James Delingpole
Politics • Culture • Writing
Why I Still Watch Television
But not The Nightman Cometh Episode of Always Sunny)
June 19, 2025
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One of the drawbacks of waking up to realise how truly evil the world is is that you can no longer enjoy watching television. Any television.

For a while, you soldier on thinking: “Oh come on! There must be at least some stuff out there which I can watch without the sensation that I’m being slily programmed to accord with some sinister elite agenda.”

Then comes your watershed moment when you realise: “No. Even the good stuff is tainted.”

For me, that watershed moment came while watching an old episode of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. I put it on to show my awake and TV-averse sister how incredibly funny it was. But something had clearly changed between the occasion when I first saw it and this repeat viewing. Instead of making me laugh it made me shudder.

If you’ve never seen It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia let me try to contextualise it. It’s America’s longest running sitcom - launched in 2005, it’s about to start its seventeenth season - but though it’s clearly hugely popular it has a cultish quality which makes you feel special that you discovered it.

It is set in a failing Irish-themed pub in South Philadelphia owned by a bunch of sociopathic, lazy, paranoid, amoral, incorrigible friends who spend most of the time scheming and plotting against one another. A bit like Married With Children or Rick and Morty it is so devoid of sentiment or pathos, it feels like the antidote to all the American TV you have ever watched.

But that’s how They get you.

In the days when I used to be terrified of sharks - I even wrote a novel on this theme: Fin - I noted that one of the problems with sharks is that there is a man-eater for every occasion. So, if your ship sinks in open water - as famously happened to the USS Indianapolis, the inspiration for Quint’s monologue in Jaws - the sharks that will get you are Oceanic Whitetips. If you’re in a river, it’ll be bull sharks which can survive in fresh water. If you’re in the tropics, it will be Tiger sharks. If the water’s a bit cooler, it will be the Great White.

TV works in much the same way.

If you like to think of yourself as a serious, informed person, you’ll unwittingly take your brainwashing from your daily or hourly ‘news’ fix. If you’re a sensitive, flower-hugging type you’ll be endlessly gulled by the eco-fascist agenda underpinning shows like David Attenborough’s documentaries and, in the UK, the appallingly propagandistic Springwatch with the unspeakable Chris Packham. If you belong to one of the lower socioeconomic groups you’ll have your brain remodelled by game shows and soap operas - or, indeed, by the biggest manipulator of them all: Sport.

Ah, but what about us sophisticated media consumers who don’t get swayed by adverts and who have the kind of cynical, sceptical, wryly quizzical mindset that renders us immune to anything mainstream and enables us to spot a hidden agenda a mile off?

That’s where shows like Always Sunny come in.

Probably the most revered episode in the Always Sunny canon is the one where the characters, known as The Gang, randomly decide to put on a musical called The Nightman Cometh.

It features an incredibly catchy song, with so-bad-they’re-good lyrics, called The Dayman.

“Dayman! A-a-aaaa! Fighter of the Nightman. A-a-aaaaa. Champion of the sun. A-a-aaaa!/You’re a master of karate and friendship for everyone.”

Listen to it here and tell me you don’t love it. It’s an ear worm that will stick in your head all day. It’s loveably kooky. It’s surreal. It’s funny, even if you’re not quite sure why.

And whoever crafted that tune really knows how construct a hook. I’m not a musicologist, so I’ve probably not got my terminology right. But there’s something about that unresolved cadence on the word ‘sun’ which creates a feeling of yearning and pent up elation, so that you just want to hear more, more, more!

What I found less enjoyable on second viewing was the plot. First time round, I just thought of it as pleasingly surreal, satisfyingly tasteless and classic Always Sunny. Charlie decides to write a rock opera to try to seduce a deeply uninterested waitress. It emerges, during rehearsals, that what Charlie imagines to be a musical about self-empowerment sounds more to everyone else to be about a boy being serially molested. Danny De Vito, who plays a character in the musical called The Troll, sings “You gotta pay the troll toll if you want to get into that boy’s hole.” We’re told that the words Charlie wrote in the script were ‘boy’s soul’ not ‘boy’s hole’ but for some reason which isn’t totally clear, the De Vito character prefers the more rapey version.

