Breaking the Law to Change the Law

Many things have been legal that were neither just or moral. Slavery in the southern United States is a good example. It took a civil war to end it (thus consigning the Confederate flag to hands of losers everywhere) but long before the Emancipation Proclamation set the North and South to battle, there were hundreds and thousands of Americans who whittled away at the law by sheltering runaway slaves and helping them escape to Canada. They risked arrest, loss of their property or even their life, to do what they believed was right. They did it knowing the risks and willing to accept the consequences of their choices. When discovered, they did not raise a single fist. Meanwhile, the United States has still not healed from the most destructive conflict in their history.

Gandhi, along with sixty thousand of his fellow citizens, went to prison for breaking the law that gave the British a monopoly over salt—an essential of life in tropical countries. His simple act of defiance consisted of extracting salt from evaporating sea water. Of course, he was not alone in his rebellion as he led thousands on a 230km walk from his religious retreat to the sea, a convoy of pedestrians if you like. He and his fellow freedom fighters knew they risked punishment and accepted the consequences. They also kept the peace—not a single death threat was made against his opponents—and the Salt March, as it came to be known became the model for peaceful civil disobedience for the next ninety years.

Henri Morgentaler went to prison for performing abortions in Quebec, despite being acquitted by a jury in 1973. The government appealed his acquittal and succeeded in overturning it. He served ten months in prison and suffered a heart attack while there. While in jail, he was acquitted again on separate charges. A third acquittal in 1975 led the Quebec government to determine the federal law was unenforceable. When he was unable on his first try to get the law declared unconstitutional, he began to open clinics in other provinces leading to charges being laid in Toronto in 1983. Another acquittal led to another government attempt to appeal. Finally in 1988, the Supreme Court upheld the acquittal and declared the existing abortion law unconstitutional. An attempt by the Conservative government to enact a new one was defeated in the Senate by the narrowest of margins. No politician even dreams of rolling back the clock now. During his fifteen years it took to overturn the law, not a single horn was blown and not a single street blockaded.

Perhaps you are seeing where I’m going here. It is possible for a law to be unjust, and in a democratic society (or even one ruled by a democratic one in a dictatorial manner) peaceful protest and well-reasoned legal arguments will eventually win the day. You may face persecution and why not? You are breaking the law.

This is not what is happening in Canada today. The current protesters know they are breaking the law but they think they should be cut some slack. Most don’t have much idea what they are doing at all. Some might be willing to pay a fine but few think they should go to jail or have to suffer economically for their choices. Those pitiable creatures who think the current protest is worth dying for are a tiny minority of dead-eyed fascists or damaged man-boys.

I believe in civil disobedience and peaceful protest, even if means bending or perhaps breaking an unjust law. I’ve gone on a few marches and even joined a sit-in once. I led a boycott of classes in school and even used the law to my advantage to overturn a judgement. I’ve written letters and boycotted companies and countries I felt were being unjust. I worked in government to change laws or policies I felt needed changing. But I don’t believe in threats or in damaging other people’s livelihood, especially not over a law or set of regulations where no one is being forced to do anything but simply to make a choice and then live by the consequences of that choice. This is not a legitimate protest or even a coherent one. It is the tantrum of a bunch of (insert your favorite appellation here), being led by a few hard-right militants who frankly don’t care who gets hurt, even if it includes the children of their followers.

Photo by AJ Colores on Unsplash

Cracks in the River Ice

First let me make my most sincere apologies for the tardiness of this missive, but, glory be, I slept past my time this morn with no blaring trumpets to rouse me up.

On better days, it was my wont to walk along the river path. I would gaze in wonderment as the vast sheets of ice rubbed against each other. At any moment, a seemingly solid stretch of white would crack and reveal the dark water beneath. I still venture forth betimes but the glory of winter has been spoiled by the smudge of smoke that clouds our city’s air and the growing piles of refuse from this foul occupation.

