cesses, not unlike subversion, deconstruction,rn;ind reolution. To turn backrn;i 50-c;ir tide is tantamount to going forward,rnfor in the words of G.S. I lalifax inrnhis Political, Moral and Miscellaneousrn’ihoughts and Reflections, “the bestrnQualification of a Prophet is to have arngood Meniorv.” We must look deeperrninto our national past, which wc will bernable to do onlv after resolving the presentrnSea of Troubles and defeating thernstill mounting vae of liberal progrcssivism.rnMarco Respinti is fmishing a dissertationrnon American conservatism at thernCatholic Ihiiversity of Milan.rnLetter From thernEast Villagernbv Mark RadiornGeneration XrnGeneration X, to which I belong, is a piousrngeneration. You can easilv becomernalienated from it unless vou adopt therncorrect attitudes. Without the sociopoliticalrnskills that todav mastjucrade asrngood manners, it is cjuitc possible to talkrnone’s wa into trouble. The last time 1rnfelt threatened b educated middle-classrnpeople was in Poland before the fall ofrncommunism. Now it can easily happenrnat an American university or at a dinnerrnpart.rnRecentK I went to a party in the FastrnVillage that set off unpleasant recollectionsrnof an experience I had on a trainrnjourne from Warsaw to Lublin in 1986.rnDuring the trip my fellow passengers,rnnoticing that I spoke Polish with a foreignrnaccent, had been kind to me,rnshared food, and struck up conivia]rnconersation. Then I mentioned thernsingle word “Katn,” the place wherernStalin’s NKVD ruthlessly murderedrn5,000 Polish officers. Suddenly all fellrnsilent. I was a Russian sp’, or a memberrnof the hated Milicja seirt to test them.rnOr mavbc I was merch’ ignorant.rn”Stupid boy,” said a neatly dressedrnmiddle-aged woman, “ou don’t knowrnwhat you’re prattling about.” I recei’edrnfrowns, aad the other passengers beganrnto ee eacls other, wondering whicli onernmight be an informer. What had begunrnas a pleasant journey ended in almostrncomplete silence, and anger was directedrnat me for spoiling the trip. I got offrnthe train and as I walked down the platform,rnfootsteps followed mine. A youngrnlady who had been sitting in the cornerrnof my compartment called after me. Irnstopped. She told me that it was notrnsafe to bring up topics like Katvn in arnpublic place. yVfter wc had talked a littlernand parted, I remembered that mrnbrother had been arrested for loose talkrnten years ago. lie had been on holidav,rntoo. The released him after a night.rnIt is farfetched to compare the atmospherernunder a totalitarian communistrnregime with an East Village party, andrnyet later, after I had been thrown out ofrnthe party, the comparison seemed lessrnand less outlandish. I’he party was heldrnin the loft of a “musician” (most membersrnof Generation X seem to be musicians,rn])aintcrs, or writers, although theirrnabilities usually lie in other directions),rnand there was a poster of the recentU deceasedrnRiver Phoenix on the wall. ThisrnI took to be satirical in intent. The onhrnperson I knew there was the host,rnwhose new gidfriend liad allowed him tornuse the loft. Ihc partvgoers, six or sevenrnof them, welcomed me into theirrncool little wodd. At first I managed torncreate a good impression by latching onrnto the general attitude of “we’re all sorngenuine, so real, so earing.” This carernhad, of course, to be balanced by a contemptuousrntone about almost ecr-rnthing other than those “issues” that exercisernthe feeble moral muscles of thernyoung. I noticed that their college educationsrnhad taught them nothing butrnthe neatest orthodoxy, and conscc[uentlyrntheir world was one of rampantrn”racism,” “sexism,” “honrophobia,” andrnalso something they liked to call “oppression.”rn(Having heard real stories ofrnoppression from my parents, exiled tornSiberia, I found this amusing.) Thernloed actiists, and the “communitx”rneen more. They had love in their heartsrnand were full of tenderness and tolerance.rnTheir loathing (often temperedrnb- a tone of saintly resignation to thernevils of the wodd) was reserved for therngovernment’s conduct of foreign affairs,rnespecially in Central America, and forrnthe GIA.’rnI heard a young woman about 25rnyears old talking about the difficultiesrnof dating. “I met this guv, he seemed realKrnnice, I’d have gone out with him likerna shot. . . but then I found out he was arnRepublican . . . ” I made reference tornRomeo and Juliet and amor omnia vmcit.rnA young she-professor of English in herrn30’s, the oldest person there and thereforernan authority on many things (thernBrady Bunch perhaps?), told me thatrnquoting Latin was an elitist irrelevancernand continued her earnest discussionrnof sexism and supernumcrar- antitropesrnin Pbueault. I went to help with therncooking.rnSo far everything was perfcetK’ friend-rn1 and civil, and people were generalKrnlaving off politics except for an oddrninsult directed at Mayor Giuliani. Keepingrnnrv tongue firmly bridled so as not tornmake jokes or comments that would offendrnany group or go against any receivedrnopinion, I took refuge in absurdrnhumor, doing impressions of famousrnpeople and acting like Robin Williamsrnin Mork and Mindy. As Generation X isrna J’V-loving generation, this went downrnvery well. The partygoers were beginningrnto like me, and in fact m goofinessrnwas even starting to rub off some ofrntheir cool veneer. Dinner was to consistrnof lobster and crab, and the host and Irnplunged the clawing beasts into boilingrnwater with elaborate ceremony. Someonernput a live lobster under his I’-shirtrnand acted out the famous birth scenernfrom Alien to much hilarity. Somehowrnthis led to talk of orgasms. Ah, this wasrnmy generation indeed. Nothing was toornV ulgar; shameless sexual talk and doublernentendrcs flew; wc were free, tolerant,rnand hip.rnWe sat down to eat, and 1 listened tornthe conversations around me. A tone ofrn”earing” and piety indicated which onesrnwere becoming serious. Just as cadierrngenerations have been sickened by thernsmug hypocrisy inherent in certainrnwords and phrases used by their elders—rn”duty” and “pro patria mori” duringrnWodd Wir I, for instance—so I find myselfrnnauseated by the bu/zAvords of myrnown generation. We cant about “issues”rnand “inclusion” in the same glib tonernthat the baby-boomers used when talkingrnabout “openness” and “revolution.”rnGeneration X knows itself to be right.rnThat righteousness can be summed byrnobserving the differences in ancient andrnmodern pop music. In the 60’s, thernRolling Stones roared out “Brown Sugar”rnwith its “Gold Goast slaver boundrnAPRIL 1995/43rnrnrn