Amid the din of social, political, and terroristic unrest that takes up so much of the major media’s (and the Internet’s) time, there occasionally surfaces a story of cosmic importance. Earlier this year, one Dr. Steven Greer unleashed a documentary called Sirius. In it, the good doctor alleges that the US government is aware of and covering up the activities of extraterrestrials on this planet and is manipulating technology to keep the Earth’s population in bondage and out of touch with our space brothers. Thus far, his assertions are standard UFOlogy fare familiar to those of us who lighten long nighttime drives by listening to Coast to Coast AM. What makes this doc unique is that it introduces us to what Dr. Greer and his friends consider irrefutable proof of alien life: a six-inch skeletal humanoid found in a Chilean desert ghost town.

Employing a reputable scientist to examine the imp’s DNA, Greer hoped that the tyke would turn out to be an ET—the first physician to examine it thought it was a fetus. But according to the scientist—one Garry Nolan, a professor of microbiology and immunology at Stanford’s School of Medicine—the little fellow is definitely human, with a Chilean Indian mother. But the debunking ends there, for the thing is horribly deformed, with a huge head and ten (rather than the standard 12) ribs. Far from being a fetus, Nolan says he believes the wee chap bit the dust at six to eight years old.

This almost inevitably led to claims of people having reported sightings of tiny men in the Atacama Desert down through the years—though this could merely be Internet-driven gossip. But this leads me to another hypothesis regarding the remains, one that does not require the presence of space aliens. What if the thing is a mummified fairy?

Many who believe in UFOs may complain that their theories are based upon hard fact suppressed or misinterpreted by the government, whereas belief in fairies is just silly superstition. Well, maybe—and maybe not.

It could be argued that most believers in fairies today are either ignorant bumpkins dwelling in backwaters such as Iceland, the Celtic fringe, Corsica, and Maramures, or else devotees of Theosophy or the New Age. Memories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s spirited defense of the Cottingley Fairies can bring a smile to the lips even now. More modern voices, such as the Findhorn farmers who claim to raise bumper crops through fairy cooperation, do not necessarily inspire confidence. Rosemary Ellen Guiley, who has made a name for herself exploring every aspect of the paranormal, has recently begun to treat fairies (whom she now refers to by the Arabic name of djinn) as conspirators on their own. Her account makes them sound like some of the more malevolent aliens described by UFOlogists—a resemblance reinforced by her assertion that alien abductions may be laid at their door.

Regardless of how crazed these notions may seem, fairy mythology or its equivalent is ubiquitous in cultures around the globe. It is not just the work of enthusiasts such as Janet Bord that give us something to ponder. Even serious scholars such as Katharine Briggs and Pierre Dubois, after lifetimes of studying the relevant folklore and literature, admitted they were at least halfway persuaded that fairies exist.

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Whether or not the fair folk exist, human beings seem to have some sort of psychological need for them. The notion of a realm parallel to and occasionally impinging upon ours, filled with beings of great power—occasionally malevolent or benevolent toward us, but always unpredictable—with wars and dramas of their own, keeps as powerful a hold on the collective imagination as the Holy Grail or the vampire/zombie mythos. Its allure is quite as strong as any of the bizarreries that fascinate so many, including cryptids, lost continents, and anything else upon which guests on Coast to Coast AM might expound.

Taking a completely skeptical stance for the moment, let us say that all of it—from fairies to ghosts to werewolves—is utter hogwash. Why would seemingly rational people bother their heads with it all? Three reasons come to mind. The first is that interest in such matters, even among self-proclaimed atheists, is deeply connected to man’s inborn religious sense. Deny him the communion of saints, and he’ll settle for a vast Judeo-Masonic or Lizard Men conspiracy; refuse him angels, and he’ll take fairies.

Second, for all our prattle about democracy, the vast global and technocratic structure under which we live precludes the vast majority from having any real influence on the world around them, save on the most local level. The irrational provides a sort of safe haven wherein, through acquisition of special or secret knowledge, the individual can feel as though he matters. The other rubes may be taken in, but not him!

Third—well—it’s fun! Human beings seem to have a universal need to be frightened or at least unsettled by the unseen. Halloween does it for Americans, St. John’s and May Eves for Europeans, and the Hungry Ghost Festival for East Asians. There have always been ghost stories and fairy tales, and they have traveled into every medium man has invented.

I find it hard to believe there could be no flame with all that smoke. And from what I have read in Huon of Bordeaux and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I’d rather be ruled by Oberon than Obama.

Capriles Randonksi and Hugo Chavez

Although Hugo Chavez managed to beat rival Henrique Capriles Randonski in the October 2012 election, Chavez was soundly trounced by Death. Capriles Randonksi managed to gain 44.31% of the vote (the highest ever won by a Chavez opponent) and felt inspired to run once more against Chavez’s anointed successor, Nicolas Maduro, on April 14. With a mere 1.83% of the vote separating the two contenders, Capriles’s side cried fraud and demanded a recount that Maduro refused to grant them. They were not too pleased that Maduro’s supporters called them fascists—nor that his campaign propaganda showed Chavez’s face rather than his own. On April 19 Maduro was inaugurated at the Capitolio Federal and took up his tenancy at the Miraflores Palace and the presidential residence.

Rigged elections are commonplace in any banana republic. But a number of factors make this electoral outing and its aftermath noteworthy.

If Maduro does not have his predecessor’s ability to sew up his opposition without stimulating successful revolt, the country may be in for some real trouble. History is replete with regime changes following a strongman’s replacement by a less effective successor: Richard Cromwell, Marcelo Caetano, and Earl Long come to mind. Venezuela does not need more turmoil. Moreover, Chavez’s economic policies lacked one key ingredient: long-term success. If life becomes harder for the lower classes who were the backbone of Chavez’s support, it will become much more so for Maduro.

Capriles—for all that our government would be uncomfortable with his interior policy—would no longer pursue the anti-American road that made Chavez such a welcome guest in Havana and Tehran. This is perhaps why (despite the alleged widespread voter fraud in our own last two elections) the Obama Administration has said they will not recognize Maduro as president unless there is a recount. The OAS has seconded this call.

If Capriles has indeed won the election and peacefully takes control, then the “pink tide” of quasi-socialist leaders in Latin America may have reached its apogee. Certainly the Colombian government would be happy, since Capriles has vowed to help them with the FARC rebels in that country. But if Maduro retains control—or loses it thanks to a coup or revolt—American prestige in our sister continent will drop even lower and the pink tide will rise higher.

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Many Americans will be unconcerned by this development—as we tend to be by most occurrences south of our border, unless they send us hordes of refugees. This attitude has always been unwise, and never more so than now.

The election of the Archbishop of Buenos Aires as Pope is an earthshaking example of Latin America’s ascendance on the world stage. Where the birthrate of the native-born in Europe, North America, and Australia continues to plummet, that of Latin America continues to grow, albeit not as swiftly as in years past. The presence of Argentina shows their increasing economic importance—and from this arises the call for Brazil’s admission as a permanent member of the UN’s Security Council.

It is in the vital self-interest of the Western nations that Latin America’s people be governed by economically sane leaders firmly grounded in their national traditions. Those in North America and Europe charged with determining their governments’ relationships with the Latin American nations need to study the history and current conditions of those lands carefully. This is necessary even though the religious, social, and cultural views of these worthies may run counter to those held in the West’s presidential palaces, chanceries, and parliaments.

