Leaders today are praised less for their ability to compromise in governance than for their unwavering and absolute belief that their position is the right one. Our society seems to have lost the understanding that the dynamic world we live in leaves little room for absolute rights and wrongs. Challenging the seemingly intransigence of steadfastness as a standard of leadership are small but significant voices from the past, reminding us that no truth to which we cling can ever be proven absolutely true. One such challenge comes from Twelve Angry Men, playwright Reginald Roses' relentlessly relevant story of a jury and the moral challenges it faces in reaching a verdict. Throughout his now famous text, Rose pointed out that when the eighth juror refused to vote with his fellow jurors, it was decided that each would explain their belief in the accused's guilt in the hope of convincing the lone dissent. The other eleven began to mount arguments using the facts of the case: the murder weapon purchased by the defendant, the two witnesses to the crime, and the absence of an alternative suspect. Gradually, however, the deliberations began to cast doubt on the solidity of the previous case; gray began to color the black and white situation. As this doubt blossomed, the eighth juror gave words to the silent uncertainty that filled the hearts of his fellow jurors. Attempting to make apparent the complexity of a previously simple decision, he said, “sometimes the facts before your eyes are wrong” (38). Here the eighth juror expressed a concern that stemmed from pure adherence to the simplest explanation: the very real possibility that other, more significant sides to the story may exist. He urged his fellow jurors not to accept without question the story put forth by the prosecution, but rather to vigorously dispute it in hopes of finding the purest truth. He contested the evidence in the case well enough that the other jurors, once so convinced of the truth of the accused's guilt, began to join him in reasonably doubting whether a guilty verdict was deserved. While some jurors remained adamant in their guilty vote until the final moments, the others joined the not guilty side one by one until the verdict was reached. Although a not guilty verdict carried with it less immediate consequences – no one would have died – the jury remained unable to make a choice with absolute certainty. This inability stemmed from the human nature of those tasked with administering justice. Although humans strive for perfection, they are imperfect creatures capable of making mistakes. This reality was recognized by the eighth juror challenging the absolute trust the other jurors had in the witnesses. He argued: “They're just people. People make mistakes. Could they be wrong?" (20). The significance of his point expanded beyond the witnesses he challenged. The question he asked, whether people could be wrong, was also relevant as he and the other jurors neared a not guilty verdict. They supported that verdict with confidence, but recognized that their research had great potential to have been wrong. Whether their way was the right one, they would never know. This uncertainty haunted even the first supporter of the not guilty verdict 8th juror, as can be seen in his response to