Anarchy

Well, Joey has offered his final thoughts in our conversation, at least for now. I for one feel some sense of relief, because the thing had started to sprawl across several blogs as well as subjects, and it was getting too large for me to keep track of it all! A few pointers to some of the participants (links are to their latest contributions to the discussion, as of this writing): FSK’s Guide to Reality; David Gross at The Picket Line; and Kent McManigal. While I have much to say on each of the topics we’ve tossed around, I have neither the time nor the inclination to try to do them all justice in this sitting. Instead, I will mention that a primary raison d’être for my part of this blog is to explore these issues; and I encourage any interested invididuals to explore the archives here and elsewhere for previous ramblings on the subjects. All I’ll offer today are some general observations in response to what I perceive to be Joey’s central themes.

I continue to seek answers to questions that are mostly unanswerable in my current context ... yet my wanderings on the web—sometimes directed by others, mostly haphazard jumpings of my own—occasionally offer droplets of insight.

I’ve been thinking about Joey’s response in our ongoing conversation about getting free and personal freedom, but have been too busy and/or distracted to write a proper response. As a placeholder—and foreshadowing—I will quote from The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. The context is Prof. Bernardo de la Paz speaking to Wyoming Knott [emphasis in original]:

“... I will accept any rules that you feel necessary to your freedom. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.”

Any товарищи got a problem with that? ;-)

A while back, I posted a semi-rant on folks in The Family who seem to have their lives on hold until after “the revolution”. Joey at The Freedom Symposium followed up with some observations of his own, and we started a conversation which was interrupted by his taking some time off. Now that he’s back, I’ll revisit the subject and perhaps even include what I’d thought was the main point of my first post, but which got left out entirely!

I am soooo tired of reading pro-freedom commentary that begins, “After the revolution, I’ll [insert idea/plan here]”. Seems to me that kind of attitude is a perfect recipe for a lot of talking, and little, if any, actual doing.

There’s been a lot of grouching lately about how Congress isn’t focusing on the “important things”, such as the the federal budget, the general economic slump in the USSA, and the wars it allowed the president to start. Given the mediocrity with which they’ve handled these issues—which are by and large the inevitable result of bloated state government—isn’t better that they focus their time on such ponderous matters as obstetric fistula, congratulating Israel for being around for 60 years, a national bicycling strategy, “celebrating the role of mothers in the United States and supporting the goals and ideals of Mother’s Day”, Frank Sinatra Day, steroid use in baseball, and spying in football? The way I see it, the more time they spend on such idiocies means there’s less time for the Congressmen to steal away our time and money. Alas and alack, however, one has gotten a grand idea for addressing the steep oil price increases of late.

Yes, it is at last true: I have begun adding my essay archive back to this place. Lamentations, justifications, prognostications, and probably more –ations are offered on that page, so I shan’t repeat them here ... but if there are requests for certain essays to re-appear, I am happy to consider them. A link to the archive is in the right sidebar, under “Noteworthy Nodes” for easy access.

Thanks to B.W. and P.T. for the kick in the posterior scales on this matter.

I have always loved to travel. My parents often told me about my great enjoyment of a trip to the upper Midwest taken when I was just three years old—I don’t know whether I’ve reconstructed things from their recollections, or if they’re genuine, but I’ve a few wisps of remembrance of immense bridges and lots of water from the trip through Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan. By the time I was old enough to consider it, I was yearning to get out of small-town Ohio and see some of the world. It took decades to accomplish that, but I have, yet wanderlust still pounds in my blood.

As I got older, I became fascinated with not just the places, but the people, too. That’s a big part of why I became a psychologist, but even so, the academic interest has never exceeded the intensely personal interest I have in humans. By “intensely personal” I don’t mean busybody nosiness—I simply mean an interest in the unending variety and creativity of human creatures. As a teenager, I read Richard Bach’s Illusions, and much of it resonated with me. One of the more powerful elements was Don Shimoda’s attempt to teach “the reluctant Messiah” of the profound differences between individuals—I’d thought a lot about that years before reading the book, and grokked its importance then. This was the first time, as best I recall, that I confronted the reality that other individuals didn’t recognize that truth. I think that I had also begun to realize that freedom and tolerance are the essentials for creating a happy, healthy person and life, although it was (again) to be many years before I realized the full implications of my youthful philosophical ponderings. Having recently returned from a walkabout to the Arizona desert, doing a lot of thinking and observing (both within myself and of the areas I traveled to and through), I’ve been powerfully reminded of the glorious diversity of humankind.

