Life in the Old Right

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First
published in Chronicles,
August 1994.

One
problem with labeling ideological movements “old” or “new” is
that inevitably, with the passage of time, the “new” becomes an
“old” and the markers get confusing. In the modern, post-World
War II right wing, there have been a number of “news” and “olds”
over the past half-century. But what I call the “Old Right” has
an excellent claim to that label; for it was the original, oldest
right, and it was in many ways radically different from all the
rights that have followed after its demise.

The
original right of which I speak, and of which I am one of the
few survivors, stretched from 1933 to its approximate death, or
fading away, upon the advent of National Review in 1955.
The Old Right began in 1933 in response to the coming of the New
Deal. It was “reactionary” in the best and most generous sense:
it was a horrified reaction against the Roosevelt Revolution,
against the Great Leap Forward toward collectivism that enraptured
socialist intellectuals and enraged those who were devoted to
the institutions and the strict limitations on centralized government
power that marked the Old Republic.

Last
fall, David Lauter, writing a think-piece in the Los Angeles
Times about the Clinton health plan, wittingly or unwittingly
echoed Maoist terminology about this Great Leap Forward, declaring
that “every so often… the government collectively braces itself,
takes a deep breath, and leaps into a largely unknown future.”
The Clinton health plan is such a leap, Lauter noted; the previous
Great Leap was the civil rights laws of the 1960s; and before
that, in perhaps the primordial leap, was the New Deal of the
1930s, when the nation agreed “to give the federal government
a whole new set of responsibilities – from providing social
security for the elderly to establishing a new system of national
regulatory agencies to monitor the economy.”

A
fairly good summation, except that instead of the “nation” agreeing
to give powers to the government the New Deal proceeded in the
manner of all nonviolent revolutions: it was the federal government
and its new rulers that seized power, drove through a flurry of
socialistic measures, and then won “agreement” by using the levers
of propaganda and opinion-molding in society, as well as by relying
on the sheer force of inertia and habit once the new institutions
were in place.

The
Old, original, Right realized the horrors of the New Deal and
predicted the collectivist road on which it was setting the nation.
The Old Right was a coalition of ideologies and forces that did
not have one single, common, positive program, but “negatively”
it was solidly united: all opposed the New Deal and were committed
to its total repeal and abolition – lock, stock, and barrel. The
fact that its unity was “negative” did not make it any less strong
or cohesive: for there was total agreement on rolling back this
collective excrescence and on restoring the Old Republic, the
true America.

The
Old Right coalition consisted of the following elements. Most
“extreme” were the libertarian and individualist writers and intellectuals:
H. L. Mencken, Albert Jay Nock, Rose Wilder Lane, Garet Garrett,
all people who had resisted what they believed to be the mounting
statism of the Republican regime of the 1920s and who called for
an ultraminimal government that would have rolled back the statism
of the Progressive period, the Civil War and Reconstruction eras,
and perhaps the judicial despotism of Chief Justice John Marshall.
Next came now virtually forgotten remnants of the conservative,
states’ rights Democrats of the nineteenth century, largely from
the South, whose views were almost as libertarian as the first
group’s. These men were led by Governor Albert Ritchie of Maryland,
who was a candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination
in 1932, and Senator James A. Reed from Missouri. The third group
consisted of conservative Republicans who were outraged at New
Deal democracy and who largely came from the Midwest. Former Progressives
and statists, who believed that the New Deal was going much too
far, formed the final group; its leader was former President Herbert
Hoover, who, though he had launched many New Deal measures in
microcosm in his own administration, denounced the New Deal for
going too far into “fascism.” It was the first group that set
the tone, since individualist and libertarian rhetoric provided
the only general concepts with which New Deal measures could be
opposed. The result, however, was that hack Republican politicians
found themselves mouthing libertarian and antistatist slogans
that they did not really believe – a condition that set the stage
for a later “moderation” and abandonment of their seemingly
cherished principles.

Unity
in our hostility and hatreds, however, combined with diversity
of positive principle, had a healthy effect on the Old Right.
It meant that we could unite and act together in denouncing and
moving against the New Deal enemy, while disagreeing and arguing
in friendly fashion among ourselves about the kind of America
we would ultimately like to achieve. How much government did we
wish to roll back? Stop at 1932, or press onward to repeal Progressive
measures or even the centralization of the nineteenth century?
We were all committed to states’ rights, but how far did we want
to carry this view? A few libertarian extremists wanted to go
all the way back to the Articles of Confederation, but
the great bulk of the right was committed to the United States
Constitution – but a Constitution construed so “strictly” as to
outlaw much twentieth-century legislation, certainly on the federal
level.

