Well, it is 2009—only 25 years beyond the time period of the futuristic book—and it seems as though we are inundated with Big-Brother-ish behaviors by the system (dare I say Oceania?).
Take the case of photo radar in Phoenix. It is everywhere. I only have been away from the city for two years, and the freeways appear to be filled with these cameras. Granted, it is the city’s attempt to control speeders, but it feels quite invasive to have these eyes watching every lane change I make, every fluctuation in speed, every donut I stuff into my mouth. When I am there, I truly do feel watched.
To add to this, I had a conversation with my mom. She and my dad just purchased a new vehicle. It has OnStar. I had heard a little about this service offered by GM through its ads, but I didn’t really give it much thought until my mom conveyed all of the features it offers: vehicle entry, automatic crash response, and stolen vehicle assistance. With the latter, OnStar is able to find a vehicle that is taken against your will. Meaning: they have technological (satellite) capabilities that allow the company to know where your vehicle is at all times. Translation: they know where you are at all times. Great service? Maybe. Scary? Possibly.
I recently read that England heavily employs the use of cameras in crime prevention. The town of Northampton—located sixty-some miles northwest of London—has a whole network of cameras set up to scour areas for crime. The cameras monitor the goings-on of the town’s shopping centers, parking lots, streets, and bus stations 24 hours a day...seven days a week. I am not dismissing its effectiveness in preventing crime or capturing criminals. Nor am I advocating it. But I ask...where is the privacy?
Google Earth, Wal-Mart parking lots, and The Bourne Ultimatum do little to alleviate my suspicions that there is definitely an eye in the sky (or perched on the nearest light pole). Big Brother may not yet be controlling our thoughts, but he is watching.
There was of course no way of knowing whether you were
being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what
system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire
was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched
everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your
wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live—did live,
from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that
every sound you made was overheard, and, except in
darkness, every movement scrutinized.
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