SERIES
My Name is Mr. Anger
Fiction — part 4
About series: This is the story of violence, a story so old it is in our very blood. And while a few of our sisters feel its pull, for many of us born to the Y chromosome, a violent act lies just beneath the surface, ready to hand like sword and shield. Read part one first.
9. PANEL
And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong! (John Godfrey Saxe, The Blind Men and the Elephant,1872)
The popular tv show, Today/Tonight, started out as everyone expected, with the greying host introducing the panel.
“Also, we have not one but two MPs this week, David Barnaton for Labour, an outspoken critic of the STOP Plan.” Except this week, the show was being televised live. “And Henry Clarke for the Conservatives. And this is our panel.”
As the applause rang across the TV Studio, hoots and even shouts joined in the noise. Everyone knew that tonight’s show was going to be divisive.
That evening’s subject was the up-and-coming pilot of the new Stronger Together Outreach Plan, giving over 18s the free injection that was having a real impact on crime rates across Finland, Denmark, and New Zealand. But to many — boys and men typically — this new state-sponsored drug was beyond a civil rights abuse, it was simply anti-men.
“Look at the stats already!” said Jesse, a senior production assistant on the show.
Jesse was standing with the other show staff in the production room, pointing at a screen on the wall. The large screen showed the new sentiment-tracking dashboard. Several bars and graphs were displayed, and a list of keywords they tracked across Twitter, Facebook, and other social media sites.
“Come on, look alive! He’s through the intros,” said the insistent voice of Emma, Head of Production, into the headsets each of the production crew wore. “Right, first one’s up. Marcus, when you’ve got a reaction shot from the crowd, don’t wait…”
Jesse’s attention was pulled back to the large bank of monitors in the production control room. Camera two was duplicated onto the main monitor, the live feed that viewers saw. The camera showed just the head and shoulders of one of the audience. A middle-aged man, articulate, opinionated, someone’s Dad. Someone’s ex. Gotta be divorced, thought Jesse.
“My question is for Henry Clarke. How can this supposed inoculation program against violence be seen as anything more than the government pandering to the Woke press?” The shot closed in even tighter on the angry face, the studio lights rendering well the reddening face. “This is simply anti-men and I’m ashamed to call you my MP. I voted for you!”
“Oh very good Doddie, he’s perfect!” said Jesse.
Off to one side, sat in front of a computer screen, Doddie threw Jesse a big smile. One of Doddie’s roles was to short-list audience questioners for Emma, including order recommendations. With the first questioner, it wasn’t just about setting up the theme for the evening’s entertainment, but it was about getting the show’s tone just right. And this audience member looked molded for tonight.
Jesse looked back across the bank of screens showing each of the panel members: two MPs, one bishop, an entrepreneur, and one professor who made all this possible. Two against STOP, two for STOP, and one for the government rolling it out.
“So is the government’s pilot program” the host began, as always re-stating the question “which includes the new inoculation against violence — which is having so much success in Scandinavia — is driven by certain press?” He turned and looked at the panel member to his right.
“Henry Clarke, MP for Ashford,” said the host.
Henry took a deep breath. Tonight was an important night for him. It was a gamble, but if he could handle this show, then it would really accelerate his trust in the real power in his party, the Whips. He just mustn’t let David trip him up. Even if he’d been assured the bastard wouldn’t be here. Focus, he reminded himself.
“Let me first say to both our audience here in the studio and those watching at home, this is merely a pilot,” Henry began.
“The government runs many, many pilots across the country. It is a safe and sensible way to test new ways of working and living. From trialing ways of removing congestion on our roads to recruiting into new digital workplaces.” Leaning forward on the curved panel desk he continued “Again this is simply one of many pilots this government, or any government across the democratic world are running all the time. It is quite safe. You can take that from me.”
And he returned a big beaming smile.
But there was only a smattering of claps from the packed audience. And none of them were men.
“David Barnaton, Labour MP for Dagenham and Rainham,” said the host, turning to his left, the camera panning to where he looked.
“Well, I think my honorable colleague for Ashford shamelessly ignored the question that was put to him,” David began with practiced ease. “This government is in a tailspin, you just need to look at the polls. They are desperate to gather new voters — given so many are running to our side — and this pandering to women voters in such a divisive way, well it is really quite awful. And this gentleman in the audience — like so many others — has seen right through it.”
Hearty applause broke out across the audience, predominantly from the male side of the audience.
Pausing briefly, David turned in his chair and started jabbing the air with his finger.
“And what’s worse, Henry Clarke is clearly using this campaign to launch his own political career in something he no more believes in than…congestion reform!”
Now the applause was clear.
The host waited for it to quieten down and then turned back the Henry.
“Mr. Clarke, to Mr. Barnaton’s points,” said the Host. “Why are you backing this program? Or have you merely come onto this show as a mouthpiece of the government?”
Henry didn’t wait to respond. “Am I the mouthpiece of the government as you put it? Yes of course I am,” he replied. “My party — the Conservative Party — have the majority in the House and have therefore been given the mandate by the people to govern our country. Am I here as a representative of this government? Yes, I am.”
