"Well, it certainly doesn't seem as if you should be on a jury," the lady lawyer informed me kindly.

I had just finished relating my reservations about the American jury system. "I'm really sorry I feel this way," I apologized. "It's not as if I can think of a better system. But I really have trouble with the way this one works."

"You don't have to apologize," the lady lawyer assured me

I had been called again for jury duty. I hate jury duty. Last time was awful. And it was just as awful this time. I don't like being there. And the feeling is reciprocal. No one likes my being there, either.

Twenty of us had been impaneled as possible jurors in Conference Room B and were being questioned. The two lawyers handling the case were both young and well-spoken. They had thanked us all for participating in the American legal system and had extolled the role of the jury in making the system possible. Then, as a formality, they proceeded to verify that each of us felt that way. Everyone did. There wasn't a single reservation about the jury system. Except for me.

I was invited to leave Conference Room B in order to express them.

"Americans are too litigious," I found myself saying. Which was pathetic. Because I was lifting a phrase I'd read in the NY Times only yesterday, said by President Bush. Whom I utterly disdain. "Litigious?" the lawyers repeated. They looked alarmed. Was I questioning their very profession? Was I questioning their livelihood?

Americans think they have the right to sue over any issue, no matter how minor. There should be a screening process. The majority of civil cases should be submitted to arbitration instead of wasting jurors' time, was what I was thinking. But I tactfully refrained from saying this.

"I attended law school and I know that the legal system fosters hostility," was what I did say.

"Law school isn't a pleasant experience," the young female lawyer agreed.

"My husband is an attorney and he has just left practice for the same reason," I went on. "The jury system is manipulative. It rewards people for being duplicitous. No one tells the truth. People say anything they have to in order to win. I'm at a loss as to how to evaluate anything. And I don't like participating in this process as a juror."

That's when the lawyer declared that it didn't seem as if I should be a juror. After which, we filed back into Conference Room B.

The lawyers continued questioning each prospective juror. But they always skipped over me. It was a good thing, too. The facts of the case made me indignant. So did the questions.

A 71 year old man was suing about a back injury that he alleged had resulted from a run in with two policemen ten years ago. Ten years ago! Could he possibly recall what happened that long ago? I know I couldn't. I'm relieved if I can recall what happened yesterday. And I'm not 71. In addition, the only people present at the incident were the three people involved. There would be no witnesses

"Does it bother anyone that there are no witnesses?" the lawyers asked. It didn't bother a single person. Except me.

"Do you think that just because someone is wearing a uniform, he'll tell the truth?" the lawyer for the plaintiff asked. No one thought he would. Why should a uniform make a difference? To be fair, everyone knows that you can lie with a uniform as easily as you can lie without one. Was I the only one naive enough to think that people on trial were supposed to be telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but?

Issues of credibility were raised next. No one felt there could be any problem in assessing credibility. I wondered how they'd do it. The most honest account? Or the best lie?

I was glad I wasn't included in the questioning. Was I the only one with questions about every question? The entire legal apparatus didn't seem the least bit concerned with establishing the truth. It seemed concerned with one thing only. Winning. No matter how. The entire legal system seemed to be focused on presentation. Honesty was irrelevant. I was indignant.

Because Americans deserve something better. We deserve a system we can believe in. One that's not blatantly hypocritical. Honesty must be restored to the center of the legal process. Where it belongs.

I have therefore come up with a modest proposal. Something so direct and simple that I'm frankly surprised it hasn't already been implemented. A proposal that requires only the slightest modification of the oath.

My simple proposal is that the oath be changed in the following manner. That each party to a law suit take the stand, place his hand upon the Bible, and utter the following words: "I solemnly swear to tell a lie. A huge lie. And nothing but a lie. So help me God."

This simple change will fully restore honesty to a process that has completely abandoned it. A process currently so corrupt that it alienates citizens like myself. With this new oath, the system would undergo a fundamental change. No longer would parties have to resort to the ugliest and grossest of subterfuge. For the first time, no one need feel shame, but instead might take pride in the lies concocted.

And for the first time we, the public, can feel fully confident that our judicial system is working in the manner declared. So maybe people like me won't be quite as resistant to participate in it and to assume responsibility as a juror.

June 2001
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