How and why did we let them do this to us?
People tell me that I get
overly worked up about small government regulations. But small matters. The
building of civilization is revealed in small steps, tiny, bit-by-bit
improvements in the things we have and do. In the same way, seemingly small
government regulations can cause a reversal of the magnificent world that
enterprise has built. Under the right conditions, these can create human
catastrophes.
So I offer the following scenario, based on real events very recently in
the northeast of the U.S.. It is a composite of cases where government
regulation is more than just a menace; it becomes absolutely life threatening.
A summer storm comes and kills your electricity for days. A tree falls
on your deck, and you need to cut it away just to get out the back door. You
find your chainsaw, but it is out of gas. You reach for the gas can, but the
new federal regulations make it nearly impossible to pour. You hack the can
with a knife because the drill doesn’t work, and you transfer the gas to
another bottle and adding the gas to the saw.
Still, the saw won’t work. The gas seems no better than water. Then you
remember what you had read about the new gas. The ethanol mandates, stemming
from 2005 legislation, have made gas difficult to store. The corn-based
additives absorb water, and the mixture loses its ability to burn after a time,
depending on climate. You had heard of buyrealgas.com, but you had thought that
was a kooky service for preppers, maybe useful for boaters but not you.
So you hop in the car and set out for new gasoline. The storms have
caused the usual anti-gouging mania. Station owners have been hauled before
Congress in the past just for having raised prices in a storm — a time when
they should be pricing prices. Stations fear bad PR and even laws against the
practice, and so they can’t properly ration supplies.
You drive and drive, but every gas station in a 10-mile radius of your
house is out of gas. In fact, after all this driving, you are nearly out of
gas. You creep home and beg the neighbor for some gas, but he has the same
problems: bad can, and the stored gas doesn’t work right.
Fortunately, he has another can left over from the old days with good
gas in it. Together, you empty out the old gas from the saw and put in new gas.
The engine starts, but only in fits, and the sound is uneven. Finally, it
sputters to a halt.
What is it this time? It’s the carburetor. Just then, you remember
another sad fact about corn-based ethanol. It leaves a sticky residue in your engine,
kind of like corn syrup, which is not surprising given the makeup of ethanol.
That’s why all the stores sell so many tank additives that promise to clean out
the muck from your engine. But it’s too late for this one.
All these gas additive products weren’t even around 25 years ago. Why
are they necessary now? It’s the same reason there are so many cleaning
additives for laundry. The essential stuff that makes things work, whether gas
or detergent, has been despoiled and degraded by federal regulations that
mandate certain ingredients. Never mind performance: It’s all under the guise
of saving the environment.
But your environment isn’t being saved right now. You have a tree all
over your back porch, your electricity is out, you are nearly out of gas in
your car and there’s no gas to be had anywhere. You can’t even charge your
phone, and you have only 40% of its power remaining.
Forget the Internet. You have the ability to get online through a 3G
network, but doing that would waste scarce power. You have about eight hours
remaining on your phone at best, and that needs to be used for a more-serious
emergency. Facebook, which would be a wonderful way to communicate with people
you love, has to wait.
You look around and realize something ghastly. In a matter of hours and
without much warning, the whole of your life has collapsed. There is no way
out. You are completely dependent on city workers coming around to fix things.
But they will fix only so much. Why? Because the city hopes that the federal
government will declare the place a “disaster area” so that the city can get
federal aid — aid you will never see. So the mess has to stay just as it is for
days, maybe for weeks.
The kids are screaming. Fortunately, no one needs immediate medical
help. You long ago stopped stocking up on medicines, because the regulations
don’t allow it. Not even medicine to unclog noses can be hoarded. The federal
government keeps a list of how much you have bought in the last month. And
forget painkillers. Those are barely even available through prescription.
True, the aged person living in your house is lacking essentials. You
hope that oxygen isn’t necessary, because the machine doesn’t work. You might
have bought a generator, but that wouldn’t have helped. You have no fuel, little
food and your means of communicating with the outside world are dwindling down
by the minute.
You know that the pools of water in your backyard could quickly breed
killer mosquitoes in a day, especially in this heat. But you also know that the
insecticides you can get at the store now are weak and just short of worthless.
The strong stuff was pushed out of the marketplace by more regulations some 10
years ago. You will just have to stay indoors, even though the temperature is
hotter and hotter.
There’s only one thing left to do. Embrace your despair, and be happy
that you can light a candle and read a physical book. You wait and hope to be
saved.
Now consider all the ways in which the above scenario might have been
different absent the central plan that has been imposed, allegedly with the
goal of saving you. Without anti-gouging regulations, gas would have been more
expensive, but at least it would have been plentiful. Even then, you probably
wouldn’t have needed it, because both the gas line and the gas in the can
would’ve worked (since it would have a vent, just as gas cans always had until
the new mandates wrecked them).
This way, you could have used the gas in your car to keep your cellphone
charged and working. You could have used Twitter and Facebook all you wanted,
and everyone would have known your whereabouts and well-being.
The chainsaw would have been fully functional, with an engine that
stayed clean and worked every time, even when not used in years. You could have
cut your tree and helped your neighbors with theirs. City workers would have
already been out on the job helping to clean things up. The absence of federal
aid would have made them alone responsible for the results, and they would have
a mayor breathing down their neck, rather than a mayor with his hand out to
Washington.
All these seemingly small regulations may not seem like much in ordinary
times. But in extraordinary times, they can make the difference between life
and death. A natural disaster we can deal with. A man-made disaster such as
that imposed by thick layers of crufty, enterprise-destroying regulations are a
far greater problem because they are permanent, cumulative, and imposed at the
point of a gun.
The regulators play with our products and our lives as if they know better
than we do what’s good for us. To the political class, there’s nothing quite as
satisfying as managing the lives and property of others. But when the
unexpected happens, the mischief they do begins to reveal terrible things.
Suddenly, the denial of our freedom to manage our own lives matters a great
deal.
This is the point at which we slap our heads and ask ourselves, “How and
why did we let them do this to us?” They wrecked our home appliances. They
ruined the paint on our walls, making it dingy and unstable. They degraded
makeup, detergent and unclogging agents. Insecticides don’t work. They ruined
our toilets, our refrigerators, our lawn mowers, our water heaters, our showers
and even our furniture by declaring sofa cushions to be too flammable.
Small things, right? They all add up to a giant thing. They set out to
make an environmental utopia for us, a world of perfect safety that leaves no
human footprint, and instead they created a hell of dependency in which we have
no choice but to join the rest of the drones who sit and wait for the
bureaucrats to bail us out of our troubles. And the bureaucrats take their own
sweet time, unless you own a gun, in which case they will be right over to take
it from you.
We look for someone to blame. The politicians who passed the laws are
all out of office, while their legacy lives on in the concrete palaces
inhabited by lifetime bureaucrats, who are never subject to any election and
who make more money living off your income than you do by actually producing things
that people want. The predatory class is destroying the host, yet no one has a
clue about what to do to make it stop.
But there are things you can do. You can become aware. You can stop
trusting them and stop deferring to them. If enough people do, history can turn
on a dime. We can all decide that man-made catastrophe need not be our fate.