Covered in gold and fine metals, paints, and fabrics was the top half of the chamber, where I stood. At the center of the balcony, a section protruded out, fit for a single person, so I approached. The air spiraled upward and wafted around the stained-glass rounded windows. Upon the politicians, the gaze from depictions of gods was set. I met their eyes. Ornamented chandeliers cast light throughout the chamber below. Shining across my face, I am warmed by their incandescent glow. Basking in the magnificence, my arms outstretched, observing the richness of the room, programmed to benefit me, I realized I was alone. I looked around. There was no one else on the balcony. The rows of chairs were empty, isolating me with this feeling.

This experience made me feel dictatorial, shameful, and selfish. It made me wonder. Why is no one else interested in this feeling of observation over work meant to serve the public. Much like the inscribed Gods, one spectator may place his gaze down upon the workers of legislation and civic duty. Surveillance, scrutiny, and monitoring are practices kept by those who are served. At this moment I realized that faith in a system of government is measured by its perceived soundness in the public eye. The lack of spectators must be a result of the public’s perception of disloyalty in the government. Placing live surveillance is not worth the effort. Its effect would be negligible. I thought of the effect, had that gallery been filled. If there were maybe a hundred people all silently watching those senators go about their duties, hanging onto every word and suggestion they uttered. If there was such an army of surveyors who made sure that in the mind of every politician there was a feeling of being watched, the soundness and responsibility of their efforts and cooperation would be their reward.