preserved! Are we doomed?

Recognizing the problems that would arise with turning a blind eye to this obvious mistake of Constitutional magnitude that impacted the right to due process and a fair trial, the appellate courts in Connecticut issued a decision back in 1989: State v. Golding. The Golding decision created a 4-pronged test to deal with scenarios like these:

1. The record is adequate to review the alleged claim of error;
2. The claim is of constitutional magnitude alleging the violation of a fundamental right;
3. The alleged constitutional violation clearly exists and clearly deprived the defendant of a fair trial; and
4. If subject to harmless error analysis, the state has failed to demonstrate harmlessness of the alleged constitutional violation beyond a reasonable doubt.

(note that Golding applied to all errors of constitutional magnitude, not just jury instructions). This test worked – albeit not perfectly – but it worked. Obvious errors that implicated constitutional rights received the appellate review they deserved. But the State, cloaked in its self-righteous veneer of finality over justice, was unhappy. It fought for years to reverse Golding, because dammit any trial is a fair trial. And if your lawyer is asleep at the wheel, or just plain misses something, you must pay for it.

Most defense lawyers weren’t that worried about the Court overturning Golding because, well, how could they? How could they justify punishing a defendant for an obvious Constitutional error? How could they justify depriving a defendant of his/her right to due process and a fair trial?

Blame the lawyer, that’s how. This year, in a trio of cases – State v. Kitchens, State v. Akande and State v. Mungroo – the Connecticut Supreme Court made jaws drop by holding that if a lawyer fails to object to the exact same language of a jury instruction that is later challenged on appeal, the defendant is deemed to have waived the right to appeal that error. Part of the reasoning is that it will be considered a tactic on the part of the lawyer to not object to that erroneous instruction. Like we’re all that smart.

Yes. So under my scenario above, the appellate lawyer cannot argue that the defendant’s right to a fair trial was violated, because the lawyer did not object to the incorrect reasonable doubt instruction. Think of it as that portion of a wedding vow where the officiant looks at the crowd and asks if anyone objects to the union and warns them to speak now or forever hold their peace.

Now, the example I gave is an extreme one – hopefully no matter how asleep you are, you would notice that the defendant doesn’t have to prove a damn thing. But what of other less noticeable errors? What of erroneous instructions that a particular lawyer just wasn’t aware of? But that’s apparently a tactical decision.

The burden this places on the defense lawyer is tremendous – and misplaced. The court has an independent obligation to ensure that the jury is instructed correctly. This removes that obligation on the trial court, which, after all, is in charge of courtroom procedure, evidence and instructions, and places it on the shoulders of the defense lawyer. And what if the lawyer is just plain wrong and incorrectly agrees to the erroneous instruction? How do you make a defendant pay for that lawyer’s mistake? And why must that defendant wait years and years for vindication that may never come? Why has the Supreme Court abrogated its basic function: to ensure that justice is delivered in Connecticut courtrooms and to preserve the Constitutional right to due process and fair trials? The Court seems more interested in arguing that defense lawyers will choose to knowingly ignore Constitutional errors so as to set up appellate claims – something that is highly unethical and detrimental to the client.

I refuse to cite from the majority opinion because it is just so vile. But, in the interest of making this post somewhat productive and instructive, I will cite only this one paragraph that provides some sort of guideline:

We conclude that, when the trial court provides counsel with a copy of the proposed jury instructions, allows a meaningful opportunity for their review, solicits comments from counsel regarding changes or modifications and counsel affirmatively accepts the instructions proposed or given, the defendant may be deemed to have knowledge of any potential flaws therein and to have waived implicitly the constitutional right to challenge the instructions on direct appeal.

As far as I can see, here’s what we need to do:

