October 28-November 3, 2004

city beat

Passive Resistance

liberated: George Willoughby hugs his wife Lillian upon her release from a week in the federal klink. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

A 89-year-old Quaker serves hard time after protesting the Iraq war.

by Trey Popp

In a lifetime of Quaker activism, Lillian Willoughby has traveled far and wide to spread the message of nonviolence. She has marched on the Pentagon, taught workshops in India and Thailand, joined and led causes from her native Iowa to Center City. Her passport bears stamps from countries as scattered as Tanzania, Egypt and Sri Lanka. But last Wednesday, the Deptford, N.J., woman took her ministry to one place she'd never been: federal prison.

More than a year after being arrested for obstructing the entrance of a federal building in Philadelphia during a protest of the Iraq war in March 2003, Willoughby elected to serve a week behind bars rather than pay a $250 fine.

As anti-war perps go, Willoughby does not fit the stereotypical profile. She will be 90 years old in January and uses a wheelchair to get around. But neither age nor hearing loss diminished her pluck in federal court in Philadelphia on Sept. 29, when she and five co-conspirators were dealt identical sentences. Wheeled so far forward in the courtroom that her knees virtually brushed up against the wood paneling of the judicial bench, Willoughby treated U.S. Magistrate Judge Arnold C. Rapoport to a short lesson on the history of Quaker activism before giving him a booklet titled 52 Stories of Successful Nonviolence.

"You understand that in every one of these cases, the punishment has been a $250 fine or seven days in prison," Judge Rapoport advised Willoughby, emphasizing that he had no choice but to levy the same penalty on her.

"I wouldn't want it any different," the octogenarian beamed, sparking a round of laughter in a gallery packed with supporters.

As many as eight of her fellow Quakers volunteered to serve Willoughby's jail time in her stead but, in accordance with standard procedure, they were barred from addressing the court.

Lillian's foray into the penal system last Wednesday was a personal first, but her husband, George, has a storied record of nonviolent resistance that has earned him the privilege of a prison cot more than once.

"Been to the Pentagon, been to jail, God knows," he said on a quiet day home alone, recalling, among other episodes, the journey he made in a boat called "The Golden Rule" to the South Pacific hoping his presence would cause authorities to abandon nuclear testing there. "That's all part of a day's work. … This is an old story, you know. I'm the one that went away. This time she went away. So it's part of our life, and we know how to take care of it."

Among the dozen or so supporters clustered outside of the Federal Detention Center at Seventh and Arch streets awaiting the prisoners' release Tuesday morning, George was the chief purveyor of humor and high spirits. "The word I got from the prison visitors was that her legs were better than ever," he reported. "So I thought we'd keep her in jail a few more weeks."

Though Associate Warden Ken Arnold said how a prisoner is held isn't public information, Lillian would have been "treated like any other inmate." As it happened, the prisoners were released as scheduled. Lillian emerged onto the sidewalk alongside her cellmate, Marion Brown of Northeast Philadelphia, who was incarcerated for the same offense.

"It was hard in there," said Lillian, who received mail—including puzzles to help her pass the time—from supporters, "but it was also easy since I didn't have anything to do."

Brown, who recently became a grandmother herself, was eager to downplay her compatriot's age.

"What we should emphasize is that Lillian knows what is going on, and she's got the courage to stand up and speak out," she said.

"Or sit down and speak out," George interjected, offering his spouse of 64 years a hug and the wheelchair she wasn't permitted to take behind bars with her.

Seated before the microphones and television cameras that have over the past few weeks given her the unaccustomed feeling of being at the center of attention, Lillian expressed satisfaction with her role in spreading a message of nonviolence.

"I hope [people] really wake up to the fact that war does not work, that we all suffer in the long run. And we are all locked into that," the mother of four said. "Whether we are behind bars or we aren't, we still are locked into the system. And it really has to go."

So, would she go to prison again for the same cause?

"Absolutely."