Now I suppose you could try to explain all this away by telling us that it’s all about comedy of misunderstanding. Here is how Charlie Day, who plays Charlie, rationalised it in an interview:

A rape joke is not remotely a funny thing; a man writing a musical that he thinks is about self-empowerment, and not realizing that all his lyrics sound like they're about a child being molested, is a funny thing. The joke is coming from confusion and misunderstanding, which are classic tropes of all comedy.

Well, yes, possibly. That’s certainly the kind of argument I might have bought in the days before I was aware just how rife paedophilic sexual abuse was in the entertainment industry. “C’mon, guys. This is just edgy comedians, joshing around, saying the unsayable, going where others do not dare. And that’s why we love ‘em!” I might have thought.

But when you re-watch those scenes with Awake eyes, it doesn’t quite wash. You realise these scenes operate on several levels. One, yes, is the ‘edgy, fearless, surreal comics being edgy, fearless, surreal’ level. But another is redolent of that moment when the comedian Adam Sandler and the chat show host Ellen DeGeneres bantered awkwardly about ‘pizza parties.’ You get the feeling that a subtle, mocking message is being sent out to the world by the Members of the Big Club that We’re Not In.

(“Pizza”, as a lot more of us are now aware than at the time of that 2019 The Ellen Show recording, is the codeword used in celebrity and political circles for the children that are trafficked for sex. Hence: “Pizzagate”.)

I’m not suggesting that anyone involved with Always Sunny is into sex with small children. What I am saying is that it’s a racing certainty everyone involved with Always Sunny has full Big Club membership. You don’t get to be a star of Danny De Vito’s stature (lol) unless you’ve signed the pact. You don’t get your own FX sports documentary series where you buy up a failing Welsh football club and chuck money at it till it succeeds, as series creator Rob McElhenney has done, unless you’ve signed the pact. You don’t even get to the level of the most obscure cast member unless you’ve signed the pact.

Part of the deal when you sign the pact is that you’re required to show your allegiance through gestures and symbols. Just as good Christians are enjoined, in every thing they do, to remember that all their blessings come from God, so it is with those on the other side: in return for their worldly success they must never forget to pay obeisance to the Prince of the Air.

If you look closely, you can spot some of this going on in The Nightman Cometh episode. Though I’m no expert on occult symbolism, I’d lay money that the battle between Dayman and the Nightman - which poses as just some crappy idea that Charlie thought up randomly - also has some kind of clever Luciferian subtext designed to go right over the heads of the profane audience.

The scene though that my Awake sister Hel and I found most telling was the extraordinarily revealing one where Deandra (Kaitlin Olson) expresses concern to Charlie that the lines he has given her character make her look like some kind of paedophile.

“Tiny boy, little boy. Baby boy, I need you. Little boy, I want to make love to you while -” sings Deandra (aka Dee) in rehearsals, before breaking off.

She says: “Hold on a second. Charlie. Are you goddamn kidding me? […] You’re wanting me to say I want to make love to a little baby tiny boy?”

There then follows an extended sequence of comedy business in which Charlie throws a prima donna tantrum about the primacy of his lyrics and various other characters try to seize the opportunity to grab Dee’s only song, or even her role, for themselves. This culminates in Charlie reading the riot act to Dee. If she doesn’t want to perform his song exactly as he has written it, then she won’t get any song at all.

As a send up of showbiz egomania this sort of works. It’s also on brand, inasmuch as you always expect the characters in Always Sunny to scheme against one another. But there’s something about the way it’s played that leaves a nasty taste in the mouth and kills all the humour.

The Charlie character becomes shriekingly aggressive in response to Dee’s reasonable request.

“So let me tell you something, Dee. Let me break down a scenario for you. I could cut the song, OK, because I wrote it. I could have Artemis do the song because you did not write it. Or I could strap on a wig and do it myself. So you tell me, Little Miss All That, what you want to do? What do you want to do? SONG or NO SONG?”

Dee is completely broken by this.

She replies in a pitiful whisper: “Song.”

“Song?” says Charlie, milking his power trip, relishing Dee’s capitulation.

“Yeah, song” says Dee pathetically.

“So you want to sing a song,” says Charlie, twisting the knife.

“I never - I never wasn’t going to sing the song,” says Dee.

“You were excited about singing a song and you want to sing a song,” says Charlie, in mock sympathy.

“Yeah. I would like to sing a song. I’d like to do it,” says Dee.

