Jury Duty is a Slice of Life That You Want to Have

March 12, 2017 By David Griesing Leave a Comment

Jury Duty is a Slice of Life That You Want to Have

My reflex on getting called to jury duty is still “how can I get out of it,” but I know that’s mostly the reptilian, fight-or-flight part of my brain. Who’s asking, and why are you picking on me? But these days one of my higher order functions is quicker to declare (just a little more loudly): I hope that I’ll be fit enough to serve.

When put on notice for jury duty, nobody wants their routine to be interrupted, to rub elbows with strangers, or spend days in an airless courtroom for the bus fare plus change you’ll be paid. The first impulse is running the other way. But on the flip side of “No-o-o-o” are some pretty persuasive “yeses.”

Jury duty is a call for neighbors to come together and decide whether someone else who lives or works here has failed to act in the ways they’re supposed to. The first question worth asking is whether you want to have a say in the matter or leave it to someone else? In the 2016 presidential election, 40% (or more than 92 million eligible voters) left it for somebody else to decide—perhaps the most alarming statistic in America today.

“Being a good citizen” used to be all most people needed. You didn’t ignore the jury summons, the IRS letter, or a chance to vote for your representatives. Well no longer.

More of us are scofflaws today—literally scoffing at the law—because (maybe, hopefully) these civic obligations will just forget about us altogether if we keep on disregarding them. Here in Philadelphia, so many ignore their calls to jury duty (175,000 out of 545,000 summons issued in 2015) that the court system has simply thrown up its hands when it comes to enforcement. Of those who respond, my guess is that many do so grudgingly. This is A VERY BIG (AND RESENTFUL) VOICE that says: “I just don’t care enough to help decide ‘what’s acceptable’ and ‘what’s not’ for those of us who live here.”

I’d argue that jury duty is at least as “citizen-gratifying” as marching with a protest sign, but there are other benefits that may sound less like a civics course for those who still need convincing.

I was picked for a jury this week, so these benefits are fresh in my mind. Lawyers never used to get picked, but this was the third time for me. Aside from seeing one of the jobs I do from an entirely different angle, the two most compelling pluses involve connection and storytelling. Here’s what I mean.

The deeper we dive into our phones, the more disconnected we become from other people. There is nothing like a closet-sized jury room to introduce you to members of your community. In your hours together, you share snippets about lives and work, while your deliberations together are an intimate opportunity to encounter them through their senses of right and wrong. Close quarters seldom get warmer than that.

Particularly in big cities, the other jurors are likely to come from different “walks of life” than your neighbors next door. The bubbles we increasingly inhabit have everyone looking more or less the same and agreeing about nearly everything. A Philadelphia jury allows very different bubbles to touch and merge for a brief common purpose, and that’s been a cause for optimism each time I’ve experienced it. When you fear that America’s sky is falling, you are reminded how FUNNY, WISE, HUMBLE and DECENT other members of the public can be when you come together this way.

The stories you see and hear as a juror also tend to make the ones you’d otherwise be following pale in comparison. Sometimes the vivid characters or plot lines emerge from friendships that develop among jurors. As often, they’re from the comedies and tragedies that are playing out in front of you in the courtroom.

The comedy is usually unintended. This week, for example, counsel for a widow suing her husband’s doctors had such a strong accent that when he introduced himself all he could communicate to us clearly was his first name. His elderly client entered the courtroom in a wheelchair that appeared to be stolen from one of the airlines. And the attorney for the doctors had a skirt that was so short she practically mooned us when she sat down after introducing herself. There are no second chances to make first impressions like that.

But the stakes involved in “who’s telling the better story” can also be soul crushing or inspiring. I’ve also been on a jury that had to decide whether to impose the death penalty. Before we were selected, the testimony from the potential juror pool on their beliefs about crime and punishment said more about personal character than you’re likely to hear anywhere else.

The defendant in this case had allegedly killed his confederate in a drug deal, along with several potential witnesses who were unlucky enough to be there too when it all went down. The prosecutors thought they were hotshots. The accused was a 20-something who seemed impossibly blasé about being there. Whose facts would we believe—whose story—with this many lives in the balance?

