As a result of Donald Trump’s outlandish behavior at his multiple trials, there have recently been impositions of an unprecedented amount of unconventional gag orders (a judge’s order that prohibits participants in a criminal or civil case from making certain statements). However, word has it that throughout the course of history there have been gag orders issued that were even more unconventional:
In 399 b.c., when Socrates was put on trial for corrupting the Athenian youth with his teachings, it has been said that the government issued a gag order to prevent him from speaking any longer to his students. Socrates’ lawyers argued to have the gag order lifted – as well as the entire charge dismissed – based on the fact that the philosopher couldn’t be corrupting students, since his philosophy was so confusing, no one could possibly understand what he was talking about, with the possible exception of Plato. The gag order was lifted, but the charge still stood, and though Socrates was convicted, up to the time of his execution he was allowed to continue talking to his totally baffled students.
After being charged, in 1518, with heresy for writing his ninety-five proposals for Catholic doctrinal reform and nailing them to the door of Wittenberg Castle Church in Germany (known then as The Holy Roman Empire), Martin Luther was supposedly slapped with one of the most unusual gag orders ever: it allowed him to speak, but forbade him to write. It seems that Luther wasn’t much of a talker, but an almost fanatical writer, scribbling messages on walls, pavement, any blank surface he could get his writing utensils on. His lawyers objected vehemently to the gag order, claiming it was a violation of free speech; however, the court turned down their claim, maintaining that “speech” is defined as the communication or expression of thoughts in spoken words. Luther was ultimately found guilty of heresy and the court determined that not only should all his writings be burned but he should be stripped of all writing implements, including his favorite chalk and stones, which the townspeople had been complaining about for years.
In the Massachusetts Bay Colony town of Salem, in 1692, after a few young girls claimed they were possessed by the devil, mass hysteria broke out, resulting in nineteen women being charged with witchcraft, in what is now known as the Salem Witch Trials. Word has it that the court immediately placed a very specific gag order on these women, prohibiting them from speaking the occult Wiccan language of witches, ostensibly preventing them from casting spells on government officials and their families. It wasn’t very difficult for these women to comply with the order since they weren’t, in fact, witches, had never heard the word Wiccan, and could only speculate, after much deliberation, that not speaking Wiccan meant that they couldn’t speak while wiggling.
The criminal trial of Oscar Wilde for acts of “gross indecency” – aka homosexuality – opened at London’s Old Bailey courthouse on April 26, 1895. One of England’s most successful authors and playwrights, he was known for his poetic speech and wit. As a result, it is believed that during the trial Oscar Wilde was given a theretofore unheard of gag order: i.e., to not speak like Oscar Wilde; to bite his tongue, if necessary, and refrain from his usual conversational skill and acerbic wit, which, the court maintained, could influence a jury of his sub-peers. Though the judge constantly reprimanded him for violating the order (in his defense, Mr. Wilde said that, not being a philistine, he didn’t know any other way to express himself), the spectators continually applauded and laughed at his witticisms. As did the jurors. That is, before convicting him.
Inarguably, the most famous trial in history took place almost two-thousand years ago when Jesus Christ was apprehended outside of Jerusalem and was tried by an ad-hoc judiciary known as the Sanhedrin. While allowed to speak, it has been said that Jesus had been given strict orders to refrain from saying any miracle-producing stuff. No loaves and fishes kind of thing, no water into wine, no healing anyone in attendance, nothing miraculous that could influence any of those who would pass judgement, especially Pontius Pilate, who, after all was said and done, kind of wimped out and let the crowd decide Jesus’s fate. Jesus complied with the ruling, but after being crucified he felt free to remarkably whip up three hours of darkness, in essence saying, “I’ll show them!”