Sobran's -- 
The Real News of the Month

December  2000
Volume 7, No. 12
{Material dropped or altered for reasons of space 
appears in curly brackets}

Editor: Joe Sobran
Publisher: Fran Griffin (Griffin Communications)
Managing Editor: Ronald N. Neff
Subscription Rates.
   Print version: $59.95 per year; $100 for 2 years; 
   trial subscription available for $19.95 (5 issues).
   E-mail subscriptions: $59.95 for 1 year ($25 with a 
   12-month subscription to the print edition); $100 for 
   2  years ($45 with a 2-year subscription to the print 
   edition). Payment should be made to The Vere Company.
Address: Sobran's, P.O. Box 1383, Vienna, VA 22183-1383
Fax: 703-281-6617      Website:
Publisher's Office: 703-255-2211 or
Foreign Subscriptions (print version only): Add $1.25 per 
   issue for Canada and Mexico; all other foreign 
   countries, add $1.75 per issue.
Credit Card Orders: Call 1-800-493-3348. Allow 
   4-6 weeks for delivery of your first issue 


(pages 1-2)

     Thanks, Ralph.

*          *          *

     Last month I said that by this issue I would know 
who had won this year's presidential election. As usual, 
my prediction was wrong. And I didn't even try to predict 
the winner! I merely predicted that I'd know who he was. 
I'm still not sure, but it looks like Bush.

*          *          *

     The postelection struggle showed, again, how far the 
Democrats are willing to go in order to win or steal an 
election. They are a criminal party, and they seek to 
control the government for criminal purposes. Their 
ruthlessness should shock only those who don't yet 
understand this.

*          *          *

     I told an anarchist friend that he should be happy 
now: we are rapidly approaching his Utopia. Just kidding, 
of course. Pure anarchy isn't the same thing as chaos. It 
means the absence of a sovereign power, in which social 
relations are voluntary. That's the opposite of what we 
have now: a sovereign power that is essentially lawless. 

*          *          *

     {With his usual flair for symbolism, Gore chose 
William Daley as his campaign manager. Daley is the son 
of Chicago's legendary Mayor Richard Daley, one of the 
greatest political crooks in American history, whose most 
famous achievement was mobilizing dead voters to carry 
Illinois for John Kennedy in 1960. (Lyndon Johnson did 
likewise in Texas.) It was delicious to hear the younger 
Daley complaining that Gore had been robbed by defective 
ballots in Florida.}

*          *          *

     One's misgivings about the Florida results were 
intensified when Alan Dershowitz and Jesse Jackson jumped 
into the fray on Gore's side. An honest outcome isn't 
necessarily these gents' top priority. You'd think the 
Democratic candidate was O.J. Simpson.

*          *          *

     The Florida imbroglio points up the urgent need for 
foreign observers to supervise our elections in order to 
ensure their integrity. Maybe a team of Haitians?

*          *          *

     Al Gore's victory in the popular vote ends the myth 
of the "Republican Revolution." The Republicans have 
wasted the great opportunity of 1994. They never 
presented a consistent and intelligible conservative 
philosophy that might have rallied a majority of the 
voters; instead, they stuck with short-term pragmatic 
politics, at which Bill Clinton beat them at every turn. 
And it can only get worse: the white majority is 
dwindling, Christian influence is waning, and the 
Democrats are banking on the continuing and relentless 
influx of non-European immigrants. And thanks to the 
media and "education," the culture of the Present will 
obliterate the very memory of the America that was.

*          *          *

     Given this superobvious pattern, the Republicans may 
never muster another national majority. (I call those 
things superobvious which are so large that they usually 
escape notice. As Chesterton said: "Men can always be 
blind to a thing, so long as it is big enough.")

*          *          *

     The freakishness of this year's election was 
captured in a NEW YORK POST cartoon showing Fidel Castro 
talking to Elian Gonzalez under the caption "Filling 
little Elian's head with crazy notions about America." 
Castro is saying: "... And then the president's wife, the 
vice president's running mate, and the dead guy all got 
elected to the U.S. Senate."

