David Goodner, a University of Iowa senior, was fined the minumum amount on both counts — $65 for criminal trespassing and $250 for interference with official acts.  He told the judge he would not pay the fines.  “I consider my refusal to pay my fines an extension of my civil disobedience,” he said.Goodner was arrested at the Cedar Rapids Federal Courthouse on July 6 during the Occupation Project’s action at Grassley’s office, when he attempted to enter the building from a restricted side door. 

At the time of his 2:05 p.m. arrest, federal marshals were blocking the public entrance, telling protesters that only one person at a time would be allowed in the Republican senator’s office.  Minutes after Goodner’s arrest, marshals allowed additional protesters and the press to enter the building.  (See Iowa Independent’s earlier coverage of events at the Federal Courthouse on July 6.)

“I would have never entered the restricted area if I wasn’t denied my legal rights at the public entrance first,” Goodner said in court.

Though Goodner was the only person jailed, 19 other people were arrested, cited and released after 5 p.m. July 6 for the sit-ins at Grassley’s office and at Democratic Sen. Tom Harkin’s office in the Wells Fargo Bank building.

The Occupation Project activists were found not guilty by a six- member jury despite their admission that they had refused an order by a U.S. Department of Homeland Security officer to leave Sen. Grassley’s office.  The five argued that they had a First Amendment Constitutional right to have their grievance heard.

In May, a judge dismissed federal charges against the activists of “obstructing a federal office.”

Tom Harkin’s office fell victim to its own openness.  Cameras, laptops, cell phones and other 21^st century equipment were allowed in the private Wells-Fargo Building, as opposed to the 19^th century attitude of the Federal Courthouse.  So at 3 p.m. I switched sites to await the arrests at Harkin’s office.

The outer lobby of Tom Harkin’s Cedar Rapids office is small, with a couple of chairs, a reception counter, a photocopier and shelves of government pamphlets.  Staff Assistant Tom Larkin — that’s not a typo, he just has a very similar name to his boss — was taking statements from those risking arrest and from supporters, listening to Paul Street: “A lot of us are interested in a criminal investigation of the decisions that led to this war.”

In contrast to the marshals at Grassley’s office, Larkin was much more accommodating.  “Did everyone get the sign-in sheets?” he asked, also offering directions to the restroom down the hall.The arrest-riskers discussed the tactics of the moment: some wished to sing and chant, but Larkin was still listening to Richard Fischer, who was offering a statement and asking for details on how to set an appointment with the senator.  So the singers quieted down.

“We assumed Harkin was going to be a bit more accessible,” Lara Elborno said, taking issue with the official statement Larkin has provided outlining Harkin’s position:

Senator Harkin was a strong advocate for provisions in the FY2007 Emergency Supplemental Appropriations Conference Report which would have required the Administration to begin a withdrawal of troops from Iraq by July 1, 2007, with the goal of completing the redeployment no later than March 31, 2008.  Unfortunately this legislation was vetoed by President Bush, and Senate Democrats lacked the 67 votes needed to overturn that Presidential veto.  

This position was short of the group’s request that Harkin and Grassley pledge to vote against any further funding for the war.

“At least we got in right away,” said Kerry Hofferber, “but he’s still inaccessible.”

Casteel stopped by about 3:30 and reported that little has changed at the Grassley office.

At 4 p.m. the protesters at Harkin’s office were reading the names of the dead, American and Iraqi.  Staffers and reporters maintained a respectful silence.  Wendy Barth reported that David Goodner had been arrested at Grassley’s office.  This puzzled people, as Goodner hadn’t been on the list of those planning to risk arrest.  The puzzle pieces were slowly assembled; he’d been scouting around the Federal Courthouse for another entrance and went somewhere he wasn’t supposed to

“I could read all these names but at some point you have to realize, these people didn’t just die,” said Lara Elborno at about 4:15.  “Someone did this to them, someone gave an order.” The sit-in evolved into a group discussion that resembled a teach-in, with a wide-ranging foreign policy focus that likened Joe Biden’s three-part Iraqi state plan to the partition of India and Pakistan and noting the human misery of that forced migration.

