American History Tellers - The 1968 Chicago Protests - I Regret Nothing | 3
Episode Date: February 6, 2019A special series with Legal Wars. The whole world was watching, and that’s exactly what the defendants wanted. As the end of 1969 approached, the Chicago 8 had become the Chicago 7. Bobby S...eale, a Black Panther, had been removed from the trial in a brutal spectacle by Judge Julius Hoffman. The remaining defendants would respond by turning the courtroom upside down, much to the delight of the national media. Counterculture celebrities Allen Ginsberg and Norman Mailer would take the stand. And in the end, it was the establishment that would be put on trial.Check out Legal Wars for more stories behind America’s most famous courtroom battles.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
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November 26th, 1969.
The Chicago 7 file into the courtroom. some squinting, some yawning.
It's been 63 days since the trial began. They really begrudge getting up this early,
especially to face trumped-up charges brought forth by Nixon's federal government.
Abbie Hoffman grins as he nears his favorite courthouse prop, the defense table.
There are two main tables here, of course, one for Abby's side and one for the government side.
They're not as far apart as you'd think. The prosecution's table is varnished and gleaming.
The defense's table isn't even really a table. It's four small Formica-topped desks shoved together,
like something you'd see in a study hall during finals week.
Abby catches the eye of his enemy, government attorney Thomas Foran.
Foran offers no more than a curt frown,
turns his attention back to important prosecutorial documents.
Foran, distracted, looks up.
Abby Hoffman stares straight back at him.
Hoffman, the communist, hippie, clown, scum, is smirking.
Smirking as he empties his pants and jacket pockets.
His six co-defendants do the same.
By the time they're done, their table is positively covered with debris.
Dog-eared paperbacks, a pair of boots, nutritional supplement bottles,
mail, newspapers, pens, pencils, Hershey wrappers, a copy of the latest Mad magazine.
Foran, seeing this, thinks these men clearly have no respect for this court, no respect for the law.
He would love to march over there right now and deck one of them flat.
But he restrains himself.
Someone has to maintain a sense of decency and decorum after all, right?
Besides, Hoffman can do all the smirking he likes.
When this trial is over, the world will see who got the last laugh.
Of course, at that moment, Abby Hoffman is thinking the very same thing.
He intends to win this trial and go free.
But while he's stuck in this fluorescent-lit hellscape he's nicknamed nicknamed the neon oven, he wants everyone to see the contrast.
The contrast between the Chicago 7 and the prosecutors persecuting an entire generation.
The stuff on the table isn't just random clutter.
It's personality.
It's resistance.
Primarily resistance to the man the bailiff is about to introduce.
All rise for the Honorable Judge Julius Hoffman.
Thomas Foran and his co-counsel Richard Schultz dutifully rise, along with everyone else in the courtroom.
Everyone else, that is, except the defendants.
Please rise.
They ignore him, arms folded.
Abby giggles at a crack from Jerry Rubin.
Lee Weiner, the quietest of the Chicago Seven, is literally reading.
He casually licks his finger and turns the page of Philip K. Dick's latest paperback.
Judge Hoffman barks,
Get all the defendants to rise. Mr. Hayden, will you please
rise? Hayden just shakes his head. He can sit here all day. Foran heard they might try a stunt like
this. Something about protesting the treatment of that black radical just got severed from the case.
What was Judge Hoffman supposed to do? The thug wouldn't shut up. Foran wishes he could have tied the gag around Bobby Seale's mouth himself.
The seven defendants surround their messy table, their expressions stoic.
They do believe that what happened to Bobby Seale was wrong.
They believe this whole trial is wrong.
They now sit in open defiance of their judge, and there's a lot more defiance
coming. Judge Julius Hoffman sits and smooths his black robe. He makes sure the stenographer is
paying extra close attention. Let the record show that none of the defendants has risen.
The judge glares at each of the seven in turn, his face reddening with anger.
They think they don't have to rise in the court of law?
They think they're too good to rise for him?
They want war?
Okay.
