I don’t know what this means.

When I was six, I was walking through the woods on my grandparents’ property in Washington, and I stepped on a yellowjacket nest. I remember the sensation as my foot came down: pushing through the humus of dried leaves, a moment of resistance, and then I crunched through what I thought was solid ground, and fell lower than I thought I should have, on that foot. That’s when I heard the buzzing: z z z ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz It hit a fast crescendo and then lowered to a purposeful, ominous hum, as if I had prodded a sleeper who did not want to wake and who growled resistance at me.

Then the stings started. One, two, three, each more painful than the last, the infuriated insects stitched their revenge up my leg as I stood, frozen, suddenly unsure of the ground beneath me — was it more hollow still? Would I fall through again? — obeying my training that told me to stand still when bees landed on me because they didn’t want to sting me, after all.

But these weren’t bees: they were yellowjackets. And they wanted to sting me. Understandable, really, since I had just destroyed their house and maybe crushed some of their family members; but that didn’t make me feel good about the fiery needles jabbing into me.

Fortunately my mother was there, and having grown up on that place named for her family, she was familiar with the sound of angry bees and yellowjackets: and she realized this was not a good time to just stand still. She scooped me up and ran. Of course I realize now that she was running to get us both away from the yelllowjackets, but at the time, I was suddenly sure that she was running me back to the house because I was going to die: my father is allergic to bee stings, and even at that age, I knew the potential danger of those tiny packets of venom which I could feel throbbing in my shin — and maybe moving up through my bloodstream? Was this the end?

It was not. It was about to be my first encounter with witch hazel (a name that still feels mysterious and alchemical to me), the rapid soothing of the burning stings, a cookie or two to soothe my burning tears, and the disappointing reckoning of a mere six stings, none higher than my knee. Not enough damage for a good I-stepped-on-a-beehive story, though it’s a damn good indication of my mother’s reflexes and quick thinking.

 

That moment of stepping down onto, and then falling through the ground and into a sudden attack: that’s what 2020 feels like to me. The hollowness of the hive beneath me, incapable of holding me up, echoed in the middle of me as I realized what was going to happen, a hollowness that seemed to swell and expand even as it grew more empty and dark and cold, as if my fear were a black hole inside, swallowing more and more and growing larger with each terrified thought that fell into it: that’s what I feel like inside, right now, and for the last six months. It’s a much slower process, this time, lasting months instead of seconds; but I feel very much as though my reaction is identical: I am frozen, panicked, trying to figure out what to do and coming up with no good ideas, just standing and watching as the danger swirls up around me.

At the same time: I am not just the kid walking through the woods, this time. I’m the yelllowjackets. The hollowness inside me is the hive, and the shell around that emptiness is too weak, and can’t hold up the weight of the world that is stepping on me. And as everything going on around me crushes through me and into me, I lash out, angrily — maybe understandable, but really, useless  — and I sting, and I bite, and I attack. I have never been so short-tempered, so cranky, so bitter, so apt to strike, so apt to sting with my words and my tongue, as this year. I hate it. I can’t stop it. I can’t: I don’t have the strength. That’s what was hollowed out of me. And I can’t just set myself and bear up under the weight: because the hollowness is under my feet, too, and I am being stung even as I am stinging.

I don’t know what to do. I’m just standing here. I have been for what feels like forever.

And I’m so tired.

And this time, my mother can’t scoop me up and run me back to the house for the twin magics of herbal remedies and baked goods.

This time, I might just get stung to death.

 

Probably not. I’m aware that as high as the number of Covid-19 cases is, it’s still only a fraction of the population, and that while my state is not handling the pandemic well, I am taking reasonable precautions that should keep me safe; I will most likely come out of this with an unremarkable tally of suffering. I do not mind, this time. I would very much prefer a half-dozen stings, no permanent scars, no need for a doctor. Just some soothing liquid and a cookie or two.

