cubic centimetres inside your skull.
― George Orwell
I had my emergency radio tuned to a news station as Creed and I listened to the government’s response to the Emergency.
It was as bad as we anticipated.
She had the same impression I did—that the government was using the collapse of the world-wide web and crippled infrastructure as an excuse to widen its powers and crack down even on legitimate dissent.
The Prime Minister warned the Emergency Measures Act gave him wide powers and he would be making further announcements over the coming days to refine the control over vulnerable technologies in order to enhance digital security and ‘protect internet freedom and democratic values’.
We both greeted that pronouncement with cynical smirks and contemptuous mockery.
“We should lower our voices,” Creed hissed sarcastically, “the Thought Police might hear us.”
I gave a sarcastic snicker but we both lowered our voices afterwards...it seemed appropriate.
Next day at lunch, Lev was really worried.
"So what do you think the Dean is planning in light of the Emergency Measures Act?"
I shrugged, "Creed and I both figure that as the web is restored he's going to try to limit internet access. He's probably under pressure to clamp down on student protests and after that who knows—maybe full blown censorship."
Lev's jaw dropped. "You think they'd go that far?"
I nodded, "They probably would if their intel indicates a coup is possible."
He shook his head. What's next—burning books?"
I looked at him sombrely, "I really don't know, Lev. I guess anything is possible."
"I can't believe we're even having this conversation," he moaned. "I feel as if we're trapped in some form of dystopian fiction."
"Unfortunately, it's very real and probably a consequence of modern society putting its faith in science and technology as a path to utopia."
Lev let his hand fall in a gesture of complete futility.
"You know, I studied Thomas More's Utopia in undergrad,” he sighed. “The only thing I took away from that experience was that utopia in Greek means 'nowhere". In other words. there’s no such thing as a utopia anywhere and yet we seem to always see the opposite—like Hitler's Third Reich, Russia under Stalin and now some form of anti-technological censorship here in our own backyard."
I stared at him compassionately.
"I know it's as if the whole world has gone mad. You should have seen our neighbourhood the other night—marauding bands of citizen vigilantes—it was chilling, Lev, I can tell you that."
“But what can we do—just sit back and let them purge our digital and print media?"
"No, we can push back. Our legacy doesn't have to be a gaping memory hole. We can mobilize colleagues and students to create physical archives of historical documents, books, and artifacts. We'll establish makeshift libraries and create secret underground bunkers to preserve these records.”
“You know what you’re proposing is not just risky, but incredibly dangerous. We’ll be labeled Enemies of the State.”
“I know,” I said, with a sigh of resignation, “but do we have a choice? We’re educators, damn it! We have to do this.”
He nodded, “I know—education has always been a subversive activity—but look at what happened to Socrates.”
“Yeah, I smiled grimly, “But I’d rather chug the hemlock than drink the Kool Aid.”
“Me too, Lev sighed.