George Orwell A Hanging: What Most Readers Get Wrong About the 1931 Essay

George Orwell A Hanging: What Most Readers Get Wrong About the 1931 Essay

It was a rainy morning in Burma. Typical, right? But the rain wasn't the problem. The problem was the man they were about to kill.

George Orwell, or Eric Blair as he was known then, was standing in the mud of a prison yard in the late 1920s. He wasn't a world-famous novelist yet. He was just a guy in a uniform working for the Indian Imperial Police, feeling increasingly sickened by the machinery of the British Empire. This experience eventually birthed George Orwell A Hanging, a short, brutal, and deceptively simple essay published in The Adelphi in 1931.

People usually read this in high school and think it’s just a "capital punishment is bad" piece. Honestly? That's barely scratching the surface. It’s not just about the ethics of the noose. It’s about the sudden, jarring realization of what it means to be a living, breathing human being in a world that wants to turn you into a statistic or a "case."

The Moment Everything Changed: The Puddle

There is one specific moment in George Orwell A Hanging that defines the whole narrative. You probably remember it. As the prisoner is being marched toward the gallows, flanked by warders, he steps slightly aside to avoid a puddle.

Think about that for a second.

The man is going to die in about three minutes. His life is functionally over. Yet, his reflexes—his biological instinct to keep his feet dry and stay comfortable—are still perfectly intact. Orwell writes about this with a kind of stunned clarity. He realizes that until that moment, he hadn't fully grasped what they were doing. They weren't just "executing a criminal." They were destroying a mind that still reasoned, a body that still felt the cold, and a soul that instinctively avoided a splash of muddy water.

It's a tiny detail. It's almost mundane. But for Orwell, it’s the pivot point. He describes it as the "mystery of the soul," where he suddenly sees the "unspeakable wrongness" of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. The prisoner wasn't a dying man; he was a man very much alive, and that is precisely why the act of hanging him felt so grotesque to everyone involved.

A Dog in the Middle of a Death March

Then there's the dog.

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Out of nowhere, a large, half-wild dog bounds into the prison yard. It’s happy. It’s wagging its tail. It doesn't know it's at an execution. It just sees a bunch of humans and wants to play. It even tries to lick the prisoner's face.

The contrast is wild. You have this rigid, formal, bureaucratic process of death, and then you have this symbol of pure, chaotic life interrupting the whole thing. The warders are horrified. They try to throw stones at the dog to make it go away. Why? Because the dog’s presence makes the execution feel "real" and "human" in a way that makes the guards uncomfortable. It breaks the "professional" spell of the imperial machine.

Orwell uses the dog to show how thin the veneer of "justice" really is. When the dog licks the prisoner, the distinction between the "law-abiding citizen" and the "condemned criminal" vanishes. To the dog, they’re all just people. To Orwell, the dog represents the natural world’s indifference to the petty, violent games humans play with power.

The Imperial Machine and the Boredom of Death

We often talk about the "banality of evil," a term Hannah Arendt coined much later, but Orwell was documenting it in Burma years before.

What’s striking about George Orwell A Hanging is how bored everyone seems. The Superintendent is cranky because the execution is running late. He wants to get it over with so he can go have breakfast. The warders are just following orders, gripping the prisoner by the arms like he's a piece of luggage.

This is the reality of empire that Orwell hated. It turns people into cogs. If you’re the guy pulling the lever, you can’t afford to think about the prisoner’s humanity. You have to think about the schedule. You have to think about the paperwork. You have to think about your own breakfast.

Orwell noticed that the "official" language used around the hanging was designed to mask the horror. They didn't talk about killing a man; they talked about "the execution of the sentence." It’s a linguistic trick he would later master and dissect in 1984 with Newspeak. In this 1931 essay, we see the seeds of his lifelong obsession with how language is used to hide the truth.

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Why the Prison Setting Matters

The setting isn't just a backdrop. It’s a character.

  • The cells are like "small animal cages."
  • The gravel is "like a bed of hot cinders."
  • The silence is heavy, broken only by the prisoner’s rhythmic chanting of "Ram! Ram! Ram!"

