Outside Courtroom 129
In the trial of Frank S., the public remained in the courtroom for only a few minutes. What happened before and after.
On this Tuesday morning another day of the trial of Frank S. was scheduled. The 68-year-old is charged with 22 offences against 14 women. He is alleged to have met women through dating platforms, secretly drugged them in his flat, raped them and filmed the acts. This time I wanted to be punctual and get through the security check at the main entrance of the Regional Court (Landgericht) as early as possible.
Until now, something different had awaited me at these security checks every time. On the second day of the trial in August, after a long search through the winding parts of the building, I had finally found the courtroom, only to learn that the hearing had been moved: out onto the street, back in through a separate side entrance with an even stricter check – shoes off; bags, jacket, drink, even pen and paper had to stay outside. The security measures looked as if much larger crowds had been expected at this trial. But the great rush never came – on that day, as on most other days of the trial.
The hearings are, in principle, public. Anyone who comes as a visitor can simply take a seat in the courtroom – as long as there are seats free and the public has not been excluded. Accredited members of the press have their own arrangements; so far I have attended the proceedings as an ordinary member of the public, and so I have to go through the same checks as everyone else.
From the third day of the trial onwards, things ran more routinely, and it was easier to get to Courtroom 129. Sometimes there were more visitors, sometimes fewer, mostly rather young people: law students, trainee lawyers (Referendare) or assistants from the law firms representing the joint plaintiffs (Nebenklage).
This Tuesday was different again. This time a queue of people had formed in front of the Regional Court in Moabit, stretching far along the pavement of Turmstraße. The people wanted to get to the various hearings in the building, and all of them had to pass through the same security check. Among them were defendants who were not in custody and summoned witnesses. I feared I would be late again – but it went faster than expected. When I had finally hurried through the labyrinth, which by now I knew well, I was relieved to find that the hearing in Courtroom 129 was starting later that morning.
A visitor once told me that delays happened here quite often. What might have been the reason? Had the lawyers arrived late? Had the transfer of the defendant from the remand prison next door been delayed? It will remain a mystery.
Outside Courtroom 129, in an annexe of the otherwise so imposing court building, an unusually large number of visitors had gathered today. Here the corridors were narrow and low. Walls and ceiling of red brick made them dark and oppressive – a place where you would really rather not stay long. The visitors leaned against the walls and waited silently to be let in. I joined them and, while waiting, discreetly studied them. I wondered which of them also worked as journalists, as I do. I looked for familiar faces from previous days of the trial. But none of them seemed familiar.
The door to the courtroom stood open. Sunlight fell through the large windows. The security officers near the door were talking quietly to each other. Then footsteps could be heard. I looked down the corridor and saw the defence lawyer hurrying towards us. His gaze brushed mine briefly, then he disappeared into the courtroom. A little later the visitors were called in.
I actually already knew that we would probably not stay long. For the upcoming examinations of the women concerned, the exclusion of the public had already been ordered on earlier days of the trial. I wanted to try anyway.
The courtroom was flooded with light. The public gallery was slightly raised above the courtroom floor. Below, tables and chairs stood in a horseshoe around the witness stand. At the front, opposite, was the judges’ bench, also slightly raised.
Behind the tables stood the parties to the proceedings, many in black robes: the judge and his staff, the public prosecutor’s office, on the right the lawyers of the joint plaintiffs, on the left the defence. Behind the defence’s seats was an area separated off by a glass pane. That is where the defendant, Frank S., sat.
I went to my usual seat in the public gallery – on the far right – from where I had a good view of the defendant. I wanted to observe closely how he reacted to what was happening in the courtroom. I noticed that his hair was shorter. For a moment our eyes met. I looked away.
The judge declared the hearing open, then Mrs B., the witness, was called in.
She was a small, slim woman in her mid-sixties, with dyed red hair and a somewhat pale face. She was led to the witness stand by a security officer. She seemed unsure of herself and drew her shoulders up slightly. Then she sat down. In front of her the slim microphone glowed red. As she sat there, the seat in the middle of the courtroom suddenly seemed even more exposed: a small woman, surrounded by the judges’ bench, the prosecution, the defence and the rows of visitors.
The judge began to introduce the lawyers of the joint plaintiffs, and the names of the women who are joint plaintiffs were spoken into the room. Mrs B., too, is one of the 14 women to whom the charges against Frank S. relate.
I tried to imagine how Mrs B. must be feeling at that moment. She sat somewhat slumped in her seat, and her whole body seemed not to want to be here. Around her perhaps forty to fifty people. To the left, behind the glass, sat the man she had once got to know in the hope of closeness, perhaps of a relationship. When she had last seen him, she had still believed that. Since then she had learned from the police what, according to the investigation, is alleged to have happened to her. What must it be like for her to have him in front of her again – even if a pane of glass separated them?
Now the judge addressed her. He asked whether she had any objection to the public remaining in the courtroom during her examination. Mrs B. seemed unsure. One could sense how hard this answer was for her. She looked as if the examination ahead alone was costing her a great deal of strength. Here she would probably have to describe details of her encounters with Frank S. Her answer came hesitantly. Quietly she said: “They should stay.”
I wondered whether she really meant it, or whether she did not want to be responsible for some twenty people, who had made their way across the city that morning to attend the trial, having to leave again at short notice. Once more I tried to put myself in her place. Perhaps she also felt the people behind her as something supportive. In front of her the judges’ bench, the prosecution, the defence and the joint plaintiffs, behind her the spectators. Perhaps these two sides kept the room in balance. And she sat in between, not entirely alone. It could be like that.
But it could also be different. That is why the judge asked once more: “But you wouldn’t have anything against excluding the visitors either?” Mrs B. seemed confused. For a moment she did not seem to quite understand the question. She had just said that the visitors could stay. The judge calmly repeated his question. Mrs B. answered quietly that she had no objection.
The judge handed over to the public prosecutor. She then applied for the public to be excluded in order to protect the witness’s private life. In examinations in which intimate details of sexualised violence are discussed, the court may exclude the public if the legitimate personal interests of those affected are concerned.
There was also a brief discussion of the examination of the second witness that day. She was apparently in such a bad state that she was being cared for by the trauma outpatient clinic of the Charité. There she had been advised not to face the defendant in person. She had therefore asked to be examined by audiovisual link. During her testimony she would sit in another room and be connected to the courtroom by video. This measure, too, was meant to protect her.
This brief discussion lasted only a few minutes in total. Then the court decided to exclude the public. The visitors, and I too, had to leave the courtroom and were not allowed to attend for the rest of that day of the trial. What happened in the courtroom from then on remained hidden from us.
While most of the visitors streamed towards the exit, some women stayed standing in the corridor. I was among them. They seemed surprised and apparently first had to take in that for them the day was over. A younger woman held a drawing in her hand that she had made during the few minutes in the courtroom. A little further along stood a young woman with a notepad. I asked whether she was a journalist. She said yes. It was her first day at the trial, and she evidently still had to find her way around the procedure.
An older woman joined us and asked whether the exclusion applied to the whole day of the trial. I confirmed it, and she looked disappointed. She smiled and said: “But I have to know what’s going on here.”
I walked out with the others and was disappointed that I might not be able to write an article today. A few minutes later I knew that this morning did have a story after all. Outside I ran into the older woman once more. She told me that she herself is one of the women affected. And she was willing to tell me her story. I will only publish it after her examination.