The address of the courtroom was given to me, 600 5th Avenue, but what’s that? I map-googled it to find that it seemed to be City Hall which made sense. So to be sure, I then googled City Hall and got 600 4th Avenue. Well, okay, my sometime incarcerated buddy could have been mistaken, and anyway all those big ones downtown take up entire blocks so back door, front door, City Hall. The bus comes up 3rd, so when I got to town I asked what steet for City Hall and the reply was James. I almost missed it because the driver didn’t call James. He called a bunch of County buildings. The fact that I would approach from below -- the hill, you know -- is pertinent because when I got to 4th and looked up I was transported to a city I had never been in before. What, where, did that thing come from? Half of the bulk was set well back and up to the 5th Ave level. A ramp of granite steps formed at the near corner (4th and James) and ascended fifty feet wide as to the Great Pyramid. Half way to the top a left exit to a terrace appeared which led to a row of plain glass doors. Tiring, I took that and opened one of the doors. I found myself in an empty space about a hundred feet wide and thirty deep lined at the back with a series of plain solid doors with handles. No signs anywhere, no ornamentation, just masonry and those doors. I backed out and resumed the climb. Two sets of glassed entry led to the interior. Just before the second set a small lettered sign was mounted on the right hand wall titled Code of Behaviour. It was a list of twelve things not permitted. I stopped reading half way down and went in. The space into which I intruded was about sixty feet high and a hundred twenty feet broad. The far wall was a set of glassed entries onto 5th Avenue. To the right was a wide pass-through to lowered ceiling spaces, notably a circular conference room with an art-worked glass wall, an aquarium. To the left, solid mass and a desk with two uniforms at it. I stood there a few moments while they finished talking then the standing one left. Seated was a bald man of about seventy. I said Courtroom 302 for an araignment. He said you are in the wrong building and indicated the one across 5th. I asked the name of the building to which he said, 600 5th Avenue. I asked if it had another name to which he mumbled some of the other tenants. So then I asked where’s coffee. Now I gotta remind you that I am facing a monolith of masonry, featureless but for this old guy at his desk, and there’s nobody around but him and me. So anyway he points to my left and says right around that corner. Sure enough, there was an opening and when I got around it here was a space of about twenty five feet square with a twelve foot coffee bar hard right. To my left as I took in the situation was one table with four chairs, vacant, and beyond that a modest glass window overlooking 4th. I decided not to get coffee; one, I’d have to carry it across 5th, and, two, the ambience was zero. There was the bare concrete walls, the little coffee bar with two people behind it, and me. Fortunately, just beyond the bar and high up was a small sign, Men. At least I could piss in this concrete pot, if not on it. And so it was with plenty of ullage that I crossed 5th.

I had time for, and was in need of, coffee. The name of 600 5th Ave was now apparent, the Municipal Courthouse. A row of glass doors at variou places let into a long hall. Immediate to my right was the damndest sculpture, a twenty foot high conical stalagmite and stalagtite in granite about to touch, maybe one inch shy of. Symbolism pincers? To the right, nothing, to the left a directory and the way to go. Down that way a security point blocked. I stood, apparently reading the directory but actually wondering about the nearness of coffee. A voice interupted. A somber woman of perhaps a certain age sternly enquired if I needed help. When I explained the situation she said you’d better get checked in and, no, there’s no coffee beyond. I hope she dries up inside. Check that, I recall Dorothy’s encounter with the WW of the West, and hope somebody splashes water on her. There was nothing to do but comply. When I got to the check point, all a bustle, there were blue tubs, also smaler white pans. A sign said place all metal items in the pans. So I opened my pack, took out the penknife and was rummaging for sundry odd metallic carry withs when a voice kindly told me to forget the pan and just put the pack in the tub. Somewhat flustered, I followed my pack through the machine without incident, leaving my cane back at the pots and pans as it were. When I got up to the third floor I noticed I had no cane. Fortunately all I had to do was exit, then go through security again. Progress through elevator and hall was straightforward (and welcome in comparison with the Tacoma Muni Court which is a rat’s warren of confusing signs. But things balance out sometimes, don’t they, as in Tacoma there was a coffee shop inside security). On the third floor the elevator foyer let onto a corridor leading left to the interior, and right a few feet to the equvalent of that ground floor,WW of the West, and pincers. Here three flights up, a completely glass wall viewed Elliot Bay. Good signs led me south to a queue of men and to the reason, a pleasant Asian seated at a desk partly blocking the hallway. She’d been ticking off names on a list. I was directed to proceed and wait outside 302 til Duff came. A glance at those already seated revealed islander Bob Spivey (rhymes ivy). We were soon joined by Stand Up Seattle/One Earth member Ron Ginther. Soon, Duff appeared along with One Earth members Chad, Michelle, and Cameron. Chad and Duff had been jailed. Soon the door was unlocked and we all went in. I was ahead of the One Earths and got a front row seat to the right, for my ear, I’d forgotten my hearing aid. We found ourselves at the west end of a deep, narrow room with the Bench at the far end. Putting the depth at 50 feet and counting back: Bencb 10 feet, clerks 15 feet, counsels with walking room behind, 15 feet, and public, 10 feet in three rows. The width of the room, 25 feet. I folded my tape measure and for the nest two hours tried to hear what the judge, for example, was saying. His head was down but I could see his lips moving, I think. Court staff consisted of the two clerks, court defense counsel, prosecutor, and a bailiff, she seated at right wall by a door, as doorkeeper ‘twould seem. Defense counsel was a well-set Latino of about thirty whose mobile features constituted my main channel of communication. He was in near constant motion and used a movable white board to convey the agenda to the eleven accused. The prosecutor was a slender blonde woman of about forty with a fixed expression of disinterest. She moved occasionally to carry papers to the clerks whence upon returning to her desk was obliged to let us see her face.

