#so if you're not interested in TMA or catching up you can read the rest of me hating on the trolley problem

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website There's a soundtrack to this one if you're interested

Chapter 105: March 2001

Gerry gets back into town with exactly two hours to spare. It isn’t exactly optimal, but at least he’s able to grab a shower before rushing off. He has to double back when he almost forgets something important, and his mother tries to waylay him, but he manages to get away from her and catch the train just before it closes its doors.

Still, he’s a bit later than he’d like, and he just hopes Melanie is being optimistic.

The auditorium is crowded with families, from babes in arms to elderly folks, and it takes Gerry a good bit of scanning before he spots who he’s looking for. He distractedly thanks the student usher who hands him the folded bits of paper that constitutes a program and makes his way down the aisle to some seats on the left side of the theater, about three rows back. He’s in luck—there’s a seat next to Melanie that’s empty except for a bouquet of roses. From the fact that they’re mixed red and yellow, he guesses she’s the one that brought them.

“Does this mean you’re saving a seat for me?” he asks.

“Gerry!” Melanie’s face lights up, and she leaps to her feet and hugs him tightly. “Jesus, I thought you were still in Switzerland!”

“Luxembourg. Got back a couple hours ago.” Gerry leans over to shake Uncle Roger’s hand, then picks up the bouquet. “So, can I sit with you?”

“Duh.” Melanie plops back down into her seat and bends over to retrieve her program. Gerry notices she’s wearing the stole Alastair gave her for her ninth birthday, thrown over her jumper and jeans, but doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he opens his own program and skims it. There are two choirs that are more or less open—the Junior Choir and the Senior Choir—plus a Young Men’s Chorus and Women’s Ensemble, both by audition only, made up of students eligible for the Senior Choir but with a better grasp of things like pitch, musicality, and not bobbing your head violently along with the beat. This is Martin’s last year in the Junior Choir, and Gerry knows he’s planning to try out for the Young Men’s Chorus when they open up again…or has he already?

“Did Martin ever do that audition?” he asks Melanie, who would be the first to know.

“It’s not until next term, I don’t think,” Melanie answers. “It starts in the fall, after all. Anyway, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

Gerry hums as he skims the list of songs the Junior Choir will be singing. Unsurprisingly for the Easter term, there are a couple of songs that look to be religious, or at least trending in that direction—he knows “Because He Lives” is definitely an Easter song, and “One Song (A Song of Peace)” is probably similar—plus a couple generic spring songs, some songs that seem to just be for fun, and a single song in a foreign language, French this term. Gerry mentally braces himself for the typical childish hacking through the language.

“I haven’t heard Martin practicing any of these,” Melanie murmurs, also looking over the list.

“Well, you know, your mother isn’t well,” Uncle Roger says absently. “Martin doesn’t practice in the house so much, so he doesn’t disturb her.”

“There is that,” Melanie admits. She glances at the opposite page. “Ooh, the Young Men’s Chorus is doing ‘Diu Diu Deng’!”

Gerry is about to ask her what that means when the lights in the auditorium dim and everybody—for the most part—quiets down. It’s not like a professional performance where people understand what they’re supposed to do; it’s an amateur production, quality notwithstanding, and some people don’t seem to care how loud the crowd noise is as long as it’s not their child on the stage.

The Junior Choir, all neatly dressed in black slacks or skirts and white tops, file onto the stage in ordered rows, filling the risers as they do so, to enthusiastic applause and a few good-natured cheers. Gerry scans the group coming in; Martin, as both one of the older and one of the taller boys in the choir, is usually one of the first ones out so he can climb up and get to his spot, and he wants to get a good look at him before all he can see is eyes and hair over the row of faces going from plump to angular as they begin to change from child to teen.

But there’s no sign of him.

Gerry blinks, and looks harder—like Martin would be difficult to miss. But no, it’s only girls filing out now and climbing the risers. Martin is nowhere to be found. As the last child takes her position, the director, a man Gerry knows well by now, comes out and bows to the audience, then turns to the choir, waiting for the applause to    die down so they can begin.

