Entertainment I was rejected as a juror for the trial...

I was rejected as a juror for the trial of Harvey Weinstein. This is what happened inside the courtroom

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"I remember the right where I was when I was news Harvey Weinstein's scandal broke in 2017 – sitting on my desk, spending a working day as a lifestyle editor, when a colleague said, “Oh my god!” and sent a link to the New York Times story in Slack, and we – women, all of us – immediately dismissed him, with hours and fair recognition and schadenfreude. "I remember the place where I was when news broke about Harvey Weinstein's scandal in 2017 – sitting on my desk, spending a working day as a lifestyle editor, when a colleague said," Oh my god! " link to the New York Times story in Slack, and we – women, all of us – immediately dismissed him, with hours and fair recognition and schadenfreude.

I always remember the exact horror, sinking I realized I could terminate Weinstein's decision, as a trial juror.

Between these two moments came days and months and then years after the ever-declining storytelling – allegations of hotel and bath rooms and showers, #MeToo and silent codes and loyal wives (some of them written) I even), and oft discussions on consent and sexism at work and dinner with friends and at family meetings.

All that luggage came with me last week, as I came up with a red and white jury duty summons and came to the City Court of New York City, a decorative collection of limestone Art Deco towers that morning. morning a crowd of phaparazzi. Although I knew that Weinstein's trial started and I realized that the crowd was waiting for his arrival – and even a stable note of reporters and people who were camped out in the floor-floor was instructed to report for them – I felt I have no connection with this high profile trial. It would be too absurd.

I did not fully understand what I was doing after an hour and a half staying around in the main jury room, when 120 of us were led by a court official down the hall, along with the reporters and into a courtroom. That is when I stood through the doors, noting that a wild sketched, sketched sketch artist was sitting on my right, in the back row, ending the pastel colorful face-to-face CD now impossible: Harvey Weinstein .

Harvey Weinstein and his solicitor Donna Rotunno go out of New York Criminal Court after the fifth day of a trial in New York City. (Photo: John Lamparski / Echoes Wire / Barcroft Media through Getty Images)

My heart racing as I took a seat in a wooden bench but a few layers before it, I pulled around other heads of potential jurors towards the front of the court.

At first I saw the walker. And then, Weinstein himself.

He was sitting with each of us, facing the judge, and members of his legal team around him. He wore a dark suit, his pack was gray and lateral, a gray lad. He looked at a hunt and a little and sick. Judge James Burke spoke to the room above, thanked us for our service and said to us: “New York People v. Harvey Weinstein. A woman sitting before him said, “Oh ***.” The mood in the room was very strange.

“This is crazy,” I told the woman to my left, which closed her eyes and shaken her head slowly. The man on my right seemed to have no answer. I kept my eyes on the back of Weinstein's head as the judge continued to speak, informing us that we had been dismissed early and returning in the morning, indicating that the defendant did not disqualify us from service but after hearing the defendant. Burke, indeed, was surprised by all of us, whatever we knew or did not know, to spend the night “examining our conscience,” and thinking whether we could be “fair jurors and impartial ”in this trial. He talked about the poetry of jury duty, and how positive it is for most of the people who serve. Then he shared with us the specific charges against Weinstein – four counts of a pre-practicing felony sexual assault, one account of a criminal sexual act in the first stage, and one count of all first instance rape and third stage rape – so that we could let him all interrupted.

"I was sick because I left the courtroom," mocking I went into an elevator with other potential jurors, I wanted to call out, “It was so ugly!” but everyone was so despicable and so relaxed that I kept quiet, too, I walked to the subway. What if I do Should to choose? Can I be fair and impartial? "Data-reactid =" 60 "> I felt sick because I left the courtroom, hitting a lift with other potential jurors. I was so despicable and relaxed that I also kept quiet, I walked to the subway, my nerve focused. Should to choose? Could I really be fair and impartial?

