The attack on Capitol Hill reminded Liane Arno of the day she found herself in court, transformed from witness to accused By Liane Arno
LIKE many of us, I looked on in horror as the US Capitol was invaded. Scenes of people carrying guns, looking like something out of Mad Max (or worse, in op shop fatigues) screaming out to kill whilst the legislators hid under desks had me glued to the screen.
It made me think back to the last time I was in a place of law in Australia. I was there to provide a character reference for a fellow we had befriended. I rarely carry a bag – but on this occasion I brought along my laptop so I could continue to work whilst waiting for the court appearance. My friend went through the metal detector first. Being so tall he almost skimmed the lintel. Giving my bag to the burly security man, my 5’3” (1.6m) self followed closely behind.
LIKE many of us, I looked on in horror as the US Capitol was invaded. Scenes of people carrying guns, looking like something out of Mad Max (or worse, in op shop fatigues) screaming out to kill whilst the legislators hid under desks had me glued to the screen.
It made me think back to the last time I was in a place of law in Australia. I was there to provide a character reference for a fellow we had befriended. I rarely carry a bag – but on this occasion I brought along my laptop so I could continue to work whilst waiting for the court appearance. My friend went through the metal detector first. Being so tall he almost skimmed the lintel. Giving my bag to the burly security man, my 5’3” (1.6m) self followed closely behind.
As I went to collect my bag, a second security man asked me if it was my bag. I said it was and went to take it. “We found a weapon in your bag so I need to ask you to come this way.”
Thoughts of planted weapons of mass destruction went through my head. I couldn’t imagine what I had in my bag. Having been in the airline industry for many years I knew there were no dangerous knitting needles ready to hurl at a magistrate, with or without wool, nor any sharpened nail files to stab the prosecutor when I got near.
The security man shook emptied the bag on the table for everyone to see. There in the midst of my laptop, reading glasses and hanky was the offending article – a key ring. But no ordinary keyring – it had a concealed half inch blade in it for opening letters.
“Oh – I had no idea it was there!” They must have thought I was protesting my innocence too quickly, but really I had only got the key ring the day before from some Christian evangelists who were promoting their church at the 3mfm Market Day in Inverloch. I hadn’t even realised it doubled as a letter opener. “Here – give it back to me and I’ll put it in my car.”
“I can’t allow you to do that – you’ve brought a weapon into the court,” was the reply. “I’ve asked the police to join us.”
I felt a presence looming over me. It turned out not to be the police but a heavily tattooed fellow at least a foot taller than me wearing bikie colours complete with a tattoo on his neck with “Cut here” emblazoned on it to provide assistance to any of the rival gang if they were inclined to dismember him. Speaking from a mouth with several studs through it which matched the ones through his eyebrow he said, “Don’t worry love – it’s only a tiddler. Only if it is 6 inches long do they worry about it.” This statement, however, was not echoed by the security fellow and I was asked to take a seat and the police would see me.
So feeling a little like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant when he went to sit on the Group W bench – “There was all kinds of mean nasty, ugly lookin' people/ On the bench there/ Mother rapers/ Father stabbers/ Father rapers!/ Father rapers/ Sittin' right there on the bench next to me! – I waited for the police.
I propped my laptop on my knees and I started to try and do some work while I awaited my fate. By this stage I was more worried about me than I was about my friend.
It wasn’t long before there was a hush in the waiting area and two policemen came straight up to me. Funny how they were able to tell it was me that was the perpetrator. “Come with us,” said the young male constable. I gave my friend a reassuring smile that I would be back to provide a character reference for him, wondering if I might end up in court myself. My bikie friend gave me a wink and a thumbs up.
I was taken to a room at the back of the court house. The young constable looked very serious as he asked me to identify the weapon and its purpose and what I had intended to do with it. The older (I must tell you – female) constable tried to look serious with little success as we all looked down at the half inch letter opener. I had no choice but to admit my crime. After telling me how serious the matter was and how he would need to speak with his sergeant to determine what would happen to me, the young constable strutted out of the room taking his partner with him and closing the door firmly behind them. I didn’t dare get up to see if they had locked me in.