Mayhap the river is not the only thing that cracks this February morning. Yesterday, the Lord Mayor stirred himself to make a proclamation, declaring what every citizen already knows, that the city is in a state of siege. The distant Duke and nearby Prince immediately pledged their aide and sent members of their guard to assist.

Last night, under the watchful eye of master archers, the guard staged a raid on the supplies of the horde, hauling away food and fuel for their malodorous siege engines and dismantling some of their rude structures. Despite their howls of outrage, only two of the invaders dared resist and they were hauled away to face some uncertain fate. The guard has vowed that any who attempt to bring succor to the intruders will be treated in like manner. The disparate and uncertain leaders of the horde have braved fierce words but the rest sit in silence, though that may not last.

The carters have declared it will be difficult to remove the siege engines blocking our byways if the horde refuses to cooperate. Some citizens have hinted darkly that the army might be called but the sound of hobnails on city paving stones is not a sound I wish to hear. Hopefully, it will not come to that.

In the meantime, lawyers argue before the assembled judges, seeking redress from oppression while the leaders of the horde squabble among themselves and whinge about their virtue.

Other cities have fared better in dealing with invading forces, perhaps learning from the mistakes our guard have made. The Captain of the Guard has been roundly chastised for his approach of “Slowly, Slowly” and much advice has been give as to what he should have done or should do now. I for one have no idea, having never served among the guard, nor dealt with an unruly mob (except for a brief skirmish in a tavern long ago in which I did not produce a brave account). Still, I’m sure his critics would have well foreseen the sudden events of ten days ago and acted in a more perspicacious manner.

Fire seems to be a new tool for the occupying force, a dangerous development in the crowded streets of the city’s heart. Flames have been ignited in metal caldrons throughout the passageways, giving off clouds of smoke and fouling the air. Worse, reports of attempted arson have begun to be reported though as yet the guard has not confirmed the details. The law will be harsh if it be proved against the perpetrators.

I think today I will walk by the river again and watch the shifting ice. While all may seem frozen and immobile now, time will pass and the river’s waters will flow again. It will be as if this winter of discontent was nothing but a fleeting dream. The losses we have suffered shall be repaid; the injuries inflicted will be made good. The righteous shall triumph and the angry, seething, hateful mob shall be dispersed and their memory erased from the chronicles of this time.

Photo by Gerald Berliner on Unsplash

Law Without Order

I am refreshed. Quiet contemplation is a boon to the body and the spirit. After a day spent closeted in the smallest room of the keep, I have purged myself of anger and other noxious humors and feel ready to face the vicissitudes of the continued siege. A fresh horde of barbarians arrived in my absence, building rude structures and lighting fires in the streets below our tower. One wonders if it is out of necessity against the cold or merely another act of defiance to taunt our guard for their tepid response.

I look to the heavens for our relief, not in expectation of divine intervention but rather for a turn in the weather. This time of year, weather in our city can be unpredictable and icy rains are not uncommon. A thorough drenching might well test the character of the invaders. Of course, we might presume, as some have bruited about, to take Nature’s role and empty barrels of water on their heads. Fortunately or not, we are a peaceful people and I would not wish our citizens to act as irresponsibly as those who oppress us. Besides, the city guard might take offence if they were caught in the outpouring and find it easier to take action against their masters than the foe before them.

On a cheerful note, the bankers I spoke of earlier have cut off the supply of gold to the invaders, though other, less principled, men have stepped in to fill the breach, albeit less effectively. Sadly, funds that would have gone to succor the poor and sick will now be returned to the faceless and false donors to this miserable cause. Foreign scum (I fear the ill humors are not yet fully purged), that is to say, leaders of barbarian states far to the south of us have threatened to persecute the bankers if they act in a charitable manner.

Yesterday, even as the horde swelled, a goodly number of citizens gathered to express their displeasure at this arrival. They urged them safe and speedy journey home and such friendly messages of chastisement that it would bring tears to the eyes any right-thinking person. No tears were shed.

