(Reciting Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree).Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you, you sold me.I have committed even before setting pen to paper the essential crime that contains all others unto itself. If they could become conscious of their own strength, they would have no need to conspire. If there is hope, it lies in the proles.To the past or to the future, to an age when thought is free, from the Age of Big Brother, from the Age of the Thought Police, from a dead man - greetings! In accordance to the principles of Doublethink, it does not matter if the war is not real, or when it is, that victory is not possible. But even as we grasp at victory, there is a cancer, an evil tumour, growing, spreading in our midst. In the barren deserts of Africa and India, in the oceans of Australasia, courage, strength, and youth are sacrificed - sacrificed to barbarians whose only honour is atrocity. Who are they? (images of protesters appear a crowd chants "Eurasia, Eurasia.") They are the dark armies - the dark, murdering armies of Eurasia. These are our people - the builders of our world, struggling, fighting, bleeding, dying - on the streets of our cities, and on the far-flung battlefields, fighting against the mutilation of our hopes and dreams.
These are our people: the workers, the strivers, the builders. This is our land - a land of peace, and of plenty a land of harmony and hope.
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