Perhaps the ballot box has become incapable of producing leaders with the vision necessary for national survival. But if this is not the case, let us hope that Maduro permits a recount and either governs in a more conciliatory manner than his hero did, or else he allows Capriles to take power peacefully. The last thing Caracas, the United States, or the world at large needs is a civil war in Venezuela. A bloody disruption of another oil-rich country would be disastrous.

Kamala Harris

For the first time since Ronald Reagan flew via helicopter off into history in January 1989, I have felt enthusiastic about a US president. To my tremendous—and short-lived—surprise, Barack Hussein Obama evoked this outburst of presidential fervor. Since I despise the man and all he stands for, this was quite a shock. Nevertheless, his description of California State Attorney General Kamala Harris as “by far the best-looking attorney general in the country” was spot-on, although I can understand why Floridians claim that title for their own Pam Bondi. It may be the first simple statement of truth that we have heard from this administration. Fortunately for my peace of mind, he apologized—thus allowing me to sigh in relief and happily accuse him of cowardice.

But the adverse reaction was astonishingly shrill. Over at Salon, Joan Walsh whined that the remark “turned [her] stomach.” Slate‘s feminist schoolmarm Amanda Marcotte declared that even “benevolent sexism” such as the president’s was a danger to the body public. At Jezebel, Katie J. M. Baker screeched, “Women put up with enough unsolicited attention as it is; the president of our country doesn’t need to legitimize the practice by piling on.” Patt Morrison, arguably the dullest columnist in the Los Angeles Times’ primarily tedious stable, declaimed, “how many times have women squirmed as they’ve had to listen to men make remarks like this, clumsy efforts at a compliment that wind up sounding embarrassing and even demeaning?” Reading this sort of stuff, one feels trapped in a sort of living First World Problem meme.

President Clinton avoided this issue by surrounding himself with the sort of women even he wouldn’t bed: Janet Reno, Madeleine Albright, and Donna Shalala. Then again, as we often hear, Washington is Hollywood for ugly people, so his opportunities were somewhat limited. Well-remembered are his remarks while gazing upon “Juanita,” a mummy on display at the National Geographic Museum: “You know, if I were a single man, I might ask that mummy out. That’s a good-looking mummy.” As America’s real Teflon president, not a feminist voice was raised against him.

This all underlines how stupid the ever-declining tone of American political discourse is today. Just when you think things are as dumb as they can get, they dropkick you down to the next level—further and further away from anything real. I think it is time to shed some reality on the topic. This will be unpopular, so be warned: Beautiful women are beautiful. They really are.

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Much of the TV program Mad Men’s appeal is derived from the ladies of that era, which was the last time when ladies were unashamed to flaunt (and use) their femininity. A lovely, well-built woman in a flattering dress, appropriately made-up and walking in a feminine manner was a joy to behold. Oh, dear gentlemen any younger than me—what you have missed! “Standing on the Corner (Watching All the Girls Go By)” was not merely a song but an enjoyable pastime.

Then came the cold frost of the late 60s and 70s. When it was done, women dressed like men and men dressed like slobs. The ladies even walked in masculine fashion—perhaps because few were trained to wear high heels. Etiquette too went out the window—no more rising when a woman came to the table or holding the door so she could pass through. Yet curiously, in movies and magazines more female flesh was exposed than ever before. Pressure mounted on the poor dears to “put out” on the first date—among many young people today this is considered routine. But merely praising feminine beauty might well be considered sexual harassment. To use presidential metaphors, one is expected to sleep with anything (like Clinton) while avoiding praise of loveliness (like Obama). In other words, women are supposed to be invisible trollops and men oversexed geldings. With such mixed messages, women in combat and same-sex marriage almost make a twisted sense.

Is it too much to point out that men and women are different? That biologically, emotionally, and psychologically, they are very different? God forbid we should notice the obvious. No doubt the horror of Starship Troopers, with its utterly unisex military service, is our future. But surely in some way, at some point—possibly on annual weeklong retreats—men might admire women as women, and vice versa?

It may be that our glorious-though-fragile global civilization requires total collapse before natural behavior can be restored. I hope not—apocalypses are so annoying. But regardless of what happens, nature shall reassert itself eventually. Woman needs man and man must have his mate—despite how many presidents apologize.

It is not a pleasant time to be French. New head of state Francois Hollande promises to be the most ridiculous president ever to occupy the Elysee Palace. Why such a harsh judgment on the dapper gent from Correze? Oh, where does one start? His 75% tax on all incomes over one million euro was ruled unconstitutional in the closing week of 2012 by the country’s Constitutional Council. Since the reason it was rejected is that the tax would allow some millionaires to escape (it only affected personal incomes over a million as opposed to households’ cumulative incomes), Hollande has vowed to come back with an even more draconian measure. Designed to eliminate the country’s massive deficit, it will instead drive wealth out of the country.

This measure might seem appropriate given that His Excellency is a socialist. But he is also a member of the country’s administrative elite, having been spawned upon an unsuspecting world by those top-drawer bureaucrat factories, the Institut d’Etudes Politiques de Paris and the Ecole Nationale d’Administration. A fallen-away Catholic, he was shacked up with for 30 years and begat four children with his classmate at the ENA, Segolene Royale. Mlle. Royale is also a socialist politician and was the party’s standard-bearer in the 2007 presidential election. A week after her defeat, their separation was announced. In keeping with his own flexible views on marriage, Hollande has promised to introduce gay marriage and adoption into France in 2013–the former measure allegedly attracting the approval of 65% of Frenchmen.

But what of the remaining 35%? Some are Muslims, to be sure. But the bulk are Catholic, and so fearful of his former co-religionists does the president appear to be on this issue that, in response to a coming national demonstration on January 13 against the alteration of marriage, he and his minister of education have warned Catholic schools not to discuss the issue–a warning the head of the Catholic school system has gleefully disregarded.

The truth is that in both cases we are seeing the latest clash between two Frances: what French political writer Charles Maurras dubbed the “legal country” (secularist) and the “real country” (Catholic), a split which emerged after the French Revolution. To be sure, these two countries occupy the same geographical space; but in many ways they are as foreign to each other as Turkey and Greece. Nor is it a question of conventional right versus left. Both the defeated President Sarkozy and his chief rival for control of the “conservative” UMP, Dominique de Villepin, emerged from the same millieux that produced Hollande and Royal–de Villepin was classmate to both of them at the ENA.

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But the “other French,” as Georges Bernanos called the denizens of the real France, have not vanished from the field despite their lack of political representation in the organs of political power. Some are dispossessed Pieds-Noirs and their descendants, and a few hold dear the memory of Marshal Petain. But most adhere to one or another of the various strands of French Royalism: Action Français, Legitimism, the Alliance Royale, and many others. They read journals such as Rivarol and Chire. Divided as they are over such things as the succession dispute between the Senior and Orleans branches of the House of Bourbon, they do come together over certain things–without a doubt they will turn out in force on the 13th.

They will remind their countrymen that it was France’s monarchy and Church that created her, and that there is another path than that which the nation’s current oligarchy has led her down. If the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Louises led personal lives worthy of Messrs. Hollande and Mitterand, they never dreamed of altering marriage itself, let alone confiscating 75% of the income of any of their subjects, rich or poor. For such believers as these, the republican and secular path shall lead France to utter ruin–national extinction and sharia law.

Every nation of Europe suffers the same division that Maurras saw in France. Regardless of what one thinks of either altar or throne, sheer demographics dictate that these nations must change their course or die.

