same students would fare much better atrnlocal community colleges or vocationalrnschools that have less prestige than thernelite four-year colleges. Why have theserncvnical admissions policies not provokedrnmore protest? Precisely because the appearancernof compassion and sensitivityrntoward minorities is easier than the applicationrnof hardlieaded policies thatrnwould actually work to their benefit.rnWhat Hentoff sees as a struggle overrnthe right to full expression, the participantsrnview as a battle over who will controlrnthe culture. And they are correct; argumentsrnof constitutional interpretationrnbecome irrelevant when the same FirstrnAmendment is used to ban public displavsrnof Christmas scenes and to demandrnpublic funding of a crucifix submergedrnin urine. This is how shamelesslyrninconsistent the arguments of the secularistsrnhave become. They ban classic literaturernlike Huckleberry Finn on therngrounds that it includes offensive racistrnlanguage and force students to readrnmodern trash that offends their religiousrnbeliefs; expel students for satirizing gayrnactivist groups or displaying Confederaternflags; shout down conservative speakersrnthey disagree with; set up centers forrnwomen’s rights that systcmaticallv excludernwomen who are anti-abortion; enactrnspeech codes that enforce sensitivityrntoward everyone but white males andrnChristians; conduct smear campaignsrnagainst prominent public figures whornchallenge p.c. cliches; prevent debate inrnlaw schools over the issue of homosexualrncustody of children … Hentoff’s list isrnjust the tip of the iceberg. One senses hisrnamazement at the sheer gutlessness ofrntoday’s campus radicals; rather than engagernthe opposition with arguments,rnthey are all too willing to shut down debaternwhere the} have the power to dornso—which is almost everywhere in thernmedia and in acadcmia. Revolutionariesrnonce were made of tougher stuff.rnBut ironically, the roots of this newrnfascism grow from the no-limits absolutismrnof Hentoff and his fellow FirstrnAmendment ideologues. The notionrnthat there is no higher expression of democracyrnand freedom than a society thatrntolerates absolutely everything must ultimatelyrnfail. Democratic societies byrntheir very nature seek a sort of corporaternexpression whcrebv they act to set standardsrnand make laws regarding acceptablernbehavior. Whether those standardsrnshould be derived from a relativist secularismrnor a moral tradition infused byrnChristian revelation is the only relevantrnquestion in our declining Western society.rnAt this point, you must pick a side orrnstep aside. Mr. Hentoff, in the currentrnfeminist jargon, “just doesn’t get it.”rnBrian Robertson is a freelance writerrnliving in Princeton, New jersey.rnAirs, Waters, Placesrnby Stephen BodiornNamed in Stone and Sky:rnAn Arizona AnthologyrnEdited by Gregory McNameernTucson: University of Arizona Press;rn194 pp., $15.95rnImight sav at the onset that I am usuallyrnnot a big fan of anthologies,rnthough I have edited one; most end uprnunwieldy grab bags of vaguely relatedrnmaterial. This is emphatically not therncase with Gregory McNamee’s Namedrnin Stone and Sky, a collection of Southwesternrnmaterial that marvelously coheresrninto a portrait of this harsh andrnwonderful region. To assemble his portrait,rnMcNamee does not rely on “literature”rnonly, even in its broadest definition.rnHe includes poetry and bits ofrnfiction, but also searches out NativernAmerican songs and prayers, explorers’rndiaries, and scientists’ writings. He isrnnot afraid to add Zane Grey and therndoggerel of old cowboys. The result mayrnbe the best local anthology I know.rnWhile he nods respectfully to The LastrnBest Place, a collection of Montanan literaturernby Annick Smith and WilliamrnKittredge published in 1988, I considerrnhis to be a much better book.rnMcNamee has organized this book innovatively,rnnot in chronological order orrnby segregating fact from fiction, prosernfrom poetry, but around broad themesrnof “Airs,” “Waters,” and “Places.” Hernknows, as did the New Mexican historianrnRoss Calvin (whose writings on the GilarnRiver he includes) that “sky determines,”rnthat dryness and the uncertain waterrnsupply have shaped everything in thernSouthwest from the evolution of leavesrnto the (often) impermanence of settlement.rnHe is a brave enough editor to cutrnin quick snippets from many authors andrncompose them into a kind of verbal collage,rnwhile allowing others to stretchrnout—a fictional thunderstorm from BarbararnKingsolver, an almost-fatal adventurernfrom the late Edward Abbey. In between,rnhe comments and informs. He isrnan editor who wants you to learn the historyrnof the land he loves, to use its traditionsrnto heal its scars and those of itsrnpeoples. But he is also one who can comfortablyrnrefer to Sir Richard Burton andrnCM. Doughty as fellow “desert rats”;rnserious, but not solemn.rnReading the anthology, you come tornknow the Southwest’s landscapes gradually.rnMcNamee opens with a Navajornchant, passes to an 18th-century Jesuit’srnaccount of the climate that still ringsrntrue, and gives us some passages fromrnJohn Van Dyke and Ross Calvin that remindrnus that some of the best “visual”rnlandscape writing has been inspired byrndesert light. There is the storm by BarbararnKingsolver already mentioned, sorngood it makes me envious—I have writtenrna couple of Southwestern thunderstormrnscenes, but none so wonderful.rnSoon, with “Waters,” we are in the realmrnof exactly what “sky determines,” up inrnthe high mountains that in the winter resemblernMontana, down in the canyonsrnwith M.H. Salmon, wondering what willrnbe left wild. A reader from “normal”rnwell-watered areas will learn a little aboutrnthe importance of water rights in thernWest and about how water is wasted. BiologistrnGary Nabhan details how thernland has never completely recoveredrnsince the drought of 1891, and how therncities are sucking the aquifer dry.rnBut the real delights of the collectionrnfor me are in “Places,” which takes uprnabout half of the book. Just as you havernadjusted to the idea of aridity punctuatedrnby cloudbursts, McNamee will remindrnyou of the difficulty of defining thernterm “desert” at all, quoting the plantrngeographer Forrest Shreve, who classifiesrnthe Upper Sonoran “desert” as arnsemitropieal dry forest. Architecturalrncritic Reyncr Banham reminds us thatrnthe original definition had more to dornwith “deserted” than “dry,” and tells howrnhe has never spent a day in the desertrnthat he didn’t see other people. (I canrnhear Ed Abbey’s ghost grumbling that hernmight have, if he ever got off the road.)rnThis section is amazingly diverse. McNameernhas included rude Spanish poetryrnfrom the Diccionario Malcriado,rnCatholico-Yaqui creation myths in whichrnJesus carelessly creates the mountains ofrnArizona by spilling cornmeal from arnJULY 1993/39rnrnrn