1. File a motion with the trial judge for a written copy of the proposed jury instructions prior to the start of jury selection. In fact, demand them. Cite Kitchens over and over again.
2. Make a record every time you ask the Court for the written instructions.
3. Ask for a continuance of at least 48 hours if you receive the instructions during the evidence portion of the trial. Realistically, you need that much time to absorb, understand and critique the instructions.
4. Make a record of what else you have to do in the midst of trial and why you need that time.
5. Demand the time. Make a record and use the words “I will not have had a meaningful opportunity to review the instructions if you do not grant this continuance, Your Honor”.
6. The court will not usually grant you this time; expect that.
7. Share the instructions with other lawyers. Ask them to read them and provide feedback.
8. Start keeping a repository of your own instructions.
9. Always submit your own proposed instructions in writing.
10. Always ask the Court to give your version of the instructions, no matter how closely they track the Court’s.
11. Always object to the Court’s instructions and suggest that the Court give yours instead.
12. Make sure you don’t have something stupid or wrong in your proposed instructions.
13. Make a record that you have not shared your proposed instructions with your client, that he is not trained in the law and he is relying on you to get it right.
14. State on the record that your client is not waiving any right to review of errors contained in the jury instructions.
15. State on the record that you have perused the Court’s proposed instructions to the best of your ability and that there are no errors that you are intentionally not bringing to the Court’s attention.
16. Pray that the Court gets it right.

The State and the courts of this State don’t seem to give a damn about its citizens Constitutional rights. Now, more than ever, we defense lawyers are the only ones that stand between the individual who has all the might of a government thrown against him and a summary, lawless judgment being pronounced. This is not the time to tuck our tails between our legs and scamper off. Fight. Stand up and assert our rights. Your rights. My rights. Because if we don’t, soon, there won’t be any left.

———-

And because every post of this length needs a video, here’s a song about rhymes (language decidedly adult):

I started out with the firm view that any active participation by jurors during a criminal trial was antithetical to the idea of the burden of proof resting squarely on the State. I have softened my stance a bit, as can be seen in the Q&A post, and now I am definitely intrigued by the prospect of a limited trial run wherein jurors can ask questions of the lawyers (but I’m still very hesitant to let jurors pose questions to witnesses).

Michigan has recently introduced some interesting changes to their rules, which have got me even more interested in this idea:

Michigan jurors will be able to pose questions to witnesses; take notes; get mid-trial commentaries from lawyers; in civil cases, discuss the evidence while the case is still in progress, and get a final summation from the judge, according to the 14-page order hammered out after a two-year test period.

Once again with the “pose questions to witnesses”. But let’s skip that for now. The “mid-trial commentaries” seem like an interesting prospect, but have a fatal flaw, especially in a criminal case. No defense attorney would avail of this. Either this “mid-trial commentary” comes before the State has rested, in which case why would a defense attorney comment on the strength of the State’s case up to that point, giving the State ideas about what witnesses they need to call, or if it’s done after the State’s case, there’s little difference between this “mid-trial commentary” and closing argument.

I suppose there might be very rare and specific cases in which the defense could utilize this commentary to set up their case-in-chief, but the risk seems far greater than the reward.

Some of the objections to the other proposals are self-evident: an impartial final summation of the facts from the judge? Talk about an appellate issue nicely wrapped in a bowtie. And frankly, jurors should always have the ability to take notes and should always receive the judge’s final instructions in writing.

I’ve never quite understood the prohibition against jurors discussing the case while evidence is still being presented. What does it prevent, exactly? Do we really believe that if they don’t talk to one another they won’t make up their minds until all the evidence has been presented? That’s naive. In fact, discussing the evidence during the presentation of the evidence may help some jurors better understand the evidence that is subsequently presented: some may have missed a key piece of evidence and thus lose context for a following witnesses testimony. It doesn’t bother me as much.

But this reiteration of the need for some sort of change in the jury system has reinforced the notion in my head that a limited period of dialogue between the jurors and the lawyers after the presentation of all evidence might greatly assist the jury in their decision-making. One of the judges who’s quoted in that Michigan article is right: jurors aren’t children. But as I’ve argued before, the best way to approach them is that they are, and what better way to do that then to let them ask you questions about your case, so you can clearly address their issues with the evidence – or lack thereof? What are the downsides to this? [See this article by Walter Olson in a 2003 issue of Reason for further thought.]

we the..uh..deciders..decide that..uh..what are my choices again?

One of the first things I learned as a trial lawyer was to never overestimate a jury. Jury duty is a very odd and strange thing for people to do and no one’s a professional at it, even those who are trained in the law, or who’ve served more than once. The smartest people, when they get on juries, are prone to do the stupidest things. This is a philosophy, which if you think about it, can serve you well as an attorney. If you pretend that the jurors are a bunch of barely-functional 5 year olds, then you’re forced to lay out all the facts and themes in small, simple, easy to remember pieces. It really makes the job of writing cross-examinations and closing arguments easier.

Of course, the jury is a black box. A black box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get. And most often you don’t. Until one of them goes and blabs to the press, that is:

Members of the jury that acquitted two NYPD officers of raping a woman in her East Village apartment told DNAinfo that despite the verdict, they believed the cops were guilty.

But they felt a lack of DNA evidence meant they had to acquit — a decision which is causing anguish for some.

“In my heart of hearts, I believe her that the officers did it,” said juror Melinda Hernandez.

Another female juror, who asked not to be named, said of former NYPD officer Kenneth Moreno: “He raped her. There is no doubt in my mind.”

Read that again. “I believe the officers did it”. “No doubt in my mind”. To those of us sitting at home, “no doubt” means “lack of doubt” which also means “beyond a reasonable doubt”. In fact, during jury selection and closing arguments, prosecutors hammer home to the jurors that they are not required to prove the elements beyond all doubt. That the standard isn’t no doubt about the defendant’s guilt, because that would be impossible.

Here, it seems, they achieved the impossible. But the impossible doesn’t account for the CSI effect and befuddled jurors.

All joking aside, this only serves to make the victim feel even worse: having to suffer through a not guilty verdict compounded by the fact that that verdict was brought about only because of a misunderstanding of the law by the jurors has to be a terrible feeling. Of course, our jurisprudence doesn’t permit retrial after acquittal, so that door’s closed on this chapter forever. For the lawyer observing this trainwreck and for tomorrow’s jurors and casual critics or champions of the criminal justice system, however, there are valuable lessons to be learned.

Just as there are cases like this, where a misunderstanding of the law results in an unwarranted acquittal, so are there cases where the same misunderstanding would lead a jury to convict an innocent man and send him to prison.

The CSI effect also seems to be well and alive, and we would be well served to remember that it can cut both ways. Sure we know that these two female jurors believed the complaining witness but “had” to acquit because of the lack of DNA evidence. What of the other 10 (or how many ever NY has on their juries)? What if they didn’t believe the woman, but might have been convinced to vote for guilt simply because DNA evidence existed?

DNA is not omniscient: it cannot tell you when it was deposited or under what circumstances. Jurors need to understand that and it’s our job as lawyers to make sure that they do.

Don’t rely on the judge’s instructions to the jury; write your own. Remember that no matter what jurors say during voir dire, they come to the courtroom with their own preconceived notions and those notions are hard to get rid of. Help them, or you’ll end up like Picard below:

allows court officials to compile a statewide database from a variety of sources – not just from voter registration rolls – to ensure defendants are more likely to be judged by their peers.

The fact that juries are never made up of defendants’ “peers” is a long running sad joke in the criminal justice system. I once naively asked a co-worker why we didn’t see more urban youth in our panels. Because they don’t register to vote, obviously. Voter registration records are where jury pools are typically drawn from, which limits, in a sense, the pool to only those who bother to register to vote. But that eliminates an percentage of the citizenry who do and should have the right to participate in the civic process. And one way to get more people engaged in this civic process is just by getting them to show up.

There will always be people who want to serve and those who don’t. This is true for people who register to vote and those who don’t. No one registers to vote just so they can get on juries, so there may be a number of potential jurors who just don’t give a damn about politics but can feel some sense of responsibility to contribute to their community in this way. The GA bill seeks to do just that – expand the potential jury pool, thereby providing a greater and more accurate cross-section of society from which to choose a representative panel.

“Our legal system is based in large part on the idea that our citizens should be judged by a jury of our peers,” Swingle said. “Whatever steps the law can take, through technology or legislation, to make our juries more accurately reflect the demographic makeup of our communities are important improvements to our courts.”

Citizens can be more confident in the outcome of cases that are decided by juries that more accurately reflect their community’s makeup, Swingle said.

So you’d think that all would in agreement that expanding the pool is a good thing. If you have half a brain cell, you’d already know what’s coming next:

When courts summon everyone who meets the minimum requirements for sitting on a jury – that they are county residents at least 18 years old and not convicted felons – there’s a potential of “diluting” jury pools, said Athens attorney Harry Gordon, who served as district attorney for Clarke and Oconee counties for nearly three decades.

