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When Paul Jobs was mustered out of the Coast Guard after World War II, he made a wager with his crewmates. They had arrived in San Francisco, where their ship was decommissioned, and Paul bet that he would find himself a wife within two weeks. He was a taut, tattooed engine mechanic, six feet tall, with a passing resemblance to James Dean. But it wasn’t his looks that got him a date with Clara Hagopian, a sweet-humored daughter of Armenian immigrants. It was the fact that he and his friends had a car, unlike the group she had originally planned to go out with that evening. Ten days later, in March 1946, Paul got engaged to Clara and won his wager. It would turn out to be a happy marriage, one that lasted until death parted them more than forty years later.
Paul Reinhold Jobs had been raised on a dairy farm in Germantown, Wisconsin. Even though his father was an alcoholic and sometimes abusive, Paul ended up with a gentle and calm disposition under his leathery exterior. After dropping out of high school, he wandered through the Midwest picking up work as a mechanic until, at age nineteen, he joined the Coast Guard, even though he didn’t know how to swim. He was deployed on the USS General M. C. Meigs and spent much of the war ferrying troops to Italy for General Patton. His talent as a machinist and fireman earned him commendations, but he occasionally found himself in minor trouble and never rose above the rank of seaman.
Clara was born in New Jersey, where her parents had landed after fleeing the Turks in Armenia, and they moved to the Mission District of San Francisco when she was a child. She had a secret that she rarely mentioned to anyone: She had been married before, but her husband had been killed in the war. So when she met Paul Jobs on that first date, she was primed to start a new life.
Like many who lived through the war, they had experienced enough excitement that, when it was over, they desired simply to settle down, raise a family, and lead a less eventful life. They had little money, so they moved to Wisconsin and lived with Paul’s parents for a few years, then headed for Indiana, where he got a job as a machinist for International Harvester. His passion was tinkering with old cars, and he made money in his spare time buying, restoring, and selling them. Eventually he quit his day job to become a full-time used car salesman.
Clara, however, loved San Francisco, and in 1952 she convinced her husband to move back there. They got an apartment in the Sunset District facing the Pacific, just south of Golden Gate Park, and he took a job working for a finance company as a “repo man,” picking the locks of cars whose owners hadn’t paid their loans and repossessing them. He also bought, repaired, and sold some of the cars, making a decent enough living in the process.
There was, however, something missing in their lives. They wanted children, but Clara had suffered an ectopic pregnancy, in which the fertilized egg was implanted in a fallopian tube rather than the uterus, and she had been unable to have any. So by 1955, after nine years of marriage, they were looking to adopt a child.
Like Paul Jobs, Joanne Schieble was from a rural Wisconsin family of German heritage. Her father, Arthur Schieble, had immigrated to the outskirts of Green Bay, where he and his wife owned a mink farm and dabbled successfully in various other businesses, including real estate and photoengraving. He was very strict, especially regarding his daughter’s relationships, and he had strongly disapproved of her first love, an artist who was not a Catholic. Thus it was no surprise that he threatened to cut Joanne off completely when, as a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, she fell in love with Abdulfattah “John” Jandali, a Muslim teaching assistant from Syria.
Jandali was the youngest of nine children in a prominent Syrian family. His father owned oil refineries and multiple other businesses, with large holdings in Damascus and Homs, and at one point pretty much controlled the price of wheat in the region. His mother, he later said, was a “traditional Muslim woman” who was a “conservative, obedient housewife.” Like the Schieble family, the Jandalis put a premium on education. Abdulfattah was sent to a Jesuit boarding school, even though he was Muslim, and he got an undergraduate degree at the American University in Beirut before entering the University of Wisconsin to pursue a doctoral degree in political science.
In the summer of 1954, Joanne went with Abdulfattah to Syria. They spent two months in Homs, where she learned from his family to cook Syrian dishes. When they returned to Wisconsin she discovered that she was pregnant. They were both twenty-three, but they decided not to get married. Her father was dying at the time, and he had threatened to disown her if she wed Abdulfattah. Nor was abortion an easy option in a small Catholic community. So in early 1955, Joanne traveled to San Francisco, where she was taken into the care of a kindly doctor who sheltered unwed mothers, delivered their babies, and quietly arranged closed adoptions.
