Embodied Solidarity

Embodied Solidarity by Steve Clemens. April 13, 2016

To the casual observer, the sight might have been striking to a proponent of “American exceptionalism”: 25 activists who appeared to be white according to our nation’s obsession with racial identity, arms linked together, taking instructions and directions from a group of black women. Blocking the tracks of the Light Rail transit system as well as two adjacent streets, this action shut down the traffic outside Target Field for the Minnesota Twins home opener.

On the other side of this publicly funded stadium, another group of Catholic Workers and local faith community leaders were being led by another group of women of color in blocking a different intersection as some dropped a large “Justice 4 Jamar” banner from the over-looking parking ramp by the main entrance to the ball park. Inside, as the National Anthem was being sung, two additional activists hung banners over the large black wall in centerfield. They read, “ Re-open Jamar’s Case” and “Target Field: End Your Slave Labor.”

Back outside, signs reading “White Silence = Violence”, “White Silence Kills”, and “White Silence Killed Jamar” were directed at the predominately white-looking crowd attempting to enter the stadium. Some shouted encouragement, others angrily “flipped us the bird” or yelled for us to “Get a Job!” We sang, and chanted, led by our cadre of brave black women until the police issued their third warning to leave under threat of imminent arrest for trespass. Our leaders from Black Lives Matter Minneapolis and the Black Liberation Project moved to the sidewalk with the others who had served as marshals as the police started to handcuff those of us remaining who were blocking the train and the street.

Less than two weeks before, my wife Christine and I were invited to be part of a walk along the Minnesota River led by Ojibwa elder, Sharon Day. The women carried a bucket of water drawn from the source of the river in west central Minnesota to be poured back into the river at its confluence with the Mississippi at a place called Bdote by the Dakota people. I was honored to carry the eagle staff behind the woman carrying the copper pail. We prayed for the river, thanked her for her gift of life to the land. We offered tobacco at ceremonies at the beginning and ending of each day of the walk with a moving ceremony at the conclusion of the walk on Friday near the repressive reminder of Ft. Snelling and it’s 1862-63 concentration camp for Dakota women and children. On Wednesday of the walk, we passed the memorial where 38 Dakota warriors were hung by the US Government in 1862 and while the tears and sadness of the memories from our past lingered as we walked, the river, fighting the pollution caused by industrial agriculture run-off, kept calling us to continue our prayerful journey. As the young Native girls threw an offering of corn, berries, wild rice, tobacco and other traditional symbols tied in a red cloth into the river at the end, two eagles circled overhead. I remembered a Native friend who told me that “eagles circling” are carrying our prayers to the Great Spirit.

In another two months, Christine and I will join some Muslim friends at an Iftar – the meal to break the daily fast during the holy month of Ramadan at a local mosque. We have done so for the past several years as a way for Christians, Jews, Muslims, and others gather to help break down the stereotypes and walls that often divide Americans. I remember how pleased my Iraqi friends were when our delegation visited the Holy Shrines in Karbala and Najaf, Iraq several years ago.

“Embodied solidarity” is a term used by a Wheaton College professor, Dr. Larycia Hawkins, as she donned an hijab during the weeks of Advent as many Muslims were being vilified in the media at the instigation of some Presidential candidates as well as religious “leaders”. She wanted to show with her body her oneness and connectedness to those often seen as “the other”. It cost her her job at the college, my alma mater after a storm of protest arose from the broader “evangelical” community. I already had many of my own reasons for distancing myself from Wheaton so this merely added to my list of grievances. But I am thankful for her witness and example. I, too, want to place my body in alliance with peoples pushed to the margins in our society, culture, and nation. 

Part of the time outside the Twins stadium I stood arm-in-arm with my dear friend, Kathy Kelly. She had told me in the past,  “Where you stand determines what you see.” I would add to that, “With whom you stand can also change your perspective.” Following the leadership of Lena Gardner and Candace Montgomery of Black Lives Matter Minneapolis, the inspiration of Rev. Osagyefo Sekou of the Fellowship of Reconciliation, the love and compassion for the water evidenced by Sharon Day of the Indigenous People’s Task Force, the passion of the action coordinators from the Black Liberation Project, and the insights and observations of my numerous Muslim friends has helped give this 65 year-old male who has for decades identified himself as “white” a window into a world of exciting and challenging diversity. Thank you!

As our signs read, “White silence kills.” Let’s break the silence among those who identify in our culture as “white” and recognize that racism against black people hurts me and you. Failure to include queer and transgender people diminishes all of us. We have much to learn (and repent for) from our indigenous neighbors. Muslims need to hear you embody a message of “welcome!” I don’t want to live in the mythical American “melting pot”. We don’t all need to blend together into some unidentifiable porridge; rather let’s embrace our diversity as we embrace one another and determine to reject the cancer of white supremacy which has poisoned our world. And, as Rev. Sekou beautifully and forcefully remind us in our training for “militant nonviolence”, we do this work out of “deep abiding love” and filled with “joy”.

