Two high profile trials that ended last weekend reminded us that petit juries are no venue for profound social change. In two very different deliberations, jurors did what they were supposed to do: examined the evidence and applied the law to those facts. To say that neither outcome advanced broader underlying causes would be an understatement.
Philando Castile was a black 32-year-old Minnesota school cafeteria worker. He was driving with a broken brake light last July when a suburban St. Paul police officer, Jeronimo Yanez, stopped him. Within minutes, Castile was dead. The officer, after approaching the car window, asked Castile for his license and proof of insurance, which he immediately produced. According to police records, Castile then told Yanez that he was carrying a firearm (duly registered). The officer told him not to pull it out, and then proceeded to fire seven shots at him. Yanez became the first Minnesota police officer in modern history to be charged with manslaughter. On Friday, a jury acquitted him of all charges.
Meanwhile, about 1,200 miles to the east, 12 jurors deliberated for 52 hours in Norristown, Pennsylvania over whether legendary comedian Bill Cosby drugged and sexually assaulted a woman more than a decade ago. The case was a proxy of sorts for at least 59 other women who, going back over more than half a century, claim they were similarly assaulted by Cosby. Only one case, however, was before this jury, and since the alleged incident occurred 13 years ago, strained and inconsistent memories resulted in conflicting testimony. On Saturday, jurors said they were “hopelessly deadlocked” and the judge declared a mistrial.
These two juries, sitting in separate county courthouses 1,200 miles apart, sparked viscerally adverse reactions among those who had hoped for verdicts that would send strong messages on two important issues: racism in policing, and aggressive prosecution of sexual assault.
A Star-Tribune story on the Minnesota verdict started with this sentence: “For black Minnesotans, the acquittal of Jeronimo Yanez in the fatal shooting of Philando Castile was the latest sign of a criminal justice system that often delivers heartbreak.” That angst is more than just a Minnesota thing. In 15 recent instances of black men killed by police nationwide, there were only two convictions. Still, the facts of this case seemed particularly strong. According to prosecutors, Castile did everything right. He was polite and compliant. He wasn’t running from police. There was no weapon in his hand. He just sat there, calmly and quietly, while the officer fired seven shots at him.
While the jury heard those facts, it also listened to Yanez’s tearful testimony about being confused and in fear of his life. Jurors, according to a Bowling Green State University study, are inclined to distinguish between a cop’s serious mistake and manslaughter, particularly if the officer was scared or confused. After 29 hours of deliberations, these 12 people – 10 white and 2 black – decided that the seven shots Officer Yanez fired at Philando Castile did not rise to the level of criminal activity. Jason Sole is the president of the Minneapolis NAACP. He told the New York Times the verdict was “more of the same.” “How are you going to kill this guy and still say we have a fair system? How? Man, this behavior has gotta stop, and they can’t stop so they are going to continue to kill us.”
Back in Norristown, the jury system was also taking it on the chin. Andrea Constand, a former Temple University athletic administrator, testified that Bill Cosby drugged and sexually assaulted her in 2004. Dozens of other women have come forward with stories of similar Cosby encounters, but have been time-barred from taking action. The jury’s inability to reach a unanimous verdict was seen by some of his accusers as a repudiation of sexual assault victims. For example, Lise-Lotte Lubin, who claims Cosby drugged and abused her in 1989, called the lack of a unanimous guilty verdict one more sign that rape victims are rarely believed.
As a distant observer of both trials, I too was disappointed in the outcomes. I would have gone with guilty verdicts, based on what I had read, together with my values and beliefs (also known as biases). But I wasn’t a juror. I didn’t hear the testimony or see the evidence. I didn’t take an oath to apply the law only to what I heard and saw in those courtrooms. Juries for better or worse, are the centrifuge of our justice system. As a reporter covering courts years ago, I marveled at how well this seemingly quaint and archaic process worked. On the surface, it might seem flawed to plunk 12 random citizens into uncomfortable chairs and expect them to make important decisions outside their comfort zones. Yet, a mammoth review of multiple jury studies by a Cornell University team concluded that jurors consistently take their role seriously, follow the rules, and make decisions based on the evidence and the law, as opposed to crafting their own brand of justice.
And that is precisely the point. Those Minnesota and Pennsylvania jurors were not there to solve the weighty problems of racism, police violence or sexual assault prosecutions. Their job was limited to a single case, with specific facts and legal standards. The real fix for the larger social issues lies in other venues: police leadership, city halls and state legislatures. That’s where the pressure needs to be applied. It’s already happened in the Cosby matter. Many states have eliminated time limits for filing sexual assault charges, a nod to the horde of Cosby accusers who came forward after it was too late to prosecute. With respect to police shootings, if city administrators can’t find a way to stop scared, confused cops from killing people, then it’s time to change the statutes. Make the law crystal clear: a police officer’s fear and confusion are unacceptable defenses to manslaughter.