Establishing Trust(s)

Filling out an online questionnaire on his phone, Burt had gotten to the final question.

“Of the following, which is most important to you?”

The choices were: “Friends, Family, Freedom, Firearms, Fornication, Food, Frivolity, and Fomites”.

Burt lived across the street from the local VFW, with a large American flag now drooping in the windless, clear sky. Just down the street, there was a Perkins Restaurant, with an even bigger American flag drooping even more, if that were possible. He recalled seeing both flags the day before, when there were 30 mile an hour gusts cracking both flags against the wind, audibly reminding those within hearing distance of the cost of 13 stripes and 50 stars: whether through taking arms against a sea of troubles or ordering the Everything Omelet. To Burt, it was one and the same, sort of.

Thinking of the flags, and the theme of the alliteration in relation to the choices, he clicked on the box indicating, “Freedom”.

From his phone, a message displayed, “You win!” with fireworks and John Phillip Sousa tubas and trombones.

Ten seconds later there was a knock on the door.

Upon opening the door, Burt spied a bespectacled, balding man with an off-kilter mustache in an ill-fitting suit. His tie was undone at the collar and he was looking at a tablet.

“Would you come with me, please?” the man asked, without seeming to even glance at Burt.

“Who are you?” Burt asked as he grabbed his keys, put on his coat, and slipped on his shoes without tying the laces.

“I am the personification of that which will be defined later as freedom,” the man pivoted abruptly on his right heel and began walking away from Burt’s home.

Burt studied the freedom guy again as he plodded along after him. His gait, almost militaristic but not as rigid, didn’t draw anyone’s attention, least of all Burt’s. Burt caught himself almost stumbling into him several times. The man had good shoes, slightly worn at the heels but otherwise in solid shape. He noticed a slight odor in the man’s wake, like cigarettes gone stale.

“Can I ask your name?” Burt asked.

“Just call me Rex.”

Rex gave a glance back at Burt as he paused in front of a black Tesla Model X parked on the street in front of Burt’s house. As Burt expected, the license plate on the car read, “FREEDOM”.

“Get in,” he commanded as he opened the passenger door for Burt, helping Burt into the vehicle and then walking around to the driver side.

The interior was the epitome of leather-bound luxury, filled with everything a person could possibly desire, including a portable bar, with a blender.

“Help yourself,” the man said, as he mixed himself an Alka-Seltzer.

It was still late morning, a bit too early for a cocktail. Burt just poured himself a V-8 with a few drops of tabasco for flavor.

After grimacing from the Alka-Seltzer, Rex snorted.

“I think I’ve got some goji berry granola in the back,” he sneered.

“Nah, I’m good with this,” Burt said, eyeing Rex with suspicion.

Burt watched as he brought up the Tesla dashboard screen and directed the car to the airport.

“I shudder to think what would have happened if I had chosen ‘fornication’,” Burt remarked.

“Yeah, I know,” Rex shot back, then sizing up Burt with a wry once-over as he brought the car out into the street. “But would you, really?”

“So what happens now?” Burt asked, squirming as he tried to change the subject.

“Now we determine what freedom means to you in a real sense, beyond the abstract. Then we’ll do our best to grant it to you.”

“Really?” Burt asked, clicking his seat belt into place.

“It all comes down to self-determination for most of us,” Rex stated, not bothering with his own seat belt. “Why do you wear a seat belt?”

“To keep me from flying out the windshield if we crashed,” Burt stated.

“It’s all for your own safety?”

“Of course, there used to be people who would catch you on camera if you weren’t wearing one. Then I think the fine was around $50.”

“So if you didn’t have to wear a seat belt, you wouldn’t?”

“I suppose that’s true, yes,” Burt fingered the latch of his seat belt, but didn’t remove it.

“What about speeding?” Rex asked as he floored the accelerator, throwing Burt against the back of his seat and causing the tomato juice to spill all over himself.

“Isn’t this fun?” Rex said, expertly weaving in and out of traffic on the highway while leaving a honking wake of cars and trucks behind him. “But I suppose you always drive the speed limit, don’t you? Why is that?”

“S…S…afe..ty,” Burt stuttered, as Rex braked hard to normal driving speed. “Plus, I don’t want to get caught and lose my license.”

“Ben Franklin said, ‘Those who would give up freedom for safety deserve neither.’ Would you say that applies to seat belts or speeding?”

Burt sopped up the tomato juice as best he could before responding.

“It depends. On the one hand, having a car represents freedom because you can go just about anywhere you want, and if everyone follows the rules…”

“And subsequent regulations?” Rex interrupted.

“…right. If everyone follows those, there are fewer accidents. Accidents greatly reduce your opportunity to get to a certain place at a certain time, since they back up traffic for miles, especially during rush hour.

“But on the other hand, I suppose there are those people who feel they’re inhibited by not being able to drive as fast they want, with or without seat belts. I guess that applies to helmet laws, too. Those people who would drive a motorcycle without a helmet. A lot of motorcyclists hate riding in a car because it feels like a cage.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Rex grunted. “But what about you? What do you think of all that?”

Burt gave a quick shrug.

