But even as I was savoring my resurrection, I opened the New York Times Magazine a week ago to see myself smeared by author Jacob Weisberg as one of a group of conservatives on an alleged mission to rehabilitate Joe McCarthy. After the epithet “racist,” the term “McCarthyite” is the one most likely to inflict mortal wounds in our political culture.

Weisberg’s article was, in fact, almost a carbon copy of a piece by Joshua Micah Marshall that had appeared in the American Prospect a year earlier. His screed, called “Exhuming McCarthy,” slandered the same small group — Ronald Radosh, Harvey Klehr, John Haynes, Allen Weinstein and me — labeling us “New McCarthyites.” Like Weisberg’s piece, it failed to provide the slightest evidence for this charge.

The occasion for these attacks is the controversy surrounding the efforts of a few conservative scholars to bring to light new documentary evidence of domestic Communist spying contained in the recently released Venona transcripts and in Soviet archives. Haynes and Klehr are engaged in a series of groundbreaking studies in this field for Yale University Press; Radosh has co-written definitive books on the Rosenberg and Amerasia spy cases, and is writing a study of the Spanish Civil War based on the new sources; Weinstein is the author of the definitive book on Alger Hiss’ guilt and has published a voluminous text on domestic Communist spies called “The Haunted Wood.”

Weisberg added another conservative, Arthur Herman, who has just published a book, “Joe McCarthy: Re-examining the Life and Legacy of America’s Most Hated Senator,” which also relies on the new sources.

But me? I have never claimed to be a scholar in the area of Soviet agents and Cold War spying, nor have I written anything about spy cases. I’ve never even read the Venona transcripts, nor visited the Soviet archives. What am I doing in this piece?

I had put this question to Weisberg when he’d called me for an interview for his piece. His answer had been hesitant and vague in a way that aroused my suspicions at the time, but he did say that the article would not be merely about the controversy, so I agreed to cooperate.

When the article appeared, however, it was obvious that Weisberg had lied to me. My inclusion was solely for the purpose of smearing the other four authors — or, more precisely, making the smear of them seem plausible. My utility lay in the fact that I am known as a tough moral critic of the left, and have made a point of answering attacks from that quarter in the same uncompromising language as the attacks themselves.

That I write in a polemical, in-your-face style, rather than in a scholarly, hedge-your-bets style, helped provide the necessary “gotcha” quotes that Weisberg was seeking.

In preparing his American Prospect piece last year, Marshall hadn’t read enough of my actual work to come up with a clinching quote, but he introduced me as “the prime example” of someone who “excoriate[s] the entire progressive tradition for the misdeeds of the extreme left.” Weisberg (who found one) merely varies this description: “Having despised liberals from the left, Horowitz came to hate them just as violently from the right.”

In other words, I was a good candidate for the McCarthy stand-in that Weisberg was looking for. This authorial device produces an irony that eludes both writers. Odd, is it not, that two men who claim to be horrified at attempts to conflate the innocent with the guilty should lump together three non-ideological scholars (Haynes, Klehr and Weinstein), a social democrat (Radosh), a traditional conservative (Herman) and a libertarian conservative (me), to accuse them of working together to rehabilitate McCarthyism?!

Weisberg’s profile of what he alleges to be my libero-phobia may puzzle many readers of Salon. Gripped by such demons, why would I want to write columns for a Web site founded by liberals and leftists, and why would I defend them (as I have) from attacks by the right? Surely this is strange behavior for an ideologue possessed by undiscriminating hatred of all things left.

And why would I write a defense of Christopher Hitchens — a proud tiger of the progressive tradition — when he got what a radical presumably deserves: betrayal by his leftist friends for telling tales out of school on White House deviant Sidney Blumenthal? Why would I publicly excoriate Jerry Falwell as a “conservative jackass” for detecting a homosexual plot in the show “Teletubbies”?

The Marshall and Weisberg reports are not only an offense to the facts, but a 180-degree reversal of the truth — a projection of their own ideological agenda to excoriate the entire tradition of conservative anti-Communism for the misdeeds of an extremist named Joe McCarthy.

Although Weisberg and Marshall strain bravely to pretend otherwise, the cause of the current controversy was the indisputable import of the evidence brought to light by the Soviet collapse. These facts inconveniently vindicated the old anti-Communist right, and discredited the partisans of both Old and New lefts who have put up a fierce rearguard action to deny them.

