At the time of the sudden airport security crackdown when all hand luggage was banned, I quipped to friends that we were being prevented from taking on board books deemed dangerous: Nineteen Eighty-Four, Brave New World, that sort of thing. It was satire of the highest order, of course, but with no truth in it.
“Is that about terrorism?”, asked the lady that examined my onboard luggage. “Humm, well, it contains mentions of that, but it’s about your former ambassador to Uzbekistan and more about diplomacy”, I replied politely. “Does it have al-Qaida in it?” I looked a bit confused. “What?” – “Well, I have to check this with my manager, the rest of your stuff is fine, though.”
Now you can’t blame the Government for the actions of overly-officious airport security, overworked to the point of thinking that reading the word “terrorism” could prompt a passenger to explode mid-flight; you can, however, blame them for creating the climate of paranoia that foments this. (Via.)
While on our walk on Sunday, Nick recommended that I read Nineteen Eighty-Four. I really should have done that a long time ago but I have various Orwell issues dating from school (Animal Farm was a set text) that have got in the way. Now more than ever it seems worth a go, so I’ve put those aside and started reading…
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