Acapulco Gold Rush


Last weekend my wife was seized by an unwholesome enthusiasm for tiny houses. She’d read they were featured at something called a Better Living Show and wanted to go.

That’s what they call them, tiny houses; and in the truth-in-naming department you can’t do much better than that. Tiny houses are two-hundred-square-foot jobs, conveniently sized to fit into a single parking space. Except, if you lived in a parking space you’d have more room because you wouldn’t have to share your living quarters with a furnace and a water heater.

Tiny houses are the city of Portland’s newest, most environmentally correct way of encouraging neighborliness and doing something about urban sprawl at the same time. “Infill” is the word the planners use to justify them: 11, maybe 20 of the things bumper to bumper on a standard neighborhood lot. A business opportunity is what my wife called them. We could crowd a few dozen in the backyard, charge rent, and kayak the income stream into a comfortable old age.

The stuff isn’t even legal until July, yet here we were at a staid Better Living Show browsing booths filled with bongs and vaporizers and rolling papers and roach clips.

Marriages being what they are, we headed over to the Better-Living-in-the-Shanty-Town-of-the-Future Show, got out of the car, made our way on foot to where the parking lot receded over the curve of the earth, spotted a crowd, followed it into a warehouse-like building and found . . . marijuana paraphernalia. In fact, the first aisle was nothing but marijuana paraphernalia, display after display of the kind of things that would get you busted at any airport in America. Better living indeed.

Interesting, we thought, how quickly the free market kicked into gear once Oregon passed its marijuana initiative last fall. The stuff isn’t even legal until July, yet here we were at a staid Better Living Show browsing booths filled with bongs and vaporizers and rolling papers and roach clips. And it wasn’t just paraphernalia. One particularly popular young lady was pushing samples of what she billed as “medicine-free” edibles. Not that you can’t get edibles with medicine right now, just not at a recreational-use booth. Medical marijuana has been legal for decades but, until July, you will still need a prescription to indulge in recreational munchies.

In the next aisle orchids were being ultra-violated in the sort of high-tech grow-box you see in movies about space stations. Orchids, we thought. Now that we’ve found the more traditional part of the Better Living Show, can tiny houses be far away?

Turned out they could. It also turned out that the grow-box wasn’t meant for orchids. The orchids were nothing more than body doubles for the medicinal herbs that were meant to go in the grow-box but, like the medicine for the munchies, were biding their time until July. Next to the grow-box were shelves of seedless seed packets bearing the names of every imaginable variety of the scientifically engineered seeds you could grow in the grow box, just as soon as July rolls around and the seed packets contain seeds.

It began to dawn on us that, maybe, the better living show we’d arrived at wasn’t the same Better Living Show advertised in the paper. Sometimes we can be pretty insightful.

“This is the Oregon Cannabis Convention & Trade Show,” a nice young man informed us. “Better Living Show is the next building over. Building after that is the Gold & Treasure Show.”

Gold & Treasure? I thought. Gold and treasure is even better than marijuana paraphernalia. The Internet will send marijuana paraphernalia right to my home, but gold and treasure? Not even the most desperately dispossessed Nigerian widow ever came through with any of that. We headed over to the Gold & Treasure Show.

You had to go through a metal detector and check your guns before they’d let you in. I saw that as a favorable sign, a promise that we were about to be ushered into Aladdin’s cave. Or, and this is a particular fantasy of mine, Uncle Scrooge’s money bin.

Tiny houses are a lot more honest about what they call themselves than that Gold & Treasure Show. At the Gold & Treasure Show there was no treasure and not much more gold than there was marijuana at the marijuana show . . . and gold has been legal since the early ’70s. A couple of guys at out-of-the-way tables were pushing run-of-the-mill coins at about 30% more than you could get them for at any gold shop in town, which may say something about who they thought would be attending the show.

In the next aisle orchids were being ultra-violated in the sort of high-tech grow-box you see in movies about space stations.

What there was plenty of was late middle-aged men dressed up like prospectors who’d been thawed out of a glacier left over from Klondike days. They sported full beards and work boots, flannel shirts, and heavy-looking pants held up with suspenders. Their only sartorial concession to the 21st century was baseball caps advertising the names of equipment companies, which weren’t that much of a concession because the equipment they were advertising was as old-fashioned as the outfits. Row after row of sluice boxes. Pans. Picks. All the latest in 19th-century gold-mining technology. Pretty much anything you’d want if you were about to head on up to Dawson City in 1898.

Except, that is, for the gold magnets. Gold magnets weren’t part of any 19th-century prospector’s kit I know about. The fact is, I’m not persuaded that gold magnets should be part of any 21st-century kit, either. The idea of using magnetism to suck gold out of the ground doesn’t fit with anything I remember from high-school science; and, when I tried one on my wife’s wedding ring, it didn’t notice anything special. Which could go a long way toward explaining why these guys were at a trade show selling equipment rather than making their fortunes in the wilds of Alaska. But then, gold-rush fortunes are always made by the guys who sell the equipment.

Competitionwise, the Better Living Show picked a bad weekend to come to Portland. Marijuana fills the better-living bill for lots of people, and pretty much everybody thinks gold and treasure would go far toward making their living better, but almost nobody except city planners and the occasional overly enthusiastic wife imagines tiny houses could possibly make life better for anybody except slumlords, which left the Better Living Show a distant third attendancewise.

The people who put on that show seemed to share the general opinion and gave tiny houses the same pride of place as the Gold & Treasure Show gave gold coins: next to a wall on the far side of the room. There were two of them, both looking like the kind of place Red Riding Hood’s grandmother immigrated to America to escape from, once she’d been regurgitated by the wolf.

While the Gold & Treasure people were mostly pushing 19th-century mining gear, the marijuana people were selling stuff from a century that hasn’t even happened yet.

Also, they were culturally better suited to Red’s grandmother than to modern Americans. Medieval European peasants were minimalists in the way of possessions, and the houses were decorated in that style. Nothing was in them, including plumbing, so you had to imagine where the toilet and sink and shower would go, along with the furnace and water heater, which took some imagining because a tiny house doesn’t have space for much more than a single room with a fold-down bed, and the beds weren’t there, either. I would have gone into one for a better look, but I couldn’t get in. Somebody was already inside and I wouldn’t fit.

The vendors at the Better Living Show appeared to have a lot of spare time on their hands. The one I got to talking to seemed much more interested in the marijuana show next door than trying to sell me whatever he was supposed to be selling. He was elderly, almost as old as I am from the grizzled look of him. He’d grown up in Detroit and, like a lot of inner-city Americans, didn’t have any tolerance for drugs. But marijuana? He spent time volunteering with veterans and, well, he’d seen guys even older than himself cured, by drinking marijuana tea, of the neuropathy that goes along with type 2 diabetes.

Tea, he said. “If it’s tea it’s not a drug. “That show still there tomorrow?”

“Think so,” I said.

“I need to go find out about tea.”

The marijuana show wasn’t really about tea, although there were people there who probably could have told him. Maybe the munchie lady would have slipped him a recipe or two. What the marijuana show was about was selling you equipment, then selling you the knowledge you needed to use the equipment.