“Goooooood”, says Charlie, as if he is the reasonable one who has been tested beyond endurance by Dee’s outrageous demands. “So back up on your podium you go. Thank you.”

This is not funny. Not remotely. This is a brutally enacted struggle session, the bully triumphant. It goes through the motions of being funny but what we’re really being given here is a sharp lesson in the mechanics of the entertainment industry. “You wanna be a star, yes? Well being OK with the child sex stuff is not an optional extra. It’s part of the deal. So suck it up - or accept you’re never going anywhere.”

That is another of the curses of being awake. Once you know, you can never not know. You see stuff that goes right over the heads of the Normie audience who are all still under the spell and think it’s just entertainment.

It was the same with Clarkson’s Farm, which I analysed last week. I’m not saying it’s not entertaining because it is, very. But the entertainment is not so much an end in itself as the delivery mechanism, the sugar coating on the pill, for the underlying propaganda message.

I’m reminded of the story someone once told me about the final advice given to them by someone who had spent his life working for the intelligence services. “Don’t. Watch. TV.”

The late, great Alan Watt used to talk about this a lot on his podcasts. Television, he explained, is an unusually effective programming device because it induces the alpha waves which put the mind into a relaxed, susceptible state. That’s why, for many decades, the BBC has operated as an unacknowledged propaganda outlet for the Deep State. Netflix - founded by the great nephew of ‘Father of Public Relations” (ie your friendly neighbourhood Goebbels) Edward Bernays - performs a similar function.

So why, given that I so obviously should know better, do I go on watching this stuff.

Well partly it’s down to laziness, habit and the need for a dose of soma between dinner time and bedtime.

And partly it’s because, in common with most of us who have made the heroic journey, I’m continually having to negotiate the difficulty of living in two worlds simultaneously.

When I’m in Awake world, sure, I can talk to my heart’s content with my fellow rabbit holes about all our favourite topics, from chemtrails to the death jabs to ‘what’s really going on in Antarctica?’

But a lot of the time I have to exist in Normieland where such topics - not that I don’t introduce them occasionally, because I’m naughty that way - tend to go down like a cup of cold sick. TV helps keep you grounded in Normieland: you can stay in touch with their current preoccupations; you’ve got something in common that you can safely talk about; also - and most importantly, from the Awake perspective - you get to monitor the sundry ways the Normies are being programmed by The Powers That Be.

Sure I could opt out of the system altogether, abandon my friends and family, head off somewhere remote and off grid, and slowly starve to death while I write the odd handwritten newsletter about permaculture and rabbit breeding.

My view, though, is that as Paul suggests in 1 Corinthians 12, we should work with the particular set of skills God has given us. In my case, this isn’t providing top expert advice on survivalism but the possibly rather less useful ability to analyse and deconstruct social phenomena.

You may decide that watching TV is not for you and you may well be right. But for me it’s part of my mission. I’m here - among other things - to wake people up to the deceptions that have been, and are, perpetrated against them by the shadowy Cabal that runs the world. But if you’re going to persuade people, you need to provide them with evidence. It’s no good claiming that TV is a giant brainwashing machine if you can’t come up with some examples of the ways in which it manipulates its audience. And in order to find those examples you need to watch TV. Boasting that you haven’t watched a TV in years and that you don’t understand why anyone who’s awake still does may make you a superior human being. But it also makes you a useless TV critic.

What I do when I write about TV is, I hope, a bit like what Penn & Teller do when they deconstruct famous ‘magic’ tricks. Once you understand how a trick is done it no longer has any power over you. The ‘magic’ is revealed to be an elaborately crafted illusion.

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James and Dick's Christmas Special - Don't Miss Out!

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There will be no Christmas decorations. Sorry but it’s too early.

Nor, likely, will I wear my Christmas jumper. Too hot.

But we will do the Lords Prayer at the beginning - inter alia, to ward off any demons and because it makes everyone feel amazingly uplifted - and Jerusalem at the end.

Also, you get to see Unregistered Chickens, who just get better and better. Or so I’m told by one of the band members. Dick and Andy the lead singer keep making bitchy remarks about the fact that even when they’re playing at my events I never come to see them. Or only for a few minutes. I try to explain, honestly, that this isn’t because I’m too grand or because I think they’re crap but because before you do a show the very last thing you want to be doing is hanging out with the audience because it drains all the energy you need for the show.

