An observation drone followed me all
the way home the other day. It was whirring away about eight feet
above my head and making me nervy. I wasn't a happy man. When I got
home I rang the security company that made the drone and asked what
was up. They said they weren't sure and asked if I had been involved
in any suspicious activity. I said I hadn't. Then they checked their
database and asked about this blog.
'You seem to be quite off message Mr.
Fugger', they said.
'So?' I said.
'Well, we're just keeping an eye out
that's all', they said.
There hasn't been any terrorist
activity since the 2012 Olympics atrocity but it still seems we all
need watching out for. I have never written anything even remotely in
support of violence but, as Sir Kevin Myers recently argued in the
newspaper, scepticism is, in and of itself,
a form of violence. No, the argument didn't make much sense to me
either but most people seem to have embraced his logic.
'I like the drones', is a typical
pronouncement of the man on the street, 'they make me feel safer and
if you've nothing to hide why worry?'
I considered making my own drone to
watch the drone that was watching me. It's a simple matter of making
a remote control aircraft with a camera attached that sends the
images to your laptop. Then I remembered that homemade drone
manufacture is illegal. This is to prevent terrorists making drones
and flying them into cars and so on. That has never happened but it
probably would if it was allowed to. Besides that, as Sir Myers
argued on a recent TV panel discussion, 'what's the point in being
watched if you are watching back'. The audience applauded.
The drone followed me all the way as I
visited the Mother in the old folks home. My drone met her drone
(they've been following her since the first day the state outsourced
law enforcement) and the two drones seemed to get along very well.
The Mother said the world had come to a sorry pass. She said it was
Orwellian but then she remembered that Orwell's analogy was about
communist countries so 1984 couldn't possibly apply to us. Then she
went off and joined the other oldies as they did that new form of
extreme Tai Chi to the tune of White Riot by The Clash (the oldies
love the tunes from their own day). I headed off. My fuckin drone
followed.
In the following days and nights the
drone bothered me more and more. It was whirring outside my window
late at night. The noise off the thing combined with the perpetual
hum from the coastal fracking operation and the two sounds really did
my head in. The lack of sleep eventually caused me to lose it and one
morning I opened my kitchen window and fucked a saucepan at the
levitating shithead. I hit it and it made a funny noise and crashed
into a lamppost. It wasn't long before security personnel arrived and
I was carted off to the community assistance centre (formerly known
as the cop shop).
They smiled and spoke gently as they
scanned my retina, took my prints, and attached an electronic tag to
my ankle.
'Why are you so disagreeable Mr.
Fugger?' one asked.
'Because the world has become
disagreeable.'
'I don't think most people would agree
with you there Mr. Fugger.'
'That's because most people have lost
the ability to disagree with you.'
'Me?'
'Yeah, you lot.'
'And just who are us lot?'
'The powers that be. The servants of
the establishment.'
'This all seems a bit nebulous Mr.
Fugger. Could you be more specific?'
'If you don't know it's too late for
you.'
'Do you not like being protected Mr.
Fugger?'
'Not when I'm treated like the thing
that I'm supposedly being protected against.'
'There is no need to feel that way Mr.
Fugger.'
'Yes there is, you've tagged me.'
'We're only protecting our property Mr.
Fugger.'
'There are more important things than
property.'
'Like what Mr. Fugger?'
'Liberty for a start.'
'Aren't you free Mr. Fugger?'
'No.'
'Well, let's imagine for a moment that
you are correct Mr. Fugger, which you are not but let's imagine for a
moment that you are. What would you do with your freedom if you had
it?'
'Well, I'd. . .'
(I paused.)
'You'd what Mr. Fugger?'
'I'd. . .'
(There was a longer pause as I thought
about it.)
'Are you happy Mr. Fugger?'
'Huh? Yeah! Sure! . . .sometimes.'
'Are you happy with your lot?'
'In some ways.'
'We don't think you are Mr. Fugger.'
'And how would you know?'
'We've been watching you remember.'
'Oh yeah.'
'And we haven't been watching a happy
man Mr. Fugger.'
(I said nothing.)
'We think you're seeking catharsis by
transposing the source of your woe on to our little system. A system
everyone, all the rest of us, have agreed upon Mr. Fugger. A system
that only wants to see you safe and secure and happy.'
'Yeah, as long as I can pay for it
right?'
'Money greases the wheels Mr. Fugger,
most have agreed to that social contract, the exceptions being
internet malcontents and, of course, terrorists.'
'You're saying I'm a terrorist now?'
'No, Mr. Fugger, I am saying that you
are a very unhappy man.'
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe
it was the anxiety caused by my arrest, but something about that last
thing he said caused tears to run down my cheeks. I was silently
crying and soon I was loudly sobbing. My head was on the security
person's chest and he was cradling me and saying 'there there, there
there'. I felt a right fool but I also felt I had broken through
something, something inside my own head. Why was I so defensive? Why
did I kick against a world that was only there to make things easier
for me? A world that was only watching me so it could watch my back.
Why did I accuse the world of denying me freedom when it was me who
was denying myself freedom. It dawned on me that the real source of
my misery was fear. A fear of my own freedom. I didn't know how to
handle it and so had made myself prisoner of the fantasy of societal
unfreedom. My God but this fella was good. Within the space of a
short conversation he had shown me that my prison was self-imposed
and that I could actually be a free and content man. All I had to do
was shut up. All I had to do was shut the fuck up and go home and
watch the telly or call a friend and talk about the telly or whatever
else we wanted to talk about because we were free to talk about
whatever we wanted as long as we didn't talk about not being free
because to entertain such notions was, in and of itself, a threat to
freedom.
I was allowed to return home later that
day. When I got back I climbed into bed and tried to get some well
needed sleep. The ankle tag bothered me a little but the drone had
gone. It seemed I didn't need watching anymore or maybe the tag was
doing the job. Either way, I no longer minded. Ultimately, I was only
being protected from the enemy. Ultimately I was being protected from
myself. I dozed off to the gentle hum of the fracking and I was
happy. I was a happy man because tomorrow was another day and
anything was possible. I was a happy man because I was free. I was a
happy man because the future belonged to me. It belongs to to all of
us. Enjoy it. You must.
