Code Orange

I left the United States in Security Code Orange. It’s the second highest alert level on a tiered system of (in)security instated after the events of 911. An ironically cheery-sounding computer generated voice echoed in the terminal building: “…the Department of Homeland security is here to ensure your security and safety.” Uniformed, and perhaps even un-uniformed, and armed policemen wandering the corridors and hallways was evidence of that.

I was seventeen when the Twin Towers fell, just days from my high school graduation. But I knew that the world would be forever changed. And it was. The triumphant emergence of liberal-democracies and capitalist forces from the rubble of the Berlin Wall was cut short. Unveiled was that the much celebrated and supposedly inevitable pressures of the liberalisation of markets and politics, and globalisation cultures and ways of living were seen, felt and lived by many as imperialistic. Tradition had no place, if any, in the age of modernisation. Fundamentalism was shunned aside as backward and dangerous. In their places, the material values of becoming bigger, better, newer and richer became guiding principles. And the United States—its way of life, its foreign dominance, military hegemony, and economic clout over much of the world— was (and still is) very much perceived as the heart of this all-encompassing empire rooted in liberal values and market economics. All the while, the vast majority of the world is left behind, as hungry, deprived, exploited agricultural and manufacturing bases to fuel the greed of economies in the northern hemisphere. It was a situation, combined with years of covert operations in support of one dictatorial regime after another and trigger-happy proxy wars to push back the Communist threats that culminated in civil unrest on a global scale. Against the hi-tech armies and soft-power subjugation of the modern empire, the simplest and most deadly and indestructible weapon is terrorism.

Terrorism, the war of the poor and the oppressed, had revealed once and for all the vulnerabilities of the liberal-democratic system. Fear, security, safety became catch-words and justifications for tightening measures and eroding freedoms. And the liberal-democracies, in their conduct—at times backed by brute force, and at other times via tirades of negative propaganda through the media– against so-called illiberal and rogue States unveiled their ugly faces as being the very antithesis of liberalism and tolerance. And now, seven years on from that defining moment in the world’s history, the security of life, the homeland, and the very democracy moulded from the barrel of the gun, is feeling still feeling the effects.

The homeward bound holiday crowd buzzed around me. Due to weather delays, I walked around the terminal building for some three hours. Perhaps my big backpack and bright red McGill library bag was too eye-catching. Or perhaps it was me walking around and stopping every now and then leaning closely against the windows to take pictures of taxiing and taking-off planes that make me seem like someone suspect. I felt like I was being watched constantly. Or perhaps I was just paranoid, and distrustful of the ‘system’.

In my wanderings in the past week, whether in the heart of the empire, in smalltown New Jersey, or in downtown Manhattan, I was reminded of continuous and pervasive presence of a possible threat, real or imagined. Warning signs, bumper stickers, mechanic computer-generated voices on loudspeakers, the presence of security personnel and police on streets already under the secretive but all-seeing watch of CCTVs. Every move and word and person surveyed, scrutinised, suspect.

This is a nation (perceived to be) under attack. Sure, the terrible attacks in 2001 are every reason to feel fearful and edgy. But the response, militarily and politically, to terrorism is eroding the fundamentals of a nation so proud of its civil liberties and their defence. How much can you give up in the name of security? When is a state ever completely secure? The military and society has been so mobilised and instilled to question and be constantly on guard against the smallest deviation from the ‘norm’ of proper behaviour. TV channels cycle moving messages from the troops based overseas, separated from family and loved ones in their patriotic calls of duty. Ads at metro stations portray how honourable and just it is to be part of the defence of the nation, defence of liberty and justice, not just in America, but the world over. The star-spangled banner is seen everywhere— the very embodiment of that sense of pride, sense of courage in the face of common enemies, and that very sense of purpose in a world dramatically turned against the US in recent years. The red, blue and white is on buses, in shop-windows, and wavers majestically in the wind and braves the cold on countless buildings and houses. The language of being patriotic, being American echoes in the media and hangs on the lips of the common person.

I boarded the plane, and smiled as I sat down in my seat. North of the border, a friendlier and less distrustful country awaited.

That, and the fact I managed to smuggle onboard a roll of toothpaste, contact lens solution, a 1l bottle of water and a big bottle of lotion exceeding the given 100ml limit in my carryon. Undercover, unsuspected, and undetected.