Travelogue  

When Freedom Seekers Meet

by Logan Brandt

The avant-garde of the Free State Project gathered for an old-fashioned campout in New Hampshire.

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The Free State Project (FSP) began in July 2001 when Jason Sorens, then a political science student at Yale, penned a proposal in L. Neil Smith's online magazine, The Libertarian Enterprise. He proposed that a large number of people who loved liberty should relocate to a state with a relatively high degree of freedom, and a small enough population for libertarian activists to make a difference in local government and in society. He received hundreds of emails in response, and worked out the basic concept in the course of the next several months. In the May Liberty, Free Stater Tim Condon described the progress the FSP has made since Sorens' proposal, especially in the past year.

At first, I didn't pay too much attention to the FSP. I have witnessed the "move and liberate" idea in action several times, and each effort I witnessed was aborted. But I met several Free Staters at the recent Libertarian convention, and they seemed to be my kind of people. The project reminds me of how I felt in the early '70s about Heinlein's The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress: "We'll get a bunch of young, brilliant, good-looking, born leaders together, declare independence from earthbound, imperial bureaucrats, and throw rocks at 'em!"

As I put tire tracks between me and the LP National Convention on Memorial Day weekend, I decided to check out the Free State Project's first annual Porcupine Freedom Festival coming up in Lancaster, N.H. I wanted to get to know these people better and see what they were all about.

Friday 6/25

I drove to the festival from my home in Detroit. I could have shaved 200 miles off my trip by driving through Canada, but decided to take the low road through the States. I've never had problems with customs, but these are strange times, and the image of my baby (2002 Audi A4 1.8 Liter Turbo) being dismembered by snarling, dead-eyed bordercrats was more than I could bear.

As the hours wore on, I began to wonder whether that decision had been too hasty. My trip would take two days, around Toledo and Lake Erie, down the Ohio Turnpike, up through the northwest nub of Pennsylvania, east along what they call the Southern Tier superslabs of lower New York state, then into Vermont, and finally across the Connecticut River into the Promised Land. I'm glad I did it, though. It let me see the contrast between freedom's dying light in surrounding states and freedom's dawning day across the river.

From the point of view of a rational motorist, New York is the worst state in the Union. Signs on the sparse, hilly terrain on the southwestern edge of the state declare to motorists as they cross the border:

• No handheld cellphones.
• No radar detectors.
• Seatbelts mandatory.
• Helmets mandatory.
• State speed limit 55 (or 65 on the Interstate).
• Aircraft used in speed enforcement.
• Move over for police vehicles or else.
• Fines doubled in work areas.
• Felony to transport a firearm.
• Don't drink (Perrier?) and drive.
• No facilities at most rest stops, but don't even think about pissing in the bushes.
• No dogs allowed, lock down small children in back seat at all times.
• Drunk driving, you can't afford it.
• No one-fingered waving at police officers.
• Do not speed up, slow down, move out of your lane, or fall asleep while reading these signs.
• Ignorance of the law is punishable by death.

Welcome to New York, you sleazy, would-be miscreants! We heart NY! Have a nice day.

During my stay at the midway point of my journey, near Oswego, N.Y., I learned of major transgressions by the great state of New York against the freedom of its people: farm-stealing and other eminent domain incursions, historical-building despotism, etc. I also discovered in the hotel bar that night that California's smoking ban has made it eastward. New York is now part of the Gang of Five (with California, Maine, Connecticut, and, most recently, Taxachusetts), all of which will soon be breaking down the doors of a private, allegedly smoke-filled property near you.

I shouldn't really pick on New York — after all, Michigan and the other people's paradises in the U.S. have their own nitpicking-to-bonecrushing families of statutes. The question I asked myself was whether New Hampshire would be very different.

Once New York Route 7 turned into Vermont Route 9, everything on either side of the road seemed to be a hill, a rock, a tree, an antique shop, or a sign directing me to a ski lodge. Vermont road signage, to use an exact technical term, sucks. It makes Houston seem like a beacon of civil-engineering perfection.

