College snots, Eagleton’s rap, Jackson’s low, &c.

December 11, 2001 9:00 a.m.

ampshire College is a perfect specimen of an idiotic little leftist college — and it has, unsurprisingly, issued a condemnation of the war in which we’re currently engaged. And when I say “it,” I really mean “it”: The whole community — students, faculty, and staff — took a vote, and that vote ended up 693-121, in favor of The War Is Evil.

And not only evil, of course: racist (same thing). According to the college’s official, democratically approved statement, “the ‘War on Terrorism’ [catch those quotation marks] is symptomatic of the racism of American society, in its disregard for the lives of people of color overseas, encouragement of racial, ethnic, and religious scapegoating and violence, and practice of law enforcement ‘profiling.’”

What liberals or leftists oppose, of course, must be racist, or rather (here I need some quotation marks) “racist.” Nothing can be bad for any other (significant) reason. Dislike a policy? Racist. Dislike a book? Racist. Dislike a person? Racist. Dislike a vegetable (say, Brussels sprouts, my personal nemesis)? Racist.

The Left has done many rotten things to us in the past 30 years or so, but one of the rottenest is the destruction of the concept of racism, and the words that go with it. They have rendered this concept, and these words, meaningless — even snort-worthy. Even a race-neutral policy, such as that adopted in California, is tarred as “racist.” So, when the charge of racism is made, who can take it seriously? Which is a shame, because racism is — or should be — a very serious charge.

Hampshire College, in this great big country from sea to shining sea, is just a little obnoxious pinprick. But its spirit lurks in several important sectors of our society — not least in higher education — and is always slightly sickening to see.

Guess that Hampshire won’t be bringing back ROTC any time soon. And what a pity, about those little Amherst-area colleges: Such a beautiful part of the country; such un-beautiful people who get to live there.

Tom Eagleton is back. Remember him? He was the Missouri senator whom George McGovern picked as his running mate in 1972. Then it was discovered that Eagleton had had psychiatric treatment, and “McGoo” dumped him (after saying, famously, that he was “a thousand percent” behind his man).

Eagleton now goes after another Missouri politician, John Ashcroft, in a shockingly intemperate op-ed piece in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. He says, in addition to other overheated things, that Ashcroft “wants to throw out the Bill of Rights in toto.” (That would be the right of free speech, of worship, and of assembly; the right to bear arms — not heretofore an Ashcroft target — etc.) Ashcroft stands for “anything goes,” says Eagleton. And while “the single greatest symbol of America is our faith in the rule of law,” that symbol “is besmirched by the rule of Ashcroft.”

Ah, the rule of Ashcroft. You can have reservations about, say, the detention of Middle Eastern suspects, but you don’t have to go wild, imagining the attorney general — a quite measured man, actually — to be an Enemy of Liberty.

Funny thing is, I always felt sorry for Eagleton, thinking he got a raw deal. I suppose I feel less sorry now.

In the Just Asking department: Does anyone suppose there may be a link between these detentions and the fact that America has enjoyed total quiet (to use Ariel Sharon’s word) since Sept. 11 (apart from a few anthrax letters)? We were braced for continuing attacks, such as when we started to bomb in Afghanistan. But . . . nothing.

Again, just asking — not that (all together, now) “the ends justify the means.” (Many years ago, Bill Buckley devoted a column to condemning the mindlessness of the question, “Do the ends justify the means?” He began it, “Looking for a handy way to curb the population explosion? Try the death penalty for anyone who asks, ‘Do the ends justify the means?’” That’s always been about my favorite column opening. Another is — this is also from Buckley — “Senator Lowell Weicker, I kid you not . . .” I have no idea what followed that; I was just tickled by the opening.)

Every time Jesse Jackson says something awful — I mean, really, mind-blowingly, disgustingly awful — I think, “That’s it. His public career, or at least his reputation, can’t survive that. That’ll do him in. No decent person, no acceptable person, can talk that way.” But my thought and wish is always stupid.

Just the other day, as we were waging a war against true terrorism, a short time after terrorists took the lives of some 5,000 of us, Jackson accused President Bush — the man leading us in this mighty struggle against terrorism — of committing “economic terror” against Americans. That was Jackson’s way of saying that he disagreed with Bush’s tax and budget policies — that the president was waging “economic terror” against his fellow citizens.

Can you imagine? Yes, if you know anything about Jesse Jackson. But nothing sinks him: no words, no behavior. Nothing. He is utterly protected, and when he dies, it will be with ceremonies and honors and media tributes befitting a king, or a saint.

Hillary Clinton wants the president’s tax cuts stopped in their tracks. Why? (Well, we know why, but I’m talking about her latest stated reason here.) “I don’t think we should be delaying what needs to be done for homeland security.”

Yes, that’s our girl: always thinking of our homeland security.

She has a verbal tic, too, not that I care (particularly): She begins most sentences — or about half of them — with “You know, . . .” It’s her little set-up. Gives her a second to think.

As I said, this is neither here nor there; just an observation — and not bashing (the former was bashing).

