THE SECOND AMENDMENT

October 2058

The Senate building lobby was, ironically, filled with lobbyists. Alexa’s Konektor ID let her in without a body or briefcase scan. She was expected.

At the door of the tribunal chamber, Whitman appeared from behind her.

“Alexa, the president and the chair of the Agenda Implementation Tribunal will be announcing the introduction of the First Amendment at five o’clock from the Senate building on the State Streaming Service. The announcement will include a timetable for introducing the changes to Transitional Benefits, and we’re expecting your friend Artie Sharp to give his endorsement. You’ll be on stage with them, lending your cachet.”

She spun around. “My cachet?”

He was no longer dressed as a woman.

“Call it what you will. You’ve passed the consumer test. The idea is for you to be invited to the microphone to confirm that this has his backing. There’s going to be a series of public information programs rolled out over the coming months, and it’s been decided that you’ll be a co-presenter on those programs and ride shotgun on the ArteFact Channel to be sure they give the endorsements we’re paying for.”

 “What if the information fails their fact-checking?”

“Make sure it doesn’t,” he hissed.

“How?”

“Give them copies in advance.”

“They might not agree to that.”

“Why?”

“Trust. They might only be willing to endorse what actually airs,” she answered, “in case you change it.”

“Listen, we’re paying big money here. Do you want to find your father or not?”

“Tell me where he is now.”

He leaned in closer and gripped her arms. Those damn hands, that lead-lined breath… “We’re both gonna get what we want at the end of this, Alexa,” he mouthed in her ear. “Let’s just get it done first. Enjoy your celebrity. People would kill to be in your position.”

He opened the door, and the room went quiet.

 “Alexa Smythe,” the tribunal chair greeted her, “you don’t know why you are here, you are not here, and nobody can ever know whether you were here or not. Is that clear?”

Alexa shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Where had she heard this before? “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” she asked.

“I’m sorry.” The chair shrugged. “Old habits. You’re one of us now, on the same side, but it takes me time to adjust. But what is that side, Alexa? What forces are we unleashing? We asked you to help us with our budget problem, and you’ve produced a solution that’s led us to pose one of the most challenging and intransigent questions humankind can confront: what is the meaning of equality? What if inequality is our natural state? Then we’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

Whitman closed the door behind her. Alexa stepped forward and took a chair.

“With all due respect,” she replied, “the Society Points system was a charter for promoting inequality. Doing away with it gives us a chance of achieving the aim outlined in Article One of Agenda 2060. The First Amendment being announced today gives everyone an equal opportunity to claim what was promised.”

“You’re right, of course,” the chair acknowledged. “At any rate, we’ve laid out our path, and now we must follow it. But we need to be sure of you, Alexa, before we put you up there in front of the people.”

He turned to the deputy chair. This was the much older person who had been so skeptical of her at her first meeting with the tribunal.

“That skit on the ArteFact Channel yesterday,” the deputy chair challenged her. “How much input did you have on that? Did you write it?”

“I had no input,” Alexa replied forthrightly. “That’s the thing about Artie Sharp: he’s impartial, factual, and incorruptible. That’s his power. That’s why his endorsement is so valuable.”

As she said this, she determined once more to find out how she’d gotten into that filmed segment without even knowing it.

“But that person, Kalli, who suffered at the hands of the Out-Ed activists,” the old person pleaded. “Was that real or imagined?”

“Real, absolutely real.”

Of course, the deputy chair was queer and mixed-race. He would have identified with the story immediately.

“Well, if it’s real,” he said sadly, “it is the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Precisely,” Whitman interjected. He’d taken the seat next to the tribunal chair, and now that he was revealing himself to be a man, Alexa had to admit that he had acquired an air of authority that his cross-dressing had not afforded him before.

“It was a powerful illustration of the sickness that has invaded society,” he continued. “The feedback we’re getting from focus groups shows that we’re on the right track. We’ve read the mood and the moment perfectly.”

“I agree,” the tribunal chair affirmed, “and now we need to be absolutely sure that giving Alexa such a prominent role will not backfire on us. So, Alexa, put your hand on your heart and tell us honestly, now that the First Amendment has been passed, do you give your unconditional support to every article of Agenda 2060, and will you pledge to see its full implementation so long as you live?”

Goodness! Alexa sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. How could she have allowed herself to be cornered like this? They knew she could only speak the truth; they’d chosen her for that very reason. She was the living, breathing version of Artie Sharp—and that’s what the public would see in her. That was both her strength and her weakness: truth.

“Every article from one to twelve,” the tribunal chair emphasized.

Jordan had asked why she was doing this. Was it recognition she wanted? Admiration, power, and glory? All of those things were now within her grasp … but here, at the moment of it taking hold, she now knew the answer to Jordan’s question.