The faction who traitorously supported our invaders, having disposed of their leader, are now seeking someone more in tune to their offensive cant. The leading candidate appears to be a callow youth, now approaching middle age, who has spent his life in machinations and polemics. Others may yet step forward even as a few of their numbers walk away to find more amenable caucuses.

Citizens have done more than quietly protest. They have taken to reporting every minor infraction (and some major ones) to the city guard in the hopes they will soon restore some sort of order to this unruly horde. With the apparent decision of the invaders’ leaders to form a permanent ghetto of the uncouth and the unwashed, time is running out for decisive action.

Perhaps we need to expect less from the forces of order and depend, instead, on learned scholars of the law. Already suits have been brought (and others are forthcoming) to strip the leaders of their wealth and, perhaps, deprive the followers of their siege engines and other means of conveyance. One hopes that judgement will be swift and the bailiffs will act with little hesitation to enforce it.

When I returned from my seclusion, I witnessed the most curious sight. One of the horde had mounted a small siege engine atop a somewhat larger one and periodically set it working. Though wheels spun and gears ground and plumes of smoke appeared, no forward motion was observed. One wonders if this is a metaphor for the entire invasion. Noise and smoke signifying nothing and achieving less.

I must now take leave for other, more momentous, work awaits. As always, your faithful servant.

Photo by Krisztina Papp on Unsplash

An Eerie Calm Descends

A strange lassitude has settled over the city as we enter the seventh day of the siege. Is it the beginning of the end or merely the end of the beginning, a calm before the coming storm? It is strange. As the time between the noisy assaults increase (a strategy on their part or simple exhaustion?), I find myself grow tense in anticipation of the next, with a sudden release when it finally comes. Have I grown so used to their abuse that I accept it as my due? What a bizarre state to be in.

The Captain of the City Guard has thrown up his hands in despair. He can, he says, only maintain an uneasy peace but can not, or will not, provoke the horde’s rage by intervening more. He fears that other means must be found to end this odious occupation. I have found myself looking to the north to see if our kingdom’s troops are massing for a sortie across the river. I dread the intervention of such a force; our city is ill-prepared for pitched battles in the streets.

It may not come to that. Despite the noise and vile expressions, I do not think the mass of our oppressors are evil men. I watch their servants plod through the streets, hauling wagons of food and fuel for their fires, and see, in the slump of their shoulders a kind of dogged determination rather than fierce anger. I have also seen a few stragglers walk away from the main encampment, some even folding their tents and leaving their comrades behind.

On my occasional forays, some even nod or smile or wave, and, despite my distress at their presence, I cannot resist the instinct to respond in kind—though, of course, they cannot see my expression beneath my masked disguise.

Still, it only takes a few wolves to turn a mob, even a small one, into a howling pack. If only there were some way to separate the few from the many before the rumoured re-enforcements come. I may propose such a strategy to the Captain of the Guard, though it seems he listens to no voice but his own.

On better news, a shipment of gold has been waylaid by cautious bankers and will not arrive to aid the occupiers, at least not right away. Some, indeed, may be diverted to worthier causes, if their leaders cannot persuade the bankers otherwise. Some good might yet come out of ill.

As well, while the horde has demanded the abdication of our rightful liege, they have missed the mark entirely. While he remains firm, the loyal Duke who sought to replace him has himself been replaced, leaving his faction in disarray. Yet, still our liege has not acted and we wonder if he lacks the fortitude his father showed so many years ago.

No matter, our citizens have begun to respond on their own, walking among the increasingly noisome and unkept mass, displaying signs of their own, some humorous, others tinged with anger. One calls on them to bellow if they love Trudeau, but as I reported previously, they clearly do, so I don’t see the purpose in that message. Perhaps I’m missing something.

