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Beyond the Beltway, the deal has plenty of detractors who may prove only too happy to provide legislators with the ammunition to blow the proposal to bits. Among the attorneys general, the chief naysayer through most of last week was Minnesota's Hubert Humphrey III, who argued that his colleagues were pushing too quickly for a settlement. (And they in turn accused him of grandstanding.) "They're trying to rush this through before we realize we've had our pockets picked," Humphrey said at midweek. He claimed tobacco could pay more than twice the agreed-upon amount, or some $800 billion over the next quarter-century, without putting a dent in overseas profits, stock dividends or executive perks.
In the public-health court, the American Lung Association reacted loudly. It opposes any limits on individual lawsuits or class actions, and expressed particular skepticism about the settlement's prohibitions on youth-oriented advertising. "The ability of the tobacco industry to reinvent itself and circumvent such restrictions," said Lung Association CEO John Garrison, "is remarkable."
Far more remarkable though is the fact that the anemic revolt that began quietly 30 years ago--with a handful of scientists who were concerned about the potential health consequences of smoke and a handful of nonsmokers who were bothered by the constant haze of smoke in their eyes--last week proved that it has achieved enough muscle to bring the tobacco industry to its knees. If the long-lasting cultural parade of Joe Camel and Marlboro Men and cigarette-waving screen stars is not yet quite over, the celebratory band, at least, has most certainly passed.
--Reported by Sam Allis/Boston, Elaine Lafferty/Los Angeles, J.F.O. McAllister and Bruce van Voorst/Washington