29/08/2007 “SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVING IS EASY...” COMES OUT OF THE STEREO; IT’S SET ON A
WINDOWSILL, AND BEHIND IT ARE GREEN TREES, BLUE SKIES, BIRDS, FLOWERS. THIS IS IT,
BABY, THIS IS THE LIFE – IT’S SATURDAY MORNING AND IT ’S SUMMER AND YOU’RE GOING
TO TREAT YOURSELF REEEAL GOOD, MEDIA STYLE. YOU’VE GOT YOUR FRESH-GROUND
FAIR TRADE COFFEE, YOU’VE GOT YOUR PASTRIES, YOU’VE GOT YOUR TABLE LINEN; YOU
JUST NEED THE PAPERS. GO ON, THEN – OFF YOU GO TO THE SHOP DOWN THE ROAD.
Got ‘em? Great. Sit down, pour the coffee, eat a pastry and have a read... SHIT! You’ve just spat your pastry and coffee all over the front page, right? Apparently, you’re lucky you made it down the street to the shop just to buy the papers.
Let’s run through that walk again, shall we? You stepped out the door. BISH!You were filmed by seven hundred CCTV cameras, five government agenciesimmediately located you via your mobile phone’s unique signature; you werelucky not to be transported on a late night CIA extraordinary rendition flightto a torture den on the moon. You made it to the pavement . BOSH! By ageographical sleight of hand, you avoided being gunned down by immigrant mobsters – but only because you live in Dulwich and they all live in TowerHamlets. You never know, they may have just abducted you and forced youinto one of their brothels or cockle-picking projects. You’re walking along thestreet. BASH! Those two policemen you just passed, yeah? Well, don’t youfeel lucky they didn’t take offence at your race/height/demeanour/rucksackand gun you down like so much Menezes on their shoe?
—
You’ve made it to the shop. BOOM! That’s the noise a terrorist’s bomb would have made. Then, you would have had to walk back, doubtless through the gangs of braying, spitting four year olds swearing like seamen and trying to slice your head off with their ASBOs. And Christ help you if you were smoking a cigarette – you thought you were in danger? Everyone you passed while you smoked DIED IMMEDIATELY as a result of your second hand smoke. These streets, kiddo... they’re pretty mean.
But by now, you’ve calmed down. You’ve wiped the pastry and the coffee from your paper and your trousers, and you’re staring disdainfully at the news that startled you. In that crass, cocksure manner of yours, you’re saying, “Like, get with it – get out of 2005 already. That shit don’t scare me no more.” So, fair enough. Maybe your friend has been mugged, but it was more an annoyance than life threatening. You haven’t been blown up, though some people were a while ago. Neither you nor your friends have been held prisoner for 28 days without charge. Those streets ain’t so mean. You’re so laissez-faire, so oo-la-la, you’re over your fear and you’re worrying about what you’re gonna do tonight , how you’re gonna score a gram you don’t give a fuck about what might happen in the name of mean streets.
—
WELL. FUCK. YOU. We care. We care about being watched 24 hours a day. We care about having 52 different forms of our genetic data being stored on a national computer system, without knowing who has access to it. We care that we are no longer in charge of our own health, that someone decides what we can and can’t do – and often according to long-obsolete moral codes. We care that all of a sudden we’re under suspicion for walking down a street. We care that we’re told we’re in danger from all sorts of threats every day and that the only answer is to clamp down on everyone’s freedoms – and we care that the problems aren’t being solved, just reacted to. We really care that we can’t even protest about it in front of Parliament without giving written fucking notice in advance. We care that we’re living in a society with the worst record in the developed world for spying on its citizens. We care that we’re living in a Police State.
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