(This column was first published in the Amandala issue of Friday, July 7, 1995)

Confidently secret…

There is in the nature of man a love of and for secrets. He loves to have secrets and he loves to find out those of others. Since he is “The State,” he elaborates this love in the national apparatus. Perhaps because he has been in the darkness of the womb for nine months, when he births to light he retains the memory of it by reflecting this fetish for secrecy.

In his personal life he manifests this love of secrecy and he strengthens it in his children. When he is having conversation with another, as soon as a third party joins in, he switches to another subject. In his religious life he enters the privacy of the confessional to confess his “sins.” He automatically turns off the light when he turns to his wife. In his political life he so carefully watches his words and actions that he eventually becomes paranoid. He sets up rendezvous for matters he deems most “confidential.” He nurtures this idea of secrecy in his children by training them to knock before entering his closed bedroom, and if they should find him naked he hurriedly covers himself as though he has something to hide, as though he is ashamed of his body.

As he is “The State,” it is not surprising that this fetish is elaborated in the national apparatus by the creation of security agencies, special branches, counter intelligence units with their moles and operatives, and undercover agents to monitor real and perceived enemies, eavesdropping on their conversations. Security vaults are built to hold top-secret documents, and highly classified couriers are trained to deliver “private and confidential” papers. Under the cover of “National Security,” a variety of peccadilloes are committed against “The people” by “The people.”

Yet the more secrets there are, the more people there are who seek to ferret them out. These types are of the mind-set that by knowing another’s secrets, they get an edge which they can then use to intimidate, scandalize or blackmail.

Paradoxically, even as he develops ways and means of keeping his secrets secret, he is uncovered by the mechanisms of “The State.” Even “The State” becomes a victim of its own machinations. On the personal level he tells his secret to his best friend, which makes it no longer secret, for while he may be your best friend, you may not be his: so he tells his best friend, and so on. He has to bare his soul to the branch banks when he is asking for a loan. He bares his soul to the government when he prepares his tax return. He bares his soul to the airline when he travels as he fills out his embarkation slip. He bares his soul to get his passport to travel. He bares his soul to the confessor when he unburdens himself of defined guilt. He bares his soul to insurance companies when he applies for a policy. He even bares his soul to the public when his confidential, legal or medical certificate is sent with the messengers, without an envelope. How many times do the messengers read these documents? And to how many of their friends do they show them?

Recall the number of times in your lifetime you’ve filled out forms requiring you to state your name, birth date, age, height, address, wife’s name, occupation, your salary, wife’s salary, schools you’ve attended, grades you’ve achieved, if ever you’ve been booked for this and that, are you now ill or suffer a chronic illness, what your parents and grandparents died from, country of your birth, country of your parent’s birth, their occupations, do you have property, how much is it worth, how long have you had it, how did you get it; your personal eating and drinking habits, do you smoke, have tuberculosis or AIDS. Have you ever been married, widowed or divorced? List your former employees, the reasons for leaving your last job, the reason you want this present job, what was your last salary and what salary do you expect from this one, ad infinitum, ad absurdum. You are asked to take mug shots for your passport, voter registration card and driver’s license.

Death does not free you of your neighbor’s or state’s curiosity to know your secrets. Check a death certificate sometime: which reminds of an anecdote; friend at gravesite, “You know I didn’t want to come here; I was pulled here. But now I don’t want to go. I’ll be carried here.” Born naked, die naked.

So perhaps the next time you get the urge to peep through your window, dodge someone to see what he is doing; next time someone says to you “Boy, guess what I heard. You hear what dem she,”or “The State” monitors your telephone conversation or sends its secret police to check your movements or take secret pictures, in contravention of your human rights, mediate upon:

“…Am I a God at hand, saith the Lord, and not a God from afar off? Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? Saith the Lord. Do not I fill Heaven and Earth, sayeth the Lord…”

“ … but there is a God in Heaven that revealeth secrets and make them known to thee, King Nebuchadnezzar …”

Let’s take all this wasted energy and resources and turn them into trying to create a better neighborhood, community, town, country for ourselves and children. MOLE