William Johnstone - Out of the Ashes

“However, there are certain things we are not going to do. We are not going to give up our weapons or disband our army. We are not going to change our laws to pamper thugs, punks, and social misfits who cannot or, as in most cases, will not live under the most basic of laws. We are not going to be ruled—totally—by a distant government in Virginia, or abide by the mumblings of your Supreme Court. Make no mistake about this, too, ladies and gentlemen: we are fully prepared to fight for our freedoms and our beliefs—right down to the last person.”

Ben tapped the podium with a fist, rattling the microphones. “Now let’s clear the air on a few more points. When we pulled into this area, it was chaos—that’s the best one could say about it. The people were confused, disorganized—and that disorganization was partly the fault of the people, but mostly the fault of the federal government. The federal government wouldn’t allow home militias without their so-called ‘guidance.’ But the federal government wasn’t in here helping the people. We were. The federal government didn’t send in doctors, food, medicines. We did it. We did it all, and did a damned good job.

“You won’t find one person in this state suffering from hunger. Not one! We’ve eliminated it; wiped it out in less time than it takes some bills to get out of committee in your Congress. Your government has been attempting to wipe out hunger for decades, with only partial success. Think about that. Write about that. That says a great deal for our system.

“When we got here the elderly were living—most of them—in squalor. Existing might be a better word. Their possessions had been taken from them; they were neglected; and utterly terrified in their own homes, living in fear of punks and thugs and slime you people have, for years, been moaning and sobbing over. Hell, what else is new? Old people have been living in fear for their lives for decades, but you people haven’t done anything about it, except moan and sob about the rights of street punks. We rounded up the punks, shot or hanged them, and helped the elderly put their lives back in order. Now, if that makes me a dictator or a man lacking in compassion, as has been written about me, then I’m proud to be just that.

“And for your information, most doors in the Tri-states aren’t locked at night, or at any other time. The lock on my back door doesn’t even work, and hasn’t for four years. That’s got to tell you something about the way we live; the peace we all feel here. And we are at peace here, wanting trouble with or from no one.

“While you are here, by all means visit our hospitals and research centers and day-care centers and community centers and villages. Talk to anyone you wish to talk with. Visit our schools and see what we’ve done. Then compare what you see with what you’ve just left—out there”—he pointed—“in your United States.

“Visit our planning offices here in Vista, see what we’ve got on the tables for the future. You’ll be surprised, I’m sure. But don’t just report on a society that comes down hard on criminals; one where they are not pampered at taxpayer expense. For once, just once, you people report on both the good and the bad; weigh the rights of decent people against those of criminals. But by all means, do report that the life expectancy of punks is very short in the Tri-states.”

A reporter raised his hand. “Governor, all you say may be true—probably is true—I’m not disputing your word. It’s easy to see that you and your people have done a great deal of good in this area, but the fact is, you stole all the material you brought into this area. That’s something you can’t deny.”

“I have no intention of denying it,” Ben said. “We took from dead areas, transplanted what we took here, and put those materials to use. You people could have done the same—but you didn’t. You people left billions and billions—probably trillions of dollars’ worth of valuable materials to rot and rust, and do absolutely no one any good at all. That is the crime.”

“Governor,”—Judith stood up—“on another topic—or maybe, really it isn’t—on the way here, Mr. Oliver said you don’t have police, but peace officers. Would you explain the difference and why their powers are limited?”

“Peace officers keep the peace,” Ben said simply, and with a smile. “And folks out here—myself included—seem to prefer the name to cops. As to their limited powers, I’ll try to explain, but here is where we veer off sharply from your society and its laws.

“First, and lastly, too, I suppose, a person has to want to live here. You’ll hear that a dozen times before you leave. We are not an open society. Not just anyone can come in here to live. I have no figures to back this, but I would be willing to wager that probably no more than one out of every ten people in America could live under our laws or the type of government we have. Hucksters, shysters, con men, ambulance-chasing lawyers, cheats, liars… those types cannot last in this society. Everything is open and aboveboard in this state. Some of those types have tried to live here. We’ve buried a few; most left.

“Our laws on the books are few, and they are written very simply and plainly. Our laws are taught in our schools, our young people are brought up understanding the do’s and don’t’s of this society. Any person with an average intellect can draw up a legal document in the Tri-states, and it will be honored in a court of law simply because the people in this state are honorable people. That sounds awfully smug, but it is the truth. Here, a person’s word means as much as a written contract. That’s why so many people can’t live in our society. And here, as strange as it seems to you people, all this is working. Working because of one simple, basic fact: one has to want to live here.

“Our peace officers don’t have much to do other than occasionally break up a family fight.” He smiled. “And yes, we do have domestic squabbles here. Or they might issue a traffic ticket; occasionally have to investigate a shooting or a theft. But those are very rare. The army is constantly on patrol, so they pretty well take over most law-enforcement jobs in a preventive manner, so to speak. We’ve found their presence to be a deterrent.”

Barney looked at Badger and could damned well understand why that would be so.

“Now as you probably realize by now,” Ben said, “in the Tri-states, it is not against the law to protect yourself, your loved ones, or your property. That is written into our constitution just as it is in yours… but we enforce it. And there have been killings and woundings. All justified under our laws.

“Now, I’m going to tell you something all of you will find very difficult to believe. But it is the truth. The Tri-states take in approximately three hundred and thirty thousand square miles of territory. Per capita, we have .025 percent crime. I don’t know how in the Lord’s name a society could get any lower statistics than that. We’ve had one mugging in the Tri-states in the past two years.”

“What happened to the mugger?”

“Twenty-five years at hard labor,” Ben said calmly.

“Twenty-five years!” a reporter jumped to his feet. “My God, General Raines—what kind of laws do you people have in this state?”

“I just told you. Tough ones.”

Several of the press people shuddered. Some smiled in disbelief.

“We have very tough drinking laws in this state,” Ben said. “And they are enforced to the letter. No exceptions. If you doubt that, take a drive up to the state penitentiary and ask to speak to a Mr. Michael Clifford; he was our secretary of finance until two years ago. He got drunk one night and ran over a young girl. She was badly injured. Mr. Clifford is serving a ten-year-to-life sentence. Had the girl died, the charge would have been murder. Not manslaughter—murder. And he would have spent the rest of his life in prison, at hard labor. No probation, no parole.