Narrative Control

And Human Behavior

“Our human actions and reactions are not rooted in statistical data but are determined instead by emotions and sentiments — narratives drive our behaviour.” — Klaus Schwab, Covid-19: The Great Reset, p. 246

By now, most of us recognize that all media is a battle space in the information war. We see competing narratives and grab on to the one that feels like the truth. But in recent years, our media feeds have been flooded with narrative — so much so that it’s very hard to even know what’s real. And that’s the point. Something has changed. Rather than fight for narrative control, all narratives have been weaponized. Narrative itself is a form of control.

Humans thrive in narrative. Some hypothesize that narratives — shared stories — are a key evolutionary and developmental trait of humans. With shared stories we can cooperate across space and time.

When we encounter a new situation or behavior, we naturally ask ourselves “why is this happening?” We have a thirst for narrative. When there is a narrative gap — when something doesn’t make sense — we feel a need for a story, an explanation, in order to process what’s happening.

We’re likely to adopt a narrative when it is:

• Plausible, even if extraordinary.

• Comforting, in that it relieves us of our worst fears.

• Gratifying, in that it makes us feel smart. It gives us a sense that we understand what’s happening, and makes us feel somewhat superior to those who just “can’t see it.”

Common narratives today

1. Great for America. The closure of the Strait of Hormuz doesn’t hurt America. In fact, it strengthens America because we have more than enough oil. Meanwhile, it really hurts our rivals — countries like China.

2. A.R.C. America, China, and Russia already have an agreement — a secret pact to divide the world into spheres of influence. America will retreat back to the Americas. China will limit itself to its designated area. And Russia will take on Eurasia.

3. City of London. Behind the scenes, all of Trump’s actions can be explained by his attack on the City of London and his attempts to peel America away from the globalists. The kidnapping of Maduro? City of London. The attack on Iran? Taking out the City of London.

All of these are extraordinary claims, but plausible. America does have substantial oil production. It’s true that ultimately America, Russia, and China could come to some negotiated settlement where they agree on spheres of influence. And the banking cartel — which was based at one point in the City of London — has historically worked against the people and for its own selfish interests. There’s a reason the phrase “All Wars Are Bankers’ Wars” is so well known.

The trick with these narratives is that they can’t be proven or totally disproven. We are living in extraordinary times where many admit anything is possible. An advocate of any one of these narratives could make a compelling case, and you’d agree it’s possible. And right after, you could hear a compelling case for one of the others and agree once again — yeah, that’s possible too.

Here we get a glimpse into the weakness of narratives. Wildly divergent narratives shouldn’t be able to exist at the same time. And yet they do. They thrive.

Once you adopt a narrative, everything seems to fall into place for you. You can explain virtually any action that happens as part of the narrative. Even contrary evidence can be waved away by simply explaining that behind the scenes something else is happening — something unseen, some bigger plan that accounts for the contradiction.

“America has plenty of oil. We’ll get rich selling it to the world.” “We’ll bring other countries to their knees because they need our oil.” That idea doesn’t stand a basic math test. America imports 5 to 6 million barrels a day, primarily from Mexico and Canada. Now, supporters of this idea will say, “Yeah, but we are going to control them as part of this Monroe Doctrine.” Every contradiction to the narrative is explained by unseen elements — parts of an unseen but well-planned future, perfectly contained within a larger narrative.

If there were a prior agreement, an understanding, a settled deal between America, China, and Russia today, why would America still be shipping weapons to Ukraine and providing them with targeting information that kills Russians every single day and destroys their oil facilities? Supporters of the narrative ignore this, or once again insist it’s 5D chess — that there is a larger plan at play, that there are forces that must be battled beneath the surface, and that in good time these contradictions will be resolved.

And the City of London. The City of London narrative is, like the others, based on unseen forces, unseen actions and reactions, unannounced plans, and presumed relationships. While it relies on a long history of banker control which once emanated from the City of London, it ignores a critical part of history: the late 1800s and early 1900s, when the banking dynasties of America were built and financed by City of London interests. These same major City of London-backed banking dynasties pushed for the creation of the Federal Reserve and are in fact owners of the Federal Reserve. So if the City of London is our problem — the City of London which also controls the major banking interests in the United States and owns the Federal Reserve that creates American money — then when you speak of the City of London, are you not speaking of America?

All of these narratives have legs because they satisfy the key points of an effective narrative. They are plausible, even if extraordinary. They are comforting, because it’s nice to know that we’re winning, or that there is a plan, or that the people we supported are fighting for us against the bad guys. And they’re gratifying — they make us feel smart. You’ll notice that the strongest advocates of these narratives are pompous, even, about their ideas, and dismissive of anything that violates the narrative. They insult and attack others who point out the internal contradictions. Narratives make us feel smart. They can even make us pompous.

My point here is not to attack any particular narrative — although I believe all of the above are without merit. There are plenty of narratives I haven’t mentioned which I think are just as meritless as these. The larger point — the most important point I’m hoping to convey — is that narratives themselves are the problem. Narratives themselves are a form of control over human behavior. The bad guys know this, and they’ve flooded the zone with narratives. No matter who you are, you can find one you like. And as long as you find one you like, you’ll stop asking questions.

Allowing a Narrative Void

It’s clear to me that a key tactic in the information war is to flood the zone with narratives — a variety, enough so that everyone will find one to adopt and hold true for themselves. And that’s the trap. Once you adopt a narrative, you stop noticing the contradictions. You stop asking questions. You lose the ability to see through the fog.

We are made to think that the world is so vastly complicated, that anything is possible, and that complicated problems need complicated explanations. While that may be true, I think there’s a simpler way to understand what’s happening. It’s the same process you use in your own life: cause and effect. Throughout our lives we are witnesses of cause and effect. We become experts on cause and effect. We plan and live our lives by cause and effect.