Joanne had one requirement: Her child must be adopted by college graduates. So the doctor arranged for the baby to be placed with a lawyer and his wife. But when a boy was born—on February 24, 1955—the designated couple decided that they wanted a girl and backed out. Thus it was that the boy became the son not of a lawyer but of a high school dropout with a passion for mechanics and his salt-of-the-earth wife who was working as a bookkeeper. Paul and Clara named their new baby Steven Paul Jobs.
When Joanne found out that her baby had been placed with a couple who had not even graduated from high school, she refused to sign the adoption papers. The standoff lasted weeks, even after the baby had settled into the Jobs household. Eventually Joanne relented, with the stipulation that the couple promise—indeed sign a pledge—to fund a savings account to pay for the boy’s college education.
There was another reason that Joanne was balky about signing the adoption papers. Her father was about to die, and she planned to marry Jandali soon after. She held out hope, she would later tell family members, sometimes tearing up at the memory, that once they were married, she could get their baby boy back.
Arthur Schieble died in August 1955, after the adoption was finalized. Just after Christmas that year, Joanne and Abdulfattah were married in St. Philip the Apostle Catholic Church in Green Bay. He got his PhD in international politics the next year, and then they had another child, a girl named Mona. After she and Jandali divorced in 1962, Joanne embarked on a dreamy and peripatetic life that her daughter, who grew up to become the acclaimed novelist Mona Simpson, would capture in her book Anywhere but Here. Because Steve’s adoption had been closed, it would be twenty years before they would all find each other.
Steve Jobs knew from an early age that he was adopted. “My parents were very open with me about that,” he recalled. He had a vivid memory of sitting on the lawn of his house, when he was six or seven years old, telling the girl who lived across the street. “So does that mean your real parents didn’t want you?” the girl asked. “Lightning bolts went off in my head,” according to Jobs. “I remember running into the house, crying. And my parents said, ‘No, you have to understand.’ They were very serious and looked me straight in the eye. They said, ‘We specifically picked you out.’ Both of my parents said that and repeated it slowly for me. And they put an emphasis on every word in that sentence.”
Abandoned. Chosen. Special. Those concepts became part of who Jobs was and how he regarded himself. His closest friends think that the knowledge that he was given up at birth left some scars. “I think his desire for complete control of whatever he makes derives directly from his personality and the fact that he was abandoned at birth,” said one longtime colleague, Del Yocam. “He wants to control his environment, and he sees the product as an extension of himself.” Greg Calhoun, who became close to Jobs right after college, saw another effect. “Steve talked to me a lot about being abandoned and the pain that caused,” he said. “It made him independent. He followed the beat of a different drummer, and that came from being in a different world than he was born into.”
Later in life, when he was the same age his biological father had been when he abandoned him, Jobs would father and abandon a child of his own. (He eventually took responsibility for her.) Chrisann Brennan, the mother of that child, said that being put up for adoption left Jobs “full of broken glass,” and it helps to explain some of his behavior. “He who is abandoned is an abandoner,” she said. Andy Hertzfeld, who worked with Jobs at Apple in the early 1980s, is among the few who remained close to both Brennan and Jobs. “The key question about Steve is why he can’t control himself at times from being so reflexively cruel and harmful to some people,” he said. “That goes back to being abandoned at birth. The real underlying problem was the theme of abandonment in Steve’s life.”
Jobs dismissed this. “There’s some notion that because I was abandoned, I worked very hard so I could do well and make my parents wish they had me back, or some such nonsense, but that’s ridiculous,” he insisted. “Knowing I was adopted may have made me feel more independent, but I have never felt abandoned. I’ve always felt special. My parents made me feel special.” He would later bristle whenever anyone referred to Paul and Clara Jobs as his “adoptive” parents or implied that they were not his “real” parents. “They were my parents 1,000%,” he said. When speaking about his biological parents, on the other hand, he was curt: “They were my sperm and egg bank. That’s not harsh, it’s just the way it was, a sperm bank thing, nothing more.”
Silicon Valley
The childhood that Paul and Clara Jobs created for their new son was, in many ways, a stereotype of the late 1950s. When Steve was two they adopted a girl they named Patty, and three years later they moved to a tract house in the suburbs. The finance company where Paul worked as a repo man, CIT, had transferred him down to its Palo Alto office, but he could not afford to live there, so they landed in a subdivision in Mountain View, a less expensive town just to the south.