These sensory details aren't just there for flavor. They build a sense of claustrophobia. You, the reader, are trapped in that yard with Orwell. You feel the humidity. You feel the awkwardness. You feel the collective sigh of relief when the "job" is finally done.

The Aftermath: Whiskey and Laughter

The most chilling part of the essay isn't the hanging itself. It’s what happens immediately after.

Once the man is dead and his body is "vaguely" hanging there, the tension snaps. And how do the living celebrate? They laugh. They drink whiskey. They talk about how "well" the prisoner took it. The Superintendent even remarks that the man "wasn't a bad fellow."

This is the psychological defense mechanism of the oppressor. If they didn't laugh, they’d have to cry, or worse, they’d have to admit they committed murder. By turning the event into a joke or a "successful operation," they can go back to their lives. Orwell admits that he laughed, too. He drank the whiskey. He was part of the machine.

That honesty is what makes Orwell so credible. He doesn't pose as a saint. He admits he was complicit. He shows us that the real horror of a system like the British Raj isn't just that it kills people—it's that it forces "decent" people to participate in the killing and then joke about it afterward to stay sane.

The Debate: Is it Fiction or Fact?

Literary scholars have argued for decades about whether George Orwell A Hanging is a literal account of a specific day or a "composite" story.

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Orwell’s biographer, Bernard Crick, suggested that while Orwell likely witnessed executions, this specific narrative might be a blend of several experiences designed to maximize the emotional impact. Honestly? It doesn't matter. Whether every single word is "fact" or whether the dog was a literary device doesn't change the truth of the essay. The emotional truth is what sticks.

Orwell was writing at a time when the British public didn't really want to know what was happening in the colonies. They liked the tea and the silk, but they didn't want to hear about the gallows in Burma. This essay was a slap in the face. It forced the reader to stand in the mud and watch the man avoid the puddle.

Actionable Insights: How to Read Orwell Today

If you're revisiting this essay or teaching it, don't just focus on the "message." Look at the craft. Look at how Orwell uses the physical world to explain the psychological world.

Pay attention to the "Gaps"
Orwell never tells us what the prisoner did. Was he a murderer? A political rebel? A thief? It doesn't matter. By leaving out the crime, Orwell forces us to focus solely on the act of killing. He removes the "he deserved it" argument from the table to see if we still support the state's right to take a life.

Analyze the Soundscape
The prisoner’s cry of "Ram! Ram! Ram!" is described as being like the tolling of a bell. It’s steady, rhythmic, and terrifying. Notice how the other sounds—the dog’s bark, the "snapping" of the rope—interact with that chant.

Consider the Power Dynamics
Look at the physical positions of the characters. The prisoner is always being held, pushed, or positioned. He has no agency over his own body. The guards, while "free," are also bound by the "ritual" of the execution. Nobody in that yard is truly a free agent.

Moving Forward with the Text

Understanding George Orwell A Hanging requires looking past the 1930s context and seeing how it applies to modern systems of power. Whether it's corporate bureaucracy or state legal systems, the tendency to "dehumanize" the individual to make the system run smoother is still very much with us.

To get the most out of your study of this work, you should compare it to his later essay, "Shooting an Elephant." Both deal with the same theme: how the "imperialist" is forced to act in a certain way to "impress the natives," often at the cost of his own morality.

  1. Read the essay aloud. The rhythm of Orwell’s prose is designed to build tension.
  2. Research the historical context of the Indian Imperial Police in the 1920s to see what kind of environment Eric Blair was actually living in.
  3. Identify the "puddles" in your own life—those moments where a small, human detail suddenly makes a massive, abstract problem feel incredibly real.

Orwell didn't write this to be a "classic." He wrote it because he was haunted by what he saw in Burma. When we read it today, we should be a little haunted, too. If you finish the essay and feel comfortable, you probably didn't read it closely enough. The "unspeakable wrongness" isn't a thing of the past; it’s a constant risk in any society that prioritizes the "system" over the person.