Liberty (or else)

It never fails. After each and every presidential election there are a group of citizens who announce that they can no longer, in good conscience, continue to live as Americans. Identifying the new commander-in-chief as inept or un-American, they head for Canada or dig holes in the ground and prepare for the inevitable siege on their liberties. For those that despise cold climates and do not wish to opt for a subterranean existence, there are two above-ground alternatives right here in the USA. While they are currently nothing more than websites and philosophies, ideas like this are gaining traction with a growing number of disenfranchised citizens.

The first project is called “The Citadel” and bills itself as a “Liberty-driven” walled community of 7,000 families who will agree to a lifetime lease to be paid over a 30-year period. All private homes must be comprised of poured concrete (for uniformity), are required to keep enough food and water on hand to sustain all members of the household for one year, and must participate in mandatory preparedness drills at predetermined times. In addition to several layers of defensive walls and towers, the site will feature a firearms factory, firearms museum (with reflecting pool), and a school system. Investors are reassured that a Citadel existence will be free from “Homeowner’s Associations, city ordinances, property taxes, and recycling.” 

Concept of "The Citadel"

Each resident over the age of thirteen is required to demonstrate proficiency with a rifle, handgun, and AR-15 on an annual basis. Furthermore every able bodied citizen is obligated to keep and maintain an AR-15 with at least 1,000 rounds of ammunition and always carry a loaded handgun in common areas. Prospective residents must agree to these conditions, complete an application, and conduct an interview via Skype. If approved you will then be responsible for a percentage of your monthly lease price (the money will be deposited in an escrow account controlled by an unnamed Idaho attorney). They hope to break ground later this year.

 As a fan of irony, I couldn’t help but notice how tightly controlled the resident’s experience of “liberty” is. They advertise freedom from city ordinances and homeowners’ association oversight but insist upon control of your grocery stockpile, refuse to let you own the land you live on, and conduct mandatory drills on weekends. If this place enforces any more liberty they will have to rename it “The People’s Republic of The Citadel.” The site indicates that although land has been allocated for a weapons museum with a reflecting pool, there is not enough space to accommodate “houses of worship” which need to be located elsewhere. I can just see one of the new residents bragging to a buddy:

“Well they might dictate the design and structure of the house I am not allowed to own along with its contents while forcing me to carry a pistol when I stop at the grocery to pick up a box of Golden Grahams, but at least no one asks me to recycle!”

Never one to be out-libertied,Glenn Beck recently unveiled his $2 Billion freedom utopia called Independence, USA. Like the Citadel it strives to be a self-contained community free from the oppressive socialism of our current governing structure. It will feature a marketplace (specifically barring large retailers like GAP) and a media center that will produce “news, movies, and documentaries” that “do not constantly assault the things that we all stand for” and adhere to “common decency.” The library, school, and archive will only contain books and manuscripts that contain “the truth” and they will offer “summer de-programming classes” for those attending secular colleges.  

While it will not have a “church” it will have a replica of The Alamo that will serve as a “non-denominational gathering area” that can also be a place to load trucks for disaster relief. All food will be grown locally and all energy will be renewable. Neighborhoods will be comprised of both rich and poor residents to break down “class barriers.” Homes will not be allowed to have backyards in order to promote community interaction.

I don’t know about you, but having an unnamed organization tell me what books and movies I should see because they may or may not adhere to what they consider “something we all stand for” is the polar opposite of freedom. At least the Citadel let me have a backyard. What if I am not particularly fond of my neighbor and would like the option of grilling a ribeye without being forced to make conversation? A classless, wind-powered, organically-fed community that doesn’t allow large corporations sounds more like a liberal utopia than libertarian haven.

The striking aspect of both projects is that they credit Disneyland as an inspiration citing it as a place to find “courage, inspiration, and hope.” Have these people ever been to a Disney theme park? I am not sure being forced to pay $6.50 for a 12oz bottle of water was exactly what Thomas Jefferson had in mind when he railed against tyranny.