*          *          *

     Speaking of the president's wife, can we have a 
recount in New York?

*          *          *

     To my mind the most puzzling fact about the election 
is that Nader got only 1 per cent of the Jewish vote. 
Usually the most left-wing candidate gets 
disproportionate support from Jews, but not this time. 
Joseph Lieberman's presence on the Democratic ticket 
isn't enough to explain it; after all, Bush and Cheney 
still got 19 per cent of Jewish votes. The fact that 
Nader is an Arab-American and favored ending U.S. aid to 
Israel was no doubt a factor, but even that can't account 
for it, since leftist Jews are often hostile to Israel.

*          *          *

     "It will be of little avail to the people that the 
laws are made by men of their own choice, if the laws be 
so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent 
that they cannot be understood; if they be repealed or 
revised before they are promulged, or undergo such 
incessant changes that no man who knows what the law is 
to-day can guess what it will be to-morrow. Law is 
defined to be a rule of action; but how can that be a 
rule, which is little known and less fixed?" James 

*          *          *

    {The last eight years have proved at least one 
thing: this country is no longer capable of producing a 
John Wilkes Booth. The blame probably lies with public 

*          *          *

     After the Restoration of King Charles II in 1860, 
{corrected in February 2001 to "1660"} the English theater 
saw a movement to "improve" Shakespeare's plays. In 1681 
Nahum Tate furnished the  English stage with an adaptation 
of KING LEAR, distinguished by a happy ending in which Lear 
and Cordelia survive and Cordelia marries Edgar, son and 
heir of the Earl of Gloucester, who speaks the happy moral 
of the play: "That truth and virtue shall at last succeed." 
Nothing could be further from the spirit of Shakespeare's 
most profound tragedy than this facile optimism. (Tate 
also eliminated the play's rich humor.) This absurd 
mutilation -- "the most infamous of Restoration 
adaptations," as one scholar puts it -- was a huge 
success: Tate became England's poet laureate, and his 
version replaced Shakespeare's on the stage for a century 
and a half. The original wasn't performed again until the 
nineteenth century!

*          *          *

     An interesting story of one of the most prolonged 
and embarrassing lapses of taste in the history of the 
arts. But I mention it because it strikes me as a fine 
analogy for the fate of the U.S. Constitution. Since the 
Civil War, the Nahum Tates of government have "improved" 
the Constitution with ill-conceived amendments and even 
more bizarre interpretations. The difference is that we 
eventually got the real KING LEAR back.

*          *          *

     It's amusing to recall that when the Constitution 
was drafted, Gouverneur Morris argued against annual 
sessions of Congress on grounds that there wouldn't be 
enough business to warrant such frequent assemblies.

*          *          *

     Remember, regardless of the outcome, it's not too 
early to start thinking about impeachment.

A Weird Election
(pages 3-4)

     This issue of SOBRAN'S has been slightly delayed 
because of the election, then further delayed by the 
astonishing results. As I write, Florida has officially 
certified George W. Bush the winner, freeing him to admit 
that Dick Cheney is dead. Bush carried the state by fewer 
votes than the total number of votes in the Electoral 
College. The outcome in such a close race was bound to be 
more or less arbitrary. There is no clear "mandate," no 
unequivocal Will of the People, but the majority of the 
voters, in their wisdom, didn't want either Bush or Gore 
to be president.

     I like to think that the weird outcome was karma for 
the Democrats' venerable tradition of vote fraud. I 
remember Lyndon Johnson's Texas, the late Richard Daley's 
Chicago, and who knows what else, right up to recent 
efforts to enfranchise illegal immigrants; the computer 
age may also afford new possibilities of electoral 

     The Democrats are understandably furious at Ralph 
Nader, who won more than 90,000 votes in Florida and may 
have cost Gore several other states as well. Even before 
the election, the NEW YORK TIMES was editorially railing 
about Nader's "irresponsibility" and "egomania," warning 
that he was likely to defeat the very causes he favored 
by depriving Gore of the margin of victory. (It didn't 
express apprehension that Pat Buchanan might do the same 
to Bush.) Liberal Democrats felt, and feel even more 
strongly now, that Nader was one of their own and that he 
was betraying them.