But I’m not just standing still with my foot in the danger zone; I’m still walking forward through the woods. In fact, since school starts tomorrow and goes to in-person classes in four weeks, I may be stepping onto the hive, and then continuing on into it, like walking down into a hive the size of a subway tunnel, with yellowjackets the size of Shelob. (At the same time: those goddamn hobbits are coming into my home, fumbling and ripping through my webs, and they are goddamn well going to pay for it. Nasssty little hobbitses.)

What precautions do I take then, as I move deeper and deeper into this hive pit? My school is trying to stay on top of things, having offered fully online learning as an option, instituting new protocols — social distancing, mandatory* masks, sanitizing spray to be applied every two hours**, fever checks on arrival — intended to prevent the spread of the disease. I don’t know how well it’s all going to work, though; and I have no idea what to do about that. I can’t quit. If I raise too great a stink, they’ll fire me. I guess I just have to stand there. Maybe the small things hovering around me don’t want to sting me, this time.

*Mandatory here means just what it does everywhere: masks are required until someone raises a loud enough political objection, and/or presents a doctor’s note. Then, not. Hope the virus takes doctor’s notes, too. 

**Said sanitation to be applied by me, every two hours, in between classes. On a side note, the spray requires four minutes to take full effect. Time between classes is four minutes. Hope the virus will wait out in the hall.

The danger, though, is not what is haunting me. Perhaps it should be, but the thing that is building a growing ball of hollow darkness inside me, the thing that makes me feel as if my next step will land on an equally hollow surface that will drop me through and out of the world, while at the same time the weight on top of me punches through my thin outer layer and into the hollow within, is this:

I am tired.

The hollowness inside me is not just fear. It is exhaustion. I am so very, very tired. Tired from fighting, tired from standing watch, tired from holding up others as well as myself. I’m tired of watching the pandemic grow, and watching my country wallowing in ignorance and selfishness like a pig in shit — just as filthy and twice as proud of ourselves — as we deny science, and raise alarms for problems that aren’t real, pointing to imaginary dangers that somehow block out of our sight the very real danger of this virus. I am so tired of being angry about it. I am so tired of fighting with people who smugly ignore every fact and every reasonable thought because it doesn’t make them feel safe, or worse, it doesn’t make them feel strong and fearless. Saying they’re not afraid of Covid, that makes them feel strong and fearless.

It’s as if when my mother rushed to scoop me up out of the yellowjacket hive, I had pushed her down, spit on her (Because the people who think this way are some of the rudest, most inconsiderate, most contemptuous hooligans I’ve ever interacted with. And I teach high school.), and then stood with fists on hips, chin jutted, nostrils flaring, and said, “Don’t you tell me where I can stand, I’m an American. You run if you want to, you and all the other sheep!”

While the yellowjackets swarmed around me.

And of course it’s not only the virus. I am so very tired of racism. I am tired of being ashamed of what people who look like me have done to people who feel like me for centuries. I am tired of confronting the same angry, willful ignorance about the protests or about opposition to police violence. At the same time, I am tired of being treated like the people I look like by the people I feel like — and I am tired of knowing that I have no right to complain about any treatment I may suffer, because my world has been built to prop me up, and whatever I may have to go through pales in comparison to the ordeals of those who are less pale than I. I hate that people tell me I have no right to speak my opinion, to take a stand; that all I can do is get out of the way and let better people take what they have been denied for centuries, because people who look like me oppressed them, which has enabled me to become everything that I am — all of it tainted by centuries of crimes against humanity. Not my own gifts and efforts, but my privilege, I am told, is why I am who I am and can do what I can do: and that means I don’t deserve what I have, and using that privilege to try to help solve the problem earns me a sort of sly sneer from those who know that my actions on behalf of the cause are just white guilt, and really, I am still the enemy,still perpetuating the problem if I do anything other than get out of the way.