Every trial is not a murder trial, but it’s also true that the rest of our lives rarely approach the influential place where jurors go to work everyday. As a juror, you’re helping to decide how one storyline in your community draws to its conclusion. For a little of your time, you become a character in the narrative, part of its truth as well as its consequences.

A version of this essay appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer on March 12, 2017. It also appeared in Newsday, the Charlotte Observer and Cleveland Plain Dealer.

Settling For vs. Endorsing a Candidate

August 17, 2016 By David Griesing Leave a Comment

The difference between settling for and endorsing a candidate is known only to you. It’s a thin line, and the ballot box will never tell the rest of us which. That doesn’t mean there is no accountability for the choice that you’ll make. The personal accountability for what you’ll do (and won’t do) this time around seems sharper than ever.

The 2016 Election has devolved into A Parade of the Unacceptable. As well as the Embarrassing, the Puerile, the Deceitful and the Self-serving: all of it egged on by a largely complicit press eager to bring us “reality TV” as real life. But there are genuine risks and opportunities for each of us behind the entertainment curtain. A moral stake in the outcome. Our votes should be about more than wanting one candidate over another for American Idol.

When we manage a moment or two of seriousness, our asides seem to be about everything other than our convictions.

Here in heavily Democratic Philadelphia where I live, they say to me “Yes, there’ll be a little vomit in my mouth before I vote for her, but look at the alternative.” Republican friends elsewhere are more likely to say: “He’s such a bully that he’ll disrupt the entire system she and her cronies are trying to hold onto — and maybe that’s a good thing.” None are supporting a candidate for what they’ve stood for or that their lives have demonstrated when the television lights are off.

On the other hand, every single ballot in America will offer better alternatives in November. They’ll also allow you to write in somebody other than Pokeman, that is, not a cynical protest vote but the name of a man or woman you could actually follow as a leader. There is time between then and now to rally the like-minded around such a person, who might even be available to lead us next time if not this time.

Elections should be about what you believe in, not ulterior motives. While politics may be the art of compromise (like sausage-making), that’s not what it should be when you vote. Because sometimes — this time — their sausages aren’t worth eating.

And you don’t have to.

Also published in Medium @worklifereward.

A Rescue Aid Society

February 9, 2013 By David Griesing 3 Comments

Aaron Schwartz committed suicide on January 11. He was 26 years old and had battled severe depression. He was also one of those breathtaking geniuses whose mind roamed across worlds, from technology to history, ethics and the frontlines of advocacy. One admirer likened him to a pure blast of light, because he was that clear and that riveting—a supernova. But we let him slip through our fingers, and I’m wondering why this has to be.

What he had already done in his short life is the start of the argument, because we always want to know whether remedial action is justified by the facts. Here are Aaron Schwartz’ facts.

At 15, he joined the development group that invented the RSS feed. No need for an intervening action like email, pressing a share button, or doing anything beyond plugging into it: an RSS feed automatically connects you to streams of updated information. It may be the most efficient vehicle for the mass transmission of new information that has ever been conceived.

At 19, he provided the web framework for Reddit, an enormously vibrant social bulletin board where the network of subscribers determines the relevance, and therefore the visibility of articles on the site’s front and subsidiary pages. Not entirely without justification, Reddit describes itself as “the front page of the internet.”

For Aaron, it wasn’t just technology, because he was fascinated by almost everything. He is rumored to have quoted (from memory) key lines in the Pentagon Papers when, as a college freshman, he challenged his Stanford professor’s rationale for the Vietnam War. In 2006, 7 and 8 he blogged about the 100 of so books he read every year–about con men, causality, comic books, political fundraising, poetry–urging his followers to read some but not others, or maybe just a brilliant opening chapter. He was hungry for knowledge and the useful things you can do with it.

Aaron also loved people, which is how he got into trouble after all. It wasn’t just about his love affair with ideas. He really wanted the rest of us to have that love affair too, as unfettered and freewheeling as possible.

In 2010, he downloaded millions of academic articles from a restricted online database, making them publically available for the first time. While the database provided the articles free of charge to MIT students and researchers, Aaron wanted everyone to have access. His actions casued the database to crash and violated the terms of service for his use of it.

