Just for school, forgot the flash drive

Tia
http://find.galegroup.com/ovrc/retrieve.do?subjectParam=Locale%2528en%252C%252C%2529%253AFQE%253D%2528su%252CNone%252C13%2529George%2Borwell%2524&contentSet=GSRC&sort=Relevance&tabID=T010&sgCurrentPosition=0&subjectAction=DISPLAY_SUBJECTS&prodId=OVRC&searchId=R2¤tPosition=1&userGroupName=spri69907&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&sgHitCountType=None&qrySerId=Locale%28en%2C%2C%29%3AFQE%3D%28ke%2CNone%2C13%29George+orwell%24&inPS=true&searchType=BasicSearchForm&displaySubject=&docId=EJ3010159217&docType=GSRC
A Lack of Opportunities Causes Poverty

Table of Contents: Further Readings
Reprinted from "Orwell's Poverty and Ours," The American Prospect, Winter 1996, volume 24, pp. 90–94, ©1996, by permission of the author and The American Prospect, P.O. Box 383080, Cambridge, MA 02138.
Robert C. Lieberman maintains in the following viewpoint that poverty is not caused by a refusal to seek work or by a welfare state that encourages perverse values but by a lack of economic opportunity. Referring to the writings of George Orwell, Lieberman asserts that society should offer the poor greater economic opportunities rather than blame them for their poverty. Lieberman is an assistant professor of political science and public affairs at Columbia University in New York City.
As you read, consider the following questions:
1. According to Lieberman, how did the Victorians view poverty?
2. Who should be blamed for society's problems, in the author's opinion?
3. What type of coalition would Lieberman like to see formed?
"The very rich are different from you and me," F. Scott Fitzgerald famously wrote. "Yes," Ernest Hemingway teased Fitzgerald, in a short story of his own, "they have more money." To Fitzgerald, the rich inhabited a world apart. To Hemingway, the rich were just like the rest of us, only with nicer furniture.
Visions of the Poor
Today's debates about poverty mirror the Fitzgerald-Hemingway exchange. "The poor are different," some say. They live in a separate culture, bereft of the values that could lift them out of poverty. Public policy reinforces their lassitude by encouraging their morally and socially deviant tendencies. "They just have less money," reply others. They are regular folks in a desperate situation, and they behave as any of us would in the same circumstances. Provide for their material needs, or change the incentives that confront them, offer jobs that pay a living wage, and all will be well.
Something is amiss in these contending visions of the poor— or, I should say, of poverty, for these views of poor people don't have people in them, only statistics and myths. These we have in abundance—reams of tables and figures displaying the extent of deprivation, and tall tales of "welfare queens" and scam artists buying vodka with food stamps. But where are the faces behind the statistics and the mythology, the lives of the poor themselves? In the conservative caricature, the poor remain phantoms, ciphers; their individual lives are concealed either by charts and graphs or by moralistic categories of virtue and vice. But poverty is brutal and ugly, and it is associated with many things Americans legitimately fear—crime, drugs, and the apparent breakdown of social standards, especially in cities. Many liberals, too, see poverty through a distorting lens, one that overlooks or explains away these very real and often uncomfortable facts about poverty. Some of us posit a false sameness; others see a dehumanizing degree of difference. What is missing in both views is a willingness to look hard at the actual lives of the poor.
George Orwell's Writings
No writer has rendered these lives more vividly than George Orwell in The Road to Wigan Pier and Down and Out in Paris and London.... His reports of the outward effects of poverty—the decrepitude, the discomfort, the filth—are simultaneously gripping and repellent. But it is his account of poverty's effect on the soul, effects observed from personal experience coupled with keen self-knowledge, that makes Orwell unique....
Orwell's poor live in a stultifying world, where the basic social and biological functions of life—eating, sleeping, avoiding disease—occupy so much attention that there is little time or energy left for more elevated concerns. The overwhelming experience of poverty for Orwell is ennui. The pursuit of petty vices such as drink and tobacco, the most readily available sources of enjoyment or entertainment, takes on exaggerated importance. When daily life is consumed with such concerns, they become the mind's only focus, and staying alive requires all one's acuity and resourcefulness. "You thought," he writes in Down and Out, "that [poverty] would be quite simple; it is extraordinarily complex. You thought it would be terrible; it is merely squalid and boring. It is the peculiar lowness of poverty that you discover first; the shifts that it puts you to, the complicated meanness, the crust-wiping."
