Until Help Comes, Part 1
“Can an automatic soap dispenser be racist?” Jenna scanned the lecture hall as she asked the question. A student wearing a red hat in the front row rolled his eyes. Maribelle had warned Jenna about him. His name is Jason. He’s a troll. The front row of seats in the lecture hall was unusually full. She did this guest lecture for Maribelle once every quarter and the front row had never been full.
Jenna might have taken it as a compliment, if not for a troubling sameness between the students. Military-style backpacks all arranged the same way, by their left feet. Some of the faces seemed familiar, but it was hard to say. The second week of classes had started and campus was crowded with new faces.
“Can an automatic soap dispenser be racist?” Jenna repeated. She could almost see the question as a phantom worm, moving around the room. Some students put down their phones as the silence stretched. Some picked them up. Some shuffled papers or held their pens at attention over blank notebook pages.
“Remember how you’re graded.” Maribelle was sitting at the edge of the room. “Fifty percent of your grade is participation.”
A few students raised their hands. Jenna pointed to a woman in the back. “You in the blue sweatshirt. What do you think? Can a soap dispenser be racist?”
“Racism requires intent,” the student said. “A soap dispenser is just an object.”
“Racism doesn’t require intent,” another student said. “How many years has it been since slavery? How many inequalities still exist?”
“How would a soap dispenser even be racist?” This student hadn’t raised their hand. “They literally don’t see color. They just spit out soap.”
“But not for everyone.” This comment was softer but held a familiar bitter tone.
“That’s correct,” Jenna said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch who said that. Do you want to elaborate?”
Jenna guessed it was one of the two Black students in the class. Even at this liberal university, there were only two in a class of thirty. Two Black women, one wearing a sorority sweatshirt and one in a flowery purple top.
The Black woman in the sorority sweatshirt raised her hand reluctantly. “Whatever. Sure. I used to run into it all the time. Still do. Just last week I was at an interview and the soap dispensers in the bathroom didn’t work for me. I had to wave a white paper towel underneath.”
“That was a stupid internet video in 2017,” Jason said. “It’s not a real thing.”
“How would you know?” The Black woman in the flowery top fired back. “You’ve been White your whole life.”
“Look you—”
“Civility.” Maribelle’s tone was firm and curt. “We all signed the discussion code of conduct on the first day of class.”
Jenna admired how Maribelle could own a room. Jenna had never had that sort of presence. “There’s an important point being made here. Here’s an example from my own life.”
Jason rolled his eyes again.
Sorority sweatshirt and flowery top looked skeptical. Jenna suspected it was for very different reasons than Jason.
“Not about being the target of racism,” Jenna said. “But sexism. Several years ago, my husband and I both interviewed at the same university. We both spoke with the dean. He came out of the interview thinking it was a great place to work. I came out of the interview thinking it was a terrible place to work.”
“Intersectionality. How woke.” A whispered, sarcastic comment came from the front row.
Jenna couldn’t see from whom. She kept on. “All of our lived experiences are different based on how other people see us. So back to the original question. If a soap dispenser doesn’t work the same for people with darker skin, is that soap dispenser racist?” Jenna pointed to a student who hadn’t spoken yet.
“The person who designed it might be racist, but the soap dispenser can’t be.”
Jenna hid a smile. Now they were getting closer to the meat of the argument. She preferred a good intellectual discussion over a night at the bar any day. This was the part she loved about being a professor. She saw herself as a guide, leading students through a vibrant jungle of ideas. “Let’s assume, for the sake of discussion, that the designer wasn’t consciously excluding people of color. How would you end up with a soap dispenser that didn’t work the same for everyone?”
Again, a long silence. Jenna scanned the crowd for a good target. “I recognize that T-shirt from the ACM group on campus. You’ve studied software engineering. Think like an engineer for a minute. How do you end up with a buggy product?”
“Bad QA,” the ACM student said. “You didn’t test enough.”
“Or the right things,” another student offered.
A YouTube video blared out from someone’s phone. Embarrassed, the student fumbled to silence it. “I was just looking up the video,” the student mumbled. “And some articles.”
Jenna leaned on the podium. “And what did you learn?”
“Soap dispensers use light refraction to detect when a hand is underneath them. And light refracts differently for darker skin tones.”
“That’s a physics explanation,” Jenna said. “Not an explanation for how the product was released that way.”
“They only tested on people with lighter skin tones,” another student read from their phone. “So they didn’t know it didn’t work for everyone.”
“As you’ve all figured out by now, this isn’t a hypothetical,” Jenna said. “Now that we know the company wasn’t trying to make a buggy soap dispenser, I want to ask an actual hypothetical question. Imagine a building manager chose these soap dispensers for their campus. Are they being racist?”