That’s how it feels. It’s maybe not true that people working for social justice think that way of me, but — that’s how it feels. Of course, maybe that’s just my white guilt talking. And my white privilege thinking that I should be the one to speak up and fight for the cause: because that means I am centering whiteness in a movement that is not intended for the benefit or the recognition of white people or white suffering. It’s so easy to fall into the same patterns that have existed unrecognized throughout my life; how can I tell what is genuine and what is instilled in me by institutions of oppression and privilege? Is everything about me broken and wrong because of the world I grew up in? Is there nothing that is me? No, I want to say; I am good, I am worthwhile, I want to help and I am capable of helping. It is not right that I get pushed aside and marginalized, stereotyped, included in sweeping generalizations, based only on my skin color, my nationality, my gender —

And how pathetic do I sound saying those words.

I’m so bloody tired of irony.

I want to help, is the problem. I don’t want to be like those ignorant yahoos I fight with. I don’t want to be selfish.

But so many people need so much help.

I can do a lot of it. I am happy to do a lot of it: happy to support my family, my friends, those who rely on me. They are struggling, too, because this year has not only been hard for the pandemic and the riots: it’s hard financially, and crippling politically, and my family has had a series of tribulations fall on us like Biblical plagues, one after another and each worse than the last, mostly medical and due to my parents’ generation reaching the stage of life where things go badly. And of course, I can’t do anything. I can’t go help them because I might infect them, and that would kill them — and that would kill me. I worry about them double, because I realize that, on top of everything else, the pizza delivery man might give them Covid-19, and then I wouldn’t be able to visit them in the hospital while they coughed their life away.

And I can’t talk about this, can’t complain about this: because everyone else has it harder than me. Everyone. It’s not just white privilege, not just male privilege; I am healthy, and have remained fully employed, at a job where I am respected and well-liked, and I am generally well-balanced emotionally. I’m not well-balanced this year, of course, but since I started off having an easier time than most, and we’ve all gone down together, I still have more of my head above water than others do who were half-drowning before 2020. So I have no right at all to complain, and if I open my mouth to do it, the response I get back (the response I should get back) is something along the lines of, “Yes, I know, I’m going through that too — and a dozen things that are worse.”

Part of me can’t stand myself, right now, for complaining that I have it too easy in life to complain. And normally, the fact that I do have it easier than most would keep me from complaining because it would keep me from suffering. And even when I do suffer, I don’t have such troubles that I need to vent, need to talk them out. Normally I don’t need much support.

But this year is not normal.

I need to vent. It helps, you see, even if you don’t see how it could possibly help, even if you don’t know why it helps, talking about your feelings helps. I need that help. I need to say how I feel, even if how I feel is gauche or insufficiently woke. (“See that? That’s white sensitivity right there. He needs to grow a thicker skin, learn to deal with being told what he’s doing wrong. It’s just that he’s never been criticized much before, not in this society built for people like him.” Yes. I know it. But this is still how I feel.) Because people need my support, and so long as I am this tired, and feel these hollows under my ribs and under my feet, I can’t give them what they need.

This is what I need: I need to talk. I need to write. I haven’t wanted to do it, not for months now, for all the reasons I’ve been talking about here. There is too much, and I need to figure out what the hell I’m really feeling; I hate to ramble and blunder and sound like I don’t know what the hell I’m getting at. But one of the difficult Catch-22s of being a writer is that writing is exactly how I figure out what I’m feeling; I usually don’t know what I’m getting at when I start writing, I just get there when I get there, and I have a pretty good idea of when to stop. I have no doubt that this blog is irritating and confusing for people who read it. I expect you, too, are short-tempered, unable and unwilling to put out a whole lot of effort helping someone else deal with their shit when you’re sitting there with both hands full of your own.

I’m sure you’re tired too.

It feels strange to write this, because it makes me feel better, and so maybe I want to share that; but I don’t want to be a bother, don’t want to be a burden.

Which is also how everyone else feels, too.

So I’m just going to say it. If what I’m saying is wrong, please feel free to correct me; but first, I need to say it. Actually, I take that back: if you have something you want to say about something I’m doing wrong, put a pin in it. We’ll circle back around to it later. For now, I just need to talk about how I feel. And I won’t ask people to listen to me, because I know you’re all struggling, too — but it would mean a lot if you did.

