Creator1

In the mid- 16th century, an 18-year-old Étienne de La Boétie wrote a controversial piece called Discourse on Voluntary Servitude. Unfortunately, La Boétie succumbed to the plague prior to its publishing. This was left to his friend Michel Montaigne, who faithfully remained by La Boétie’s side until his end.

Discourse on Voluntary Servitude deals with the concept of the will to be governed. In short, the author theorizes that tyranny (and other forms of government) persist not because of their strength and resources, but because of the voluntary submission of the people. La Boétie suggests that if people simply refused to obey, the power of the tyranny would collapse. He urges that civil disobedience and passive resistance be practiced and argues that it’s been historically a powerful tool in fighting oppression.

Please keep in mind that the above is about an 80-word summary of a full length ‘book’ spanning 20–30 pages depending on the publication, it also deals with power dynamics, psychological/social/institutional reasons why people choose to be unjustly governed, natural liberty and more. I would encourage readers to research themselves and understand that this is cherry picking that piece of the text.

While we don’t necessarily live in a tyranny, and it may not seem like we are necessarily in ‘servitude’, although my socialist and communists that I know would argue we are, this text can still apply to us. How does this apply to the Supreme Court?

Well, while we cannot necessarily remove ourselves wholly from the system tomorrow, there are ways to use the power most people do have to enforce change. My suggestion would be to refuse to serve, service, or assist members of the Supreme Court and their immediate families until they resign.

Hear me out here!

The title is ‘An unlikely, very obnoxious, maybe effective, kinda funny, and free market way of dealing with the Supreme Court’, I know that this would involve essentially complete community involvement in virtually all facets of life, but boy would it be funny!

Let me illustrate how frustrating this would be for even a family member of Samuel Alito. In this instance, I have traded my hard, chiseled, exterior in for the aging vessel that is Martha-Ann Alito. Now, as a newly self-described libertarian who focuses on her kids, it’s really an issue to me when my air conditioning goes out! (For reference, my new house is in Alexandria, VA and it was 101 degrees Fahrenheit today.)

I call the first HVAC company I can find, and they are happy to fit me into the schedule, I provide my address, and the office manager enters it in. There’s a pause, a long pause. ‘ooooh, actually. I’m really sorry, I misread our schedule. We don’t have any availability for four months…’ FOUR MONTHS?! I hung up and tried another HVAC company then three more, all are booked up! Finally, after about an hour and 12 degrees hotter, I get someone to come out right away. I greet the technician at the door, ‘Thank goodness you were able to come! I’ve been calling my husband but he’s in court!’

The technician stops fiddling with his tablet, ‘You said your name was Alito? Like Justice Alito?’ I’m used to this; people are pretty impressed with my husband. ‘Yes! The Supreme Court Justice!” I gloat. He puts back his tablet into his bag, shaking his head and starts back towards his van.

‘Wait! Where are you going!?’ I shouted.

‘I just realized we have you listed as a do not service.’ He replies, shutting his door and rolling his window down.

‘Wait! Why? Who’s going to fix my AC? It’s over 100 degrees out!’ I plead.

The technician shrugged, ‘I’m not sure ma’am, I recommend you ask your husband why this house is on a do not service list. My advice is to find someone who doesn’t have you on their list.’ He drove off abruptly.

Frustrated, sweaty, and confused, I promptly hoisted my flag upside down to alert the neighbors of an emergency. This got me plenty of media attention last time I did this. Maybe I can use that as an HVAC SOS! Now I’m hotter, so I go back into my house to get some ice water, it’s now about 89 degrees and humid in my home. As I press my glass against my ice dispenser, I’m greeted with dull grinding sounds of machinery. This grinding is not interrupted by cute chimes from ice cubes tapping my glass because it appears my ice maker in my fridge is broken.

Dehydrated but determined, I headed to my closest gas station to pick up some ice and some beverages. I haul in two bags of ice and heave them onto the counter and greet the employee, we exchange pleasantries. While he’s scanning my ice, I see a picture of me behind him, and he catches my stare. He now looks back at the picture and laughs. ‘Holy shit! That’s you!’ He says in amazement.

