Rodney Barker - Dancing with the Devil - Sex, Espionage and the U.S. Marines - The Clayton Lonetree Story

After requesting trial by officers and not enlisteds, Lonetree was asked, “How do you plead?”

Speaking softly, he replied, “Not guilty.”

Then Judge Roberts went “in camera”—a legal term meaning the courtroom was emptied of all persons without security clearances and the plug was pulled on the closed-circuit cameras, because classified matters were about to be discussed.

While the reporters in the press room were cursing and throwing crumpled candy wrappers at the snow pattern on the TV monitor, under discussion was a motion advanced by the defense that “closed sessions,” such as the one that was occurring at that very moment, should not be allowed. They wanted Sgt. Clayton Lonetree to be tried in “an open and public court.” Citing both the First and Sixth Amendments, and referring to what he described as the “evil release of information by high government officials about Sergeant Lonetree,” William Kunstler argued that considering the amount of negative pretrial publicity generated by government spokespeople, to close the trial now would be unfair. It would aid the prosecution by giving “the aura, I think sort of deliberately, that we are involved in big secrets here, instead of what is truthfully a relatively simple case of a mountain being created out of a mole hill.”

Kunstler had yet to sit down when Major Beck stood up. “Can the government respond, Your Honor?”

“All right,” Roberts replied.

Given William Kunstler’s public statements denigrating military attorneys as essentially toy soldiers wound up to follow the orders of their superiors, those in the courtroom who were aware of Major Beck’s reputation as a dynamic litigator observed the subsequent exchange with anticipation and curiosity. And if there were ever any doubts that Major Beck would be able to handle the flamboyant Kunstler’s bombast without breaking stride, they were quickly dispelled.

Projecting absolute confidence and eminent rationality, Major Beck pointed out that while the defense complained heartily about government-generated publicity, in fact “much of the pretrial publicity in this case has come from defense counsels” themselves, who have “attacked unmercifully and unwarrantedly” various government organizations, especially the Naval Investigative Service. After setting that matter straight, Beck took the position that while the government certainly recognized the accused’s right to a public trial, at the same time there were valid national-security interests that needed to be acknowledged. Given the classified nature of some of the material to be discussed, and a desire by certain intelligence agencies to protect the identity of their agents who would be asked for testimony, there were going to be times when it was appropriate for the proceedings to be blacked out. The prosecution was asking for nothing more than “a satisfactory balance,” Beck said, and certainly nothing less.

Judge Roberts did not have to deliberate. He recognized the motion as a bid on the part of William Kunstler to switch the venue of the trial to a public channel that would allow him to play to the media as he performed before the members. Roberts also knew that the law was fairly clear on this matter. While trials were not to be closed, certain selected portions were allowed to be if justification was demonstrated. Noting for the record that going to a closed session did not mean the accused, his counsel, and the members would not get the benefit of hearing all the information that was presented, he denied the defense motion for an open court, but he did approve its request for a luncheon recess before proceeding to the next motion.

Hungry for news, reporters scrambled for a noon feeding. And on the lawn in front of Lejeune Hall they were treated to a feast. To the beat of a large wooden drum, Red Crow lifted a ceremonial pipe skyward and summoned spirits from the four corners of the universe “to have pity on all of us—red man, white man, black man, the court, and America.” Clutching her eagle feather, Lonetree’s aunt explained that it was a sacred symbol of peace that protected Indian people.

Next Spencer Lonetree stepped up to the microphone. For all his public posturing as a concerned parent trying to rescue a son who had been wronged, Spencer remained a controversial figure. His announcement that he intended to write a book about the case and news that he had already signed a movie deal strengthened the impression that he was using Clayton’s plight as a vehicle to further his own ambitions; and the rambling, self-referential speech he delivered did little to change the way he was viewed. He said he knew his son was innocent because he’d raised Clayton “to excel,” and he proceeded to describe how this ordeal had cost him “countless hours of sleeplessness, the loss of appetite, the agony and anguish of uncertainty…. Many times I have asked the Earthmaker: Why me? Of all the millions of parents in the world, why was I chosen to partake of this bitter cup?”

Then William Kunstler, his wild hair freaking in the Virginia humidity, apologized to reporters for not finding a way to include them but assured them that he had done his best. He said he had made an “impassioned plea” for the trial to be open so that the American people could see that the charges were unfounded, only to be overruled by the judge. And he reiterated his denunciation of the entire proceedings.

It was not the kind of scene you would expect to see played out at a military court-martial on a Marine base. But it soon became recognized for what it was: part of an orchestrated attempt to elevate the court-martial of Clayton Lonetree to a higher public stage.

The tactic of using an individual case to capture public attention, and then refocus the issues to a broader governmental or societal issue, had been used before with great success by the venerable civil-rights attorney. He had used it effectively in the trial of the Chicago Eight, portraying the radicals involved in the riots at the Chicago Democratic Convention in 1968 as responsible citizens who were exercising their right to civil disobedience in order to effect important governmental change. He had used it at the trial of militant members of the American Indian Movement who were involved in the shootout with the FBI at the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, turning the court into a forum to dramatize the grievances of Indians in America. And he was trying to do something of the same in this case—by presenting Sgt. Clayton Lonetree as a human sacrifice offered up by the U.S. government to camouflage “the criminal negligence of the State Department, the intemperate prejudgment of the Pentagon, the lies of the CIA, and the brutal excesses of the Naval Investigative Service.” In Kunstler’s estimation, Lonetree not only did little if any damage to the United States, he ought to be given a medal for bringing to light matters such as the flawed security conditions at the U.S. Embassy and the identities of two KGB agents.

Of course, expressing these opinions to reporters on the lawn outside Lejeune Hall was a lot easier than establishing them in a military court-martial.

Over the next several weeks, long, detailed written motions were submitted, dramatic oral arguments were presented, and in some instances evidentiary hearings were held that summoned witnesses from around the world, as the defense mounted an aggressive pretrial attempt to implement this broad-brush strategy.

One of the strongest motions argued was whether or not there had been improper command influence in the case. In support of its contention, the defense cited public statements by the Secretary of Defense, produced press releases by military officials, and held up newspaper clippings containing comments by assorted high-ranking individuals in the government, all of which indicated that in their minds Sergeant Lonetree was guilty as charged, and his offenses had done serious damage to the security of his country. Since these men were Lonetree’s superiors in the military chain of command, the defense maintained that this couldn’t help but “cause a chilling effect on anyone involved” in the court-martial; “jaundice the ability of the convening authority, military judge, and members as to their responsibilities in the case” and “preclude Sergeant Lonetree from his constitutional right to a fair trial.”