The New York Times has been running obituaries every day of those who died in the World Trade Center. Some people consider it an act of obligation to read every one of them. I have not been doing that, I must say; I have been thoroughly immersed in the iniquity of Sept. 11, without the obits.

But my eye rested the other day on a particular one, which I’d like to quote in full. It will take just a minute. And it is astounding.

She was standing on the Brooklyn Bridge when the first tower fell. Everyone around her was madly dialing cellphones with no success. Suddenly, her own phone started ringing.

"It was my older brother,” recalled Patricia Gambino, who had just escaped from the 72nd floor of the south tower. “He said: ‘Thank God. You’re all right, and Michael is on vacation.’”

Little did either of them realize that at that precise moment their younger brother, Michael T. Weinberg, 34 — the stunningly handsome baby of the family, a part-time model who had played minor-league baseball for the Detroit Tigers organization and was now a firefighter — had just arrived at the World Trade Center. As the first tower collapsed, he had taken cover under a fire truck. His was among the first bodies found.

An avid golfer, he had planned to spend that morning on the golf course. His tee time was 9:08 a.m. But when news arrived, he threw his clubs into his car and raced toward Manhattan. His car was eventually found by the side of the highway, where he had apparently abandoned it to hitch a ride with an emergency-rescue vehicle. “He loved to help people,” his sister said.

Amazing, to share the same country with such people.

I’d like to draw your attention to a pamphlet called “The Urgent Alliance: Shaping America’s Destiny in a Season of War,” published by Toward Tradition, a group in Seattle. It is written by David Klinghoffer, a friend of mine and former longtime editor at National Review. It is a powerful piece of work, looking at 9/11 from many angles: historical, political, sociological, spiritual. We have all read a lot — too much — on this subject, but this paper is extraordinary for its thoughtfulness, suppleness, wisdom, and grace. The organization’s website is found at www.towardtradition.org.

Last month, a kid named Alberto Martinez Martinez, 17, made a run for the Guantanamo compound controlled by the United States. Alberto is a brave and freedom-loving Cuban, whose father, Alberto Martinez Fernandez, is a dissident and activist. Three things can happen when you make a run for Guantanamo: You can make it; you can get caught; or you can get maimed or killed by the landmines that the Castro regime has planted. Alberto could have suffered worse: He was caught, and thrown in prison.

Before he left, he penned a letter to his father, which has been circulated by Cuba-democracy activists. It is a little stilted, but it is a document — and a problem — that deserves attention:

Papa, today, November 11, 2001, I am writing this letter to you in the hope that, if something happens to me, [you will see it as] my own responsibilty. I do not want you to reproach my decision to ask for asylum at Guantanamo, because I am doing so for the following reasons:

1) I am one of many young, frustrated Cubans. When I wanted to study the art of painting, the Communist government denied me that right — you know that was my avocation since I was a boy.

2) [I am leaving] because of the repudiation I suffered at school during the events of the little rafter Elian Gonzalez. For having an American flag on my bike.

3) I am leaving because of all the beatings you have endured in prison, which you unjustly suffered — the kidnapping and the beatings on June 8th and 16th. I don’t know how to avenge myself on those Communists bastards, who have made our family suffer so much.

4) [I am leaving] because of problems at school on 11/1/01. I was expelled for saying that prisoners are mistreated and that it’s even worse for the political prisoners, and for telling the truth and reality of the cruel acts that take place in Cuba ordered by the dictator Castro. They taught me from my first days in elementary school that Fidel Castro is a god and to hate Americans; to adore the image of Lenin and to love the Russians. And now in the technical school where I was studying before being expelled, they taught me I have to hate the Russians. I do not understand these Communists. And [I am leaving] because of so many other injustices they have committed against me and other unfortunate people who have not known the true feeling of being free and of being able to express what one feels in a country where Human Rights are violated.

Father, I only ask one thing of you, to help my mother whom I love dearly, help her in whatever way you can, and have faith in me that I will never betray our cause. Always remember me, Father. Since I was a small boy, I was always at your side. Thank you, Papa, for teaching me so many things that helped me through life. If I fail, I will not regret what I have done, and I would like to make this very clear for you and for the world — Papa, I would rather die than continue living in a country where people’s rights are violated.

Hugs and greetings to Chavel, Lisi, Cacha, and my little brother Karell, whom I love very much.

Greetings to the following members of the Prisoners Club, who are very worthy of the position they occupy: Ferdinando, Luis Torres, Luis Diaz, Abad, Eusebi, and all of those who fight for Freedom.

I love you.

It may not have the felicity of Anne Frank. But we should listen, and consider.

A correspondent from out West tells me that the Seattle City Council is at it again. They gained notoreity for sending a letter to Castro, inviting him to participate in that infamous WTO protest/riot. Now they are proposing that King County — Seattle’s county — establish a “sister county” relationship with Granma County in Cuba. Idn’t that sweet? That’s the sort of thing that gives Castro the appearance of normalcy, on which his regime — his totalitarian and abnormal grip on that country — counts.

