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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “At the Zoo” Down in the Dirt v210 (8/23)  Order the paperback book: 
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A Short Survey
Edward N. McConnell
At 9:18 a.m. on Friday, March 24, 2023, an email popped up on my phone from the state bar association. Addressed to me, Art Stubens, the subject line read, “Please Fill Out A Short Survey”.
I had not been a member of the bar association for years. As an inactive, but licensed, lawyer, I figured I had long ago dropped off their membership list. The request to answer a short survey seemed odd, but harmless.
In truth, I responded because loneliness had gotten the better of me. When I retired, I looked forward to spending more time with my wife, a popular, good looking, committed social activist. We had lots of plans. I was despondent when she dropped dead protesting at a rally against the governor’s “Public Restrooms for Proper Pronoun People” bill.
With few friends and no family, answering this survey was my attempt to make a connection. What I found was, connections, like experience, come in two types, good and bad. Little did I know my answers would put me back on the bar association’s radar and into the crosshairs of something much more insidious.
Later that morning, my cell phone rang. The number was local, so I answered. The caller said, “Do you know how to try a case?”
Annoyed, I said, “Of course, I do. Who is this?”
Without answering my question, the caller said, “Excellent. Judge Thomas Reams is appointing you to handle a criminal case.”
“Wait a minute, I never practiced criminal law and I’ve been inactive for years. I can’t go back into the courtroom. I wouldn’t know the first thing about criminal procedure.”
“No, no, no, you’re perfect. You have a valid license, trial experience and a good reputation. Believe me, this matter will not impose on your time. When we saw your answers to the bar association survey, we knew you were the right lawyer for this case. You’re our guy, we’re sure.”
That rang an alarm bell. “How did you get the answers to my survey?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s not worry about that now. First things, first, trial’s tomorrow in the Court of Claims for Civil Discourse. It’s a new court created by the State Government Reorganization, Civil Discourse and Records Keeping Improvement Act.”
At first, I didn’t catch the name of the law. I was still stuck on how my survey answers ended up with a judge’s clerk. Was the state monitoring my emails and those of the state bar association? The thought of that was frightening.
The caller kept talking. “The defendant is charged with violating the new law.”
I then regained my focus and said, “What is this new law? I’ve never heard of it. Better yet, what did this person allegedly do?”
“When the governor signed the state reorganization bill, it banned anyone from criticizing her in any manner. Your client has been sending emails doing exactly that. We think he’s one of, you know, them.
“One of ‘them’, who?” I asked.
“You know, those strange people who dress funny, improperly use pronouns to describe themselves and go in the wrong bathrooms. They are covered by this law under the Records Keeping Improvement section. It requires the proper use of pronouns. Anymore, you can’t go around referring to yourself as, “they/them.”
“Oh, you mean like you’re doing now.”
“If pronouns are not used correctly, the state cannot keep accurate records on troublemakers by their gender, sexual orientation, or sex. Our lists of these people has to be very accurate.
“Never mind all this, your client was asking too many questions. He was on social media too much. He’s making the governor’s job of running this state not smooth. She hates questions, especially ones she either doesn’t want to answer or doesn’t understand.”
“That’s not a crime,” I said.
“It is now. Have you not been keeping up on things?”
This all sounded like fascist nonsense to me. Hoping to avoid this assignment, I said, “This is America. You can call yourself anything you want. A person can dress as they please. Most importantly, they can protest government policies without getting thrown in jail. When did this law come into effect?”
“Last week and it’s retroactive. We’ve been rounding up malcontents since then. I’d give you a count by gender, sexual orientation, and sex but, with all this pronoun stuff going on, we can’t get an accurate read.”
After a brief pause, he said, “Your client is the biggest fish we have caught so far. I have to use the term “fish” because unacceptable pronoun use will soon be officially banned by the governor, once she figures out what the best pronoun for her is.”
I couldn’t resist, “I have one, how about nuts?”
The caller then said, “I see you still have your sharp tongue. You better get it under control. What we need you to do is important. All you have to do is stand there in the courtroom, next to this troublemaker. Judge Reams will handle everything else. Once the judgment is entered, you’re done.”
“This law will never survive a constitutional challenge.”
He was quick to respond, “Any rights guaranteed by the constitution or other laws are not applicable to this statute, it says so right in the law. Did I mention, the Legislature figured the state could save a lot of money if the governor was also the chief justice and ran the court system. That’s in this law too.”
