Free State Observer

The phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly’s wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately cause a tornado to appear (or, for that matter, prevent a tornado from appearing). The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale phenomena. Had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the trajectory of the system might have been vastly different. — Wikipedia. 

Now what to say about Lauren Canario….

While trying to think of a title for this blog entry, one possibility that came to mind was “unbreakable”.  If you’ve seen the M. Night Shyamalan film of the same name, it’s appropriate in more ways than one.  The movie is about an ordinary, unassuming guy who discovers rather late in life that he’s actually a superhero.  He proceeds to battle bad guys and protect the innocent.

And now, for Lauren.  I don’t know her very well; actually, I’ve only met her a few times.  My impressions of her are as follows: pretty little thing with long straight hippie hair and a bright smile; mischievous; creative; funny; highly principled; brave; and, well, unbreakable.

Lauren is a Free State Project participant from Nevada.  After the outrageous Supreme Court decision on Kelo vs New London, which said that local government has the right to take away a citizen’s private property against the owner’s will and sell it to someone with more money, Lauren was so incensed that she moved from Nevada to New London, Connecticut. She took up residence in one of the homes taken through eminent domain, with the rightful owner’s consent. She remained there, as a resident and witness, for weeks, and documented the goings-on in beleaguered Fort Trumbull. She spent weeks in jail after peacefully refusing to leave a City Council meeting at which the eminent domain proceedings were on the agenda.  She refused to cooperate with her captors in any way.  She wouldn’t walk, so they had to drag her around, or wheel her in a wheelchair.  She refused to be fingerprinted, or to state her own name.  The state’s response: they locked her in a mental institution, where she was kept in solitary confinement, shackled, under florescent lights 24 hours a day.

Did any of this phase her? Not in the least.  She maintained her silence until, not knowing what else to do with her, the state let her go.  Since then, Lauren and her husband have moved to New Hampshire and have participated in numerous political protests and peaceful demonstrations. At the anti-Real ID rally in Concord a few months back, they dressed up as Homeland Security Agents bearing a suspicious resemblance to Nazis.  They manned a faux checkpoint and demanded to “see the papers” of passersby.  I wasn’t too enthusiastic about this bit of street theater, myself; Nazis, even pretend ones, make me queasy.  Still loaned her my handcuffs, though, for costuming purposes. And Lauren’s dramatic gesture garnered a great deal of publicity for the rally.

And what of Fort Trumbull? Lauren didn’t want to let this act of tyranny and theft simply be forgotten by the public.  On the day that one house was to be boarded up, she sat quietly on the porch, reading a book.  When the authorities ordered her to leave, she peacefully refused.  So they arrested her.

Lauren is once again locked up by the state in the mental ward, in shackles, under bright lights 24/7.  She hasn’t been allowed any contact with friends or family for a month now.  No trial has been scheduled.  Her bail is set at $20,000, which she refuses to pay. 

I’m not about to do what Lauren is doing. While I may be a modern-day American sharecropper like so many others, giving about half of every dollar I make to a political system which may imprison me at any time for mouthing off to an airport security guard, or making a joke to an IRS agent, or baking the wrong kind of brownie, or quietly reading a book on the porch of a seized home, the alternative just doesn’t sound all that much fun. But at the same time, how could I ever ask Lauren to give in? “Screw your principles, just kiss the hand that beats you and then you can come out and play with the rest of us slaves.”  Um, yeah, that speech makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

Lauren has swallowed the red pill.  She has seen the real world, and stares straight back at it without flinching. She is willing to defend that which she knows to be right while essentially being tortured by the U.S. government for nothing more than a polite and quiet refusal to bend over and assume the position.

May Lauren’s gentle butterfly wings translate into a tornado of public outrage.

For video coverage, updates on Lauren’s situation, and contact info (you can write to her in prison), visit the Keene Free Press. 

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Last Sunday I drove out to the Rockwellian boonies of New Hampshire to attend the 50th birthday celebration of John Babiarz, Libertarian Man-About-the-State.  I didn’t really want to drive that far (social events tend to make me break out in hives as it is), but how could I refuse?  This guy made the same drive to *my* house to help me carry my furniture and books up to my penthouse porcupine pad, and did it with good cheer, even showing up an hour early.  He did give me some crap for being in better shape than me, though, and urged me to stop drinking diet cola (I have) and the Nashua tap water (I haven’t).  So when I received an invitation to his party, I felt compelled to be there.  And since John lives in Grafton, that’s where I went.

Grafton, NH: population 923 per the U.S. Census of 1990.  To get there, drive up U.S. 3 to Concord, head northwest, and keep going.  And don’t blink, because if you’re not paying attention, you’ll drive right past it.  Long-time followers of the Free State Project may remember Grafton as the destination of the Free Town Project.  But which Free Town Project?  Multiple groups take credit for the idea of trying to get Free Staters to congregate in one small town with minimal-to-no zoning requirements, to take the liberty-lovers-gathering-in-one-place concept to the next level.  Unfortunately, the whole thing turned sour when one guy ticked off one lady. As is common in very small towns, people talk.  Before you knew it, half the town was pissed off at the FTP’ers, and by extension the FSP.  Fur flew, heads rolled.  Now, if the Free Town Project continues to exist at all (I honestly don’t know), it does so much more quietly.  I have observed an anomalously large number of FSP migrants settling in Grafton, though.  hmmmmm

John is a volunteer fireman (now how cool is that? “Whadya do this weekend, buddy?” “Aw, I saved a life.”), and he and his lovely wife (a fierce freedom fighter in her own right) held the party in the town firehouse.  I was surprised by the number of attendees; I couldn’t get that many people to a party in my honor if I PAID them.  There were people of all ages: some quite elderly and bent over from osteoporosis, some young and showing the firetrucks to their toddlers.  It made me feel odd, as if I was an anthropologist observing what life in small-town America used to be like.  Many people I knew: FSP migrants (John has helped several move their furniture); Libertarian Party of New Hampshire members (John is the party chair, and has been for several years), and others I knew from assorted political shenanigans in state.  It was obvious that John has taken the time to spread roots in this tiny town and flinty state.  I was reminded of the final scene in Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life”, where, in his time of need, many people came to Jimmy Stewart’s aide, remembering the personal kindnesses and civic contributions he had humbly made over many years in Bedford Falls.  If friends are wealth, then I raise my glass to you, John, “the richest man in town”.

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