“Is this a protest?" asked a worker from one of the other offices on the floor, passing by at about 4:30 to use the restroom.  "I’d sit with you but I have to be in my office.”  The building was showing signs of winding down for the day as custodians moved up and down the hall emptying the trash.  Most of the Harkin staff was gone for the day; Larkin was left behind to answer the phones and close down shop at 5.

Fifteen minutes before closing time, some of the arrest-riskers went to take a smoke break.  Court wasn’t scheduled till 9:30 Saturday morning, which is a long time without a cigarette.  The bathroom issue was also addressed.  “At 5 o’clock he’s going to call building security.  Everybody who’s going to get arrested needs to get in here.” More logistics ensued: gathering possessions and goodbye kisses.  “It should be noted that we left the office in good condition,” noted John-Paul Hornbeck, a veteran and artist.  Indeed, the place was spotless, though crowded.

Negotiating at Zero Hour.

Building security arrived promptly at 5 p.m., with Cedar Rapids police behind.  “We know and you guys know what’s going on,” the security guard said politely but firmly.  The support people negotiate the exact nature of the final pre-arrest warning.  One person suggested "they could just let us stay here and wait," but building security wanted none of that.  I asked four of the protesters if they were going to cooperate or go limp; “we’re just gonna go” was the consensus.

“You’ve all been very respectful, and it’s been very interesting talking to you,” Tom Larkin announced at 5:02.  “But please, now is the time to leave.”

No one moved. 

The head of building security had now arrived.  She repeated the warning, as did a police officer.  “Everyone who doesn’t want to get arrested needs to leave NOW.” The support people stood in the hallway, and the reporters were visibly frustrated — not wanting to miss The Picture, but not wanting to get arrested either.  “I want all the press over here,” said a police officer, pointing to the right.  We duly did as he directed.  “OK, everybody who doesn’t want to get arrested, out now.” The support people began to leave.  The reporters hesitated.  “Which door are they gonna be at?” asks one.  “I can’t disclose that, operational security.” “So, we together here?” I asked the Gazette guy.  I don’t hear a response but we all start to move.

Photographer Mauro Heck and I had swapped cell phone numbers earlier and agreed to split up, each going to a different entrance and edging around the building.  Police cars were spotted in the back of the building, so supporters and reporters congregated there.

After a few minutes, John-Paul Hornbeck and Jamie Fredericksen emerge and stand as if at attention.  Fredericksen crossed her hands in front, as if handcuffed, but there were no cuffs.  Lara Elborno was brought downstairs next and flashed a peace sign through the window.  Employees of the bank and other businesses were allowed out the door by police, off to a Friday night that would probably be less dramatic.

Kerry Hofferber emerged next, to applause.  An undercover officer — the badge was a giveaway — filmed the press and supporters who were taking pictures.  Two additional police rode up on bicycles.  One secured his bike to the railing with handcuffs.  I never thought of that.  Efficient and effective, yet keeps people guessing.  In any case, they were the first — and only — handcuffs we saw.

Suddenly, the four arrestees lined up outside the building were ushered back in.  “They’re going out the other way,” shouts Mauro Heck, running with his camera.

Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn’t very likely, and we didn’t expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again, which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer’s station there was a third possibility that we hadn’t even counted upon, and we was both immediately arrested.  Handcuffed.  And I said, "Obie, I don’t think I can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.  Get in the back of the patrol car."

"Alice’s Restaurant," Arlo Guthrie, 1968

They were hoping for the first thing Office Obie could have done, but expecting the third.  But instead, what happened was closer to the second.

Ajax Ehl and Lara Elborno, disappointed that they aren’t in jail.

“They don’t want a PR problem,” Lara Elborno offered as explanation.  “They processed us all, and I said ‘I’ll only leave in handcuffs.’ Then they cited me and walked me out the door.” Ajax Ehl arrived from Grassley’s office and reported the same drill went down there.  The discussion turns to David Goodner, the only protester who’s actually in jail.  “He was at another door,” said Ajax Ehl.

