by Jon Rappoport
December 18, 2012
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 21st 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.