[Marxism] [SUSPICIOUS MESSAGE] Conspiracy Theories Made Alex Jones Very Rich. They May Bring Him Down.

Louis Proyect lnp3 at panix.com
Sat Sep 8 10:21:10 MDT 2018


(So it turns out that Alex Jones has become a millionaire not by 
contributions from his listeners but from selling them "health 
supplements" to boost their testosterone, etc. As it happens, that is 
how WFAN, a sports radio station, makes money in the same exact way. In 
some ways, the devoted fans of sports radio stations and Infowars share 
the same demographics. Older white men boiling over with frustration, 
either over the NY Mets or immigrants.)

NY Times, Sept. 8, 2018
Conspiracy Theories Made Alex Jones Very Rich. They May Bring Him Down.
By Elizabeth Williamson and Emily Steel

AUSTIN — More than ever before in his two-decade career built on 
baseless conspiracy theories, angry nativist rants and end-of-days 
fearmongering, Alex Jones is being called to account.

In a Texas courthouse, his lawyers are battling defamation claims 
resulting from one of his most infamous acts: spreading false reports 
that the Sandy Hook massacre of 20 first graders and six adults was an 
elaborate hoax.

In Silicon Valley, Facebook, YouTube and, as of Thursday, Twitter, under 
pressure to better curb hate speech and incendiary misinformation, have 
largely cut him off. On Friday, Apple removed the Infowars app from its 
App Store, eliminating one of the final avenues for Mr. Jones to reach a 
mainstream audience.

Mr. Jones’s latest stunt — turning up on Capitol Hill this week to call 
attention to his claim that he is being unfairly silenced on ideological 
grounds — led to an embarrassing rebuff by a conservative Republican 
senator.

The big question for him now is whether his bluster — and the implicit 
support he has received from President Trump, who has channeled bogus or 
misleading claims promoted by Mr. Jones and echoed his complaints of 
anticonservatism by technology companies — will be sufficient to see him 
past his current peril. He is facing a legal, public opinion and social 
media reckoning that poses the most serious threat yet not just to his 
ability to inject the outlandish into the mainstream, but also to the 
lucrative business he has built.

Mr. Jones likes to portray his digital channel, Infowars, as a media 
outlet, and he is quick to wrap himself in the First Amendment. But in 
business terms, it is more accurate to describe Infowars as an online 
store that uses Mr. Jones’s commentary to move merchandise. Its revenue 
comes primarily from the sale of a grab-bag of health-enhancement and 
survivalist products that Mr. Jones hawks constantly.

A close look at his career shows that he has been as much a canny if 
unconventional entrepreneur as an ideological agitator. He has adapted 
to — and profited from — changes in both the political climate and the 
media business even as he has tested, and regularly crossed, the 
boundaries of acceptable public discourse.

For more than two decades, Mr. Jones, who is 44, has built a substantial 
following appealing to an angry, largely white, majority male audience 
that can choose simply to be entertained or to internalize his rendering 
of their worst fears: that the government and other big institutions are 
out to get them, that some form of apocalypse is frighteningly close and 
that they must become more virile, and better-armed, to survive.

“I’m not a business guy, I’m a revolutionary,” he said in an interview 
in August.

If it is a revolution, it is one that he has skillfully monetized. His 
fundamental insight was that his audience is also a nearly captive 
market for the variety of goods he peddles via Infowars’ website and his 
syndicated radio show — products intended to assuage the same fears he 
stokes.

Infowars and its affiliated companies are private and do not have to 
report financial results publicly. But by 2014, according to testimony 
Mr. Jones gave in a court case, his operations were bringing in more 
than $20 million a year in revenue. Records viewed by The New York Times 
show that most of his revenue that year came from the sale of products 
like supplements such as the Super Male Vitality, which purports to 
boost testosterone, or Brain Force Plus, which promises to “supercharge” 
cognitive functions.

Court records in a divorce case show that Mr. Jones’s businesses netted 
more than $5 million in 2014. Court proceedings show that he and his 
then-wife, Kelly Jones, embarked on plans to build a swimming pool 
complex around that time featuring a waterfall and dining cabana with a 
stone fireplace. Mr. Jones bought four Rolex watches in one day in 2014, 
and spent $40,000 on a saltwater aquarium; the couple’s assets at the 
time included a $70,000 grand piano, $50,000 in firearms and $752,000 in 
silver, gold and precious metals, in a safe deposit box, court documents 
say.

People who have worked with him or studied his business said his 
revenues had probably continued to grow in recent years.

But his problems are mounting. At least five defamation suits against 
Mr. Jones, including three filed by Sandy Hook families, are moving 
forward. Last month, a Texas judge ordered Mr. Jones and officers in his 
web of limited-liability companies to provide depositions to lawyers for 
the parent of a Sandy Hook victim in coming weeks, testimony that could 
shed new light on Mr. Jones’s operation.

