calm and rational book of facts written by an insider and historian sympathetic to the goals of the power elite, and a mentor to presidents, by the way, named Carroll Quigley.”
A man behind her reached out and exchanged that large book in her hands for an older, thinner one, and she held it out. “If that’s their history, then this is an early, published example of their plan of action. The Promise of American Life, by Herbert Croly, first printed in 1909, before the beginning of the great decline. Its author advocated what he called a New Nationalism. Big government, ever-expanding programs and departments, a nanny state with confiscatory powers and jurisdiction over every aspect of our lives. He believed that in the new Industrial Age the people simply weren’t fit to rule themselves as the well-meaning but misguided Founders had envisioned.
“Croly renounced his own life’s work in the end, when he saw what he’d helped to set in motion. But his writings lived on, and they influenced every fundamental change brought on by what became known as ‘the progressive movement’ in the first half of the twentieth century, from the Federal Reserve Act and the income tax to the spiral into crushing debt and dependence that began with the New Deal.”
She put the book down, and spoke quietly and deliberately when she began again.
“But Herbert Croly was not an evil man.” This declaration was met with silence from the crowd, and she let it hang for a while. “He wanted a better life for the people of his country. He wrote about his ideas on achieving that, and he was free to do so. America today is full of opinions and movements and agendas that differ radically from ours; even among us here, we differ, and that’s the way it will always be. The danger comes when good intentions are hijacked and perverted by the culture of corruption-when those elected to represent us begin to act not for your own good, but for their own gain.
“It’s the same today. People who, for their own gain, would replace equal justice with social justice, trade individual freedom for an all-powerful, all-knowing central government, forsake the glorious creative potential of the American individual, the beating heart of this nation, for a two-class society in which the elites rule and all below them are all the same: homogenized, subordinate, indebted, and powerless. That’s what corruption will do, and we’ve allowed it to run rampant for too long.”
Noah looked away from the speaker to take a gauge of the crowd; old habits die hard. Nearly everyone throughout the room was engaged and listening, but there were exceptions. A variety of men and women, about ten or fifteen, were scattered around the bar looking just slightly unlike the others. It wasn’t their dress that was out of place, but rather their demeanor. They were far more concerned with one another than with what was happening onstage. And at least half of them were fiddling with small digital videocameras.
“Hey,” Noah whispered, tapping the table near Molly’s arm. She only shushed him, keeping her attention on the woman in the spotlight. With a last uneasy glance around the room, he turned back to the speaker as well.
“There are thirty-five thousand registered lobbyists in Washington, D.C.” the woman said, to a scattering of boos and hisses that arose from the onlookers. “That’s nearly seventy lobbyists for each member of Congress. Together they spent almost three and a half billion dollars last year-that’s over six and a half million dollars per congressman. With that money they buy influence, not on behalf of you, but to put forward the agendas of their clients. Huge corporations, international banks, the power brokers on Wall Street, foreign governments, media giants, the real, self-appointed ruling class-their lobbyists write the bills, your congressmen work as scripted front men for the tainted legislation, and then they vote as they’re told by their handlers.
“Not all of them, mind you. There are still good men and women in Washington, D.C.-but more than enough of them have long gone bad. In return for abandoning their oath of office they’re promised fortune, and fame, and reelection if they play along, and if they don’t, they know they can kiss their careers in so-called public service good-bye.
“This country was founded as a representative republic, but you’re no longer represented here, are you?”
A resounding No! was shouted from the back, and that triggered a chorus of more shouts from every quarter of the bar. She let the clamor go on for a while and then motioned for quiet, holding up a thin document in her hand.
“This is the Constitution of the United States of America. It’s just about fifteen pages when printed out like this, only four sheets of parchment when it was originally written out by hand. Here it is. That’s all of it, the supreme law of the land, the entire framework of our system of government.
“And do you know why it’s so small? Because the government itself was meant to be small. Is a federal government vital and important to our country? Yes. Should it exist as the heart and symbol of our unity and a compass to guide our journey as one nation? Yes. But it was meant to be small. And why? Because we, you and I, are the real government in this land of ours. That’s the forgotten truth that calls out to us from these few pages here.
“What the Founders knew is that governments go bad. That’s why Thomas Jefferson told us that resistance to tyrants is obedience to God. They understood that evil, like gravity, is a force of nature. Corruption always comes. Like weeds in a garden, it infiltrates, gets a foothold, grows, and takes over. Keep watch, we were told, keep the government in check, or this haven of freedom and opportunity could disappear in a single generation. And my friends, we have looked away from our sacred responsibility for too long. We forgot our charge to keep eternal vigilance, and as we slept another framework, corrupt and ever expanding, was being built to replace our founding principles the moment they grew weak enough to fail. And now we look around and find that our future has nearly been stolen away.
“Our representatives in government swear an oath, when they take office, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. But for many of them these are only empty words. They never even consult the wisdom they’ve sworn to uphold. Once spoken, that oath is forgotten, and the Constitution of the United States never again enters their mind.”
She laid the document in her hand on a nearby table and picked up a dark blue volume the size of the Brooklyn white pages.
“The entire Constitution can be folded and carried in your shirt pocket, and may I recommend that you keep a copy with you like that if you don’t already. But this“-she held up the massive book-“is one volume of the federal tax code.” She dropped the book flat from waist-high and it whammed to the stage floor at her feet. “Fourteen hundred pages, and that’s just one volume; there’s a bookcase full of these. Sixty-seven thousand pages of rules and penalties and crimes for which you’re all guilty until you prove yourselves innocent. There’s no due process when the Internal Revenue Service comes to kick in your front door.
“And do you know why they’ve made it so big, and why it gets bigger every year? It’s the same reason the IRS is involved with health-care legislation and the Treasury was in charge of enforcing Prohibition. Because the power to tax involves the power to destroy. That’s not my opinion, it’s the opinion of the U.S. Supreme Court!
“But you don’t need a judge to tell you what is obvious to anyone who’s ever tried to fill out a tax form. The tax code is not meant to be read and understood by the people. It’s meant as a shelter for those who’ve taken power from us, and a weapon of selective enforcement to be used against any who would dare to raise an opposing voice. The law is not for them, it’s for you: Right now a hundred thousand federal employees together owe almost a billion dollars in back taxes, and the Treasury secretary himself is one of them.”
The crowd reacted with loud boos and angry shouting, and it took a while for them to quiet down. When they finally had, she began again, but now her voice was much softer.
“Those of us gathered in this room tonight aren’t simply fighting taxes, out-of-control spending, or unsustainable debt, we’re fighting for something much larger: equal justice. We’re fighting for the end of special exceptions and perks for those who have the right people on their speed-dials. There’s no reason why the person who runs the IRS, the congressman who writes our tax code, or the CEO who has friends in the White House should get a free pass when you and I must pay the consequences for our decisions.
“John Adams once said that we are ‘a government of laws, not men.’ Ask yourself: Is that still true today? Your income, your family name, and your connections matter more than ever. They can help you succeed or they can ensure you fail. How can that reality coexist in a society where all men are created equal?
“The answer is that it can’t. That is why we are here. And it’s also why our message of equal justice is impossible for any honest person to refute. How do I know that? Because it was the message of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.”
Noah noticed that the atmosphere in the bar seemed to have changed during the few minutes that the woman had been on the stage. It wasn’t just that you could hear a pin drop, it was the whole feel of the place. She had them in the palm of her hand.
“While others throughout our history have resorted to violence to achieve their agendas, it’s important to