Jail, Part 2

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Doing Time in Des Moines, Part 2 by Steve Clemens. June 28, 2014

Judge William Price bragged about the new, “at least 3 star”, jail that Polk County, Iowa runs. He smiles and exchanges pleasantries with us and our lawyers as the deputies are collecting the paperwork to haul us off to his self-described plush accommodations. Obviously he has never entered as a “paying customer”! I’d love to see if he has the cojones to spend 2-3 days inside, incognito, before he sends anyone else to that jail. Same for the Prosecutor (although, in fairness, he only recommended a fine for our conviction on trespass) as well as all the COs (Corrections Officers) and staff at Polk County’s “finest”.

I write about my jail experience to demystify it, hoping to embolden others to consider civil disobedience and jail witness as another tool in their repertoire of working for peace and justice. 

After 20 hours in the “cooler” (I understand more clearly the street slang for prison/jail after my first frigid stops within the jail), I was handcuffed and chained again to be moved to “BarneyLand”, the euphemism given to another holding way-station in the jail before entering general population (referred to as a “pod”). The name came from its early days when the TV there only played PBS and because of the prevalence of cartoon character shows like the purple dinosaur, Barney, the name stuck; even the guards use it. It has 2-person cells on the upper level and more on the lower level which also includes 3-4 single person cells. My cell had a rolled steel bunk with mattresses on each bed with a built-in pillow device – a great improvement from laying directly on cement! Don’t get too excited – its not a posturepedic or any other chiropractic-approved bedding! The toilet and sink are separate and porcelain. A stainless steel 18”x18” shelf serves as a desk/table with a stool bolted in front. A stainless steel “mirror” completes the ensemble. The cell door has a clear window so I can see the clock outside the COs station, located between two identical “BarneyLand” units.

I am assigned a lower bunk (hallelujah!) and after unpacking the “bedroll” I received before entering the unit, I begin to arrange my new residence by placing my nearly threadbare sheets and blanket on the mattress. I also now possess a towel, washcloth, a plastic cup and a spork. I had asked the night before and again for a Bible but I am told “you have to wait until you get to a pod before you can have one.” After being told by others that you could be in BarneyLand for up to 24 hours, I figured I’d probably remain there to finish my sentence. Of course not. After getting close to 2 hours of needed rest on my bunk (since we were locked in the cells), the CO yells to us, calling us by last name to “come down and get your uniforms – you are going to a pod tonight after dinner.”

I am issued 2 sets of two-toned green pants and shirts, another T-shirt and boxers, and another pair of socks. We are told to change out of the orange jumpsuit and return it to the laundry workers who gave us the clothes. We are again unlocked to come to the main level for dinner to eat at the stainless steel tables and stools bolted to the floor. A ham bologna slice with bread is complemented with cooked carrots, Frito-like corn chips, canned pineapple, blueberry pie, and milk – served on the same molded plastic trays.

By 6:30 we are assembled again, re-handcuffed and chained for the march to our respective pods. I’m assigned to a lower bunk, 630, in North 6. It holds about 60 inmates in 4-man, 2-bunk bays on two levels. Each bay has 3 walls with the front completely open, facing the day room. At the end of the bays on both levels are 4 toilets and 4 sinks on each level. Opposite the bay area are showers and a TV room with hard plastic chairs designed to look like cushioned, living-room-type chairs. The CO has his desk on that wall opposite the bays directly in the middle. In the day area are both phones for expensive calls and video screens for visits. I wasn’t there long enough to see how they work but with others milling about, it didn’t seem to afford any privacy except over the handset.

After I made up my bunk, I took a stroll around to see my new digs. Four guys sitting together at one table ask if I’m in for DWI. Another laughs and said, “I recognize you” and points to a picture of the hefty banker with a mustache on the Monopoly Board Game. When I tell them about drones, only two of the four have ever heard of them and they didn’t see them as a necessary problem. As I explain about my friends in Afghanistan and my friend in Pakistan and their experiences, you can see a light go on in their imagination. When I tell them I chose to go to jail instead of paying the $100 fine (I put it, “I chose to do the time instead of paying the fine”), they each gave me a fist bump and said, “Alright!”

In traversing the pod, I see one guy open a cabinet door and start rifling through paperback books. When he is done, I quickly check to see if there is anything I’d like to read since I’m sure I won’t sleep soundly on my steel bunk – even with a mattress. I find a copy of Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried and even though I read it years ago, it is well worth and read. Christine and I had just seen a play at the History Theater based on it a month or two ago.

