"Get out! Get out now!" the guard shouts at me when I attempt to enter a room of the house. Inside I recognise some of the prisoners - some are from my special needs group. In the kitchen I meet all the ordinary people who have become jailers. "It's horrible being a guard," one woman tells me, "Before long everyone will be in thumbcuffs chained to the pavement." I ask what the prisoners have done. "Hardly anything," she answers, "But we have to restrain them for the slightest thing."
Everyone is now a suspect. You are either prisoner or guard. Which am I?
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