“I haven’t been on a motorcycle much. As far as going as fast as I want, I can pretty much do that anyway so long as I’m careful about it. I honestly don’t like going much faster than the normal flow of traffic. My car is really not built for that.”

“Most cars aren’t. What if someone deliberately cuts you off?” Rex asked and pointed. “Like this guy?”

A black Dodge Ram pulled up alongside us. The guy driving it rolled down his window and flicked his cigarette at us as he continued by us and abruptly pulled right in front of us, unleashing thick, black smoke out of his twin tailpipes and completely obstructing our view. Burt gripped the door handle tightly, as they were suddenly driving blind.

“As I understand it, these guys are called ‘coal-rollers’,” Rex said with a grimace as he flicked open a panel on the dashboard. “I gather they hate Teslas, or any kind of EV.”

The panel demonstrated a mapping system of what Burt assumed were the tires of the vehicle ahead of them. It included trajectory calculations for each tire plus a large red button.

“What is that?” Burt asked, increasingly wary of the button, while coughing at the sight of the smoke in front of them as it spilled in through the air vents.

“It’s a vehicular protection system for when people get nasty,” Rex responded as his finger wavered over the button. “It’ll take out the tires of the people in front of us. I bought it on the dark web a few months back. Shall I push the button?”

“I’d prefer if we were to just avoid them. Seems like they’re asking for enough problems of their own without us adding to them,” Burt replied. “Isn’t freedom as much about not giving into our impulses, about saying no to a given order or desire?”

In response, Rex checked his mirrors, swerved to the other lane, and punched the accelerator as he elegantly weaved around the smoke-billowing truck. As they pulled around it, the driver of the truck and his companion watched the Tesla with mouths agape.

“In one sense,” Rex espoused as he glanced at the rear-view mirror and nodded, appreciating the increasing distance between us and the truck. “That guy was expressing his freedom of speech to hate Teslas and making it extremely difficult for us, and everybody else, to drive on the same highway as himself. On the other hand, he was being a colossal dick and probably having his buddy take selfies of himself as they coal-rolled us. While they were doing that, they weren’t checking the road behind them. Of course, that’s made much more difficult when you’re littering the atmosphere behind you with black smoke.”

Burt flinched as he watched a semi-truck crash into the back end of the truck, sending the truck, and the smoking back-end of the truck, careening into the ditch. He watched until he saw the driver and the passenger step out of the truck, shaking.

“How do you feel about firearms?” Rex asked, opening his jacket to reveal a Glock G19X in a holster.

Burt’s eyes went a bit wide as he found himself gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“To be honest, they seem like they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Granted, I’m pretty good on a firing range but that’s all I want to do with them. I suppose to me it seems kind of like that scene in The Empire Strikes Back, when Luke asks Yoda what’s in the dark side cave on Dagobah.”

“Only what you bring with you.”

“Exactly.”

Rex took in a deep breath, puffed his cheeks, and slowly blew the air out.

“So what do you think about what’s happening in Ukraine right now?”

“As it applies to freedom?”

“No, as it applies to borscht,” Rex smacked Burt’s arm. “Of course, as it applies to freedom.”

Burt thought for a minute.

“It’s kind of a flash point between two different ideas: democracy or authoritarianism, or at least that’s how it’s being portrayed in most of the articles I read.”

“And what’s the difference between those?”

“In a democracy the people choose their leaders, and they follow the laws that are established by the people; while in authoritarian states, authoritarians tell people how they will lead and the people have to follow. While people have to educate themselves to become responsible citizens in a democracy, in an authoritarian state they’re simply told what to do by the state. In that sense, so long as the people can live their lives without being repressed, authoritarian states are more free in that people don’t have to decide what they’ll do.”

“But being told what to do, isn’t that less freedom?”

“As it relates to self-determination, yes. But as it relates to being carefree, no. If you think about what you’re doing, to yourself or to others, that can require a substantial amount of mental effort, application of morals, and thinking through consequences of a potential action. By that reasoning, it’s possible to be more spontaneous in an authoritarian state. You just do what you’re told.”

Rex brought up another panel on his dashboard labeled, “Oil slick”.

“So this lady behind me has been tailgating me, riding my butt just inches away from my bumper, for the last five miles. By your logic, I should think carefully before I push this button that will send her spinning into a ditch and make me momentarily much happier?”

“Well, yeah,” Burt looked visibly nervous. “I mean, that oil won’t just take her off the road. It’ll also take every car that follows her off the road, too. Granted, she is choosing to be dangerous by riding your bumper. But does that mean you should risk property damage, and possible physical damage, to her and others behind her? Plus, you’ll get oil on your Tesla, which makes absolutely no sense, since they’re supposed to be hydrocarbon free.”

Burt found himself holding his breath until Rex closed the oil slick panel.

Rex went through a jeering routine of imitating what Burt said as he closed the panel.

Burt cautiously asked, “Also purchased off the dark web?”

Rex nodded, adding, “In my experience, people don’t necessarily like to figure stuff out for themselves. We’re much more prone to playing follow the leader: being told how to act, how to think, how to eat, how to dress, how to look, or how to smell.”

“Smell?”

