The Gates: The Court of Public Opinion

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Rollins pulls some strings, and gets the Elpis team from Prague into the Security Council chamber while the hearings on Smichov are ongoing - just in time to see something very important.


"I'm glad you let us know we needed to dress smartly," Nathan said to Rollins as the five of them settled themselves in their seats. "As it is, I feel a little out of place." He looked around at the Security Council chamber, shaking his head. Joel had sent him home after their breakfast meeting, telling him to collect the others and meet him at the UN. He'd known that the meetings about what had happened in Smichov had been going on all weekend, but... he really hadn't expected them to wind up in the audience for any of it. They'd handed their tapes and pictures over, after all.

"Nonsense. The four of you ought to be here for this," Joel said, his gaze moving over Nathan and the three young people, offering them a quick smile. "Don't worry. We get to sit here and watch - no one's going to be asking us any questions."

That was the most he'd offered in terms of details, Nathan reflected crankily. He hated it when Joel decided to be obscure. Even when he's clearly thinking he's pulled us in here for some happy surprise... Happy. What was happy about any of this? He wasn't sure he wanted to watch the political run-around.

Angelo still looked tired, but managed a smile in return for the older man. "Good. Had enough of that at the school, for all I volunteered."

Medusa shrugged, her gaze traveling across the other people filling the room. She was used to having to answer questions in formal settings and she hadn't had to wear anything out of the ordinary to fit right into the mix of people. In fact, the room reminded her of some of the meetings she'd sat in on while in Attilan. Of course, the room here was larger and the people filling it more prominent, but to Medusa those small differences were almost negligible. "It shall be interesting to see how they try and talk their way around things," she said, smoothing the edge of her skirt.

Rahne was scanning the room too, if with less innate confidence. "I suppose it will." Though she wasn't entirely sure that was the word she'd have chosen.

"Oh, I think this should be very interesting," Joel said, not quite lightly, and then fell silent as the Security Council members entered.

Nathan watched, recognizing some of the faces, if not others. The Czech delegation was being led by Broucek, Syrovy's successor in the Interior ministry, who looked roughly ten years older than the first time Nathan had seen him on the news. Not that I have a whole lot of sympathy. Shrugging irritably to himself, he looked towards the seat where the representative from a particular Security Council non-permanent member country should have been taking his seat.

And almost laughed, in a strange combination of anticipation and malice, as he saw that the Hungarian ambassador was nowhere to be seen. Sitting down in his seat was Istvan Barath.

---

"Ladies and gentlemen, honorable colleagues all… I may perhaps be excused in saying that this is the most outrageous example of attempting to cover one's posterior that I have seen in twenty-five years of political life."

Barath's blunt words provoked a shocked stir in the Security Council chamber – but only from some of the Council members and those watching. Some of the faces around the table, oddly enough, looked entirely unsurprised. Like they'd expected that response.

Minister Broucek gave Barath a sharp, indignant look. He did not, however, interrupt the Hungarian. There were rules, in this chamber, and having made his final summation on the 'facts' of what had happened in Smichov, he had no option but to allow the Council members their opportunity to speak on the issue.

Despite his mocking words, Barath's expression was deadly serious. He leaned forward in his seat, staring hard at Broucek. Elsewhere in the chamber, television cameras focused on him. The feed was being broadcast live on CNN and the BBC and a dozen other news networks. The eyes of the world were watching. Watching and waiting, to hear some explanation for what had happened in Smichov – or at the very least, the truth.

"What the honorable minister-" Barath's tone was biting on the adjective. "-does not seem to appreciate is that intention does not matter. His government may not have intended to create an internment camp, but that is precisely what they did. Excuses for delays in security procedures are just that – excuses! Not justification, and if the government of the Czech Republic expects the other nations of the world to take it as such, the government of the Czech republic is sadly mistaken."

Broucek leaned back in his chair, his expression now tightly controlled. Behind him, aides were whispering to each other, and from the growing awareness in the way they were looking at Barath, they had come to the same conclusion that many others in the audience had.

The decision had already been made. There was no hope of justification, or pleading for special consideration due to circumstances beyond their control. What was happening now was deliberate and calculated, a public calling-to-account meant to make a clear statement.

And the man chosen to deliver that message was only warming up.

"I question your government's interpretation of the security threat posed by the inhabitants of Smichov – no, I do not question it, I say here and now that it is nonsense! A pathetic attempt to avoid taking responsibility for locking men, women and children up like animals and driving them to the point of desperation!"

Barath's English was flawless, his words delivered in the ringing tones of an orator. Even seated, he seemed larger than life, and Broucek a non-entity in comparison. There was no sense that he was playing to the cameras, no indication that he was aware of anything or anyone except his Czech counterpart.

