I'm facing jail time after laughing at Jeff Sessions. I regret nothing.

I am an ordinary person. A mother of two and a grandmother of one, I am a retired children’s librarian who loves to hike, bike, travel, pick purple wildflowers, grow cherry tomatoes, read to little kids, and dance. I shop at Costco. I love their tortilla chips and salsa. I read Lisa Scottoline, Sandra Cisneros, and Howard Zinn. I watch documentaries, rom-coms, and foreign films. I have a cairn terrier named Jinx and a grandpuppy named Mattie. I am just an ordinary person who happens to care an awful lot about peace and justice and human rights.

And yet on January 10, I was arrested for laughing during the confirmation hearing of attorney general nominee Jeff Sessions. And just this week, I was convicted of the two charges I received as a result of my arrest: one of disorderly and disruptive conduct, and one of parading or demonstrating on Capitol grounds. Sentencing happens next month — I could spend up to a year in jail, or be fined, or both. Just because I let out a chuckle at a public hearing.

Other people laughed at the hearing and weren’t arrested — why was I?

I should not have been arrested that day, much less have been convicted and be facing jail time. It is absurd that the government went to the expense of prosecuting me over such a petty action. I have to ask myself why.

Later on in the same hearing, others were heard laughing during the proceedings when Jeff Sessions was asked if he ever had disagreements with his wife. One person even yelled out, “You’re under oath!”

So if none of those attendees were arrested for laughing, why was I? The only logical conclusion I can arrive at is because of my message — the fact that I was there to protest Sessions’s confirmation.

Americans should be outraged that for two seconds of laughter during a public hearing, one could get jail time! What does this say about the state of free speech in our country? We should all be concerned that our freedoms are in jeopardy.

My background in activism

I’ve been involved in activism since the George W. Bush administration, when I joined Code Pink, a women-led peace group. I was a working mom living in Arlington, Texas — Bush’s backyard, where most people seemed to heed the president’s call to war without batting an eyelash. I, on the other hand, was distraught at the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

After traditional methods of letter writing, phone calls, and office visits went ignored, our local chapter of Code Pink tried creative ideas to get Congress member “Smokey” Joe Barton’s attention on ending his votes for war. We crashed his fundraiser with chants of, “Don’t be a sucker for the GOP!” handing out hard candies to the attendees with messages about white phosphorus ammunitions and what it does to our soldiers and Iraqi civilians.

I joined Cindy Sheehan — a Gold Star mother whose son was killed in Iraq — and thousands of others in camping out at Bush’s Crawford, Texas, ranch to demand an end to the war.

I eventually moved to Washington, DC, leaving my home, possessions, and pets behind to take on the role of volunteer house “mama” for Code Pink. The rented brownstone on Capitol Hill became a safe space for activists from around the country where we could organize and mobilize, commiserate and celebrate, sing and dance while working to have our voices heard at congressional offices and hearings.

At one of these hearings I put fake blood on my hands and confronted Condoleezza Rice for her role in leading this country to war in Iraq. I’ve marched, rallied, fasted, and vigiled against these wars, and have been arrested numerous times.

“End Racism. Stop Sessions.”

The Sessions hearing was different. I didn’t want to get arrested. I shouldn’t have been arrested. I just wanted to be a part of the visible statement against Jeff Sessions’s confirmation. I felt it was my responsibility as a citizen to oppose his ascent to the most powerful law enforcement position in the country.

This is a man who supports anti-immigrant, anti-LGBTQ policies, who has voted against several civil rights measures, and voted against the Violence Against Women Act of 2013, and whose nomination for attorney general made the Ku Klux Klan ecstatic. I was and am still very concerned that Attorney General Sessions will not enforce equal protection of the law on behalf of people who face discrimination or worse because of their race, religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, or disability.

So on that January day, I got up at the crack of dawn in order to make sure I did not miss this public hearing of Jefferson Beauregard Sessions for attorney general. Several Code Pink women — myself included — were dressed as Lady Liberty, donning togas, crowns, and plastic torches to remind those in attendance that our civil liberties were endangered if Sessions were to be confirmed. There were men with us too, including Tighe Barry and my partner Lenny Bianchi, who donned mock Ku Klux Klan robes to “welcome” Sen. Sessions to his hearing.

Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

After hours of waiting, we were let into the huge, chandeliered room already packed with senators, staffers, and the press. We waited for Sessions, occasionally standing with our signs. Each Code Pink protester held a message about civil liberties: “End Racism. Stop Sessions.” “Welcome Refugees. Stop Sessions.”

Shortly after Sessions entered, Tighe and Lenny, dressed in their KKK outfits, stood on their seats and shouted greetings to him as if they were old friends. Capitol Police were swift and gruff in removing them from the room. No warning or admonition was given — they were roughly yanked off their chairs and hauled out.

A few minutes later, Sen. Chuck Grassley, chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee, rapped the gavel to call the hearing to order. He reminded attendees of the expected decorum, namely no standing or blocking the views of others at the hearing or speaking out of turn. A few senators showered Sessions with compliments and reasons why he qualified for this important position. Then Sen. Richard Shelby spoke. He said that Sessions had a well-documented and “extensive record of treating all Americans equally under the law.”

At this, I laughed. I just thought it was ridiculous given Session’s voting record against several civil rights measures.