From the cold, frozen Midwest, my companion and I traveled south and west. Breakfast was typically coffee and eggs of some sort, but as the temperature warmed as we neared our destination, so did the spiciness of the ingredients accompanying the eggs. Tabasco sauce was ever-present on the table, or brought with meals without needing to ask—a welcome sign that I was among people who like their food the way I do. Shapes became less pasty and pudgy—darker skin and darker, straighter hair became common. Physiques seemed to separate into “lean” and “fat”—few people appeared to exist in that corporate-cubicle in-between of couch-potatodom. The pace of life slowed. As the landscape became drier, the effort required to live in its embrace became a visible constraint—but not an insurmountable one. When we reached the small town that was our base of operations for the walkabout, I was met with another surprise. Or, more accurately, I saw it shimmering in the distance as we drove through the desert—a glimmering white sea that was not sand, not salt, but aluminum. Snowbirds fly to the area in their RVs, creating a senior-citizen city the likes of which I’d never imagined. The sound of a toddler’s laugh from a nearby table at Sunday breakfast was as foreign there as a moose call would be in downtown Los Angeles.

All that differentness, in a relatively small trip across one small area of this planet ...

The reality of Richard Bach’s message walloped me again. Each of us is different, unique. The commonality we all share may be no more than being Homo sapiens.

So how can anyone dare to presume to tell someone how to live her or his life? How could the nannies possibly conceive that their narrow little boxes can adequately hold all of humanity’s (and inhumanity’s) possibilities? How can I tell my children in good conscience that I know what’s best for them, that I know how they “ought to” live, when the times, society, and knowledge they’re growing up in are so different from when I grew up?

The nanny-ninnies can’t conceive of my horror at their prescriptions and proscriptions—but that doesn’t stop their efforts to push their ideas on others. I’m not convinced that their pleas of doing good are sincere, anyway; it’s a good cover and nothing more, as any perceptive individual can twig, even under the cover of the state-approved media outlets. Their ultimate answer, when they’re pushed to it, is that they’re protecting us from anarchy—a claim that stops many intelligent individuals, wrongly, in their tracks.

I’ve never shied away from the A-word. I transformed from confused statist to full-blown ancap in a span of days, and was much happier for it. While I’ve often pondered how to best offer my thoughts on the beneficence of anarchy to the freedom movement, it has never been an important enough issue to take up my digital pen and create the essay. Now, it would seem, I don’t need to. I came across a clear, beautiful essay that says it much better than I likely ever could. Butler Shaffer is the author, and it’s worth interrupting this ramble to read it now (or refresh yourself with it, if you’ve already seen the essay at LewRockwell.com. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

For those who didn’t bother to follow the link, here’s a paragraph that sums it up nicely, and is worth plastering on every freedom-lover’s site on the web:

“Anarchy” is an expression of social behavior that reflects the individualized nature of life. Only as living beings are free to pursue their particular interests in the unique circumstances in which they find themselves, can conditions for the well-being of all be attained. Anarchy presumes decentralized and cooperative systems that serve the mutual interests of the individuals comprising them, without the systems ever becoming their own reasons for being. It is this thinking, and the practices that result therefrom, that is alone responsible for whatever peace and order exists in society.

Terrific stuff, eh? We act in harmony with this wonderful system so much of our lives, yet even we anarchists, we intellectually-minded libertarians, often overlook or forget its simplicity, scope, and unalterable truth.

After discovering that article, I was feeling quite good. Imagine my surprise when the day got even better.

