LIARS the News Industry

by Frank B. Thompson III

Climate Change Threatens World

  World News Network

  WASHINGTON, D.C. - Global Warming could end life as we know it by 2040. Some experts forecast a 2.3-degree increase will lead to sea levels that are nine inches higher than today’s. National weather expert and advisor of former President Evenson went on to warn that overlooking...

  SOUTHAMPTON, NY - The red, limited-edition Bugatti came screeching up to the clubhouse entrance. One of only fifteen Sang Noir editions, and at over a million dollars a copy, it was the world’s most expensive super-car. This was just one of three exotics the driver garaged at his Southampton estate. There was also a brand new silver Bentley and a diminutive Prius hidden under a tarp out of view. The tadpole-appearing hybrid was given to the patriarch by the Board, to be driven on special occasions when Donald needed to openly show his support for the Global Warming Movement his news conglomerate helped spawn and keep alive in the minds of millions. Only a few moments later, a black Mercedes Benz carrying two of the man's bodyguards came screeching up after great difficulty keeping up with the madman behind the wheel.

  The once green, rolling fairways of this, one of the most expensive and exclusive private clubs in America, were now a dark shade of brown standing out in drab contrast to the white sandy dunes. Resting on the Great Peconic Bay from the second story window of the clubhouse one could easily see the Atlantic Ocean to the east. It was a serene, peaceful place year round, the opposite of the hectic urban life of Manhattan less than a hundred miles to the south.

  A short, clumsy, little man made every effort to push his stubby arms through the sleeves of the Jon Green tailored, winter jacket while maintaining his clasp of his cellphone, switching the device from his left to right ear. By now, one of the burly bodyguards had stepped out of the idling black sedan and had briskly tromped over and opened the driver's door like a butler.

  The chubby driver stepped ungraciously out of the low, slung cockpit, helped by the guard who received no acknowledgement for his efforts. The driver glanced at the parking attendant only to ensure his toss of the keys would be caught, and then switched his cellphone from one ear to the other.

  Most Americans had never heard of Donald Abraham, Publisher of World News Network, much less, recognized that he was one of the most powerful people in American politics. His eyebrows were jet black and accentuated his piercing grey eyes. His face bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his breathing heavy as clouds of manmade fog emanated from his rather wide mouth set below the family's characteristic beak-like nose.

  Concentrating on the conversation at hand, the question by the parking attendant fell unheeded upon his ears. The young man knew not to push his luck and ask a second time, as it would only provoke a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

  The publisher turned to leave only to turn back when he remembered to threaten the car attendant.

  "Pay attention boy, there better not be any more miles on that later."

  The young car attendant appeared slightly mortified. "Oh, of course not Mr. Abraham. It will be just as you…"

  The elderly brut cut him off, "And if I see one blemish on the paint, I’ll have you thrown in jail!"

  Donald Abraham was an alpha-male elitist who needed to possess rare, exotic toys to make up for his diminutive size and common appearance. Donald was a Democrat, his employees were Democrats and if he had his way everyone in America would be a Democrat.

  The news baron now made his way along the paved sidewalk running around the north side of the club, followed by the bodyguard, passing both the eighteenth green and the heated Olympic-size pool. The lawn bordering either side of the pathway was now covered in a thin layer of ice broken in places by the footsteps of the club staff taking a shortcut from the employee parking lot a half-mile away.

  “How much do I owe them?” Donald Abraham paused on the sidewalk a moment. “When do they have to have it?” The publisher remained quiet as he listened to his attorney’s position before shouting, “They said that? You tell them they’ll see their money in a month!”

  Donald Abraham hated being told what to do. Nobody ever told him what to do, but the union bosses had him over a barrel, there was no choice. “Yes, okay, fine, just get it to them.”

  The publisher paid attention for one more moment.

  “I don’t give a damn what the Board says, just make the arrangements.”

  This publisher was not only the most arrogant ass to sit at the head of the company; he was also the most indebted, thanks to a hedonistic lifestyle that even the Queen of England would have envied.

  Donald was the fifth member to carry the title ‘Publisher’ at World News Network, a legacy that began at the turn of the twentieth century and like past generations, he readily availed himself of the clout his news conglomerate carried to empower and hold sway over one of two political parties. Donald was part of a small group of elitists who wanted nothing less than to see that party in permanent domination over the nation. This was not simply an idle thought; their objective was very close to becoming a reality.

  To the publisher’s way of imagining, he was the closest thing to royalty one could be in the country and had reached the zenith of power for a private citizen. That was one of the reasons America needed to be changed and from Donald's vantage point, his family's efforts for the past century were close to being realized. It had taken him nearly forty years of playing hardball with the facts and this game of his, but he had almost won.

  Donald checked his watch. Time for that drink.

  Donald Abraham attended the Columbia University School of Journalism his family founded in 1920. He had grown long hair, worn an Army jacket and become a leader of an underground movement, the New Revolutionaries, a group of anarchists who championed the violent overthrow of the United States Government, usually by attempting to bomb government institutions. Donald managed to graduate, even though he at no time really ever attended classes from his junior year on, thanks to his own flesh and blood’s influence, and in 1969 went to work at World News Network.

