I am puzzled by the inconsistencies displayed by the British public. Perhaps it has something to do with the eccentricity of the British character which on the one hand demonstrates itself in the fierce protectiveness of one’s privacy when making one-million-pound contributions to the cause of New Labour , and on the other in the unabashed exhibitionism of reality shows and doing one’s own laundry in public a la Shannon Mathew’s extended family.
So it may seem quite obvious to an average Britton that it is one thing to vehemently protest against the idea of ID cards (which would be rather useful in pinpointing all undesired aliens queuing in your local Job Centre or worse yet, post office to collect undeserved benefits), but bat not an eyelid when the Government launches the Interception Modernisation Programme aimed at placing a live tap on every single electronic communication in Britain.
It seems quite acceptable to have your private mail (electronic or not) snooped over, nosed into, read, stored and scrupulously analysed by a team of psychopathic bureaucrats, however issuing you with a plastic card bearing your face, birth-date and doubling as your travel document will be considered a direct insult on your personal integrity, human rights and possibly religious beliefs. Hm… beats me…
In my humble opinion the proposed Government spying on my every text message, telephone call, email sent and received (even the one drafted and abandoned halfway-through) and every internet site I chose to visit is the real assault on my personal space and privacy. Yet no one appears particularly concerned about that Government project and we go along with it. Are we that brainwashed by the propaganda of war on terror? Are we that moulded into mini-Americans? I don’t know, but mark my words when one day, whilst you’re sending that secret love text to your wife’s best friend or whispering sweet obscenities into the microphone of your laptop for the exclusive attention of your husband’s business partner, the floodlights will suddenly come on and a band of balaklava wearing commandos will burst into your bedroom and make you feel rather…naked, like so:
