Many times during previous trials I had heard the District Attorney for the government shake his finger at Miss Paul and say, “We’ll get you yet . . . . Just wait; and when we do, we’ll give you a year!”
It was reported from very authentic sources that Attorney General Gregory had, earlier in the agitation, seriously considered arresting Miss Paul for the Administration, on the charge of conspiracy to break the law. We were told this plan was abandoned because, as one of the Attorney General’s staff put it, “No jury would convict her.”
However, here she was in their hands, in the courtroom.
Proceedings opened with the customary formality. The eleven prisoners sat silently at the bar, reading their morning papers, or a book, or enjoying a moment of luxurious idleness, oblivious of the comical movements of a perturbed court. Nothing in the world so baffles the pompous dignity of a court as non-resistant defendants. The judge cleared his throat and the attendants made meaningless gestures.
“Will the prisoners stand up and be sworn?”
They will not.
“Will they question witnesses?”
They will not.
“Will they speak in their own behalf ?”
The slender, quiet-voiced Quaker girl arose from her seat. The crowded courtroom pressed forward breathlessly. She said calmly and with unconcern: “We do not wish to make any plea before this court. We do not consider ourselves subject to this court, since as an unenfranchised class we have nothing to do with the making of the laws which have put us in this position.”