Arel finished her report before I got mine done. Keith
Subject: Mrs. & Mr. Spratt
They look like a role-reversed Jack Spratt and his wife--white-haired, bearded Rosen, with his (no doubt expensive) dark-blue jacket pulling at his middle, and the green-jowled Kobrin beside him in what looks to me like a new light-colored suit and close to the same color of low-heeled pumps. Kobrin's makeup is not sufficient to hide her gaunt features, hollow cheeks and the greenish color creeping up her jaw. They sit with Rosen's right arm splayed out as if protectively behind Kobrin on the bench, although she is a good foot away from him. At one point, listening to the attorneys in the only previous case this morning drone on about an insurance claim, Rosen begins to tap his fingers on the back of the bench.
Why the impatience, Rosen, you're getting your $490 an hour, aren't you? Or has the hourly rate risen above your weight?
They are in the front row on the right side of the courtroom. I think they see me come in, especially since I talk with the bailiff on duty in the hall wanting to know my business in the court, but they never look at me while I am looking in their direction. Of course I sit on the other side of the nearly empty courtroom, toward the back. I am wearing my two crossed roses, the white one for the White Rose (Die Weisse Rose) of Germany, the dissenters to Nazi injustice and Hitler's mania, and the red rose for my love of my husband, my affection for the former scientologists and other critics I know, and my caring and sadness for the slaves kept on "staff" and out of contact at the paramilitary compound at Gilman Hot Springs and everywhere else they have their jails and their keeps.
I get there just in time to settle in a bit before Whyte is ushered in with an "All rise!", a cry with which I have become exceedingly familiar in the past 5 years.
Two people apparently connected with the 9 am hearing are seated in the jury area, taking copious notes on yellow legal pads, a man and a dark-haired woman. The attorneys, a man on my right, and a woman on the left, stand and address Whyte, and he interacts with them by asking questions. As time went on, Rosen becomes increasingly restless, shifting position, and, as it appears Whyte is attempting to wrap things up on the previous case, gathers up his accordion file and binder and starts to get up. The attorney from the previous case joins the two in the jury box. Now the spectators' benches are deserted except for me. By his sheer volume, Rosen dominates the courtroom.
Compared to Rosen, Judge Whyte is an exceedingly slight man. His face looks as if someone had taken hold of both sides and pressed to elongate his head while narrowing the face. His robes are too big for him. He is master of the courtroom only by the force of his legal authority. There is no bailiff in the courtroom. There are two clerks, a calendar clerk to Whyte's left and the clerk of court on his right. As soon as Rosen and Kobrin approach, Kobrin seats herself at the table while Rosen, who never sits when he can stand and tower his more than 6 feet in height over anyone handy, goes to the podium.
The clerk to Whyte's right immediate starts dialing the phone. I watch this proceeding carefully, reading the expressions on her face. Whyte starts to explain to Rosen that he is allowing Henson to appear by phone. Rosen explodes immediately into "Had I known, Your Honor, I would have objected . . . ." As the clerk continues to work the phone, Whyte says, "I know you would, Mr. Rosen," but Rosen rants on about how the only reason Henson isn't there is that he is a fugitive from justice, blah, blah.
I'm trying to take notes while still watching the clerk. Finally I give up with the notes, turn my cell phone back on, and, just as I'm moving over on the bench so I can try to get the clerk's attention, the phone rings. It's Keith. I worry about answering it in the courtroom, but of course my phone says it's the very person the clerk is trying to reach. I get up, move toward the bar separating the spectators from the area reserved for lawyers and clients, and motion to the clerk, pointing to the phone. Whyte interrupts Rosen's flaming oratory to ask who I am. I say I'm Henson's wife, "Excuse me, Your Honor." I ask whether they will call him or he should call them. They say for Henson to call. I ask for the number. In the meantime I've hung up. I can't hear the clerk's voice over Rosen's continued objections, so I move as close as I can and use the bar to write down the number. Then I ask if it's all right if I phone him inside the courtroom. She indicates yes. I call Keith back and give him the number. I tell him that Rosen was just objecting to his appearance by phone, just so he'll know what's going on.
My notes say that Rosen goes on not only about how Henson had been convicted and that "additional criminal charges are pending in Riverside" (failure to appear), but that he has appeared on "IRC--a criinal acronym of some sort." He claims that there is only one basis on which Henson is not appearing, that he is a "fugitive." He goes on about how he had attempted to draw the Court's attention to this. Blah, blah. I consider the proximity of the heavy-looking chrome water carafe on the table behind Rosen to his head. But of course I will do no violence except in the parallel universe of my mind.
