Two Skies

Isn't it so bizarre to experience an air show?

I used to love air shows. Summers in Chicago are punctuated by the annual air and water show, in which a whole collection of airplanes come to town, flying low over North Avenue beach before resuming formation, or shooting straight up into the sky until they stall and tumble down to earth, or release skydivers who parachute to the ground below.

Some of the planes are piloted by civilian enthusiasts, but those were always my least favorite of the day. I loved to see the military fighter jets.

I didn’t know yet that the pilots weren’t just practicing tricks for my benefit. It didn’t occur to me that these same planes flew in other skies, where the audience didn’t applaud.

These are amazing pieces of engineering and, while I didn't have the vocabulary to express that when I was twelve, I could feel that they were special. You don't often see an airplane fly upside down nor do you often see a plane suddenly dip its right wing without resulting in a crash. You certainly don't often hear a plane rushing through the sky at such speed that you can hear the air tearing.

I loved the air show. And isn't loving the air show what it means to live within an empire?

The United States doesn't just possess the largest standing military on the whole of planet Earth; it also has a substantial war manufacturing economy propped up by the construction of weapons sold to allies. You often hear that manufacturing has left the United States, but that isn't quite true. Cars aren't made here. Desks aren't made here. Video game consoles aren't made here.

Weapons are made here.

And they’re made in buildings with tinted glass and employee wellness programs, next to strip malls and school districts, just like any other job.

As I write this, I'm seated at my desk at my remote job in Chicago, working at an ad agency tasked with helping a fast-food brand turn around a half-decade long sales slump. It's a fine job, although I wish people wouldn't take it so seriously. We should take ourselves seriously, of course, because we should attach our happiness to our efforts and our outputs, not to whether we've achieved the stated goal of growing revenue 3.2% YoY in Q4.

It's exhausting.

The stakes here are imaginary. No matter how badly the quarter goes, no one will lose a cousin. No one will be displaced. No one will have to grapple with the erasure of their people.

The worst-case scenario is a missed KPI. The best-case scenario is a LinkedIn post about teamwork.

Suddenly, I hear the familiar sound of the sky above my house being torn. I look at my calendar, recognize that it's mid-August, and immediately connect that this must be the weekend of the annual Air and Water show.

And then? I simply get back to Microsoft Outlook.

What privilege.

I'm not the only person who recognizes the sound of the sky above their house being torn. The difference is that for some, that's followed by an immediate and instinctive drop to the floor. I recently read in a book that the best way to protect yourself from the wall of air rushing toward you from a missile strike is to drop to the ground, such that your feet are pointed in the direction of the impact and expel all of the air from your lungs.

I learned this from a book. Nobody in my family, none of my friends, nor any of my friends' families, has ever been on the receiving end of a missile strike. This is good.

This is because we are protected by the boundaries of empire. Here, an F-22 is something to be marveled at. There, an F-22 is a tool to take care of bad guys.

"Take care of"

"Bad guys"

Once you notice euphemistic language, you start to see it more often, especially inside of the empire. Bombs fall, like rain. Buildings collapse, as if folding under the weight of gravity. Crossfire catches civilians, as if they were simply caught out by a sandstorm. Communities are destabilized, as if they’d simply slipped on ice.

Kids are going to be at the Air and Water show this weekend. And just as I did when I was a child who attended this show for the first time twenty-four years ago, they'll point and be excited when they see an F-22. They may even jump up and down in excitement like I did.

Kids on the other side of the world are also going to see an F-22 this weekend. Only, when they point, it won't be with excitement.