A Lipstick-toting Anarchist’s Guide to Safety and Security
The editor of this website (otherwise known as my friend Jean) phoned me a few weeks ago and asked me to share my thoughts on safety and security.
‘My dear Jean,’ I responded warmly. ‘I know that pink is this season’s black. I am the person to ask if you want to know if the fringe is in or if the flick is making a comeback. I know where to find the best sashimi in town and I know that Zanax is the new Zoloft. Safety and security? I have no THOUGHTS. But I am most flattered that you should ask.’
I could almost hear Jean’s lips pursing over the phone.
‘Sam, you are a journalist.’ She reprimanded primly. ‘You have a law degree. You interview people for a living. Surely, as a well-educated South African, you have SOME opinions relating to safety and security?
‘Safety is In?’ I wavered. ‘Oh ALRIGHT, I’ll think of something.’
I put the phone down and sat blankly staring at my screen for a few minutes. Luckily, I have a very charming screensaver, which features a variety of stress-relieving Pilates postures. I did one or two before phoning my partner, Science Boy, at work.
‘Why is it that I have absolutely no thoughts on safety and security in this country?’ I asked crossly. ‘I have thousands of thoughts! Why am I drawing such a blank here? Am I still drunk?’
Science Boy is nothing if not earnest. I could hear his laboratory bits and bobs bubbling importantly away as he heatedly replied, ‘You may well be, but your sobriety is not at issue. Of course you are drawing a blank. We are anarchists! We stopped applying our minds to the trials and tribulations of institutionalised security years ago!’
Oh, ja. Well, that would be it, then.
Say what you like about anarchism- there is something deeply comforting about pursuing a philosophical ideal which, for all intents and purposes, amounts to intellectual disengagement with mainstream political thought. Me, frivolous? Absolutely.
I have made a conscious decision not to worry unduly about a whole variety of things that I have very little control over. Rape, crime, general pillage, all mentally placed to one side. This is not to say that they will not happen to me or to someone I care about (indeed, some already have), it is just that I have decided to stop thinking of them as one large Collective Scary, but rather as separate crap instances each to be dealt with individually.
Not that I am entirely without appropriate amounts of metropolitan guile, you understand. When I am walking about town, I do so briskly, with my keys laced through my fingers in the manner suggested by a very useful Cosmo feature I once wrote (called ‘Maiming Men without Mangling Your Manicure’). I avoid the dodge areas of town, i.e. those without interesting restaurants. I park underground, when available, else I make an effort not to annoy parking attendants unduly.
My home is another case in point. It isn’t very well secured (people who don’t believe in prisons are notoriously not big on burglar bars), but it does have the advantage of an excellent view of the neighbour’s garden. And, in proper anarchic fashion, we have also chosen to foster a relationship with those who live around us rather than sign a security contract allowing partially trained people with weapons of moderate destruction to vault our wall and kill whomever they might find without fear of legal reprisal. (Don’t believe me? Read the fine print on those things.)
We have been instrumental in the arrangement of a mammoth front door key swop, not only allowing us to actually follow up on the fog-horning alarms of others, or to challenge any iffy characters patiently prising putty from window panes, but also enabling one to pop across the road for an egg or a cup of flour or a handful of porcini mushrooms when required. I don’t know about you, but I find a nosey neighbour with a penchant for my peanut oil a vastly superior security tool than, say, a pimply nineteen-year-old with a wobbly bike and a license to kill.
I like living this way. I like the fact that the only thing about my fence that shocks people is the way it is so manifestly in need of a paint job. I love the fact that my dog fails to frighten my tortoise, let alone any hawkers. I like the fact that neighbourhood children can jump our wee fence in search of stray tennis balls without fear of tripping some alarm which will summon the Gun Squad. And I like the fact that when I go to bed at night, I am more concerned about getting lucky than whether or not the back door is locked.
Deeply shallow? Oh perhaps. It’s working for me.
Sam Wilson
Sam Wilson swopped a career as a an attorney and conveyancer, for one as a freelance journalist, some years ago.