He clicks again. An American flag fills the screen.
"But you know, I can't relax. Because I don't buy it. Put yourself in the position of someone from one of those countries. Don't you think that if you heard about this, you'd be mad? Why should someone have the right to do that to you? Why should someone be able to trample on a beloved symbol, just to make a point? There are many ways to make a point. You can give speeches. You can write books or newspaper columns or essays. You can even do a debate." He gestures to the entire auditorium.
"This is America. You can say anything you want, as long as people listen to you. So why burn a flag and just enrage people? What possible point could you be making?
"And get this: It's not just disrespectful and pointless. It's also illegal. That's right—there have been laws protecting the flag for decades. I didn't realize that until I was preparing for this debate. For a very long time, there have been laws to protect the desecration of the flag."
More clickety-click. There are animated words and letters swooping and diving on the screen, forming into bullet points, including "Uniform Flag Law of 1917."
"Here's something else that I learned while preparing: The flag is older than the Constitution. I didn't know that. I'm sort of ashamed I didn't, honestly. But it's true. Our flag came into being in 1777"—click-click, another bullet point—"a dozen years before the Constitution. So when people trot out the First Amendment to defend burning a flag, I have my answer ready for them: The flag was here before the Constitution. It should be respected. It should be protected. And it should definitely be pledged to in the morning!"
There's a burst of applause that dies quickly when the Doc grabs a microphone: "I'm going to remind all of you to save your applause for the end so that we can get through this."
He gives them a couple of seconds to calm down and then: "OK, Kevin. Your turn."
John's PowerPoint presentation is still up on the screen. I want to tell him to turn it off, but I don't trust myself.
I take a deep breath and look out over the crowd.
"Well..." Whoa. My voice explodes from the speakers. I can feel it in addition to hearing it.
I almost give up right there. I'm sweating already and my hands are shaking on the podium.
But I'm here, right? Already in the quicksand. Time to swim for all I'm worth.
"Well, I find it interesting that John seems to think that we shouldn't have the right to make people mad. Because he's doing nothing but making me mad."
This goes over like rare steak at a vegetarians' convention.
"He's making me mad because ... because..." Oh, God, I'm losing it. Too many eyes on me. And there's Leah, third row, watching me. She's on my side, but it doesn't matter because she won't tell anyone. So she might as well be on Riordon's side. So...
I risk a look over at him. Riordon's smirking.
Well, that was a mistake on his part. Because now I'm more pissed off than I am nervous.
Come on. You can do this, Kross. Stop trying to ad-lib and stick to what you wrote last night. To the bombshell Fam discovered.
"Last week, John said that America was the freest country in the world. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not true."
I get exactly the reaction I thought I'd get: Massive outcry. Boos. Hisses. Shouts. John has an expression on his face like, Is this guy even trying to win the debate? He looks shocked and a little bit disappointed that I'm making it so easy for him.
Dr. Goethe takes almost a minute to calm everyone down.
"No, really," I continue. "It's not. By any objective measure. Man, I wish..." I look longingly at the screen. "I wish I had a computer, too. So I could show you this, but I guess you'll just have to listen instead. The World Bank did this study, where they ranked every country in the world based on how much freedom its citizens have. And guess what? The United States wasn't number one."
I let that sink in for a second.
"It wasn't number two."
Another second.
"It wasn't even in the top ten. Or the top twenty. It was number thirty-three."
I get some more gasps for that one. John shakes his head, so I aim the next bit right at him:
"The freest country in the world, John, is actually Denmark, which got a score of one hundred percent. The U.S. got a score of eighty-three point seven percent, after Sweden, Australia, Canada, and Norway ... Oh, my." And here I stop like I've just realized something. "Oh, those are the countries whose flags were burned the other day, aren't they?"
I give everyone a second to let that sink in.
"See, John, you say you got the 'joke' about those burning flags, but I'm not sure. Now, we both know that I couldn't have set those flags on fire, but I've been thinking about them a lot. And here's the thing: It's legal to burn the national flag in all of those countries. In every single one. In Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, it's only illegal to burn another country's flag. We don't have a law like that here. So it seems like those countries—those freer countries—have a different set of priorities than you do. They understand that a flag is a symbol. But here's what I think the point of that prank was, and it's not that they all burn alike. It's that they're all just symbols. And burning them shows that symbols are not actually things. I mean, symbols exist so that you can talk about an idea. So that you can reach out and touch it. You can't touch freedom or see it, but you can see a flag.
"But here's the thing: When you burn a flag, you don't see the flag anymore, but that just means that the flag is gone. Not the freedom. The freedom is still here.
"And guess what? The answer to that question at the end of the video, what do those flags have in common with ours? It's this: It's legal to burn the flag in this country, too. It's protected. It's free speech.
"American flags are burned all the time in this country! Every single day. And you know who does it? Well, most of the time it's people in veterans' organizations. It's, like, the American Legion and the Boy Scouts, even. That's because when a flag is dirty or damaged from being used, the only approved way to get rid of it is to burn it!"
John explodes. "You can't compare—!"