For his part, Gerry is having something akin to a mental breakdown. Could Martin have dropped out of chorus without telling them…or worse, been removed against his will? It’s likely he wouldn’t say anything; he wouldn’t want them to worry. But would he let it get this far—let them think he was going to be in the concert, knowing he’ll be found out? That’s not Martin’s style at all. He’s not the kind of person to put people out, and for them to show up expecting to cheer him on would be (at least in Martin’s mind) a huge inconvenience. He surely knows by now that they will come to all his concerts; Gerry might go out of town more often than he likes, but Melanie and Uncle Roger never miss.

So it must be something else. Something must have happened to him…but what? Surely he rode in with Uncle Roger and Melanie rather than walking himself, so something must have happened to him since they arrived, but—

Melanie slaps his arm urgently, not hard, just a frantic patting to silently get his attention. Gerry turns to face her as the choir begins a slightly clumsy but overall decent (to his ear at least, not that he’s paying a whole lot of attention) rendition of their first spring song. The question dies on his lips as she stabs her finger repeatedly at the back of the program. With the lights down, Gerry can’t read it from there, so he picks up his own program and turns it to the back, then holds it closer to his face. The back of the program is where all the members of the various choruses are listed, and his first reaction is to breathe a silent sigh of relief when he sees MARTIN BLACKWOOD right there on the page, immediately above ANDREW CARTWRIGHT.

It’s awfully low down on the page, though. The Junior Choir is usually right at the top…

Gerry’s eyes flick up, just a little, and he sees the word TENOR, which is also unusual, since the Junior Choir is only two parts as far as he knows—he remembers Martin saying once they don’t start really breaking them up until Senior Choir. Then his eyes widen as he realizes that Martin’s name is on the far right of the page…and the column is actually headed TENOR 1.

He looks again, and there it is—Martin’s name listed under the Young Men’s Chorus.

Gerry—there’s no other word for it—goggles. He knows you’re supposed to be thirteen to get into that group; Martin won’t be thirteen until August. Then there’s the fact that, according to Melanie, he’s not supposed to start in it until the fall. But yet…here he is.

During the applause for the latest song, Gerry leans over and whispers to Melanie, “He wasn’t in the Young Men’s Chorus at Christmas, was he?”

“No!” Melanie hisses back. “The most complicated piece they did was ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’, remember?”

Gerry does, but he’s been wondering if he misremembered. Still, Melanie wouldn’t have said Martin was still planning to audition if he had already been in.

He can hardly concentrate through the first half of the concert, barely manages to applaud at the appropriate times, but when the Senior Choir sits down and the director announces the Young Men’s Chorus, he leans forward, anxious and eager.

Bit odd to call them ‘men’ when they’re thirteen to sixteen, isn’t it? whispers a voice in the back of his mind, sounding amused, and Gerry has to admit that it is a bit odd even if they did append young to the front, but he supposes that if they’re referring to the Women’s Ensemble they can’t very well call it a Boys’ Chorus. His eyes flick back and forth along the line of boys, young men, whatever, as they file in. There are only about a dozen of them all together, and—ah, there he is. Third from the end, he’s the taller of the two Tenor Ones on the front row. Even from where he sits, Gerry can see that he’s visibly pale and nervous, only not fidgeting in his tuxedo jacket and bow tie because he’s too much the professional to do so. But as soon as Martin’s eyes lock on the director, a whole new demeanor takes its place. He’s still pale, but he’s calm and focused. Nothing will exist for him from here on out but the music.

And what music it is! Even Gerry, who really knows very little about music overall, is impressed. For such a small group—now that they’re all out, he can count sixteen, four to each part—they fill the space, and they sound wonderful. Maybe he’s a little biased because Martin is part of it, but he never felt this way about the Junior Choir, only that Martin was one of the few good parts of it, so they must actually be good.