     But it's false to suggest there were no vital 
differences between Nader and Gore. For openers, Nader 
(who is of Lebanese blood) proposed to cut off aid to 
Israel and end this country's imperial role in the Middle 
East; Gore and Lieberman were devoted to Israeli 
interests and to U.S. imperialism. Nader also opposes 
NAFTA, which Gore favors. Nor does Gore, despite his 
"populist" rhetoric, share Nader's sincere contempt for 
big corporations and special interests; his political 
life has always depended on them. The Democrats are 
having a hard time getting it through their heads that 
Nader simply is not one of them. He has principles and he 
is serious about launching a movement to destroy the two-
party lock on American politics. And it must be said that 
he managed to connect with more voters than Pat Buchanan, 
Harry Browne, and Howard Phillips put together.

     True, Nader wants many of the same things the 
Democrats say they want, but the difference is that he 
really means it. They do him wrong to treat him like a 
naughty child and his campaign as a tantrum. They are the 
ones who are pouting. It was their candidate who dodged a 
debate with him. Yet they still feel that Nader somehow 
"stole" from Gore the votes he earned from people who saw 
him as the only admirable candidate in the field.

     Democratic fury is also being directed at the 
Electoral College, which for the fourth time has awarded 
the presidency to a candidate who lost in the popular 
vote -- a clear affront to majoritarian democracy, though 
Gore didn't get a majority of the votes cast. Gore 
himself contributed much to his own defeat. He ran a dull 
campaign, got caught in gratuitous fibs, overexposed his 
repellent side, then was upstaged in the final weekend by 
the release of the story that Bush had once been ticketed 
for drunk driving; though Gore distanced himself from the 
story (he had to distance himself from so many things!), 
it emanated from a Democratic hack in Maine who surely 
coordinated its release with Gore and his staff.

     Bush's victory is nothing to rejoice over, but 
Gore's defeat is a relief. He would have governed 
aggressively, expanding the power of the federal 
government at every opportunity; he would have been a 
ruthless and militant promoter of abortion, sodomy, and 
feminism; he might well have launched a few little wars; 
and above all, he would have filled the federal judiciary 
with enemies of constitutional government. The erosion of 
freedom and the rule of law will continue under Bush, but 
not as rapidly as under Gore.

     As for the Electoral College, it is indeed an 
anachronism that serves no real purpose. It certainly 
doesn't do what it was supposed to do: elect presidents 
who are, in Alexander Hamilton's words, "pre-eminent for 
ability and virtue." So wrote Hamilton, as "Publius," in 
Federalist No. 68.

     For what it's worth, the Framers of the Constitution 
didn't want the president elected by direct popular vote. 
Simple majority rule was alien and abhorrent to them, as 
the present two-party duopoly and the popular election of 
senators would have been; as Hamilton put it, direct 
popular election of presidents would produce "tumult and 
disorder." They prescribed that the people of each state 
should elect a body of presumably incorrupt and 
disinterested electors, men who possessed the requisite 
"information and discernment" to choose among candidates 
for the presidency. These electors, in Hamilton's words, 
should be "men most capable of analyzing the qualities 
adapted to the station [of the presidency]." They should 
not be officeholders, who might have "too great [a] 
devotion" to the incumbent president; their number would 
be a safeguard against "corruption."

     But if no winner emerged, the election would fall to 
the House of Representatives, where each state delegation 
would cast a single vote.

     Hamilton predicted the happy result of this design: 
"This process of election affords a moral certainty that 
the office of president will seldom fall to the lot of 
any man who is not in an eminent degree endowed with the 
requisite qualifications. Talents for low intrigue and 
the little arts of popularity may alone suffice to 
elevate a man to the first honors in a single state; but 
it will require other talents and a different kind of 
merit to establish him in the esteem and confidence of 
the whole Union, or of so considerable a portion of it as 
would be necessary to make him a successful candidate for 
the distinguished office of president of the United 
States. It will not be too strong to say that there will 
be a constant probability of seeing the station filled by 
characters pre-eminent for ability and virtue."

     In other words, the Electoral College was meant to 
be a distinct institution, a *genuine deliberative body,* 
part of a system generally designed to decentralize 
power, mute popular passions, control factions, and 
dissipate the influence of corruption. Seen that way, and 
performing those functions, it makes excellent sense.

     What makes no sense is that the Electoral College 
should have become what it is now: a silly game that 
duplicates, while distorting, the results of a popular 
vote, with a winner-take-all rule in most states and the 
electors acting as mere ciphers. Gore's partisans are 
right about it, but they played the game without 
complaint until they lost. As long as they thought they 
could win, we heard nary a murmur from them.

     It isn't that the U.S. Constitution is holy; but I 
think of it as a great and fascinating work of art, like 
HAMLET or PARADISE LOST, expressing a deeply thought-out 
way of looking at the world. Its vision may now be as 
passť as feudalism, but it's worth getting to know. 
Subsequent generations, missing its inner spirit, have 
ruined it, like a vain fool daubing new streaks of paint 
on an old masterpiece in the conviction that he is 
improving it when it's no longer even recognizable. 
{(I'm reminded of a pop music adaptation of Mozart some 
years ago, which "enhanced" his fortieth symphony by 
adding a thudding percussive beat.)} Modern democracy 
has destroyed the essence of the thing; yet it flatters 
itself that it has preserved the Constitution, only 
because it has preserved its words while ignoring, or 
willfully forgetting, their import.

     A witty friend once quipped to me that something of 
the Constitution still survives: "We still have two 
senators per state." Superficially, yes; but the original 
Senate no longer exists. The Seventeenth Amendment 
virtually abolished it by requiring the popular election 
of senators; before that, senators were chosen by state 
legislatures, because the Senate was supposed to 
represent the interests of state governments and to 
prevent usurpations of their powers. The House was to 
speak for the people, the Senate for the states. When the 
Senate was converted to a popular body too, it lost its 
rationale and became as superfluous as the Electoral 
College now is, imperfectly duplicating functions better 
performed by the House: instead of representing the 
states equally, it represents the people unequally.

     The states, meanwhile, have been reduced to mere 
administrative subdivisions of a monolithic nation-state. 
They have lost the defining mark of a true state, which 
is sovereignty, and such powers as they retain are held 
not by right but by the sufferance of the federal 
government. But not one American in a hundred (and 
perhaps not one senator in a hundred) understands all 
this. Nearly everyone believes the cheerful myth that 
nothing has essentially changed since 1789.

     But everything has changed. No American ought to 
read the Constitution without a sense of loss. Much as I 
dislike false veneration of the "living document," it 
prescribes a form of government infinitely superior to 
the current American regime. We would all be much freer 
if the U.S. government played by its own rules. But there 
is no way to force it to do so as long as {the American 
people} remain ignorant of their own political heritage.

     The most successful revolutions are not those that 
are celebrated with parades and banners, drums and 
trumpets, but those that occur unnoticed. The 
Constitution has been quietly abolished; the American 
regime can't afford to acknowledge this, except 
obliquely. But discerning readers of history know that 
American history, especially since the Civil War, has 
been an irreversible process of centralizing power. This 
election will do nothing to change that.

     After a dull campaign in which the most important 
questions about governance rarely surfaced, we got a 
dizzying election made all the more confusing and bitter 
because the constitutionally prescribed Electoral College 
has been reduced to an absurd relic. The outcome gave the 
regime a shock it richly deserved.

