Nothing to lose but our keys (1996)

The A Word in Your Ear column from the April 1996 issue of the Socialist Standard

This is a world of locked doors. Never in the history of humanity have so many people needed so many keys to achieve so little.

Sitting in a bottom-of-the-market cafe, one leg of the wooden chair shorter than the others so that it was compulsory to rock as one searched through the grease for the cheap fodder, a fellow comes in with a bunch of keys which were almost as big as himself. He was not the biggest of men; perhaps he was picked on when he was at school. But did he have keys! He threw them on to the rickety table as he ordered his bacon sandwich and coke—it sagged under the weight. What the hell did such a little man need so many keys for? What prizes of the universe were waiting to be unlocked by him? An estate agent, perhaps? No, not smooth enough. A prison screw? Too small, no permanently clenched fist. A jeweller, maybe? Not with a suit like that. Not in a cafe like that. There is a theory (just invented) that the weight of the keys people carry around with them is in directly inverse proportion to their significance in the world. Perhaps he just had keys cut, any old keys, to show the tall people that he had lots of things that they could never get into.

Locking things up is the symbol of a society obsessed by exclusion rather than freedom. From the “mine” of useful possession soon arises the “keep out” of property consciousness. So, “This is my house and I planted the flowers myself" quickly degenerates into “This will never be your house or garden, so watch out for the electrified fence, the screeching alarm bells, the barking killer-dogs and the locks attached to anything worth having, and many things which aren’t.” If they could lock up their flowers at night they would.

Even the most natural urges are inhibited by locks with coin slots in them. It was years ago, on a long road from London to the cold and dreary English seaside, that the need for a crap became imperative. In the middle of a small country town a sign appeared (like a miracle, only it had been put up by council workers) pointing out that the Olde Village Church and Gift Shoppe was hither and the public toilets were thither. Old churches have now become places for flogging dodgy souvenirs to transient tourists. It will do them more good than praying, I pondered. But contemplation was not the order of the day. I was a man led by his bowels. A sharp ache directed me to the “public convenience”, only to discover that it was far from convenient for the penniless public. I stood with five-pound note in hand trying to squeeze it into the penny slot which unlocked the lock, as I tried simultaneously to squeeze my body into contraction mode. The place stunk of stale urine: capitalism’s convenience store for the public. I tried to offer a passing user five pounds if he could open the door for me, but the misunderstanding which ensued was best ended soon. Eventually, I submitted to human nature in a clearing in the New Forest.

It is hard to avoid the effects of locks, guards and alarms. The streets groan under the screams of car alarms, the yuppies’ mating call, which are ever-present and always ignored. If you want a supermarket trolley it must be unlocked. Public libraries, once the rare embodiment of free access in a world of property, are now locked for much the week (cuts) and special collections are locked away (fear of thieves). Security from theft is the great justification of locks. If you don’t lock it up (tie it down, chain it up, keep it secure) thieves will get at it. But what are thieves? People who take what is locked up. Property is defined by its inaccessibility. Exclusion from, not freedom to, is the philosophy of property. Take what is locked up and you will be locked up. The man was right about having nothing to lose but our chains.

The power of class is manifested by locks. If you own the factory, offices or shipyard the keys are yours. Go in when you like. As a worker in these places you are locked out every night. Even if you want to work, the doors will only be unlocked if they choose to employ you. When profits are down and there’s nothing left to milk you for they lock you out. The lock-out: capitalism’s way of telling you who owns the world. And even when they sell you the borrowed freedom to have your own key and “own” your home, watch the locksmiths move in the moment the debt arrears are more than the permitted limit and they decide to remind you who really owns a mortgaged property.

And yet, locked as we are into this prison-like property madness, the cell door is open. There are more of us than the guards, and with the slightest collective shove the locks would be shattered. A world without keys could be ours. “Utopia” sneers the hopeless man with the shrunken, locked-up mind.

Steve Coleman