The agenda of “Third Way” liberals like Weisberg and Marshall is to make the best of a bad situation. Since their brand of liberalism has portrayed McCarthy and his conservative allies as far bigger domestic villains than the Communists themselves, that liberalism is implicated in the behaviors of the left that have now been exposed.

To manage their defense, the authors’ first task is to dispose of the specter that the facts have dredged up — the internal threat of a subversive left. This includes the Stalinist left of the early Cold War and its genetic heirs, the anti-Amerikkka left of the Vietnam era and its politically correct successor in the Clinton years.

Today, this left dominates the liberal arts faculties of the nation’s elite universities and thus the historiography of the Cold War itself. The Weisberg-Marshall strategy is first of all to belittle the importance of this left, which they dismiss as “powerless” and “irrelevant.”

Since such a diminution precludes the necessity of reevaluating conservatives’ role in containing this “threat,” the pair can move on to re-demonizing them for contemporary battles, which is accomplished by hanging the albatross of “McCarthyism” around their necks.

As it happens, each of the individuals targeted by Marshall and Weisberg is on record as a sharp critic of McCarthy and McCarthyism, specifically his demagoguery and recklessness with the facts, his contempt for legal process and his unscrupulous attacks on innocent or half-guilty individuals. Each member of this group, me included, has also been careful in his writings to credit anti-Communist leftists with their actual achievements in the battles against domestic totalitarians and not to confuse them with the pro-Communist factions of the “progressive” cause.

While these achievements of anti-Communist liberals and leftists are real, Weisberg dramatically overstates them. For Weisberg, anti-Communist liberals like Arthur Schlesinger and Reinhold Niebuhr represent “the one group that basically got Communism right.”

But if this is the case, Weisberg doesn’t explain why the pursuit of domestic spies like Hiss and Communist agents like Owen Lattimore were predominantly — though not exclusively — the work of the anti-Communist right (which included in those days Democrats as well as Republicans). Then as now, the right was the consistent and perdurable champion of the anti-Communist cause. A satisfactory explanation of the dynamics of the internal Cold War would have to explain these facts. Weisberg does not even try.

While Weisberg notes that the anti-Communist liberals he favors have been strangely silent in the current controversy, he doesn’t examine the reason for their silence. Does it have something to do with liberal politics itself? Could the off-again, on-again popular front between liberalism and leftism explain the paradox? Is there not some truth in the conservative charge that liberals and leftists share goals and differ only in the means to achieve them?

On these provocative questions Weisberg takes the Fifth. Instead of confronting them, he diverts the reader’s attention by suggesting that the “real” issues in the controversy are psychological, not political.

“Radosh,” he writes, “exemplifies a kind of Whig Fallacy in reverse — viewing the present through the lens of one’s own painful past.” For Herr Doktor Weisberg, Radosh’s alleged attachment to the melodramas of his youth explains his refusal to understand “the way in which Communism, long irrelevant in American politics, has become not just powerless but absurd.”

(Interestingly, the same issue of the Times features an op-ed piece titled “The Next Dialectic,” by a bestselling liberal author who writes that Marx “foretold the present cyber-age” and that “writing about globalization in ‘Principles of Communism’ in 1847, Engels sounds very 1999.”)

Of course, Weisberg doesn’t bother to provide evidence for the claim that Radosh is suffering from a case of arrested development (let alone for the assertion that the left lacks influence). Instead, his text shifts quite abruptly to me: “Radosh is a mild and temperate critic in comparison with an old friend of his from the New Left, and a fellow red-diaper baby, David Horowitz.”

As Weisberg proceeds with his Horowitz file, it is quickly apparent that I am indeed the rabbit in the hat — that the reason for my appearance in his text (since I am not a historian and have played no role in this controversy) is to provide the DNA that will make the prosecution’s case.

Since I am the only member of the group to have written an autobiography that is both personal and political, my work could provide the raw material to prove that a psychological matrix defines them, distorts their analyses and causes them to exaggerate their arguments.

“For those most deeply invested in this universe [of Cold War politics],” Weisberg continues, “clinging to anti-Communism is as much a personal as it is a political phenomenon. What comes through vividly in Horowitz’s memoirs is a fierce Oedipal struggle entwined with radicalism. Horowitz wanted to antagonize his Communist father; in later years, when he was ailing, Horowitz would bait him by raising the name of Alexander Solzhenitsyn.”

