As promised, the lessons I learned from the prosecutrix’s voir dire today:
1. If you’re prosecuting a child sex case, you can do a bad voir dire with impunity. The prosecutrix did three of the four bad things to do in voir dire (See Bad Voir Dire / Good Voir Dire): she lectured the panel extensively; when she asked questions they were almost all yes-or-no; and she asked for a show of hands, then said, “for the record, I see no hands raised.” She didn’t react badly to “bad” answers because she didn’t get any “bad” answers. She could have hurled abuse at the panel for an hour, taken the first 12 jurors, and still had a jury that wanted to kill the accused. A prosecutor can’t lose such a case in voir dire but she might, if she performs a competent voir dire, win it there. (Illustrative of two maxims: 1) being a prosecutor doesn’t necessarily prepare you to be a defender; and 2) a prosecutor can win all his cases and think he’s brilliant; a defender wins some and knows he is.)
2. If you’re defending an allegation of child sex abuse, you cannot do a bad voir dire. You have to be on top of your game. You have to change the tone of the voir dire immediately. The prosecutrix has just spent an hour preparing the jury to disembowel your client. You have to change the story of the case in the first 30 seconds. The jury has been thinking about how bad sex offenders are; you want them to think about something worse: being falsely convicted of a sex offense. A defender can’t win a child sex abuse case in voir dire but she might, if she performs a competent voir dire, have a chance of winning at trial.
3. Conferences at the bench (other jurisdictions call them “sidebar” for some reason — they’re not at the side of the bar, but at the side of the bench) kill voir dire. The prosecutrix objected on several occasions to the defender’s voir dire, and immediately asked to approach the bench. A seasoned judge would have refused and either overruled or sustained the objection. Our judge, new to cirminal trials, allowed the bench conferences to go on and on and on. We spent about 20 minutes of the defender’s voir dire in conferences at the bench.
4. It is no less important in voir dire than in other parts of the trial to know the law. Here, the prosecutrix’s voir dire was intensely objectionable, and the defender didn’t object. When the prosecutrix (who also didn’t know the law) made improper objections to the defender’s voir dire, the defender didn’t have the correct response on the tip of her tongue, so she got sucked in to bench conferences.
Here’s a precis of most of the lecture:
“Good afternoon . . . GOOD AFTERNOON.”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen a prosecutor NOT use this old chestnut to try to “warm up” the jury. They say “Good morning,” and when the jury doesn’t respond enthusiastically say something like “I know you can do better than that. Good morning!” or “I said, ‘Good morning!'” I wonder if this seems cute to the jurors, or just patronizing. Am I jaded from having seen it a hundred times?
“Fair does not mean lenient.”
Part of the lecture. Not really proper voir dire. Sometimes lenient is fair.
“You will sit on the punishment phase if elected.”
She’s conditioning jury to consider guilty verdict a foregone conclusion.
“During the guilt-innocence phase there will be no discussion of other criminal history or other victims — we’re not allowed to talk about that.”
Obviously, she’s hinting that there is such (even though in this case there was not.)
“Not guilty does not mean innocent.”
That, I couldn’t have said better myself.
“Presumption of innocence starts falling away as you hear the evidence.”
I don’t buy it — I think the presumption of innocence has to remain until all of the evidence has been heard.
“It is the defendant’s choice entirely whether to testify — I can’t, his lawyer can’t the judge can’t make him testify. Nobody can stop him from testifying if he wants to.”
This implies that the decision is purely the client’s. That is nonsense. If I think my client should testify, he’ll testify. If I think he shouldn’t, he won’t.
“Defendant might take the stand and minimize or lie.”
Sure, as might anyone.
“We can’t give you a definition of ‘beyond a reasonable doubt,’ but it’s not 100%, not beyond all doubt, not beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Pardon me, madam prosecutrix, but didn’t you just partially define “beyond a reasonable doubt” by saying what it isn’t? My definition of reasonable doubt is this: If I am a reasonable person, and I am left with a doubt after considering all of the evidence, that is a reasonable doubt. If I’m on the jury, can the prosecutor really tell me that I’m wrong? Really?
“To have no doubt, you would have to have been there, and I would be calling you as a witness.”
I love this one. Look at the hidden message: if you had been there, you would be on our side. I like to get up and say, “if you had been there, this case would never have been filed because you would have told the truth about what you saw.”
“Conflicts in testimony are not necessarily reasonable doubt. For example, a child’s perspective on size and time is different than ours, so the child’s testimony will vary from the adults.”
