When I pulled the trigger, I didn’t hear the shot or feel the recoil that is normal when a bullet hits a target, but I did hear a devilish, triumphant roar that rose up over the crowd. And almost immediately, it seemed, the bullet could not reach its target so quickly - a mysterious, terrible change happened to the elephant. He did not move, did not fall, but every line of his body changed. He suddenly appeared sick, wrinkled, incredibly old, as if the terrible, although not knocked to the ground, blow of a bullet had paralyzed him. It seemed like an infinite amount of time passed—perhaps five seconds—before he sank heavily to his knees. Saliva began to flow from his mouth. The elephant somehow became incredibly decrepit. It would be easy to imagine that it is more than one thousand years old. I shot again at the same point. He did not collapse even after the second shot: on the contrary, with great difficulty he stood up incredibly slowly and, weakened, with his head limply bowed, straightened up on his weak legs. I shot a third time.

This shot turned out to be fatal. The elephant's entire body shuddered from unbearable pain, his legs lost the last vestiges of strength. As he fell, he seemed to rise up: his legs bent under the weight of his body and his trunk directed upward made the elephant look like a huge rock overturning with a tree growing on top.

He blew the trumpet for the first and last time. And then he fell on his belly towards me, with a dull thud, from which the whole earth shook, it seemed, even where I lay.

I wake up. The Burmese raced through the mud past me. It was clear that the elephant would never rise again, but he still lived. He was breathing very rhythmically, noisily, taking in air with difficulty; his huge, hill-like side rose and fell painfully. The mouth was wide open, and I could look far into the depths of the pale pink mouth. I hesitated for a long time, waiting for the death of the animal, but my breathing did not weaken. I finally fired my remaining two rounds into where I thought the heart was. Blood gushed out from the wound, thick as red velvet, but the elephant still lived. His body didn't even flinch when the bullets hit; Difficulty breathing continued without stopping. He died incredibly painfully and slowly, existing in some other world, far from me, where even a bullet was powerless to cause more harm. I felt that I had to stop this terrifying noise. Looking at a huge defeated beast that could neither move nor die, and realizing that you were not even able to finish it off, was unbearable. They brought me my small-caliber rifle, and I began firing bullet after bullet into my heart and throat. The elephant didn't seem to notice them. The painful, noisy breathing continued rhythmically, reminiscent of the work of a clockwork. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I left. Then I found out that half an hour passed before the elephant died. But even before I left, the Burmese began to bring baskets and large Burmese knives: they said that by evening there was almost nothing left of the carcass except the skeleton.

The killing of an elephant has become a topic of endless controversy. The elephant's owner was raging, but he was just a Hindu, and, of course, he could not do anything. Moreover, legally I was right, since a rampaging elephant, like a mad dog, must be killed if the owner is somehow unable to control it. Among Europeans, opinions were divided. Older people considered my behavior correct, young people said that it was damn stupid to shoot an elephant just because it killed a coolie - after all, an elephant is much more valuable than any damn coolie. I myself was incredibly happy that the coolie had been killed - this meant from a legal point of view that I acted within the law and had every reason to shoot the animal. I often wonder if anyone realized that I was driven by the only desire - not to be a laughing stock.

in saecula saeculorum (lat.) – forever and ever.

in terrorem (lat.) – to intimidate.

When you first appear in the Dalish elf camp in the quest “Nature of the Beast,” Zatrian, the guardian of the clan, will talk about the disaster that befell his relatives. Recently, werewolves began to attack the elves in the depths of the forest with enviable regularity. Initially, the curse was spread by Raging Fang, but now it can be contracted from any werewolf. Symptoms of the infection begin to appear after a few days, after which the victim turns into a werewolf. To finally get rid of the curse, Zatrian will ask you to find the huge white wolf Mad Fang, kill him and bring him his heart. With the help of the heart, the guardian will be able to lift the curse. The decisions made in the conflict between elves and werewolves will affect who will be the ally in the final battle with the archdemon. And also on the development of events after the game.