When the Times’ fact-checker read this final sentence to me, prior to publication, I told her it was such a misrepresentation of what I had written that it amounted to a falsehood, and that Weisberg should reconsider including it. Of course he didn’t (and couldn’t) change it, because doing so would destroy his thesis. Here is the actual passage from “Radical Son” in which I describe this encounter with my father (the time frame is the mid-’70s, when I am in my 30s and have begun to have second thoughts about the left):

“When our discussions veered into the areas of our political disagreements, I was made to feel the spine of his being. It was as though we were back in the house on 44th Street [20 years before], arguing over the Times again. Yet these new eruptions were quickly muted by my decision not to press them. I would raise the issue of Solzhenitsyn’s new book to see that he had not changed. But when the expected response came, I did not push him to the wall, as I once had. He was too weakened, too beaten for that. When he dismissed Solzhenitsyn as a reactionary doing the Americans’ work, I let it pass. Sometimes I would pare down my quest until it was a simple demand for respect. What I wanted was my father’s recognition that I, too, had won a few hard truths.”

In other words, the reality is exactly the opposite of what Weisberg alleges. Far from wanting to antagonize my father, this passage reveals my pain as a frustrated son who wanted to connect with him in an area that was important to us both, and failed. When failure proved undeniable, I backed off. But this mundane filial effort to make contact with an aging parent did not suit Weisberg’s purpose, which was to portray me as irreconcilable, and my antagonism a neurosis affecting my entire political perspective. “This sense of acting out of personal injury,” Weisberg sums up, “permeates everything Horowitz writes today.” What an efficiently ruthless way to dismiss an intellectual career!

Other misrepresentations follow. Having set up a straw man, Weisberg moves directly to the thesis-clinching trope: “This explains Horowitz’s penchant for depicting Clinton Democrats in terms borrowed from the era of high Stalinism. In the online magazine Salon, where he has a column, Horowitz wrote recently, ‘It is as though the Rosenbergs had been in the White House, except that the Rosenbergs were little people and naive.’

Here is the DNA — the proof that behind the whole intellectual controversy is the resurrected witch-hunt of the past. For unreconstructed Cold Warriors like Horowitz and his red-diaper friend Radosh, the Clintons are the Rosenbergs.

The quote that Weisberg uses to confirm guilt in the case is actually lifted from a three-part series of articles that appeared in Salon and dealt with the unprecedented breach of America’s national security interests during the Clinton administration. This catastrophe is described as the result not only of lax security leading to the theft of nuclear weapons by China, but the calculated lifting of controls by Clinton that allowed the transfer of vital satellite, missile and computer technologies to the Communist dictatorship.

Only readers of my actual text, however, will know that the reference to the Rosenbergs was not intended in any way to draw a parallel between Clinton’s motives and those of the Communists. I did not invoke the Rosenbergs as an explanation of why Clinton allowed these breaches to take place, but as an indication of the magnitude of the loss. When the passage is read in full, it is obvious even to the most obtuse reader that I actually used the analogy to differentiate Clinton’s actions from the actions of Communists like the Rosenbergs — in other words exactly the opposite of what Weisberg claims.

Weisberg’s rancid fantasy is not only irresponsible toward the facts and destructive to the individual scholars under attack (here the author provides an ugly parallel to his notorious subject), it is ahistorical and anti-intellectual. Weisberg’s whole effort is designed to erase the questions that provoked the argument in the first place. Whose view of this historical epoch was/is correct? Why are such powerful voices, including the New York Times, seeking to trivialize this debate and treat it as a mere rehash of dead issues, or worse yet as an attempt to resurrect a disreputable politics of the past? The answers to these questions have obvious implications for one’s view of both the progressive/liberal tradition and its conservative rival, and thus are hardly as irrelevant to present American politics as Weisberg claims. Indeed the claim itself is part of the argument.

Discounting the internal Communist threat in the Roosevelt and early Truman years and the external threat in the post-Johnson era have been the hallmarks of modern liberalism and its irregular alliance with the fellow-traveling and pro-Communist left.