There Paul tried to pass along his love of mechanics and cars. “Steve, this is your workbench now,” he said as he marked off a section of the table in their garage. Jobs remembered being impressed by his father’s focus on craftsmanship. “I thought my dad’s sense of design was pretty good,” he said, “because he knew how to build anything. If we needed a cabinet, he would build it. When he built our fence, he gave me a hammer so I could work with him.”
Fifty years later the fence still surrounds the back and side yards of the house in Mountain View. As Jobs showed it off to me, he caressed the stockade panels and recalled a lesson that his father implanted deeply in him. It was important, his father said, to craft the backs of cabinets and fences properly, even though they were hidden. “He loved doing things right. He even cared about the look of the parts you couldn’t see.”
His father continued to refurbish and resell used cars, and he festooned the garage with pictures of his favorites. He would point out the detailing of the design to his son: the lines, the vents, the chrome, the trim of the seats. After work each day, he would change into his dungarees and retreat to the garage, often with Steve tagging along. “I figured I could get him nailed down with a little mechanical ability, but he really wasn’t interested in getting his hands dirty,” Paul later recalled. “He never really cared too much about mechanical things.”
“I wasn’t that into fixing cars,” Jobs admitted. “But I was eager to hang out with my dad.” Even as he was growing more aware that he had been adopted, he was becoming more attached to his father. One day when he was about eight, he discovered a photograph of his father from his time in the Coast Guard. “He’s in the engine room, and he’s got his shirt off and looks like James Dean. It was one of those Oh wow moments for a kid. Wow, oooh, my parents were actually once very young and really good-looking.”
Through cars, his father gave Steve his first exposure to electronics. “My dad did not have a deep understanding of electronics, but he’d encountered it a lot in automobiles and other things he would fix. He showed me the rudiments of electronics, and I got very interested in that.” Even more interesting were the trips to scavenge for parts. “Every weekend, there’d be a junkyard trip. We’d be looking for a generator, a carburetor, all sorts of components.” He remembered watching his father negotiate at the counter. “He was a good bargainer, because he knew better than the guys at the counter what the parts should cost.” This helped fulfill the pledge his parents made when he was adopted. “My college fund came from my dad paying $50 for a Ford Falcon or some other beat-up car that didn’t run, working on it for a few weeks, and selling it for $250—and not telling the IRS.”
The Jobses’ house and the others in their neighborhood were built by the real estate developer Joseph Eichler, whose company spawned more than eleven thousand homes in various California subdivisions between 1950 and 1974. Inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision of simple modern homes for the American “everyman,” Eichler built inexpensive houses that featured floor-to-ceiling glass walls, open floor plans, exposed post-and-beam construction, concrete slab floors, and lots of sliding glass doors. “Eichler did a great thing,” Jobs said on one of our walks around the neighborhood. “His houses were smart and cheap and good. They brought clean design and simple taste to lower-income people. They had awesome little features, like radiant heating in the floors. You put carpet on them, and we had nice toasty floors when we were kids.”
Jobs said that his appreciation for Eichler homes instilled in him a passion for making nicely designed products for the mass market. “I love it when you can bring really great design and simple capability to something that doesn’t cost much,” he said as he pointed out the clean elegance of the houses. “It was the original vision for Apple. That’s what we tried to do with the first Mac. That’s what we did with the iPod.”
Across the street from the Jobs family lived a man who had become successful as a real estate agent. “He wasn’t that bright,” Jobs recalled, “but he seemed to be making a fortune. So my dad thought, ‘I can do that.’ He worked so hard, I remember. He took these night classes, passed the license test, and got into real estate. Then the bottom fell out of the market.” As a result, the family found itself financially strapped for a year or so while Steve was in elementary school. His mother took a job as a bookkeeper for Varian Associates, a company that made scientific instruments, and they took out a second mortgage. One day his fourth-grade teacher asked him, “What is it you don’t understand about the universe?” Jobs replied, “I don’t understand why all of a sudden my dad is so broke.” He was proud that his father never adopted a servile attitude or slick style that may have made him a better salesman. “You had to suck up to people to sell real estate, and he wasn’t good at that and it wasn’t in his nature. I admired him for that.” Paul Jobs went back to being a mechanic.
His father was calm and gentle, traits that his son later praised more than emulated. He was also resolute. Jobs described one example:
Nearby was an engineer who was working at Westinghouse. He was a single guy, beatnik type. He had a girlfriend. She would babysit me sometimes. Both my parents worked, so I would come here right after school for a couple of hours. He would get drunk and hit her a couple of times. She came over one night, scared out of her wits, and he came over drunk, and my dad stood him down—saying “She’s here, but you’re not coming in.” He stood right there. We like to think everything was idyllic in the 1950s, but this guy was one of those engineers who had messed-up lives.
What made the neighborhood different from the thousands of other spindly-tree subdivisions across America was that even the ne’er-do-wells tended to be engineers. “When we moved here, there were apricot and plum orchards on all of these corners,” Jobs recalled. “But it was beginning to boom because of military investment.” He soaked up the history of the valley and developed a yearning to play his own role. Edwin Land of Polaroid later told him about being asked by Eisenhower to help build the U-2 spy plane cameras to see how real the Soviet threat was. The film was dropped in canisters and returned to the NASA Ames Research Center in Sunnyvale, not far from where Jobs lived. “The first computer terminal I ever saw was when my dad brought me to the Ames Center,” he said. “I fell totally in love with it.”
Other defense contractors sprouted nearby during the 1950s. The Lockheed Missiles and Space Division, which built submarine-launched ballistic missiles, was founded in 1956 next to the NASA Center; by the time Jobs moved to the area four years later, it employed twenty thousand people. A few hundred yards away, Westinghouse built facilities that produced tubes and electrical transformers for the missile systems. “You had all these military companies on the cutting edge,” he recalled. “It was mysterious and high-tech and made living here very exciting.”
In the wake of the defense industries there arose a booming economy based on technology. Its roots stretched back to 1938, when David Packard and his new wife moved into a house in Palo Alto that had a shed where his friend Bill Hewlett was soon ensconced. The house had a garage—an appendage that would prove both useful and iconic in the valley—in which they tinkered around until they had their first product, an audio oscillator. By the 1950s, Hewlett-Packard was a fast-growing company making technical instruments.
Fortunately there was a place nearby for entrepreneurs who had outgrown their garages. In a move that would help transform the area into the cradle of the tech revolution, Stanford University’s dean of engineering, Frederick Terman, created a seven-hundred-acre industrial park on university land for private companies that could commercialize the ideas of his students. Its first tenant was Varian Associates, where Clara Jobs worked. “Terman came up with this great idea that did more than anything to cause the tech industry to grow up here,” Jobs said. By the time Jobs was ten, HP had nine thousand employees and was the blue-chip company where every engineer seeking financial stability wanted to work.
The most important technology for the region’s growth was, of course, the semiconductor. William Shockley, who had been one of the inventors of the transistor at Bell Labs in New Jersey, moved out to Mountain View and, in 1956, started a company to build transistors using silicon rather than the more expensive germanium that was then commonly used. But Shockley became increasingly erratic and abandoned his silicon transistor project, which led eight of his engineers—most notably Robert Noyce and Gordon Moore—to break away to form Fairchild Semiconductor. That company grew to twelve thousand employees, but it fragmented in 1968, when Noyce lost a power struggle to become CEO. He took Gordon Moore and founded a company that they called Integrated Electronics Corporation, which they soon smartly abbreviated to Intel. Their third employee was Andrew Grove, who later would grow the company by shifting its focus from memory chips to microprocessors. Within a few years there would be more than fifty companies in the area making semiconductors.
The exponential growth of this industry was correlated with the phenomenon famously discovered by Moore, who in 1965 drew a graph of the speed of integrated circuits, based on the number of transistors that could be placed on a chip, and showed that it doubled about every two years, a trajectory that could be expected to continue. This was reaffirmed in 1971, when Intel was able to etch a complete central processing unit onto one chip, the Intel 4004, which was dubbed a “microprocessor.” Moore’s Law has held generally true to this day, and its reliable projection of performance to price allowed two generations of young entrepreneurs, including Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, to create cost projections for their forward-leaning products.
The chip industry gave the region a new name when Don Hoefler, a columnist for the weekly trade paper Electronic News, began a series in January 1971 entitled “Silicon Valley USA.” The forty-mile Santa Clara Valley, which stretches from South San Francisco through Palo Alto to San Jose, has as its commercial backbone El Camino Real, the royal road that once connected California’s twenty-one mission churches and is now a bustling avenue that connects companies and startups accounting for a third of the venture capital investment in the United States each year. “Growing up, I got inspired by the history of the place,” Jobs said. “That made me want to be a part of it.”
