It is 31 degrees outside, but the wind feels like 19. When I arrived in the New York Supreme Court Criminal term in 100 Center Street last Friday around 10 am, aquarel pencils and sketch paper in hand were not many people except for A handful of journalists who use cameras. I found this relatively scarce turnout strange until I heard that a woman said they are standing in line at 5 am and were already in the courthouse. I hurried across the street, surprised how fast I got through the security, camera ready to take pictures of the scene I would find outside after the hearing people who are hand-painted plates, prayer style cards from ‘Saint Luigi’ HIFT, “and bright green hugs from Mario’s twin brother in the Nintendo franchise.
My heart ran when I pressed the lift button to the 15th floor. A Hyperallergic Accreditation suggested me to slip along the metal police -barricades in the press area, where two lines were formed, one for photographers and another for reporters. A sign outside the door of the courtroom was “Part 96.” My nerves took me toll and I felt that the other journalists could see that it was my first rodeo. But I was inside and there was no way back.
Close along the corridor, people who sat on the cold ground typed away on their computers. The olive-green floor stretched out what looked like miles, and a strawberry blonde agent walked back and forth, ready to assert his dominance on the first opportunity. I had not noticed that the crowd gathered at the end of the Marble Hall: Luigi Mangione supporters, mainly women aged 18 to 35, some who attract the accused UnitedHealthcare CEO of Bourgundy Court.
My attention shifts back to the press line when I hear someone in the pool of photographers crying hysterically and it says they get the space to take pictures. I noticed that I sympathized with them – everyone wants ‘the shot’, and this work is clearly not for Bangeriken. I heard someone say that Chelsea Manning was one of the crowd of supporters; 20 minutes later I saw her enter the toilet while members of the press shouted her name for a photo. The corridor becomes heterent by the minute, the crowd of propelled bodies such as bees that generate heat in a beehive. Just a few more minutes until they have to let us into the courtroom.
It is now 1:16 pm. Photographers tap their fingers on their cameras and tap the metal barricades. I cannot say whether it is boredom or, if, like me, they feel that their heart could jump out of their chest. The heat becomes overwhelming and I do my best not to concentrate on my immersed blood sugar after skipping breakfast and throwing away my tea prematurely. 1:44 pm: Luigi’s lawyer, Karen Friedman Agnifilo, comes in the 15th floor and walks past the increasingly enthusiastic supporters who cheer her while having the long corridor and past the press. Cameras flashes and reporters shout apparently random questions, none of them answers. Her face is soft and a slight smile extends over her face in Mauve lipstick. She is not much bigger than me, but she shines with the energy of someone more than six feet.
We are now in it. The stress goes much further than everything I expected. Luigi’s lawyers are at the front; Karen walks through the room. I see the famous sketch artist Jane Rosenberg, who was given room in the jury ride. I find a chair in the last row, where my opinion is impeded by police and reporters, but I make a mental tone of the room. Finally, after 15 minutes, Luigi enters the room. He is chained as the joker in a Batman film, but his face looks like a marble sculpture that you would see with.
I vibrate as I pull my pencils out and try a sketch as quickly as possible. Before I set off that morning, I had considered taking a copy of my aunt’s hanging medical accounts from the UnitedHealthcare as canvas, but I decided not to prevent it – I didn’t want unnecessary attention for me – and My refuge taken into paper and a few dollar bills.
A towering female agent obscures my vision, so I only had a glimpse of Luigi’s shoulder and a piece of the bulletproof vest that he is sporting. I scribbled lines about sheets of paper and tried to find my composition. Luigi’s lawyer asks them to remove the buoys, with the argument that her client is not a threat, but the judge denies the request “for the security of those in the Chamber.” Karen Agnifilo is like a bull. When it is her turn to speak, she seizes the chance to express her frustration about a new HBO documentary, Who is Luigi MangioneThat she claims contains information that she still had not opened. “They paid actors to read his alleged diary. They didn’t even sound like him, “she argued. The judge stopped her before she could continue.
And then the shouting began. I heard a bit like hundreds of Luigi supporters who shouted outside the courtroom: “Free Luigi!” They went on and shouted.
Then, just like that, it was over – 20 minutes max. He got up and walked in the same way as he came in. Everyone seemed to absorb every centimeter of their physical existence. I hear a woman behind me say: ‘He smiled at me, have you seen?! He smiled at me! “Luigi never smiled at anyone.