The marijuana show was about gleaming pipes and tubes and gauges and vats and dials that looked like they’d been left over from Breaking Bad. It was about grow lights and consultants to tell you how to save electricity once you’d bought the grow lights. It was about other consultants who knew how to maintain the optimum humidity, or the proper day-night cycles. It was about scary-looking machinery to extract hash oil from all the buds you’d be growing with all the grow boxes and humidity and day-night cycles. It was about consultants on indoor growing to tell you about nutrients and hydroponics, and about entirely different lines of equipment and consultants for people who wanted to make their fortunes growing marijuana outdoors. Underneath it all, it was about selling people who didn’t know the first thing about marijuana cultivation or marijuana processing the dream of turning into international marijuana kingpins.

If I’d had a lot of money, even if I’d had a lot more money than that, I still would have had to go into debt, yea, even unto the seventh generation, to get started in that business. But none of that debt would have made the least bit of difference in light of all the money that would be rolling in, once I got the business cranked up. It was pretty clear these people had had a lot of practice selling this line.

They were, when I thought about it, the same sort of people as the ones at the Gold & Treasure Show, except that, while the Gold & Treasure people were mostly pushing 19th-century mining gear, the marijuana people were selling stuff from a century that hasn’t even happened yet.

Something that nobody was selling was the statistics on what became of marijuana prices in Washington when weed went legal. Despite sellers up there having their state, Idaho, and the whole captive Portland market to themselves, the bottom fell out of their businesses. Too many who thought they were getting on the elevator at the ground floor wound up stepping into an empty shaft, only to get smashed flat when the elevator turned out to be heading down at them.

Try as I might, and I tried for half an hour, I couldn’t get a clear reason why weed farmers would want to unionize their workers.

It wasn’t as if there was nobody at the marijuana show who knew that. Or knew how to run a business in general. Several organizations had booths selling business-support services. One fellow claiming to provide this kind of expertise was a union leader trying to organize the workers on marijuana farms.

“But nobody here is planning to be a farm worker,” I told him.

“Plenty are planning to be growers, though,” he said. “I’m organizing growers, too.”

“You think growers want to join a union?”

“Their workers would. I’m organizing the growers so they can organize their workers.”

Try as I might, and I tried for half an hour, I couldn’t get a clear reason why farmers would want to unionize their workers. The best unclear reason involved keeping all the farms on the same playing field, which would keep prices for the product at a uniformly high level so that everybody, farmers and workers alike, would get rich. When I asked if his union planned to organize the illegal growers who are, when I thought about it, all the growers that exist right now, his answers became more unclear than usual. When I asked how anybody was going to get rich when marijuana doesn’t sell for any more than it’s selling for in Washington, he became even less clear.

A few booths over, a lady was touting a security service. “Marijuana businesses attract a lot of shady characters,” she said. “Owner needs to know who they are.”

Maybe, I thought, when marijuana is against the law. When it’s legal and cheap, shady characters are a lot more likely to hang around jewelry stores and places selling gold and treasure.

“You see a car in your parking lot with some shady characters inside,” she went on, “the last thing you want is to have to approach that car to find out who they are.”

Probably true I thought. Of any business.

“If you hire us, all you have to do is call with the tag number and we’ll tell you everywhere that car has been in the last few months.”

“You know that?”

“Sure. We get it from the street cameras. We can tell you within seconds everywhere that car has been.”

I knew about street cameras. Street cameras are one of things I talk about that make people think I’m some kind of anti-government crazy person, along with the thing I used to say about how the NSA records everybody’s phone calls and emails. I never expected the government would bother about something like a warrant when it wanted to check up on where my car had been, but I did think that calling up a specific license number would take a bit of trouble, like those operators tracing phone calls in old movies. And that, at the very least, the government would be embarrassed enough by the whole thing not to go making it any more public than it needed to. It never crossed my mind that you or I or a private security firm could tie directly into the street cameras and know where somebody else’s car had been. And do it within seconds.

I also couldn’t see how knowing where a car had been would tell you much about the people in the car. Unless the car turned out to be parked every night in a federal motor pool, which would tell you all you needed to know if you were running a marijuana outlet.

Which brings up the gentleman in the insurance booth. He was selling policies tailored for marijuana businesses. “Cover slip-and-fall. Product liability. Renter’s insurance to ease landlords’ concerns about leasing buildings to use as grow facilities. Theft. Bad debts. Acts of Government.”

Say what?

“Acts of Government. It’s not just what the thieves are planning that a businessman has to worry about, you know. It’s what the government has in mind, too.”

Now that’s something I could understand, at least until I thought about it. Insurance against acts of government was the one thing out of the whole trade-show lollapalooza, the one thing among all the fantasies of tiny houses and 19th-century gold-mining, of drive-you-to-the-poorhouse high-tech grow equipment and knowing where somebody else’s car has been, that made sense to me. Insurance against acts of government — that has . . .

That has . . . I don’t know. The things the government gets up to always turn out to be so far ahead of anything any sane person can imagine, I’m not sure what that guy was really selling. Could be he was no different from the other hucksters that morning. At the very least, he knew who his marks were.

Lots of people who use marijuana, and lots of people who would have wandered over from the Gold & Treasure Show, have their suspicions about acts of government. Could be he saw us coming.

Could be I’m the sort of guy who’d be suckered into the empty promise of a policy insuring me against acts of government in the same way those latter-day prospectors imagined they’d make their fortunes in Alaska, or those urban wannabe farmers and processors fancied there’s endless money to be had in marijuana.

Could well be something like that.


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The Berlin Wall


I often travel between Canada and the United States. Typically, I am asked to line up involuntarily at the immigration counter to be interrogated by the officers. The Canadians and the Americans ask exactly the same questions. Where am I coming from? Am I married (for I have brown skin)? What do I do? Where do I live? What is my name? Where will I be staying? How long will I be there for?

The extremely clever minds of the officers process my tone and responses to decide whether I am a terrorist or not.

In Canada, I am often greeted as “Sir.” And when I am tired — after a 20-hour flight — they show some understanding. I expect none of this in the US. In the US, the herd is constantly shouted at to keep them well-behaved.

It is hard to think that these are actually our (public) servants. But given that an individual cannot really change much, one’s knee-jerk reaction might be a preference for the Canadian way.

I prefer the American way.

A long time back I was mugged when crossing a park in Manchester (UK). They addressed me as “Sir” and were extremely polite. When they found fifty pence in my pocket, for I was broke and hungry those days, they returned it and promised me that they would never stop me again. Then they let me go. Lacking perspective, I was lost and confused. I never reported this event. Were they not nice guys? They could have beaten me if they wanted to. At the same time, I was overwhelmed by an unknown, cloudy anger. How could someone who calls me “Sir” have the right to detain me? How could they touch me, physically molest me while showing respect toward me?

Twenty-five years after the destruction of the Berlin Wall, we are proud of the world without it, but now there are many more such walls all around us.

Had they not been nice, at least I would have left sane, with my mind clear, unclouded by conflicting emotions. I would have seen them clearly as robbers.

