The mind-control qualities of Brian Williams, Diane Sawyer, and Scott Pelley

by Jon Rappoport

December 20, 2012

www.nomorefakenews.com

In the wake of the Sandy Hook murders, I’ve been describing how the television coverage is a form of mind control.

Of course, it’s wall-to-wall mind control every day, no matter what stories the networks are focused on.

The best of the best mind control is applied by the three major network anchors: Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer.

They don’t do it as well as Cronkite, Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, and Edward R Murrow once worked their magic, but they’re fairly good practitioners of the art. Brian Williams is the current champion.

Here are the qualities you need to rise to the top of the charts.

You believe and don’t believe in what you’re doing at the same time.

You know it’s all an act, but yet you have firm faith in the importance of the material you’re presenting. You think the stories you’re covering, and the way you’re covering them, is unrivaled truth.

Dan Rather was an interesting case. At one time, he was quite convincing. He was a “trusted voice.” But then he faltered and stumbled over the George W Bush military-service scandal, and he went down in flames. Even before that, you could see occasional cracks in his armor. He was doubting his own faith. He was flickering a bit here and there, like a doubting priest in the Roman Church who had no one to confess to.

When the elite anchor goes on air and digs in, he’s seamless. He could be transitioning from mass killings in East Asia to sub-standard air conditioners, and he makes the audience track through the absurd curve in the road.

In this respect, he’s a major surrealist painter. The audience sees objects on the canvas that obviously don’t go together and yet they’re intrigued and mesmerized.

Then there is the voice itself. The elite anchor has a voice that soothes just a bit but brooks no resistance. It’s authoritative but not cold. Scott Pelley is careful to watch himself on this count, because his tendency is to shove the message down the viewer’s throat like a pro surgeon making an incision. And Pelley also used to look down his nose at the great unwashed. He’s been working to correct that. He’s a high-IQ android who’s training himself to be human.

Diane Sawyer wanders into sloppiness. She pours syrup, as if she’s had a few cocktails before the broadcast. And she affects a pose of “caring too much.”

Brian Williams is head and shoulders above his two competitors. You have to look and listen very hard to spot even a speck of confusion in his delivery. He knows exactly how to believe his act is real. He can also flick a little aw-shucks apple-pie at the viewer. Country boy who moved to the big city.

If none of these anchors could have “pulled the country together” after JFK’s assassination, it’s in part because that country doesn’t exist anymore. America doesn’t want a daddy.

The vocal delivery of an elite anchor has to work poetic rhythms into prose. Shallow hills and valleys. Clip it here and there. Give the important words a pop. Make no mistake about it, this is hypnosis at work. Not the cheesy stage act with three rubes sitting in chairs, waiting to be made into fools by the used-car salesman waving a pendulum. This is high-class stuff. It flows with great certainty. It entrains and conditions brains. The audience tunes in every night to get their fix.

That’s the key. The audience doesn’t really care about content. They want the delivery, the sound, the voice of the face.

Brain Williams could do a story about three hookers getting thrown out of a restaurant by a doctor celebrating his anniversary with his wife, and it would come across like the Pentagon sending warships into the Gulf.

Diane Sawyer couldn’t. That’s why Williams’ ratings are higher.

Segueways, blends are absolutely vital. These are the transitions between one story and another. “Earlier today, in Boston.” “Meanwhile, in New York, the police are reporting.” “But on the Hill, the news was somewhat disappointing for supporters of the president.”

Doing excellent blends can earn an anchor millions of dollars. The audience doesn’t wobble or falter or make distinctions between what went before and what’s coming now. It’s all one script. It’s one winding story every night.

Therefore, the viewer doesn’t need to think. Which is the acid test. If the ratings are high enough and the audience isn’t thinking, we have a winner. Corollary: the audience doesn’t notice the parameters of stories, how they’re bounded and defined and artificially constructed to omit deeper themes and various criminals who are committing outrageous crimes that aren’t supposed to be exposed.

For example, pharmaceutical companies sell drugs that cause a few hundred thousand deaths in America every year like clockwork.

Brian Williams, with just a bit of his twanging emphasis, can say, “Today, pharmaceutical giant Glaxo was fined one-point-nine billions dollars,” but he can’t tie all the horrendous stories of medical-drug damage together in a searing indictment of the whole industry.

