Pittsburgh Municipal Court

Courtroom 2 of Pittsburgh’s Municipal Court is a bit like Rick’s Café. A cross section of people enter to have their fate decided. They arrive early and bring whatever paperwork they think they’ll need. The lucky ones will be able to pay fines levied, make restitution or, if required, bail. And, like those who frequented the famous Casablanca café, the inhabitants of Courtroom 2 wait and wait and wait…

On March 4, I awoke earlier than usual and fought my way through rush hour traffic to arrive at the courthouse before 8 a.m. I was there to observe the hearings scheduled for several people arrested during the illegal encampment at the University of Pittsburgh last summer. Those slated to appear claimed they were peacefully protesting but were arrested for assaulting police officers and campus security.

The courtroom was mostly empty but began to fill as the hour approached 9 a.m. It was obvious that, like surgery, many people are told to arrive at the same time and then have to wait until their case is called. Most of the people charged for their actions on Pitt’s campus didn’t arrive at 8 a.m.; in fact, many didn’t arrive until well after 9 a.m. When they, and their supporters, entered the room they were easy to spot.

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On one side of the room was a group of people, largely of color, many appearing to be poor. Some required interpreters. Their faces spoke of the concern and anxiety created by the reality of the situation. They were worried about the outcome of their cases. For some, it might have meant the difference between going home that day or being taken to jail.

In hushed tones, overworked public defenders spoke to their assigned clients. They asked if they could afford to pay bail or fines, offering to make some phone calls to try to pull together the required money if needed.

One lawyer told a defendant that charges would be dropped if they could afford to pay $300. The defendant said they didn’t have it. Asked how long it would take to pay it off, they said, “Probably six months.” The lawyer said she would make some calls and see if she could find money to help cover the fine.

In a separate corner of the courtroom — but a world away — sat the activists from the anti-Israel encampment. They were white, most appearing to be affluent, and wearing keffiyehs and masks. They held books about protesting and typed on laptops. It looked like this was nothing more than cosplay for these actors pretending to be radicals.

They spoke in jovial tones, often loudly. At one point, a court employee asked them to keep their voices down. The words and phrases they used were the same as those spoken in any social justice graduate class — oppression and oppressor, systematic trauma, racism.

On the other side of the room, the one where the consequences were real, the language was different. Words like abuse, assault, rehabilitation and restitution were uttered, both when the defendants spoke to the court-appointed attorney they had just met and by the judge who was meting out justice.

One woman, a Black bus driver, recounted in tears an incident involving a defendant who didn’t show up for the hearing. She told the judge how he purposely undressed and sat down on the nearly empty bus before beginning to masturbate. The driver called the police and the man was arrested.

The encampment defendants didn’t raise an eyebrow or take note of the victim, or of any of those who appeared before the judge prior to their case being heard. They were too busy discussing the need to rage against the machine and tear down the systems of oppression.

The felony charges against the encampment defendants were withdrawn but the misdemeanor charges remain. PJC
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David Rullo is a senior staff writer for the Chronicle. He can be reached at drullo@pittsburghjewishchronicle.org.