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All They Want Is Your Soul

One of my unlikely podcast guests this week is Nick Griffin.

I say ‘unlikely’ because I’m always slightly wary of people who have been involved in mainstream politics - even if, like Griffin, it was only at the margins.

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Griffin - or Nick, as I suppose I should call him, now he’s my new mate - used to be the leader of the notorious British National Party (BNP). Like the party from which it splintered, the National Front, the BNP was and is one of those outfits which the mainstream media likes to brand as ‘fascist’ and ‘far right’ and ‘basically a bunch of Nazis.’

This would be why, in my days as an MSM journalist, Nick never crossed my radar. He wasn’t the sort of character of whom you could say to your editor “How about we hear what that Nick Griffin has to say for himself?” It would be tantamount to career suicide because, imagine, what if you quite liked him or he said something people agreed with? Far better not to take the risk - and to ignore him - as all self-respecting media folk did.

Anyway, now that very belatedly I’ve had chat with him I’ve discovered that, yes, I do quite like him. And also that he says lots of things I agree with. Many of the people who’ve listened to the podcast share my pleasant surprise. Here’s a typical comment:

“I was brought up believing the BBC hype - NickG is equivalent to Satan […] Please do bring Nick back on. Even some of my ‘awake-ish’ friends still recoil in horror at the mention of his name. This exposure can right this wrong.”

My main reservation about inviting Nick onto the Delingpod wasn’t that he’d be too controversial but that he might be a bit too conventional in his outlook, a bit Normie.

But on this, too, I was pleasantly surprised. As an example of how interesting his conversation is - and perhaps as an incentive to encourage those of you who aren’t already paid subscribers to sign up for an early listen before the podcast goes out free - I want to share with you one of his best anecdotes.

It was prompted when I asked him about whether any attempts had ever been made by shadowy forces to buy him off.

Yes, Nick said. Attempts had been made on a couple of occasions, one of them when he was a member of the National Front.

Representatives of an ultra-orthodox Jew in New York called Rabbi Schiller offered the National Front a large sum of money, on one somewhat surprising condition, which I shall reveal in a moment.

In Italy, meanwhile, on another occasion, some of Nick’s ‘far-right’ fellow travellers were made a similarly generous offer by a wealthy Jewish outfit. Again, the money was dependent on the fulfilment of one surprising term.

Then, Griffin went on, there was the example of his friend in Northern Ireland, a social marketing genius who was offered a blank cheque by Jewish interests, but only on one condition.

Here’s the interesting part. Perhaps you thought - as I certainly did - that in all three instances the Jewish donors would have made the same request: talking more about the Holocaust, maybe; toning down the anti-Semitism; avoiding criticism of Israel; something like that.

But no. The things that were requested were all very different - and also quite unexpected.

In the case of the National Front, the request was that they should stop griping about the perils and iniquities of the banking system.

With the Italians, the request was that they cease to sing the praises of Corneliu Codreanu, a Romanian fascist leader - founder of the Iron Guard - assassinated in the 1930s.

And in the case of the Northern Irish marketing guru, it was that he should stop talking about the evils of abortion.

The three very different provisos only had one thing in common: each was very dear to the heart of the people to whom the money offer had been made. To the National Front, banking was the key plank of their economic argument. To the Italians, Codreanu was a beloved romantic hero and role model. To the Northern Irishman, crusading against abortion was a moral imperative.

“They offer you everything you need,” explained Griffin. “But in every case they are only prepared to give it to you on condition that you sacrifice the thing closest to your heart.”

Perhaps experts in the Kabbala, or the Babylonian Mystery Religions, or the occult generally can explain to me what is going on here. But clearly these offers have great ritual significance - and also go some way towards explaining the nature of a world whose temporary god, according to the scriptures, is Satan.

Yes, you will be granted whatever you want. But not until you’ve first sold your soul.

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Most Journalists Don't Realise They Are Working for Satan

Sometimes my wife’s newspaper tricks me into reading it. I hate it when this happens, still more so when, as it did the other day, it reduces me to a state of apoplexy.

The story that enticed me was headlined: ‘I Went Off Grid At The End Of My Garden To See If I’d Cope After Armageddon.’ It was accompanied by a picture of the author in woollen hat and anorak, looking glum, superimposed onto a still from one of those post-apocalyptic movies where all the ruined tower blocks are now overgrown with weeds. Well, you can see why I was tempted…

What infuriated me was the very first paragraph:

The Russians have invaded. That’s the most credible scenario, though we can’t rule out a climate catastrophe, deadly pandemic or, indeed, nuclear Armageddon.