One guy approaches me and offers some instant coffee – a generous offer here since coffee is only available from the commissary in a cost-cutting effort by the jail. I’ve never been to a jail or prison where coffee hasn’t been a staple of the inmate diet! Other ways of taking it out on the vulnerable are evident with the posted notice that any visit to the nurse will incur a charge of $5, to the Doctor $10, Mental Health visit $10, as well as charges for any prescriptions. The big surprise awaits check-out time.

They say necessity is the mother of invention. I was pleased to see the guys had rolled one of the large Brute trash receptacles right in front of the toilet closest to the COs desk. If you need to take a dump, roll the trash can between you and anyone walking by; at least a modicum of privacy. If you want more, wait until after lights out at 10:30 PM and before 5-5:30 AM when they are back on for breakfast. At night only lights at both far ends of the pod are lit. Or, after breakfast and cleanup, most of the guys go back to sleep for several hours so there is less traffic by the toilets.

There are no windows to the outside in the entire prison except two louvered ones about 15’ high on the outside wall of an enclosed rec room. The room itself consists of cement block walls, several Plexiglas windows on the side facing the CO desk, and a cement floor. Some guys use the area for walking exercise but unless you buy some shoes at commissary, walking in the shower shoes is not the best experience. The windows in our rec room are obscured, one louver open in a way you can tell if it is daytime or night but not the weather. But Mother Nature has its own way: early in the morning a loud boom of thunder erupted and I could hear the driving rain. Later in the early afternoon, the thunderstorms returned during time for commissary and a nearby lightning strike darkened the entire prison for about 5 seconds. Several inmates yelled, “jail break!” and the two women distributing commissary got up to run out of the pod – reacting much quicker than the CO. We laughed when the lights came back on as they sighed with relief.  With only the two obscured windows at the end of the pod, it was very dark!

Although the Judge’s order stated I was to be jailed from 4 PM until 4 PM two days later, 4 o’clock came and went. I had all my stuff packed, ready to go since 3, thinking I should walk out the door in my street clothes at 4 and it would take some time to check out of this bed and breakfast. Finally, as the clock ticked on, at 4:08 the phone rang and the CO yelled out, “Clemens”. He patted me down and took me to the pod door where I was once again handcuffed and chained for the march back to the release area. We stopped en route for Eddie to join me and then had to sign to get our property and clothes back. We put on our street clothes and then Michele and Ruth arrived as well. I was asked to sign a form which acknowledged I received my invoice for room and board charges - $195! I told them there was no way I was going to pay such an absurd bill and I’d refuse to sign it. They said, “We’ll bill you anyway.” So, go figure – go to jail for two days because you won’t pay a $100 fine for reason of conscience only to be issued a bill for $95 more than that amount to undergo such indignities.

What do you expect from an empire in the throes of decline and desperation?

Going To Jail As Solidarity

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Going to Jail as Solidarity by Steve Clemens. June 27, 2014

I spent 20 hours on the boundary between discomfort and pain. I thought of Martin Luther King writing about redemptive suffering and offered my time in the noisy, cold, boring void of the Polk County Jail on behalf of my despondent and discouraged friends in Afghanistan.

I had watched a nearly 4 minute video Hakim had made of my friends Abdulhai, Faiz, and Zekerullah in Kabul before I left for the second day of our drone protest trial. I wept as I heard the despair they experienced in the wake of the recent election run-off and the continued violence and terror in their occupied nation. Listening to and watching them helped me make the decision to take the road less traveled –well, less traveled by most, except the Catholic Workers. Who else would choose 48 hours in jail over paying a $100 fine?

I had a premonition of what was to come well before the jury returned with its verdict when the Judge ruled he would not allow a Jury Instruction to include the words “without justification” in the charge of Criminal Trespass, despite the wording of the law as passed by the legislature, before the lunch break on the second day of trial. I took off my wedding band and placed it on the key ring with my car’s remote and my house key. As soon as I was found guilty, I gave Frank Cordaro, my friend from the Des Moines Catholic Worker, my iPad, cell phone, keys, wallet, comb, notebook and pens I had used during the trial so I wouldn’t have to book them into “property” at the jail – after quickly texting my wife that I was headed to jail.

I must admit this wasn’t the first time I’ve chosen jail over paying a fine or doing community service without talking to Christine first. I had at least told her it was a possibility - if the sentence was fewer than 72 hours -because I wanted to be able to continue donating blood platelets every two weeks. Jail time for more than 72 hours would mean I couldn’t donate blood again for a year. 

