“Pleasant fellow, wasn’t he?” Candale said.
Baxter frowned. “When I was on the balcony, I counted seven construction cranes.”
“So the city’s growing.”
“Really? A year ago, there were seventeen. And of those that are left, two sites have shut down and just haven’t bothered to remove the cranes.”
Candale nodded. “And the remaining five are in financial trouble.”
Bert Tallman sighed. “I’m afraid that jerk is right. Change is coming. We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with it.”
Candale said, “Hey, it’s getting late. I’ve got an early meeting. Gotta go. See you guys next week?”
Tallman said, “Sure. I’ll go with you. Ellen, you coming?”
Sangster said, “I think I’ll have another drink if that’s okay with you, Todd.”
“Fine with me.”
The other two looked at one another. Candale said, “What are you going to have for breakfast?”
Tallman laughed. “Maybe they’ll just live on the fruits of their love.”
Baxter threw a cushion at them. “Don’t slam the door behind you.”
TWO WEEKS EARLIER, Todd Baxter faced a television camera, a reporter he’d always thought of as taller sticking a microphone in his face. “Mr. Baxter, why are you opposed to the disciplining of Professor Wainwright?”
“Professor Wainwright took a principled stand against protestors. He’d arranged for a lecture by Ronald Davis, but the university cancelled it when a handful of students objected.”
“But Davis’s book is controversial. It’s critical of Indigenous people who, after all, suffer some of the worst conditions in the country.”
“Yes, it’s controversial, but that’s no reason to censor it. The points Davis raises are worth discussing, not dismissing.”
“But wouldn’t you agree that Davis’s book advocates discrimination against natives?”
“Nobody who’s read the book could conclude that. There are many native leaders who applaud some of the things he says.”
The reporter asked, “And you. Why do you approve of Davis’s book?”
Baxter sighed. “Why is it that any time anyone stands up for free speech, he’s assumed to support whatever cause is being censored? I like some of what Davis says and I think he’s wrong on others. But that’s not the issue. The issue is that in a free society, anyone should be able to say whatever he wants.”
“Even if what they say hurts someone’s feelings or ignites anger? According to some Indigenous leaders, Davis is a racist. Shouldn’t a caring society be sensitive to their concerns?”
“Look, the early feminists hurt a lot of feelings when they insisted on the right to vote. Blacks who insisted on their freedom outraged slaveholders. Gays angered a lot of people when they demanded the right to marry. Change doesn’t happen without someone objecting. As far as we’re concerned, anger and hurt feelings don’t justify censorship.”
“So you would allow Davis to speak on the campus?”
Baxter said, “There are two issues here. One is the right of any campus organization to invite anyone to give a talk on any subject. The second is that university professors have the right to support such speakers and to object when they face censorship. That’s Professor Wainwright’s position. Disciplining him because he spoke out in favour of Davis’s right to speak is offensive. Doing so on a university campus, a place where ideas are supposed to be debated, is obscene.”
“The university has replied that since Professor Wainwright has tenure, they can’t fire him, but they’re within their rights to relieve him of his teaching responsibilities. How do you respond to that?”
“Yes, they have the right to discipline him. They are his employer. What outrages us is the reason. The university administration caved in to a bunch of rabble-rousers.”
The reporter asked, “So is it fair to say you’d like him not to be disciplined?”
“Yes, and the presentation by Ronald Davis to proceed. That’s the only reasonable outcome in a society that claims to support free speech.”
The reporter turned back to the camera. “That was Todd Baxter, spokesperson for a group of activists concerned about the disciplining of a university instructor who supported the right of a racist to spew his hatred on campus. Back to you.” The camera cut off, missing Baxter’s interjection.
“Well, Todd, you gave it your best shot.” Ellen Sangster gave him a punch on his shoulder. Like the others in the group, she was in her early thirties, a professional. She was operations manager for a transport company—at ease whether she was dealing with truck drivers or company executives.
“Lot of good it did. Look, guys, give me your critiques. What could I have said that would have changed things?”
Bert Tallman, whose five-and-a-half feet belied his name and made him the butt of jokes from Baxter and Candale, both six feet, said, “I don’t know if you could have. That reporter wasn’t going to give you any slack. Did you see her interview of the protestors?”
Baxter nodded. “A puff piece if there ever was one.”
Candale said, “Todd, Bert’s right. Don’t beat yourself up because you had to face someone with an agenda. After all, she has years interviewing people she wants to sabotage.”
Baxter sighed. “I’m not beating myself up. I just think sometimes I’m a hothead. Maybe one of you would have been more persuasive.”
Sangster said, “Oh, crap, Todd. We named you our spokesman because you’re good at presentations. If anyone could have handled that interview, it was you. At least you came away looking principled. I think the rest of us would have tried to strangle that ditz with her own microphone cable.”
Baxter laughed. “That occurred to me. But getting five-to-ten for assault isn’t my life plan.”
THE FOUR HAD become involved a week earlier when they met for pizza at Baxter’s home—a Friday evening tradition. The cancellation of Ronald Davis’s talk and the reprimand of Professor Wainwright had made the news for several days. The television broadcasts featured an angry mob carrying makeshift signs, chanting, and beating on drums. A news clip showed a slightly out-of-focus Professor Wainwright saying, “A university’s responsibility is to encourage dialogue, to foster disagreement. Unpopular ideas should be debated, not squelched because they offend some group.” Another clip, sharp and clear, showed a university administrator saying, “The university’s responsibility is to protect its students from aggression. Just as we don’t tolerate rape, we don’t tolerate verbal offenses.”
“As if their fragile psyches would collapse if they were even made aware of ideas they don’t approve of,” Candale said with a snort.
Sangster said, “I have to admire Wainwright. He’s not backing down.”
“Well,” Tallman said, “he does have tenure. They can’t fire him.”
Baxter said, “No, but they can make his life miserable.” He sighed. “Why is it that throughout history, defenders of free speech suffered while censors flourished?”
“You have to ask? Any words beyond pass the salt offend somebody. And today, the standard response to hearing things you don’t like is to demand that the government do something about it.”
Tallman said, “Hold on. Here’s a news story.” They turned to the television set where an announcer said, “We have breaking news. We’ve just learned that Professor William Wainwright, who has defended the racist views of Ronald Davis, has been formally disciplined by the university. Alan Dorchester is standing by. Alan?”
“Yes, Joanne, the university has just announced that Professor Wainwright has been relieved of his teaching and research responsibilities. Here’s what the dean of the department had to say.”