Maxine Beneba Clarke
2019

first, the Ministry of Truth doctored language

their words weaponry, loaded and aimed:

asylum seekers became illegals

they said detention centres, not jails

 

then the Ministry of Peace

          tweaked the laws from the nuremberg trials:

said the free in free speech meant hate

 

they tabled fascist slogans in the parliament;

and burnt the universal declaration

     

it turned out their robust economy

was just smoke and mirrors for the election win:

that the Ministry of Plenty’d worked overtime

          to spin doubleplus fake-news

 

they brought in the Ministry of Home Affairs

(calling it border control laid their brute-force too bare)

 

          the people baulked,

but six months down the track

word-nationalism became normal

meanwhile, in perth,

          orwellian telescreens

scanned every passing face

 

and they said there’s nothing to fear

if you’ve nothing to hide

     (from the thought-crime database)

 

the people, terrified, whispered

it’s just like that book – like 1984

room 101 was guantánamo

     

and false weapons

                     caused decade-long wars

 

last, they sent men in dark tailored suits,

          with signed warrants,

to the homes of the tellers of truth:

day raids, brazen

          like we’d never seen

 

when the Ministry of Truth doctored language,

                                                                                        in the year 2019