Image of flag courtesy of Shutterstock

Just in time for Christmas, the latest British census shows that since 2001, when 72% of the UK’s denizens claimed to be Christians, the quotient has dropped thirteen percentage points. Muslims have increased in number from 1.55 million to 2.7 million. The percentage of those who claim to have no religion leaped from 15% to 25%. This opens up some very serious issues.

Institutionally, the United Kingdom remains wedded to the varieties of Christianity her rulers imposed at the Reformation. The Churches of England and Scotland remain established; the Queen remains head of one and chief layperson of the other. The monarchy is closely tied to its religious bodies, what with royal peculiars, chapels royal, and such ceremonies as the Royal Maundy Service, the Epiphany, and above all the Coronation. Her Majesty’s Christmas Message is often far more inspiring than many a church sermon. Chosen by the government, the Archbishop of Canterbury acts as a sort of national chaplain, while he and some of his brother bishops sit in the House of Lords. The Speaker of the House of Commons has his own chaplain, and prayers for the Queen are read at the beginning of each day’s session in both Houses of Parliament. Every city and town in the realm has a civic church where an annual service is held for the benefit of mayor and council, and each regiment of the army has its own prayer. During this season of Advent, it seems that every imaginable institution from Land’s End to John O’Groats has its own carol service.

How then, in the face of all of this institutional piety, could Christianity have been dealt such a blow in the last decade? A quick and nasty response might be that this religious pomp is entirely meaningless—akin to our own American ceremonial deism, with its attendant Pledges of Allegiance, “In God We Trust” on the coins, invocations of the deity in our oaths and state Constitutions, and the Christmas and Easter observances at the White House. All of these, in the pithy words of Mr. Justice William Brennan, “…have lost through rote repetition any significant religious content.”

An equally nasty comment could be—as has been pointed out in these pages—that the Anglican (and in Scotland, Presbyterian) “Christianity” of the British establishment is hardly Christian at all, being merely a way of blessing what the elites want. Today that means reversing oneself entirely upon what Christians have always believed regarding marriage and family, salvation, and dozens of other issues. The Alice in Wonderland-like debates regarding female bishops and homosexual marriage reveal churchmen unconcerned with eternal truth and hell-bent on smashing any opposition to their innovations.

Most of England’s Catholic leaders have tried since Vatican II to imitate the Anglican leadership as much as possible without publicly rejecting either the Old Man in Rome or their less enlightened constituents. Part of it came from the Catholic global hierarchy’s terrible misapprehension that the elites’ Anglo-American liberalism was somehow gentler and more reasonable than the continental variety, with its revolutions and anticlericalism. That the two were different in degree rather than kind simply could not be imagined in 1963; it is less difficult today. But it is a hard thing for older folk—clerical or lay—to accept. 

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The growth among Muslims is easy to understand. Allow a people to enter the country freely who still reproduce naturally—while you have lost the knack to do so—and this is what will happen. But the growth in atheism and agnosticism speaks not only to the incompetence of the country’s religious authorities, but also to the evil-mindedness of her media and education elites. It is a universal complaint made of government education throughout the Anglosphere that it does not teach history, civics, or literature well. All three of those things, from Sydney to New York, from Cape Town to Toronto, and from Wellington to Birmingham, shriek of Christianity. The entire wealth of British and European culture is a testament to Christianity’s truth, and all the atheists from Nietzsche to Hitchens could not between them equal its beauty—though the Nazis and communists have shown what European non-Christians in power can build. Powerful belief will motivate more than mere self-interest, which is why even the most disbelieving of Western governments happily patronize military chaplaincies.

The dilemma is not restricted to Britain. But despite the gains made by fanaticism on one hand and ignorant skepticism on the other, there are signs of hope. Some of the Catholic Church’s more orthodox British members—such as Fr. Aidan Nichols in his Christendom Awake and The Realm—are beginning to think of ways to reconvert their country. An important step in that direction has been the creation of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham for disaffected Anglicans who have rallied for Rome to preserve a coherent British Christianity.

Although anti-popery has become as British as bad cooking, it would be well for Britons of whatever belief to hope that these initiatives bear fruit. Otherwise they may have to seek out the numerous Middle Eastern Christian refugees in the country for dhimmi survival tips.

Image of Westminster Abbey courtesy of Shutterstock

It’s happening again. Once more I begin to like a new TV show and it is canceled in a single season. My affliction goes back to the mid-70s, when Kolchak: The Night Stalker and Ellery Queen bit the dust in rapid succession.

This year there are two of them: ABC’s 666 Park Avenue and Last Resort. Granted, shows about a demonic Manhattan apartment building and a renegade sub and its crew might seem farfetched. But the writing is good and the themes—the limits of trust and loyalty and how much one is willing to suffer for a cause—are worth exploring intelligently. Fortunately, my other freshman fave, CBS’s Vegas, seems to be doing well—but given my track record, its stars might do well to keep an eye out for other employment just in case.

Probably 2010 was the worst recent year for my curse. Persons Unknown, The Gates, and—most notably—Happy Town were quick goners.

I do not have cable. This is a conscious choice. I will not get it for fear I would do little else than stare at the tube all day, a bit of saliva dribbling out of the corner of my mouth. So the networks and PBS provide the bulk of my TV experience, and as a result I have a great deal of time to get things done. The reality shows turn me off, but unlike the mystery and supernatural shows I like, they are seeming immortals: Survivor is happily looking forward to its 26th season in twelve years.

For me, sitcoms have been unwatchable since All in the Family made them relevant, and with the exception of Jeopardy, so are game shows. I grimly watch network news in the same spirit with which I continue the daily foray into the Los Angeles Times. It’s important to know what one is supposed to think. Daytime TV is worse, as soap operas are replaced by imitations of the hags from The View.

It may be that I have been cursed—that some character from Bewitched or Dark Shadows waved her wand at me. The superstitious part of me wants to believe that, but the truth may be darker still.

Could it be that at one of the annual meetings of the Bilderberg Group, the CFR, B’nai B’rith, the Freemasons, or the NAACP, an order was sent out from Conspiracy Central to corrupt the minds of America and the world by canceling any show that might make its audience think? This hypothesis makes an awful lot of sense, given the downward spiral in the nation’s political, cultural, and moral state. Moreover, the plan’s fiendish ingenuity is shown by the fact that the networks have agreed to commit hara-kiri in slow motion, offering ever more programming that ever fewer want to see. Thus ever more go to cable where a garden of delights awaits to snare the unwary. For consumers of garbage, there lurk more flesh and temptresses in the guise of Snooki manqués. Culture vultures and the terminally nostalgic will find all they need there. Our insane crypto-rulers shall soon reduce the vast majority of Americans to zombielike couch potatoes.

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Attractive as this theory is, it unhappily has a couple of flaws in it. First, even if all of the groups named above have indeed banded together in this unholy enterprise, together with the British monarchy, the Holy See, the Bank of England, the Jesuits, the Club of Rome, the Mont Pelerin Society, the United Nations, and the Mohawk Valley Chamber of Commerce, one important factor is missing: compulsion. Assuming for the moment that the vast conspiracy is indeed using both cable and network television to turn us all into Round Table-programmed robots, their agents are not as yet going door-to-door in the guise of Jehovah’s Witnesses and forcing us to watch bad TV. The second problem is one of sheer logistics, but one could respond that with their untold resources stockpiled in Mount Weather, Raven Rock, Area 51, and similar secret locations, they can do anything.

