Juror Number 8

My summons to jury service elicited mixed emotions. I was excited at being selected, yet anxious about what the case might involve. I felt a responsibility to my clients/patients – I would have to take at least two weeks off work to attend – and uncertainty / panic ('what if I don't get paid,' etc).

Having taken all this in, I proudly told people that I had been selected. Only 35 per cent of adults in the UK are picked for Jury Service, and I must admit I felt honoured to take part in this civic duty. Friends, family, and colleagues responded with 'I've always wanted to do that!,' 'You are so lucky', and 'I hope you get a juicy case'.

I eagerly read through the documentation sent in the post. It told me that if the trial is likely to last longer than 10 days, jury staff would let me know. If the trial is shorter than 10 days, I could be asked to be a juror on other trials. I would be needed at court from 10am to 5:30pm Monday to Friday, but times can vary.

As the day loomed closer, further instructions arrived both via post and e-mail, telling me what to bring:  the jury summons form, and some identification, such as passport or photo driving licence, or alternatively documents such as birth certificate, credit card and statements, or three utility bills. I could use my mobile phone, tablet or laptop in the jury assembly area but not take it into the deliberation room. With no strict dress code, I could wear clothes I would be comfortable in, but no beachwear! And nothing on my head unless it is for religious reasons.

The letters explained that on arrival, the jury manager would tell me about jury service, explain my responsibilities, and outline what expenses I could claim. There was no explicit mention of the psychological impact of Jury Service, although at the end of the Jury Service booklet, it did say 'You may be upset by the trial and want to speak to someone privately. Speak to court staff – they'll give you advice. For emotional support speak to your GP to find out what support is available. You can also contact the Samaritans – although they cannot give advice.'

A psychologist in the group

Fast forward to the day. I attended a Crown Court as opposed to a Magistrates court, immediately bringing to mind the more serious offences. There were forty-five new jurors lining up with their letters, proof of ID and an air of anticipation. 

Once inside the waiting area, having passed through the security checks, we were squeezed into a room lined with single chairs in multiple rows. Over the next few hours, we were called into our groups for which court we were going to. The small group I had got talking to all hoped we were in the same one. Thankfully, most of us were. Our group was informed that we were going to be on a 10-day trial. We collectively voiced excitement and hope that we would be the chosen twelve. 

The day dragged on with no sign of being called. At around 3pm we were told that the defendant had pleaded guilty so there was no duty for us that day, and to go home and wait for a text message regarding what would happen tomorrow. The same thing happened the next day, and on Wednesday we were not even required to attend court. I couldn't just go back into work as I had purposely not booked any clients, so I worked from home on reports that needed doing. Part of me was thankful for the time, as I knew I was going to fall behind in my work. 

This was all in the first two weeks in December, so everyone was trying to get into the Christmas spirit, yet we all felt some trepidation, as if it felt wrong to be thinking about that. Friday was the same as Wednesday, so on Thursday we talked about how hoped that on Monday we would have a case, or we wanted to be released from duty. It was so hard sitting around waiting, all crammed into one small waiting area. People began to grate on each other. 

Another group had already been sitting on a trial, and whilst they were sworn to secrecy regarding the content, I could see the emotional state on their faces and mutterings of unsurety as to whether they could carry on. At this point, the actual seriousness of what we were potentially being asked to do sunk in – we were here to judge a person for their part in a serious crime. As a psychologist, I am many things, including compassionate and non-judgemental. In the role of juror, we were arguably being asked to step away from those values somewhat.

The following Monday, we were informed that we would definitely become part of a jury. Two new people had joined us as they were not selected the week before. All of the group processes we are taught during social psychology undergraduate lectures are at play as they entered and altered the dynamic of the group. As a psychologist I both participated in the group and reflected on my part in it, including my biases, seen and unseen, voiced and unvoiced.

The most gruelling of days

Our time had come. We were asked to line up and after a long wait, we were marched into Courtroom 1. We had to sit in the public gallery behind the defendant, at this point not visible to us. I heard some names being called out and then I heard the words I was dreading – 'sexual offences against a child under 13 years'. I felt sick to my core. A few of us quickly glanced to each other, and some rolled their eyes. We were asked if we recognised any of those names and whether we knew the defendant, at which point they 'popped' up from the dock. With so much wood around it I could only see his head. I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time; I felt my anxiety activated.