We all need help. We all need support. We need to ask for it for ourselves. Just asking makes us feel better: because it validates how we feel. Being willing to ask for help, from those whom you are willing to give help to, shows that you consider yourself as important as they are, as worth helping as they are. It shows them that they are not a burden on you, that they can help even as they ask for help for themselves. And everyone feels better when they can help.

I need help. I’m standing on unsteady ground, in a country that is tearing itself apart, and I’m about to go back to work where I will be surrounded (Virtually, for the most part, but still) by students — who all desperately need all the help they can get.

That’s what made me actually open this post and start writing. That’s really what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of the virus, afraid of what’s going to happen in thousands of schools across the country to hundreds of thousands of teachers and millions of students; but what scares me right now is the knowledge that those students will come to me, and they will need me. They will need me to listen to them, to understand them, to take them seriously, to help them. They are bottomless abysses of need, just like I was at their age, as we all are in that terrible time of adolescence. They will need me even more now, because their world is on fire, too.

I don’t know how much I will have to give them.

I’m so very tired.

I’m just standing here: hoping I don’t get stung.

Can someone please pick me up and run me away from the swarm?

Or if not that — can I have some witch hazel and maybe a cookie or two?

Thanks.

Free to be Safe, Safe to be Free

A friend of mine posted this:

Image may contain: 1 person, text that says 'We Suppor STUDEN IS FREEDOM MORE IMPORTANT THAN SAFETY Yes.'

And so, because this is what I do, I asked: why? Why is freedom more important than safety?

He couldn’t answer.

He replied that freedom was the very fabric that the U.S. was drawn on, which is a lovely statement of sentiment — but not an answer. That tells me why freedom might be so important to Americans, if we accept that freedom is indeed what the U.S. was drawn on; but it doesn’t say either why that is the foundational principle of this country, nor why that foundational principle (or this country) are especially important — nor does it answer my first question, about why freedom is more important than safety. (Heh — I just wrote “freedom is more important than slavery.” Not only pretty close to a tautology, but also a pretty good indicator that my subconscious is damned libertarian, if it equates safety with slavery. Actually, I was just listening to the 1619 Project podcast about the foundations of this country, and I have an argument against freedom being the fabric this nation was drawn on. But that’s another subject for another time.)

Understand that this is a good guy, a really good guy. A generous plenty of his posts are focused on telling his friends that he loves them, especially his male friends, explicitly using the word “love” and supporting them in every way he can; sharing his own struggles with depression and alienation; telling anyone and everyone that he is always willing to listen. Basically he is an antidote to toxic masculinity. He is masculine antitoxin. (Also hilarious. Also a frequent and fully self-aware shitposter. Also a boogaloo boi: his second response to my questioning was a citation of the Second Amendment as the only necessary source of safety. People are complex, aren’t they?) He wasn’t attacking me, calling me a coward or a libtard; he wasn’t even treating me as a troll commenter, which would be an understandable response to my asking philosophical questions on a meme. He was really trying to answer my question, and in so doing, revealing at least some of his ideals, if not his explicated arguments for his ideals.

And I don’t think they’re bad ideals. I think this country should be drawn on the fabric of freedom; and though I don’t agree with The Libertarian Cartoon Head (And I find it kind of hilarious and very telling that it is so very Nordic and square-jawed, with furrowed brow and shaped beard and curled ‘stache, blond hair and blue eyes), I also don’t agree with the woman with the sign. (I will give her slightly more credit in her argument because she put “freedom” in sarcastoquotes, which implies that the debate is set on false premises as these debates often are and maybe have to be by definition; but also, I have no idea where this picture is from or if it is even real, so I can’t say if she knows how to use sarcastoquotes or meant those for emphasis, or if she ever really held that sign in the image, or if it was Photoshopped. So.)

Let me tell you what I think: I think both safety and liberty are, quite simply, vital. They are necessary. Both. I’ll actually throw in the pursuit of happiness, too: all vital to our continued existence as thinking, feeling individuals. That’s why they are unalienable rights.