If you kill Raging Fang or persuade Zathrian to give up his revenge, the elves will become allies. If you kill Zatrian, werewolves will become allies. You can persuade Zatrian to give up revenge after talking with Mad Fang in the elven ruins, and then invite the guardian to the werewolves and the Mistress of the Forest. True, for this you need to properly build a dialogue and have developed influence skills. The Elven Ruins are located in the eastern part of the Brecilian Forest, which can be overcome by either a hermit or the Great Oak from the western part of the forest. Depending on the choice made, one of the achievements “Killer” or “Poacher” opens. If the curse on the werewolves is not lifted, the quest “Change of Essence” (typical story Without Compromise) will appear on Broken Mountain.

Items for killing Raging Fang in Dragon Age: Origins:

• Amulet "Heart of the Mad Fang"- +1 to strength and magic, +50 to resistance to the forces of nature.
• Battle ax "Gryphon's Beak"- strength: 34; damage: 15.00; +4 damage against creatures of darkness, 2 slots for runes.

Items for killing Zatrian and the clan in Dragon Age: Origins:

• Master's Staff- magic: 32; +1 to mana recovery in battle, +5 to magical power, +10% to damage from spiritual magic.
• Guardian Ring- +1 to agility.
• Dagger "Gift of Misu Varathorn"- agility: 18; damage: 5.20; +2 to armor penetration, +6 to attack, 1 slot for runes.

The impact of the decision made about the fate of elves and werewolves on the ending of the game Dragon Age: Origins:

• The Dalish elves were doing well after the siege of Denerim. They gained considerable respect for their participation in the battle. For the first time in many years, the wandering people in the lands of people began to be treated well. The new guardian Lanaya became a respected person both among the Dalish and at the Fereldan court. She was the voice of reason, and since then other Dalish clans have often turned to her to resolve disputes with people. Over time, many Dalish clans moved to new lands provided to them in the South near Ostagar. However, the neighborhood with people turned out to be not cloudless, and only through the efforts of the guardian Lanaya was it possible to maintain hope for peace in the future. As for the werewolves, having gotten rid of the curse, they stayed together and took the family name “Wolves” in memory of the past. They subsequently became the most skilled trainers in all of Thedas. Every year they get together and light a candle in memory of the Lady of the Forest, who loved them so much.
• The werewolves in the Brecilian Forest prospered for a time, settling on the site of the Dalish camp, and earned a reputation for bravery during the siege of Denerim. But this prosperity did not last long. The Mistress of the Forest, no matter how hard she tried, could not completely suppress the animal nature either in the werewolves or in herself. And eventually the curse began to spread to the surrounding human settlements. More werewolves began to appear until the Fereldan army was finally called in to end the threat once and for all. Many werewolves were killed, but when the soldiers reached the old Dalish camp, it was empty. The Mistress of the Forest disappeared along with her followers, and no one has seen them since.
• Zathrian remained the guardian of his clan for many more years, until he finally realized that the world was changing too quickly to keep up with it. He constantly feuded with the royal court, increasing tensions, until one day he disappeared. The Dalish searched for him, but in vain. It was obvious that he left of his own accord and had no intention of returning. Over time, many Dalish clans moved to new lands provided to them in the South near Ostagar. However, the proximity to people turned out to be not cloudless. Despite all hopes, many clans fear a repeat of the old bloodshed. As for werewolves, even with the death of Mad Fang, the curse did not end. Over time, the number of werewolves replenished, and they returned to their wild nature. As a result, it was forbidden to enter the Brecilian Forest, but this did not stop the spread of the curse beyond its borders.

Jack London's story "Love of Life" made a strong impression on me. From the first to the last line you are in suspense, following the fate of the hero with bated breath. You worry and believe that he will remain alive.

