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 ou
hear one point these days that the smarmy and dull-witted Left loves
to make: See, government’s not so bad! See how much government
is needed? Aren’t you rather ashamed, right-wingers, for being
so anti-government, when strong governmental action is exactly what
is called for now?
Well, it’s
time for the fundamentals, as it so often is: The chief duty of
government is to the physical protection of its citizens. That is
what we have tried to teach the other side, for years; we
ourselves require no lectures on the subject. Of course government
is to the fore in meeting this threat. What are you going to do?
Privatize it? Perhaps devolve it to a city council, or the Salvation
Army, refreshed with federal cash?
Ladies and
gentlemen, a war against enemies who murder us by the thousands
is a long, long way from, oh, “free” prescription drugs
for the well-off. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Many of us, in our travels, have the sinking feeling that the barn
door is being closed after the horses have escaped. The measures
we are taking — at airports, especially — seem futile.
They merely inconvenience while doing little to protect. They also
frustrate, for the sheer fruitlessness of it all. Is anyone comforted
by the sight and sound of Norman Mineta, the transportation secretary,
as he forbids curbside check-in?
Our Kate O’Beirne
has an excellent point, which I’d like to share here: She is
particularly irked by the false egalitarianism of our airport system
— an egalitarianism whereby the little old lady from Pasadena,
knitting booties for her grandchildren as she travels to St. Louis,
is subjected to the same searches and intrusions as the scowling
man with the well- or oddly stamped Syrian passport. The liberal
in us abhors “racial profiling,” of course; but the reasoning
animal says, “Hey, wait: Common sense should apply.”
Could the little
old lady knitting booties constitute a threat as well? Yes, theoretically,
but . . . the world is not a theoretical one. This very evening,
I talked with a woman — 83 years old, an angelic grandmother
(and great-grandmother) from Indianapolis — whose every item
was taken out of her luggage last week and inspected. When she walked
through the security check, there was no beep: but they insisted
on frisking her anyway. When she asked what the fuss was all about
— why her and no one else — she was told her name had
been selected by a computer. This isn’t security, but lunacy:
and an instance of mindless egalitarianism. We act as though common
sense is an offense.
I may be wrong
— merely flattering myself — but I feel confident in saying
the following: If a lot of people who looked like me — who
were from the same background, the same region, and so on —
were committing terror all over the world, and I myself were made
to wait longer in airports as a result, I would understand. I would
be furious, but I would understand.
And whom would
I be furious at? The authorities? No, not really: at my “fellows”
whose foul deeds made it reasonable to suspect me, or to take extra
time in clearing me. As many readers may recall, this is Alan Keyes’s
answer — a rather brave and logical one — when he is asked
about the usual brand of “racial profiling” in America.
It would be a better place if fury were directed at the real culprits.
After I discussed
this issue in a public forum, a priest came up to me to relate an
interesting personal story: At a time of particular IRA violence,
he was traveling to England, on an American passport. In his passport
photo, he was wearing a priest’s collar; on the day of this
trip, he was in regular clothes. His name was — is — O’Hanlon.
The English inspector looked him up and down. He compared his passport
photo with his current appearance. He asked a lot of questions.
And the priest . . . understood. He may not have been happy, but
he understood.
Life is hard,
and life is unfair, and some things are simply more important than
this or that citizen’s personal comfort. There is a war on;
civil liberties need not be suspended in the meantime; but common
sense — and the impulse to self-protection — apply.
Back, for a
moment, to this idea that the barn door has been closed, thuddingly,
after the horses have escaped. My wife and I left for a trip about
a week ago. It so happened that, a week before, she had obtained
a new driver’s license — she didn’t have the permanent
one, with the photo; she had only a temporary license, without the
photo. So she brought to the airport with her her passport —
only the passport had her maiden name, so she also brought, smart
girl, a copy of our marriage certificate. But only a copy; not the
original. There was a real question about whether we’d get
in, whether we would be allowed on the plane. I had that sinking,
vexed feeling: It is too late for this sort of thing, and these
measures are in vain.
The only way
to be safe — or safer — is to win the war. To smash
the sources of terror — not necessarily the lil’ terrorists
themselves, for they are only so much cannon fodder. But the sources
of terror, meaning the states that are the “terrorists’”
very breath. Win the war. Curbside check-in has next to nothing
to do with it.
Colin Powell is the luckiest man on the planet. Why? History has
given him a chance — almost an unheard-of chance — to
rectify a past wrong. The first Bush administration didn’t
finish Saddam Hussein off when it had the chance — the U.N.
mandate and all that. Well and good. Colin Powell played a key part
in that decision. And ten years later, who should find himself secretary
of state, when the destruction of Saddam Hussein’s regime is
again a burning issue? Why, Colin Powell, lucky guy: He doesn’t
have to sit idly as history judges him; history has placed in his
lap the chance to finish the job. Will he? Will he encourage
it, work toward it?
Almost certainly
not. Which is why this chance is probably wasted on Colin Powell.
No matter what my criticisms of the first Bush, one thing that is
very hard to stomach is criticism from the Left that Bush
flinched from putting an end to Saddam Hussein. Can you imagine?
They would have cried bloody murder if George H. W. Bush
had tried to go an inch beyond the U.N. mandate. And now
they pose as Pattons who would have strangled the Beast of Baghdad
with their bare hands. Of course, they were against the war in the
first place.
A hypocrite
is a hard thing to abide.
Richard V. Allen, Reagan’s first national security adviser,
makes a shrewd point, which I have not heard from anyone else: In
the first months of W.’s administration, the Maureen Dowds
among us were lambasting the new president for all the “retreads”
he had gathered around him. These were all Daddy’s — no,
Poppy’s — men, and Bush lacked not only experience but
imagination.
