Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree: A Nineteen Eighty-Four Timeline

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I can't quite tell how to tell all of this convincingly with primary sources, so I'm taking a break from my usual MO and straight-up describing what happens in 1926-27 in the USSR.

Quotas are established at the 25th Party Congress in April 1926, which state, among other things, that:

1. The army will triple in size over a four-year period.
2. The number of factories will quadruple over a one-year period.
3. Two hundred thousand collective farms will be established over a two-year period.
4. The production of arms, ammunition, heavy weaponry, tanks, shells, artillery, and heavy industry will increase by various orders of magnitude.
5. The production of household products--soap, clothing, paper, etc., is also to increase.

Trotsky and the Central Committee immediately set to work putting it in place. The Commissariat for Military Affairs (Коммисарият Воинских Дел--Kommissariat Voyinskikh Del, a.k.a. Voyindel), is established to manage the construction of the great military machine, headed up by Chief Commissar Mikhail Tukhachevsky. All military matters--recruitment, supply, training, research, equipment production, deployment, planning, strategic development, propaganda, etc., are transferred to Voyindel. Since the growth of the military is now the number one priority, Voyindel receives the lion's share of state resources, funding and bright minds and is subject to extreme scrutiny from the higher-ups, and so it is run with stunning effectiveness while other areas of life suffer somewhat.

To support the war machine it is building, the Party sets up thousands of state-owned farms, mines and oil fields in the countryside to generate food and resources, and thousands of private businesses in cities all over the country are converted into factories meant to manufacture machinery and goods. Sizable percentages of the populations of the cities are assigned to work in these new factories, and entire villages are transferred to the collectives. Though all workers, farmers and miners are meant to receive government supplies of food and household goods, the systems in charge of providing these are underfunded and undermanned (largely due to the military's priority over all else). So delivery of these goods are unreliable and inadequate. Farmers are subject to malnutrition, while miners, without an obvious food source, were subject to starvation. In the cities, factory workers are often forced to spend their meager salaries on food and goods from state-supervised, privately-run small stores, which are required to give up most of their income to the government, which just barely tolerates their existence. Going to these small shops is discouraged, referred to as "engaging in free market activities", but is essentially allowed because even the state knows that they are necessary to keep the workers alive when the supply systems fail. Once the revolution is complete, the state plans to eventually fix up the rationing system and permanently close down the shops, but until that day comes it will allow them to stay.

Unlike Stalin, Trotsky actually has a shred of sense of the value of human life. He does liquidate the kulaks, seeing them as irredeemable bourgeois scum. However, he has no desire to massacre small business owners or private farmers outright, seeing them merely as members of the middle class, which, in his mind, were also oppressed by the bourgeoisie. Some of these men resist the change and are either transferred quite forcibly to their new duties or are sent to be "instilled with revolutionary spirit"; most begrudgingly accept their role and become workers dissatisfied; a few, however, take a pragmatic approach to their new role society and become Party members, attempting to ingratiate themselves to the leadership. Those people, especially those who have skills that could be useful for the development of industry, are welcomed as fellow revolutionaries and are appointed to various mid-level posts, such as managing the newly established civilian factories and collectives. The workers and farmers are unmotivated, badly equipped and malnourished. As a result, production of non-military industrial goods, as well as food supplies and resources that are not designated for military use, lags far behind. However, the new factory owners, not wanting to lose their posts for poor performance, report false figures to their superiors. These superiors, also wanting to keep their jobs, further exaggerate the figures to fit the terms of the various quotas, so that the production goals are officially said to have been met while in fact they have fallen far behind.

The military, however, is a different story. While the factories dedicated to the production of household goods are secretly allowed to have low production standards, the state makes damn sure that its military production is up to shape. As said before, the best of the best are all sent to work for Voyindel and are subject to careful scrutiny, so that the military machine runs efficiently and quickly. Every employee of Voyindel is constantly monitored for signs of "anti-revolutionary sentiment"--simple incompetence--and those who are found unworthy of their post are swiftly transferred to a less prestigious posting. Among the lower-level employees, there is no fudging their job; the watchful undercover spies of the NKVD permeate the Voyindel offices to spy on the employees and report those who haven't been adequately performing their duties for the Revolution.

To fill up the army ranks, A draft is instituted, and propaganda is produced that entices more young men to enlist for the sake of spreading the revolution near and far. (It is quietly "leaked" to the public that the soldiers are better fed, clothed and treated than the rest of society. This helps to attract countless young men to enlist). And indeed that is true; Voyindel works day and night to make sure the soldiers get warm uniforms, decent rations, and thorough and useful training. By 1929, within two years of its implementation, the four-year quota has been nearly fulfilled and it shows no signs of stopping, as the number of Red Army active and reserve personnel verges on 6 million, up from the 2 million where it stood in 1926. So by 1928, the country is experiencing the intense growing pains of "creative" industrialization and is already lagging behind, but is quite successful in its end goal of building the Red Army up to titanic proportions. In this sense, the economic plans of the Twenty-Fifth Congress are almost successful: the military is growing larger by the month, the number of factories and collective farms has indeed gone up, production of military-related goods has been increased under the control of Voyindel. Production of all other food and materials, however, has been neglected; for this reason, the last goal of the plan does not even approach fulfillment.
 