Judge Hoffman will give it to them.
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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham,
and this is American History Tellers,
our history, your story. This is our third and final episode in a special series on the trial of the Chicago Eight.
We're telling this story in collaboration with another Wondery podcast, Legal Wars.
Hill Harper, who hosts that show and who you heard at the beginning of this episode, will be taking us through the final stretch of the court case today.
Violence surrounding the 1968 Democratic National Convention
brought together eight anti-war activists.
They faced a trial that, in a sense,
put their whole generation on a national stage
and made them answer for all the controversies and provocations
of the 1960s anti-war counterculture.
The defendants responded in their own unique way,
deciding that the establishment would have to answer some questions too.
If they had to be interrogated on a world stage, then they'd put on a world-class performance.
The whole world was watching, and that's exactly how the defendants wanted it.
They wanted their revolution televised, for everyone to see the chaos in Chicago for themselves.
It was all there in living color.
Peaceful protests, violent police crackdowns.
The viewers at home could draw their own conclusions as to who was right and who was wrong.
Media interest in the protests and the protest leaders was great.
Their interest in the trial of the now Chicago 7 was even greater. And so the Chicago judicial system did
its best to limit what the public could see. Illinois' chief judge demanded that cameras be
limited to a single courtroom. After an ACLU challenge to this ruling failed, 100 lawyers
joined forces to petition to move the trial to a larger courtroom
so that there would be greater space for the press, spectators, and equipment, but these requests were
denied, and then denied again by the U.S. Court of Appeals. The whole world may have been watching,
but authorities sought to limit as much as possible what the world would see.
Ironically, these efforts just heightened media interest. Many in the press felt the trial
was a political referendum, a portrait of the American people. Nicholas Van Hoffman of the
Washington Post put it, No one here at the Great Conspiracy Trial thinks of its outcome in terms
of guilt or innocence. You are for the government or for the defendants. And the defendants were
certainly not silenced, inside the courtroom or out. Free
on bail, they spoke at colleges, held press conferences, sat for interviews. Vietnam was
far from over, and the perceived injustices of the Chicago 7 trial served to further invigorate
the anti-war movement and inflame the culture war that was tearing the country apart.
In the midst of this maelstrom, the defense decided on a bold strategy.
They would push the controversy even further.
After 79 days of trial and testimony,
the defense would make its case,
but they wouldn't rely on evidence, documents, or alibis.
Instead, they'd parade an all-star roster
of American counterculture celebrities,
many of whom are more famous than the defendants themselves,
and seek to put the establishment on trial.
On December 11th, renowned beat poet Allen Ginsberg takes the stand.
He spoke at a MoB rally two days into convention week on August 28, 1968.
This was at the Grant Park bandshell during a brief truce between demonstrators and cops,
the day of the Battle of Michigan Avenue.
He talks about conversations he had with the defendants around that time and emphasizes that Hoffman and Rubin were not there to initiate violence against the police.
Prosecutor Thomas Foran, however, is more interested in Ginsburg's personal life,
specifically his sexual orientation.
Ginsburg is openly gay, and the defense is not surprised
when Foran makes this the central issue of his cross-examination. After Ginsburg reads a homoerotic poem he wrote called Love Poem on Theme by Whitman,
Foran asks,
Would you explain the religious significance of the poem?
Ginsburg responds in part with this,
Walt Whitman is one of my spiritual teachers, and I am following him in this poem,
taking off from a line of his own and projecting my own actual unconscious feeling,
of which I don't have shame, sir, which I feel are basically charming, actually.
Judge Hoffman leans forward.
I didn't hear that last word.
Charming. I have no further questions.
Foran returns to the prosecution's table and says loud enough for several in the court to hear.
God, fag.
In the days to come, additional celebs take the stand in support of the Chicago 7.
Comedian Dick Gregory, LSD guru Timothy Leary.
And then two days before Christmas comes the day many have been waiting for. Abby Hoffman, the joke-loving, media-friendly yippee, leaves the defense table and takes the stand.
