In the Coffeeshop
Portland, OR blogger Michael J. Totten was hanging out at his local and reading to get some background for his
upcoming trip to Syria. He overhears some people talking:
bq.
Overheard At the Coffeeshop
Yesterday I went to a coffeeshop in my neighborhood to do a little homework in Totalitarian Studies. I’ve traveled to unfree countries before, but never to a full-bore totalitarian police state. And since I’ll be doing just that in five weeks I’m reading about the experiences of other writers in these kinds of places to get an idea of what I should expect and how I ought to behave.
bq. I ordered my coffee and sat in a chair at a small row of outdoor tables. There were four of us sitting there, all strangers. An older black man sat next to me reading a book about the Buddha. Another guy, about my age with long hair and a goatee, stared at nothing in particular while chain-smoking Camels. A rumpled-looking third fellow, a few years younger than me, quietly read the paper.
He is sitting and reading and these people start talking:
bq. The young man reading the paper decided to share the news. He mumbled something about the election. I ignored him because I was reading.
bq. The chain-smoker piped up. Something about the Patriot Act. I kept reading.
bq. “It’s a police state,” the young man with the newspaper said. He had my attention now. And he had the attention of others. “Ashcroft and Bush have turned it into a police state.”
bq. “Man, this is a real scary time,” said the old Buddhist.
bq. “Hey,” said the chain-smoker. (None of these guys seemed to know each other.) “Do you think America has too many freedoms? Think the government should take all our rights away? Then vote for George W. Bush!”
All the while Michael is reading about
Paul Theroux's travels through Syria and the lives of people under a true totalitarian regime:
An excerpt from the book - Paul is talking with a Turk named Yusof -- they have been waiting to clear the boarder:
bq. We were summoned to the office and handed our passports. And then we were on our way. Those men wearing dark glasses and sipping tea, Yusof said. They were not travelers. They were members of the mukhabarat – Syria’s secret police. All this in a whisper, Yusof’s hand over his mouth.
bq. “Here I like,” Yusof said. We were in a rocky landscape, with wide strips of green. “Aleppo is good. I drink. I eat. I disco. I fuck. But - ” He leaned over. “I don’t talk.”
The contrast between the true totalitarianism and the imagined injustices people suffer here are very distinct and obvious...
Posted by DaveH at October 20, 2004 11:35 AM