This is the second of a series and I encourage you to read the first, entitled Year Zero. Also, at the end, I will include a brief excerpt from my novel, The War Nobody Started.
The term "memory hole" refers to a concept in George Orwell's novel "1984," in which the government uses memory holes to destroy or alter historical records and information, effectively erasing them from existence.
In the novel, the protagonist works in the Ministry of Truth, where his job is to rewrite historical records to reflect the current political agenda of the ruling party. Any records or information that do not fit the party's current narrative are sent to the memory hole, where they are destroyed and forgotten.
The concept of the memory hole has been used to describe instances in which information is deliberately deleted or altered, either by governments or by other powerful organizations, in order to manipulate public perception or memory.
In The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera opens with an actual memory hole.
“In February 1948, Communist leader Klement Gottwald stepped out on the balcony of a Baroque palace in Prague to address the hundreds of thousands of his fellow citizens packed into Old Town Square. It was a crucial moment in Czech history—a fateful moment of the kind that occurs once or twice in a millennium.
Gottwald was flanked by his comrades, with Clementis standing next to him. There were snow flurries, it was cold, and Gottwald was bareheaded. The solicitous Clementis took off his own fur cap and set it on Gottwald’s head.
The Party propaganda section put out hundreds of thousands of copies of a photograph of that balcony with Gottwald, a fur cap on his head and comrades at his side, speaking to the nation. On that balcony the history of Communist Czechoslovakia was born. Every child knew the photograph from posters, schoolbooks, and museums.
Four years later Clementis was charged with treason and hanged. The propaganda section immediately airbrushed him out of history and, obviously, out of all the photographs as well. Ever since, Gottwald has stood on that balcony alone. Where Clementis once stood, there is only bare palace wall. All that remains of Clementis is the cap on Gottwald’s head.”
Awareness of the memory hole concept highlights the importance of preserving historical records and information, and the dangers of allowing powerful organizations to control or manipulate our understanding of the past. The concept of year zero is similar to the idea of the memory hole in that it involves a radical break with the past and an attempt to erase historical memory or legacy. While both concepts involve a rejection of the past, the "memory hole" is a more targeted approach to erasing specific historical records or information, whereas year zero involves a more comprehensive approach to erasing or transforming society as a whole.
The concept of the memory hole is closer to censorship or suppression of information than it is to cancel culture. Both the memory hole and censorship involve deliberate attempts to control or manipulate public perception by limiting access to certain information or ideas.
Later in the book Kundera continues,
“The street Tamina was born on was called Schwerin. That was during the war, and Prague was occupied by the Germans. Her father was born on Cernokostelecka Avenue—the Avenue of the Black Church. That was during the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. When her mother married her father and moved there, it bore the name of Marshal Foch. That was after World War I. Tamina spent her childhood on Stalin Avenue, and when her husband came to take her away, he went to Vinohrady—that is, Vineyards—Avenue. And all the time it was the same street; they just kept changing its name, trying to lobotomize it.
There are all kinds of ghosts prowling these confused streets. They are the ghosts of monuments demolished—demolished by the Czech Reformation, demolished by the Austrian Counterreformation, demolished by the Czechoslovak Republic, demolished by the Communists. Even statues of Stalin have been torn down. All over the country, wherever statues were thus destroyed, Lenin statues have sprouted up by the thousands. They grow like weeds on the ruins, like melancholy flowers of forgetting.”
Closer to home, according to the CBC on March 23,2023, the Winnipeg City Council decided to rename Bishop Grandin Boulevard to Abinojii Mikanah, which means “Children’s Road” in Ojibway and Bishop Grandin Trail to Awasisak Mēskanow which means “Children’s Road” in Cree. I’m not trying to defend Bishop Grandin nor am I contesting the city’s decision. I’m simply pointing out that the memory hole process is real and present in our world, not something from fiction or in other places.
Memory holes, or the intentional destruction or suppression of information, can have several risks, including:
1. Loss of historical knowledge: Memory holes can lead to a loss of historical knowledge and cultural memory. When information is intentionally destroyed or suppressed, it can become difficult or impossible to access that information in the future, making it harder to learn from past experiences.
2. Limiting critical thinking: Memory holes can limit critical thinking and analysis, as individuals may not have access to all of the relevant information needed to make informed decisions or form opinions.
3. Undermining trust: Memory holes can undermine trust in institutions or individuals, as people may suspect that information is being deliberately suppressed or manipulated for ulterior motives.