‘Yeah! Why do you have a picture of Martha-Ann Alito here!’ Sometimes I like to refer to myself in third person.

‘Aww Geez’ he says mimicking Morty (Martha-Ann Alito doesn’t get this reference, but the author does) ‘We’re not supposed to sell stuff to you. See?’ He points to my picture, and underneath it says, ‘Refuse service’.

‘What the hell? Why can’t you sell it to me, I need this water and ice! This is illegal!’

He shrugs, ‘I don’t know lady, I don’t even know who you are, I was just told if I see you, or anyone else on that list in here, not to sell to them.’

Behind the clerk, there is a line of pictures of all Supreme Court Justices and their immediate family members. The clerk moves the ice and drinks behind the counter.

‘Oh, I see, you want money!’ I rummage through my purse, finding only hundreds and fifties.

‘Yeah, I want money!’ The shop keep says.

I slap fifty bucks on the counter, and we both stare at the money.

‘You want more!?’ and slap a hundred on top of it.

‘Woah! Thanks lady!’ He says as he pockets my money, smirks and nods.

The silence and waiting was longer than necessary.

‘So. My ice and drinks?’

‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, I can’t sell anything to you. See?’ He points at the picture again.

‘I just gave you $150!’

‘Yeah, that was super cool of you! I can accept gifts from you, but I don’t have to really do anything for it. Gifts can’t affect my judgment in managing the gas station.’

At this point, I am hot and thirsty, and something weird is happening. I go to the one place I know I can go and just be, the public library. I shudder at the thought of utilizing a public service and being around the ‘middle class’ who cannot buy their books, but I make my way there anyway.

I finally am greeted with automatic doors and a blast of fresh cool air. Finally! I rush over to the drinking fountain; I cannot contain myself from slurping the water loudly. I look up and see the librarian scowling at my cherry red face, hopefully he sees how dehydrated and overheated I am.

Refreshed, I begin to peruse the library and pick out the latest edition of Compact Magazine, I love my large print version of that and begin to read about how pro union the Republicans are becoming. Before I can pass the second paragraph, after 8 blissful minutes or so of peaceful sitting, someone comes up to me. It’s that librarian, and he has a rainbow pin on his lanyard, now I’m definitely adding another upside-down flag when I get home!

‘Excuse me ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down.’ he says.

‘I’m not talking! I’ve literally been sitting here reading about how pro-union the GOP is!’

‘I’m sorry ma’am but a bunch of guests have said you’ve been talking to yourself and breathing so loudly that others cannot hear their audiobooks.’ He continued. Everyone around me is scowling and piercing me with their eyes.

‘This is ridiculous! Can’t I just go somewhere that is public! I mean I have nowhere I can go! The stores say I can’t go there, the stores kick me out, and my house is uninhabitable! I’m being silent and minding my own business!’

The librarian looks around and becomes very stern.

‘Ma’am, you’re raising your voice and if you become aggressive with me, I’ll call the police.’

‘It’s not a crime to be in a public space! I cannot go anywhere; I cannot go home right now!’

‘So, you’re saying you’re homeless?’ He snickers. ‘I’ll have to call the police if you’re homeless, ma’am, Alexandria recently passed a law making that illegal, your husband was a staunch advocate for this law.’

‘Just get out of here, nobody wants you!’ Shouts a woman from the back, several people echo. I rush to my car where I cry and try to call my husband, I urge him to either get his HVAC license, or step down so we can function as part of society again.

Okay, that was a pretty fun and entertaining exercise in imagination and theory. I hope this story entertained and maybe made my point. I would like to end this with saying that in most cases occupation is not a protected class. The Fair Housing Act, Federal Anti-discrimination laws, the Civil Rights Act, and other laws do prohibit discrimination based or race, color, national origin, religion, sex, familial status, or disability, and does not explicitly protect employment or occupation as a federally protected class or status. In fact in the past occupation has been used to deny housing to certain people (such as refusing sex workers a rental).

Please note that this is satire before anyone gets too upset.