  WNN was a news conglomerate whose reach had far outgrown the original newspaper of the early twentieth century. It now included several dozen regional tabloids, over two hundred local television stations, three cable news channels and controlling interests in two national news networks. Donald’s empire commanded just over thirty-five percent of the market and was the world’s largest news organization; this was what made Donald Abraham one of the most powerful men in politics, and the most feared.

  Donald's conglomerate sat at the head of an industry dominated by one ideology. His position as proprietor was unique: through his news operations, the publisher set the itinerary for the industry. The news baron now had his eyes set on taking their political party off the hook for voting in favor of the Iraq war. Donald was cognizant the effort would sooner, or later, result in the Republican Party bearing full responsibility for the outcome and once accomplished would set his news company to creating one more Vietnam in the minds of most Americans. The publisher’s plan would hand the Democrats the White House in the next presidential election; it was simple and effective and would succeed only due to his manipulation over what tens of millions of Americans thought and believed.

  The proof the WNN editors were relying upon came from a political hack and former US Diplomat who would do and say almost anything for the right price. The diplomat's claim went in opposition to the findings from both American and British intelligence services, thousands of trained professionals, many of whom risked their lives to uncover Saddam's secrets. WNN coverage would be followed by his competitors who would all report the same falsehoods. The Diplomat, supported by the press, would carry on the charade up to the point where her testimony would fall apart under oath before a congressional committee. The leaders of the party would ensure the timing of that event would occur following the election when the woman had served her purpose. Inside weeks, if not days, the whole affair would be forgott
en by the American news industry. This was just one illustration of a myriad of propaganda campaigns Donald’s editors would have spinning at any given time. It was a clear sample of the power this one man, this demigod, this autocrat wielded over the American people.

  Donald hesitated at the rear entrance, turning off and pocketing his cellphone while his bodyguard opened the door. He entered the sunlit foyer passing a “No Cellphones Allowed” sign as soft music played in the background.

  The news mogul ran his business much like the way he wanted to see the nation run. In his world, propaganda was the enabler and through it he wielded power over the politicians in Washington, and through them, the masses. Donald’s foot soldiers were the editors, journalists and staff, all hired in view of the fact they were willing to propagate what was necessary to effect his desired ends. Everything revolved around him: Donald was all powerful, no threat yet existed, and soon even national elections would not matter.

  The news industry had almost succeeded. Preying upon the emotions, downplaying the role of critical thinking, they created an environment where the Democrat Party maintained a driver’s seat over an immense swath of the country through circumstances that would pit one American in opposition to another. The power of the media was changing American society and it was all primarily at the direction of one man, Donald Abraham.

  Donald looked up to see an exceptionally beautiful woman standing just outside one of the clubhouse conference rooms. One of his major temptations in life was attractive women.

  She was talking with an elderly woman, full-figured with shoulder-length blond hair in a form-fitting white outfit. Donald felt his heartbeat quicken, but was drawing a blank on her name. The publisher recalled a previous meeting twice before. Where? A party? Club event? Here? Where? Argh. Come on. Eyes? Boobs? Legs…Oh yes! Mrs. Scott. Donald remembered, Patty Scott! His new neighbor.

  Wow, she looks good in that outfit! Damn, I’d like to bend her over and let her have what for.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Scott.”

  “Hello," Mrs. Scott replied with a blank stare that told Donald she did not have any idea who he was.

  "Donald Abraham, your next door neighbor," replied the publisher inwardly incensed Mrs. Scott did not recollect him.

  "Oh yes, Mr. Abraham, good to see you again,” Mrs. Scott replied flashing her Hollywood veneers.

  Donald shook her extended hand. Mrs. Scott expected a firm, manlike handshake, only to be somewhat repulsed by his wet, fish-like grip.

  “Pardon my interruption, but I've been meaning to speak to you and your husband about a party I'm having."

  "A party? Oh, forgive me Mrs. Sterling. This is Donald Abraham, our neighbor."

  "Nothing to forgive Patty. Nice to make your acquaintance, I'm Lucy."

  Mrs. Sterling was also taken back by the limpness of his grip.

  Mrs. Scott continued with the introduction. "Lucy serves with me on the Board of the Garden Club. Lucy, Mr. Abraham is the owner of the World News Network if my memory serves me correctly.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid you’ve caught me.”

  “Really,” replied Mrs. Sterling. “You have a very influential news company, Mr. Abraham. Tell me, do you have any Republicans at all?”

  That tramp, right-wing nut! The publisher decided to ignore the question responding with his own. “I'm here for a drink. Would either of you like to join me?"

  "Isn't it a bit early?" replied the older woman.

  Donald took a brisk glance at his watch, 10:14 A.M.

  Donald’s drinking habit would eventually catch up with him, just as it had for his father...and grandfather.

  He responded by creating a fiction. "Oh, yes it is. I'm still on European time, just back from Paris, you know."

