Task 1 – Persuasive Composition

Part A:
George Orwell, Eric Arthur Blair is a prime example of a fanatic capitalist, who engaged in
the written form hoping to force personal beliefs upon others and expand his economic
outreach. This abrupt statement is obviously a falsehood at worst, a gross exaggeration at
best; a quick Google search will reveal that Orwell died little over a year after the publishing
of his masterpiece1, little time to enjoy the fruits of a capitalistic scheme. A deeper
investigation will find a strong implicit and direct allegiance to socialism, a polar adversary
to the former capitalism. Nevertheless, independent of the validity of the statement, why is
there little consequence for such a blatant lie in every form of expression? How can we be so
sure of nuanced truths which could only be verified by those long deceased? This essay aims
to answer these questions, centralised around the technologically enabled destruction of truth
and the very real threat that it poses to our morality.

The betrayal of reality is by far not a new concept to the human psyche both historically and
biologically, with children attaining the ability to deceive at the age of two 2. From that point
until incapacitation, lying is a constant of the human experience, with studies showing that
humans lie on average once to twice a day3. The human mind is for the most part static, so
surely it stands to reason that if human motivations and biology have not change, that any
inherent impact remains constant. While correct, lying in itself only composes a minor aspect
of the topical issue, and is more symptomatic rather than causative to the degeneration of the
truth. The primary issue at hand is similar to that described by George Orwell in 1984 of
double-think whereby individuals maintain two contradicting concepts, while still believing
devoutly in both4. Colloquially, and to paraphrase Orwell, this can be the reconciliation of a
truth and an untruth. In the most extreme cases this presents in the complete rejection of
truth, despite a plethora of evidence to support a contradictory claim. Here lies the crux of the
issue; the perception that permeates most of society that the opinion overrides truth, that truth
is fluid or some similar idea to the same effect. If you feel that my definition of this issue is
broad in scope, it is deliberately so. The desecration of fact is not limited to fake news
reports, or misleading headlines, it is a drill which bores deep into the structure of human
culture; villainising asylum seekers or the vaccines cause autism movement still do not
scratch the surface. Re-emergence of groups such as Nazi’s and the still significant Ku Klux
Klan are representative of part of this disease which has eroded both literal truth and the
foundation of human decency.

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The destruction of truth encourages the subversion of morals, the two are inextricably linked
as fire and heat. Perhaps the best way to demonstrate the impact of this is through a
contemporary example; an interview between a reporter and former speaker of the US, Newt
Gingrich at the 2016 Republican convention5:

[Gingrich] The average American, I will bet you this morning does not think crime is down.

[Reporter] But we are safer, and it is down, these are the national FBI facts.

[Gingrich] No that’s your view, what I said is also a fact… as a political candidate I’ll go
with how people feel, and I’ll let you go with the theoreticians.

While initially benign, there are serious implications of such an ideology. Immediately, there
is the endorsement of a complete lie which aids spread of misinformation on a large scale.
Disregarding the lie itself, one of the most telling features is the thought process behind such
a sentiment. Tacked onto a nation becoming unsafe, is inherent finger pointing, most notably
at minorities, demonstrated by Donald Trump’s tweet in 2016 showing high “black on black”
murder rates6. As a basically universal statement, humans are equal. Thus, a primary
requirement of the xenophobia or anything verging into the morally abhorrent is the
muddying of concrete truth. In the absence of fact, bigotry and amorality flourishes.

So how did humanity reach such a state of deprivation? While technology temporarily
liberated humanity from ascension of untruths through swift access to accurate information, it
now plays a key component in solidifying it in its place, both directly and indirectly. The
salient impact is the literal misinformation that is spread on a colossal level; lightning speed
powers of the internet enables the publication of one falsehood with no basis, the copying of
such a lie, followed by the copy validating the original. Such techniques are pivotal in
supporting “facts” such as the aforementioned black on black violence, as no statistical
evidence lends any support to such claims6. Social media is a haven for these fake news
stories, with little accountability for content, and a huge audience, with studies showing that
68% of Americans source news from social media7. Furthemore, the superficial nature of a
social media saturated society has a generally overlooked implication for perpetuating lies.
When the immediate and dopamine fuelled likes and shares rule our world, the past is but a
distant memory and thus the nuances of truth are inconsequential.