Frank Cordaro brought the group together once everyone arrived at the Wells-Fargo building.  He suggested bailing Goodner out of jail.  “He may not want that, but we’d like to not leave him alone.”

I asked Cordaro why the police let everyone go.  “They didn’t want to put 21 people in a holding tank,” he said.  “There’s safety in numbers sometimes.” Will this hurt media publicity? “Yes,” said one person behind me.  “This is bad because now the media…” said Lara Elborno, her thought clear without completing the sentence.  “They did a smart thing from their perspective.”

But Frank Cordaro has been through this many times and he was nonplussed, knowing that the action will still get publicity.  But not too much, he adds, “since Paris Hilton isn’t with us.”

At 1:30 sharp, Frank Cordaro led the group, singing John Lennon’s “Power to the People,” to the Federal Courthouse. 

Jaywalking was unnecessary to the cause and extra charges are always a risk: “Chris got charged with improper parking last time, and she walked there,” Cordaro had told the group at the training.  So everyone carefully stopped at the DON’T WALK light on First Avenue.  Then the rest of the group held back a few steps while Mona Shaw walked ahead, alone, toward the entrance.The one public entrance to the Cedar Rapids Federal Courthouse looks like it was a small side door in the pre-9/11 era.  It’s most noticeable for the handicapped ramp outside and the metal detector inside.  Two marshals were already waiting at the door as Mona Shaw walked up the ramp.  Three Cedar Rapids police stood on the sidewalk.  A passer-by who seemed to be waiting for a ride or bus asked me what was going on.

“It’s a protest,” I answered.  She paused, then said in a tone that wasn’t hostile but had a little I-don’t-want-any-trouble trepidation, “I think I’ll wait across the street.”

The risking-arrest group stood at the door as Terrell and Cordaro negotiated with the marshals.  “Is the First Amendment just for one person?  We’re just asking Senator Grassley to do the right thing.”

At the Grassy Knoll, the support group began chanting.  A few of the old standbys emerged, variations on the “What do we want? ______! When do we want it? NOW!” theme.  After about 10 minutes, one protester tried to move around a marshal who moved quickly to block and push back, saying “You guys have every right to be over there,” indicating the Grassy Knoll.  “But you don’t have the right…” was drowned out by the chanters.  The two marshals at the door seemed to have studied the good cop-bad cop routine; the older officer was quieter but firm, while the younger marshal was, shall we say, somewhat snippier.  The image of George Wallace standing in the schoolhouse door in the civil rights era popped into my head, as I wondered whether it was a fair analogy or just a conditioned response for someone of my generation seeing authority block a door.

Brian Terrell asking the Cedar Rapids police for help getting into the Federal Courthouse.

The protesters started to distinguish between the branches of law enforcement, noting that the Cedar Rapids police were still at the sidewalk.  “Whose cops are polite? Cedar Rapids cops are polite?” The cadence of this chant, however, was a bit awkward so it didn’t catch on.  Terrell appealed to the Cedar Rapids police for assistance: “These federal marshals are breaking the law by preventing is from exercising our rights.” One of the local police said, “It’s the chief of police’s call, not mine.”

After a half hour it appeared the initially predicted fast arrest wasn’t going to happen.  Unfortunately, the public door to the courthouse was on the sunny side of the building on a hot July day.  “It looks like we might have to wait a while,” Frank Cordaro told me, looking for one of the support people to round up some water.  Lara Elborno broke out a bullhorn to lead more chants, dancing in place as she did.  She then began reading the Bill of Rights.  “The marshals say Mona is assembling by herself,” said Brian Terrell, prompting a chant of “One person can’t assemble! One person can’t assemble!”

The guy in the suit isn’t necessarily a secret agent.

“They’re securing the building from Grassley’s constituents,” a man in a suit told me.  He’d been hanging near the edge of the crowd by the police, giving the impression that he was some sort of Secret Agent Man, but I did a double take as I realized it was Josh Casteel.  He’s an Iraq War vet who was one of the eleven who’d been sentenced that morning.  He wasn’t risking arrest Friday and still had the suit on from the court appearance.

Frank Cordaro

Cordaro called the Harkin group together.  “For this action to work, we’ve got to do both of them,” he said.  They collectively decided to move over to Harkin’s office at 3 p.m.  “Hey, you guys, how about if we start reading the 3,000 names,” Cordaro suggests, and one of the support people began reading the names of the troops who’ve died.

At the blocked door, Brian Terrell told me, “Nobody else has tried to come in yet.  We don’t intend to be intimidating people — it’s unfortunate that the police are creating this scene.” One of those police indicates the ambulance nearby.  “We’ve got the paramedics here, we don’t want anyone to overheat.”

“Is it air conditioned inside?” asked a protester.  The younger marshal enjoyed the question: “Oh, yeah.  It’s nice and cool inside.” As the arrest-riskers passed around sunscreen, I took a chance at seeing how the marshals would react to a citizen-journalist seeking access to the scene upstairs.  The younger marshal laughed: “A blogger?  Nice try, buddy.”  Brian Terrell tries to plead my case but the marshal has never heard of my news organization.

But within minutes, the tune changed.

Very suddenly, at 2:15, one of the arrest-riskers was let in. 
But the next was denied.  “We’re just controlling the bottleneck,” explained a marshal as the buzz quickly passed through the group: “Nyssa’s in, Megan’s in…” Susan Junis was asked to leave her water and octagonal protest stop sign outside. 
Once it became clear that everyone who wants in will be allowed in, half the group began to decamp for the three-block trek to the Harkin office.

After the entire arrest-risk group was in, I checked with a marshal on what does and doesn’t go into the building.  Cordaro offered to watch my laptop, phone, camera and wallet.  I returned to the door with my notepad, pen and driver’s license.

Several marshals stood at a metal detector and conveyor belt setup and I was asked to remove my belt.  It went on the conveyer belt with my pen and paper as my license was handed to another marshal.  He stared at it for a while then handed it back to me.  I followed the other protesters and press to the left and the stairs.

“People are taking turns, four at a time,” said Mona Shaw, sitting in a chair outside Grassley’s office.  Three law enforcement personnel stood next to a door bearing the sign

SMILE BEFORE ENTERING
WALK IN
SENATOR
CHAS. GRASSLEY

“We’re here to keep order in the building, that’s all,” said one officer.

“I was feeling sorry for that staffer,” said Shaw.  “It’s sad, we might disagree about this but we need to be able to talk about it.  I talked about my family, and my sister, but she was clearly afraid to be human.”

The hallway filled with chatter.  One of the marshals asked people to keep the volume down, but Josh Casteel’s request for the same seemed to be more effective.  “I’m hoping my appearance here will shorten the war,” said Lou Helwig, a retired psychologist.  “Typically, it takes a radical act to make change.” Nyssa Koons sat in the hallway, waiting her turn.  “My only interaction so far has been with the marshals.”  She expected to spend the night in jail, and then plead guilty to trespassing charges in the morning.

So why, after the standoff, did the marshals change their minds and let people in? “No idea,” said Wendy Barth.  “It was just a posture.” Brian Terrell suggested, “The cameras had something to do with it.”

“I told them I wasn’t going to leave until I saw the other people up here,” said Mona Shaw.  One person offers the suggestion that after the marshals heard the plan to move half the group to Harkin’s office, the crowd would be “more manageable.”

Francis-Clare Fischer and her husband, Richard, both of Bernard, Iowa, had been in the Grassley office and talked to the staffer.  “She took notes, and I prayed and offered to pray for the senator,” said Francis-Clare, a Plain Quaker.  “We are called to pound our swords into ploughshares, and I believe that as His child, the Senator would want peace.”

By 2:45, the people awaiting arrest and their supporters were setting in for the wait outside the office.