Do you remember the Internal Revenue Service? Would you not feel clearer about what they did if they did not call themselves a service? No one in his right mind considers it a service department and mostly it incites anxiety, even among the most “law” abiding people.

How many people experience any interaction with “peace officers” without fear?

When I get told what to eat, and what I can do or what I cannot do, should I feel warm about the caring nannies or should I worry about how, through a nice facade, they take over my liberties? Moreover, they attempt to confuse me through Orwellian language and the application of laws that claim to do good to me exactly when harming me.

I prefer the mental clarity and reduced frustration that come from a robber being clear that he is a robber.

Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Western world has become increasingly less free. All our lives are now fully documented and filed in obscure databases. In Canada, if you have a certain savings account (called a tax-free savings account), you don’t even have to file any tax documents. The revenue agency gets all the relevant information directly from the bank. If they don’t like how you run that account, they issue an assessment based on what the bank tells them.

We are repeatedly told that this is all for our own good.

Twenty-five years after the destruction of the Berlin Wall, we are proud of the world without it, but now there are many more such walls all around us. It is merely that we don’t see the walls as clearly and find ourselves confused even if we can see them, for they don’t have the rough facade that the actual wall had. We are presented instead with cuddly, warm, fuzzy facades.

I prefer the American immigration and the real walls. At least I see them for what they are. At least they don’t assault my sanity and confuse my understanding of morality.

I prefer that when I am raped, it is done in a way that I don’t enjoy.

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Opponents of libertarianism often make its adherents sound deadly dangerous. They speak as if, at any minute, libertarians might seize absolute power, changing life as we know it in cataclysmic ways and at supersonic speed. Dire warnings are issued of the apocalypto-world, Mad Max society we would create. The poor would starve in the streets, children would wither from lack of nurture, rabid dogs would tear us to bits, people would be perpetually naked and stoned and copulating in public and nobody would even care. Where the hell does this stuff come from?

It comes equally from the statist left and the statist right, from everyone who buys into the notion that if government doesn’t do absolutely everything, absolutely nothing will get done. The fact that for the vast majority of human history, government didn’t do most of the things it does right now is entirely forgotten.

Some libertarians contribute to this by talking as if we could, or should, make dramatic transformations simultaneously and in the blink of an eye. But of course, any change we influenced could only happen gradually. And once implemented, every step would also need to succeed very rapidly, or it would be even more rapidly reversed.

The fact that for the vast majority of human history, government didn’t do most of the things it does right now is entirely forgotten.

If a full libertarian agenda were enacted all at once, we would be in trouble. Our society has become so corrupted, degraded, and infantilized that we probably wouldn’t be able to deal with it. We have, indeed, come to depend on government to do everything for us except think. And government wantsto do that for us, too. But in order for a nation with limited government and a reliance on personal responsibility to survive, people must once again be willing to do for themselves all that countless generations did far better than government ever could.

The process wouldn’t be like that of children growing up. It would be like that of adults who, having suffered debilitating brain injuries, must be rehabilitated to full functionality. The difference is that we have suffered injuries not so much to our brains as to our spirits.

It isn’t the nature of libertarians to rule over everybody and everything. If we did that, we would no longer be libertarians. The most we really can do is exert an influence. If that influence is great, it will open a wider space for experimentation, to verify what works and what doesn’t. The best ideas, once proven, don’t need to be forced.

Most libertarians actually know that our agenda could never be enacted all at once, nor do we all agree about what the agenda should be. I wish we did a better job of assuring people that we can’t flip a switch, wave a wand, or cast spells with a wiggle of our nose, like Samantha on Bewitched. A libertarian transformation of society could indeed be enacted only over a long period of time. People opposed to it would have to fight it, be won over, and — perhaps hardest of all — get used to it.

Government does everything it can to discourage us from taking care of one another.

Behind the fear of a libertarian nose-wiggle is the notion that if government doesn’t force people to do good things, they simply won’t do them; that when they’re not being bullied by thugs with a license to kill, human beings are incapable of responsible behavior. According to this view, we are toddlers who will need Mommy, Daddy, Nanny, and Teacher all our lives.

I beg to differ. We are perfectly capable of cooperating peaceably with one another, engaging in trade, and caring for those who need our help. Government of some sort will always be necessary to protect us from force and fraud, but when it attempts to do anything beyond that it inevitably becomes a nuisance, and generally something worse than a nuisance. Then it does more harm than good. Though we’re always being told that government makes us virtuous, what it actually does is degrade us morally. Its constant warnings of our irresponsibility, infantilism, and decadence become self-fulfilling prophecies. Government does everything it can to discourage us from taking care of one another. It breaks us of the habit of spending on behalf of our families and communities by taking our money and spending it for us — often on things we don’t want. It tells us, again and again and again, that we can’t take care of ourselves or each other, that we’re too stupid to know what’s best and that we can’t run our own lives until we begin to believe what it says.

Increasingly, however, instead of helping us to do good things for each other, government is actually keeping us from doing them. Thus municipalities levy fines against churches for feeding the homeless, or for taking them in, to save them from freezing. Law-abiding citizens are now prohibited, in many areas, from defending themselves or their families against violent criminals. The police themselves are rapidly becoming militarized, devoting nearly as much time to preying upon the innocent as they do to protecting them.

It is no longer possible for statists to conceal the emptiness of their claim to be keeping us safer or making us better. In fact, they barely bother trying to hide their intent to control us. In pushing their authority, they are in-our-faces brazen.

The people who actually do the work in this country are merely expected to foot the bill. We have little, if any, say over how the money bled from us is spent. Yet nothing gets my “progressive” friends more apoplectic than my claim that we should be the ones to determine where our money goes. They splutter that it should be spent on behalf of “social justice.” As if that’s what’s happening now.

The common, working American is presumed to be too selfish to use his or her money to help care for those less fortunate. As in imperial Rome, the state has been deified. It is credited with powers of divine benevolence and entrusted with the duties of upholding every worthy cause and providing for our every need.

Big government is expensive. It will inevitably belong to those who can afford to buy or bribe it. This stark reality, which should be obvious even to simpletons, somehow eludes the statist Left.

People built and sustained communities for thousands of years before government decided it had to do that for us. Systematically, the leviathan state has destroyed community. It wants to plan how we live, where we live, and with whom we live. But true community is the nexus between the individual and the larger society, and to function in ways that contribute to human happiness, it must equitably serve the needs of both. That which crushes the individual for the supposed sake of society — micro-managing people so they’ll be good little cogs in the social machine — really serves neither.

Those in other countries who pose a danger to us are often protected and enabled by our own government. Most of the weaponry with which they attack us was manufactured by us. If protecting our own people ever became a greater priority than milking money from us to fund our enemies, the great majority of those who pose a genuine menace to us would be disarmed. If we had more control over how our money is spent, we would certainly spend it on ourselves — and each other — instead of on them.

I suspect that what the powers-that-be actually fear is that we might use our time, talent, and treasure for our own good, and for that of our fellow human beings. That would explain the millions of dollars they’re pumping into the corporate media to warn us how dangerous and irresponsible we are. A hell of a lot of capital is being invested in telling us to trust our self-proclaimed (and handsomely-funded) betters, instead of trusting ourselves and each other.