"You'll get your turn, John," the Doc says.
"But—!"
"No buts."
"Thank you, Dr. Goethe," I say. I'm calm on the outside, but inside I'm jumping up and down and cheering. I rattled Riordon. I did it. I made him snap.
I have to look down at my notes for the next part. "John Howard recently said that flag burning shouldn't be illegal because 'I do not think we achieve anything by making it a criminal offense—we only turn yahoo behavior into martyrdom.' He's the prime minister of Australia. It's pretty sad that you have to go all the way around the world for sense like that. Oh, wait. No, you don't. Right here in the U.S., Colin Powell said, 'The First Amendment exists to insure that freedom of speech and expression applies not just to that with which we agree or disagree, but also that which we find outrageous. I would not amend that great shield of democracy to hammer a few miscreants.'"
Deep breath.
"OK. Now I'm done."
Now it's time. Questions. And I have only one question I want to ask John, really. Just one.
"Now it's your turn, John," says Dr. Goethe. "Your first question to Kevin."
"I don't even know where to start," John says. "I don't really care about laws from other countries. I care about our flag and no matter what you say, there are laws protecting it."
"A question, John?" Dr. Goethe prods.
"Fine." John jabs a finger at me. "Are you really comparing someone burning a flag to dispose of it properly with someone who's burning it out of disrespect and hate?"
And that's it. He's just walked into a trap. I shrug. "Why not? It's the exact same act, right?"
"No, it isn't!"
"Wait!" Dr. Goethe says. "Wait! I'm going to let you keep going, John, because technically Kevin asked a question when he responded to your question, but let's try to be orderly here. Go ahead."
&n
bsp; Riordon's really hot under the collar. "It's not the same thing. In the one case, the person is doing the right thing by getting rid of an old flag. They're different."
"How? What if I have an old flag and decide to burn it as a protest? I'm doing the exact same thing as the guy burning that exact same flag to get rid of it."
We're supposed to be waiting for questions, but we're just jumping all over each other too fast.
"No, you're not!" He actually makes a fist and hits the podium. "It's not the same!"
"The only difference is what I'm thinking. But the whole point is this: It doesn't matter that they're different because it doesn't matter what I'm thinking. They're both protected. Unless you're saying we don't have freedom of thought in America?"
"No, you..." He stops. "Of course not. You can think whatever you want. But burning a flag isn't speech. Speech is when you talk."
"Then that means that pictures and photographs and websites aren't protected. None of them are speech."
"That's different."
"How? And who decides what's different?"
"The government," Riordon says triumphantly, because it's a question he can answer.
"But it can't be the government!" I tell him. "Congress can't decide these things—it's right there in the First Amendment. Have you even read it?" And I realize something—I've been talking to John this whole time. I shouldn't be. I don't care about him. I should be talking to the audience. So I tear my eyes away from John and force myself to look out at the scary, scary depths of students sitting out there in the auditorium.
"I spent a lot of time reading the First Amendment to prepare for this. And you know what? I didn't find the word 'unless' in there anywhere. Here's what the First Amendment says." And I have to look down at my notes, and then I don't because I realize I've memorized it.
"'Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.'
"Again, there are no exceptions in there. It doesn't say 'unless it makes someone angry.' Or 'unless it's hurtful.' Or 'unless someone doesn't like it.' Or 'unless it's burning a flag.' It says Congress shall make no law. Now, I admit I'm not the smartest kid in this school. Heck, would I be up here otherwise?"
That gets me a little laughter from the crowd.
"But even I know that 'no law' means, well, no law. Right? There's not a whole lot of elbow room in the First Amendment. In fact, it doesn't look like there's any elbow room, as best I can tell."
"If Congress—"
"Wait!" the Doc jumps in. "We're getting a little freewheeling here. Everyone take a breath. John, I'm going to let you ask a question. Let's try to stay on target, OK?"
Whatever, dude.
John nods and takes the mandated breath, but he's clearly eager to jump me. "OK, John, go ahead."
"If Congress can't make those laws, then how do you explain the laws against desecrating the flag?" Riordon asks, and then nods smugly. "The government circumvents the Constitution and the law when it serves its own purposes. It happens all the time."
Wow, I can't believe he just said that! As soon as Dr. Goethe gives me the OK to answer, I go for the throat: "Dude, laws can be wrong. And when the government circumvents the Constitution, that's wrong, too. That's why we have courts. The government is supposed to be under the Constitution, not above it. The Constitution created the government, not the other way around.
"Besides, I read about those flag laws, too. But I actually bothered to look into them. What—did you just go to Wikipedia and stop there?"
I want to go on, but the Doc stops me. "That's your question, Kevin."
This is a little more complicated then I thought. I need to focus so that I can ask my one, important question.
"Those laws exist," John insists. "I read about them." He fumbles for a second, then goes all clicky again, cycling back through his presentation until he shows his sexy little bullet-pointed list of laws and stuff. "It's right there, in print. How can you deny cold hard facts, Kevin?"
Oh, good—he asked a question. My turn.