But in Orwell's eyes, even the most visibly distasteful of the poor become sympathetic characters. Paddy Jaques, the narrator's "mate" in tramping about London in Down and Out, would not be out of place in any American city today. Jobless and homeless, he is lazy, filthy, ignorant, and generally unappealing. He lives in the streets or in shelters, cadging food and tobacco wherever he can. "He had," Orwell writes, "the regular character of a tramp—abject, envious, a jackal's character." Nevertheless, Orwell continues, "he was a good fellow, generous by nature and capable of sharing his last crust with a friend." More generally, Orwell argues that the only thing that separates beggars from "workers" is society's perception of the value of their trade. "A navvy works by swinging a pick. An accountant works by adding up figures. A beggar works by standing out of doors in all weathers and getting varicose veins, chronic bronchitis, etc." When he asks "Why are beggars despised?—for they are despised universally," his answer is simply that, "they fail to earn a decent living." A beggar "is simply a business man, getting his living, like other business men in the way that comes to hand. He has not, more than most modern people, sold his honour; he has merely made the mistake of choosing a trade at which it is impossible to grow rich." Poverty is ultimately humiliating and demoralizing. For Orwell, the detachment of the poor from bourgeois virtues—hard work, cleanliness, self-reliance, and so forth—is an effect of poverty rather than a cause.
The Victorian Society
In the 1930s, when Orwell wrote them, these books were more than simply gripping collections of stories and images; they represented an antidote to prevailing Victorian notions of poverty. Romantic and sentimental, the Victorians viewed poverty as an individual failing. The virtues of Victorian society—hard work, responsibility, independence, and the like—were those that would ensure material success. As Fitzgerald believed of the rich, so Victorians believed of the poor: They were different. Being poor was a sign of moral weakness, of indolence and profligacy (the poor were, to paraphrase Stephen Sondheim, "deprived on account they were depraved").
Oddly enough, all of this moral weakness vanished a decade later when the postwar economic boom produced an era of full employment. The indolent poor of the 1930s became the blue-collar middle class of the 1940s and 1950s. Evidently, they were all-too-willing to work hard for decent wages. What was missing in the 1930s, it turned out, were not virtues but jobs.
This lesson, however, has been forgotten. Modern-day conservatives have once again taken up the Victorian view. The poor are different. They are culturally deficient and morally flawed, an "underclass" whose behavior and values separate them from respectable society. "How does one cope with people who seem unable to advance even their own interests, let alone society's?" asks Lawrence Mead in The New Politics of Poverty....
Blaming the Poor
The right thus reduces the problem of poverty to a dispute over the social standards of the poor rather than the opportunities that society presents. As Herbert Gans brilliantly relates in his new book, The War Against the Poor, the "underclass" nomenclature perpetuates this view of the difference, and hence the undeservingness, of the poor, allowing the rest of us to revel in our "deservingness." The distinction between "us," the deserving middle class, and "them," the undeserving poor, only reinforces our appreciation of our own virtue.
The right also magnifies the vices of the poor, placing the onus of society's problems on the poor rather than where it belongs, on those with money and power, who set society's priorities and reap society's benefits. The poor, it seems, are neither selfish enough to help themselves nor selfless enough to protect the rest of us. This view of the poor feeds the common misperception that the poor are reaping enormous benefits from government largess. To the residents of Macomb County, Michigan, reports Stanley Greenberg in Middle Class Dreams, nearby Detroit is "just a big pit into which the state and federal governments poured tax money, never to be heard from again: 'It's all just being funneled into the Detroit area, and it's not overflowing into the suburbs.'" For these archetypal Reagan Democrats, "Detroit" equals "them"—that is, the black, urban poor who are themselves the source not only of their own misery but of broader social and political ills.