He and Rennie Davis will be the only defendants to do so.
Hoffman is unpredictable, which is obvious from the minute Leonard Weinglass begins to question him.
Will you please identify yourself for the record? My name is Abby. I'm an orphan of America. Where do you reside? I live in
the Woodstock Nation. Will you tell the court and jury where it is? Yes, it is a nation of alienated
young people. We carried around with us as a state of mind in the same way the Sioux Indians
carried the Sioux Nation around with them. It is a nation dedicated to cooperation versus
competition. It is the idea that people should have better means of exchange than property or
money, that there should be some other basis for human interaction. It is a nation dedicated to the event.
Judge Hoffman cuts Abby off,
insisting he answer the question more conventionally.
Abby declines to do so,
reiterating that his home, the Woodstock Nation,
is a state of mind.
They move on to what should be a far more straightforward question,
Abby Hoffman's age. When were you born? Psychologically, 1960. Objection.
Wineglass tries the question again. What is the actual date of your birth? November 30th, 1936. Between the date of your birth, November 30th, 1936,
and May 1st, 1960,
what if anything occurred in your life?
Nothing.
I believe it is called an American education.
The 1960s are officially over.
Two days into 1970,
Abby decides to make his ultimate point.
Could you explain to the jury and to the court what you understand by the term hippie myth?
The term myth refers to an attitude, a subjective historical view of what is going on in society.
It is a subjective reality, the alliance between what actually happened and
between thoughts and wonders and dreams about projections. He goes on to say that the events
in Chicago represent a kind of myth. If there was a conspiracy on the part of the government and
city officials, you see, to form violence, they would have to project that on someone else.
They would have to call the victims the conspiracy that fostered the violence.
On January 16, 1970, Abby gets backed up by Judy Collins.
Judy is a Grammy Award-winning folk singer, a talented writer and performer. She's
responsible for helping to launch the careers of artists like Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.
She didn't make it to the Chicago protests herself, but she's well aware of the yippie
philosophy. She was at the press conference on March 17th, 1968, when the Youth International Party publicly announced its formation.
Kunstler asks Judy who else was at the conference and she names some familiar names.
There were a number of people who were singers, entertainers.
Jerry Rubin was there.
Abby Hoffman was there.
Allen Ginsberg was there and sang a mantra.
Kunstler can't wait to see the look on the judge's face when he gets the answer to the
next question. Now, what did you do at that press conference?
On the witness stand, Judy Collins clears her throat and breaks into a song.
Where have all the flowers gone?
The judge interrupts.
Just a minute, young lady.
She keeps singing. Where have all the flowers gone?
Her singing is abruptly muffled by a hand.
Deputy Marshal John J. Gracious claps his hand over her mouth.
It's the second time the keepers of the peace in this courtroom have physically silenced someone.
First a black man, now a white woman.
Judge Hoffman informs Collins.
We don't allow any singing in this court.
I'm sorry.
William Kunstler wishes the performance would continue.
Collins has a very nice voice,
and a little beautiful singing goes a long way
in a hostile court with an ornery judge.
The song is also relevant,
as Kunstler jumps up to point out,
The song is not an entertainment, Your Honor.
This is a song of peace and what happens to young men and women during wartime. I forbid her from singing during
the trial. I will not permit singing in this courtroom. Kunstler can't help himself. 50 years
from now, they'll call this trolling. Why not, Your Honor? What's wrong about singing? Judy Collins
is permitted to continue, but only if she doesn't sing.
She recites the lyrics instead.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them, every one.
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The 1960s were years of powerful new ideas, artistic and social evolution, and sexual and chemical experimentation.
Like no time before, radicalism impacted mainstream politics and redefined the country.
But the roots of this change started at least a decade earlier in the 1950s with the Beat Generation.
The Beats were spearheaded by a group of artists and authors who advocated spiritual exploration,
experimentation with psychedelic drugs, the study of Eastern and Native American religions,
and through examination of the human condition.
Allen Ginsberg, a poet and philosopher, was a central figure in the Beat movement.
