The Price of Security

They say security is a right. And it is. But like everything in life — including rights — it comes with a price tag. The problem is, unlike shopping mall windows, the cost of security isn't always visible. Sometimes, it hides in the receipt that only shows up later: freedom, paid in gentle installments.

We live in an era where the word "security" has achieved mantra status. Economic, emotional, food, digital, legal, existential security. The world has become a collection of risks — and with it came the obsession with control. There's nothing wrong with wanting to protect yourself — survival instinct is natural. But are we not confusing security with stagnation?

Think about it: when everything is regulated, supervised, audited, and protocol-driven... the feeling is one of order. But in the name of that order, we stop deciding, trying, creating. And here comes the paradox: the more we want to protect ourselves, the more we give up on living authentically.

You know that old dilemma between freedom and security? It's not just a political debate — it's an existential crossroads. For some, freedom means the ability to come and go. For others, it means not having to worry. And therein lies the danger: when peace of mind becomes more desirable than autonomy, the temptation of absolute control disguises itself as a benefit.

Governments love that. The insecure citizen is malleable — easy to please with promises and hard to mobilize with ideas. After all, fear doesn't think much — it just wants someone to think for it. And preferably, to fix everything too.

But what about the cost?

The cost is subtle. It doesn't hurt right away. It reveals itself when we realize we no longer have opinions without consulting the consensus. That we avoid saying what we think, afraid of stepping outside the rulebook. That we'd rather be protected than be challenged.

It's a kind of prison without bars — but with Wi-Fi and a rideshare app. And for many, that's enough.

Again: security is important. Of course it is. But maybe we should ask more often: security, at what cost? 

And more importantly: who's paying for it — and in the name of what?

Because, you see, living is risky by nature. To exist is to leap into the unknown. Wanting life to be 100% safe is, deep down, wanting it to be 100% predictable. And where everything is predictable… nothing blooms.

What kind of world are we building when the only priority is not to get hurt?

This isn't a rhetorical question. It's an invitation.