Who Are the Deserving Poor
If some conservative critics demonize the poor and emphasize their differentness, others such as Charles Murray posit a false commonality. The poor, for Murray, are at bottom just like us; they respond to economic incentives, based on a cost-benefit calculus. And they would behave like the rest of us, except that the welfare state has corrupted the poor with perverse "incentives to fail" that subvert fundamental bourgeois values such as family, work, education, and deferred gratification. Over time, perverse incentives harden into perverse behaviors and values.
Tellingly, Murray illustrates this worry neither with accurate data (both his arithmetic and his propositions about the effects of welfare on such behavior have mostly been discredited) nor with careful ethnographic observation but with a "thought experiment," namely Harold and Phyllis, his hypothetical young couple in Losing Ground who maximize their income by having a child while remaining unmarried and out of work. Murray is also cavalier on the economic benefits to be derived from available work and available wages. In the ghettos of this economy, even Victorian virtue yields Victorian squalor.
In the process of rewarding indolence, Murray contends, social programs dissolved the useful distinction between "deserving" and "undeserving" poor, not by allaying the stigma of poverty but by dragging all the poor into "undeservingness." Welfare, he claims, has made it not only economically feasible but also "socially acceptable" to be unemployed and on the dole. Mickey Kaus similarly implicates welfare in creating a "cultural catastrophe." Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC), he writes in The End of Equality, is "the underclass culture's life support system." Whatever its origins, a cultural gap separates the poor, the "underclass," from the rest of us. However they became poor, they remain so because bad incentives have created bad values....
A New Vision of Poverty
Fortunately, there has been in recent years a resurgence of vivid thinking and writing about America's poor—from the journalism of Jason DeParle of the New York Times and Alex Kotlowitz to the stunning ethnographic scholarship of anthropologist Elliot Liebow, sociologist Elijah Anderson, and historian Carl Husemoller Nightingale—that evokes the best in Orwell's work. "Street wisdom," for example, the complex ghetto street culture that Anderson describes, is a set of tools, strategems, and rules of thumb that allows urban residents to negotiate inner-city streets and even to build some semblance of a community on the ruins of urban civilization. For the children of the Chicago projects that Kotlowitz chronicles, the overwhelming fear of violence curtails the dreams of youth and replaces them tragically and prematurely with intimations of mortality and despair. And as Nightingale depicts his young African American friends in Philadelphia, they are hardly alienated from mainstream American values; rather, they are entirely products of those values, almost hyper-American, caught between ubiquitous cultural images of law and order, crime and punishment, violence, and consumerism on one hand and the painful, dissonant reality of their own lives on the other.
All of these writers have sought to approach poverty, particularly the poverty of the urban ghetto, not as a distant and faceless phenomenon but as an immediate and gripping reality that wreaks havoc and despair in the lives of whole neighborhoods and generations. They fall prey neither to the conservative temptation to assume the worst of the poor nor to the liberal instinct to evade the apparent pathologies of poverty.... These writers reaffirm Orwell's conclusion that the poor are ultimately human beings no different from you and me; that they are the victims of complex economic and cultural circumstances not of their own making, and the remedies will need to be complex as well. The new naturalistic chroniclers of poverty put the lie to the banalities of the cultural conservatives.
Uniting the Poor and the Middle Class
The clarity of Orwell's vision sets a task for progressives who recognize the urgency of addressing the shameful crisis of abiding poverty in the United States. More than at any time in the past sixty years, the American poor and working and middle classes are at common risk. Barry Bluestone calculates that the median working family, given its meager savings, is 3.6 months away from poverty should a breadwinner become jobless. The blue-collar bulwarks of the mid-century boom face increasingly the danger of losing the hard-won gains of their parents and grandparents. Poverty looms for them and their children as it has not in two generations. The time is ripe for a new New Deal coalition, uniting the poor and the working middle class, whose common anxieties and aspirations should be the basis for a powerful political message.