"I know they exist, but do you know what they're for? They say things like 'the flag can't be used for advertising purposes.' So I guess we should go arrest the mayor, because he's got flags all over his car lot."
"That's not what they meant!" he says.
"Hey, it's my turn right now. And sure it is." I have to cheat here and look at my notes because I couldn't memorize the line: "Justice John Marshall Harlan said that these laws are needed because advertising tends to 'degrade and cheapen [the flag] in the estimation of the people.' So maybe you should stop worrying about the flag burners and start worrying about the car salespeople and the people who use flags on TV to sell stuff on Memorial Day and Flag Day and Veterans Day and July Fourth. Maybe you should even worry about the sports teams that sew flag patches on their uniforms and get them dirty. That's desecrating the flag right there."
And I stop and realize I'm looking at John again, so I turn back to the audience instead. Nothing happens for a little while. I look back at John. He's like a dog on a leash who could get to the cat if he had just another inch of slack. The Doc watches me. Finally, he says, "Your question, Kevin?"
Oh. Right. Crap. I made an awesome point and now my mind's totally blank. I have my one question, but it doesn't really fit in with what I just talked about. I suck.
The Doc gets tired of waiting for me. "John? Your response to Kevin's comment?"
Riordon grits his teeth. "I did my research, too, Kevin." More clicky-click. He's getting agitated looking for the right screen. "There. See?" He reads off the screen. "Justice Hugo Black said, 'It passes my belief that anything in the Federal Constitution bars ... making the deliberate burning of the American flag an offense.'"
"Yeah, but—"
"I listened to you," John says. "Now you listen to me. Justice Black said that. Even Thomas Jefferson and James Madison were against flag burning." Clicky, and their quotes appear on the screen. "And Norman Schwartzkopf said, 'I regard the legal protection of our flag as an absolute necessity and a matter of critical importance to our nation.' So maybe until you serve in the army, you should just keep your opinions about this stuff to yourself. What do you think of that?"
Wow. Did he really say that? The whole crowd oohs like I've been burned, but I'm totally ready for this one. "You know something? There's nothing in the First Amendment or in the whole Constitution that says that you only have your rights if you've served in the military. But if you really think that way, then I guess the president should just shut up from now on, because he never went to war. And you know what? It's one thing to be against flag burning. It's another thing to make it illegal and to punish people for doing it. I'm against people saying racist things, but I'm not going to throw them in jail for it. Are you?"
"That's not ... Goddamn, that's not what I said!"
The Doc steps in as the crowd takes a collective deep breath. Awesome! I really rattled that pain in the ass. I scan the audience quickly, looking for Leah. She's not reacting at all. Damn.
"Let's move on, guys," the Doc says.
"No!" John's really hot now. He's all flustered. He realizes he just lost his cool, but he can't help it. "He's making it sound like I don't support free speech."
"That's because you don't," I say. John's getting red in the face and I can't help it—I just want to laugh at him. I bite my lip to stop myself.
"You're lying!"
"I don't know what else to call it."
Dr. Goethe keeps trying to jump in, but we just keep going. We're like gladiators. Except we're yelling at each other and not hacking away with swords. But otherwise, just like gladiators.
"Why don't you support the troops?" John yells, and I yell right back at him that I do, I do support them. I just don't have to announce it to the world o
n my car, for God's sake, and then he's all over me about the Pledge and I'm right back at him and then—
"That's enough!" the Doc thunders. He glares at me as he walks past my podium, then gives John the same look as he takes up a spot between us on the stage. The auditorium has gone dead silent except for the echo from the Doc's bellow.
"One final question," the Doc says. He looks down at a notepad he's been carrying the whole time. "Before things got out of hand, it would have been ... Kevin's turn. Kevin, you can ask John the final question."
Oh, you're kidding me. This is just too perfect.
I take a deep breath. It's a risky question because John could have the World's Most Awesome Answer, but I have to take the chance.
"My question is this: John, what have you—you, personally— done to support the troops?"
It takes a second for everyone to realize what I've just asked. The auditorium doesn't fall silent all at once—it happens in a few seconds, as people figure out the question and what it means and turn to look at John.
Even Dr. Goethe looks a little surprised.
John opens his mouth to speak. He suddenly looks really, really silly with his PowerPoint presentation all blown up behind him. He half turns to look at it, but the answer isn't there.
Not this time.
"Well," he says at last into the scary silence of more than a thousand people.
"Well..." he says again, after a second.
"I have..." he says. And stops. Maybe he was going to say I have ribbons on my car or something like that. Something that he realized was really, really lame.
He just stands there. In the silence. I stand there with him, but I'm enjoying it a lot more than he is.
And finally he turns to me, his face twisted into anger and outrage, and says, "What have you done, Kevin? What have you—"
"No!" says the Doc, stepping between our podiums, holding his arms out like we're two boxers trying to hit each other after the bell. "That was the last question. That's it. This has been a very ... spirited debate," he goes on. I think he's regretting this whole thing, which for some reason makes me totally, completely, obscenely happy. "I think everybody has learned some very interesting tidbits on both sides. But things are getting a little heated and time is short, so we're going to move on."