The summary moment of this strange bed-fellowship occurred in 1939, when Whittaker Chambers went to Washington to warn Franklin Roosevelt that his close aide Alger Hiss was a Communist and a Soviet spy.

When the message was conveyed to Roosevelt by Adolph Berle, the president merely laughed and then elevated Hiss to even higher levels of policy and responsibility. Weisberg’s Times piece follows the party line of this tradition quite faithfully, as has the Times’ own treatment of the post-Communist revelations.

The Times, for example, buried the Venona story when it first broke, has remained skeptical to the bitter end on the question of Hiss’ guilt, and has continued to cast a more-than-tolerant eye on the anti-American radicals of the Vietnam era.

The liberal temperament reflected in these choices is well-illustrated by Weisberg’s treatment of Owen Lattimore, a figure from this history to whom he makes a passing reference in his text. Owen Lattimore was a famous McCarthy target and — in liberal eyes — a still more famous McCarthy victim.

Yet despite all that Venona, the Soviet archives and the latter-day memoirs of repentant Communists have revealed, Weisberg still describes Lattimore as “the China hand absurdly named as the Soviets’ ‘top spy’ in the United States.”

It is true that this McCarthy claim was false, and every conservative scholar in Weisberg’s crosshairs has emphasized the fact, deploring McCarthy’s demagoguery and the damage his reckless accusations did to the legitimate anti-Communist cause.

(Indeed, no one at the time was more furious with McCarthy for this over-reach and the discredit it brought than J. Edgar Hoover himself.) To this day, Lattimore has never been proven a spy and does not appear in the Soviet documents thus far released. But the image of wounded innocence that surrounded Lattimore then and does to this day in Weisberg’s report is even falser to the reality of both the man and the period than the McCarthy smear itself.

In fact, the professorial Lattimore was a devious, unscrupulous, self-conscious betrayer of his country and a willing servant of the Soviet cause who worked hand-in-glove with its underground spy apparatus in the United States.

As the editor of Pacific Affairs, and intimate of Lauchlin Currie (the White House liaison to the Department of State), Lattimore was one of America’s most influential China experts during the Roosevelt and Truman administrations, a period that marked the crucial stages of the Communist revolution, whose triumph in 1949 preceded McCarthy’s crusade by a mere eight months.

We now know that Currie, Lattimore’s intimate friend and patron at the White House, was a Soviet spy. Lattimore’s own pro-Soviet outlook was clearly expressed in a memo he wrote to the executive director of the Institute for Pacific Relations, a think tank financed by the Rockefeller and Carnegie foundations, which published his magazine: “For the USSR — back their international policy in general, but without using their slogans and above all without giving them or anybody else the impression of subservience.”

On Currie’s advice, Lattimore hired a KGB collaborator named Michael Greenberg as his assistant at Pacific Affairs, and then on his own initiative, Chen Han-shen, a Chinese spy, as his co-editor. Lattimore put his request for the co-editor through the channels of the Comintern. Yet, in the battle with McCarthy, Lattimore was the put-upon hero in the eyes of liberals and Democrats (with important exceptions like Arthur Schlesinger).

As one of Weisberg’s targets, Arthur Herman, reminds us in his book on McCarthy, Herbert Elliston of the Baltimore Sun, Al Friendly of the Washington Post, Drew Pearson, I.F. Stone, Eric Sevareid and Martin Agronsky all supported Lattimore.

The New York Post editorialized, “All those who believe in freedom in this country are in the debt of Owen Lattimore.” McCarthy was painted by the same political forces as the devil incarnate, while his bid to expose Lattimore as the traitor he was, was successfully thwarted by the congressional Democrats.

The release of Soviet documents has allowed us to see that in the Cold War battles of this era: 1) The anti-Communist forces of the right were correctly concerned about the internal threat to American security (as were their liberal and socialist allies); 2) the pro-Soviet left was treacherous and subversive; and 3) the Democrats, for partisan reasons (they were covering up the security failures of the Roosevelt and Truman administrations), often harbored and protected the Communists who had infiltrated their ranks.

In obscuring these historical realities, Weisberg and the Times are playing a role that has undeniable parallels to that played by their liberal and fellow-traveling counterparts at the time.