Maybe even farther down the statist road than New York, Vermont once was the "move-to" darling of workers of the world uniting, the Left's perverse version of FSP, where statists could flock to practice self-immolation.

The moment I crossed into New Hampshire, time stood still.

An occasional wild turkey waddled alongside the road. A highway placard declared, "Moose," and sure enough, I soon saw a real moose. I wasn't the only one intrigued: other drivers had turned on their emergency blinkers, parked on the shoulder, and settled down for some moose-watching. (Disney movieplexes no doubt have a hard time competing in these parts.)

I tore myself away from the spectacle of the roadside moose and resumed my journey. It took me north several miles along New Hampshire Route 2, a drive that felt like riding through a Norman Rockwell painting in the Twilight Zone, and at long last arrived at the campground and motel where the festivities would take place. I negotiated my deal with the desk attendant and proceeded to my site to pitch my tent. Moisture hung in the air, but the mosquitoes were tolerable.

On the access road adjacent to my site, a darling little girl struggled to master her bike, which was still equipped with training wheels. She fell a few times, but was too small and too close to the ground to get hurt. I said "Hi," which elicited her life story: "My name's Sophie and I'm here with my mom and dad, and my brother is older and can already ride a bike, he has a big bike, this is a nice place, my dad can drive a car real fast, when I'm finished learning, like tomorrow, I'll ride fast like my brother, our dog is named Joe."

As a solitary man, I felt anxious about striking up conversations or making more than perfunctory remarks toward small, unescorted children. For one thing, I don't want her to be unwary of strangers, because in the Old World where aggression is legal and commonplace, and sickos lurk — that's another thing, in the Old World, a single man talks to a small girl alone, he's a sicko, it's like inviting the gendarmes to swarm down to steal your Playboy collection and throw you in shackles — she needs to be wary. But being unfriendly sends the wrong message, too.

So we chatted for a while, i.e., she talked and I listened while I figured out how to put up my new tent. Her folks were with the FSP and, in fact, they were right over in the opposite campsite. Whew!

At nightfall, I headed toward the Friday campfire, bringing a handful of brewskis. I introduced myself, found a nametag and a seat, and joined in the conversation. We kindred souls shared stimulating conversation about home schooling, the irrationality of drug and gun laws, transportation alternatives, private space travel, and the origin of the sawed-off shotgun, among other topics.

I had landed in a rational universe where people let one another be, but were at the same time eager to share their knowledge and interests, their "being." I felt proud to be human, hanging out with all these different and wonderful people. As we shared our stories and grew closer, I felt that these people were going to be successful. I hadn't felt this way since the Libertarian National Convention in 1979, when we nominated Ed Clark to realize our aspirations. That hope proved illusory, but we did have a real chance at a breakthrough for freedom-loving people then, and I feel that we have such a chance again in the FSP. I hope my feeling is right this time.ÊFSP, being focused more on lives than on politics, may deliver our liberty more naturally.

The night in the tent was comfortable, but decompression tension kept me from sleeping well.

Saturday 6/26

I rose at the crack of dawn, got a cup of joe from the coffee shop, and sat at a table across from one of the few other people awake. He was a tall, young man, about 6'10", wearing a mountain-man hat and a T-shirt imprinted with the famous quotation from Ben Franklin: "Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." He told me he was here to check out the FSP, and clearly his affinity for the organization was motivated by interest in firearms rights.

"How are the rules in New Hampshire?" I asked.

"Pretty good here," he said. "A lot of citizens own and use firearms, and realize the 2nd Amendment isn't about duck hunting. It's the federales we worry about mostly."

After breakfast, I visited the main hall and made the rounds of the vendor tables. A wonderful cornucopia of pro-freedom organizations had representatives in attendance, and I spoke with almost all of them. At one table, someone hawked "The Bottom Line: The Socratic Technique", a video by Jan Helfeld, who uses an unorthodox method to fluster notable Demopublican officeholders. At another table, the Save-A-Patriot Fellowship held forth on the necessity of lawful money and lawful taxation as fundamental economic principles that precede any valid political system. New Hampshire real estate agent Dave Walthour showcased some homes. The prices were very reasonable compared with what I am used to in Detroit. West Coasters could probably buy in New Hampshire five of whatever they live in now! Joe Carringer, aka Joe Hemp, made available the magazine Hemphasis. The New Hampshire LP had a table; I signed up, and have already received my first newsletter, which I daresay is a cut above the national LP News. At the table of a group called the Merrimack Valley Seekers, I spoke with a man named Jack. He shared my interest in developing a "church of reason."