Then came the process of name selection, and I convinced myself I wasn't going to get called. At number 8, I heard my name. Taken to our Jury box, each of us were asked to repeat either an Oath or and affirmation and that was it – we were sworn in, and our duty truly began.

The next four days were the most gruelling I have experienced. The Judge was a lovely, kind, fair woman who explained our role as jurors – to listen and base our decisions on the evidence presented only, to put aside our thought or feelings regarding the offences and opinion on the defendant. In my role as a psychologist, I am used to formulating and hypothesising and I found myself unable to detach from this, trying to be compassionate and curious about the childhood experiences of the defendant. 

After each day sitting in court, we were unable to debrief with our fellow jurors. We had made that promise under oath, but I found myself feeling strongly that there should be a safe space, physically and psychologically, to debrief. In fact, there appeared to be no awareness or insight from any staff that this would be something to provide for jurors.

I noticed from the body language alone that each juror was feeling drained, flat, emotionally affected, including tearful and avoidant. My own feelings kicked in. I even thought I was being followed after the first day. I felt tearful and fearful: as a mother of daughters, this case really spoke to me and the way the defendant had groomed the family. This was evident even as he stood trial, with one of the witnesses even apologising. 

Get yourself a network

I found myself battling with my professional hat and my parental hat. A short conversation at the end of each day, normalising and validating our experience without breaking confidentiality, would have been so helpful to contain our emotions, particularly given that some of the jurors were vulnerable members of our community. 

Ultimately, focusing on the facts of the case alone – that was our job – was what got us through this ordeal. By the end, I did not feel 'lucky'. I'm not sure you would truly want to do it. It was two weeks of being immersed in something that could only be describes as surreal. 

So, my main tip is this: when that official letter drops through your door, get yourself a good support network who can validate and normalise what you might experience. 

Towards greater provision

Psychologists have a role to play in calling for such support. I liaised with Dr Dominic Willmott, Associate Professor, from the Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy at Loughborough University, who researches in this area and advocates for more psychological support to be put in place for jurors. 'There is growing empirical evidence, and vast anecdotal evidence, that jurors can be severely adversely impacted after serving as jurors in distressing criminal trials. Given that we are legally mandating jurors to serve, and this exposure is causing them short- and longer-term consequences to their mental wellbeing, I welcome greater support provisions for them.'

Dr Willmott noted that 'of course, there are strict legal requirements which prevent jurors from talking to others about the case until it is over, and it is important that we ensure outside opinions do not shape juror interpretations of evidence at trial. However, it is also our duty to ensure that jurors do not experience trauma as a consequence of their service and therefore the need to find a solution that protects them from harm whilst adhering to legal requirements remains of urgent importance. The idea that jurors are simply excused from serving as jurors in the future after being traumatised by a case is not good enough. It's another way in which our criminal "justice" system is failing those who partake in it.'

Thankfully, there is a planned government trial of mental health support for jurors, to be offered in 14 Crown Courts in England, which the British Psychological Society has welcomed. Jurors will be able to self-refer for six free counselling sessions and access a 24/7 helpline for support. In Ella Rhodes' report for The Psychologist,  Justice Minister Heidi Alexander validated mine and others' experiences by noting that 'offering free emotional and mental support is a significant step forward to help jurors performing a vital public service who have heard distressing and traumatic evidence in often demanding, long and high-profile cases.' I would argue that all jurors, whether they say they have been affected or not, should be considered for such support. The after-effects of trauma are not fully known for some weeks. Adopting a watch and wait approach will not work in this situation.

I share Society President Dr Roman Raczka's hope: that this pilot scheme 'will result in proper psychological support for jurors being available during and after trials. This will ultimately mean a better experience for everyone within the criminal justice system.'

• Sarah Beddows is a Clinical Psychologist, a Chartered member and Associate Fellow of the British Psychological Society, based in the National High Secure Deaf Service, Nottinghamshire Healthcare NHS Foundation Trust, Rampton Hospital. She also works privately at the Purple House Clinic, Lincoln.