This is a story about a fence. Well, not just one fence, but millions of them. What you believe about them and how they make you feel says about your politics all I need to know.
Picture if you will an idle street in any American city, suburb, or small town. Kids play about. A car passes a bit too fast, draws the glances of adults tending their yards, and slows down. A church bell tolls on Sunday morning.
Surrounding many of the houses on this quiet little street are short fences, serving to keep small children and smaller dogs from wandering off — white picket fences, some not even fully enclosing the property they protect.
But they mark the line between one home and the next, between public and private. In a functioning civil society, they stand as an impenetrable wall defending the estate held within, and inside of which the authority of the State does not extend. Without a functioning civil society, they are of no use whatever. If people will not govern themselves and honor the delineation of property bounds, no fence is strong enough.
Yet when surrounded by outlaws, the house without a fence will be plundered, its owners driven off.
Between homes, these perfunctory lines allow neighbors to cooperate for purposes of maintenance to their respective properties. More, they allow neighbors to know where they stand and whose authority holds sway there. They are borders.
The white picket fence is also a symbol separating left from right. A normal person sees the idyllic scene described above as an ideal, a thing worth pursuing and protecting. A person trained to see life through the prism of leftist power theoptics has a