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04/25/2007 Archived Entry: "The power of the "little people""

THIS IMAGE FROM JPFO HAS HAUNTED ME since I first saw it several weeks ago. For one thing, it's just a great graphic. But also, a great idea.

Why do 100 million (or 80 million, or 50 million, or whatever) gun owners allow themselves to be terrorized by such a small band of thugs? (2300 is the number of ATF employees dedicated to infringing on the Second Amendment.) I'm sure if you asked around the answers would range anywhere from simple ignorance, arrogance, or apathy ("They'll never come for my trap gun") to terror ("Yeah, but those 2300 have the whole fedgov behind them" or "Yeah, but when even a dozen of those bastards come after you, you're outnumbered").

In either case, the ATF -- and the whole brutal, unconstitutional, control-freaking federal government wins while we lose. Just because we don't exercise our own obvious power. If a mere one percent of gun owners said, "No more!" the entire ATF could be exiled to the North Pole, where global warming could eventually send them down below where they belong.

But we can't gather our strength.

Still. That great graphic by Brian Axtell is a powerful something to think about. Here's an example of "the power of the little people" -- and I warn you this is seemingly unrelated and has to do with dogs:

Frosty the foster dog -- the unsocialized Australian cattle dog pup who spent her first six months in a horse trailer and her next two in a shelter -- is a critter of peace and goodwill. There's not an aggressive hair on her furry little body. She submits so readily to Boss-Dog Robbie that he can rarely even find any excuse to beat her up (something he likes to do regularly with whatever dog might currently be low on the totem pole).

But. Frosty made her cross-country journey in a nice little travel crate. It was her refuge and her only security on the long, scary trip into foster care. Her first week at Cabin Sweet Cabin, she barely emerged from it. Even now, she likes to sleep in it and often takes treats there to protect them from other dogs. That crate is hers, hers, HERS. When she's not in it, she allows other dogs to use it. But when she's "at home" ... well, you don't mess with Frosty. Any other dog approaches too close and Frosty shows the teeth and growls the growls.

Robbie loves that crate, too. When Frosty's not in it, Robbie probably is. Yesterday, he really wanted to nap there. But Frosty was already in residence. Being king of the household and Bully-in-Chief, Robbie would normally have just shoved himself into the crate, expecting any other dog to creep submissively out. He uses similar techniques -- when I'm not watching -- to raid other dogs' bones, toys, and food bowls.

But Robbie knew that Frosty would fight for that crate. And Frosty knew that her ownership of that crate was absolute. So Robbie laid patiently, six inches outside the open door. And Frosty, who's normally scared of her own shadown and quick to surrender anything Robbie claims, rested in her crate like a queen, confident that even though the Big Dog might be uncomfortably close, he wouldn't come in.

William Pitt the Elder once expressed a British freedom ideal:

The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the force of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storms may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England cannot enter; all his forces dare not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement!

Frosty still remembers what we humans seem to have forgotten, as we submit our homes, our records, and our possessions to the inspection of the thuggish minions of our bureaucratic king.

Posted by Claire @ 02:31 PM CST
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