Grand juror in Ga. Trump probe says little

Pres. Trump leaves Marietta, Georgia, in January 2021.

Trump White House Archives via Flickr (public domain)

The news is ablaze with the "odd 15-minute PR tour" of the grand jury foreperson in the Georgia Trump investigation, as former U.S. Attorney Harry Litman characterized her appearances to CNN.

Grand juries in the American justice system are secret for reasons that even access-advocate journalists and scholars such as myself tend grudgingly to respect. So I was shocked to see this 30-year-old grand juror, "who has described herself as between customer service jobs" (CNN), appearing above a "foreperson" banner, on my TV this morning.

I'm not naming her here, because I think she has had her 15 minutes. Literally. And she ought not be lauded for her TV blitz, which says more about the desperate breathlessness of the 24/7 news cycle than it does about a millennial's cravings for Likes or secrecy in the criminal justice system.

The legal reality of the foreperson's bean-spilling is not really as dramatic as splashing headlines suggest. In common law and in many states also by statute, grand jurors are bound to secrecy. Georgia grand jurors take an oath to that effect. But experts have pointed out that the grand jury investigating Trump's efforts to "find" votes in Georgia is a special, ad hoc, grand jury, so not necessarily operating under the usual statutes, and that Georgia law authorizes grand juries, though not individuals, to recommend publication of their findings.

More importantly, the judge in the instant matter apparently told grand jurors that they could speak publicly, subject to certain limits. The foreperson here said that she's steering within those limits, which appear to disallow disclosure of information about specific charge recommendations and the deliberations among jurors.

For all the media hoopla, the foreperson actually said very little, only that multiple indictments were recommended and that Trump and associates are targets of the investigation. That much already was publicly known. She refused to say whether the jury recommended charges against the former President himself, only teasing, "You’re not going to be shocked. It’s not rocket science" (CNBC), and there's "not going to be some giant plot twist" (N.Y. Times).

The common law presumption of grand jury secrecy means to protect the identity and reputation of unindicted persons and the integrity of ongoing investigations. Both of those aims further public policy, especially in the age of the internet that never forgets. There is some argument at the margins about when grand jury secrecy should yield to legitimate public interest. Accordingly, grand jury secrecy at common law is not an absolute, but a presumption, subject to rebuttal.

The case for rebuttal is strong when a President of the United States is the target of investigation. If grand jury secrecy is not undone in the moment, it's sure to be leveraged loose in the interest of history. Secrecy in the grand jury probe of the Clinton-Lewinsky affair in 1998 was unsettled by Clinton's own public pronouncements about his testimony. The "Starr Report" ultimately left little to speculation.

In cases of lesser magnitude, journalists and judges, naturally, do not always agree on the secrecy-public interest balance, and modern history is littered with contempt cases that have tested First Amendment bounds.

In a textbook case that arose in my home state of Rhode Island, WJAR reporter Jim Taricani refused to reveal the source of a surveillance tape leaked to him from the grand jury investigation of corrupt Providence Mayor Buddy Cianci. In 2004, Taricani, who died in 2019, was convicted of criminal contempt and served six months' home confinement. He became a symbol in the fight for legal recognition of the reporter's privilege, and, in his later years, he lectured widely in journalism schools. A First Amendment lecture series at the University of Rhode Island bears his name.

Taricani worked closely with the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press (RCFP). A superb RCFP series on "Secret Justice" in 2004 included a now dated but still highly informative brief on grand jury secrecy, and the RCFP has online a multi-jurisdictional survey on grand jury access.

Brookings has a report on the Fulton County, Georgia, investigation, last updated (2d ed.) November 2022.

Grand jury secrecy is important, but not sacred

pixy.org (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

[UPDATE: As I was writing this piece on Friday, the Kentucky court released audio of the grand jury proceedings.  Read more at your preferred news outlet.]

A fight is under way in Kentucky over a grand juror's bid to speak out about what happened in the room in September when the grand jury rejected indictment for the killing of Breonna Taylor.  The attorney for "Anonymous Grand Juror #1" accuses the Kentucky AG of not telling the public the whole story.