Like most kids, he became infused with the passions of the grown-ups around him. “Most of the dads in the neighborhood did really neat stuff, like photovoltaics and batteries and radar,” Jobs recalled. “I grew up in awe of that stuff and asking people about it.” The most important of these neighbors, Larry Lang, lived seven doors away. “He was my model of what an HP engineer was supposed to be: a big ham radio operator, hard-core electronics guy,” Jobs recalled. “He would bring me stuff to play with.” As we walked up to Lang’s old house, Jobs pointed to the driveway. “He took a carbon microphone and a battery and a speaker, and he put it on this driveway. He had me talk into the carbon mike and it amplified out of the speaker.” Jobs had been taught by his father that microphones always required an electronic amplifier. “So I raced home, and I told my dad that he was wrong.”
“No, it needs an amplifier,” his father assured him. When Steve protested otherwise, his father said he was crazy. “It can’t work without an amplifier. There’s some trick.”
“I kept saying no to my dad, telling him he had to see it, and finally he actually walked down with me and saw it. And he said, ‘Well I’ll be a bat out of hell.’”
Jobs recalled the incident vividly because it was his first realization that his father did not know everything. Then a more disconcerting discovery began to dawn on him: He was smarter than his parents. He had always admired his father’s competence and savvy. “He was not an educated man, but I had always thought he was pretty damn smart. He didn’t read much, but he could do a lot. Almost everything mechanical, he could figure it out.” Yet the carbon microphone incident, Jobs said, began a jarring process of realizing that he was in fact more clever and quick than his parents. “It was a very big moment that’s burned into my mind. When I realized that I was smarter than my parents, I felt tremendous shame for having thought that. I will never forget that moment.” This discovery, he later told friends, along with the fact that he was adopted, made him feel apart—detached and separate—from both his family and the world.
Another layer of awareness occurred soon after. Not only did he discover that he was brighter than his parents, but he discovered that they knew this. Paul and Clara Jobs were loving parents, and they were willing to adapt their lives to suit a son who was very smart—and also willful. They would go to great lengths to accommodate him. And soon Steve discovered this fact as well. “Both my parents got me. They felt a lot of responsibility once they sensed that I was special. They found ways to keep feeding me stuff and putting me in better schools. They were willing to defer to my needs.”
So he grew up not only with a sense of having once been abandoned, but also with a sense that he was special. In his own mind, that was more important in the formation of his personality.
School
Even before Jobs started elementary school, his mother had taught him how to read. This, however, led to some problems once he got to school. “I was kind of bored for the first few years
《北京日报》曾经专文批判甄嬛传、步步惊心、芈月传、延禧攻略、如懿传等宫斗剧。文章内容从五大方面批评了宫斗剧给社会造成的恶劣影响：
第一、热衷追崇皇族生活方式、并使之成为流行时尚。
第二、精心演绎宫斗情节，恶化当下社交生态。
第三、不吝美化帝王臣相，淡化今朝楷模。
第四、宣扬奢华享乐之风，冲击克勤克俭美德。
第五、片面追逐商业利益，弱化正面精神引导。
北京日报的文章可谓是字字诛心，一针见血的道出了中国影视文娱的乱象。然而，在不少热衷于宫斗文化的小年轻眼里，这篇文章居然被贴上“开历史倒车”的标签，是“抹杀人民精神需求”的重要证据。
让此等无知言论出现在主流社交圈里，简直是滑天下之大稽！
盛世危机在前，中国的年轻果真如CIA六十年前预言的那样，个性鲜明的追求自我，而不顾国家层面的大局。须知，北京日报批判宫斗剧不止是为影视剧正本清源，亦是在文娱阵地打响“反第五纵队”的第一枪！
何为“第五纵队”？
“第五纵队”一词最早来源于西班牙内战。1936年，在德国纳粹的强力支持下，原西班牙国民军领袖佛朗哥，向左翼执政党包围的马德里（西班牙首都）发动进攻。
大战前夕，德国记者向佛朗哥询问道：
将军，请问你认为贵军那支部队将最先登上马德里的城头？
西班牙内战
佛朗哥手下的一名参谋骄傲的回答道：第五纵队。当时记者很纳闷，毕竟当时的叛军只有四支纵队，何来第五纵队？
战后答案揭晓：
参谋口中的“第五纵队”不是一线参战部队，而是攻城期间在马德里街头，不断散播对守城左翼联军不利消息的“内部人员”。没错，他们就是内奸，是在各种时期以谣言蛊惑人心的“自己人”，其目标在于让更多的国人在大战来临之际，对祖国倒戈相向！
相对于传统意义上的策反间谍，第五纵队地位更高、破坏性更强。
间谍只是行动单一的鼹鼠，他们所产生的危害是仅局限于战术层面。而第五纵队却是一群混迹于各大社交群的名流，他们拥有崇高的社会地位、超乎常人的智商，以及煽动性极强的话术，这群人所产生的破坏是战略性的！
可以这么比喻：间谍只是威力局限一城的原子弹，而第五纵队是顷刻间便能毁灭一省的大伊万（人类史上最大的氢弹）。
升级版第五纵队
1991年，美国前总统尼克松在自己所著的《1999：不战而胜》写道：
当有一天，遥远古老的中国，他们的年轻人不再相信他们的历史传统和民族的时候，就是我们美国人不战而胜的时候！
尼克松为何敢如此断言呢？让我们把视线转回六十年前...
