With jury selection set to begin for retrial, panelist from
Former Gov. Rod Blagojevich addresses the media outside his home on April 12.
BUT - DO NOT THINK ABOUT WHAT THE IMPLICATIONS OF YOUR HAVING MADE THE RIGHT VOTE ARE: AN INNOCENT MAN SPARED FROM WRONGFULLY GOING TO JAIL.Some jurors warned JoAnn Chiakulas that she would rue this moment, that she would regret her refusal to convict former Gov. Rod Blagojevich when his second trial got under way.
Think of the money being wasted, they said. Think of the humiliation of watching someone else finish our job, they argued.
AS WELL SHE SHOULD - IT TAKES A GREAT DEAL OF CHARACTER TO STAND UP TO THAT KIND OF PEER PRESSURE.But with jury selection in Blagojevich's second trial slated to begin Wednesday, Chiakulas has no remorse. Far from second-guessing her decision, she remains proud of her service and firm in her beliefs.
The 68-year-old grandmother, however, worries that the intense media storm she endured after the jury deadlock could have a chilling effect on the next panel. Why would anyone want to hold out as she did, knowing that they would face intense criticism from reporters, pundits and others she has never met?
BECAUSE THE GOVERNMENT BROUGHT A SHITTY CASE, AND TRIED TO THROW A BUNCH OF SHIT AT HIM, HOPING SOME WOULD STICK.
"My fear is that someone will see what happened to me and vote with the majority just to avoid the scrutiny," she said in an interview in her west suburban home. "What I went through was very painful, but I would not have been able to live with myself if I had abandoned my principles and just capitulated to others."
In the first trial, the jury deliberated on the sweeping corruption charges against Blagojevich for 14 days and, in the end, convicted him of one count of lying to the FBI but deadlocked on the 23 other counts.
The votes differed on various counts, but Chiakulas was the only "not guilty" ballot on charges over the ex-governor's alleged attempts to sell President Barack Obama's U.S. Senate seat.
Though unimpressed with Blagojevich's antics and leadership style, she found his undercover recorded statements on the Senate vacancy to be so disorganized that they failed to reach the level of a criminal conspiracy. She said he never formulated a clear plan to sell the position and viewed a lot of his comments as routine political horse trading.
But neither her decision nor the deliberations came easily last summer. Chiakulas battled stomach pains and fatigue, knowing that her resolve was disappointing some and angering others.
Other jurors have acknowledged pressuring her to change her vote on the Senate seat, with one man even switching chairs so he could "look her in the eyes" during deliberations. She was yelled at and told she wasn't being logical, jurors said.
Juror Ralph Schindler acknowledged being initially frustrated with the deadlock but now accepts that the process "played out the way it was intended."
"I was one of the jurors that was disappointed we had failed to reach a verdict," Schindler said Tuesday. "I thought we'd been given enough evidence we could have found one way or the other."
Despite the pressure to reach a unanimous agreement, Chiakulas believed that she had an obligation to follow both her conscience and the law.
"I knew that there might be some ramifications because people consider him a laughingstock," she said. "I knew that there would be some criticism, but I didn't know how bad it would get."
Branded "the holdout," Chiakulas' life was quickly placed under the media microscope. Reporters began looking into her background, questioning whether her former government job or her ex-husband's campaign donation to Blagojevich three decades after they divorced played a role in her decision.
Some reports seemed to ignore the fact that she had voted to convict Blagojevich of lying to the FBI — another thing she doesn't regret about the first trial.
A former state public health employee who retired before Blagojevich took office, Chiakulas had reporters camped outside her condo for days. The phone and doorbell rang constantly as journalists sent flowers and left long-winded messages in hopes of getting an interview.
She took refuge at a relative's home, but they soon tracked her down there as well. She felt as if she were the one on trial.
She listened to local talk shows question her intelligence and her commitment to jury service. One reporter called her "crazy" on television.
"That hurt the most," she said. "I took my duty seriously, considered the evidence and deliberated in good faith. I shouldn't have to justify my decision beyond that. No juror should be forced to defend themselves."
Given her experience, legal experts have diverging opinions on the first jury's impact on the next trial. Some predict Chiakulas' principled stand could embolden another juror to hold out, while others insist no one would want to suffer through an ordeal like hers.
"To become a holdout in this case is to possibly become a pariah," said Leonard Cavise, a professor at DePaul University College of Law. "That's too much to ask of the average citizen."
Despite the intense second-guessing from others, Chiakulas has never wavered in her belief that she made the right decision.
"She was so sure of how she felt then, I am not surprised at all that's how she still feels now," said fellow juror Erik Sarnello, who believes the first jury has been unfairly criticized for failing to reach a verdict.
In an effort to spare others from her post-trial experience, Chiakulas recently spoke with U.S. District Judge James Zagel, who presided over the trial, to suggest how to make things smoother for the next jury. She recommended, among other things, that jurors be encouraged to hold a news conference after the verdict so they are less likely to be harassed at home.
She also supports Zagel's decision to withhold jurors' names until the day after the trial, a move the Tribune opposed in court. A San Francisco judge cited that ruling last month in keeping jurors' names secret in the trial of baseball superstar Barry Bonds.
Chiakulas intends to follow the second trial closely, though she said she has no vested interest in the outcome. The prosecution's case has been streamlined, with both Blagojevich's brother, Robert, and the racketeering charges gone.
She knows the next jury will see a different trial from hers, which could lead to disparate views of the evidence. She declined to offer the panel advice, saying members must — and will — find their own way.
However, she encourages the jurors to be respectful of one another and listen to all viewpoints during deliberations.
"As long as their process is thoughtful and fair, I'm OK with whatever they decide," she said.
sstclair@tribune.com
asweeney@tribune.com
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