It was a bright cold day in October, and the clocks were striking 13. Winston Smith woke up for the first time in 25 years. Once his eyes adjusted, the small, gray holding chamber around him came into focus. A middle-aged man walked into the cell, pressing a large silver clipboard against his white overcoat.”Good morning, Mr. Smith,” the doctor said, smiling. “It’s so nice to have you back. Welcome to 2009.”Winston tried to speak. His words choked helplessly.”Don’t worry,” the doctor said, stroking his mustache. “You’ve been in a coma for more than two decades. It might take your vocal chords a moment to catch up.”After struggling, Winston finally managed to cough out a faint question: “Where am I?”The doctor laughed. “You’re in the Washington D.C. Metro Hospital. It’s been your home for 20 some-odd years.””Washington D.C.?” Winston groaned.”Why, yes, sir. Oh, I’m sorry. My accent might’ve confused you. You’re in the United States, good fellow — the beacon of freedom and hope!””Free?” Winston stammered. “You mean…””Yes, Winston. Free! ‘Big Brother’ is dead. Socialism, fascism, totalitarianism — they all failed. Democracy emerged victorious! Freedom won! Congratulations! I’m sure you’re awfully relieved.”Winston sat up incredulously. “You mean…””What I mean, Winston, is you’re no longer a slave. You’re no longer under Big Brother’s tyranny. In fact, hardly anybody is these days. You see, America and her allies have been exporting freedom across the globe! In fact, our government is imposing democracy on those damn Mesopotamians as we speak! A raving success, I might add! Mission accomplished!””Hold on,” Winston said, confused. “We’re imposing freedom?””Precisely!”Winston shuddered. He felt like his brain was stuck in a metal vice. “And free people, they agreed to this?””Well, kind of,” the doctor grumbled, “But not really. It’s hard to explain. Individual sovereignty — free choice — it’s sort of a tricky devil to control. I suppose we lowly citizens shouldn’t be trusted with it.”Winston noticed a framed picture beneath the red, white and blue banner drooped against the opposite wall. The figure inside looked remarkably familiar. “Who’s that man?” Winston asked, “Big Brother?”The doctor scowled. “Heavens, no, Winston! That’s our president. We the people choose him. Well, not all of us, technically. But that’s not important.”Winston surveyed his confines carefully. Effigies of larger-than-life political figures surrounded his tiny, barred fortress. Their faces were stamped on currency notes, erected in granite statues, adorned in extravagant monuments and sky-scrapping memorials.An Uncle Sam banner dangled o’er the doctor’s head. On TV, reporters awaited an address from their beloved overlords outside the nation’s capitol.Winston cringed. “Ministry of Truth and Propaganda, I presume?””Heavens no,” said the doctor as a cold, tingling sensation shot up the newscaster’s leg. “MSNBC! Fox News!”On another TV, a hefty pundit recited some stirring propaganda promoting the “War on Terror.”Winston rolled his eyes. “Ministry of Peace?””Why no! The Department of Homeland Security. Our National Defense agents. Thank goodness for their Patriot Act!””What about the Ministry of Plenty?””No. You mean welfare, social security? Sure, all the tax revenue gets squandered on corporate bailouts and endless wars. But, God bless ’em, we’re trying to work out the kinks…”Winston interrupted, “Taxes?”The doctor folded his arms. His eyebrows stiffened. “No, Winston. Patriotism payments, damn it! It’s the price we all pay for freedom! Or else they’ll send us to jail. But that’s not important…”Winston sat back and sighed. He was reminded of the words from an old gangster film: “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.””Is there anything else I can do for you?” the doctor asked.Winston shook his head. “I think I’ll just go back to sleep.”The doctor smiled. “All right then, sir. Rest well. And may God bless America.”Scott Burns is a 20-year-old economics and history junior from Baton Rouge. Follow him on Twitter @TDR_sburns.– – – -Contact Scott Burns at [email protected]