Big government is expensive. It will inevitably belong to those who can afford to buy or bribe it.

If we truly got the chance, once again, to work together unimpeded by government restraint, we could put to constructive use all that progressivism genuinely has to teach us. Would some use their freedom to do things of which others disapprove, and that would, perhaps, even be self-destructive? Of course they would. But those who did so would lack the government-backed brawn to force themselves on all the rest of us, or to dump the consequences of their irresponsibility on us.

The nervous nellies can relax. Libertarians have great confidence that our way is the best way. And we have reason to hope that someday, even many of the most dogged skeptics will come to realize it, too.

Those opposed to our ideas seem very much afraid that our influence could succeed. They don’t dare to even let us think so. But a world in which statist control freaks don’t rule over everyone else would be an apocalypse only for them.

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Public Servants


I’ve always liked the comedian Paul Mecurio. He’s a smart, funny, attractive guy. The other day, when I was surfing around and landed on Fox’s softnews program “Outnumbered,” I found that he was the guest, so I decided to watch.

Someone on the show said that President Obama behaves as he does because he “doesn’t like America,” and Paul got upset and said that he often doesn’t agree with Obama himself, but he didn’t like that kind of thing to be said about a man who has devoted his life to “public service.”

His statement came as a shock — not to the people of Fox, but to me. I’ve been listening to talk about “public service” all my life, but hearing Obama called a public servant made the concept seem even stranger than it had before.

Who, besides government employees, especially politicians, is associated with “service”? Who “serves” other people? Well, for instance, people in restaurants; they serve the public. They’re even called “servers.” So what, if anything, do a politician and a waiter or a waitress — a public servant and a servant of the public — have in common? That’s the question I asked myself, and one question led to others.

The last time you went to a restaurant, did you see your server punching, kicking, and biting the other servers, for the privilege of waiting on your table? Did your server claim to be the only person qualified to do so? Did you see him passing out money to the other diners, so they would choose him to wait on them? Or did he just promise them good jobs, cheap but perfect healthcare, and lavish retirement benefits? When you sat down, did he deliver an hour-long speech, saying how glad he was to see you and how much he had already done for you?

When you objected, did your server call the police and have you arrested for “hate speech”?

If you came with your children, were they ushered into a back room to be educated about how great the servers were? If you objected, were you sharply reminded that “this is the law”? After you’d been there a while, did you notice that many of the tables were filled with people who were eating and drinking but never appeared to receive a check? Did you notice that when they were rowdy and disruptive, the servers went to them and apologized for the disapproving looks that other diners cast in their direction? Did you notice that when the server brought your food, he first gave half of it to the people at neighboring tables?

When you read the menu, did you notice that many of the advertised dishes had been labeled “Unconstitutional,” and dishes with new and unfamiliar names had been penciled in? If you ordered filet mignon with the chef’s special sauce, did your server return with a cold turkey burger and an empty ketchup bottle? If you ordered a good cabernet, were you told that anything but grape juice was available only by prescription? If you complained about the food, did your server refuse to comment, because the matter was under investigation?

In the middle of your meal, did the servers suddenly head for the windows and start shooting at the restaurant next door? Did they grab all the young males in the place and use them as human shields? When the firing mysteriously ceased, did they demand a loan to cover the unexpected cost of ammunition?

When you studied the bill, did you notice that after your waiter added up the surcharges, special surcharges, seat rental fees, menu licensing fees, and other sources of revenue not previously mentioned, you were paying 15 times more than the amount listed next to the items you ordered — which, again, your server never brought you? When you objected, did your server call the police and have you arrested for “hate speech”?

Did those things happen to you? No? They didn’t? The people serving you never did any of those things? Then perhaps there is a difference between public servants and people who actually perform a service to the public. And perhaps it’s time we clarified our vocabulary.

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Updated Aphorism #6


chambers succeed

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In January 2014, for one month, I held a job as a document review attorney in Manhattan. I was a member of a team of 30 attorneys, and we each reviewed about 500 documents a day. This means that 15,000 documents in total were reviewed each day. One day, out of those 15,000, my supervisor (who only had two assistants and was very busy herself) found one document on which I had made a serious mistake, and gave me a talking to about not making that mistake again. I was very embarrassed and promised to do better. But my initial thought was: how did she find my one wrong document out of 15,000? Then I realized: all the documents were stored electronically, and she simply ran a computer search that notified her of which documents contained the error.

My point is simple: there are no needles in haystacks anymore. One document out of 15,000 can be detected using a computerized search, because a computer can read 15,000 documents in a few seconds. If a computer search can find that, what else can it find? A search of every email in the Gmail, Yahoo, and Outlook email systems with the word “libertarian” in it? A search of the internet for a list of every libertarian Meetup? Given a set of names from a libertarian mailing list, a list of all addresses? Can you see where I’m going with this? How difficult would it be for a socialist government to round up all the libertarians? Using computers, a government could find us. Using computers, it could monitor every email and every phone call, so that we could never organize any resistance. Using computers, it could even do profiling to identify the people whose personalities would make them sympathetic to liberty, and add those supporters to a list before they made a move to act or even knew what libertarianism is. What Ellsworth Toohey said about “future Roarks,” namely, that they will all be destroyed, comes to mind.

Look at your smartphone. Does it have a webcam? Yes. Is it GPS enabled so it can give you driving directions? Yes. But how easy would it be for a government to turn on that webcam and direct a permanent video feed from your device to a government monitoring station? And to keep a constant record of where you go, every minute of every day? And could the government do it by issuing secret orders to Google and Apple, and to Microsoft, which controls the smartphone operating systems, so that your own device spied on you without your knowledge? I can tell you that your smartphone could easily be turned into a chain around your leg. If 300 million smartphones were so converted, the data could be sent to computers that, as I described above, could analyze the data for trends useful in detecting rebels — for instance, by listening for a conversation including such keywords as “freedom” or “rebel,” or noticing when you go to a place where libertarians are believed to meet in secret. 1984 is a real possibility, though a little late in 2014.

The technology for techno-fascism already exists. Its only real impediment is the Fourth Amendment.

Advances in technology bring great joy. But they also bring danger, especially when the advancement of politics lags far behind. Einstein’s work revolutionized physics; it also led to the nuclear bomb and the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Similarly, I fear that the rise of computer technology, in the hands of a dictator, could lead to “techno-fascism.” The dictator would not need spies, because cameras and sensors, analyzed by computers, would detect all traces of resistance, and tell the secret police exactly where to go to crush rebellion before it started. Under all dictatorships of the past, rebels could meet in secret, make plans, and try to revolt, because spies could not be everywhere. Now they can be.

The fact that there are no needles in haystacks anymore was actually visualized in Batman: The Dark Knight, where, toward the end of the movie, Batman uses the Bat Computer to hack into Gotham’s cell phones and eavesdrops to locate the Joker. If, in this way, the government spied on people in the name of safety and fighting crime, then the public might let it happen, until it was too late to reverse the practice.

Well, if doom awaits, what do we do? The technology for techno-fascism already exists. Its only real impediment is the Fourth Amendment. Read it. In the modern era, no charter of civil liberty is more crucial. We must fight to protect the Fourth Amendment, and to use it in courts.

