seemed normal, but then I noticed the fixed smile on Norton’s face, a look I’d never seen before. Instead of sitting next to Katyna on the couch as I’d planned, I sat on a wooden chair directly across from the pulpit chair so I could keep an eye on him.
There was no need for introductions or formalities at the beginning of the meeting. We all liked and trusted each other. We’d gone through several nonviolent training sessions together. We’d had each other’s backs at several actions. We knew who wanted to be bailed out and when. Who planned to cooperate with the police and how. Whom to contact if someone was held in jail overnight. Who had special medical or other needs. Who wanted or needed a lawyer. All critical pieces of information that, to my shame, I’d failed to provide to anyone before I was arrested at the military depot in New York.
Logical, plainspoken Madeline took charge. She tucked in her chin and looked at us over the rims of her glasses. “Okay, our trial starts November seventh, only a month away, so let’s get to it. Everyone ready?”
Jim gave her a thumbs-up. “You bet, boss.” Madeline and Jim were night and day. She was an in-charge person, he was laid-back. She dressed in formal business attire, he in a gray hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans. She was a legal assistant in a high-powered corporate firm, he a former minister turned addictions counselor.
Everyone nodded that they were ready. Except Norton. Madeline either ignored him or didn’t notice. “Before we get down to the nitty-gritty,” she said, “a quick reminder about why we’re going on trial instead of pleading guilty, okay?” She didn’t wait for a response. “We’re using the trials as educational tools. It’s a way to get the message out that one of our local corporations is producing parts for nuclear weapons, including cruise missiles.”
Tony raised his hand and swiveled his chair to face Madeline. “But it’s not just information for information’s sake.” His voice was patient and paternalistic, honed through decades of working with people who have developmental disabilities. “We hope that, when people become aware of the danger of nuclear annihilation, they will do something about it.”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “That is our mission. Everyone agreed?”
“Agreed,” everyone said. Everyone but Norton. He shrugged his shoulders and stared at the posters on my living room wall like he’d never seen them before.
“Okay, then,” Madeline said. “Martin Lind gave all the affinity groups a sheet of instructions.”
“I have it here,” I said. “Want me to read them out loud?”
Everyone but Norton nodded.
“The first decision each affinity group needs to make is whether to request a trial by judge or by a jury of your peers.” I heard Norton shuffle his feet. I stopped reading and looked at him. His hand dismissed me, so I continued. “The second decision each affinity group needs to make is if you want to have a coalition attorney assigned to your group as counsel or if you want to go pro se.”
“Excuse me,” Katyna said. “I don’t know what pro s-s-se means.”
Madeline eagerly jumped at the chance to explain things. She smiled indulgently at Katyna, our youngest member and a neophyte to the nuclear disarmament movement. “Pro se means we would represent ourselves without an attorney.”
“Legalese,” Norton grumbled under his breath.
Madeline either didn’t hear him or decided to forge ahead anyway. “Okay, folks, you heard the instructions. First decision. What’ll it be? Trial by judge or jury?”
“Jury,” everyone said. Everyone but Norton, who sat still as a statue, his eyes downcast and his arms crossed over his chest.
Madeline laughed. “Well, that was easy! Let’s move on then.”
Jane put her knitting down, her face laden with concern. “A jury is a way to reach more people with our message, Norton, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure it is, Katyna.” Norton’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Jane’s lips formed an O like she was going to correct him, tell him her name was Jane, not Katyna, but she furrowed her brow instead and picked up her knitting again.
Madeline clapped her hands. “Absolutely, Jane. A trial by jury is a way to reach more people. Okay, next decision. Do we ask for an attorney or do we represent ourselves?”
“Represent ourselves,” everyone but Norton said.
“Hell yes!” Katyna’s outburst was completely out of character. We all looked at her, bemused. “What?” Her cheeks flushed pink.
“Just agreeing with you,” Jim said, with a kindness derived from decades of rough-and-tumble life experiences.
Tony rolled the desk chair over to Katyna and patted her hand. “We share your enthusiasm,” he said.
Madeline slapped her knees. “Okay, pro se it is then.”
Norton raised his hand, then dropped it onto his lap. I noted with alarm how bony it was. Jim slouched down in his chair like he’d noticed it, too, and it was weighing on him.
Jane put down the scarf she was knitting. “What is it, Norton?”
He didn’t look at her, just shook his head. I caught myself biting at the cuticle on my thumbnail and quickly wrapped my hands in the soft cotton folds of my green peasant skirt. Something was wrong, and I didn’t think it was just about our trial. Maybe something had happened at home. Maybe Chloe found out about us. I looked into Norton’s eyes, but they offered up no clues.
After a few minutes, Madeline leaned forward with her hands out, palms up. “Okay, then, moving on to some of the other things we have to do.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a notebook. “I made a list of five questions we should ask during voir dire.” She paused and glanced around the circle, eyebrows raised. “Voir dire,” she said, “is what jury selection is called, okay? In addition to deciding what questions to ask potential jurors, we have to decide who will make the opening and closing statements, too.”
Norton held his face in his hands and moaned, so loud that even Madeline, despite her enthusiastic desire to keep things moving, couldn’t ignore him anymore.
She crossed her arms. “What is it, Norton?”
He sat up rigid, his hands fisted on his lap, his knuckles white. He shook his head but said nothing.
Tony raised his hand like a student in school waiting to be called on. “I’m thinking that maybe.” He paused, then started again, slow and patient. “I wonder if . . . I think each of us could maybe write out our testimony first? Maybe if we saw how they all fit together, it would be easier to make other decisions?”
Norton unclasped his hands, leaned forward and shouted, “No! We have to take more drastic action than any of you are talking about.” His hands slapped the armrests of the chair. “We don’t have a choice.” The lines around his downturned lips were a mournful gray, an indication of pain or fear I couldn’t tell which.
Katyna leaned forward. “I don’t understand. Can you s-s-say more?”
Jim drew his legs in and pulled himself out of his slouch. “What are you suggesting, Norton?”
“We resist. Refuse to cooperate. Shut the system down.”
I massaged my temples. Please don’t do this, I silently begged him.
“Resist how?” Tony asked.
“We turn our faces to, I mean, we turn our backs on the judge.” He shot me a quick look. I told him, with my eyes, that this argument was between him and me and that’s where it should stay. But he ignored me and went on. “We refuse to give our names. We don’t answer any questions.”
Katyna fidgeted with the wedding band on her left hand. Madeline scowled. Mostly, the others gaped, baffled, confused. This wasn’t the Norton they knew. They didn’t