Always, always state facts — if you can — loudly and clearly. Exactly the same as with lies, he’d been taught.
After a somewhat pregnant pause, the host added “But why are you, backing this program?”
Henry appeared to squirm in his chair, but this next bit he had practice multiple times in front of the mirror. He took a gulp, and unknown to him, the camera pulled in closer to him.
“Where I grew up in Stratford in East London, there was always violence around. It was every day, normal even. Just part of life. A mate’s mother at home getting it from his dad, Firms at the footie, the casual indifference to anyone that wasn’t from ‘round here.”
David picked a black lady from his target demographic in the audience — female, working class — or as he imagined she was.
“And by that, I don’t just mean people of color. No, I mean anyone not from our territory, our neighborhood.” He looked down, then back up. “I saw the impact of violence.
“I campaigned for change well before I joined the Tory party, working through the Kick Start charity in Stratford. So do I believe in this program? Yes, yes, and yes. I support funding a pilot and getting hard evidence that such a thing could be possible in England.” And then with a smile “And Wales of course.”
Applause and laughter were caught across the audience.
“Henry-bloody-Clarke? Well who’d a thunk it?” said Jesse inside the PCT room. “For such a toe-rag–”
“Martin, don’t cut to the Prof yet. Back to David Barnaton. He’s gonna drop the prison line” said Emma into her mic which went directly to the host’s earpiece too. Only Emma had control of his mic during the live runs of the Show.
The host, his eyebrows still raised, turned to his left. “David Barnaton, would you care to comment?”
David, his face a mask of shock, reshaped into one of anger. “It is often a thing of incredulity hearing Henry Clarke spout such lies and falsehoods, but this one beggar’s belief,” said David, lining up his barb to throw. “Henry Clarke served time in prison. Years in prison!”
“Two years and one month,” cut in Henry.
“That’s still years Henry” his voice dripping with easy venom, “be honest eh…” David waited for a reply, hoping for a response. The chance to attack Henry here, on live TV, he couldn’t believe the opportunity had come to pass. He found himself savoring every lovely moment. He wanted to smile and grin, but he kept all that hidden now. Now was the time to fling mud and he had the dirt.
“And while it was for fraud” he continued, “stripping assets and leaving a ‘wake of debt’ I hear the judge called it, your co-defendant was charged with harassment and intimidation.” David stabbed again in the air. “You were accused too were you not?”
Henry knew David would go there. God how he’d hoped he wouldn’t, but he knew he would. He really should have canceled going on this show. He could feel the sweat now dripping down his back. These bloody lights. But the Whips would have seen his weakness. Anyway, he refused to back down from David.
“Look, I did my time,” he replied. “I served my sentence. Do I have regrets? Yes. Do I wish what I knew then, what I know now? Who wouldn’t? But I learned my lessons the hard way. It’s why I plowed so much of my time into charity work, helping kids who might be headed down the wrong path like I had. And when people voted for me, someone who’d made mistakes but could honestly turn his own life around,…well maybe I could turn a community around, turn deprivation around–”
“Henry, do you really think you have changed? I know you–”
“No, you really don’t David,” said Henry, honesty ringing through his words. And a set to his shoulders, not on attacking or defensive. But passive.
David was caught off guard by Henry’s not-Henry way. He’d never seen him like this. What was his game?
He could not, would not ever forget that day in the shopping Mall and the way Henry had treated him. Then David was right back there, that night Henry and his mates had cornered him in the car park with his wife. As his heart rate rocked, the memories skipped. The week after, being fed via a drip. The vow he’d made in that hospital bed, his searching for a fight, any fight. Finding his way into a Firm for the same club he’d supported with his Dad. Then fighting with his Debs. Right then, there was no hiding his anger for this man. It was clear to everyone in the studio and the many millions watching at home.
The moment stretched then a voice cut through. “I think it’s time to bring in another of our panel,” said the Host. “Professor Barbara Tuesday. Could you tell the audience something about this pilot being trialed? This ‘vaccine against violence’ as it has been called in the press.”
“Of course,” replied Barbara Tuesday, professor of psychiatry at UCL. “First though, let us be clear. It is not a vaccine. Aggression is far more insidious than any virus, or dare I say even cancer.”
“In the male half of the humans you mean,” cut in Helena Stanovich, her face deadpan, her voice clear. There were cheers, a chorus of high voices.
“Barbarism!” muttered the Bishop, who sat next to the Professor on the panel.
Barbara paused and sighed inwardly. She had wondered why a technology entrepreneur was on the panel — but she’d guessed wrong. She was here to represent that growing segment of outspoken women who were driving the demand for the drug. For all the right and wrong reasons.
But Barbara did not see the signs. Nor the host, nor the production team. But Jesse felt it as she kept one eye on the sentiment tracker. The numbers were growing and growing. New keywords appeared, and Jesse’s heart began to skip.
She looked at Helena. And Professor Tuesday. Such strong women, she thought. And then at the men on the panel. The two MPs — both horrible men if she was being honest — and Martin Dempsey, yes ‘all hands’ Dempsey.