At the beginning of the story, we have two comrades wandering around Alaska in search of gold. They are exhausted, hungry, moving with all their strength. It seems obvious that it is possible to survive in such difficult conditions if there is mutual support and mutual assistance. But Bill turns out to be a bad friend: he abandons his friend after he twists his ankle while crossing a rocky stream. When the main character was left alone in the desert, with an injured leg, he was overcome by despair. But he couldn't believe that Bill had finally abandoned him, because he would never do that to Bill. He decided that Bill was waiting for him near the hiding place, where they hid the gold they had mined together, food supplies, and ammunition. And this hope helps him walk, overcoming the terrible pain in his leg, hunger, cold and fear of Loneliness.

But imagine the hero’s disappointment when he saw that the hiding place was empty. Bill betrayed him a second time, taking all his supplies and dooming him to certain death. And then the man decided that he would make it no matter what, that he would survive, despite Bill’s betrayal. The hero gathers all his will and courage into his fist and fights for his life. He tries to catch partridges with his bare hands, eats plant roots, defends himself from hungry wolves, and crawls, crawls, crawls when he can no longer walk, skinning his knees until they bleed. Along the way, he finds the body of Bill, who was killed by wolves. Betrayal did not help him escape. Nearby lies a bag of gold, which greedy Bill did not throw away until the last moment.

And the main character doesn’t even think about taking the gold. It now has no meaning for him. A person understands that life is most valuable. Material from the site

And his path becomes more and more difficult and dangerous. He has a companion - a hungry and sick wolf. An exciting duel begins between an exhausted and weakened man and a wolf. Each of them understands that they will survive only if they kill the other. Now a person is on alert all the time, he is deprived of rest and sleep. The wolf is watching over him. As soon as a person falls asleep for a minute, he feels the teeth of a wolf on himself. But the hero emerges victorious from this test and eventually reaches the people.

I was very worried when I read how a man, with his last strength, crawls towards the ship for several days. I thought people wouldn't notice him. But everything ended well. The hero was saved.

I think that what helped a person survive was his courage, perseverance, enormous willpower and love of life. This story helps you understand that even in the most dangerous situation you cannot despair, but you need to believe in the good, gather your strength and fight for life.

Rec.:
Gordon Bowker. George Orwell. Little and Brown, 2003;
D.J. Taylor. Orwell: The Life. Chatto, 2003;
Scott Lucas. Orwell: Life and Times. Haus, 2003.

The son of a loyal servant of the crown, a native of the prosperous south of England, he excelled in high school, but later suffered a complete fiasco in the academic field. A passionate supporter of leftist views, he nevertheless retained some of the trappings of a private school boy, including an aristocratic accent and a crowd of major friends. He managed to combine cultural “Englishness” with political cosmopolitanism, hated personality cults in politics, but at the same time carefully cultivated his own public image. From the height of his position, feeling relatively safe, he periodically made raids into the world of the “humiliated and insulted,” partly in order to maintain his political sense, partly because it gave him valuable journalistic material. A brilliant and sharp mind - but not an intellectual in the literal sense of the word - with a touch of the irritability and quarrelsomeness of a non-party leftist and wayward Englishman: he knew how to bully his fellow socialists no worse than insulting their opposition. Over the years, he became more and more stubborn, until in his hatred of dark authoritarian states he came, as many judged, to betraying his leftist ideals.

This is how Christopher Hitchens will be remembered. There are many similarities with George Orwell, of whom Hitchens spoke glowingly, but there are some key differences. Orwell was a kind of literary proletarian who spent most of his life in poverty - his writing began to bring in normal money only when he had one foot in the grave. Things were different for Hitchens, although who knows, maybe Vanity Fair's fees are much lower than we think? Orwell's poverty was partly provoked by himself: while some of his Eton classmates (Cyril Connolly, Harold Acton) flourished in the literary field, Orwell preferred to work in Parisian kitchens, even when he was coughing up blood, to sleep in flophouses, begging for a miserable ten shillings from his stunned parents, working hard as a porter at Billingsgate Market and wondering how to get into prison at Christmas. Like Brecht, he always looked as if he had shaved for the last time three days ago - a physiological feature.