His signature work, Howl, opens with some of the most famous lines in all of
American literature. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving,
hysterical, naked. In Howl, Ginsburg referenced illicit drug use, explored themes of mental health
and madness, and graphically described gay sex. The content sparked outrage and intense debate
and landed the publishers of the
poem in court on obscenity charges in 1957. But literary experts testified in support of
Ginsburg's writing, and ultimately the judge found the poem was of redeeming social importance.
Ginsburg remained an icon as the Beat Generation of the 50s expanded beyond its San Francisco roots and
morphed into the counterculture of the 60s. Ginsburg, a pacifist, coined a phrase for the
active resistance to the current war, flower power. He was unapologetically against the Vietnam War,
a proponent of psychedelic drugs and a proud champion of gay rights. For the FBI, his advocacy
and his cultural influence were problems, and the
agency kept tight tabs on him. But Ginsburg was undaunted. He said of the Bureau,
Why did the FBI lay off the mafia and instead bust the alternative media, even putting me on a
dangerous subversive internal security list in 1965, the same year I was kicked out of Havana and Prague for talking and chanting back to the
communist police. The FBI defined Ginsburg as a potentially dangerous subversive with a propensity
for violence and antipathy toward good order and government. At the time he wound up in the
courtroom on behalf of the Chicago 7, Ginsburg had the clout, cultural credentials, and experience
to defend his generation and
define what it stood for.
Dick Gregory also took the stand during the trial.
Gregory was one of the first African-American comedians to perform for both black and white
audiences.
In 1961, he got his big break playing Chicago's famous Playboy Club, where he, like many
of the black comedians he'd directly inspire, didn't hesitate to take on the most sensitive
and serious of subjects. While Gregory was fighting for equality through jokes, activists
were challenging desegregation laws in the South. Many were beaten in cities like Birmingham and
Montgomery, Alabama. Four black students staged a sit-in at a Woolworths in Greensboro, North Carolina.
There were marches, riots, beatings, and bombings.
But even in the South, Gregory was able to win over crowds with humor.
Gregory's career took off, and he performed all over the country.
He broke ground on the Jack Parr Show, the first black comedian to sit on the
couch. But Gregory took the struggle for equal rights seriously, so seriously that he walked
away from adoring nightclub crowds so he could devote himself to social and political activism
full-time. Throughout the mid-60s, he spoke out on civil rights, went on hunger strikes to protest
the war in Vietnam, and took a bullet to the leg during the Watts riots. He even ran for mayor of Chicago in 1967. He lost to Richard Daley.
And then the following year, Gregory ran for president as a right-hand candidate for the
Freedom and Peace Party. Another celebrity called to testify in the trial of the Chicago Seven
was singer Judy Collins. Although all of the activists
in the Chicago trial were men, the movement had significant female leaders, and Collins was one
of the great folk artists, comparable to Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and Joan Baez, that joined
in the protests. She used her art not just to entertain, but to draw attention to radical
activists and the political causes they fought for.
Collins knew Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin well and was present for the debut of the Youth International Party, better known as the Yippies. Collins was also in Chicago in 1968 and sang
during the conventions. She backed women's and civil rights. She helped register African-American
voters in the South, and she tirelessly attended
rallies that demanded an end to the Vietnam War. In 1967, she told the New York Times,
the hippies and the young followers of the music are the ones who are extending themselves into
more understanding, because they understand that personal isolation is not the answer,
and that it's life that is groovy, not killing and war and hypocrisy in the double standard.
Drugs, and especially LSD, were also important to the counterculture.
The godfather of LSD was Timothy Leary, and he was also called as a witness.
Leary was a clinical psychologist at Harvard who grew frustrated with his own complacency,
describing himself as a middle-class liberal intellectual robot.
In the early 60s, he took a trip to Mexico and experimented with psychedelic mushrooms.
The experience convinced him that psilocybin, the mushroom's active ingredient,
could have a positive effect on people's mental health.