Tomorrow in Part 3, a look at the scene at Sen. Harkin’s office.

Elborno and 18 others had prepared for arrest as part of an “extra-legal lobbying” effort — otherwise known as a sit-in — at the Cedar Rapids offices of Iowa Sens. Chuck Grassley and Tom Harkin. But in the end, the only person who went to jail was not among the 19 who had expected to.

On Monday five peace activists go on trial in Des Moines for a February sit-in at Sen. Chuck Grassley’s Des Moines office.  The trial is expected to last three days.  Eleven activists conducted a simultaneous event at Grassley’s Cedar Rapids office.  On Friday, July 6, they were sentenced to fines for trespassing.  Some of the same activists responded by moving that very afternoon to re-occupy the Grassley Cedar Rapids office, and also to occupy Sen. Tom Harkin’s Cedar Rapids office.  This three-part series, running the three days of the Des Moines trial, looks at the drama, planning and logistics of such a civil disobedience event.A prolonged sit-in is a lot like a long airplane flight: hours of relative boredom punctuated by seconds of fear.  And sometimes, storms make you change your flight plan to reach your destination.

“Round two of the occupation project,” as facilitator Jeff Leys of Voices for Creative Nonviolence (VCNV) termed it, started with a 1 p.m. rallying of the troops at the Five Seasons monument in downtown Cedar Rapids. The statue is roughly halfway between the Grassley office in the Federal Courthouse and the Harkin office in the Wells-Fargo bank building.

Plan A was to simultaneously sit in at both offices beginning at 1:30 p.m. The official demand was to speak to the senators and ask them to pledge to immediately defund the Iraq war. Arlo Guthrie would have probably said “which wasn’t very likely, and we didn’t expect it,” but Brian Terrell chose to be optimistic. “We plan to be let in. If anyone blocks the doors it will be the police and marshals, not us.”

The backup plan — well, the main plan, really — was to stay in the offices until an answer was forthcoming. Then, at 5 p.m. when the office closed, they’d try to stay, and the choreography of arrest would likely follow.

The night before the protests, the people risking arrest and several supporters attended a training session at Iowa City’s Peace Center in the historic Old Brick church. Jeff Leys said that between Feb. 5 and April 17, the Occupation Project targeted 39 congressional offices, both Democratic and Republican in an effort of “extra-legal lobbying.” Some efforts were in unexpected places, Leys said: “We may have been the first civil disobedience in Fairbanks, Alaska, since statehood.”

Of the 39 targeted members, 14 switched from voting for the Iraq supplemental bill last year to voting against it this year. “We’re certainly not taking full credit,” said Leys, “but it was a factor.”

“I’ve been a practitioner of direct action since 1977,” said Frank Cordero of Des Moines, Iowa’s best-known civil disobedient. “Most of the times when I do direct action it’s not very practical or effective. It’s just laying the seed work, looking to break through some consciousness. But there’s a handful of times when civil disobedience can have an immediate impact — and this is one of those rare times.”

With Bush seeking another $145 billion to fund the Iraq and Afghanistan wars through September 2008, the Occupation Project campaign is gearing up  again. In most areas the project is beginning in August, but the Cedar Rapids event was timed to coincide with the Friday sentencing of 11 people who had occupied Grassley’s office in February.

“The important things won’t be discussed in Iowa without folks like us acting,” said Brian Terrell, one of those risking arrest. He’d been arrested in the February action at Grassley’s office. “They told me, ‘We don’t talk about policy issues in our field offices,’” he said. “It was more than cold; it was absolutely rude.” Terrell was scheduled to be sentenced for trespassing in that protest Friday morning and planned to mark the occasion by returning to Grassley’s office that afternoon.

Renee Espeland of Des Moines is active with the Iowa Peace Network and was also risking arrest. She read from VCNV’s statement of nonviolence.

We will act fairly and honestly with people regardless of the situation or the role they play. We will remain calm and aware at all times. We will prepare ourselves emotionally, mentally and spiritually before we act, and will recognize our opposition is to a system of violence and militarism, not to individual members of the system.

