The Fictional Four : An Eclipse Of Jurisprudence
by Rod Nibbe
For years the Ploughshares Four petitioned the government to reconsider, but they were ignored. They had enough, it was time for action. The sordid affair began when news that the government had scheduled the sale of Hawk jet fighters to Indonesia stretched the forbearance of the Ploughshares Four to the point of failure. Filled with righteous anger and acting on the principles of their Christian faith, they decided to use initiative force. But this was unfamiliar ground for these four ladies. They had no experience in sabotage.
So they set out to do their homework. They spent weeks studying the foe from the cover of tall grass surrounding the aircraft hangar. They investigated the serial numbers of the fighters destined for Indonesia. They researched books covering the experiences of other grass-roots insurrectionists. They talked for hours at night collaborating on a plan of attack. Kronlid, but especially Wilson, found the will to participate in the facade of courage displayed by Zelter and Needham. But gradually, like the approach of a distant storm on an otherwise clear day, the darkness of conspiracy pressed into their consciences as a daemon of doubt displaced conviction.
Still unsettled with the criminal stigma of the plan, 3 of the 4 rendezvoused one evening near the base of a cyclone fence rimmed with barbed wire: Needham, Kronlid and Wilson. Zelter did not accompany them, she remained behind for reasons still unknown. Collectively they felt strong huddled together at the base of the fence surrounding the hangar, more like Christian crusaders than lawless conspirators; and warmer, fighting off the chill of a January evening which suddenly seemed much colder. They whispered when reviewing the plan they had been over many times before. When their legs cramped after minutes spent on their haunches, Kronlid and Wilson kneeled. Needham leaned against a cloth sack half-filled with flashlights, crow bars, hammers, and other heavy tools. Their breath commingled and condensed as it rose above them in the frigid evening air, changing in color from gray to an eerie bluish-white when it was discovered by the beams of halogen security lights mounted outside the hangar.
They stopped talking. But just before beginning to climb the fence they paused for a moment and found the dead silence of the evening frightening. Each of them took one last moment to consider what they were about to do. Needham's conviction was strengthened by recalling the biblical story of Jesus when he was provoked to violent anger and threw the money-changers out of the temple. Kronlid pushed the interfering thoughts of fear and consequence from her mind by conjuring a psychological strength previously unknown to her. Wilson succumbed to her ambivalence and broke the silence.
"Look, we haven't done anything wrong yet. Maybe we should go back home and rethink this, or come back another night." Needham's head ratcheted in Wilson's direction, her face exhibiting a mixed expression of surprise and admonishment. She reached and grasped the sleeve of Wilson's coat. With a volume just above a whisper she reprimanded her.
"No. We have been thinking about it for over two years. If we don't act now, those fighter jets are on their way to Indonesia. And you know how they will be used." Kronlid studied Wilson's face waiting for her reaction, not sure her own conviction wouldn't collapse if they waited much longer.
Wilson's head had drooped in shame, her eyes fixed on the ground. Like a child egged on by her peers, she slowly raised it and said, "You're right, let's go."
Scaling the fence wasn't easy. The rounded toes of their athletic shoes had to be forced into the diamond shaped holes of the fence fabric. Needham climbed over the fence with relative ease. Kronlid followed but her effort was more clumsy. Needham turned and looked at Wilson.
"Now, throw the tools over," she instructed. On the second attempt the sack became entangled in rows of barbed wire. Wilson cringed in embarrassment.
"All right," Needham commanded impatiently, "just climb to the top, free the sack and let's go." Wilson struggled to the top of the fence, freed the sack, and it dropped to the ground. The clang was so loud Needham and Kronlid spun around, their eyes panning 360 degrees, certain they'd be discovered. Wilson squeezed through the hole created where the sack had deformed the barbed wire. Her coat hung on one of the barbs and ripped before she fell to the ground. No turning back now, they were criminals, and they all knew it. That moment of adversity weakened Wilson's resolve. Privately she struggled to remain strong, trying not to acquiesce to the voice of dissent sounding louder in her head.
They ran across the large field toward the hangar, sharing the burden of the tools by passing the sack back and forth. They felt the rush of adrenaline every criminal feels when embarking on an act that every instinct in their mind says is wrong. Yes, an instinct. Not a law that needs to be taught, not one created by legislators, but a natural law understood by every human being that initiative force used to destroy other's property is wrong.