“You ever been in a boy’s high school locker room? They all smell like Polo.”

Rex shifted in his seat.

“I’m sorry for changing the subject. But how would you say that flash point’s being played out in real time?”

Burt gazed out at the roadside.

“From our perspective, it looks like democracy is winning. The people of Ukraine, coupled with most of western Europe and other democracies; all of them are presenting a united front against authoritarianism. Of course, it also helps greatly that the oligarchs siphoned off more than a fair share of what was supposed to go towards Russia’s military might.

“But the idea that democracy is the righteous underdog in this fight, in a sense that underdog mentality is helping to unite the rest of the world against Russia. Ukraine, in terms of its land and its army, is tiny against Russia.”

Burt contorted his face a bit as he thought a bit more.

“In another way, I would liken freedom to having a dog.”

Burt relaxed a bit then, enjoying the comforts of the car ride rather than looking distraught, as he had done for most of the car ride so far.

“If you get a dog, you have to assume responsibility for the dog and take care of it. You have to walk it, give it food and water, and take it to the vet once in a while. While it’s great that we have dogs, in the same way, they limit our choices of what we can and can’t do. We can’t leave the house whenever we want, because we have to take care of the dog. If you want a good, well-behaved dog, you have to put in the work to train and take care of the dog.

“If you don’t bother to put in the effort or responsibility that comes with owning a dog, the dog will likely turn out bad.”

Rex opened the seat divider and pulled out an exquisitely carved cigar box. He opened it and offered one to Burt, who shook his head to decline.

“All of the talk about democracy being threatened, about the capitulation of human rights,” Rex continued, pulling out a cigar for himself. “All of that is second hand when a few men decide there is money to be made.

“They hide their tracks well,” he lit an incredibly ornate Cuban cigar, with the leaves woven into tight tendrils so as to make it look like an enormous braid. “It’s not so much money laundering anymore so much as money washing. With money washing, they hide their wealth in plain sight: London, the East Coast, even South Dakota; anywhere with lax tax laws and enforcement. All the libertarians out there who complain about government overreach just don’t want to contribute their fair share.”

Burt noticed Rex had taken both hands off the steering wheel to light the cigar as they were heading for a nasty curve. However, the car was able to steer itself, navigating the curve in such an orchestrated manner that neither of them hardly noticed it.

“A. I.,” he shrugged, answering my look of amazement.

“The oligarchs, and others like them, are the men who steer our world, in the direction that further proliferates their wealth. They’ve always been around, and they always will be. Some of it gets inherited by the next generation, but not all of it. Most of them marry for looks rather than brains, and it shows in the idiocy of their offspring.

“Of course, if they were to marry for brains, it’s likely their spouses would see through them and either expose them or figure out a way to steal their money. That’s happened before, but not nearly often enough.”

He paused to dump an inch of ash from the cigar out the window.

“What’s happening now isn’t so much a challenge to democracy as it’s more of a transfer of wealth,” he continued. “Once all those overseas assets were frozen, it became a free-for-all to determine who gets it, and who gets to keep it. In that context, it doesn’t matter who wins the war: what matters is who collects the most money. Even if you end up dying, if you collect the most money, you win.”

“That’s an awfully cynical way of looking at the world,” Burt observed.

“It’s accurate,” Rex offered Burt a raised eyebrow. “Money isn’t freedom, but it can help. Being poor, well, it just exposes you to more than a fair share of inconveniences.

“However, if you’re rich, you run the risk of becoming a slave to your money.”

They pulled up to a private airport, where a Bombardier Challenge 350 was waiting on the tarmac.

“In that event, you have to budget an appropriate amount to protect your money: brokers, lawyers, alarm systems, firearms, fences; all the way to establishing trusts.”

Burt had never known this airport existed, or at least, this part of his area’s current major airport existed. He was surrounded by a sea of Gulfstreams and Cessnas.

“That’s not to say that Bill of Rights type freedoms aren’t important, they most certainly are,” Rex stated as they left the Tesla. He tossed the keys to a waiting attendant.

“But they can definitely be manipulated by wealth, or powers that be, which is to say increased for some and decreased for others, so that, ultimately, not all of us have the same access to those freedoms.”

“Based solely on wealth?” Burt asked, as he followed Rex into the Bombardier.

“The oligarchs have ruled Russia, and influenced a good chunk of the world, for a while now,” Rex offered a seat to Burt. “Some, but not all, of their money has been seized by Western governments. Looking at it from a libertarian perspective, they’ve been robbed of most of their wealth and influence. They’ll squawk, but not too loudly, as they don’t want people to know just how much they had stolen from everyone else.”

“As I said before,” he pulled out a computer and hit a few keystrokes, keeping the screen turned away from Burt as he sat down opposite him in the passenger area of the Bombardier. “War essentially puts the wealth of a country up for grabs. Once it’s up for grabs, people who know how to take it, like me, can take it.”

He turned the computer screen to Burt.

“I liked what you said about dogs,” Rex said, staring into Burt’s eyes for the first time.

Burt’s attention went from Rex’s eyes to what was essentially a blank check wire transfer.

“How much do you want?”