This includes turning a semi-blind eye to the stranglehold exerted by New Left Marxists and Soviet sympathizers — the intellectual heirs of Owen Lattimore — on the teaching of history in American universities, whose two main professional organizations this year are headed by David Montgomery, an unrepentant former Communist, and Eric Foner, a New Left apologist for the Rosenbergs.

Sympathizers of the old Communist left now dominate the writing of the historical record in both the academic fields of Soviet studies and domestic communism. The leading academic authority on the McCarthy period, for example, is Ellen Schrecker, a full-blown apologist for American communism. Schrecker’s books do not even bother to dream up new defenses for the Communists’ treachery but merely rehash the disingenuous arguments the Communists made for themselves at the time.

A typical Schreckerism explains that American Communists spied not because they were traitors, but because they “did not subscribe to traditional forms of patriotism.”

In discussing Schrecker’s work, Weisberg treads lightly over this reality of the left’s hold on the historical record. To treat this reality for what it is would require recognizing that conservative scholars have been pushed to the fringes of their profession by a political juggernaut in the universities more powerful in excluding dissenters than McCarthy ever was, and that a handful of them have nonetheless courageously struggled to present a balanced view of this past.

But to acknowledge this would mean recognizing the power and relevance of the left in the present, and “rehabilitating” the role that ex-Communists like Elizabeth Bentley, conservatives like William F. Buckley and institutions like the FBI played in defending America against the Communist threat. Instead, Weisberg’s plea is that the story of American Communists should be approached “in a less judgmental fashion,” while his conclusion is that even intellectually “the Cold War is history now.”

It is more likely, however, that (in Irving Kristol’s phrase) the Cold War has merely come home.

For although Weisberg affects a posture above the fray, he is himself a partisan in this Cold War. Just three years ago he wrote a cover story for New York magazine called “The Un-Americans,” a peculiar reprise of the McCarthy-era stigma that he applied to six conservatives whose photos were also featured: Phil Gramm, Gordon Liddy, Oliver North, Rush Limbaugh, Pat Robertson and Jesse Helms.

Their collective thought crime was to have criticized the federal government and their subversive “act” to have used words like “revolution” in connection with Newt Gingrich’s “contract with America,” and thus — in Weisberg’s tendentious argument — to have provided an ideological rationale for the bombing of a federal building in Oklahoma City, which killed 168 people.

When Weisberg called to interview me for his Times piece, I brought up the article. I told him I didn’t trust his ability to treat conservatives like me fairly, because I remembered how he had smeared conservatives as “un-American.”

His reply was evasive. He didn’t remember if he had written such a story, he said. Like the Communists who were questioned about subversion by McCarthy’s committee in the 1950s and presented themselves as liberal patriots and defenders of the First Amendment, Weisberg defended himself by pretending not to know what I was talking about.

He replied, “I believe there’s about 78 to 81 members of the Democrat Party who are members of the Communist Party. It’s called the Congressional Progressive Caucus.”

By now, little of what Allen West says ever surprises. He has called President Obama “a low-level socialist agitator,” said anyone with an Obama bumper sticker on their car is “a threat to the gene pool,” and told liberals like Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi to “get the hell out of the United States of America.” Apparently, he gets his talking points from Fox News, Rush Limbaugh or the discredited right-wing rocker Ted Nugent.

But this time, we shook our heads in disbelief: “78 to 81 Democrats … members of the Communist Party?” That’s the moment the memory hole opened up and a ghost slithered into the room. The specter stood there, watching the screen, a snickering smile on its stubbled face. Sure enough, it was the ghost of Sen. Joseph McCarthy, the Wisconsin farm boy who grew up to become one of the most contemptible thugs in American politics.

Back in the early 1950s, the Cold War had begun and Americans were troubled by the Soviet Union’s rise as an atomic superpower. Looking for a campaign issue, McCarthy seized on fear and ignorance to announce his discovery of a conspiracy within: Communist subversives who had infiltrated the government.

In speech after speech, McCarthy would hold up a list of names of members of the Communist Party he said had burrowed their way into government agencies and colleges and universities. The number he claimed would vary from day to day, and when pressed to make his list public, McCarthy would stall or claim he accidentally had thrown it away.

His failure to produce much proof to back his claims never gave him pause, as he employed lies and innuendo with swaggering bravado. McCarthy, wrote historian William Manchester, “realized that he had stumbled upon a brilliant demagogic technique … others deplored treachery, McCarthy would speak of traitors.”