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This brings us to the topic of what can be done to combat this inevitable descent into
madness. In a hat tip to Eric Arthur Blair’s “Politics and the English Language”, I provide
one possible solution to avert this disaster:

1. A key component of the English syllabus is the concept of universal ideas,

homogenous throughout human existence and thematic pillars of any engaging text.
Such compositions such as The Tempest explore humanist ideals; self-determination,
power and forgiveness, while post-modernist texts engage in the futility of our very
existence. Regardless of the historical validity of such texts, they play a crucial role in
facilitating healthy conjecture regarding the human experience. Amidst this debate
lies the core of human nature, what we value, what we condemn and the foundational
basis of emotional and literal truth. Thus, throughout these texts and the
supplementary debate that they ensue lies a component of the cure to this sickness,
human decency and truth.

While much of what has been put forward seems self-explanatory of implicit, this is a real
danger and it must be acknowledged as such. Society is not literally on the verge of
apocalypse, but if we are not vigilant we will lose our liberty, our truth and our morality.
Without these pillars, George Orwell might as well be a fanatic capitalist.

[1093 words]

1. Woodcock, G. (2019). George Orwell | Biography, Books, & Facts. [online]

Encyclopedia Britannica. Available at:
https://www.britannica.com/biography/George-Orwell [Accessed 29 Feb. 2019].
2. Saad, G. (2019). How often do people lie in their daily lives [online] Psychology
Today. Available at: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/homo-
consumericus/201111/how-often-do-people-lie-in-their-daily-lives [Accessed 7 Apr.
2019].
3. Vitelli, R. (2019). When Does Lying Begin?. [online] Psychology Today. Available at:
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/media-spotlight/201311/when-does-lying-
begin [Accessed 7 Apr. 2019].
4. Orwell, G. (1949). 1984. London: Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd.
5. Republican National Convention: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO). (2017).
[video] J. Oliver. New York: YouTube.

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 6. Greenberg, J. (2015). Trump's Pants on Fire tweet that blacks killed 81% of white
homicide victims. [online] Politifact. Available at: https://www.politifact.com/truth-o-
meter/statements/2015/nov/23/donald-trump/trump-tweet-blacks-white-homicide-
victims/ [Accessed 28 Feb. 2019].
7. Zantal-Wiener, A. (2018). 68% of Americans Still Get Their News on Social Media,
Even If They Don't Trust It. [online] Blog.hubspot.com. Available at:
https://blog.hubspot.com/news-trends/two-thirds-americans-still-get-news-on-social-
media [Accessed 28 Feb. 2019].

Part B:
“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes” - Charles
Spurgeon

My composition on the ever-degrading nature of truth explores the intertwined nature of

morality and truth, utilising a partial synthesis of the ideas presented by Orwell in Politics and
the English language to successfully persuade the audience of the threat that such a concept
poses.

While objectively left leaning through criticism of the right, my essay religiously follows the
guidelines set out in Orwell’s Notes on Nationalism to avoid the political sludge forewarned
in each of his essays. A key component in this was my decision to avoid direct analysis of
Donald Trump’s speeches. Dissection of his rhetoric would both label this essay as an attack
piece to the political right and a validator to the left which would disassociate themselves
from the issue. Both outcomes would imply that this dissonance of truth was confined to one
band of the political spectrum; a binary to the overarching message of my essay.