Ready for the next quote? Don’t say I didn’t warn you:

“There’s a possibility (the new law) could open up jury service to every Tom, Dick and Harry, and that could diminish the validity of the jury system,” Gordon said. “If it liberalizes people that get on juries, it’s possible you could find more undesirable jurors, but it’s going to have to be tried because it’s the law, and we’ll just have to wait and see if it works more efficiently or not.”

Every Tom, Dick and Harry, aka law-abiding citizens who have every right to participate in the legal system. Or, to prosecutors, real peers of the defendant who have experienced the same bullshit tactics that police employ, who live in the neighborhoods and communities where crimes are committed, who may be better at holding the State to its high standard and who aren’t as predisposed to convict.

It’s well known that if we had a truly representative cross-section of the community sitting on juries, there’d be fewer convictions, not because “every Tom, Dick & Harry” is more likely to ignore the law, but because they’d be more likely to understand that not everything is black and white:

Athens resident Maureen McLaughlin, a political scientist who has worked as a jury consultant for more than 20 years, is excited about the new law.

“For everything we get in this country, only two things are required from us – pay taxes and serve on juries,” McLaughlin said. “By expanding the list that they use to select the jury pool, you’re going to have a more demographically diverse base from which to select and have a more accurate reflection of the types of people you have in your community.”

…

“You want to have at least someone on the panel who can understand the defendant’s life history, life experiences and those types of things,” she said. “When certain portions of the population are underrepresented, that does a real disservice to the community.”

Here‘s a breakdown of voter registration demographics in GA. Slightly over 60% of registered voters statewide list ‘white’ as their ethnicity. Blacks make up just under 30%, Hispanics barely 1.5%. Blacks, however, represent 61% of all inmates, Whites 33%. And yes, I know this isn’t a totally accurate statistical comparison, but I’m using the figures merely as illustration.

Good luck, Georgia. May the peach no longer be rotten.

H/T: Juries

“I am convinced, after [fourteen] years of being a judge and many years of practice before that, that the standard reasonable doubt charge in Connecticut is unsatisfactory. It is satisfactory only in the sense that it is routinely upheld by the appellate courts, which is a considerable advantage, to be sure. But over the years I’ve become convinced that jurors’ eyes glaze over when it is given and it is not fully understood and, therefore, does not do adequate justice to the parties and I believe needs to be modernized, simplified, put into plain language but, obviously, appropriate language.

Judge Jon Blue, quoted from State v. Jackson, 283 Conn. 11 (2007). That Judge Blue, a former appellate public defender, would speak his mind and attempt to craft an instruction that may approach the hitherto unthinkable: an explanation of just what those most famous words actually mean, should come as no surprise to those who are familiar with the good judge. What is surprising – and endlessly frustrating – however, is that courts all over the country have been perfectly happy to let the vagueness of that phrase persist, despite the clear knowledge that without clear guidance and definition, reasonable doubt is reduced to an nebulous gut feeling, rather than a precise application of a standard of proof. It has gotten to the point where courts are content to lazily quote the Beatles in all their peace-loving, pipe-smoking glory and implore us to “let it be“.

Before I embark on a vituperative rant, let’s at least look at the current definition of reasonable doubt as given in CT:

The meaning of reasonable doubt can be arrived at by emphasizing the word reasonable.  It is not a surmise, a guess or mere conjecture.1 It is not a doubt raised by anyone simply for the sake of raising a doubt.  It is such a doubt as, in serious affairs that concern you, you would heed; that is, such a doubt as would cause reasonable men and women to hesitate to act upon it in matters of importance.2 It is not hesitation springing from any feelings of pity or sympathy for the accused or any other person who might be affected by your decision.  It is, in other words, a real doubt, an honest doubt, a doubt that has its foundation in the evidence or lack of evidence.3 It is doubt that is honestly entertained and is reasonable in light of the evidence after a fair comparison and careful examination of the entire evidence.4

Proof beyond a reasonable doubt does not mean proof beyond all doubt; the law does not require absolute certainty on the part of the jury before it returns a verdict of guilty.5 The law requires that, after hearing all the evidence, if there is something in the evidence or lack of evidence that leaves in your minds, as reasonable men and women, a reasonable doubt as to the guilt of the accused, then the accused must be given the benefit of that doubt and acquitted.  Proof beyond a reasonable doubt is proof that precludes every reasonable hypothesis except guilt and is inconsistent with any other rational conclusion.6

This is, of course, the model jury instruction. I request one that’s substantially different and lifted from State v. Jackson, which I’ll get to in a minute. But look at that definition above. The first sentence itself is so meaningless and confusing that I bet everyone who hears it spends the next 5 minutes trying to figure out just what it means and thus misses the exposition. Emphasizing the word “reasonable” simply leads people to say “proof beyond a reeeasonable doubt”, without any further clue as to how that is to inform their decision. Furthermore, what the hell is a reasonable doubt anyway? Chicken, egg, etc.