Back at Harvard, he did further research, enlisting his colleague Richard Alpert, who would later take the Hindu name Ram Dass. Leary and Alpert ran tests, giving the drug they developed to students
and inmates. Leary wrote that these tests revealed that spiritual ecstasy, religious revelation,
and union with God were now directly accessible. The authorities at Harvard, though, were less
than enthused. They fired Leary and Alpert when they found out the two had taken LSD with students.
Leary wound up at the Millbrook Mansion in Millbrook, New York,
and what started as a research facility quickly turned into a hippie hangout.
For most Americans, though, Leary was appalling.
They saw him as an irresponsible quack,
harming the youth by encouraging them to try psychedelics.
President Nixon called him the most dangerous man in America.
Another witness at the trial was Norman Mailer, who by 1968 was one of the most famous writers
in America. His novel from the previous year was titled Why Are We in Vietnam? and he consistently took on counterculture themes with a daring, experimental writing style.
Mailer was also a journalist, essayist, playwright, actor, and activist.
Back in 1955, Mailer co-founded The Village Voice,
a weekly newspaper distributed in Greenwich Village that focused on arts and politics.
He was distrustful of mainstream politics and unafraid to cause offense.
His most famous essay took aim at societal conformity
with its provocative title, The White Negro.
Mailer also participated in the October 1967 March on the Pentagon
and prior to that had covered the rise of JFK in the landmark essay,
Superman Comes to the Supermarket.
These singers, writers, psychologists, comedians, students, and activists of all stripes
made the counterculture what it was, a rejection of the establishment,
and for many, a path forward, a way of life worth defending inside and outside of the courtroom.
But perhaps for them, most of all, it was a call for hope.
Some of the top figures of the day appeared in Chicago during the trial.
And as the 1960s came to a close, a new decade was emerging.
In the first months of 1970, the Chicago 7 trial entered its final phase.
And many looked to its imminent outcome as a portent of the counterculture's survival in the years to come.
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February 10th, 1970.
After five long, combative months of searing testimony it's time for closing arguments
richard schultz systematically lists the transgressions of each defendant davis wanted
to use the violence to precipitate the national liberation front in the united states hayden
wanted to create the first steps towards the revolution dellinger said that he wanted to create the first steps towards the revolution. Dellinger said that he wanted to bring the U.S. military machine to a halt.
Rubin said the resulting violence will be such that the establishment will smash the city.
Hoffman wanted to smash this system by any means at his disposal.
Rubin said to about 200 people that the park belongs to the people.
Davis stated that there will be war in the streets until there's peace in Vietnam. Rubin said to about 200 people that the park belongs to the people.
Davis stated that there will be war in the streets until there's peace in Vietnam.
Schultz concludes, They wanted the riot to start a Vietnam in the United States.
They are guilty of coming here to incite a riot.
They came here and they incited a riot.
Leonard Weinglass replies in his closing argument.
I think Mr. Schultz has exhausted, utilized every shred and piece of evidence
that the government has been able to accumulate against these seven men
since they started their investigation.
He attacks the prosecution's witnesses.
Why only city officials?
Why only policemen, undercover agents, youth officers, and paid informers?
In all of this time, couldn't they find in this entire series of events that span more than a week,
one good, human, decent person to come in here to support the theory that Mr. Schultz has given you in the last day?
Then he sums up the last that Mr. Schultz has given you in the last day. Then he sums up the last 10 years.
If the 60s as a decade meant nothing more, the 60s in this country, historically and socially,
meant that Americans literally took to the streets, as Tom Hayden and Jerry Rubin said,
to protest their grievances. They took to the streets.
This is what Martin Luther King has done in Selma, Alabama.
And that is what has been done ever since.
Kunstler piggybacks on this, invoking George Washington, Gandhi, Harriet Tubman.
The judge admonishes him not to lecture on history.
But he persists and ultimately leaves the jury with this. Perhaps if you do what
is right, perhaps Allen Ginsberg will never have to write again as he did in Howe. I saw the best
minds of my generation destroyed by madness. Perhaps Judy Collins will never have to stand
in any courtroom again and say as she did, when will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
This is followed by a final closing argument
delivered by Thomas Foran for the prosecution.
