So in the nineteenth century things changed. Instead of physically hurting criminals, we started to put them in prison. And the thing about prison is, you’re always being watched, by guards and (nowadays) security cameras. Even if there isn’t actually anyone watching you at that second, there might be, and you’ve got no way of knowing. Sound familiar? It should, because this doesn’t just happen in prisons. It also happens in schools, hospitals, factories—even walking down the street, chances are you’re being watched by a surveillance camera.

Are you starting to feel a bit creeped out?

Surveillance is at the heart of the Hunger Games, and the Hunger Games trilogy. But in addition to using surveillance for the sake of safety and control, the Games are surveillance for the sake of entertainment. The watchers aren’t guards or lawmakers, they’re just everyday viewers, at home in their living rooms. And there is a third group, as well—the Gamemakers, the people behind the camera, the people who engineer and shape what the viewers see. Each of these groups—the Watched, the Watchers, and the Engineers—has a little power of its own. But what happens when one group has too much control?

Surveillance changes the way we behave. When you eat a meal in a busy restaurant, why don’t you just walk out without paying? It’s likely nobody would even notice, let alone try and stop you. So why don’t you do it? Well, firstly, you wouldn’t because you know that it would be unfair to the chef who cooked your meal, and the waiters who served you. But really the reason is because you’re afraid someone’s watching, and you might get caught. And it’s this fear that explains the existence of security cameras.

There are over a million security cameras in London, which is more than one camera for every seven people living there. In 2008, a Metropolitan Police report found that only one crime was solved per thousand cameras, and surveillance has uncovered no acts of terrorism. Security cameras don’t solve crime—instead they are there as a warning, to try and stop people from committing crimes in the first place, because you never know who might be watching. Similarly, not letting you take your water bottle on a plane isn’t a measure to catch terrorists—it’s to make you (and hopefully potential wrongdoers) afraid. Someone might be watching you, so you’d better behave, or else there’ll be consequences.

This idea that you’re always being watched is what makes the Hunger Games so powerful. Katniss and the other tributes know that at any time they could be on television, their deeds and actions being transmitted across Panem, into the homes of strangers, friends, family, and, most importantly, the people who run the Games. So Katniss knows that every single thing she does will affect people everywhere—it might result in Gale’s heart being broken, or cause her family shame, or worse, her loved ones may be tortured or killed.

The watching is completely one-way in The Hunger Games. On her first night in the arena, Katniss looks up to the sky and sees the faces of each dead tribute, but there is no live footage:

She is being observed by every citizen in Panem, but she can’t look back into their living rooms and see who’s watching. She can’t even see what the other tributes are doing. Although everyone can see her, Katniss is completely alone. But she knows she’s being watched, and who the Watchers are. And she knows how to influence them.

The tributes are always aware of the cameras, even if they can’t see them. After Katniss overhears Peeta with the career tributes on the first night of the Games, she understands that she can create drama by revealing her presence to the cameras. She knows she’s guaranteed a close-up:

Katniss plays up to the camera, stepping into the light, pausing, cocking her head and giving a knowing smile. She realizes displaying her hunting skills will make her attractive to sponsors. And when she starts to weaken, an injured leg possibly spelling her doom, Katniss is sure the cameras are on her face, meaning that she can’t show her pain or fear: “Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does” (The Hunger Games). At first, Katniss is just trying to play the game—to appeal to sponsors who can help her survive. But then things start to change. Katniss starts to use her position, her visibility, as a message. She decorates Rue’s body with flowers as a protest against the unrelenting violence of the Games.

Then come the berries. Katniss realizes that she has the power to save both herself and Peeta. She threatens the Capitol and the Gamemakers with an Engineer’s disaster—a reality TV show with no ending. No winner. No Victory Tour. No interviews. The ultimate letdown. And so the Gamemakers relent, and let them both live.

Katniss’ power—the power of the Watched—lies in her ability to influence the Watchers. She can give them what they want—heroic deeds, drama, romance. And once she is a favorite of the Watchers, she has a kind of safety from the ruthless Engineers. Because the Engineers know that if the viewers are left unhappy—if there is an unsatisfying ending to the Hunger Games—the whispers of rebellion among the Watchers might grow to shouts.