The real problem, though, comes when we start defining what “reasonable doubt” isn’t. This indoctrination and confusion starts with jury selection. Prosecutors in these parts read from a script and the script has this explanation:

Now, you may have heard of the phrase proof beyond a reasonable doubt. If you’re selected to sit on this jury, the judge will give you the exact definition, so I’m not going to do that. What I can tell you is that proof beyond a reasonable doubt isn’t proof to an absolute certainty or 100% proof. That’s an impossible standard. [Insert joke about packing up bags and going home or setting a 9am tee time.]

Of course, when the juror-of-average-intelligence follows up with the logical question of, well, if it isn’t 100%, then how much is it, we are all too quick to disavow any statistical attachment to reasonable doubt. We can’t put a number on it. You’ll know it when you see it, just like obscenity and chicken sexing. This loosey-goosey definition of reasonable doubt leads to the same pitfalls when applied to criminal law as it does when applied to obscenity. It means different things to different people.

The “not absolute certainty” instruction also, in my opinion, seeks to lessen the state’s burden in a sneaky, roundabout way: the logical conclusion is that a juror will remember that and say to herself or her fellow jurors: look, we don’t have to be absolutely certain. Close enough is good enough. And you can’t really argue with that, because we don’t know what the standard is in the first place. Scott, writing in the post I linked to above, says it better:

That’s the problem with vagaries, that they end up becoming whatever a juror ultimately decides to make of them.  We can’t articulate a meaningful definition, and they can’t conceive of what exactly we expect of them.  It’s not their fault.  Not in the slightest.  It’s our fault for acquiescing in the perpetual use of this meaningless phrase because we can’t seem to figure out a definition that means what we intend it to mean.

And it is precisely this imprecise and vague meaning of reasonable doubt that the State craves. Research into the psychology of jurors has shown that people are predisposed to convicting someone who is on trial, that jurors are more often likely to side with the State and their show of power. It’s an “us vs. them” mentality and this vague definition teases that out and exploits them. Reasonable doubt is replaced with “I think he did it and if I don’t have to be absolutely certain he did, then this feeling is good enough”. No matter how hard you try, it is extremely difficult to overcome this bias in jury selection and argument, because there’s nothing contrary to argue. You can’t stand up there and give them another definition that makes it clear to them just how high the State has to jump to convince them.

Back to Judge Blue, then. In his valiant attempt to bring sanity to and make concrete this most important concept in criminal justice, he penned the following instruction, which is a slight variation of the charge on reasonable doubt recommended by Justice Ginsburg of the Supreme Court of the United States in Victor v. Nebraska, 511 U.S. 1, (1994). It is a charge proposed by the Federal Judicial Center in creating criminal jury instructions for the federal courts:

The state has the burden of proving each and every element necessary to constitute . . . the crime charged. And I’ll instruct on those elements later in my charge. The defendant does not have to prove his innocence in any way or present any evidence to disprove the charge against him. The state has the burden of proving the defendant’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Some of you may be aware that in civil cases jurors are told that it’s only necessary to prove that a fact is more likely true than not true. In criminal cases, the state’s proof must be more powerful than that: It must be beyond a reasonable doubt.

Proof beyond a reasonable doubt is proof that leaves you firmly convinced of the defendant’s guilt. There are very few things in the world that we know with absolute certainty, and in criminal law cases, the law does not require proof that overcomes every possible doubt. If, based on your consideration of the evidence, you are firmly convinced that the defendant is guilty of the crime charged, you must find him guilty. If, on the other hand, based on the evidence or lack of evidence, you have a reasonable doubt as to the defendant’s guilt, you must give him the benefit of that doubt and find him not guilty.

The irony is that, in State v. Jackson, the defendant appealed, arguing that this instruction diluted the State’s burden. I suspect, however, that it was appealed only so as get the seal of approval from our Supreme Court, which it did.