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Excerpt from The New York Times, 29 October 1929*

STOCKS COLLAPSE IN 16,410,030-SHARE DAY, BUT RALLY AT CLOSE CHEERS BROKERS; BANKERS OPTIMISTIC, TO CONTINUE AID
by Tim Maglione

Stock prices virtually collapsed yesterday, swept downward with gigantic losses in the most disastrous trading day in the stock market's history. Billions of dollars in open market values were wiped out as prices crumbled under the pressure of liquidation of securities which had to be sold at any price.

There was an impressive rally just at the close, which brought many leading stocks back from 4 to 14 points from their lowest points of the day.

From every point of view, in the extent of losses sustained, in total turnover, in the number of speculators wiped out, the day was the most disastrous in Wall Street's history. Hysteria swept the country and stocks went overboard for just what they would bring at forced sale...

*This is the actual New York Times article on the crash. Nothing is really different about the stock market crash ITTL so I didn't see the need to write an original article
 
I would absolutely love the irony if Orwell is a totalitarian in this TL.
The thought has crossed my mind several times--for a while I even considered making him BB. Rest assured, our friend Mr. Blair will indeed have a part in this play. And I'm still drawing up much of the history, so nothing is impossible. Perhaps different political events will have an influence on the content of his work...
 
I think that Orwell's introduction to totalitarianism will be during his time in the Indian Military Police Force. While he originally joined it to study imperialist societies, he was eventually expelled due to him contracting malaria in 1927. Maybe if he didn't get bitten by a certain mosquito, he would stay in the police force for about 3-4 more years. Coincidentally, the Saya San rebellions emerged around 1930 which forced the British government to send a few troopers. Perhaps someone close to him would've gotten killed, forcing him to question anarchism and beginning his search for the most stable society.
 
Will Ingsoc be more closely aligned with the Nazis or with the Communists, ideologically?
I don't want to give anything away, but it will incorporate elements of both (good guess!). There are already certain allusions to the processes of Ingsoc in Post #86, and the things it will borrow from Nazism will become apparent later on (once Nazism takes hold in this TL).
 
25
The Marvelous Misadventures of Eric Blair, Part I

It was a bright warm day in September*, and the clocks were striking eleven-thirty. Eric Blair, his wool suit jacket slightly ajar in an effort to escape the thick heat, slipped quickly through the wooden doors of the building in Printing House Square, though not quickly enough to prevent a gust of humid air from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of typewriter ink and old timber. At one end of it a white sign was nailed to the wall which ran, in black, Germanic letters, The Times.

Eric proceeded through a glass-paneled door and made his way through a grid of desks, mostly inhabited by nervous creatures who typed away at their typewriters and scribbled away on sheets of paper, not paying Eric the slightest bit of attention. Finally he found one who looked like he may have a moment to spare him.

"Excuse me, sir, but would you be so kind as to point me to the general editor's office?", he asked, as politely as he could.

"Up two floors and to the left," the man responded briefly, and pointed toward a door in the corner of the room. Then he resumed his work as if Eric had never been there. Eric mounted two flights of steps and came upon a hallway, no more notable than the one downstairs save for a few framed issues of The Sunday Times and a painting of a lake surrounded by fir trees. He came upon a heavy oak door, upon which was affixed a brass plate engraved with the words:

G. DAWSON
GEN. EDITOR
THE TIMES


He rapped on the door twice. "Come in", answered a fruity female voice. He entered to find a bespectacled secretary, aged perhaps forty-five, sitting at a desk supporting a typewriter, a sheaf of papers, and a few other typical effects. "Mr. Dawson will be free to speak with you in a moment. Why don't you have a seat while you wait," the woman said helpfully, then turned her eyes to her typewriter. Eric sat down in a small wooden chair and had a look around the office, smaller than he would have expected for the general editor of such a prestigious publication as The Times.

He sat quietly, his thoughts punctuated by clicks and snaps from the secretary's machine, for three or four minutes before the door next to the secretary's desk swung open, and out walked a man as well-dressed as Eric was. Eric got up from his seat to approach the door, but Geoffrey Dawson beat him to the door, meeting Eric in the middle as he followed his previous visitor out of the office.

Eric had set his features into the expression of quiet pleasantness which it was advisable to wearing when facing someone whose impressions would determine one's future. He held out his hand; the editor took it and shook with approval. "So you're Mr. Blair, are you?" said Dawson, showing the rhotic traces of a northern accent.

"Yes, Mr. Dawson, I am Mr. Blair. Or Eric, if you prefer," Eric said.

"Come, step inside, Eric," said the editor, leading the writer into his furnished office. "So, what brings you 'round here today?"

"I'm looking to apply for a post with the the paper. I'd like to write for The Times." Eric replied. "I believe I've sent you a few samples of my work? If not, then the post system must have failed us, because I'm quite sure I sent them. If you would like to see some of it now, I have th--"

"Don't go to the trouble. I got your writing, all right."