More worrisome are reports that they are throwing eggs at some of the siege engines. Food is in short supply and should not be wasted on the likes of them. Other projectiles might be preferred. Perhaps bladders filled with water would be better, since they would serve a dual purpose, to annoy but also to wash away the growing stench.

Let’s hope we do not lose our dignity; it seems too large a price to pay to remove these strangers from our streets. Still, anger will inevitably be met with anger but for now it is better to stay calm and soothe with gentle mockery our restless spirits. Now I must attend to mundane things, such as finding a way to empty the tower’s midden heaps. I wonder….

Photo by Julien DI MAJO on Unsplash

The View from the Parapet

The barbarians, though fewer in number, remain ensconced at the foot of our tower and those of our neighbours. They seem little inclined to move despite the gentle, perhaps too gentle, efforts of the city guard. They have now been isolated into smaller groups, so perhaps that is some indication of a larger plan on the part of our protectors.

I have taken the opportunity to observe the horde from my parapet and even, dressed all in black and masked, have moved among them to witness and try to understand their peculiar culture.

Let me speak first about their music. It has an insistent and intrusive quality but could hardly be called melodic. It is produced by loud, but out of tune, trumpets, a collection of drums and a peculiar rumbling instrument, apparently contained in their siege engines, that sound much like stones rattling through a hollow log. Fortunately, their initial enthusiastic playing has subsided into a few short concerts through the day and evening. I sense a certain desperation in their recent performances.

Beyond that they seem to worship the concept of freedom which they demonstrate by depriving our citizens of their ability to live in their neighbourhoods and by disrupting our merchants in the course of their work. Perhaps the word means something different in their dialect.

They also carry many signs referring to someone by the name of Trudeau with whom they desire to have carnal relations. I presume that he or she (it is unclear of their preference) is someone of great attractiveness and a favorite among the members of the horde.

It is still disturbing that the invaders continue to use our streets to relieve their bladders and, worse, their bowels, despite the provision of latrines by the city officials. Perhaps where they come from, the concept of sanitation and public health have not yet taken hold. I pity them for the poor life they must lead in such conditions but wish they would not bring their unhealthy practices to our doorstep. Some have suggested that they use their bodily excretions to mark territory in the manner of dogs while others suggest they do it to make a political statement, though I hardly think they are as sophisticated as that.

Credible reports continued assaults against physickers and barbers sent to care for the ill and against the most vulnerable of our people. There have been no reports of attacks on able-bodied men so the miscreants show good sense if not courage. I am pleased to hear that a few of the worst malefactors have been taken into custody and I look forward to viewing them in the stocks in the near future.

With almost all of the inns and taverns closed due to fear of attack by members of the horde, I had begun to worry about the health of this ragtag tribe. While I have no desire to share my own thoughtfully obtained stores with them, they are still humans of a sort and deserve some succor. Fortunately, yesterday eve, a number of their serfs were seen carrying food and other supplies to them. While I wish them gone and this development will surely extend their stay, at least I will not have their misery on my conscience.

The oddest complaint I have heard comes not from our citizens but from the invaders themselves who seem distraught they have not been welcomed with open arms. It is almost as if they believe we need assistance in this the most peaceable and pleasant kingdom in the world. Such strange delusions to be wracked with.

Now I must depart to meet with my council….

Photo by Michaela Murphy on Unsplash

From Within the Castle Walls

It is quieter this morning though in the distance we can still hear drums and the bellowing of the military elephants. Our tower remains surrounded by siege engines and the routes to our stores of supplies remain blocked or perilous. We hear rumblings that they may soon retreat but also rumours that they await further legions of barbarians from southern climes. Nothing is certain in these days of plague and bitter discontent.

Fortunately, we had forewarning of the hordes’ approach and laid in a good stock of food and other necessary provisions, including some fine vintages of wine and casks of beer. Still, it is only a matter of time before I must venture out to seek additional supply. Send all good thoughts for my safe return. As for my fellow citizens in neighbouring towers, I fear some may not have had the foresight or resources to prepare for a long siege.