"These estimates," Barath said, gesturing dismissively at the folders of documents Broucek's aides had handed out, "these intelligence reports, the military assessments… you would have us believe that the rally in Smichov was a cover for a concerted push on the part of mutant militants to break out of Smichov and launch a full-scale assault on your seat of government." He looked at Broucek. "I am interpreting your conclusions, your argument, correctly, yes?"

Broucek nodded tightly. "That is correct," he said, his English far more accented than Barath's. "As such, the actions of November 7th were necessary to ensure the internal security of my nation. It was," he said harshly, "a police action."

"And how many of these militants were taken into custody that night?"

Broucek was silent. Barath arched an eyebrow. "It's not a difficult question, Minister." Still no response from Broucek, and Barath shrugged with a diffidence that fooled no one. "Perhaps we will come back to that question, then. How many militants were operating in Smichov? How many groups? Your documents are curiously unspecific. There is surprisingly little background on the groups that they do name."

"Intelligence on such terrorists is rarely complete, Minister Barath."

"Oh, of course." Barath leafed dismissively through his folder. "I see you have named municipal officials as complicit in this terrorist activity. What evidence do you have for that?" He looked back up at Broucek, who was silent again. "Minister?"

Broucek opened his mouth and then closed it again, and politician or not, his control over his features was slipping. Barath closed the folder. "Perhaps you can simply tell me more about the mutants living in Smichov. The nature of their abilities, how they were organized, why they constituted such a threat…"

"The level of support they enjoyed from within the community," was Broucek's immediate response. "There was much sympathy for their cause in Smichov, which necessitated the quarantine of the neighborhood in the first place-"

"Minister Broucek." There was something close to withering scorn in Barath's voice as he leaned forward again. "That is contradictory to your government's stated reason for constructing the security barrier in the first place. Do you believe the world is suffering from amnesia?"

"I object to your tone, Minister Barath," Broucek snapped.

"And I object to your dishonesty, Minister Broucek." Before Broucek could do more than look to the chairman of the council in mute outrage, Barath continued. "What are we to believe? The statements of your predecessor, or your own? Please, enlighten us."

"I am not here to be… cross-examined!" Broucek said heatedly. "I am presenting the report of my government to the Security Council! This is not a court, and I am not-"

"You are in the court of public opinion, Minister Broucek," Barath said almost calmly, and, for the first time, gestured at the cameras. "I would like answers to my questions. All of them. So would all those watching us this afternoon. If you would be so kind?"

Broucek stiffened in his chair, glaring at Barath. His jaw tightened, but his lips stayed pressed resolutely together. It was clear as day that no answer was forthcoming.

Istvan Barath smiled. It was a slight, cold smile, but the look in his narrowed eyes was almost triumphant. "Then," he said very softly, "shall we look at what was truly going on in Smichov?"

A screen had been set up, obscuring part of the Krogh mural, the one that depicting the phoenix rising from its own ashes, a symbol of the world that was rebuilt after World War II. With Barath's nod, the screen lit up.

Still pictures. Video footage. Taken by the Red Cross and Amnesty International and Doctors Without Borders – and Elpis. Images that would burn themselves into the collective memory.

"Let us," Barath said simply, "allow the people of Smichov to speak for themselves. It is time that their voices were heard."

---

In retrospect, Nathan would be rather embarassed to admit that yes, he'd been fighting tears as he'd watched Barath's spectacular refutation of the Czech position turn into something far simpler and far more profound.

It didn't change what had happened. Nothing could do that. It didn't even prevent people with their own agendas from spinning what had happened, using it for their own ends. But it was an act of pure, unbending idealism, a gauntlet thrown in the face of the lies and the excuses and the justifications, and there were people who would see it for what it was. See the truth of what had happened in Smichov.

It was more than he'd dared hope for, really.

"I have it on good authority," Joel murmured, "that there are sanctions in the offing."

"Good." Because the people of Smichov still needed help. The injured and the imprisoned and the displaced. The job wasn't done, and Nathan took a deep breath, his thoughts clearing, properly, for the first time since they'd returned home. There was more to be done, and more Elpis could do. I have some phone calls to make in the morning.

If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the occasion and the cause that had brought them all here, Angelo would have been laughing. As it was, his eyes were practically shining with triumph, a grim smile on his face. "Nobody's gonna forget this, anytime soon."

The public was a fickle beast, but Medusa agreed that Barath's words would be long lasting. The question now was what would people do with them? "I am now even more pleased that Blackager has been conferring with the minister. He is very effective at what he does."

"Aye," Rahne murmured. She felt exhausted watching it again, somehow, even though it was a good thing to have shown.

The meeting had taken a recess, and Nathan looked around, listening to the conversations taking place around them. "It's going to be a long afternoon, I think," he said somewhat absently. "While they sort out all the details..." A long afternoon, but far from anticlimatic. The statement had been made. Now the real work of hashing out consequences and a plan of action had to be done.

"We could always slip out," Joel offered. Nathan gave him an 'are you crazy?' look and he laughed softly. "I didn't think so."