The audience needs to remain oblivious to this larger story. The anchor ensures and guarantees a clueless missing bottom line. That’s his job. That’s his underlying assignment.

It’s called, in intelligence circles, a limited hangout. You expose a piece of a crime, in order to transmit the illusion of guilt-and-justice, while the true RICO dimensions are kept out of view.

Elite anchors are the princes of limit hangouts. That is their stock in trade. Sell the illusion of justice while concealing the bulk of the iceberg that is under water.

The audience can watch and listen to hours of coverage on revolutions and counter-revolutions in the Middle East, but they can’t suspect that the US and NATO are funding terrorists dressed up as freedom fighters, in order destabilize and destroy nations in that region.

“More gunfire and explosions in the capital city today…”

Then there is a little thing called conscience. The elite anchor can’t have one. He has to pretend to have one, but it isn’t real.

Every year, the anchor covers dozens of scandals that are left to wither and die on the vine and fall down the memory hole, never to be seen again, except perhaps for a much-later task-force or commission report that equivocates and exonerates the major players.

The anchor has to deal with this. He has to develop memory loss. Yes, if interviewed by Charlie Rose or Brian Lamb, he can bring back details of prior stories left to the inhabitants of Wonderland, but on a day-to-day basis he has no memory.

In editorial meetings at his own network offices, if someone mentions trillions in government bailouts to banks, he can frown slightly and thus impart, “It’s stale, it’s old.” But if Brian Lamb interviews him about the “time of the bailouts,” he can recall the story in full…and tap dance on the head of a pin for five minutes, indicting no one, without losing a shred of credibility in the eyes of the American public.

And when it comes to the elites the anchor is pledged to? CFR, Rockefeller interests, Wall Street, Goldman Sachs, government-allied Big Medicine, Globalism, and so on? Nary a damaging word will be said. Nothing to see, nothing to say. No problem.

Therefore, the viewing audience doesn’t suspect these controlling entities are doing anything wrong or, in some cases, even exist.

Conspiracy? “Aw shucks, I really do have sympathy for the people who dig up this stuff. And I’m not saying all of it is wrong, either. But you know, journalism is about plumbing for facts and verifying them. That’s the hard truth we have to face in this business. Going on the air with a possible this and a possible that is ultimately irresponsible. If we who present the news feel an occasional impulse to wing it, we have to rein ourselves in. Restraint is part of our job…”

Show these jokers a few devastating books by Anthony Sutton or Caroll Quigley and they’ll nod and say, “I did read that one in college. It was interesting but a little thin, I thought…”

The anchors project a sense they’re doing science. Gathering facts, verifying, testing, repeating the study again to see if it holds up, checking the checkers, confirming the sources, tailoring the assertions to make there’s no wandering off the well-researched path.

It’s part of the act.

The elite anchor has to impart the impression that he’s personally familiar with the events he’s reporting. That’s nonsense. He isn’t touching actual events with a ten-foot pole. He isn’t doing journalism himself. But the audience must think he is.

“Washington has been the scene of many battles. But the current tussle at the top of the fiscal cliff is becoming an exercise in outrage on both sides. Today, behind closed doors…”

Some anchors are managing editors of their own broadcasts. That means they sit around like newspaper editors and listen to lesser editors present the stories of the day. The anchors ask questions and pick and choose which pieces they’ll cover on the evening news, and they decide the sequence, but their hands never touch the events themselves.

It’s more illusion. A well-trained and literate high-school sophomore from Nome could go on air, with a decent haircut, and read the news.

But backed up by expert technicians, a good set decorator, and a pro make-up person, Williams, Pelley, and Sawyer will give you the kind of living fiction that has become its own genre.

The audience is delivered clues about what they are supposed to feel at every turn in the road, and they respond with their own unalloyed faith.

When Paddy Chaevsky wrote the definitive film about news, Network, he had his anchor, Howard Beale, break from the format and tell people to stick their heads out of their windows and shout, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

Most people forget that Beale, with the highest ratings in news history, went on to host his own hybrid program, after the news division was turned over to the entertainment wing of the network. And this new show portrayed Beale as a kind of mesmerizing (wacko) priest, a religious figure.

The audience’s faith in the anchor was magnified.

Then, when confronted by a superior priest, Arthur Jensen, chairman of the holding company that owns the network, Beale learns that all of society is organized as one interlocked forever-corporation, and the universe itself wants it that way.

