Just the Truth

by Gen LaGreca

  She did not notice a disapproving glare at her from a distance. It was the editor-in-chief of the Dispatch, observing her. He had read her column moments ago on his phone. He snapped a photo of his rival with her poster. Then, he transmitted the photo of Kate, along with her commentary, to a college friend who was interning at the People's Manor. He added a note:

  Backlash to my pro-Martin piece from Taninger's sister.

  The intern brought the information to someone on Zack Walker's staff, who passed it on to him. Zack's network of contacts—and his call to send him any material involving Laura Taninger or her family—were paying off.

  Upon reading Kate's column, Zack's eyes flashed with excitement and the O-shaped resting position of his mouth expanded into a wide grin. Kate Taninger had unwittingly provided the kindling to ignite his imagination.

  Through a private email account used for correspondences he did not want traceable to his position in the administration, Zack forwarded the information to Jack Anders, the director of the national organization Foundation to Enrich Student Life, an allegedly nonpartisan group that engaged in what it called charitable activities to help students cope with adult responsibilities—including signing them up to vote. This group had strong ties to the president, got out the vote for him, and in turn was itself enriched by becoming a line item in the budgets passed by Ken Martin and his party. The Foundation had the power to summon a cadre of young agitators on short notice to appear for what it called "spontaneous" demonstrations, protests, and even a little more . . . action . . . if necessary. Zack had the power to summon the Foundation, and when he forwarded the materials to its director, he wrote:

  Hey Jack, can you do something BIG here?

  Later that morning, a dozen exemplars of the Foundation's enrichment program confronted Kate.

  They grabbed her materials out of the hands of students at her table. The students quietly backed away, looking intimidated by the sudden onslaught.

  The Foundation's ringleader, whom the other disruptors called Sting, strutted up to Kate.

  "We don't want you here. Get out, racist!" he ordered.

  "I will not!"

  She tried to call the police, but with a chop to her wrist, he knocked her phone to the ground.

  "Who are you?" Kate demanded. "You don't go to school here! I never saw any of you before."

  With a smirk, Sting turned to his minions. "Let's go!" he ordered. They ripped up her reprints and flung the torn sheets into the air, littering the campus while they knocked over her table and destroyed her poster.

  One of the students who was standing at her table came to Kate's defense. "Hey, leave her alone," he said to Sting. "Ever heard of academic freedom?"

  Sting, who looked ten years past college age, had cold eyes and a fiery voice. He bellowed, "We will not be guided by cardboard notions of civility! If we have to give up academic freedom in favor of justice, we have the guts to do it. Do you?" The leader drew near the boy and jabbed a finger in his chest.

  The student backed off. He grabbed Kate's arm to pull her away. Kate resisted.

  "There will be no freedom and no justice if you destroy my table and threaten me!" she shouted to the protestors.

  The sympathetic student picked up Kate's phone and gave it to her. He continued tugging on her arm, until she finally backed away with him.

  Alerted via their electronic media networks, Collier's most belligerent students soon joined forces with the growing throng of sympathizers from the Foundation to Enrich Student Life. By late afternoon, the protestors numbered two hundred. They blocked traffic on the main roadway of the campus and formed an encampment inside the administration building, up the stairs, and into the reception area outside the dean's office on the second floor. The Foundation's director, Jack Anders, hastily drew up a list of demands for the disrupters:

  We believe that uttering certain speech is tantamount to committing an act of violence. We believe that bigoted speech is violence and those who promote it are inherently oppressors. When a member of a university writes an article promoting or justifying bigotry and oppression, the administration must treat it like an act of violence and put a stop to it.

  Collier University must not permit speech that devalues people and makes students feel attacked. Our academic community must provide a calm environment for students, where people respect the feelings of others. In a world of growing controversy, the stamping out of bigoted and hateful views is justified.

  In her recent column in the Collier Voice, editor-in-chief Kate Taninger expressed ideas that are too offensive and harmful to allow on campus. She obviously opposes democracy and the right of all people to have their vote counted. This is why we demand that Kate Taninger retract her statement, with a full-throated apology to the entire academic community—or else the administration needs to remove her from her post at the Collier Voice.

  The protestors presented their demands to Ronda Pendleton, the associate dean of student affairs, whom Stewart Folner, the dean, sent out to face them. She received their demands and issued a statement:

  We regret the hurt we know the column in question caused people and their communities on this campus. We encourage everyone in our academic family to engage in speech that fosters healthy discussions, rather than sparks controversy.

  With orders given to stand down, rather than to confront and evacuate the trespassers, security guards watched them passively. The guards' chief activity of the evening consisted of quietly shepherding the entrapped dean out of the building through a back stairwell and exit. In his sole communication with students since the encampment began, the dean summoned Kate Taninger to meet with him in the morning.

  The stately administration building, a treasured landmark from the founding of the college, soon reeked of hamburgers and pizza as the protestors received food deliveries, courtesy of the Foundation that apparently supported their gastronomic, as well as their societal, enrichment. The occupiers lounged on the couches in the anteroom to the dean's office, eating what constituted their dinner. They tossed greasy food wrappers onto the high-gloss hardwood floor and plush oriental rug. They stacked pizza boxes on an antique side table, with sauce and cheese dripping onto a handsewn lace doily. They left water rings from their drinks on the heirloom furniture.