‘You bastard!’ I swore at the author, one George Chesterton. ‘You despicable traitor to the human race!’

Possibly this was unfair of me. Chesterton will have been given his brief - ‘Keep it light!’ - and probably thought he was just doing his job. It may well be that, being very likely of a Normie persuasion, he didn’t even notice what he was doing here.

But I noticed.

There is nothing remotely ‘credible’ about the ‘scenario’ of a Russian invasion of the UK. Nor, indeed of a ‘climate catastrophe.’ Nor yet, of a ‘deadly pandemic.’ As for ‘nuclear Armageddon’, for that to happen nukes would first have to exist as viable weapons of mass destruction, which I’m not at all convinced that they do.

Every conceit of that opening paragraph is a lie - and an abominable lie at that because each one of them reinforces in the public imagination a premise which has been designed by some very bad people, the worst in the world, to scare us, to manipulate us, and to exploit us.

This piece is a perfect example of why I so loathe and despise my old trade, print journalism. In the guise of innocuous entertainment, it reinforces our Enemy’s mendacious scare narrative.

People reading that article will have done so with their defences down. “Here’s a bit of fun,” they’ll think, as they approach it, recognising from the comical illustration and the positioning of the article not in the main body of the newspaper but in the lighter-read pull-out supplement that this is not to be taken too seriously.

When you’re relaxed you are much more vulnerable to subliminal messaging. The subliminal message here is: “Russia is a threat. Probably the main thing you should worry about right now. War with Russia is very likely. If it weren’t likely the Swedes wouldn’t have produced this booklet called ‘Om Kristen Ellen Kriget Kommer’ - ‘In case of crisis or war’ - which we are now promoting in this light-hearted piece. So when war with Russia comes, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

What I find particularly objectionable about this - it’s probably the reason I got so cross - is that I’m still in the midst of reading Two World Wars And Hitler - Who Was Responsible? by Jim Macgregor and John O’Dowd. And what that book makes abundantly clear is that neither the First nor the Second World War started by accident. Both wars were orchestrated by the same kind of people - the Anglo-American Establishment, loosely speaking - who are now pushing us inexorably towards the hot stage of the Third World War, perhaps in the Middle East, perhaps in the Ukraine, using the same methods they used to promulgate the first two wars in their long-planned series of three.

Here, in case you missed it, is my long-read take on that subject.

https://www.jamesdelingpole.co.uk/Writing/Articles/how-to-murder-100-million-people-and-come-out-smelling-of-roses

Short version: none of us actually wants war because war is horrible and stops us doing all the much nicer things we’d prefer to do with our lives like having a family, making a home, and not having our friends killed or our limbs blown off. That’s why They - the Predator Class for whom war is a primary business model - can only get us to participate in Their wars through trickery and cajolery and subterfuge.

Subterfuge like that article I just mentioned above. It’s pretending to be a light, frothy, amusing read. But what it really is is pro-war propaganda.

Same goes for the cartoon the same paper - The Daily Telegraph - ran the next day. The cartoon showed someone in a rowing boat flying the white ensign of the Royal Navy shouting through a megaphone “We see you, Putin. We’re ready.” Meanwhile, beneath the waves, in a sinister submarine with some grabby claws at the front, lurks Putin, ready to destroy Britain’s puny defences.

If you went back about 175 years you’d see British newspapers running similarly unfunny cartoons, probably featuring a giant bear (with ‘Russia’ written on it) sneaking up on a lion or a unicorn or maybe a woman draped in a Union flag (with ‘Britannia’ written on her). Plus ça change.

I complained at the beginning about being ‘tricked’ by my wife’s newspaper into reading it. But quite often, if I’m honest, I don’t need to be tricked. As often as not, my incentives are a mix of morbid curiosity and masochism.

When I read the papers, especially The Telegraph where I worked for many years briefly as a specialist news reporter (Arts Correspondent) and mainly as a feature writer and commentator, I feel like a betrayed wife trawling her memory banks in search of all the instances where she should have noticed her husband was having an affair but failed to do so.

