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Mafia of Media
and Father of Modern Australia
A |
free press has long been considered the cornerstone of any genuine liberal democracy. In earlier decades—particularly during the 1970s—when freethinkers and intellectuals found themselves disillusioned by pervasive corruption across government institutions and the judiciary, their last bastion of hope was the independent media. It was during this golden era of journalism that a generation of courageous investigative reporters emerged, revealing truths that would otherwise have remained hidden from public view.
However, that era has largely faded. Today, both our so-called "liberal democracy" and our purportedly "free media" have become hollow facades. The consolidation of media ownership in the hands of a select few wealthy individuals has effectively transformed the fourth estate into an instrument of power rather than a check upon it. The ability of a single tycoon to dominate the national media landscape has already been realized, with significant consequences for public discourse and democratic integrity.
This chapter draws attention to the role this media “mafia” played in orchestrating a political coup against an Australian Prime Minister—an event that bears striking resemblance to the coup that overthrew an Iranian Prime Minister decades earlier. The author refers to these two figures as the “Father of Modern Australia” and the “Father of Iranian Liberal Democracy,” respectively. As explored later in Chapter 3, the parallels between these two political upheavals offer profound insights—not only into the structural vulnerabilities of democratic systems, but also into the transnational nature of the forces that undermine them. These similarities point toward the involvement of certain organizations that operated behind the scenes of both coups.
The author's engagement with these issues is not merely academic. He himself was subjected to a sustained and deeply personal campaign of intimidation, defamation, and psychological harassment by what he came to describe as the "mafia of media." To explore these themes and expose the broader dynamics at play, this section opens with a series of fictionalized narratives—stories grounded in lived experience, but framed in a way that protects individuals and emphasizes patterns over particulars.
In Chapter 3, this book addresses the victimization and instrumentalization of minority groups by what I term the Military-Intelligence-Industrial Complex (MICix). One historical case discussed is that of a British agent operating in Iran, known publicly as “Shapour the Reporter.” While nominally a journalist, there exists a strong consensus among historians that he simultaneously served as an intelligence operative—functioning as a "reporter" in both the journalistic and espionage senses of the term.
From this case, the author proposes a broader hypothesis: that the use of journalists as intelligence agents constitutes a standard protocol within the MICix's operational playbook. Chapter 3 further explores the strategic logic and complex motivations underlying the MICix’s exploitation of minority identities. One critical advantage of embedding agents within minority communities lies in the shield of moral and political immunity it provides—any attempt to expose or criticize such individuals risks being labeled as discriminatory or intolerant. The same logic applies to journalists, whose profession provides another layer of protection under the banner of press freedom.
Thus, the MICix’s support for minority figures or media figures is rarely rooted in genuine advocacy for rights or liberties; rather, it represents the pragmatic deployment of effective operational covers. This tactic is further reinforced by psychological warfare protocols, which will be discussed in subsequent chapters.
Within this framework, the book introduces a fictional narrative featuring a character whose name closely resembles the term “reporter,” symbolizing the coded language and “game of names” often employed in covert communication. According to this hypothesis, naming conventions serve as subtle identifiers—allowing agents to recognize allies through linguistic cues alone.
In this fictional account, we adopt the historical name "Shapour Reporter" and introduce a fictional media mogul named Repurt Gobbles—a character whose name evokes both historical resonance and allegorical significance. "Gobbles" begins his journey as a collaborator with British intelligence, receiving covert support to expand his media empire across nearly all English-speaking nations. The following story begins the tale of how this alliance unfolds:
David was a powerful statesman—sharp, ambitious, and deeply enmeshed in the unspoken networks that shape political life. His association with Mr. Gobbles, the rising media mogul, was more than a matter of public relations. Their connection to certain secret societies was well known to those who knew where to look. The two had once met on a secluded Greek island, where they shared not only strategic conversations but also moments of camaraderie, exchanging ideas over fine wine and silent understandings.
