They’ll Be in the Room Where It Happens

It’s a muggy Tuesday morning, and I am yet again awake before dawn, yet again braving Atlanta traffic to attend yet another court proceeding related to yet more potential criminal acts committed by Donald Trump. 

A little more than a month ago, the former president of the United States appeared in federal court in Miami for his arraignment on criminal charges related to the wrongful retention of classified documents. Three months before that, he was indicted on state felony charges for falsification of business records. Today marks the start of proceedings likely to lead to a third indictment, as a group of Fulton County residents are set to be seated on grand juries that could soon decide whether to bring yet more criminal charges against Trump and his allies over their efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 election in Georgia.

While grand jury matters—including grand jury selection—are typically shrouded in secrecy, Georgia grand jury secrecy rules are infamously quirky. As a result, members of the media, myself included, will catch a rare glimpse into the selection process for the Georgians who could indict the Republican presidential front-runner for a third time. 

When I finally arrive at the Lewis R. Slaton courthouse shortly before 9 a.m., many of the grand jurors have already been seated on the red-leather chairs in the jury assembly room. The press corps, who are seated in a separate section of the room, crane their necks to catch a glimpse of the potential jurors assembled behind us, their faces obstructed by the wall to my left. 

A few minutes after I arrive, a bearded man sporting khakis and a pale-yellow shirt strolls into the room. Carrying a notebook at his side, the man looks as if he could be a reporter, or perhaps an overzealous grand juror. But his air of authority indicates that he is neither. As I do a double-take, I realize why he looks so familiar: It’s Judge Robert McBurney, the supervising judge for the special grand jury that last year spent more than seven months investigating possible criminal efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election in Georgia. 

As Lawfare’s Fulton County correspondent, I’ve spent a considerable amount of my professional life observing Judge McBurney as he presides over various proceedings in the traditional black robes worn by judicial officers. But even I am jarred by the sight of the judge in plainclothes—not to mention the fact that he is here at all. According to the court’s assignment schedule, Judge Shakura Ingram, not McBurney, was initially set to handle grand jury matters during this term of court. So it’s a bit of mystery how he came to be assigned to preside over today’s proceeding.

That mystery, however, is soon cleared up by McBurney, who floats over to the media section of the room to tell us that we are prohibited from photographing the grand jurors. McBurney then explains how he once again ended up entangled with a proceeding that seems to be related to Trump. Ingram, he says, is on leave this week; McBurney volunteered to fill in. There’s nothing more to it, he says. 

McBurney—apparently not quite ready to get the selection process started yet—then disappears from the assembly room. As he does so, District Attorney Fani Willis and her team make their entrance. In addition to several assistant district attorneys, Willis is flanked by Special Prosecutor Nathan Wade, whom she brought on last year to assist with her long-running probe into 2020 election interference. (Later, as I take a phone call in the hall during a break, I spot another member of the 2020 election investigation team: Assistant District Attorney Will Wooten.)

After Willis takes a seat at a table facing the grand jurors, McBurney reappears—this time, he’s wearing his robes, which restores my sense of an ordered universe. After introducing himself, McBurney briefly allows Willis to greet the jurors and introduce them to her team. Then he explains that two grand jury panels will be seated today. Twenty-three people, plus three alternates, will be selected for each panel.

He makes no mention of the fact that one or both of these grand juries will be deciding whether to indict the former president. 

McBurney spends the next several minutes instructing the prospective jurors to consider a series of questions that will determine whether they are “ready to serve” on a grand jury in Georgia. Among the eligibility criteria: Have they lived in Fulton County for less than six months? Are any of them convicted felons? Do they have any family or personal circumstances—such as taking care of a sick family member—that would make it difficult for them to serve on a grand jury? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, McBurney says, the jurors should indicate that they have a “conflict” or “hardship” when he calls their name off the jury roster. 

He then proceeds down the list of names, occasionally pausing to make a friendly aside about the prospective juror’s surname or profession. There’s an illustrator, a former firefighter, and a teacher among the prospective jurors. One guy says that he’s an “explosion prevention dispatcher”—whatever that means. There are three grand jurors who share the same surname: one who works in human resources, one who is a “supervisor,” and one who is a “homemaker.” Only one claims that she is ineligible for grand jury service. 

By the time McBurney reaches the end of the list, I’ve counted roughly 96 prospective jurors in the group. Of those, only 21 claimed that they would not be eligible to serve on the grand jury. Still, McBurney says that he will spend some time speaking with those jurors in private. Basically, he needs to be convinced that the jurors have a legitimate hardship or conflict before they’re excused from jury service. 

Several hours later, around 2 p.m., McBurney sweeps back into the assembly room to announce that he has settled on a final list of jurors and alternates. He announces the names of the 13 women and 13 men who will serve on “Grand Jury A,” which will sit on Mondays and Tuesday. Then he turns to the 12 women and 14 men who will sit on “Grand Jury B,” which is slated to work on Thursdays and Fridays. Wednesdays will be grand jury free in Fulton County.

As their names are called, the selected jurors move toward the front of the room, providing members of the media with an unobstructed view for the first time all day. They look, I think, like a diverse group: people of various ages, genders, and races. They wear light-wash denim, beige linen slacks, cotton t-shirts, black suits. Some appear excited, others apprehensive. Many of them look bored. They won’t stay bored. Whatever the Trump case may be, it’s not boring.

McBurney wraps up by expounding on the work the grand jurors would undertake during their term of service, and I wonder how many of them even realize what they are doing there, or that they could be asked to decide a monumental question in modern American history: Did a president try to stay in power illegally despite an electoral defeat?

I look at them one more time: Are these the people I would trust to make, or decline to make, that accusation? 

They look okay to me.