At the last moment before being hustled out of the courtroom I remembered I still was wearing my hearing aids so I handed them to fellow defendant Elliott Adams (who had agreed to pay the fine) to give them to Frank. It is a good thing I kept my Driver’s License since the paperwork generated from the court on my sentencing listed my name as “Douglas Clemens Stephen.” Might be good to have my proper ID to get out of jail on Thursday late afternoon!

We were escorted out of the courtroom by Polk County Sheriff deputies, taken to the lower level of the courthouse, were padded down, surrendered our belts, everything from our pockets (including my “Get out of jail Free” card from the Monopoly Game), handcuffed us, attached a waist chain to the cuffs and added leg shackles on our ankles. We shuffled off to a waiting police transport van with two opposite benches in the rear compartment. The three women had been separated from us in the courtroom so Eddie Bloomer and I ducked and shuffled up and into the van to join two other male inmates who were returning to the jail after court appearances. Noticing my dressier clothes (I had already removed my necktie and given it to Frank), they asked me if I was in for a DWI (Driving while intoxicated). 

When I told the men I was headed for jail for protesting Drones, the first reaction was “You must be one of the Illuminati!” When I laughed as said I wasn’t sure what that was, the guy said, “Of course you would deny it if you were one of them!” As the conversation continued with what military drones were and that the protest was organized by the Catholic Worker, his face lit up and he told us his brother used to go over to that place. He, too, had eaten meals there. And when Eddie told them he had been living and working at the Des Moines Catholic Worker for more than 20 years, I knew we had just made two allies on the inside.

However, when we arrived at the jail, they had us separated from the other two. They had already received either the two-toned green or the orange-and-white outfits with “Polk County Jail” prominently stenciled on both the pants and shirt. They shuffled into one area while Eddie and I, still in our street clothes –minus our belts – were placed into what felt like a refrigerated holding area after our leg irons were removed. We remained handcuffed to our waist chains for this first stop into the bowels of the belly of the beast. It was a room about 12’ x 20’ with concrete benches attached to the two outside walls which were deep enough to lay down. In the corner was the requisite stainless steel sink/toilet combo. Cement floors, cement block walls on three sides with a large glass window on the fourth, brightly lit – this was where we remained over the next 2 ½ hours as others came and joined us. They removed one handcuff so we could eat our supper of 2 hot dogs with rolls, cooked peas, coffee cake, and milk. We each told a guard if we had any medical issues (and that we weren’t suicidal) and then just waited and waited. Eddie and I made a good team together – he told me what to expect as he’d been locked up here for civil resistance many times – and I helped him pull up his way-oversized jeans that he wore from the Catholic Worker donation box. Without a belt and with such baggy pants, the guard had placed the waist chain through a back belt loop and they constantly made his pants sag in such a way that he’d be welcomed at a hip-hop convention. This for a Veteran in his late 60s!

Next, we were herded into a large area where our cuffs and chains were finally removed, we surrender our street clothes and got orange jumpsuits, brown boxers and a T-shirt, socks, and a 3” toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, and a comb. We had already received bright orange plastic shower shoes at the jail section of the courthouse so at least we were fashionably coordinated!

Eddie and I briefly saw co-defendant Michele Naar Obed across the room in her two-toned green outfit; no sight of the other two women she left the courtroom with. After our photos were taken, Eddie and I were separated for the duration. He told me to try to get a roll of toilet paper to use as a pillow and I was grateful for his advice.

I was placed in a 9x11 cell with a stainless toilet/sink, a 3’ high partial block wall along its side for minimal privacy, and an 8” raised  cement “bench” that was 2’x5’ where another inmate was trying to sleep in a fetal position with his blanket. (Each of us was told to grab one blanket as we entered this cell.) Throughout the next 17 ½ hours up to 7 other men came and went with most of the time leaving 4 of us in this cell with no mattresses, a bright florescent light overhead, and our blanket. I claimed the white painted “bench” after the first guy got bonded out and tried to make do with the roll of toilet paper he had been using.

It was cold, noisy, and the bright light was constantly on. One inmate was singing loudly next door; another screaming curses and obscenities at the guard because he claimed he hadn’t gotten his phone call. All night long the heavy metal doors opened and slammed shut, people coming and going, and you could hear the guards chatting away loudly outside the cell door. I was miserable. I was cold, I ached. It was impossible for me to sleep but some of the others were soon snoring loudly.

But I kept thinking of the privations and challenges of my friends in Afghanistan to put my plight into perspective. I had selfishly hogged the toilet paper “pillow” for the night hours. About midnight I was told to see the nurse about my medical history and then back again to my cell. I was disappointed that it was only midnight after seeing a clock en route – I assumed at least several more hours had elapsed. I couldn’t read the clock from the cell as the time crawled on slowly.

