Brent’s Cove, Newfoundland. The place I was born, and then lived-in for ten years before moving to the big city, St. John’s. Childhood offers its own protection from the atrocities of life, but I think most people who lived in the cove felt safe. Even in St. John’s, where I spent by early teenage years, and Montreal where I went to University, and found my first “real” job, I was subjected to very little regarding the grievous affairs of the world. News of such events was given a scant ten or fifteen minutes on the six o’clock TV news, with maybe a few minutes extra on the eleven o’clock news. Anyone under thirty years of age scarcely listened to either.
That’s not to say we did not have world issues to contend with: The Cuban crisis, the Vietnam War, race issues, managed to find their way into our Canadian lives; even my university was the center of a race confrontation where the entire computer system was destroyed, education grinding to a halt for a week or so. Those were all troubling events, but the news surrounding the circumstances moved into the shadow as the days sped by. The reason for that was not our unconcern for what was happening to others; we returned to reacting to the stimulus of our day-to-day lives: the homes we lived in, the people we encountered, the streets we drove on, the sidewalks we walked on, the stores we visited, the workplace, the nightclubs. All else came as outside news and had but a tiny window and a wisp of time to capture our attention.
I mention this, as today we are all inundated with every grim and grizzly encounter that might take place on a planet with 7.5 billion people. I don’t believe we were meant to take on the impact of every depraved situation that a bloated planet of people might conjure up every few seconds. Yes, the speed of information being as it is, that is exactly what is happening—a vast network of interested parties pushing to claim your next second, and then sell you something: maybe an ideology, maybe the latest drug, or maybe, something more sinister, to riddle you with fear. I vote that the latter has a heavy set of interested parties. Fear is a powerful motivator, even if the most likely outcome of a sustained fear is a debilitating state of mind.
We greatly need to understand, believe, accept that we all still live in Brent’s Cove; but we just don’t know it. Now, I’m not so naïve that I accept putting on blinders and ignoring the rest of the world is a solution to anything. Rather, I am equally confident that focusing on your own neighborhood, your friends, your family will have the best possibility of keeping your town, city, or suburb safe and livable, and your mind uncluttered with the constant fear that is being promulgated by the excess of media. Realize, be aware, that when you tune-in you are being sold, set-up for some purpose. Expose yourself to only what you deem relevant and necessary, then tune-out and return to your Brent’s Cove.
So ends part one of my intention.
Part two has to do with the Selected Few behind the curtain? Yes, they have been there since the commencement of the industrial age, and, in all likelihood, before that. Up until the Internet they knew we were not looking.
But the internet did come along.
From the radio, to the TV, to the Internet, it took less than a century to take the relative freedom and anonymity that folks had to live their own lives, and have them quickly become totally dependent on the system and the paycheck. That, my dear friend, was orchestrated to happen by the Selected Few. We were being corralled by advertising and marketing even as the Sears catalog sat in the outhouse so we could wipe our ass with it. The radio began the propaganda of the “good life;” the TV took over as best it could.
The Internet is the monster.
The big push came after the second world war, and by the time the eighties were upon us, it was quick becoming that two people were required to work to sustain a household: that a university education was a prerequisite for any type of well-paying job, that every family needed a big house, two cars. Soon enough the cost of an education, the cost of insurance, the cost of maintaining a household, was all too often a numbing day to day burden—the noose as tight as could be without total strangulation.
I won’t pretend I’m some well-informed economist. Nor will I for a moment believe that it is only in the past year or so that our world had become unhinged in leadership and direction. What I refer to above took time and planning. The game has been “afoot” for some time—the Selected Few behind the curtain pulling the strings and pushing us all to work longer and harder, spend more, expand, drink in the Kool-Aid of consumption. Behind the curtain the same old game continued —the Selected Few—People of extreme privilege and power doing whatever they feel needs to be done to extend that power and wealth.
The media took a pot shot at a few, mostly irrelevant fodder in the big machine; now and again a mighty figure might seem to fall—my favorite is Martha Stewart; of all the corruption she becomes one of the few hung out to shame—give me a break. WE, THE People were oblivious to it all.
The Internet changed that.
There were always a few on the people’s side who tried to warn the rest of us—a Ralph Nader of sorts. They were few and far-between with little access to mass media. That lack of access has ended. The many, many sins of humanity against humanity now hangs out in shame like a Monday morning wash hanging on a clothesline in some long ago era. Those who seek to stay hidden have less and less places to hide; their affiliations, their avarice, their power is being more and more exposed, and so they become more desperate.
Be careful. This is not a time to celebrate. The Selected Few who need to stay behind the curtain have adopted a new game. What they cannot take away, they will add to; they ensure we are fed on a minute-by- minute basis: fear and division. Fear mongering, as the machinery of our broken institutions make their final gasp at serving the few—the citizens of Rome looking down upon the staged performance of its paid for and owned gladiators; but, no one dies here, it’s all about posturing, the misguiding presentation of cows humping cows, nothing more, nothing less.
The Internet is a monster of resurrection and doom. It can and will deliver one or the other. Let’s ensure it’s the outcome we desire.