Journalists claim neutrality. They say they inform, not influence. But in reality, many serve. Not the people. Not the truth. But those who pay them.
They defend power, they normalize war. They polish the image of tyrants and smear anyone who exposes them. The media today no longer just covers events. It creates them. It shapes reality to fit the interests of the few.
President Miloš Zeman once made a brutal but accurate statement: many journalists are whores for sale. Not all. But enough to corrupt the whole structure. They obey like butlers. They switch sides like actors. And they speak with conviction, even when they lie.
This article explores that claim. It shows whom journalists really serve. It reveals how language becomes a weapon. And it asks: if journalists can call others thugs—what should we call them?
Who do journalists serve?
Follow the money. Behind every major newsroom stands a corporation, a billionaire, a board of investors. Most media houses are not independent. They are owned, managed, and directed. Some serve legacy families. Others serve international banks or multinational giants. But nearly all serve capital.
Reporters are employees. Editors are middle management. And the real owners—often invisible—expect loyalty. Not to truth. But to their interests.
Lobbyists hand them ready-made stories. PR agents offer them “exclusive” scoops. Foundations fund “investigative journalism” with strings attached. And governments leak carefully selected documents to shape the headlines.
The journalist is not always lying. But they often know what not to say. What to avoid; what angle to take. What words will get printed—and which ones will get them fired.
When a story threatens real power, it disappears. When it protects power, it spreads like wildfire. The result? Media becomes a tool of elite control. Soft, polite, and deadly.
The French lesson – journalists turn with the wind
Miloš Zeman reminded us of one perfect example. A historical moment when journalism showed its true face.
Outspoken, abrasive, arrogant. Alcohol-ridden and chain-smoking. A man who miraculously survived multiple medical collapses. Yet despite his failing body, Zeman made one distinction—sharp, deliberate, and unforgettable.
Albeit highly intelligent and well-educated, he rarely softened his tone. But when it came to journalists, he chose his words with surgical precision.
He recalled how, after Napoleon escaped from exile on Elba and marched toward Paris, the French newspaper Le Moniteur Universel changed its story almost daily.
Day one: The usurper has seized Marseille.
Day two: The bloodthirsty beast advances on Lyon.
Day three: Napoleon Bonaparte approaches Paris.
Final day: All of Paris joyfully welcomed His Imperial Majesty.
Same man, same march, same newspaper. Different headlines.
This was not journalism. It was surrender. Not to facts, but to the winds of power. The moment Napoleon regained control, Le Moniteur rewrote its narrative. The monster became a monarch. The invader became a savior.
And the journalists who wrote it? They stayed, they adapted. They knew exactly what to say to keep their jobs—and their heads.
Zeman used this story to show how quickly media loyalty changes. One day a man is a criminal. The next, a hero. What changed? Not the facts. Only the ruler.
This is not a relic of the 19th century. It is the blueprint of today.
Modern mirrors – the same pattern repeated
Today, major outlets do the same thing. The vocabulary changes, but the strategy remains.
They call someone a dictator until he signs an oil deal. Then he becomes a strategic partner. They call a group “freedom fighters” when they serve NATO goals. Then they become “terrorists” when alliances shift.
The enemy changes, the hero changes. But the journalist remains. Still typing, still adapting. Still pretending it is truth.
Wars are sold this way. Sanctions are justified this way. Coups are softened with terms like “democratic transition.” When journalists obey power, they do not report events. They rewrite history as it unfolds.
The Moniteur was just an earlier version of CNN, BBC, or Politico. Different century. Same game.
Media: The “thug” label – who really endangers society?
Some journalists call people thugs. They describe protestors, hackers, dissidents, or even intellectuals with this word. The message is clear: this person threatens the order.
But who defines the order? And who really threatens it?
When Julian Assange published war crimes, he was called a hacker, a traitor, even a thug; when Edward Snowden revealed mass surveillance, media painted him as a runaway coward. When real journalism emerged, the so-called journalists attacked it.
The irony could not be sharper. The ones exposing truth were hunted. The ones hiding it were promoted.
So let us turn the question around.
Who really behaves like thugs?
Who spreads fear? So who protects criminals in suits? And who smears whistleblowers?
Who calls for censorship? Who manipulates public opinion daily?
Many journalists. Not all—but enough.
They do not use fists, they use headlines. And they do not kick in doors. They destroy reputations; they ruin careers; they push wars. They sell lies. And they get rewarded for it.
What do you call someone who harms society while pretending to serve it? A thug. But dressed in a tie.
Normalized propaganda – the soft violence of language
When lies become polite, they become invisible. Media no longer yells. It whispers, it frames; it spins. And it asks leading questions. It quotes the powerful without critique.
This is soft propaganda. But it is more dangerous than loud slogans.
Because it feels normal. It looks professional. It speaks in expert tone. And yet it serves the same purpose: keep the public confused, passive, and obedient.
News anchors speak about “stability,” “market confidence,” or “national interests”—as if these are neutral terms. But every one of them hides a bias. Every one of them defends a class.
The poor are described as “unskilled.” The rich are “job creators.” Violence from below is called “rioting.” Violence from above is “security policy.”
Words matter. And those who control them, control us.
Not all, but enough – the structure ensures betrayal
Yes, some journalists resist. Some try to speak truth. But the system is built against them.
Editors filter what gets published. Advertisers pull funding. Algorithms bury dissident voices. Whistleblowers are exiled. And mainstream platforms pretend they never existed.
So even honest journalists face a choice: obey, or disappear.
The result? A media landscape full of cowards, careerists, and silent observers. People who may know the truth—but never say it.
And there is one more distinction to remember.
Politicians may lie, hide, and perform. But at least they act. They operate in the real world. They sign deals, pass laws, start wars, build empires. Journalists, by contrast, just lie. They manufacture perception. They do nothing but words—and even those are owned.
Conclusion – the enemy behind the pen
Modern power does not rely on tanks or torture chambers. It relies on cameras, soundbites, and headlines. Journalists who once served the truth now serve the owners. They operate not as watchdogs, but as loyal decorators of authority.
Zeman was not exaggerating. Most prostitutes still have a sense of limits. They do not lie about what they are, they do not invade countries or destroy reputations. They do not pretend to defend the people while feeding the system. In this sense, paid whores remain morally unreachable for journalists. Because the average prostitute sells the body. The average journalist sells the world.
The journalist-for-sale masks corruption in professionalism. He filters injustice through technical language. She avoids the core of every scandal and reframes it in shallow, official terms. Together, they dismantle truth while claiming to protect it.
This is not a flaw in the profession. It is a flaw in its structure. The media industry rewards obedience and suppresses integrity. Those who resist are fired, blacklisted, or ignored. The result is a profession filled with actors playing the role of reporters.
Do not fear their insults. Do not respect their credentials. Follow their funding. Study their silences. Ask why the most important questions are never asked—and why the most dangerous truths are never printed.
The press, in its current form, is not the fourth estate. It is the front desk of power. And its employees, whether cowards or collaborators, are no less dangerous than those they claim to expose.
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