So long as the cultural conservatives set the imagery of the poverty debate with arguments about pathologies of poverty and the moral difference of the poor, they carry the day politically by dividing the sinking middle class from the poor they are approaching. Instead of alliance there is only contempt, relations poisoned by "us" vs. "them" rhetoric that pits Macomb Counties against Detroits throughout the country. As in the 1930s, when Orwell wrote, the poor and the working class share an interest in vigorous government action to create economic opportunity, preserve the dignity and rewards of work, and provide a cushion against what Franklin Roosevelt called "the hazards and vicissitudes of life." But these common interests are obscured, and the promise of liberal renewal is undermined, by the "underclass" rhetoric that casts the poor as the enemy within, rather than as allies in a common enterprise.
The task for liberals is to break down the "us" vs. "them" mentality on both sides of the divide. As a political task, it will require addressing the pernicious racial segregation that still poisons American life. As an intellectual task, it will require recapturing Orwell's soul-searching honesty in addressing the poor as neighbors and fellow citizens rather than as dirty and dangerous scoundrels. For conservatives to call them so—and for liberals to accede—is positively Orwellian.
Source Citation:
Lieberman, Robert C. "A Lack of Opportunities Causes Poverty." Opposing Viewpoints: Poverty. Ed. Laura K. Egendorf. San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 1999. Opposing Viewpoints Resource Center. Gale. HALL HIGH SCHOOL (IL). 11 Apr. 2008  .



………………………………………………………………………………………………………
http://find.galegroup.com/ovrc/retrieve.do?subjectParam=Locale%2528en%252C%252C%2529%253AFQE%253D%2528su%252CNone%252C13%2529George%2Borwell%2524&contentSet=GSRC&sort=Relevance&tabID=T010&sgCurrentPosition=0&subjectAction=DISPLAY_SUBJECTS&prodId=OVRC&searchId=R2¤tPosition=2&userGroupName=spri69907&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&sgHitCountType=None&qrySerId=Locale%28en%2C%2C%29%3AFQE%3D%28ke%2CNone%2C13%29George+orwell%24&inPS=true&searchType=BasicSearchForm&displaySubject=&docId=EJ3010225221&docType=GSRC
Human Nature Might Be Destroyed
Excerpts adapted from Nineteen Eighty-four, by George Orwell. Copyright 1949 by Harcourt Brace & Company and renewed 1977 by Sonia Brownell Orwell; ©1949 by George Orwell. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace & Company; Mark Hamilton, as Literary Executor of the Estate of the Late Sonia Brownell Orwell; and Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd.
The twentieth century began with hopes that humanity was progressing toward greater democracy and justice. However, after the destructiveness of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, many writers began to wonder whether individuals would be able to resist totalitarian governments in the future. The selection below is from George Orwell's novel, 1984. Winston is the hero of the novel, who has rebelled against "Big Brother," a future, all-powerful government. In the scene below, Winston is both tortured and brainwashed by O'Brien, who works for the government. One of Winston's acts of rebellion is his love affair with Julia. In the passage, Winston faces the twisted logic of the "Party," or Big Brother. Winston is being forced to give up his faith in human nature, in love, in logic, and in truth.
As you read, consider the following questions:
1. What does O'Brien (the representative of Big Brother) mean when he says, "But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable."?
2. Winston has faith in a human spirit to rebel against the Party. To weaken that faith, what does O'Brien show to Winston?
"There are three stages in your reintegration," said O'Brien. "There is learning, there is understanding, and there is acceptance. It is time for you to enter upon the second stage."
As always, Winston was lying flat on his back. But of late his bonds were looser. They still held him to the bed, but he could move his knees a little and could turn his head from side to side and raise his arms from the elbow. The dial, also, had grown to be less of a terror. He could evade its pangs if he was quick-witted enough; it was chiefly when he showed stupidity that O'Brien pulled the lever. Sometimes they got through a whole session without use of the dial. He could not remember how many sessions there had been. The whole process seemed to stretch out over a long, indefinite time—weeks, possibly—and the intervals between the sessions might sometimes have been days, sometimes only an hour or two....
Can Anything Stop Big Brother?
"You could not create such a world as you have just described. It is a dream. It is impossible."
"Why?"
"It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and hatred and cruelty. It would never endure."
"Why not?"
"It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It would commit suicide."
"Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is more exhausting than love. Why should it be? And if it were, what difference would that make? Suppose that we choose to wear ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the tempo of human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what difference would it make? Can you not understand that the death of the individual is not death? The Party is immortal."