But then, the "mafia of media" crossed a line. Their involvement in acts of surveillance and manipulation—now widely acknowledged—threatened to spill into the public domain. David, in an act of miscalculated hubris, attempted to distance himself. He believed he could contain the damage, even sacrifice his old allies if necessary. He underestimated the reach of the beast he had once embraced.
He did not grasp how deeply the "mafia of media" was embedded within the corridors of power, nor how intertwined it had become with the "departments" and "agencies"—those shadowy institutions that prefer to operate without scrutiny. In retaliation, the media and a faction of the police collaborated to stage what became a public spectacle. A single, tragic police shooting sparked widespread unrest. The media, far from calming the storm, amplified it—broadcasting images and narratives in a way that fanned the flames, encouraging chaos to spill into neighboring suburbs.
At first, the police stood down. The silence was strategic. The unrest grew. The optics were manipulated. And when the time was right, the narrative was seized. The public forgot the original crimes—both those of the "mafia of media" and David’s collusion with them. In the end, the same corrupt police force was reinstated, untouched. The media empire grew stronger, its sins scrubbed from memory. A trail of devastation—livelihoods destroyed, communities shattered—was left behind, collateral damage in a game of power preservation.
Around the time K41d45 was assigned a highly sensitive case—an investigation into a terror plot targeting a prominent Middle Eastern political figure—he also discovered what seemed to be the love of his life. Or rather, the mafia of media found it for him. Mr. Gobbles, the patriarch of this media empire and symbolic "Papa" of the network, strategically placed one of his writers in K41d45’s path.
Papa's lineage, going back to Protestant clergy, symbolized more than heritage—it represented a cultural and ideological crusade. That’s why the author refers to them as Crusaders of the New Age—fundamentalist evangelical operatives thinly disguised as journalists, intricately connected with the MICix.
Soon after, fabricated evidence emerged implicating Syria in the plot. K41d45, operating in good faith, followed the trail. But it turned out that all the “evidence” had been manufactured. The Syrians were not the orchestrators. K41d45 had been manipulated—fed false intelligence, positioned as a puppet investigator, and unknowingly used as a pawn in a larger scheme.
Later, when another act of terrorism shook the region, the pattern repeated. The mafia of media, experts in psychological warfare, could “find” a convenient mistress or honeytrap for any new investigator. They knew the formula—control the narrative, influence the investigator, and feed just enough tailored "truth" to manufacture a case.
All this served one purpose: to mobilize their army of ideological operatives—fundamentalist writers, modern-day crusaders, religious extremists cloaked in civility—and pave the way for another war. A dirty war. A profitable one. A war written before it ever began.
This fictional narrative serves to illustrate a broader pattern discussed in Chapter 3—how individuals from minority groups are often elevated to high-level positions not out of genuine commitment to equality or representation, but as part of a calculated strategy by the British Military Intelligence Industrial Complex (MICix). These individuals are frequently provided with manipulated or entirely fabricated intelligence, coerced into making flawed decisions, and then conveniently blamed when the consequences of those decisions come to light. In this way, they become both tools and scapegoats—used, abused, and ultimately discarded.
Later chapters of this book will explore further examples of this protocol, particularly in the context of corrupt arms deals in Iran and control over its security organization, SAVAK. Here too, members of minority communities were placed in positions of apparent authority, while the real power remained hidden, and the morally compromised decisions were carefully choreographed by unseen hands.
This method of psychological manipulation is not limited to minority figures alone. A parallel strategy is applied to individuals with leftist or progressive ideals within intelligence or security institutions. What we refer to here as a uniquely British method includes the subtle weaponization of ideology—drawing in idealists, feeding them narratives that align with their beliefs, and then redirecting them toward objectives that serve a deeper, often darker agenda.