Luxury was absolutely alien to him, even the cooking that was served in the BBC canteens did not disgust him. It’s hard to imagine this emaciated, gloomy, strangely dressed man, vaguely reminiscent of the actor Stan Laurel, sipping a cocktail at some Manhattan party - for Hitchens this is a common thing. Orwell, unlike modern literary wise men who boast of their guise as frank and unpredictable nonconformists, while maintaining all the necessary social contacts, was never interested in success. The leitmotif of Orwell's prose, his strong point, was fall. It was the fall that meant true reality for him, as it did for Beckett. All the main characters of his books are depressed and defeated; and if Orwell can be accused of excessive pessimism, he did not take this view of the world from Eton.

Moreover, as Hitchens himself claims (ironic, given his recent shifts in political orientation), Orwell did remain loyal to the left, despite his instinctive disgust at some of its unholy practices. He feared that his two great satires of Stalinism, Animal Farm and 1984, which led some socialists to label him a renegade, would become weapons for Tories and Cold War hawks - and for good reason. At the same time, the same Hitchens notes, Orwell gloomily predicted the approach of the Cold War even when the majority of Tories sang hosannas to the valiant Soviet ally. And if “1984” is a pamphlet against socialism, it is very strange that on the eve of its publication the author called for the unification of socialist European states. In any case, the fact that Stalin’s executioners called themselves adherents of socialism is not a reason to renounce socialism, just as Michael Portillo’s visits to Morocco are not a reason to dislike Morocco. From Orwell's point of view, it was the left-wing Stalinists who betrayed the common people, and not democratic socialists like himself. Orwell first encountered Stalinism and its vile betrayals in Spain during the civil war - he truly became acquainted with socialism there. His disgust for Soviet “realpolitik” arose in Spain, but his faith in the nobility and strength of the human spirit was also born there, which he did not renounce until the end of his life.

Orwell was in most cases unable to give an evasive answer to a question, just as Derrida is unable to give a direct one. At the same time, we need to beware of both those who loudly insist to stop bringing the blizzard and start cutting the truth, and those who believe that the world is too complex for unambiguous judgments. Orwell felt a puritanical sense of guilt over his enjoyment of language (he was an admirer of James Joyce) and sought to suppress it for political gain. This approach is of little use when creating long-form prose. Fiction is a problem for the Puritan nation, despite the fact that English literature is replete with examples of great novels (Clarissa, Tristram Shandy) that are built around the tragic or comic in the art of writing itself. Nevertheless, Orwell, with all his stylistic spasms, managed to tell the truth about the Stalinist subversion of the Spanish revolution when others tried their best to hide it, and about the victims of Stalinist repression when most comrades deliberately turned a blind eye to them. For this, writers like him and E.P. Thompson, one can quite forgive the wild intemperate epithets.

Having transformed from a student at a prestigious school into an imperial lackey, Orwell felt cut off from his native country and spent his entire life trying to restore the lost connection. He felt like an emigrant in England, and he, like emigrants in the literal sense like Wilde, James, Conrad and T.S. Eliot had to make an effort to get used to it, something that a real local is always spared from. Like them, Orwell both painfully perceived his alienation and was able to look at it from the outside. He knew that the ruling class in some ways felt as outcast as the vagabonds and flophouse dwellers, so the landowner might feel latent sympathy for the poacher. In the service of the system, one manages to free oneself from its conventions to the same extent as those who wanted to give a damn about these conventions. An outcast belonging to the ruling class had to be transformed into a revolutionary, and the transformation was greatly facilitated by the paradoxical fact that in a class society the majority had already been rejected in one way or another.