There’s a deeper and harder conversation about what rights are and where they come from, and what it means to have them, which I am not qualified to have; I have a lot more reading to do in the philosophy world before I can take that on. But for  this conversation, the layman’s understanding of rights should be just fine.

A right is what you have simply by virtue of being an individual, a specific human being: a person. Your rights are essentially a list of what is required for you to experience and explore that existence as a person, as an entity with reason and free will. You must have life, because if you’re dead, you can’t experience your existence as a person. You must have liberty, because liberty is essentially the opportunity to have your own thoughts and feelings, to express your own thoughts and feelings, and to act on your own decisions, which are based on your own thoughts and feelings. Without liberty of thought, of speech, and of action, you are not able to explore and experience your existence as a unique individual. It’s pointless to say you have reason if you are not allowed to think your own thoughts, and then express what you think (Because freedom that is only locked inside your head is not freedom: a human being is capable of expressing and communicating their thoughts, and that expression and communication of thoughts is a fundamental part of being a human; you cannot be a human if you can only think but never speak your truth.); it is untrue to say you have free will if you cannot act according to that will.

You must have life to be you, and so you have the right to life; you must have liberty to truly be you, and so you have the right to liberty. Either without the other is meaningless and empty. The pursuit of happiness, the third unalienable right listed in the Declaration of Independence, is the realization of these two rights extended forward in time: if I have life and liberty right now, I can be myself; and if I can be assured that I will still have life and liberty tomorrow, I can begin planning and acting with that understanding in mind, seeking most likely to achieve a greater happiness for myself according to my wishes. Also necessary, I would argue — although the argument for this one is a bit more fraught, not only because Thomas Jefferson, after cribbing these rights from John Locke, changed Locke’s third unalienable right into the pursuit of happiness; Locke said the third was the right to property, meaning the right to own the fruits of your own labor. That’s a different conversation. It’s also fraught because Jefferson was one of history’s greatest hypocrites, writing that all men are created equal while being attended by James Hemings, his wife’s half-brother — Jefferson’s own brother-in-law, who shared a father with Jefferson’s wife — whom Thomas Jefferson owned. Jefferson also, of course, owned James Hemings’s sister (And Martha Jefferson’s half-sister) Sally. And he owned his and Sally’s six children until his death. All men are created equal, eh?

Regardless of who wrote the words, though, the ideas are sound as written, if not as Jefferson embodied them and helped to codify them into the founding documents of this country. All people are created equal: each and every one of us is a unique individual, essentially capable of thinking and feeling, and in possession of free will. Therefore each and every one of us has the unalienable right to life and liberty, both.

Both.

That’s the trouble with this argument. It’s not that life (which I would argue is represented by safety; I’ll get to that in a second) is more important than liberty, nor that liberty is more important than life. It’s that you cannot separate the two.

Is safety the same as life, here? I don’t want to argue a red herring, to make a false equivalence between the safety in this argument and the right to life in the Declaration of Independence. But what do we mean by safety? Safety, I think, represents the assurance of continued life; like the pursuit of happiness, it is the right extended into the future. If I am safe, I not only know that I am alive right now, but I expect that I will continue to be alive in future, and so I am confident and comfortable in that expectation. In its essence, safety is about the preservation of life over time — and also the preservation of liberty, without which life is meaningless and so too is safety. I know that’s a circular argument, but really: if you were sure that tomorrow you’d be alive, but you’d be in jail, would you say that you felt safe?

And on the other side, if you were free to do as you wish, but you knew you would die tomorrow, would you really feel free?

I know the knee-jerk answer to that second question, from people who agree with the meme (probably my friend as well), would be a resounding HELL YEAH BROTHER! Because part of this argument is based on a quintessentially American/(toxically) masculine ideology that not only honors, but pursues and relishes, death, especially death by martyrdom on the altar of freedom. But while self-sacrifice is honorable and noble, and I am grateful for those who have sacrificed their lives for me  — those sacrifices did not ensure the continued existence of liberty. They (depending on the specific situation) may have helped to eliminate a present threat to liberty with their sacrifice — probably also a threat to life; while the Fascist regimes in WWII were certainly a threat to liberty, they were clearly a much more dire threat to the essential existence of millions if not billions of human beings — but that doesn’t ensure, cannot ensure, that liberty will continue into the future.

