Right to Die

training who ran the TTIS, the Tactical Training of the Individual Soldier, the most miserable obstacle course I ever experienced.
    “... and regarding class hours, your attendance and punctuality are not just expected, they are required. Sufficiently severe absence, especially in a four-week course such as this one, will be grounds for barring you from the examination. Effective class participation can raise your grade. Ineffective, incompetent participation can have the opposite effect. Effective participation requires preparation of the written materials assigned for discussion as though you were the lead counsel litigating that case. You by now have the expectation of being treated like the budding lawyers you are. Appreciate that I will hold you to the standard such professionals are expected to attain and maintain.”
    Every head, male and female, followed Andrus. Each student had a notebook open and a pen or pencil in hand, but nobody took notes. No one even smiled or jabbed a neighbor in the ribs. All were focused on her.
    A blocky man in a continental suit and old-fashioned pompadour had come into 205 with Andrus. Pompadour sat, arms folded and feet flat on the floor, watching her with the rest of us. Just occasionally he glanced over at me, seeming not to care if I noticed him doing it. I bet myself that Pompadour was the house servant Alec Bacall had called Manolo. If so, Manolo was acting very much like a bodyguard.
    “…and now, a little warm-up for tomorrow’s session.” Andrus swung her head once in an arc of the room, then pointed to a gawky kid with blond hair. “Male student in the maroon shirt. Stand, please.”
    I’d never seen this before. The kid got to his feet. “Your name?”
    “Uh, Dave.”
    “Your last name.”
    “Oh, uh, Zimmer.”
    “Mr. Zimmer, do you believe in the use of torture to extract information from someone under governmental control?”
    Zimmer blinked.
    “Mr. Zimmer?”
    “Could you repeat—”
    “It’s a rather simple question, Mr. Zimmer. Torture, yes or no?”
    “No. Uh, no, I don’t believe in that.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why?”
    “W-h-y. Why don’t you believe in it?”
    “Well, because... it’s not right.”
    “Why isn’t it right?”
    Zimmer took a quick look around the room. No volunteer sent up a hand to take the heat off him, and I sensed that none would.
    “Mr. Zimmer. Today, please?”
    “Because it’s an invasion of the right of a citizen.”
    “The right not to be tortured by one’s own government?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Why is that an invasion?”
    “Yes.”
    Zimmer seemed to rally a little. “Because the government’s supposed to exist to defend a citizen from invasion of his rights, not to do—”
    “His or her, Mr. Zimmer.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “In this class, if you refer to a person who hasn’t been identified as a man or woman, you will use ‘he or she,’ ‘his or her.’ In the real world, you must not run the risk of offending your audience. This is especially important if the ‘person’ involved is a client or an authority figure in the system, like a judge. Now, Mr. Zimmer, please restate your point.”
    Zimmer inhaled. “The government’s job is to protect a citizen’s rights, not to invade his or her rights itself.”
    “And, ultimately, why is that, Mr. Zimmer?”
    “Why...?”
    “Why is it that government is to defend its citizens from invasion of their rights?”
    “Because everybody has the right to life.”
    “I see.” Andrus turned and pointed to a brunette woman who had squirreled herself in the farthest corner of the room. “Female student, pink blouse. Stand, please.” Rising, the woman knocked her notebook askew, the pen rolling off the page and down onto the floor in front of her table.
    “Your name, please?”
    The woman seemed to speak to her departed pen. “Queenan.”
    Andrus cupped a hand to her ear and said, “I can’t hear you.”
    The woman lifted her head and boomed a little. “My name is Queenan.”
    Andrus nodded. “Ms. Queenan, do you agree or disagree with Mr. Zimmer’s position?”
    Hopelessly, Queenan looked at Zimmer, who had folded his hands in a fig-leaf pose of prayer.
    “Ms. Queenan?”
    “I agree that a government shouldn’t use torture on its citizens.”
    “Just its ‘citizens,’ Ms. Queenan?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Your rule of no torture would apply only to protect the citizens of the country involved, not visiting tourists or resident