Another paradox is added to this one. Orwell defended what in his opinion were universal human values ​​- but in reality these values ​​are marginal, and therefore far from universal. More precisely, these are both eternal values ​​in the spiritual sense and relegated to the background in the political sense. “My best hope for the future,” Orwell wrote, “is that the common people never deviate from their moral code.” At the same time, he was overcome by an unspoken fear that this happened only because they were too weak and passive, and had not yet been subjected to the ethically charming, but politically paralyzing influence of the power system. Orwell's desire for decency puts him on a par with the main English moralists like Cobbett, Leavis and Tawney: the continent had Marxism, we English have moralists. Before Catalonia, Orwell's only connection with Marx was a poodle named after him.

This brand of radicalism has undoubted strengths. As with Williams and Thompson, it suggests a transition rather than an apocalyptic rupture between the class present and the socialist future. Breaks, of course, are inevitable, but socialism is, first of all, the spread of existing values ​​of comradeship and solidarity to society as a whole. This motif runs like a red thread through all of Williams' works. The socialist future is not just some vague utopian ideal, it is already in some sense embedded in the present, otherwise it is not worth counting on. Orwell leaned precisely towards this type of radicalism, which, oddly enough, was not far removed from Marx. In the Catalan workers he discovered solidarity, the guarantee of a political future, just as Williams saw in the Welsh working class of his childhood the beginnings of the society of the future, and Thompson saw them in the mutual aid of the emerging English working class.

However, if the politics of rupture distrusts the present, the left movement of this kind, on the contrary, believes in it too much. Williams himself periodically acknowledged that one cannot extend existing moral values ​​to new social groups without observing how they are transformed in the process. There is this “continuity” orientation in socialism, which believes that it owes much to the invaluable heritage of populist sentiments and middle-class liberalism, without which any socialist order would be stillborn. However, it also has a modernist or avant-garde dimension, where it anticipates a changed man of the future, which modern language cannot describe, and Orwell, unlike D.H. Lawrence, revolutionary avant-gardeism, like other avant-garde in art, was not particularly fond of. The hated Stalinism embodied for him the worst manifestations of both worlds: conservatism, inertia, reactionary, hierarchy, and at the same time a rejection of the liberal heritage fraught with terrifying consequences.

Books by Gordon Bowker and D.J. Taylor appeared on the centenary of the birth of their main character. These are deep, comprehensive studies, written in good language. They are favorable to Orwell, but do not flatter him and do not turn a blind eye to his shortcomings. However, both books suffer from a disease typical of biographies - the authors cannot see the forest for the trees. Taylor was a little livelier and wittier (Orwell's Eton accent, in his words, "immediately dressed its owner in imaginary golf trousers"), and Bowker pays too much attention to his character's fascination with the occult and supernatural phenomena, not to mention his wild sex life . He delves a lot into psychology, suspects Orwell of sadism, paranoia and self-hatred, which, however, does not detract from his admiration for the object of his research. At the same time, both authors dug through the same archives and constructed the narrative in approximately the same way, so it’s probably not worth spending an already short life on both of these fundamental works. It’s a pity that there wasn’t a kind soul who could have brought the authors together in time.

Unlike these two sympathetic biographers, Scott Lucas does not make much of Orwell in his book. Orwell, of course, has something to flog for, and Lucas gets him hard - for the lack of political analysis and constructive proposals, for the fact that he insultingly equates pacifism in the Second World War with pro-fascism, for patrician nostalgia for British India, for the absurd assertions that “When the time comes, those who will shun the revolution first will be those whose hearts have never fluttered at the sight of the British flag.” Lucas correctly shows how Orwell methodically expels the struggling working class from The Road to Wigan Pier so that it does not spoil his hypocrisy thesis that proclaims socialism to be exclusively a matter of the middle classes. With Orwell's homophobic fear of the "blue left", the toxic misogyny of "1984" and the shameful episode when, at the end of his life, Orwell handed over to the authorities a list of more than a hundred names of members of the leftist movement who needed to be kept an eye on, the biographer is dealt with in no time and properly.

