I’m being watched. I can feel it.
I made a mistake the other day. When the economy came up, I said the booming job market was good for workers. The room went silent.
“Are you,” Lars asked. “Saying you support Trump?” His lips turned down. The eyes widened with inquisitive disgust. Like Adam Schiff’s.
No, no, I told everyone. That isn’t what I meant at all. We stood, mid-afternoon, in our friend’s home. Their daughter had been christened that morning. Now we were christening ourselves. With wine.
These are not unsophisticated people. The New York Times lay, rather conspicuously I thought, on an end table. The wine was good. The house had been professionally decorated in white, white walls, fireplace, sofas, pillows. The decorator was one of the guests. We also had in attendance a pastor, two lawyers, a college professor, a college dean, and a smattering of other professionals, including three “investment advisors”. When I asked one for a stock tip, he clarified his position. “I only advise myself.”
There were also two medical doctors. And indeed, I found myself under a clinical and unforgiving examination light.
Lars pressed ahead. “You said the economy was good for workers. It’s not. Trump has done nothing.”
“Of course.” I searched desperately for a canapé.
“Furthermore, I’m alarmed you would parrot Fox News. Even inadvertently.”
In George Orwell’s 1984, disagreement is forbidden. The citizens of Oceania (Great Britain) scrutinize each other for any deviation. Evidence might be found in misstatements, failure to exhibit the proper enthusiasm, even unguarded facial expressions.
Orwell had a label for this: Thoughtcrime.
I loosened my collar… then explained, a bit loudly, that I liked to get my information from a variety of sources, including Fox News. Lars should understand this. He works for a local news outlet. He tells me they have a politically diverse staff. But I suspect this is untrue. The director is liberal. The writers are liberal. The ad salespeople and interns are liberal. The two bulldogs dozing in matching dog beds by the reception desk are liberal.
“Who’d you vote for?” The question came across the room like a gunshot.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Of course I didn’t vote for Donald Trump. I live in a place where people don’t admit such things. If one values his friends, his social standing, his job, his family, his future, one stays silent.
A young woman had been observing me. “I think we all have to respect the accuracy of our mainstream press,” she said. “There is no reason to follow Fox News. Or any other conspiracy-driven source.”
In 1984, intellectuals control every aspect of thought. As a government worker, Winston Smith serves Big Brother. He toils ceaselessly to shape the news to fit the party line. The working class, or “proles” (for proletarians) are ignored. They are powerless, and beneath concern. Winston speculates, however, that any threat to Big Brother will be from them.
Lars, bless him, comes to my rescue. “I think what our friend meant to say is he needs to study the distortions by some in the media so he can effectively counter them. For instance, the worker is a victim of Trump’s policies, not beneficiary. Despite what the numbers show.”
Thank you, Lars. That’s exactly what I meant.
After a few insults thrown in Trump’s direction the conversation moved to more pleasant topics. Vacations, family cabins, dogs, cats, the new craft brewery on Tyler Street.
Winston Smith operates in secret rebellion against Big Brother. In the end, he is rehabilitated. He was the victim of Thoughtcrime. No one knew. Even he didn’t know.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com