Friday, 14 December 2012

Security vs Privacy, June 2006



Many of us are old enough to remember the notion of the separation of church and state, and the right of privacy.  In the post 9/11 world we have had to update some of our ideas.  We can no longer afford to keep God on the sidelines; we need Him in the game.  The world is made up of those who love freedom and those who do not.  Since God is for freedom, let’s bring him into the tent.  Now that God is in the government, it turns out He has a lot to say.  For example, federal regulations on marriage have been long overdue.  It is hard to believe that conservatives used to defer to states or the individual on such an important issue. 

Security vs. Privacy is the new Guns vs. Butter argument.  Perhaps privacy is overrated; after all, who are you talking to (especially overseas) that is such a big deal that no one can know?  The surveillance cameras posted in the bank, delicatessen, and shopping mall are already paying big dividends in apprehending criminals.  Our own home computers provide a complete record of all of our interests, which you have to admit, is handy.  A little perk of airline travel is that I now automatically check to make sure I am wearing presentable underwear and socks without holes the day I am going to fly.

The government is under enormous pressure to protect its citizenry while it is regularly engaging in acts that are drawing the ire of the rest of the world.  Sometimes the government’s sight shifts to monitoring ordinary citizens, rather than limiting its scope to foreign terrorists and domestic child pornography viewers. 

Malcontents would argue that we are abrogating precious rights and liberties in the name of national security.  But keep in mind that we are also keeping a close eye on each other.  Whether on blogs, chat lines, or web pages, we share a great deal.  If even a fraction of My Space posters are not posers, I worry for the republic.  The unexamined life may not be worth living, but Socrates probably meant for individuals to self reflect, not just randomly point cell phone cameras at each other.  We have, for good or ill, well-documented lives.

Before I get sounding even more like an old coot, I have to admit that I was stopped short the other week by JoAnne “The Editor.”  I was in mid-rant about bloggers and how deluded and self-important they must be to think that anyone is even faintly interested in their opinion of the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo.  The Editor asked, “What is it you think you have been doing for the last twenty-five years?  Every column you write for The Hill and Lake Press is about what is on your mind. You are a blogger.”

So I am outted.  Despite my archaic belief that words stamped on newsprint rather than flashed in cyberspace are more lasting, I am a 1960s era blogger at heart.  The issues have come around again.  Once more we are waging an unpopular war with a myriad of cultural layers in which it sometimes seems the more enemies we kill, the further we are from the end.   At home we are simultaneously exploiting and repelling illegal immigrants with no Cesar Chavez in sight.  The income gap continues to widen as the government seeks tax cuts for the wealthiest one percent.  The debate is mean-spirited and many of the players (Abramoff, Lay, DeLay), are unsympathetic characters.  I am reminded of the corollary to “Catch-22” which states that “We can do anything to you that you can’t stop us from doing.”


It feels as if we are simultaneously awake and in the throes of a nightmare, the classic one where door knobs fall off in your hand, no one understands each other, and running does not get you anywhere.  We are not asleep, but perhaps we are more defensive, guarded, skeptical, and discouraged.  If we are united it is only in our despair and embarrassment.  While God’s name is being evoked more, it does not feel that we as a people are moving closer to him.


Tom H. Cook must have gotten some bad tuna.  He still prefers the unabridged version of The Geneva Convention.  He will be perkier next month.   


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