He is also facing complaints of workplace discrimination from two 
ex-employees, a fraud and product liability case and a nasty court 
battle with Ms. Jones, now his ex-wife. She says that the couple have 
spent a combined $4 million on their four-year battle over custody of 
their three children and disputes over the business.

At the same time, the crackdown on Mr. Jones in August by the social 
media giants — he has been largely banned by Facebook, YouTube, Apple, 
Spotify and even Pinterest — poses a severe test by limiting his access 
to his audience. The early evidence is that the bans have substantially 
reduced his reach — and that was before a double blow this week when 
Twitter imposed a permanent ban on his account and the account for 
Infowars and Apple removed the Infowars app from its store.

Apple had already removed Mr. Jones’s show from its podcast service on 
Aug. 5. On Friday, an Apple spokeswoman said the app was removed under 
company policies that prohibit apps from including content that is 
“offensive, insensitive, upsetting, intended to disgust, or in 
exceptionally poor taste.”

Mr. Jones will be forced to rely even more on his Infowars site and his 
radio show, which is heard on more than 100 stations nationwide.

True to form, Mr. Jones is using the challenge to move more product.

For several days in August, after the ban by the social media companies, 
his online Infowars Store offered deep discounts under an all-caps 
banner that read, “FIGHT THE BULLIES, SAVE THE INTERNET, SAVE INFOWARS.”

The best-selling Survival Shield X-2 nascent iodine drops were 
discounted 40 percent, to $23.95, while Alpha Power, a product marketed 
as boosting testosterone and vitality to “push back in the fight against 
the globalist agenda,” was half off, at $34.95.

“The enemy wants to cut off our funding to destroy us,” Mr. Jones said 
on his broadcast, concluding a segment about being banned by the social 
media companies with a sales pitch for another product. “If you don’t 
fund us, we’ll be shut down.”

Mr. Jones operates from behind bulletproof glass at an Austin industrial 
park, in a dimly lit hive of studios and cluttered, open-plan desks. He 
invited a New York Times reporter there for an interview on two 
conditions: that the location of his headquarters not be specified and 
that he would record audio of the interview.

There are no identifying signs outside. Inside, there are split-screen 
security camera monitors throughout, which Mr. Jones checks as he passes 
by. There are guns in the building for protection, he said. He added 
that armed snipers are positioned on the roof, then in a phone call the 
next day said that he had made that up. He wouldn’t say how many 
employees he has, but in 2017 court testimony he said he employed 75 
people, plus 10 contractors.

Mr. Jones talked for nearly three hours, bouncing around the room, 
raising his voice, feigning menace, replaying themes and entire riffs 
from his show.

“I am here giving you the unfiltered truth of my soul,” he said.

He insisted that his troubles are proof that a globalist, leftist cabal 
aims to silence him.

He claimed advance knowledge that technology companies, Chinese 
communists, Democrats and the mainstream media would “try to use me as a 
2018, 2020 campaign issue — to hurt Trump, to misrepresent what I’ve 
said, to project it on Trump, and to go after the First Amendment and 
legitimize the censorship of all the Republican congresspeople.”

It was classic Alex Jones: a nonstop mix of flimsy fact, grievance, 
paranoia, ideology, combativeness and solipsism.

Mr. Jones often exhorts his listeners to “investigate” the hoaxes and 
theories he advances, pleas that may have inspired criminal acts by some 
of his followers.

In 2000, Mr. Jones and his cameraman, Mike Hanson, infiltrated Bohemian 
Grove, an annual camping retreat for global business and political 
leaders near Monte Rio, Calif. The pair shot dim video of a pyrotechnic 
spectacle that Mr. Jones wrongly claimed was an “occult ritual.”

Early in 2002, a heavily armed man entered the grounds and set a fire. 
Citing Mr. Jones’s reports, he said he was convinced that child abuse 
and human sacrifices were taking place at the retreat.

A similar scenario unfolded more than a decade later, when during the 
2016 campaign Mr. Jones helped spread the “Pizzagate” hoax, that Hillary 
Clinton and Democratic operatives were running a child sex ring from a 
pizzeria in Washington, D.C.

An Infowars listener, Edgar Maddison Welch, entered the pizzeria in late 
2016 armed with a military-style rifle to investigate and rescue 
children he believed were being held captive, firing the gun inside the 
restaurant as patrons fled. He is serving a four-year jail term.

Mr. Jones for years spread the false claim that the Sandy Hook shooting 
was a fraud, and that the victims’ relatives were actors in a hoax 
planned by government “gun grabbers.”

In 2015, after Leonard Pozner, whose son Noah died at Sandy Hook, got 
one of Mr. Jones’s Sandy Hook hoax broadcasts removed from YouTube, Mr. 
Jones showed viewers Mr. Pozner’s personal information, and maps to 
addresses associated with his family, according to court documents.

