ment may be, it remains the case that some kinds of disaffection are more compatible with progressive democratic politics than others. In this respect, 2001 stands as an odd, barely audible parable about the betrayal of American democracy in the era of the space program, in which Kubrick combines a palpable love of the beauty of space travel with an indelible sense of disaffection from the space race as it's managed by the national security state - and finally with the apparatus of the national security state itself. 2001 gives us a mission in which our national purposes are known only to a power elite unaccountable even to its own instruments and operators; so too did the space race give us a national purpose that, in Dale Carter's words, 'had not so much been determined by an active electorate as endorsed by a disabled audience' ( FF, p. 183). And yet in 1968 it was still possible to imagine the Apollo program as the finest product of a free society and a free market, leading Americans into the final frontier and leading the rest of the world to follow American rather than Soviet models of progress and development. As we approach 2001 ourselves, now that the US space program has been fully militarized, the Soviet Union has declined to offer us limitless conflict, and there no longer seems any natural relation between American 'freedom' and the conquest of space, we should be able to hear 2001's skeptical subtexts all the more clearly. And we should recall anew what so few seem to have learned from Iran-Contra, arms sales to Iraq, and the Pentagon's resistance to openly gay military personnel: the current national security state is the enemy, not the guarantor, of democracy, and even in wartime and coldwartime, silence and secrecy do not necessarily work in the service of the national interest.