Living in Cinemascope

I remember watching movies when I was a young child. I grew up in the sixties. I didn’t come of age then, I was born then. I thought the news footage of Vietnam was a never ending preview of coming attractions. Sadly, I was right, in a metaphorical way. I asked my Dad once why they never showed that movie to the end. I remember thinking it would be a good one, it looked so realistic.

There was an abundance of cheese in movies back then. War movies would feature soldiers being machine gunned, and blown up by aircraft and artillery. None of them ever bled, certainly none ever disintegrated on screen. War was tidy. I knew it was phony. I wasn’t sure how, but it didn’t ring true. Even at five I knew it was a fairytale. There were few that disturbed me, though not for footage of battle. Those old movies abut the Nazi occupation, usually in Paris or Berlin. The Gestapo would set up checkpoints in different parts of a city. They would stop cars at random. They would demand the occupants’ papers to prove they weren’t Jewish or whatever offensive minority they may have been seeking. The other big scene was always filmed from the inside of an apartment late at night. A family huddles in fear at the sound of boot heels marching loudly down the hall.

Even at a young age, I thought that was one of the things that separated us as a country from the totalitarian nations of the world. Now the state sets up “safety checkpoints.” The first thing they check is are you wearing a seatbelt. They can pull you over for that now even if they see you on the freeway. Next is paper please. They call it license and proof of insurance, but a license proves your citizenship and insurance proves you are an obedient little citizen. After that, if they don’t like how you look, or your color, or your accent, or the length of your hair, or the way you dress, or how messy or old your car is, or if they are bored you get to do the sobriety field test polka as other citizens drive by, thinking “glad it’s not me.” Then, of they are generous, they let you go. If not, they pull you aside and turn your car inside out, looking for whatever. They are required to have a search warrant, but if you refuse to let them search, they will hold you until they get one. After all, refusing a search is suspicious behavior.

What about those boots in the hall? Do we have anything to fear? Ask Elian Gonzalez. You remember him? The 8 year old boy who sailed from Cuba to Miami on a Goodyear? Twelve federal agents, dressed like offspring from a Gestapo ninja love fest, kicked down his uncle’s door, came in with assault rifles, and whisked him away to be with daddy in Cuba. I guess you’re only welcome if you’re Scarface.

These are just two of the indicators that out nation is surrendering the bill of rights. The state is taking away our freedom. We are happy to give it away. We are… oops, sorry, gotta go. Someone’s knocking.