  Mrs. Scott smiled, "I'm afraid it is a little early, thanks just the same Mr. Abraham. About your party, my husband and I would be delighted to come, but I'm afraid we will be traveling over the holidays."

  Donald’s days consisted of a routine of heavy drinking, micromanaging his news editors and power lunches with politicians and lobbyists. Possessing every material possession one could attain in his secular world, the news mogul spent the rest of his time golfing, traveling, pursuing extramarital affairs with his executives’ wives and occasionally the daughters. His hedonistic behavior was an exemplification of the sort of eccentricities a person develops when they wield unchecked power for most of their lives.

  "That's unfortunate, Mrs. Scott. Oh well, maybe next time." Donald was in point of fact thinking to himself, The hell with you then.

  “Oh, but Lucy (Mrs. Sterling) might be able to go?”

  That ugly hag!

  “What do you think, Lucy?”

  Mrs. Sterling had already made her mind up: she had no intentions of seeing this unsavory little fellow again.

  “No, but thanks, I too will be traveling over the holidays.”

  Whew! That was goddamn close! thought Donald. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe next time.” What a joke. I can’t believe I just said that.

  The publisher departed after some closing pleasantries and walked on to his regular haunt. Once out of earshot, the two women could not help but remark to one another on what an odd man Mr. Abraham was. His handshake was one thing, but the way the disgusting little person devoured Mrs. Scott with his gaze and the way he flashed around his jewelry was downright inexcusable for anyone with proper dignity.

  Donald had left his current and fourth spouse, a thirty-something former model, at his Fifth Avenue penthouse, one of four homes. The other homes included the mansion just down the road, the plantation estate in the British Virgin Islands and the two-hundred-foot yacht he christened Lord of the Rings. Donald had not minded that his wife had some reason to stay in New York today; he would love nothing more than to replace number four with number five, but it didn’t quite fit into his current plans.

  Donald took his seat at his favorite booth as the bartender brought over the drink for the morning, vodka and orange juice. The publisher’s morning ritual consisted of reading his paper with drink in hand followed by the occasional draw from an unfiltered cigarette.

  Donald smiled at one of the headlines, “Poll: Americans Believe Democrats.”

  Donald began reading what his editors had approved for print in that day’s edition. What little public outcry might arise from the right could easily be dismissed. Donald did not give a damn what the Republicans said in view of the fact no one would ever hear them. They could yell, scream, cry all they wanted, it would do them no good.

  What his news conglomerate would purposely overlook would be the history of events, how the Democrats originally voted in opposition to the referendum for going to war, soon followed by demands to recast their votes. It was only after internal polling showed the leadership erred on their original position that the loudmouths: Senate Minority Leader, James Rooney, and House Minority Leader, Patricia Bocchino, both demanded one more vote be cast.

  The authorization had already been passed by the Republican majority; there was no need for an additional show of hands, but McKinley made the mistake of accommodating the Democrats. Today, the Democrats were now on record as having voted in favor of the Iraq war, an act that no longer served their purposes. The history of those events was long unremembered by the public and Donald along with the Democrats would now turn on President McKinley for his act of kindness...and naivety.

  Donald's lead would be soon followed by the entire news industry, from cable news networks to the front page stories of his chief competitors, every news outlet in the nation, save one: the small, but growing, RHO Cable News Network.

  “John, turn that channel to something with news on it,” Donald said to the bartender.

  “Yes, Mr. Abraham.”

  “Make damn sure it’s not that RHO bullshit.”

  “Yes, Mr. Abraham.”

  “...this is American News and I am Alishah Mitche
ll. Today, Democrat Party leadership announced their intention to investigate the President who they now are convinced misled the American people on the intelligence information surrounding Iraq...”

  Americans across the country would be treated to the same concocted story. On the Latin American news network, the following would be heard throughout the day:

  “Buenas tardes, soy Juan Martínez reportando de Latino News Network. En vivo desde el edificio del Capitolio, donde Líder Minoritario del Senado, Jim Rooney ha anunciado públicamente…”

  Donald Abraham’s own news network would, of course, run something similar.

  “I am Christiane Jackson, WNN White House correspondent and I’m standing with Senate Majority Leader Jim Rooney. Senator Rooney, you have publicly stated that you believe President McKinley lied with reference to the evidence for going to war. This is, on the face of it, a very provocative declaration. What do you have to say to the American people…”

  That evening, Donald’s star news anchor, Deena Crawford, would run with the same story and one of the prettiest faces in the business.

  “This is WNN Nightly News and I am Deena Crawford. Today, Senate Leader, Jim Rooney went before Congress to announce his party's intention to pursue legal actions against Republican Party President, William McKinley. Senator Rooney was quoted as saying, 'McKinley cannot deceive the American people…”

  The news coverage would be carried by both the national and local news operations and eventually find its way into the homes of more than half the nation.

  Donald smiled to himself. There was no way his little game of his could fail. There was, after all, nothing to stop him.

  THE CAPITALISTS