Most of the news coverage, and some of the scholarly commentary, follows up report of the meta-litigation with a declaration about the hallowed secrecy of the grand jury and the extraordinary nature of a bid to compromise that secrecy.

That characterization slightly misses the mark.  What is extraordinary, but not unprecedented, about the case is that the bid to speak is coming from a participating grand juror, rather than an outside petitioner, such as an indicted defendant, a victim, or a media intervenor.

We should be protective of grand jury secrecy.  The grand jury is one of the few areas of American law in which our absolutist-tending free speech doctrine makes some concession to the protection of reputation, mostly to the benefit of the unindicted.  

At the same time, we should refrain from heralding grand jury secrecy as incontestable and absolute.  The tradition of grand jury secrecy inverts the presumption underlying the common law right of access to the courts.  Ample common law precedent demonstrates that grand jury secrecy is only a presumption—rebuttable, by definition. 

In 1951, the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania wrote ably on the issue while rejecting a defense bid to investigate the grand jury process that resulted in indictments for bribery.

In view of the large amount of literature that has been written concerning the origin and history of the Grand Jury as one of the administrative agencies of the criminal law employed for centuries throughout the Anglo-Saxon world it is wholly unnecessary to attempt to elaborate upon those themes. Likewise there is no need to stress the vital importance of the maintenance of secrecy in regard to the deliberations and proceedings of Grand Juries, for the policy of the law in that respect has been so long established that it is familiar to every student of the law. The form of the oath of secrecy to be exacted of grand jurors was prescribed in our own Commonwealth as early as the Frame of Government enacted by the Provincial Assembly in 1696, substantially the same as it had been set forth in 1681 .... Generally speaking, the rule is that grand jurors cannot be sworn and examined to impeach the validity and correctness of their finding if an indictment has been regularly returned.

[¶] It is true that some inroads have been made upon the rule of secrecy, with a resulting number of established exceptions. Thus a grand juror has been held to be a competent witness to prove who the prosecutor was .... Or to contradict the testimony of a witness as to what she testified to before the Grand Jury .... Or to testify that the indictment was based solely upon testimony heard by the Grand Jury in another case against another person .... 

As to whether the mandate of secrecy nevertheless permits disclosure by a grand juror concerning alleged improper acts or misconduct on the part of the prosecuting officer in the Grand Jury room there is considerable contrariety of opinion in the various jurisdictions, ... which naturally results from the fact that there are obviously valid reasons to support either view. 

[¶] On the one hand, to close the doors of the Grand Jury room so tightly that the actions of the prosecuting officer therein cannot be disclosed, however flagrant and unlawful his conduct may have been and however much it may have been responsible for the finding of a wholly unauthorized bill of indictment, would be unfair to the defendant thus indicted even though, if innocent, he could subsequently vindicate himself in a trial upon the merits; it would also permit an over-zealous official to use the power of his office and his influence with the grand jury as an instrument of oppression, with immunity from investigation. On the other hand, to allow such an investigation lightly to be had would afford an opportunity to every defendant to institute dilatory proceedings and divert the course of justice from himself to an attack upon the public officials charged with administering the law and thereby seek to make them the defendants in the proceedings instead of himself.

Commonwealth v. Judge Smart, 368 Pa. 630 (1951).

I don't know enough about the merits in the Kentucky case to opine on what the outcome should be.  The AG's memo is in circulation online, but I can't find the juror's initial petition.  I expect the court to make an informed decision that balances the just cause of secrecy with the also-just cause of accountability.  

If grand jury secrecy gives way, the sky isn't falling.

The case is Anonymous Grand Juror #1 v. Commonwealth of Kentucky, No. 20-CI-5721 (Jefferson, Mo., Cir. Ct. II Div. filed Sept. 2020).

[UPDATE, Oct. 21.]  Yesterday the court ruled that grand jurors may speak publicly.  This is the statement of Anonymous Grand Juror #1.

Grand jury secrecy is not sacrosanct

Actors reenact the Moore's Ford lynchings every year or two, lest the public
forget.  (July 26, 2014, photo by artstuffmatters, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.)