And so he did, in a fearsome, reckless crusade that terrorized Washington, destroyed lives, and made a shambles of due process.

Millions of Americans lapped it up, but in the end, Joe McCarthy would be done in by the medium that he had used so effectively to spread his poison: television. In 1954, the legendary broadcaster Edward R. Murrow bravely exposed McCarthy’s tactics on the CBS program “See It Now.”

“This is no time for men who oppose Senator McCarthy’s methods to keep silent,” Murrow declared. “We can deny our heritage and our history, but we cannot escape responsibility for the result. There is no way for a citizen of a Republic to abdicate his responsibilities.”

Later that same year, for 36 days on live TV, during Senate hearings on charges McCarthy had made questioning the loyalty of the U.S. Army, we saw the man raw, exposed for the lout and cowardly scoundrel he was. The climactic moment came as the Boston lawyer Joseph Welch, defending the Army, reacted with outrage when McCarthy accused Welch’s young associate Fred Fisher of communism. “Let us not assassinate this lad further, Senator,” Welch said as he shook his head in anger and sadness. “You’ve done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency? … If there is a God in heaven it will do neither you nor your cause any good.”

McCarthy never recovered. His tactics had been opposed from the outset by a handful of courageous Republican senators. Now they pressed their case with renewed vigor. One of them, Sen. Ralph Flanders of Vermont, introduced a motion to censure Joseph McCarthy. When it eventually passed 67 to 22, McCarthy was finished. He soon disappeared from the front pages. Three years later, he was dead.

All of this came rushing back as West summoned his foul spirits from the vast deep. The ghost stepped out of the past.

Like McCarthy, the more Allen West is challenged about his comments, the more he doubles down on them. Now he’s blaming the “corrupt liberal media” for stirring the pot against him – a trick for which McCarthy taught the master class. And the congressman’s latest fusillades continue to distort the beliefs and policies of those he smears – no surprise there, either.

To help him continue his fight for “the heart and soul” of America he’s asking his supporters for a contribution of $10 or more. There could even be a super PAC in this – with McCarthy’s ghost as its honorary chairman.

Plenty of kindred spirits are there to sign on. Like the author of the book “The Grand Jihad,” who wrote that whether Obama is Christian or not, “the faith to which Obama actually clings is neocommunism.” Or the blogger who claims Obama is running the country into the ground “by way of the same type of race-baiting and class warfare Communism cannot exist without,” and that his policies are “unbecoming to an American president.”

From there it’s only a short hop to the kind of column that popped up on the right wing website Newsmax hinting of a possible coup “as a last resort to resolve the ‘Obama problem.’” Military intervention, the author wrote, “is what Obama’s exponentially accelerating agenda for ‘fundamental change’ toward a Marxist state is inviting upon America.” The column was quickly withdrawn but not before the website Talking Points Memo exposed it.

So beware, Rep. West, beware: In the flammable pool of toxic paranoia that passes these days as patriotism in America, a single careless match can light an inferno. You would serve your country well to withdraw your remarks and apologize for them. But if not, perhaps there are members of your own party, as possessed of conscience and as courageous as that handful of Republicans who took on Joseph McCarthy, who will now abandon fear and throw cold water on your incendiary remarks.

Like many intelligent Russians who came of age during the closing act of the USSR, my ex-wife was a kind of stand-up comedian in reverse. Just as the talented comic artfully sets up a punch line, so too could she expertly build toward a release of sorts. But the punch line was never a joke. It was instead an opening up of a psychic trap door, showing foolish Americans that beneath their feet was not the security of a prosperous and powerful nation, but rather the void of the impending destruction that awaits us all. When your superpower homeland has been blown apart into 15 compromised statelets it’s comforting to keep in your pocket that great transnational equalizer: death.

And yet, once upon a time I found all her moody blueness charming. We had met at a university dormitory in 1990, the final year of Soviet power. I had registered temporarily at the dorm as part of the many bureaucratic sleights-of-hand the Westerner had to execute to stay in the country. Technically I was supposed to leave the USSR when my study abroad program ended. But while I was desperate to leave I also had a hankering to stay. And so through the machinations of the many machinators of the Perestroika era, I arranged it so that I would register in the Leningrad University dorm, pay some functionary a nominal $150 and then relocate to an old lady’s flat, far out on the Prospekt Prosveshchenie where for $7 a month I would have a room of my own. All I would have to do beyond these trifling payments was to stay a single night at the dorm. A bargain it seemed, until the future ex-Mrs. Greenberg walked in.

