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" "Jesse, news for the masses, whether it's XV or all the way back to the old newspapers, is entertainment. People don't follow the news to stay informed, no matter what they tell you in school, they watch or experience to be entertained. If it were like they teach in school, they'd put the congressional budget, scientific research, and bios of every important bureaucrat in the opening slot, and they'd do special editions for the Nobel Prizes and the World Health Organization's annual report. That's not what it's about. They cover crime, sports, famous people having sex, funny animal stories, what it's like to stay in an expensive hotel in a resort area. Because that's what's interesting and fun and entertaining.
"It wouldn't matter so much except that people's lives are so dull they believe their entertainment—and for a hundred years we've been telling them that the world is very dangerous, that there are violent thugs everywhere, war is constantly imminent, sex is their most important need, all that crap.
"Well shit, Jesse, if you were a shrink and you had a patient who only wanted to talk about violence, extravagance, cruelty, and his sexual fantasies—what would you suggest? More of the same?"
Jesse's a bit startled, but he asks, "Whatever happened to freedom of the press?"
She snorts, a funny, ugly noise. Then she says, "Sorry, Jesse, but what does that have to do with the present day? You think the broadcast nets are like Ben Franklin, turning out little pamphlets for a few to read and most to ignore? Look, a few huge private corporations are making all their money by spreading fear, hate, depression, and an exploitive attitude. Justice would demand public hangings."
John Barnes (born 1957) is an American science fiction author.
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I know I pretend to be the apolitical businessman a lot, but the reality is that like anybody who’s interested in getting people together with the things they need and want, I have an agenda. I want people to get what they want, and I want them ideally to get it from me, but most of all I want them to be free to want it and to make offers to get it. Those poor stupid fanatics have been sold on the idea that what they want is the ability to give themselves little priggish congratulations over having done the right thing. They’d rather be right than happy. More importantly, they’d rather that I be right than happy and they’re not about to leave the choice up to me. I say, let ’em die, and I hope it’s slow and it hurts.