What did I mean?
I was guilty of violating Soviet airspace. Granted. But since none of the data I collected had ever left the Soviet Union, was I guilty of espionage?
Grinev rejected the argument, for what were probably valid legal reasons. All the same, I wanted that point in the statement: none of the information collected during the flight had reached a foreign power, the Soviets had seized it all, and therefore no one had been harmed by my act.
After some grumbling, Grinev let me add it. We worked over the wording of the statement for some time. In fact, we spent almost as much time on those few lines as the rest of my defense.
Both prior to and after the trial there was considerable discussion in the United States as to whether I was actually guilty of violating Soviet airspace, the argument being that as in maritime law, with its twelve mile limit, there must be some boundary beyond which airspace no longer belongs to a single country, that the U-2, flying at sixty-eight thousand feet, or nearly thirteen miles above the earth, might well be considered outside this invisible border. Unfortunately, not having my own attorney, and denied access to U.S. newspapers and magazines, I wasn’t aware of this as a possible defense. However, in all likelihood the court wouldn’t have even considered this argument, since Soviet law is quite firm in claiming sovereignty over all air above the Soviet Union.
Considering the space satellites soon to take over many of the espionage functions of the U-2, it was, and remains, an interesting question. To parody a popular song title: How High the Spy?
My last meeting with Grinev took place on Tuesday, August 16, the day before the trial. And Grinev had some news. Barbara and my parents were in Moscow. He had conferred with them the previous evening. My mother was accompanied by a physician, but wanted to assure me she was feeling fine. The trial would be open to the public, and Barbara, she, and my father would be there. I wouldn’t be allowed to see them privately, however, until after conclusion of the trial.
They had sent me something. Grinev handed me a package. Inside were several handkerchiefs and a birthday card.
Just before leaving, Grinev sternly warned me that if I made a demonstration in the courtroom it would be held against me.
Prior to the trial I had four meetings with my defense counsel, for a total of not more than five hours.
As I figured it, the prosecution had used well over a thousand hours of my time in the preparation of their case.
It didn’t seem a fair balance.
Knowing that my family was in Moscow, so close and yet so completely separated from me, was rough. I slept little the night before my thirty-first birthday.
Seven
Blinded by the flash bulbs and TV lights, with a guard holding either arm, I was escorted into the wooden prisoner’s dock.
Only then was I able to make out my surroundings.
This was no courtroom, but an immense theater. Tall white columns flanked all four walls. Hanging between them and from the ceiling were more than fifty chandeliers, all brilliantly lighted.
The major participants, myself included, were at one end of the auditorium, on an elevated stage. Grinev occupied a desk before the prisoner’s dock. In a corresponding spot on the opposite side loomed Rudenko, wearing what looked like a streetcar conductor’s uniform. Center stage, on a raised dais, were the three judges, all in military dress. Above and behind them, on the wall, rested a mammoth state seal, with large gold hammer and sickle in the center.
The audience, which filled the rest of the auditorium and its several balconies, numbered close to a thousand.
Grinev had given me no warning. This was like being tried in Carnegie Hall!
As a boy in school I had suffered stage fright. Despite my attempts to hide it now, I was extremely nervous. The previous day I had been issued a double-breasted, blue pinstripe suit, again several sizes too large. The poor fit didn’t make me any more comfortable.
I looked intently for my family, but could not find them in the crowd.
The presiding judge was speaking to me. The trial was to be conducted in Russian but simultaneously translated, via a headset arrangement, into English, French, German, and Spanish. Did I have any objections to the interpreters? I replied no.
There was a bench built into the dock. Noticing that everyone else was seated, I sat down.
“Defendant,” observed the presiding judge. “You are obliged to stand when the Court addresses you.”
While I was still smarting from the rebuke, the judge asked my name, nationality, date and place of birth, family status, occupation, and whether I had received a copy of the indictment.
Four witnesses were then introduced. I recognized them as the men who had helped me when I had landed in the field. Following this, some dozen “expert witnesses” came forward. I had never seen any of them before.
PRESIDING JUDGE: Defendant Powers, you also have the right to challenge the selection of experts.
I hesitated before answering. Having no idea as to who they were, their qualifications, or the nature of their testimony, how could I challenge them? This was my defense counsel’s job. But Grinev remained silent.
DEFENDANT POWERS: I have no objections.
The secretary of the court then read the indictment, in full. Aloud, it became even more a propaganda attack.
PRESIDING JUDGE: Defendant Powers, you have heard the reading of the indictment against you. Do you understand the charge brought against you? Have you understood?
DEFENDANT POWERS: Yes.
All too well. This was no trial, but a show. And I wanted no part of it.
PRESIDING JUDGE: Accused Powers, do you plead guilty of the charge?
DEFENDANT POWERS: Yes, I plead guilty.
The judge then ordered a twenty-minute recess. As I was being led out, I spotted Barbara, waving from a box in the rear of the courtroom, and saw my family for the first time. Neither of my parents had ever been outside the United States before. They looked so alone, so alien in this strange land, that I choked up.
I was thankful for the break. I didn’t want a thousand people to see the tears in my eyes.
Hundreds of foreign journalists were attending the trial, an interpreter effused during the recess. Interest was so great, he said, that crowds had to be turned away. Television crews were photographing the entire proceedings, so they could be shown on Soviet television and in movie theaters.
As for the auditorium in which the trial was being held, he went on, it was known as the Hall of Columns. Built in the first year of the reign of Catherine the Great, it had been the setting for many historic events. While a concert hall, its performers had included Liszt, Tchaikovsky, and Rachmaninoff. For a time a private club, it had numbered Pushkin and Tolstoy among its members. And both Lenin and Stalin had lain in state here following their deaths.
He neglected to mention that it was here that the infamous purge trials of the 1930’s had taken place, also before the military division of the Supreme Court of the USSR.
I was not in any frame of mind to appreciate the fact that a new chapter was being added to the history of the Hall of Columns.
Returned to the dock, I learned another difference between U.S. and Soviet courtroom procedures. The first witness against the accused was to be the accused himself.
Prosecutor Rudenko asked the questions.
Q. Defendant Powers, when did you get the assignment to fly over the territory of the Soviet Union?
A. On the morning of May 1.
If a representative of the agency was present, and I was sure there must be at least one in the huge crowd, he would know this was a lie. Thus alerted, I hoped he would listen carefully to my further replies, especially if the altitude of the flight was mentioned.