The Enemies List

  The Enemies List

  The Enemies List

  Compiled by

  P. J. O’Rourke

  with Contributions from

  the Readers of The American Spectator

  Copyright © 1996 by P. J. O’Rourke and The American Spectator

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  “Why I Am a Conservative in the First Place” was first published in Rolling Stone. All the other pieces in this book originally appeared, sometimes in slightly different form and with different titles, in The American Spectator. “A Call for a New McCarthyism” was also published in Give War a Chance, and “100 Reasons Why Jimmy Carter Was a Better President Than Bill Clinton” in Age and Guile Beat Youth, Innocence, and a Bad Haircut (both Atlantic Monthly Press).

  First edition

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  O’Rourke, P. J.

  The enemies list / compiled by P. J. O’Rourke; with contributions

  by the readers of The American spectator. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-5558-4711-1

  I. The American spectator. II. Title.

  PN6162.074 1996

  818’.540208—dc20 96-4887

  Illustrations by John Springs

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  To my Grandmother

  Edna Olive Loy

  Who could never understand why people worried about communism when there were so many Democrats still to be jailed

  Contents

  Introduction by Wladyslaw Pleszczynski

  PART I: A Call for a New McCarthyism

  PART II: The Readers Respond

  PART III: The Readers Keep Responding

  PART IV: Shoot the Wounded

  PART V: Insult the Injured

  PART VI: Commies—Dead but Too Dumb to Lie Down

  PART VII: Enemies in the White House

  PART VIII: 100 Reasons Why Jimmy Carter Was a Better President Than Bill Clinton

  PART IX: Why I Am a Conservative in the First Place

  Introduction

  by Wladyslaw Pleszczynski, Executive Editor, The American Spectator

  “Have you no decency, sir?” the infamous Joseph Welch asked Senator Joseph McCarthy on June 9, 1954, setting the idea of witch-hunts back some thirty-five years. What’s been forgotten is that Senator Joe was never given a chance to respond, which has always bothered P. J. O’Rourke. He’d long felt a natural affinity for the Tail-Gunner—these two Irish Midwesterners, after all, share the same November birthday. Besides, it really sets him off when somebody calls somebody else “sir.” There was also the question of proportion. No matter how crocked Senator Joe might have been that day, he certainly displayed greater decency in his condition than Welch did in his coddling of card-carrying pinkos. So by the time P.J. reached his forties—the same age that saw McCarthy come into his prime—he was ready to roll. With the Berlin Wall about to crumble, he saw an opening and issued his Call for a New McCarthyism.

  And this time it would be done right. When Joe launched his campaign by waving a sheet of paper said to contain the names of 205 Communists in the State Department, he did so before the Ohio Valley Women’s Republican Club of Wheeling, West Virginia, and then he turned to J. Edgar Hoover and his G-men for help in coming up with more names. When P.J. issued his “Plea for a Renewed Red Scare,” he did so by listing a random sample of parlor pinks and public enemies in the pages of the American Spectator of Arlington, Virginia, and—allowing his political genius to take over—he turned to the readers of this publication for help in coming up with more names.

  The result was a spirited outpouring against the rogues and rakes in our midst that gave way to a new Era of Good Feelings. Talking back to the libs was good, clean, enlightening fun. Long before it became fashionable to practice community involvement, readers were finding fishy characters in every nook and cranny of their lives—in the schools and universities that indoctrinated them, in the newspapers, magazines, and books that propagandized them, in the local and national news that insulted them, in the television programs and movies they fell asleep watching. And they were sharing it all with P.J., who would reward them next time around with a listing of names and aliases from his latest roundup of shirkers, shrinkers, and outlaws. Long before anyone had ever heard of and forgotten about “politics of meaning” guru Michael Lerner, P.J. was fingering Lerner’s magazine Tikkun. He fought to defund the Left long before anyone had ever heard of Newt Gingrich. He understood that in an age of whiny wimps, ridicule is all you need. Or to put it another way: Live free or else.

