WhatFinger


Problem with freedom—for those who don’t like it much, whether it be 18th Century European monarchs, 20th Century communists, or 21st-Century “progressives”—is that it makes people, well, free

Pity the Control Freaks



I write a lot about liberty in this column. I’m for it, by the way. I like liberty, and I’m proud of the United States and Canada (my birth country and my adopted country) for being at the forefront of a struggle for liberty that has led to 90 nations today being considered “free,” “mostly free,” or “moderately free” by the Heritage Foundation / Wall Street Journal combined report, “Index of Economic Freedom.”

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By contrast, when the U.S. Constitution, which included such novel concepts as liberty being God-given rather than government endowed, was ratified, there was exactly one free nation on the planet. The nations of Europe scoffed at the North American concept of liberty. They didn’t believe that individuals could be trusted to make their own decisions. In the eyes of the monarchs and powerful few in the Old World, only the elite were wise enough to make choices for the masses. You see, the problem with freedom—for those who don’t like it much, whether it be 18th Century European monarchs, 20th Century communists, or 21st-Century “progressives”—is that it makes people, well, free. They are free to do what they want with their time. They’re free to make a living doing what they choose. They are free to buy and sell, give and take, drive the car of their choice, and paint their house purple with orange shutters if they want. Because of this, freedom always includes a little bit of chaos. On my street, every house is a different color. Some have vinyl siding; others have wood. With some I’m not even sure what the siding is. Some have manicured lawns; others have garish lawn ornaments. Some, including mine until this past weekend, still have their Christmas lights up. And some people don’t like that. Some people like everybody to be the same. Some like all houses in the neighborhood to have vinyl siding and be painted white and to have well-manicured lawns. Some people just don’t like chaos. I think chaos scares some people. These people like to be able to control their environment so that it’s comfortable for them. So they create homeowners associations that tell the neighborhood residents how many trees they can plant and of what variety, and how high their TV antenna can be and whether or not they can park on the street. I pity these people. They’re missing out on a lot of fun. Difference is fun. Uniqueness is fun. Driving through my neighborhood and laughing at the garish lawn ornaments is a riot. It makes life interesting. I pity those who don’t like chaos—who want to control their environment and keep things within tightly held bounds so they can feel comfortable. But except for my pity, I don’t give much thought to these people. Some of these control freaks respond to my column—some regularly enough that I recognize their names. I smile as I read their comments, and once in a while I consider responding to them. But mostly I just pity them. And I avoid them. For example, I wouldn’t live in a neighborhood with a homeowners association. The problem, of course, is that sometimes these people can’t be avoided. Sometimes they get power. When one of these control freaks becomes the governor or the premier, for example, and suddenly you’re faced with a smoking ban in restaurants. Fortunately, the same spirit that drove those who drafted the U.S. Constitution still drives many North Americans today. Some have fallen for the fallacy that sameness is safety, but we North Americans are still a pretty freedom loving bunch. Sometimes I forget that. Just a final note. I recently received a response to one of my columns. It was from one of these pitiable control freaks, and it’s worth responding to. In his comments he paraphrased Olive Wendell Holmes by saying, “You want your freedom, but remember that your freedom to throw a punch stops at my chin.” While that is true, my friend, note that if I’m standing in the street shadow boxing and you stick your head in the path of my fist, that’s your own fault. Leave me alone and you won’t get hit.


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Mike Jensen -- Bio and Archives

Mike Jensen is a freelance writer living in Colorado.  He received his M.A. in Professional Writing from the University of Alaska Fairbanks, where he wrote his first book, Alaska’s Wilderness Highway.  He has since published Skier’s Guide to Utah along with humor, travel, and political articles for various magazines and newspapers.  He is married with five sons, and spends his free time at a remote cabin in the Colorado Rockies.


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