Princess Diana's Keynote Address

 Keynote Address at a one day seminar co-hosted by the Mines Advisory Group and the Landmine Survivors Network, London: June 12, 1997 by Diana, Princess of Wales.
NEWSPEAK:

Comrades,

I say it is plusuncoldful I greet this gathering on landexploders organized by the Exploders Advice-Give League and Landexploders Comradelivers League. I greet it because the world is plusunknowful of the ruin of Party members, arm and land which endlife comrades landexploders make the plusunrich people in Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia.Yes, until I goed to African Oceania at start of this year—which I will speak during morningtime—I unknowed it. 

The landexploder is a sneakful comrade-endlifer. Unshort unbefore fight ends, unguilty uncrimminals are vaporized or hurted, superstates of which we hear small. They be unluved with no record. The world, with doublepluswork, stays bigly unmoved by a death count of 800 comrades monthly--many of them females and juniors. The ones that are not endlifed firstly-and they number another 1,200 monthly-get hurted ungood hurt and disableful for life. I beed in African Oceania in January with Airstrip One Medic League-a country where there be 15 million landexploders where there are, comrades, 10 million comrades- with want to bring world think to this unthinked issue.

Some comrades think my comeness is political talk. But it is not. I be not a politicalful comrade. As I sayed at the time, and I willed unhate to say again now, my unlikes are for the good of the comrades. This is why I feeled bringed to this comradian sadness. This is why I wanted to smallerize my part in workfulness towards a world-wide unapproveness on these weapons. In my time in African Oceania, I seed at first hand three parts of this ungoodfulness. In the Ministry of Health in the capital, I goed to some landexploder uncrimminals who did not die, and seed their hurt. I am not saying them because I knowed it turned many comrades away. I do say, when you see the broked bodies, some of them juniors, catched in these landexploders, you think at the livingness they doed. What is plus-unnice about these hurts, is that they are regularful hurted where medical tools be unfound.

OLDSPEAK

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I must begin by saying how warmly I welcome this conference on landmines convened by the Mines Advisory Group and the Landmines Survivors' Network. It is so welcome because the world is too little aware of the waste of life, limb and land which anti-personnel landmines are causing among some of the poorest people on earth. Indeed, until my journey to Angola early this year - on which I am going to speak this morning - I was largely unaware of it too.

For the mine is a stealthy killer. Long after conflict is ended, its innocent victims die or are wounded singly, in countries of which we hear little. Their lonely fate is never reported. The world, with its many other preoccupations, remains largely unmoved by a death roll of something like 800 people every month - many of them women and children. Those who are not killed outright - and they number another 1,200 a month - suffer terrible injuries and are handicapped for life. I was in Angola in January with the British Red Cross - a country where there are 15 million landmines in a population, Ladies and Gentlemen, of 10 million - with the desire of drawing world attention to this vital, but hitherto largely neglected issue.

Some people chose to interpret my visit as a political statement. But it was not. I am not a political figure. As I said at the time, and I'd like to re-iterate now, my interests are humanitarian. That is why I felt drawn to this human tragedy. This is why I wanted to play down my part in working towards a world-wide ban on these weapons. During my days in Angola, I saw at first hand three aspects of this scourge. In the hospitals of Luanda, the capital, and Huambo, scene of bitter fighting not long ago, I visited some of the mine victims who had survived, and saw their injuries. I am not going to describe them, because in my experience it turns too many people away from the subject. Suffice to say, that when you look at the mangled bodies, some of them children, caught by these mines, you marvel at their survival. What is so cruel about these injuries, is that they are almost invariably suffered, where medical resources are scarce. 

Though the Party cannot understand why one would choose to read an interpretation in a language as vague as Oldspeak, the full original version of this speech can be found at http://gos.sbc.edu/d/diana.html

Ignorance is Strength

Once, when I was very small,
I saw a tattoo on my grandmother's wrist.
We were baking cookies and I saw it.
I saw some numbers peeking out from beneath her sleeve
as she kneaded the dough with her bony calloused palms.

I had seen people with tattoos before,
Gina, the woman who did story time at the library, had a butterfly on her shoulder.
But this was different. This was not a picture like Gina's butterfly.
So I asked her, "Bubbe*, what's that on your arm?
They're numbers, aren't they? What are they for?"

Her typically olive skin and rosy cheeks went white.
After a brief silence that seemed like a lifetime she spoke.
"It's nothing, angel.
Come, help Bubbe with the chocolate chips.
Cookies can't bake themselves, you know."