Among the most sophisticated of these tactics are what the author refers to as the "Mahout Protocols": operational frameworks designed to manage and control high-profile individuals, or "VIPs." These protocols often involve engineering circumstances in which the individual commits to an action based on falsified intelligence or guidance. Once they are committed—politically, morally, or legally—the truth is revealed to them. At that point, their allegiance is secured not through loyalty or shared vision, but through complicity.
This tactic, disturbingly similar to the methods used by organized crime syndicates, relies on a simple principle: if you want to ensure someone stays loyal, make sure their hands are dirty too. The Iraq War presents a striking example of this approach. Instead of focusing on verifiable human rights abuses committed by Saddam Hussein, the dominant narrative hinged on questionable intelligence—much of it traced back to British sources. This raises an important question: why use false information when the truth would suffice?
The answer may lie in this very strategy. When politicians and decision-makers act on fabricated intelligence, they become entrapped. They are no longer free agents; they are compromised. And once compromised, they are far easier to control.
The story of the robot in the earlier fictional account was not just an allegory about artificial intelligence or state surveillance—it was a story about pressure, manipulation, and how power ensures its own continuity by ensnaring those who appear to wield it.
Some time later, witnessing a parallel situation unfold during an Australian election, I was overwhelmed—not only with shock and anger, but with deep embarrassment as an Australian citizen. The realization struck me: when media is corrupt, it makes little difference whether that corruption stems from direct state control or from manipulation by an oligarch with vested interests. In fact, in my experience, the former can sometimes be more transparent and accountable. What I observed in Australia was a barrage of disinformation and ideological manipulation, orchestrated by powerful private media interests to steer public opinion toward far-right populism. The scale of the deception, and the ease with which it exploited public frustration, was both horrifying and morally repugnant.
There’s a troubling pattern that emerges in such contexts: when a visibly unqualified, even grotesquely "lumpen" figure ascends to high office—while it seems clear that thousands or even millions of other citizens would be better suited—you must question the structural forces behind their rise. Almost invariably, the "mafia of media" has played a critical role in manufacturing consent, shaping narratives, and silencing dissent.
It is in this light that one must examine the media’s role in discrediting the figure I refer to as the "Father of Modern Australia." The aggressive campaign against him was not merely political—it was ideological, systemic, and deeply tied to the interests of a media machine determined to preserve its influence at any cost.
In recent years, Australian media has witnessed some curious developments, including individuals with unconventional backgrounds—such as former participants in adult entertainment—emerging as self-proclaimed investigative journalists. One such figure, referred to here as Mr. D., gained attention for promoting narratives that appear to distort historical facts, including attributing the well-documented 1975 dismissal of Prime Minister Gough Whitlam to labor unions, rather than the more substantiated involvement of British-aligned intelligence interests.
Such misrepresentations are not only misleading but serve to obscure the very real influence of the British Military Intelligence Industrial Complex (MICix) in Australian political affairs. This revisionism is particularly harmful when it distracts public attention from the role that intelligence agencies and media conglomerates played in undermining Prime Minister Whitlam—a leader whom this author regard as the father of modern Australia.
Instead of offering justifications rooted in anti-leftist sentiment or ideological paranoia, it would be far more appropriate for those within corrupt corners of intelligence and media to acknowledge their misdeeds. These institutions—tasked with serving the public and protecting democratic integrity—betrayed those mandates when they worked to destabilize a democratically elected government. What followed was not only a profound democratic crisis but a long-lasting erosion of public trust in both media and government.
Equally troubling is the presence of high-ranking political figures who continually misattribute the origins of Australia’s media manipulation to American entities. While some of these media interests may reside in the United States, their operational ethos and historical lineage are unmistakably British. This misdirection only serves to protect those truly responsible and reflects a deeper pattern of misinformation that echoes broader geopolitical strategies.
In any democracy, accountability is foundational. If the media, intelligence community, and political establishment are to regain public trust, they must reckon honestly with their past—including the events of 1975—and ensure that similar abuses of power are never repeated.
