By Mrs. Gladys T. Roll
Greetings, dear reader,
Goodness, the world has become an unusual place! This week’s column was inspired by a recent visit from my grandson Alex, who kindly went shopping for a new microwave for me. Naïvely, I told him to pick out whichever model he thought best, not realizing how…modern…kitchen appliances have become. I might have been able to learn how to use the basic functions and how to avoid the rest (although I immediately became nostalgic for my old GE Spacemaker), but the contraption went right back in the box when Alex told me it was asking for the WiFi login, along with my name, birthdate, and email address. I half-expected it to ask for a blood sample or a childhood nickname before it would let me defrost my soup.
Perhaps no one understands the importance of privacy quite as profoundly as the Silent Generation. We lived through Joe McCarthy’s witch-hunts, Tricky Dick’s wiretapping at the Watergate, and the popularization of George Orwell’s masterpiece, 1984. I taught that book every year to my high school English students, but when I consider the panopticon our country has chosen to live in today, I have to wonder if they were resorting to the CliffsNotes.
After all, cameras are literally everywhere! On doorbells, vehicles, traffic lights…why, my neighbor Ken even has one on his birdhouse! Poor little Gerald cannot sniff a fire hydrant without being under the unblinking eye of a gas station security camera. He has started looking guilty about it too, like he expects the footage to show up on the local news: “Elderly terrier loiters suspiciously near pump No. 3.” It is all but impossible to find a cellular phone that is not equipped with a camera. My friend Evelyn covers hers with a piece of tape, which I suppose makes her feel safe, but to me seems about as effective as hiding under the blankets during a category 5 tornado.
Consider, too, the “open concept” floor plan that came into vogue about 15 years ago. When I moved to Hutchinson after laying my husband Frank to rest, the realtor showed me several recently remodeled homes featuring this absurd layout, proudly trumpeting it as something he was certain I would want. What nonsense! Why, for heaven’s sake, would I want my guests to see dinner bubbling on the stove while they drink their Harvey Wallbangers in the living room? Entertaining is supposed to have a little mystery—let them imagine I made my stuffed mushrooms by hand rather than spotting the deli container next to the oven that I forgot to throw away! Frank, too, would have hated the “open concept” and how his beloved study has fallen victim to the “great room” in today’s modern home. Where could he have gone to escape the insufferable babbling of inebriated company during cocktail parties and family gatherings?
Of course, we Americans forfeit our privacy these days in far more significant ways than just by tearing down walls and doors. Even those of us who try to conceal ourselves from cameras and microphones have for decades been progressively handing out more and more of our personal data like Halloween candy. I must admit I have not been immune to that trick—I was one of the very first to sign up for a Kroger Plus Card, all the way back in 1995! At the time, I thought it was a revolutionary way to save on canned peaches. It turns out, it was also a revolutionary way for Kroger to learn how often I eat canned peaches. Over time, and despite Frank’s objections, I accepted that I was only entitled to discounts if I provided our personal information in exchange. Other businesses have since followed suit—now I am asked by the beauty salon to provide my phone number even when I pay with cash!
It appears to me that nearly every minute of the average American’s day can be monitored by one company or another (and, thus, by the government as well). Banks track spending in detail now that cash has become obsolete. Cell phones and vehicles track our location. Computers and televisions track viewing histories. In some homes, I understand, even the refrigerator’s contents are known to the digital world! Thank goodness I had Alex get rid of that “smart” microwave—I do not need his mother keeping track of how many mug cakes I heat up each week. To think that I once ridiculed Frank for unplugging the toaster at night out of fear that it was listening!
There has also developed an odd personal tendency to overshare. When I was growing up, my father would often admonish us that “not every nail needs to be hammered in public.” Family and personal affairs were kept private, not paraded in public for others to see. My, how that has changed. Just the other day I was caught in quite a long line at the post office behind a woman who was bound and determined that everyone hear about her upcoming colonoscopy. She might as well have handed out pamphlets with pictures—or worse, offered a PowerPoint presentation—given how vividly she described her bowel problems. I learned more about her digestive tract in five minutes than I have shared with my doctor in five years.
As boundaries around what people share have eroded, expectations about how much others should share have correspondingly (and, in my opinion, perversely) increased. People now boldly (i.e., drunkenly or via social media) ask others about awkward topics—politics, religion, and money—without regard for the traditional social conventions that long rendered them taboo. I strongly doubt the world is better off for it. Frank and I spent 25 years going to dinners and movies with our friends Harold and Betty, without once knowing how they voted. Only by chance did we learn, not long before Frank’s death, that their political views were quite different from ours. Thankfully, those differences truly made no difference, and I consider them friends to this day. But I also must credit the fact that, for all those years, we valued our friendship more than expressing our views.
I will leave you with one final note about privacy, dear reader. Some people like to peddle the haughty old saying, “If you have nothing to fear, you have nothing to hide.” To that, I reply with a scoff. A closet without skeletons is about as common as a rooster that lays eggs. Without privacy, how could we have rumor or gossip? Their intrigue and conjecture rely entirely on not knowing the facts for sure—because they are private. I will always be a staunch advocate for the American right to privacy. And to gossip!
Take care now,
G. T. Roll