I’ve often felt, living in America, that I’m always being watched. Not in a paranoid, conspiracy-theory sense, but in the very real way that there is always someone, somewhere, ready to enforce the endless rules that govern every aspect of life. From the police officer pulling you over for an unexpected traffic infraction to the unwelcome gaze of a passerby in a store, always quick to judge if you step out of line, it seems there is no escape from the omnipresent authority looming over daily existence.
In America, there are rules for everything. It’s not just laws like speed limits, taxes, and business regulations. It’s the unspoken social rules that dictate your every move, enforced by both institutions and the people around you. This invisible network of authority creates an atmosphere where any misstep, real or perceived, can be met with consequences, no matter how trivial. Over time, these rules layer on top of one another, slowly building a structure so rigid that most people don’t even notice it—until, of course, you leave the environment entirely.
When I left America and moved to a foreign country with far fewer rules, the contrast was startling. Life felt freer, more spontaneous, less micromanaged. It was then that I realized just how stifling the American environment can be. The rules—whether they be legal, social, or bureaucratic—had created a sterile atmosphere where life felt as though it was constantly being filtered, examined, and controlled. Living outside of that bubble for a while, I came to see how limiting it had become.
This endless surveillance and rule enforcement is not only the foundation of daily life in America—it also paved the way for what we now call “cancel culture” and the rise of the digital mob. For many, these phenomena seemed to come out of nowhere, as though the internet had suddenly turned into a battleground for public shaming. But in reality, this was merely the digital manifestation of a culture that has been operating in physical spaces for generations. Cancel culture surprised people only because they didn’t realize that it was simply an extension of their everyday lives. The same way an anonymous pedestrian might scold you for parking too close to the curb, now people online are quick to call out perceived misdeeds, no matter how minor or distant.
What’s particularly revealing is how quickly the digital world became another arena for rule enforcement. At first, it was the realm of activists and political ideologues, self-appointed watchdogs of morality and public behavior. But increasingly, especially in places like the UK, the online world has become a domain where real, legal consequences are being tied to speech. Take the nebulous concept of “hate speech,” for example, where infractions in the digital space can now lead to actual punishment in the physical world. What started as social monitoring has moved into political territory, with real-life consequences for violating online norms.
In America, many are starting to recognize how oppressive these digital monitors have become. But what few seem to realize is that this is not an aberration. The reality is that this culture of surveillance—where people are ready to pounce on any error—has existed in the physical world for decades. The internet simply reflected what was already there. It’s a system of control built on the belief that every action, every thought, every word should be regulated, leaving little room for personal freedom or nuance. The sudden rise of digital mobs only made people aware of what was already happening in their day-to-day lives.
When Americans see how their online interactions are being watched, judged, and policed, they recoil. Yet, if they were to take a step back, they might see that this virtual authority is only a mirror of the real world in which they live. It’s a world governed by so many rules—both formal and informal—that stepping out of line becomes not only a social risk but a political one. The society that created these digital spaces, with their relentless scrutiny and calls for accountability, is the same society that tolerates and even thrives under the ever-present watch of authority in the real world.
This omnipresent authority extends beyond just institutions or social expectations. The family structure itself often serves as another layer of authority, especially in more traditional settings. Families in America, particularly in tightly-knit communities, also impose their own set of rules and expectations—about how one should behave, the career paths they should take, and how they should present themselves to the world. This adds another layer of control, making the societal pressure to conform even more inescapable.
One of the main reasons I love living in rural India is the absence of this all-seeing eye. While my village neighbors have families and local authorities they might answer to, for me, there is no constant sense of being watched, no omnipresent authority peering over my shoulder. Even the villagers, when they have disputes or issues, mostly have to resolve them on their own. The idea of appealing to authorities, while possible, is often an uphill battle. Getting the authorities to care about your problems is a challenge, and even if they do, finding a fair and favorable resolution might not be worth the hassle, if it’s even possible at all.
In this environment, people rely more on each other than on external rules and enforcers. They have to be good neighbors, knowing that they may not have anyone else to turn to when problems arise. The lack of rigid rules and constant oversight means people have to use their own judgment and resolve their issues without fear of punishment for minor infractions. It’s a stark contrast to the heavily regulated life I experienced in America, and this freedom, for me, is one of the most refreshing aspects of life here.
In many ways, rural India serves as a reminder that life without constant surveillance and a web of rules is not only possible but also liberating. It’s not that there are no rules or expectations, but they’re far fewer and often negotiable. This contrast is what has made me more aware of just how suffocating life in America can be—and how different life can feel when that omnipresent authority is no longer hanging over your every move.
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