In the first episode of “Black Mirror’s” recently debuted seventh season, Amanda and Mike, played by Rashida Jones and Chris O’Dowd, are an enviably in love couple with a simple, happy life. But when Amanda passes out while teaching her elementary-aged students a lesson on solar panels, we learn she has an inoperable brain tumor. Later, in a hospital waiting room, an immutably serene saleswoman played by Tracee Ellis Ross meets with Mike and offers to “give him time” with a new product by a company called RiverMind. The technology is simple, she explains, gesturing to an iPad: We “take an imprint of the affected part of [Amanda’s] neural structure and we clone it onto our mainframe […] a backup of part of her brain onto our computer.”

The bait-and-switch freemium model underscores the narrative’s real concern: America’s deeply flawed and profit-driven health care system.

I remember watching the first season of “Black Mirror” in 2011 when it debuted with just three episodes. The stories were thought-provoking and alarming, the sort of speculative dystopian fiction that generates good conversation and makes you hope desperately for a different kind of future. Six seasons and well over a decade later, this episode, called “Common Place,” is a salient indication that we are now squarely in the future we hoped would never come.

Like all techno-dystopic episodes of “Black Mirror,” the narrative takes aim at how technology exposes and exploits our society’s ills, starting with the constantly moving goal post that is paying for streaming services. First, Amanda and Mike are promised a free surgery and the “less than you think” monthly fee of $300. For Amanda and Mike, very intentionally depicted as industrious members of the working class, that $300 is just nearly too much. And of course, expensive and necessary upgrades are coming. Soon, the couple must pay more, much more, to prevent Amanda from verbalizing “contextually relevant” advertisements. We watch as she enters something of a fugue state and begins shilling products in the middle of teaching a lesson, morning coffee and sex. A baby, they learn to their horror, will be an additional $90 a month. It’s interesting that “Black Mirror” would so conspicuously critique the payment model used by Netflix, the streaming giant that pays the show creator’s bills (and it feels worth noting that in January Netflix raised the cost of its streaming plans and added an ad-supported, cheaper tier.)

But the bait-and-switch freemium model underscores the narrative’s real concern: America’s deeply flawed and profit-driven health care system.

There are thousands, probably tens of thousands, of active GoFundMe campaigns raising money for medical emergencies right now. Media coverage of these fundraising efforts is often positive: highlighting the kindness and altruism people so often rely on as the only way to get a lifesaving surgery or medication. And viral appeal is critical. If your story is heart-wrenching, if your blurb is funny or poignant, and if your family is beautiful, chances are you’ll get a little bit more. Of course, GoFundMe is for-profit and charges a transaction fee of 2.9% and $0.30 per donation.

In “Common People,” Mike doesn’t turn to crowdsourcing to raise money for Amanda’s RiverMind subscription, but to a fictional social media platform called Dum Dummies. Dum Dummies allows users to pay so-called creators to complete certain tasks live onscreen. The tasks, as you can imagine, are dark, degrading and often physical. We watch Mike earn just $90 on Dum Dummies by closing his tongue in a mousetrap. It gets worse from there.

“Common People” watches like a vintage “Black Mirror” episode. It is thought-provoking, well acted, entertaining and, frankly, laborious. Yet, if you believe, like I do, that the critical role of dystopian storytelling is preparation for the worst-case scenario, then this episode has failed. There is nothing to prepare for, nothing to examine, nothing to stop, because that reality is already here.

Hannah Holland

Hannah Holland is a producer for BLN’s “Velshi” and editor for the “Velshi Banned Book Club.” She writes for BLN Daily.

We come from different corners of the legal world: one of us a trial lawyer in Los Angeles, the other a federal judge in New Jersey. But we’ve both reached the same conclusion: The legal system in the United States is under attack, literally and figuratively. And if we don’t speak out now, we may lose the very institution that holds democracy together.

That’s why we created Speak Up for Justice, a national forum taking place Tuesday. It’s not a conference. It’s a line in the sand.

We have both experienced the fear and vulnerability that comes with doing our work in this increasingly hostile climate.

Political violence has becoming alarmingly frequent in recent years, with the arson at Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro’s residence this weekend just the latest example. The legal system has not been spared. For years, we’ve watched as threats against judges and attorneys became more common and more dangerous. Court rulings are dismissed as partisan. Law firms are harassed for doing their jobs. Judges are vilified and, in some cases, targeted with violence. We have both experienced the fear and vulnerability that comes with doing our work in this increasingly hostile climate.

In 2020, Esther’s son, Daniel, was murdered by a man who came to their home with a gun, looking for her. The killer was enraged by the idea that judges could rule independently and wanted to send a message. That message cost Daniel his life.

We wish we could say that was the last time judges were personally threatened. But it wasn’t.

Just this month, pizzas have been sent to judges’ homes across the country with the message “I know where you live.” Some recipients were the children of judges. In a horrifying twist, some of these deliveries were ordered using Daniel’s name. It’s not just cruelty, but its also calculated intimidation.

These are not isolated events. They are part of a broader pattern of fear-based tactics aimed at silencing legal professionals and undermining the independence of the courts. And they’re working: many in the legal community are afraid to speak up.

We understand that fear. We’ve lived it. But if we let it silence us, we risk losing far more than our voices — we risk losing the very foundation of justice in this country.

We know the legal system isn’t perfect. We both work inside it every day and we’ve seen its flaws. But we’ve also seen the good it can do.

Speak Up for Justice was born from that urgency. We wanted to create a space in which judges, lawyers, advocates and everyday citizens could come together and say: Enough. Enough with the threats. Enough with the harassment. Enough with letting fear dictate how justice is carried out. The rule of law still matters.

We know the legal system isn’t perfect. We both work inside it every day and we’ve seen its flaws. But we’ve also seen the good it can do. When it functions freely and fairly, the legal system protects the most vulnerable, resolves disputes peacefully and keeps power in check. That only works if people believe that the courts are independent and that legal professionals can do their jobs without fearing for their lives — or their children’s lives.

We’re not asking for praise. We’re asking for protection. We’re asking for acknowledgment that legal professionals shouldn’t be collateral damage in ideological or political battles.

Most of all, we’re asking for people to care.

This is not just about judges and lawyers. It’s about whether we as a nation still believe in justice — not as a buzzword, but as a process that must be defended and made accessible to all.

If you care about democracy, if you care about fairness, if you care about the kind of country we’re leaving for the next generation — then we ask you to stand with us. Share our message. And commit to pushing back against the normalization of intimidation and violence in our legal system.

We didn’t want to create this event. We needed to. And we need you, too.