Layne Hansen - Careful Measurements

I would like to thank my wife, Sherry, for her advice and support. I would also like to thank those who have read and critiqued this work: Cynthia, Ryan, Lisa, Nichol, Jared. Big thanks to the very talented Landon Rasmussen, who painted the cover. I would like to thank my brother Chris for helping me get this published. Lastly, I would like to thank those who have thought about, written, and fought for freedom for the individual—and for those who continue to do so.

Like many authors will tell you, writing this novel has been a labor of love… and frustration. This book is ten years in the making. It started with the question of what would happen if there was actual, full economic equality. Since this type of large-scale experiment described in this book would likely never happen, I have used my understanding of human nature, economics, politics, and my imagination to answer this question. The result is what you now hold in your hands.

Many readers will say something like “man, this guy really hates liberals,” but this is not the case. I have many liberal friends. You could also say that I hate liberalism, but that isn’t true either. People long ago hijacked that word, which actually means social and economic advancement while maintaining political and economic freedom. What I do hate is the idea that some people are smarter than others, and therefore, they must create governments. Those governments create policies, which dictate how people should live their lives. The audacity and arrogance behind this idea is truly breathtaking.

This philosophy has taken many forms, and goes by many names: socialism, communism, progressivism, among others. The fundamental idea, however, is common among all of these approaches, i.e., some individuals have the right, if not the obligation, to help others get through life. What they never say out loud, however, is that their desire to “help” others is their way to create wealth and power for themselves. George Orwell captured this idea best in his masterwork Animal Farm where he wrote, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” As happens in that book, the elite—the self-proclaimed intellectually and morally superior—steal the resources created by others. They keep some for themselves and give the rest to others in order to remain in power.

The desire to be free and the desire to control are two extremely powerful forces. They are like warm and cold weather fronts—when they collide they create a vicious storm that affects everyone it in its wake. This collusion creates human misery. This idea is best encapsulated by another Orwell masterpiece, 1984 . The book’s protagonist, Winston Smith, has been arrested for crimes against the state. While being tortured into giving up any sense of individuality, Smith has this exchange with his tormentor:

O’Brien: “How does one man assert his power over another?

Winston: “By making him suffer.”

O’Brien: “Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough… If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face… forever.”

This scene—this boot of dominance—has been played and replayed throughout history, in every corner of the globe. Thankfully, America (outside of a few groups) has been spared the worst of this misery, mostly due to its Constitution, its strong political institutions, and what I like to call political DNA—our ingrained expectation of freedom.

Human misery is scalar and we Americans are somewhere in the middle. Perhaps Milton Friedman described this best when he said, “When government - in pursuit of good intentions - tries to rearrange the economy, legislate morality, or help special interests, the cost come in inefficiency, lack of motivation, and loss of freedom. Government should be a referee, not an active player.” As groups gain more and more control, however, the misery will increase.

Other parts of the world are not so lucky. The road of history is paved with the corpses of victims of the philosophy that some individuals or groups have the right to control others. Whether one is called King, Queen, Emperor, Fuhrer, General Secretary, or President, the human misery is the same. An enormous majority of human beings desire to be free—to be left alone. Others have the psychotic need to control others. Where this comes from is still a mystery to scientists, but it’s real nonetheless.

I truly believe that, if an experiment as described in this book were set up in real life, the outcomes would be very similar to those experienced by these characters. Unless , that is, a large enough group of people stand up and fight against those trying to take away their liberty. Like Ronald Reagan said in his farewell address, “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.”

We are losing this in America. Hopefully, I have created something here that will help to wake a long-sleeping giant. There truly are some out there that seek to take away your freedom. Why? Because, in a strange way, it fulfills something within them. We need to wake up, join together, and start fighting back.

Thank you for reading.

The windshield wipers screeched across the old truck’s cracked windshield, but they did nothing to improve the driver’s view. Countless layers of dirt and dead bugs cast a milky sheen on the glass, made worse by the glare of the setting sun. Hank Williams blared from the stereo system that the driver’s grandson installed the year before.

That kid thinks this is his truck, the man thought with a grudging smile. It was something the old farmer had never been able to get through his grandson’s thick skull—this was Grandpa’s truck and would be until the day he died. Memories flooded his mind as he gazed across his expansive farmland. Learning how to drive the old tractor. Moving countless miles of sprinkler pipe. Tromping through the fields with his father and grandfather with mud-caked boots. Those long ago days caused tears to sting at his eyes.

Perhaps Ronald Harris was feeling sentimental because his end was coming sooner than later. He was stepping down as owner, president and CEO of Harris Farms, Inc. the next day. It used to be called “the farm,” but the operation had become so prosperous his sons demanded that he incorporate. This land, so loved and toiled over, had sustained his family for generations. His grandfather bought the first small parcel of land and slowly added to it when others couldn’t afford to keep going. His own father did the same and now here he was, about to pass it all along to his own sons and grandsons. This wasn’t just land and structures and equipment—it was a legacy, he thought as he crested a familiar rise.

He descended again, bringing a small, fertile valley into view. The crops were coming in fine, he could see. Harris’ dreamy melancholy suddenly came to a halt, however, when he saw that a disheveled figure was walking towards him. Apparently the man was unaware that he was in the middle of the road. He appeared to be wearing a military uniform. It was smeared with dirt. His boots were caked with mud. Harris brought the truck to a rolling stop. He wasn’t a swearing man but a curse word from his childhood nearly escaped his lips. Harris stepped out of the truck and slowly walked towards the man. Harris reached him as he was about to collapse to the ground.