Fabian Strategy

National Anthem

Fabian Strategy

Locke Step!

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

 

 

            It’s hot … too darned hot!

            The temperature in the pickup going to feed the dogied calves showed 106° and it wasn’t even the hottest forecasted day in the forecast. It is the expected ravages of June, though, and it is something we always have to face.

            We’ve been working on the headquarters’ corral in the cool of the morning before water rounds are made. Other than protein tubs, the only thing that we are feeding is cake to the replacement heifers and the bulls. If something is needing help, we have picked it up and brought it in to the headquarters.

            We need rain, and we need it badly.

            June, though, is always that dreaded time of the year when everything that can go wrong does. To a greater extent, everybody is a bit pale and that doesn’t mean the absence of sunburn. Things are getting critical. There is worry galore.

For many, water has been a huge problem. Some folks are hauling water. Our neighbor and friend to the south has had a power problem that has forced him to put bring some things up to code. He has been relying on generators for two weeks and is about ready to call somebody out on the county side of the bureaucratic over demand. He needs the power back on!

            These people have no idea what it means to have water troughs and storages empty.

            We’ve had our fill of predation this week, too. In successive days, we have found baby calves killed by coyotes. In one instance, four of them were eating on the freshly killed carcass when we drove up. The mama was still there as much terrorized as we were (yes, it was on public land and our government leadership which prevailed in disallowing trapping on such lands has obviously never had to deal with these tragedies, either).

            APHIS has been called and have been on the ranch two days this week, but their hands, too, are tied. We’d buy some airtime if their plane wasn’t tied up in wolf country. Since trap use in the recovery area is strictly limited, their alternative is to be flying other predatory problems.

            We simply seek alternatives that may exist and deal with issues as best we can.

            National Anthem

            In all seriousness, not a single person in our nearby ranching community is watching baseball, NBA basketball, golf, tennis, or even NASCAR. The antics of the progressive and race baiting mobs have sealed the deal for us to turn to other preoccupations in this corner of the world. There is enough to make us crazy without witnessing the endless nonsense that has made us pass on main street professional sports.

            That is why it was so interesting watching the crowd join together to sing the national anthem at the Stanley Cup this week.

            Of course, we weren’t watching those playoffs (is that what hockey calls it?), but the news feeds we read daily dropped it into our in-baskets. We opened the link and played it repeatedly.

            Americans, easterners no less, singing so loudly the beautiful lady assigned the duty of singing dropped out at one time and directed the gathered voices! Without an iota of embarrassment, it had us shedding big tears and we were not even there.

            It was a big indicator that there is a sea of Americans out there who believe as we do. We are not alone regardless of the what the preponderance of anti-American propaganda might suggest. We have tuned the naysayers out. We don’t want them or need them in our lives.

            They, the Fabian scribes, now face the same glide path of decline and rejection as witnessed in our interest in professional sports.

            Adios!

            The Fabian Strategy

            This concept known as Fabianism came from warfare. It is the idea of gradualism whereby opposing generals knew they couldn’t prevail by headlong confrontation so they would pick and choose their opportunities. Success came with persistence as their enemy was worn down and demoralized.

            In a new age and organized fashion, the Fabian Society of the UK exists without secrecy. They operate in full light seeking participants who are welcome to come into their midst, conjure up new societal recipes, and offer the ideas to the group. Like America’s EarthFirsters! they’d prefer to have uncorrupted thought, so jesters and idiots are as welcome as much as educated socialists.

            They preach public service, sustainability, universal citizenship, equality of wealth, and tolerance. They are no border advocates. Their current hot topics are environmental justice, gay rights, and there it is again, colonial reparations.

            It sounds all too familiar, doesn’t it?

            They are run of the mill communists. Their ground game is gradualism with an ever-changing format of incidental topics and demands to install stepwise reform through confusion. Their admission is they don’t even know where their new and evolving ideas might take them. Their seed stock is Marx, Engels, Mao, Trotsky, Nietzsche, and Stalin.

            Their contemporary communal mates and get include a large array of Latin American, African, European, and Asian leaders along with … a sizeable percentage of the American Congress.

            Locke Step

            Whether you or those Americans who joined in the singing of the national anthem know it, another kind of predecessor influenced our path. The 17^th Century philosopher and biblical scholar, John Locke, revealed much of our constitutional theory and documented the ideas in words for the ages.

            Whereas, the Fabians advocate mobs and chaos, Locke elevated the individual into the spot of earthly importance. In written form, he set forth the ideas of natural rights, consent of the governed, separation of powers, religious liberty and tolerance, and sacrosanct property rights. Life, liberty, and general welfare were his bylines. It was he who was there in spirit singing the national anthem with that crowd of Americans the other night.

            Let’s remember our precious gift.

 

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. 

Republic?

Republic?

Wall Art

Democracy!

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

  

            It was -6° when I checked the weather at 4:10 AM MST.

            It was past time to leave Ft. Collins and run south for home and warmer temperatures. The Cummins had been plugged into the wall socket of the Hilton Garden Inn and she started without a whimper. The seats were warm and the dial was set for 4XH in the run down Melody Lane to the I25 Interchange. Two miles down the highway that was switched back to 2X.

            It was very apparent Colorado DOT knows how to deal with ice and inclement weather. The highway belied the conditions that would bring New Mexico traffic to a standstill.

