Background.

Moyers deserves more eyeballs.

If Rupert Murdoch were the Angel Gabriel, you still wouldn’t want him owning
the sun, the moon, and the stars. That’s too much prime real estate for even
the pure in heart.

But Rupert Murdoch is no saint; he is to propriety what the Marquis de Sade
was to chastity. When it comes to money and power he’s carnivorous: all appetite
and no taste. He’ll eat anything in his path. Politicians become little clay
pigeons to be picked off with flattering headlines, generous air time, a book
contract or the old-fashioned black jack that never misses: campaign cash.
He hires lobbyists the way Imelda Marcos bought shoes, and stacks them in
his cavernous closet, along with his conscience; this is the man, remember,
who famously kowtowed to the Communist overlords of China, oppressors of their
own people, to protect his investments there. … ..

On
Murdoch