There is a still darker solution to the conundrum, which is that network and cable-TV executives program what they think will sell to the great American public—and that for the former, this means immediately canceling any show that isn’t bringing home the Nielsen bacon. Moreover they are hampered because they cannot go for the soft porn that cable can. It is a symbiotic relationship: The more crud that is dished out, the more the public demands to sate its appetite. But ultimately, as with soft drinks and recreational drugs, it is the consumer who decides how he wants to ruin his physique and aesthetic.

Which brings us to the situation’s truly horrifying reality: We are ultimately the arbiters of our entertainment, and as a group we prefer crap! We may condemn both our culture and our real or imagined rulers for what is offered, but we have only ourselves to blame for our choices. So if there is nothing on any of the billion TV channels you want to watch, turn to YouTube.

If that palls, go to Google Books, Project Gutenberg, or the Internet Archive and read all the classic works of fiction and nonfiction you did not get in school. You may well enjoy it.

The sovereign people of these United States have spoken. Barack Obama has been reelected president of the Republic, and the Man from Kolob has been sent on his way. I would not have been much happier had Romney won. But Republicans may take comfort in the fact that they will have no responsibility for the next four years’ events, unless the Mayan calendar puts us all out of our misery on December 21. That might be best for all of us.

The problem is that our head of state is inheriting a bankrupt nation from himself—though said bankruptcy has been decades in the making. In such a position, governments generally either: a) inflate the currency; b) deflate it into a depression; or c) go to war. For reasons known best to themselves, modern rulers seem to prefer the last alternative. I fear that His Excellency may feel compelled to follow in their train—we’ll need a lot of bayonets and horses to break through to Tehran.

Infanticide and alternative matrimony shall become ever more prominent, and those who oppose such things will be increasingly uncomfortable. No doubt the Catholic Church’s struggles with the state will increase. Still, given that a majority of those claiming to be Catholic voted for Obama, it must be said that these worthies will reap what their predecessors in the purple sowed in terms of poor moral and political leadership.

It is a gift from above that Obama defeated his rival handily in the popular as well as the electoral vote; otherwise it would be the turn of so-called “conservatives” to advocate abolition of the Electoral College. The left has long called for the College’s abolition based on the notion that it is undemocratic. It would have been sad to see historically ignorant Republicans embarrass themselves by echoing this rant. Since the 1913 change in the Senate’s makeup, the College has been the sole effective constitutional remnant of the states’ sovereignty.

Speaking of the states, the electoral map for 2012 appears to reveal the formula for a new War Between the States, with the Old Confederacy (save Virginia) and most parts of the Great Plains and Great Plateau states pitted against the Northeast and the Far West. But when you look at a map of how the counties voted, the pattern is more complex. The cities, together with rural counties of primarily black, Hispanic, or Indian populations, went for Obama. The white rural counties tended to go for Romney regardless of the state. It is not merely the country as a whole that is severely divided. Each of the states is, too, and that does not bode well for the future. The Republicans could reach out to minorities on social issues: In 2008, California’s mostly Hispanic Imperial County turned in the Golden State’s highest majorities for both Obama AND Proposition 8. But since the GOP’s leadership does not really disagree with the Democrats—whatever their base may think—this is a resource that will remain untapped.

Here in California, the 2012 election proved that all is well in this Happiest Place on Earth. Not only did our undead governor get his tax proposition passed, the Democrats won a supermajority in the state Senate and appeared about to do so (there are still three undecided seats) in the Assembly. Having over two-thirds of both houses will allow them to tax anyone or anything they wish with abandon. Still reeling over their ban on foie gras, I can only imagine what the legislators will do with their newfound freedom from restraint. Even if business continues to leave the state in droves, Sacramento will be a fun city indeed.

Los Angeles County had a few propositions of her own, of which the most exciting was Proposition B. Taking the porn industry under its maternal wing, the county under this measure requires that sex-industry workers wear condoms and that film sets are subjected to inspection by county authorities. Opponents replied with libertarian arguments. No one questioned the morality of the trade itself, since years ago a court ruled that while having sex for money without a camera was prostitution, doing it with one was not. One supposes that smart hookers keep their cell phones in photo mode. The proposition passed overwhelmingly.

So what are we to make of our deeply divided nation? The evil-minded would declare that we have become a country consecrated to infanticide, sodomy, confiscatory taxation, and foreign wars. The good and virtuous would maintain that we are an enlightened nation that has safeguarded reproductive and civil rights, are about to force the rich to pay their fair share, and are trying to spread democracy throughout the world. The separation between these two narratives grows greater every day. I fear the effect that national bankruptcy may have on these fault lines.

Countries and cultures come and go. It may be that the United States is on its way out, Mayan calendar or no. We leave behind some good—if not spectacular—contributions to world civilization: the Broadway musical, the Golden Age of Hollywood, and jazz come to mind. They’re nothing on the level of Roman law or Greek philosophy, but they’re worthy achievements nevertheless. There are worse things to leave behind, as the Carthaginians could tell you.

Madonna Ciccone

While the Northeast begins pulling itself out of the disaster that was hurricane Sandy, America now faces the horror of the presidential election. But another force of nature attempted on the previous Saturday to influence the coming electoral rite—Madonna, our very own “material girl.” While in concert in New Orleans, she harangued the crowd by declaring, “I don’t care who you vote for, as long as it’s President Obama.” She was booed for her pains.

Madonna has been booed twice before during this tour. On August 29, she received the same treatment from her Philadelphia fans for starting an 8 PM show two and a half hours late. The previous month, Parisians did the same thing—in this case because they had paid 280 euros for what turned into a ten-minute speech and 45 minutes of performance. So what’s up with our gal?

Madonna Louise Ciccone is a distant cousin of mine. Not only was her maternal great-grandmother a Coulombe—we are related in at least five different ways. So her antics throughout her career have alternately depressed, disgusted, and saddened me. Her various reinventions have seemed to be a perennially desperate cry for attention—and to be “relevant.”

In her 1991 documentary, Madonna: Truth or Dare, what emerges is a little girl lost, constantly trying to compensate for her early loss of her mother and her distant relationship with her father. The most revealing scene for me is that while playing the eponymous game with her backup performers, she declares that the great love of her life was Sean Penn. Considering their marriage’s violent nature, it speaks volumes.

This is a lady with problems, as her very public marital, religious, and political issues constantly show us. Her…um…romantic life has included such worthies as Warren Beatty, Tony Ward, Vanilla Ice, Carlos Leon, and Guy Ritchie. A cradle Catholic, she has often blasphemously misused the Church’s imagery, though shortly after Lourdes’s birth I recall her telling an interviewer that she was raising her child Catholic because it is the true faith. After that, she began her famous connection with LA’s Kabbalah Centre. Her political stands have been just as outrageous, echoing in their way Sean Penn’s, whose own quest for relevance has led him to venues as diverse as Hugo Chavez’s arms and making videos for the UN.

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Madonna’s recent travails have worked to her advantage. She has gotten more press coverage for being booed than anything else she has done in the past few years. She is a shrewd businesswoman, and if her recent gaffes have not been the result of a partial meltdown, they are coolly calculated.

If she has planned it all, she truly is relevant for this election year, but NOT in terms of her presidential choice. Rather she becomes a potent symbol of what this nation’s political life has become. Distortions of traditional symbolism mixed with meaningless new rituals become vehicles for a message as radical as it is trite. All of this bears a clear resemblance to electoral campaigning, and it means as much. The difference is that presidential and congressional candidates play the game for far higher stakes.