Meanwhile, we can expect spies to spy on other spies. Because there are no needles in haystacks anymore, every side can see what the other sides are doing. The techno-fascist wants to spy on others while remaining invisible himself, but this is impossible; everything is visible in the world of Big Data.

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In Defense of Intellectual Property


Libertarianism can be different things to different people. Trying to define it, or characterize it, will leave some libertarians at odds with one another. What follows will isolate me from most libertarians. It is a defense of intellectual property rights (IPR) based on the thesis that there is no normative distinction between IPR and real property rights (RPR). I will use Butler Shaffer's short polemic for the Mises Institute, "A Libertarian Critique of Intellectual Property," as my primary foil as it encapsulates many of the arguments against IPR that libertarian thinkers embrace.

Where Shaffer ends I will begin. At the end of his polemic he boils down his rejection of IPR on the ground that a libertarian cannot endorse a right that is created and enforced by the state. The premise that IPR are created by the state is false, while the premise that IPR should be rejected because they are enforced by the state is unpersuasive. This essay will unfold in three parts, with the first demonstrating why Shaffer’s first premise is false, the second section demonstrating why his second premise is unpersuasive, and the third section confronting other objections to IPR.

Section I: Intellectual Property Rights are not created by the state

The only means through which one may defend RP, and not IP, is to say that the manner in which man exerts ownership over RP has nothing to do with his mind. RP and IP are both products of the same process, even though they take different forms. It doesn’t require a great imagination to see this, but because it is an unfamiliar formulation I will elaborate by means of a familiar source: John Locke. A Lockean justification of private property provides a sound defense of IPR by building through a property of conscience.

Unless we assume that man’s arms and legs move without cognition, man’s labor is a product of his mind.

In chapter 5 of his Second Treatise on Government Locke gives his seminal account of property rights. It runs thus: man alone is in possession of himself, and through his drive and ingenuity he extends his dominion beyond himself. Man is in possession of himself because no other individual gave him his will, conscience, or abilities; thus, no one else can exert dominion over him except that to which he consents.

Man takes possession of property when it lies in common and he mixes his labor with it. Simply put, if there is unowned property available, and someone takes it out of its natural state by mixing his labor with it, that property becomes his so long as there is enough left over for others to sustain themselves, for that man has no right to deprive others of providing for themselves. An acorn becomes mine if it is lying on the ground or staying in the tree, and I take it out of its natural state by mixing my labor with it — plucking it from the tree or picking it up from the ground. The mixing of labor makes it mine because that acorn is no longer what it had been. My labor made it something that it had not previously been, by virtue of my efforts. This means that nobody else can stake a claim to it without depriving me of the fruits (or nuts, in this case) of my labor.

The Lockean argument gets a bit more complicated, but in terms of how common property becomes private, this is it. That is why Locke and his intellectual heirs consider private property paramount for the preservation of liberty, for there is no real distinction between man and his property, since property is nothing more than the extension and physical manifestation of a man's liberty.

As it relates to IP, a Lockean position is easy to extract. Unless we assume that man’s arms and legs move without cognition, man’s labor is a product of his mind. Without cognition I would not cut down trees and build a shelter, nor would I engage in any productive activity that would lead to property ownership. Whether it’s writing a book or building a widget, property originates from man’s will and ability to produce.

If the process by which IP is protected is conducted poorly, that is simply the government doing a necessary job poorly and not evidence that the job is unnecessary.

James Madison has a more expansive, and sometimes confusing, articulation of property rights, but he understands them as Locke does. Madison uses property to describe what man possesses within himself (what Locke would call will or labor), and those external objects that become man's possessions through the mixing of himself with them (land, hogs, etc.). This formulation is articulated by Madison in a 1792 essay entitled "Property." Madison writes:

In a word, as a man is said to have a right to his property, he may be equally said to have a property in his rights. Where an excess of power prevails, property of no sort is duly respected. No man is safe in his opinions, his person, his faculties, or his possessions. Where there is an excess of liberty, the effect is the same, tho' from an opposite cause. Government is instituted to protect property of every sort; as well that which lies in the various rights of individuals, as that which the term particularly expresses. This being the end of government, that alone is a just government, which impartially secures to every man, whatever is his own.

We may conclude that protecting property, broadly understood, is the sole object of government for both Madison and Locke.

Somebody stealing my IP is the same as someone stealing my RP, particularly if IP is what I use to make a living. If the market for my book is 10,000 people, then someone who resells my book, or makes 10,000 copies it and sells them without my permission, has shrunk the market for me, the originator and creator of the book. This is no different from someone breaking into my shop and stealing 10,000 widgets and selling them on the black market when the market for the widget is 10,000 people. In either instance my ability to make a living through my labor has been denied by someone who illegitimately used the product of my labor without my consent. In simple terms: my right to life, liberty, and property has been denied. Nothing gives someone else the right to capitalize on my labor without my consent, for without my labor that product would not be in existence. These considerations give me sole ownership of the property if we follow the Lockean formulation of property rights.

Section II: Rights and the State

It is not a defect of IP that it needs the government to enforce it; it is the fault of libertarians if they cannot accommodate a necessary and just idea, such as IP, without government enforcement. If libertarians reject IP on the ground that it needs government to enforce it, then we have not evaluated IP on its merits but merely through a heuristic defined by ideology rather than logic.

If the process by which IP is protected is conducted poorly, that is simply the government doing a necessary job poorly and not evidence that the job is unnecessary. The focus should be on how to correct what’s wrong, not how to eradicate protections for property. Government is legitimate when it protects life, liberty, and property, and illegitimate when it does not. That does not mean that life, liberty, and property are illegitimate ends when the government does a poor job protecting them. To reject the ends because the means are faulty is a logical error.

Furthermore, libertarians who embrace RP cannot reject IP on enforcement grounds, for RP also requires government enforcement. Perhaps in idealized settings, or at least in smaller, more communal settings than the current nation-state model, RP would not require the government for protection. But we don’t live in those scenarios and must therefore recognize the reality of the situation. We can certainly debate the degree to which the government protects RP well, the means through which it does so, and the externalities associated with government protection of RP, but I don’t think anyone would say that if the police in every city were shuttered up tomorrow, crime would be reduced significantly the following day. In today’s reality, RP requires government protection just as IP does. Thus, unless one is willing to reject RP on these grounds one cannot also reject IP for the same reason.

Section III: Remaining Objections and Rebuttals

Shaffer objects to those who say that IPR promote creativity by protecting the products of one’s creative endeavors. It is true that IPR do not make me more creative, but IPR protection may provide incentives for creative activities rather than other activities that would be more profitable. If I am a musician who is unable to profit from my music because others can steal my ideas, I will have to find another job. This doesn’t prevent me from being creative, but it does reduce my incentive to do so and it impedes my ability to dedicate the necessary time to creative endeavor.

Shaffer uses the Roman aqueducts and the Egyptian pyramids as examples of human achievements in ingenuity and creativity that occurred without IPR. What Shaffer fails to acknowledge is that these were state-sponsored projects that would not have been realized without financing and organization from a large state. Similarly, while Michelangelo did not require IPR to produce his art he did require a wealthy patronage to support him and his products financially. IPR is one reason we no longer have to rely upon a patronage system in the arts and literature.