As usual, the voice had battered Winston into helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in his disagreement O'Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with nothing to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O'Brien had said, he returned to the attack.
"I don't know—I don't care. Somehow you will fail. Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you."
Is There a Human Nature?
"We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are imagining that there is something called human nature which will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The others are outside—irrelevant."
"I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later they will see you for what you are, and then they will tear you to pieces."
"Do you see any evidence that that is happening? Or any reason why it should?"
"No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There is something in the universe—I don't know, some spirit, some principle—that you will never overcome."
"Do you believe in God, Winston?"
"No."
"Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?"
"I don't know. The spirit of Man."
"And do you consider yourself a man?"
"Yes."
"If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that you are alone? You are outside history, you are nonexistent." His manner changed and he said more harshly: "And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our lies and our cruelty?"
"Yes, I consider myself superior."
O'Brien did not speak. Two other voices were speaking. After a moment Winston recognized one of them as his own. It was a sound track of the conversation he had had with O'Brien, on the night when he had enrolled himself in the Brotherhood. He heard himself promising to lie, to steal, to forge, to murder, to encourage drug taking and prostitution, to disseminate venereal diseases, to throw vitriol in a child's face. O'Brien made a small impatient gesture, as though to say that the demonstration was hardly worth making. Then he turned a switch and the voices stopped.
Human Spirit or Human Body
"Get up from that bed," he said.
The bonds had loosened themselves. Winston lowered himself to the floor and stood up unsteadily.
"You are the last man," said O'Brien. "You are the guardian of the human spirit. You shall see yourself as you are. Take off your clothes."
Winston undid the bit of string that held his overalls together. The zip fastener had long since been wrenched out of them. He could not remember whether at any time since his arrest he had taken off all his clothes at one time. Beneath the overalls his body was looped with filthy yellowish rags, just recognizable as the remnants of underclothes. As he slid them to the ground he saw that there was a three-sided mirror at the far end of the room. He approached it, then stopped short. An involuntary cry had broken out of him.
"Go on," said O'Brien. "Stand between the wings of the mirror. You shall see the side view as well."
He had stopped because he was frightened. A bowed, gray-colored, skeletonlike thing was coming toward him. Its actual appearance was frightening, and not merely the fact that he knew it to be himself....
Winston Gives Up
He had capitulated; that was agreed. In reality, as he saw now, he had been ready to capitulate long before he had taken the decision. From the moment when he was inside the Ministry of Love—and yes, even during those minutes when he and Julia had stood helpless while the iron voice from the telescreen told them what to do—he had grasped the frivolity, the shallowness of his attempt to set himself up against the power of the Party. He knew now that for seven years the Thought Police had watched him like a beetle under a magnifying glass. There was no physical act, no word spoken aloud, that they had not noticed, no train of thought that they had not been able to infer. Even the speck of whitish dust on the cover of his diary they had carefully replaced. They had played sound tracks to him, shown him photographs. Some of them were photographs of Julia and himself. Yes, even ... He could not fight against the Party any longer. Besides, the Party was in the right. It must be so: how could the immortal, collective brain be mistaken? By what external standard could you check its judgments? Sanity was statistical. It was merely a question of learning to think as they thought. Only—!
The pencil felt thick and awkward in his fingers. He began to write down the thoughts that came into his head. He wrote first in large clumsy capitals:
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY.
Then almost without a pause he wrote beneath it:
TWO AND TWO MAKE FIVE.
But then there came a sort of check. His mind, as though shying away from something, seemed unable to concentrate. He knew that he knew what came next, but for the moment he could not recall it. When he did recall it, it was only by consciously reasoning out what it must be; it did not come of its own accord. He wrote:
GOD IS POWER.
He accepted everything. The past was alterable. The past never had been altered. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia. Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford were guilty of the crimes they were charged with. He had never seen the photograph that disproved their guilt. It had never existed; he had invented it. He remembered remembering contrary things, but those were false memories, products of self-deception. How easy it all was! Only surrender, and everything else followed. It was like swimming against a current that swept you backwards however hard you struggled, and then suddenly deciding to turn round and go with the current instead of opposing it. Nothing had changed except your own attitude; the predestined thing happened in any case. He hardly knew why he had ever rebelled. Everything was easy, except—!