She looked around the table at each of the sixteen tribunal members in turn. Their eyes were fixed on her, waiting in anticipation.

“No,” she announced. “I cannot accept Article Two.”

“Article Two?” Whitman demanded.

“Hate Speech. It’s deplorable.”

“Thank God!” the deputy chair almost shouted. “Thank God.” She thought she saw a tear in his eye.

The rest of the tribunal members looked at each other in consternation. Who had a copy? What were the exact words?

“Tell us, Alexa,” Whitman commanded, “why can’t you accept it?”

“Because it gives the state the power to silence anyone whose views are unwelcome.”

“And not just the state,” the deputy chair added, recovering his composure.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” The tribunal chair banged on the table. “Let’s get clear on this. The state can’t allow anything to incite hate and violence; that’s why we have that article. If it gets abused for political purposes by some group or other, then it’s the state’s prerogative to override it. I saw that ArteFact Channel piece yesterday, and I saw how Hate Speech was misused to penalize that Kalli man. But that wouldn’t happen now, because we’re doing away with Society Points, and everyone will get the same Transitional Benefits no matter what. So, I don’t see the problem.” He smiled and turned his palms upwards to heaven.

The room went silent.

Alexa looked at Whitman. His eyes were averted. If he knew what she was thinking, he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Donald Melville Smythe,” she pronounced clearly. “He didn’t incite hatred or violence, but the state condemned him for stating his beliefs.”

“Those were different times, Alexa,” Whitman pleaded, without even a whiff of sincerity. “There was a revolution in progress. Revolutions spark extreme reactions. Mistakes happen. That wouldn’t happen now, because the state is safely in control.” He turned to his fellow tribunal members. “Isn’t that true, comrades?”

Yet the confidence that he would receive confirmation from the room was somehow missing. There was a lot of fidgeting and pursing of lips. Alexa sensed that she’d put her finger on something.

“Perhaps we should hear what Alexa is suggesting,” the deputy chair suggested. “There can’t be any harm in that. Does anyone have a copy of Article Two?”

The tribunal registrar was ordered to go and find one. It seemed strange to Alexa that the very body that was empowered to implement Agenda 2060, and one of the most powerful organizations in the state, made its deliberations without actually having a copy of the agenda on hand. She was pretty sure that she could recite the correct wording, but she was grateful for the moment of silence that settled on the room, giving her the opportunity to think about what she would say.

When the registrar returned and handed the document to the tribunal chair, Alexa had some idea, but her thoughts were far from perfectly formed.

“So,” read the chair, “Article Two: ‘Protect all persons from harm in circumstances where insensitive Hate Speech is used, deliberately or otherwise, without the consent of the persons offended.’ Well now, Alexa, what’s wrong with that?”

“Yes,” another member chimed in, “surely that’s designed to protect citizens from mental and emotional damage. It’s the job of the state to provide that protection.”

“If a mind is so fragile that it needs protecting from a contradictory opinion,” Alexa objected, “then that is a mental health issue. Contradictory opinions are essential to the process of determining the truth of a matter. We can’t make any progress, scientifically or socially, unless we hear every opinion and have the chance to challenge it. That should be the foundational basis of all academic processes. What matters is that we are kind to each other when we do it.”

“Ah-ha!” the tribunal chair exclaimed. “So, it’s Alexa the kind academic talking. Kindly tell me, what’s your proposal, Professor Smythe?”

 “Taking a leaf from Shane Whitman’s playbook,” she acknowledged graciously, “my proposal is that we make an amendment to Article Two, just as we made an amendment to Article One.”

“And what would this amendment say?” Whitman asked, not at all sure he wanted to be sucked in this way.

“It would add the words …” Just to be sure, she wrote it down as she spoke. “’… and where physical harm or societal violence may result, provided the protection does not limit the principle of free speech delivered kindly.’”

The tribunal chair frowned. “Read the thing in its entirety, please,” he asked.

“‘Protect all persons from harm in circumstances where insensitive Hate Speech is used, deliberately or otherwise, without the consent of the persons offended, and where physical harm or societal violence may result, provided the protection does not limit the principle of free speech delivered kindly.’”

The deputy chair got unsteadily to his feet and pumped his fist in the air. “Kindness—yes, I like it!” he exclaimed. “I like it a lot.”

Without warning, he suddenly clutched his chest, emitted a strange gurgling noise, and fell backwards into his chair, knocking it over.

As his colleagues rushed to help him, Alexa distinctly heard Shane Whitman mutter under his breath, “He wouldn’t like free speech so much if it meant we could call him a Paki poofter.”

Medical help was summoned and the aging deputy was helped into a wheelchair and given oxygen. The meeting started to break up, and Alexa decided she’d shelve the free speech idea for another day. With all that was going on, it was probably a step too far at this time. Besides, it wasn’t going to bring her father back.