There was much talk and a lot of weak tea during that one legally necessitated sleepover. My East German bunkie who spoke much better Russian than I seemed in full control of the evening, artfully throwing out pogovorki — proverbs that seem particularly embedded into Russian and that irritatingly keep the poor student of the language in the dark. “The peasant doesn’t cross himself until the thunder sounds,” “chicken and girls are seized with the hands.” That kind of thing. But when her visit was over, the East German found himself oddly rebuffed and it was I who was slipped a phone number and an appointment that led eventually to a foldout bed pressed up against the thin wall adjoining her parents’ room. Half-understood, rolling under cool embroidered sheets, struggling to communicate things that should have come out as easy praises, I was only able to mutter blunt, minor words: “beautiful,” “interesting,” “very.” And in the end she took a breath and arranged herself and then turned to me and asked with yet another tricky Russian idiom:

“Did you finish?”

“Finish?” I said.

“Yes, did you finish? Are you satisfied?”

“Yes, I, um, finished.”

“Nu, nu,” she said, “then it’s time to go.”

I did go. Not only out of the room and out onto the empty dawn streets of Leningrad but eventually back to New York where I brooded, alone, in the broke and semi-employed way today’s shiftless post-boom 20-somethings would likely find familiar. It was the walloping recession of the early ’90s. There was very little to do or to hope for. And so I found my thoughts drifting to the stoic, vaguely sad woman I’d left in Russia. But if she was on the sad side, “tending toward depression” as a psychiatrist like my father might say, well, that was OK with me. I liked her melancholy abruptness. I liked the whole direct-but-gentle sadness of the Soviet Union. I liked how nobody went to a shrink and how people stayed away from shrink words like “depressed,” “depressive” and “depression.” Russians somehow seemed to understand that depression was just sadness and that sadness was just a mood. One of many lenses through which you can take in life’s light. Moods colored life, sometimes darkly, but they also gave life immediacy and freshness, allowing you to react sincerely to every new thing that came your way.

As luck would have it, I was given another chance to go back to that way of thinking. A few months after my return to the United States a small-time Siberian hustler posing as a documentary maker arrived in New York and cobbled together a film crew that consisted of a Dutch producer, an American camerawoman and, for reasons I don’t understand to this day, me. All of us were flown to Moscow, put on a four-day train ride to Lake Baikal, and then told to film a documentary about, well, I really have no idea. Vague pieces of Michael Moore-esque intervention were staged where we would storm into the offices of a Soviet bureaucrat, insult him, film him and then leave. We would gather random crowds on the streets of Irkutsk and make them sing the Lake Baikal ode “Slavnoe Morye” — Glorious Sea. We slaughtered and ate a sheep. And then toward the end of our stay, just as I was trying to figure out a way to get back to that captivating woman in Leningrad, our driver walked into our hotel room, told us breakfast was ready and, also, by the way, “Snyali Gorbacheva.” They took Gorbachev.

It was the infamous hard-liner military coup attempt of August 1991, although, of course, we at the time didn’t know it would turn out to be only an attempt. For three days we drove the back roads of Siberia debating whether we should turn south and head out through Mongolia. All of our hotel reservations were mysteriously canceled as the single thread of Soviet power gathered itself together and drew tight on a million different knots. At one point on a narrow muddy road our van pulled over and two taut-tummied Russian boys with a guitar jumped in. Apparently they were known to the Russians in the group. Once they were seated, the guitar came out and one of the boys spat out a fast-paced Visotsky-style ballad that ended (for my benefit?) with an English refrain “goodbye America, hello Siberia.”

It was during these three days of political vertigo that I found I thought of her the most. At one little outpost I sent (how quaint to remember!) a telegram. “Are you all right?” I scribbled on the toilet-paper quality telegraph form (though it should be noted that the coarseness of Soviet toilet paper and the flimsiness of Soviet writing paper were a good deal closer together on the spectrum of “paper” than the American variants). But it may as well have been toilet paper. Passing it through the telegraph window to the bored, platinum blond operator seemed akin to a flush.