The Human Mind Resists Big Brother
Anything could be true. The so-called laws of nature were nonsense. The law of gravity was nonsense. "If I wished," O'Brien had said, "I could float off this floor like a soap bubble." Winston worked it out. "If he thinks he floats off the floor, and if I simultaneously think I see him do it, then the thing happens." Suddenly, like a lump of submerged wreckage breaking the surface of water, the thought burst into his mind: "It doesn't really happen. We imagine it. It is hallucination." He pushed the thought under instantly. The fallacy was obvious. It presupposed that somewhere or other, outside oneself, there was a "real" world where "real" things happened. But how could there be such a world? What knowledge have we of anything, save through our own minds? All happenings are in the mind. Whatever happens in all minds, truly happens.
He had no difficulty in disposing of the fallacy, and he was in no danger of succumbing to it. He realized, nevertheless, that it ought never to have occurred to him. The mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak.
He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He presented himself with propositions—"the Party says the earth is flat," "the Party says that ice is heavier than water"—and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the arguments that contradicted them. It was not easy. It needed great powers of reasoning and improvisation. The arithmetical problems raised, for instance, by such a statement as "two and two make five" were beyond his intellectual grasp. It needed also a sort of athleticism of mind, an ability at one moment to make the most delicate use of logic and at the next to be unconscious of the crudest logical errors. Stupidity was as necessary as intelligence, and as difficult to attain.
Winston Day-Dreams
All the while, with one part of his mind, he wondered how soon they would shoot him. "Everything depends on yourself," O'Brien had said; but he knew that there was no conscious act by which he could bring it nearer. It might be ten minutes hence, or ten years. They might keep him for years in solitary confinement; they might send him to a labor camp; they might release him for a while, as they sometimes did. It was perfectly possible that before he was shot the whole drama of his arrest and interrogation would be enacted all over again. The one certain thing was that death never came at an expected moment. The tradition—the unspoken tradition: somehow you knew it, though you never heard it said—was that they shot you from behind, always in the back of the head, without warning, as you walked down a corridor from cell to cell.
One day—but "one day" was not the right expression; just as probably it was in the middle of the night: once—he fell into a strange, blissful reverie. He was walking down the corridor, waiting for the bullet. He knew that it was coming in another moment. Everything was settled, smoothed out, reconciled. There were no more doubts, no more arguments, no more pain, no more fear. His body was healthy and strong. He walked easily, with a joy of movement and with a feeling of walking in sunlight. He was not any longer in the narrow white corridors of the Ministry of Love; he was in the enormous sunlit passage, a kilometer wide, down which he had seemed to walk in the delirium induced by drugs. He was in the Golden Country, following the foot track across the old rabbit-cropped pasture. He could feel the short springy turf under his feet and the gentle sunshine on his face. At the edge of the field were the elm trees, faintly stirring, and somewhere beyond that was the stream where the dace lay in the green pools under the willows.
Human Love Resists Big Brother
Suddenly he started up with a shock of horror. The sweat broke out on his backbone. He had heard himself cry aloud:
"Julia! Julia! Julia, my love! Julia!"
For a moment he had had an overwhelming hallucination of her presence. She had seemed to be not merely with him, but inside him. It was as though she had got into the texture of his skin. In that moment he had loved her far more than he had ever done when they were together and free. Also he knew that somewhere or other she was still alive and needed his help.
He lay back on the bed and tried to compose himself. What had he done? How many years had he added to his servitude by that moment of weakness?
In another moment he would hear the tramp of boots outside. They could not let such an outburst go unpunished. They would know now, if they had not known before, that he was breaking the agreement he had made with them. He obeyed the Party, but he still hated the Party.
Source Citation:
Orwell, George. "Human Nature Might Be Destroyed." Opposing Viewpoints: Human Nature. Ed. Mark Ray Schmidt. San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 1999. Opposing Viewpoints Resource Center. Gale. HALL HIGH SCHOOL (IL). 11 Apr. 2008  .
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Tia