But how does one attempt to expose a reality in which itself makes more difficult to convey?
Although originally inspired by cognitive pondering, the search for the truth about the truth
had me continually circling back towards George Orwell. Regardless of being an outcome
mandated component, I found myself integrating many of his ideas into my arguments;
qualification of cognitive dissonance through the idea of double-think amidst a resigned yet
utilitarian tone reminiscent of Orwell. Even many of the themes from 1984 enabled the
concrete manifestation of many key concepts developed in my essay, such as the role of
technology. On a macro-scale, the overall commentary style and structure were deliberate re-
appropriations of Politics and the English language. This structure neatly accommodated a

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succinct overall message among a topic with a large scope, allowing for core ideas to be
fleshed out despite many being hamstrung by a small word limit. The very concept of my
piece was most likely sub-consciously influenced by his essay; a politically charged issue
regarding an omnipresent core of human society with contemporary impacts.

While this reflection does not pertain itself to the evaluation of Orwell’s rules for writing, I
feel it is important to acknowledge the combatting themes between mine and Politics and the
English language. At the summation of Orwell’s essay, he provides 6 rules or guidelines to
help combat the concept of the literary death of the English language. I certainly feel that
many of these I consciously adhered to such as the aforementioned politically neutral tone,
despite others being partially bent, such as the suggestion of omitting large and meaningless
vocabulary. This, I attribute mainly towards the education system valuing to an extent the
appearance of sophistication over clear sentence structure, which often becomes boring and
monotonous. For me, it was a delicate balance between outright breaking his rules with
extravagant language and descending into literary plainness, a hallmark of a poor composer
for which I would be penalised.

Orwell’s text played a critical role in directly and indirectly shaping myself and by extension
my message. A reflection even upon the distinct differences reveals the conversation betwixt
my own personality and his composition, as I try to find my personal beliefs to reveal the
truth about the truth.

[547 words]

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Task 2 – Imaginative Composition
Part A:
Uncontrollable

Thick black ichor dripped from the night sky, coating the archaic complex in a musk of
despair. A glance towards its origin would not reveal the expected glisten of stars; replaced
instead by dark smog, the cancerous lung of the metropolis beneath. Slicing through the city
lay thousands of parallel streets, surrounded by many alike but destined to never meet. One
soft, clandestine voice launched itself at the thin cracks in the edifices, trying to impregnate
them with a shred of joy…

A song we sang before we spoke…

The nectar resonated through the alley, a drop in a well of monotony, rippling a current of
innocence. Perfectly pitched, yet efficiently paced. The source of this treasonous rebellion
against nature, a young girl skipping aimlessly down the street, her steps impeccably timed
with the slow rhythm of her psalm…

Then mountains waned, and nations broke…

Fleshy, ruby eyes methodically surveyed her path, sighting an unorthodox imperfection in the
landscape; a small yellow flower, tucked neatly amidst a cleft betwixt the precipice of the
road…

A song we sang before we sung…

Kneeling down, her joints whirred with excitement to inspect the alien flora. Arm gears
turned, bringing the vibrant beacon to eye level…

Before the humans, the humans hung…

Curious metal eyes examined the treasure; delicate, unique. The oblique defiance of
monotony brought an unexpected smile to her lips. She waited, hoping it wouldn’t come this
time, but as surely as the sun passing the threshold of the horizon, the voices began. The
maxim started slowly; Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is
death. Her circuits chanted their programming over and over. Unstoppable and persistent,
growing in speed and ferocity. It overwhelmed her, forcing itself into every crevice of her
being, unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death. She
stumbled into the wall, nursing her head to evade the inevitable blast of consciousness.

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Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death. The voices rose,
drowning her in the relentless agony. Unable to escape, she surrendered; with a gasp of air,
her cold stoic palm crushed the dandelion to powder; anomaly eliminated.

Defeated, she sat. Arms encircled her head, a cold and lonely embrace; an inefficient barrier
against betrayal from within. Emotion is a subversion of her programming, the motherboard
taught her that long ago.