While struggling to remain warm, trying to nap on the hard concrete with my aching muscles and bones, I thought of my toilet paper pillow as not much better than the rock the Biblical Jacob used during his vision of the ladder rising to heaven. I didn’t have a dream as vivid or insightful but what went through my mind, over-and-over-again, was the song “By Breath” by the perceptive and passionate Sara Thomsen. “By breath, by blood, by body, by spirit – we are all one …” It connected me to the Afghan Peace Volunteers and my co-defendants – now in other cells. Ruth Cole had so insightfully answered the Prosecutor when asked if she felt in “imminent danger” while standing outside the gate at the Iowa National Guard base. She boldly stated she couldn’t separate her “body” from the bodies of all others around the world who were being threatened by drones.

Breakfast came about 5:30 AM as the cell door opened and we were handed a molded plastic tray with Froot Loops, milk, OJ, two pieces of bread and two tubes of peanut butter. Finally, after lunch, 20 hours after being taken into custody, I was cuffed and chained again and told I was to be taken to “BarneyLand”, my next stop in the belly of the beast we call the Prison-Industrial-Complex.

Day 4 of Frac Sand Trial - Part 2

The Verdict Comes In, The Struggle Continues by Steve Clemens. Feb. 6,2014

Winona Frac Sand Trial, Day 4 – Part 2

At 3:45 PM, the solemn jury reentered the courtroom and I knew immediately that we were found guilty because they did not look at the defendants nor did they smile. Juror #2 handed the 20 verdict forms to Judge Thompson who looked them over before reading them in alphabetical order. The jury finds defendant Michael Abdoo, guilty. Then 19 more names were read, one at a time with the word “guilty” as the choral refrain. I think all of us were a little shocked because we were certain that several defendants were not properly identified by the police or were not warned properly according to the testimony heard. I suspect even the Judge was somewhat surprised in one or two cases.

But ultimately, all of us did the action together; it is fitting that we are all treated alike.

The Judge asked the Prosecutor if he would give his recommendation for sentencing since some of the defendants had traveled great distances to be there and would prefer not to have to return for sentencing at a later date. Judge Thompson said he was sure some of the defendants probably had prior records but it was his preference to sentence us all alike if the Prosecutor didn’t object. He did not. The Prosecutor recommended “a stayed sentence with unsupervised probation for one year under the condition that they remain law-abiding and in good behavior, stay away from CD Corp properties and the Hemker facility on Old Goodview Road, and pay reasonable restitution.”

Defense Attorney McCluer turned around to huddle up with the defendants still in the courtroom and asked us what we thought. He was surprised (and pleased) that a fine was not tacked on to the request. We all agreed to the fairness of the first part but were all opposed to paying any restitution. McCluer told the Judge we were OK with the Prosecutor’s recommendation including the omission of a fine. The Prosecutor then said it was an oversight, not a deliberate omission.

Before passing sentence, the Judge asked each defendant if he/she wished to make a statement. There wasn’t enough time for me to capture each comment. Most defendants said they were morally opposed to paying restitution to companies profiting off of frac sand. “It would be morally unethical”, “it is morally abhorrent”, “it would be a moral hardship” were a few of the phrases. Matthew Byrnes indicated he’d rather be held in contempt – “put me in jail” before voluntarily paying it. Many Catholic Workers stressed they had little or no income but were willing to do service in educating the community in lieu of restitution.

I took the time to thank my co-defendants for making me an “honorary” Catholic Worker after the article in this morning’s Winona newspaper said I was a “Minneapolis Catholic Worker”. I told the judge I was grateful for being able to act together with these people.

John Heid said that the Judge had remarked at the beginning that this was going to be a new experience – trying more than 20 of us at a time. John said Gandhi talked about “experimenting with truth”.  That’s what we did and it is likely we will be back before you again (and again). John continued, “I’m not promising to be good, but I am promising to try to follow my conscience.”

Diane Leutgeb Monson, one of the coordinators of the retreat and action chose not to testify today in order for the jury to get the case sooner. But she did make a brief statement before sentencing which included observing that this experience is part of the journey – now we have to carry the message out to the community. Dan Wilson said his actions were on behalf of all. “I did this for you [Judge Thompson] and for your kids and their kids.”

Our attorney said he felt so moved by John Heid’s statement that he’d like to make a comment as well. He spoke of an ancestor of his who was sentenced to death by Queen Victoria for his part in the Irish struggle against England. “If you grant us some leniency, we’ll try to do better next time.” McCluer smiled, knowing the reference was double-edged, referring to the defendants as well as his ancestor. He continued, “He was sentenced to death but was able to escape and eventually went to Mexico and fought with the Irish Battalion in the Mexican-American War.”  