Like the injured wife, I now know that my former partner - the mainstream media - is not the decent upstanding chap I thought he was but a creature of monstrous depravity and evil. Indeed, I sometimes wonder whether the media isn’t more wicked than even Hollywood or the music industry. Without the media’s relentless lies and social conditioning, after all, we would not be nearly so susceptible to the machinations of our dark overlords. The press is what allows our enemies to get away with murder.

But I didn’t know this at all in the decades I spent working for it. And the question I often ask myself is: “How could I have missed what now seems so obvious to me?”

The answer, I think, is that as with the NASA space programme, only a handful of people need to be in on the secret. The vast majority of NASA employees, I’m sure, genuinely believed that they were sending men to the moon. The vast majority of mainstream media employees, I’m equally sure, believe (or at least have persuaded themselves) that they are speaking truth to power without fear or favour, getting to the bottom of what’s really happening in the world, being the first to ‘break’ ‘the news’, and so on. In both cases, the innocent dupes are so focused on the minutiae of their specific tasks they don’t have time to consider the bigger picture or ask questions like “But whose agenda am I really serving here?”

Consider the place where all the biggest lies are originally promulgated. The news room. If you’re the kind of person who reads my stuff you’re probably the kind of person who knows already that most of what appears in the news pages is literally fake news. “Terrorist” outrages, for example.

Just recently, there was a story all over the UK media - to which I paid little attention because it was all over the UK media - about some immigrant black person on a train going rogue and stabbing lots of people.

“Bollocks!” was my instant mental reaction when my one of my kids told me about it. Miri AF smells a rat too.

https://miri.substack.com/p/on-a-knife-edge

Let’s assume that our hunch is correct and that the entire story was fake, that the participants were all crisis actors, that it was yet another false flag devised by the intelligence services to ramp up fear, justify more state monitoring and regulation, and usher in the planned Nigel Farage/Reform regime… Surely that must make all the news reporters who wrote up the story complicit in the crime?

Well, no. At least not knowingly complicit. When a terror incident story breaks, the chances are that none of the news reporters who write it up initially will be anywhere near the scene. They will be stuck in the newsroom in London - and under pressure to get the ‘story’ out for ‘edition’, ie in time for it to appear in tomorrow’s print edition of the newspaper.

Therefore, in the first instance they will do little if any additional investigation of the story. They will take their stories from ‘the wires’, that is from the various press agencies, Associated Press (AP), Reuters and Agence France-Presse (AFP). All the press agencies are owned and controlled by the Cabal. Their job is to put out the official narrative, as dictated to them by The Powers That Be. But there’s no reason why the grunt hacks who take their stories from ‘the wire’ should know this. As far as most journalists are concerned, the Press Agencies are the gold standard, with bigger budgets, bigger staff, more access to information than anyone. No need to query their ‘facts’ either because all your competitor newspapers will be using the same information, which is all that really matters: consistency.

As the story develops there will be room for more active reporting: human interest stories about the experiences of the ‘victims’, a site trip to the location of the incident perhaps incorporating descriptive colour and the reactions of local people, etc.

But any independent reporting will be heavily constrained. Suppose, say, reporters had wanted to visit the Huddersfield train to see for themselves the blood-stained carriage. Well they wouldn’t have been allowed on board, most likely, because the police would have declared it to be a ‘crime scene.’ Same with access to the ‘victims’: it would be rendered impossible, for any number of reasons, from ‘too traumatised’ or ‘unwilling to speak’ or ‘being treated in hospital.’ So really, why bother? Why not instead do what news rooms do and rewrite stories from the wires….

This explains something I often noticed as a journalist but could never quite put my finger on: why disaster stories always felt slightly unreal and the reporting on them always a bit unsatisfactory.

I remember, for example, the incident in 2013 when a British soldier called Lee Rigby was supposedly beheaded in the streets of London by Islamist terrorists. This is quite an unusual and dramatic and frankly hard-to-pull-off thing to occur. How did they spot him if he was in civilian clothes? How come no one intervened as the baddies were busily chopping his head off? Why were the eye-witness accounts so mysteriously sketchy? Why wasn’t there more blood - I mean isn’t there LOTS of blood when you chop someone’s head off?

