Veronica Wiley (they/them) is a compassionate caregiver and educator about death, dying, and grief. They are the founder and CEO of Outside Rites, Ltd. and Corpse Pose Yoga which focuses on incorporating the philosophy of Yoga and ecopsychology to create experiences of conscious living and dying for their clients.
Jury duty is supposed to be boring. It’s not supposed to feel like a made-for-TV courtroom drama. How often in real life does a person on trial for murder openly threaten the prosecution’s key witness? While the witness is on the stand? In front of the jury?
Tragedy and yoga philosophy
“Early one morning, late that night two dead boys got up to fight. Back-to-back they faced each other drew their swords and shot the other. A deaf policeman heard the noise and came to stop the two dead boys. I saw it all from a corner of the round table, the only eyewitness to facts of my fable. If you don’t believe these lies are true, ask the blind man, he saw it too.” – Anonymous
This article is about my experience serving as the foreperson on a jury for a double-homicide trial. It’s a wild story…I can understand why the defendant’s cellmate wanted to write it—with character names like “Big Bird” and “Jerry Garcia,” it’s difficult to determine facts from fiction. The poem above is one that many people recognize from different generations and regions. Each version is slightly different, and coincidentally it shares some parallels to details from the case. The experience I had would not exist if it weren’t for two tragic deaths. I want to emphasize that this article is not about those two dead boys, for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, their story is not mine to tell. Their loved ones that survive them have been through quite enough already. Second, I have no desire to fuel our society’s out-of-control addiction to true crime drama (if you don’t understand why, please refer to reason one).
I had never reported for jury duty before this trial. Of course, I’d received a summons, but my number’s never been part of the group that had to report in person. I was all set to sit around waiting most of the day and then be done. I had the perfect book I was going to read. It was supposed to be a boring day, and trust me, you want jury duty to be boring. While, yes, there is a certain amount of adrenaline that comes with being selected to sit on a jury for a double-homicide trial—it’s certainly not “fun,” which a surprising number of people wished for me when I told them I would be on a jury trial for the next two weeks.
On the date of my summons to report for jury duty, the book I chose to occupy all my spare time was “Yoga – Anticolonial Philosophy: An Action-Focused Guide to Practice” by Dr. Shyam Ranganathan. Dr. Ranganathan is a moral philosophy professor at York University, with a master’s degree in South Asian studies as well as a master’s and PhD in moral philosophy. He published a translation of Patanjali’s Yoga Sūtra in 2008, which lays out the Eight Limbs of Yoga. Yoga is an ethical theory of moral philosophy from South Asia. The Yoga Sūtra is a guide to practice this philosophical theory. It’s not a guide for practicing handstands.
I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of this book since it was available for pre-order nine months previously. In addition to being an End-of-Life Doula with a master’s degree in business administration, I’ve been teaching yoga (group fitness and stretching classes) for over 12 years. I’ve managed multiple yoga studios and led over a dozen yoga teacher training programs where I was often asked to deliver lectures on the history and philosophy of Yoga.
Dr. Ranganathan’s book begins with an introduction to unlearning and relearning exactly what philosophy is, with the basics of understanding thought, interpretation, reasoning, and logic. He then provides the critical explanation and context of ethical theories from Western moral philosophy (Virtue Ethics, Consequentialism, & Deontology), how those theories are based on colonial interpretation, and how Yoga philosophy is a separate, distinct ethical theory – while also demystifying the parts of Yoga philosophy that get taken out of context and misrepresented in many yoga teacher trainings.
Basic moral alignment
Anyone familiar with the classic game of Dungeons and Dragons has heard of a character alignment chart. It’s a chart depicting the spectrum of lawful to chaotic on one axis, the spectrum of good to evil on the opposite axis, and the possible combinations of lawful good, neutral good, chaotic good, lawful neutral, true neutral, chaotic neutral, lawful evil, neutral evil, and chaotic evil between the two. When the three main Western ethical theories of moral philosophy are applied to the concept, it breaks down roughly as follows:
Virtue ethics: Plato/Aristotle - ‘Right’ action is determined by being a good person; South Asian example: Jainism; Lawful Good: would not kill.
Deontology: Kant - ‘Right’ action is determined by sense of duty and obligation; South Asian example: Karma Yoga; Neutral Good and Lawful Neutral: would kill in self-defense.
