First things first: let’s not be whiny little liberals.
You know who I'm talking about: those Hollywood lefties who so righteously claimed they’d move to Canada, should that Son of a Bush win a first, then a second term.
He did, they didn’t. Because that would be stupid. Still, they promised. You won’t have us to kick around anymore! And we’ll hold our breath, too!
Yeah. Let's not be them.
Anyway, this year, the tables are turned. The deal isn’t done yet – we do still have to count the votes – but conservatives are beginning to consider life under President Obama. Not just President Obama, but President Obama with a filibuster-proof Senate.
Scary. Scary enough to make us look for the nearest safe haven, except…there isn’t one. Once the U.S. goes socialist, what's left?
Thus, the latest question, posed by blogger Dr. Helen Smith: when is it time to “go John Galt?”
John Galt, the central figure of Ayn Rand’s classic “Atlas Shrugged,” was a brilliant inventor who, along with other high-producing entrepreneurs like him, dropped out of society. Galt created “Galt’s Gulch,” a hidden place where he and other “strikers” began their own capitalist society. "Stopped the motor of the world," to starve out those who lived off their achievements.
Smith writes:
Perhaps the partisan politics we are dealing with now is really just a struggle between those of us who believe in productivity, personal responsibility, and keeping government interference to a minimum, and those who believe in the socialistic policies of taking from others, using the government as a watchdog, and rewarding those who overspend, underwork, or are just plain unproductive.It’s Tom Sowell’s “Grasshopper and the Ants” fable. You know: the grasshopper is lazy, and goes hungry in the winter, while the industrious ants work and prepare and are ready?
… Perhaps it is time for those of us who make the money and pay the taxes to take it easy, live on less and let the looters of the world find their own way.
In Sowell’s version, the “progressive” ants take the grasshopper in, give him food and shelter despite his own shortcomings. Needless to say, the grasshopper never changes his ways, but the ants – seeing his easy lifestyle – do start changing theirs.
So who’s going to prepare for winter, then? And how long until they start saying "enough!"
There ought to be a point, somewhere, at which we get to say: no. This is mine. I earned it, and you can’t have it. Yes, we want to help those in need. Those who have fallen on hard times. We want to be generous, and charitable, and to share what we have.
But you shouldn’t be able to force us. Not to this extent, and certainly not further. And if you try, we’re outta here.
Yeah, but: we just quit trying? Quit saving, quit investing, quit making things grow?
No. There’s a certain juvenile satisfaction in taking one’s ball and going home, but the kind of people we're talking about are hard-charging high achievers. They're self-starters who won't be happy sitting around hoping Social Security will cover a weekly trip to the diner.
I wouldn't be happy. They certainly won't.
My solution: the Free State Project – the movement to move enough libertarian-minded voters to New Hampshire, so they can effectively (and legally) take over and enact a libertarian-minded government.
True, we wouldn't be able to hide from federal mandates. Obamanation would hold the biggest cards. But we could make our Free State better, relative to the states around us. If the Feds try to smoke us out, well, one in five Americans think states should have the right to secede. So we've got that going for us.
Of course, in that case, I think we'd want more coastline. So let's take over the Pacific Northwest, instead of New Hampshire. More oil over there, and since western Canada tends to be more conservative than eastern Canada, unification with Alaska becomes possible.
Then expand eastward. Get the Dakotas, because we want Mount Rushmore and the Sturgis Bike Rally, and from there take in Wisconsin.
Minnesota we'll leave. We can go around to the north.
Crazy? Maybe. Or maybe genius. Regardless: as our country moves farther and farther along the socialist trail, fewer and fewer of us will be willing to do the work.
And somebody has to. Winter does come.

3 Comments:
Sort of a good plan, but I don't want to give up on this country. I see two nations developing here, and I will fight to keep it from turning into an "Israel/Palestine" two-state solution.
Where is Galt's Gulch? It's in the Cloud. It's in the barter system. "Joe the Plumber" can exchange some of his services for food, for gasoline, for all sorts of stuff that can't get taxed as part of the transaction.
Heck, I am willing to do some Social Media coaching for gas, if anyone is up for it!
Midas Mulligan glanced up from behind the sleek flat screen that showed his spreadsheet and database with the tallies for every prospective resident of Galt's Gulch. As the outside world collapsed as the makers and the inventors here withheld their sanction and discoveries, the applicants came from every corner of the country, having heard the rumors of a valley in the West that stilled glowed with the production of electricity, where smokestacks still belched into a sky streaked with the one of the great symbols of value and the manifest exploitation of the commons, the sulfurous evidence of not scrap steel, but newly-minted Reardon metal, gleaming green when the sun shone brightly enough through the smoke to hit it.
"Mr. Burri? Step forward," said Mulligan, taking another sip from his gold tea cup. "Do you wish to become a resident of Galt's Gulch?" Burri nodded, adjusted his smudged tie, having made the long journey from Wisconsin wearing his last suit, along pitted back roads, across fallen overpasses, and hitching a ride on horse-drawn wagons if necessary. "Do you swear by your life and your love of it that you will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for yours?"
"I do," Burri solemnly pledged, knowing this was the only answer that would affirm his commitment to this new civilization, a handhold where man and mind could renew enough strength to again sell their products to a weary world who might now know who holds the gold, and who pulls the strings.
Midas clicked, clicked and clicked again, as web pages and his own databases revealed the once-hidden details of the lives of each potential new resident of this enclave in the mountains. "Mr. Burri, do you know a man named Gundrum?"
"Yes, he was my boss," uttered Burri, looking down and then up at the man who would decide his fate. One click of the right button, and Burri would live among the last working engines of the world. Another click of another button, and it would be a long cold trip back to Madison.
Mulligan cast weary eyes over the monitor at the tall man who shuffled before him. "You were employed by an elected official, an assemblyman in Wisconsin? You're a government worker? You sought favors, made deals behind the scenes, hid your negotiations behind closed doors while requiring others to conduct their business in the open? Took taxes at the point of a gun, used the proceeds to feed yourself at the restaurants of the Square? Le-freaking-Toile for dinner? Perhaps you don't understand Galt's Gulch. We are producers. We are makers, inventors, designers. That woman you see, filing papers? She once ran a railroad you might've heard of. Not now. Now she works for me during the day, and cooks and cleans for another man at night, just to earn enough gold pieces like these to feed herself." His hand swept across short stacks of newly minted, nickel-sized discs of gold in rows across a section of his dark massive desk. For those he clicked "yes", they meant the opportunity for a loan at modest interest rates, enough gold to rent a room and a week's worth of meals in the new community. For those who earned a "no", they meant little more than a symbol of a world they could never enter.
Midas looked up at Burri, his face blank. The room grew quiet. Everyone there heard his decision - a single click to direct this man's fate. "Application denied."
From the corner, Howard Roark laughed.
Great comment. In response, all I can say is: even if I'd worked in the private sector my whole life, I probably wouldn't have made that cut.
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