So too with Madonna’s spiritual quests. One of our national culture’s many vagaries is that while the myth of separation between Church and state has grown to where the judiciary will seemingly not rest until the last cross is plucked from veterans’ memorials and every town square is manger-free at Christmas, most of us still demand personal belief from our politicos. We do not usually care what that belief is, so long as they have one. Although more and more of us claim to be spiritual rather than religious, we expect our presidents to attend services of some kind—this year’s clash of the titans is between an adherent of generic black Christianity and a Mormon. All of this doctrinal confusion is mirrored in Madonna’s mix-and-match religiosity.

Madonna’s free sexual lifestyle reflects the passion pit we call Capitol Hill. We go back to the electoral trough every two years, just as Madonna’s devotees always will, no matter how much she may shortchange or harangue them. Our leaders know we are suckers in the same way Madonna understands her own fan base. I pray that Madonna may one day head back to some sort of sanity, but I fear she accurately reflects our society and our leaders too much for that to ever happen.

Image of Madonna courtesy of Shutterstock

Having just gone through the third of the medicine shows we call presidential debates, it is something of a relief to go from the ridiculous to the sublime. For the Catholic, that means pulling one’s attention away from banal music and insipid sermons (to say nothing of pedophile priests and clerical gay-marriage advocates) to the saints. Seven more were added to their number by Benedict XVI on October 21, 2012.

When a person is canonized, it does not mean simply that the Pope liked their life stories. Nor is it a political statement, though beatifications or canonizations may annoy those in power. One remembers the government and media fury that greeted the elevation of Spanish, Mexican, and Chinese martyrs, Pope Pius IX, and Emperor Charles I of Austria to the altars.

But canonization in the Catholic Church is a rigorous process requiring several steps. The person’s writings (if any) and life are scrutinized carefully for any hint of scandal or heresy. Outside pressure can delay this stage, as has happened with the causes of Queen Isabel of Spain and Fr. Leon Dehon, whose memories have been attacked with charges of anti-Semitism.

Once this stage is completed, the individual is declared to have lived a life of “heroic virtue” and is then given the moniker “Venerable.”

Now comes the spooky side of things. To prove the individual is in heaven interceding for the faithful, miracles (usually medical cures) must be proved to have come about through prayer to the person in question. For a cure to be deemed a miracle, doctors must certify that it was impossible according to modern medicine; non-Catholic doctors are preferred for this role today. In themselves, these things would be great fodder for paranormal cable shows. When one such miracle is approved, the individual is beatified; two more (though it may be reduced to one) and the ceremony of canonization ensues. Each one of the October Seven went through this process.

It is said that there is a different saint for every personality type and position in life. The current crop certainly fits this bill:

Fr. Jacques Berthieu was a Jesuit missionary in Madagascar who was killed by anti-French rebels for refusing to give up his faith.

Pedro Calungsod was a 17th-century Filipino lay catechist who went to Guam to assist a missionary. When pagans attacked, he refused to flee, dying by the priest’s side.

Fr. Giovanni Battista Piamarta was a 19th-century Italian slum priest who founded two religious orders and several different institutions to help the industrial poor.

Sr. Maria Carmen Sallés y Barangueras founded an order of teaching sisters in Spain.

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Sr. Maria Anna Cope, a German-American immigrant, went to Molokai to help Fr. Damien with the lepers and died there.

Anna Schäffer was a German mystic and stigmatic who was confined to her bed after an accident yet still performed miracles while alive.

For Americans and Canadians, the most exciting is probably Kateri Tekakwitha, the “Lily of the Mohawks.” Converted by 17th-century French missionaries, she was shunned by her own people and left what is now New York state for a Catholic Mohawk village in Canada where she lived as a sort of lay nun. After her death, Kateri’s fame spread—thanks to her example, 50 years after her death a convent of sisters of noble Indian birth was opened in Mexico City. In the 20th century, Catholic Indians increasingly sought her patronage—though some of the AIM school of history tried to hijack her image in the same way they attempted to blacken Fr. Junipero Serra’s. Regardless, she has become a cornerstone of American Indian Catholicism—and strangely enough, patroness of Taiwanese aborigines.

All of these seven were missionaries—even bedridden St. Anna Schäffer, who had wanted to be a missionary sister before the accident that left her bedridden. As the Pope said in his sermon at the time, “these new saints, different in origin, language, nationality and social condition, are united among themselves and with the whole People of God in the mystery of salvation of Christ the Redeemer.” He also noted that the day happened to be “World Mission Sunday.” Many observers remarked that the rituals observed were partly a return to past tradition. The most obvious sign of this was Benedict’s wearing of the fanon, a papal vestment rarely seen since Vatican II.

While none of this is overtly political, the canonizations do have political overtones. Since the Council, the Church has appeared to be like an automobile company urging potential customers to take public transportation. It has been the age of Kennedy Catholicism, of dialogue rather than conversion, of decay rather than growth. But Benedict XVI has spearheaded an attempt to reverse all of this, which goes under the broad title of “the New Evangelization.” Under that banner, all sorts of efforts from trying to reconcile the SSPX to the first few fitful attempts to evangelize the Muslims have been mounted. Any success in these areas will certainly infuriate people—especially the powerful—in and outside the Church. But I suspect the seven saints would approve.

The 107-year-old Variety publications have been sold to the Internet-based Penske Media Corporation. Weekly Variety, daily Variety, and Variety Broadway are all falling into the maw of the owner of Nikki Finke‘s Deadline.com. They were sold for $25 million, down from the asking price of $40 million.

Hard-copy periodicals have been hemorrhaging readers and revenue over the past decade. Variety‘s attempt to go digital has also gone south, primarily because of its pay-per-view policy.

Ever since 1905, when vaudeville reviewer Sime Silverman founded it to offer “honest” news on America’s then-favorite entertainment, the Variety family of publications has been an entertainment-industry mainstay. One of my earliest memories is watching Jimmy Cagney as an aged George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy translating the enigmatic Variety headline “STICKS NIX HICK PIX” to a group of young people.

This unique lingo has always been one of its hallmarks, introducing Americans to such terms as “payola,” “boffo,” and “striptease”; studio execs were called “toppers,” Western films “oaters” and “hoofers,” and so on. Having similar roots to the wisecracking New York lowlife dialect that Damon Runyon made famous, it gave readers the illusion of being part of some sort of in-group.

But merely being an institution is not enough to survive. Fueled by the Internet, people want their information far faster than print media can produce it, and they want it for free. Variety’s great rival, The Hollywood Reporter, realized this in 2010 when it gave up being a daily trade paper and morphed into what it is—a weekly glossy magazine, daily PDFs, and a constantly updated online news site. Deadline.com, although lacking its rivals’ venerability and dialect, is the news source for young industry professionals today.

Jay Penske has announced that all will stay the same at Variety for the foreseeable future, except that the website’s paywall will go down. Oddly, when his other property, Deadline, sent a reporter to cover the town-hall meeting he conducted at Variety‘s offices at which Penske made these announcements, the journo “wound up escorted from the building by security before it began.” What could this commitment to hard print mean?

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It might be mere nostalgia on his part—though Jay, youngest son of automotive millionaire Roger Penske—has never seemed overly nostalgic. Or else he may think Miss Finke, described as “cutthroat” by some—and who famously said that today’s sitcoms should replace their pretty women with ugly ones—either needs reining in or some in-house competition. Certainly she is no mere gossip columnist like Louella Parsons or Hedda Hopper, nor does she have their fashion sense. Neither is she Army Archerd or scandal-ridden George Christy. Penske may plan to revitalize Variety by putting Nikki into its mix—or even at the helm—an outcome many fear in this town. But as Steve Randall opines, there may not be that much to fear: Even TMZ and Perez Hilton have been absorbed into the establishment.

