Being a persecuted minority — i.e. an anarchist, or even a persecuted majority, i.e. every peaceful person who lives under a state anywhere — can be an alienating and even frightening existence.
People who, for instance, speak to cops with, “Sorry, officer. Yes, officer. It won’t happen again, officer. Thank you so much, officer,” tend to get off easier than people who say, “Here’s my license and registration. Pursuant to my fourth and fifth amendment rights, I will not answer further questions or consent to any searches.”
As someone who has been illegally detained, searched, and arrested on more than one occasion, I’ve reached one simple conclusion: if this is to be my life as long as the state exists, I don’t want to go it alone.
The slaves who keep their heads down are usually left alone. The ones who don’t speak out are not targeted. Not protesting your shackles can sure make life easier in some ways. But a part of me would die if I were to give in to Big Brother.
I am ceaselessly amazed by Orwell’s prophetic genius in his masterpiece 1984. If I were to submit, I imagine that I would become much like Winston, at the very end of the book when he cries alone to himself, drunk in a state-run pub, and admits that he finally loves Big Brother. I imagine that submission would make much the same of me — a living body, but a dead soul.
And so I resist the temptation to bow, even though it would be easier. I resist the temptation to shut up, even though it would make life smoother. I remind myself that the initiation of force onto a peaceful person is the worst act a human can commit, is unnatural, and is such a blatant violation of my birthright to life that I should actually be even angrier than I already am.
Lew Rockwell has said that fighting the state should be fun. Though I understand his sentiment—that you may as well enjoy fighting the good fight if you’re going to fight it — I find the fight to be quite the opposite of fun; I find it to be an insult to my creative potential. An assault on my limited and precious time on this earth. A robbery of epic proportions. And it is because I do not enjoy the fight that I must do the next best thing: enjoy my time with the others who fight it.
This earth is scary and it’s overwhelming and — worst of all — it’s riddled with violent, stupid people. Every peaceful, kind person is a remarkable blessing, a boon to humankind, who ought to be celebrated and embraced. I have come to the Free State to be a part of the largest gathering of peaceful people that I know of, to live and work among those who press on in spite of great opposition, and draw strength and inspiration from those who dare to lift up their heads and voices in the face of those who would oppress them.
Thank you, Free Staters, for welcoming me and embracing me. And a special thank you to those who’ve spoken the nicest words that one could wish to hear: welcome home.