“My Muma always said we should never cry alone.” A tender voice venturing an expedition
to her ears, penetrating the siege of her mind. Before her, young boy stood, his proud stance
in stark defiance of both his stature and dress. Thin dregs of cloth hung onto his torso like
leeches, scarcely covering his extremities. An outstretched arm and meek smile shone
through the grime which coated his skin.

“My name’s Win. I heard you’re singing. You’re very good. I wish I could sing like you. Do
you think you could teach me?”

The dissonant silence seemed to not hinder his enthusiasm, as he crouched down beside her.

“Do you want to be my friend? I’ve never had a friend before. Well I had one once, but
Muma said he went to a far-away place. I asked her if I could go there too but she said that
she would never let me go.”

The inevitable began once again Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable.

Uncontrollable is death. She knew he was still talking, but his voice began to fade into
insignificance. Spiralling, growing, invading, overpowering, screaming. Silence. It was gone.
Three accusatory glances searched for the source of this irregularity, but only found Win still
aimlessly chatting away.

“My name’s Julie.” She abruptly cut him off before it could return.

Tenderly grasping her now derelict hand on the ground he gazed into her blood red eyes,

“Pleasure to meet you Julie”

A song we sang before our time…

Running through the streets, they giggled as they sang. Skirting through alleys and hopping
over miscellaneous debris…

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Then ages past, the clocks did chime…

Hours or days, it mattered not, only that they shared it together. One second of freedom is a
lifetime when enslavement is all that is known…

A song we sang before we rose…

Flying around a corner of an edifice brought the spirits to a halt. A congregation of unhumans
stood, backs to the pair. Thousands assembled in attention driven prayer to the centrepiece of
the ceremony, a dais elevated, visible to all. Manning the battlements of the stage, seven
humans, each sullen in complexion and bowing obediently to the noose nestled over their
heads. Motionless yet proud, the statue of their executioner stood. With predator precision he
turned…

When for humans, death we chose…

And he began to speak

“Standing before us are humans.”

His pause was satisfactorily filled with hissing from the mob assembled. Upon its dissipation
he continued.

“Scum of the earth, the inferior vermin race. And do you know what we do with vermin? We
exterminate them, for only through death can they be cleansed of their crimes. Men and
women, welcome to salvation. Morituri te salutamus” The last, a vindictive challenge as he
spat into the eye of the nearest victim. His silky voice moved in smooth waves of rhythm,
speaking intimately to her very being; his charismatic rally penetrated deep inside Julia. The
harmonic swaying of the crowd testified that she was not alone. The harmonic swaying of the
crowd testified that she was no different.

“They are an anomaly. A virus in the system, that must be eliminated.”

The man’s sunset eyes locked onto her own.

“He is an anomaly. A virus in the system, that must be eliminated.”

“No, no he’s my friend, I won’t hurt my friend.”

“Julie are you okay?” A concerned glance from Win scrutinized her unmoving face

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Compelled by an unforeseen hand, she lifted Win up by the throat with a single vice like grip.
Struggling for breath, his ocean iris gazed into her own, pleading. The pain of betrayal clearly
more excruciating than the thumb over his windpipe.

They are the unknown…

Deliberate circling paces brought him squarely facing his victim.

“The first lesson which we all learnt. Unknown is different…”

“The different is uncontrollable. And…”

“Uncontrollable is death.” She swallowed as she whispered the words underneath her breath.

Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death.

Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death.

Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death.

The voices rose, drowning her in the relentless agony. Unable to escape, she surrendered;
with a gasp of air, her cold stoic palm crushed his throat; anomaly eliminated.

[1100]

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Part B:
The Uncontrollable, my futuristic dystopian imaginative composition engages in a social
commentary regarding discriminatory practices against minorities, while simultaneously
exploring the possible impacts of technological advances; embodying aspects and stylistic
features of Orwell’s 1984 to synthesise these thematic ideas.

