The summons arrived about a month ago requiring me to show up for jury duty. It is roughly the fourth time I have been called over the years.

The arrival time of 8:30 was met with a long line not dissimilar to the one I experienced at the airport the previous day; guards are in attendance, as are metal detectors, and x-ray machines. The jurors then congregate in a large room where the speaker informs us of the proceedings and taboos of the day. All is conveyed in a booming voice with an inclusion of amusing anecdotes in an attempt, I suspect, to not only keep the public engaged but the speaker himself who repeats these words day after day. Although some are already distracted by their fatigue or phones, most of us appear to be listening. And then the waiting begins, potentially for the entire day.

Although my residing borough of Brooklyn has a diverse demographic, I note the sparsity of white skin. It is difficult to ascertain, but there also seems to be a predominant attendance of the working-class( perhaps many who are most vulnerable to losing the day’s pay).

After some hours I am called for a case regarding injuries sustained in an accident. I am not chosen for this trial and return to the large room to wait again. Ninety minutes for lunch and a walk outside is a welcome reprieve.

By 4:30 those of us not chosen to participate in a trial are told we have met our obligation and will not be called again for eight years. The collective relief is palpable.

The judicial system has many imperfections. Yet I recognize that participating in part is a crucial component to ensure that our basic rights are not denied.