The Spirit of Falstaff
(pages 5-6)

     I fell in love with Shakespeare in 1961, when I was 
15. This was quite apart from the authorship question, 
which I ignored until I was 40. Among the countless books 
of criticism I read, A.C. Bradley's classic SHAKESPEAREAN 
TRAGEDY and Mark Van Doren's SHAKESPEARE stood out.

     But the book that changed my entire way of seeing 
Shakespeare was THE MEANING OF SHAKESPEARE, by Harold 
Clarke Goddard -- to my mind the most original commentary 
on Shakespeare ever written. It appeared posthumously in 
1951, the rather inapt title supplied by the publisher; a 
better title would have been THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE. 
Goddard would have resisted the suggestion that 
Shakespeare can be captured by any single "meaning."

     Goddard writes of Shakespeare with an unabashed love 
bordering on adoration. He was a Quaker who taught at 
Bryn Mawr, and his tone is that of a wise and 
affectionate teacher who would rather impart his 
enthusiasm than impose his ideas; he is fond of quoting 
William Blake's saying that "enthusiastic admiration is 
the first principle of knowledge, and the last." He never 
sounds academic.

     I didn't like Goddard at first; in fact he enraged 
me. I began with his chapter on HAMLET, in which he 
rejects the general assumption that Hamlet is duty-bound 
to avenge his father's murder. This struck me as 
perversely wrong. Nevertheless, as I read on I gradually 
saw that Goddard was right. Hamlet's descent into the 
cycle of violence, driven by a false conscience which his 
father's spirit encourages, results not in justice but in 
chaos and destruction. He, his mother, and several 
others, including the innocent Ophelia, die along with 
his murderous uncle, and Denmark falls under the sway of 
a foreign power, Norway: that is the price of revenge.

     In Goddard's view, Hamlet exemplifies a recurrent 
pattern in Shakespeare. In play after play, the hero is 
torn between Force (the male, atavistic, and often 
paternal influence) and Imagination (the feminine 
principle). Romeo, the tender lover, is drawn into an 
ancestral feud that destroys him and Juliet; noble Brutus 
tries to defeat tyranny by force, only to produce an even 
worse tyranny; Hamlet's revenge mission results in the 
ruin of Denmark; Richard III and Macbeth resort to 
murder, issuing in wars that consume them; King Lear 
tries to impose his will on his children, plunging 
England into madness; Coriolanus comes to a tragic end 
because, under the influence of his domineering mother, 
he sacrifices his natural feelings to military power and 
patrician intransigence, until even she begs him to 
relent. In the comedies, on the other hand, the feminine 
principle wins out in the end; anger and enmity (or even 
the "merry war" between the sexes) yield to the creative 
spirit: mercy, peace, and reconciliation, included in and 
symbolized by marriage.

     But Goddard's pinnacle may be his interpretation of 
the Henry V cycle, beginning with RICHARD II. He 
challenges the prevalent notion that Henry V is 
Shakespeare's ideal king. Instead, he sees the cycle as 
subtly debunking a national hero.

     In the traditional legend of Henry V, Henry -- as 
Prince Hal -- led a wild youth until his father's death, 
then underwent a sudden reformation, banishing his 
lowlife companions and rising to military heroism. And 
this is the way the Henry V cycle is usually described: 
Shakespeare takes the legend at face value, most critics 
agree, and Hal has no choice but to reject Falstaff and 
the rest.

     But according to Goddard, Hal must choose between 
the principle of Force represented by his father, Henry 
IV, who has deposed Richard II, and the principle of 
Imagination, represented by Falstaff. Hal's cold-blooded 
rejection of Falstaff proves that he is too much his 
father's son, and the ghost of Falstaff hovers over 
HENRY V as the "mirror of all Christian kings" cynically 
invades and conquers France, using threats of mass rape 
and massacre to induce surrender. He warns the city of 
Harfleur that it will see its naked infants impaled on 
his soldiers' spears if it resists. (The action scenes in 
Laurence Olivier's film of the play, made to boost 
British morale during World War II, show Henry fighting 
righteously and valiantly; in the play itself, we never 
see Henry fighting at all, and Olivier had to cut several 
passages portraying his ruthless brutality in order to 
sustain his heroic aura.)

