The principles of INGSOC
Come to think: George Orwell was pointing out a future in which the current beast of absolute power, in power, would act like. As they’ve proven to long for no more than this one way to live without dissonance. The end of rebelion. The magnitude of enough tools to manipulate a gray life of survival.
It’s an authoritarian regime. War far away our little island, with our common enemies. Euroasians. Be that east or west. They are the others. And we are continuosly at war. So we live for war, speaking as if it was peace. I am not sure if that’s newspeak or double think. Or maybe, I am just mutating the past once again through the loophole of this one book set in the course of a futuristic society in 1984: the past.
One could say that the warning on 1984 is very clear. And that distopias are an effort to install in the mind of a reader what things could be like if we turn all controls into one big facist regime. But the thing is, in double think spirit, everyone may point into a facist and yell: you are the facist. The real facist too. So we are radicalized with the intention of finding nazis in every nemesis we hate. And man, oh man, plenty of nemesis out there. If there’s something nowadays is people you can consider your life antagonist at the edge of the cliff. So you quickly jump to the conclusion: elimitate. Before he/she eliminates you.
And it all depends on how much privilege you bear. The higher up, the more peculiar results we see of people afraid. The lutters, oh, they say. People are coming to get us. The barbarians have won. Europe always knew they were there. And somehow the fear is on us. It somehow has prevailed as the sort of fearful society that just can’t get enough. So he constantly fear the other. And there are plenty of others to fear. And if not, you will be guided to fear the correct ones. God forbid you pick your own nemesis. It just doesn’t work that way. You are not suppose to think on your own. Or read books. Just stick with oficial propaganda. Like-minded crowds. The «us» we hold dearest. The true civilized humans. The ones that deserve to rule the world. Again.
People in power. People searching to be that power. That’s the old game of politics. Or maybe the game is really the power shit. Money gets close to that influence. People who seek power are into money. And people who are into power and don’t have the means to move up the pyramyd with their own enterprises, choose politics. Some parties are there for people to be part of the political players that touch power. In representation of the rest. So we can all go about our life. With the same sort of critical attitude that we can hold from our couch, or through our digital platforms. Our social persona is now an activist posting shit online. Like this piece of crap you are reading. I thank you for thy patience. You are trully a good and loyal reader. I sherish you. And wonder if you want to read some… well, serve yourself. You’ve made my day. Maybe even my life. For the rest of my lives.
Multiple lives matter. But let’s focus on the black ones.
Current affairs are smelling like 1984. People don’t read books, on one side. And on the other, they just read one book. Or is it the other way around? In any case, I’ve just felt the need to go about my way into the wrong way to read the play. And end up in the loosing end of this senseless battle. I’d be in this sort of situation. We can be persecuted up to a point in which we piss off the wrong dude. There’s two ways you do that. You piss of a boss of a mafia-like structure, be it one of the good guys, or one of the bad guys, and he, or she (let’s open the posibilities of feminism in the struggle to impersonate the evil characters from the heteropatriarchy power roles on the top of the scheme) sends a squad to hunt you down. In either case, you are a sitting duck. And you will be terminated. Cause the Big Brother is watching you. In every coin. In every camara. In your own phone. In your profiling stamp across the Internet. You think «they» don’t know? Oh, sure they know. They are on to you. Maybe even reading this as we «speak». The creepiest system ever is here, installed in the open areas of public and private space, expect for that little bit of brain left without Thought-police on your ass.
«He wondered again for whom he was writing the diary. For the future, for the past–for an age that may be imaginary. And in front of him there lay not death but annihilation. The diary would be reduced to ashes and himself to vapor. Only the Thought Police would read what he had written, before they wiped it out of existence and out of memory. How could you make appeal to the future when not a trace of you, not even an annonumous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically survive?Winston, 1984. Or maybe, Orwell, 1941. Or maybe Golman, 2020.