"Ah, I see," said Eric, stuttering a tad at the interruption. "Did you have a chance to look them over?"

"Yes, I 'ave read 'em. They're good, quite good. I especially liked that 'Spike' piece--did all of that really happen?"

"Yes, Mr. Dawson, it did. Every word of it. I sent to New Adelphi for printing and I'm waiting to hear back," said Eric.

"That's grand, showing a bit of forwardness. I like that quite a bit, although I can't say much for your choice of journal," responded the editor. "Now, why is it you'd like to report for us?" he asked, changing his inflection so little that it took Eric a moment to realize he was being asked a question.

"Well, sir, the reason I'm interested, I'd really just like to write and get my thoughts out, but there's hardly any money to be made, freelancing it that way. Not that I'm trying to enrich myself, go live at Kensington, nothing of that sort. But we all have to feed ourselves," Eric answered

"Quite right. Tell me, what sort of experience do you have in field work?"

"You mean, can I handle myself out in the rough? I should think so. I was with the Imperial Police in Burma for a couple of years, so I shouldn't have a problem looking out for myself."

"I'm glad to know that," said Dawson. "You understand, this is not a profession to be taken lightly. You'll be charged with delivering the truth, the obdurate, unalterable truth, to hundreds of thousands of people every day. You will be accountable for what you write. And once you've written a word, it can't be unwritten. There will always be men who remember, there will always be copies and issues to prove it. Do you understand what sort of a task it is, journalism?"

"Yes, Mr. Dawson, I understand it perfectly," replied Eric sincerely. It really seemed he cared about the integrity of his work.

Dawson paused for a moment, then let out a contemplative sigh. Eric had little in the way of references or experience with journalism, but Dawson had read his writing. His prose was of a kind Dawson rarely saw: descriptive and clear, yet with a distinct style. It was perfect to be the anonymous voice of the news. Not only that, but this fellow appeared to have a real zeal for writing and exposing the gritty truth. And if he really had the police experience he claimed to have, he'd be useful to send to those political rallies that all too often degenerated into rowdy, chaotic affairs that were quite inhospitable to most reporters. And if, God forbid, another war broke out, he'd need plenty of correspondents--during the Great War, Dawson had hardly sent any reporters to the continent, and he'd paid dearly for it in lost readership. Not to mention that The Times' readership was finally on the upswing, and it was in need of more reporters to fill in its columns.

Dawson sighed, clasped his hands behind his head, and leaned back in his chair. He knew it wouldn't be particularly cautious of him to take on a new employee without references or direct experience in the craft and after such a short interview, but he had an instinct about this fellow.

Dawson leaned forward. "All right then, Eric, you're 'ired."

Eric took a moment to think about the words he'd heard. Then his brow rose and lips curled up in quiet excitement, though the rest of his visage remained composed. "Thank you very much, Mr. Dawson," said Eric calmly as he reached to clasp the hand his new employer had offered. "When shall I start?"

"Show up at eight sharp on Monday. We'll get you settled in," said Dawson.

"Of course, Mr. Dawson. I'll be here," Eric said, trying to prevent the excitement in his eyes from reaching his face. "Is there anything else you need from me?" Eric inquired in the most respectful of tones.

"No, that's all. And call me Geoff," Dawson responded welcomingly.

"Of course, Geoff. I will see you first thing Monday morning," said Eric before exiting the way he'd come in and opening the door to the heavy heat. Making his way back to his flat under the smothering warmth of the wool jacket, he was dominated by a sense of pride and success.

He rounded the corner onto Queensbridge Road. A battered, grey Triumph passed him by, its engine spitting and sputtering noisily as it rambled recklessly and unwillingly on down the road.

*This takes place in 1929
 
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I'd like to take an opportunity here to give a shout-out to Will Ritson, author of Images of 1984: Stories from Oceania, an absolutely superb TL which posits that, rather than being a trans-continental empire as I'm working towards, Oceania only encompasses England, and the Party hides the truth of the outside world from its people. It is very well done, and it's what inspired me to start this TL. Unfortunately, it kind of trailed off about halfway through, but by that point we had already been introduced to O'Brien and Winston, learned who Big Brother was, and the origins of Ingsoc had been laid out quite clearly. If you're interested in my TL, you'll love Will Ritson's.
 
Is anyone out there well-versed in British political history or British politics in general? If so would you be interested in helping me develop some of the ideas for the upcoming history of Britain? As an American I don't have a deep knowledge of British politics so it would be helpful to be able to work with with someone who does.
 
3884 Bizarre B: you have been detained as a thought criminal for slandering our eternal Bavarian ally and attempting to destabilize the war against our enemies on Earth-44.
Enjoy your power while you still can for the Fifth Empire of Hamburg shall rise again and lay waste to your towns and cities.
 
Is anyone out there well-versed in British political history or British politics in general? If so would you be interested in helping me develop some of the ideas for the upcoming history of Britain? As an American I don't have a deep knowledge of British politics so it would be helpful to be able to work with with someone who does.
I'd recommend asking around the Politibrits thread.
 
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