As they approached the hangar they scrambled in the direction of an oversized door which appeared from their reconnaissance work to be their best chance for forcible entry. Needham rummaged through the sack to find the crow bar with which to break the locks and pry open the door. Kronlid and Wilson were tremulous. They scanned a 180 degree arc looking for any sign of being discovered. Minutes passed while Needham pounded, sawed and pried the lock on the door. All of them were terrified by the shrill noise of metal against metal, certain somebody must be able to hear it. Finally, after a period of time longer than they had planned on, Needham pushed the door open. A thick overcast of guilt swelled in their heads.
Immediately, their attention was focused on the fantastic dimension of a Hawk jet fighter. Momentarily forgetting their circumstance, they stared at it as if they were viewing a surrealistic display in a museum. The jet was magnificent and humbling. And it was real, no longer just an abstract chimera of terror that they had tried to create in the minds of their supporters over the years. Unquestionably it was a paragon of human ingenuity, human engineering, human perseverance and human value.
The hangar was dimly lit by dozens of red lights. All the overhead lights were off, but that was no problem, they had prepared to carry out the sabotage by flashlight. They dug through the sack for the flashlights, flicked them on and began shining the beams wildly around the hangar, no longer certain what they intended to find. The temporary state of fascination with the plane was replaced with fear, anxiety and shame.
"Over there ... those steps," Needham said, still whispering while pointing in the direction of a scaffold on casters used to maintain the fighters. "We can use that to get up high to break the windows on the cockpit." Wilson and Kronlid fixed on her in an instant of disbelief, as if hearing the plan of destruction for the first time. "Come on, " Needham said, "let's go."
Obediently the other two followed her lead. They shined their flashlights on the scaffold and hurried in its direction. They fumbled to unlock the caters and rolled the heavy contraption next to the fighter. Needham already had a crow bar in her hand as she ascended the steps, while Kronlid guided her with a beam from her flashlight and Wilson steadied the scaffold. At the top of the steps with very little hesitation, Needham turned her head away from the cockpit window, closed her eyes and swung the crow bar forcibly against the side window, shattering it. Then, surprised by her own accomplishment, she looked down at Kronlid and Wilson standing at the base of the scaffold. She searched their eyes for approval but found none. Instead she sensed the emotions of a coward; doubt, fear and shame.
...
Seated in a half circle with smiles on their faces the Ploughshares Four appeared in the London Times very meek and capable of unlimited tolerance -- almost like nuns, caught momentarily out of their habit. It is difficult to imagine them as saboteurs, clandestine, scaling a fence rimmed with barbed wire and breaking into an aircraft hanger to vandalize jet aircraft. Had I been present when Ms. Zelter exhorted the moral correctness of the Ploughshares Four's vigilante antics saying, "... [it] cannot be misinterpreted as only four women's legal crusade, but rather seen for what it really is - society's conscience," I would have cautioned her reckless personification of society, and reminded her that societies do not possess consciences, only individuals do. Absent that premise which was smuggled into the head of each juror, Ms. Zelter and her fellow crusaders would have had only their Christian morality with which to defense their action. And then maybe the scales of justice would have listed unfavorably for the Ploughshares Four.
This case created an uncomfortable contradiction with which the folks at BAe and elsewhere must struggle. It arose when four woman took the moral high ground to prevent the oppression -- and maybe murder -- of the peoples of East Timor, but in doing so committed the destruction of private property. Well, at least property which in no way belongs to the Ploughshares Four. Scratching their heads, the employees at BAe must wonder, "certainly we don't build Hawk fighters to be sold to murderous tyrants, but then neither can we excuse sabotage." In exculpating the action of the Ploughshares Four, the Liverpool Crown Court simply removed the contradiction by clearing the women of having caused any criminal damage. Indeed, the court concluded that reasonable force had been used to prevent a crime. Not too clever, and arguably a miscarriage of justice.
But perhaps what is more interesting is the equivocation evident in the Ploughshares Four's defense. They claim they were guided by their Christian morality when they used force to prevent a "greater crime" from occurring. Implicit in that defense is a line in the sand separating the rule of law and "God's law", making the entire matter one of conscience - the conscience of each woman in the Ploughshares Four. But fearing that morality alone would not be sufficient to compel a jury to exonerate them, these crusaders attempted to convince the court that they had the public's conscience as an ally in their defense, thus burdening each juror with the fear that a guilty verdict would not only be indictment of the crusader's action, but an indictment of all of society which thought the action right.
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