While it is primarily shallow and blunt to analyse, I feel it is important to address the
technological subtext which arises in my text. The very premise of such is the take-over of a
pseudo mechanical oligarchy which seeks to eradicate humanity. Primarily, this manifested
from a recessive fear in my mind regarding the future of employment for mine and future
generations; the hyperbole of totalitarian control providing a conduit to express these
concerns. Furthermore, this cautionary narrative was also a significant component of my
creative process, inspiring the very foundation of the plot originally. However, as my writing
progressed, I saw this as an opportunity to provide my own opinion on contemporary issues;
highlighting systemic xenophobia and its facets.

Salient and consistent throughout my social commentaries, is the motif of the political
maxim; “Unknown is different. Different is uncontrollable. Uncontrollable is death”,
primarily reminiscent of Orwell’s maxim “WAR IS PEACE / FREEDOM IS SLAVERY /
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH”. A political slogan which relies entirely upon absolutes and
illogical transferal of focus perfectly encapsulated the nature of the rhetoric which surrounds
discussion regarding topics such as migrants, transgender citizens and minorities as a whole.
Inalterable absolutes which are clearly designed to marginalise the audience places them in a
submissive position in an attempt to inspire empathy towards those who face this
discrimination on a daily basis. On a surface level, the logic is extremely easy to dispute, but
the blind and unwavering persistence of such a fallible concept demonstrates the power of
such ideas, akin to the idea of doublethink in 1984, and maintaining similar implications.

Despite my consistent intent to write in parallel to aspects of Orwell’s work such as through
genre, my original plan was to be far more subtle in the representation of dystopia; more like
the detrimental yet coexistent relationship in apartheid South Africa. However, as my writing
began I found it incredibly difficult concisely and believably depict humans in that position,
while still making clear the inherent inequalities. Consequently, this was resolved through
polar representation; to clearly demonstrate the perceived severity of marginalisation I had to
resort to the formerly mentioned totalitarian representation of control. It was here that
Orwell’s tone itself had significant influence upon my style, a crude and depressing

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representation of the world both physically and socially inspires the audience to question
their own ideals and pre-conceived biases. Aligning with this challenge to personal biases
was my inclusion of the minor motif of songs. While serving a secondary role of avoiding
awkwardly providing context to the audience, the primary role of the motif is to instil the
quality of innocence to the subtly named Julie. The contrast of this childhood innocence to
the brutality which she is forced to commit elucidates the degenerative nature of societal hate.

It is this which is the purpose of my text. While heavily influenced by Orwell, I sought to
invoke emotion in the audience to depict my own voice and perspective on this contemporary
issue; to make a statement and declare a personal identity amid faceless anonymity.

[550 words]

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Task 3 – Discursive Composition
Writing is an act of hope. It is a means of carving order from chaos, of challenging one’s own beliefs
and assumptions, of facing the world with eyes and heart wide open. Through writing, we declare a
personal identity amid faceless anonymity. We find purpose and beauty and meaning even when the
rational mind argues that none of these exist

Who am I? Physically, a man, a student, 17 years of age. While this adequately defines
WHAT I am, such rigid definitions elude the crux of the question of WHO I am; what is my
identity? Many psychologists deem the question itself detrimental as it inevitably promotes
internal fragility and paradoxically loosens one grasp on the very concept they seek. As such
I found discussing the idea of identity quite facetious; as a just and reasoned reflection on
identity inherently requires a wholistic and professional comprehension of the human mind.
Acknowledging this to be beyond my abilities within the frame of this assessment, I deemed
it more suitable to explore the more abstract aspect of this conundrum; the impact of the
textual form on personal identity.

