Drones
john sweeder
When I was twelve years old, I enjoyed playing board games like Risk. In Risk, I
tried to conquer the world – and so did my friend, Dwayne, who I used to compete
against as we sat on the white concrete driveway behind our red brick row homes.
Like military drones we hovered over a primary-colored, two-dimensional world
that lay beneath us at ground-level. Dwayne and I took over countries one at a time
by rolling sets of dice. Every outcome depended on chance. Whoever was lucky
enough to roll the higher number conquered territories with make-believe armies.
Whoever was unlucky got territories taken over. Continents fell to the victor. The
game ended. No one was incinerated. No one was blown up. No one lost a son.
No one lost a daughter. No one lost a loved one, like when I was twenty-one and
thought I had to go to Viet Nam but didn’t because I received a medical deferment.
But Dwayne went to Viet Nam. He fought and died there. He had skin in the game.
Today, alone, seated comfortably in a cushioned chair with tablet computer on my
lap, I watch YouTube videos of drones playing Risk overseas in the Middle East.
But I don’t have fun like I did when I watched the outcome of the dice in my drive-
way with Dwayne. Too many people have skin in the game, often young dark skin.
Drones have no skin.
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