We must not deny producers security in their life, liberty, and property for fear that the authority we must rely upon to do so may turn against it.

Shaffer endorses the claim by Paul Feyerabend that “science is an essentially anarchistic enterprise” to demonstrate that an open exchange of ideas is beneficial for scientific and artistic achievement. But the passage from Feyerabend goes on to stipulate that “theoretically anarchism is more humanitarian and more likely to encourage progress than its law-and-order alternatives.” Shaffer conveniently ignores the operative term “theoretically” and thus fails to explore the reality of our world and defaults to the theoretical without acknowledging having done so. Shaffer, and all those who endorse stripping producers of their ownership rights, should recognize that producers have bills to pay and those who steal their products deprive them of their ability to provide for themselves through the outcomes of their labor. Moreover, thieves do exist, and having a means to guard against them is necessary albeit unfortunate.


In practical and theoretical terms there is no meaningful distinction between real property and intellectual property. If libertarians accept government protections for real property then they must too accept them for intellectual property if consistency is to be maintained.

I am sympathetic to the concern that when we ask the government to protect us it enfeebles us potentially and opens the door for the government to inch into other areas of our lives. But, the potential does not have to be realized if we do not permit it. It is possible to restrain and confine the government to those means and ends that we think most appropriate. Thus, we must not deny producers security in their life, liberty, and property for fear that the authority we must rely upon to do so may turn against it. We must instead opt for just government rather than reject it outright until such a time comes that we live in a world of entirely honest men and women.

With the permission of the author, a reply to this essay has been invited from Wayland Hunter; it is available here.

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That Instructive Tone


Many years ago, when I was a kid libertarian emerging from the swamps of the New Left, one of my friends, a student of sociology, told me something he had learned in class: among its other functions, government is a means of supplying information.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “like when they put up a traffic light. It tells you when to stop and go.”

I was too young to be paying any perceptible amount of money in taxes, so I didn’t think, “So this is why we need a government that spends as much every year as Europe did between AD 100 and AD 1960 — so it can throw that little switch on the traffic light?” But I did think, “Gosh, that’s banal.”

They are either godlike geniuses, capable of projecting complex meaning where it does not exist; or they are a passive and accepting folk, most closely resembling cows. You decide.

Since that time, unfortunately, government has become ever more intent on fulfilling the vital function of supplying information. Its attempts to do so are not limited to “merge,” “no left turn,” “pay your taxes by April 15 (or we are sending you to prison).” In my state, you can hardly eat a meal without being informed, someplace on the menu, that eggs and chickens need to be cooked at such and such a temperature. You can hardly pick up a package of anything without seeing a sign that says:

WARNING: This product contains chemicals known to the State of California to cause cancer and birth defects or other reproductive harm.

You can hardly enter an apartment house without seeing an even more disturbing sign:

WARNING: This Area Contains a Chemical Known to the State of California to Cause Birth Defects or Other Reproductive Harm.

A second or two after grabbing their genitals, most Californians recall that this information is without any merit or interest. Every property in the world includes some substance, some chemical, that might conceivably prevent you from reproducing. Eat enough dirt, and you will never reproduce again.

But lately the “information” conveyed by government has assumed a somewhat more lethal form — lethal to mental health, at any rate. President Obama’s comments are almost all of this nature; and the problem has gotten worse as Obama has moved from Partisan Manipulation and Just Plain Lies to the still deadlier genre of Words for the Ages. Even his diehard followers are reported to be mystified by a new discovery: Obama’s speeches have no content! They never did! Go back and read them.

As for the people who thought those speeches had information to supply, they are either godlike geniuses, capable of projecting complex meaning where it does not exist; or they are a passive and accepting folk, most closely resembling cows. You decide. I’m sure we can agree, however, on the idea that with such encouragement from the top, Obama’s subordinates are very likely to optimize their own potential for banality.

Even his diehard followers are reported to be mystified by a new discovery: Obama’s speeches have no content! They never did! Go back and read them.

Governmental banality manifested itself in virtually Platonic form in remarks delivered on June 11 by Charles Timothy (Chuck) Hagel, former senator, former banker, former head of a cellphone company, former organizer for the Reagan campaign, former official of the Veterans Administration, former lobbyist for a tire company, and current Secretary of Defense. The occasion of his remarks was an investigation conducted by the House Armed Services Committee into the release of Bowe Bergdahl, a soldier who walked away from his post in a combat zone in Afghanistan, was captured by the enemy, and was ransomed at considerable expense by the Obama administration.

Hagel said:

Wars are messy, and they’re full of imperfect choices. . . .You know there’s always suffering through war. There’s no glory in war. War is always about human beings. It’s not about machines. War is a dirty business. And we don’t like to deal with those realities. But realities, they are. And we must deal with them. . . . . . War, every part of war, like prisoner exchanges, is not some abstraction or theoretical exercise. The hard choices and options don’t fit neatly into clearly defined instructions in how-to manuals. All of these decisions are part of the brutal, imperfect realities we all deal with in war.

Now, would anybody ever guess that this man had come to Congress to talk about Bowe Bergdahl?

Of course, it’s hard to talk about something you know absolutely nothing about. Hagel’s comments, on this and other occasions, indicated that he had no idea whether Bergdahl was a deserter or if other soldiers had lost their lives looking for him or if the five Taliban honchos who were released in exchange for him were really important or not. But as Secretary of Defense, he had to talk about something, so he talked about the eternal truths. If someone produces The Wit and Wisdom of Chuck Hagel, these wise observations will need to be included:

Wars are messy.

There’s always suffering through [sic] war.

War is not some abstraction.

War is always about human beings.

War is a dirty business.

And just to keep the troops happy:

There’s no glory in war.

What is the listener supposed to deduce from this string of truisms? Don’t go to war? If you go to war, make sure to obliterate your enemies? All’s fair in a dirty game? What goes around comes around? War is an existential tragedy, best understood by curling up with a Camus novel? War isn’t half so pleasant as a successful career in Washington? Pass me the gin bottle?

Here we have a traffic light that’s blinking red, green, and yellow, all at once. But Hagel’s demeanor insisted that you had to respect any information he supplied. When anyone expressed a hint of skepticism, the Secretary of Defense was miffed.

Watching Hagel’s testimony, I was reminded that Leland Yeager had alerted me to the existence of another exponent of government as information, Environmental Protection Agency Administrator Gina McCarthy. And Yeager was right, although McCarthy turns out to have a very different style from Hagel’s. Hagel (age 67) plays the part of the wise but grumpy old grandfather; he reacts to criticism by twisting around with an expression on his face that suggests his hearing aid is missing and he knows that the questioner has stolen it. By contrast, McCarthy (age 60) is young and hip. At least she thinks she is.

In a long, long speech delivered on June 2, McCarthy puffed something called the Clean Power Plan. In case you hadn’t guessed, this monstrosity has to do with governmental “shaping” and “crafting” of large but impenetrably vague “solutions” to such nonproblems as global warming.