Even that comparison doesn’t hold water, because once in a theme park I have the freedom to ride every attraction or no attractions at all. These people don’t just want you to have the freedom to carry a gun or stockpile Pop Tarts; they are forcing you to experience that freedom exactly as they have chosen to. It is a good thing that they don’t live in a country that doesn’t allow that sort of thing.

A Baby Story Part 9 (The Birth)

After much waiting and anticipation, the time had finally arrived for the birth of our son. Around eight o’clock one evening, my wife began having fairly regular contractions so the doctor advised that we come in to the hospital to be checked. Once there, a semi-enthusiastic orderly brandishing a wheelchair was assigned to take us to the Labor and Delivery department. As the nursing staff was connecting my wife’s abdomen to the fetal seismograph, we were asked who the last person to check her cervix was. I immediately replied that I had asked my mechanic to look at it but I would welcome a second opinion. This drew the first of many “now is not the time” looks from my laboring spouse.

After several hours, it was ascertained that while my wife was in labor and somewhat dilated she was not in “active labor.” We were advised to return home, take a few Tylenol PM, and reassess her pain level in the morning. On the way home, we stopped by Wendy’s for a late-night Frosty and jovially recalled the details of our “trial-run.”

Around 2:30 AM, I was awoken by the sound of my wife’s unnervingly-deepened voice informing me that things were progressing rather quickly. Weary of being sent home again, she requested that I page the on-call doctor to make sure she was in active labor. While I was on the phone with him she emitted a guttural moan so piercing that he stopped mid-sentence and asked “Was that her!?” When I replied in the affirmative he omitted the remainder of the checklist and told me to get her back to the hospital.

The labor progressed rather quickly and after her Frosty had made its reappearance it was time for the epidural to be administered. Even with the epidural, her contractions came so quickly that she was administered a drug to reduce them. This worked so well that she had to be given a drug to intensify them. During the entire process I held one of her legs and assisted the nurse in checking for our son’s progress through the birth canal. While the blood, fluids, and regurgitated ice-cream did not bother me, there was an incident during labor that caused me a great deal of nausea: my wife asked me to hold her gum.

This may seem strange, but the idea of holding someone’s pre-chewed gum in my bare hand is absolutely repulsive. Even the nurse felt the urge to chide me on the incongruity of my queasiness reflex since most men tend to check-out around the time they affix the placenta-pouch. Even as a child, inadvertently touching someone else’s discarded gum under a school desk was enough to initiate a round of dry-heaves. Say what you will, but I will take projectile vomit over Big Red any day of the week.

At any rate, despite my wife’s courageous effort our little guy’s head just could not seem to find its way clear of the exit door. It was at this time the doctor announced that it was time to break out the birthing assistance apparatus (colloquially known as the “coochie vac”). This mechanism attaches to the child’s cranium and allows the physician to guide (or redirect) the infant’s progress. When my wife asked what was happening, I replied that she was about to be Hoovered. I requested that the staff use a Dyson model if available and when the doctor asked why I was so brand specific, I replied that active labor was no time to lose suction. It was at this point I believe she contemplated having me wait in the hall.

Finally, after eight hours of labor, our son emerged into a world fraught with peril and reality television. He was cleaned and placed into what appeared to be an industrial food warmer for evaluation while the doctor stitched my wife’s newly traumatized nether-regions. All was deemed well and after a few hours we were moved to the post-partum floor.

It was here that I committed one of the greatest faux pas in hospital etiquette: I walked into someone else’s room. In my defense, we had just been visited by the “birth certificate specialist” whose limited mobility necessitates that she travels from door to door on a red Jazzy scooter. Once at your room she distributes pointlessly complicated forms that transform the question, “What is the mother’s maiden name” to “Please print the mother’s full name as it would have appeared before and after her first marriage.”

Her scooter was still parked outside our room when I was sent for towels and upon my return the uniformity of the hallways got me confused. So when I saw the red Jazzy parked outside a room in the same relative location as our room I naturally assumed she hadn’t left yet (after all, if she moved that fast why would she need the scooter). I even noticed a friend heading toward the door directly across the hall which also made sense because I knew that her grandchild was assigned the room direct opposite ours. Even the “Breastfeeding Mom – Please Knock” sign on the door was reassuring so you can imagine my surprise when I swung open the door and discovered a total stranger in a hospital bed holding her infant wondering why some weirdo just busted up in her hospital room while declaring that “Your baby daddy got some towels!”

