In 1928, Edward Bernays, the wretched father of modern propaganda,
wrote: “The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and
opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. Those who
manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government
which is the true ruling power of our country. We are governed, our minds are
molded, our tastes formed, our ideas suggested, largely by men we have never
heard of…”
Take
a deep breath. Ready? In today’s episode of the current president in the iron
mask, and a 77-year-old physical freak, Biden, with a brain aneurysm (and
twelve doctors) who won’t make it through the swearing-in ceremony if he’s
elected, leaving the fate of the nation to one Kamala Harris; and a country
smoking in ruins, sold out by Fauci to the Chinese—hold your horses, no
self-respecting B studio will green-light this mess, it could never happen,
this is America, this is the land of the rednecks with big guns ready to invade
governors’ offices alongside coiffed soccer moms who see their kiddies
quarantined and locked down in schools after several snot-bubble sneezing third
graders test positive on a viral assay geared to inflate case numbers…
What
do they have on President Trump? Is it his taxes? Something much worse? A night
in a hotel room? I’m asking, because the US GDP has just dropped more than 30
percent this past quarter—the greatest collapse in US history. Bar none. And
what is the president saying, what is he doing? Besides wearing a black mask.
And talking about operation warp speed to develop a killer Gates vaccine. And
wondering whether the presidential election should be postponed.
Edward BernaysBest
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Recently, I wrote five
consecutive pieces directed at Trump, urging him to use the full power of his
office to force open the economy of the country, come hell or high water,
deploying the military or the DOJ—because the economic wreckage was that bad, and
the danger line had been crossed months ago—and how much more evidence does the
man need to convince himself this is an economic war being waged against The
People, under the cover of a fake pandemic? Does he need Fauci to confess
before a tribunal, Gates to admit he’s a Howdy Doody eugenicist on YouTube, the
UN to issue a directive swearing allegiance to Mao and Stalin and Lenin and
turning over its priceless piece of NYC real estate donated by Rockefeller to
ANTIFA? Would that do it? Does he need raging mobs of dispossessed and evicted
Americans attacking the White House and being gunned down by troops? Would that
do it? Does he need a spinning silver Saucer landing in the Rose Garden with
gray men stepping out holding a communique from the Milky Way Council of Elders
stating America is finished? Would that be enough? Or does the president just
want to wear a black mask and not find his ass with both hands?
In 1928, Edward Bernays, the wretched
father of modern propaganda, wrote: “The conscious and intelligent manipulation
of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in
democratic society. Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society
constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of our
country. We are governed, our minds are molded, our tastes formed, our ideas
suggested, largely by men we have never heard of…”
It’s
obvious that the global virus fakery called COVID depends on The Individual
conceived as a social construct. He is now a carrier, infector, transmitter,
vector of disease.
Even
more important in this personality makeover, he is now a socially conscious
member of the community of share and care and collective goo.
“Once
we convince you that you’re an altruist down to your toes, we can manipulate
you six ways from Sunday.”
That’s the synthetic part.
You take a direct ideal—humans helping other humans—and you twist it into
papier mache and plastic and cartoons and deflating politeness and robothood
and automatic reflex and stimulus response. Everybody’s a good neighbor in
Pleasantville. Everybody wants to “save the world.” There is a new gloss over
society. Shiny. Oh so shiny.
Jacobson, StevenBest
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This operation takes decades to perform. It
involves constant messaging on television, in classrooms—especially in
classrooms—in the workplace, in homes, in churches.
And
when the operation succeeds, guess what? The government can enlist untold
numbers of people in self-immolating programs on behalf of Humanity. Pull the
trigger, obtain compliance.
“Of
course I’ll go along with the masks and lockdowns. Anything to serve a higher
cause.”
Yes,
indeed.
A new
identity has been glued to The Individual. He is no longer just himself. He’s
been made “better.”
Again,
the trick is starting out with something genuine—and then twisting it into an
artificial shape and imposing it on the mind.
Plotline:
people were once strong, independent, resistant, and highly suspicious of all
efforts to entrain them into cartoon versions of themselves. But after enough
messaging, they became docile.
Thread:
Once upon a time, pro athletes were highly difficult to control as “citizens.”
But then came the concept of being role models. Which meant: behaving. Which
meant doing good works in the community, for charity, for the less fortunate.
Nothing wrong with good works. Certainly not. But hidden in the background,
there was a successful effort to make these men over into obedient members
inside society’s structure, willing to follow orders on behalf of the greater
good. As defined by appointed anointed officials. There was a reversal in their
minds—along with very large amounts of money….have to protect that cash…
Sports tough guys,
billionaire team owners submit to COVID.
Le Bon, GustaveBest
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I
stand in awe of their cowardice.
Not
one of them will grow a pair and say NO to COVID. They obey senseless and
destructive government directives like abject weaklings. The whole lot of them.