The Hunger Games is different. In the Hunger Games, the hungry beast isn’t a real monster; instead it’s the Watchers—the thousands of citizens watching at home. In the Hunger Games, the families and friends will see their loved ones again—on television, every night, at prime time.

The Athenian people in the Greek myth were terrified of their children being sent to their deaths, but although the Districts dread the reaping, all of Panem tunes in to watch the Hunger Games as eagerly as we tune in to watch Survivor or American Idol. Why do they watch it? Do they really enjoy seeing their children murder each other? Why don’t they refuse to watch? What would happen if every citizen in Panem just turned off the television?

But nobody does. The viewers at home are just as bloodthirsty and eager for drama as we are when watching an episode of The Bachelorette or The Amazing Race. What does that say about the people of Panem? What does it say about the way they and their society are controlled? And what does it say about us?

Some of our most popular TV shows are a bit like the Hunger Games. Sure, nobody dies on our reality TV shows. But we still watch people suffer. We watch them endure physical and mental challenges on Survivor, subject them to isolation on Big Brother, tell them their dreams will never come true on Idol, and break their hearts on The Bachelorette. Reality TV is all about putting people in difficult situations and watching how they react. Some people come out stronger, richer, and healthier, facing a lifetime of success. Others are voted off the island early on, their failure broadcast all over the world. How many steps are there, between our own TV shows and the Hunger Games?

What about Temptation Island, a TV show that tries to pressure couples into cheating on one another? Or Shattered, a UK show where contestants must go without sleep for seven days? Or Extreme Makeover, where people are permanently, surgically altered to conform to some kind of Hollywood ideal of beauty? And what about the violence of Ultimate Fighter, Celebrity Boxing, and Bad Girls Club? Suddenly the Hunger Games isn’t looking quite as science fictiony as it was before, is it?

Just like real-life TV producers, the Gamemakers must keep the Watchers entertained. And the Watchers are so entranced by Katniss’ story—so won over by her fierce bravery and kind heart—that if she vanishes from their screens, they might do the unthinkable. They might switch off.

The Watchers of Panem respond strongly to the star-crossed romance of Peeta and Katniss. They latch on to it and show their support. And what happens? The rules of the game change. The Gamemakers milk the romance and the drama for all it’s worth—the viewers get to see Katniss nurse Peeta back to health. In everyone’s eyes, the two are desperately in love and wholly focused on surviving and protecting each other. But then the rules change again, and the balance of power swings back to the Engineers. Suddenly Peeta and Katniss are enemies once more, the Capitol determined to create the most dramatic season finale ever. But it backfires. Katniss holds up those blue berries, and changes the rules herself. It’s one thing to present the drama-hungry Watchers with the tragic death of one of the lovers, but it’s another thing altogether to have two deaths. Two deaths would mean no victor. No Victory Tour. The Engineers are forced to back down, and allow Katniss and Peeta to claim their shared victory.

Except Katniss. She realizes the truth when she goes on her Victory Tour and sees how bad it is in the districts. But can she do anything about it? No. Because she can’t escape the cameras. Even outside the arena, Katniss is still being filmed, everywhere she goes. The Hunger Games may have finished, but the Katniss Everdeen Show is still going. The Engineers are still using her to control the Watched. President Snow is unhappy with the swing of power toward the Watched and the Watchers, so he threatens Katniss and her family. He tells her that she must convince the citizens of Panem that the stunt with the berries was an act of love, not an act of defiance or rebellion. Snow knows that just as Katniss can be the spark that could destroy Panem, she can also be used to calm the Watchers down—to be a loyal and obedient citizen. To swing the balance of power back to the Engineers.

It doesn’t take Katniss long to realize that her return to District 12 after the first Hunger Games isn’t a return to anonymity. She’s still one of the Watched:

In Mockingjay, the whole of Panem is turned into a kind of giant arena—broadcast every night in full color, complete with titles and a stirring soundtrack. The war seems to be less about fighting over physical territory, and more about fighting over control of the airwaves—whose propo (short for propaganda) will dominate? Who can spin the war to the best advantage?