A woman who was inspired by the Chilean feminist group called Las Tesis protesting the high chanting before the criminal court of New York City during crimes trial Harvey Weinstein. (Photo: John Lamparski / Echoes Wire / Barcroft Media through Getty Images)

That night, I followed the judge's search soul search. While having spent two years looking after the details of the case and thinking and writing about the allegations and listening to the courts speaking, it was difficult, and thinking about my friends who have rapping or harassing and thinking about my own experience of sexual harassment, and what most likely will be before my daughter one day in this world.

I slept suitably that night. But I felt certain about morning what I had to do.

"back to the courtroom, I ended up sitting in the courtroom". t There was nothing between Weinstein and me but the walker, and he was at the table in front of the judge with his legal team when we arrived, and now, at this close range, I could see that his left shoulder fell down deeper and right and a white collar was a crooked shirt, half-paste into the back column of its cluster and half sticking out, it was hung on pages that looked like it, make a transcript, make notes in the margins and one word length kept echo by m – brain – karma, karma, karma – I didn't feel sad to him. "Data-reactid =" 85 "> Back in the courtroom, I ended up sitting in the front row, with nothing between Weinstein and me but the walker. The judge with his legal team when we arrived, and now, at the range close to this, I could see that his left shoulder fell down deeper than the right and that a white collar was a crooked shirt, half-inserted into the back of a collar was a flask and a half sticking out He was being hunted over pages that were like a transcript, making notes in the margins and while one word was joking through my brain – karma, karma, karma – I felt so sad to me.

On her right, Donna Rotunno's power attorney, with his angular angular hills and chunky glasses, was wearing a red pussy-bow blouse under fitted leather jerseys, looking alarming, delaying me when I had cross-examination.

As the entire jury pool introduced, she and the other solicitors – including those on the other side – from the district attorney's office – were sitting in her seats to study us, as if it was an attempt to identify people who looked fair, who looked crazy. Some notes written down.

When everyone was settled, Judge Burke reconstructed his spiel from the previous day. Then he brought in the defendant, asking him to raise him and say to us all, as if we were at a party. Weinstein stood slowly, with an effort, and turned around to face the courtroom. “Hello, everyone,” he said, compeling a smile. I noticed that he looked at him and looked more than usual before he went back to his seat. Then Burke introduced all the solicitors, who also rose to greet the room, and then asked if any prospective juror knew any of these people. Some stated that they did – with one woman acknowledging that she was friends with Rotunno and another suggesting that her friend had a "touch" with Weinstein.

Then came a big issue of the day: Who do you believe you can not be a fair impartial juror in this particular case? I was not fast enough to count, but I turned around with a look, and took almost half the hand room. Taking into account I.

</ p> (0) – Mt (0) – sm Mt (0.8em) – sm "Type =" text "content =" Right or wrong, my mind was made up " And he only felt right to admit him – even if I had to stand in my seat and hold a microphone and say and spell my name in front of everyone, and the question was more formal, unlike the other voire dires I have been involved in the past, accepting prejudice without expressing it fully (“I have stock in that company,” “I had a mug once,” said “My dad” is the norm. "data-reactid =" 90 "> Right or wrong, my mind was made up under Weinstein, and he felt it was not just right to admit it – even if I had to stand in my seat and hold a microphone and my part I realized that the judge did not want reasons at that moment – and that the question was put directly, unlike another, more formally voire dires I have been involved in the past, accepting prejudice without expressing it fully (“I have stock in that company,” “I had a mug once,” said “My dad” is the norm.

Just then, after a few screening questions, as the session covered for the evening, a wave of women's voices poured through the windows of the courtroom from the 15-storey street below. It was chanting, fierce and powerful, almost like a song, supported by a disproportionate drum beat. Although it was almost impossible to determine the words being separated, I heard one statement – “And you are the rapist!” – loud and clear.

And so, it seemed, Weinstein looked, whose face, we managed to be at the heart of that very cooling moment, very strong.

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