Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.
The click of the viewing screens coming to life is enough to attract everyone's attention (as if any of the adults could forget why they are gathered in the town square for long enough to lose track of the time). An expectant hush falls over the crowd (even the many who are too young to understand what is about to happen in front of them). This is the way in always goes. We always wait in silence for the start. We all know that the quiet hum of the electricity flowing into the screens will soon be replaced with clattering and screaming. The week of down time for the Districts after the Reaping has come to an end.
I am required to be here for the beginning of the Games. The platform from the Reaping is still in place, and I occupy one of two chairs on it. The Head Peacekeeper (being the father of a daughter I despise the man on principle despite the other kindnesses he has shown my District) occupies the seat beside me. Thus, authority is duly represented to those unfortunate enough to be gathered with us. We don't exchange words unless absolutely necessary. I prefer not to look at him. Needless to say, we sit in somber silence as the people gather. I've been told that the effect is one of detached reverence for the start of the Games. I'll take it. It's always nice when personal preferences happen to dovetail nicely with Capital necessitated appearances.
The screens show the seal of Panem but nothing else at present. There are still a few minutes before the Games will begin. There must be time to fix any problems with the screens before the slaughter starts. This is required viewing at its pinnacle. The children will be gathered in front of televisions in the school. Even the miners will stop working for the first hour. The screens are functioning fine. There are no last minute adjustments needed. There is nothing to do but wait the last few moments taking in the waiting silence of the square full of people I see in front of me.
If ever I have wondered whether 74 years has tempered the Capital's wrath for the Districts with mercy, I need only look at the crowd gathered in public for the start of each year's games to find my answer.
It is far too monumental a task for the Peacekeepers to make sure everyone is watching at all times. District 12 is small, but not that small. The Games can last for weeks, and everything can't shut down while they do. The Capital's solution is simple (for them). They send each District assigned public viewing times for the local authorities to implement.
Everything stops for the first hour of the Games. Everything stops for a feast. Otherwise, school and work continue with highlights broadcast to the children and the miners on their lunch break. There is a television in each shop, and (like all televisions in the District) they will be on from now until the Games end. There is no way to turn them off. We are never short of electricity during this time of year.
You are "trusted" to watch in your own home when you are there and awake. They make certain that each resident is watching under Peacekeeper supervision for at least two hours every day. The District is divided into groups, and each group has an assigned two hours in the square. From 6 am until 6 pm for the duration of the Games, the square is always full. For example, the mine workers are split into three different viewing groups. The school age children, the "service providing designated occupation holders," and the "District occupation undesignated" comprise the others.
"District occupation undesignated" covers all those who do not have an official Capital approved position. It includes the few who have survived to be too old to work (and are fortunate enough to have family that can and will take care of them). It includes all those who have "unofficial" ways of earning money (in official circles we refer to them as the women who take in laundry or do sewing for extra money, in unofficial circles we know it includes some of those who earn their living in the Hob). It covers housewives. It covers all children too young to have started attending school.
This is the group that is always required to be in the square for the beginning of the games. This is the group who the Capital requires to stand in public and watch the initial bloodbath – all the children in the District who are under the age of five.
There is no mercy in Panem.
The seal has faded away, and has been replaced with the glinting gold of the Cornucopia. The main screen will show the overview of the arena broadcast everywhere. One of the screens on each side will follow one of our tributes. It's so kind of the Capital to ensure that we don't miss out on a moment of our children in the arena.
I stand and turn to face the screen on my right (I'm not any more immune to the viewing requirement than the rest of the population of the Districts). It's the screen that will follow my daughter's friend. She blinks in the sunlight as her platform rises into place. Claudius Templesmith makes his welcome announcement, but he's already lost my attention.
It's been attracted by a glint of gold coming from Katniss's shirt. I recognize it for what it is as the camera moves to a close up. It's a pin – a mockingjay pin. A tribute from District 12 is wearing a symbol representing a Capital mistake right there on her shirt for all of Panem (all of them) to see, and I know that there is only one place that she could have gotten it. I mentally curse the time I must spend standing here. I mentally curse the hours until school lets out for the day.
My daughter has a lot of explaining to do.