Federal prosecutors intervened, charging him under a technology statute with a laundry list of felonies, including theft, damage to computer networks, and wire fraud. The trial in his case was scheduled to begin next month. If found guilty on all counts, he faced a prison term of more than 30 years for crimes that had no real victims.

Aaron told prosecutors (and indeed everyone listening) that he was terrified of going to prison. Connected as he was to all those information streams, he believed that being cut off would amount to a kind of death sentence. Then there was his depression, and its physical consequences. But the prosecutors refused any deal that did not include at least some imprisonment at a maximum security prison—a particularly cruel twist, since they are the only prison facilities that provide the types of medical treatment he would have needed while incarcerated.

Not surprisingly, most of the press coverage around Aaron’s death related to the fairness of his prosecution. But its underlying facts also tell us, loudly and clearly, about his belief in humanity, and another story about him easily tells us as much.

Aaron had bad eyesight. But in a funny paradox of genius, he thought the world was really as unfocused as it appeared until someone suggested he try contact lenses. It’s what happened next that’s most revealing. (Rick Perlstein also quotes this posting from Aaron’s blog in his eloquent farewell.)

I had no idea the world really looked like this, with such infinite clarity. . . Everyone kept saying ‘oh, do you see the leaves now?’ but the first thing I saw was not the leaves but the people. People, individuated, each with brilliant faces and expressions . . . the sun streaming down upon them. I couldn’t help but smile. It’s much harder being a misanthrope when you can see people’s faces.

This startling, contentious and often depressed soul could, at last, “see” who he was doing it all for.

There was a terrible and fragile beauty to Aaron Schwartz, but our world could neither answer his cries for help nor, in the end, protect him. Unfortunately, the scenario is pretty much the same for others like him, when they leave the spaces they once spilled out of and we confront the sudden voids they left behind.

We know that none of them went quietly. Not Aaron, or writer David Foster Wallace (2008), or CalTech physicist Andrew Lange (2010). We could hear their demons long before they succumbed to them.

It’s during this noticing that we, as a society, should find a way to interrupt what is almost sure to happen. The loss of what these individuals could have thought, created and changed is simply too great to do otherwise.

There were many people who knew Aaron Schwartz, cared about him, championed his causes, and wrote essays when he was no longer among them. From all accounts, he had a concerned and connected family. But none prevented what happened, and perhaps none of them could. However, this is not a business for insiders. The best interventions usually come from the outside.

We protect spectacular feats of nature in our national parks, our material history in museums, and the culture’s most beautiful ideas in our libraries. By contrast, the wellsprings of creativity that individuals like Aaron represent—and that nourish us all— pretty much have to fend for themselves when it comes to their survival. Their existing safety nets are almost never enough. So their rescuers woud come without the agendas of friends, rivals or loved ones, whatever they might be. They would come only to improve the grip on life itself.

My proposal doesn’t involve powers of attorney, only an offer to “be there” as long as required and whenever needed. More RSS feed than hotline, the check-ins and updates would ideally flow in both directions. Maybe the organization could help you make a ruckus when you’re being bullied (as Aaron surely was), or have someone with you everyday when you take your meds. We’d pay for it the way we pay for other protecting institutions. The rescuers would have great commitment and expertise.

I don’t know how we’d choose the Aarons who would benefit, (How smart? How productive?), or how to fend off the charges of elitism. Some of the Aarons, maybe most of them, would refuse to cooperate, at least initially. When would the attempted rescues stop? What about the insurance?

I don’t know a hundred things about how this would work. What I do know is that the cost to us is too high to tolerate this kind of repeated sacrifice. What I know is that more is required—however precious to us their final bursts of light.

See how these names are feted by the waving grass,

And by the streamers of white cloud,

And whispers of wind in the listening sky;

The names of those who in their lives fought for life,

Who wore at their hearts the fire’s center.

Born of the sun, they traveled a short while

towards the sun,

And left the vivid air signed with their honor.

(Stephen Spender)

Putting Fake Spin On Your Own Work

October 23, 2012 By David Griesing 2 Comments

If your readers on Amazon aren’t writing enough glowing reviews about your books, what’s an enterprising author to do?

