The voice does two things. It tells the story of the times; and it injects the telltale emotions, moods, and attitudes of that story.
The public swallows the tale with all its lies and omissions, and accepts the way in which the whole act is spooled out by the sound of the narrative voice.
The tone of the story creates a trance.
Different societies are vulnerable to different styles of story-telling.
Americans on this side of the Atlantic, listening to the radio speeches of Hitler delivered with staccato militant force, thought the German people were clearly crazy to go along.
It never occurred to the Americans, glued to their radios listening to President Roosevelt, that many Germans would think the sing-song pseudo-British style of the aristocratic FDR was a transparent joke.
What I’m talking about here has has NOTHING to do with the American cause or the Nazi cause. It has to do with different voices for different societies.
“I’ll take my hypnosis on rye with mustard.” “I’ll have mine on a bun with mayo.”
It’s assumed that, because Hitler and Mussolini were cementing their control through mass arrests and overt shows of force, they could get away with vocal displays of shouting and intimidation. Otherwise, the people would have turned away from them in disgust.
That’s not the whole picture, by any means. Large numbers of people in Germany and Italy responded enthusiastically to the voices of Hitler and Mussolini.
The trance they entered, as a result, wasn’t a passive narcosis. It was a kind of hysteria that demanded action.
If, down the road, America is put under an OPENLY declared state of martial law, with all the bells and whistles attached, the elite television anchors, like Brian Williams and Scott Pelley, will tell that story—not like Mussolini would—but as our anchors always do; in measured, “responsible, objective” tones. It will be “grave and sober.” The voices will suggest a dollop of alarm, but…everything is under control.
That’s the way modern Americans want to hear The Voice narrate the story of the times.
And the president of the moment? He will deploy those same tones. He won’t be standing on the balcony of a building shouting and waving his arms.
But the result will be the same.
In the wake of post-WW2 America, as the feisty combative Harry Truman exited the White House, the bland-egg Eisenhower took up residency. He was always calm and under control. He was the modest hero. He was what you’d call, in his speeches, a Grade B anchor. Not good, but not the worst.
At the same time, American television news was coming into being. Douglas Edwards, one of the first elite anchors, was a smoother, better-trained-for-television Eisenhower. Ed Murrow, who had been narrating the war from London, added his “pregnant-with-meaning” ominous tone to US news broadcasting.
The narrative style of the American voice was under construction.
Chet Huntley and David Brinkley, along with Walter Cronkite, moved in to put their ineradicable stamp on the sound of our civilization. They were a step up from Doug Edwards. They could crystallize a tight range of repressed feelings in every distinct sentence they uttered. They were coming out of literary traditions: Hemingway, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett.
Tough guy with a warm edge.
America loved it. Those new voices enabled every kind of con, six ways from Sunday, to be visited on an adoring public.
Flash forward to 1968. Despite the revolution of the ’60s, more than half of voting America still wanted the whitebread, big-bullshit, used-car-salesman nostalgia of the previous decade. So Richard Nixon, a man who couldn’t open his lips without lying on several simultaneous levels, waltzed into the White House.
After the hopeless Gerald Ford stood in for Nixon, a cartoon of a cartoon was needed; a peacemaker; a man “of the cloth.” Sold out to David Rockefeller down to his jockstrap, Jimmy Carter came to the presidency to heal the nation from Watergate. He was the new voice silkily twanging the American story, a respite from Nixon.
Then, out of Hollywood, appeared an actor who, despite a wretched history in films, could sell the shining city on the hill. Reagan performed far better than expected on the podium. America wanted a redux of the freedom story, and he supplied it, as the invasive federal government nevertheless continue to burgeon from its every rotting pore.
And on it went. Presidents and anchors on television conspired to deliver a two-dimensional fairy tale, in a country where an accelerated androidal conformity was beginning to dominate the landscape.
Television was the mutual electronic feeding trough for the Great Voices and the public. They mixed and matched and swam in convenient concert, through gray offal.
Talent spotters at the networks and inside the major political parties knew what to look for. They knew how the voices needed to sound. They knew the game.