Consequentialism: Bentham and Mill - ‘Right’ action is justified by good results or ‘the end justifies the means’; South Asian example: Buddhism; Chaotic Good, True Neutral, Lawful Evil, Chaotic Neutral, and Neutral Evil: would kill for a greater purpose or to achieve a goal.
The moral parasite: Chaotic Evil - has no moral compass, not even a personal code, and would kill just to kill.
Yoga/bhakti
Missing from the above breakdown, because it’s not part of the Western colonial tradition of moral philosophy, is Yoga/Bhakti.
Yoga/Bhakti: is devotion to sovereignty with the practice of unconservatism and self-governance – (Īśvara praựidhāna, tapas, & svādhyāya). Meaning that in an ideal world, everyone is committed to their own highest moral integrity while constantly challenging their biases/expectations/assumptions and maintaining their own boundaries in the present moment – leaving them free and able to choose the Right actions. An example of this is the debate about veganism and/or vegetarianism: in an ideal world, no one would choose to participate in animal agriculture because it is unethical to kill. However, we don’t live in an ideal world. This brings us to the Eight Limbs of Yoga, which are an upāya, or remedial course of action for the implementation of the practice in nonideal circumstances. This prescribed remedy allows us to take charge and be responsible for ourselves in creating an environment for free, autonomous people. The Eight Limbs “is a response to an imperfect world that fails to operate according to Yoga.” (Ranganathan 2024, 106).
Jury duty for a criminal trial makes an incredibly practical example of how this theory and practice can be applied.
The trial
Day 1: Jury Selection
Yama
Yama (YS II.30 – 36) – The first limb of Yoga: a universal obligation to obstruct systemic harm (ahi sā), that reveals the fact (satya) of people not deprived of their requirements (asteya), their personal boundaries respected (brahmacharya), and no one hoarding (aparigrahā). (Ranganathan 2024, 106).
On the first morning of jury duty, I took the train downtown. I stopped at a nearby coffee shop and met a woman who was also reporting for jury duty. We walked to the courthouse together and talked about what we do for work and how we were hoping to get dismissed. At one point, we jaywalked across the street, in part because we didn’t want to be late, but also as a joke that we might not be exemplary enough citizens to serve. Coincidentally, for the rest of the day, every time her number or name was called, mine was called moments later and we ended up serving on the same jury together.
Once part of the jury pool for the trial, we were brought into the courtroom, sworn in, and the charges were read aloud. As the jury selection process began, and lasted the rest of the day, I questioned my participation and how hard I should try to get dismissed. It is no secret that the justice system is flawed and often makes mistakes. Some would even argue that by participating in the process and allowing myself to be selected as a juror, I was participating in the systemic harm perpetuated by the justice system in general.
However, if I were to follow the first limb of Yoga as presented above – abstaining from participation in systemic harm is not the same as obstructing systemic harm (Virtue Ethics versus Yoga). In this case, the only way to find out if the young man on trial was being unfairly accused and thereby obstruct any harm being enacted by the justice system against him, would require participating in the jury process and hearing all the evidence. We were asked to fill out a questionnaire and were then released for a couple of hours while the judge and attorneys went over all the answers. I answered the questionnaire honestly and presented no reasons why I felt I couldn’t or shouldn’t serve.
Niyama
Niyama – “Having engaged in this activism (the first limb – Yama), one can then proceed to the second limb where the practitioner commits to the three basic ideal practices of Yoga (Īśvara praựidhāna – devotion to Sovereignty, tapas – unconservatism, & svādhyāya – self-governance) while working on being content (santo?a) and pure (śauca) in this commitment (YS II.32).” (Ranganathan 2024, 108)
After returning from the long break, select members of the jury pool (including myself) were asked to line up in the center of the hall before everyone was brought back into the courtroom. Those of us that had been asked to line up were directed towards the seats in the jury panel and extra chairs in front of the jury panel. This next part of the selection process is called ‘voir dire’, French for “to speak the truth” (which I only learned after the trial from a couple of retired attorneys I provide care for). The attorneys took turns asking several questions of each of us, general and hypothetical, to determine our ability to be impartial. The questions I remember being asked directly were one from the prosecution about whether I could believe someone that I knew had lied before; and from the defense attorney, if information about his client being associated with a gang would be a problem for me in remaining impartial. My answer to the former was maybe, depending on the circumstances of why the person lied in the first place; to the latter, my answer was no – there are reasons why a young person might seek out the safety and solidarity of a gang and I wouldn’t hold their affiliation with a gang against them. After this, several folks were dismissed, and then the last round of the jury selection occurred, where both sides were allowed to dismiss a certain number of potential jurors until they were willing to accept the fourteen jurors in the panel (twelve plus two alternates). It was during this last round that I was empaneled and took my seat in the jury box.
Āsana
Āsana – “The third limb is about occupying the space that one has created via Yogic activism and practice (YS II.46 – 48) ...In contemporary yoga talk, āsana, is the word for postural exercises.” (Ranganathan 2024, 108).
Another common (and relevant in this example) translation of āsana is “seat.”
The judge then gave instructions to the jurors during the trial. The initial instructions were in place for 10 days in total, including a weekend, and we received additional instructions after the closing arguments, before deliberation. These instructions, listed below, fall within the definitions of the fourth and fifth limbs of Yoga:
Prāựāyāma
Prāựāyāma – “The fourth limb…superficially relates to practices of breath but is also described as the process of deconstructing natural barriers between oneself and the external world (YS II.51)…it is about recovering one’s space as a practical agent. And hence, in controlling one’s boundaries, we are taking back our control of our own personal boundaries.” (Ranganathan 2024, 108)
Pratyāhāra
Pratyāhāra – “The fifth limb…is the withdrawal of the senses from objects but also the correlative abstraction of objects from beliefs. This puts the senses under the control of the person (YS II.54 – 55). Having created a political space to exist, having committed to the practice of Yoga, having physically occupied that space, and having taken control of one’s boundaries, now the agent decides what they will direct their attention to. This sets up possibilities of advanced practice.” (Ranganathan 2024, 108-109).
The judge’s initial instructions included
No discussing details of the case with anyone, not even other jurors before deliberation, including not posting about it on social media. Jurors could inform employers and partners, etc., that they’d been selected to serve for a two-week trial and that was it.
No independent research or investigation related to the case during the trial – including internet research or even consulting a dictionary.
Refrain from forming or expressing an opinion about the case until all evidence has been examined and submitted to the jury for review.
Remember that the defendant is to be considered innocent until proven guilty, whether the defendant chooses to testify in their own defense or not, and the burden of proof is on the prosecution to provide evidence of the defendant’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.
Opening statements and closing arguments are not evidence.
Jurors are only allowed to bring a notepad and water into the jury panel.
Jurors are allowed to submit questions to the judge in writing after each witness – the judge and attorneys will discuss and determine if the question is allowed to be asked or not.
Days 2 – 8: Examination
Saṃyama
“The three final limbs of the Eight Limbs are Dhāraựā (often translated as concentration), Dhyāna (Movement, Entailment), and Samādhi (Conclusion). Together called ‘sa yamaṆ,’ they are described as a process that occurs sequentially. First, we identify a topic of interest with Dhāraựā, then we allow ourselves to be moved by its implications. This is to engage in Dhyāna. Finally, we come to a conclusion in Samādhi – one that reveals ourselves as knowers. This is a practice that can only be engaged in conjunction with the Yama-s (the first limb of Yoga), which involve giving up our interpretive tendencies (saskāra-s) to investigate.” (Ranganathan 2024, 123 – 124).
For the next several days, the jury’s attention was focused on the presentation of arguments and evidence regarding the two murders and the question of the defendant’s role in what happened. During the whole trial, up until the last day of the prosecution’s witnesses, the defense had a clear, consistent strategy: confuse and/or discredit the witnesses on the stand. The defense also made many objections that didn’t always make sense, at the time. It was a bit frustrating and difficult to watch, however I also understood that the defense was committed to ensuring their client received a fair trial.
