The revolution had been betrayed. The dictators had ousted the true visionaries forever, keeping them alive in twisted chambers to force acceptance of Party orthodoxy. For the past fifty years the Party had held an iron grip on the unsuspecting slaves of corrupt socialism, of Ingsoc. Even the Inner Party leaders were corrupted by madness; whatever humanity had once existed was now hideously transformed into an endless craving for power.
Truth was lie. War was peace. Freedom was slavery. Ignorance was strength.
Select Inner Party members had developed coercion and mind control to carefully convert any subverters of Party orthodoxy, to transform them from a danger to a catalyst. The world lay in shambles, frozen forever between war and peace. The Thought Police methodically destroyed any resistance, any resentment, any challenge to Party rule.
The aims of civilization were no longer to further the arts, to expand scientific knowledge, to find hope and love in the vast world, but instead were a twisted perversion of the freedom once held dear by so many. Ingsoc destroyed progress rather than attempt it. Newspeak destroyed language and thus, destroyed thought. Big Brother was ever-present with his limitless influence and unimaginable power. The Party fooled each other into believing false realities, and there was no reason to assume that anything might change.
Except.
"If there was hope..." a brave man had once said. A man who was now dead, who had lost what he had once managed to grasp. "If there was hope, it lay in the proles."
A second man. "It is all nonsense. The proletarians will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million. They cannot... If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent insurrection, you must abandom them. There is no way in which the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is forever." This man, too, was dead. His successors were those who told the world lies while, at the same time, fooling themselves.
Against the weapons of the Party, no man could overcome. After all, what was one man against doublethink, against the destruction of thought, against endless armies of soldiers armed with machine guns?
Yet the Party had a weakness. When you were deemed a heretic by the Thought Police, when you were brave and thought freely, they did not dare to kill you. For while you would have died in rebellion, your dream would not have died with you.
One day, a long, long time ago, one country had a dream. It was founded on the belief that all men were created equal, that in the world there existed the freedom of speech, of thought, of mind. A few men knew that the only way to preserve freedom was to believe in no man, but instead a timeless ideal. In a time of chaos this nation grew mighty, and brought liberty and justice to its citizens and to the world.
That nation was gone now. The Party had snuffed out all records of its existence. In its place existed Oceania. That country had never existed. Oceania had always existed.
And yet...
A man was walking past run-down, tired buildings, on an empty day just like any other. But on this day, as he went along, something caught his eye. He bent down to see a thick book with a red back and a marbled cover.
He looked up, and found that he was near an opening in the wall where fumes were exiting. He had heard of vague rumors of giant furnaces that destroyed memories forever, but he had never believed... By some trick of fate this one object must have circumvented the furnace unscathed.
He began to read. "April 4, 1984...To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is free, when men are different from one another and do not live alone - to a time when truth exists and what is done cannot be undone..."
He flipped a few pages, and one sentence in partcular stood out against the rest. "If there was hope, it lies in the proles...I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY. Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows."
The man looked around with a slight disgust at the worn, dusty city around him. Then he looked up, to a sky that was still blue, to a sun that was still shining. And for the first time he realized that there were some things the Party could not, could never destroy.
It was like a lightbulb turning on in his head. He suddenly grasped the importance of the book - what it meant -
As he slowly shut the diary - because that's what it must have been, he thought, an outlet for the hopes of a dreamer - he was surprised to see a piece of cloth slip from the back pages of the book. He examined the back cover, and found a small pocket in which it must have been concealed. He pulled the cloth gently free from its confines.
In his hand lay a large flag, once neatly folded, with shapes and stripes of startingly bright color that contrasted with the dreary world around him.
He rotated it slowly around, curious, and then carefully turned the flag over.
On its back was a letter.
"April 3, 1955
My dear sister,
In this continent it is becoming harder and harder to recall the freedoms that we once held dear. Every day there are massacres with poison gas and automatic weapons, and more thousands die. Since my last letter, the great Statue that was once guardian of liberty and justice is now in shambles. Symbolically, they have blown it up.
I say 'they,' for I know not their name. They are a radical group of militants who have set themselves against freedom and peace and all this nation has once stood for. I have a terrible feeling that there is a mastermind that oversees all this death and destruction. I fear this is the same being that orchestrates the violence in dear Britain.
We have gone into hiding. I do not know why the Socialist Revolution became so violent. At an early stage, we were both supporters, but all it took was one man with dark aims to twist the best of intentions. All I can discern is that they seek complete subjugation of all people here - for what purpose, I cannot fathom.
I say 'here,' for I do not believe that I am truly living in the United States of America. Whatever this country once was, it is no longer. They have destroyed the emblems, the monuments, the symbols of democracy, and replaced it with propaganda that spews lies and falsities.
