A Call for a General Strike of the Flying Classes

IN A CAUSE WHICH WILL TRIUMPH

I think it was the late Karl Hess who once referred to Atlas Shrugged as a novel about a General Strike of the creative classes. In his post-Rothbardian phase, Hess sought to blend anarcho-syndicalism, anarcho-capitalism, and general Don't-Tread-On-Me redneckism into a coherent political outlook. That last item is not, come to think of it, a criticism. Anyway, Hess's eclecticism was interesting, but maybe not that workable.

Whoever made the remark about a General Strike, it is a nice figure of speech. I am proposing something much more modest. I am calling on my fellow British North Americans to refrain from flying, if at all possible, forever more, until such time as American airports are no longer run by little Gauleiters, Vice-Führers, party apparatchiks, and fellows whose names should be in the Venona Documents. (Not to mention the pervs, squeezers, and frottants.)

GET YOUR KICKS ON ROUTE SIXTY-SIX

No, my friends, far better to drive the damned old car or truck hundreds of miles overland than to submit to searches by foot fetishists, bag pilferers, and petty nail-clipper thieves. National Sadism may be the political fashion of the moment, but so what?

Things were bad enough before The Day the Defense Department Stood Still.

About two and half years ago, I had to fly into JFK airport after a week of dealing with Koreans. Talk about the culture shock. Everybody in Seoul had been reasonably polite. By contrast, nobody at JFK rose above some legally mandated level of surliness, tempered by inactivity. I wondered why there were so many bums and derelicts in the place, until I realized they were the staff.

I expected so much more from our high-toned Yankees.

Atlanta wasn't so great, either. There, female authoritarians would yell at you: "Stand there. Put that bag on the conveyer. Move along!" On the other hand, you can always buy Mr. Farakhan's newspaper in that airport.

As airports go, there is something to be said for Salt Lake City. People are pretty reasonable, and Utahphobes can rejoice in that, half the time, they are leaving Zion. I was okay, either way, except the time I had to pay double because I hadn't booked the shuttle in advance.

But those were happier days. Now the airports are Occupied Territory. Occupied to what ends and with what outcome, exactly, it would be hard to say, but occupied certainly by the malevolent spirit that has possessed those people since at least 1861.

So rotate your tires. Check the air. Get your oil changed. Hit the open road.

SET UP YOUR OWN NO-FLY ZONE. TAKE THE PLEDGE. BANKRUPT EVERY AIRLINE BUT QANTAS, IF NEED BE.

January 8, 2003

     

Political Theatre

LRC Blog

LRC Podcasts