Most people think they know what democracy is or, at least, they know democracy when they see it. But try calling something undemocratic, and debates break out about the definition of democracy. Of course, I am talking about mildly hard cases rather than obvious ones; about, say, allegations against a provincial government, not Kim Jon Il.

Take the jury vetting case that’s rattling editorial pages. Is it undemocratic for the Crown to use police databases for secret jury screening? It depends. On what? On your definition of democracy. Here we go again. Unless we are philosophers, we probably don’t want to debate what democracy is in this case. Perhaps, there is a more useful and easier way to understand the issue.

Two things are wrong with the kind of jury vetting that happened in Windsor and Barrie (and who knows in how many other places in Ontario). First, the Crown concealed material information from the defence. This is unfair to the accused. And if that doesn’t impress you, let me say that it’s horribly unfair. Second, the Crown pried into prospective jurors’ lives with forceps and a magnifying glass.

It is this second transgression that I’d like to focus on. Instead of pondering whether it is undemocratic, let’s use more granular  and unambiguous terms. Did the government  take something from those prospective jurors that they didn’t intend to part with? If yes, does this unduly acquired possession increase government’s power relative to the jurors? Theft and power balance  should be more straightforward to understand than democracy.

One newspaper editorial lists some personal  tidbits  kept in the depths of government databases: “dislike[d] police,” “family issues,” “criminal associates,” “fraud (dismissed),” “criminal record peace bond entered,” “[teacher] accused of assaulting student,” “suicidal in 2001,” [o]ngoing neighbour dispute — neighbour shot his cat,” and “[w]itness to parent’s domestic dispute. Dad is a drinker and assaulted her mother.”

Of course, the only allowed ground of ineligibility under the Juries Act that would require a police check is a history of indictable offences. But that is not the point. The really important revelation is the extent of personal information collected by state agents during their interaction with citizens. Examples above clearly come from police notes jotted during lawful investigations. But did you know they would put it in a database?

Imagine a police visit in response to your neighbours’ complaint about noise a hundred years from now. The officers are standing outside while you’re propping the front door with your feet and talking to them. Future technology will easily enable the following without your awareness:

1. Your DNA sample will be obtained.
2. Screenshots of computer screens will be taken.
3. If anyone is using electronic devices, data input will be intercepted.
4. Your vitals, including viral/bacterial presence, will be recorded.
5. Everything will be instantly transmitted to a central database.

After all, you opened the door. No one forced you.