Last night on TV, I saw the following scene – a Militech squad in some debris-ridden corner of the Middle East, fighting the "enemy" – terrorists, political opponents... Shit, maybe they were just actors? It doesn't matter – it never really mattered in the first place. One of them was wearing recording equipment, scrolling a braindance. I can count on finding that fresh BD in any shop within days. Turn it on and bam! You're in a warzone. You feel what they feel. You taste the blood in your mouth and the reassuring grip of the scroller's rifle. But that's not the worst of it. The worst is how the editor will be sure to try to show off the rifle, get a good shot of the manufacturer's name. Another split-second and you'll be ready to buy the same exact one – even order it with the same dents and scratches. Free home delivery.
Only twenty or thirty years ago we were asking ourselves – when will we cross the border at which empathy becomes irrelevant? Now, standing in the shelled-out ruins of a home with a rifle in our hands, it's hard to believe that border ever existed.
