The Probability Broach, chapter 20

Even in the anarcho-capitalist North American Confederacy, dealing with the government is an exhausting ordeal. Win Bear was up late testifying before the delegates of the Continental Congress and making a few light death threats against journalists. He rolls out of bed late the next morning, groggy and miserable. Luckily for him, there’s no need to rush:

…even after I met Lucy in Liberty Hall, things still weren’t about to “pop.” A few were eating Telecom breakfasts. The guy to our left was napping again. If I hadn’t seen his chair empty last night, I could have sworn he hadn’t moved. I ordered another glass of milk and waited, thinking about “Anarchist Standard Time.” Shortly after noon, Olongo used a brand-new gavel to hammer things back into shape.

I suppose this is meant to be comical, but again, it bears emphasizing that this meeting was called to discuss the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over their civilization—and still, very few people seem to be taking it seriously.

When the Continental Congress finally resumes, President Jenny Smythe moves to declare a state of emergency. But a delegate asks what she’s actually proposing they do—are they declaring war on Win’s world?—and she’s flummoxed. Apparently, no one on the good guys’ side had given any thought to this question until now.

Win sees his moment and rises to address the delegates. War and centralized government are foreign concepts to the North American Confederacy, but he has experience with them, so he has some ideas about how to handle this:

“Maybe I can tell you what would happen, and whatever you don’t like, you can throw out—including me, if necessary. Whatever you do like, one of you could propose formally, and we can get on with it.”

“That might be permissible, if there are no objections. Do I hear—”

“Objections?” shouted Madison. He and his entourage were just coming in. “If this person is who he claims, he has no right to address this body, not being a citizen of the Confederacy! Or, he’s a criminal impostor, to be ejected immediately! In either event—”

“Sez who, Madison?” Lucy hollered. “Call me a citizen, you’ll get a Dakota pine cone planted where it’ll germinate quick!”

“Order! Lucy, deplore as I might the way you express it, I must say I agree. We will not have guards at our borders, nor papers to establish who belongs. There are no citizens here, Mr. Madison, nor subjects, nor serfs. Lieutenant Bear, do you live and work upon this continent?”

“I guess I do now, Mr. Vice President. Say, I have a bank account in Laporte. Does that help?”

The great anthropoid smiled. “I’ve no better qualification, myself. I don’t believe anyone would challenge my right to speak in this assembly.”

Despite Smith’s best efforts, there are a few good moments in this book. This is one of them.

While many other implications of his worldview are repugnant, this is one of the better ones. Anarchy means open borders: no artificial boundary lines, no restrictions on where human beings can live, work or travel, no rights that depend on a happenstance of birth. Smith doesn’t shrink from depicting this, so I’ll give him credit for being a consistent anarchist.

This is all the more important since conservatives in our world have become rabidly anti-immigrant, possibly to the greatest extent since the Know-Nothing party of the 1850s. It’s colossally hypocritical that the people who shout the loudest about free markets and liberty are also the most vicious about expelling and terrorizing immigrants.

Win’s proposal to the Continental Congress is threefold. First, he says, they should raise money to study the Probability Broach, so they can either use it in their own defense, or prevent invaders from using it against them. He suggests that they should contact the Propertarian Party in his own world, as a friendly group who’ll be their allies. Finally, he says, they should arrest Madison and his henchmen and interrogate them until they confess what they’ve done with Win’s kidnapped friends:

“Mr. Vice President,” Madison said, “if we’re to be imprisoned, I’d like to hear the charges… and who the damaged parties are.”

“He’s got a point,” Jenny admitted. “Name the crime, name the victim—the basis for all adjudication.”

… “What about Clarissa and Ed?” I shouted.

“Did we see these people snatch ’em?” Lucy asked, joining us up front. “Any witnesses to Madison’s threats?”

In this passage, Lucy strongly implies a criminal case against the Hamiltonians would fail because there were no witnesses who actually saw their friends Clarissa and Ed get kidnapped.

We previously saw that the North American Confederacy doesn’t know about fingerprints, and indeed seems to lack any real concept of forensic evidence, so this is consistent with that. But it’s bizarre, in this supposedly high-tech society, that it’s impossible to prosecute a crime unless you catch the culprit in the act.

When it appears Madison is going to get away with it, the good guys try a Hail Mary pass. Lucy invokes what passes for the NAC’s justice system, accusing Madison of kidnapping Ed and Clarissa and orchestrating the attacks on herself and Win, despite having no evidence:

Without waiting for the gavel, she took the few remaining steps. “John Jay Madison, also known as Manfred von Richthofen, I accuse you of kidnapping and attempted murder. The victims: Edward William Bear of Laporte; Clarissa MacDougall Olson of same; and Edward William Bear of the United States of America. Also, Lucille Gallegos Kropotkin of Laporte, Lesser Coprates, and Ceres Central. Select a neutral adjudicator and post bond in the amount of five thousand gold ounces per complaint. Failure to do so will be proclaimed throughout the land, and you may be ostracized and banished from Civilization. What say you, John Jay Madison?”

“Nice try.” He punched out a bank transfer and tossed it at her. “There’s more where that came from, Your Honor. I’ll see you in court… in thirty days! Somehow, I suspect you won’t be able to make it.” He continued in a whisper, “I guarantee your cocomplainants won’t.”

Smith doesn’t offer any editorial comment on this, but you could be forgiven for thinking this chapter is trying to illustrate the flaws in his own justice system.

In our world, if someone disappears under suspicious circumstances—which is certainly true here, since Ed and Clarissa disappeared from an airship en route to testify to the Continental Congress—you can file a missing persons report. The police are supposed to investigate, and if there’s evidence pointing to foul play, they can open a criminal case against the person likely to be responsible. In extreme cases, if a person is in imminent danger, they can send in a SWAT team. That’s supposed to be why the state exists: to defend people when they can’t defend themselves.

(Of course, there’s a large and necessary qualification needed for this. There’s a persistent problem of “swatting” attacks, where a malicious party reports a hostage crisis or other major crime at the address of their intended victim, hoping the police will bust down the door and start shooting without asking any questions. Tragically, this murder-by-proxy tactic sometimes succeeds. But swatting is just a special case of false accusation, and just as the remedy for false accusations isn’t to eliminate criminal courts, the remedy for swatting isn’t to eliminate SWAT teams. It’s to have well-trained police who act with discretion and restraint, not Dirty Harrys who charge in guns blazing at the slightest excuse.)

Meanwhile, in Smith’s anarcho-capitalist world, it’s your responsibility to defend yourself against attackers. That’s the point of that monologue about “the hostage kills you“. But if you can’t defend yourself, you’re out of luck. Even if you’re outnumbered and outgunned, it’s still your problem. There’s no third party that can come to the rescue. If you’re taken hostage, your only option is to try to escape on your own.

If you’re lucky enough to have friends, they can file a lawsuit against the presumed abductor. But as TPB itself shows, that’s a toothless remedy. Your friends have to have some idea of who’s responsible, and even if they do, the criminal can easily stall until any hope of rescue is gone.

Smith makes a big deal of how there are no “victimless crimes” in this society, but this chapter shows a dark implication of that principle: you can get away with anything, as long as you ensure your victims are unable to speak in their own defense. This creates a dangerous incentive for criminals to escalate. If you rob or assault someone, you’d be better off killing them, to make sure they won’t talk!

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Other posts in this series:

• The Probability Broach