     Goddard supports his interpretation with a close 
reading of the text. But beyond that, he sees Falstaff as 
close to the essence of Shakespeare, not in his vices 
(which Goddard agrees are real and indefensible), but in 
his ability to transcend "the tyranny of things as they 
are. Falstaff is immortal because he is a symbol of the 
supremacy of the imagination over fact. He forecasts 
man's final victory over Fate itself. Facts stand in our 
way. Facts melt before Falstaff like ice before a summer 
sun -- dissolve in the aqua regia of his resourcefulness 
and wit. He realizes the age-old dream of all men: to 
awaken in the morning and to know that no master, no 
employer, no bodily need or sense of duty calls, no fear 
or obstacle stands in the way -- only a fresh beckoning 
day that is wholly ours."

     But "freedom is only the negative side of Falstaff. 
Possessing it, he perpetually does something creative 
with it. It is not enough for him to be the sworn enemy 
of facts. Any lazy man or fool is that. He is the sworn 
enemy of the factual spirit itself, of whatever is dull, 
inert, banal. Facts merely exist -- and so do most men. 
Falstaff lives. And where he is, life becomes bright, 
active, enthralling."

     On the other hand, "the Immortal Falstaff" is 
undermined by "the Immoral Falstaff," and in the end he 
gives Hal plenty of color for rejecting and denouncing 
him. All the same, it's a terrible pity, even a tragedy 
for both men, that Henry and Falstaff come to such a 
parting of the ways.

     This is not the usual language of literary 
criticism. Goddard is frankly concerned with what 
Shakespeare has to say about human life and the spirit, 
and he refuses to treat the plays as closed texts. He 
sees them as illuminating each other, showing how 
Shakespeare's insight deepens from one work to the next. 
For all their wonderful variety and pageantry, they also 
have a collective integrity, an inner unity of purpose. 
"His plays and poems deserve to be considered integrally, 
as chapters, so to speak, of a single work." While 
Shakespeare the Playwright achieves wonderful dramatic 
effects, Shakespeare the Poet complicates or even 
contradicts the plays' ostensible meanings with hidden 

     Falstaff at his best is the very spirit of 
Shakespeare, marvelously free and creative. All the 
greatest Shakespearean characters -- Hamlet, Cleopatra, 
Rosalind, even the repentant Lear -- have something of 
the old knight's ability to transmute a situation through 
the power of imagination. At their peak moments, they 
refuse to be defeated by mere fact. They are united by 
their "refusal to value life in terms of anything but 
life itself": they never measure life by worldly 

     Goddard audaciously suggests that Lear dies in joy 
at seeing that the dead Cordelia is truly alive after 
all, despite what a literal reading of the text may seem 
to say; and in dying, he joins her in eternal life. 
Whether such a proposition can be "proved" is irrelevant 
to Goddard; he insists that every reading of the plays 
involves a meeting between Shakespeare's imagination and 
the reader's. There is no single inherent meaning apart 
from what we make of the plays, provided we read them 
with full attention. They mirror our own spirits. The 
more we put into them, the more we get out of them. For 
Goddard this is true of all poetry, not just Shakespeare. 
He delights in quoting, with full sympathy, the naive 
reactions of his own students. He thinks they can tell us 
more about Shakespeare than the sophisticated judgments 
of sober scholars who abstain from offering opinions 
about life outside the plays.

     For Goddard, poetry is a kind of prophecy, and 
Shakespeare is among the supreme oracles of literature. 
He sees not only Shakespeare's works but all literary 
works and spiritual writings as commenting on each other; 
he appeals to the Bible, the UPANISHADS, Blake, Goethe, 
Emerson, Thoreau, Dostoyevsky, Samuel Butler, and William 
James, to name a few.