Beale succumbs and falls under Jensen’s spell. The anchor who hypnotizes millions of people every night becomes the hypnotized subject.

Today’s elite anchors have this dual aspect. They control minds and they also put themselves in a mind-controlled state, in order to believe in what they are doing. They don’t need an Arthur Jensen. It’s all self-inflicted. That’s one step better.

No need to censor stories from above. The anchors have a finely honed sense of what is permissible and what isn’t.

The mind-control flicker machine runs on its own.

In early human societies, the story teller was a principal figure. He wove the tribe’s experiences into a coherent whole, and built new layers of cosmology. Later, story tellers formed an elite priest caste and spun official metaphysical doctrine.

Today, people feel the same need for narrators. They are the anchors. Although these front men for the news no longer use metaphysics to control the masses, they do covertly obey the old rule: tell only part of story.

Guard the rest from public view.

In ancient times, the rationale for hiding key secrets was explained in terms of stages of privileged initiations into “the magic.” Today, we are led to believe our news narrators are giving us everything there is. Other than their stories, there is nothing. So in this secular media religion, we have two choices: swallow the reality, or face a vacuum.

Most viewers still accept that premise.

Their bottomless need for a story teller survives.

Jon Rappoport

The author of an explosive collection, THE MATRIX REVEALED, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29^th 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

How the Newtown massacre became a Mind-Control television event

by Jon Rappoport

December 18, 2012

NoMoreFakeNews.com

Mind control. Mass hypnosis. Operant conditioning. Brain entrainment. That’s what we’re talking about here.

We’re so conditioned to how television covers life that we rarely step back and take notice.

In the case of massive disasters and crimes, network news rules the roost.

First, the premiere anchors, who are managing editors of their own broadcasts, give themselves the go signal. They will leave their comfortable chairs and travel to the scene of crime. “It’s that big.”

The anchors lend gravitas. Their mere presence lets the audience know this story trumps all other news of the moment. That’s the first hypnotic cue and suggestion.

Of course, the anchors were not in Newtown, Connecticut, as reporters. They weren’t there to dig up facts. Their physical presence at the Sandy Hook School and in the town was utterly irrelevant.

They could have been doing their newscasts from their studios in New York. Or from a broom closet.

But much better to be standing somewhere in Newtown. It imparts the sense of crisis to the viewing millions.

At the same time, the anchors are also there to give assurance. The subliminal message they transmit is: whatever has happened here is controllable.

The audience knows the anchors will provide the meaning and the official voice of the tragedy. The anchors are, in a way, priests, intoning their benediction to the suffering and their elegies to the dead.

This is what the audience expects, and this is what they get.

This expectation, in fact, is so deep that anything else would be considered an insult, a moral crime.

For example, suppose a network suddenly shifted gears and began interviewing police and residents and asking tough questions about contradictions in the official scenario. Suppose that became the primary focus. Suppose the tone became argumentative, in the interest of, God forbid, the truth.

In other words, in a jarring shift of perspective, the anchors began asking questions to seek answers. What a concept.

No, a priest doesn’t browbeat a parishioner. He takes confession and then offers a route to redemption.

But if, by some miracle, these anchors launched a quest for truth, the whole scene would devolve into uncertainty and even chaos.

“First, there was a man in the woods. You people chased him. You pinned him down and brought him back into town. Who is he? What’s his name? Where is he? Is he under questioning? What are you asking him? What gave you a clue that he might be a second shooter? Come on. Talk to us. People want to know. We aren’t going anywhere. We want some answers.”

This is called reporting, a foreign enterprise to these blown-dried kings and queens of media news.

“Sir, I know ABC definitively reported there was a second shooter. They said you gave them that information. Where did you get it?…No, I’m sorry, that’s not an answer, that’s a non-sequitur.”

Those of us reporting online declare there is something amiss when the second-shooter story is dropped like a hot potato…and we are called conspiracy theorists.

Get it? Trying to ask relevant questions becomes conspiracy only because the major media didn’t do their job in the first place.

“Sir, was it one gun found in trunk of the car or three? Show me the car. Yes. Let’s see it. I want to get the license plate. Excuse me? The car is what, some kind of state secret? I don’t think so. There are twenty dead children in that school over there, and we want to get to the bottom of this. Take me to the car.”

It’s called an investigation. Reporters do that.