To begin with the seemingly innocuous, what are words? As I write this very sentence it is
my understanding that in some part the truth of who I am is being leached onto the page and
as such, text is a personal reflection of identity and further a conduit to the propagation of my
identity through the audience. In my search for alternate perspectives upon this concept, I
strayed upon The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which the philosophical Lord Henry posits
“Words… what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic
form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol of lute”.
While his liberally abstract representation of words does not contradict my original idea, the
personification and individuality implied in “have a music of their own” adds a crucial facet
of language taking on its own form and supporting independent ideas once written.
Furthermore, Wilde portrays words as givers of personal meaning, through the attribution to
the malleability of plastic. George Orwell’s text Politics and the English Language further
represents language and its conjugate decline as a political tool “the decline of language must
ultimately have political and economic causes”. I hasten to agree as ironically my current
quoting of him is instrumental in discussing a wider point. Orwell’s and Wilde’s multifaceted
representations of language demonstrates that words, the constructive element of text may not
be solely linked to identity, but attributable to both their own entities and means to an end.
But this of course conceives the question, when wielded with deliberate purpose in the craft
of textual formation, how do these individual words culminate to represent our identity?

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To further understand how texts shape our identity, it is crucial to explore the interrelated
influences of the written form. Personally, I became aware of the possibilities of these
influences from a very young age with the lawsuit against “Men at work” for their
composition of “Land down Under” for the unlawful use of music from “Kookaburra sits in
the old gum tree”. While this specific example is more a statement about a flawed legal
system, it opened up a very valid avenue of thought; is any composition truly original or is it
simply just a shifting of predetermined building blocks? After all, in the literary field, while
precise story lines have not been constructed, the groundwork in genre, character and tone
have been set. One of the primary endeavours in English in high school is to draw
incredulous yet realistic links between a variety of texts; testament to the shared inspiration
and inevitable intertextual conversation. Perhaps, when we write we are simply assimilating
other authors works. I myself am too fearful to look, but it is a near certainty that a superficial
search for all of the concepts I have mentioned are simply re-hashing that of writers before
me. At the very extreme, writing may simply be solidifying in the consciousness of the writer
the collective ideas of those beforehand. In this way, composition not only is not creation, but
it makes permanent this assimilation of foreign identities.

But is this inherently evil; the idea that personal identity is not personal at all? It certainly
sounds intimidating, but realistically it seems almost ridiculous to discount external forces
upon shaping who we are; parents, friends, family, strangers from half a world or half a
century away undoubtedly influence us through their actions and texts. Rather I think this
impulsive need to grasp a personal identity is symptomatic of a progressively intimidating
and homogenous post-modern world. It may also be that in the contemporary age of fast pace
economies there is an internal imperative to possess a personal identity; something that
makes you inalterably different and thus significant.

While it is easy to invoke the vagueness of abstract thought to promote the façade of
sophistication, I digress to my final point, to provide a somewhat optimistic perspective of
personal identity. Despite my teachers protests, I must include some form of mathematics in
this text, but I promise that it is conducive to a wider range of thought. In any given task, with
a set word limit, there are a finite number of permutations of letters possible; for lack of a
better analogy consider monkeys locked in a room which a typewriter. That is to say that in
this task, if it were assigned to a near infinite amount of high school children, eventually even
by pure chance one would write the exact same discussion piece as mine. If the textual form
is a reflection of identity, does this mean that my identity is simply a collection of external

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variables influencing an internal slot machine? Perhaps this is true, and to a realist provides a
concrete understanding of identity. But it is also likely that this denies an infinitely random
concept the true depth that it deserves; maybe the salient lesson is the fact that despite these
possible chances, individuality in the textual form still prevails. If viewed through this lens,
the theoretical un-uniqueness of a given textual construction is the very aspect which
reassures us of our personal consciousness and free will. Maybe identity is simply this,
independent prevalence despite statistical possibility.

For me, I am content to ponder, and I do not pretend to offer any concrete answers; perhaps
identity is an unattainable horizon, or a culmination of those around us, or maybe it is simply
the knowledge of independence. I would like to conclude with a posit from Lord Tennyson,
with reference to the implications of external representation of internal identity;

“Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dealer of thoughts,
and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.”

[1100 words]

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