Whether we like it or nor not, the entertainment media form a huge part of our national psyche. And many decisions are made on the basis of what “toppers” read in the trades—online or offline. For its many faults, Variety has been at least a nominal link with earlier and better days.

The transfer of news media online—including entertainment trade journals—must inevitably push our culture’s dumbing-down further in a weirdly symbiotic race to the bottom. Print journalists had to actually research stories and do real fact-checking. The deep temptation for all of us who write on the Net is to be sloppy. Where do we get our content? Often enough from elsewhere on the Web. This is not a problem for opinion-based writing, but it is lethal for solid journalism. To look purely to other blogs and official statements for information (it takes time to do even that) can slant or ruin a story.

It costs much more to maintain old-style journalists. The bottom line will dictate print journalism’s extinction. Eventually, the fire in Nikki Finke’s belly will be slaked by the rewards of conformity, and toppers will read what they want to read. “Boffo box office” shall go the way of the journal that spawned the phrase, and in time the movie industry will collapse as television continues merging with the Net.

In the same way that movies, television, and radio emerged from the wreck of vaudeville, so the Net is emerging as some weird, all-inclusive form of infotainment. The real question is not whether its content will be stupid, prurient, and soul-killing, since that seems foreordained; it will be whether it can generate money. Whatever form it takes, something under the name of Variety will be along for the ride. I hope there is something in it worth reading.

The Middle East and Asia occupy most of our foreign-policy interest these days, but relatively little attention is paid to our most important dangerous foreign contact: Mexico.

That isn’t to say that Mexico doesn’t call forth a lot of comment—usually about illegal immigrants, anchor babies, smuggling, and drug cartel killings. But all those things obscure a central fact—Mexico is a real country with problems all its own. Although it is dirt poor and does not restrict Americans’ entrance into the country when they come to shop, drink, or whore in border towns, it is a different country with its own history, politics, and outlook.

America is willing to invest time, blood, and treasure in countries half a globe away with whom we have little or nothing in common. But geography, history, economics, and demographics dictate that we shall have an increasingly symbiotic relationship with Mexico whether we like it or not.

We need to keep several cogent facts in mind about our southern neighbors if we are to deal with them effectively. The first is that they are close. Poor border control has made parts of Big Bend National Park and southern Arizona virtual no man’s lands. This power vacuum poses an enormous terrorist threat. At least the same amount of energy that goes into scoping out Iran’s or North Korea’s nuclear arsenal needs to go into securing our southern border.

Sealing off Mexico and bringing illegal immigration to a standstill will not, however, solve anything beyond immediate security concerns. The loss of those immigrants’ cheap labor would have an enormously negative effect on California’s economy, depriving countless politicians of nannies to underpay. It would also exacerbate the demographic implosion the immigrants have partially offset. But the elephant in the room—the replacement of Anglos by Hispanics—would be delayed rather than stopped.

There is, especially here in the Southwest in areas first settled by Spain and then ruled by Mexico, a fear that one day they’ll get their land back. This is exacerbated by the Indigenista mutterings of Aztlan proponents such as the Chicano activists I met while attending CSUN.

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Our policy makers need to study Mexican culture and history, then try to understand the often nefarious role the United States has played down there. They need to know the Royalists as well as the Revolutionaries in the Wars of Independence; the damage that Joel Poinsett did and the greatness of Lucas Alamán; that backing Juarez first against Miramón and then Maximilian was a very poor plan; and that supporting the PRI against the Cristeros was criminal. They need to understand the Sinarquistas and the founders of the PAN.

Understanding our own contributions to making her the basket case of a nation that she is and the unique pride that Mexicans have in their country will help our leaders understand whom they can work with to help Mexico live up to her potential after her own manner.

It is essential that the cartels be destroyed, the country’s economy be allowed to pick up (and perhaps thereby slow the northward population stream), and the church/state and Indian/Hispanic rifts at the heart of her soul be somewhat healed.

The United States needs a strong and stable partner in Mexico, not a mere source of cheap labor and raw materials. If the Mexicans coming northward leave a strong civil society behind, they will be far more of an asset to this country and less a source of fear for the dwindling numbers of native-born.

Or our rulers may continue as they have done, with one ill-conceived opportunistic scheme for amnesty or repression after another, while ignoring the problem to our south. In that case, Mexico’s fraying social web will tear completely, and sooner or later ours will follow. Even if we one day build a wall along the border, it will be no more effective than Hadrian’s if the situation to the south is not under control. The Mexicans are indeed at our gates; whether they will be barbarians or not depends a great deal on us.

Image of painted door courtesy of Shutterstock

The Obama regime’s official explanation for the murder of our ambassador to Libya and three staffers amid the destruction of our Benghazi consulate—that it was spontaneous and quasi-legitimized by an anti-Muhammad film—seems to be unraveling. But perhaps more importantly, it points out the insanity that has been US foreign policy from Morocco to Afghanistan since World War II.

Dubya dubbed this policy the “global democratic revolution”—the idea that given the right combination of idealistic leadership and US-supported regime change, the Middle East’s civic life would magically transform into that of Ray Bradbury’s Green Town, Illinois. To these dreamers, 2011’s “Arab Spring” seemed proof that in the Islamosphere, American-style rule of law was right around the corner. But even as their ears were oblivious to the dying cries of Iraq’s Chaldean and Assyrian communities, so have they been to those of Coptic and Syrian Christians. One would think the death rattles of American diplomats might at least catch their ears, but no such luck.

Due to religious and cultural histories too complex for the average American politico or bureaucrat to understand, the Muslim world is mind-numbingly fragmented. Internal peace in any given region or country has inevitably been imposed from outside. As the topmost clique in each was small and usually alien, the rulership was constrained to govern through and with coalitions of minority groups—a pluralism dictated by necessity rather than ideology. This pattern was disrupted by the West’s growing power, culminating in the Ottoman Empire’s defeat in World War I and subsequent deposition of the Sultan and Caliph.

Then followed the first of three waves of Westernization. This wave saw various traditional rulers that the West—especially the British and French—either raised or reinforced. Among them were the rulers of Morocco, Libya, Egypt, Tunisia, Iraq, Jordan, Iran, Afghanistan, Yemen, southern Arabia, and the Persian Gulf states. There was much to criticize about these regimes: no separation of religion and state; hereditary monarchy; minority rule; inefficiency; suspicion of modern education; rampant cronyism; limits upon freedom of speech, religion, and the press; and governmental legitimacy founded on legends rather than elections. But what these criticisms failed to understand is that in this region, majority rule inevitably means minority oppression.

And so we helped bring to power in various countries people such as Nasser, the Ba’ath Parties, and Gaddafi—they were Westernization’s second wave. They initially had much to recommend them to American policy makers. These revolutionaries broke down old aristocracies and tended to be secular rather than religious. They introduced the form—if not the substance—of republican government. They had a few small drawbacks. So long as the Soviet Union lasted, they were often pro-Soviet; they too were forced to rule through minorities; and as their regimes aged, they tended to become ever nastier in terms of bloody repression. So throughout the past two years, we have encouraged their overthrow in the “Arab Spring” and its aftermath.

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Thus we now have a third wave of Westernization. This one is very Western in the sense that its proponents are at home with our technology and have attempted to transform Islam itself into a Western-style ideology. Just as with imperialistic Euro-American ideologues, they are extremely intolerant of other ideologies—in this case, religions.