I am trying to take notes on Rosen's illogical and insane frothing at the mouth: "bad faith," "motion to withdraw the reference." There is some discussion about how something had been assigned to another judge, Judge Ware, and how they need to get that piece reassigned to Whyte. At this point all are speaking into little half-cigar-shaped grey padded microphones growing on malleable wire out of each speaking area--the judge into his, Rosen into his, and the clerk into hers. Keith's voice can clearly be heard in the courtroom.
Every time Keith speaks, Rosen does his little histroinic mugging that he always does to whatever audience will even look at him. In this nearly empty courtroom, his head turns to the left toward the 3 people now sitting in the jury box. He has evidently tried the clerk, who does not respond to him, and he dares not make faces at the judge. I know what this looks like from the other side of Rosen because I have spent many, many hours of being called a liar, a fool, a cheat, and the wife of a criminal in deposition by Rosen. He is a bad actor trying to register surprise, bewilderment, shock, amusement, by turns.
As Whyte speaks about the assignment to Judge Ware, Kobrin gets up from the table and comes over to whisper to Rosen. I can't hear what they are saying. This is also a familiar ploy. She coaches everyone they employ. Apparently she has the party line memorized and must impart it to the troops. Rosen listens and nods, as he always does when OSA speaks.
Whyte says he thinks that the case merits an evidentiary hearing, and that Henson cannot participate by phone at this coming hearing. There is some conversation about dates. Whyte attempts to pry out of Rosen what it is they want. Rosen says they "seek a course of incarceration." Whyte seems unable to understand this, just as he keeps asking Keith why he enjoys "tweaking the scientologists." He asks what they hope to accomplish by having Keith jailed. Is Henson still posting NOTs? Rosen goes into another rant--on the 26th of July, blah blah. Keith laughs involuntarily again, and I'm trying to hide a snicker. Right. RTC owns NOTs 56, even if there is no such thing. Rosen makes a show of bewilderment about not having been sent "Exhibit A" of Keith's parody that he ran through the travesty engine. He pretends that it needs to be compared with RTC's nonexistent document.
At Keith's laugh, the judge says that annoying scientology "must satisfy some need you have." I am wishing that Keith would make it plain that he cannot appear because he is under threat of death from this criminal syndicate, them and their Mafia lawyer and the scientology members who are attorneys, such as Rosen & Kobrin.
Whyte says that he considers it possible that Henson has "totally made up a NOTs 56 that is not one of your [RTC's] docuements." While the judge is speaking with Henson, Kobrin is whispering to Rosen again. Eels in his ear. Beelzebub talking with a minion.
Rosen reiterates that "yes there is a real NOTs 56."
The "evidentiary hearing" is set for Friday the 13th. Of September, at 2 pm. I have noticed throughout the procedure that the clerk smiles and suppresses laughter out of Rosen's view.
At one point, Keith objects that he can't hear what Rosen is saying. Rosen says, "I lost the microphone." I guess he is so used to lying that he cannot speak the truth. It's quite impossible to "lose" a microphone growing out of the podium over which he is spreading like poison oak. He was just not speaking into it.
As they leave, after Whyte has been ushered out, Kobrin goes to the calendar clerk to leave her card. Not Rosen's, hers. Rosen has reached the door already and waits, holding it open. I am ready to leave, but I am not about to go through the door with Rosen holding it. Could be another death sentence. I wait, turning my phone back on, until Kobrin goes past me, and the door has closed. Anyway, the clerk is talking to me, wanting to know my name and how to spell it. By the time I reach the bailiff's desk in the center of the hallway overlooking the elevators, I hear Rosen's voice booming out, "piece of cake." I say to the bailiff, who is looking at me, "Excuse me, I have to write that down."
And I am thinking to myself, yeah, Rosen, and I hope you eat one and gain another hundred pounds. Right before the heart attack and stroke.
I'm considering an amicus curiae brief. Your Honor, Mr. Henson will be killed if he re-enters the United States. They have made 5 attempts on his life and we are waiting for the 6th. Do you wish to provide the opportunity for the 6th? There is such a thing as a live internet feed that could be set up, you know, and that would permit the "cross-examination" you desire.
But you want this evil out of your courtroom any which way you can, as soon as possible. When Keith suggested a January date, you said you couldn't "wait that long.". Sorry, judge, you're stuck with it. $-ology will use and abuse you as long as you do not throw them out. You and every other judge and justice and law-enforcement personnel who does not see through them. Oh, I am so looking forward to getting out of this occupied state, this occupied country, the country of scientology. There is no justice here.
not to know is bad. not to want to know is worse.
not to hope is unthinkable. not to care is unforgivable.
-nigerian saying (Thanks to Steve Tobin and "Food Not Bombs")
Music is continuous. It is only we who turn away.--John Cage