We put our knowledge of cause and effect to work all the time. When we walk into a dark room, we flip a switch in order to turn the lights on. Our lifetime study of cause and effect has trained us that certain actions have consequences. They’re predictable. If we do something, we expect certain outcomes from that action. It’s a phenomenon we understand so deeply that we call it common sense.

Narratives are designed to subvert our lifetime experience — our lifetime study and implementation of cause and effect. A strong enough narrative allows us to disregard the obvious contradictions before our eyes. You could think of it as gaslighting on the highest order: “Who are you going to believe? Me, or your lying eyes?”

Narratives have served us well throughout human history. They’ve advanced civilization forward. They’ve helped us understand our lives. But today they’ve been turned against us.

I’m not suggesting you question or deny a particular narrative. Instead, put aside all narratives when looking at reality. Set them aside entirely and observe as you have your whole life — cause and effect. Cause and effect. And that includes ignoring the words of authorities, leaders, and narrative shapers/spinners, and instead looking at actions and outcomes. Fight the urge to fill the narrative void with some explanation that ties everything together. Let the void exist, and simply observe actions and outcomes.

Strait of Hormuz

Stripped of all narrative, the closure of the Strait of Hormuz looks different. What do we know? What action was taken? And what was the outcome?

First, we know that if Iran were attacked, the Strait of Hormuz would close. This was a known fact. If you’ve adopted a particular narrative, this is perhaps unknown to you — or this is one of those contradictions that gets explained away.

Yes, war is unpredictable. But the one certain consequence of an attack on Iran was that the Strait of Hormuz would be closed.

• Senior IRGC commanders (repeated in official statements and drills in January–mid-February 2026): Iran’s response to any U.S. or Israeli strike would include immediate closure or “full control” of the strait using mines, fast-attack boats, anti-ship missiles, and “smart management” to block enemy-linked shipping.

• Iranian Parliament (motion passed after earlier 2025 incidents and re-affirmed in early 2026): Authorized the government to close the strait in the event of war, which Iranian state media framed as standing policy if Iran was attacked.

They knew it. We knew it:

• CENTCOM and Pentagon assessments (publicly and in leaked planning documents referenced in 2025–early 2026 reporting): Iran’s “default response” to a major strike would be to attempt closure or severe disruption of the Strait of Hormuz using asymmetric naval warfare. This was treated as the primary economic risk in war-gaming.

• Israeli officials and intelligence (pre-strike statements): Publicly and internally assessed that any attack on Iranian territory would trigger Iran’s “Hormuz card” — i.e., closure or mining of the strait — as its most potent retaliatory tool.

Closure of the Strait was predictable and predicted. Flip the switch, and the lights go on. Launching a war meant the Strait would close. This is simple cause and effect. As demonstrated above, our war planners knew that if they pulled the trigger, the Strait would close.

In our own lives, we know that most of the actions we take are designed to achieve predictable outcomes. Flipping the switch to turn on the lights. It’s all done with intention. And yet, if you adopt a narrative, it requires you to assume that Trump’s decision to go to war was not done to cause the most predictable outcome. We are to believe instead that he launched the war to stop Iran from building a bomb they were not building — or that his actions were taken primarily to cause tenuous outcomes like regime change, which might result in a better situation, despite virtually all contradictory experience.

I’m not suggesting that damaging or destroying Iran’s nuclear capabilities, or causing regime change, weren’t additional goals of the war. How can I know Trump’s inner thoughts? Any attempt to do so requires the adoption of a narrative of some kind.

Here, we’re trying to maintain a narrative void for a moment. So we must rely on our observations of cause and effect. And we must utilize our lifelong understanding that most actions are taken primarily to create predictable consequences. That’s what humans do.

In that light, our observations tell a simple story. Trump knew that if he attacked Iran, the Strait of Hormuz would close. And so it’s clear that he was at least comfortable with the idea that the Strait would close — or, in fact, that was his intended outcome.

If this thought is new to you, your first question would be: “But why?” That is your thirst for narrative wanting an answer to explain everything. Ignore that thirst. And come back to cause and effect.

The Strait has been closed for 47 days. Well — not completely closed. Trickles of ships have been able to escape with Iran’s permission, until recently, when Trump, wanting the Strait completely closed, initiated a blockade. That’s the cause.

So what is the effect?

The closure of the Strait of Hormuz is, almost certainly, the largest economic calamity in human history. Roughly a third of the world’s seaborne oil and a significant share of its liquefied natural gas moved through that narrow stretch of water every day. For 47 days, that flow has been choked off. The shockwaves are only beginning to reach global economies. As they take root, they will touch every one of us — regardless of where we live, regardless of which side we thought we were on, regardless of which narrative we adopted to explain it.

That is the observable outcome. That is cause and effect. Trump knew the Strait would close. He pulled the trigger anyway. The lights, in this case, went off..

Everything beyond that — the why, the grand plan, the 5D chess, the secret pact, the hidden enemy in some distant financial district — is narrative. And narrative is precisely what we’ve been trained to reach for at exactly the moment we should be watching most carefully.

This is the discipline I’m asking for, and I won’t pretend it’s easy. Sitting in the narrative void is uncomfortable. The human pull toward a story — any story — is relentless. You’ll catch yourself slipping back into one within days, maybe hours. I do too. The work isn’t to arrive at some final, narrative-free understanding of the world. The work is to keep noticing when you’ve grabbed onto a story, and to keep setting it down.

Because that’s the trap they’ve built. Not any single narrative — but the certainty that comes with adopting one. The moment you feel that certainty settle in, the moment everything starts to “make sense,” is the moment you’ve stopped seeing.

Flip the switch. Watch the lights. Trust your eyes.