Georgia Public Broadcasting reported recently (via NPR; see also WaPo (pay wall)) that the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit will soon decide whether to unseal the grand jury records pertaining to a 73-year-old lynching case.  Meanwhile, the Rhode Island Supreme Court ponders whether to open contemporary grand jury records in the "38 Studios" economic development scandal.  Both cases remind us that grand jury secrecy is not sacrosanct and must yield to paramount public interests.

GPB reported more in August about the brutal murders of Dorothy Dorsey Malcom, her brother, George Dorsey, and his wife, Mae Murray Dorsey, at the hands of a mob of 20 to 30 assailants at Moore's Ford Bridge, outside Monroe, Georgia, in 1946.  As many people were there, the crime remains "unsolved," as GPB's Grant Blankenship explained:

The crime made national headlines. Over the course of a grand jury investigation, the FBI interviewed over 2,000 people—almost half of the county in 1946. A hundred people testified before the grand jury, but not a single indictment was handed down.

Now historians seek to unseal the grand jury records to find out more about what happened that day in 1946 and why the investigation was unyielding.  The Department of Justice and Federal Bureau of Investigation are resisting.

Incidentally but importantly, the definitive book on the Moore's Ford case is Fire in a Canebrake: The Last Mass Lynching in America, by Laura Wexler.  I went to secondary school with Wexler, so #BrushWithGreatness.

I welcome public reminders that grand jury secrecy is not sacrosanct.  Grand jury secrecy is a reasoned and historically derived common law inversion of the usual presumption of transparency in our judiciary.  As such, it's an odd nod, for our typically ruthless paradigm of all-or-nothing privacy, to the importance of protecting the reputations of persons who might be connected with investigations, but turn out not to be fairly implicated as witnesses or suspects.

However, an inverted presumption is still a presumption, which means it can be overcome, or rebutted.  Equally historically, common law has allowed challengers in the public interest to overcome grand jury secrecy, for example, after Watergate.  Transparency is a means to accountability, and when a gross miscarriage of justice has occurred, as seems indisputable in the Moore's Ford case, the public interest in learning what went wrong in the investigation, and possibly delivering some belated justice, may be ruled paramount.

R.I. Gov. Raimondo
(Kenneth C. Zirkel
CC BY-SA 3.0)

Meanwhile, Rhode Island Governor Gina Raimondo is feuding with the state Attorney General's Office over access to the records of grand jury proceedings in 2014 and 2015 over the "38 Studios" economic development scandal.

As The Providence Journal recalled, "The state’s $75-million loan guarantee to retired Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling’s high-risk video game venture ended up costing taxpayers a bundle when the company went belly up."  Criminal investigation was, again, unyielding.  "The statewide grand jury sat for 18 months, ending in 2015 with no criminal indictments. State lawmakers, former state Economic Development Corporation board members and staff, and 38 Studios executives were among the 146 witnesses the grand jury interviewed."

The ProJo summarized the pro and con of unsealing.  On the Governor's side, the state's attorney told the Rhode Island Supreme Court, 38 Studios marks "'a seminal event in recent Rhode Island history. It has cost taxpayers tens of millions of dollars. It has brought threats to the State’s credit rating.  It spawned a massive civil litigation resulting in $61 million of settlements. It caused the Securities and Exchange Commission to file a complaint against a state agency.... It prompted a criminal probe that reportedly touched the entire membership of the 2010 General Assembly (save one former member serving a federal prison sentence).'"

Kingdoms of Amalur: Reckoning was the only game published by 38 Studios

(and partners, including EA) before the enterprise went bankrupt.

The AG's office responded: "'[N]o one was indicted, the grand jury only recently concluded, the participants are still alive, and ... the [10-year] statute of limitations has not expired.... Unlimited disclosure ... may also adversely affect future grand jury participants who will be unable to rely upon the long-established policy that maintains the secrecy of the grand jury proceedings.'"

Ongoing payments to bondholders will cost R.I. taxpayers, me included, "$446,819 this year and an anticipated $12,288,413 next year," the ProJo reported.  I'm with Raimondo.  The Superior Court was not.

The Rhode Island Supreme Court heard oral arguments yesterday, November 7, In re 38 Studios Grand Jury, No. SU-2017-0301-A, but puts precious little online.  The ACLU of Rhode Island filed as amicus on the side of the Governor.