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THE last casualty of the Reagan Revolution is, I fear, Mother Jones magazine, a long-time soap box for leftists and unabashed bleeding heart liberals. Named for Mary Harris "Mother" Jones, an early 20th century labor organizer and self-described hell-raiser, the magazine is perhaps best known to Harvard students as the source of the "combusting Pintos" article in the Ec 10 readings book.
During the last month of former President Ronald W. Reagan's term, Mother Jones introduced its sharp, glossy, "new look," complete with a photograph of actress Susan Sarandon on the cover. The new and improved magazine includes columns such as "OUT OF POCKET, about how to buy and invest with your ethics intact," and "TRIPS, a guide to travel and adventure for non-Ugly Americans."
Mrs. Jones is undoubtedly turning cartwheels in her grave.
I am taking the Yuppification of Mother Jones in stride. But at the first sight of a four-color glossy cover on The Nation or a Chivas Regal advertisement in In These Times, someone kindly shoot me.
Thanks for the Memories Dept.: This installment of The Liberal Boutique is dedicated to recalling the words and works of former President Reagan, lest we forget what a moron he really is. A personal favorite is the fortieth President's analysis of the intricacies of Central American politics: "I went down there to find out from them and [learn] their views. You'd be surprised. They're all individual countries."
A favorite conservative myth about the Vietnam war is that the U.S. could have won, had it only possessed the political will to wage a total war against the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese army. As Reagan put it in 1965, "We could pave the whole country and put parking strips on it, and still be home for Christmas."
The withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan after a 10-year struggle against native resistance slays this pet theory. The Soviets certainly did not scruple to wage total war. They burned villages, planted toy-shaped antipersonnel mines designed to maim children and indiscriminantly executed non-combatants. Estimates put the civilian death toll at more that one million.
No television crews broadcast atrocities to Soviet homes. Students didn't take over any campuses. No Congressional doves hampered military efforts. But the Soviets still could not win.
The lesson for the superpowers is clear--conventional struggles against ideologically charged guerillas defending their homelands are doomed to failure.
Old Enough to Defraud, Old Enough to Drink: Before it reformed the procedure for obtaining a liquor purchase I.D., the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles issued an average of almost 6000 liquor purchase I.D.'s per month.
Last August, the Registry imposed stricter regulations on the issuance of liquor I.D.'s, including a requirement that all applicants be interviewed by a uniformed police officer and be informed of the $300 penalty for fraudulently obtaining an I.D. The average number of I.D.'s issued declined to fewer than 3300 per month, according to Diane Turner, a public relations officer at the Registry.
I stopped taking seriously William F. Buckley's conservative rag National Review when it called South Africa a "genuinely threatened democracy," but I still like to pick it up for a few laughs. A recent issue contains an article called "Murder in Broad Daylight," about the demise of Ivy League football. And whom do you think Hart blames for this tragedy? Liberals, of course!
"The great thing about Ivy League football," writes Jeffrey Hart, "was the vital and rich local culture surrounding it. That is why the Death Culture (liberalism) has hated it all along."
I let it pass when J. Danforth Quayle accused liberals of being anti-grandmother in the vice presidential debate. Quayle, after all, is not acclaimed for his intellectual prowess. But when a bona fide conservative intellectual (or is that an oxymoron?) accuses us of hating football, this enthusiastic gridiron fan takes offense.
Anyway, the "vital and rich culture" that Hart mourns comprises freshmen swilling booze from hip flasks in The Stadium, blind dates with Radcliffe girls (sic) and parties at the Porcellian and Hasty Pudding clubs. Some culture.
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