In
those days, it was a pleasure to pore over the voting records
of right-wing Republicans in Congress, especially in the harder-core
House, for the common garden-variety rightists of the pre-1955
era make the most right-wing congressmen today seem impossibly
leftist and socialistic. My two favorite congressmen were Howard
Buffett of Nebraska and Frederick C. Smith of Ohio, both of whom
would invariably draw “zero” ratings from the Americans for Democratic
Action and other leftist groups. I remember being disappointed
that once in a while they might deviate by favoring a federal
anti-lynching bill; did they not know that the federal government
is not supposed to have any police powers?

Friendly
disagreement on positive principles meant genuine and healthy
diversity and freedom of discussion within right-wing circles.
As Thomas Fleming noted with astonishment when researching the
Old Right, there was no party line, and there was no organ or
central GHQ that excommunicated “unrespectable” members. There
was a wide spectrum of positive views: ranging from pure libertarian
decentralization to Hamilitonian reliance on strong government
within rigid limits to various wings of monarchists. And in all
this diversity and range of discourse, no one would react in shock
and horror to any “extreme” views – so long as the “extremism”
did not mean selling out the fight against the New Deal. There
was also a great deal of disagreement on specific policies that
had been open questions in the Old, pre-New Deal, Republic: tariffs
vs. free trade; immigration restrictions vs. open borders; and
what constitutes a military or foreign policy truly consistent
with American national interests.

The
Old Right experienced one big sea change. Originally, its focus
was purely domestic, since that was the concentration of the early
New Deal. But as the Roosevelt administration moved toward world
war in the late 1930s, the Old Right added intense opposition
to the New Deal’s war policies to its systemic opposition to the
domestic New Deal revolution. For they realized that, as the libertarian
Randolph Bourne had put it in opposing America’s entry into World
War I, “War is the health of the State” and that entry into large-scale
war, especially for global and not national concerns, would plunge
America into a permanent garrison state that would wreck American
liberty and constitutional limits at home even as it extended
the American imperium abroad. As anti-foreign interventionism
was added to the anti-New Deal mix, the Old Right lost some adherents
and gained even more. For Eastern Establishment anti-New Dealers,
such as Lewis Douglas, William L. Clayton, Dean Acheson, and the
Morgan Bank, embraced the entire New Deal package once it came
wrapped in the enticing trappings of American Empire. On the other
hand, antiwar progressives, originally New Dealers, men such as
Senators William Borah and Gerald Nye, intellectuals and writers
such as John T. Flynn and Harry Elmer Barnes, began to realize
that there was something very wrong with a strong state that could
expand into foreign adventures, and so they gradually became anti-New
Dealers in every sense of the word.

World
War II added foreign policy to the mix, so that by the end of
the war, the Old Right was opposed to big government on every
front, foreign and domestic. All parts of the right were opposed
to global crusading, to what Clare Booth Luce wittily labeled
“globaloney.” They were opposed to what the former New Deal historian-turned-noninterventionist
Charles A. Beard labeled the foreign policy of “perpetual war
for perpetual peace.”

There
have been many memoirs about being Jewish and growing up in New
York in the 1930s and 1940s. Although I am a few years younger
than most of the memoirists – Irving Howe, Irving Kristol, Alfred
Kazin, etc. – my experience was in many ways the same. It was great
being a Walker in the City in that bygone era. New York street
life was vital and fun. There was no harassment, no sense of crime
lurking around every corner. Whites would go up to the Apollo
Theater in Harlem to watch Pearl Bailey and other great entertainers
with no sense of fear whatsoever. There were no bums or aggressive
beggars on the street; if anyone wanted to see a bum, they could
go to a short street downtown called the Bowery, where bums or
“winos” hung out. And even they were not strictly “homeless,”
as they lived in very cheap Bowery hotels. The streets teemed
with fascinating characters hawking their nostrums and ideologies.
Soapboxes in Union Square or Columbus Circle featured any speaker
who wanted to get up and address the crowd. I remember with affection
one elderly guy working the streets in the Wall Street area, earnestly
hawking the idea that lemonade or lemon juice was the panacea
for all bodily ills. And at that time, New York was studded with
inexpensive cafeterias, where one could sit nursing a cup of coffee
for hours and either read or discuss ideas undisturbed. One guy
came to be called “Senator Mendel,” from spending most of his
hours in the Senator Cafeteria on the Upper West Side. Nowadays,
of course, such cafeterias would be filled with aggressive bums
and muggers, and quiet or discourse would be impossible.