“That depends on if they know.”
“If the company probably didn’t advertise it, how would they know?”
“Of course they aren’t.”
“Of course they are. Did they ask if the soap dispensers would work for everyone?”
The comments piled on top of one another. Bingo. Jenna had finally engaged the students. She smiled at Maribelle as they let the chaos continue, just for a few minutes. Side discussions formed. Everywhere except the front row, where everyone was silent. Anxiety tempered Jenna’s excitement.
“Let’s come back together now,” Maribelle said. Once again, everyone stopped to pay attention to her voice. “I want to hear some reflections on those impromptu small group discussions.”
Hands shot up everywhere except the front row. Maribelle pointed out students and called on them by name.
“I don’t know if I’d call them racist. But the effect of their actions was racist.”
“If you’re not paying attention, you can be part of a racist system—”
“It’s a fucking soap dispenser. Who cares?” Jason again. The whole front row nodded in agreement.
Maribelle stood. “What if it were a medical device? Like something to measure oxygen in the blood? Or a heart rate sensor? Or a self-driving car that didn’t recognize you as a pedestrian?”
Jason exchanged nods with the person next to him. Then he stood and faced the class.
Was it Jenna’s imagination or did she hear shuffling in the hallway?
“We shouldn’t take anything she says seriously.” Jason pointed at Maribelle. “She raised her children to be convicts.”
Jenna had never seen Maribelle shrink before. But Maribelle was slumping now, conspicuously mute.
That student law group featured in the paper last week—Lawyers on the Right. That’s why Jenna knew the faces in the front row. A conservative student group on campus had been putting together an amicus brief in Maribelle’s case against CommunityEyes.
“This woman is suing CommunityEyes for trying to make our neighborhoods safer,” Jason said. “All because she can’t accept the truth—her son is a danger to society and should be in prison.”
Say something. Anything. Maribelle had never needed Jenna more than now, and Jenna was clearly failing.
“Woke mind virus! Woke mind virus!” The chant started in the hallway. Jenna could hear the words in stereo. There must be protestors outside the doors on either side of the lecture hall. They had blocked all the exits.
“We’re taking over this classroom,” Jason said. “Until the university agrees to fire Professor Maribelle Williams.”
Jenna’s opportunity to be heroic had passed. But she had been to enough protests and counterprotests to know what she needed to do next. They wouldn’t be able to protect themselves with everyone scattered.
“Everyone up here!” Jenna shouted. Better to gather people on the stage where they could move, instead of being corralled by the stadium seating.
Jason tried to keep the students from the stage, but they pushed past him. He fell on the carpeted stairs. When he rose, he had a bloody lip and an icy glare directed at Jenna.
“Someone’s calling 911?” Maribelle asked. “Good—the rest of you, call, text. Anyone, everyone you know. Make sure everyone knows we’re trapped.”
Jenna wanted to text her sister, but she knew that should wait. Instead, she pulled up a number she hadn’t texted in a long time. Her ex-boyfriend, Carson.
Scoop for you. Being held hostage by Lawyers on the Right in Maribelle’s class. They say they’re protesting Maribelle’s lawsuit. They want Maribelle fired.
Context. Carson needed to know the students holding them hostage were part of a larger group.
See article in Friday’s edition of the student paper. About Williams vs. CommunityEyes.
Animated dots showed Carson was typing. A faster response than she’d ever gotten as his girlfriend.
“My name is Rebecca Nichols and I’m being held hostage in Software Ethics 101.” Sorority sweatshirt shoved a camera in her face. “We’re streaming live on MeOnTV. Introduce yourself.”
“J—Jenna Michaels.” Jenna had interviewed terrorists in three different countries. She regularly lectured to hundreds of students at a time, but streaming to an anonymous, faceless internet made her nervous.
Jason’s group—she counted ten of them—had formed a line at the edge of the stage between them and the exits. Should she have directed everyone to the doors to try and escape?
It didn’t matter now.
“Jenna Michaels.” Jenna tried to project confidence. “I’m a journalism professor. I’m here to give a guest lecture today on how bias in system design is covered by—”
“Woke mind virus! Woke mind virus!” Jason’s group chanted to drown them out.
Jesus. Are you okay?
Carson texted.
“This stream is public right?” Jenna had to shout for Rebecca to hear her.
Rebecca nodded.
The deafening chant made it difficult to think. Intentionally, no doubt.
Check out MeOnTV livestream for Rebecca Nichols.
Then, thinking of his question. Okay for now.
There’s someone else live streaming. And social media posts all over. Police scanner is lighting up
, Carson texted.
Jason cut the chant off with a gesture. “No more interviews.”
The live streams were protection, Jenna knew. And Jason knew it too.