Our leadership must do something probably impossible for them: They must see reality as it is and act upon it. Their relentless hatred of first-wave folk (most recently expressed by Mr. Bush in Afghanistan) needs to be reversed, and the remnants of first-wave adherents must be supported as well as we can. So too with minorities persecuted under the third wave—not only Eastern Christians, but Druze, Alawites, Mandaeans, and Zoroastrians. Moreover, we must explore and exploit divisions within Islam normally invisible to secular-minded policy makers. This includes identifying potential allies—the Sufi and other groups such as the Bektashi, Naqshbandi, and Ismaili—who eschew violence against “unbelievers.” Our policy should also support Shia in Sunnite countries and Sunnis in Shiite ones. 

Above all, we must give up forever the dream of remaking the Middle East. Rather than transforming the region into Ohio, we should concentrate on making it livable for its people on terms they can accept. A good example of what our State Department ought to be working toward is Jordan. Kings Hussein and Abdullah have both been canny survivalists, managing to hold onto power while maintaining a pro-Western political stance. Claiming descent from Muhammad, Jordan’s Hashemites are deeply rooted in Islamic tradition, yet their minority policy is quite enlightened. Aiding the welter of such nationalities and beliefs would be better than anything we have done so far.

Image of mosque courtesy of Shutterstock

While most geopolitical fears are focused on the Middle East, it would be wise to also keep an eye on the Far East. There are no less than five major territorial disputes agitating the area, two of which have heated up in recent weeks, and all of which present potential headaches for the United States.

The first concerns the fabulous Senkaku Islands. Tiny and virtually uninhabitable, the little specks northeast of Taiwan are anchored in a large stretch of water believed to be rich in natural gas deposits. Contested over by Japan and both Chinas, the conflict was dormant until the United States surrendered control of the region to Japan in 1972. The Japanese government leased their claims to a private company, which they then forbade from developing the islands. But things have heated up since the emperor’s men recently bought those claims back. On the Chinese mainland, there has been rioting in major cities; Japan responded by closing down its factories there. The rhetoric is heated and the conflict is likely to escalate, despite the economic woes both sides will face.

Japan is also at loggerheads with South Korea over another obscure group of islands, in this case the Liancourt Rocks in the Sea of Japan. Inhabited by two South Korean fishermen, in August the islands were treated to a visit by South Korean president Lee Myung-bak. In response, Japan withdrew her ambassador and attempted an appeal to the International Court of Justice, which Seoul torpedoed. There were the requisite riots and protests in both countries, and North Korea declared her support for her southern neighbor despite ideological differences.

Japan is also feuding with Russia over the Southern Kurils. Japan maintains it did not surrender control after World War II as it did with the rest of the chain. After the Soviet Union fell, there was speculation that Russia might sell the disputed islands to Japan. Not only didn’t this happen, but in February of 2011, Moscow reinforced them. Internal political need in either country could always reignite tensions over these islands.

Mercifully, Japan is not involved in conflicts over two other island groups that are thought to sit atop vast energy resources: the Paracel (both Chinas and Vietnam are feuding) and Spratly (those players plus the Philippines, Malaysia, and Brunei).

One might well wonder why there is much jumping up and down over small bits of real estate with relatively little to justify the potential costs in wresting control of them. The reason, in a word, is identity. All the players have to prove to their peoples and themselves that they are not betraying their pasts.

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For Japan, which never went through any sort of “de-Nazification,” there is currently a surge of nationalism that is not restricted to its traditional adherents. In addition to maintaining traditional Imperial ceremonies and Shinto’s role in public life (including government officials at rites in controversial shrines such as Yasukuni and Meiji), this movement calls for revision or denial in the way that school curricula and society view such episodes as the Rape of Nanking and the comfort women. Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda must somehow placate these views, especially in light of the upcoming election he faces. But they drive the Chinese and Koreans crazy.

The Chinese have a lot over which to be driven crazy, and the dispute with Japan serves to let off a great deal of steam over internal problems. On the mainland, October will see enormous changes as seven of the nine politburo members step down at the 18th Party Congress; this will be mirrored by alteration in presidency and premiership at the National People’s Congress the following March. Traditionally, such changeover periods have been unstable. In Taiwan the Kuomintang, back in power after eight years in the wilderness, is anxious to retain both its Chinese roots and Taiwanese relevance. Both Chinas tacitly cooperate in upholding mutually agreed upon territorial boundaries. In either case, Chinese nationalism must be served, for very different reasons. Since Japanese apologies over wartime misdeeds are not forthcoming, saber-rattling over the islands will do.

The Koreas face similar identity issues to China, exacerbated by both North Korea’s basket-case nature and the memory of outright colonial status under Japan. MacArthur probably did South Korea no favors by not reviving the country’s monarchy in 1947, though it has come into a strange sort of half-life via palace restorations and the revival of military and religious rituals. As with China, internal divisions can be assuaged by trying to twist the Japanese tail. North Korea may also feel the need to reassert its independence in the face of mainland China’s threats over Pyongyang’s nuclear arsenal. The North’s creaky economy may stimulate either revolution or conflict with South Korea to stem off that possibility. But in the meantime joining Seoul in its struggle for the islets gives a veneer of pan-Korean unity and deflects Japan’s annoyance over the kidnappings.

Despite their shared cultural and religious background, with its heavy Buddhist influence and mutual reverence of the Confucian scholar-gentleman, the three peoples’ interaction is reminiscent of Europe. China, a major continental power with an ancient culture its neighbors revere and more recent political weaknesses they despise, plays the role of France. Japan, an island empire obsessed with trade, is Britain. Korea, alternately conquered or influenced by the other two, is Ireland. Whereas the two World Wars obliterated nationalism’s fires in Western Europe, in Northeast Asia they burn as hotly as those of Europe did in 1914. A wrong step by someone and an obscure little island may one day acquire as much notoriety as a certain dumpy provincial town in Bosnia.

The two major national party conventions trotted out this year’s brightest and best as if they were displaying prize pigs at a county fair. Highlights included Clint Eastwood haranguing an empty chair and Obama getting a character reference from the most noted perjurer and adulterer ever to occupy the White House.

Whichever candidate wins, billions will have been spent getting him there. Voters will again comfort themselves that they voted for the lesser evil. The beat will go on to ruin: continued economic collapse, demographic implosion, war abroad, and social, cultural, and moral decay at home—with neither party able nor willing to combat the evils from which they benefit.

Grim as the picture appears at the national level, state and local politics are as bad or worse. My own undead Governor Brown, Chicago’s now mercifully retired Daley, Jr., and Philadelphia’s gutless wonder, Frank Rizzo, Jr. are all samples of once-great political dynasties gone to bad seed.

On some deeply instinctual level, most of us—regardless of political views—have a feeling that something, some life force, has gone out of public and private life.

What is that force? Leadership. When I was a boy, the world was filled with leaders—reigning or recently retired—who epitomized their countries. De Gaulle, Churchill, Adenauer, De Gasperi, Chiang Kai-shek, Franco, Salazar, De Valera, Pinochet, Sato, Perón, Menzies, Diefenbaker, and even the UN’s Hammarskjöld. Whether in office through the ballot box or a coup, these lads guided their lands through perilous times. In my time, the closest we came on a national level was Ronald Reagan, a giant among the pygmies of late-20th-century presidents. All these leaders were able and memorable.