The Judge followed the recommendation of the unsupervised probation with conditions and added a $200 fine/restitution and the mandatory $85. court fees imposed by the state. He noted the many objections to restitution and said you can consider this a fine or restitution. You have 90 days to pay it. If you don’t, it will be turned over to a collection agency for collection and they’ll charge a recovery fee as well. McCluer later told us he could have made it a condition of our probation but chose instead to past it on to a court-collection firm if we don’t pay.

The entire experience - preparation, action, trial, sentence was joyful "experiment" in nonviolence. I’m glad I took part. An on-going “experiment with truth.”

A Judge and Civil Disobedience

Finally a Judge Who Supports Civil Disobedience by Steve Clemens. November 6, 2009

The style and affect of the two African-American Judges couldn’t be more pronounced: Dark-complexioned, gaunt, stern and decorous Edward Wilson in St. Paul is a stark contrast with the light-skinned, jovial, extroverted Judge Darryl Lowe in Omaha. I faced both Judges this fall for acts of nonviolent civil disobedience and left the Courtrooms in Ramsey County, MN and Douglas County, NE with vastly different impressions.

Granted, one Judge presided over a full-fledged jury trial for protest at the Republican National Convention while I encountered the latter after a 30-hour stay in the county jail in Omaha for an initial arraignment or bond appearance. Yet the results were diametrically opposed. Maybe it was due to fighting the charges in one case while being really to “roll over” on the other – but I think that wasn’t the only or primary reason. It was the way Judge Lowe’s face lit up and his whole attitude changed when he discovered this was a case of civil disobedience rather than four aging drunk men in front of him. But I’m getting ahead of the story.

I should start at the beginning of this witness for peace for me. Frank Cordaro and Jerry Ebner of the Des Moines and Omaha Catholic Worker communities respectively encouraged me to join them last summer for the annual nonviolent vigil outside Offutt Air Force Base just south of Omaha which surrounds the anniversaries of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As we baked in the 100 degree heat this year, Frank asked me to return to Nebraska in November for what has also become an annual arms bazaar in downtown Omaha. He was trying to recruit some others to join him in some creative nonviolent action in public protest. He warned me ahead of time: you never know what the Judge you face will do - but evidence from the past is those who are from out-of-state who are arrested will most likely be thrown in jail overnight and should be brought before a Judge the next day. Given the results of last year, if you plead not guilty or no contest, you will likely be issued a fine plus court costs. If you refuse or cannot pay the fine, it will likely mean 4-5 days in jail.

So I packed my bag and drove the six-hour trip to Omaha in order to arrive for our nonviolence training and action planning session which was to take place at noon on November 3, the day before the planned civil disobedience. It appeared ahead of time that there were likely to be four of us who were willing to risk arrest, down from the eight from last year. In 2008, four of the eight were local activists and they received a citation at the police station and were released with a future court date; the other four out-of-state arrestees were transported to the Douglas County Jail and appeared before a Judge the following day. Two of those four pled guilty and received five days in jail when they told the Judge they would not pay the $250 fine and court costs for reasons of conscience. As Catholic Workers, they couldn’t stomach the idea of paying for the “privilege” of protest while their communities were inundated with the needs of the growing homeless and destitute populations in their cities.

The two other Catholic Workers chose to plead not guilty and remained in jail for a future trial. After two weeks, one of them was needed home at his community in Duluth so he changed his plea to guilty and was released with “time served”. The fourth protester remained in jail for 38 days before having his charges dismissed by the Judge at trial when the County Prosecutor failed to present compelling evidence of his guilt. But he had spent 38 days in jail! Lest you think that a waste of time, many Catholic Workers find “ministering” to those behind bars to be not that different than their work with those who have been marginalized by our society and who end up homeless on the city streets. One sometimes finds homeless people who opt for “three hots and a cot” by committing petty crimes and going to jail rather than face brutal conditions on the homeless streets in northern cities as the weather turns colder.

At the nonviolence training, I learned that the four of us who planned to risk arrest were to be joined by two other local people, both seasoned activists – one of whom was 91 years old, the indomitable Peg Gallagher. Because all the participants had participated in numerous peaceful civil disobedience actions in the past, we felt we could dispense the nonviolence training portion of the afternoon and go directly into planning the “action”. The plan agreed to by all was a symbolic “die-in” in front of the entrance to the convention center where the arms bazaar was held, the same place where legal vigils had taken place over the past two days. A lawyer with no criminal trial experience met with us to be sure we were aware of the possible penalties for the action. Each of the three possible charges we would face could carry a six-month jail sentence and/or a $500 fine and conceivably the City of Omaha could seek to prosecute on all three counts. However, the most likely scenario would be a charge of “refusing to leave” and would likely incur a fine for local people and overnight in jail for those of us from states other than Nebraska. We might receive “time served” when we faced a Judge or we might be given an additional fine. There are no guarantees when one “rolls the dice” in committing civil disobedience in what Judge you will get and how the prosecutor will respond. I went expecting to do five days in jail.