They sing a classic song with a lot of “hallelujahs” in it, another song that invokes the stars, and a song that has Melanie sitting bolt upright and smiling from the very beginning. Gerry surmises this is the one she mentioned before the concert. It’s obviously a Chinese song, and just as obviously about a train—Gerry doesn’t speak it, but he gets that much—and from the bright look on all the boys’ faces, not just Martin’s, they’re obviously enjoying it. It gets the loudest round of applause of the evening so far.

Once the auditorium is quiet again, there’s a single note on the piano that dies away quickly. The director waves a few beats, and then the boys begin singing a slow, sonorous song that thrums in Gerry’s chest. “Brightly beams our Father’s mercy…from His lighthouse evermore…”

Gerry lets his eyes drift shut as he listens. The song is poignant and solemn, but somehow feels…important. It’s almost as though the song itself is a beacon calling to them; in fact, it gives him almost the same sensation as that song Melanie sang a couple years back to find Martin in the park, an incident he still shies away from thinking about too hard or often. It’s a song of hope, of steadfast faith, of assuring someone that you’ll be there for them, no matter what.

And then a single clear, pure voice rings out over the room. “Throw out the lifeline, throw out the lifeline, someone is drifting away…”

At that, Gerry’s eyes pop open wide, because he knows that voice. His lips part in shock as he stares at the stage. Martin, his eyes shining green all the way from out here as they fix on the director’s baton, sings the verses to the second half of what’s obviously a medley, alone and unaccompanied and unafraid. Martin, who is always nervous and afraid of putting himself out there, who stammers any time he’s put on the spot, sings with a confidence that’s no different than when it’s just the three of them in a park or on the river bank or on top of a hill, with the unfettered pleasure of someone doing what he’s always meant to do.

And Gerry, who has heard Martin sing a thousand times, who knows his voice is like this, is utterly entranced.

There’s a beat of silence when the whole choir finishes a reprise of the chorus of the first song, and then the audience nearly takes the roof off the auditorium with their applause. Martin’s cheeks turn faintly pink as the director gestures to him, but he doesn’t duck his head or back away, which is…honestly progress.

The boys do a fast, peppy song about putting bones together and taking them apart again, and then they end with an absolutely gorgeous song Gerry’s never heard before, but he recognizes the lyrics as being one of Martin’s favorite Byron poems, “She Walks In Beauty”. Gerry’s pretty sure he’s not the only one that tears up a little.

The Women’s Ensemble goes next, and in Gerry’s totally unbiased opinion, they should have gone before the Young Men’s Chorus, because they can’t hold up. The director calls everyone out for the final song, which they do at virtually every single concert, and then it’s over.

Melanie is beaming ear to ear as she turns to Gerry. “That’s the best one ever.”

Gerry can’t help but laugh at her. “You’re just saying that because Martin got a solo.”

“No, I’m saying it because it was amazing.” Melanie shifts the bouquet to one hand and punches Gerry with the other. “Come on. Let’s go find him so we can yell at him for not telling us.”

The lobby and halls are crowded with people finding and congratulating their respective students. Melanie greets and congratulates a couple of girls she evidently knows at least in passing—as usual, they act polite but not particularly enthusiastic—but it takes Gerry a bit before he spots Martin trying to edge his way around the crowd. He nudges Melanie and points. “Look, there he is!”

Melanie shoves the bouquet at Uncle Roger and immediately starts threading her way through the crowd. She’s always had a talent for this sort of thing, and she slides through the gaps like water sliding through cupped hands. Gerry glances over his shoulder at Uncle Roger, unable to hide his amusement. “Well, she’s going to get there first. Shall we?”

Uncle Roger gestures. “Lead the way.”

Gerry is not particularly large or intimidating, so he can’t exactly shove people out of his way, and he’s not as agile as Melanie. He squeezes through whatever gaps he can, Uncle Roger’s polite “excuse me”s following him, and makes it to Martin’s side well after Melanie has attacked him in a tight hug.

