2026
I am four chapters into 1984 , a book by George Orwell, and something rather uncomfortable has happened. I have started recognising myself. Not literally, of course. I am not Winston Smith. I don't live in Oceania. I don't work at the Ministry of Truth. Nobody has handed me a pile of newspapers and asked me to rewrite history. And yet, as I was reading, I kept thinking: Why does this feel so familiar? George Orwell wrote 1984 in 1949. It was fiction. A dystopian future. A world where the government watches you, information is controlled, history is rewritten, language is manipulated and people learn to monitor even their own thoughts because they know Big Brother might be watching. And I am sitting here in 2026, reading it and thinking: Am I living in 1984? Because Winston's job particularly disturbed me. He works in the Records Department of the Ministry of Truth. His job is to alter the historical record whenever reality becomes inconvenient for the Party. Something ...