Only safety can do that.

Now: it is certainly true that some attempts to limit liberty are presented under the guise of promoting safety; those must be guarded against. But that is not, despite the fanaticism of some liberty-lovers, true of every single attempt to ensure safety, nor even every attempt to limit liberty — some are presented as morally correct, for instance, regardless of whether they create more safety; like certain White House occupants sending certain Federal troops to certain cities to, errr, safeguard statues. That is certainly an attempt to limit liberty, but there’s not really a way to claim that keeping Robert E. Lee atop his horse atop a marble pedestal will make us safer. (There is some attempt, in the name of law and order, to claim that those who would pull down statues are threatening to create — or actually creating — chaos and danger for Americans. But let’s not buy into the bullshit, yeah? The only safety really being promoted there is the safety of the monuments, and the comfortable white supremacy they generally represent.) It’s like the argument that every single gun law is an infringement on the right to bear arms: that’s not really true. The essence of the Second Amendment is to preserve the right of self-defense — which preserves both life and liberty — and so long as one is able to do that, the right is uninfringed. Slippery slopes are not an argument, they’re a rhetorical scare tactic.

It is also true that some attempts to create safety also bring an unacceptable limitation on liberty; I think that’s the argument against lockdowns as a measure against the pandemic. As I think this year has made clear, though, temporary limitations on liberty become more acceptable when they are more effective in preserving life; the way to avoid a restriction of liberty is to find a way to have your cake and eat it too, to ensure safety while also preserving liberty — which in this case would be: masks. Masks are a way to effectively preserve safety by stopping the spread of Covid-19 while also not infringing on liberty, because so long as everyone wears a mask, we can continue with almost all of our preferred activities.

Brief aside to squash this nonsense: Liberty does not mean an unlimited right to do whatever the hell you want, to say no just because someone else says yes, to insist that somehow you don’t need to wear a piece of cloth on your face just because you don’t wanna BECUZ THIS’S AMURRRRRRRICA. It means the ability to control your own actions based on your rational decisions, so long as those actions don’t harm anyone else’s ability to do the same. Anyone making a rational decision not to wear a mask — i.e., “I have claustrophobia and the masks cause panic attacks, so instead I MAINTAIN A STRICT SOCIAL DISTANCE AND MAYBE WEAR A CLEAR FACE SHIELD” or “I don’t enjoy wearing a mask SO I DON’T GO OUT IN PUBLIC” —  is fine; those are rational decisions, and I doubt anyone would have a real problem with those. That’s why exceptions for health reasons are written into every mask ordinance, and why no mask ordinance mandates people leave their homes.  Now, it is certainly true that, all else being equal, the individual should be the one to decide for themselves what is a “rational” basis for their own decisions; but in a pandemic, the actions of individuals have outsized impacts on the life and liberty of others, and therefore some limitation of an individual’s actions is reasonable. The outsized impact on others means that one cannot make a determination of a rational action depending only on one’s own individual will. It means a reduction of one’s ability to choose for one’s self.

To preserve safety. And liberty. Because that’s what it means to live in a society. People who want to be so fanatical about their liberty that they accept literally no restrictions on their liberty imposed by others can still make that choice: they just don’t get to be a part of our society. Society requires compromise. Them’s the breaks. Your right to swing your fist ends where my nose begins, so if you want to swing your fists without any boundaries, get the fuck away from my nose. And then go nuts. Feel free.