At 10 a.m., Amanda Phillips, president of the FSP, called the group of about 300 people to order for the opening remarks. The wide, airy building and the upbeat attitude of the Free Staters lent the feel of a revival meeting to the convocation. Amanda is a tall, striking woman with a warm, easy smile.

She asked us to stand for a moment of silence. I thought, "Geez, is there some bad news I missed? Didn't everyone already pay enough homage to Ronnie? Who else died?"

After about 30 seconds, she broke the silence, saying, "That was a moment of silence to mourn the passing of authoritarianism, statism, fascism, socialism . . . !"

This explanation, of course, brought down the house and put everyone in happy-camper modes. She yelled excitedly, "Can you feel the energy?" Amanda proved masterful at running a meeting, getting audience participation, and keeping everything on track.

We acknowledged the "early movers" in the throng, those who had already moved to New Hampshire in accordance with the pledge. They stood to rousing applause. Amanda then opened the floor for people to tell their stories about why they joined the FSP. I spoke of my concern about the encroachment of policeÊstates like the ones I had just driven through:Ê"I like the idea of creating a free country by actually creating a free country."

With a tone of immense admiration, Amanda introduced Jason Sorens. Naturally, he received a standing ovation. His topic was "We're Making History." He gave a nod to the remarkable progress the FSP made in the last year, but said he wants to focus more on "quality of life" issues now. He suggested that, in its early days, the FSP drew people with an abstract, almost sacred, vision of political society, people wanting to reify the nonaggression principle. The Free Staters' outreach now, he says, should take the form of selling people on a profoundly enriched experience of life: "In terms of slogans, instead of 'Hi, we're from the Free State Project and we're here to help you,' let's think more like 'You have a friend in New Hampshire.'"

Jason remarked that we humans live our lives as projects of sorts. Most of us are not content to move aimlessly through life, pursuing transitory, hedonistic ends, but yearn to shape our environment and see our intentionality reflected in that environment. Project building comes naturally to us, he said, so why not projectize the achievement of human liberty? A narrowly focused, doable project such as FSP fittingly seeds that larger goal, making it achievable.

Other idealistic separation movements that aim to develop intentional communities tend to bite off more than they can chew. To accomplish their goals in the lifetime of original participants would require extraordinary, and usually unrealistic, input of capital and labor. The Free State Project is different, Jason said, because it's realistic.

With that, the meeting was adjourned.

By rationally projectizing the pursuit of political freedom, Sorens and the many competent people of the FSP have given libertarians a workable solution. Libertarian Party candidates and activists around the country are making a difference at the local level, and their work is to be applauded. But inevitably, if you're a libertarian, you're in a supplicant position: "Please, politically powerful elite, leave my people alone." The Free Staters have a different message: "Let my people go!"

In the afternoon sessions, Ed Naille of the Coalition of New Hampshire Taxpayers gave us practical tips on getting into the political process in New Hampshire. When he first came to New Hampshire, he said, he went to ten town meetings before he first raised his hand. Pick an organization and go for it, he urged. Become part of the neighborhood.

Joe Carringer talked about industrial hemp. Joe is a tall, good-looking young businessman, artist, and activist in the hemp-legalization movement. When he asked for a show of hands for how many people are aware of the distinction between the agricultural and pharmaceutical uses of cannabis, he was surprised that about a third of us raised our hands. Hemp is Mother Nature's strain of cannabis. It contains little THC, so it won't get you high. It has several benign uses, including the manufacture of paper and diesel fuel.ÊAnd it can be grown in New Hampshire.