Is this definition perfect? No, but it is a step in the direction of providing a concrete explanation of standard to which jurors must hold the State. “Firmly convinced” is a phrase that has more meaning than “a real doubt, an honest doubt”. A juror can ask herself: Am I firmly convinced of this man’s guilt? It’s easier to answer than “Do I have reasonable doubt?”

It is, of course, easier for the courts to “let it be”, but I take that as an instruction to judges, not lawyers. We should routinely object to that nonsense definition I first quoted. Read it again. Tell me if any of it makes sense to you. Can the word “reasonable” be used any more times in a single paragraph? Reasonable men and women having reasonable doubts about reasonable hypothesis.

It is reasonable to think that reasonable people will reasonably be confused by this. And it is reasonable to think that it reasonably leads to reasonable men being convicted for lack of reason.

Reason does make cowards of us all.

The man was on trial – a jury was summarily selected in an afternoon and opening statements were delivered the next day. During the defense attorney’s opening statement – as these things go – a juror unexpectedly blurted out that she couldn’t sit on this case because – wait for it -  she was the anonymous caller!

Dun dun dun.

Oh wait, this wasn’t a TV show, this actually happened. In real life.

“She said, ‘I was the (anonymous) person who made the 911 call,’” the assistant prosecutor said.

“She said, ‘It woke me up out of my bed and I saw him beating on her. I thought she must be dead.’”

Her outburst tainted the entire jury because it corroborated statements made by the prosecution and claims made by the victim, [Judge] Ruehlman declared a mistrial.

The new trial begins Wednesday – and [juror-turned-witness] Johnson-Riddle will be called by prosecutors to testify against the man she originally was to sit in judgment against.

The article tries to explain away this amazing turn of events by stating that during jury selection, prospective jurors aren’t given the detailed facts of the case. That may be true, but in every damn case I’ve ever tried (and by now that number is well over a thousand), the judge not only reads the charging document which lists the date, time and location of the offense, but every single juror is asked whether they have any familiarity with the location or the people involved. Another question that’s typically asked is whether the prospective juror knows anyone who’s been a victim of a crime. If nothing else, that question should have triggered her memory.

So what happened here? Did they forget to ask? Did they ask and she wasn’t paying attention? Or did they ask and she lied? Or was it a case of group voir dire not providing an adequate opportunity to properly examine potential jurors? (Yeah, you knew I was going there.)

Whatever the cause, the lesson is clear: people are mercurial and what may seem to be a straightforward question to you and me, may be vague and obscure to another. One can’t rely on a script to weed out the undesirable jurors. You have to assess the juror, analyze him or her and then tailor your questions to fit that juror’s personality.

Of course, it would be a lot easier if you had 20 minutes one-on-one with the juror…

Earlier this week, Scott and I engaged in a mini-discussion of sorts about the tweaking of the format of a trial to better help jurors understand the issues and reach their decisions. The most popular analogy for the decision making process is the black box. You know what goes in, you know what comes out, but you have no clue what the hell goes on inside. In order to alleviate that a bit, I ran with the Windypundit’s idea that jurors be permitted to ask questions of lawyers during closing argument. In that post, I also wrote:

The changes we must make as lawyers and judges, in the way we treat jurors and the way we treat them to the evidence in a case are perhaps best left to another, lengthier post.

What I was referring to then, and what I hope to summarize now, is one change that I fully intend to make in my style. Juxtaposed with this latest study from the UK that 66.67% of jurors don’t understand a damn thing told to them by judges, the idea becomes clear that we’ve got to keep it simple, stupid. (and you thought I was advocating flirting with jurors. Sheesh.)

The two-year study, led by Professor Cheryl Thomas of University College London, analysed 68,000 verdicts across Crown courts in England and Wales, and also staged simulated trials.

In relation to judge’s directions – where a judge gives crucial guidance to jurors about what they have heard – the research team asked jurors at Winchester Crown Court to recall two key questions that the judge gave in a case where a defendant was charged with violence.

Only 31% of jurors accurately identified both questions, it was found.

A further 48% correctly identified one of the two questions, and a fifth did not correctly identify either question.

Researchers found a written summary of the judge’s directions on the law for jurors improved their comprehension of the law.

