Murdoch In The Dock
Murdoch, the great conjurer. Nothing he says can be taken for reality and nothing he forgets can be ignored. He forgets what everyone else wishes to remember and remembers what no one recalls. Therein lies the secret of our successful captain of industry. Lie pathologically often enough, and sure as full moon follows its half, your own Crucible of Truth is forged, at once astonishing and terrifying in its resplendence. Who could have thought that this former Labour supporter would celebrate a life suborning feckless political leaders, to exploit the self-same workers, vacuous though they are, that he once worked to serve. Yet there he is, all eighty one years, without integrity or dignity claiming ignorance and protesting his innocence. I have no doubt that he will go to his grave with the priest’s cross signed over his grinning face; absolved of all sin. After all, God always forgives provided one repents just before He casts your sinning ass into hell. But on this earth, history won’t be so forgiving to Mr Murdoch. Infamy survives all psychopaths.