In a normal growing season, hemp has two and a half to three full cycles, in which the crop grows densely to between six and 16 feet high. It's an environment-saving, multibillion-dollar industry that can recreate the family farm overnight — which is the reason hemp is designated a Schedule I controlled substance. The federal government has prohibited hemp purely as a protectionist measure for the forestry and petrochemical industries and for producers of cotton.

With that, the main day's session was over. The "banquet" followed, and it was skimpy: a piece of chicken, half a cup of macaroni, and handful of chips. A server, perhaps to allay her feelings of remorse, told me, "We can't do much for $6.50."

I stopped at the campground store to buy a whisk broom. It cost $2.99; I handed the cashier a five-dollar bill, and she handed me back $2.01! I almost had a seizure. That was the first purchase of general merchandise in my entire life that didn't entail a cut for leeches in the state capitol. I staggered into the coffee shop, where I could sit down to let my head clear. New Hampshire does not have an income tax or a sales tax on general merchandise. Residents of most states can realize a significant increase in real income just by relocating to New Hampshire.

Sunday 6/27

Sunday morning, I ate breakfast at a restaurant in town and asked a waitress whether there were any good golf courses nearby. She was super friendly and tried to lay before me the entire smorgasbord of golfing courses in northern New Hampshire. What is it with these people being so friendly and happy to help? Stop it! The golf course three miles from here will be fine.

I returned to camp, where Pastor Garrett Lear prepared to hold Christian services through his Well of Living Water Christian Fellowship, "a free, unincorporated, unregistered, and unlicensed New Testament church." Amanda decided to give the atheists somewhere to hang out, too. I joined the gathering of Porcupine Atheists at Amanda's campsite, where we held our version of a service. It was a charming and invigorating interruption in the bustle of the weekend.

Amanda asked the group, "What inspires us, as people who do not believe in divine, supernatural, anthropomorphic beings?" She told us the movie "Braveheart" always brings her to tears, because William Wallace holds to what is right regardless of the cost. Others agree and affirm that many of their fellow Free Staters inspire them, because they see what they want and go out and get it. I bring up my feelings for Thomas Paine, who fought both state and church. A young man identified himself as a Daoist. A young woman said she was partial to the God of Nature, and that she was polyamorous.

We ended our "service" with a charitable act. An FSP member, Randall Wolfe, had set out to walk from Kentucky to the festival. He was robbed on the Appalachian Trail and had to return home to recover. He then set out to drive to the festival, and made it most of the way, but his car had an unfortunate encounter with a moose, and the car lost. We heard he was all right . . . but how could he be all right? We passed the hat and raised $100 or so.

My golf outing took me to Waumbeck, established 1895, the oldest golf course in New Hampshire. The course is rugged, certainly not groomed to PGA Tour quality, but a fine walk unspoiled by poor play. The weather was wonderful, and I was in love with the natural beauty alone. The people in the pro shop wanted to tell me all about the course, as if I were somebody important. "Stop it!" I thought again, loving every minute.

I spent the night in the motel, then headed home.

Monday 6/28

I was stopped by the Border Patrol along I-91 southbound in Vermont. "Are you an American citizen?" they asked me. What's that all about? That's Vermont for you, I guess.

Many libertarian activists are getting tired of asking for their freedom. Freedom is something we're going to have to take. New Hampshire was the right state to choose for the migration. The Free Staters are pioneers. No less than their ancestors who escaped Europe to carve out a free world on these shores, the Free Staters are creating a new country. It just happens to be within reasonable driving distance.

Clearly, FSP is reaching a critical mass. When enough people realize that, progress will be swift. Not wanting to see a brain drain to the Free State, the political class will extend the blessings of liberty to people in other states. The federal government might cave soon after. Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. But I don't see a successful statist response to a determined Free State Project.

Most of my neighbors in Michigan and Texas are wallowing in suffering and self-pity. They're fat and lazy. They resent the happiness that a free mind engenders. Look around and see how slavish your neighbors have become. Does no one look you in the eye? Do people smile much, or talk with you just for the sake of being friendly? Probably not. It's depressing. They're plugged in to the state, and they don't want to be unplugged.

The "Show Me" state is now New Hampshire. Time to make it happen.

© Copyright 2008, Liberty Foundation

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