Yep. Until then, let's hold judgement.
Bob, a classic Norquist story, from Peggy Noonan's book (and thanks to Mrs Byron, for typing all this up!)
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...now, the presentation of the youngest person there, Grover Norquist, thirtyish, Harvard-educated, a free-lance Conservative operative.
With ten minutes to brief his first president, Grover had called around to friends who had worked in the White House and asked, How do I keep his attention on a subject he may not find naturally interesting? The day of the meeting, he gave a presentation in which the president was forced to look at a picture, read a short letter or respond to a question. All this not so much so Grover would keep his attention, but so the president’s staff would notice he’d kept his attention. “I wanted them to know the president had heard my arguments and would remember them, so they’d have to take that into account when they discussed Mozambique with him.”
He captivated the president with a kind of show-and-tell on Mozambique – that the governing party is Marxist-Leninist; President Chissano is a Communist. You may have been given the impression by the State Department, which tends in its worldview to assume a black African is too dumb to be a Communist, to think that’s only for white Europeans – you may have been given the impression that the people of the Mozambique government are not serious. But they are.
But there is a strong opposition, he said, a guerrilla army with twenty-two thousand men under arms, the fastest-growing anti-Communist insurgency in the world. It is pro-democratic and pro-Western in its outlook.
“Sir, this is a picture I took of one section of a very large official government mural that is placed very prominently on the highway between the airport and Maputo, the capital. The mural is placed alongside the Plaza of Heroes, which every person who enters Mozambique must pass as he leaves the airport. As you can see, this part of the mural shows a white man with a Star of David very prominent on his military cap. He is strangling and manacling a young black man. The message is obvious: Zionism is the enemy.”
He handed the photo to the president.
“Mr. President, the government of Mozambique has picked up all the Soviet Union’s bad habits, from concentration camps to secret police to anti-Semitism. These are decisions and positions the Soviets tell them to take. By the way, I asked a high official of the government why anti-Semitic art is part of an official government poster. He said, ‘Oh, the artist did that.” Reagan was studying the eight-by-ten colour glossy.
“Mr. President, did anyone ever tell you of this mural?”
“No.”
“Well, Mr. President, you can’t miss it.”
The president asked if he could keep the photo. At that point, for the first time in the meeting, Weinberger, Carlucci and Howard Baker picked up their pencils and wrote on their White House pads.
“Mr. President, they have East Germans running the secret police, and you know and I know who East Germans are: They’re Nazis, without the charm.”
The president laughed. Howard Baker wrote on his pad, “Nazis without the charm.” He underlined it.
The president said, “Well, I fought the Communists years ago in the Screen Actors Guild, and I understand them.” He told a story of how he had to carry a gun for a year. He said there was a plan by some of the Communists in the union to throw acid in his face so he’d never be able to work in pictures again.
“Well, they were successful,” Weyrich said dryly. “You haven’t made a picture in years.”
Everyone laughed, and stood to leave. Norquist walked around the table to the president.
“Sir, when you meet with President Chissano in October, keep one thing in mind: Chissano used to be the head of security in Mozambique, and in that capacity he once had one of his lieutenants murder his own father in front of a thousand government troops to teach them what revolutionary discipline really means. Do you know how the man killed his father?”
Reagan shook his head. Norquist drew an imaginary dagger from his belt, pointed it toward the present’s abdomen and traced up and over.
The president winced and stepped back.
“So remember,” said Norquist, “when you meet with Chissano: plastic cutlery.”