  In all, O’Rourke McCarthyism was setting the stage for the likes of Rush Limbaugh and the rest of the talk radio movement. And it also proved a Sisyphean labor. P.J. and friends may have been shooting fish in a barrel—but the damn thing kept expanding, so that by 1993, the final year of the list, it was big enough to contain not only Bill Clinton but his first wife, the veep’s wife, Donna Shalala, and many of their friends. Hot damn, an Arkansas hot tub!

  The experience has left P.J. more philosophical than ever. It’s even given him a new appreciation of Jimmy Carter, carpenter and former president of the United States.

  January 5,1996

  Arlington, Virginia

  I

  A Call for a New McCarthyism

  The American Spectator, July 1989

  Our era is supposed to be the 1950s all over again. Indeed, we are experiencing anew many of the pleasures and benefits of that excellent decade: a salubrious prudery, a sensible avariciousness, a healthy dose of social conformity, a much-needed narrowing of minds, and a return to common-sense American political troglodytism. But there’s one delightful and entertaining feature of the Eisenhower years which is wholly absent from the contemporary scene—old-fashioned red-baiting. Where’s our McCarthyism? Who’s our Tail-Gunner Joe? Why don’t we get to look for Communists under our beds or—considering the social changes of the past thirty-five years—in them? (“Good night, honey, and are you now or have you ever been a member of the Committee in Solidarity with the People of El Salvador?”)

  God knows the problem is not a lack of Commies. There are more fuzzy-minded one-worlders, pasty-faced peace creeps, and bleeding-heart bed wetters in America now than there ever were in 1954. The redskis have infiltrated the all-important exercise-video industry, not to mention movies and TV. Academia, too, is a veritable compost heap of Bolshie brainmulch. Beardo the Weirdo may have been laughed out of real life during the 1970s, but he found a home in our nation’s colleges, where he whiles away the wait for the next Woodstock Nation by pestering undergraduates with collectivist twaddle when they should be thinking about better car stereos. And fellow travelers in the State Department? Jeez, the situation is so bad at Foggy Bottom that we’d better hope it’s caused by spies. If it’s stupidity, we’re really in trouble.

  So how come the HUAC staff isn’t returning my phone calls? Who’s keeping I Led Three Lives from being remade starring Tom Selleck and Arnold Schwarzenegger? And why aren’t we making sure that that Fidel-snuggler Ron Dellums never works again? Whoops, we already did that. We elected him to C
ongress. And come to think of it, there are other problems with an up-to-date nineties-style witch-hunt. For one thing, it’s no use going after real, card-carrying Communists anymore. Hard-core party apparatchiks have already been persecuted by organizations more brutally efficient than anything we’ve got in the U.S., organizations such as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Plus, accusing somebody of being a “comsymp” just isn’t the same since Gorbachev began his three-hankie perestroika performance. Even Margaret Thatcher says she sympathized with Ole Splotch-Top. And when it comes to the International Communist Conspiracy to Enslave Europe, Asia, and the Third World—well, somebody’s got to do something with those people. Good luck to the Patrice Lumumba University Class of ’89.

  No, a modern McCarthyism is going to have to concentrate on other things besides the Big Lie and the Red Menace. In fact, if we examine even a brief selection of people who should be tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail (or, to be more contemporary, oat branned and goose downed and jogged out of the condominium complex on an exercise track), we see that they are not necessarily Marxist or even socialist in their thinking because that would presuppose thinking in the first place. Nobody is ever going to accuse us of being thought police for going after the likes of Kris Kristofferson, Phil Donahue, Mario Thomas, Dr. Benjamin Spock, Yoko Ono, Dave Dellinger, Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, the World Council of Churches, Ed Asner, Michelle Shocked, Lenora Fulani, Robert Redford, and people who think quartz crystals cure herpes.