Looking
back on it all, the discussions and arguments I got into, whether
in street, neighborhood, family, or school, were marked by an
instinctive civility and courtesy. Even though there were lots
of communists around, there were no angry squads of enforcers
of political correctness or threats to send you to brainwashing
or sensitivity training sessions. And even though I was, with
the exception of my father, virtually the only rightist I knew
personally, I was uniformly treated not with hostility but rather
with reactions ranging from astonishment to amused affection.

The
one important aspect in which my growing up differed from these
other Jewish memoirists, of course, is that they were some species
of communist or socialist, whereas I was a right-winger and bitterly
antisocialist from the very beginning. I grew up in a communist
culture; the middle-class Jews in New York whom I lived among,
whether family, friends, or neighbors, were either communists
or fellow-travelers in the communist orbit. I had two sets of
Communist Party uncles and aunts, on both sides of the family.
But more important, the one great moral question in the lives
of all these people was: Should I actually join the Communist
Party and devote the whole of my life to the cause, or should
I remain a fellow-traveler and “selfishly” devote only a fraction
of my energy to communism? That was it; any species of liberalism,
let alone conservatism, was nonexistent. And, contrary to the
fond memories of Kristol, Howe, Kazin et al., I never heard of
a Trotskyist in this period. Trotskyism was confined to a few
intellectuals and future academics; for middle-class New York
Jewry, the political world revolved around the C.P. (In later
years, there was a reality-based joke on the left: “Whatever happened
to the Old Left? The Trotskyites went into academia, and the Stalinists
went into real estate.")

The
one exception to this communist milieu was my father, David. My
father emigrated to the United States from a Polish shetl in
1910, impoverished and knowing not a word of English. Like most
immigrants of that era, he had resolved “to become an American”
in every sense. And that meant, for him, not only learning English
and making it his language, but also abandoning Yiddish papers
and culture and purging himself of any foreign accent. It also
meant devotion to the basic American Way: minimal government,
belief in and respect for free enterprise and private property,
and a determination to rise by one’s own merits and not via government
privilege or handout. Russian and Polish Jews before World War
I were swept with communist, socialist, and Zionist ideologies
and movements, or blends of the three. But my father never fell
for any of them. An individualist rather than a socialist or tribalist,
he believed his loyalty was to America rather than to Zionism
or to any Zionist entity in the Middle East.

I
grew up in the same spirit. All socialism seemed to me monstrously
coercive and abhorrent. In one family gathering featuring endless
pledges of devotion to “Loyalist” Spain during the Civil War,
I piped up, at the age of eleven or twelve, “What’s wrong with
Franco, anyway?” It didn’t seem to me that Franco’s sins, however
statist, were any worse, to put it mildly, than those of the Republicans.
My query was a conversation-stopper, all right, but I never received
an answer.

When
I shifted in early grades from the debasing and egalitarian public
school system to a private school that I enjoyed a great deal,
I found myself in another odd ideological climate. In those days,
girls of the wealthier classes were protected, and so they were
sent to a day school in New York, whereas upper-class boys were
sent out of town to boarding school. The private day school I
attended was coed, but it had difficulty attracting boys and was
in danger of falling into all-girls status. As a result, they
gave scholarships to bright, middle-class boys. The result was
socially anomalous: the girls were all wealthy, driven to and
from school in chauffeured limousines, whereas at least half the
boys were scholarship lads such as myself. Another fascinating
note was that the students were mostly, though not solely, Jewish,
whereas the staff and instructors were all WASPs. None of the
Jewish students felt oppressed by this situation; indeed, none
of us felt aggrieved when every Friday we attended chapel, nondenominational
to be sure, but singing glorious Christian hymns. None of the
Jewish students felt anything but happily assimilated into what
America – which was, after all, a WASP and Christian country – was
all about.

But
while none of my fellow high school students was a communist,
they were all left-liberals, what came to be called in New York
“Park Avenue” or “limousine” liberals – all too literally in their
case. I soon became established as the school conservative, arguing
strongly in the eighth grade against Roosevelt’s introduction
of the capital-gains tax in 1938 and later against Mayor Fiorello
LaGuardia’s left-wing policy of coddling criminals.

My
reputation as the high school rightist came in handy. In my junior
year in high school, I was the supporter, in one of those meaningless
school elections, of my friend Lloyd Marcus for school president
or speaker or whatever the post was called. We thought we would
be up-to-date politicos, so we happily had handbills printed up:
“Lloyd Marcus: Charges and Facts.” All the “issues” were trivial.
There was nothing ideological about them; only personal friendships
were at stake. But tough old Miss Birch, the school founder, scented
“communism” and “strike” at the very sign of a handbill. (Lloyd
Marcus was the son of the fabulously wealthy Bernard K. Marcus,
who had gone to jail as part of the Bank of the United States
scandal. Lloyd was indeed a “Park Avenue leftist,” but the difference
between the pro-Marcus and anti-Marcus camp was trivial and irrelevant
to the election.) The ringleaders in the Marcus camp were called
into Miss Birch’s office one by one and quizzed sternly about
“communism” and whether we were affiliated with the American Student
Union, the communist student front at that time. I assured Miss
Birch that no “strike” or Student Union thought was in any of
our minds. In the event, all of the Marcus ringleaders (including
the now-distinguished concert pianist and music historian Charles
Rosen) were expelled, except myself. The idea that the school
rightist was a commie was unthinkable.

When
I entered Columbia during World War II for college and graduate
school, the universe of people I met expanded, but the political
ambience remained the same. Everyone was either a communist or
a social democrat, or a variety of each. The only other Republican
student at Columbia was an English major, and so we had little
in common, as I was increasingly steeped in economics, both for
its own sake and because it seemed to me that the knottiest political
problems and the strongest arguments for socialism and statism
were economic, dwelling on the alleged failures of free-market
capitalism. The more I engaged in debates and discussion with
fellow students and professors, who were all some variety of leftist,
the more conservative I became.

I
was so far out of it politically on campus that sometimes I served
as a kind of father-confessor. One time, someone I knew only slightly
came to see me and poured out a tale of woe. (He was later to
become a sociologist.) “Murray, you know I have been active in
many liberal causes. Well, today, I was stunned, I don’t know
what to do. All my friends whom I thought were regular liberals
came to me and invited me to join their cell of the Communist
Party. I had no idea they were communists! What should I do? Should
I join?”

What
can you say to a mere acquaintance who spills out this kind of
confession? I do not remember how I reacted, probably with some
sort of cliché like “to thine own self be true” or “don’t
let anyone intimidate you.” I never knew what he decided, but
I am reasonably certain that he decided not to be sucked into
the C.P.

During
this period, I knew that there was a right-wing movement out there,
but my knowledge was confined to such grand newspaper organs as
the Hearst press, the marvelous New York Sun, and reports
about Congress. For a while, after the war, I was perhaps the
only New Yorker outside of libraries to subscribe to my favorite
newspaper, the Chicago Tribune, which, in the grand old
Colonel Robert McCormick era, was hard right throughout, not just
in its editorial pages but in its reportorial staff as well. I
had not yet, however, met any other rightist.

Finally,
in 1946, I discovered the Old Right personally by finding the
new Foundation for Economic Education (FEE) at Irvington-on-Hudson,
New York, where I met the movement intellectuals and activists
and was introduced to wonderful Old Right literature I had never
heard of – libertarians Albert Jay Nock and H. L. Mencken, Frank
Chodorov, John T. Flynn, and Garet Garrett – and all this very
rapidly converted me from a free-market economist to a purist
libertarian. This literature also converted me to hard-core isolationism
in foreign policy. I had never really thought much about foreign
policy, being steeped in economics, but now I realized that a
non-interventionist foreign policy was part and parcel of a devotion
to freedom and resistance to statism.