This is pure argument and improper voir dire. Clever, but objectionable.
“You should expect inconsistencies, but inconsistencies don’t mean reasonable doubt.”
Improper voir dire. Any judge would sustain the objection and tell her to save it for closing argument — if the objection were made.
“On or about is sufficient if the date of the offense is within the statute of limitations.”
This is a correct statement of legal sufficiency, but an improper instruction on the law. The jury gets to decide whether the date of the offense was on or about the date charged; it is improper to force a definition on them (just as, in Texas, it is improper to impose a definition for BRD on them).
At this point I have the notation: “Nobody is talking.” Prosecutrix is fifteen minutes into her voir dire, and we’ve heard nothing but a lecture.
“‘Delayed outcry’ is a term used among professionals in child abuse.”
She’s testifying. Improper voir dire.
She gets the panel talking a little about reasons children wouldn’t report sex abuse immediately — telling her exactly what she wants to hear. For a little while she stops violating the rules, but it is purely for indoctrination rather than to learn anything about the potential jurors.
“Defendant is presumed innocent, not honest.”
That’s catchy. And true. But no other witness is presumed honest either.
Here’s a beautiful one:
Raise your hand if you told a lie as a child. Now raise your hand if you lied about being sexually abused.
This is the “kids don’t lie about things like that” argument.
She gets the panel to tell her more things she wants to hear. More indoctrination. Sex abuse is private, and there aren’t likely to be uninvolved witnesses; some kids are more likely to be victims because they’re more vulnerable; vulnerable kids may be kids with behavior problems. So now, instead of behavioral problems make it more likely that the child is lashing out at an adult, the jurors are thinking that abusers choose kids with behavioral problems to victimize.
“The complainant may not be like your child.”
Wow. No kidding? You mean he might be a child who would lie about “things like that?”
“If you were asked about your last sexual encounter, how would you react. In fact, let me ask for volunteers. Who wants to tell us about their last sexual encounter? Tell us when, with who, where, what did you do, what noises were made, how did it end?”
I have grudging admiration for that question. It’s awesome, for what it is.
“Do you expect medical evidence in a ‘touching’ case? DNA?”
See, she does know how to argue her case in voir dire without impropriety.
She describes the so-called “one witness rule,” which says that a jury may convict on the testimony of a single witness if that testimony is believed beyond a reasonable doubt.
“Is the one witness rule fair?”
Ask the Duke lacrosse team.
At this point it becomes clear that she is reading from a script:
“Does anyone have a preconceived notion of who looks like a sex abuser?”
“Does anyone think an adult can’t be aroused or gratified by a child?”
“Does anyone feel that sex abuse within a family shouldn’t be prosecuted, or is less serious than with a stranger?”
At this point nobody is going to answer any of those questions affirmatively. Maybe before she had prepared the panel to lynch the defendant someone might have had some feelings other than the ones she wanted. Now, no way. This, actually, is as close as she got to violating the rule against taking bad answers badly. She avoided the bad answers entirely by rewarding the good answers (“that’s exactly right”) and saving the questions that might elicit opinions hostile to her position till the end of voir dire.
“The child was interviewed and videotaped. You may or may not be able to see the videotape.”
This implies, “I want you to see the video, but the rules may not allow it.”
“Does anyone know someone wrongly accused?”
“Has anyone had a bad experience with law enforcement?”
“‘Consider’ probation does not mean ‘give’ probation. It means keep an open mind and consider it.”
No, in the prosecutor’s mind, “consider” means “don’t cover your ears and say “blah-blah-blah” when the defense lawyer talks about probation, but close your mind to the idea as soon as you can. In fact, she said “you can close your mind as soon as you hear all of the evidence.”
What consider actually means is “meaningfully consider.” Some jurors will consider probation in the same way they would consider leaping out the window if it were suggested. In order to give effect to the statute, instead of writing their own statutes, jurors must be able to give meaningful consideration to the full range of punishment.
“Is there anyone who, for moral or religious reasons, can’t sit in judgment?”
This has turned into more of a production than I planned. I think it’s clear: you don’t have to be a very good lawyer to put people in prison for child molestation. The irony is that some of the best lawyers in the DA’s office are attracted to that particular division; I think it’s because, when they’re prosecuting people who they believe have harmed children, they can feel as though they are help the children (they are, of course, not necessarily). Inside us all there is a part that wants to help people; it is easier to imagine that you are doing that when you are prosecuting accused child molesters than when you are prosecuting accused drug users.