“ It appeared that there had even been demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate ration to twenty grams a week. And only yesterday […] it had been announced that the ration was to be reduced to twenty grams a week. Was it possible that they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, they swallowed it. [...] The eyeless crature at the other table swallowed it fanatically. passionately, with a furious desire to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone who should suggest that last week the ration had been thirty grams. Syme, too-in some more double complex way, involving doublethink-Syme, swallow it. Was he, then, alone in the possession of a memory?”
Hope is in such short supply in large parts of the UK that false hope, demonstrably false hope, and even doublespeak-esque cynically lying false hope can take hold.
And so a chunk of the masses vacillate between "I believe virtually everything I read, and I think that is what makes me more of a selective human than someone who doesn't believe anything."[0] and "Game over man, Game Over."[1]
George Orwell, 1984.