Even more troubling was a subsequent news segment aired by the same channel, in which it was casually claimed—without credible evidence—that Iranians were responsible for the Lockerbie bombing. This allegation was presented not as speculative commentary or part of a dramatized production, but as part of their news coverage, giving it an unwarranted veneer of legitimacy. Such reporting is not only reckless and defamatory, but deeply irresponsible given the historical sensitivity of the Lockerbie tragedy and the profound implications such claims carry for Iranian communities.
It is important to remember that even a civilized and culturally advanced nation like Germany did not descend into fascism overnight. The path was paved incrementally—through the work of propagandists like Joseph Goebbels, who used the power of media to normalize hatred and prepare the public for crimes against humanity. By systematically spreading falsehoods and fear, they convinced ordinary citizens that an entire group—the Jews—was to blame for their national and personal grievances
If, in the future, further injustices or acts of violence are committed against Iranians in Australia—similar to those experienced by the author or potentially more severe—then a significant share of responsibility must lie with those members of the media who contribute to the creation of hostile narratives. Likewise, if corrupt individuals within government departments or intelligence agencies orchestrate fabricated terrorism plots and the media subsequently amplifies these narratives to implicate the Iranian community, those journalists and media institutions become complicit in the resulting harm.
Such actions not only endanger lives but also erode public trust and foster division within society. This is a direct betrayal of the foundational principles of journalism and the role of the free press in a democratic society. Media that engages in fearmongering or that participates in the scapegoating of minorities under the guise of national security does not serve the public—it serves power, prejudice, and paranoia.
These practices bring profound discredit to the profession of journalism. Rather than acting as watchdogs of truth and accountability, such media figures become instruments of misinformation and enablers of institutional abuse. In doing so, they jeopardize not only the safety and dignity of vulnerable communities, but the integrity of democratic society itself.
To substantiate the claim that elements of the media establishment—referred to here as the "mafia of media"—along with the infiltration of British-aligned military intelligence networks (MICix) into Australian institutions, have acted against the national interest, one must revisit the events surrounding the 1975 dismissal of Prime Minister Gough Whitlam. This episode represents not only a democratic crisis but also a turning point in Australia’s political history. It is why in authors' opinion, Whitlam rightly earns the title Father of Modern Australia.
A number of Australian cities consistently rank among the most livable in the world. A close examination of the underlying criteria—such as access to healthcare, education, urban infrastructure, multicultural integration, and public welfare—reveals that much of this progress stems from policies and frameworks introduced by governments on the center and left of the political spectrum. It would be inaccurate to claim that the Liberal Party contributed nothing; however, their more conservative factions have frequently resisted these reforms with fervor, often standing in opposition to the very ideas that have elevated Australia on the global stage.
This pattern of resistance is evident not only in historical context but also in contemporary issues. On matters such as climate change, treatment of asylum seekers, and public health policy, conservative elements continue to obstruct necessary progress. History tends to clarify such legacies: in 20 years, today's misguided policies may provoke the same embarrassment that should already be felt for opposing earlier progressive reforms—many of which were pioneered or inspired by the Whitlam government.
Whitlam's vision for an independent, inclusive, and forward-looking Australia transformed the nation. From universal healthcare and expanded access to higher education, to increased support for the arts and a more autonomous foreign policy, his contributions laid the foundation for the country we celebrate today. That such a leader could be undermined through external interference and media manipulation is not only a tragedy but a cautionary tale—a reminder of how powerful interests can derail democratic progress when left unchecked. Among the landmark achievements of the Whitlam Government—many of which continue to shape the fabric of modern Australian society—are the following transformative reforms:
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Dismantling state censorship and promoting freedom of expression, thereby reinforcing democratic values and the role of a free press;
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Establishing the Family Court of Australia, introducing a more humane and specialized approach to family law;
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Enacting legislation to ensure freedom of access to government information, laying the groundwork for transparency and accountability;
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Reforming corporate and trade practices law to foster fair competition and protect consumers;
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Introducing some of Australia's earliest environmental protection policies, reflecting a growing national awareness of ecological responsibility;
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Abolishing the death penalty for federal crimes, aligning Australia with international human rights standards;
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Outlawing racial and other forms of discrimination, embedding principles of equality into national legislation;
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Creating a national legal aid system, ensuring that access to justice was not limited by socio-economic status;
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Revolutionizing public health and education, including the establishment of Medibank (the precursor to Medicare) and free tertiary education, democratizing access to essential services.
