Orwell, George — Nineteen eighty-four [93]

It was always at night – the arrests invariably happened at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vaporized was the usual word. — Orwell, George, Nineteen eighty-four, 93

Note

The shift to second person converts surveillance’s endpoint into the reader’s own possibility. ‘Vaporized’ — the administrative euphemism that ends the sentence — is the state’s final word on the individual.