“You’re an absolute ass,” she says, the delight in her voice belying her words. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d got into the Young Men’s Chorus already?”

“It—it was a last-minute thing,” Martin says, his cheeks turning bright pink. The blush gets even deeper when he notices Gerry. “When—wh-when did you get back?”

“Just in time.” Gerry comes over and hugs Martin, too. “What do you mean, last-minute thing? That’s not something you can just learn at the last minute.”

“No, I—I mean, not—” Martin swallows nervously. “It, um, over the break at half-term, Joseph White had to have his tonsils taken out, and something went wrong, so he couldn’t sing anymore. He told Dr. Clayton to run the auditions early and pick someone to replace him, and…well, I-I guess I was the only person to audition who could hit Tenor One parts who did well enough to start now?”

Gerry doubts that, actually, but he’s not going to say as much. Instead, he says, “But then you got the solo?”

“Not originally. It was supposed to be Kent Phillips, but he missed his cue one day and I just, I kind of jumped in out of habit, and Dr. Clayton asked me to take over.” Martin ducks his head, obviously embarrassed. “I know I shouldn’t have, but…”

“Yeah, well, obviously Dr. Clayton doesn’t think so,” Melanie points out.

Uncle Roger finally makes it over to them, smiling broadly. He presents Martin with the bouquet. “Well done, son. It’s a shame your mother couldn’t make it, but if you’d told us you had a solo, I know she would have been here.”

Yeah, right, whispers that voice in Gerry’s head. Gerry grunts his agreement without thinking. Melanie scowls momentarily, but says nothing. Martin, for his part, manages a tentative smile that at least looks convincing as he accepts the bouquet, even though he doesn’t actually agree with his stepfather’s assessment. “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad you could make it, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Uncle Roger rumples Martin’s hair affectionately. “Come on. After that, I think you deserve ice cream. Gerard, care to join us?”

“I’d love to. Thanks, Uncle Roger.” Gerry smiles up at the man and throws an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “He’s right. Let’s go celebrate, yeah? Even if you think it was an accident, that was a damned good performance and you deserve to celebrate.”

Melanie slides her arm around Martin’s waist from the other side. Obviously unable to protest, he lets them drag him outside, Uncle Roger leading the way.

Okay, the voice in the back of Gerry’s head whispers. Why this? Why tonight?

Why not? Gerry asks the voice.

Sorry, Ger. Not talking to you right now, just trying to work some stuff out. We’ll talk later.

Gerry feels something inside him warm, for reasons he can’t explain. But since his brain has just informed him they’re not going to be on speaking terms for the rest of the night, apparently—he swears he can hear someone laughing at him all of a sudden—he decides that’s a problem for later. For now, he’s going to concentrate on his siblings, and on his Uncle Roger, and on ice cream.

He can worry later.

[dathen]

I’m so angry that tumblr put my read more WITHIN THE ASK ITSELF so I’m copying the whole post since I worked hard on it:

Ask from @ blue-electric-angel

Hi Dath! Would you feel up to rant about the trolley problem? I've never liked it but I don't know WHY or at least can't articulate it, so I would be interested in hearing another person's thoughts 🤔 But it's okay if you don't want to!!

OKAY TWO DISCLAIMERS

a) I was reminded that I should clarify my dislike of the trolley problem bc of @callmearcturus talking about its issues, so can’t take full credit here!

b) I am not a philosophy expert and find ethical thought games only useful in how they apply to the real world, and find worth in ethical discussions in how they’re applied/affect how people think more than how complex/challenging they are.

THIRD DISCLAIMER I’m very sleepy and pretty sure I have surpassed my words quota of the week so this may be a bit disjointed!!

Some background on my ire:  I’m a CPA.  Which means majoring in business.  Which means being around business majors.  Which means BUSINESS ETHICS CLASSES.  My eyes start to water every time I think about how many American Dream dudebros tried to apply the trolley problem as a flimsy excuse to devalue those they thought were reasonable sacrifices for their own greater good.  Is it worth testing weapons on your own population, if you can then use those weapons to end a war faster?  Should we get rid of regulations about medical tests on people, if it would result in life-saving medicine being produced faster?  And so on.  Rules, protections, and just anything that would require giving another human being agency are treated like nuisances in the way of Great Minds moving and shaping the world as they see fit.  

