This file is a single short polemical essay by Murray N. Rothbard, written in October 1992. Its scope is narrow—Bobby Fischer’s return to chess for a match with Boris Spassky in Yugoslavia—but Rothbard uses that episode to mount a broader libertarian and culture-war argument about media discipline, UN sanctions, and ideological conformity.
Twenty years ago, Bobby Fischer was the hero of the American media.
Rothbard begins by contrasting Fischer’s 1972 triumph with his 1992 vilification. The earlier Fischer is presented as a genius who broke Soviet dominance, revived American chess, and made tournaments commercially significant. The essay then recasts Fischer’s eccentricity not as madness but as the familiar price of genius, especially in elite chess. Rothbard’s central thesis is that the press did not turn on Fischer because his chess mattered less, but because his politics and conduct violated accepted opinion.
One would think that the media would hail the return of the colorful, charismatic, and memorable Bobby.
The body of the essay is structured as a rebuttal of “common charges.” Rothbard answers accusations of paranoia by noting later confirmation of Soviet collusion; answers complaints about Fischer’s tournament demands by arguing that many became reforms; mocks attacks on Fischer’s age and appearance; and treats his “recluse” status as a rational defense of privacy. His method is to invert each accusation: what the media calls pathology becomes, in Rothbard’s account, evidence of independence, foresight, or ordinary human self-protection.
Is it really nutty, for a celebrity to want the press to leave him alone?
Rothbard’s deeper target is not an individual journalist but a hierarchy of respectable opinion. The press reaction is portrayed as coordinated elite signaling rather than independent criticism.
The other organs of opinion duly followed the line set down by the elites.
The sanctions issue gives the essay its sharper political edge. Fischer’s match in Yugoslavia is treated as a harmless act—playing chess—criminalized by an illegitimate international order. Rothbard presents Fischer’s defiance of the Treasury warning as the symbolic center of the piece.
Bobby met this challenge by heroically spitting on the Treasury letter, and declaring that he doesn’t recognize the sovereignty of the United Nations in fact, that the world would be a lot better without the UN.
The most controversial move comes when Rothbard discusses Fischer’s anti-Zionist and antisemitic statements. Rather than dwell on their substance, he folds them into a wider claim about “Political Correctness”: that public honor, even in fields unrelated to politics, is being made conditional on ideological conformity. This is the essay’s governing conceptual shift—from Fischer as chess celebrity to Fischer as dissident case study.
Apparently, even chess players are not allowed to stray beyond the narrow bounds of PC without being severely punished.
The closing questions broaden the argument from Fischer to all professions. Rothbard asks whether dentists, actors, astronomers, athletes, and composers must all pass political tests before their achievements can be recognized.
Are we going to fit everyone, regardless of occupation, to the Procrustean bed?
The essay’s relevance lies in its fusion of celebrity controversy, post-Cold War geopolitics, and early-1990s culture-war rhetoric. Rothbard turns a chess comeback into an indictment of media conformity and state coercion. His conclusion is deliberately hyperbolic: Fischer becomes, in effect, a “political prisoner” figure whose prosecution would reveal the authoritarian implications of sanctions and moralized public opinion.
How far are we going to forge the chains of totalitarianism in our society?
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