And by simple, I don’t mean simply picking one issue in the case to pound home (which some lawyers have made a successful career out of), but changing the way we approach cases, the way we structure every word we say when we are in front of that jury.

The legal universe is a complex and intricate one. Experienced lawyers often don’t have straightforward answers to questions. We write voluminous briefs on questions of law; we argue over the syntax of jury instructions. If we don’t get it and can’t agree on definitions and explanations and instructions, how the hell can we expect lay jurors to?

As lawyers, we become invested in our clients’ cases: we live them, we breathe them, we become them. In the heat of the trial battle, we are the client. We know (or should know) the case and the facts like they happened to us. While that’s great for preparing for trial, it’s also our biggest handicap in dealing with jurors. They don’t have that background, that intimate knowledge with every nuance and every event. They don’t know the law, they haven’t argued the motions we have and most importantly, they don’t know our strategy.

It is often said that it is clear if a 5 year old can understand it. While you run the risk of alienating a juror or two, I think there’s a lot to be gained by taking that approach with the jury. Put yourself in their position; pretend that you don’t know anything about the case and commence your examination in that fashion. Ask basic questions, dole out morsels of information at a time. Juries tune out when they see two people – you and the witness – engaged in some protracted battle over semantics and nuances. I should know. I’ve done it and failed miserably.

Wouldn’t it be better if you led them down the path you want to go, but in the manner that they would walk? The law is a complex thing and the application of the law to the facts of a case an even more daunting task. If we want juries to find that reasonable doubt, we must lay it out for them in as simple terms as possible. Forget the drama, forget the yelling, forget the feigned outrage. Keep it simple.

I’m going to try it next time I’m on trial. I’ll let you know how it goes.

In a recent string of posts around the ‘sphere, the jury trial system has come under some scrutiny, mostly in the area of unanimous verdicts. I wrote this post, and then a few days later Volokh had these posts, which prompted Scott to write this.

That the jury trial system is imperfect has been known for ages and commentators have struggled with ways to improve it, if at all. For instance, take a look at this tantalizing teaser of an article written by the great Wigmore in 1929 (I’d love to get my hands on the rest). Here’s a more recent article on the ills plaguing the jury trial system and what can be done about it.

But as Wigmore said in that 1929 piece, the arguments against the jury trial system are either simple problems that can be remedied or are made in the absence of a better alternative. It seems, then, that we’re stuck with this system for the foreseeable future. And one can trumpet the “best legal system in the world” all we want, in some sort of mindless obeisance, but we’d all be better served if we thought of ways to improve the system, tweak it to better fulfill the goals it was established for.

Part of the problem with the jury system, from what I can tell in my limited experience, is not a problem with the system itself, but with how it is utilized. And by that I mean how the players in the system – lawyers and judges – employ the mechanisms. A lot of the common ills: complex laws, jurors voting their gut can be traced or blamed in part to the failure of the participants to understand the nature of the system.

We like to say that people are tried by a jury of their peers. Yet we lawyers treat these peers as if they were our own, not that of the defendant. The language we use is archaic, complicated and downright stupid and confusing. The format of the jury trial is usually a patchwork of testimony that may or may not be tied up in the end by lawyers depending on their level of competence. Sometimes, I watch trials with which I have no connection and marvel at the fact that jurors are able to reach verdicts of any sort at all. A juror must feel like he’s getting a quick glimpse into an intensely technical and complicated and petty world and the first instinct must be to run in the opposite direction as soon as possible. Trials are cumbersome, which only add to the desire to not participate.

The changes we must make as lawyers and judges, in the way we treat jurors and the way we treat them to the evidence in a case are perhaps best left to another, lengthier post.

The point of this one, taken from this comment, is to tweak the system a bit to give jurors additional tools in reaching the correct decision. I’m against permitting jurors to ask questions of witnesses during the pendency of the trial, because in my view it interferes with the State’s burden of proof – at least in criminal trials.

But the idea of permitting jurors to ask questions of the lawyers during closing argument – a la oral argument before an appellate bench – is an intriguing one.

It is often said that you can make or break a case in closing argument: the key piece of evidence left unexplained, the big problem with the defense untouched, leaving jurors no choice but to convict or acquit, simply because you didn’t address it. So why not take the one hour of closing arguments that most courts permit and turn 15 or 20 minutes of that into a free-flowing back and forth between the jurors and the lawyers? Let jurors ask questions about the application of the law to the evidence, explore their doubts about the meaning of evidence presented, clarify their understanding of the import of a particular piece of evidence.