1949年，随着苏联成功爆炸第一颗原子弹，大国间的战争骤然上升到人类毁灭的地步。在核平即和平的大环境下，大国爆发热战的可能性几乎为零，国家的斗争形式将从热战趋于冷战。同时，谁更适用于人类未来的“普世价值”之争，成为国际斗争主要方式。
为此，美国顶级智囊摩根索分别向白宫、五角大楼、兰利（CIA总部）上书文件，强烈要求美国国家机构成立“第五纵队”。
在文件中，摩根索指出三点“未来国家间的斗争形势”：
第一、所谓的普世价值并不存在，但美国需要美化自己的普世价值，并以作为击败敌国的重要手段。
第二、国家间不存在道德可言，道德必须无条件服务于国家现实利益。
第三、世界斗争形式因核武器的出现，由传统的热战争转向文化战争、舆论战争。
才开始，美国一心痴醉于控制欧洲的计划，对摩根索的建议并未有足够的重视。
两年后，由于苏联主导的国际共产主义席卷美国各大工会，在主要资本集团的强势介入下，一支以“福特基金会”为轴心的第五纵队悄然诞生。
自冷战结束70年来，第五纵队以普世价值为旗帜，以抹黑他国政府、颠倒他国历史成就、推动他国娱乐至死为手段，一路辗转五大洲，数十个国家。波兰、乌克兰、捷克接连被斩落马下，即便是强盛如斯的苏联，在第五纵队面前也是一击即溃！
当美国掀起的这场战争搞垮苏联后，第五纵队的矛头，终于指向了中国...
盛世危言
随着互联网产业革命的兴起，泛娱乐现象逐渐成为社会主流。基于这种现象，第五纵队的在华斗争方式也做出及时调整，“作战区域”主要集中在三个地方：国家历史、娱乐群、互联网。
第一、传播历史虚无主义分割中华民族凝聚力
先回头本文开头，北京日报所批评的“热衷追崇皇族生活方式、并使之成为流行时尚”并不是杞人忧天，而是真实存在的现象。
此人叫州迪，他还有一个名字——爱新觉罗.州迪。
在21世纪的今天，这位自诩为大清皇室后裔、多尔衮十世孙的“贵族”，至今都保留着清朝皇室的糟粕传统：续着清朝时期的长辫子；为保证“皇室血脉的纯正性”，决然不娶普通女性为妻；家里设施一律按皇室标准典装；各种出行亦要讲究“皇家规矩”。点击查看：邓小平从毛泽东手里接过一个什么样的中国？你所不知道的秘密！
在记者的采访过程中，这位大爷丝毫不掩饰自己身为“皇族后裔”的高贵气息。在他看来，身为爱新觉罗的嫡系自然要高人一等。
真是怪哉！毛主席带领中国4万万穷苦儿女，好不容易才建立起没有任何封建残余势力的共和国，怎么又突然冒出一堆“皇室后裔”？
不可否认，各民族都有自己的文化传承，但我们所要传承的是精髓，而不是糟粕。
若论起皇室血脉，全中国14亿人至少10亿都是皇族后裔。姬姓可自称大周王室的后裔、刘姓可自称大汉皇室后裔、李姓可自称大唐皇室的后裔...若人人都打着传承文化的旗帜，去复刻恶臭糟粕的封建规矩，逢人自觉高人一等，岂不是让老一辈革命家的成果毁于一旦？！
如今，在各种宫斗剧的宣传下，刻意强调民族间的高贵性，已然对中华民族的凝聚力造成撕裂。宫斗剧背后推手的根本目的，不过是以弘扬民族文化为噱头，在历史的陈年旧案中，去刻意揭开民族伤痕，人为的制造中华民族内部的裂隙！
第二、强化明星效应割裂国家未来
关于明星天价片酬的讨论，在中国一直是热门话题。但是，大家是否思考过：这个话题为何经久不绝？
杨Y，拍摄一部电视剧到场只有4天，全程不是抠图就是替身，最后却拿走了8000万！
范CC，发一张付费自拍照，睡后收入480万！