As
the three major sports leagues in America try to open their seasons, the
athletes bend and bow before warnings: THE WHOLE YEAR COULD BE LOST IF ENOUGH
PLAYERS TEST POSITIVE. That little worm Fauci actually controls their every
move, their dollars, their careers, their teams, their fortunes. And they take
it.
The
team owners, rough and ready capitalists who do cutthroat business like pirates
of old, meekly submit as well.
Yes,
these sports heroes and their owners do exhibit all the signs of living in a
state of hypnosis about “the pandemic.” But that’s too easy as a final answer.
The athletes are supposed to have enormous reserves of adrenaline and courage.
They play through pain. They endure injuries that would make ordinary civilians
flee to Disability.
And
yes, it’s about the money, just as it was about the money when the China-Nike
scandal blew up and pro basketball stars kept their mouths shut about the
horrific human rights abuses (mass murders) in China, in order to protect their
shoe contracts. Sure. Money.
But
again, it goes beyond that to basic courage and independence, which these
players are showing NONE of.
No
guts, no glory.
Some of the more famous
athletes are acting as overt whores of the State. They make little video
vignettes for propaganda television. They’re “at home with the family,” urging
the public to go along with the hammer directives of the State lockdowns, which
are destroying millions and millions of lives.
Le Bon, GustaveBest
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The
athletes and the owners and the coaches have fitted themselves into the weave
of society at a level that is the ultimate choke.
Where
is the team that says NO, WE WON’T GET TESTED, WE WON’T COOPERATE WITH CONTACT
TRACING, WE’RE READY TO PLAY, WE’RE NOT BUYING THIS LOCKDOWN.
Where
are the sons of bitches of days of yore who went out there and ran and hit and
slid and tackled and blocked and fought and clawed for every advantage? These
modern-day Sampsons have had haircuts. They’re bald.
I try
to imagine what men like Ted Williams and John McGraw would have done and said
in the face of a Fauci lockdown warning. It would have been a sight to behold.
There
was a time when the men who built cars at the Ford factory—who staged a massive
sit-down strike at their work benches and wrestled the right to unionize away
from Henry Ford himself—these men would have rushed INTO work, no matter what,
if told they had to stay at home and lock themselves in because of a GERM.
Now,
like little lambs, the athletes’ unions fold up their tents and obey the
governors’ edicts.
Take
all the coaches of all the sports in the country—not one of them is saying NO
to the lockdowns and the insane directives about distancing and masks. Not one
coach among all these tough guys, most of whom are former players, is saying
the whole vicious charade is insane and he’s not going to give in.
These
athletes have been mind-controlled at a level that is astonishing, given how
they used to think and live and play their sports. Their natural impulses to do
good have been turned against them, through the magic of years and years of
propaganda messaging.
—Now
let’s turn from these bald Sampsons to the people of New York.
I was
born there. One of my early memories was looking across 2nd Avenue at a candy
store. This was 1943. The candy store no longer sold Fleer’s bubble gum—the
best bubble gum—because the latex was needed for the War effort. But the rumor
was, they peddled it under the counter for an exorbitant two cents a chunk,
with the cartoon inside the wrapper.
When
I was 22, after growing up in the suburbs, I moved back to NY and for several
years lived among some of the smartest asymmetric people in the world. You
could have an argument with the dumbest person in the city and it would be a
smart argument. Everyone had opinions, and they could back them up. There was
no such thing as political correctness, believe me. If you had uttered the
phrase, no one would have known what you were talking about.
New
York was a great city. The thing was, no one was proud to BE a New Yorker. That
false synthetic layer of goo came much later. In the old days, there was no
pose, no artificial front. People had ideas, they had talent, they had survival
instincts.
The
best jazz musicians in the world lived and played in New York. When a giant
like Bud Powell was playing at Birdland, you could get in for a dollar and sit
in a hard wooden chair and listen to him until two in the morning. A buck for
the greatest pianist in the world.
And
now, the city is wrecked and boarded up, and the people are locked in.
Out
on the street, the few aimless glazed pedestrians wear masks. They’re not the
same people. They’re replacements. Pods.
OVERNIGHT,
the people of New York could throw off the whole phony pandemic, not only for
themselves, but the world. They could come out of their apartments and go back
to work, defying the petty little lunatics like Cuomo and De Blasio. They could
open up their restaurants and bars and stack in the customers. They could start
building again. They could open wide the libraries and museums and fill the
concert halls. They could open up the little groceries to all comers. They
could laugh in the face of the public health authorities.
And
it would be OVER.
In
1962, that’s exactly what would have happened. And not for some cause. Not for
the chance to do a little virtue signaling. Not for the sake of “being a New
Yorker.” For survival. For continuing to live their lives, people would have
shaken off that slimy fraud Fauci like a five-minute bad dream. A joke played
by an idiot.