The last day of the prosecution’s witnesses was the most important. One of the witnesses that day was the city law enforcement’s cell phone data expert who explained the empirical evidence showing that the defendant’s cell phone had been in the area at the time of the murders. The last witness that day was the defendant’s former cellmate. The former cellmate – let’s call him Rudolph, like the Red Nosed Reindeer. What stood out the most about Rudolph was that he was well-prepared. He knew exactly what his charges were and weren’t, understood what the likely outcome of his testimony would be, and was prepared to accept the full consequences of his actions. He was facing a life sentence with no chance of parole. The deal he was offered in exchange for his testimony was forty-five years with the possibility of parole after twenty-two years, if he could survive prison that long as a child sex offender and a snitch…his choices were essentially: don’t testify and die in prison with no hope or testify and still most likely die in prison, but with hope. What a deal!
It was what happened during Rudolph’s testimony that was important. Much of his testimony corroborated the other evidence presented, details that he could not have learned from anyone other than the defendant. At one point, the attorneys were having a sidebar with the judge, and the white noise machine was on so the jury couldn’t hear the discussion. During this sidebar, Rudolph leaned forward like he was grabbing a tissue or picking something off the floor and said something to the defendant. The defendant responded. Rudolph said something else. Then one of the Sheriffs was signaled to come stand between them, and the main prosecutor walked back over to the podium while the sidebar continued. The jury did not hear what was said between the witness and the defendant. Most of the jury only saw that the defendant said something to the witness.
I’m not a lip-reader, but it looked like the defendant said, “Leave me the f*ck alone.” When the defense attorney came to the podium for the cross-examination after that sidebar, he stood at that podium shuffling papers for a long time. I didn’t look at my watch and couldn’t say exactly how long, but it felt like several minutes. When he began the cross-examination, his temperament was different than it had been with all the other witnesses. There was ruthlessness and brutality that felt like an interrogation, as if the witness was the one on trial. The prosecution had already gone over Rudolph’s charges, so the jury was aware of the type of criminal he was. The defense attorney put up a copy of Rudolph’s original indictment on display and went line by line through every count. The defense attorney’s manner was so harsh that by the time the cross-examination was done, the jury had more sympathy for Rudolph than for the defendant. The defense’s strategy was unclear and confusing at this point.
I wrote down a question during this cross-examination on my notepad, not the question sheets. I didn’t submit the question to the judge because I had a feeling that the judge wouldn’t allow it to be asked – the answer would have biased the jury. One member of the jury did submit a question asking what the defendant had said to the witness, but the judge didn’t allow it.
The prosecution rested after Rudolph’s testimony, and the jury was dismissed for the day.
Days 9 - 10: Deliberation and verdict
Upon returning the next morning, the defense called one witness to the stand – the defendant’s current cellmate. This cellmate had coincidentally also shared a cell at one point with Rudolph, and clearly, the intention was to discredit Rudolph’s testimony. During the prosecution’s cross-examination, it was revealed that this cellmate had allegiances with multiple different gangs – essentially, his loyalty was available to whoever offered him the most protection. The defendant didn’t testify, and the defense called no other witnesses. At this point, we broke for lunch while the court prepared to close the arguments.
Before the closing arguments began, each member of the jury received a packet of thirty-five further written instructions which were read aloud by the judge.
These instructions detailed many of the legal definitions pertinent to the case as well as definitions for the elements of each charge—murder in the first degree (after deliberation) and murder in the first degree (extreme indifference) for both victims, totaling four separate counts. Accessory to Crime was not part of the original charges, but something the defense added as an option. The judge’s instructions also made clear that punishment or sentencing was not the responsibility of the jury, and our verdict should not be impacted by any speculations of what the punishment would be. After the judge finished reading all the final instructions, the prosecution and defense presented their closing arguments. The defense’s closing argument pointed to holes in the narrative presented by the prosecution that didn’t make sense with many of the facts that had been presented – in short, it was a weak argument. After the closing arguments, the two alternate jurors were dismissed and the rest of us were secluded for deliberation, with an envelope carrying the original instructions from the judge and the verdict forms.