Lucy Richards, an avowed Infowars listener, subsequently went to prison 
for issuing repeated death threats against Mr. Pozner. The Pozner family 
lives in hiding, and is suing Mr. Jones for defamation.

On Father’s Day 2017, Mr. Jones went on Infowars in a brief broadcast to 
offer the Sandy Hook parents “my sincere condolences” for the loss of 
their children in “the horrible tragedy” in Newtown, Conn. He said he 
wanted to “open a dialogue” with the families because it was essential 
for the nation to come together rather than “letting the MSM 
misrepresent things,” referring to the mainstream media.

In the Times interview, Mr. Jones suggested that blame for the pain of 
the Sandy Hook families rests not with him but with the media and 
inconsistencies in coverage of the shooting.

“I was covering a giant phenomenon of people not believing media anymore 
because they’ve been caught in governments’ lying so much,” he said.

Alex Jones grew up in a conservative, upper-middle-class family in the 
Dallas suburb of Rockwall, the son of a dentist.

There was nothing particularly unusual about him during those days, 
except a conspiratorial nature and, from high school on, as he put it in 
court testimony, a commitment to “seeking out ways to get on air.”

Mr. Jones was inspired, he has said, by “None Dare Call It Conspiracy,” 
a 1971 book by Gary Allen that advanced the conservative theory that 
domestic decision making is not guided by elected officials, but 
international bankers and politicians. Mr. Allen also sold 
similarly-themed recordings by mail order.

While a community college student in Austin, Mr. Jones landed a show on 
Austin community access cable hawking outlandish conspiracy theories.

When Kelly Jones met him in Austin in the late 1990s, Mr. Jones was 
wearing a bumblebee costume in the Texas heat, doing promotional stunts 
for a local radio station.

He dropped out of community college, and with money from his father, 
produced “documentary” videos, starring himself, about 9/11 being an 
inside job, “police state” abuses and the “new world order” he claimed 
was being engineered by the Bilderberg Group, an annual gathering of 
prominent financiers, economists and political leaders.

He bought airtime on shortwave radio, and broadcast his theories out of 
an unused nursery in his house with “choo-choo” train wallpaper, Ms. 
Jones said in an interview.

To the extent that his early shows were informed by coherent political 
thought, he was a libertarian, suspicious of Republicans and Democrats 
alike; Ron Paul, the three-time presidential candidate and libertarian 
icon, was an occasional guest.

But with the election of President Barack Obama in 2008, Mr. Jones 
discovered that nasty partisanship was a moneymaker.

In court in 2014, he said, “We have had company meetings in the last two 
years preparing for the eventuality of a Republican takeover,” which he 
considered a threat to his business, because when attacking Democrats in 
power, conservatives could “be more provocative, more interesting and so 
it gets more viewers.”

Mr. Trump, who entered electoral politics spreading the false assertion 
that Mr. Obama might not have been born in the United States, was a 
welcome surprise for Mr. Jones. He found in Mr. Trump a kindred 
anti-intellectual with an outsider’s perspective and a willingness to 
entertain conspiracy theories and disseminate fact-challenged assertions.

The two men were connected by Roger Stone, a longtime adviser to Mr. 
Trump who is a paid host on Infowars. In December 2015 Mr. Stone 
arranged for Mr. Trump to do a 30-minute interview with Mr. Jones.

The themes promoted by Mr. Jones sometimes make their way through the 
media ecosystem and win the attention of Mr. Trump, like a bogus 
assertion about the slaughter of white farmers in South Africa that the 
president invoked last month. In the wake of steps by the social media 
companies to ban Mr. Jones, the president has also repeatedly voiced 
concerns nearly identical to those expressed by Mr. Jones about efforts 
by technology companies to silence voices from the right.

On Infowars last month, Mr. Jones suggested that he is coordinating his 
message with Mr. Trump.

“We advise the president,” Mr. Jones said. “We’ve got all the documents. 
We’ve got the proof. Other people are scared to tell him what’s going on.”

Two White House officials said they were not aware of any recent 
contacts between Mr. Jones and the president.

Infowars operates through a series of interlocking companies, none of 
which publicly reports its results. But a rough picture of the 
operation’s scale can be gleaned from the documents detailing its 
financial condition in 2014.

One entity — created to house the supplements business — generated sales 
of $15.6 million and net income of $5 million from October 2013 through 
September 2014, according to an unaudited profit and loss statement 
viewed by The Times. During the same period, another entity, possibly 
recording overlapping revenues, listed net income of $2.9 million and 
sales of $14.3 million, with merchandise sales accounting for $10 
million, advertising for nearly $2 million and $53,350.66 in donations, 
according to an unaudited company statement.

