Qualityland

COUNTRY AIR

“Pooh. What’s that smell?” asks Aisha.

“My sensors are registering a significantly raised number of carbamide compounds in the air,” says John.

“For God’s sake,” says Aisha. “What on earth is that?”

“Urea,” says John.

“You mean…”

“Liquid manure.”

“Yuck. Is it dangerous?” asks Aisha.

“No toxicity was established during feeding tests on rats,” says John.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” says Aisha. “But I wasn’t planning on eating the stuff anyway.”

She looks at her watch. Tony is almost finished with his introductory speech. John is getting ready to step onto the stage in the market square. Aisha grabs his arm.

“John,” she says, “the secret services warned us that Machine Breakers could have hidden themselves amongst the audience.”

“We’re in the countryside,” says John. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Today it’s different. We received an explicit warning,” whispers Aisha. “We’re lagging way behind in all the opinion polls, but in the rural areas it looks downright catastrophic. Please don’t say anything that could provoke them.”

“Hey, you know me,” says John with a smile.

“Yes,” says Aisha. “Exactly.”

John steps onto the stage, and Tony gives him the microphone.

“My dear human beings,” the android begins his speech, “it’s a pleasure to be able to speak to you here in the country. As you may know, all other nations have to fight against the international brain drain—the emigration of their smartest minds to us in QualityLand. But there is also a national brain drain, from the country to the city.”

“Did he just tell them they’re all stupid?” asks Aisha backstage.

“Yeah, but the hillbillies probably didn’t get that,” says Tony.

“Not just our industrial, but also the majority of our cultural production takes place in the big cities and revolves around the big cities,” says John. “Where do the decisive politics take place? In the big cities.”

“Then go back there!” yells one of the listeners.

“Please hear me out,” says John. “This big-city elitism threatens to divide our society on yet another level. What I’m trying to say is this: you have good reason to feel underrepresented, forgotten, and abandoned. And we must address that urgently! Why, for example, don’t we build smaller universities everywhere across the country?”

“I think he just called the audience uneducated,” says Aisha.

“I’m sure that wasn’t his intention,” says Tony.

“After all, digitalization enables knowledge to be accessed from any given place,” continues John. “There are many ways to bring momentum back into your region, but believe me, the worst would be to fall for Cook and his right-wing rat catchers.”

“Did he just imply the people here are rats?” asks Aisha.

Tony remains silent, but the pinched expression on his face speaks volumes.

The audience is restless. John does what machines always do when they’re not sure what to do next. He tries to reboot.

“My dear human beings,” he says, “for generations you’ve been told that you just have to haul coal for another few years, then the train will reach paradise. Have you ever asked yourself whether perhaps you’ve already been in paradise for a long time and just forgotten to get off the train? Our productivity, in any case, has reached paradisiacal levels. But we’re failing to distribute the fruits of that labor in a logical way. And that’s why one of my first steps as president will be to finally introduce an unconditional basic income!”

“But then who will collect the trash?” cries someone from the crowd.

“Yes, exactly,” calls a woman. “No one does that kind of job voluntarily!”

“It’s fascinating,” says John, “that this argument is still used even though the trash has been removed by machines in a fully automated process for the last thirty-two years. But of course I understand what you’re getting at. Work that no one wants to do must simply be so well paid that someone can be found to do the job.”

“I used to be a garbageman!” calls an old man. “You power guzzlers stole my job!”

“I know that many of you are afraid of us,” says John appeasingly. “And given the current economic structure, not without reason. But this is exactly what I’m getting at! The automation of work doesn’t need to be a tragedy. On the contrary, in another economic system it would be a blessing!”

“You tin cans stole my life!” cries a woman. “I used to be a postwoman. Now I’m nothing!”

“I understand your agitation,” says John, “but please listen to me. You need a purpose, a mission, a reason for existence that keeps you going. That’s clear to me. Without this life purpose, even a basic income won’t make anyone happy. That’s why I’m suggesting that we set a common goal. What about, for example, the goal of rescuing our planet from destruction? I think we can agree on that, can’t we? I suggest that it should be our communal project to make life as pleasant as possible for all living beings, in a way that isn’t based upon profit and return. I would like—”

“Kill him!” yells someone from the crowd of listeners.

“Yeah! Blow him to smithereens!” cries a woman.

“There’s nothing for you here, power guzzler,” shouts a boy. “This is Machine-Breaker country!”

“Destroy everything!” cries an old man. “Long live the FRFat-DotM!”

John of Us sighs. He flees into the transport drone, inside which Aisha and Tony are already waiting. Two minutes later, Aisha looks down at the crowd from the air. The robocops are already in motion, confronting the rioters with clubs and Tasers.

“Well, this should make for wonderful campaign pictures…” murmurs Aisha.

“I have to admit, it’s more difficult than I thought,” says John.

“What is?” asks Aisha.

“Finding an answer to Bertrand Russell’s question.”

“Who?” asks Tony.

“A dead English philosopher,” says Aisha. “He said: the question today is how one can convince humanity to consent to their own survival.”

“And it really is astonishingly difficult,” says John.