Americans are increasingly dismayed with a broken political system and the big institutions they blame for a Darwinian economy (in which it's getting harder to get ahead). What they've lost sight of is the importance of self-reliance and personal initiative in every individual's quest for prosperity. Liberty For All pushes past the usual go-nowhere policy prescriptions to probe what ordinary people can do to build their own self-reliance and enhance their odds of success. In a wry and entertaining narrative, Rick Newman embarks on a quest to improve his own self-reliance by camping with "doomsday preppers," deconstructing the "rugged individualist" that politicians so often invoke, and detailing the ways we unnecessarily shackle ourselves. The result is a guide to enriching your prospectsand your lifeby harnessing every freedom available.
|Publisher:||St. Martin's Press|
|Product dimensions:||6.20(w) x 9.30(h) x 1.00(d)|
About the Author
Rick Newman is a columnist for Yahoo Finance. He previously served as Chief Business Correspondent for U.S. News & World Report, where he won several journalism awards.
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Liberty for All
A Manifesto for Reclaiming Financial and Political Freedom
By Rick Newman
Palgrave MacmillanCopyright © 2015 Rick Newman
All rights reserved.
FREEZING FOR FREEDOM
"Yo, Rick! You better get over here!"
The moment before I heard this, an urgent summons was about the last thing I expected. In fact, there were 12 of us each ruing one of the slowest evenings of our lives. One was sick, enduring the woodsman's nightmare, trying to tough it out in a camping hammock strung between two trees, with a tarp cinched over it to keep the rain out. Two others were lost somewhere in the woods, or maybe they had retraced their steps and made it back to civilization. The rest of us were soggy and frigid and quietly dreading a night that was likely to be more miserable than any of us had prepared for.
An interlude of excitement should have been welcome, to get some blood pumping and take my mind off the creeping numbness. But when I turned around I realized Omar, the bulkiest member of our group, was stomping on something that on closer inspection turned out to be my only pair of gloves, the thin cotton gardening variety, which had become saturated after about five minutes of use and were wholly inadequate given the circumstances, and were now, on top of that, on fire.
Omar, a caustic, goateed Dominican American who might look like Bob Dylan if he lost 100 pounds, stomped like he was trying to kill a copperhead as I tried to figure out whether he was ruining my gloves or saving them. "Your gloves kinda burned up," he explained as I reached down to snatch the smoking pile of fabric from the ashen mud beneath his boot. "They're toast." This was alarming news since I was already underdressed and had been counting on those gloves to keep my fingers on life support until daylight, if it ever arrived.
Gloves had seemed like the last thing I would need as I began the "Tough Preppers' Bug-Out Weekend" in the Catskill Mountains, about 130 miles north of New York City. It was mid-September. The forecast called for dry, mild weather in the 60s, even in the mountains. No freak storms were on the way. As a novice prepper, I had spent the last month researching survival gear and stocking up, the main goal being not to look like an ass among hearty folk who might mistake me for a soft suburbanite. I had a Leatherman multitool and a flip-top water purification bottle and stormproof matches and a radio that doubled as a cell phone charger when I turned a crank and a bunch of other gizmos to help me simulate an escape from mayhem, all stuffed into a black "spec-ops tactical backpack" I purchased online. Gloves! I must have had 20 pairs at home, for skiing, shoveling snow, jogging in winter and even riding a motorcycle through the frost, from back when I had my second (or was it my third?) midlife crisis. But the only advice I had noticed about gloves was to bring some canvas or leather ones along, just in case work broke out.
My regular work gloves in the garage had seemed too dirty to stuff into my brand-new spec-ops tactical backpack, so I brought the gardening gloves—freshly laundered. And wouldn't you know it—work broke out right away. The bug-out weekend began gloriously, with a mountain hike to our campsite under warm blue skies that left our group sweating and gulping water within 10 minutes. We were all still sweating when we reached the campsite about an hour later, but the sun had slipped behind the mountaintop by then, and the woods surrounding our little encampment turned out to be damp as a bog once you stepped off the trail and began to tromp through the underbrush. There had been a thorough downpour the night before, and unlike the yard in front of my house, which had been completely dry by the following afternoon, the ground at the bottom of the woods was as wet as if the rain had just ended. It probably never really dries out down there.
We all brought our own gear—tent, sleeping bag, food, clothes and whatever bug-out gear you wanted to test on the trip. But there was one communal activity: building and sustaining a fire. I had tried to anticipate all sorts of eventualities I might want to be prepared for: a bear attack, drenching rain that soaked everything in my bag, getting hurt, getting lost, even getting mugged, since I was in the woods with a bunch of urban oddballs I didn't know. But it hadn't occurred to me that we'd have to fetch our own wood. I guess I figured the $5 fee for the trip included all the wood you could burn, delivered and stacked by the firewood fairy.
So the men in the group—or rather, most of them—set to work doing the one thing men still feel a primordial obligation to be good at: building a fire. First we had to gather wood, which wasn't exactlylaying around in log form but was inconveniently buried beneath weeds, infested with bugs or tangled in vines. And all of it was wet.
