In Chap­ter 1 of 1984, Win­ston Smith steps into a grim and oppres­sive world on a cold April day in Lon­don, where the Party’s con­trol over every aspect of life is omnipresent. The haunt­ing slo­gan “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU” is a con­stant reminder of the Par­ty’s sur­veil­lance, rein­forc­ing its pow­er over the cit­i­zens. As Win­ston makes his way through the dilap­i­dat­ed halls of Vic­to­ry Man­sions toward his flat, the deaf­en­ing sounds of Par­ty pro­pa­gan­da echo from the telescreen—a device designed not only to broad­cast infor­ma­tion but to mon­i­tor its view­ers, cap­tur­ing both sight and sound. This sur­veil­lance device makes Win­ston painful­ly aware of the Par­ty’s ever-watch­ful eye, know­ing that every action, every move­ment, could be watched by the Thought Police. Even though Winston’s sur­round­ings are bleak and his life con­trolled by an author­i­tar­i­an regime, he finds him­self com­pelled to engage in an act of rebel­lion: writ­ing in a diary, which becomes a small but dan­ger­ous expres­sion of his desire for truth and per­son­al auton­o­my.

As Win­ston set­tles into his flat, he reflects on the state of Lon­don, a once-vibrant city now reduced to decay and des­o­la­tion under the Par­ty’s iron grip. His child­hood mem­o­ries of the city are frag­ment­ed, cloud­ed by the pas­sage of time and the all-con­sum­ing influ­ence of the Par­ty. He is remind­ed of the Min­istry of Truth, the mas­sive, loom­ing build­ing where he works, which serves as the Party’s head­quar­ters for dis­sem­i­nat­ing pro­pa­gan­da and con­trol­ling infor­ma­tion. Inside, the Min­istry is a labyrinth of bureau­cra­cy and deceit, designed to twist real­i­ty and present the Party’s nar­ra­tive as absolute truth. The Par­ty con­trols all aspects of life, even rewrit­ing his­to­ry, and Win­ston can­not help but feel trapped by the ever-present fear that his thoughts and actions are always mon­i­tored. As he reflects on his role in the Min­istry, he real­izes the mag­ni­tude of the oppres­sive sys­tem that sur­rounds him, and yet, in a small act of rebel­lion, he decides to write in his diary. This seem­ing­ly insignif­i­cant action allows him to express thoughts he knows are dan­ger­ous in a soci­ety where truth is con­stant­ly manip­u­lat­ed.

When Win­ston begins to write in his diary, he con­tem­plates the mean­ing and con­se­quences of doc­u­ment­ing his thoughts. He is ful­ly aware that by com­mit­ting his inner rebel­lion to paper, he is risk­ing his life, as the Par­ty does not tol­er­ate dis­sent. His thoughts are filled with the weight of futility—what does it mat­ter to write in a world where the past is con­stant­ly rewrit­ten and the truth is ever-shift­ing? Despite the dan­ger, there is a part of him that can­not sup­press the urge to express him­self, to pre­serve a record of his per­son­al truth for a future that may nev­er come. Just as he reflects on his iso­lat­ed exis­tence, the dai­ly rit­u­al of the Two Min­utes Hate begins. This event, forced upon the cit­i­zens, is a col­lec­tive out­pour­ing of anger and hatred toward the Par­ty’s des­ig­nat­ed ene­my, Emmanuel Gold­stein. The hate-filled spec­ta­cle forces Win­ston into a whirl­wind of emo­tions, ampli­fy­ing his resent­ment toward the Par­ty and those who blind­ly fol­low its dic­tates.

The scene dur­ing the Two Min­utes Hate stirs deep emo­tion­al respons­es in Win­ston, but his feel­ings are com­pli­cat­ed. The intense, almost ani­mal­is­tic ener­gy of the crowd dur­ing the event rep­re­sents the Party’s abil­i­ty to manip­u­late pub­lic opin­ion and chan­nel emo­tions into the ser­vice of its agen­da. Yet, Win­ston can­not help but feel anger not only toward the Par­ty but also toward the indi­vid­u­als around him, par­tic­u­lar­ly the dark-haired girl from his work­place. Though his feel­ings toward her are root­ed in phys­i­cal attrac­tion, they are also inter­twined with his grow­ing desire to resist the Par­ty. The girl sym­bol­izes every­thing he feels he can­not have—personal auton­o­my, con­nec­tion, and the free­dom to think inde­pen­dent­ly. As Win­ston strug­gles with the temp­ta­tion to con­form to the col­lec­tive rage, he also expe­ri­ences a per­son­al inter­nal bat­tle, torn between his deeply ingrained fear and his rebel­lious thoughts against the Party’s suf­fo­cat­ing con­trol.

In the midst of the uproar, Win­ston’s brief but sig­nif­i­cant encounter with O’Brien, an Inner Par­ty mem­ber, pro­vides a fleet­ing sense of con­nec­tion. In the midst of the chaos, Win­ston per­ceives a shared under­stand­ing between him­self and O’Brien—an unspo­ken acknowl­edg­ment of dis­con­tent with­in a world of total con­for­mi­ty. This encounter hints at a pos­si­bil­i­ty, a glim­mer of hope for a rebel­lion against the Par­ty, although it remains unclear whether Winston’s instincts are cor­rect. In this moment of con­nec­tion, Win­ston feels a spark of some­thing more pow­er­ful than fear—perhaps a shared desire for free­dom, or at least, for an escape from the Par­ty’s oppres­sive grip. This brief inter­ac­tion marks a turn­ing point in Winston’s inter­nal strug­gle, as it forces him to ques­tion whether he is tru­ly alone in his dis­con­tent or if oth­ers secret­ly share his thoughts and feel­ings.

As Win­ston writes furi­ous­ly in his diary, he can­not escape the real­iza­tion that he is com­mit­ting a thought­crime, an action pun­ish­able by death. Pan­ic sets in as he imag­ines the Party’s agents descend­ing upon him, expos­ing his rebel­lion and eras­ing him from exis­tence. The fear of being caught by the Par­ty inten­si­fies, yet there is also an unde­ni­able impulse to resist, to express his per­son­al truths, even if it means fac­ing the inevitable con­se­quences. Winston’s grow­ing des­per­a­tion con­trasts sharply with the immense pow­er the Par­ty holds over its cit­i­zens, a pow­er that can erase any­one, even those who dare to think dif­fer­ent­ly. As he writes, Winston’s pan­ic reach­es a peak, but so does his resolve. The act of writ­ing is a form of defi­ance, a dan­ger­ous but vital step in his bat­tle against the Par­ty’s con­trol over truth, real­i­ty, and indi­vid­ual thought. The chap­ter clos­es with Win­ston’s real­iza­tion that the Party’s sur­veil­lance is unre­lent­ing, but his desire to resist, though small and frag­ile, is pow­er­ful enough to make him take the first step in his qui­et rebel­lion.