  The distinguishing feature of this cluster of dunces is not subversion but silliness. If we hope to wreck careers, destroy reputations, and drive holistic Ortega fans into exile in Sausalito and Amherst, we’re going to need tactics very different from those used by Roy Cohn, Bobby Kennedy, and the distinguished senator from the great state famous for its La Follette and cheese. A “blacklist” will never work. Put some Sandalista on your blacklist and you probably guarantee him a MacArthur genius grant and a seat on the ACLU national board of directors. But maybe we can tear a page from the Très Riches Heures of Tipper Gore and insist upon a rating system for music, film, television, and the Boston Globe editorial page. A warning would have to be prominently displayed: “OH-OH, A PERSON INVOLVED WITH THIS UNAPPEALING ITEM OF MASS COMMUNICATION HOLDS SILLY OPINIONS ON MATTERS ABOUT WHICH HE OR SHE IS LARGELY OR ABYSMALLY UNINFORMED.” There’d be three ratings:

  S = Silly

  VS = Very Silly

  SML = Shirley MacLaine

  Thus a rerun of M*A*S*H featuring Alan Alda would get an “S” rating. Any public pronouncement by a member of the innumerable Phoenix family, such as River, Leaf, Summer, Stump, Ditch, or Pond Scum Phoenix, would get a “VS” rating. And the new Tracy Chapman album gets an “SML” with oak-leaf cluster.

  But, no, this isn’t going to work either. You can’t shame or humiliate modern celebrities. What used to be called shame and humiliation is now called publicity. And forget traditional character assassination. If you say a modern celebrity is an adulterer, a pervert, and a drug addict, all it means is that you’ve read his autobiography.

  We have to come up with more clever ways to ruin these people. Perhaps we can spread rumors that they performed in South Africa. I was in South Africa myself a few years ago, and I’m almost certain that was Jessica Mitford singing backup for Frank Sinatra at Sun City. Or perhaps we can direct the wrath of the remarkably terrifying animal rights activists against them. I’m going to write a letter to People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals about how Susan Sontag allows her ideas to be tried on innocent laboratory rabbits before humans are exposed to them. (As for the animal rights activists, we can turn some animals loose on them later.)

  But the worst punishment for dupes, pink-wieners, and dialectical immaterialists might be a kind of reverse blacklist. We don’t prevent them from writing, speaking, performing, and otherwise being their usual nuisance selves. Instead, we hang on their every word, beg them to work, drag them onto all available TV and radio chat shows, and write hundreds of fawning newspaper and magazine articles about their wonderful swellness. In other words, we subject them to the monstrous, gross, and irreversible late-twentieth-century phenomenon of Media Overexposure so that a surfeited public rebels in disgust. This is the “Pia Zadora Treatment,” and, for condemning people to obscurity, it beats the Smith Act hollow.

  Anyway, I’m sure we’ll find some way to chastise these buggers of sense, to bully, torment, harry them, and generally make a workers’ paradise of their lives. In the meantime, the fun part of McCarthyism is, as it always was, making out the enemies list. Heh-heh:

  Sting

  Gore Vidal

  The Institute for Policy Studies

  Tom Hayden (Hope you didn’t give Jane your ideals in the divorce settlement, Tom.)

  Victor Navasky

  Angela Davis

  William Sloane Coffin

  Noam Chomsky

  Abbie Hoffman (I guess we can cross him off; he was on God’s list.)

  Ralph Nader

  Anthony Lewis

  William “The Client Is Obviously Guilty” Kunstler

  Jackson Browne

  Allen Ginsberg

  Norman Lear

  Meryl Streep

  Peter, Paul and Mary (Yes, they’re still alive.)

  The Christic Institute

  Common Cause

  Center for Constitutional Rights

  Anybody whose last name is Cockburn

  Anybody who inherited so much money and so little sense that her last name might become Cockburn

  Cockburn wannabe Christopher Hitchens (Who’s checking the green cards around here?)

  The Order of Maryknoll Nuns

  Amy Carter

  Susan Sarandon

  The Redgrave family

  Patty Duke

  Casey Kasem

  Daniel and Philip Berrigan (Yes, they’re still alive, too.)