Remember global warming? The idea that people are heating up the globe, or planet? Yes, that’s what we used to hear. But since the expected warming doesn’t seem to be going on, people concerned with the purported emergency have changed their name for it. What government is now supposed to prevent is climate change, climate inaction, or, if you’re really hip, just climate. Those are the words that McCarthy uses in her speech; never once does anything so frank as warming appear. But she is hip, or cunning, enough to realize that some people in her audience know, or have heard somewhere, that there’s been a lot of actual cooling going on. How can she handle that? She handles it by indicating she’s so far ahead of the game that she’s plumb tired of watching it. After all, her sole purpose is to win. So whether the climate is cold or hot — whatever. It makes no difference. We still have weather problems, don’t we? I mean, sometimes the electricity goes off!

If anything, what threatens reliability and causes blackouts is devastating extreme weather fueled by climate change. I’m tired of people pointing to the Polar Vortex as a reason not to act on climate. It’s exactly the opposite. Climate change heightens risks from extreme cold that freezes power grids, superstorms that drown power plants, and heat waves that stress power supplies. And it turns out, efficiency upgrades that slow climate change actually help cities insulate against blackouts.

The solution, of course, is a set of nationwide government interventions, entailing many billions in losses for companies and consumers.

But what strikes me is the tone. It’s the tone of a tenured sage who is tired of people with their petty questions and objections. If that’s the way they are, they’re not worth talking to — even though they’re paying her salary.

Remember, this woman hasn’t even been elected to her exalted position. And she isn’t a person who has won repute by offering the public some goods that it wants to buy. She’s just a government employee. But here she is, talking to people who have either been elected by the public or whose business has been favored in some kind of marketplace, and acting as if it’s her role to give awards at the kindergarten graduation:

I want to give a shout out to all the local officials, rural co-ops, public power operators, and investor owned utilities leading on climate change: It’s clear that you act not just because it’s reasonable, but because it's the right thing to do for the people you serve. Governors and mayors of all stripes are leaning into climate action. They see it not as a partisan obstacle, but as a powerful opportunity. And we know that success breeds success. Those of us who’ve worked in state and local government have seen healthy competition push states to share ideas and expertise. That’s when everybody wins.

If McCarthy actually were a teacher, I would advise her, first, to drop the attempt at pretending to be hip and cool. If you’re not young, you ought to know enough not to do that. But this is a teacher so unwise as to think that somebody’s going to like her to death because she uses expressions like shout out, lean into, and, elsewhere in her rambling, boring, repetitive speech, all about (“This plan is all about flexibility”), a win (“efficiency is a win”), think about it like this, calling our number (“Now, climate change is calling our number”), etc. It must be admitted that there are some signs of authenticity in McCarthy’s youthful patter: she resembles many young people in never having mastered English grammar and syntax. In company with her boss, President Obama, she has not yet learned the “like-as” distinction — and that’s just one example of a grammatical notion she’s never leaned into.

Whether the climate is cold or hot — whatever. It makes no difference. We still have weather problems, don’t we?

Second, I would advise her that one establishes one’s credentials to instruct others by recognizing and avoiding clichés, and not by running after them as if they were one’s heart’s desire. How else could she give us the right thing to do, of all stripes, success breeds success, and everybody wins within the space of five lines? In other passages we get in the driver’s seat, shifts the conversation, proven path,skeptics who will cry the sky is falling (actually, a skeptic would doubt that the sky is falling, but if you’ve collected a lot of clichés, you may as well butcher some), competitive edge, think of our children, cried wolf, bottom line, doomsday predictions that never came true (another odd choice for a person who spends her time warning about apocalyptic climate stuff),and my favorite pair of bromides, “Corporate climate action is not bells and whistles — it’s all hands on deck.”

That, like the earlier list, is selective. In the space available to me, I can’t do justice to McCarthy’s clichés. But go ahead — read the speech. I dare you. I gave you the link.

In the meantime, I ask you: Is she truly exercising the function of government to supply information? What she supplies is attitude, and a very bad attitude indeed. Bad ’tude, dude. No adult should talk to other adults in this way. In fact, no one should talk to anyone in this way. Although both the tone and the total absence of thought will be familiar to all who remember their high school assemblies, that precedent doesn’t make any of this a good, or even a decent, model for discourse of any kind, including high school assemblies.

But here, as bad speakers like to say, I’m reminded of a joke. Once there were two people who were very religious. They went to church all the time; they gave money; they never missed a vigil or a potluck dinner; with them it was all hands on deck. I’ll call this couple Adam and Steve. One Sunday Adam was sick, but he wanted to find out what the new priest had to say that morning, so he sent Steve along to church with instructions to report back to him. So Steve went and returned, and on his return he said, “Do you want the bad news first, or the good news?”

Adam gulped. “I guess,” he replied, “I’d better hear the bad news first.”

So Steve said, “Well, the priest got into the pulpit, and he preached nothing but heresy!”

“Oh my God!” Adam exclaimed. “After that, what could the good news be?”

“The good news,” Steve said, “is that nobody was listening.”

I would place bets on how many people, if any, read that speech by Ms. McCarthy, or, if present, listened to it. I fear that Leland Yeager and I may be her only attentive audience. And Obama’s sermons are just as eagerly followed.

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Farmers of Men


When people use the term “the homeless,” they make them sound like a leper colony of the damned, invaders from outer space, or some sort of creeping fungus. This attitude dehumanizes homeless people. Which is highly ironic, since those most likely to use the term see themselves as brimming with compassion. How can people be recognized as human beings if they aren’t viewed as individuals? Yet almost never do I get the sense, from those who decry the plight of “the homeless,” that they visualize real faces or remember actual names.

We’ve been getting a number of homeless people at church. The sudden influx is startling. One lady brings her four little dogs. She has nowhere to leave them except in the yard of our parish house, next door to the sanctuary. She sits in a pew, slightly off by herself, and soaks up the liturgy the way a flower soaks up sunshine. We are a progressive church — we Care About The Homeless. But nobody seems to know quite what to do with her.

When we hand over to the government the responsibility to care for those less fortunate than ourselves, we also give it the notion that it has taken the matter completely out of our hands.

Some are baffled that she’s got four dogs, when she probably struggles daily just to feed herself. They evidently fail to realize that the dogs may be the only living souls that show her unconditional affection, or perhaps any affection at all. Being one of those annoying people who get big ideas, I have several times wondered aloud what we might do to help our homeless guests. And I mean, really help them — not just go through a few motions to make ourselves feel better. Every time I do this, I get looks of horror.

Then comes the inevitable litany of “we can’ts.” We can’t give them hot meals, baskets of groceries, job referrals, or affordable housing. We are not, after all, a soup kitchen, a food bank, or a social service agency. But I’m pretty sure that though they may not know this the first time they come, it doesn’t take long for them to figure it out. If they keep coming back — as some do — they may actually want the same things out of the experience as the rest of us.

The homeless aren’t as different from us as I suspect we want to think they are. How did we ever come to think of them as a different species? As something alien, strange, and potentially dangerous?