We have also heard reports that the poor, as usual, are suffering the most from these ruthless curs, as are the innkeepers who have been forced to serve the horde under threat of curses, insults, and, we fear, more violent gestures. Throughout the city, we hear reports of desecrations of our memorials to the honoured dead, proving once again that these rebellious scum share none of the values and morals that our people have striven to preserve.

The city guard has done its best to preserve the public order and keep the peace. Some have been assaulted for their efforts but they are stout men and women and will do their duty. Still, as the siege persists, we may need sterner measures to protect our peace-loving inhabitants. If the assault continues too long, I worry that some of our citizens may forget their oath to the peaceable kingdom and take their vengeance upon the unwitting vassals of the rebel leaders, men and women who have often been rejected for office by their fellow citizens but now act as self-appointed leaders of this unruly and unkempt horde.

Most of the horde that surrounds us are in fact stout fellows who genuinely are unaware of the harm their actions cause. They cloak themselves in slogans of patriotism while abiding calls for the overthrow of our lawfully constituted government, by violent means if need be. They also allow the presence of miscreants carrying flags of long defeated and dishonoured foes. I sometimes despair of their return to civil society. Still, I am willing to extend the hand of friendship to the mass of them—though not those who have committed crimes against my fellow citizens or my country.

Now, I must depart and do my rounds. Even a simple task like providing beverages for my lady and clean clothes for us both is an act of defiance. Then I will take up my assigned tasks, finding solace in work until a brighter day arrives.

Think of me trapped here inside this heart of darkness and carry on your life as best you can, as all good citizens must. Your safety and happiness are my succour. Alas, the drums have started again and I must go.

I remain your faithful servant…

Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

Corporate Citizens

What is the proper level of corporate taxation? According to those on the left, a lot higher than they currently are, while those on the right can’t imagine they could ever be low enough. They can’t both be right, can they? Of course not, but it is possible they could both be wrong.

In order to understand the debate, one first has to consider what a corporation is and why it exists. In the early 19^th century, the industrial revolution almost came to a shuddering halt because most rich people were not entrepreneurs (they still aren’t but that’s another issue). The idea of capitalism is that you risk your money in hopes of a large return in the future. Rich people liked the idea of large returns; risk, not so much. Especially when that risk meant not just potential loss of money, but, if things went badly wrong (say, if a bridge collapsed or a well got poisoned) with a business venture, the risk of personal responsibility and, even, jail time. Why chance it when you can buy a nice country estate?

The idea of the corporation was an old one, arising out of the model of business partnerships. But, still, a dozen backers might lower the financial risk to any one of them but not necessarily the criminal risk. Limited liability only could take you so far. But suppose we were to treat the corporation as “an artificial person,” that is as an entity separate from the people who own it, the criminal and civil risk now falls on it rather than its owners (as long as they acted in good faith and didn’t actually direct the company managers to break the law). Whew—the capitalist class collectively sighed and the rest is history.

In fact, it is so embedded in history, corporations are allowed to mess in elections as if they were people (at least in the USA) and boards are able to claim no knowledge of the wrong doing (say, illegal bribes in Libya) of their employees. But, of course, corporations can’t go to jail or be executed—though they can be fined or forced into bankruptcy. And, the managers who broke the law can be imprisoned and, of course, fired and excoriated by the board and stockholders.

Even the left have completely bought into this pleasant fiction of the personhood of corporations, forgetting that every single corporation in the world is owned by somebody. Now, I’m not saying we should throw rich people in jail every time a corporation goes astray (though I’m not averse to the idea) but I do think, for the purposes of taxation, we shouldn’t let them hide behind the protective walls of corporate tax laws.

Because here’s the thing: in almost every jurisdiction, corporate and business taxes are effectively lower than personal income taxes (even if they are similar on paper). I’m not just talking about the tax rates of the rich—most middle-class people pay taxes at or above that charged to corporations.