  Mike Farrell

  Tikkun

  The Progressive

  Paul Weyrich

  Kevin Phillips

  Barbara Walters

  Richard Cohen

  Al Hunt

  David Broder

  The New York Review of Books

  The New York Times Book Review

  That poor man’s Walt Kelly, Garry Trudeau

  That poor man’s Garry Trudeau, Berke Breathed

  Herblock

  Managua’s Herblock, Paul Conrad

  New York City Mayor David Dinkins

  The National Resource Defense Council

  Lawyers Guild

  The D. C. Statehood Party

  Mayor of Burlington, Vermont, Peter Clavelle

  The Berkeley City Council

  Berkeley

  Mother Jones

  The Nation

  The Village Voice

  Any organization with “Peace” in its name

  Donald Trump (OK, so he’s not a pinko, but I don’t like him. And if McCarthyism isn’t good for settling grudges, what is it good for?)

  The English Department at Duke

  The Law School at Harvard

  The Liberal Arts Faculty at Stanford

  Any educator using the term “Eurocentric” (While we’re at it, let’s reintroduce corporal punishment in the schools—and use it on the teachers.)

  Salman Rushdie (Kick ’em when they’re down is what I say.)

  Martin Sheen

  Charlie Sheen

  The rest of the Sheen family plus Rob Lowe, Judd Nelson, Demi Moore, Molly Ringwald, and all the other Brat Pack members (Which brings to mind another idea for a modified blacklist—this list would require left-wingers to write movie scripts, but only for Brat Pack movies.)

  And let’s not forget that most subversive of all organizations in America, the American government:

  Sen. Tom Harkin (D-IA)

  Sen. John Kerry (D-MA)

  Sen. Barbara Mikulski (D-MD)

  Rep. Pete Stark (D-CA)

  Rep. Barbara Boxer (D-C
A)

  Rep. Ed Markey (D-MA)

  Rep. Gerry Studds (D-MA)

  And from Michigan—an improbable place to find a nest of jacobin no-good-niks—these Not-the-Reagan-Democrats:

  Rep. David Bonior

  Rep. John Conyers

  And that’s just a beginning. Readers of the American Spectator were invited to submit their own suggestions—and lots of them. Prepare for a bloodbath—well, a phlegm and bile bath anyway.

  Maybe we can reconquer our body politic. Maybe we can sweep the ideologically homeless from the streets of our Shining City on a Hill. Or maybe we can’t. It might all backfire the way the splendid fifties backfired and led to the wretched and unspeakable sixties. Still, it’s worth a try. At the very least, “Red Scare—The Sequel” will rile the lefties and get them out demonstrating again so policemen can hit them on the head. The police have been having a rough time lately, what with crack and Miranda rights. They need some fun. And one other great good will have been accomplished. We will have found a job for J. Danforth Quayle. He’s the perfect point man for Nouvelle McCarthyism, a Senator Joe Lite if ever there was one. Besides, I’m sure he’d much rather have a reputation for evil than the reputation he’s got now.

  II

  The Readers Respond

  The American Spectator, October 1989

  I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list Of society’s offenders who might well be underground, And who never would be missed—who never would be missed!

  ... the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone, All centuries but this, and every country but his own;

  ... And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind, Such as—What-d’ye-call-him—Thing’em-Bob, and likewise—Never Mind,

  And ‘St—’st—’st—and What’s-his-name, and also—You-know-who—

  (The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to you!)

  —W. S. Gilbert

  We need some means of persecuting neuterers, nutters, and screaming greenies, some way to abuse entitlement tramps, participants in Gorby orgies, men who think the government is their mother, and women who think government can do the mothering for them. Let’s give a wedgie to the whiners, criers, and wet smacks in mortarboards. Let’s soap the windows of those who would beggar achievement, vandalize the lawn ornaments of magical thinkers, and heave rotten fruit at haters of beef, gin, and cigars. Let’s tell ghost stories to the mollycoddles who fear atomic power, military strength, and the very puissance of Western Civilization itself and turn the garden hose on people who can’t bear their freedoms, their selves, or their society and want to vent those pathetic loathings on us, their betters.