The way they name-dropped, can you imagine?
They named Martin Luther King.
They named Reverend Jesse Jackson.
Can you imagine those men supporting these men?
Yes, I can. I can imagine it because it's true.
Remove those people, Mr. Marshall.
Dave Dellinger yells,
That's my daughter.
Dellinger's eldest daughter, Tasha, jumps in.
I won't listen to any more of these disgusting lies.
That's my daughter.
Thank you.
Right on. Right on.
Hey, don't hit my daughter that way. I saw you.
That man hit her on the head for saying the truth in here.
This is what Judge Hoffman has to say about that.
The marshals will maintain order.
This is how the trial of the Chicago 7 ends,
with a young woman being dragged out of the courtroom by federal marshals
as reporters scribble furiously and spectators gasp. The next day, Judge Hoffman delivers his charge to the
jury and they leave to deliberate. The defendants get ready to wait, but Judge Hoffman is just
getting started. Your average legal dictionary would probably describe contempt of court as
something like being rude, disrespectful
to the judge or other attorneys, or causing a disturbance in the courtroom, particularly after
being warned by the judge. It's hard to deny that throughout the arduous, agonizing, and unforgettable
trial of the Chicago 7, the defendants have shown their judge a lot of contempt. Judge Hoffman is
about to reveal the consequences for contempt of his court.
It's Valentine's Day, 1970.
But the judge is not likely to show the defendants much love.
Or mercy.
The constant murmurs and snickering emanating from the defense table were not captured on the printed page.
They have openly challenged and flaunted their contempt for both this court
and for the system of law
it represents.
Contempt?
Defense lawyer
William Kunstler jumps in.
Your Honor,
I have a legal argument
on the power of the court
after trial.
Summary contempt
is only a method
of preventing disturbance
during trial.
But after a trial,
a man is entitled
to a jury trial.
Furthermore, Rule 42B of the U.S. Criminal Code says if the contempt charge involves
disrespect to or criticism of a judge, that judge is disqualified from presiding at the
trial or hearing except with the defendant's consent.
Kunstler is voicing something that is on everyone's mind Everyone who knows their way around a court case anyway
Judges never wait until after the trial is over
And the jury has begun deliberating to issue contempt sentences
For defendants who haven't even been found guilty yet
He's probably not even supposed to be handing out these sentences
It's a conflict of interest
Judge Hoffman doesn't care that the jury hasn't reached a verdict supposed to be handing out these sentences. It's a conflict of interest.
Judge Hoffman doesn't care that the jury hasn't reached a verdict.
And he doesn't care that William Kunstler
doesn't think he should be the one
to issue the contempt sentences.
Kunstler's turn will come.
The judge shrugs.
He starts with Dellinger.
Mr. Dellinger, do you care to say anything?
Only in respect to punishment, I will hear you.
Dave Dellinger is no stranger to living behind bars.
This is the price of refusing to be a soldier when your country tells you to be a soldier.
The 54-year-old pacifist's gaze is unwavering as he stares down the man who is about to send him away.
You want us to be like good Germans,
supporting the evils of our decade,
and then when we refused to be good Germans
and came to Chicago and demonstrated,
despite the threats and intimidations of the establishment,
now you want us to be like good Jews,
going quietly and politely to the concentration camps
while you
and this court suppress freedom and truth. And the fact is that I am not prepared to do that.
You want us to stay in our place like black people were supposed to stay in their place.
Mr. Marshall, I will ask you to have Mr. Dellinger sit down. Like poor people were supposed to stay
in their place. Like people without formal education are supposed to stay in their place.
Like women are supposed to stay in their place.
I will ask you to sit down.
Like children are supposed to stay in their place.
Like lawyers, for whom I thank, I thank you, are supposed to stay in their places.
People no longer will be quiet.
People are going to speak up.
I am an old man and I am just speaking feebly and not too well.