“What if we interviewed you?” Jenna asked. Everyone wants to be heard—the first thing Jenna always told her journalism students. People with secrets especially. And she suspected Jason had secrets. If she could put aside her fear, she could concentrate on the puzzle.
Jason’s group was remarkably organized. Ten people in the room. A crowd outside. And the plans for an amicus brief, the reason the article had stuck in her head. The court wouldn’t accept an amicus brief from just anyone. Jason’s group had connections. Connections often meant funding.
“You want to interview me?” Jason asked.
Jenna heard students muttering behind her.
“She’s giving him a platform.”
“Why is she being nice to him?”
If only she could explain. Jenna was trying to distract him. So the other livestreams and calls could continue. And maybe find out who Jason’s friends were.
“The point of protests is to get attention, right?” Jenna said. “Well, you have our attention.”
“You’re pretending to be nice,” Jason said. “I did my research on you too. You’re just as liberal and deranged as Maribelle.”
Oh, you sweet, summer child. With the crowd outside, Jason might have numbers, but Jenna had experience. She had been a journalist before she had been a professor; she knew how easy it was to play a narcissist.
“I’m not trying to be your friend,” Jenna said. “I teach journalism. And this seems like a great opportunity to demonstrate some interviewing skills.” Jenna heard a harsh laugh from someone behind Jason.
“Bitch is still trying to be a professor.”
Jason waved the comment away. “I’ll do the interview. I’m the leader. It makes sense for me to do it.” He straightened his wrinkled T-shirt and combed his hair with his fingers. As if a makeup artist was going to show up next.
Ego. Delusions of grandeur. Jenna saw an easy mark. For people like Jason, any attention was intoxicating.
“Well, let’s start with your group,” Jenna said. “I think I saw your pictures in the paper last week.”
“I’m the president of Lawyers on the Right,” Jason said. “I started the group this year to combat a liberal bias among law students. They’re all fighting for the wrong causes.”
Jenna noted the patches on his backpack. One was Gollum from Lord of the Rings and the other was J.R.R. Tolkien’s initials surrounded by some writing. “Is it a coincidence that your group has the same initials as Lord of the Rings?”
“No!” Jason smiled. “Not at all. I love those books. There are so many important lessons in them.”
“Bullshit,” Rebecca said. “Tolkien was antifa. He hated Hitler.”
“We’re not fascists,” Jason shot back. Then, to Jenna, “If you want to do this interview, she has to keep her mouth shut.”
Jenna had to keep Jason’s attention focused on her. “I’m a big fan of Lord of the Rings too,” Jenna said. “But when I think of the books I see an epic battle of good versus evil. And how all of these different communities have to come together to fight Sauron. A multiracial coalition. I’m guessing you see something different.”
“It’s a story about traditionalism and decline,” Jason said. “The further we drift from our values and traditions the worse things get. We’re in a period of long-term decline. The social fabric is tearing apart. You can see the evidence of that in crime rates and weakening families. Us commoners have to fight back against the persecution of a liberal government.”
“You think you’re a commoner,” Maribelle said bitterly. “Five percent of applicants get accepted here and tuition costs $50,000 a year.”
“Which I pay every penny of,” Jason said. “Because I’m a White man. I bet Rebecca here has a free ride,” Jason said.
“Fucking classic,” Rebecca said. “Assuming I’m on scholarship too because I’m Black. I pay full tuition too."
“You want to submit an amicus brief in the Williams versus CommunityEyes case.” Jenna redirected his attention. “That’s a pretty big deal for a small student group. Your group only has ten members, right? And your faculty sponsor isn’t a law professor; it’s a professor from the Agriculture Department. How do you plan to get the court to take you seriously?”
“None of the law professors would sponsor the group,” Jason said. “Woke mind virus. But we don’t need them. We have friends. We have fifty people from other students groups here surrounding this lecture hall. And Professor Hinkel has friends too. The leftist communists are trying to destroy the United States and it’s up to us to stop them.”
Never fails, Jenna thought. Ask a narcissist to tell you why they’re important and they’ll tell you who their connections are. “Is Professor Hinkel part of a national group that can help with the legal expertise you need?”
“Professor Hinkel and I are part of a like-minded group of leaders who understand how burdensome regulations and group think stifle innovation and freedom. That’s all the expertise we need.”
Jenna was pretty sure Jason didn’t get to speak much in whatever clubhouse this ridiculous sounding group met in. “Is this a national organization? Would I have heard the name before?”
“Not yet,” Jason grinned. “But you will. We are libertarians for equality and autonomy pushing—”
“Shut up already!”
Jenna snapped her head up. The yell had come from an open doorway at the edge of the room. The protestors had let someone in.
