I'm on a plane to Ireland tonight. Tomorrow a man goes on trial for a tweet. I'm writing this from the airport. In a few hours I'll be in the air, and tomorrow morning I'll be sitting in the public gallery of Bray District Court, south of Dublin, for the trial of Kirk Loco. You may remember Kirk. He's an ordinary Irishman. Two years ago someone in that group posted a warning: a migrant man had exposed himself on a public bus, in front of a 14-year-old girl. The bus driver stopped the bus. There were half a dozen witnesses. It was on CCTV. Kirk did what any of us would do. He reposted the warning so other parents would know. The migrant wasn't charged. Kirk was. The Irish police charged him under a so-called "fake news" law, Section 12A of the Criminal Justice Act, 1976. It was passed during the Troubles to fight terrorist propaganda. It had never been used against anyone, in fifty years, until they used it on Kirk. He is the first and only person in Irish history to be prosecuted under it. They picked him because of his politics: he's a critic of mass immigration. They are making an example of him. Here's what has happened since. Kirk has been dragged into that courtroom in Bray again and again, almost ten times, for a single retweet. Each time he takes a day off, each time his lawyers prepare, each time the Gardaí (that's what the Irish call their police) turn up and the thing gets put off again. I've flown over for one of those hearings myself. In May the judge lifted an outrageous bail condition that had banned Kirk from attending any protest, anywhere in Ireland. That was a real win. But the same judge refused to order the police to hand over the bus CCTV or the names of the witnesses. The people who saw what happened on that bus could clear him in five minutes, and the state won't tell his lawyers who they are. Kirk said it best himself: "I just can't believe that I'm eight court appearances in for a retweet." That was in May. There have been more since. The process is the punishment. Even if Kirk wins tomorrow, he's already been punished for two years: the stress, the lost days, the cloud over his name, the ban on protesting. That's the point. It's not really about convicting Kirk. It's about making sure every other Irish person who sees something on a bus thinks twice before saying a word. Tomorrow is finally the trial itself. A full day. Kirk's barrister, Laoise de Brún, and his solicitor, Padraig Langsch, will fight it in open court. They are principled lawyers who refused to do what Irish legal aid lawyers do, which is tell you to plead guilty, pay the fine and go home. Kirk won't plead guilty to telling the truth. And then I'm staying on. Because four days later, on Tuesday, the same two lawyers are back in court in Wexford, for Hugh Fagan. Hugh is the man I wrote to you about this week: he sits quietly on a bench in his town square with homemade signs, wearing headphones, and for that he's charged with a public order offence. Same country, same pattern, same week. One man for a tweet, one man for cardboard. I'm going alone this time, no videographer, economy flight, cheap hotel, to keep the costs down. I'll live-tweet from inside both courtrooms (I'll be the only journalist there; RTÉ never shows up) and I'll film my own reports outside on the courthouse steps and send them to you the same day. Ireland's "fake news" law had never been used on anyone until Kirk Loco. If they get a conviction, it becomes the template. That's why this one trial matters far beyond one man. Kirk's trial is Friday, October 23 in Bray. Hugh Fagan's is Tuesday, October 27 in Wexford. One trip, two trials. REPORT by @ezralevant: