But today, a lot of that’s been bulldozed in Mercury. The place turned ghost town after October 1992, when the U.S. government ended 41 years of nuclear testing at the adjacent Nevada Test Site (NTS).

Oh, there’s still some activity at the test site. Just not enough to sustain a bustling settlement like Mercury once was. The Department of Energy (DOE) now markets NTS resources to private sector customers for hazardous chemical testing, environmental remediation development, and continued defense-related support.

And one day a month, the site opens its gate to nosey visitors like me who wonder what an expanse the size of Rhode Island looks like after a hammering by 928 nukes.

"What in blazes do you expect to see out there — giant ants?" a drinking buddy asked me.

"Not sure," I confessed. But a childhood of "duck and cover" civil defense films and an eccentric interest in historic awfulness had me primed for a daytrip to America’s former atomic proving ground.

So one morning last week, I was "badged" in Las Vegas by the DOE’s National Nuclear Security Administration Nevada Site Office. Then I joined two friends and several dozen other tourists on a long, hot bus ride up dusty Highway 95 to what’s left of Mercury, the gateway to The Most Bombed Place on Earth.

"Remember, no cameras, binoculars, tape recorders, or cell phones," said our guide, retired DOE employee "Bob," when we finally reached security Gate 100.

The sign above the entrance to Mercury and NTS innocently reads "An Environmental Research Park." After a quick stop to pick up water at the still-operating Mercury Cafeteria — "CAUTION: Microwave in Use!" a bright sticker warns ironically on its glass door — we continued north, crested a ridge, and descended into the "outdoor laboratory" called Frenchman Flat.

The first Nevada tests began at Frenchman Flat on January 27, 1951, when one-kiloton Able was dropped from a bomber. Within ten days, four comparable detonations in the Operation Ranger series shook the flat. Two years later, in a one-of-a-kind test called Grable, a 280mm mobile atomic cannon fired a 15-kiloton bomb seven miles into the area; "test troops" sat in trenches about two and a half miles from the blast. Nineteen tests — 14 atmospheric and five underground — were held at Frenchman Flat.

In Frenchman Dry Lake, our bus wound through trash and wreckage, "nuclear relics" from 1957′s Priscilla. That project tested the effects of crushing pressure and heat created by a 37-kiloton device suspended from a balloon and discharged 700 feet above the ground. Fifty years later, gray dust still blows among the ruins of concrete and aluminum domes. Skeletons of long, low, partitioned "motels," built from a range of materials, bake in the sun. A Mosler bank vault lies not far from Priscilla’s ground zero, its outer layer of reinforced concrete peeled away by the nuclear flash. A piece of train trestle stands nearby, its I-beams twisted like silly putty.

Bob told us that in Priscilla, animal pens were set up at measured distances from the explosion. Most of them held live pigs to find out the effect of radiation on their skin. "Pig skin is very similar to human skin," Bob explained. "Some of the animals were dressed in flight jackets to see if clothing would protect soldiers from burns."

A dark-haired woman across the aisle caught my eye. "Pretty horrible, huh?" she muttered.

We drove further north to reach Yucca Flat, the site’s largest, most active region. Before the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1962 prohibited atmospheric testing, 86 aboveground tests were performed here. They were driven literally underground after that, and more than 400 subsidence craters dot the flat like a Swiss cheese.

Our driver steered us 80 feet down into the 1,800-foot-wide Bilby crater, named for a 249-kiloton underground test in September 1963. The nuke was buried 2,400 feet, within the water table so scientists could analyze the resulting water contamination. Bilby’s jolt rattled Las Vegas 30 seconds after its detonation.

But the "showcase crater" is Sedan, accepted to the National Register of Historic Places in 1994. A few miles north of Bilby, it was produced during the Plowshare Program in the early 1960s, when the government considered using atomic bombs for the peaceful purpose of excavation. Bob explained that a 104-kiloton device was detonated 635 feet underground, generating a seismic shake equal to a 4.75 magnitude earthquake. It displaced some 12 million tons of earth and left a hole a quarter-mile in diameter. An overlook platform sits at the crater’s edge, and for the only time, we were allowed to step off the bus for a peek 320 feet down to the bottom. (Fun fact: Sedan was visited in 1970 by the Apollo 14 astronauts because of its likeness to the lunar surface.)

Back onboard, Bob pointed west toward a fenced off section. "About a mile over there," he said, "is the site of Smoky, a 1957 atmospheric test. Shortly after that test, 700 American troops took part in maneuvers around ground zero." Bob didn’t mention that a study later showed those soldiers were severely irradiated during the exercise. Radiation levels at the Smoky site are still considered dangerous.

As we turned south and began heading back to Mercury, we passed the blackened, battered shells of two houses from 1955′s Apple II civil defense test. A whole town had been assembled in the area, including school, firehouse, utility grid, and radio station — a total of 19 structures. All were fully furnished. Food was laid out on kitchen tables. Manikins were clothed and placed inside and alongside the buildings. Then a 29-kiloton nuke, mounted on a 500-foot tower, was set off a mile or so away. Film footage from tests like Apple II was used in the old Federal Civil Defense Administration movie Operation Doorstep and the 1982 documentary Atomic Café.

A few miles down the road, we paused at the last official point of interest: the open-air wooden viewing bleachers that mark News Nob. Journalists and even NATO dignitaries watched mushroom clouds billow over Yucca Flat from this "safe distance" in the 1950s. A Department of Energy PR handout reprints reporter John Kerigan’s eyewitness account of Charlie, a 31-kiloton atmospheric test conducted on April 22, 1952:

"You are waiting at News Nob, the rocky hill some ten miles from the spot on the dry salt bed of Yucca Flat where the bomb will be dropped soon. A pair of specially designed sun goggles is in your hand. You are waiting for the signal to put them on; to see the first atomic explosion ever made public in the continental United States.

"As you wait, you wonder. What can you say that will be different from the stories of the other newspaper reporters, the television broadcasters, and radio commentators? …

"Now you grow tense. You have been given the u2018get ready’ signal. Miles away, you see approaching the airplane that will drop the bomb that will release more energy than the ones exploded during the war.

"You put on the dark goggles, turn your head, and wait for the signal.

"Now — the bomb has been dropped. You wait the prescribed time, then turn your head and look. A fantastically bright cloud is climbing upward like a huge umbrella.

"The rest is anti-climax. You brace yourself against the shock wave that follows an atomic explosion. A heat wave comes first, then the shock, strong enough to knock an unprepared man down. Then, after what seems like hours, the man-made sunburst fades away."

From News Nob, we returned to Mercury and back through Gate 100, where radiation detection equipment scanned the undercarriage of our bus. Then we proceeded to Las Vegas.

God willing, the only atomic mushroom clouds I’ll ever see in my lifetime will be in History Channel specials and sci-fi movies. I didn’t spot any giant ants last week at the Nevada Test Site. But I did look out across the dry lakebed of Frenchman Flat and the pockmarked desert floor of Yucca Flat. I saw for myself the vast fields of nuclear debris. The ruins. The craters. I glimpsed shadows from a ghastly Cold War era when many Americans were panicky enough to plant bomb shelters in their backyards.

And like newsman John Kerigan, I wonder, what can you say?

Maybe just "Pretty horrible, huh?"

Wally Conger [send him mail] is a marketing consultant and writer living on California’s central coast. He has been a non-political, anti-party activist in the libertarian movement since 1970. His blog of unfinished essays and spontaneous eruptions on politics and culture can be found at wconger.blogspot.com.

First, columnist Vin Suprynowicz crossed Batman with samurai freedom-fighters to produce his powerful The Black Arrow. A short time later, Claire Wolfe and Aaron Zelman launched the terrific RebelFire 1.0: Out of the Gray Zone, the first in a projected series of "young adult" novels about freedom and self-reliance.

Now here comes The Traveler, by first-time novelist John Twelve Hawks. While it’s not as explicitly libertarian as The Black Arrow, nor as well written as Out of the Gray Zone, it’s still an exhilarating addition to the growing catalog of freedom fiction.

In quick summary, The Traveler takes place in a post-9/11 future (maybe 15 minutes from now) where there is "the appearance of freedom with the reality of control." Every person’s actions are tracked by the Vast Machine, a complex web of computerized information systems accessed constantly by government, large corporations, and even "benign" nonprofits like the Evergreen Foundation, a front for forces interested only in world domination. Most people surrender to (or choose to ignore) this 24/7 monitoring of their lives in exchange for false security from terrorism and street crime. But some prefer to live "off the Grid," away from the prying electronic eyes of the Vast Machine.

Upon this backdrop, author Twelve Hawks presents the riveting story of a centuries-long battle between those who want to control history (the Tabula, or Brethren) and those who value the human spirit and seek freedom (the Travelers and their warrior-guardians, the Harlequins). As one character in the novel reveals, "The facts you know are mostly an illusion. The real struggle of history is going on beneath the surface."

All of the computer surveillance technology portrayed in The Traveler actually exists and is based on the author’s research. Regular visitors to LewRockwell.com won’t be surprised by many of the novel’s revelations about the end of privacy, but most other readers will be startled by them.

The Traveler may seem at times a hodgepodge of science fiction, spiritual prophecy, and conspiracy thriller, laced with smatterings of The Matrix, popular videogames, and Kill Bill. But it never loses its footing. It’s a solid, fast-paced corker of a novel. And its heart is certainly in the right place. The bad guys are as dark, bureaucratic, and authoritarian as they come. And the good guys…well, all they want is a world where they can be left alone to live, love, and create. (Several scenes in the book even take place in an "off the Grid" community called New Harmony. Shades of Galt’s Gulch!)

Unlike the recent Suprynowicz and Wolfe/Zelman novels — both published by small publishing houses with tiny marketing budgets that rely heavily on the kindness of online reviewers and libertarian bloggers — The Traveler comes from a publishing giant and has an aggressive marketing campaign behind it. I first read about the book and its author a few weeks ago in a splashy USA Today article, and then visited a handful of official websites publicizing it. (One of the novel’s characters even writes her own blog.) Doubleday’s PR department is busily promoting the author as an "off the Grid" celebrity who’s unwilling to do the traditional book tours; "John Twelve Hawks" is a pseudonym, and the writer only talks to his editors by satellite phone or through the Internet. I also hear that a major movie studio has optioned the book.

All of this hype may deter you from buying and reading The Traveler, or from eventually pursuing the two sequels already planned. Don’t let that happen. With its compelling warnings about the Security State, its "secret history" point of view, and its hardcore advocacy of liberty, this novel deserves to be a bestseller. (It has reached #13 so far on the New York Times bestseller list.) Buy a copy for yourself, and then buy copies for your friends.

This is the closest we’ve been in a long time to seeing a libertarian-leaning novel break into the mainstream in a big way. And nowadays, we need all the effective media tools we can muster.

Wally Conger [send him mail] is a marketing consultant and writer who reluctantly lives “on the Grid” along California’s central coast. His blog of unfinished essays and spontaneous eruptions on politics and culture can be found at wconger.blogspot.com.

And
so, throughout the 60 Holmes adventures – four novels and 56 short
stories – the master detective deduced the personal habits, qualities,
and philosophies of hundreds of people by studying everything from
their ashtrays, to their felt hats, to their breakfast dishes.

I've
always thought you can tell a lot about someone by examining their
bookshelves. But I believe even more can be determined when
you observe which books are stacked on a person's bedside nightstand.
There lie the books they read again and again, the books
that give them comfort and inspiration, the books they live with
and live by.

So
which volumes will you find at the bedsides of those who write for
LewRockwell.com? This would make an intriguing study for even Sherlock
Holmes. And yesterday, I took time to consider which books have
spent the most time – sometimes years – sitting on my own
night table.

In
no special order, here are the books I found:

Up
From Slavery, by Booker T. Washington

When
I'm tired of boo-hoo-hooing about the day's news and need an attitude
adjustment, I read a chapter or two from this great autobiography,
written in 1901. Without fail, it puts my day-to-day problems in
proper perspective.

Born
a slave, Washington taught himself to read, fought discriminatory
laws, and preached personal responsibility and the spirit of enterprise.
For that reason, you don't usually find Washington or this book
cited by contemporary black leaders. He wasn't a libertarian, but
Booker T. Washington consistently advocated self-help and shunned
government handouts.

Up
From Slavery inspires and re-inspires.

The
Freedom Outlaw's Handbook, by Claire Wolfe

This
is a relatively new addition to my nightstand. Published just last
summer, it's an update and expansion of Wolfe's earlier 101
Things to Do 'Til the Revolution (1996) and Don't
Shoot the Bastards (Yet) (1999), both now out of print.
Now, I'll admit that this new edition – a large-paged paperback
– is less handy to read in bed than its predecessors. But it
remains valuable to any freedom-lover both frustrated by The Way
Things Are and wise enough to recognize the futility of electoral
politics.

The
Freedom Outlaw's Handbook is stuffed with 179 suggestions for
taking action (and sometimes not taking action) in moving
personally toward liberty. Some items are for shifting your mind-set.
Some are methods of outreach to potential allies. Some are downright…well…radical.
They range from the obvious (don't forget the Bill of Rights, don't
pay more taxes than you must, home school) to the self-liberating
(fly the Gadsden flag, celebrate April 19, skip TV) to the more
controversial monkeywrenching of the State.

And
here's the best part: Claire Wolfe is not only educational and instructional,
she's fun to read. Wolfe's certainly one of the best writers in
today's freedom movement. I'm never far from her books.

Light
and Liberty: Reflections on the Pursuit of Happiness, by
Thomas Jefferson (edited by Eric S. Petersen)

Eric
Petersen did something very clever, and it's something we can be
thankful for. He combed through tens of volumes of Thomas Jefferson's
letters, speeches, and public documents. Then, taking in hand the
most succinct, stirring quotations he discovered, Petersen crafted
34 original Jefferson essays on everything from liberty, to faith,
to enthusiasm, to simplicity. The result is a brief but wonderful
Jeffersonian primer that rings with wisdom and inspiration.

Every
word is Jefferson's. Writes Petersen in his introduction: "My
effort to create smoothly flowing text, to the extent it has been
successful, is attributable to the remarkable consistency of Jefferson's
style and philosophy expressed over the course of his long life."

If
you're tired of the constant Jefferson-bashing of the past decade
or so, you'll adore this little book.

The
Prince, by Niccoló Machiavelli

OK,
I don't get much in the way of comfort or inspiration from this
volume. But to be effectively anti-political, as any anarchist worth
his black flag should be, you must understand politics thoroughly.
And 500 years later, still no better book has been written about
the subject than Machiavelli's 16th century Italian classic.

Here
are the "rules of the game." Here is the ultimate no-B.S.
guide for seizing power and, more important still, keeping
power. Confesses the author: "This work I have not adorned
or amplified with rounded periods, swelling and high-flown language,
or any other of those extrinsic attractions and allurements wherewith
many authors are wont to set off and grace their writings…"

Essentially,
The Prince instructs that ethics and morality have no role
in politics.

Sure,
the book is centuries old. But politics never really change. Only
the faces do.

Discourse
on Voluntary Servitude, by Étienne de la Boétie

This
comes from 16th century France. And you might call it
the antidote to Machiavelli. In Discourse on Voluntary
Servitude, La Boétie analyzes the origins of tyranny,
and then explains how people can thwart political enslavement and
free themselves by withdrawing their consent from the State.

Essayist
Carl Watner once described La Boétie as "the first libertarian
political philosopher in the Western world." Murray Rothbard,
in his rightly famous introduction to one edition of Discourse
on Voluntary Servitude, called La Boétie "the first
theorist of the strategy of mass, non-violent civil disobedience
of State edicts and exactions." For those reasons, this slim
volume is vital and deserves to be read and studied repeatedly.

March
29, 2005

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
He has been a non-political, anti-party activist in the libertarian
movement since 1970. His blog of unfinished essays and spontaneous
eruptions can be found at wconger.blogspot.com.

"All
right," said my exasperated friend Ron, a conservative Republican,
"I guess I'm resigned to the fact that you won't vote at all
in November. But you're a politics junkie! Surely you'll be rooting
for someone!"

And
it dawned on me that, yes, despite 32 years of persistent nonvoting,
I've usually rooted for one of the major presidential candidates,
always seeing one potential master as slightly less odious than
the other. Likewise, for purely strategic reasons in the struggle
for liberty, there's typically been a reason to cast, if not a vote,
then a hip-hip-hooray for one lying nitwit over another.

In
September 1992, when Bush the Elder was defending his throne against
Clinton the Pretender, the great Murray Rothbard discussed this
issue of rooting vs. voting in the sorely missed Rothbard-Rockwell
Report. He wrote:

"…whom
should we cheer for on Election Day? Whom should we hope
wins the election? Voting is a matter of personal conscience,
and can be for one of many minor candidates or for no one at
all; rooting on who should win is a different problem,
because regardless of who you or I vote for, or whether we vote
at all, one of the two major candidates is sure to win
in November. Whom should we hope wins, or are all the considerations
so equally weighted that we should be indifferent? Regardless
of our hopes, no minor candidate will win, and the office of
President, alas, will not be declared vacant. …

"In
1992, I am indifferent to whom one votes for, but I'm definitely
rooting for Bush over Clinton."

It
was strictly a question of strategy, Murray said. "Under whose
reign," he wrote, "will we have a better chance to build
up the paleo-movement…?" The proper strategy in that election,
he believed, was to vote for Bush – or not – but in particular to
root for Bush to pull out a victory so that, first, the socialistic
hordes would be held back a while longer and, second, an organized
paleo-right could be positioned to ride to power in 1996 on the
back of a crumbling Bush Administration.

Murray
Rothbard defended the act of voting. But he also appreciated the
problem many libertarians have philosophically with electing politicians
to abolish politics. He understood the discomfort many of us have
with slogging to the polls and casting votes for lesser evils. Most
important, though, Murray recognized that whether or not we vote,
we can't help but want to root for somebody, even in something
as morally bankrupt as a political election. It's in our nature.
So…

In
1972, I rooted for McGovern over Nixon, because Nixon was…heck,
he was a criminal.

In
1976, I rooted for Carter over Ford, to punish Ford for pardoning
Nixon.

In
1980, I rooted for Reagan over Carter, because Carter had to be
punished on general principle.

In
1984, I rooted for Mondale over Reagan, because I loathed the neoconservative
hawks surrounding Reagan.

In
1988, I rooted for Bush over Dukakis, because Dukakis was, well,
Dukakis.

In
1992, I rooted for Bush over Clinton, because Hillary was, well,
Hillary.

In
1996, I rooted for Dole over Clinton, because, gee, four more years
seemed just too awful.

In
2000, I rooted for Bush Lite over Gore, because Gore was Clinton
without the, uh, charm.

As
usual, I will cast no ballot on November 2. But what is unusual
this election year is that, for the first time since coming of voting
age, I will root for no one. As my friend Butler Shaffer pointed
out here a few weeks ago, the choice is between one Yale graduate,
pro-war, pro-Patriot Act, pro-expansive state member of "Skull-and-Bones"
and another Yale graduate, pro-war, pro-Patriot Act, pro-expansive
state member of "Skull-and-Bones." As Butler remarked,
"It's like getting to choose between emphysema and lung cancer!"

To
paraphrase Rothbard, all the considerations this election year are
so equally weighted that I am absolutely indifferent to November's
outcome.

Is
anything sadder than a man who will not vote – and cannot even
root?

September
15, 2004

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
He has been a non-political, anti-party activist in the libertarian
movement since 1970. His blog of unfinished essays and spontaneous
eruptions can be found at wconger.blogspot.com.

So
it is with some sense of folly and futility that I offer my second
annual list of gift-giving suggestions to help you shop for that
lovable anti-statist in your life.

For
the Videophile

The
best film nobody saw last year was Equilibrium,
writer-director Kurt Wimmer's science fiction paean to freedom-fighters
everywhere. When it was quietly released into a handful of theaters
last Christmas, one critic charged the movie with being "brazenly
pillaged from Fahrenheit
451, 1984,
and Brave
New World." Maybe so. But featuring terrific performances
from Christian Bale (recently signed to play Hollywood's newest
Batman), Emily Watson (Red
Dragon), and Taye Diggs (Chicago),
this movie uniquely mixes its smart dystopian story with extraordinary
action sequences, making it an underground libertarian classic.
Dimension Home Video's DVD release offers a brief "making of"
documentary and entertaining feature-length commentary from director
Wimmer and producer Lucas Foster. And the promotional slogan on
the box is irresistible: "In A Future Where Freedom Is Outlawed,
Outlaws Will Become Heroes."

The
best TV series nobody saw last year was Firefly,
which lasted 10 weeks on Fox before it was yanked by the same executives
who later brought you Joe Millionaire. Created by Joss Whedon
(Buffy
the Vampire Slayer), Firefly was a rousing antidote
to the old collectivist Star Trek universe. The series is
set 500 years from now, shortly after a galaxy-wide civil war ends
in victory for the totalitarian Alliance. Mal Reynolds, who fought
as an Independent against unification of the planets, now captains
a Firefly-class spaceship dubbed Serenity, and his motley
crew includes a preacher, a prostitute, a soldier-of-fortune, a
renegade doctor, and a young girl who was victim to mysterious government
experiments. Their mission: to dodge Alliance authorities while
earning a living smuggling illegal cargo and occasionally sheltering
rebel fugitives. After watching just two episodes, I was captivated
by Firefly's freedom philosophy, its clever writing, and
its characters. And I was humming its catchy theme song: "Take
my love, take my land, take me where I cannot stand. But I don't
care…I'm still free. You can't take the skies from me…"

Any
TV series cancelled midseason usually disappears without notice.
Firefly seems an exception. Several websites dedicated to
the show have sprung up. Whedon is contemplating a movie based on
the show. But best of all right now, Twentieth Century Fox Home
Video is releasing the complete series of 13 episodes on DVD before
Christmas. You heard me right. I said 13 episodes. The program
ran only 10 weeks, but the four-disc set includes three unaired
programs. This package also features commentary on more than half
the shows, deleted scenes, a gag reel, three documentaries, auditions,
and other extras.

For
the Audiophile

Phil
Ochs has been on my CD-changer continually since George W. rattled
his first saber against Saddam. As an anti-war troubadour, Seeger
and Dylan may have been there first, but Ochs always trumped
'em.

Call
it u2018Peace' or call it u2018Treason,'
Call it u2018Love' or call it u2018Reason,'
But I ain't marchin' anymore.

There's
a lot of Ochs available on CD, and every lick is worth buying. But
for the sake of gift-giving, the best all-round compilation now
available is There
But For Fortune (Elektra/Asylum Records). Sure, it's
missing some of Ochs' best work, but what's here is dynamite.

Listen
for the sound and listen for the noise,
Listen for the thunder of the marching boys,
A few years ago their guns were only toys,
Here comes the Big Parade…

Phil
Ochs was no libertarian. But his stirring anthems against war, government
oppression, empire, and even hypocrisies of the Left certainly qualified
him as a valuable ally.

What's
that I feel now beatin' in my heart?
I've felt that beat before…
Hey now, what's that I feel now beatin' in my heart?
I feel it more and more…

It's
the rumble of freedom callin',
Climbin' up to the sky…
It's the rumble of the old ways a' fallin'…
You can feel it if you try…

When
Phil Ochs died in 1976 at age 35, an extraordinary voice of protest
was lost. We're lucky that so much of his music is still readily
available.

For
the Joyful Curmudgeon

Until
some heroic soul gathers all of Murray Rothbard's journalism u2014 all
of it, everything from Left and Right, Libertarian Forum,
New Libertarian, New Individualist Review, Inquiry,
etc. u2014 into a beautiful, fully indexed, umpteen-volume anthology,
the best collection of his non-academic political and cultural essays
remains The
Irrepressible Rothbard (Center for Libertarian Studies,
$29), edited by Lew Rockwell. This book offers Murray in his last
years (1990–94), some might say his best years, skewering
neoconservatives, Clinton liberals, gun-grabbers, imperialists,
warmongers, and other statist riffraff. These essays all come from
The Rothbard-Rockwell Report, a journal I still miss desperately,
and I can't find a weak one in the bunch. They're biting, irascible,
and always quotable. Of particular note are Murray's pieces
on political strategy, which make up the book's first section, and
his brilliant coverage of the 1991 Gulf War (remember that
one?). Nine years after his death, Rothbard remains not just irrepressible.
He's indispensable.

For
the Second Amendment Devotee

All
the gun-control geeks who mindlessly applauded Michael Moore's dishonest
Bowling
for Columbine should be duct-taped to metal folding chairs
and forced to watch Innocents
Betrayed, a powerful new DVD documentary produced by
Jews for the Preservation of Firearms Ownership (www.jpfo.org).
Will this film change their minds? Well, if it doesn't make
them squirm at some point, you can bet they're too far entrenched
in their dogma for any sort of conversion.

In
58 minutes, Innocents Betrayed shows how, in the last century,
civilian disarmament led to the slaughter of more than 100 million
people at the hands of their own governments. Russia, Germany, Cambodia,
Uganda…the numbers are staggering and the photos, the faces are
heartbreaking. "It can't happen here," you say? Maybe
Rosie O'Donnell believes that. After watching this documentary,
most common-sense Americans won't. This may seem a grisly Christmas
gift, but it's the perfect tool for that gun-rights activist in
your family whose biggest challenge is getting his gun-toting pals
to join the fight against gun-confiscation.

Have
a happy shopping season.

November
27, 2003

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
He has a website, www.WConger.com.

Before
Hollywood determined it takes at least three hours to effectively
grapple with the Holocaust – a Schindler's
List or a Pianist,
for example – long before, some four decades and more,
there was Alain Renais' 31-minute Night
and Fog.

I
first saw and was shattered by this remarkable short movie while
in college in 1975. I've just seen Night and Fog a second
time, because Criterion recently released a new digital restoration
of it on DVD. And 28 years later, Renais' film remains for me not
only a chilling record of Hitler's "final solution" but
the most powerful cinematic indictment of the State I've ever seen.

Night
and Fog mixes color photography of the abandoned grounds of
Auschwitz and Majdanek, shot just ten years after the 1945 liberation
of those Nazi camps, with horrific black-and-white archival images.

"The
blood has dried, the tongues have fallen silent," reads the
narrator from a script by Mauthausen survivor Jean Cayrol. The camera
pans slowly across a deserted camp in vivid, "present-day"
color. "The only visitor to the blocks now is the camera,"
the voice-over continues. "A strange grass covers the paths
once trod by inmates. No current runs through the wires. No footstep
is heard but our own." Abruptly, the documentary cuts to black-and-white
stills and film footage. "1933," the narrator recites
dispassionately. "The machine goes into action. A nation must
have no discord. No complaints or quarrels."

Indeed,
as Night and Fog reveals, the State is a machine.
And a murderous one. Its day-to-day operation is simply business
as usual. Says the narrator matter-of-factly:

"A
concentration camp is built the way a stadium or a hotel is
built: with businessmen, estimates, competitive bids, and no
doubt a bribe or two. … Architects calmly design the gates meant
to be passed through only once. Meanwhile, Burger, a German
worker; Stern, a Jewish student in Amsterdam; Schmulski, a merchant
in Krakow; and Annette, a schoolgirl in Bordeaux, go about their
daily lives, not knowing a place is being prepared for them
hundreds of miles away. One day their quarters are ready. All
that is missing is them."

We
watch the State's victims being herded onto the trains, into the
trucks, then into the camps. We see the SS slogans that greet them
upon their entry: "Cleanliness is health." "Work
is freedom." "To each his due."

We
see the cylinders of zyklon gas. We see the emaciated inmates, then
their dead bodies, stacked one atop another.

Shortly,
we return to the color photography of 1955's "today."
The camera tracks quietly over rusted barbed wire, now surrounding
collapsed walls. It worms through gates and doorways. It lingers
over one building. "A crematorium from the outside can look
like a picture postcard," the narrator remarks. "Today
tourists have their snapshots taken in front of them." We are
drawn inside to study the now-cold ovens that were once so essential
in making room for the next trainload of arrivals.

The
camera eventually takes us to one of the camps' observation towers,
standing watch over the growing debris. The narrator concludes:

"Who
among us keeps watch from this strange watchtower to warn of
the arrival of our new executioners? Are their faces really
different from our own? … With our sincere gaze we survey these
ruins, as if the old monster lay crushed forever beneath the
rubble. We pretend to take up hope again as the image recedes
into the past, as if we were cured once and for all of the scourge
of the camps. We pretend it all happened only once, at a given
time and place. We turn a blind eye to what surrounds us and
a deaf ear to humanity's never-ending cry."

Significantly,
Night and Fog never categorizes victims, whether Jew or gypsy
or other undesirable. It doesn't identify the executioners by name.
It never distinguishes one concentration camp from the other. It
doesn't need to. We know that Alain Renais is addressing
the Holocaust – specific faces, specific times, specific places.
But by speaking in broad language, even while presenting hideous
images of the Nazi death camps, Night and Fog widens its
message by implication. The State is the State is the State, after
all. Some six million died horribly in the Holocaust. But death
by the State, suggests Renais' brilliant documentary, is never-ending.
At least 100 million people died at the hands of their own governments
during the past century.

Never
forget.

July
12, 2003

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
Five years
ago, he visited the Dachau memorial outside Munich and is still
shaken by the experience. He has a website, www.WConger.com.

For
the History Buff

The
Ken Burns' Civil War phenomenon left a lot of people thinking
U.S. history began in 1860. But hard-core libertarians still love
a rousing chronicle of the American Revolution. And none's more
exhilarating and, well, libertarian than Murray N. Rothbard's
Conceived
in Liberty (Ludwig von Mises Institute, $100).

This
sweeping four-volume narrative of the American colonies and revolution
from 1620 to 1784 was first published over five years in the 1970s.
All four books went out of print quickly, and the lucky stiffs who
had copies clutched them like Winona Ryder to an oversized
purse. I spent a decade scouring used book stores until the Mises
Institute reissued this wonderful set two years ago. Conceived
in Liberty is breathtaking. It's inspiring. Writes Rothbard
in his preface: "I see the central conflict [in American history]
as not between classes (social or economic), or between ideologies,
but between Power and Liberty, State and Society."

A
History of Money and Banking in the United States: The Colonial
Era to World War II (Mises Institute, $19) is a wonderful
new contribution to the Murray Rothbard canon. A collection of hard-to-find
and previously unpublished pieces, the father of modern libertarianism
brings to banking history – an ongoing struggle between big
corporate capitalists, always in cahoots with government –
the same anecdotal approach he did to the American Revolution. From
the villainous Alexander Hamilton's use of banking to centralize
power, to the Morgan and Rockefeller financial interests' shaping
of the Federal Reserve, and through the New Deal, this book offers
the dramatic, grim story of the most lethal enemies of the free
market, Wall Street's "economic royalists."

For
the Videophile

Oliver
Stone usually embodies the very worst in shallow Hollywood leftism,
but his 1991 masterwork, JFK,
is both exciting moviemaking and the most satisfying summary of
Kennedy assassination revisionism ever assembled. Warner Video's
"Special Edition Director's Cut" DVD makes the film even
more valuable. It includes a feature-length commentary from
Stone, in which he fully details government lies about November
22, 1963, plus documentary films and an interview with the model
for the movie's "Mr. X," Colonel L. Fletcher Prouty, who
served as the chief of special operations for the Joint Chiefs of
Staff during the JFK years.

If
JFK is Stone's Godfather,
and I think it is, 1995's Nixon
is his Godfather,
Part II. This was a box office dud, but it's still extraordinary
– a well-honed attack on the Imperial Presidency and a brilliant
analysis of the workings and inevitable destructiveness of government.
The film's only real fault is in rerunning the tired myth that a
"watchdog" press brought Nixon down, when what really
clobbered him were the counter-powers existing within the heart
of what Stone calls The Beast (a.k.a. The State). Again, the "Director's
Cut" DVD, this time from Buena Vista Home Entertainment, is
essential. It includes two feature-length commentaries by
Oliver Stone, a separate interview with Stone, and 28 minutes of
until now unseen footage that's been seamlessly reinserted into
the movie. One of those "deleted scenes," a fictional
but entirely plausible meeting between Nixon (played by the magnificent
Anthony Hopkins) and CIA Director Richard Helms (an effectively
oily portrayal by Sam Waterston), is one of the most chilling bits
of cinema I can recall.

For
the Rock 'n Roller

I
was a high school junior, and Murray Rothbard, Karl Hess, and Paul
Goodman were starting to stir my political thinking. But in the
fall of 1970, it was Paul Kantner's science fiction rock anthem
Blows
Against the Empire (RCA Records) that stoked the revolutionary
inferno in my gut. Jefferson Airplane was always an explicitly anarchist
band, but this Airplane spin-off was something else again. Its scenario
included dodging the government jackboot, hijacking a starship,
launching into space, and freely colonizing the stars. More than
30 years later and available as a remastered CD, Blows Against
the Empire seems fanciful as hell, but gee, we were all
fanciful as hell back in the '60s, and the music still sounds great.
And with Homeland Security muscling into our lives, we could do
worse than share Kantner's rock manifesto with younger libertarians,
or re-experience it ourselves.

For
the Caped Crusader

Who'da
thunk that one of the best libertarian books of the year would be
a graphic novel – i.e., a comic book mini-series? But Frank
Miller finally followed up his landmark Batman:
The Dark Knight Returns, which shook the comics industry
by its cape and leotard in 1986, with a much-anticipated sequel.
And what a knockout it is! Batman:
The Dark Knight Strikes Again (DC Comics, $29.95) compiles
within sturdy hard covers the three comics that made up the recent
series. In the story's post-punk future, Batman isn't kicking "run-of-the
mill" criminal butt like Joker and Two-Face anymore. You see,
even though the Dow Jones soars past 50,000, crime is nil, and the
world's at peace, tyranny lies beneath the surface. The President
is just a computer-generated image that fronts for a sinister partnership
between Lex Luthor and Brainiac. Superman and Wonder Woman are military
lapdogs to the U.S. Government, hiding the truth for "the good
of the people." And it's fallen to Batman, the world's last
freedom-fighter, to assemble the troops (Green Arrow, the Flash,
Plastic Man, and other heroes) and launch the Revolution! Miller
is faithful to the libertarian spirit throughout. In fact, when
he resurrects The Question, it's Steve Ditko's classic Randian hero
from the late '60s, not the wimpy reinterpretation of the character
from 15 years ago.

And
here's another gift idea for the libertarian Batman fan. DC Direct
offers a nifty six-piece set of Dark Knight Strikes Again
collectible PVC figures ($39.95). The set includes Batman, Catgirl,
Superman, Wonder Woman, the Atom, and Lex Luthor. They look real
cool sitting atop my computer monitor.

Happy
shopping.

November
20, 2002

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
He has a
website, www.WConger.com.

But
my splendid afternoon was crudely interrupted. Two grinning teens
danced up and pushed a red-white-and-blue "Re-elect Gray Davis
for Governor" sign in my face. They looked too young to even
vote for the shady little conman. Caught off guard, I barked something
nonsensical and batted cigar smoke at them. The kids scooted off
to badger other innocent bystanders.

In
1970, at a libertarian conference at USC, I first heard the great
Bob LeFevre suggest we "abstain from beans." He was referring
to the act of voting in ancient Athens – different colored
beans were dropped into a box. To refuse to vote was to "abstain
from beans." This was a startling notion to a 16-year-old Young
Republican. But when I came of voting age two years later, I avoided
the polls deliberately. Since then, I've only strayed once from
my principles and cast a ballot.

A
few years back, the Los Angeles Times reported that in California
alone, the "Anti-Electorate" – those like myself
who could vote but refrain by choice – was about 14
million. Imagine what those numbers would be today. Imagine the
national figures.

Of
course, Big Media, political wonks, and Hollywood's get-out-the-vote
"Left" insist that we members of the Anti-Electorate are
too lazy and/or apathetic to exercise the right to choose our own
masters.

Baloney.
More and more, non-voting has become a conscious choice for
Americans. And as Frank Chodorov wrote almost 60 years ago: "Remember
that the proposal to quit voting is basically revolutionary; it
amounts to a shifting of power from one group to another, which
is the essence of revolution…. Unlike other revolutions, it calls
for no organization, no violence, no war fund, no leader to sell
it out. In the quiet of his conscience each citizen pledges himself,
to himself, not to give moral support to an unmoral institution,
and on election day he remains at home. That's all."

A
decade ago, inspired by Chodorov, I first published "The Anti-Electorate
Manifesto."

We,
the Anti-Electorate, do not believe there is a need for "strong
leadership" in government.

We
are not drawn to "intellectual" authorities and political
"heroes."

We
are not impressed with titles, ranks, and pecking orders
– politicians, celebrities, and gurus.

We
do not struggle for control of organizations, social circles,
and government.

We
do not lobby the State for favors or permission to control those
with whom we disagree.

Rather,
we advocate freedom.

By
its very nature, the State does not.

Exercise
your right to say "No" to the warfare-welfare system.

Refuse
to vote. Then tell your friends why.

I
wish now I'd been better prepared last Saturday for my young political
assailants. I could have handed them a copy of my manifesto. Maybe,
just as Bob LeFevre did for me more than 30 years ago, I would have
inspired them to "abstain from beans."

September
26, 2002

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.
He has been
a non-political, anti-party activist in the libertarian movement
since 1970. He has a website, www.WConger.com.

It's
a safe bet that politicians and pundits will err on the side of
"too much."

Meanwhile,
another significant anniversary will likely go forgotten by CNN,
Donahue, Brocaw, and others.

August
21 marks ten years since the federal government's siege on the home
of Randy Weaver and his family at Ruby Ridge in Idaho.

The
Weavers have disappeared down an Orwellian memory hole for most
Americans. You see, their story doesn't offer an occasion for waving
flags and singing patriotic songs. In fact, despite the tragedy
that befell the Weaver family, Randy Weaver is still vilified by
major media and so-called liberals for his "crimes and strange
beliefs." Those crimes and strange beliefs include distrust
of your government.

Randy
Weaver had reason to distrust his government. In 1991, an agent
of the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (BATF) entrapped
Weaver by hiring him to cut off the barrels of two shotguns illegally.
Once Weaver was arrested, BATF tried to force him to inform on the
Aryan Nation group, with which he was affiliated, but he refused.
Weaver also refused to appear in court for the minor firearms charge.
For the next 18 months, the U.S. Marshals Service spied on the Weavers'
isolated mountain cabin, where Randy lived with his wife Vicki,
son Sammy (14), daughters Sara (16), Rachel (10), and Elisheba (10
months), and a young friend named Kevin Harris.

Then
came August 21, 1992. On that morning, six trained government marksmen
wearing ski masks and camouflage and armed with automatic weapons
equipped with silencers, crept up on the Weaver cabin without warning
or warrant and without identifying themselves. First they shot and
killed the family's yellow Labrador, Striker, who had been barking
at the intruders. When young Sammy witnessed this, he fired a .223
mini-14 in the direction from which the shots had come, then ran
back toward the cabin. Agents shot Sammy in the arm, knocking him
down. The youngster got back to his feet and began running again.
Moments later, a second gunshot caught Sammy in the back, killing
him.

Within
24 hours, one Deputy U.S. Marshal was dead and some 400 federal
agents were arriving at the scene, along with a helicopter, "humvees,"
and armored transport vehicles and personnel carriers. The Weavers'
dead dog was left in the road and repeatedly run over by government
vehicles. On the afternoon of August 22, Vicki Weaver, standing
at the cabin's kitchen door and armed with nothing more lethal than
baby Elisheba, was shot in the head by a government sniper. The
round hit Vicki in the temple, traveled through her mouth, tongue,
and jawbone, then severed her carotid artery. Kneeling on the floor
and still clutching her baby, Vicki bled to death.

Nine
days later, Weaver, a badly wounded Harris, and the surviving kids
surrendered to federal agents. Eleven months after that, a jury
in Boise, Idaho, acquitted Weaver and Harris of murder and conspiracy
charges stemming from the government assault.

When
the jury came back with its not-guilty verdict, Randy Weaver turned
to his lawyer, Gerry Spence. "I've learned something about
the system," he told Spence. "This is a good system. This
system will work."

Weaver
was more optimistic than I am. More forgiving, too. In 1995, Congressional
hearings into the Weaver tragedy revealed a cover-up, but the feds
refused to prosecute the killers of Sammy and Vicki Weaver. Case
closed. And despite all the evidence of government wrongdoing, those
of us who now mention the name Randy Weaver are generally dismissed
as "right-wing, gun-toting, conspiracy nuts."

Today,
while the Weaver story is falling through the cracks of history,
most Americans look toward the anniversary of 9/11 and demand that
the government "do something, anything" to protect
them from foreign terrorists u2014 highly trained assassins wearing
ski masks and camouflage and armed with automatic weapons equipped
with silencers.

As
for me, I will respectfully observe the 9/11 memorials. But I also
intend to take a few minutes on August 21, the tenth anniversary
of the Siege at Ruby Ridge, to ponder how best to tell the Bad Guys
from the Good Guys during these difficult times. And to wonder how
wise it is to demand that one band of murderous thugs protect us
from another.

August
10, 2002

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.

This
latest search was for my Gadsden flag. That's the brilliant yellow
flag from the American Revolution with the coiled rattler on it,
the words "Don't Tread On Me" stitched at the bottom.
Truthfully, nothing's actually stitched on my flag. The snake
and words are screened onto flammable polyester. I paid seven bucks
for it at a gun show in 1995, shortly after Clinton began reaping
political profit from Oklahoma City. It was an impulse buy. I thought
it was high time I displayed that flag.

So
last week, listening to the Attorney General blather about anti-terrorism
preparations for our first post-9/11 Fourth of July, I felt compelled
to haul out the Gadsden banner again. In case you're curious, I
finally found it stashed in a grocery sack behind the old typewriter
in the back of my office closet.

In
our town, hundreds of us traditionally lug our picnic hampers, wineglasses,
and illegal fireworks to the beach on Independence Day. What we
call the Big Stuff, the "official," often disappointing
show sanctioned by the city fathers, launches from the pier about
9:00 p.m. An hour earlier, the prohibited pyrotechnics – you
might call it the People's Stuff – begin lighting up the sky
spectacularly along the water's edge for a couple of miles south.

Not
too surprising, the beach is always festooned with U.S. flags fluttering
beside the bonfires and barbecues. This year, I expect I'll see
more of them than ever.

But
my little party won't fly Old Glory this summer. Instead,
in response to the political profit Bush, Ashcroft, Daschle, and
the rest of our masters now reap from last September, we'll hoist
my polyester Gadsden flag, named for its designer, "the Sam
Adams of South Carolina," radical-liberal Son of Liberty Christopher
Gadsden. What better time than this July 4th – while FBI sentinels
comb library records for the reading patterns of "suspicious"
patrons – to let the old rattlesnake banner snap loudly at
our beach site?

Ashcroft
says folks like us "give ammunition to America's enemies"
when we "scare peace-loving people with phantoms of lost liberty."
He told the Senate Judiciary Committee last year that acts of dissent
may "erode our national unity and diminish our resolve."

Well,
tough beans. When politicians openly whittle away the Bill of Rights
with bogus promises of security, you should expect some dissent.
When the power elite pushes through over-reaching legislation like
the USA Patriot Act, and creates ominous cabinet-level Homeland
Security posts, and redefines "domestic terrorism" with
broader and broader brushstrokes, you should expect a raised eyebrow
here and there – or at least a raised Gadsden flag.

"You're
not being very patriotic," a friend remarked when I told him
my plan.

Of
course, he's confusing love of America with love of its government.
A common mistake nowadays. Even Clinton publicly made it a few years
ago, intentionally or not. Like many, my friend has no historical
grounding. He thinks July 4th celebrates the U.S. Constitution,
not the treasonous Declaration of Independence. His idea of patriotism
is honoring our present-day King Georges, not the magnificent traitors
from 1776, like Sam Adams, Joseph Warren, John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson,
Patrick Henry and, yes, Christopher Gadsden.

You
can be sure John Ashcroft knows what the Fourth of July is really
about. He's just hoping most Americans don't.

There
are a few days left before July 4th. Why not read Tom Paine's Common
Sense, then pass it on to a friend? Rent "The
Patriot," the stirring Mel Gibson movie from two years
ago, and watch it with your family and neighbors. Recommend LewRockwell.com
to your co-workers.

And
if you can get your hands on one, lift high the Gadsden flag. "Don't
Tread On Me." That's the real spirit of Independence
Day.

June
29, 2002

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.

I'd shake my head and
shuffle off to school.

Several things that
summer, most of them from the right, shook my conservative political
beliefs to their roots. Ayn Rand was one, of course. Another was
a photocopy of Murray Rothbard's "Confessions of a Right-Wing
Liberal," from Ramparts magazine, handed to me by an
"anarcho-capitalist"; he was waving an enormous black
flag outside a Young Americans for Freedom leadership conference
in Glendale, California.

Still another earthshaker
came from the left: the anti-war novel Johnny
Got His Gun, by Dalton Trumbo.

Thinking back, I can't
imagine how this dangerous book got into my young hands, let alone
why I began reading it. After all, I'd already been to the theater
to see Patton three times that summer. I was still trying
to convince Dad that My Lai didn't really mean anything. And then
here comes this punctuation-deficient piece of lefty propaganda,
written by one of the Hollywood Ten, for crying out loud, a former
Communist Party member. And somehow, I did read the book.

It rattled the heck
out of me.

In short time, Johnny
Got His Gun made me an anarchist peacenik. Granted, I was a
right-wing anarchist peacenik, but an anarchist peacenik
just the same.

Since that summer more
than 30 years ago, I've reread Trumbo's heroic novel a half-dozen
times. I believe it is to the anti-war movement what Atlas
Shrugged is to the libertarian movement.

It's not just a novel.
It's a concussion device.

The story is all told
"in the head" of Joe, a young American soldier who has
fought in The War To End All Wars. (Fittingly, the novel was first
published in September 1939, two days after the start of The Good
War.) As Joe's memories of life before and during the war progress,
he gradually and chillingly realizes that he's lying in a military
hospital. And that there's nothing left of him. No arms. No legs.
No ears. No face.

Johnny Got His Gun
is shocking and ghastly and gruesome – just like war. It is
also powerful and unforgettable. This Memorial Day 2002, when so
very few of us openly protest our current War Without End, I think
it's vital that you find a copy and read it. Or reread it. Then
pass it on.

Dalton Trumbo's novel
closes with what is one of the most powerful anti-war manifestoes
ever written:

If you make a war
if there are guns to be aimed if there are bullets to be fired
if there are men to be killed they will not be us. They will not
be us the guys who grow wheat and turn it into food the guys who
make clothes and paper and houses and tiles the guys who build
dams and power plants and string the long moaning high tension
wires the guys who crack crude oil down into a dozen different
parts who make light globes and sewing machines and shovels and
automobiles and airplanes and tanks and guns oh no it will not
be us who die. It will be you.

It will be you –
you who urge us on to battle you who incite us against ourselves
you who would have one cobbler kill another cobbler you who would
have one man who works kill another man who works you who would
have one human being who wants only to live kill another human
being who wants only to live. Remember this. Remember this well
you people who plan for war. Remember this you patriots you fierce
ones you spawners of hate you inventors of slogans. Remember this
as you have never remembered anything else in your lives.

We are men of peace
we are men who work and we want no quarrel. But if you destroy
our peace if you take away our work if you try to range us one
against the other we will know what to do. If you tell us to make
the world safe for democracy we will take you seriously and by
god and by Christ we will make it so. We will use the guns you
force upon us we will use them to defend our very lives and the
menace to our lives does not lie on the other side of a nomansland
that was set apart without our consent it lies within our own
boundaries here and now we have seen it and we know it.

Put the guns into
our hands and we will use them. Give us the slogans and we will
turn them into realities. Sing the battle hymns and we will take
them up where you left off. Not one not ten not ten thousand not
a million not ten millions not a hundred millions but a billion
two billions of us all the people of the world we will have the
slogans and we will have the hymns and we will have the guns and
we will use them and we will live. We will be alive and we will
walk and talk and eat and sing and laugh and feel and love and
bear our children in tranquillity in security in decency in peace.
You plan the wars you masters of men plan the wars and point the
way and we will point the gun."

May
16, 2002

Wally
Conger [send him mail] is a
marketing consultant and writer living on California's central coast.

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