These reforms were not merely policy adjustments—they were structural shifts toward a more equitable, transparent, and inclusive Australian society. The breadth and vision of these accomplishments underline why the author believes Gough Whitlam is the architect of modern Australia.
During his tenure, Gough Whitlam oversaw several significant cultural and symbolic shifts that helped assert Australia’s independent national identity. One of the most emblematic of these changes was the adoption of “Advance Australia Fair” as the national anthem, replacing “God Save the Queen”, which had symbolized colonial subservience. In a similar vein, the Order of Australia
was established in 1975, replacing the British honours system and further affirming the country’s sovereign character.
Whitlam’s legacy extended far beyond his time in office. He remained a vocal and principled figure in Australian political life, continuing to advocate for national sovereignty and ethical governance. Notably, he supported Mark Latham’s opposition to the invasion and occupation of Iraq, despite then-Prime Minister John Howard’s claims
that such a stance jeopardized Australia’s alliance with the United States.
In one of his final public appearances, Whitlam returned to Parliament in February 2008, joining three other former Prime Ministers to witness national apology to the Aboriginal Stolen Generations.
His presence on that historic day was deeply symbolic—a reminder of his longstanding commitment to social justice, reconciliation, and a more inclusive national narrative.
These moments exemplify the breadth of Whitlam’s influence—not just in policymaking, but in shaping the values, symbols, and moral compass of the Australian nation.
It is no exaggeration to assert that the foundations of modern Australia—those policies and institutions that today we celebrate and that draw admiration from around the world—can be traced back to the visionary leadership of progressive figures such as Gough Whitlam. Whether in public health, education, legal equality, or foreign policy, Whitlam and his government championed a transformative agenda that placed Australia firmly on the path to social justice, modern governance, and international independence.
Notably, Whitlam’s foreign policy outlook reflected a commitment to national sovereignty and solidarity with other nations pursuing independence. It is often overlooked that he publicly supported the Iranian nationalization of its oil industry—an act of defiance against foreign control that parallels his own stance on asserting Australian autonomy.
Despite these achievements, Whitlam became the target of an intense campaign of political and media opposition. A considerable body of evidence suggests that his dismissal in 1975 was not merely a constitutional anomaly, but part of a broader, coordinated effort involving media conglomerates—referred to here as the "mafia of media"—and elements of military and intelligence networks with foreign affiliations (termed MICix in this work). The reader is encouraged to critically examine how disinformation, selective reporting, and ideological bias shaped the public narrative surrounding Whitlam and his government.
What emerges is a troubling portrait of systemic influence—one in which democratic institutions were compromised by covert agendas. The consequences of this episode remain relevant today, especially as similar tactics appear to be deployed against new reformist or progressive figures. In this light, the dismissal of Gough Whitlam is not only a historical injustice—it is a case study in how power operates behind the curtain of liberal democracy.
History has shown us how reformers are often met with fierce resistance—especially from entrenched interests. Gough Whitlam ultimately fell victim to such resistance. His government was brought down not by democratic defeat but by what many regard as a constitutional coup—a profoundly controversial dismissal that undermined the democratic process and was, arguably, influenced by powerful networks with ties to the United Kingdom.
Readers are encouraged to explore how mainstream media outlets have portrayed Whitlam over the years. A deeper examination reveals a persistent campaign to discredit his legacy—one that bears the hallmarks of orchestrated character assassination, rather than genuine democratic critique. The “mafia of media,” as some critics describe it, played a key role in shaping public opinion against Whitlam, often ignoring or downplaying the transformative policies his government enacted.