  The Foundation to Enrich Student Life contacted reporters sympathetic to their causes, who arrived with cameras to interview the protestors and report from their encampment. Sting moved through the crowd like a supervisor, proudly surveying his group's work: intimidating students, blocking traffic, and setting wastebasket fires. Sought after for his comments, with microphones pushed toward his face, he recited the talking points given to him by the Foundation: "What you see here are students and their supporters who feel strongly about equality and justice. We spontaneously gathered here tonight because we're offended by our campus newspaper and its editor. We won't stand for oppression and injustice any longer. That's why we plan to spend the night here," he said with studied calm, as if employing the reasoned tone of the civilized was sufficient to be considered among their ranks.

  When Laura learned of the protest, she sent a crew to the scene. She aired a different story on her show, told by the eyewitness whom her reporter interviewed: Kate.

  "A group of bullies has attacked me, my campus newspaper, my sister, and the college," said the youngest of the Taningers.

  After her program that evening, Laura sped down to the college, found Kate on the scene where the protests were continuing, and grabbed her shoulders in affection and concern. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," Kate said, sounding dejected but resolute.

  "Why did you do this? You're not to get involved!" Laura said, her voice trembling with worry.

  "It's a little late for that," Kate replied.

  "You're to get yourself uninvolved fast!"

  "Meaning what?" asked Kate.

  "Meaning you'll retract what you said and go on with your education."

  "
Meaning I should side with the Dispatch . . . against you?"

  "If it comes to that. It's not your time to make news. It's your time to do what it takes to graduate!"

  "Graduate from this place?" she looked around with disgust.

  "You'll swallow it now," ordered Laura.

  "JT wouldn't swallow it."

  "He would want you to."

  "Is that what I want?" Kate said softly, posing the question to herself.

  "Retract what you wrote. Say you didn't mean to imply any offense to anyone. Water it down. Say you regret your words were not better chosen, that they were misguided or misunderstood, or whatever. Just walk it back!"

  "Why?'

  "So you'll have something to give the dean, a concession. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him soon."

  Kate did not mention that she had already been summoned to a meeting with the dean the next day.

  By morning, the occupation of the administration building had turned uglier. A half-dozen glass panels in the casement windows had been broken. Antique tables had been keyed, causing jagged wounds in the varnished wood. Upholstery and drapery had been slashed. There were now 500 agitators. A placard-waving, foul-mouthed, angry throng gathered outside the administration building in support of the mob inside, some of whom had forced the lock and entered the dean's office. They declared in front of friendly cameras that they would not leave until their demands were met: Kate Taninger must be stopped. The placards read:

  Stop the hate.

  End oppression and privilege now.

  Kate Taninger is a bigot.

  Dean Folner received a report on the vandalism from his frantic head of security, who was ready and eager to put an end to the protest. The dean frowned, sighed, and paced indecisively. Then he concluded: "If we force them out, we'll be called oppressive elitists. Collier's reputation is more important than the property damage—and far harder to repair. We have to wait this out." Security guards and local police watched in dismay.

  Campus guards escorted Kate to her meeting with the dean. With concerns for his safety, the guards had moved him to a temporary new location: a hall in the campus music center. He would have to be transplanted again the next day when the Collier Symphony Orchestra arrived for a rehearsal. Kate walked in to find a panel of three waiting for her. They sat in the center of the room on folding chairs in front of a grand piano—Dean Stewart Folner, faculty advisor to the Voice, Ellen George, and student council president, Gayle Polk. All glared at Kate, as if she were the cause of their problems.

  The dean gestured for Kate to take a seat in a chair facing them. As she sat, Kate thought of the inquisitions of medieval times and wondered if there were a torture rack hidden among the kettle drums, harp, double bass, and cluster of music stands on the sides of the room.

  The gray-haired dean had a distinguished look, except for a habit of nervously blinking. He spoke first.

  "Now, Ms. Taninger," he said. "I'm sure you're aware of the gravity of the situation. Surely, you agree that something must be done."

  Kate nodded. "Yes, sir. Of course, you have to do something."

  "Oh, not us, Ms. Taninger. It's you who have to do something, wouldn't you say?"

  "Do what?"

  "Recant. Apologize, sincerely and at length, for what you wrote. Retract it, and hope the community is satisfied with that so we can all get back to normal."

  "Why should I apologize?"

  "Because your views have offended many people."

  "I gave my views on a political issue. I didn't mean to offend anyone."

  "Oh, but people were offended, whether you intended it or not."

  "But, sir, it's not valid for them to be offended. I didn't say anything to warrant that reaction."

  "People must be held accountable for the disturbance they create, Ms. Taninger, even if it's not what they meant to do."

  "You mean, I'm to be held accountable for the feelings generated in the heads of rioters?" Kate replied. "But Dean Folner, they're in the wrong. Why don't they apologize?"