鹿H ，专车开道、登台假唱、录音几小时轻松赚几百万。
有人说，明星赚钱是资本效应下的社会需求。
放屁！所谓的社会需求都是冠冕堂皇的解释，我们都知道，收入理应与付出价值持平。流量明星靠脸赚钱而不是凭真本事博收入，又将社会各类辛勤付出的却工资稀薄的劳动者置于何地？
事实上，天价片酬的存在早已违背了阶级公平的原则，并以极致的拜金主义割裂着国家的未来——
在“95后最向往的新兴职业”调查中，网红和主播占据总量的54%，成为青年第一就业方向。
这一切的幕后推手又是谁呢？
1996年，作为世界影响力最大的杂志，《时代周刊》将大陆明星巩俐作为周刊封面。此后的每一年，都会有中国人所追崇的明星上榜。
至此，中国新生代人的崇拜对象，由宁死不屈的革命英雄转变为登台卖唱、搔首弄姿的明星！你说这算不算第五纵队普世价值冲击下，美国的“胜利果实”？
历史自有断论！
第三、以精英阶层为领头羊，雇佣网络水军抹黑政府。
第五纵队的威力之所以比间谍还恐怖，就在于他的成员囊括了不少目标国的“精英”。如前文所言，他们拥有崇高的社会地位、超乎常人的智商，以及煽动性极强的话术。一旦他们在舆论上作乱，其产生的恶劣效应甚大。
指挥部列举一个案例：
2018年美国商务部对中国ZTE发起制裁，明眼人都看得出来，这是美国针对中国高新技术的打压。就在全国人民群情激昂要求掌握核心科技的时候，某知名经济学家吴JL却极力反对：这种违背市场规律，不惜一切代价发展芯片行业的行为是错误且危险的！
一如西班牙内战之际，最重要的时刻，内奸要出来作乱了！
任谁都知道，核心科技绝对不能被外国所把持，TH危机的苦难，中国人不想再二次经历。也任谁都知道，向美国投降没有好下场，欧洲、苏联、日本，莫不是如此。
可他为何还要逆势而为呢？
维基解密显示，这位学者从1983年开始，就接受美国福特基金会资助。从耶鲁大学归国后，此人长期致力于“去国有化”的宣传！
精英的普世宣传只是针对社会名流的洗脑，而针对平民老百姓，第五纵队则雇佣水军抹黑政府形象，打击国家的公信力。
2015年，一张精日大本营的账单在网站上疯传——
截图上显示的账单是工资，工作内容是什么呢？
创造一个攻击中国政府的流行网络词汇，奖励200元；
创作一个打击中国英雄的流行网络段子，奖励500元
挑起一场十万人级别的网络互斗，奖励5000元；
个别引起巨大反响的“成功案例”，薪酬待议；
根据国家网络安全保卫局2017年的数据：当年中国互联网共爆发7340起网络“群体矛盾”，其中人为组织且推动的高达4810起，占总事件的65.6%。
这些人是谁？毫无疑问，他们是潜伏在中国的“第五纵队”！
尾声：祸起萧墙
5000年以来，历史不断用血的教训证明：中国最大的敌人从来不是强大的外敌，而是来自己方阵营的冷枪。
纵观历朝历代的每一次沦亡，无一不是祸起萧墙、丧于自家人之手。
中国人民应当记住，不是所有中国人都配拥有“同胞”的待遇。14亿中国人，总有一些民族渣滓值得我们警惕：
耻为中国人者，坑害同胞煽动冲突对抗，是为不忠！
生为中国人者，忘恩负义谄媚洋人主子，是为不孝！
幸为中国人者，包藏祸心挑起内部对立，是为不义！
试问，对此不忠、不孝、不仁、不义之是该何以论处？
当以诛之！
欢迎小伙伴在底部发表神评，与我们交流！
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