They
would have looked at the screaming lockdown headlines in the newspapers on the
corner stand and shrugged and gone on their way. “You’re telling me I can’t
walk down the street and listen to John Coltrane at the Jazz Gallery on a
summer night? You’re out of your mind.” And the Termini brothers, who owned the
club, would have packed the place even tighter than usual, just to thumb their
noses at the mayor and his con artists. They would have put in a call to their
contact at Democratic Machine headquarters. And it would have been OVER.
No
one would have obeyed. Independent scholars would have walked into the 42nd St.
library, as they did every day, and gone to the reference desk and asked for
manuscripts on ancient Roman law and the Walt Whitman papers and the early maps
of the city. The quiet upstairs macrobiotic restaurant on 2nd Avenue (1962)
would have served supper as usual. The Cedar Bar on University Place would have
turned in another raucous night. The Irish bars would have been jammed. A
chamber orchestra in Washington Square Park would have performed Vivaldi, with
the sounds of traffic from 6th Avenue in the background. Miles Davis would have
played at the Apollo. If Ravi Shankar was in town, he would have done a couple
of stunning hours of ragas at the Asia Society and adjourned to an East Side
apartment to continue on until dawn. No one and nothing would have obeyed a
lockdown.
Pandemic?
Virus? Get serious.
That
New York…where is it? Who are all these one-dimensional super-politicized puny
goofs of the city swearing allegiance to the medical fakers? Are they waiting
for gold stars on the blackboard from the teacher?
In
the old days, New York had DISDAIN. You didn’t get by with platitudes. You
didn’t blithely mouth Left or Right and get away with it. The city was plugged
into its own non-stop bullshit detector. What did you have to OFFER? Aimless
blabbermouths were consigned to a special circle of Hell.
There
was no political PROGRAM. Today’s “New Yorkers” would apparently be afraid to
live in a landscape like that. They wouldn’t know which way to turn. They have
a desperate need to become slaves to an IDEA. In this case, an idea about a
virus.
In
the 1960s, concealed by the Vietnam War, the city was undergoing a
transformation into a cartoon of itself. That’s when the synthetic notion of
“being a New Yorker”—based on nothing—started to take hold.
There
were many reasons. Mind numbing leveling television. The raising of children to
be targets of advertising and fetish objects in a consumer society. The new New
Yorkers were taught that liberal politics were a necessary adjunct of their
status. Liberal equaled big government. Messaging from every possible quarter
was aimed at turning the people of the city into servants of share and care as
defined by government…
Going
to doctors and acquiring diagnoses of physical and mental conditions was
starting to take off as a social trend. It was part of “good behavior” and
“being good.” The medicines and the vaccines were, of course, toxic. Street
drugs were also trending upward. Although no one wanted to admit it, because
“being good for the greater good” was paramount, the city was taking in more immigrants
than it could handle. There weren’t enough jobs. Desultory schools were
steamrollered. Even skyscraper architecture was moving away from unique
structures like the Chrysler and the Empire State, into functional steel and
glass boxes. Signs of the minds. “We need more offices so more people can be
good workers for good companies.”
With
people dumbed down enough, they would fall for any con. Any piece of shiny
gloss. And it was provided:
New
York media (the greatest communication center in the world) covered the rise of
New Money as if it were a perfumed cultural signal of a dawning epoch. By the
1970s, intellectuals in the city were reading hyped chronicles of the emerging
$$ stars of Manhattan. Painters, fashioneers, stock speculators. And yes, Trump.
The content of these celebs’ output was entirely irrelevant. All that mattered
was that it was ringing up extraordinary sales in inflated dollars.
To
view how thin and vulnerable new New York had become, and how brainless—when,
in 2020, the fake pandemic hit, and lockdowns were announced, the population
promptly folded, and went into mask and social distance mode without a whisper
of protest.
In
short order, the city was made over into abject wreckage, shuttered, obedient,
loyal to a psychotic delusion.
In a
silly song he recorded long after its internal demise, Frank Sinatra said New
York was the city that never sleeps.
Now
that’s all it does.
CODA:
If the September 11th attacks had happened in 1962, there would have been no
need for Billy Joel or the Yankees to rally “all New Yorkers.” The people of
the city would have looked at the firemen and cops as human heroes risking
everything for other humans. Period. That would have been enough. More than
enough. That would have gone deeper into souls and minds. Where it counts.
—Entraining
minds. The job of the super-State. Reworking independence into devotion to a
synthetic pose of altruism.
But
in this phony pandemic, it’s good to be BAD…
Reprinted with permission
from Jon
Rappoport’s blog.
Jon
Rappoport runs No More Fake News. The author of an explosive
collection, The Matrix Revealed, Jon was a candidate for a
US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a
Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years,
writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA
Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and
Europe.
Copyright © Jon Rappoport