There are several reasons why neither ballot boxes nor military coups create such folk today. The first is our culture’s abandonment of the aristocratic principle. With the exception of Reagan (who nevertheless could play the part), all of these men came from the higher ranks of society. By itself that means nothing, or Paris Hilton would make a fine president. But in the period which produced these leaders, the strata from which they sprung held up certain ideals to its members: chivalry, noblesse oblige, gentlemanly behavior, courtesy, and self-sacrifice—phrases which now are held to be laughable slogans with which the rich of old covered their greed.

Another problem is education. Westerners today of all classes are incredibly ignorant. Because of the Internet, this should be the great age of the autodidact. But without the skills acquired from a decent education, and with no real will to learn, we usually comfort ourselves with our favorite blogs and profit little from what is easily available.

Although most people ignore the world’s great digitized libraries, at least they love Internet gossip. Imagine if such stuff had existed during World War II. Winnie’s background and peccadilloes would have bounced him out of the running for Downing Street as soon as TMZ got ahold of them. Evils are often exposed in this manner, but good is frequently stifled as well. After the media laughed itself silly over Prince Harry’s naked posterior, the Prince has gone on to risk said posterior in Afghanistan, where some of the locals are looking to give him a special welcome. Few of the media (save field reporters) would take such chances with their own precious skins.

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Despite all the resources now at our command, we do not wish to be informed. Jefferson saw that our system would fail without an educated electorate. We take the media as gospel, or at least those parts that reinforce our greatness in our own minds. We despise all traditional fonts of authority, preferring the flattery of demagogues.

Classical education, while doubtless sexist, racist, and speciesist, imparted its graduates with more than knowledge of Latin and Greek. It taught critical thinking, lent historical and literary depth to one’s judgment, and gave one the mental discipline and desire to learn other things—which is the reason college graduation is called “commencement.” With those tools, such folk who went into government, the military, and any other endeavor requiring leadership tended to have stamina and adaptability.

Compounding our problems is the almost universal confusion of authority with power. Authority is the right, based upon legitimacy, to say what ought to be done, while power is the ability to make things happen. Traditionally, those in power had to at least pay lip service to the wielder of authority for the right to exercise that power. A shadow of this remains in constitutional monarchies today.

But in modern republics such as our own, the source of authority is “the people” as expressed in the ballot box—a source so diffuse as to be meaningless. Where even Tony Blair had to pretend to humble himself by kissing hands (an action the far more talented Churchill was proud to do), the mob’s attendant adulation upon a candidate’s election reinforces his usually delusional sense of excellence. Power becomes authority, and the ruler is free to alter anything he chooses within his purview—even the nature of marriage or the definition of “human being.” But if the ruler bases his policies on his own mental constructs without regard to reality, it shall crush both him and his people.

We moderns reject aristocracy, insisting that our rulers reflect our ignorant selves, whereas 19th-century workmen dressed elegantly even while digging ditches. The more casual our elites appear, the more we like them, which frees them further from doing anything uncomfortable.

People of any ability today tend to pursue anything other than public service. Perhaps some economic, political, or medical catastrophe will fire up the peoples of the West to demand better leadership. Or it may be that sociological pessimists such as Spengler were right: This is what happens to old civilizations, and ours is dying. But if Spengler is to be proved wrong, leaders and led alike must see that full bellies, sated gonads, and endless entertainment are not enough. The codependency of mediocrity between rulers and ruled must be broken. Otherwise the dour comment of Proverbs will be fulfilled once more: “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” Regardless of how leaders ascend to rule, even those with vision are useless if their people do not share it.

Image of abandoned throne courtesy of Shutterstock

Phyllis Diller

The Grim Reaper thinned the herd of baby-boomer entertainment icons this summer. Ernest Borgnine, Andy Griffith, Phyllis Diller, William Windom, and—ahem—Scott McKenzie made up a huge chunk of 1960s entertainment. The first four were mainly television standbys, and the last was a prophetic musical voice of, well, something or other.

Ernest Borgnine seemed to be immortal. Marty established his ethnic street cred and his ability to play big and ugly. Airwolf showcased his longevity. But it was McHale’s Navy that seared him into the minds of young boomers drinking at the TV font. He portrayed a wisecracking and clever naval officer who always got one over on the brass. Borgnine was himself a naval veteran of World War II. It always struck me how his generation relished making fun of the war that defined them. It is hard to imagine sitcoms based on Vietnam or Afghanistan rousing such merriment in their survivors, even if such shows could be produced.

Andy Griffith was a horse of a different color entirely. Whereas Borgnine was an edgy ethnic urban, Griffith was Southern-fried cornpone. He unleashed Mayberry, NC upon an unsuspecting populace in The Andy Griffith Show. While others were dealing with integration and Vietnam, Mayberry’s citizens and their wise-but-slow-talking sheriff ambled good-naturedly through life (though I always found Floyd the Barber scary in a pedophilic way). Apparently in real life Andy was not always so pleasant, at least according to some of his costars. He could be positively creepy, as in Pray for the Wildcats.

Despite his New York City birth, William Windom radiated a Midwestern down-to-Earth quality melded with wistful desperation. Trekkies adored him as Commodore Matt Decker of the USS Constellation in the Star Trek episode “The Doomsday Machine.” My favorite of Windom’s performances was in Night Gallery’s ”They’re Tearing Down Tim Riley’s Bar,” a poignant exercise in middle-aged madness. The episode featured two now-deceased friends of my family in supporting roles. It was Windom at his most autumnal. The World War II paratrooper’s saturnine performance is a perfect counterpart to McHale’s relentless joviality. But Windom could be quietly humorous, as he showed in his rendition of a James Thurber manqué for My World and Welcome to It. He later appeared as the curmudgeonly Dr. Seth Hazlitt in Murder, She Wrote.

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The only lady of our Death Quintet was Phyllis Diller. She was everywhere during the 60s—cameo appearances, variety shows, game shows, the sitcom The Pruitts of Southampton, and celebrity roasts. The costumes, makeup, hair! Her message was that she didn’t care, and neither should you.

These four were already established or at least on their way when the 60s dawned. As they made their way through the era’s turmoil, they were already adults—they were our parents’ generation in so many ways. They were funny and they were sad, but they were adults. As with the rest of their peers, they had passed through the ice and fire of the Depression and World War II, taken their licks, mourned their own dead, and kept on. From that experience came both as light and frothy a comedy and as heart-wrenching a drama (for the actors among them) as the world has ever seen.

Our last decedent was quite different. In many ways, one-hit wonder Scott McKenzie was the 60s. Certainly, his “San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)” has been referred to as a “generational anthem” so often that there must be something to it. When driving through the Bay Area I invariably wind up singing it, and it seems to capture how the Haight-Ashbury folk would want to be remembered. The song’s video seems like a paean to eternal youth. Yet compared to that of his elders, McKenzie’s evocation of Bayside utopia seems like an insubstantial dream - the idealism of the inexperienced versus the richness of reality. What is most unfortunate is that, despite the passage of time, both the entertainers and political leadership of McKenzie’s generation still seem locked in that far-away youthful dream; they have not really acquired any substance. Oddly enough, McKenzie’s death was due to a condition that Andy Griffith overcame back in the 80s. 

With the older quartet, many feel despondent at the passing of our parents’ generation and the unpleasant realization that for better or worse, we are the adults now. With Scott McKenzie, it is the unwelcome reminder that the same fate awaits us all. When our time comes, I hope we shall have entertained as well as our predecessors did, even if we have to grow up first to do it.