Firewood duty immediately revealed who were the pros and who were the amateurs in the group. Jason, our lead prepper, was a burly New York City firefighter who had trekked up the mountain with an axe in one arm—not a folding, camper-style axelet, but the kind of bad-ass axe, as long as a baseball bat, that firemen use to crash through doors. That was in addition to the 75 pounds or so of gear on his back. I offered to carry it for a spell at one point, and he just glared at me, as if insulted. John, another practiced prepper, had a nifty folding tree saw that collapsed to the size of a ruler yet could cut through a 12-inch tree trunk in about a minute. Teli, a contractor from New Jersey, had a variety of blades and other tools that would probably allow him to build a house right there in the woods if necessary.
I had a two-inch blade on my little Leatherman that was capable of spreading cheese, cutting rope and perhaps killing a salamander if I got lost for days and desperate for food. As for wood, I might be able to whittle with it, but that wouldn't help much with the fire. Thus, I discovered the First Rule of Prepping: always make friends with people who have better gear than you do.
I wasn't there to prove myself a master prepper. I was there to find out if preppers knew anything important I didn't. I assumed some members of the group—okay, maybe the entire group—would have better outdoor survival skills than me. The question was whether that mattered. I was testing a new theory that Americans were coming up short on self-reliance at a time when they were going to need it a lot more than they realized. This wasn't the usual tirade about Americans going soft, morphing into pampered ninnies who don't know how to take care of themselves. That was part of it, but there have always been people who fit that description, relative to what's going on in society around them. America as a nation has almost always risen to a challenge because a critical mass of its people—far from everybody, but enough to pull the rest along—have mustered the grit and ingenuity needed to win or come back from defeat. There are surely still people like that today. But are there enough to pull the whole country out of a funk? Does America still sink or swim as one people with some sort of shared identity? Or has American society fragmented so much through globalization, the Internet, toxic politics or some other unprecedented force that that our collective self-healing properties have failed, and we're all on our own?
These aren't purely theoretical questions; they're tangible problems in many Americans' everyday lives. In my business as a financial journalist, we talk about the economy as if it's one overarching thing that affects everybody the same, like the weather in your hometown or the Super Bowl when everybody's watching. It's not. In the taxonomy of everyday economics, there are two big subdivisions: one in which people have the skills to get ahead, and another in which they don't. The pressure so many people feel these days is the grind of a tectonic shift between these two subdivisions. The first subdivision—let's call it Progressia—is a land of abundance, the way Currier & Ives might depict a wholesome society. There's plenty of everything in Progressia, except, perhaps, leisure time. The only real financial pressure is the kind people create, by imagining themselves as superheroes and trying to accomplish more than a mere mortal can. This subdivision is generally a pleasant place to live, but it's getting smaller because there's a mostly one-way flow of people into the other subdivision—more like Regressia—which is getting more crowded and contentious. Regressia is the subdivision in which people feel like they're falling behind, even when they work hard and play by the rules and do the things you were always supposed to do to succeed in America. A lot of people in this universe aren't succeeding, and it's not clear their prospects are going to improve any time soon. They might actually get worse as an unsettling wealth gap grows, especially if the government runs short of money at some point, which seems likely, and has no choice but to cut back on spending programs that disproportionately benefit this group.
I'm not an alarmist who feels class warfare will tear the country to shreds. But something profound has changed in America, and a good way to get to the bottom of it is to abide by the old journalistic adage: Follow the money. We are clinging to old norms regarding opportunity, prosperity and financial independence that no longer apply. As the following chapters will show (and many Americans already know), working hard no longer guarantees anything, except you'll be tired. No rule of nature declares that kids will automatically have better opportunities than their parents. The very idea of the American Dream has become ossified and distorted. Powerful external forces combined with self-imposed limitations are diminishing our financial freedom—our ability to get ahead if we choose to—which in turn impedes many other freedoms. The magic of a free-market society like we have in America is that it creates new wealth for most people when the rules are clear and people compete fairly. That's why there have been remarkable improvements in living standards for nearly everybody over time. When the system breaks down, however, it becomes more like a zero-sum confrontation in which some advance at the expense of others. That produces the kind of societal ruptures we see in the destructive political antics so many people are sick of, and the plain incivility citizens show each other in blue-red America.
A lot of people feel the system works against them these days, and the data is on their side. There's heated debate among policymakers about what to do as prosperity evades more and more people. But ordinary folks can't do much to change policies in Washington, and besides, waiting for better government policies isn't exactly the fast boat to riches. Sure, it matters a lot that we have good laws, effectively enforced, and government programs that help those who need it. But these things merely create opportunity; it's up to us to seize it. With media everywhere these days—including literally in our pockets and purses via the smartphones we all carry—we focus way too much on the usually dispiriting news about politics, and way too little on what we can all do on our own to make our lives better. We seem to talk more than ever about freedom as we make choices that sacrifice the same freedom we supposedly crave. We gripe about a lousy economy while shackling ourselves with debt and making our own prosperity somebody else's responsibility, like the boss's or the president's. We condemn craven politicians while allowing them to manipulate us with cynical half-truths we can't be bothered to check out. And just as we face the increasing need to muster personal freedom and the resourcefulness that comes with it, many of us are discovering we don't know how.