“Sir, your newspaper ran a story about a man’s body being found in Adam’s brother’s apartment. Then that became Adam’s mother found dead in her own house here in Newtown. What exactly happened there? A mistake? Wouldn’t you say that was a pretty big mistake? How did it happen? What’s that? Typical confusion in the early reporting of a crime? I don’t think so. Thinking a woman was a man and thinking he or she was found in New Jersey instead of Connecticut, that’s not typical at all. Did police find a man’s body. Speak up.”

Your typical American television viewer would cringe at such demanding questions. You know why? Because he has been entrained and conditioned by news anchors to refrain from digging below the surface. In other words, that viewer is hypnotized.

“Dr. Smith and Officer Jones, we understand that this boy, who was autistic, extremely shy, who had some sort of personality disorder, went into that school and methodically carried out the slaughter of twenty-seven people. In order for him to do that, he had to reload clips at least twice after the first clip ran out. Does that make sense? We’re not just talking about a violent outburst here, we’re talking about a methodical massacre. How do you explain that?”

If these anchors kept on asking questions like this, do you know what would happen? The viewing audience would begin to stir, would begin to break through their hypnotic programming and wake up.

“You know, he’s right. That doesn’t make sense. Maybe there really was a second shooter.”

“Or that Lanza kid…maybe he didn’t kill anybody at all.”

“What? You mean he was…set up?”

“Maybe he was a patsy.”

Yes. Instead of this kind of talk being consigned to “conspiracy nuts,” it actually becomes part of the evening news experience. Because reporters suddenly ask tough questions.

But no. We have to go with grief and shock. We have to lead with it and stay with it.

But that is an artificial construct. Yes, of course people in Newtown feel great shock and pain and loss and grief and horror, but the news producers are consciously moving minutes and hours of it through the tube and filtering out everything else.

They do this every time one of these events occurs, and so the audience expects it and soaks it in and, in that state of entrainment and hypnosis, the audience doesn’t want anything else…because anything else would BREAK THE FLOW and the spell, and the grief would no longer have the same impact.

Newtown is presented as a television event. From the outset, the mood is funereal. It has that tinge and coloration. The audience absorbs it and wants no intrusion on it.

This is Matrix programming.

The anchor is not only the priest, but also the teacher. He/she shows the audience how to experience the event and what to feel and what to think and how to act.

One of the great skills of an anchor is the ability to present the news seamlessly. This is what those big paychecks are for: the blends and segueways and the underlying tone of sincerity that bleeds into every detail of what is being reported.

That is also hypnotic. It sets up a frequency that moves into the brains of the audience. In those brains, it’s an Acceptance-frequency. It’s the mark of a great news anchor, to be able to transmit that and achieve it.

Scott Pelley (CBS) has only some of that. Diane Sawyer (ABC) is decidedly inconsistent in her ability to deploy it. Brian Williams (NBC) is the contemporary master. That’s why he’s been called the Walter Cronkite of the 21^st century.

“Sir, we have a report that police pinned a second man on the ground just outside the school. What is his name? What did you do with him? Where is he now.”

No, no, no, no, no. That would crack the Acceptance-frequency like an egg and send the evening news to hell in a handbasket.

“Sir, I’m glad we finally located you. We understand you were getting ready to go to Bermuda. Now, you were Adam Lanza’s doctor. What drugs did you prescribe him? Not just recently, but going all the way back to the beginning. You see, we’ve compiled a list of possible drugs for Asperger’s and autism and depression, and of course we see that they do, in fact, induce violent behavior. Suicide, homicide. Speak up, Doctor.”

The egg not only cracks in that case, the news anchor is suspended the next day, and the network releases a statement that his “breakdown” on camera was brought on by stress.

Pharmaceutical companies put him on their “to-do” list.

Yet, the questions about the drugs are exactly what a real reporter would ask. Not a “conspiracy theorist.” A reporter, on the scene in Newtown.

Anyone who thinks that is absurd and out of bounds is hypnotized, programmed. That’s all there is to it.

Traditional media are dying in this country. Their money is drying up. They could revitalize themselves in a New York minute if they really started COVERING stories and waking up their audience, but that’s not on their agenda. They would rather die.

They are the hired hands of the elites that own this country. They are the whores sent out every day by their pimps, and they know what their job is and what it isn’t.