Neither on the day when I read the ‘news’ - nor in the subsequent follow-up reports, did I get any sense that what purportedly had happened really had happened. This didn’t mean that I discounted the story. For years afterwards, I trusted - because the newspapers wouldn’t lie, I thought - that there was a soldier called Lee Rigby and that he really had been beheaded in the street by two Islamic terrorists. But something about it just didn’t feel right and it was only years later that I realised why: that the whole thing was another bollocks, staged, false-flag operation.

When The Powers That Be are setting up fake news stories like this, one thing they are careful to factor in is repetition. That is, in order for the Big Lie to embed itself in the public consciousness it has to be repeated over and over again until even the very stupid people at the back of the class have taken the Big Lie onboard. One way the media effects this with news stories is to drip out new pieces of information each day, supposedly reflecting the diligent further inquiries of reporters, but really just reflecting how the lie narrative has been storyboarded: Day One: the sketchy, bare bone facts as the story breaks; Day Two: the shocked aftermath, prayers and tributes; Day Three: tales of heroism and tragedy from plucky survivors and grieving relatives.

With the Huddersfield train story, one of the ways they kept it alive was with human interest stories about passengers who had heroically fought back. A story in the online regional newspaper Nottinghamshire Live, later picked up by all the big league tabloids such as the Mail, told of a “Huntingdon train hero” who had been planning to watch his football team Nottingham Forest play at an away game in Austria. Cruelly and unforgivably, according to the story, the airline Ryanair had refused to refund his flight.

Further down the report is the interesting detail that ‘an online fundraiser via JustGiving’ has been created in the hero’s name ‘with the hopes of financially supporting him while he recovers from his injuries.’ Already, we learn, ‘more than £50,000’ has been raised.

I’d lay £50,000 that no reporters on any newspaper will have been there to examine the scars when he pulled off his bandages. As we journalists used to joke back in the day - and as quite possibly they still do - ‘never let the facts get in the way of a good story.’

Everyone who doesn’t work in the media assumes that everyone who does work in the media must be knowingly complicit in the lies that the media spews out every day. My contention, as a former insider, is that this ain’t necessarily so.

So who does know? I suspect by the time you get to the level of editor - or just before you are offered the job - that it is made clear to you what the deal is. Editors, even now that no one buys newspapers, get outrageous pay packages, often including perks like chauffeur-driven cars daily from their agreeable country homes. They also get to become figures of influence. It’s possible that shilling on behalf of evil Satanic elites and destroying their people and their country wasn’t what they signed up for when they started out as cub reporters/got fast tracked to the leader page editorial team thanks to their Oxbridge degree. But big money makes nasty conscience problems go away.

Lower down the feeding chain, it’s hard to say who is genuinely compromised and who is just a useful idiot of the corrupt system. But I’d say that the vast majority of hacks fit into the latter category. One reason I’m pretty sure of this is that I know journalists to be incorrigible gossips. In my day, a lot of them used to drink quite heavily too. What do you talk about over a pint? You talk about work. You trade inside information. And I can assure you that never once in my years as a journalist, including several years as a newspaper staffer, did I ever hear a news hack say anything like: “Well you realise that Diana was still alive and able to walk when they pulled her out of the vehicle. A Merovingian blood sacrifice, that’s what it was, orchestrated by Prince Philip” or “Head chopped off in the streets of Woolwich? You’re bloody kidding me, aren’t you? Everyone in the know knows that this was another MI5 false flag.” Nor, ever, did I hear a hack on the foreign desk intimate that 9/11 was an inside job.

The fact is that most journalists actually believe the crap that goes under their bylines. News reporters, certainly, because most news reporters don’t do any actual reporting. Rather they collate and lightly edit the information that has been handed to them by trusted authorities - the emergency services, the news agencies, etc. Their main sin - and it’s a venial one, not a venal one - is to be far too trusting of their sources. And too lazy - or time pressed - to make independent inquiries.

Because I was never myself a proper news reporter - being Arts Correspondent doesn’t really count because all it involves is going to theatrical first nights and writing about arts funding crises and such like - I don’t consider myself responsible for any of the disgusting Cabal propaganda the Telegraphran in its news pages while I was working for it.

But that doesn’t quite let me off the hook. Earlier I described the news room - though strictly speaking I should have said ‘editorial conference’ - as the place where all the biggest newspaper lies are originally promulgated. It’s the opinion formers, though, in the comment and editorial sections who do the worse damage, in my view. And since I was one of them, I feel I owe you an explanation. But that will have to wait till the second part of this piece…

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