I was out there in the woods, damp and freezing, to test the extent of my own freedom and see if I was optimizing my own prosperity. And I was lacking anything resembling a saw, which you need to cut firewood, which you need to keep warm when it's cold, which may ultimately determine whether you survive. To compensate for this embarrassing deficit, I decided I was probably more of a gatherer than a lumberjack. I scrambled into the woods and began to claw at anything that looked like it might burn, the bigger the better. I hauled tree limbs and even a couple of toppled trunks back to the campsite, where the cutting crew took turns sawing. I wasn't the Alpha Prepper, but I wasn't the slacker of the group, either. A few others seemed content to hang around the campsite, ask questions and avoid anything that might cause blisters. Omar, meanwhile, had plenty of commentary to offer on the correct manner of cutting wood and the proper way to vent a fire, but he seemed averse to demonstrating how.
Since everything in the woods was wet, my cotton gloves were soaked by the time I pulled my first branch back to camp. By that time, it was starting to get dark. Then it began to drizzle. Then the temperature dropped, and the sunny start to the day suddenly seemed like a memory trick. We had somehow been teleported to some frigid region of the globe where you really did need to prepare for disaster. There was one consolation: the fire. The collective effort of half a dozen determined men finally coaxed the wet timber into a reluctant burn, and we all inched closer and closer to the flames as it got colder and wetter and every one of us tried to delay the inevitable, unhappy duty of retiring to a solitary plastic tent.
I placed my soggy gloves on one of the rocks framing the fire pit. I'd need them during the night, and it was hot on the rock, and I figured they'd dry quickly. It didn't happen quickly enough, however, so I pushed them closer to the fire and walked a few steps over to where I had assembled my tent and started to organize my stuff for the night. That's when Omar bellowed to me. Once I finally pulled my smoldering gloves from beneath his feet, I grabbed some water from my tent and wetted them down all over again. Once the last spark was doused, I could see that the part that had burned was mostly the cuff on one glove, where it went over the wrist. The fingers were still intact, and the other glove was muddy but mostly unburned except for a couple of pinholes caused by sparks. If I had found these shabby-looking gloves in my garage, I would have thrown them away in an instant. But I treasured them now. My fingers were already losing sensation, even jammed into my pockets, and that mildly molten fabric might be the last barrier preventing frostbite. All I needed to do was dry them off. So I placed them on the rock near the fire once again, and didn't take my eyes off them until they were as toasty as if they had just come out of the dryer. When I finally retreated to my dreary little tent, it was with 10 fingers I could feel.CHAPTER 2
THE LIBERTY TRAP
A year earlier, I didn't even know what a prepper was. But I knew something was going sour in American society. People were disgusted. Their outrage took many different forms—Tea Partiers eager to shut down the government, protesters on Wall Street trying to shut down the banks, taxpayers pissed off at the nanny state, the underprivileged resentful of the wealthy. There has always been tension in American society, but it usually blends with optimism and on balance produces progress. That optimism seemed to be in retreat. America had become a crabby country. In nearly every corner, the nation seemed to be increasingly populated by people falling behind, placing blame, waiting for help and losing their nerve.
There are all kinds of socioeconomic news threads that compete for our attention, from the glorification of celebrities to the disruptive power of digital technology to the political polarization of the entire electorate. But one ubertrend connects nearly all of them: sustainedstress on the middle class and a measurable decline in overall living standards. Compared with most other countries, America remains a place of enviable prosperity. US GDP per capita is still the highest of any large country, with only small, homogenous nations such as Qatar, Luxembourg and Denmark, plus Canada and Australia, doing better. Many foreigners continue to regard America as the world's most desirable place to live. And even in the midst of a global economic slowdown that started on Wall Street in 2008, the United States emerged as the most resilient of the big, powerhouse economies. But compared with itself—10, 20 or 30 years ago—America seems shabby and shaken, like an aristocrat whose funds are running dry and who's getting calls from a collection agency for the first time ever.
Excerpted from Liberty for All by Rick Newman. Copyright © 2015 Rick Newman. Excerpted by permission of Palgrave Macmillan.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter 1. Freezing for Freedom
Chapter 2. Freedom Forfeited
Chapter 3. A Secret Use for Broken Glass
Chapter 4. Give Me Incandescent Light Bulbs, or Give Me Death!
Chapter 5. The Five Endangered Freedoms
Chapter 6. The Myth of the Rugged Individualist
Chapter 7. Dependency Audit
Chapter 8. Prepper Mountain
Chapter 9. The Curse of Comfort
Chapter 10. American Dream Inflation
Chapter 11. A Little Learning Is Still a Dangerous Thing
Chapter 12. How Steve Jobs Fumbled Freedom
Chapter 13. Freedom Found