One keyword was taking over all else. It wasn’t even a word, but it made her smile. It made her heart skip.
#nomen.
No men.
Something was changing. Jesse knew it. The future — which had always felt so uncertain to her — was heading somewhere. Somewhere she felt part of, somewhere she wanted to go.
The host was trying to settle the audience. After a long minute, the audience hushed again and he nodded to Barbara.
“Now while this new drug is not a vaccine, the most recent evidence does suggest that tackling violence like a disease has proved to be a very effective way of reducing its impact. And if anything, that is the more innovative part of this pilot program and one I would welcome–”
“Thank you, thank you Professor Tuesday” cut in the host, pretending to stick one finger to his earpiece. Jesse looked at him shocked. He’d just cut off the Professor! That bastard. She looked around the studio but no one else saw it.
“Let us take another question from the audience,” said the Host, adding “Yes, there at the back.”
Maybe it was the studio lights. Maybe it was because the show’s guests were kept in a separate lounge away from the studio. Or that David and Henry had to be kept even further apart. But neither man realized just how many of their old football Firms were in the audience.
The leaders of the two Firms had come to an understanding in the previous months. Both saw that their way of life — to fight on matchday — was under threat. Both wanted to make a stand. And when one heard their ex-leaders turned MPs were going to be on a live tv show, well, they concocted a plan.
“Yes, the chap at the back. Yes, the one with the black pullover. What’s your question for the panel?”
As the mic on the long boom handle settled above Sean Harris — leader of the Stratford Boys Firm — both Henry and David spotted him for the first time. Puzzlement crossed both their faces. Their eyes began to scan the audience and then they saw members of both their old firms in the audience. In fact, there were at least twenty members from the two firms. They began to shift in their seats, worried expressions marking their faces.
Several of the production crew spotted the color draining from the two men. “Something’s not right,” said the Head of Production. “Who’s this audience member?”
But it was too late.
“My question is to Henry Clarke,” began Sean Harris, standing up. “‘Ello Henry. Long time,” his voice sounded like a fist grinding gravel. “If you believe in this new drug you of all people are peddling, would you take it?”
Henry looked out at the audience and held up a hand as if to shield his eyes from the studio lights.
“You must be from my constituency. Hello!” and tried to beam his now-famous smile, but failed. “I believe in this pilot and so does the Government, it’s why we shifted policy funds to support it. And throughout the process–”
“It was a simple question, Henry. Would you take it?” His voice cut across the studio like a falling stone slab.
“Well, like I said,” and now there was irritation in Henry’s words. “This is only a pilot, but one that has the government’s full support–”
“Henry Clarke,” cut in the host. “That is not what the gentleman is asking. He is asking — quite simply — would you, Henry Clarke, take this new drug?”
“What I would do is irrelevant,” Henry replied.
“So you wouldn’t take it?” Sean Harris stayed standing, his voice heavy in the silent studio.
“No!” Henry barked. “Course I would! But it’s not about me Sean…” Henry trailed off, his face flushed. The host and the other panel members looked at him. David couldn’t help but smirk as he looked on.
“Well then I guess you wouldn’t mind proving it,” said Sean, standing among the audience, “by taking that concoction live on TV then eh.”
“What?” Henry turned to look at the host and then back at the audience.
All the members of the two Firms — nearly twenty in all — stood as one, pulling on balaclavas and moving towards the stage. Ten others who had been loitering around in corridors at the studios, stormed into the production room.
David beamed and couldn’t believe his luck. This was more than he could have ever imagined.
“In fact, all the panel gonna take this fucking STOP drug now on TV.”
“What?!” David’s mouth dropped open.
The other panel members stood backing away. David tried and got tangled in his mic cable and stumbled. Each of the panel and host was grabbed by members of the two Firms and held down. The Bishop spluttered but Henry just sighed and didn’t fight.
In the production suite, Terry ‘Steel Hands’ Patel was controlling the room and keeping the feed live.
“All good in here Sean” came his voice over the studio speakers.
Sean nodded to one of his crew, who then opened out a small box and handed out the syringes.
While some of the audience had fled, many just stood, drawn to the spectacle unfolding before them. A few even shouted, but the men in black didn’t listen.
Sean Harris, only the whites of his eyes showing through his balaclava, looked down at Henry stretched out on the panel table. And then over at David too.
“We’re gonna run a little experiment lads.”
Sean had his back to the cameras, but they were still rolling and the mics on the table transmitted his words. “We’re gonna plug that shit into you both, and then we’re gonna have ourselves a little fight.”
He turned around, his eyes boring into the studio camera. “And every real man here in England’s gonna know, what to do with that STOP-shit when them doctors come knocking.”
“You can’t be serious–” began Henry. David shouted, “What are you hoping to prove?”
The big man rounded on the two MPs. “Shut it! And take your medicine.”
And then their old mates, grinning, set about injecting all the members of the panel live on TV.
Author’s note: read final part 5 of 5 — presenting the facts.