I suspect it began to happen about the time we decided to hand all responsibility for the care of the unfortunate over to the government. It became Someone Else’s Problem — not our own. We tell ourselves we’ve done this because we’re so compassionate, but actually it has made us considerably less so. We have merely pushed the needy out of sight and out of mind, lulling our consciences to sleep with the narcotic delusion that Someone Else can do our caring for us.

We have no evidence, however, that the government overflows with compassion. And when we hand over to it the responsibility to care for those less fortunate than ourselves, we also give it the notion that it has taken the matter completely out of our hands. Once we surrender anything to the state, it never wants to give it back, and certainly resents having to share it.

Much ado is currently being made about how persecuted conservative Christians are when the state does not mandate mass compliance with their beliefs. That this seems to be the highest purpose to which they think the Gospel calls them does not strike them as the least bit odd. But the same government they want to enforce their dictates has taken away much of their ability to minister to the needy. A duty they have surrendered, for the most part, without a whimper.

This past winter, when much of the country was gripped with arctic cold, a number of churches brought homeless people into their buildings to keep them from freezing. In more than a few cases, this may have made the difference between life and death. Now, one might think this was exactly what churches are supposed to do. But several municipal governments thought otherwise.

When we farm the homeless out to government care, they get no care at all. The government treats them as less than human.

Where were the cries of religious persecution, from the Right-wing Umbrage Industry, when these cities ordered churches that were sheltering homeless people to turn them out into the streets, threatening them with hefty fines if they refused to comply? I certainly didn’t hear any, and since I pay close attention to such matters, I listened for them.

Perhaps the best thing we can do for the homeless among us is really to see them as people — and I mean, before they turn into blocks of ice we must step over on the sidewalk. When we farm them out to government care, they get no care at all. The government treats them as less than human. Given the fact that it’s more likely to care for stray dogs or cats than for homeless people, it treats them as even less than animals.

The only way we can treat homeless people as people is to take back our responsibility to care what happens to them. When they come through the doors of our churches, we can recognize them as spiritual beings, who hunger for more than food. They need to know that they are valuable. That it matters whether they find a warm place to belong, or rot into oblivion in a gutter. This, no government can give them, and when we farmed out the responsibility for their care, all understanding of their deeper needs got lost.

Today we clamor, like baby birds, for the government to give us goodies. Our dependence has bred a malignant narcissism, in which we identify primarily as members of some grievance group to be appeased. The very convictions that form our core we see as somebody else’s responsibility to ensure. But the government cannot give us our souls; it can only take them. It’s high time we took them back.

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The Babies are Booming


According to the Census Bureau, a government agency and therefore one of the sources from which all knowledge proceeds, the post-World War II baby boom lasted from 1946 to 1964. I squeaked in right at the tail end of it. This meant I missed the good stuff: the Summer of Love, Woodstock, all the best riots. Roseanne Conner well summarized what the era meant for those lucky enough to have been born earlier: “Well . . . there was a war going on! Everything was just a lot more fun!”

When I was little, there was a Saturday morning cartoon about the Beatles. I was very surprised when I found out they were real people. In 1968, when Bobby Kennedy was shot, I was genuinely confused. Having already heard quite a lot about the Kennedy assassination, I didn’t see how it could happen to the same man twice.

I like these kids. They don’t take anything at face value. When they spot an injustice, they capture it on their ever-present smartphones and send it into viral immortality.

Those were chaotic, frightening, fascinating years to be a kid. Though I was only 7 when the decade ended, the spirit of freedom had gotten into my blood. I couldn’t wait to become a teenager and do all the great things that had made youth so exciting for my sister and the older siblings of my friends. But high school throbbed to the inane beat of disco, and in my college years, former flower children advised me that all the fun was over, so if I really wanted to have a meaningful life, I’d need to make piles of money. Our elders would yell at me and my friends about “you kids” and how horrible we were — not because of anything we’d ever done, but because of the antics of those who’d gotten there before us. They kept vigil over us like vultures, just to make sure we never got to do any of it.

Eversince the ’60s crashed into the ’70s and burned to cinders, the baby boomers have been pining for the era’s rebirth. When each new generation comes of age, they urge the youngsters to restart the revolution. The boomers are getting old, but their hope remains forever young.

They think they may be seeing the resurrection among the “millennials.” I agree, but I doubt the wilting flower children will recognize themselves in the current crop. The spirit animating today’s youth is one that the oldsters long ago disowned.

According to one of those ancient sayings the boomers love to quote, we can never step into the same river twice. As a fresh generation sets out to reform the world, it looks very different from what’s been expected by those who grew up in the shadow of the Second World War. These aren’t the children of the GIs who battled tyranny overseas; they’re the grandchildren of those children. The boomers pretty much depleted the store of goodies lavished upon them, and left little for those who come after. Today’s youngsters have to make their own breaks.

I see the Age of Aquarius as a time of promise yet to be fulfilled, though I disagree with the boomers about what that might mean. They evidently imagined it would signal the complete takeover of society by a big, benevolent government, run by Those Who Know Best. There’s always been a strain of that in their thinking. They seem to have forgotten that all through the ’60s, running parallel to that river was one of an altogether different color.

Whatever happened to the maxim that all authority should be questioned? What happened to a wide-eyed inquiry into the world, which accepted no truth secondhand? I haven’t seen very much of that until lately, but more and more I see it in today’s youth. I’m happy to say I probably won’t turn into one of the sour old people who grouse about “those kids.” When I spend time around teens and twenty-somethings, I come away feeling hopeful.

I like these kids. They don’t take anything at face value. They’ve been using computers since they were in diapers, and they connect to each other, via the Internet, with a facility that seems almost occult. Nobody’s going to put anything over on them. When they spot an injustice, they capture it on their ever-present smartphones and send it into viral immortality.

They’re not much impressed because some tired, graying frauds burned their draft cards 40 years ago. Haven’t these same onetime antiwar crusaders complacently permitted a war to drag on in the Middle East for over a decade? A war that has taken the lives and limbs of many in the millennial generation? That war was, evidently, only bad when a Republican was Commander-in-Chief. Since its headship switched parties, there’s been nary a grump from Gramps.

Today the Boomers as likely to reminisce about the cool concerts they attended as they are about the protests in which they marched. Many never showed up at the protests at all.

Kids have a built-in BS detector. They can see through a sham. I always wondered why the big kids had so many obviously great ideas, but squandered every chance to make themselves coherently heard. They never seemed to decide whether they wanted to drop out or fit in. Whether to change the world, get laid, or get stoned.

Today they’re as likely to reminisce about the cool concerts they attended as they are about the protests in which they marched. Many never showed up at the protests at all. Getting their heads busted would have been a bummer. Better to let government change the world. As they surrendered more and more of their self-confidence to Big Brother, they settled into a state of complacency they’ve never left.

This hardly seems the same bunch who gave us “Alice’s Restaurant.” Alice has closed her doors and boarded the windows. Perhaps her grandkids will reopen the place as an Internet café. If they do, I’ll be at the corner table.

Maybe it took a kid’s eyes to see the promise of the ’60s clearly. I was too young to get laid, or stoned, or to go to any of the really far-out concerts. I’m just old enough to remember.

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