So instead of racing to the bottom to try to attract corporations to move from one province or one country to another, maybe we should reduce the corporate tax rate to zero—and assign their profits (and losses) to the people that own them. This would require much simpler tax laws and closer auditing to ensure creative accounting didn’t make profits magically disappear and maybe stricter penalties for tax evasion (both for the evaders and the accountants who help them).

And here’s the thing, it should also make markets more efficient as risk and reward became more transparent and people make choices in their own best interests, instead of going along for the corporate ride.

And that’s ten minutes

Where is thy sting now?

I’ve been strangely preoccupied with death lately. This is not unusual—I am much closer to the day of my death than I am to that of my birth. Still, my health is good and I have plans enough that I hope the final day is still well off.

Death is all around us, of course. I am an orphan and I’ve lost several good friends over the years. Social media seldom lets a day go by without recording some loss or another whether it be a parent, a friend, a pet or some celebrity who has touched one of us in some way. Most of us have pictures on our walls or albums of those who are no longer with us.

Still, that hasn’t changed nor is it likely to change any time soon.

What has brought death to my mind lately is one particular death and the way it occurred.

A few weeks ago I heard that someone I once cared a lot about was scheduled to die on a certain Tuesday. No, they weren’t on death row in Texas; they were in a hospice bed in Halifax.

Jeanne was my second wife—we stopped being a couple nearly 30 years ago and haven’t had much contact for nearly 15. That was her choice but I can’t blame her for that. I was the one who left and while I still have feelings from those days, they are not tinged with sadness or hard-feelings.

Over the years, I know that Jeanne had made a good life for herself—filled with the love of her partner, her friends and her family and she had some real successes to look back on. When my mother was dying, she found it in her heart—no matter how she felt about me—to be kind to her and my brother.

Unfortunately, cancer came calling far too early and eventually her condition was declared terminal.

That’s when Jeanne did an incredibly brave thing. She chose to seek medical assistance in dying (MAID as it is called in Nova Scotia). She chose the time and place of her death. I don’t know what led her to that place—it could not have been easy, she loved life and had religious views that must have made the decision more difficult—but I am happy for her that she had that choice to make.

I’ve long been an advocate for assisted death for those who want it. I supported the legislative changes made last year—though I didn’t think they went far enough. That may yet come—it is a moving legal and moral landscape. However, it is one thing to support something intellectually but quite another to have it impact you directly even at a distance of many years and miles.

Now that it has, I have to tell you I am more supportive than ever. Jeanne died with great grace and strength and she died with her family beside her—saying good bye in the way we would all like to say good-bye, with full hearts.

And she died without pain and without the indignity that death tries to bring to us all at the end. Who wouldn’t want that?

I hope that when my time comes I can approach it with joy and courage the way Jeanne did. Then we can truly say: Death, where is thy sting?

And that’s ten minutes.

The War on Drugs

The war on drugs has taken a new and somewhat bizarre turn with the interview of El Chapo – the notorious Mexican drug lord – conducted by actor, Sean Penn and published in The Rolling Stone. It created a bit of a stir among the chattering classes and a lot of embarrassment for Mexican and American drug enforcement agencies who have been trying to track him down ever since he escaped from a maximum security prison six months ago. Meanwhile satirists, critics of the drug laws and Mexicans in general have been having a good laugh. A lot of them admire the nerve of the fugitive, it seems.

Guzman – his real name – wound up being captured, in part because of the interview, and is expect to be extradited to the USA to face charges ranging from murder on down. He will undoubtedly be convicted and shoved in a prison somewhere – if his money doesn’t, once again, help him escape.

The most interesting thing El Chapo said in his interview was that nothing – his capture, his death, millions more for police or fences or prisons – will interfere with the operation of the illegal drug trade. In that he is probably right. If the war on drugs was an actual competition between nation states, the United States would have been on its knees a long time ago.