But it wasn't nothing. I knew that.
Why would she have paled that way if it didn't bring up grief?
And her voice; so quiet, so distant. It sounded nothing like anything I had heard from her before.
I didn't want to hurt her, not anymore than I already had,
But my childlike curiosity got the best of me, and I brought it up that night as she tucked me into bed.

Her eyes seemed to travel to a place far far away.
I tried to follow her, but I couldn't keep up.
She began to sing a song in Polish, and as I listened she wept.
"In time you will learn, my darling. And once you know you can never forget.
But for now rest. Rest your eyes and grandma will sing you to sleep.

Knowing what I know now, I'm glad she didn't tell me that night.

*Bubbe is Yiddish for grandmother

An Attempt at Impressionistic Prose

A jolt of voltage filled the stage. It was startling, as she wasn’t expecting such a sudden burst of electricity, but both the hum of the current zipping through the wires and the bright light that accompanied the jolt had become a comforting sound to her over the past several years. The blinding glow coming from the fixture just in front of the proscenium arch above her signaled that the time had come. Soon, the empty and still space would be filled with chatter. The crisp, biting chill in the air that could be found at just about every theatre she had ever worked at would be replaced with the warmth of patron body heat flooding the room. The crimson chairs looked oddly stiff from where she stood. It wasn’t natural for them to stand so frozen and hardened. It appeared as if they had never been tasked with the duty of supporting a body before. “No matter,” she thought to herself. “soon they will curve under the weight of an excited audience member and the rigidity will be no more." Her gaze lowered to the dark, coal colored ground beneath her. It’s texture was smooth and even, the blackness interrupted by a maze of neon colored tape in varied colors that created a pattern only decodable by select individuals. She knew it was time to retire to her dressing room. Her sweatpants and paint splattered t-shirt needed to be traded for a slimming corset and rose colored gown, and her thick, wavy mane of hair was due to be transformed into an elegant Victorian updo. She knew where she needed to go, yet her feet refused to carry her away from this majestic view. “Here onstage is where the magic happens.” she thought. “Here is where I belong.”

Crusaders of the Congo

     “It was a dark and stormy night.” Except that it wasn’t. Though many mystery and adventure novels begin just like this with a courageous crew of sailors leaving the world as they know it behind to set off into the great unknown, the tale of the Sports Ball Crusaders begins quite like any other cold but sunny Monday afternoon in January.
     Contrary to many other crews of sailors chosen to embark on adventure, the four ladies of the Team Sports Ball Crusade were not chosen to venture into the great unknown because of their brute force. Nor were they chosen for this mission because of their remarkable strategic planning. In fact, these ladies were rather ordinary. However, it  soon became clear that they did have a strength: determination to stick to procedure, even in the face of disaster.
     Their determination and refusal to quit proved useful, as a monsoon hit during their first month in the jungle. The Sports Ball Crusaders decided to use this emergency to press for resources, even though they had begun their stay in the Congo with an Olive Branch, a promise of peace. Though the girls felt badly for making the natives gather extra resources, the natives seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, and rewarded the crew with goodwill. While other explorers may have quit then and there, they decided to press on.   
     With the worst behind them, they began their second month in the jungle. However it wasn’t long before rain hit. Not wanting to cause too much hostility, they sacrificed their own resource to provide for both themselves and others during the storm. The natives rewarded their charity with more goodwill.
     Month three arrived, and finally the sun gods seemed to be on their side. Not forgetting the mission, they pressed for resources, and the weather stayed pleasant. It was a rough first two months, and the natives were sympathetic. They continued to track resources for the sailors and continued to spread goodwill. The good weather and goodwill lasted for another two months, and the ladies decided to lay low for a bit, not wanting to ruin their good relationship with the natives. By month six however, they knew they had to continue their mission if they wanted to profit, and pressed for resources. The sun gods must have known they were being greedy, and they were punished with rain. Additionally, the natives responded with hostility. The girls remained passive however, and continued with their business. They lay low for month seven, with peaceful results, however when the natives responded again with hostility in month eight, even after the crusaders passed on pushing for resources, they decided being nice wasn’t getting them anywhere.
     For the remainder of their stay, they attacked the natives, and pressed for resources every month. The natives fought back, but at this point the ladies did not care. They came for one reason only: profit. And profit they did! With a surplus of five resources, they patted themselves on the back for a job well done. They arrived back at work, eager to show the boss the rewards of their hard work. However, they soon learned that another expedition had arrived first. Heartbroken, they vowed that the next time they journeyed out into the great unknown they would not be so pleasant in the beginning.