This tale of "free trade" is based on one of my encounters with the state cult.  

The intercom rings in my apartment.  I get excited because I’m expecting an important package.  “Hello?”

“Delivery for you.  Please come downstairs.”

I bebop downstairs and get a tiny piece of paper handed to me by the delivery guy.

“What’s this?”

“You have a package, sir.”

“No I don’t.  I have a little sheet of paper.”

“Well, it’s a delivery notice.  It has instructions on how to get your package.”

“I thought that your job was to deliver the package, not a little slip of paper.”

“Well, uh, I do deliver packages.  Everything you need to know is right there on the notice.”

Delivery guy runs away.    

After carefully translating the legalese, I deduce that my package, which contains medicine I cannot live without nor buy in the country of my current residence, is being violently held for ransom by an authoritarian gang called “customs.”

I decide to have some fun with it.  I call the police.  “Yes, I’d like to report a violent theft.”

“Can you hold?”

“Absolutely not.  I had a package commandeered and it is being held against my will by a gang and they’re demanding I pay them before they’ll allow me to get my package.”

“Uh, what type of gang?”

“Well, they sit behind desks, act smug, snivel, cackle, and have no idea what the difference between right and wrong is.  And if I try to take my stuff without paying them, they’ll….” I pause for effect…."Call a different gang, with uniforms, guns, and badges, to violently extort me or throw me in a cage.”

“I don’t understand anything you’re saying. Is this a joke?”

“I know that you work for the government, so I believe you when you say that you don’t understand the words I just said. Goodbye.”

Wow, that felt great!  Ok, moving on.  Time to call “customs”. 

I call the number repeatedly and finally a stuffy-sounding little dupe answers.  I explain the situation, “Yes, the organization you work for has stolen my stuff and is demanding ransom.”

“What?”

“I am supposed to have a package, but instead I have a little slip of paper called a delivery notice.”

I give him the tracking number on my expensive slip of paper.

“Oh, yeah, those are medical supplies, so you have to get a permit to receive them.”

“What’s a permit?”

“Well, it’s a, um.”

“Let me assist, please.  A “permit” is an expensive piece of paper which people imagine gives them special rights, and without this paper they could possibly be robbed, caged, or beaten.  In short, it is a violent restriction on liberty.”

“Well, ya need it, or I can’t do anything for you.”

“Are you aware of all the free trade agreements that have been painstakingly written by stuffed bureaucrats around the world? These free trade agreements guarantee extortion-free delivery of goods, don’t they?”

“I’m not familiar with any free trade.”

“Yes, that much is painfully obvious. So you’re telling me that I can’t get my medicine without wasting my time and money to get a piece of paper? Not only that, but then I’ll have to go to wherever your stolen house of goods is and retrieve the package myself, despite the fact that I already paid to have it delivered by a private company? And if I don’t do all these things, then I won’t get my medicine, I’ll suffer, and I’ll possibly die.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“BUT THAT IS THE TRUTH!”

I cut the call and air slam the phone with a wild pump fake.    

And then I leave the country, and move on with my life.  

Gotta love "free trade", right? 

Thanks for your time and attention!

Just say "NO" to slavery!

Top image is from Flickr