Glenn Beck - The Overton Window

“The United States was built to run on individual freedom, that’s true, but because you’ve let these control freaks have their way with it for almost a hundred years, your country now runs on debt. Today Goldman Sachs is the engine, and in case you haven’t realized it yet, the American people are nothing but the fuel.

“The Committee of Three Hundred exists. And the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Bilderberg Group, the Trilateral Commission, the Club of Rome-they all exist. And they are globalists; they’re wealthy and powerful beyond anything you can imagine. There are predators among them, absolutely ruthless people, but all of them together really do run things in this world, just like you say they do. There’s nothing secret about those societies, though. No hidden conspiracies: they do what they do right out in the open.

“See, the place where I work is where all the secrets get told, because they have to tell us their secrets before we can hide them. But here’s the interesting thing: Do you know why I’m not worried about sharing any of this with you? Because they’re not afraid of the American people anymore, and especially not you people. All they’ve got to do is keep you bickering among yourselves, overwhelmed with conflicting information, or fretting about conspiracies or hypnotized in front of the TV and the computer, or standing around here thinking you’re fighting back, and you’ll never even get close to doing them any harm.

“There really is a New World Order on the way, but it isn’t new. It’s been coming for a long, long time. You let yourselves get distracted with a thousand conspiracy theories, but there’s only one truth at the heart of them all. George Carlin said it better than I can: Up at the very top, it’s a big club, and you’re not in it. They’ve got all the power, and you’ve got none of it.”

“Like hell we don’t!” shouted a man in back.

“Okay, okay, I think I know what you’re trying to say. If you could ever get enough voters together to do anything significant, you might have a shot. But that’s easy enough to deal with. Let me show you how.”

Noah pointed out a particularly hefty man near the bar.

“Can everybody read what it says on this guy’s T-shirt? You know, a shirt that was probably sewn in Bangladesh by a ten-year-old girl who worked sixteen hours that day? Turn around so we can see it, big guy; be proud of it. It says, ‘Born in the Jew S A.’

“If he’s not already an infiltrator or an agent provocateur, then your enemies should hire him immediately. That guy is exactly why I’m not worried about telling you things that should be secrets: With him standing next to you, who’d ever believe a word you say? At every rally you hold, if you’re lucky enough to get the press to cover you at all, he’s the one guy who’ll get his picture on the front page. If you want to know why you can’t get any traction with the other ninety-seven percent of America, it’s because you let yourselves be lumped in with people like that.

“Name-calling also works like a charm.” He pointed to a different patron with every smear that followed. “There’s a Birther, and a Truther, two Paulites, a John Bircher, a Freeper, a white supremacist, a pothead, three tea-partiers, and that guy there is the jackpot: a Holocaust denier. From there it’s easy to roll you all up together so that no one in their right mind would want to join you. Why would they? According to the network news, you’re all borderline-insane, ignorant, paranoid, uneducated, hate-mongering, tinfoil-hat-wearing, racist conspiracy theorists.

“That’s how they keep your eyes off the big picture. All the while the gradual overthrow that you’re so passionate about exposing is happening right under your nose. Yet you stand around here preaching to the choir, as if that’s going to do anything at all to stop it.

“There’s no respect for you in Washington. They laugh at you. You say you want a revolution? That Constitution the lady was holding up a while ago? It gives you the power to revolt at every single election. Do you realize that in a couple of weeks every last seat in the U.S. House of Representatives will be up for grabs? And the presidency? And one-third of the Senate seats?

“The approval rating for Congress is somewhere around fifteen percent. You could turn the tables and put them all out of a job on that one day. But do you know what’s going to happen instead? I do. The presidency is going to change hands, but the corruption will accelerate. Over ninety percent of those people in Congress-people who are deeper into the pockets of the lobbyists every day they spend in Washington-over ninety percent of them are going to get reelected.”

The crowd was listening intently; it seemed they weren’t at all sure if this was just another part of the show.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Noah said. “I’ll be outside waiting for a car if anyone wants to take a swing at me. To tell you the truth, I think a fist-fight might just be the perfect way to end tonight’s festivities.”

There was a smattering of tentative applause and quite a bit of murmuring from the crowd as he stepped down from the stage, grabbed his bundle of wet clothes, left some cash on his table, and headed for the door. He heard Danny Bailey behind him back at the mike, picking up where he’d left off earlier and doing his best to get the crowd reengaged in his message, whatever the hell it was.

Noah was nearly to the exit when he felt a hand touch his arm. He stopped and turned to see the woman who’d spoken earlier, Molly’s mother, standing there.

“That was quite a speech you gave, and on such short notice,” she said.

“Yeah,” Noah said. “I’ve got a gift. Look, I didn’t mean any disrespect-”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Her face was kind, her eyes intelligent and alight with that same inscrutable glint that had hooked him so hopelessly during his brief time in her daughter’s company. “I think we might have more in common than you realize.”

Behind him, Bailey was already midway into a spirited, modern paraphrase of a well-worn Patrick Henry speech. By the sound of it, the audience had fully recovered from Noah’s double dose of reality and was working itself into quite a lather again. Maybe it was the late hour, the evening-long buildup of alcohol and anger, or the now-obvious scattering of outsiders around the room who seemed to be acting in concert to fan the flames of the mob mentality-but whatever it was, things were getting ugly.

Noah looked around for Molly but the audience was too thick to penetrate. Two men had stationed themselves in front of the door, in a stance that implied the way to the street was about to be closed.

“Have you seen your daughter?”

“I did a few minutes ago.”

“I think we need to get out of here,” Noah said, taking the older woman by the arm. “Right now.” There was a glowing fire-exit sign on the wall to the rear of the place, and though there were probably other ways out, that seemed to be the easiest.

It was slow going. Bailey’s booming speech and the occasional roar of the crowd in response drowned out all of Noah’s other thoughts except one: getting outside before whatever bad thing that was surely about to happen did happen.

“Let’s stop kidding ourselves,” Bailey said. “We’ve done everything that could be done to avoid the storm that’s coming. Our voices have not been heard! The time for simply hoping for change and praying for peace is gone. If our government won’t answer our appeals and do what’s right, if they’ve forsaken their oath to defend the Constitution, then an appeal to arms and to the grace of God Almighty is all they’ve left us!

“I ask you: If not now, when? When will we ever be stronger? Next week? Next year? Will we be stronger when they’ve taken our guns away, or when a cop or a paid government thug is standing on every corner enforcing the curfew? No! I say, if war is inevitable then let it come on our terms!”