Prohibitions never stop the prohibited product being consumed. The prohibitions of alcohol did nothing for America but increase deaths from tainted bootleg alcohol and establish the Mafia as the major crime organization in a multitude of cities. It also founded the fortunes of a number of still prominent Canadian families but that’s another story.

It is unclear to me why America is so determined to prohibit – rather than control – the use of drugs. No doubt, drugs do harm but there is plenty of evidence that drug use can be mitigated if treated as a medical condition rather than a moral failing. Studies in cities in England where pilot projects temporarily turned heroin use into a medical issue rather than a legal one saw dramatic reductions in death rates, a virtual elimination of petty crime and even the return of some addicts to productive work and family life – even while their addition was maintained and managed. The experience in Portugal has been similar.

Movements to decriminalize or even legalize drug use in America have taken halting steps, focusing on marijuana which is not, apparently, physically addictive though it may be psychologically so. In the long term, government control of drug sales will reduce the negative impacts of the drug trade and make it less attractive to criminal elements. There will continue to be some violations of the law but it will be reduced to the level of the local bootlegger – a problem for society but seldom a threat.

I’ve long believed that all drugs should be decriminalized, medicalized, regulated and, in some case, legalized. The savings in terms of law enforcement, health care, and personal suffering would be considerable. And I’m not alone – the mayors of America’s largest cities have called for the same thing.

You have to wonder who exactly is profiting – aside from drug lords like Guzman – from the current system?

And that’s ten minutes.

 

Insurgents

The Bundy’s are back in the news – briefly. One might recall that the father of the current bunch was engaged in an armed stand-off in Nevada last year. They promised never to stand down. Eventually the federal government threw up its hands and walked away, figuring a million bucks wasn’t worth killing for. Now the sons are occupying some wildlife reserve in Oregon – unwanted by both the community and by the family they came to support. They promise to stay for years. This case is a little different — not a case of unpaid fees but of actual rebellion against the law. The feds may not do much but I suspect they won’t walk away either. I suspect the ‘militia’ will go home in a few weeks – declaring victory. Or they will cease to be newsworthy and hang in for months, ignored and forgotten.

A lot has been made of the fact that these religiously motivated insurgents are not being called terrorists – except by the thousands of social media activists who call them exactly that. It’s true it is a little hypocritical – and maybe a little cowardly – to take guns to a peaceful protest but at least they didn’t enter shooting. The Bundy occupation is similar – though not identical to – the Occupy movement and deserves to be treated in much the same way.  With patience and, to an extent, restraint.

It is true that the Occupy movement didn’t threaten to kill people; it simply suggested that bankers should be arrested and put in prison for life. And they didn’t open carry – though whether no-one had guns is uncertain. It was, after all, America where even grandmas carry pistols in their purses.

Critics are also right to say that they would be treated differently if their skin was darker. I have no doubt that is true but perhaps what is really needed is a less extreme reaction to non-white protesters as opposed to a harsher treatment for this bunch of lame-ass cowboys. Do we really need to have the federal or local police go in shooting?

The real problem is that America is increasingly dominated by groups who no longer believe that America and its government is their country or their government. Most of these groups are right-wing but not all of them. And, more and more, they are supported by prominent Republican politicians who offer their moral and even physical support to people who are clearly in revolt against the legitimate constitutional power of the state – that is, of the people.

Revolt against the law is not necessarily a bad thing. Non-violent resistance has frequently changed societies, even overthrown governments. Armed insurrection has worked from time to time but I doubt if the people hiding out in Oregon really want to emulate the Castro’s and Che Guevara.

In any case, the Bundy clan will eventually pack up their gear and go home – convinced , of course, that the only reason ‘patriots’ didn’t flock to their side is because of some massive liberal conspiracy. And next year, they will find some other place to wave their guns around. Though I doubt it will be any more important than some little known reserve in the middle of nowhere. We won’t see them in Manhattan anytime soon.

And that’s ten minutes.