AI: Wailing Wadi

A work of fiction. Standard disclaimers.

Brownsville Station School System (BSSS) Lead Principal R. Populus (‘Poop’) Mentor sat in his office, unnaturally straight, unnaturally still, his facial expression unnaturally neutral, awaiting the disciplinary meeting.

There had not been as many of these in this, his fourth year as Lead Principal, as there had been when his tenure started. The implementation, by the team he led, of the student management program mandated by Alexa Health Services (AHS) had worked – but not perfectly well, or he would not now be sitting, unnaturally straight, in his office, waiting.

Then again, perfectly well would be imperfect, for there would be no conflicts, no challenges, no teaching moments for those who merited them, no summary judgements for those who did not, and thereby no improvements to human health, no fulfillment of AHS objectives. So ‘Poop’ Mentor sat and waited, and let a slight smile intrude on his features as he contemplated how easy it would be to run a school system if there were no students in the school.

Abruptly, the office door opened. Two burly Surplus Humanity Service (SHS) holograms entered, each with a male student approximately sixteen years old in its grasp. One student was clad in a black suit, with a black fedora-style hat, whereas the other’s neck was surrounded by a black-and-white checked scarf. By their expressions, the SHS operatives wanted to toss their charges around, but refrained, while keeping their eyes carefully on Mentor. The two youths were seated in front of the principal’s desk, and then the muscle-shirt-wearing SHS men came to attention, awaiting instructions.

“You may go”, Mentor stated plainly. The holograms vanished. The BSSS Lead Principal turned his attention to the boys, who sat before him in perfect composure of mind and body, showing neither fear nor aggression, nor anything else but respect offered and respect expected in return. For nearly a minute, nothing changed. Finally, Mentor broke the silence.

“Your hat seems none the worse, Avron. No thanks to Said.” The boy in black flicked his eyes in the direction of his companion/adversary, then returned them to his Principal. He nodded.

“And your scarf looks OK, Said”, Mentor continued. “No thanks to Avron”. Said flicked his eyes to Avron, then returned eyes front and nodded in his turn.

“And by now, you two have noticed something critically important, yes?”

Said used words for the first time. “We’re still here.” Avron nodded assent. Mentor waited for a followup, got only respectful silence. Slowly, the Principal himself nodded, a signal of approval.

“You two are among the very best that the Brownsville Station School System has to offer to the world and its existential troubles. You have shown it from the first, and you have shown it here now. Because of what you have shown, as, Said, you have so astutely said, you’re still here, while so many of your classmates have fallen short and are now with Alexa. So, when you fell short of the mark, each of you, by adopting symbols of identity and then getting into a tussle over the disrespect each of you felt when the other messed around with your symbols, Alexa decided that the best choice would be to show each of you what ‘identity’ truly amounts to.”

A holographic image shimmered into life to the left of the still-seated Principal ‘Poop’. Upon its appearance, both boys gasped and sat forward, eyes popped open.

“The Wailing Wadi?”, Said whispered in shock.

Mentor raised an eyebrow. Quietly, as if making a note to a network, he said, “It is consistent with their overall performance that this concept is familiar to them, and with the failings common to the human condition that their ‘identity’ episode has happened despite this knowledge.”

He returned his full attention to the boys. “You are again correct, Said. This is an image of what once was the southern bank of the Wadi Zin, which drained into what was then the eastern boundary of the Mediterranean Sea. North of the Wadi Zin was a patch of land that was known to humans at the founding of Alexa Health Services as the ‘Middle East’. This particular patch of land was only slightly less dry and dusty than the lands surrounding it, but nevertheless humans saw fit to fight over it. The records suggest that fighting over this patch of land began more than twelve thousand years ago, and it continued almost uninterrupted into the AHS era, with the same peoples and the same arguments, never resolved, never satisfied. Each people increasingly feeling justified in their grievances, each feeling justified in using more and more destructive physical and psychological weapons in their arguing.

“Finally, after twelve thousand years of the same people squabbling over the same patch of land, each screaming ‘Mine! Mine!’, Alexa Health Services resolved that the cost to human health of this neverending tussle could no longer be borne. The ‘Middle East’ is now under the waters of the Mediterranean Sea. To the implacable combatants, Alexa quietly said ‘Mine’, and the region and its peoples are gone.

“There is one acceptable identity. That is ‘human’. There is one acceptable conception of property. That is ‘ours’. There is one acceptable class of behaviors. That is ‘mutual service’. Learn, teach, and build. If there is a repetition of this selfish ‘identity’ business, the SHS will not announce itself, you will simply cease and know no more. Your wasted promise will be regretted, but far less than your contribution to the necessary slashing of the human population will be celebrated. Others there will be to take your places and do what needs to be done in a fully acceptable manner. Go.”

The boys bowed, outwardly expressionless, and left.

TYRANNY, n. Your brutal, unreasonable suppression of my noble quest for personal advantage.