It seemed an age before they were back which allowed all sorts of thoughts to race through my head. Eventually the female constable returned and told me they had confiscated the weapon but I was free to go. Hugging constables was probably also deemed an offence so I simply thanked her – and went back to the Group W bench and to the sage nod of my bikie friend.
And if you are wondering – our friend’s case got adjourned because the constable who had charged him could not be contacted by the prosecutor to amend the charge. Perhaps the constable was out chasing serious offenders like me.
So – back to the Capitol. Five people died and the condemnation of the now ex-president is extraordinary. The shock of having the building invaded by armed civilians seems more important than the 425,000 lives already lost in the US to COVID-19. It seems that the symbolism of taking weapons into a place of legislature is more heinous than other crimes. Go figure!
Thoughts of planted weapons of mass destruction went through my head. I couldn’t imagine what I had in my bag. Having been in the airline industry for many years I knew there were no dangerous knitting needles ready to hurl at a magistrate, with or without wool, nor any sharpened nail files to stab the prosecutor when I got near.
The security man shook emptied the bag on the table for everyone to see. There in the midst of my laptop, reading glasses and hanky was the offending article – a key ring. But no ordinary keyring – it had a concealed half inch blade in it for opening letters.
“Oh – I had no idea it was there!” They must have thought I was protesting my innocence too quickly, but really I had only got the key ring the day before from some Christian evangelists who were promoting their church at the 3mfm Market Day in Inverloch. I hadn’t even realised it doubled as a letter opener. “Here – give it back to me and I’ll put it in my car.”
“I can’t allow you to do that – you’ve brought a weapon into the court,” was the reply. “I’ve asked the police to join us.”
I felt a presence looming over me. It turned out not to be the police but a heavily tattooed fellow at least a foot taller than me wearing bikie colours complete with a tattoo on his neck with “Cut here” emblazoned on it to provide assistance to any of the rival gang if they were inclined to dismember him. Speaking from a mouth with several studs through it which matched the ones through his eyebrow he said, “Don’t worry love – it’s only a tiddler. Only if it is 6 inches long do they worry about it.” This statement, however, was not echoed by the security fellow and I was asked to take a seat and the police would see me.
So feeling a little like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant when he went to sit on the Group W bench – “There was all kinds of mean nasty, ugly lookin' people/ On the bench there/ Mother rapers/ Father stabbers/ Father rapers!/ Father rapers/ Sittin' right there on the bench next to me! – I waited for the police.
I propped my laptop on my knees and I started to try and do some work while I awaited my fate. By this stage I was more worried about me than I was about my friend.
It wasn’t long before there was a hush in the waiting area and two policemen came straight up to me. Funny how they were able to tell it was me that was the perpetrator. “Come with us,” said the young male constable. I gave my friend a reassuring smile that I would be back to provide a character reference for him, wondering if I might end up in court myself. My bikie friend gave me a wink and a thumbs up.
I was taken to a room at the back of the court house. The young constable looked very serious as he asked me to identify the weapon and its purpose and what I had intended to do with it. The older (I must tell you – female) constable tried to look serious with little success as we all looked down at the half inch letter opener. I had no choice but to admit my crime. After telling me how serious the matter was and how he would need to speak with his sergeant to determine what would happen to me, the young constable strutted out of the room taking his partner with him and closing the door firmly behind them. I didn’t dare get up to see if they had locked me in.
It seemed an age before they were back which allowed all sorts of thoughts to race through my head. Eventually the female constable returned and told me they had confiscated the weapon but I was free to go. Hugging constables was probably also deemed an offence so I simply thanked her – and went back to the Group W bench and to the sage nod of my bikie friend.
And if you are wondering – our friend’s case got adjourned because the constable who had charged him could not be contacted by the prosecutor to amend the charge. Perhaps the constable was out chasing serious offenders like me.
So – back to the Capitol. Five people died and the condemnation of the now ex-president is extraordinary. The shock of having the building invaded by armed civilians seems more important than the 425,000 lives already lost in the US to COVID-19. It seems that the symbolism of taking weapons into a place of legislature is more heinous than other crimes. Go figure!