This was not an isolated incident in modern history. A similar pattern can be observed in the case of Mohammad Mossadegh, the democratically elected Prime Minister of Iran, who was overthrown in a UK backed coup in 1953. Mossadegh, like Whitlam, challenged foreign dominance and sought to assert national sovereignty—only to be removed in very similar circumstances (see chapter 3).
These historical parallels suggest that liberal democracies are not only challenged by internal pressures but also by external powers seeking to preserve geopolitical and economic control. In both the Australian and Iranian contexts, we see how media manipulation, intelligence influence, and political subterfuge can undermine democratic aspirations.
To conclude this section on a somewhat lighter note, we turn to a remarkable anecdote from the early 1970s that highlights the internal tensions between democratic accountability and the opaque world of intelligence agencies.
One of the most memorable figures in the Whitlam government wasLionel Murphy, the brilliant and bold Attorney-General known for his reformist zeal and uncompromising commitment to civil liberties. In a moment that has since become legendary in Australian political history, Murphy made an unannounced visit to the headquarters of the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO) in March 1973—an event now famously referred to as the “Murphy Raid.”
Murphy had grown increasingly concerned byASIO’s lack of transparency, particularly regarding intelligence on Croatian extremist groups operating within Australia. These concerns were amplified by the upcoming visit of Yugoslav Prime Minister Džemal Bijedić,
and ASIO's failure to adequately brief Murphy—claiming, astonishingly, that relevant files could not be located—triggered his direct intervention.
Murphy believed that no security agency should operate outside ministerial oversight, and that ASIO, like any government body, must be held accountable to elected officials. According to journalist George Negus, who served as Murphy's press secretary, the situation took an almost comedic turn. Murphy had requested the files on the six most dangerous or subversive individuals in Australia. When they finally arrived, they contained names such as Communist Party of Australia unionists and peace activists like Mavis Robertson—far from the violent threats Murphy had expected.
As the story goes, when Murphy relayed this toPrime Minister Whitlam, both men “laughed out loud.”
The author was among the early commentators to express skepticism regarding the potential outcomes of the Egyptian uprising, cautioning that it may not warrant uncritical celebration. Notably, prior to the outbreak of unrest and its subsequent coverage by international media—particularly offshoots of BBC supporting extremist factions in the Middle East—I had already referenced the Muslim Brotherhood and raised concerns about its ideological foundations and affiliations. Drawing attention to the etymology of the organization’s founder, Hassan al-Banna (with "al-Banna" translating to "the mason" in Arabic), I suggested possible symbolic and structural links between the Brotherhood and broader patterns of infiltration historically attributed to British intelligence agencies.
These observations were contextualized within a broader critique of how religious fundamentalist groups—often framed as autonomous actors—may in fact function within complex geopolitical hierarchies, manipulated by elements within military-intelligence-industrial complex (here referred to as MICix). Such groups, while operating under religious or ideological banners, are frequently positioned at the lower tiers of what can be described as "pyramid of Terror". At the apex of this structure, I argue, are "Colonial" actors—primarily adherents of authoritarian Protestant ideologies—who deploy fundamentalism as a strategic tool to exert influence and maintain global power asymmetries.
A more in-depth examination of the Muslim Brotherhood’s position within this framework will follow, not as a central authority, but as a subordinate entity within a larger, ideologically diverse but structurally unified system of fundamentalist manipulation.
The comparison is not merely semantic. The media strategies deployed during the Iranian Revolution—namely, framing, selective amplification, and subtle narrative steering—bear a resemblance to the methods used to portray the uprisings across the Arab world. In both cases, the consequence was not the realization of democratic aspirations, but rather the redirection of popular movements by covertly aligned ideological actors. In the Iranian context, this took the form of infiltration and eventual dominance by factions I refer to as the "Brotherhood of Slavemasons"—a symbolic representation of fundamentalist forces manipulated by MICix. This betrayal of national interests resulted in a post-revolutionary disorder from which Iran continues to suffer.
