Our Imperfect Best

I walked half a mile to catch the bus to the courthouse. It took seventy-five of us to seat twelve jurors for a retrial of a vehicular manslaughter case. As I was selected—eventually unselected—I witnessed something wonderful.

Seventy-five regular people examining our own baggage and still seeking the truth together.

Early in the day, all 75 of us watched a movie about hidden bias. Turns out we each carry steamer trunks full of the stuff. But here's what got me: the court wasn't pretending we arrive as blank slates. They were saying, look, you're human, you're flawed, now let's acknowledge that and do our imperfect best anyway. Seventy-five regular people examining our own baggage and still seeking truth together—it felt almost radical.

This system goes back centuries because someone understood justice couldn't rest solely with those in power. It needed us. The messy, biased, well-meaning us, showing up every three years to say: I can be as fair as the next person. Of the people, by the people, for the people—and right now, I'm one of those people.

The whole day felt like a brush with something fragile, sacred even. I felt the enormity of what we're called to do. I felt it slipping. But I also felt its potential to carry us through divided times—this act of strangers gathering to seek truth together.

As I left the courthouse, the defendant held the door for me. One human being acknowledging another. That's what the whole system rests on, really—our shared humanity.

SONG: This is What Democracy Looks Like by Elizabeth Alexander performed by Alicia Lee. Click here to listen