 

Benjamin Franklin gave us one of the more popular arguments about this issue. He said,

“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

Now, this quote, like everything else from the Founding Fathers — and, well, everyone famous ever, in this age of disinformation inundation (™) — is pretty regularly misquoted. A Google search for this one gets me this meme, which changes the quote pretty appreciably:

Notable Quote - Benjamin Franklin - Granite Grok

(It also gets me this one, which is hilarious because there’s absolutely no way Benjamin Franklin said this — and not just because “guy” was not commonly used to mean “that fellow over there” until around 1850, 60 years after Franklin’s death BUT MOSTLY BECAUSE OF THAT:)

TOP 25 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN QUOTES ON LIBERTY | A-Z Quotes

(I also really want that not to be a portrait of Franklin, but it probably is. Oh, well.)

But case in point, the comments on the meme that my friend shared had this image in them:

Image may contain: 3 people, beard, text that says '12:23 Kacey Elise Wheeler Kacey Elise Wheeler Yesterday Extreme Liberty 10:55 This shirt our Scofflaw collection has been really popular lately! Get while it's hot! [Link below] ...See More Those would upliberty purchase alety are bitches. Beajamin Franklin (probablyi Like Comment Share Whoolor ខ'

Which really represents what happens when people stop thinking about this stuff. Nothing wrong with wearing a t-shirt, of course; but this is not an argument, any more. Now it’s silly. Now it’s a meme.

But the best and most important thing about Franklin’s actual statement is this: it doesn’t mean what we think it means.

WITTES: The exact quotation, which is from a letter that Franklin is believed to have written on behalf of the Pennsylvania General Assembly, reads, those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety. [emphasis added]

SIEGEL: And what was the context of this remark?

WITTES: He was writing about a tax dispute between the Pennsylvania General Assembly and the family of the Penns, the proprietary family of the Pennsylvania colony who ruled it from afar. And the legislature was trying to tax the Penn family lands to pay for frontier defense during the French and Indian War. And the Penn family kept instructing the governor to veto. Franklin felt that this was a great affront to the ability of the legislature to govern. And so he actually meant purchase a little temporary safety very literally. The Penn family was trying to give a lump sum of money in exchange for the General Assembly’s acknowledging that it did not have the authority to tax it.

SIEGEL: So far from being a pro-privacy quotation, if anything, it’s a pro-taxation and pro-defense spending quotation.

WITTES: It is a quotation that defends the authority of a legislature to govern in the interests of collective security. It means, in context, not quite the opposite of what it’s almost always quoted as saying but much closer to the opposite than to the thing that people think it means.

SIEGEL: Well, as you’ve said, it’s used often in the context of surveillance and technology. And it came up in my conversation with Mr. Anderson ’cause he’s part of what’s called the Ben Franklin Privacy Caucus in the Virginia legislature. What do you make of the use of this quotation as a motto for something that really wasn’t the sentiment Franklin had in mind?

WITTES: You know, there are all of these quotations. Think of kill all the lawyers – right? – from Shakespeare. Nobody really remembers what the characters in question were saying at that time. And maybe it doesn’t matter so much what Franklin was actually trying to say because the quotation means so much to us in terms of the tension between government power and individual liberties. But I do think it is worth remembering what he was actually trying to say because the actual context is much more sensitive to the problems of real governance than the flip quotation’s use is, often. And Franklin was dealing with a genuine security emergency. There were raids on these frontier towns. And he regarded the ability of a community to defend itself as the essential liberty that it would be contemptible to trade. So I don’t really have a problem with people misusing the quotation, but I also think it’s worth remembering what it was really about.

Source

In the end, the things we need to remember are these: safety is important. Preserving life is important. The reasonable assurance of future safety is also important  — I don’t want to get into Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but liberty is waaaay up at the top of the pyramid, around “self-actualization,” and safety is at the base, the second level just above food — and, dependent on circumstances, justifies a limitation on individual liberty. The preservation of liberty is equally important — but because liberty is more abstract than life, it requires more careful thought to reasonably determine what is, and what is not, a threat to liberty.

The whole reason we have the right to liberty is that we have the ability to reason. If we want to protect that right, then we must use that same reason to know when it is actually under threat. We have to think.

And stop taking memes too seriously. You know: like I just did.