At that moment, I didn’t think anything would happen. But a few seconds later, a Capitol Police officer asked me to leave with her. No warning. No shushing. She just asked me to leave the hearing. When I asked why and told her that I was going to be quiet, she called over two other officers, who helped her forcibly remove me from my chair, creating a spectacle. Then I realized I was being arrested. I was upset, being unjustly removed from a public hearing that I had every right to attend.

I do not regret what I did. I do not regret dissenting at the confirmation of Sessions, and being part of a visible statement to draw attention to a dangerous man who does not deserve to be attorney general. This was and is my responsibility as a citizen.

My arrest and trial were a waste of taxpayer dollars

My arrest was petty, provocative, and a wasteful use of citizen tax dollars. What was the US government willing to spend in order to prosecute me for laughing at a ridiculous statement? And to prosecute Lenny and Tighe for standing on their chairs and speaking out for a few seconds prior to the hearing?

First there was the day of the arrest. I had three officers take me out into the hallway, down the elevator, and out the front door to the sidewalk in order to be searched and removed of all personal property. I was then handcuffed and turned over to the transportation officer who loaded me into the van.

(This is not one of those passenger vans where they slide the door open and you sit on a cushioned seat. This is a commercial cargo van. You go in the back door like cargo and are seated on a bare steel bench. The policeman fastens the seat belt over your waist because, well, you can’t since your hands are locked behind your back and starting to ache because the plastic cuffs are very tight.)

At the jail, an arresting officer escorted me through the processing ritual, which includes removing all jewelry and shoelaces, emptying your purse or wallet, and taking an inventory of all of your possessions.

It’s really hard to remember all the different things that happened over the next nine and a half hours. Interrogated. Interrogated again. Mug shots and fingerprints taken. “Isn’t that the fourth or fifth time I’ve given someone my address and phone number?” Wait in a room by yourself. Wait in a cell with three other women. Moved to a large lunchroom-type room with lots of other arrestees. (About 25 people were arrested that day, related to the Sessions hearing.) There must have been at least seven police department employees I interacted with during my stay in jail.

Since that day in January, Lenny, Tighe, and I have had to attend five separate hearings at the courthouse for various reasons related to this arrest. Each time, Lenny and I had to drive about an hour and 15 minutes into town from our home, make arrangements for a dog sitter, and arrange for overnight accommodations. If we didn’t stay overnight prior to each appearance, we could get stuck in traffic during the morning commute and miss our hearing. That in itself could result in six months in jail and a $1,000 fine.

Each time we appear in court, the following staff are present: the judge, two clerks, a court reporter, one to three marshals, and four to five attorneys. A total of 10 to 12 staff. This is just what I could see. What is the total hourly rate for these staff, multiplied by 20 to 25 hours? What about out-of-court time? The cost of the courtroom itself, maintenance, lighting, heating/cooling, IT. And there could certainly be other things going on behind the scenes that I’m not aware of.

Anyway, you get the idea. An awful lot of taxpayer money was spent on this effort, and what is the ultimate benefit?

Our lawyers didn’t think we would be convicted — they were wrong

Then there was the trial itself. The prosecution called four police officers as their witnesses, one being the young rookie officer who made the decision to remove me for laughing. I was the first person she had ever arrested, as it was just her second week on the job. All of the officers seemed to be decent human beings, though when cross-examined, a few times one of them had to admit he was confused. Sometimes the testimony of one would contradict that of another. After all, they were relying on their memories from almost four months ago.

It took about an hour Tuesday afternoon and a few hours on Wednesday morning for the jury to deliberate. As they filed back into the courtroom, we watched their faces, hopeful they had found us not guilty.

The foreperson stood at the instruction of the judge to read all three verdicts just like in the movies. First Tighe. Next Lenny. Then me. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! The guys were found guilty on two of the three charges. I was found guilty on both of my charges.

I was gobsmacked by the decision, convicted of disrupting Congress for a bit of laughter! I think our lawyers were equally shocked. They had predicted a sympathetic jury. They were wrong. We are still stunned. I face a maximum of six months for each charge, for a total of 12 months in prison, plus possible fines or community service.

Sentencing occurs on June 21. Our court-appointed attorneys have two weeks to present evidence and arguments before the judge in motions that will hopefully have our verdicts overturned.

I hope my story inspires others to protest the Trump administration

I would like to think that my arrest for laughing was an anomaly, just an overenthusiastic rookie cop doing what she thought was expected of her. But that doesn't explain the fact that I went on to be prosecuted for my so-called crime. Anyone paying attention since Trump became president knows that his administration doesn’t seem to stomach criticism well. Retribution often follows.

That’s why it’s so important to resist. I hope my story is a reminder that if you are concerned about peace and justice, equality and human rights, freedom of speech and your constitutional freedoms, you should step out of your day-to-day life to make your voice heard. Resist the government’s efforts to infringe upon our rights — or sit back and watch them disappear.

Desiree Fairooz is a former bilingual educator from North Texas, and a children’s librarian at Arlington Public Library in Virginia. She received a bachelor’s degree in Latin American studies from UCLA and a master’s in library science from the University of North Texas. She volunteers on human rights campaigns with nonprofit groups Code Pink: Women For Peace; International Solidarity for Palestine; the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions of Israel Movement; and 350.org.

When not working on these issues, she volunteers at her area free clinic, tutors Syrian refugees, and hikes the Appalachian Trail with her partner Lenny Bianchi and their pooch Jinx. Code Pink has initiated a petition to protest the arrests and convictions, which you can find here.

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