Despite the fact that at the very beginning Lucas casually raves about Orwell's achievements and admits that some worthwhile things came from his pen, he is too drunk on bile to be reasonable. In this regard, there is a clear similarity between the biographer and the character. Orwell's attacks on consumer journalism, which should have met with the approval of the leftist Lucas, are condemned as manifestations of the hatred of the “right.” “A double-dealer,” the biographer hints to us; By the way, about double-dealing: when Orwell frankly admits that he, a socialist from the old Etonians, does not have everything clear with his political views, he is immediately called to account for them. The former Burmese servant of the crown is accused of "criticizing the empire he so recently served loyally" - as if there was even a hint of hypocrisy in this dramatic change of heart. Where he, according to Lucas, “ostensibly” advocates for Indian independence, there are no “allegedly” there. Orwell speaks out in support of the Allied war against fascism - and is immediately branded as a “militarist.”

Lucas is right when he says that Orwell is a much more powerful moralist than a constructive political thinker. However, it is strange to see in him a theorist of Marxism-Leninism who should be punished for failing to cope with his task. It is alleged that he did not like class culture, but at the same time refused to participate in organized political opposition - perhaps Orwell during the Wigan Pier era was like that, but later, during his membership in the Independent Labor Party, it is unlikely. “The author of Wigan Pier,” laments Lucas, “knows neither Marx, nor Keynes, nor political history.” However, he almost immediately admits that “Orwell did not have to be an intellectual” to create a significant work,” and that in this case one can do “without theory.” He repeatedly echoes Williams, who expressed the interesting idea that for Orwell capitalism was never a system, but rather the work of individual scoundrels, as in the naive fantasies of the early Dickens.

Not everything is going smoothly with the Spanish period either. Regarding his reaction to the New Statesman’s refusal to print an essay about his Spanish impressions, the biographer writes that “he was offended,” equating the protest against leftist censorship imposed on the facts of Stalinist fraud with personal grievances. As an illustration of his furious rage, a phrase was given in response to Victor Gollancz’s refusal to publish the book “In Memory of Catalonia”: “Gollancz is undoubtedly one of the fraudulent communists,” although Orwell told the honest truth. Lucas is suspiciously easy about Stalin's betrayal of the cause of the Spanish revolution and at the same time makes a malicious assumption that Orwell “remained a supporter of the ideals of Trotskyism and anarchism only out of principle,” apparently in order to have a moral superiority. In “Memory of Catalonia,” you see, “the role of religion in the life of the Spaniards is not touched upon, the optimal form of government is not described, not a word about the role of military forces,” etc. etc., as if Orwell was aiming for Hugh Thomas, but fell short.

In the chapter entitled “The Rise and Fall of the “Socialist”,” Lucas tries, with scary quotes in hand, to prove that Orwell, who from the very beginning could not be classified as a true socialist, has descended into apolitical liberalism. Later statements from a disillusioned man are cited that writers should maintain political integrity, and for some reason it is implied that this applies not only to writers. Just because Orwell had a clichéd romantic view of writers does not mean that he considered politics a waste of time, even in his most pessimistic years. It is interesting that Lucas, who keeps repeating that Orwell never bothered to create a decent political program, provides a quote from which it follows that this is precisely what is contained in The Lion and the Unicorn. After this, according to Lucas, Orwell renounced socialism, but a few pages later the biographer describes how in 1947 Orwell defended the need to create a European federation of democratic socialist states. Moreover, a paragraph earlier said that Orwell switched from socialism to the apolitical direction of liberalism. Having reported that Orwell “tirelessly proved that his books called for democratic socialism in every line,” Lucas states that “until his death, Orwell was unable to adequately counter pessimism and fear.” It seems that Orwell is not the only one here constantly changing his views.

Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973) - British and American poet and publicist, in his youth a left-wing social critic and radical socialist who, like Orwell, fought in Spain; from the 1940s he began to lean towards religion and deep conservatism, which he adhered to until the end of his life.

