The right wing is so desperate to counter Pres. Obama's sensible proposals on gun control that it's resorted to wheeling out anybody, including some of the most disreputable people around, to throw spitballs at the President.

This week, they dusted off their Reagan Rolodexes to bring back Ed Meese and Oliver North.

Meese, Reagan's attorney general, was the mastermind behind the coverup of the Iran-contra scandal, a scandal that should have led to Reagan's impeachment. It was Meese who called the initial press conference to acknowledge that there was a clandestine arms supply operation to the contras. But he did so as a diversionary tactic so that probers would focus on that and not discover the violation of the Iranian arms embargo that the Reagan administration was also doing in the process.

Now, lo and behold, Meese is calling for Obama's impeachment because the President, Meese says, is trying "to override the Second Amendment."

Obama is doing no such thing, and the Second Amendment doesn't guarantee Americans the right to own semi-automatic weapons.

Ed Meese? I didn't know he was still alive.

And then there's Ollie North, the convicted felon and chief operator of the Iran-contra scandal, going on NRA radio this week to say that

"we have now decided that one man can decide what is or isn't legal under certain circumstances."

Actually, Ollie, that's what you yourself did when you were illegally supplying the contras while simultaneously violating the arms embargo with Iran and then lying to Congress about it all.

To get lectures on constitutionality and impeachment from the likes of Ed Meese and Ollie North is just too much a little too much to bear.

If you liked this story by Matthew Rothschild, the editor of The Progressive magazine, check out his story "Banning Semi-Automatic Weapons Is Not Enough."

Follow Matthew Rothschild @mattrothschild on Twitter.

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Trump's politics are not the problem.

The fiery Milwaukee Sheriff is on the shortlist to head the Department of Homeland Security.

By Wendell Berry

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. 
Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn’t go. Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry is a poet, farmer, and environmentalist in Kentucky. This poem, first published in 1973, is reprinted by permission of the author and appears in his “New Collected Poems” (Counterpoint).

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