Two of the four out-of-towners were Catholic priests and the third was an ex-priest. All had been active for decades in nonviolent protest and Fr. Louis Vitale had more than 200 arrests and Frank Cordaro had spent years in various prisons for his life of activism for peace and justice. Interestingly, Fr. Jim Murphy, had never spent a night in jail despite his participation in numerous other actions where he had risked arrest in the past. This was likely to be his first – and he couldn’t have been in better company to join others who had more experience “locked up for peace”.

As we planned the style and spirit of the action, we discussed how we might respond to a possible fine, making sure each of us were free to chose our own responses without pressure from the others. Louis had already made commitments to speak at several events in Georgia within a few days and Jim had commitments at his parish which he hoped to be able to attend to. Frank and I had hoped to “do the time instead of paying a fine”. Frank told us that we should feel free to take the “St. Paul option” – when the Apostle Paul was arrested during the early years after Jesus’ execution at the hands of the state, sometimes he acted as a common Jewish teacher and took the punishment meted out by the authorities. At other times, Paul insisted on his rights as a Roman citizen in responding to the consequences of his arrest. Frank assured all of us that we should all be ready to invoke the “St. Paul option” if we felt we needed to – the important thing was that we were willing to take risks for peace.

The group planning the action decided we wanted to center ourselves before walking to the Qwest Center where the civil disobedience would take place so we chose to celebrate Mass at the nearby Holy Family Catholic Church. Father Louis would preside and be joined by the church’s former activist Pastor, 80 year old Fr. Jack McCaslin. It was no surprise to see Father Jack who is well known in the city for his leadership in peace and justice concerns. He recently survived a serious heart attack and we were pleased he was able to join us. Jerry from the Omaha Catholic Worker is a member of that parish and showed us the beautiful sculpture of “The Itinerant Preacher, Jesus” which graces the front of the sanctuary. That bronze statue is a moving, life-like presence of the carpenter of Nazareth who has challenged and inspired all of us in this work, whether Catholic or not.

Empowered and emboldened by the Mass, as we headed toward the Qwest Center, Father Jack told us he was hoping to join us! This was no small matter. Alongside his health concerns, he had been told by a Federal Judge that if he is arrested again, he will be sent to prison for six months – no questions asked. But when the Spirit calls, one has to choose whether to act on faith or fear. What an inspiration to have him join us! It looked like our median age would be in the 60s. Peg at 91, Jack at 80, Louie at 77, I’m 59, Frank is 58, Jim is 55, and Mark Kenny, another local veteran of the struggle for justice was to be our youngest at 52. We were surprised when Dan, a member of Nebraskans for Peace joined us at the last minute to add his youthful 22 years to our somewhat grizzled appearance.

A group of about 30 gathered in front of the main entrance to the Qwest Center. One was dressed as a specter of death and the banner in front read “Space Weapons = Death”. I read aloud a statement drafted by group members on why we were there and then a symbolic “die-in” was staged. Several members had to help Peg Gallagher lay down on the sleeping bag she had brought to protect her from the cold sidewalk. Others helped Father Jack down to the ground. After five minutes, it was announced we would move the die-in indoors to the lobby where we were stopped by security and told to leave or face arrest.

Peg Gallagher was processed with a citation right at the scene of arrest while the rest of us were handcuffed and driven to the County Jail. The other three local arrestees were booked and released. The four of us who were from other states were booked into the jail. This process took several hours before we were escorted to our cells. Jim and I were placed in Pod #5 and into A Bay where there were already 20 other inmates. There were two addition bays in our pod for a total of 66 inmates and all the beds appeared to be occupied. Louis was placed in Pod 5 and Frank in Pod 8.

We anticipated that we would go before a judge in the morning but were surprised when the Corrections Officer stationed in our pod asked if anyone wanted to go to the roof for the hour of recreation at 8:30 AM. Although it was still quite cold out, I knew we would be given a jacket so Jim and I were the only two who went outside that next morning. (Over 30 of us went out the afternoon before when the weather was warmer.) Fortunately Father Louis had also opted to go outside so we were able to visit with him between the fence separating our two rec areas. An hour after lunch our names were called to line up to go to court.