     This makes his style of commentary embarrassing to 
most academic scholars. But it gives his book urgency, 
and he captures something vital in the perennial appeal 
of Shakespeare. We don't read Shakespeare merely to learn 
about Elizabethan life; we read him because he shows us 
life itself. Goddard acknowledges that we should 
understand the historical context of the plays, but he 
denies that that context explains those plays. Rather, it 
is like the soil in which a flower grows: "The secret of 
why the germinating seed selects certain ingredients of 
the soil, while utterly ignoring others, lies in the 
seed, not in the soil."

     Even Shakespeare, if we could interview him, 
wouldn't have the last word on what his plays "mean." 
Once they exist, their meaning is up to us. In this 
sense, Goddard resembles the recent deconstructionists, 
though he has none of their nihilism. For him the 
impossibility of a final, definitive "meaning" is reason 
for hope, not despair. "For my part," he says, "I believe 
we are nearer the beginning than the end of our 
understanding of Shakespeare's genius."

     Nobody has explained Shakespeare's power to enhance 
life better than Goddard. Everyone praises Shakespeare; a 
few critics deepen one's understanding of him. But only 
Goddard leaves the reader feeling that Shakespeare is 
even greater than anyone has realized. 


HUH? {Writing of the Beatles in THE WEEKLY STANDARD, 
Daniel Wattenberg observes that} "John Lennon and Paul 
McCartney raised popular music to a peak of balanced 
artistry we are unlikely to see again soon." Well, maybe, 
if you judge them against more recent rock. But popular 
music was doing all right with the Gershwins, Cole 
Porter, Rodgers & Hart & Hammerstein, Johnny Mercer, Duke 
Ellington, Harold Arlen, {Harry Ruby, Frank Loesser, and 
a few others I could mention, some of whom} were still 
active when Lennon and McCartney came along to "raise" 
the level thereof. Rock belongs to the culture of 
amnesia, and so, it seems, does THE WEEKLY STANDARD. 
(page 10)

RECRIMINTIONS, ANYONE? My biggest disappointment this 
year was the poor showing of Howard Phillips and the 
Constitution Party. So far, I'm glad to report, nobody 
has blamed it on my resignation from the ticket. (page 

STOP THE PRESSES! I just saw a Jew make the sign of the 
Cross. You'll never guess: it was Claire Bloom as Lady 
Anne at her husband's funeral, in Laurence Olivier's film 
of RICHARD III. I'd seen the movie a hundred times before 
I noticed it. Let's hope the Anti-Defamation League 
doesn't find out. They'd rather she made porn flicks. 
(page 11)

Exclusive to the electronic version:

COME AGAIN? TIME magazine cites a few Bushisms that are 
worthy of Dan Quayle: "I know how hard it is to put food 
on your family." "I understand small business growth. I 
was one." "The most important job is not to be governor, 
or first lady in my case." But I found this one downright 
disingenious, as Bush himself might say: "The human being 
and the fish can coexist peacefully." Not as long as we 
keep eating them.

CONTRA BUSH: Think about it. We eat fish by the millions. 
But when one of them eats even one of us, we make a movie 
about it. And of course we consider it a happy ending 
when the fish gets killed! Bush thinks fish would call 
*that* peaceful coexistence?

Reprinted Columns (pages 7-12)

* History's Winners (October 3, 2000)
* The Few and the Many (October 10, 2000)
* Beware of Allies (October 17, 2000)
* Tyson, Golota, and Hamlet (October 24, 2000)
* Putting Israel First (November 2, 2000)
* A Rare Scholar (November 7, 2000)

All articles are written by Joe Sobran

Copyright (c) 2000. All rights reserved.
SOBRAN'S is distributed by the Griffin Internet 
Syndicate (
Individuals may now subscribe to an e-mail version 
of Joe Sobran's columns and newsletter. For more 
information contact or call