Slightly more progressive and hip for the boomers? Bill Clinton.
Shit-kicker John Wayne retro? GW Bush.
A new interplanetary sun-god messiah? Obama.
A Hemingway knockoff with an edge in his voice? Dan Rather.
Smooth-groomed high IQ macaque? Brian Williams.
Might turn in his mother to the cops? Scott Pelley.
Drooling sad-eyed swan imported from the Morning Show? Diane Sawyer.
Sacrifice the mind on the altar of cosmically oozing sentimentality, tricked out as news? Oprah.
Floating blithely in an ocean of high-level corporate-government-banking crimes, Americans can choose their favorite voice to obscure the truth and tell a very, very tall tale.
That’s what people want, and that’s what they get.
Will any of these elite voices ever upset a serious apple cart? Not on your life.
If America really wanted a Hitler to stand in the middle of the Rose Bowl, surrounded by perfect columns of ramrod soldiers, and lay out the next hundred years of triumph of the will, do you think the television networks would find one?
Are you kidding? In a New York minute.
But Americans want their fascism soft-boiled. Americans want gradualism. They don’t want a coup in the middle of the night. They want to watch the leaves fall off the tree of freedom one branch at a time.
When the Republicans ran Mitt Romney against Barack Obama, they were banking on the premise that somehow, somewhere, the majority of the public desired a retro Wonder Bread hero. But that voice and that tone and that mood didn’t fit. It didn’t carry the day.
Interestingly, there was an enormous groundswell for a man who had no voice at all, in the media sense. He just told the truth as he saw it, and he cut deep with that sword. His millions of supporters had awakened from the need for a trance.
They were alert to the fascism of the American power structure. They wanted out, and they had their leader in that cause.
But the Republican door was firmly closed to him, because of his ideas, but also because he wasn’t a typical anchor.
You can take this to the bank. If Ron Paul ever became the voice of our times, reality itself as most people accept it would crack under their feet, and they would fall into black space screaming.
One reason? Paul isn’t spinning a story with the impressive rhythms and tones and segueways of a media pro. Therefore, you actually have to pay attention to the content of his words. That alone is enough to give most people strokes, blood clots, and titanic neurological chaos.
Two? Paul knows what American fascism is. He has a solid reference point: the Constitution. He understands our fascism has a corporate and government undertow. When he says Audit the Fed, he’s not speaking as an accountant.
This fact brings on heart arrhythmia at Bilderberg, the Trilateral Commission, and the CFR. Accountants can be relied on to hide the basic facts. A guy like Ron Paul? He actually wants the basic truth and basic crimes of the Fed to come to light. All of them. Danger.
Ron Paul is a narrative-breaker. He interrupts the flow and the trance. His memory of history excludes Walter Cronkite as the father of our country. It goes back to the period when there was, God forbid, no television and no radio. There was a Constitution.
The US government is loathe to legislate mandatory television-news-watching to every American. It leaves that aspect of the fascist agenda to its corporate partners and their advertising agencies.
And little boys and girls dream of growing up and becoming finely coiffed and perfumed anchors and pundits.
A precious few will make it. They’ll tell tales of the adored Matrix. They’ll carve their names in the fake book of chords and melodies. They’ll stir the appropriate sentiments. They’ll deliver the news every night. They’ll present every half-cocked limited hangout and define every outrageous set of straitjacket parameters to a prepared audience.
You’re an aspiring anchor? Come on down. Some day you might be the chosen one. You might become the messenger, the talent turned out by the royal court, to ring the bells and sing the songs. If you’re lucky, and you sing on key, you may have five or 10 years before the next up-and-coming voice edges you out.
You might be assigned to bring mind control to your generation. You might be the one to obscure and conceal the real Fed Reserve, the crimes of the medical cartel, the Globalist agenda, the theft of trillions of dollars, the Collectivist framework, and the death of individual freedom.
Doesn’t that sound like a great job? And you can call it responsible journalism.
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. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at www.nomorefakenews.com http://www.jonrappoport.wordpress.com / link to original article