I do not know where the resistance has gone, if there remains any at all. But I am grateful it is happening first in my country, and not yours, so that I may warn you of this shadowy force that threatens to destroy the very foundation of Western Civilization.
Heed my warnings, and leave. I cannot tell you where to go, as I am not certain at all if there remain any safe havens in this world. The sun has dimmed; the sky has grown dark.
I pray that this letter not by intercepted and devoured by them. Already there are followers to their cause who have allowed themselves to be tricked by their deceit. Fools! They willingly cover their eyes and refuse to see the consequences of their actions. I do not understand how this could be. But I must accept it.
Warn Britain. Tell them of this danger that is being concealed, only to later swallow up the world in its grasp! Do not allow them to fall into complacency, for they take no prisoners. They convert you through torture; if you refuse to give in, they kill you.
You must form a resistance. You must! Take your weapons, not only guns and explosives, but also great works of art and literature. Keep safe those gems, for it is against the freedom of thought that they have set themselves. They seek to destroy all the jewels and accomplishments of our times; we must not let them.
Perhaps there is still time, still hope for the future. But at the present moment I see it not.
If all else fails, preserve this flag with its message. If we are overrun we must lay a seed of hope for those who will come after us. This flag, of which there are very few left, stands for a world which once existed. We must not let freedom fall! If there is one person alive with a clear mind and righteous intentions then there is hope for mankind. That person will bear the responsibility of all those who have fought and died against evil so that freedom might live. That person will take this flag and let it be their inspiration. That person will form a resistance that will grow throughout the common people, that will take their weapons of body and mind, that will show the world a better way!
I must close and send this message with my most trusted scout. He might be the sole survivor of this small sanctuary, for we know that we are living in grave danger. He will now go, and I will stay. I know not how much power they have gained, nor how close they are to complete domination, but...
I fear the worst."
The letter was unsigned, its last few words hastily scribbled.
The man felt as though he was now shouldering a great burden. He wished to forget that he had ever found the diary. But how could he forget, knowing now the truth?
One thing was certain: the author of the diary was not the author of the letter. Did that imply that there could have been another who resisted? Someone else who knew that there was more to life than an endless existence of darkness?
How could he fight the Party? He had no weapons. He had no posessions but his own mind...
But perhaps that was the answer.
He looked around, suddenly aware of his conspicuity. Were there any telescreens? He did not see any, but that did not prove that there were none.
He quickly set off in the direction he had come - to think, and to plan.
Truth was lie. War was peace. Freedom was slavery. Ignorance was strength.
Select Inner Party members had developed coercion and mind control to carefully convert any subverters of Party orthodoxy, to transform them from a danger to a catalyst. The world lay in shambles, frozen forever between war and peace. The Thought Police methodically destroyed any resistance, any resentment, any challenge to Party rule.
The aims of civilization were no longer to further the arts, to expand scientific knowledge, to find hope and love in the vast world, but instead were a twisted perversion of the freedom once held dear by so many. Ingsoc destroyed progress rather than attempt it. Newspeak destroyed language and thus, destroyed thought. Big Brother was ever-present with his limitless influence and unimaginable power. The Party fooled each other into believing false realities, and there was no reason to assume that anything might change.
Except.
"If there was hope..." a brave man had once said. A man who was now dead, who had lost what he had once managed to grasp. "If there was hope, it lay in the proles."
A second man. "It is all nonsense. The proletarians will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million. They cannot... If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent insurrection, you must abandom them. There is no way in which the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is forever." This man, too, was dead. His successors were those who told the world lies while, at the same time, fooling themselves.
Against the weapons of the Party, no man could overcome. After all, what was one man against doublethink, against the destruction of thought, against endless armies of soldiers armed with machine guns?
Yet the Party had a weakness. When you were deemed a heretic by the Thought Police, when you were brave and thought freely, they did not dare to kill you. For while you would have died in rebellion, your dream would not have died with you.
One day, a long, long time ago, one country had a dream. It was founded on the belief that all men were created equal, that in the world there existed the freedom of speech, of thought, of mind. A few men knew that the only way to preserve freedom was to believe in no man, but instead a timeless ideal. In a time of chaos this nation grew mighty, and brought liberty and justice to its citizens and to the world.
That nation was gone now. The Party had snuffed out all records of its existence. In its place existed Oceania. That country had never existed. Oceania had always existed.
And yet...
A man was walking past run-down, tired buildings, on an empty day just like any other. But on this day, as he went along, something caught his eye. He bent down to see a thick book with a red back and a marbled cover.