I would like to think that I uttered an apology of some kind but it was likely just a string of incoherent nonsense followed by the door slamming. I turned to see my friend who I came to realize was also lost and had been following me under the assumption that I knew which room my wife and newborn had been assigned to. About the time I returned to the correct room, we heard an alarm that my wife quickly offered was probably a “code pervert” since word had likely spread that a creeper was roaming the halls looking for a sneak peek of a breastfeeding mother. It was so bad that when the birth certificate specialist returned she referred to me as, “that guy who walked in the wrong room.” I was tempted to reply that this still was not my room but that this woman was simply more open minded than the last girl I propositioned. For once, I made the right call and decided that my wife had already been through enough.

The Southern Kept Man

While on a recent shopping trip to Wal-Mart, I found myself behind a woman who appeared to be in her late 50’s or early 60’s. When the cashier presented the shopper with her total, it became apparent that she had mistakenly left her wallet in her car and would need to retrieve it before finalizing the purchase. In a welcome spirit of accommodation, the cashier suspended her transaction and offered to ring me up in the interim. The walletless shopper reappeared just as I was being given my total and I noticed that she seemed to be staring at me with what appeared to be disbelief.

I pretended not to notice her unusual fascination and handed the cashier my coupons. This was apparently too much for the woman to bear and she said, “Excuse me, but are you grocery shopping for your wife?” I replied that I planned to eat some of the food as well but that I was indeed completing our household grocery trip. This admission was so unexpected she nearly dropped her recently reacquired wallet:

“You are kidding me! Is this just a one-time thing?”

“No, in fact I am usually the one that goes to the grocery.”

“That is something else. You know that I have been married for over thirty years and my husband hasn’t so much as picked up a loaf of bread on the way home for work! In fact, I fill up his truck with gas every single week. I doubt he even knows which side gas thing is on!”

Ill-equipped to respond to such an admission, I think I mumbled something like “good for him” and swiped my card as she continued to wrestle with her domestic epiphany. It was as if her entire world had been shattered with the discovery that it was possible for a married man to interact with a fuel pump. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my very presence that day had set into a motion a chain of events that could lead to the dissolution of a thirty-year marriage. I had a vision of this woman going home and confronting her recliner-bound spouse about all the other aspects of domestic life that she had been lied to about.

I shared this story with my father, who responded that the “southern kept man” was not as rare a creature as I had assumed. He recounted tales of an acquaintance who, upon walking into a buffet, would immediately be seated as his wife scurried off to prepare a plate and beverage for him. She would then present this culinary offering and upon indication of his approval, she was released to prepare a plate for herself. This behavior was so engrained in their relationship that the entire process was expected, assumed, and unspoken.

This was simply the tip of the iceberg. Further research revealed that my community was inundated by men unable to make their own telephone calls, retrieve their own prescriptions, or place their own refuse in a garbage can. I focus-grouped this reverse domestic chivalry with some married female friends to see how it would play it out in their lives and out of a sense decency I will refrain from reprinting their responses here. Let’s just say that they indicated strong disagreement with my Wal-Mart friend.

I realize that everyone’s idea of matrimonial tranquility is different and perhaps these women are perfectly content with this arrangement. Maybe their husbands cook and scrub the toilets in exchange for these services, but if you are too lazy to select your own entrée at a buffet it is unlikely that you can find the motivation to turn on a stove.

Furthermore, if these men are that helpless at full capacity what happens when they fall ill? A simple cold is likely to require sponge baths and a bedpan. I have always heard that older couples that had been together for a long time often die within a year of one another. I used to believe this was attributable to the profound emotional bond they shared between them but now I am starting to suspect that the wife simply goes first and the husband dies of starvation because the truck is out of gas and he cannot remember anyone’s number because he hasn’t dialed a phone since Nixon was in office.   