The direction of elite television news is squeezed down the path of consciously constructing artificial events, for mass consumption experienced in a state of emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual mind-control. Those reporters who venture outside that framework are labeled fringe figures on the margins.

“Lieutenant, excuse me. Hello. Brian Williams, NBC News. I was wondering: if there had been armed employees inside the school, what are the chances the killer could have been stopped before he shot all those children? You know, people who have been trained to shoot and have concealed carry permits. Strong people who could confront a murderer.”

Oh, people say, that is not a reasonable question. That’s a nutcase question. That question shouldn’t be asked. Why not? You want the real answer? Because it destroys the hypnotic frequency that is being delivered by the television networks. That’s the real answer.

The viewer: “Don’t bother me, I’m hypnotized. Don’t interrupt the frequency my brain is absorbing while I’m watching the news.”

And of course, under those conditions, the very last person who should interrupt the hypnotic flow is the anchor himself. He’s the one who’s inducing the hypnosis in the first place.

That tells you the the anchor is quite definitely NOT there to dig up new facts or perspectives himself.

Entrainment means: the brain is being bathed in rhythms and frequencies that literally train it to accept the information that is being transmitted at the same time.

In the same way, a song can succeed because the melody (carrier frequency) makes the trite lyrics seem important.

Entrainment also makes the recipient feel he is part of something larger. This is a key component. The recipient senses he is a member of a collective that is sharing a moment, an experience.

“I feel this way, and everybody else does too.”

This is what substitutes, in our society, for individual experience and self-sufficiency.

But this collective is not real community. It only appears and feels that way. It is mass hypnosis. You can find that in Gregorian chants and in sermons. You can find it in political speeches.

The brain is bathed in certain harmonies and responds by Accepting.

The Globalists’ language is replete with entrainment. “We are all in this together.” “We are healing the planet.” “All of us must strive to make a better world for our children.”

It sounds right, it seems right, but it is delivered to create a collective instead of a real community. Take a few minutes and read Monsanto’s literature. Read it out loud. Listen to yourself. Try to impart convincing rhythms to the phrases. All of a sudden, you’re in the flow. You’re practicing entrainment.

This is what network television news does. And we aren’t even talking about the hypnotic effects of the physical signals that deliver the picture to the audience.

In a previous article, I pointed out that, if we are to believe the network coverage of the Newtown massacre, there wasn’t one angry outraged man or woman in the town. Because we didn’t see them onscreen.

The networks made sure of that. This was a conscious choice on their part.

“My son died in that school and I want to know why. I want to know exactly how the killer got in there. Who let him in? How did he get in? I WANT TO KNOW.”

Sorry, that isn’t part of the coverage.

It would interrupt the entrainment.

“Sorry, sir, you’ll have to back away. We’re doing mass hypnosis and mind control here. You’re breaking the rhythm.”

Instead, that angry man will be funneled to a grief counselor, who will try to soothe his outrage.

“Sir, we all have to find a way to begin the healing.”

Events like Newtown are extraordinary teaching moments for television. Network newscasts display a constellation of emotions that are deemed “acceptable and appropriate” for the audience to experience. And the audience is thereby trained to mirror those emotions, to feel them, to express them, to soak in them.

It’s a closed system.

This is how, incidentally, gun control works so well. It’s part of the overall message. The audience, existing inside that closed system, in that state of mass hypnosis, can be pointed to exactly the wrong remedy for the tragedy.

All the network anchor has to do is frown and shake his head a little, when the subject of guns arises. That’s all it takes, and the brains of the audience suck it in:

“Yes, of course. Take away the guns. If no one had guns, no one could shoot guns. No one would die. No crimes would be committed. How obvious.”

The capstone that makes this puerile grand solution seem reasonable is: the police are always the good guys; we can trust them; they can have all the guns and then everything will be all right.

That message is also imparted by the big-time network new anchors. These kings and queens don’t ask police the tough questions. They refrain from doing that.

In fact, the anchors ARE surrogate police chiefs. They express what the police chiefs would, if they had the anchors’ skills.

The anchors do stand-ups in Newtown and give us the absolute best of what the police would if they could. And in the process, they transmit:

Entrainment. Mass hypnosis. Mind control. Operant conditioning.

It’s perfect, if you want to be an android.

Jon Rappoport

The author of an explosive collection, THE MATRIX REVEALED, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29^th 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