I went and did a search to see if anyone already put my thoughts about the trolley problem into words, and the article The Trolley Problem Will Tell you Nothing Useful About Morality sums it up right from the get-go:

It discourages us from examining the structural factors that determine our choices.

[cut for length]

One thing that drove me BATSHIT about philosophy classes is I was never allowed to bring historical or social context into any of the discussions.  I couldn’t challenge Aristotle’s view of women as ranking somewhere near livestock, because if I couldn’t word puzzle my way into a truth, nonsense like “disenfranchisement of women in Ancient Greece” and “self-perpetuating social structures enforcing class and gender divides” didn’t belong in my discussions, apparently!  

Which, needless to say, is a huge issue when you start getting into topics of “who should we sacrifice for the greater good” as applied to political policy.  I don’t even need to elaborate on this one.  It’s always those whose lives are valued less and who have less power in that society.  The “greater good” is intensely subjective, and will always include the well-being of the person making the choice.  

The trolley problem works from a long list of assumptions that will rarely reflect reality, and shortcut past the most important discussions to be had:

- The person behind the switch has the sole power or responsibility for making the choice.  They don’t have the chance to communicate, they don’t have the chance to get input from the people in danger.  

- The person behind the switch is the only one with agency, and the only one who CAN have agency.

- The safety of the person behind the switch is assumed.  No possible choice could involve them being in danger.

- There’s a time limit that allows nothing more than an impulse decision.

- There’s no examination of why there is only one person with power over the situation, or why those at risk are 100% powerless to leave their situation

- There’s no chance of examining why the trolley is rolling down the tracks in the first place

That last one is where my rage comes from about the misapplication of this thought game re: insisting philosophy must be ahistorical.  But the thing that especially gets under my skin is how the agency of other human beings is just completely taken off the table.  A non-issue.  Something we have to assume wouldn’t make a difference, something we should assume isn’t possible to begin with.

[Stop reading here if you’re avoiding The Magnus Archives spoilers to episode 101]

Since this came up in a TMA context, I’ll veer it over to TMA: I see it get brought up in the context of Gertrude sacrificing Michael to save the world.  But this dehumanizes Michael as a person who could have been given agency and information, when in fact we know he was kept ignorant so that he could be more easily manipulated.  It places Gertrude behind the switch with no other options other than to pull a lever one way or another.  But therein lies the issue with the application of this experiment to “real life” scenarios.  Where is talking to Michael instead of betraying him?  Where is letting him make a choice of his own?  We learn later that his sacrifice wasn’t even necessary, but with the limited information Gertrude had at the time, how much were other options (LIKE GOOD OL C4) explored before she decided to ruin the life of someone who trusted her?  Why does she get to ensure her own safety behind the switch, rather than considering herself in the trade of “one life to save the world”?

TMA 155 - Cost of Living is a fantastic deconstruction of how rich and privileged people try to apply the trolley problem to excuse their choices and their abuse of others.  The statement giver rationalizes murdering dozens of people to fuel her own life, excusing it with “but I can do so much good if I’m alive!”  Meanwhile we’re left horrified that she clearly finds those she postures as being so helpful towards as expendable and “less valuable to society,” such as homeless people and the elderly.  We’re left side-eying the idea that a rich person giving to charity while living comfortably as being an indisputable “greater good” when all that’s really happening is one person valuing her own life over the lives of so many others.  The statement giver insists the net gain of the world excuses her actions, and tries to narrow the choice down to those two tracks:  Don’t pull the switch and lose “all the good she could do,” pull the switch and lose just a handful of people.  Listening, we know that the only person on the other track is her, and that her rationalization only enables her to kill again and again.

And that is why I hate the trolley problem.