Fort Hood & Terrorism

On November 5^th 2009, Major Nidal Malik Hasan allegedly perpetrated the worst mass shooting to occur on a United States military base when thirteen people succumbed to their bullet wounds in the Soldier Readiness Processing Center at Fort Hood. At the time of the attack, Hasan had been in the Army over twenty years and served as a psychiatrist. He is currently awaiting trial for the murders.

In the aftermath, several of those involved have joined a class action lawsuit against the Army seeking $70 Million in compensations for the government’s failure to prevent the tragedy citing “willful negligence prompted by political correctness.” One of the most powerful grievances is that the Department of Defense has refused to classify the incident as a “terrorist attack,” instead choosing to classify it as an act of “workplace violence.”

This distinction is important since this would allow victims and their families to receive combat benefits in addition to the routine medical benefits available to all service members. The argument is a convincing one: Hasan was a practicing Muslim who reportedly shouted “Allah Akbar!”  before commencing the attack. Furthermore Anwar al-Aulaqi, who recruited for Al Qaeda and was later killed in a targeted drone strike, praised the attack and cited e-mail communications between himself and Hasan as proof of their collaboration. The DOD and the FBI insist that Hasan acted alone without external direction of any kind.

This is a complex situation due in no small part to how one defines a terrorist attack. If the parameters we set forth must include indiscriminate mass American casualties perpetrated by someone with a religious motive, then a very convincing case could be made that this was indeed a terrorist act. However, these very same parameters would exclude incidents like the Oklahoma City bombing where the perpetrators had only political motivations. Simply including political motivations is just as rudderless since a political view being nefarious or heroic tends to evolve with time and perspective. (We revere George Washington now, but the Americans on the other side of the Whiskey Rebellion saw themselves as rescuing the country from a tyrannical president overstepping his constitutional powers.)

Since most reasonable people could agree that the simultaneous murder of 168 US citizens should easily qualify as terrorism, we are then forced to drop the “religious” or “political” prerequisite leaving us with only the “indiscriminate mass American casualties” aspect. Of course, we must immediately exclude any loss of life that occurred during a war or ongoing US military operation since that has its own designation and we are left with only the infinitely murky realm of personal motivation to define a terrorist.

It is this very ambiguity that lends The Patriot Act its immense power and allows government agencies to circumvent the due process of an American citizen simply by designating them a “terrorism suspect” in an ongoing investigation. If we cannot agree on what constitutes a terrorist, then why should we allow that classification to weaken a person’s protection under the Fourth Amendment? Depending on who you ask, a terrorist could be anyone from Charles Manson to a low-level pot dealer.

More to the point, a 1950 Supreme Court ruling gives the military immunity from lawsuits seeking compensation for “injuries incurred in the armed services.” The same ruling was most recently invoked by the justice department to dismiss Cioca v. Rumsfeld, a class action suit representing 28 plaintiffs who were sexually assaulted by fellow soldiers while on active duty. The judge ruled that even rape is covered as a hazard of American military service.

Legal precedent aside, each and every victim should be given the utmost support and care by the country they defend. Should that care go above and beyond what a soldier injured on the battlefield qualifies for simply because it was perpetrated inside a domestic military installation by a fellow solider? That is the real question.

I would agree that there were warning signs as to Hasan’s mental instability as we have several reports of colleagues at Walter Reed Army Medical Center reporting he suffered from “paranoia” and other schizophrenic tendencies, but leaving them unaddressed as a result of “political correctness” is tougher to prove. This is especially true since Hasan didn’t even bother to identify himself as Muslim on Army paperwork and we have over 3,000 service members who do openly identify themselves as Muslims serving honorably.

It is abhorrent that any soldier should have to fear for his or her own safety while on a US military installation, and I am not sure that the 60-year old statute doesn’t need some updating. That being said, if this lawsuit meets the same fate as Cioca v. Rumsfeld perhaps we can take some solace in the fact that our legal system is adept at fairly applying an unfair doctrine.