Libertarians
in the post-World War II right naturally thought of themselves
as “extreme right-wingers” amid the right-wing spectrum. There
was no enmity between us and the less extreme or less pure; we
were all happy to work together in the anti-New Deal cause: we
were trying to get our less extreme allies to be more consistent;
they were trying to get us to be more “pragmatic.” Even in party
politics, a purist libertarian like Congressman Howard Buffet
(R-NE), whom I got to know personally, rose to become Senator
Taft’s Midwestern campaign manager at the ill-fated 1952 Republican
Convention. I became a member of the Young Republican Club of
New York in 1946 and wrote its policy paper blasting Harry Truman’s
price controls on meat, which he was forced to repeal during the
1946 campaign. I was astonished in later years to see “conservatives”
hail Harry Truman as a model president: on the contrary, we opposed
Truman hip and thigh, for his domestic statism as well as for
his interventionist foreign policy. Indeed, one of my happiest
political moments came when the Republicans swept both houses
of Congress in the November 1946 election on the slogan, “controls,
corruption, and communism.” My first foray into print was a letter
I sent to the Scripps Howard New York World Telegram celebrating
the Republican victory, saying “Hallelujah!” and naïvely expecting
the Republican Congress to promptly repeal the entire New Deal.
Well they said they would, didn’t they?

The
first disillusion of many set in quickly. The National Association
of Manufacturers, before that pledged to repeal the entire socialistic
and pro-union Wagner Act, caved in, at their winter 1946 meeting,
to the “responsible” corporate elements (read the “enlightened”
Rockefeller-type forces) and changed their tune to call for what
finally did occur: not repealing but extending the powers
of the federal government to apply criteria of “fairness” to unions
as well as employers. In short: to extend government power over
labor relations instead of removing it completely. And with the
NAM acquiescence, the Republicans, led by Senator Taft (a brilliant
man but someone who was, disastrously, philosophically – and
not just tactically – devoted to compromise), went along with
this new sell-out position and passed the amending Taft-Hartley
Act instead of abolishing the entire Wagner Act. Politically,
repeal might have succeeded, since the public was fed up with
unions and strikes in 1946, and they had, after all, elected a
rightwing Republican Congress. Also in this 80th Congress, the
Republicans largely abandoned their “isolationist,” noninterventionist
principles, led by their foreign affairs committee head, renegade
isolationist Senator Arthur Vandenberg (R-MI), who managed to
establish the first, disastrous “bipartisan foreign policy,” i.e.,
global interventionism, in the post-World War II era.

Old
Right Republicans, the soul of the party, always managed to lose
the presidential nomination, perpetually stolen from them by the
Eastern Establishment-Big Banker-Rockefeller wing of the party,
who used their media clout, as well as hardball banker threats
to call in the delegates’ loans, to defeat majority sentiment
in the party. In 1940, a Morgan bank blitz managed to steal the
presidential nomination for the unknown utility magnate and leftist
Republican Wendell Wilkie from Old Right isolationist Senator
Taft and Tom Dewey, all his political life a Rockefeller stooge,
who in 1940 followed what was then the isolationist Rockefeller
line. In 1944, Dewey, now an internationalist following the Rockefellers’
shift, won the Republican nomination. He was renominated in 1948,
beating out the Old Right isolationist Senator John W. Bricker
(R-OH) for the nomination, Bricker getting the consolation post
of vice president.

As
far as I was concerned, Dewey’s nomination completed the congressional
sellout, and even though I was unhappy that Truman ran a demagogic
leftist campaign against the 80th Congress, I could not bring
myself to support Dewey. Hence, once again naïvely, I embraced
the new states’ rights or “Dixiecrat” ticket of Strom Thurmond
for president and Fielding Wright of Mississippi for vice president.
I actually believed that the States’ Rights Party would continue
to become a major party and destroy what was then a one-party
Democratic monopoly in the South. In that way, an Old Right, Midwestern
Republican coalition with States’ Rights Democrats could become
the majority party!

At
Columbia graduate school, I founded a Students for Thurmond group.
I showed up at the first meeting, which consisted of a group of
Southern students and one New York Jew, myself. There were a brace
of other New York Jews there, but they were all observers from
the Henry Wallace Progressive Party, puzzled and anxious to find
out to what extent fascism and the Ku Klux Klan had permeated
the fair Columbia campus. They were especially bewildered when
I got up at the meeting and made a fiery stump speech on behalf
of states’ rights and against centralized socialism. What was
a nice Jewish boy doing in a place like this?

I
have been asked many times whether the Old Right was rife with
anti-Semitism. Left-wing undercover operators and smear artists
such as “John Roy Carlson” had written a best-selling work, Under
Cover
, tarring all anti-New Dealers and America Firsters
with the anti-Semitic and “neo-Nazi” brush, and the reputation
of the Old Right has grown worse over the years, since, as usual,
the interpretation of history has been solely in the hands of
the internationalist winners.