He looked up, and found that he was near an opening in the wall where fumes were exiting. He had heard of vague rumors of giant furnaces that destroyed memories forever, but he had never believed... By some trick of fate this one object must have circumvented the furnace unscathed.
He began to read. "April 4, 1984...To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is free, when men are different from one another and do not live alone - to a time when truth exists and what is done cannot be undone..."
He flipped a few pages, and one sentence in partcular stood out against the rest. "If there was hope, it lies in the proles...I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY. Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows."
The man looked around with a slight disgust at the worn, dusty city around him. Then he looked up, to a sky that was still blue, to a sun that was still shining. And for the first time he realized that there were some things the Party could not, could never destroy.
It was like a lightbulb turning on in his head. He suddenly grasped the importance of the book - what it meant -
As he slowly shut the diary - because that's what it must have been, he thought, an outlet for the hopes of a dreamer - he was surprised to see a piece of cloth slip from the back pages of the book. He examined the back cover, and found a small pocket in which it must have been concealed. He pulled the cloth gently free from its confines.
In his hand lay a large flag, once neatly folded, with shapes and stripes of startingly bright color that contrasted with the dreary world around him.
He rotated it slowly around, curious, and then carefully turned the flag over.
On its back was a letter.
"April 3, 1955
My dear sister,
In this continent it is becoming harder and harder to recall the freedoms that we once held dear. Every day there are massacres with poison gas and automatic weapons, and more thousands die. Since my last letter, the great Statue that was once guardian of liberty and justice is now in shambles. Symbolically, they have blown it up.
I say 'they,' for I know not their name. They are a radical group of militants who have set themselves against freedom and peace and all this nation has once stood for. I have a terrible feeling that there is a mastermind that oversees all this death and destruction. I fear this is the same being that orchestrates the violence in dear Britain.
We have gone into hiding. I do not know why the Socialist Revolution became so violent. At an early stage, we were both supporters, but all it took was one man with dark aims to twist the best of intentions. All I can discern is that they seek complete subjugation of all people here - for what purpose, I cannot fathom.
I say 'here,' for I do not believe that I am truly living in the United States of America. Whatever this country once was, it is no longer. They have destroyed the emblems, the monuments, the symbols of democracy, and replaced it with propaganda that spews lies and falsities.
I do not know where the resistance has gone, if there remains any at all. But I am grateful it is happening first in my country, and not yours, so that I may warn you of this shadowy force that threatens to destroy the very foundation of Western Civilization.
Heed my warnings, and leave. I cannot tell you where to go, as I am not certain at all if there remain any safe havens in this world. The sun has dimmed; the sky has grown dark.
I pray that this letter not by intercepted and devoured by them. Already there are followers to their cause who have allowed themselves to be tricked by their deceit. Fools! They willingly cover their eyes and refuse to see the consequences of their actions. I do not understand how this could be. But I must accept it.
Warn Britain. Tell them of this danger that is being concealed, only to later swallow up the world in its grasp! Do not allow them to fall into complacency, for they take no prisoners. They convert you through torture; if you refuse to give in, they kill you.
You must form a resistance. You must! Take your weapons, not only guns and explosives, but also great works of art and literature. Keep safe those gems, for it is against the freedom of thought that they have set themselves. They seek to destroy all the jewels and accomplishments of our times; we must not let them.
Perhaps there is still time, still hope for the future. But at the present moment I see it not.
If all else fails, preserve this flag with its message. If we are overrun we must lay a seed of hope for those who will come after us. This flag, of which there are very few left, stands for a world which once existed. We must not let freedom fall! If there is one person alive with a clear mind and righteous intentions then there is hope for mankind. That person will bear the responsibility of all those who have fought and died against evil so that freedom might live. That person will take this flag and let it be their inspiration. That person will form a resistance that will grow throughout the common people, that will take their weapons of body and mind, that will show the world a better way!
I must close and send this message with my most trusted scout. He might be the sole survivor of this small sanctuary, for we know that we are living in grave danger. He will now go, and I will stay. I know not how much power they have gained, nor how close they are to complete domination, but...
I fear the worst."
The letter was unsigned, its last few words hastily scribbled.
The man felt as though he was now shouldering a great burden. He wished to forget that he had ever found the diary. But how could he forget, knowing now the truth?
One thing was certain: the author of the diary was not the author of the letter. Did that imply that there could have been another who resisted? Someone else who knew that there was more to life than an endless existence of darkness?
How could he fight the Party? He had no weapons. He had no posessions but his own mind...
But perhaps that was the answer.
He looked around, suddenly aware of his conspicuity. Were there any telescreens? He did not see any, but that did not prove that there were none.
He quickly set off in the direction he had come - to think, and to plan.