I invite readers to investigate further the institutional lineage of these media entities and their potential roles in shaping, and in some cases derailing, grassroots political transformations in the Middle East.
A particular Emir, known for having received his education at a prestigious British military academy, played a key financial role in establishing the aforementioned media network. In Chapter 3, I will explore the significant number of influential figures—many of whom have also been educated at the same or similar British military institutions—who have contributed to the broader military-intelligence-industrial complex, often by fostering regional instability and conflict.
During an official state visit to the United Kingdom, this Emir was awarded the honorary title of Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath—one of the highest honors conferred by the British Crown. The political significance of such honors becomes particularly evident when contrasted with the revocation of the same title from the former President of Zimbabwe. While the official reason given was alleged human rights abuses, deeper geopolitical motivations were likely at play. The President had publicly denounced the role of former colonial powers in perpetuating systems of racial oppression and had claimed to possess evidence implicating them in apartheid-era atrocities. His disavowal of colonial influence, rather than human rights concerns alone, may have precipitated the symbolic withdrawal of imperial recognition.
It is noteworthy that a prominent Sheikh—closely associated with the World Union of Clerics and often cited as the ideological architect behind the Brotherhood—played a central role in shaping the editorial direction of the media network in question. This same network also conducted a high-profile interview with a senior Brotherhood figure shortly before his departure to Tunisia amid the regional unrest. Tunisia, significantly, had become a hub for the Brotherhood’s strategic coordination, bolstered by substantial financial backing linked to British oil interests.
As explored in Chapter 3, the British petroleum sector has historically played a critical role in supporting the broader objectives of the military-industrial-intelligence complex, referred to here as "MICix." The entanglement of corporate, political, and ideological forces in this context raises questions about the true nature of support for the Brotherhood and its regional ambitions.
Furthermore, the alignment of this network with certain UK-based so called "human rights" organizations—particularly those that label Israel an apartheid state—demands scrutiny. While such claims may reflect legitimate human rights concerns, they also serve broader geopolitical narratives advanced by these actors. When viewed in the context of historical and ongoing interventions by former colonial powers, the trajectory advocated by the Brotherhood in Egypt, Tunisia, and beyond becomes more discernible: a coordinated effort to channel revolutionary energy into outcomes that align with long-standing external interests.
While the preceding analyses are drawn from the first edition of this work, subsequent geopolitical developments, observed by the time of the second edition, appear to confirm many of its core predictions. Notably, Saudi Arabia has undertaken significant strategic measures to insulate itself from the influence and destabilizing potential of British-aligned Brotherhood networks and their orchestrated “revolutions.” The diplomatic rift between Saudi Arabia and Qatar, alongside the strengthening alliance between Qatar, Turkey, and Iran, represents a critical regional realignment. These developments lend further credibility to the analytical framework presented earlier
Graham Greene’s The Quiet American, often hailed as a critique of American foreign policy during the early stages of U.S. involvement in Vietnam, is reinterpreted by this author through a more subversive lens. Far from being an authentic anti-imperialist critique, the novel may in fact serve as a controlled piece of pro-British and anti-American propaganda, authored by one of those so-called "leftist" writers who are rumoured to be deeply embedded within the British security apparatus. The character of Thomas Fowler—a British journalist who is also an opium addict—embodies a revealing symbolism.
Before examining the testimony of one "academic" individual closely associated with Axford — and the statements made during a key interview — it is necessary to acknowledge the broader context in which historical narratives have been shaped. The author hypotheses that the British Military-Intelligence-Industrial Complex (MIC) has employed coercive and ethically questionable methods, including psychological manipulation and even what the author calls "chemical terrorism", and targeted harassment, to exert control over academics and journalists. These practices are designed to enforce conformity to sanctioned historical accounts and to marginalise or silence dissenting voices. As we proceed, it is within this framework of institutional pressure and narrative control that we must critically reassess the accepted versions of history. At times, pressures exerted on the families of journalists in Iran, or incidents involving Iranian academics, are portrayed as actions carried out by “Iran” or the “IRGC.” Such framing can contribute to the cultivation of animosity toward anything associated with Iran, regardless of the actual source or motivation behind these actions.