“Does anyone have any trouble with that?” asked Cordaro, getting a silent response. “We’re kind of serious about this.”

Leys led the group in role playing and said there is no hierarchy between those risking arrest vs. the support people. “It’s foolish to risk arrest without those people doing the solidarity work.” Support people not risking arrest were needed for many other roles: taking notes during the action, communicating with the office staff and police, bail money and rides from jail, news releases and photos, and “just taking care of each other during and after the action.”

Practicing getting arrested.

The role-playing time frame was dramatically compressed from the next day’s hours of waiting, and there were chuckles as people volunteered for various roles. The office staff roles were filled quickly, but there was a pause before anyone offered to play police. The pretend police were briefed and soon took to their roles
– not as dramatically as Milgram’s prison guards, but shouting, “Oh! My back!” as they dragged off protesters.

“‘Fascist’ is the dumbest thing to say to a cop,” critiqued Cordaro as soon as role-play was concluded, as one person had dropped that F-bomb. “That’s just an invitation for trouble, so I’m glad you said it now. That would have consequences for the other people involved.”

“These police are human beings with families,” said Gloria Williams of Iowa City. “They’re not the problem — they’re just an instrument of the system.”

“If there’s 10 cops there, more than likely seven of them are against the war,” said Goodner.

“Did you discuss going limp ahead of time?” asked Cordaro. “The most important thing is not to surprise each other. Also, they can add a resisting arrest charge if you do. When I started this, they didn’t do that, but that’s been legislated now.”

In an undertaking like an all-afternoon protest, flexibility is important. The protesters had received word that Grassley’s office was only going to allow one person at a time into the building, so Plan A was modified. Mona Shaw of Iowa City was designated as the first person to go up, “because no one else said they’d do it,” she said.

The other members of the Grassley group would then proceed to stand at the one public door to the Federal Courthouse and ask to be allowed up, and the Harkin group would stay as supporters. If other members of the public needed to get in, the protesters would politely ask them to go to the back of the line — in effect, blocking the door. “We’ll wait patiently, like it’s a line for movie tickets,” said Terrell. “We are not the obstruction — we are doing what we are supposed to be doing legally and morally.”

Nevertheless, the group expected arrests to quickly ensue. After the Grassley group was arrested, the Harkin group would then proceed to the Harkin office, where participants expected a warmer welcome.

The group risking arrest, at the rally before the sit-ins.

“We’re just as serious about Harkin,” said Brian Terrell, “but the people there are more benign and friendly. They’re not taking the hard line that Grassley and the Feds are.” He said there was a designated “free speech zone,” which the protesters quickly dubbed “the grassy knoll,” where the federal marshals wanted protesters to stay. Terrell found this unacceptable: “We have serious grievances to address with Senator Grassley, and we have a First Amendment right to go up to the office.”

The difference may have been political, or it may have been driven by the different locations of the offices. The Federal Courthouse houses several federal departments and has all the accompanying post-9/11 security. But the private Wells-Fargo bank building has no more security than a typical office building.

Shaw addressed the crowd holding a photo of Kampha Sourivong of Iowa City, who was killed in Iraq last September. Shaw, whose sister serves in the Navy, said, “People don’t recover from the broken hearts of war.”

David Goodner said he’d attended a town meeting that morning in West Branch and asked Grassley about ending the war and about impeaching President Bush and Vice President Cheney. Grassley told Goodner that he wanted to wait until Gen. Petraeus’ report in September before deciding what to do next on the war.

“They’re all set up,” said Goodner five minutes before zero hour, noting the paddy wagon, two police cars and ambulance across the street at the Federal Courthouse.

Rally emcee Wendy Barth pointed to the Iowa flag and noted the motto “Our Liberties We Prize And Our Rights We Will Maintain.” “That’s exactly what it means to be an Iowan.”

Tomorrow in Part 2: the scene at the Federal Courthouse, site of Grassley’s office.