In a book of 29 chapters, you can safely skip the first 19.
Chapter 20, where he gives a talk on China and when the hypocrisy becomes too much for him to cope with, is where this book starts. Up until then it is a long and somewhat boring journey. After this point, the book springs to life and is over too soon.
Lately I feel like I have become Australia’s chief spokesperson for the Chinese Communist Party – so, I want to start by saying that I’m actually not all that fond of the CCP. The problem is, like Snowden, virtually everything I hear China being accused of are things we seem to do in the West with at least as much abandon. The big difference is that, since we are supposed to live in a democracy, we ought to be able to change the direction of our governments (I know, I know, but that is no excuse for you to start laughing in my face).
The fact this guy, Chelsea Manning and Julian Assange were (or are) being persecuted, and prosecuted for exposing crimes against humanity committed by ‘us’ (rather than committing themselves), tells us more about our own societies than we would generally prefer to face.
Would I rather live in China? No, I wouldn’t.
Nor would I choose to live in Saudi Arabia, and I certainly would not want to live in Yemen or in Gaza either. I struggle to understand how our governments can think it okay to profit from selling arms knowing it will ensure the conflict in Yemen continues. In fact, it makes me sick to the stomach. Nor would I choose to be one of the 2.3 million prisoners in US gaols – most of whom are victims of the US Jim Crow laws. As much as I object to the obscenity of the Chinese Social Credit System – I can’t help feeling Facebook ‘likes’ and Google’s corporate mining of our ‘user’ data, manipulate us in all too terrifyingly similar ways.
The idea that our governments are storing information on just about everything we have ever said or thought, as this book makes all too clear, means that we are denied that most basic of human rights – the right to forget.
As Lizzy says in Pride and Prejudice when her opinion of Darcy changes enough for her to decide to marry him: “That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.”
Our new technologies make forgetting impossible. As Snowden says in this (admittedly, in a part of the book that I’ve just told you not to read) when he was about to join the spies, he suddenly realised all of the bloody stupid things he had said in his life on the internet that have gone on existing, like ghosts of his now long dead younger self. He chooses to not delete these posts. Instead, he does the standard American thing – that is, precisely what you would expect from someone brought up in a society obsessed with ‘the individual’. He refuses to deny his past self. ‘Yes, I may well have cut down the Cherry Tree, but I’ll be damned if I will chop down the posts from my younger self!’
To me, the point really is that we have next to no idea about the ‘real’ motivation behind the things we wrote decades before. Whatever we say in our defence becomes all the more questionable the more fervently we assert it. Our attempts to provide justifications for past actions too often achieve little more than a work of exquisite and, in equal measure, incoherent fiction. To be held to account for such works of fiction is mostly absurd, and generally done for motives even more questionable than our desire to retain a coherent and consistent ‘self’.
All the same, our governments are trapped in a game where they seek to gain access to every thought and every note and every image from our past lives. They do so just in case one day they may be able to create a narrative that places us within a terrifying frame. This, in itself, has become one of the greatest threats to our freedom. And as someone who believes that, in fact, often one of our only available paths to redemption is through the gift of forgetting, our governments and corporations are actively working to create a nightmare machine we may never be able to escape from. One based on a terrible lie of ‘human nature’ – the lie of the coherent and consistent ‘individual’.
I generally don’t quote Nietzsche (he is easily my least favourite philosopher), but these are desperate times:
’I have done that', says my memory. I cannot have done that—says my pride and remains unshakeable. Finally—memory yields.
There are times when choosing to believe our pride over our memory is the only viable choice open to us.
I never know what to do after reading books like this. I don’t know if I should spend time figuring out how to cover my online tracks. But as soon as I think that is the way to go, it immediately seems a complete waste of time. The arseholes who manage the tracking systems are always going to be better at the internet than I am, mostly because they are deeply boring pricks. My changing my behaviours, whatever other successes they may provide, will also only draw their attention.
I’m a much more boring person than it is possible for me to say, or perhaps even for you to believe. And this is a flaw in my character that is unlikely to be addressed by my spending endless time learning how to encrypt my movements across the internet. That some of you out there might be living a more interesting life then mine is something I would rather celebrate. I’ve no interest at all in chastising you for it. I’m nothing at all like the evangelicals who want to punish you for your sins – Christ, life offers so few pleasures – enjoy those that you can. I’m only sorry I find most of your sins quite so deadly boring, or, trust me, I would join you in them. Whatever joy your sins bring you, even for a briefest moment, as long as they do no harm to anyone else, do your worst.
I, for one, certainly have no interest in paying more taxes to allow my government to retain an indelible memory of your sins. If they do, none of us have any hope.