British journalist, public figure and political activist with socialist views; see.html.

One of the "Cambridge Five", a group of British intelligence, counterintelligence and Foreign Office officers who worked for the USSR in the 30s and 40s. gg.

See note..html.

Supporters of “Little England” (little Englanders) are a collective name for British nationalists who believe that the country’s interests should not extend beyond the borders of Great Britain: in imperial times they advocated getting rid of colonies, later - against participation in globalization, membership in the EU, etc. P.

American writer (1891-1980), primarily known for his scandalous works of his time, where, like Lawrence’s, sexual themes prevail, only much more openly.

Longing for dirt (French) - Note lane

One of the "Cambridge Five", see note. 6.

British and American Marxist theorist, historian, editor-in-chief and member of the editorial board of the New Left Review; see.html.

Writer and researcher, figure of the English Enlightenment.

British historian (1924-1993), one of the members of the Group of Historians of the Communist Party of Great Britain, a leader of the communist, after leaving the Communist Party in 1956 in connection with the USSR invasion of Hungary - socialist movement.

British historian and political activist, author of a comprehensive work on the Spanish Civil War, published in 1961 and since then published and reprinted many times in many languages.

What do George Orwell and Edward Snowden have in common? Both of them are trapped in an unpleasant situation.

George Orwell was not a political thinker, that's for sure. Yes, he wrote books like 1984 and Animal Farm. These are political books. Or, more precisely, they are experiments in political thinking in literary form. Orwell liked to think about totalitarianism. He created fictional scenarios like “1984” to think about and understand the logic of totalitarianism, to understand how this totalitarianism works. He also wrote his essays quite often about politics. He wondered whether it was possible to create a decent socialism after the collapse of the real socialism that existed in the Soviet Union.

The power of Orwell's work lies in the honesty of his statements about the actions and motives of people making decisions in a confusing and chaotic world. It is probably best to say that Orwell thought about politics without being a political scientist. He was not good at examining politics from a distant, objective point of view in order to clarify its general laws. That is why one of his best political essays was the story of the killing of an elephant in Burma. It was a story about Orwell himself.

As a young man, Orwell served in the colonial police in Burma. He worked for the British crown. This was in the 1920s. The British Empire still ruled many parts of East Asia. Orwell quickly realized that for most Burmese he was a symbol of oppression. He was insulted by young Buddhist monks who seemed to have “only one thing to do: sit on street corners and mock Europeans.” This worried Orwell, who was a sensitive young man who was not very keen on demonstrating his power as a policeman. In short, he felt enormous guilt for being a tiny cog in Britain's imperial machine. This feeling of guilt made him angry, and the anger tore Orwell into two parts. He wrote that he had nowhere to escape “on the one hand... from hatred of the British Empire, whose soldier I was, and on the other, from the rage aroused in me by these small evil animals who sought to turn my service into hell.”

But one day in the village where Orwell served, a working elephant went mad and began to destroy everything around. He trampled one person to death. The natives turned to Orwell. It was he who had to maintain order. Orwell sent for an elephant hunting rifle and soon found the rampaging animal in a nearby field. He watched the elephant peacefully eat grass, and “it seemed to him that he was no more dangerous than a cow.” He completely lost the desire to shoot this huge animal. Orwell wanted to leave the elephant alone and go home. But a huge crowd of about 2,000 people gathered behind him. He felt their gaze on his back. Orwell knew that people were watching him and waiting for him to shoot the elephant. He realized that he would have to play his part. As an Imperial policeman, he was obliged to do his duty. If he doesn't do anything, the crowd will laugh at him. And such a prospect was unbearable for Orwell.

