Telling 'Your Honor' too much is unwise

My day in the jury box was a year ago, but I am still disturbed.

I pushed it back twice, but inevitably I had to serve time: eight hours in beautiful downtown Santa Ana at the County Court House.

I arrived on time. After waiting in the check-in line for an hour, I found a seat in the back and began to read.

To my surprise, my group was the first to be called. I rose and followed the other 49 people to the tenth floor, where a judge, two lawyers, four bailiffs ­ and an alleged rapist ­ awaited me.

After we all entered the room, the judge called on individuals who would take the 12 empty seats in the jury box. My name was called.

I took the seat next to a young woman my age. "He is in here for rape," I said to her softly.

The judge had not explained why the man was on trial, but I had a strong hunch. The young woman shrugged her shoulders and continued to look forward.

The judge began discussing the case. She explained how the man allegedly broke into a woman's home and raped her at knifepoint. I felt very uncomfortable and wanted to do everything in my power to leave the room. Since I was required by law to sit there, I did just that.

The judge asked the 12 of us if there was anyone who had been violently or sexually abused before, and if so to please raise their hand and explain. The young woman next to me raised her hand and told the judge she had been raped by a family friend, and that there was no possible way she could serve as a fair juror on the case. The judge said she would take it into consideration and thanked her for her honesty.

I raised my hand when the judge asked if there was anyone else who had been sexually abused.

I told the courtroom that I have never been physically sexually assaulted, but there have been several incidences in my 23 years of life where strange men have exposed themselves to me in public, most of the time while they were masturbating.

I was three years old the first time, and the most recent occurrence was last year.

I consider this to be a form of sexual abuse, and even though there is not a name for it, like rape, it still has a powerful effect on the way I view sex offenders. It was then that the judge started asking me questions.

First she asked me my name. Then she asked me which city I live in, where I go to school, my major, my professors' names, my employer, the high school I went to, and whether or not I had a boyfriend.

Because she is an authority figure, someone I call "Your Honor," I answered her questions.

She then went on to ask me what I thought about the man sitting before me. I was honest. I said he looked guilty, and that I even knew it was a rape case before anyone told me. She could not understand that.

She kept pushing for more information. Why did I think that? What in his face said "rapist?"

The entire time I was trying to explain why this guy gave me the creeps, he was staring at me with his icy, hate-filled eyes.

I still cannot get those eyes out of my memory; they will forever be embedded in my mind. They were the eyes of a man who knows entirely too much information about me.

I was eventually dismissed. The defending attorney knew I had already made up my mind and did not want me. I was free to leave.

I am disturbed because there is a man out there who may have raped a woman at knifepoint and knows several ways of finding me.

The judge handed him everything he needs to hunt down the young woman who told an entire room full of strangers while looking into his eyes that he looked liked a rapist.

Call me paranoid. I am for a good reason. This world is often vile, and it's filled with monsters.

Maybe he was a monster, maybe not, but I feel violated. The United States Judicial System violated me. I know lawyers have to know everything about the jurors, but must the defendants know everything too?

We must all keep our safety in mind when disclosing personal information to anyone ­ even a judge.

I wish I had given more thought about my answers to the judge's questions. I would definitely sleep better at night. Take my advice; be careful about what you say to anyone, including people you call "Your Honor."

Heidi Lehman is a senior public relations major at Cal State Long Beach.

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