4. Distorting reality: Memory holes can distort our understanding of reality by presenting a partial or biased view of events. This can lead to misunderstandings or misrepresentations of historical events, and can perpetuate stereotypes or biases.
5. Limiting accountability: Memory holes can limit accountability, as individuals or institutions may be able to avoid responsibility for their actions if information about those actions is suppressed or destroyed.
Overall, memory holes can have serious consequences for our understanding of history and society, and can limit our ability to make informed decisions and hold individuals and institutions accountable for their actions. It is important to strive for transparency and openness in our institutions and to preserve historical knowledge and cultural memory for future generations.
Fahrenheit 451 is a dystopian novel by American author Ray Bradbury, first published in 1953. The novel takes place in a future society where books are banned and "firemen" burn any that are found. The story follows the character of Guy Montag, a fireman who becomes drawn to the power of literature and independent thought. Ray Bradbury argued that the book burning in Fahrenheit 451 did not come from the government down, but rather from the people themselves. Bradbury portrayed a society where books were seen as a threat to the social order, and where the people had come to accept censorship and conformity as the norm.
In spite of the bottom-up nature of the censorship, the novel is often seen as a critique of censorship, conformity, and the dangers of authoritarianism. It explores the power of literature and the importance of preserving independent thought and critical thinking. Fahrenheit 451 is a classic work of dystopian literature that continues to be widely read and studied today. It is seen as a warning against the dangers of censorship and the importance of protecting individual freedoms and the free exchange of ideas.
I’m not a fan of forgetting. At my age, I forget too many things voluntarily. I don’t need an outside agency telling me what I’m allowed to remember. A friend related something interesting his lawyer said. He said Canadians struggle with government overreach because we have been well governed for so long by parties from both sides of the aisle. We don’t have the social or political tools for dissent when our government goes off the rails. If we let the government choose for us which facts we can access, we won’t even remember how.
And now the excerpt from the first chapter of The War Nobody Started.
SEPTEMBER 3, 1945
New York
Stephenson was here for the quiet. No, not quiet, solitude. There were noises here. They just weren’t for him.
There were grander churches, to be sure, but this one suited him better. He wanted to focus on the thoughts in his head. Is it prayer, he wondered, if you think things you usually wouldn’t? If so, then he prayed.
Echoing whispered prayers chased each other across the stone walls.
An old priest shuffled over to the altar. He attended to some detail before returning to where he’d come from.
What’s it like to be a priest, Stephenson wondered? Does he have any doubts or wishes for new beginnings? Does he ever feel like yelling at the top of his lungs, like a child? How does he handle the interminable, everyday sameness?
Arthritis. The word rose unbidden from his subconscious. The reason the priest walked with such difficulty.
Soon, William Stephenson would be going back to work. The war was over. The Nazis had surrendered in April, and the Japanese in August. The Americans, with their atomic bombs, had ended the war in the Pacific.
God, how he hated those things. In his bones, he knew it was wrong in a horrible way from other kinds of killing. He was no pacifist. Maybe he was just trapped in the past, like the old priest. Is the atomic bomb too modern for him?
He doubted that civilian life would hold much interest for him. He’d become a wealthy man after The Great War. The war to end all wars. There’s an irony. He was going to miss it, already had, in fact. Not the killing. Not the dying. The power to change things. He’d been one of very few men whose decisions could change the course of nations. He wasn’t elected. He’d been appointed. Anointed, more like.
He’d been one of the voices warning Churchill during the ‘30s that Hitler was dangerous. Later, when Britain was in her greatest peril, Churchill tasked him with going to New York to take over the Passport Control Office. Create a base of operations to keep fighting a guerilla war in case Britain fell to the Nazis.
Now he would go back to making airplanes and movies.
The heavy outer door slammed shut when the gusting wind outside blew it closed. A mumbled “sorry” drifted his way.
His ears pricked as high heels clicked on the stone floor, moving up the opposite side of the church toward the confessionals. Turning his head just a little, he noted the stylish cut of the coat, the long mahogany hair spilling out from the elegant hat, which she hadn’t removed but had instead pulled low over her eyes. What sin was so horrible that she didn’t want anyone to know who she was?
His mind had always worked this way. Sifting, sorting, organizing, and drawing conclusions.
She didn’t know anyone here, but she was known publicly. Probably an afternoon liaison, followed by confession before her husband would get home from his job on Wall Street or Madison Avenue.
It didn’t always work. Sometimes it was just the silence. That could be good, too.
Stephenson rose to his feet and made his way to the outer door, pushing it open. He kept a firm grip to gently close it despite the wind. Then he strode out into the overcast afternoon.