But, alas, it wasn’t. Miraculously the coup ended. Boris Yeltsin emerged and stood on a tank. The hard-liners were imprisoned. One shot himself. The phones worked again. I called her and the creaky Siberian lines issued forth her voice. “I got your telegram,” she said. “Very sweet.” I flew to Leningrad, which now everybody was suddenly calling St. Petersburg, and we made love again and again in a tiny apartment I’d rented for another $7. We made love on an overnight train to Moscow. We made love again in the apartment of her pioneer camp counselor. On my final day in Russia we necked on the steps of Patriarch’s Pond until a young Soviet malcontent yelled a phrase at us that must be known the world over: “Get a room!”

And of course she came to New York. And of course we were married. And of course we were divorced. And of course all of it faded away as most passions tend to. Only our most intense moments of togetherness — unlike the world-stopping moments others feel when they launch a romantic connection — occurred when the world actually stopped. When two of the greatest powers ever to occupy the globe shrugged off their mutual enmity for a fleeting moment and actually paused to look one another in the eye.

All of this came rushing back to me as she pulled her hand away from my arm on Seventh Avenue and we retreated back into the small talk that is my national tradition and that she had seemed to have mastered in the last two decades. Children (me yes, she no)? Work (not so interesting). Travel (now and again). She had seen me in her dream and I was dead. And given that I had firmly closed the Soviet chapter of my life, the chapter in which I was young and impetuous, when the thought of intense, inexplicable coupling could fill my whole mind, the chapter in which I was open to the world and where she had come to know me most intimately, I guess you could say that her dream was right on the money.

On February 11, Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels told an audience at the Conservative Political Action Conference that the growing national debt was as serious as the Cold War. “It is the new Red Menace, this time consisting of [red] ink,” he said.

On March 24, reports The Hill, House Republican Conference Chairman Jeb Hensarling picked up the theme, but added an extra special Commie-baiting twist by bringing China directly into the conversation.

“The red menace for the 21st century is our public debt.”

Keeping with his communism theme, Hensarling implied that interest payments the U.S. is making to China alone could pose a national security threat.

“The interest we pay to China on our debt, they can essentially afford to buy a [Joint] Strike Fighter every other day,” he said, according to the Daily Progress. “Our greatest competitor in the world … we are building their armed forces with the interest we pay them on the national debt.”

Gosh, if I was a Chinese Politburo member, that kind of rhetoric would probably have me doubling-down on my military expansion plans, because everyone knows all too well what happened to the last aspiring evil empire that conservative Americans feared as the “Red Menace.” But to bring it all back home, it seems tombe that the Hensarling and Daniels have painted their party into a corner. Because if debt is the greatest threat to freedom, and China is leveraging itself up into superpower status on the back of American profligacy, then it should be every red-blooded American’s patriotic duty to bring down deficits as fast as possible. And I will further submit that the most sensible way to do that would be to cut a longterm budget deal that matches spending cuts with revenue increases.

I just think that if the richest Americans were asked nicely to pay a little more in taxes, because it would help us defeat the Red Menace, there’d really be no decent way for them to say no.

And that’s why he wrote, as the speech wrapped up, “Mr. President, you don’t believe in the Constitution. You believe in socialism.”

While there’s not really anything in the Constitution that precludes a little light Scandinavian-style socialism, Broun is a modern-day Republican moron, and so for him the “s-word” means some scary combination of the Third Reich and the Great Purge. (If you can find the passage in Obama’s relentlessly centrist address that sounds like a proposal for a Great Leap Forward, please let me know, because all I remember is the bit about cutting corporate taxes and something about smoked salmon.)

Broun is a crafty fellow — he knew that the “sit with someone from the other party” proposal was an elaborate ruse designed to oppress the opposition.

“I already believe very firmly that it is a trap and a ruse that Democrats are proposing,” Broun said. “They don’t want civility. They want silence from the Republicans. And the sitting together being kissy-kissy is just another way to try to silence Republicans, and also to show — to keep the American people from seeing how few of them there are in the U.S. House now.”

Broun says he chose to avoid the chamber and liveblog from his office “out of respect.” Respect for whichever unlucky member was assigned to sit next to one of the dumbest members of the Republican caucus, I imagine.