Since then, current and former business associates said, the Infowars 
empire has continued to thrive.

The heart of the business is sales of lightly regulated nutritional 
supplements that purport to improve health or virility or both.

“Supplements are popular,” Mr. Jones said in the interview. “They’re 
good. They’re a fast-growing market. I use it to fund the operation. 
Other revolutionaries rob banks and kidnap people, O.K.? I don’t do that.”

By late 2012, Mr. Jones decided to create a supplement line of his own, 
a move that would allow him to reap more of the profits. The next 
summer, he recruited his father, David R. Jones, to leave his dental 
practice and help manage the family business, negotiating a deal for Dr. 
Jones to be paid what he was making previously — $300,000 to $500,000 a 
year — plus an additional bonus of 20 percent of the profits from the 
entities he created.

When Dr. Jones came on board, the business was in disarray. In court 
testimony, he said he found a series of “green notebooks stuck in a 
cabinet” outlining a number of entities that had been established over 
the years.

Dr. Jones set about evaluating the business, getting the corporate 
entities sorted out, and creating opportunities to expand the supplement 
business.

The company struck deals with a number of manufacturers, slapping its 
Infowars Life label on a range of products. A 2014 agreement with one of 
its most prominent suppliers, Global Healing Center, shows that the 
manufacturer made at least eight products for the brand, including 
“Super Male Vitality” a private label of Global Health’s Androtrex, 
purchased wholesale for $14.99 and advertised on the Infowars Store for 
$69.95.

Kelly Jones compared Mr. Jones’s marketing to that of a televangelist, 
preaching to his faithful, selling cures and soliciting donations. His 
customers buy in — and then they buy. For every threat he raises, there 
is a solution for sale.

Matt Redhawk is the founder of My Patriot Supply. The company sells 
water filtration systems, emergency survival food and other products on 
Infowars targeting consumers in the preparedness movement, “from someone 
who is preparing for a job loss or a weekend without power, up to the 
full blown Armageddon,” Mr. Redhawk said in an interview.

“Controversy sells. You can’t ignore the fact that there is a method 
there,” he said.

“Preppers” are an important market segment for Infowars, and ads on its 
website bring better response than on other conservative media shows, 
said Chad Cooper, who owns Infidel Body Armor, based in San Tan Valley, 
Ariz. He spent about $5,000 a month on Infowars advertising for his 
civilian body armor line until recently, when he suspended his 
advertising because Infowars started selling ads to too many of his 
competitors.

While he does not take in Mr. Jones’s show — “he’s a nutter,” he says — 
“I’ve spent quite a bit of time on the phone with these Alex Jones 
people who order from me,” and described them.

“They’re nonbelievers in what the media tells them. They think there’s 
more to the story,” he said. “They think there’s aliens, and the 
government knows about that and they’re not telling them. They’re all 
religious, and they’re very concerned about the direction the government 
is going.”

“He’s really good at scaring people,” Mr. Cooper said of Mr. Jones. “He 
gives them that sense of urgency — they need to hurry up and do 
something. Now.”

Last February, two former employees came forward with allegations that 
they faced discrimination at Infowars. In interviews, they depicted Mr. 
Jones as the leader of a racially charged workplace.

Robert A. Jacobson, 43, started working with Mr. Jones in 2004 as a 
video editor, and said that over the years he was taunted for being 
Jewish. He said that the harassment escalated after August 2015 when Mr. 
Jones interviewed David Duke, the former Ku Klux Klan grand wizard.

Ashley L. Beckford, who was hired as a production assistant in June 
2016, said that she was called racial slurs, paid less because of the 
color of her skin and forced to fend off unwanted sexual advances, 
including from Mr. Jones. Ms. Beckford, 32, said that an employee once 
called her a “coon,” that she was shown swastikas in the office, that 
Mr. Jones once grabbed her buttocks, and that staff members repeatedly 
used the term “fat black bitch” around her.

On his show, Mr. Jones denied the allegations and called both former 
employees liars.

Mr. Jones’s image and credibility as a provocateur are closely linked to 
his credibility as a marketer of supplements and other products.

Consequently, sales of the fluoride-free toothpaste he promotes might 
decline if he recants his bogus claim that fluoridated water causes 
cancer and stunts the brains of children. Demand for Infowars-branded 
gun components that can be purchased without a firearms permit might 
fall if he backs off his predictions of a looming civil war.

Mr. Jones had cited a desire to express contrition to the Sandy Hook 
parents as a reason for agreeing to be interviewed. But many times 
during the interview, his efforts at apology morphed into new theories.

“The idea they’re pushing is that you can’t ever question anything,” he 
said, “they” referring to anyone who criticizes his twisting of the 
truth. “I don’t think you can establish that anything is 100 percent fact.”

Jack Nicas and Kitty Bennett contributed reporting.




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