Shoon v. The Prime Directive
I am an unapologetic Star Trek fan. I cannot say that I have watched every episode the five incarnations of the franchise have produced, but I’ve certainly seen an awful lot of 22nd, 23rd, and 24th century adventures. Every series has its own charms (TOS’ soft racism and non-stop Kirk, TNG’s English Frenchman and irritating boy genius, DS9’s strategic use of Irishmen and baseball-themed episodes, the fact that Voyager ended, and Enterprise’s reliance on a beagle as a medium for moral storytelling), but the common themes among each incarnation truly gave Star Trek a special place in my heart. One such theme, sometimes named but often implied, was that of the Prime Directive.
The Prime Directive was a policy that had been adopted by the United Federation of Planets, of which Earth was a prominent member. Basically, the Directive was originally put in place to prevent the Federation, a technologically advanced and culturally overwhelming political body, from interfering with and overrunning smaller, less advanced peoples. If a civilization had not developed the technology for interstellar flight, then the Federation couldn’t contact them or involve themselves in the workings of that particular civilization in any way. The Prime Directive was used in many episodes as a source of moral struggle. In many episodes, Federation officers would come across a situation they saw to be brutally wrong but could do nothing because of the strict ethical code they had sworn to follow. Often the Prime Directive would be violated, and often this violation would have large consequences.
For a long time I didn’t quite understand the significance of the episodes that featured various people grappling with the idea of breaching the Prime Directive by doing something they thought to be morally right. I had always thought that if I were in such a predicament, there would be no such conflict. It’s not that I thought I didn’t have morals, but I felt that if I had sworn to follow the Prime Directive, I’d never think twice about betraying it. For years after first doubting the moral fiber of the characters I watched on Star Trek, I wasn’t given an opportunity to see if I too would falter under the harsh, uncompromising demands of the Prime Directive. Last year, I finally got my chance.
In mid-April 2005, I was in Georgetown making preparations for a brief stint in the wilderness of northeastern Ontario. I had just purchased a pair of binoculars for the trip and had decided to go into my backyard and see how many people’s windows I could look into as a test of the binoculars’ strength. I had been outside gazing about for only a few moments before I heard what seemed to be a baby shrieking. This noise would unnerve a good number of people, but my house backs into a field and I immediately recognized the sound as a rabbit in a great deal of stress.
I put down my binoculars and followed the shrieking with my ears. My dog, Rosie, was outdoors with me and had taken a great deal of interest in the goings-on as well. She is a renowned hater of rabbits, but the sound of this poor animal in so much fear and pain had seemingly moved her.
Just as I had tracked down the bush I felt the noise was coming from, Johnny Depp (my cat, not the actor) emerged from that same bush with a very young, very frightened rabbit hanging from his mouth. John trotted over to where a fence meets my house and forms an inescapable corner and released the rabbit into the makeshift boxing ring. Rosie jumped down from my deck and joined the ruckus, but quickly chose to stand back a bit and watch John as he played his sadistic game.
The rabbit’s tale was a truly terrifying one. Here he was, plucked from a peaceful field, huddled in a corner and with no escape route except through a psychopathic feline. Every few moments the cat would advance upon him and rain down blows and bites. Sometimes the cat would lose interest and step back, only to attack again. If the rabbit was able to squeeze past this cat, a huge beast stood waiting to cut off any hope of escape, and the rabbit would have no choice but to retreat back into the ring with Johnny Depp, who would immediately punish the poor creature for trying to leave in the first place.
The rabbit’s salvation stood on the deck no more than 10 yards away. Several times I decided to go in and break up the sadistic scene, but I never took a step. The rabbit did not belong to a species that had developed interstellar travel, nor did my cat or my dog. My species had managed to send probes beyond our solar system, and thus I felt the Prime Directive applied. Instead of ending the carnage, I put my binoculars up and carefully observed every strike Johnny Depp inflicted upon his victim.
Eventually, my dog got fed up of watching John enjoy himself and pushed her way past the greedy cat. The rabbit, by now too shocked to be aware of the crisis before him, was taken up in Rose’s jaws, chewed seven or eight times, and swallowed.
I put my binoculars down, went inside, and poured myself a cup of tea. Earl Grey. Hot. I had never felt so much like a guilt-ridden deity in all my life. I had the power to end what I thought was a terrible situation, but I had done nothing. I had decided not to get involved in the affairs of species incapable of sending probes to the stars (though several dogs have traveled into space) and had thus conceded to the cold logic of the Prime Directive.