Now some of
these same people are expressing relief that Bush is surrounded
by experienced, seasoned men, who are really running the
show, in place of this callow, feckless ex-frat boy.
Nice. Real
nice.
In the aftermath of the opening attacks, everyone — certainly
a lot of us — are searching for understanding of our
enemies: What motivates them? Why do they act as they do? I myself
read a lot of David Pryce-Jones and Bernard Lewis, and I, too, am
interested in understanding our enemies . . . but only to a point.
I am more interested in killing them.
One might have
been interested in understanding the Nazis in the 1930s: the hurt
they felt over the Versailles Treaty; the horror with which they
regarded the subduing of the Ruhr Valley. But ultimately, “understanding”
was a largely academic exercise, and one simply wanted to beat
them, so that they could kill and enslave no more.
That is my
feeling today. Understanding is merely gravy. To render them incapable
of continuing to kill us: That’s what is necessary.
Last week, I observed a young woman go through an airport security
check. Something she had on her person made the machine continue
to beep. So the (male) security guard yelled out — and I mean,
yelled — “Female search!” (He was summoning a female
guard to conduct the search.) That was a little gross: “Female
search!”
Todd Gitlin is the “’68-er,” professor at Berkeley
and then (now) NYU, and the author of the famous book The Sixties.
Recently he declined to participate in an anti-war rally, saying,
“I have a disposition against massive retaliation, but I think
nations have a right of self-defense. In the ’60s, “Make
love, not war” was an appropriate message. Today much more
complex things are going on.”
Of course,
there is a lot to condemn and lampoon in that statement, but it
also proves that Gitlin is a man with a heart and a conscience who
is not so deeply anti-American as to fail to be affected by September
11. One of the things the attacks did was pose a question to every
member of the Left: Just how anti-American are you? And some in
this camp obviously find they cannot go all the way. Others, of
course, can.
In a previous column, I wrote about the closure — or the impending
closure — of Kiss Me, Kate on Broadway. There just weren’t
enough visitors to the city to make it work. I should now report
that the show was saved: because the cast agreed to a 50 percent
pay cut. Their union agreed to 25 percent; they kicked in another
25 percent on their own, so that the show could go on. The economics
of Broadway is a little screwy; but the spirit exemplified by these
“Katers” is something to applaud.
In the New York mayoral race, Mark Green — the old disciple
of Ramsey Clark and Ralph Nader — is running as the moderate,
and Freddy Ferrer is running as the leftist and racial arsonist.
His campaign has been based almost exclusively on racial and ethnic
grievance. He has the backing, naturally, of the repugnant Al Sharpton.
But guess who
has endorsed him in his race versus Green? Ed Koch and Peter Vallone,
who represent the “right” of the Democratic party in New
York. Koch and Vallone, teaming up with Sharpton in support of Ferrer.
How could this happen?
Only one reason:
detestation of Mark Green. How do you like that? A politician so
obnoxious, so objectionable, that a guy like Ed Koch is pushed into
the arms of the candidate considerably farther from his own views.
That is what
our Green has achieved.
I have been startling and annoying some people by suggesting that
Janet Reno can win — can win the gubernatorial race in Florida.
Oh, yes, she can. Our new war has helped Jeb, the president’s
brother, but don’t count Janet out. There are a great many
Democrats in Florida, and the state goes either way in its elections
for governor or U.S. senator. Reno is hugely ambitious and egotistical,
and will work hard. The disease from which she’s suffering
may not be politically debilitating: She holds up her shaking hands
and says, “See these? They won’t stop me!” And the
crowd goes wild.
But what about
Elian? Won’t the Cubans turn out en masse against her? Ah,
yes, but the number of Cubans is piddly in the Florida population
at large. Much of that population, sadly, resents and despises the
Cuban community: “Anglos” do, other “Hispanics”
do, blacks do (viciously). A statewide politician doesn’t necessarily
hurt himself by crossing the Cubans. Even Gov. Bush was rather lily-livered
when it came to Elian’s fate.
No, don’t
count Reno out. I believe she really wants it: She has had a taste
of the big time, in Washington, and she doesn’t want to retire
quietly. She misses the limelight; she misses the press conferences.
And she is a heroine in the Democratic party.
Ugh.
There was a headline — entirely typical — in the “National
Briefing” section of the New York Times: “California:
Hispanic Nominee for Court.” Ugh again. Won’t it be a
happier day when it will be ridiculous to write, “Hispanic
Nominee for Court” ? As ridiculous as to write, “Norwegian
Nominee for Court” ? Now more than ever (meaning, post-9/11),
our Balkanization — “identity politics” — is
poison.
In Gloucester, Mass., I noticed a sign outside lawyers’ offices
that said “Pino, Shea,” and someone else. It sounded positively
Chilean.
I note, finally, the reappearance of the true Voice of America,
Leontyne Price. She last sang in an opera in 1985, and she gave
her farewell recital in 1998 (although she didn’t announce
that it would be her farewell — and perhaps she didn’t
know). On September 30, at age 74, she appeared in Carnegie Hall
for a benefit concert. She sang two pieces long associated with
her: “This Little Light of Mine” and “America the
Beautiful.” At virtually every recital, she sang the first
piece, usually as an encore, in an arrangement made for her by her
friend, the composer Margaret Bonds. And she’d also inform
the audience that it was her mother’s favorite spiritual. “America
the Beautiful,” she practically owns (and I say this with all
respect and fandom toward Ray Charles). To hear her sing it is one
of the great patriotic experiences available to an American.
I say to this
country’s enemies, When you have aroused L. Price, you’re
in trouble, baby.
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