Then he said, “A few things to know before tomorrow. Under the new law, a defendant charged with a violation of the Civil Discourse provisions of the statute, is presumed guilty. He has the burden of proving innocence beyond a reasonable doubt. It’s a bit of a change from what you’ve been used to but it’s a minor procedural thing. You’ll get used to it. Of course, your client has a right of appeal to the chief justice, who is now the governor. Her decision is final and is issued within twenty-four hours of sentencing.”
I had to ask, “What are the range of penalties for violating this new law?”
There is only one penalty, “Death.”
He finished up with, “Well, that’s it. The Judge will see you in the morning. He’ll go over what you’ll be doing in the courtroom and how. Since we have a lot of these cases to handle, trial is scheduled for no more than a half an hour. We are sure you will do a great job. A car from the Civil Discourse Enforcement Department will be sent to pick you up at 8 a.m. Be ready.”
It seemed I was stuck, so I got to thinking about this judge. Then I remembered Thomas Reams. He was the dumbest lawyer in the county. I recall a judge once saying, “Tom Reams makes Rudy Giuliani look like Daniel ‘fucking’ Webster.” From my experience, this guy did not know which shoe went on what foot. Since the governor now controlled the court system, she must have appointed him because he was stupid and pliable.
I then wondered what else the Record Keeping Improvement part of the law covered. Then I realized, like the other parts of the statute, it was whatever the governor wanted.
The next day, a little before 9:00 a.m., I arrived at the courtroom and was summoned to the judge’s chambers. When ushered in, I expected to see a prosecutor. None was there. The judge then came in.
Looking me over, he said, “Mr. Stubens, the hearing will be informal. I will handle the prosecution end of this matter. All I need you to do is stand there. We want to be sure this goes smoothly. Don’t upset the applecart.”
“Excuse me, your Honor, but you’re the prosecutor and judge? That’s not right. My client has a right to a defense and to confront his accusers. This is how fair trials work.”
Reams peered over his cheap thrift store reading glasses. “Let’s not get carried away here. You need to get the old ways out of your head. Play your part, you’ll get our thanks, and you get to keep your license. By the way, I didn’t like what I heard on the recording of your conversation with my clerk yesterday. If you act up or shoot your mouth off, things will go badly for you. Don’t worry, what we’re doing is all covered by the statute. This will be over soon. Understand?”
A brief hearing was held. My client was found guilty. Judge Reams immediately pronounced the death sentence. In tears, my client was led from the courtroom.
I stood there for a moment, wanting to object to everything that went on, but I didn’t. I figured it would do no good. I thought the best thing for me to do was get out of there. I was about to leave when Judge Reams said, “Mr. Stubens, it has been brought to this court’s attention that you have violated the Records Keeping Improvement Act. He laid out the charges.
“In the short survey you answered for the bar association, you admitted you are “inactive”. You have forced that venerable organization to keep records of you as an attorney, but you do not have an active practice. You, being inactive, causes their records to be inaccurate. This state can no longer tolerate people, especially professionals, who waste the time and resources of busy organizations by making them maintain costly records which are incorrect. Since the evidence is undisputed, this court finds you guilty.” The sentence was entered.
My client and I, now convicted under this new law and sentenced to death, were held overnight in a cell. I hoped I would get a reprieve for my service in this matter, but the governor upheld the ruling.
The next morning, we were loaded into a white, windowless van. Hoods were put over our heads. The ride into the country took about an hour. When we stopped, we were dragged out of the van and marched over an uneven grassy field.
Told to get on our knees, our hoods were removed. Two uniformed soldiers were standing by a long trench which would serve as our unmarked grave. I noticed other people, on their knees in restraints, lining the trench. I figured this was done to increase our fear, which I found to be totally unnecessary.
All my life I had used accurate pronouns to describe myself. I conducted this hearing as instructed and I never protested the governor’s quest for total power. I even used the right public restrooms.
Still, I ended up guilty of some bookkeeping error that I didn’t commit. Here I was on my knees, on the edge of an unmarked grave, waiting to be executed, when they should have been shooting the records keeper at the state bar association.
Our state, once a bastion of fairness under the law, now was in the clutches of a queen bee with a Napoleonic power complex. After this law gave her total control, each time she appeared before the Legislature, the members screamed and clapped their approval like a bunch of mental patients hoping their display of affection would get them an extra meal worm in their bowl of corn chowder.
For those who refuse to fall into line, the soldiers of the Civil Discourse Enforcement Department rounds them up and brings them to kangaroo courts like the one that ensnared me. I couldn’t help but think, during her last election, this woman promised more freedom and, as a result, won in a landslide. I guess people do get the government they deserve.
Others, braver and smarter than me, will now have to fight this battle. Like my client, I wasn’t guilty of any crime, except that of complacency and answering a short survey.
