The great disconnect: being "secure" without a voice
“It is interesting to observe, how the meanings of words change without our noticing, how we often use them to mean precisely the opposite of what they used to mean and which, in a way, like a fading echo, they still continue to mean.”
- Jose Saramago | Seeing (2006)
As I look behind me, I notice in the distance that the situation is deteriorating.
The streets are no longer safe, the looting continues, and the youth have turned to violence in hopes of being heard.
Fires rage across the Capital city. Neighbours are fleeing in fear that their homes will be next, the smell of smoke is becoming unbearable, and the night skies are lighting up in bright red.
We have been warned before, but it seems that chaos may finally be manifesting itself.
Police and government officials are scattering the streets imploring the citizenry to head to the bridge.
Hordes of individuals can be seen rushing out of their homes, grabbing as many possessions as they can: pictures, food, and clothing. Mothers are crying while holding onto their children, and seniors are limping barefoot towards the crowd gathering at the bridge’s checkpoint.
Rumours have been swirling for hours that the bridge will close at midnight, leaving behind those who fail to seek security and refuge being offered by their government.
I too have joined the masses and have been waiting for hours to cross to the other side. As I inch closer to the front of the line, I hear moans and grunts, the kind that is pregnant with disappointment.
With my government identification in hand and nervous that I will be rejected entry, I finally muster enough courage to speak:
Me: “Good evening officer”
Officer: “Hello young man. Devastating isn’t it? Such a beautiful city gone to waste.”
Me: Indeed, sir. But I heard the other side of the bridge is just as beautiful, safe, and free from the disobedience we have witnessed the past few days.”
Officer: “I have never been there, but the folks crossing over seem to be doing just fine. We haven’t heard a single complaint.”
Me: “That’s good news, sir. I can’t wait to arrive there, away from this nonsense.”
As the man returns my identification he hands me a bottle of water and a little cup with a pill in it.
Me: “What’s this?”
Officer: “Government mandated, young lad. Apparently the fumes from the fires are extremely toxic and they are asking everyone that crosses over to consume these antibiotics. It is for your protection my son, a precautionary gesture by the government in the midst of a major national emergency.”
I pop the pill into my mouth, swallow the water and I start my journey across the elevated bridge.
The sky above is still glowing red. So much so, that I can see the faces of those on the other side – they seem unresponsive. Thousands of them lining the edge of the land, staring back at the chaotic scenes of the former Capital of this great nation.
As I draw closer to the other side of the bridge, I suddenly feel something happening inside me, albeit slowly. The anxious screams at the checkpoint slowly begin to disappear. I turn around and I can still see people pushing and shoving, yet I can no longer hear them.
As I step onto the other side, I feel my throat beginning to close. I catch a glimpse of the guards, who, on this side of the bridge, are in full riot gear with their guns cocked in my direction. As I pass them, they hand me a small postcard that reads:
Welcome to your new home… free and safe from the madness across the way.
I meant to say thank you, I really did, but I couldn’t speak, so I continue to walk.
As I begin to observe my new reality, my stomach starts to clench, the type of feeling you experience when your body is trying to tell you that you have made the wrong decision.
Without any other conceivable option I join the line of thousands on the edge of the land, looking back at the mayhem still taking place in the nation's once great city. All of us, silent and no longer able to speak, no longer able to hear, and no longer able to communicate with those foolishly lining up at the bridge.
But at least on one side of the bridge, we are all safe now.
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UPDATE: Government backs down on plan to shut Twitter and Facebook during crises