The death of a lineman
The omni-capable mobile phone, has quite literally become the portal through which we walk, talk, share our thoughts
The writer is editorial consultant at The Express Tribune, news junkie, bibliophile, cat lover and occasional cyclist
Reaching the newly opened bank branch close to my home there was a crowd. Initial perceptions that they were spectating an event allied to the opening of the bank were quickly dispelled by the fact that they were looking upwards, not at the bank itself. A man, obviously an electrical lineman, hung backwards from his safety harness, clearly dead. The immediate assumption was that he had been electrocuted, and another man on the pole was being very careful not to touch his co-worker in case his body was ‘live’.
I crossed the road and watched the scenario unfold. The accident had happened perhaps only a few seconds before I arrived at the scene but the throng was quickly gathered, blocking the road completely. What was immediately striking was the forest of upheld mobile phones all capturing the grisly moment, and instantly removing any dignity there may have been in the most public of deaths. Emergency vehicles tried to get through but were hampered by the crowd which was hungry for its click-of-the-day, and I moved on into the city. The incident got a sidebar report on page five of this newspaper the following day, mercifully without a picture.
Why bother to mention this? Because there is something changing — or has already happened — about the way in which we see and record life around us. The omni-capable mobile phone, nowadays connected to the internet 24/7 and in the hands of rich and poor alike, has quite literally become the portal through which we daily walk, talk, share our most private thoughts and give a running visual commentary on all we do.
Mobiles are not carried in the pocket, they are always in the hand (handy for the phone snatchers) and they are instantly ready to be consulted, responded to, attended and coddled, nurtured and heaven-forfend never find themselves switched off or muted or not available for today’s ultimate selfie. A dead lineman hanging off a bijli pole? Great! Hey let me get a click and send it to my friends on WhatsApp or post it on Facebook.
I saw people doing just that. Their backs to the scene and taking selfies that would include a man caught in the moment of death. There will have been no inner moral argument about whether it was right or wrong to do this, whether by dying in public the man on the pole forfeited his right to privacy — or any consideration as to whether privacy as a right even exists any more. He has achieved digital immortality and for all I know his image has been tweeted umpteen thousand times around the world.
There are doctors that tweet live images of surgery. Fatal road accidents have an avid following. Food features everywhere and phones sit beside plates in restaurants and cafes as naturally as do knives, forks and spoons.
Offence is registered if people are asked to surrender or switch off their phones in public spaces or during performances in theatres or concert halls. A right-to-record has been insidiously established that overrides common decency and has pushed boundaries for everybody that has a mobile phone which has internet connectivity — and in Pakistan that is a number that is increasing almost exponentially.
Would the family of the man hanging dead have objected to their father/brother/husband/uncle being photographed, teeth bared in a rictus and fists balled in a final spasm? If they had been there and railed at the crowd of onlookers for so defiling their relative, for reducing him to a mere digital cipher — who would have listened? Or heeded their cries? Or felt one iota of shame?
It is said that the invention of the internal combustion engine followed by powered flight were the two key developments of the 20th century, the inventions that changed everything. The last decade of that century saw the mobile phone become an object that was affordable enough for a mass market, and by the turn of the century a camera was commonly incorporated. Fifteen years later its ubiquity has stripped away modesty, dignity and the right to keep one’s breakfast menu private. And given us the selfie-stick. Rest in peace, bijli lineman. Rest in peace.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 27th, 2015.
I crossed the road and watched the scenario unfold. The accident had happened perhaps only a few seconds before I arrived at the scene but the throng was quickly gathered, blocking the road completely. What was immediately striking was the forest of upheld mobile phones all capturing the grisly moment, and instantly removing any dignity there may have been in the most public of deaths. Emergency vehicles tried to get through but were hampered by the crowd which was hungry for its click-of-the-day, and I moved on into the city. The incident got a sidebar report on page five of this newspaper the following day, mercifully without a picture.
Why bother to mention this? Because there is something changing — or has already happened — about the way in which we see and record life around us. The omni-capable mobile phone, nowadays connected to the internet 24/7 and in the hands of rich and poor alike, has quite literally become the portal through which we daily walk, talk, share our most private thoughts and give a running visual commentary on all we do.
Mobiles are not carried in the pocket, they are always in the hand (handy for the phone snatchers) and they are instantly ready to be consulted, responded to, attended and coddled, nurtured and heaven-forfend never find themselves switched off or muted or not available for today’s ultimate selfie. A dead lineman hanging off a bijli pole? Great! Hey let me get a click and send it to my friends on WhatsApp or post it on Facebook.
I saw people doing just that. Their backs to the scene and taking selfies that would include a man caught in the moment of death. There will have been no inner moral argument about whether it was right or wrong to do this, whether by dying in public the man on the pole forfeited his right to privacy — or any consideration as to whether privacy as a right even exists any more. He has achieved digital immortality and for all I know his image has been tweeted umpteen thousand times around the world.
There are doctors that tweet live images of surgery. Fatal road accidents have an avid following. Food features everywhere and phones sit beside plates in restaurants and cafes as naturally as do knives, forks and spoons.
Offence is registered if people are asked to surrender or switch off their phones in public spaces or during performances in theatres or concert halls. A right-to-record has been insidiously established that overrides common decency and has pushed boundaries for everybody that has a mobile phone which has internet connectivity — and in Pakistan that is a number that is increasing almost exponentially.
Would the family of the man hanging dead have objected to their father/brother/husband/uncle being photographed, teeth bared in a rictus and fists balled in a final spasm? If they had been there and railed at the crowd of onlookers for so defiling their relative, for reducing him to a mere digital cipher — who would have listened? Or heeded their cries? Or felt one iota of shame?
It is said that the invention of the internal combustion engine followed by powered flight were the two key developments of the 20th century, the inventions that changed everything. The last decade of that century saw the mobile phone become an object that was affordable enough for a mass market, and by the turn of the century a camera was commonly incorporated. Fifteen years later its ubiquity has stripped away modesty, dignity and the right to keep one’s breakfast menu private. And given us the selfie-stick. Rest in peace, bijli lineman. Rest in peace.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 27th, 2015.