head looks and talks. As the respected tone one tells a dieting friend, “You’,rntrench sociologist Jean Baiidrillard receiifKrnuK^te, modern polities will be thernart of ” ideo-fodlmg.” lie who kiunvsrnhow to sell himself on the IN screen willrnbe the ultiinafe political winner, regardlessrnof how much of a half-wit he marnaetualK be.rnCad Schmift wrote a long time agornthat polities is the art of distinguishingrnbetween friend and foe. But who will di-rnine the foe in the one-dimensionalrnvideosphere? In the 21 sf ccntur, the artrnof telling the foe will mean properb seeingrnbehind his clothes and makeup. Ihcrncoming titans that lurk on the hori/onrnwill no longer be dressed in brow u shirtsrnand blaek boots. Thcv will make theirrnappearance in Gucci suits and Ballrnshoes.rnlomislar Sunic is a former professor ofrnpolitieal science at jnmata College inrnUuutingJon, Pennsylvanici, and the authorrnof The r,uro|3ean New Right (PeterrnLang. 1990). I le currently serves nirnCroatia’s Mhnstry of Foreign .ffairs.rnMemoirs of arnReagan Hackrnby Paul FasterrnThe Saga of a SensitivernConserativernT he sensitive conscrvatixe. .u ox-rnmorou to most liberals. An eeaxertingrnembarrassment to man eonscrrnaties. .And. it would ^c’,’m in l’J94,rnan irreleanc. Who needs scnsiticrncoiiscratics wiieii Dcmoi !:!t^ in powerrncan assure tolerance and s( iisiln it” ,llrn111 all, it’s a dubious tinit (o be a louelnfeehrnman of the right. Just m luck.rnAetualK, 1 iR’er cxpccicd to be labeledrnthe foucln-fceb t])e, no matterrnthe era. Looking back, I can see therernwere warning signs in college. A coedrnfriend once remarked that I was “thernoiiK nice Republican ” she had eer met.rnYeah, right. l-!ut m guffaws died in inrnthroat when 1 noticed hei laughing ecsrnweren’t. She was serious. 1 tried to shrugrnoff the eomment, i)ut oiiK weeks laterrnaiKithei conipauiou told me, “I doii trnsec ou as a eousciVcitue, iii the sauii.rnnot faf. ” I was worried.rn here had I gone wrong? l parentsrnwere charter subscribers to NationalrnReview. FAer Christmas I had askedrnfor and reeeied from Santa a new fovrngun. And in the fifth grade, I spreadrnword that an classmate who went trickor-rntrcafing for IJNICEF was a fellowrntraxcler. And now I was a “nice Republican.”rnAfter graduation, I headed for RonaldrnReagan’s \a,shington, a shak pilgrimrnin search of spiritual renewal. With luckrn1 managed to get a jol) at the WhiternI louse, as a writer in the Office of PresidentialrnMessages. M actual office wasrnon the ground floor of the Old Executivern()ffiee Building next door. Sure I was arnpeon, but a conseratic Republicanrnpeon. I felt good. A certain equilibriumrnreturned. 1 started wearing fur.rnThings were going well. I read thernWaslnngton Tnnes faithfulK, bought myrnfirst cllow power-tie, and occasionallyrnmeandered across 17th Street to thernthen-fashionable Maison Blanche forrndrinks. I was drafting letters on crime,rnthe drug problem, aid to the Contras. Irncen walked into a fund-raiser at thernsame time as Fawn I lalk feeling the proximaterneelebrit glow of a thousand flashbulbsrnin m face.rnStill, there were signs. One morningrnsitting in on the usual office bull session,rnI easualK asked if anone hadrncaught “that fascinating Bill Moversrnprogram on RI^S last night.” Scorn wasrnheaped, suspicions were raised. Soon, Irnbegan noticing m assignments were lifteredrnw ith terms like safet net and SSIrnwhile m colleague, an ex-liippie whornnow looked like the cover bo- for Todav’srnAccountant, wrote about Star WarsrnandlCBMs.rnI tried to compensate. I attended HeritagernFoundation briefers, e’en snoozersrnlike “I Iar est of Shame—the ShockingrnTruth .About Farm Supports.” I leftrna dog-eared cop of Refmhliean Reptilernspraw led across mv desk. I rented ChuckrnNorris idcos. I spit a lot.rnYet the gang still seemed war of me.rnThe elincher came when Lisa, ourrn(Jueeii of file Sob Sfor, had to fake maternifxrnleae. Tisa handled eorrespondciiecrniuoliiig personal tragedv, andrnshe eoiiki ciaft u plies that would wringrntcaisoul of a hank examiner. Replacingrnher was lopic A at our morning staffrnmeeting, but who!’ Mr, ICBM massagedrnhis frcsliU shacii chin, eecf me uiiblinkingly,rnmade a grimace, and saidrnsimpiv, “Paul… he’s good at that stuff,”rnI glanced around. Now all m)’ colleaguesrnwere massaging their chins and grimacing,rntheir heads slowly nodding. Yeah,rnthey were thinking, Paul’s good at thatrnstuff. He’s good at… pap.rnThe boss mumbled something aboutrntaking my time to consider, but I knewrnthere was onlv one answer—I becamernKing of the Sob Storv. And with it wentrnany hope of overcoming my rep—I wasrnnow a full-blown sensiti’e kinda gu’.rnFor awhile I tried fo make the best ofrnit, churning out sympathetic yet soberrnreplies—adding the compassionaterntouch, while holding fast to conservativernprinciples: “While the President isrnsmpathetic to vour predicament, Mr.rnJones, he is unable to grant a stay of vourrnexecution until after the winning SuperrnDuper Jackpot Lotto number is announced.rnSorrv, would if he could. Takernit easy.”rnI tried. But something gnawed insidernme. Was I reallv making the best use ofrnm talents—cranking out messages inrnthe bowels of the White House? Withrnall my compassion and sensitivity (I wasrnbeyond denying it now), maybe, justrnmavbe, I could become . . . a talk-showrnhost. Or a psvchotherapist. Whicheverrnseemed easier. And heck, with my anglernI could probably be a therapist on a talkrn.show. “He’s conservative, he’s Republican,rnand he could he counseling yourrnchildren. Right-wing psychotherapist—rnthe next Geraldo.”rnI began apphing to clinical psyehologrnprograms. I had no background inrnthe field, but I was full of compassionrnand had seen every episode of the BobrnNewhart Show at least twice, a fact Irndidn’t fail to mention on my applicationrnforms. Something worked, because arncouple of schools actually invited me forrnan interview.rnOne was a large Southern state university.rnSitting in the school’s psychologyrndepartment lounge with my fellowrninvited applicants, I was nervous. Wernhad made the first cut, but after these interviewsrnonly half of us would be invitedrnback. The faculty strolled in and tookrntheir places. This was intended to be arnfriendly warm-up session, before thernmore grueling individual interviews tookrnplace. We applicants took turns introducingrnourseh’es. After I did so, a professorrninterrupted, “Are ou the fellowrnwho works at the White House?” “Yes, Irnam,” I said, hastily turning to the nextrn4f)/CHKn,NICLrSrnrnrn