Conan the Librarian
Conan the Librarian Wearing the skin of the institution you killed. Mark Bisone When I was in my mid-teens, I became interested in Human Rights. Or, more accurately, I became interested in a girl who was interested in them, which is the usual circuitry of such things. I joined her chapter of Amnesty International, where I wrote letters to foreign tyrants demanding truth, justice, the American way, and so forth. I recall that in one of these — I think it was to Mobutu — I mentioned that the movie Rambo was based on a real dude, and that we were sending him, so he should bend over and kiss his fat ass goodbye. Letters we wrote were sent out as templates to be hand-copied by younger members. I don’t know how many Rambo-threats Mobutu received, but I imagine they all got burnt in a trash pit anyway, alongside the corpses of political enemies and the like. Back to the “usual circuitry” for a moment; the dirty little secret behind many so-called social justice movements is that for every