The
answer to this question, however, is a resounding No. In my decade
on the Old Right, I never once encountered any anti-Semitic hostility.
It is true there were unfortunately very few Jews on the Old Right,
but those that were there – notably the great libertarian Frank
Chodorov – were widely admired and encountered no ethnic hostility.
It is true that there was a general unhappiness with the fact
that most Jews seemed to be leftists, as well as widespread opposition
to the Zionist program of driving Palestinian Arabs out of their
lands and homes, but these were attitudes that I myself fully
shared.

The
Old Right finally began to fade away over the issue of the Cold
War. All Old Rightists were fervently anticommunist, knowing full
well that the communists had played a leading role in the later
years of the New Deal and in getting us into World War II. But
we believed that the main threat was not the foreign policy of
the Soviet Union, but socialism and collectivism here at home,
a threat that would escalate if we engaged in still another Wilsonian-Rooseveltian
global crusade, this time against the Soviet Union and its client
states. Most Old Rightists, therefore, fervently opposed the Cold
War, including the Truman Doctrine, the Marshall Plan, and the
quasi-debacle of the Korean War. Indeed, while the entire left,
with the exception of the Communist Party, got behind the Korean
War as opposition to North Korean “aggression” under the cover
of the United Nations, the Old Right, particularly its hard-core
members in the House of Representatives, led by the Chicago
Tribune, opposed all of these policies to the hilt. Howard
Buffett, for example, was one of the major voices in Congress
opposed to the Korean adventure.

By
the mid-1950s, however, the Old Right began to fade away. Senator
Taft was robbed of the Republican nomination in 1952 by a Rockefeller-Morgan
Eastern banker cabal, using their control of respectable “Republican”
media. In the early 1950s, Taft himself and the doughty Colonel
McCormick passed away, and the veteran Old Right leaders faded
from the scene. The last gasp of the Old Right in foreign policy
was the defeat of the Bricker Amendment to the Constitution in
1954, an amendment that would have prevented international treaties
from overriding American rights and powers. The amendment was
sabotaged by the Eisenhower administration.

Finally,
the Old Right was buried by the advent in late 1955 of the lively
weekly National Review, a well-edited periodical that filled
the ideological vacuum resulting from the deaths of McCormick
and Taft and the retirement of other isolationist stalwarts. National
Review set out successfully to transform the American right
from an isolationist defender of the Old Republic to a global
crusader against the Soviet Union and international communism.
After National Review became established as the GHQ of
the right, it proceeded to purge all rightwing factions that had
previously lived and worked in harmony but now proved too isolationist
or too unrespectable for the newly transformed Buckleyite right.
These purges paved the way for later changes of line as well as
future purges: of those who opposed anti-Stalinist, pro-welfare
state liberals called “neoconservatives,” as well as of those
who persisted in opposing the crippling of property rights in
the name of “civil” and other victimological “rights.”

As
time passed and Old Right heroes passed away and were forgotten,
many of the right-wing rank-and-file, never long on historical
memory, forgot and adapted their positions to the new dispensation.
The last political manifestation of the Old Right was the third-party
Andrews-Werdel ticket of 1956, which called for the repeal of
the income tax and the rollback of the New Deal. Its foreign policy
was the last breath of the pre-Cold War Old Right: advocating
no foreign war, the Bricker Amendment, and the abolition of foreign
aid. The betrayal of Senator Taft in 1952 had driven me out of
the Republican Party, and after supporting the Andrews-Werdel
ticket, I spent the following decades in the political wilderness,
trying to join abortive third “Constitutional” parties and to
separate libertarians out from a right wing that I no longer recognized
and that seemed to me far closer to the hated New Deal, domestic
and foreign, than to its Old Right enemy, which I had happily
discovered and embraced in the years just after World War II.

Murray
N. Rothbard (1926–1995), the founder of modern libertarianism
and the dean of the Austrian School of economics, was the author
of The
Ethics of Liberty
and For
a New Liberty
and many
other books and articles
. He was also academic vice president
of the Ludwig von Mises Institute and the Center for Libertarian
Studies, and the editor – with Lew Rockwell – of The
Rothbard-Rockwell Report
.

Murray
Rothbard Archives


        
        

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