Our sailboat is anchored near the shore of a Maine island, in a quiet cove disconnected from the technological world. Our cell phones pick up no signal here, so their location cannot be traced. I can write on this computer, but the Internet is inaccessible, so I can’t be monitored sending e-mails or visiting Web sites. Our ATM and credit cards are useless in this pristine place, so they generate no “transactional data,” in the jargon of police intelligence. No security cameras survey this rough coast of granite and spruce. My wife, Debby, and I are happily invisible. We aren’t trying to hide, just basking in our natural privacy. Here, we are the sole owners of our seclusion and our freedom, setting our courses and choosing our harbors subject only to our whim and the wind. Nobody can watch us. As pure and genuine as this feels, it is uncommon to the twenty-first century. We have vanished from the screen, leaving no electronic trails—but only in the present and just for a while.
What do You think about The Rights Of The People (2011)?
