I have been essays that George Orwell wrote in the thirties and during World War II. They hold up a distant mirror* to our current predicament.
Orwell, a "democratic socialist" with an evolving dislike and distrust of hard-line Communists, is not always insightful. His major error was assuming that Britain -- and ultimately, I gather, all countries -- had to make a binary choice between fascism and socialism. He roughs out some national stats, such as how many British citizens were likely to be malnourished circa 1937, but he doesn't seem to have much of a grasp of economics. He's vague about the changes he'd like to see, at least in the essays I've read (and in The Road to Wigan Pier, really an extended essay).
But Orwell did know people -- he was a passionate embedder, becoming a tramp to get to know tramps, staying in the miserably substandard homes of coal miners, talking in depth to hundreds of working and middle class people. And he has a certain moral clarity, a commitment to justice and alleviating suffering. He judges the privileged, but with empathy. He sees that his Marxist quasi allies are driven largely by hatred and he recoils from that.
Thus, while condemning Britain's leadership through the post-WWI era for myopia, for clinging to their privilege, for cowardice and incompetence, Orwell pays grudging tribute to a certain baseline integrity. And that's where we get, to mangle a metaphor, a kind of mirror-by-contrast held up to the U.S. just now:
Orwell, a "democratic socialist" with an evolving dislike and distrust of hard-line Communists, is not always insightful. His major error was assuming that Britain -- and ultimately, I gather, all countries -- had to make a binary choice between fascism and socialism. He roughs out some national stats, such as how many British citizens were likely to be malnourished circa 1937, but he doesn't seem to have much of a grasp of economics. He's vague about the changes he'd like to see, at least in the essays I've read (and in The Road to Wigan Pier, really an extended essay).
But Orwell did know people -- he was a passionate embedder, becoming a tramp to get to know tramps, staying in the miserably substandard homes of coal miners, talking in depth to hundreds of working and middle class people. And he has a certain moral clarity, a commitment to justice and alleviating suffering. He judges the privileged, but with empathy. He sees that his Marxist quasi allies are driven largely by hatred and he recoils from that.
Thus, while condemning Britain's leadership through the post-WWI era for myopia, for clinging to their privilege, for cowardice and incompetence, Orwell pays grudging tribute to a certain baseline integrity. And that's where we get, to mangle a metaphor, a kind of mirror-by-contrast held up to the U.S. just now: