The Sound of Silence

The sign outside read 'The People's Voice Conference - We say what you think'.

If the civic hall could articulate a sense of pride, this would not be happening, nevertheless, they were here and they were here for three days.

The People's Voice started off small, as these things do. Just one voice, crying in the wilderness of the modern media landscape.

It was a collection of people who had just had enough. Usually these things were protests or campaigns organised by special interest groups. This time it was just a reaction to everything.

Clarification: It was a reaction to everything that was happening in the movies, TV and music.

Now every generation bemoans the slipping of moral standards in the next and at first it seemed to be just that.

Protests were held about the sexual content of one movie, the violent content of a TV program or the offensive sentiments of the latest number one single.

These weren't your 'Million Man March' type of protests. These were just despairing posts on the blogs of stay-at-home Mums or guests on daytime discussion shows or radio phone-ins.

In general, the media's reaction was a typical response as they countered the concerns of these average folks with hyperbole about restriction of free speech and censoring self-expression.

Most people are quite reasonable and don't want to cause trouble and so they back down, still troubled, but not wanting to branded as some kind of unsophisticated imbecile who is out of touch with the modern world.

This time though one man refused to bow to the bullying tactics. He refused to back down from what he believed was an acceptable social standard.

He didn't accept the peer pressure. He didn't accept the excuses of the media that their content had nothing to do with the decline in society. He knew the power of propaganda.

That man was the leader of The People's Voice.

He was ignored in newspapers, was never invited to TV debates, not acknowledged at all other than to make fun of him in satirical parodies.

Yet his voice grew louder. He spoke in local clubs. He spoke at fairs. He spoke at festivals.

Wherever the people were, there he was.

And people listened.

They didn't just hear, they actually listened.

As they stood there, one-by-one, they felt the truth of what he was saying. They knew that despite what they were told by those in charge of feeding them information via the regular news channels there was a direct influence on the behaviour of individuals as a result of what the culture exposed them to.

He spoke about those most vulnerable were those with no strong role model in their life. Especially those with absent parents.

There was more than a touch of recognition in people's hearts as they realised they had never really had a relationship with their own mother and father that had been anything more than living in the same house.

There was more that a guilty tear shed when a parent saw that they had not taken more than a passing interest in the responsibility of bringing up their child and had been more than happy to avoid tackling difficult issues by letting them learn about life from various exaggerated forms of entertainment.

Although there may be nothing that could be done for a potential 'lost generation' there was something that could be done for the next.

There was a way to halt the lack of respect for authority which was promoted as a form of anti-heroism.

There was a way to bring back a sense of responsibilty which this lost generation had never seen in their elders.

There was a way to bring back a tangible sense of local community which had been lost in the globalisation of communication.

With this message being passed from person to person it spread and took hold. Those who cared, talked about it constantly. At home. In the pub. At the school gates. On Cigarette breaks. At the bus stop.

Those who didn't care just let it all pass them by. They had their own worries. They had their own ambitions. They didn't want to be 'out' of the 'in crowd' and express an opinion that went against their peers.

That's why they didn't see it coming.

All it needed was for the potential to be harnessed, the momentum to be released.

The conference started but never finished.

After the first day people felt powered up and anxious to make something happen. The second day twice as many people turned up. Fire regulations were breached, but if you cared, you had to be there. By the end of the day it reached fever pitch. All in attendance fuelled each other.

What can we do?

When can we do it?

Why wait for tomorrow?

They spilled onto the streets and they didn't waste any time.

No-one could recall whose idea it was. Nor could they tell you later on quite how they managed it.

First they dismantled their own TV Aerials and satellite dishes, but what about their neighbours?

They couldn't just deface someone's house without permission. It would go against the principle of the thing.

The legend goes that through the clarity of thought only a child can provide, one young boy pointed to a hill on which a broadcast tower stood and said 'why don't we just take that down?'.

A whole region suffered a media blackout that night and a confused media didn't quite know how to report it. They wondered who these mad people were.

Eventually though the soundbites were silent as all the People's Voice was heard loud and clear.

That wasn't the end of the story by any means, but the revolution had begun.











Character: Censor Plot: Welcomes Resolution: Aerial



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