When Katniss watches the propo from District 8, she doesn’t try to imagine herself back in the thick of combat. She tries to pretend she’s watching her television back in District 12. Instead of thinking that something was happening in Panem that has never happened before, she thinks that there’s ���never been anything like it on television.” It’s like the whole war is an elaborate promotional tool for the rebellion to broadcast its agenda. Katniss joins a specially trained elite squad of soldiers—soldiers not trained in combat skills, but in media skills—to be the “on-screen faces of the invasion.” They’re followed by a camera team wherever they go, and all of the death, destruction, violence, and suffering is neatly packaged up every night and delivered to living rooms everywhere. Suddenly the people behind the cameras have all the power, and both Watcher and Watched become tools to promote and spread propaganda.

In Catching Fire, President Snow uses Katniss’ family and loved ones as a bargaining chip—if she behaves and puts on a good show, they get to live. Katniss realizes quickly that she can’t run away from the cameras or the crowds—they’ll always find her. And even when she does escape the power of Snow and joins the rebellion in Mockingjay, she finds herself doing exactly the same thing. She’s still got her prep team, she’s still surrounded by cameras insisting she put on a good show, and she’s still working for someone who has the power to destroy her loved ones. A group of Watchers—the people of Panem who so passively consumed the Games in the past—have taken control of cameras and screens. The rebel Watchers are now Engineers.

When Katniss is captured by the rebels and pressured to become the face of the rebellion, she thinks she understands the power that she holds as the Mockingjay:

But Katniss’ power is slipping away, slowly being eradicated by the rebel Watchers-turned-Engineers from the moment she is rescued from her second Hunger Games. In District 2, Haymitch dictates Katniss’ speech to her through her headset. Her prep team control the way she looks and what she wears. Her actions and words are carefully edited into bite-sized, easily digestible pieces of propaganda. Her participation in the rebellion is just as choreographed and controlled as her participation in the Hunger Games. In fact, Katniss had more power and control within the Games—playing up to the cameras, winning over the Watchers, threatening to eat the berries and shooting down the forcefield—than she does when she’s part of the rebellion. The only time she comes close to this kind of independence and agency outside the arena is in Mockingjay when she’s declared dead—because the cameras can’t see her any more (and aren’t looking for her), she can finally make her own decisions.

Through her trials in the Arena and her participation in the war, Katniss comes to learn that surveillance isn’t a one-way street. When she threatens to eat the blue berries, she forces the Capitol to change the rules of the Games. This saves her life and Peeta’s, but it marks her as a Rebel, and an enemy of the Capitol. The balance of power swings her way—for a moment. But in Catching Fire, President Snow takes it back. He amps up his surveillance, watching Katniss wherever she goes, ready to pounce if she steps out of line. Rebellion is brewing, and to threaten and control Katniss even further, he sends her back into the Games. But that turns out to be his greatest mistake. Like that poor girl who stole a loaf of bread, the Watchers at home don’t feel threatened, or bloodthirsty. They love Katniss, and they are sick of the Engineers taking away their riches and their children. Katniss very quickly realizes that for every act of cruelty and terror that the Capitol punishes her with in the Games, she is provided with an opportunity. To spread dissent and rebellion throughout Panem, and to unify the Watchers and the Watched into an unstoppable force.

When Katniss wins over the hearts of the Watchers and earns the hatred of the Engineers, she becomes a spark, a spark which, in the words of President Snow, grows to “an inferno that destroys Panem.” But starting a fire doesn’t mean you can control it. Katniss starts the rebellion, but events quickly move beyond her control. Her power is fleeting, and largely symbolic. Before long, the rebel Engineers take over, and the old balance between Watcher, Watched, and Engineer is restored.

Mockingjay finishes with Katniss living in uneasy, troubled peace. She’s no longer Watched, but she isn’t a Watcher or an Engineer either. She’s retired. Plutarch understands Katniss’ anxiety—he knows that it’s only a matter of time before things disintegrate once more. But he’s ready, ever the Engineer, to point his cameras and repackage real-world drama and suffering into popular entertainment. He allows himself a cheerful moment of optimism: “Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race.” And then he tells Katniss all about the new Idol-style program he’s about to launch. Evolution indeed.

Katniss turned around and looked back into the camera that was always watching her—and she changed the world. But she is uneasy because she knows that this new balance between the Watchers, the Watched, and the Engineers won’t last forever. Sooner or later, the balance will swing too far in one direction, and the Games will begin all over again.