Triple J, Fifth Column


So radio station Triple J has caved into pressure and moved its yearly Hottest 100 Countdown from Australia Day because some Indigenous people see it as ‘Invasion Day’. Of course, by pressure they mean a survey of 65,000 people that was then whittled down a few times until they had the results they needed from a few hundred ‘representatives’.

Ironically, in a move meant to “stop the celebration of genocide,” the date has been changed to Holocaust Memorial Day. I can’t help but think this wasn’t completely coincidental. The national broadcaster’s vehement pro-Palestinian anti-semitism is well documented. And now they also have tactic social approval to bring their anti-white rhetoric out of the shadows and make it part of their taxpayer funded platform. While today it may seem overblown to compare Triple J to Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines, the Rwandan radio station that whipped the population up into genocidal fervour with its racist propaganda, there are growing similarities. Both radio stations can be described as brainwashing their listeners into believing they are the righteous, the pure, the top of the social hierarchy; the people who don’t listen are the outsiders, unworthy of engagement.  And both target the young and impressionable with their hateful propaganda with the aim of setting up the next generation as soldiers of the cause. The way young Australian radio hosts describe “white men,” or indeed anyone who doesn’t share their ultra-progressive views on every issue including Australia Day, is scarily similar to how Rwandan radio described the “Tutsi cockroaches”.

We need an investigation into Triple J and why the taxpayer is paying them to destroy Australian institutions. Also an investigation into why their featured artists can’t use more than three chords and keep rhyming ‘old’ with ‘cold’. Their goal of furthering the white guilt industry and dismantling the Australian state gets more shameless every year. Maybe next year Triple J will just play eight hours of a weeping Indigenous child interspersed occasionally with chants of “SHAME, SHAME”. Hell, it would be less dreary, self-important tripe than Chet Faker.

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