            Traffic was moderately heavy all the way into Denver and then its crush of humanity and traffic became staggering. The sun was breaking over the far SE horizon revealing the magnificent Rockies to the west as downtown and Mile High Stadium were finally in the rear-view mirror.

            In order of Castle Rock, Colorado Springs, Fountain, and on to Pueblo, the constant presence of urban sprawl was revealed in varying degrees of amazement. The question emerged with ever increasing crescendo. Where is the grandeur of historical, natural Colorado headed?

            Essentially, every high point or timbered crevice is being invaded by development. Miles of cookie cutter housing is being planted across the high prairie in between the book end, million dollar hovels.

            Cattle appeared in the creek and river bottoms as the sun climbed, but even those areas were dotted with “FOR SALE” signs depicting good deals and the promise of future live style extravaganzas. Cabelas and Bass Pro Shops appeared in at least three locations for quick access, but the intrigue is inevitable. Where are the wild places going to be to use the truckloads of extraordinary gadgetry when all the ranches and the truly protected wild places are gone?

            Finally, the steel and livestock town of Pueblo offered a growing sense of realism as real hats, hard and cowboy, emerged from the sea of millennial wheels and urban outdoor apparel faddism.

Folks with callouses do exist!

Wall Art

South of Pueblo, glimmers of a different, more natural world emerged.

The big sky and horizons were framed with ice as an overnight layer of fog lifted revealing crystals of white covering everything. It was spectacular and held in suspension with a constant temperature of 10°.

In Trinidad, we stopped at Tony’s. The black hat caught his attention and favor.

As we ate his cotechino with eggs, he told us about his recent conversation with a couple from Boulder. He described how he had run to a pole that held his north facing porch in place and hugged it in tree fashion proclaiming, “I don’t like Boulder tree huggers!”

“And, maybe Mr. Trump can help us once again mine coal here that promises enough supply to last until the end of the world and giving us real jobs!” he concluded.

We were still smiling as we dropped off the pass and entered arguably the greatest cow country on God’s earth, northeastern New Mexico. Stocker cattle and worked cows were abundant. As grass spread out in all directions, the realization that this land, made manifest by ranchers, is becoming the sovereign possessions of secular, urban America.

Our numbers are not just few by expression, but by demographics.

When less than 2% of the population is engaged in primary agriculture, the rancher component of that is well less than one. There is no way our combined voice can be heard above the horns and the clamor of Denver or Albuquerque or Boulder or Santa Fe. We don’t have time even if we had the means to step onto an amplified platform.

Our lands, which we view as our virtual being, have become objects of wall art to urban mobs.

Democracy versus Republic

The life and the land I witness is not ruled by any suggestion of Constitutional form of a Republic. It is pure old democracy and the proof starts with Federalist Paper No. 10. In it, James Madison sought to not just limit but prevent rule by majority, writing, Measures are too often decided, not according to the rules of justice and the rights of the minor party (minority), but by the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority.

The most egregious example of this overbearing mob rule, democracy, is the body of injustice that is promulgated in the designation of the majority of national monuments in the history of the West and public land in general. As a monument rancher, I have no rights. My objections to the unilateral action by the past president were shouted down by his urban mob of advocates. Their vote, in the form of loud voices, won out. As a federal lands rancher, I have no rights. I have been told by a federal official that a grandmother in Miami Beach has as much sway as I do in the future management of my ranch. The public’s vote, in the form of loud voices, wins out. Even my private land is overseen by the dominion of democratic rule and review. Before I can do an improvement, my actions are subject to public review and comments.

So, while I am reminded I live in a Republic, my heritage and my fate is ruled by mob driven democracy. The superior force of an interested and overbearing majority has a death grip on my life’s investment.

Ranchers have become mere footnotes in the growing collection of wall art that is now showcased from the balconies and agendas of urban mobs that have no idea of what we encounter in trying to exist.

What they are missing, though, is the permanence and sanctity of open space is not manifested through their view of our presence, but … the cardinal value of our presence alone.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Cattle, coal, and iron are true gifts from God.”

Concerning democracy and republics, the Antiquities Act violates both. Instead it's an example of a Dictatorship. Just under 30 percent of the land is claimed by the feds, and given the intermingling of private, state and federal lands, they control a much higher percentage than that. And one person, the President, can control the use of  that acreage. No public hearings required. No consent of Congress required. No consent of state and local governments required. Instead of one man one vote, it is one man one signature, one "stroke of the pen." And it has all been endorsed by the federal courts. Caesar would be jealous. Caesar crossed the Rubicon and Obama crossed the Rio Grande. Actually, the Obama-designated monuments are larger than the entire country of Italy. Obama designated 26 monuments totaling 88.3 million acres, whereas Italy contains 74.4 million acres. 

Look out the window of your vehicle, and contemplate that the use of one out of every three acres you see can be dictated by one person without public input. And yet, if Wilmeth wants to maintain an existing road, repair a fence line, clean out a dirt tank, etc., he must undergo the NEPA/public comment process.  Meanwhile, the President can change the use of millions of acres without any public comment prior to designation. Things are certainly out of kilter.

However, I believe in the future of the ranching industry. The ranching community has shown the perseverance, productivity and creativeness to survive many things, and I believe those qualities will carry them through the current situation and into the future.

--Frank DuBois