The Morning After Post
After Army of Truth's
"Media Manifesto" Attack
by Philip Waters
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A Manifesto By Any Other Name...
"A Manifest for the Reform of American Media" was more commonly being refered to as the "Media Manifesto," but it didn't matter what you called it- no one in Jones Tower dared mention it out loud.
This thing that was affecting everybody's job and was the talk around every water cooler in the country was too taboo to bring up in the newsroom of the nation's largest newspaper.
No one wanted to bring up the Manifesto because no one could disagree with it.
It said what everyone in the media was thinking.
Eighty-four million copies of the Manifesto sold suggested that a lot of the American public agreed.
The news had become screwed up.
Tonight Selena B. Kim will take a sip of Jones Soda before she cuts to commercial on DNN as if she weren't contractually obligated to do so.
No one will shed a tear for Chip Foxx while guest pundits give viewers a bit of performance art called "the talking-point dance of war" on Foxx & Hound.
Local ABS news viewers will be fed ads for JP gas and Air Jones plane tickets between sensationalized, fear-inducing 15-second bumpers for a 30-second story.
Last month I wrote an indepth story on the mortgage crisis that got shelved by my editor because it focused on Jackal's Den, an IJI subsidiary. It only got published after Freddie Mac and Fanny Mae were dragged into it.
The truth was, the Army's Manifesto was not only accurate, but it had been more effective than any strike ever could be.
Getting a Grip on Things
Back in Harvey's office a week after the power-cut, we were on the phone with IJI tech support in the Cayman Islands, trying to get the Post website back online.
"We think we've tracked down their virus. We're attempting to purge it now."
"What does the virus look like?"
"It's just an annomylous file named 'nero.' Here we go-"
"No, don't!" Harvey tried to yell, but it was too late.
The phone lines, which ran through the IJI computers and satellites, were dead.
It took ten more days after that to replace the servers and get website back up.
In the meantime, IJI stocks had dropped to $86 per share, and the company didn't have one sabotuer to fire or arrest.
When I left New York the Post Manhattan newsroom wasn't back to a bustle, but it did manage a buzz-
Phones were being answered, stories typed up, dustbins sat upright.
The flourescent lights were glaring at full capacity, though the leaky ceiling had yet to be repaired.
Certainly this was the free press on life support, but it was a start.
Of the hundred-or-so reporters, copy-editors and secretaries I saw, I had no idea which were in the Army of Truth, and I suppose it didn't matter.
IJI couldn't afford to take this newsroom for granted any longer.
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Who Is Nero?