“You dumbass.” The man who had been let in was older. More Jenna’s age than Jason’s. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed closely. As he got closer, Jenna could see a T-shirt with an all-black American flag on it. That flag means no quarter given. A TikTok video had claimed the flags were flown by Confederates during the Civil War to say no mercy would be given. Historically inaccurate, but it hardly mattered. The claim had gone viral. Self-proclaimed patriots had proudly displayed the flag during the J6 coup attempt. The tactical backpacks seemed more sinister now.
While Jason was distracted she texted Carson again.
They let someone in. Wearing all-black flag. Protest group has tactical, military-style backpacks.
Do they have weapons?
Carson asked.
I don’t know.
Did Jenna really think they had weapons? They were just backpacks after all. That’s what made J6 so terrifying. The posers and protestors and militia groups all used the same symbols and the same language. Was Jason’s group dangerous or just misguided?
Jason stood to greet the new arrival. “Liam! Worked just like—”
“You fucking idiot. You haven’t taken their phones away.” Liam was holding a hand in front of his face. He didn’t want his face on camera.
“I thought we wanted the attention,” Jason said. “You said—”
“We’re losing the narrative on social media. They look like victims.”
New arrival is Liam
, Jenna texted. Camera-shy.
“Get their phones,” Liam said. “Everyone’s.”
Jenna had just enough time to turn her phone off before it was grabbed away. A scuffle started a few feet away from her. Liam had punched a student refusing to let go of her phone. The injured student fell back. Jason ran over.
“No one was supposed to get hurt,” Jason said.
“Stop being a pussy,” Liam said. “If you’re not going to take control, I will. Watch the hostages while I fix the mess you made.”
Jason had just been demoted to a babysitter. He wasn’t even watching them like he was supposed to. He was staring at the tight circle Liam had gathered.
Rebecca helped the injured student up and whispered something in her ear. The student nodded and passed the message on while Rebecca turned to the next person. Jenna and Maribelle were the last to get the whisper.
“We fight. On three.”
Rebecca held up one finger. One.
Twenty students versus eleven captors.
Rebecca held up two fingers. Two.
Until the crowd outside came in. Then the odds would be heavily against them.
Three. Rebecca and the other students rushed Liam’s group. Jenna was slow to follow. She hadn’t ever been in a schoolyard fight. She had never even thrown a punch. Jenna heard a yell behind her. Jason was right on her heels.
He swung at her. Jenna froze; his blow landed. Blood gushed from her nose. The pain woke her. Fuck him. And the dean who had told her women were too irrational to be professors. And her first editor, who would only assign her to the style section.
She kneed Jason in the groin and he folded over. She threw elbows, fists, knees wherever she found an opening. When Jason fell to the floor, a student appeared with zip ties and secured Jason’s ankles and wrists.
Zip ties?
Jenna took a step back. While most of the students were still attacking their captors, others had emptied the backpacks lining the front row. The contents were terrifying, but useful. Gas masks, batons, knives, energy bars, and yes, zip ties. Liam had been knocked out cold and had two black eyes. Rebecca zip-tied the last Lawyers on the Right member in the lecture hall and then stood.
Other students had run to secure the doors to prevent the crowd outside from entering. Two students were holding the east door shut while the crowd outside tried to pull it open. The other doorway had been blocked with a clever combination of the rolling whiteboard turned on its side and the podium Jenna had been lecturing from earlier. Still, hands were reaching around the edges of their blockade, shaking the furniture.
“We need to get out of here,” Rebecca said. “I have pepper spray. But it will hit all of us.”
“We pair up,” another student said. “There are ten gas masks. Twenty of us.”
Maribelle grabbed a gas mask and Jenna. “I’ll lead us out,” Maribelle said.
Jenna could only nod. Had she really just beaten Jason up? Was she really going to walk through a cloud of gas to get out of a hostage situation?
They lined up outside the unblocked door that was being pulled back and forth. The students guarding the door let go and the door flew back into the hallway. Rebecca sprayed through the opening. Immediately, Jenna’s eyes began to burn. She couldn’t stop coughing. But she kept her hand on Maribelle’s shoulder. Somehow they kept moving forward. Around her, she could hear coughing from the other students and the protestors. Tears streamed from her eyes. All she could see was blurs of dark brown—the hallway?—and moving shapes at the edge of her vision.
“Hands up!” Maribelle yelled. “Hands up, everyone!”
Jenna put one hand up and kept the other on Maribelle’s shoulder. Now she could see green blurs and smell grass. Were they by the front door? Her eyes were so swollen it was hard to keep them open.
“What’s going on?” she managed between coughs.
“Police are outside,” Maribelle told her. “They need to know we’re the hostages as we walk out.”
Jenna nodded, coughed, nodded.
A rush of fresh air met her as the door opened.
(To be continued)