  With a forced calm, the dean smiled cajolingly. "Look, this isn't about who's right and who's wrong. It's about curbing speech that offends the academic community—and yours does."

  "But, sir, doesn't rioting offend the academic community? Isn't that what needs to be curbed?"

  The dean folded his arms irritably. Ms. Taninger had a pesky way of bringing up things that made him feel . . . uncomfortable. He turned to the student council president, as if to say, maybe you can talk some sense into her.

  "Look, Kate, you need to help us out here," said Gayle Polk. "We're asking nicely. We assume you didn't intend to offend anyone."

  "I was thinking about what I was saying. The facts mattered, and I was thinking about them."

  "Facts matter, of course. But feelings matter, too."

  "You mean power matters, don't you, Gayle? Do vandals carry the day for us here at Collier?"

  The panel of three glanced at each other, as if wondering what to try next. Kate presented a problem for them. She spoke directly—without anger, regret, or remorse—and the panel didn't seem to know how to handle someone who felt neither self-protective, nor apologetic, nor guilty.

  "You know, Kate, we could hold a student council meeting and vote to defund your newspaper because it's provoked such a violent reaction. Then the Voice, the venerable newspaper that's part of Collier's history, would be shut down. Wouldn't you rather just walk back your column, so you don't bring down the whole paper?"

  "It would be you bringing down the Voice, wouldn't it? Why should you do that over a column that speaks the truth, Gayle?"

  "Because the student body may not want to hear what you perceive as the truth. They have other ideas about what their truth is. On the council, we'd have to go with the majority's decision."

  "There are 500 people out there demonstrating. What about the other 10,000 students who aren't protesting my work? Aren't they the majority, the quiet ones, and why can't you go with their decision, which is to be unoffended by my views?"

  "But the opinion of those 500 protestors is what'll sway the student council."

  "Why?"

  "Because your opinion represents privilege and discrimination. We can't support that."

  "But what if my position is valid, and my views are true? Are you saying that an institution of higher education can't support the truth?"

  "Now look, Kate." Ellen George, the Voice's faculty advisor, chimed in. "Truth isn't the only factor we need to weigh. The narrative is important, too, even more important than the truth. There is discrimination and bigotry in our society."

  "But not in this case. I'm not discriminating or being bigoted toward anyone. Neither is my sister. People have no right to accuse us of things we didn't do or say or imply."

  "It doesn't really matter that you or your sister are not actually bigoted. Student protestors from poor backgrounds are complaining to me because you're causing them to feel as though you are discriminating against them," interjected Gayle Polk.

  "But they're wrong to feel that way, Gayle. Why should I be responsible for how unfairly they reacted?"

  "Sometimes impact outweighs intent, and when that happens people do need to be held accountable."

  "Meaning the rioters," said Kate. "They need to be held accountable."

  "Meaning you," the student council president persisted. "The narrative is there, and our students are concerned. They react to that bigger picture. You can't blame them."

  "But half of the protestors aren't even students."

  "That doesn't matter," replied Gayle Polk, shaking her head. "The demonstrators represent the wider community which our university serves."

  "Let me get this straight." Kate looked at the panel thoughtfully. Being a Taninger and growing up under JT's tutelage, Kate had a way of not being awed by people in authority, and the three people she faced, by their nervous glances at each other, knew it. "The three of you don't blame the protestors for the damage the
y're causing? You blame me?" Her voice was incredulous. "You can't be serious."

  Ellen George crossed her legs and fidgeted in her folding chair. "In my five years as faculty advisor, I never thought I'd have to protect the Voice from its editor-in-chief!" she charged, eager to wrap up the matter. "For the sake of the Voice, you need to retract what you said and apologize to your readers."

  "You mean apologize to the people who shut down my table, threatened me, and trashed the dean's office?" Kate replied.

  "Just say that you chose words that weren't the best, and now that you're more sensitized to the needs and feelings of the academic community, you regret having caused pain and you take back what you said."

  "No one would believe that, and I'd be a coward for saying it."

  Dean Folner, who had expressed no indignation toward the protestors, now bellowed at Kate, "Will you do as we ask, Ms. Taninger? Or will you push us to do something more . . . corrective?"

  Kate's eyes held steady on his.

  Chapter 14

  Sean Browne sat in his office, listening to Darcy Egan prepare him for his daily press briefing. His eyes wandered from the sheet of talking points she had placed before him to the open door of his office and beyond it to the entryway to the president's office. He noticed that after a few weeks as the president's press secretary, the shimmer of being a sparkler so close to the biggest of the fireworks down the hall had dimmed. That's expected, he told himself. You can't keep feeling the thrill of a new job after that job isn't new anymore. You have to come down to earth.

  Yes, he was privy to Ken Martin's important meetings, but like a favorite pet, he would sit quietly at Martin's side and be stroked occasionally when Martin turned toward him to make a comment. But he was never invited to contribute anything of substance to the discussions. Why should you contribute? You're new to the job, and the president has lots of policy experts he needs to hear from, Sean reasoned with himself.