I didn’t lose any sleep over what I’d done, but I’ve never taken any of Jean-Luc Picard’s decisions lightly again.
The Prime Directive was a policy that had been adopted by the United Federation of Planets, of which Earth was a prominent member. Basically, the Directive was originally put in place to prevent the Federation, a technologically advanced and culturally overwhelming political body, from interfering with and overrunning smaller, less advanced peoples. If a civilization had not developed the technology for interstellar flight, then the Federation couldn’t contact them or involve themselves in the workings of that particular civilization in any way. The Prime Directive was used in many episodes as a source of moral struggle. In many episodes, Federation officers would come across a situation they saw to be brutally wrong but could do nothing because of the strict ethical code they had sworn to follow. Often the Prime Directive would be violated, and often this violation would have large consequences.
For a long time I didn’t quite understand the significance of the episodes that featured various people grappling with the idea of breaching the Prime Directive by doing something they thought to be morally right. I had always thought that if I were in such a predicament, there would be no such conflict. It’s not that I thought I didn’t have morals, but I felt that if I had sworn to follow the Prime Directive, I’d never think twice about betraying it. For years after first doubting the moral fiber of the characters I watched on Star Trek, I wasn’t given an opportunity to see if I too would falter under the harsh, uncompromising demands of the Prime Directive. Last year, I finally got my chance.
In mid-April 2005, I was in Georgetown making preparations for a brief stint in the wilderness of northeastern Ontario. I had just purchased a pair of binoculars for the trip and had decided to go into my backyard and see how many people’s windows I could look into as a test of the binoculars’ strength. I had been outside gazing about for only a few moments before I heard what seemed to be a baby shrieking. This noise would unnerve a good number of people, but my house backs into a field and I immediately recognized the sound as a rabbit in a great deal of stress.
I put down my binoculars and followed the shrieking with my ears. My dog, Rosie, was outdoors with me and had taken a great deal of interest in the goings-on as well. She is a renowned hater of rabbits, but the sound of this poor animal in so much fear and pain had seemingly moved her.
Just as I had tracked down the bush I felt the noise was coming from, Johnny Depp (my cat, not the actor) emerged from that same bush with a very young, very frightened rabbit hanging from his mouth. John trotted over to where a fence meets my house and forms an inescapable corner and released the rabbit into the makeshift boxing ring. Rosie jumped down from my deck and joined the ruckus, but quickly chose to stand back a bit and watch John as he played his sadistic game.
The rabbit’s tale was a truly terrifying one. Here he was, plucked from a peaceful field, huddled in a corner and with no escape route except through a psychopathic feline. Every few moments the cat would advance upon him and rain down blows and bites. Sometimes the cat would lose interest and step back, only to attack again. If the rabbit was able to squeeze past this cat, a huge beast stood waiting to cut off any hope of escape, and the rabbit would have no choice but to retreat back into the ring with Johnny Depp, who would immediately punish the poor creature for trying to leave in the first place.
The rabbit’s salvation stood on the deck no more than 10 yards away. Several times I decided to go in and break up the sadistic scene, but I never took a step. The rabbit did not belong to a species that had developed interstellar travel, nor did my cat or my dog. My species had managed to send probes beyond our solar system, and thus I felt the Prime Directive applied. Instead of ending the carnage, I put my binoculars up and carefully observed every strike Johnny Depp inflicted upon his victim.
Eventually, my dog got fed up of watching John enjoy himself and pushed her way past the greedy cat. The rabbit, by now too shocked to be aware of the crisis before him, was taken up in Rose’s jaws, chewed seven or eight times, and swallowed.
I put my binoculars down, went inside, and poured myself a cup of tea. Earl Grey. Hot. I had never felt so much like a guilt-ridden deity in all my life. I had the power to end what I thought was a terrible situation, but I had done nothing. I had decided not to get involved in the affairs of species incapable of sending probes to the stars (though several dogs have traveled into space) and had thus conceded to the cold logic of the Prime Directive.
I didn’t lose any sleep over what I’d done, but I’ve never taken any of Jean-Luc Picard’s decisions lightly again.
posted by Simon at 7:46 PM
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