Pete Hamill - Piecework

Afrocentrism, for example, is not multicultural. As preached by men like New York’s City College professor Leonard Jeffries Jr., it is a segregation of the mind. It is also a fraud. As Václav Havel said in 1990, as part of his struggle against the Endgame impulses of Communists and anti-Communists: Lying can never save us from another lie.

In the raging battle over education, Endgamers like Jeffries are now demanding the right to peddle lies. Literature and history have common intentions: to discover the truth about human beings. They can’t be shaped by a creed, an ideology, or a thesis; they can’t be wrapped in the straitjackets of political fashion. Stalinist novels were not novels; they were tracts. Hitler’s movies were not art; they were propaganda. Mao’s poetry is the stuff of wall posters. There have been great Marxist historians, including our own Eugene D. Genovese, but they didn’t alter the facts to prove the thesis. In the end, history should be history, not an alibi.

“If some Kleagle of the Ku Klux Klan wanted to devise an educational curriculum for the specific purpose of handicapping and disabling black Americans,” wrote Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr., “he would not be likely to come up with anything more diabolically effective than Afrocentrism.”

Most purveyors of this therapeutic nonsense attack their critics as racists. But the basic trouble with infusing kids with racial or ethnic chauvinism is that it doesn’t even work as therapy. Instead of feeling better about themselves, most of these kids come out of the process seething with bitterness. And this being the United States, anger and rage are followed by the need to blame. Hell, it can’t be my fault.

The demands for reparations and revision go on and on, spilling into the newspapers, then amplified by talk radio and television. As presented, there is no solution, because the apocalyptic demand is for the alteration of the past or a surrender of intelligence or an assumption of guilt by the living for the crimes of the dead. But resolution really isn’t the point of all this sound and fury. Fragmentation is the point. Segregation is the point. Conflict is all. We’re Americans. We have been conditioned to prefer conflict to boredom. We prefer violence to talk. We prefer war to peace. We prefer lies to the truth. Clear the board, citizen: We’re reaching Endgame.

The Endgame culture of cynicism and bitterness is, of course, best observed in Washington. The genius of the American system has been its ability to compromise. We learned from the fratricide of the Civil War that a failure to compromise could unleash the darkest, bloodiest impulses in the American character. Over the years, we developed in Washington a nonideological style that helped us avoid direct conflict. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost; politics was a long season, like baseball, in which even the greatest hitters failed six times out of ten. Most of the time, the system worked. Slowly. Tediously.

There were human reasons for this. The state was founded on a document, not evolved through a long, shared common history; its principles and promises were abstract. But after 1890, the nation was populated by huge numbers of Europeans who were different from the original British settlers. They were Catholic or Jewish; they often spoke languages other than English or were illiterate farmers. In one big country, they joined the survivors of the slaughter of the Indians, liberated slaves, conquered Mexicans. To meld them into a unified nation required immense efforts of mediation and compromise on the part of the agents of the state. The greatest task was to make the idealism of the Constitution real for every citizen; the alternative was the kind of deep, abiding cynicism that eventually eroded the Communist states, which also had idealistic constitutions. This wasn’t easy. Along the way, there were unspeakable crimes against the newcomers, uncountable social offenses, bloody riots, and the horrors of the Civil War. But slowly, decent, intelligent men and women created a living nation from the abstract principles of the state.

That agonizing process created the twentieth-century American political style. The most effective politicians — Sam Rayburn, Everett Dirksen, Lyndon Johnson, Robert Taft — employed a basic courtesy in dealing with their opponents. They disagreed on many things. They were capable of immense vanity. They knew that in the end, politics was about power. But they didn’t think it necessary to destroy the enemy. The enemy was over there: Hitler, Tojo, Stalin. Those who swung the broadswords of racism or ideology at other Americans — the Joe McCarthys, the Bilbos and Eastlands — accomplished nothing. They were cheap, vulgar men — ignorant, parochial, and cynical. They never rose to higher office because the American people would not have them. The tougher men who truly changed the country, who moved it along, who made it better, did so with a clarity of vision and a certain amount of grace. They were mercifully free of the Utopian instinct. They were always willing to settle for half a loaf. And they each in their own way did think about what was best for the country. They were, after all, Americans before they were Texans or Ohioans or Democrats or Republicans. They respected the contract. They respected the presidency.

That era is behind us, perhaps forever.

Look at what is being done to Bill Clinton.

I don’t think Bill Clinton is the greatest president we’ve ever had. But I know he is certainly not the worst. This is a country, after all, that elected Warren G. Harding once and Richard Milhous Nixon twice. But from the moment of his election, Clinton has been subjected to the most sustained campaign of personal abuse of any president in memory. No rumor, no allegation of promiscuity, goes unprinted. Jerry Falwell, an alleged man of God, peddles videos that virtually accuse Clinton of murdering Vincent Foster Jr. A newspaper for which I used to work ran a series of stories about the same case that put quote marks around the word suicide. The implication was clear: If Foster didn’t kill himself, he must have been murdered. Aha! A movie plot! Melodrama!

While reporters were chasing around after Whitewater, Gennifer Flowers, various state troopers, Paula Jones, and God knows who else, Clinton was actually accomplishing a few things as president. The Republicans linked arms in a spirit of mindless obstruction, led by Dole, but Clinton somehow managed to get an economic plan through Congress, cutting the deficit for the first time in a generation, creating more than four million new jobs. He got NAFTA passed, doing so in opposition to organized labor and Ross Perot. He finally won passage of his crime bill, too, directly challenging the National Rifle Association. He lost on health-care reform, overwhelmed by the Endgamers who spent millions on attack ads and refused to join the process of compromise. He couldn’t overcome the Republican filibuster on campaign reform and lost that, too; Dole continued to make the world safe for lobbyists and cynicism. But in some real ways, the country was in better shape than it had been on the day he took office. Unemployment was down. The economy was stronger. The stock market was healthy. In the Middle East, South Africa, Northern Ireland, the forces of peace and conciliation were winning the day, supported by American policies and actions.

And yet Clinton is the most hated president in memory.

His reluctant intervention in Haiti was an example of the process. Jimmy Carter, Colin Powell, and Sam Nunn worked out a deal that would allow American troops to go into Haiti without shooting. The junta of Raoul Cédras would give up power on October 15. The deposed president, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, would return to power and serve out the term to which he was elected in the only free election in that nation’s agonized history. For a few hours, most sane people thought this was a rational solution to a miserable situation. At least American soldiers wouldn’t have to go in shooting. And some of them wouldn’t have to die.