Why is there no sister-county relationship with Chile, or the Philippines, or South Africa? Oh, that was 1980s conservative-talk, sorry.

One nice thing about Impromptus is that there’s no music criticism in it, right? My Impromptus is my Impromptus, and my music criticism is my music criticism — and never the twain shall meet.

Well, rarely, I’d say, rather than never. I'd like to tell you about a new Christmas album that is exceptional — one of the best ever made, IMO. There are many thousands of Christmas albums, and every year — about October — we get a new crop. They are phenomenally well-selling, as all labels and “artists” know. The best ever? If you put a gun to my head, I’d probably blurt out Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’s. Crazy thing is, it is “nla” (no longer available). This is positively Grinch-like. That Schwarzkopf album has a power and a pulse that is really unforgettable — almost unsettling.

Others would denominate Leontyne Price’s Christmas album, which is to say, her first one, done with “Herbie the K” (Herbert von Karajan). Her second is, cruelly, nla (and it contains, or contained, a magnificent “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” unaccompanied). The glory, or main glory, of the first album is a splendid, pure, transformative “O Holy Night,” some of the best singing you’ll ever hear.

Okay, this new album — I’ll be fast — is from Chanticleer, the all-male a cappella singing group. Chanticleer is best known for early (pre-Baroque) music, but it does just about anything. In this way, they are much like the King’s Singers (though the latter group is far smaller). Anyway, their Christmas album is called — ta-dah — Christmas with Chanticleer (Featuring Dawn Upshaw). Who she? She is the famous American soprano, who can be either amazingly mannered and cloying, or amazingly pure, sensitive, and moving. In the present album, she is the latter, happy to say.

The Christmas selections range all over the world, and through all periods. There is a remarkable “Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen,” a remarkable “First Nowell,” a glorious Suo Gan (a Welsh lullaby and not a Christmas song, but included here all the same), a terrific, bracing “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem” (a hymn), and “much more,” as advertisements say. They end with a rollicking spiritual/gospel number, “Jerusalem in the Morning,” that is joy and celebration itself. (Actually, they end with a nice Stille Nacht — I just checked.)

I have a great many Christmas albums, and like to listen to them all in the month of December, until the 25th. But folks, I can’t stop listening to this one. It’ll do till Schwarzkopf comes back.

In the last few Impromptus, we’ve been talking about Made in China products, such as rosaries, Bible covers. A reader writes, “Not to brag, but I’ve been boycotting Chinese goods as much as possible for more than 30 years. Long ago and far away, I was a U.S. customs inspector in Chicago. I worked the harbor, so I wasn’t digging through dirty underwear and looking at velvet paintings of Elvis brought back from Mexico. Instead, I was ‘protecting and collecting the revenue and enforcing Customs and related laws’ about imported cargo.

“One of the laws required the marking of the country of origin, and there are specific rules about the size and location of the markings. Inspectors got attaboys from the bosses for catching improper country-of-origin markings, so I was highly aware of those marks. I still reflexively look to see where something was made. ‘Made in Myanmar’ makes me recoil and move on, for example.

“And yes, I’m finally getting to my point, which is the change of country names allowed during the Nixon years. As part of the whole détente thing, we stopped seeing ‘Made in Republic of China’ and ‘Made in People’s Republic of China.’ These were replaced by ‘Taiwan’ and ’China.’ Funny, I thought Taiwan was an island, and Republic of China a country.

“Forget about Watergate. I still hate Nixon for this change.”

Several readers wrote in to say (in the words of one): “Guess where my National Review coffee mug was made?!”

Remember the guy — Greg Bonnett — who is suing a Canadian strip club because a dancer clipped him in the face with a high heel, while swinging on a pole? A reader writes, “Greg Bonnet may be a Canadian, but he obviously never played hockey because a mere broken nose wouldn’t cause a hockey player to blink, let alone send him to civil court.”

Bonnett is also suing the stripper herself, for “dancing in a negligent and reckless manner” — prompting one of our readers to say, “Only in Canada would someone want to see a ‘safe ’n’ sane’ stripper. Isn’t being ‘reckless’ part of the job description? Are there exotic dancers who are the equivalent of the Volvo? Who pays to see them?”

Often, I have knocked Europeans for their attitudes toward Americans. A reader registered the following, elegant dissent: “The Europe the press meets and the Europe the common man meets are worlds apart. Just after the September 11 attacks, my parents and a couple of other couples were on a cruise in Europe. They stopped in Italy. My brother-in-law worked at the WTC and for a day or two I could not contact my parents with the news that he had escaped without physical injury (mental injury is another story). My mother told me that while she and her friends, plainly American tourists, were walking around small towns in the south of Italy, the Italian people constantly approached them with hugs, tears, and sympathy over what had happened. This really moved my mother and her friends, especially since she did not know the fate of her son-in-law. Would Americans do the same? Prior to this incident, we all thought about how much the Europeans hated us, and we were angry that they seemingly didn’t remember what our country had done for them. What a nice surprise to find out what we should have always known: People are people, and despite governments and the media, we really do care for one another.”

Don’t tell me I never end sweet.