The first step in deliberation is electing a foreperson for the jury. This person is responsible for ensuring the verdict is unanimous, as well as signing and delivering the verdict forms. There were no rules or official processes for selecting the foreperson. In this case, no one else wanted to do it and with testimony from twenty-five witnesses plus over 200 exhibits in evidence, my project management skills kicked into gear, and I volunteered. We only had about an hour and a half before the building closed for the day and we were not expected to stay overnight. We also had to wait for all the exhibits to be brought to us. While we waited, we went around the room and gave everyone three minutes each to simply speak to whatever they needed to say after not being allowed to discuss any of the details up to that point. We all agreed that there were specific pieces of evidence we wanted to go back and re-examine, and at that point, the focus was on simply organizing the data. Even once the exhibit binder was brought in, with extra instructions for a couple of exhibits, there was no index to easily identify what exhibit numbers correlated to which pieces of evidence. After submitting a question in writing to the judge asking if we could get an index (the answer was yes, but it took some time to put it together, so we didn’t receive the index until the next morning), we started going back over all the witnesses and categorizing which ones had testimony that was most important. Around this time, the judge called us back into the otherwise empty courtroom for some final words before dismissing us for the evening.
I went home that night and couldn’t stop thinking about the case. The weight of responsibility sat heavily on my mind – knowing that at the end of our deliberation, whatever the decision, it would be my signature on those documents and no one else’s. I spent the evening going over it in my mind and came to my own conclusion. The next question was how to facilitate the deliberation with the rest of the jury.
“The Yogic option…is abiding that follows from cultivating trust and confidence in the practice (śraddhā – faith in [due process]), remembrance, understanding of findings, and an understanding and insight (prajñā) into the self (YS I.20).” (Ranganathan 2024, 101)
The role of the Yoga teacher (and anyone interested in ethical leadership) is not to tell others what to think or do, nor is it to convince anyone else of what is good or right.
Within the practice of true, philosophical Yoga, hierarchies are not part of the practice (contrary to what any guru says). The ethical teacher or leader’s role is to challenge the beliefs, interpretations, and emotional responses of the group in question so that each member of the group is also free to decide on their own, based on logic and reason. In this case, it would not be appropriate for me to walk in the next morning and announce what I had decided and convince everyone to agree with me. Each member of the jury needed to be sure on their own whether the evidence and argument presented against the defendant were valid and sound, beyond a reasonable doubt. I spent time thinking of alternative theories that the defense hadn’t presented, not because I believed that the defendant was innocent, but to ensure that the process was thorough and accurate.
The deliberation took the whole morning. We had one further question for the judge regarding the added option for accessory to the crime, in which there was some confusion about whether that had to be in addition to or instead of a guilty verdict for the first-degree murder verdicts. The judge’s response was that we could choose a guilty or not guilty verdict for any one or all the options that had been presented to us – it was up to us to decide. The deliberation would have been quicker had I not pushed and challenged the others as hard as I did. Ultimately, the question of the defendant’s guilt was easily agreed upon – it came down to deliberation over the different elements of “after deliberation” and/or with “extreme indifference.” We decided on a guilty verdict for three of the four counts of first-degree murder (the first victim was “after deliberation” and with “extreme indifference,” the second victim was with “extreme indifference”) and not guilty of accessory to crime. When the judge read the verdict aloud in the courtroom, the defense asked to have the jury polled, and the judge proceeded to ask each member of the jury, one-by-one, if this was our verdict. We all said, “yes.”
After the trial was over, we learned from the judge and prosecution how much evidence against the defendant had been suppressed. Also, what the defendant had actually said to Rudolph while he was on the stand was, “You’re f*cking dead.” Affirmed in our verdict, I kept coming back to one question.
How do you know who the bad guys are?
When my son was little, he loved to play “good guys vs. bad guys.” Complete with a Batman cape or Iron Man mask (whoever the superhero of the day was) while pretending to fight off imaginary “bad guys.” Often, while watching him play, I would ask, “How do you know who the bad guys are?”
“The system” v. “the moral parasite”
In the days after my jury duty experience, I kept reflecting back to Rudolph’s cross-examination and the long period of time the defense attorney took at the podium before putting Rudolph’s indictment on display. Those long minutes while he stood there shuffling papers, after his client had threatened Rudolph – even though the jury didn’t hear what his client said. Up until that point, the defense’s strategy had been clear and consistent in defending their client’s innocence. When the defense attorney went through every count on Rudolph’s indictment, he also went over the habitual criminal counts, and explained to the jury that in a normal trial – had Rudolph gone to trial – the jury would only know about and consider the current counts and not be informed about his prior convictions. The habitual criminal counts were only considered during sentencing. The question that I wrote down in my notes but didn’t ask was, “Does the defendant have prior convictions that we don’t know about?”
