1984 = 2025
When I was in high school, I was in a stage production of George Orwell’s 1984. Mine was a small part—the landlady. But the school newspaper published a rave review of my performance. And that was pretty much the end of my acting career.
The story, of course, portrays a dystopian future. A scary scenario we teenagers couldn’t imagine happening in real life because we were certain the populous would never allow it—at least not in our democratic society. A totalitarian government with the tools to be omnipresent. But looking closely, one sees Orwell’s story, first published in 1949, hit the mark—even if it took a little longer than he predicted.
Recently I visited with an old friend from high school. We were talking politics in the living room of my Airbnb, getting a little hot under the collar about the state of affairs in Washington these days. It felt good to be with somebody as stymied as I am about governmental actions that seem unAmerican. We were letting off steam in a safe place. But suddenly she stopped and said, “I probably shouldn’t say these things. My phone is listening.”
Indeed.
I have new hearing aids. They connect to my laptop so I can hear Netflix better, and my smart phone sends calls directly to them. But sometimes I’m just going about my business with my hearing aids installed, and Siri will say, directly into my ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.” And then asks me to repeat myself.
In other words, he’s listening to pretty much everything I do. And has the nerve to ask me to clarify what he missed!
In Orwell’s imaginary world, every home contained a “telescreen” that monitored everything happening inside. Likewise, there were telescreens in public spaces. But our present-day 1984 is much more clever: People carry the telescreens in their pockets or purses. And even people who aren’t hearing impaired wear microphones in their ears. It’s become commonplace to see folks apparently talking to themselves in the grocery store or in the park, when in fact they’re communicating with distant companions via air pods. (If I’d seen that in a movie as a teenager, I would have regarded it as highly implausible science fiction.)
Every morning I read the news online, and the cyber gods know exactly what I’m reading. I can tell—because I often read advice columns to escape depressing reports from around the world. (I am much more at ease with people’s tiny familial problems than with global war and politics.) When I first subscribed to the Washington Post, I was aware of only one columnist, but now the news outlet provides me with a plethora of columnists to choose from. I didn’t even have to ask or perform a search.
I miss the physical newspaper—even though the prehistoric periodical’s advice columnists were limited to Dear Abby and Ann Landers. It was good for fire starter, wrapping fragile things, and keeping reading choices private.
Yes, I’m old. And old people sometimes rattle on about “the good old days.” But that’s not my issue at all. I love that technology allows me to communicate with my daughter who lives in Australia, so I don’t have to wait 6 weeks for a snail mail letter exchange. What worries me is that in trading privacy for convenience and immediacy, we’re abetting the absolute dissolution of confidentiality, and paving the way for Big Brother to do as he pleases. And he’s doing it. While I avert my attention reading Carolyn Hax.