In one illustrative case, a professor is asked about the Cyrus Cylinder’s association with early human rights principles. His response, marked by visible hostility, is to dismiss the idea outright. What is particularly striking, however, is the reasoning behind his rejection: he embarks on a lengthy comparison between the Cyrus Cylinder and the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights, ultimately concluding that the former does not qualify as a declaration of human rights. This argument overlooks a crucial historical context — namely, that Cyrus the Great lived over 2,500 years ago, during a period when conquering powers typically celebrated victory through pillage, destruction, and violence, not proclamations of tolerance or rights. The Cylinder, in this light, represents a significant departure from the brutal norms of its time, and to deny its historical value through an anachronistic comparison reveals either a lack of contextual understanding or a deliberate effort to discredit a cultural legacy.
"Snowden, Greenwald, and Assange hardly subscribe to identical beliefs and differ in their levels of sophistication. They have held, at one time or another, a crazy-quilt assortment of views, some of them blatantly contradictory. But from an incoherent swirl of ideas, a common outlook emerges. The outlook is neither a clear-cut doctrine nor a philosophy, but something closer to a political impulse that might be described, to borrow from the historian Richard Hofstadter, as paranoid libertarianism. Where liberals, let alone right-wingers, have portrayed the leakers as truth-telling comrades intent on protecting the state and the Constitution from authoritarian malefactors, that’s hardly their goal. In fact, the leakers despise the modern liberal state, and they want to wound it". The rest of what he has to say is also interesting and I refer the reader to the full article [1].
There are even unverified claims that one such individual comes from a family with ties to a religious cult allegedly linked to one of the most radical right-wing figures in Australian political history—a prime minister who, curiously, was once offered the role of British prime minister. As discussed in chapter 3, the hypothesis is that such individuals receive protection and even intelligence training under the guise of imprisonment, a protocol that seems to transcend national boundaries, appearing from Iranian prisons to Australian refugee detention centers.
This raises a crucial question: after prolonged legal stalling, will these individuals ultimately be extradited to the United States for prosecution? One notable case involves a figure who participated in an online British intelligence course before resurfacing in Hong Kong. (the previous section explored the legacy of the so-called "Opium Bank" in Hong Kong, the history of the British Navy’s role in global drug trade, and the evolution of these networks into what we identify as MICix).
Given these circumstances, it is worth asking: could some of these modern whistleblowers be functioning as operatives—witting or unwitting—within the British MICix propaganda apparatus, strategically positioned in the larger geopolitical contest with the United States, particularly concerning arms trade and global influence?
In our so-called "liberal democracies," freedoms are often most visible when they are least necessary—and most elusive precisely when they are most needed. When the military-intelligence-industrial complex (MICix) fabricates documents to justify large-scale violence—resulting in the deaths of thousands of civilians—there is a conspicuous absence of whistleblowers. By contrast, many of the individuals celebrated as whistleblowers in recent years possess direct or indirect ties to military and intelligence institutions.
This paradox raises essential questions: Have these individuals been co-opted by the very system they claim to expose? Are they merely allies of a modern-day "Dr. Strangelove," intent on resurrecting Cold War antagonisms under the guise of transparency and dissent?
Rather than defending liberal democracy or advancing progressive political aims, this new cohort appears to be actively undermining both. As subsequent chapters will explore, their actions align disturbingly well with those of actors who, through the events of September 11, 2001, sought to fracture the U.S.-Saudi alliance—thus paving the way for the British MICix to gain strategic control over Saudi arms markets.
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