Upon further research, since the trial was over, I found the defendant’s original indictment and, yes – there were four other counts based on prior convictions that the jury hadn’t known about or even considered during deliberation. It’s not an important detail in that it wouldn’t have changed the verdict. However, it is an important detail in that it showed a clear shift in the defense attorney’s strategy at that moment during the trial.
The local statutes regarding sentencing for habitual criminals recommend the maximum sentence. According to an open-access issue of the local Law Review from 1950, written by then Chief Deputy District Attorney on Prosecution of Habitual Criminals:
“In the event of admission of identity, there is no issue for the jury’s consideration. The trial judge is simply required to receive the proof of a prior conviction of a felony. If there is a denial of identity, this question must be presented to a jury…the question of former convictions is “opened for consideration and resolution” in the main trial where the accused takes the witness stand and subjects himself to cross-examination and impeachment. In other words, if the accused is willing to forego his right to testify on his own behalf, he may have his guilt or innocence on the main charge considered separate and apart from the question of habitual criminality.” (Doyle 1950, 377).
The entire strategy for the defense had been based on the defendant’s denial of identity – “You’ve got the wrong guy!” which is why he didn’t testify. The reason why so much of the other evidence against him wasn’t admitted in the trial was because it was also connected to the separate counts based on prior convictions. So why did the defense attorney make sure to explain the standard procedure for the jury not to know about a defendant’s prior convictions while going over all the counts against Rudolph? Why include the habitual criminal counts in his cross-examination and plant the question about his own client’s criminal history in the minds of the jury?
This trial took place within the current political landscape where, in the court of public opinion, “The System” itself could be considered on trial. It’s a presidential election year in the US. The UN’s International Court of Justice is hearing cases of genocide against Israel while the UN’s International Criminal Court prosecutor has issued arrest warrants for both the leaders of Hamas and Israel. College students created anti-genocide protest encampments on campuses across the country. One such protest encampment was located on the college campus next to the courthouse where this trial occurred. During this trial, the local police were called in to clear the encampment and over forty arrests were made. A week later, the same campus requested the local police to clear the encampment again – and the police chief refused due to lack of any indication that the demonstration was an unlawful assembly.
“The System” is designed to have checks and balances because it is ultimately comprised of persons, and no one person should have ultimate authority over anyone else.
“The System” contains both ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys.’ The only way that the justice system can be truly just is if all persons within that system are committed to their own highest moral integrity (Īśvara praựidhāna). It requires each of us to do our own work of tapas (unconservatism), challenging our assumptions, beliefs, and biases; and svādhyāya (self-governance), being clear about our own moral boundaries, without attachment to the potential outcomes of our actions. “The Moral Parasite” has no such boundaries and no regard for the moral boundaries of others.
The true practice of Yoga brings us to understand our individual freedom to choose for ourselves what the best action to take is, in any given moment, based on the information available to us at the time. It is in exercising your freedom to change strategy or make a different, better choice than you did yesterday, or last week. Yoga teaches that you can be a good person by devoting your decision-making process to the ideal of what a good person would choose in the current circumstances.
Your ability to do a handstand while wearing stretchy pants has no bearing on your ability to be a good person…unless practicing handstands is a tool you employ in devotion to your highest moral integrity, to challenge your assumptions/biases/beliefs and be clear about your own moral boundaries without attachment to the potential outcomes of your actions.
Veronica Wiley, Death Doula, Integration Coach & Yoga Instructor
Veronica Wiley (they/them) is a single parent to a teenager, a dog, and a cat. After the loss of a family member in 2021, Veronica shifted their focus to educating and guiding families through death, dying, grief, and anticipatory grief. Veronica has a BA in Music and an Outdoor Industry MBA focused on Ecotherapy in Palliative Care that includes a master's level certificate in Ecotherapy. They are an End of Life Doula and Certified Dementia Practitioner, as well as an Experienced, Registered Yoga Teacher (E-RYT) and Continuing Education Provider through Yoga Alliance (YACEP). Veronica is also a member of the Colorado End of Life Collaborative, a 501c(6) non-profit.
References:
Ranganathan, Shyam. 2024. Yoga - Anticolonial Philosophy. London, England: Singing Dragon.
Doyle, William E. 1950. Prosecution of Habitual Criminals. 27 Dicta 376.
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