Prior to being ushered into the courtroom attached to the jail, on of the Correctional Officers warned to 60 or so of us in our orange jail uniforms: You are lucky today. You have drawn Judge Lowe as your Judge. If you had come tomorrow, you would draw Judge Swartz. Consider yourselves fortunate to have Judge Lowe. He is fair but somewhat eccentric. He might ask you all types of questions. Listen to what he says. If he suggests you might want to take a certain plea, listen to him because he will spell out the consequences to you. We were specifically warned not to talk or say anything in the Courtroom until or unless the judge addressed us.

The next two and a quarter hours were a mix between what appeared to be a made-for-TV comedy or a “Judge Judy”-type show. Judge Lowe’s comments were prolific, personal, outlandish, seemingly inappropriate, compassionate, and paternalistic – you name it. Clearly an extrovert who enjoys his position and power from the bench, the judge uses the platform in his desire to dispense justice. Without knowing the details of each case, it seemed to me that he was quite harsh in some instances and very compassionate or generous in others – but throughout I had the impression of a person who genuinely cared for the people before him.

The court session began with the more serious felony cases and then progressed to the misdemeanors. We had no idea when we’d be called. Finally the Courtroom was down to four older white male defendants. The clock was nearing 3:30 PM and the rapidity of the Judge’s dealing with the previous 4 or 5 inmates made it clear that Judge Lowe was determined to get out of the Courtroom on time.

The Prosecutor called out the next case, Louis Vitale, and added that these last four cases were all on the same charge: failure to leave at the Qwest Center. The Judge right away told us that he often attends events there and quickly asked the inmate before him what was his plea, guilty or not guilty? When Louis responded with “No contest”, the Judge immediately stated “5 days in jail. If you had said guilty, you would have gotten 3 days.” Father Louis tried to speak up to say he was actually requesting a postponement of sentencing so he could travel to Georgia over the weekend to fulfill some speaking engagements he had scheduled. The Judge would hear none of it. “If you want to contest this sentence, bond is $100,000 – to see if you can change my mind. Now get out of here. [To the corrections officers] Take him out of here!”

Next case: Jim Murphy is called to the bench. How do you plead? Jim swallowed and said “No contest – oh, I mean guilty”. “Good call”, the judge responded. “3 days. Next”.

“Case number xxx (I didn’t hear the number but did hear), Stephen D. Clemens. I walked to the podium in front of the Judge’s bench debating in my mind whether to risk the Judge’s anger with a “no contest” plea or to remain safe with the “guilty-as-charged” less-costly route. Just as I was prepared to jump off the cliff with my “no contest –BUT I need to tell the court that I am a regular blood donor – I donate platelets every two weeks in order to help save lives, and if you sentence me to more than three days, I can’t donate again for a year due to federal regulations”, wanting to force the Judge to choose between retributive punishment and saving lives, the Judge looked at me and instead of asking for my plea instead asked “What were you doing?” He had obviously in his haste failed to read the documents before him about the nature of our “crime”.

I responded, “We were protesting, your Honor, against an Arms Bazaar that was at the Qwest Center. Corporations are trying to sell high-tech weapons to the Air Force and space weapons to STRATCOM and we were protesting that.” The puzzlement on the Judge’s face was completely transparent as Frank Cordaro, the last defendant still in the back of the Courtroom stood up and said in a loud voice, “Yes, your Honor, you just sentenced two Roman Catholic priests to jail!” The Judge was even more dumbfounded. He quickly ordered Frank to come forward to confirm what he had said. He was horrified at what had just happened and immediately shouted to the Correctional Officers serving as court bailiffs, “Quick, bring those last two men back in here!” To the Court reporters he said, “Give me back those files. I don’t want to send priests to jail.”

“What, are you all priests?” he asked and I said I’m not even Catholic. He asked more questions about what we had done, the nature of the trade show/symposium at the Qwest Center and quickly apologized to the two priests. “I thought this was a case about four old inebriates, four drunks who refused to leave the Qwest Center. I’m sorry.” He continued to tell us how his parents were involved in the civil rights struggle and how much he respected civil disobedience. “I remember their stories even though I was only 4 years old at the time.”

His entire demeanor had changed 180 degrees. He smiled and laughed and told us he appreciated what we did. Of course he was changing the sentence to “time served” and “I’ll try to get you released as soon as possible. You do realize that might still take a couple of hours, don’t you?” He asked who were our friends in the visitor’s gallery and we introduced Jerry and Cassandra who were there to support us. Before we left the Courtroom, Judge Lowe reached down from the Bench and shook each of our hands. He thanked us for acting on our convictions, telling us, “I hope you will return to Omaha next year again.”

Finally, an African-American judge who understands that the road to his judicial robe runs directly through the legacy of Martin King and Rosa Parks. Too bad Judge Edward Wilson continues to deny that reality, thinking his own “bootstraps” got him to his seat at the Bench of Justice.