Well if you’re British crime writer R.J. Ellroy, you start anonymously writing and posting those glowing reviews yourself. And why stop there? While he was busily embellishing his own critical commentary, he also was posting anonymous slash’n’burn lines about authors and books he viewed as competitors—for over 10 years, apparently—until he was outed recently by a fellow author.

Submitting a bogus review in your favor is so common these days that it’s been given a name: Sock-Puppeting. When you’re not getting the reviews you wish you were getting from real people, you “anonymously” give yourself the review you’d like to have.

A few words about Ellroy. He wasn’t a new writer, looking for a fair shake and a couple of kind words (although just starting out would hardly take him off the hook). Instead, he is the author of many highly successful books, some of which have won major book awards. So even successful people can be fakers if, for whatever reason, they still don’t think they’re being held in high enough regard.

How highly regarded did Ellroy want to be? For a glimpse of what he wished others were saying about him, take a look at an excerpt from one of those “anonymous” reviews he posted.

I don’t need to really say anything about the plot of this book. All I will say is that there are paragraphs and chapters that just stopped me dead in my tracks. Some of it was chilling, some of it raced along, some of it was poetic and langorous and had to be read twice and three times to really appreciate the depth of the prose…it really is a magnificent book.

I’ve got to admit. If I read that customer review, I might go out and buy Ellroy’s book. That’s because we often trust what supposedly “regular people” have to say about a book or restaurant or hotel stay more than what the “experts” are telling us. Which, of course, is why Sock-Puppetry is so rampant: it seems so credible, and the puppeteers rarely end up being caught.

There are fines and penalties imposed for writing fake reviews by regulators like the Federal Trade Commission. And if your colleagues already view you with suspicion (some already thought Ellroy was “self-aggrandizing” and “chippy”), they may provide the kind of policing that recently brought Ellroy’s mischief to light. Experts are also getting better at detecting suspicious word and phrasing patterns in on-line reviews through linguistic analysis. But this isn’t principally about being caught. What I’m wondering is: why aren’t all the fake reviewers stopping themselves before they put those socks on their hands?

Because, of course, this not just an isolated instance of an author like Ellroy extolling his “poetic and langorous” prose. It’s faker after faker, with lots of writers being exposed for submitting bogus reviews. And that doesn’t begin to capture all the “non-professional writers” who are anonymously celebrating their own “amazing” products or “kid-glove” services.

While some review-hosting organizations like Expedia are trying to reduce the problem by ensuring that the reviews they post are by “real” consumers, the questions remain. Why is there a near epidemic of fake customer reviews today, and what’s to be done about it?

Why it‘s happening is because in book selling (as in all forms of retail), we’re in a period of rapid market change. Authors simply have less control over their books and their income as the traditional publishing model breaks down. Indeed, every bricks-and-mortar store or restaurant or salon is facing new challenges when a customer’s smart phone can scan for more competitive on-line prices while she’s standing in your store, or be guided to your supposedly “five-star” establishment while she’s walking down the street. In a retail climate like this, the pressure is on to give yourself every advantage you can get.

During anxious times, those with a weak grasp of their moral compass find it easier to cast ethics aside and do whatever they can get away with in order to succeed. So what’s to be done about this?

Almost everyone writing his first fake review must wonder at some point: “Should I submit it?” It may be a split second of wondering, but it’s a pause that leads to a soul-search in almost all of us whenever we’re presented with an opportunity to improve the odds in our favor in a dishonest way. Sometimes we don’t come up with much when we dive into our souls—but in and of itself that may be the wake-up call that gives us pause. An empty soul search can also plant the seed that it’s a skill (like lots of others) you can acquire.

In my childhood days at the shore, taking those first dives down for the striking shell or scuttling crab, I always came up empty handed. But with practice I learned. Soul-searching is like that. It takes practice to understand what the choices are, and thereafter, how to make them.

You probably won’t be caught if you submit a fake on-line review, despite Ellroy’s experience and that of a few of his fellow sock-puppeteers. But better to refrain from doing so altogether because you’ve made the most out of that pause before you hit “post.”

(This piece appeared as an Op-Ed in the Philadelphia Inquirer on October 14, 2012.)