
Kevin Williamson's piece inspires me with the view that "there is a great deal of real estate between complete submission and civil war, and that acts such as Mr. Bundy’s are not only bearable in a free republic but positively salubrious." What's more, it can't be a good idea for the federal government to own 87% of Nevada. At the same time, Bundy looks like one of those people who have lived next-door to a vacant lot for so long that they've come to think of it as their private park, and are aggrieved when a Walmart gets built on it—though they'd never dream of forming a consortium to save up money, buy it, and preserve it in its wild glory. After I go through all that, I come back to a profound contempt for Harry Reid that leads me to cheer for anyone who puts a stick in his eye.
Still, while I'm cheering the sight of the feds backing down (however temporarily), it's hard to disagree with Charles C.W. Cooke:
[T]his is a nation with a “government of laws and not of men”—and not the other way around—and it seems to me that this principle should not be considered null and void because one of those men happens to have an agreeable tale, a photogenic complaint, and a romantic genealogical past. . . . Are we really to believe that the government’s backing up its rules with force is unique to Obama? And why would we imagine that Bundy would have a chance if he doesn’t have a case? . . . “Mr. Bundy’s stand should not be construed as a general template for civic action,” Williamson writes, thereby demonstrating the problem rather neatly: When you change the government, you do not need to worry about setting a precedent; when you merely disobey it, you are setting yourself above a system that remains in force. . . . When can one refuse to obey the law without expecting to bring the whole thing down?












