The State Is Not a Monolith

It can be very tempting—especially for those just testing the waters of political resistance in support of freedom—after considering the tangle of laws and regulations, the penalties for violating them, and those who serve the state in administering and enforcing them, to rethink one’s course. I can understand the urge to back down, to some degree: trying to conceptualize all of that sprawling power is daunting; and between steady streams of bad news [thanks, Joel] and stories of thug brutality both neophytes and seasoned activists might find it hard to draw a deep breath, and summon the will for another round. I don’t mean to play Pollyanna here, nor to pretend that such treatment only happens in other places, and to other people—but it is vitally important to understand that when we adopt this perspective of the state and its agents, we are too often falling right into their hands.

When one looks at what exists now, one can easily overlook that it didn’t come into existence all at once. Piece by piece, law by law, opposition was worn away—or died out as older generations were replaced by others whose context too often allowed for some level of state “beneficence”—with the result that both ideology and culture slowly morphed from valuing freedom to accepting some restrictions as necessary. That metaphoric wall was built, brick by brick. Sometimes the mortar holding them together was durable; in other areas it was crumbly and eventually failed (Prohibition or the 55 mph federal speed limit, anyone?).

More important to keep in mind is the knowledge that the state’s agents are people. Human beings, mostly like us, with their own hopes, dreams, responsibilities, and fears. While I can’t address the psychological state of each one individually, I will advance the hypothesis that at least a few of the thugs who brutalize individuals who know their rights and expect them to be respected choose that course of action out of fear: fear of entering into an unknown situation (because too few of us demand such respect from them); fear that arises from the suspicion that all their power is mostly for show; fear of a person who is willing to risk pain from the tools of power, knowing that the one who wields them is morally weak; fear that there are enough of us uncooperative types about to threaten their orderly view of society. They are right to fear us. And at some point, that will become clear to all who care to look—it is becoming clearer day by day, as Obama shows himself to be more like Bushnev than all but the most paranoid could have imagined.

For now, at least, most of our brushes with state agents will not involve police or similar thugs. Much of our interaction is at the local level, where things are much more personal and usually, the playing field is a little less tipped. However, even high-level bureaucrats must occasionally step out of their fortresses and face us. Many of them have a strong aversion to that; and for good reason.

Those of you who explore the sidebar may know this already, especially if you frequent The Complete Patient. A recent entry, Wherein I Try to Deal with This Obsession: Does FDA Milk Czar John Sheehan Really Exist?, offers two excellent examples. As the title suggests, the head foodocrat responsible for overseeing the dairy industry seems to be unusually shy; but an even better tale unfolds in the text (link in original):

[A]n associate of his [Sheehan’s], Cindy Leonard, the presenter of the notorious 2005 FDA slide presentation that slams raw milk, was on the committee hearing the McAfee proposal.

Afterwards, I tried to engage Leonard, but she refused, saying there was litigation that prevented her from commenting, and she walked away from me. A few minutes later, I saw her in the hallway, and tried again, saying I just wanted to ask her about the Division of Dairy and Plant Food Safety. This time, she turned and actually started running from me, which was a tad awkward, since she was wearing high heels.

Searching for that kind of story is likely quite difficult, in part because such a response is often disguised in news stories. But I’d bet it happens more often than we think. Why else would a town council close their meetings to the public, or disallow public comment on a contentious issue? Or provide the illusion of advance public notice? Could it be that their non-answers to hard questions from us reflect some of this fear as well? How could it be elsewise?

Deep down, the bureaucrats with good intentions know that they cannot predict every possibility, cannot control for all the situations that will arise ... and our questions throw that lack of control fully in their faces. By simply asking, we challenge the authority and power they think they have. By acting contra to their rules, we send an even clearer message. The questions are bad enough for them ... the actions require a response, lest too many others join in the rejection of their control. And the typical reaction—at least at first—is to try to grab even more power and control. Continuing to use the raw milk issue as an example, a subsequent post shows this, as one bureaucrat advances the idea of an intrastate ban on raw milk shipments. That is tantamount to a complete, national ban on raw milk sales at nonfarm retail stores.

It’s sad to see, in that same article, that some raw milk advocates don’t understand the message of the black market. It tells everyone who cares to pay attention that consumers want something badly enough to be considered criminals for getting it. It signifies that all the official demonizing of the product is not stopping individuals from trying it, and frequently, becoming regular consumers. A really free market—which is what a black market helps provide—offers choice; the underground portion of a market gives consumers choices that the regulated one does not. A black market is more than a cry for freedom: it is freedom in action, risks be damned.

The ongoing struggle for control over food is, in my view, a fundamental, crucially important one for pro-freedom activism—but it is only one. More to the point, it’s emblematic of what we would likely see if we would break out of the pattern of monolithic thinking with respect to the state. Every brick in that edifice is vulnerable; and each of us does not have to constantly push at each one to bring it down. Choose your issue and revel in your rebellion, whatever form it may take. Educating others is grand, and helpful; but be sure to poke directly at your bricks yourself from time to time. Questioning the politicians and bureaucrats serves them notice; becoming a scofflaw cements your own resistance in a way our would-be controllers will never be able to totally break.