Defense handed out papers to read and sign. He emphsized the importance of reading these carefully by lowering his voice and speaking even more distinctly than for his set recitations.

From then on I saw bodies move and lips speaking but had no idea what was transpiring. The accused came forward to defense counsesl’s desk, then either returned to hiserher seat or moved to the baliff. Mostly there was little awkwardness but occasionaly a person was evidently confused about which lane of the traffic pattern they were in. Of note here, Defense was particulary clear about visiting the bailiff: If directed to speak with the bailiff before leaving the court, then one must do so or a warrant would be issued for their arrest. But as I said, the scene was one of motion, not sound. Every staff member and especially the judge was sworn to never raise their voice enough to be heard by the public. Of course I am exaggerating. I once distinctly heard the judge say “… alcohol …” .

So much for the mix of caucasian, Mexican, and black men and women who had run afoul of the law, with or without necessarily being afoul of decency. I suppose all were out on bail, Duff and Chad included, but with my ignorance showing, I should not suppose anything. Back up now to the white board and its agenda. The accused were divided into two groups, having or not having private counsel. This governed the accused’s traffic pattern. I think it was because our two had a lawyer that they were called up first. Incidentally, this man was familiar as I had seen him at two Tacoma Port Militarization hearings. Duff and Chad were up and back down in minutes. But they did not leave nor speak to the bailiff. And I was going nowhere unless they did go somewbere. Anyway, we were all sitting, sitting, when suddenly the judge announced a recess and walked out. I asked Duff what was going on. Answer, some accused were missing. And, want to join me for coffee after? Well, at last I was clued into the action. Thus clued, I returned to my seat and opened “Money”, by Tom Greco.

In this report I’ve tried to convey the tone of the arraignments if nothing else, but reading back I find no tone, and realize that I’ve forgotten to describe the typical moves by Defense counsel, what those mobile features were doing. I looked up the adjective motile: “a person whose mental imagery consists of hiserher own bodily motion”. I don’t know what that means, but it describes him well. Simply put, he was the face of the court. The judge was a paper cutout with a laptop computer in front of him. Occasionally, Defense would take a client into a side room for consultation. Frequently, he’d face us and say something. Almost always, an expression would accompany the words. And almost always, the eyebrows did a lot of the talking.

At what seemed like long last, Duff tapped me on the shoulder and said we’re finished, let’s go. We six converged at Noah’s Bagels, Bob had left at the recess having mentioned something about a job. Chad had beat us there so we proceeded to compress his space at the table. Across sat Cameron, Duff, and Michelle. To my left, Ron, and to the right, Chad. He was looking at pictures on what looked like an iPod. I went and ordered a hot dog then sat down. Pretty soon Michelle said your name was called so I got it, here it is. How Ingeborg could have let me out of the house without that hearing aid I’ll never understand. We talked for two hours.

The conversation was about evenly divided between the jail and the long range course of One Earth, Duff’s baby, now an obstreperous pre-teen. Chad and Duff are newly familiar with the careless filth and dried blood of the jail cells and with deliberate mistreatment by uniformed persons with badges and guns. The jailors tried to make life as unpleasant as possible. (Through the comments of these two men one sees another side of the recent outrage at the murder of four police. Such as, no questioning of why anyone would want to kill police.) Duff has an interesting take on the events of November 30, that this demonstration is the first of the many “demos” he’s organized that built movement. I said that the public is not becoming radicalized anywhere near fast enough to effect change. Duff shared my pessimism but clearly is not letting that slow him down. Duff's court date is January 4.

Incomplete, faulty, and biased, you have it all, right here. But I sure am glad I went.