After all, if we want the jurors to decide the case based on the evidence presented to them, then at least let us help them understand the evidence presented.

On the flip side, of course, a defense lawyer like myself may argue that doing so would only permit the State to fill in the gaps left by their case-in-chief and if they haven’t provided enough evidence to the jury, they should be allowed to fall on that omission. But it might also provide an opportunity for the defense lawyer to take that doubt expressed by a juror and exploit it, to drive it home and to further widen that gap in their mind.

A 15-20 minute session of questions and answers and rebuttals may help to clarify the evidence that has been presented to the jury, to focus the closing argument on the issues that the jury is truly wrestling with and it partially lift the shroud of secrecy that surrounds the jury’s decision making process.

After coming up with only a single conviction on 24 counts of corruption, federal prosecutors eager to send former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich to prison will in January 2011 begin his second trial with what they hope will be a more effective strategy. What won’t change is the fact that the 12 jurors who will hear the case will be bound by the same ancient — and some argue outdated — rules for criminal juries that have changed just a little since King John signed the Magna Carta in 1215.

So, just what are these “outdated” rules? Jury unanimity, juries not being allowed to take notes or ask questions and jurors not being permitted to discuss the case before all the evidence is complete.

I’ve written about the phenomenon of permitting jurors to ask questions during a trial before and I still disagree with the practice. But how bored are we with the concept of criminal trials – and how convinced are we that those who are arraigned, indicted and tried are guilty – that we are willing to forgo the simple notion that if society is going to convict, condemn and incarcerate on of its own, then it must be done only after a small representative sample of its members agree?

“Much of the elements of jury reform has reflected on the phenomenon of hung juries,” says Chief Justice Randall T. Shepard of the Indiana Supreme Court, a former trial judge in Evansville. “And what happened [in Chicago] is akin to what would have happened in most state courts 15 years ago — but wouldn’t happen in a great many places today.”

Even unanimity, the most cherished rule of all — and the one that spared Blagojevich on the charge that he tried to sell a seat in the U.S. Senate — is open for debate in the states. While the Supreme Court has insisted that federal criminal trials have a unanimous verdict, states have been permitted to experiment. Unless a defendant’s life is on the line, criminal juries in Oregon and Louisiana need only 10 votes or nine, respectively, to convict. “I describe this in general as treating jurors like adults,” says Shepard, who has helped lead major changes in Indiana but credits the states of Arizona and New York with giving momentum to jury reform. “We want to give them room to make decisions like adults typically make decisions.”

That quote made my head spin when I first read it and I’m not sure it’s stopped spinning yet. In other words, Justice Shepard, we can’t be bothered that the State’s evidence is so flimsy that it can’t convince 6 or 12 people of a man’s guilt, but heck, he’s probably guilty anyway, so we’ll take 5, because you really can’t account for that lone crazed juror.

Close enough for government work.

The underlying theme in this non-unanimity movement seems to be that mistrials are an inconvenience. An inconvenience to the court, to the prosecutors, to the staff and to everyone but the one person to whom a trial matters most: the defendant.

How are we to have faith in a system where you are tried by a large governmental entity, your guilt or innocence to be decided by a not-really representative portion of “your” community and then that very government tells the representative portion: it doesn’t matter if you all agree or not, as long as a majority does.

Most of these “reforms” seem to miss the fundamental (and cherished) aspects of our criminal justice system – save perhaps the one about note-taking, which seems like common sense. We require jurors to not deliberate until the end of evidence so they don’t make up their minds in advance, so they can be fair and balanced and consider all the evidence in its entirety. We don’t permit them to ask questions during testimony because it isn’t their burden to prove or disprove anything at all. It is the State’s burden and their burden alone. Jurors are not investigators; they’re arbiters of evidence.

And we ask for unanimity in their decision making because that unanimity reflects the soundness of the decision to prosecute an individual. A conviction and subsequent incarceration is one of the harshest actions taken by the abstract Government against its citizens. If we can’t get a miniscule portion of the citizens that it purports to represent to agree on the guilt of a man, then the government has failed.

It may be close enough for government work, but when it comes to justice, there should be no such thing.