What Serving on a Jury Taught Me About Reaching Consensus in 2025

“Your facts are not my facts.”

These words, yelled at me by a fellow juror in an airless, windowless room on the 12th floor of Manhattan Criminal Court, contributed to my growing sense of hopelessness since our deliberations began four days earlier, on Jan. 21.

The day before, of course, President Donald Trump returned to the White House, announcing his comeback with a flurry of executive orders. Our phones were confiscated, but the political theater seemed to hang over deliberations as we struggled to reach a unanimous verdict in a straightforward assault case.

The defendant, Michael Nelson, 38, was homeless and suffered from a heroin addiction. He was caught on surveillance video in July 2023 walking across West 45th Street with a brick in his hand, which he used to strike another man, delivering a blow to the head that required several stitches.

Nelson’s reason for the brick-bashing was alleged larceny of a duffel bag containing all his belongings. He pleaded not guilty to attempted assault in the first degree, assault in the second degree, and criminal possession of a weapon in the fourth degree.

The prosecution called in a stream of NYPD officers who responded to the scene, but the investigation was thin. When the cops took the stand, they were blurry on the details. The complainant hadn’t pressed charges and didn’t appear in court.

But the indisputable evidence in front of the jury—which each of us watched repeatedly as a few days stretched into a week—was the video that showed Nelson approaching the man from behind, winding up his arm, and whacking him with a brick. Despite Nelson’s testimony that his actions were justified in retrieving his duffel bag, most of us chose to rely on what we saw with our own eyes—the menacing gesture and the brick connecting with the victim’s bald, exposed head.

But for two jurors who staunchly didn’t believe the prosecution had offered enough evidence to convict, Nelson was allowed to use any force necessary to stop his stuff from being stolen despite what state law clearly says.

A jury serves as a fascinating microcosm of the US, and New York juries are no different. There’s the lawyer-turned-dog treat baker, the nurse, the construction worker, the documentary filmmaker.

I have no doubt that other juries also get tripped up by differences of opinions and perspectives in trying to reach an agreement; everyone brings different life experiences and world views. Also, being thrown into a stale, cramped room with peeling paint and flaking ceilings can drive anyone to second-guess themselves.

But second-guessing is different from giving up. One of the holdouts begged to be replaced by an alternate juror, only to be sent right back by New York State Supreme Court Justice Brendan Lantry. And opinion has no place in judging facts. That’s why judges instruct juries to set aside bias, sympathy, and prejudice—and use logic, reason, and common sense when applying the law to the facts of the case.

As we continued to talk in circles, I started to wonder what would have happened if the case were more complicated and nuanced, or if there had been no video. If we couldn’t agree on basic facts—that hitting someone in the head with a brick constitutes assault—then how could we reach a fair verdict? What would that mean for our criminal justice system and for society?

After we sent a second note to Lantry that we were deadlocked, my belief that the jury process works dimmed a bit. We were told to resolve our differences and move toward a verdict. But when people are so dug in on their own views, “logic” and “reason” start to lose their meaning. It’s a harder pill to swallow when the distortion of facts pervades our everyday lives.

Eventually, after an uncomfortable silence settled on the jury room and the clock’s ticking signaled another impasse, there was a turning point. Tired of arguing, we started sharing personal stories, and those moments broke barriers in how we talked and listened to each other. Since all we had was time, the process allowed us to reach enough of an understanding to deliver guilty verdicts on two of the charges.

The jury deliberation process is inherently frustrating; it’s difficult for 12 people to agree on anything. Serving on a trial requires you to wrestle with your own beliefs and implicit biases, but it also forces you to scrutinize events as objectively as possible.

That’s a big ask when so many of us live inside our own echo chambers. But I’d argue it’s still a worthy exercise to try to reach consensus without ceding common sense.

This article does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Bloomberg Industry Group, Inc., the publisher of Bloomberg Law and Bloomberg Tax, or its owners.

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Corinne Lestch is the founder of the Off-Site Writing Workshop, a consulting service and workshop series for expert professionals to write and publish commentary.

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