Charlie Rose: fall of a Globalist mouthpiece
The abuse and the crimes are real; the media op is different...
By Jon Rappoport
If you had to pick three titans who were promoting Globalism
and its new world order, you could scarcely do better than Henry
Kissinger, Zbigniew Brzezinski, and George Soros.
During his reign at PBS, Charlie Rose interviewed them a total of 34 times.
Not only that, Charlie managed never to ask a direct question
about the underlying aim of Globalism, and he never elicited a straight
response on that subject.
Instead, Charlie's furry, smarmy, self-congratulatory,
oh-so-innocent breathless questions navigated "deep intellectual waters"
in the realm of The Abstruse, and you came away from the interviews
with a rash and an itch. You were supposed to feel smarter from the
experience, but you couldn't recall what really happened. What was
Charlie asking? What were the titans saying? It could have been a parody
of high academic fluff. Countries had been mentioned. Crises had been
alluded to. The word "solution" occasionally bubbled up.
This was Charlie's impenetrable style on important subjects.
He was a social hob-nob pro of the first order in New York.
Anybody who was anybody wanted to sit down with him and slide into a
long-form interview. And he met many of them at cocktail parties on the
Upper East Side. He was a kinder gentler magnet for the rich, famous,
and fatuous. If you weren't fatuous before you appeared on his PBS show,
you were by the time you were done. Because Charlie pretended
everything coming out of his and your mouth was exceedingly Important.
He kept pumping fake dead cartoon blood through those televised
conversations.
But that's what "viewer supported" PBS is all about, so it
worked. The audience of conscientious liberals demands Disneyesque
knock-offs of intellectualism. Everybody congratulates each other,
throws a few bucks into the fundraising pot, and goes to sleep.
Charlie was Elmer Fudd who went to Harvard or Yale and got a PhD.
He was a perfect example of many liberals, who listen and
talk at parties and begin to pick up on what they're supposed to
believe, if they want to fit in. The interdependence of all nations, the
expression of "humanity" through official networks and foundations, the
correct charities for serving the disenfranchised, the preferred
political candidates, the soft socialism of all good folks, and the
absolute need to maintain limousines and high apartments in the best
sections of town.
"You should see my doctor, he's wonderful, here's the name of
my broker, you'll want to look at these schools for Jimmy, my art
dealer can help you, I hope you'll be out on the Island this summer..."
Charlie stumbled into realizing he could represent these
people, and he made it work. He was their mouthpiece, his show was their
outlet.
Until it didn't work anymore. He was hiring young women for
his small team, they came to him with great ambition and high
intelligence, they knew this could be their big break in a business
where plum jobs were at a premium, and he used that torque and control
to perform his weird sexual tricks, because he was really a sad sack
when it came to women, and because his power seemed like the only card
in his deck.
Plus, his act on television was wearing thin. For his friends
and betters, he was disposable. No one cared anymore about some nuanced
way of selling Globalism to the PBS crowd. Things were moving in a more
venal direction: destroy Trump; why didn't Hillary win; we white people
must shame ourselves and grovel because it's the in-thing to do this
year (last year it was owning a Prius); my son is buying fentanyl at his
prep school; bombs are going off and cars are slamming into people on
city streets and we aren't allowed to say we know where this is coming
from, and we have to get out of town and find a place in the country
where we can settle down permanently (why doesn't Trump just shut down
the border without telling anybody)...
So Charlie went down, a casualty in the war. A minor blip on
the screen went blank. He'll now pretend to count his sins while he
tries to plot his next move. A mea culpa book? That won't work. A new
independent show on a website? How degrading. He has a law
degree---could he represent women who've been abused? Ridiculous.
He gets on the phone.
"Hey, Matt."
"Hey, Charlie."
"Anything new?"
"No. You?"
"No."
"Could we team up and sell Netflix a show called The Real
Deplorables? You know, blame ourselves over and over? Maybe we could
make a new art form out of it. 'There is no bottom'."
"I don't think so."
"How long do we have to weather this thing?"
"I'm guessing ten years."
"Then we could come back?"
"Maybe. People have short memories. And so much could happen in ten years."
Maybe that's true. But for now, the Globalist PBS man who
brought the country endless "conversations about conversation" is a
vaporous figure in a building media wave of figures who are vanishing,
as the op to construct a tsunami and, finally, place Trump at the top,
as the prime predator, continues.
"See, we in the media are eating our own, some of the most
famous and praised among us. We have that mission and that conscience.
You cannot doubt our sincerity. So when we decide to tell you that Trump
is the kingpin of this type of sordid behavior, remember Charlie and
Matt and all the rest. They are the evidence of our truth-seeking, at
any cost..."
Bye for now, Charlie. Take it easy. Raise Chickens, grow
avocados. Interview the chickens. You'd be surprised at what they have
to say. Their answers aren't all that different from what Soros and
Kissinger laid out to you via their opaque blabber.
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