But I reflect the spirit that will echo.
Dellinger continues on. The cheers from the crowd of over 100 people gets louder.
Dellinger's daughters, Michelle and Tasha, are in the crowd again and he sees the marshals go after them for the second time in two days.
Michelle, 13, is punched.
Leave my daughters alone! Leave my daughters alone!
Spectators brawl with the marshals who beat Dellinger's daughters and drag his oldest,
Tasha, towards the exit. William Kunstler can handle no more and does something he hasn't done
publicly since childhood. He breaks down and sobs, crying. My life has come to nothing. I am not anything anymore.
You destroyed me and everybody else. Put me in jail now, for God's sakes, and get me out of this place.
The room does not quiet, but Judge Hoffman moves ahead. Dave Dellinger, 32 counts of contempt, punished by two years, five months,
and 16 days in jail. Rennie Davis, two years, five months, and two weeks. One year, two months,
and two weeks for Tom Hayden. Abby Hoffman, eight months. Jerry Rubin, two years, one month, 23 days. John Froines, five months and 15 days.
Even Lee Weiner, who spent most of the trial sitting in his chair going over I Ching and communicating with his girlfriend in sign language, gets two months and 18 days.
And then comes the kicker.
Throughout the trial, Judge Hoffman made a point to say Wineglass's name wrong.
Now, Mr. Weiners, Mr. Weinstein, come again, Mr. Weinberg, Feinstein, Weinbrock, Weinrammer, Mr. Feinglass, is it?
Today, he suddenly has no problem at all remembering the defense attorney's last name.
Now we come to the matter of Leonard Wineglass.
The judge hands him just shy of two years in jail and 14 counts of contempt. Then he sentences William Kunstler to four years and 13 days. Kunstler has
this to say. I am not ashamed of my conduct in this court for which I'm about to be punished,
but to those lawyers who may, in learning of what
happened to me, waver, I can only say this. Stand firm. Remain true to those ideals of the law,
which even if openly violated here and in other places, are true and glorious goals.
And above all, never desert those principles of equality, justice, and freedom,
without which life has as little, if any, meaning.
Your Honor, the jury has reached a verdict. It is February 18th, 1970.
The fact that there's a verdict at all is a disaster for the Chicago 7.
They're hoping for at least one out of the 12 to insist on not guilty, which would mean a hung jury.
Prior to the reading of the verdict, Prosecutor Richard Schultz requests that the court be cleared of all spectators except the press.
Kunstler argues that this is the ultimate indignity, unfair and mean-spirited,
for the defendants to hear the verdicts without the supporting presence of their family and friends.
Judge Hoffman sides with the prosecution. The journalists can remain. Everyone else in the audience must go.
The Chicago 7 are alone. The verdicts are read.
Defendants Lee Weiner and John Froines are found not guilty on all charges.
The defense is pleased with this, but not with what comes next.
Defendants Abby Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Tom Hayden, Dave Dellinger, and Rennie Davis are found guilty of crossing state lines to incite a riot.
Conviction carries for the five. Five years in prison each, in addition to a $5,000 fine.
When you add this sentence to the punishments for contempt, the majority of the Chicago 7 are now officially
condemned to spend almost a decade behind bars. Over the next two days, the defendants are
permitted to speak to the court in response to the verdicts and sentencing. Jerry Rubin, his eyes alive with clarity, conviction, and moral fury,
focuses on the judge. He's speaking to him and to generations to come. You are not jailing five
individuals. You are jailing a historical movement. We are symbols. You can just read the paper and
see what is happening. Julius Hoffman, you have done more
to destroy the court system in this country than any of us could have done. All we did was go to
Chicago, and the police system exposed itself as totalitarian. This is the happiest moment of my
life. The seven leave the courtroom and greet the media, friends, and family.
It's cold, but the weather is perfect.
After 150 hard-fought days, the trial is over.
It's February 20th, 1970.
Each defendant ponders what's next.
They're now free on bond, and the appeals process commences. Just over two years later, all convictions against the Chicago defendants, including those for contempt, are overturned.
