As a juror, I had a front-row seat to tragedy. It made me see our justice system in a new way

October 29, 2026 — 5:00am

It’s day four, and as I shut my eyes to fully comprehend what the witness is saying, I can just make out the quiet sobs of a fellow juror behind me. It’s been a tough morning.

As the court adjourns for lunch, we file out, slumped shoulders signalling that our necessary banter over sandwiches in the jury room won’t come as easily today. Tissues are proffered, tea is made, there are pats on a shoulder and a hug before we shake ourselves into our lunch break.

We briefly check our phones before they are locked away again, and then it’s back to the task of digesting the case that has brought the 12 of us together in this stuffy room and is expected to run for some weeks.

This is not my first brush with jury duty. In my student days, I was twice called; once, I requested to be excused because I had exams, and the second time I was overseas. After graduating, I was called again and selected, but my time in the jury box was short-lived; the trial was abandoned due to legal problems.

In 2015, I was called again, but my sister was seriously ill, so I asked to be excused. I was called again in 2021, but work commitments made it impossible. I supplied the same reason when I was called twice earlier this year, but was given a warning that if I can’t serve, I will be called yet again.

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And so I finally enter the system that everyone seems to warn you to avoid, because of the hassle, disruption and the possibility of seeing and hearing awful things.

This case is not easy but laws do not allow me to reveal details here. What I can say is that people have been hurt, and years of torment explode in the courtroom in monotone sentences, in gasping sobs, and in strained silences.

On the day the juror behind me cries, a person is describing the horror of discovering what had been happening to their family. They blame themselves for not realising, for not acting sooner, for not comprehending that such an act could take place.

We listen, we take notes.

After emotion-filled days like these, I find myself marvelling at our justice system. At a time when life seems all about the individual, jury service asks you to turn your full attention away from your own concerns and focus on life’s harsher realities, on other people’s problems. There’s little reward, and almost no recognition. And that’s the beauty of it.

There’s also a lot of waiting, whether it be for legal arguments to finish, for technology to be fixed, or for the hot lunches to miraculously appear after a week of sandwiches.

Day after day, we come together – among us, the builder, the bus driver, the postal worker, the writer, the marketer, the engineers, the salesperson – to do our best.

We make a good jury – solid and kind. We bring in treats to share, inquire about families, console each other over bad news. There’s also a lot of waiting, whether it be for legal arguments to finish, for technology to be fixed, or for the hot lunches to miraculously appear after a week of sandwiches.

A jury “work day” is from 10am until 4pm. We all arrive early, via a back door, for our security check. Then it’s into a clunky lift and up to a floor where we sign in, don our jury tags and are escorted up into our room, with its tiny patch of sunlight.

The courtroom, too, has its own curious routine. When it’s time to enter, an officer alerts us, checks we are all present and that our phones are locked away, then announces our arrival with a heavy knock on the courtroom door: “The jury, your honour.” Over time, we have formed our own system for entering the courtroom. Shorties line up first to file to the back of the jury box while the taller jurors, myself included, sit in the front row, which offers a front-row seat to the pain unfolding before us.

As time goes on, I marvel at the other players, too. The judge’s kind words to witnesses who are struggling to remember or trying to compose themselves – “No need to apologise … this is a difficult process” – and his daily reminders of our responsibilities to consider only the evidence, to refrain from doing our own research, to only discuss the case with each other and only when all of us are in the room.

And then there’s the deep respect for the law displayed by both the bewigged prosecutor and the defence counsel, their hours of painstaking work banked up behind them in mountains of expertly marked files.

Of course, the system has its faults, but after a few days in the midst of its swirling everyday realities, its impressiveness leaves me humbled.

The days pass slowly at first, then speed up. Then, suddenly, it’s time to consider our verdicts. Our decision will have lasting ramifications.

I watch my legs shake and see the juror next to me grip her seat as our foreman delivers our verdicts on all charges.

The defendant looks straight ahead, their partner crumples, then remonstrates with us. The judge thanks us for carrying out our duty. We are dismissed. It is over.

We find a discreet bar, have a few drinks and joke about getting matching tattoos of our jury numbers. Later, as we all drift away, we know we will always be inextricably bound by another permanent marker: the intensity of the past several weeks, where we were transported out of our ordinary lives and into those of other strangers, who shared their stories and their grief.

A week later, I’m at a footy match with 40,000 or so others, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s juror “I”. We hug, marvelling that fate has thrown us together once again.

Jury duty insider

Juries are chosen at random from state and territory electoral rolls.

Selection does not depend on your occupation, income or background.

If your name is drawn, you receive a summons in the mail, usually about a month before your required attendance date.

If you are selected and serve on a trial you have a statutory right to opt out of jury duty for three years.

Valid reasons to be excused include illness or pregnancy, backed by a doctor’s letter, carer commitments, work hardship, travel or study, or language difficulties.

You are paid for your attendance if your employer does not cover the cost. All jurors receive lunch, tea and coffee, and are reimbursed for travel costs.

Selection doesn’t necessarily mean you will sit on a particular jury. The defence and prosecution have the right to challenge your presence in the jury box – don’t take this personally. It could be they are looking for someone older, younger or someone who dresses more conservatively or less conservatively.

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