He shot the elephant. Then he shot again - and again. Even when he fired all the cartridges from the rifle and from another gun of a smaller caliber, the animal continued to live, slowly dying in painful agony. Orwell is gone. Then he learned that half an hour passed before the elephant died. In the days that followed, the killing of the elephant became the topic of endless debate as to whether it was right or wrong. Both sides had their own, and quite weighty, arguments. But Orwell concluded the story this way: “I often wonder if anyone realized that I was guided by one desire - not to be a laughing stock.”

This last sentence has haunted me ever since I read Orwell's story many years ago. It doesn’t let me go because of its tragedy and correctness. Orwell puts us in our place. Standing in the field with a powerful rifle, he did not think about the relevant laws and the correctness of his action. He didn't think about the elephant's owner. I didn’t think how valuable this elephant was to the whole village. He didn't think about the damage he caused or even the person he killed. Orwell writes: “I myself was incredibly glad that the coolie had been killed - this meant, from a legal point of view, that I had acted within the law and had every reason to shoot the animal.” Orwell killed the elephant for one reason and one reason only. He would look like a fool if he didn't. But Orwell didn’t want to look like a fool. It was unbearable for him.

Whenever I see NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden, I think of a young George Orwell standing in a field in Burma. The fact that Snowden appears to be a fragile young man only reinforces these associations. Snowden is pale and thin. During interviews, his voice often begins to tremble. Like Orwell in the story of the elephant, he is like a man trapped in an unpleasant situation. He has some unpleasant facts to show us. And he knows what happens to messengers carrying bad news.

In his first interview with Glenn Greenwald, Snowden described himself as a systems engineer and consultant to the CIA and NSA. A sort of working guy from a working environment. But by doing systems analysis, he was able to see a larger picture than most intelligence officers can. Snowden realized that the scope of surveillance was wider than he had imagined. He saw that the NSA was collecting information on everyone, everywhere, including US citizens. And a simple thought came to his mind. Snowden told Greenwald: “I’m no different from anyone else. I have no special skills. I'm just an ordinary guy sitting in an office every day and watching what happens." And then he said: “Let society decide whether these programs and actions are right or wrong.”

Snowden decided to talk about everything because he couldn’t bear to know about the scale of the surveillance being carried out (while realizing that people had no idea about anything). This is the strongest part of his testimony. First of all, he wanted everyone to see and know what he saw and knew. He wanted the audience to see something ugly, something scary. Snowden says it will be difficult for us to look at things we don't want to see. He admits that the result of his revelations may be exactly the opposite of what he hoped for. He said:

My greatest fear about the consequences of these revelations for America is that they will not change anything. People learn about all this information from the media. They will learn what the authorities are going to in their quest to gain unlimited powers unilaterally and strengthen control over American and world society. But they will not want to take the necessary risks, they will not want to fight to change the situation, they will not want to force their representatives to act in their interests.

The most Snowden can do is present the material. The most he can do is shed light on dark places. By doing this, he exposes himself. He becomes the object of ridicule, hostility, indignation and laughter. And this is not easy.

In 1948, Orwell wrote an essay entitled "Writers and Leviathan." There he writes: “In politics one cannot count on anything other than a choice between a large

and a lesser evil, and there are situations that cannot be overcome without becoming like the devil or a madman. For example, war may be a necessity, but, of course, it does not signify either goodness or common sense. Even general elections can hardly be called a pleasant or sublime spectacle.” There is no need, the writer continues, to embellish an unpleasant spectacle. Doing terrible things, even in the name of good, is one thing. Doing terrible things and calling them good is something else entirely. This eliminates one important step. It can be said that Orwell's entire work is an attempt to preserve this important step. Orwell's desire to tell the truth stems from a desire to show us our decisions in their true form, in all their ugliness. He makes us watch. At the end of the essay “Writers and Leviathan,” Orwell states that a good writer “bears witness to what happens, adheres to the truth, recognizes the necessity of what happens, but refuses to be deceived about the true nature of events.” Note that Orwell is not arguing here that telling the truth prevents wars or improves general elections. He simply states that it is vital that we are not deceived about the true nature of the general election.