They never go to jail. Why?
To the appeals court, it's obvious.
Judge Julius Hoffman displayed clear bias against the defense.
Also, the judge was found to have improperly pressured the jury to reach a verdict when they told him they were deadlocked.
So where did the Chicago 8 go next?
Rennie Davis later in life became a venture capitalist, promoting idiosyncratic inventions such as
future glass and the clean air tool. Jerry Rubin also became a venture capitalist. He worked on
Wall Street and promoted health foods and energy drinks. He died tragically in 1994, struck by a
car while crossing Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. He was 56. Dave Dellinger stayed the course of anti-war activism for the rest of
his life. He died in 2004 at the age of 88. Bobby Seale ran for mayor of Oakland in 1973 and lost,
but got 40% of the vote. Today, he actively maintains a Twitter account and lectures on
the history of the Black Panther Party. John Foynes and Lee Weiner maintained careers in academia
and held scientific positions in government.
Leonard Weinglass and William Kunstler
had incredibly successful legal careers as radical lawyers.
Kunstler published a memoir in 1994
and died the following year at the age of 76.
Weinglass died in 2011 at 77.
A few years after the Chicago trial,
Tom Hayden married the actress Jane Fonda.
Then he entered politics,
becoming a member of the California Senate.
He stayed engaged in social justice battles
until he died in 2016 at the age of 76.
Abbie Hoffman saw the movement he began
start to crumble as the 70s continued
and found it difficult to cope.
In 1989, he took his own life,
but he never gave up his belief in what he'd fought for.
Just a week before, in what he'd planned as his last public appearance,
Abbie Hoffman said this,
We were young, we were reckless, arrogant, silly, headstrong,
and we were right. I regret nothing.
At the time the convictions were overturned, November 21, 1972, tense negotiations were underway to end the war in Vietnam.
Two months later, on January 23, 1973, President Nixon announced that a peace accord would end the war and bring peace with honor.
U.S. troops could return home at last, but celebration was muted. Vietnam claimed nearly 60,000 American lives,
and the war would be regarded as a dark, costly, and tragic chapter in world history.
And even with U.S. forces officially gone,
the war in Vietnam would continue to rage for two more years.
For the U.S., the political disaster of Vietnam appeared to be over.
But for Nixon, the trouble was just beginning.
Months earlier, five men had been arrested for breaking into the DNC headquarters
at the Watergate complex in Washington, D.C.
This would prove to be one of the most consequential events in the history of the United States.
Watergate exposed a criminal conspiracy of staggering scope.
On August 9, 1974, Nixon became the first and only president to resign.
The 70s saw the end of the war, Nixon's political career,
and the gradual dissipation of the 60s counterculture.
But new challenges lay ahead, and new battlefields emerged
to be faced by a new generation.
I hope you enjoyed this series. If you want to hear more, search for Legal Wars, where you can
listen to an exclusive interview with John Froines, one of the Chicago Eight. He shares his memories
of the protests, the trial, and his fellow defendants, Abby Hoffman, Tom Hayden, and Bobby Seale. I saw a reporter being beaten with a nightstick by a Chicago policeman,
and I felt at that moment that we had won the battle.
Subscribe to American History Tellers and Legal Wars now.
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American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship.
Sound design by Spoke and Derek Behrens.
This episode was co-hosted by Hill Harper.
Our writer is Hannibal Diaz.
Our legal consultant is Katie Burghardt Kramer.
And our researchers are Caitlin Crammond and Dan Wallace.
Editors are Casey Miner and Dorian Marina.
This episode was produced by Stephanie Jens, George Lavender, Jenny Lauer Beckman, and Dan Wallace. Editors are Casey Miner and Dorian Marina. This episode was produced by
Stephanie Jens, George Lavender, Jenny Lauer Beckman, and Katie Long. Our executive producers
are Marsha Louis and Hernan Lopez for Wondery. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neuro-linguistic programming.
Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands.
Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers,
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We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation,
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