For those of you who’ve been regulars to my personal web site, friends of mine at the Liberty Round Table, or conversed with me at The Claire Files or LibertyForum [both no longer extant as such], you know that I had been having difficulty dealing with my self-imposed work and personal demands. One thing I was considering is what form, if any, my future activism should take. As I said in a temporary farewell message, I was as close to burnout as I’d ever been, and quite surprised by that. It seemed that no matter what I did, no matter how good I made Freedom News Daily, how much I wrote about the need for individuals to find their own way to “do freedom” in the way that works best for themselves, or helped promote others’ great work, it was never enough. Why couldn’t the cats, er, not herd themselves—I’m not that deluded, nor would I want that—but simply just go do it: do their own freedom without waiting for or worrying about others? Why do so many of us contrary, individualistic, stubborn libertarian types seem to be waiting for The Magic Bullet Solution to Winning Freedom Now and Forever?

My friend Richard Rieben offers some valuable insights to that, as I commented prior to my walkabout in the essay Individual and Group: A Perpetual Tug of War?. One of the most important points he makes is that any group runs counter to the interests of its individuals—simply by virtue of the nature of individuals and groups. One need look no further than the national Libertarian Party to see how trying to herd individuals to greater freedom has brought more failure than success to the freedom movement. Yet in many pro-freedom circles, especially think tanks, the focus is on “public policy”—essentially groups butting heads over how much freedom individuals ought to have, or need to have. So—back to that surprise at last—I was taken aback by the title of the essay I saw by FEE president Richard Ebeling: There is no Central Plan for Winning Liberty.

Indeed.

Ebeling clearly presents why such a thing could never work, and discusses how each individual can choose a course that is most effective for himself with respect to advancing liberty. Not surprising information or ideas, but terrific to see coming from a respected institute nonetheless. “No Magic Bullet Solution” and “Anarchy Works!” (as I think of these two essays) fell into my mind, which was refreshed from my time away and ready to tackle some challenges anew. But now I don’t need to tackle a couple. Oh, I’m sure I will in some form or other, but it’s nice to know—again—that my thoughts are not way out from others’ in the freedom movement. It may be irrational of me, but those two essays renewed my hopes quite strongly.

My walkabout was an intensely solitary time, despite the near-constant presence of my traveling companion. That person—one of the very best friends I’ve had (and could ever hope to have) in my life—was on a similar mission, and in part because of that we were able to be together without intruding into each other’s space. Our interactions were the epitome of a truly voluntary relationship; we worked out arrangements that suited each of us when necessary or desired by us, and left each other alone otherwise. Simple; easy; and gloriously effective. One of the unexpected joys of the journey were the vistas opened up to me by my friend’s eclectic musical tastes. I smile every time I think of a pirate plundering the grain co-ops “on Regina’s mighty shores”, or reflect on an unusually insightful lyric about relationships wound around a catchy rock melody. I’ve long been encouraging individuals to do freedom. To that I add, with the reverberation of Captain Tractor’s exuberant refrain prancing in my mind: free yourself!

Do it your way.

Do freedom. Free yourself.

Breathe in ... breathe out. Good. Do it again. I didn’t need the literal help remembering to breathe as I pounded through the frigid streets of this midwestern town, but repeating that phrase in my mind helped calm me. It also helped quell the all-too-real nausea that swept over me, and blocked reviewing what I’d just heard that caused it.

A group of us—Hunter, a couple other LRT friends and Knights, and my family—had just sat down to what promised to be a nice dinner. Jeff Jordan, AKA “the Hunter” to almost all his friends for years, had just been released from prison in Ohio. A traffic stop for speeding had turned into a nightmare (you can catch up on the story if necessary at the Liberty Round Table’s web site). Apparently something during the stop spooked the Ohio Highway patrolman (he claims he saw spare magazines or something like that on Hunter’s belt), and upon searching Hunter, apparently found two loaded weapons concealed on his person. After two nights in jail, Hunter was free on bond, and facing a felony charge of carrying a concealed weapon in Ohio. We were among the several friends close enough to help get him food, shelter, and clothing while the OHP retained possession of Hunter’s SUV and all its contents.

Hunter had told us about the stop, of course, and now we were moving on to other topics ... including those days in jail. It was chilling to hear my very good friend, a longtime ally in the freedom fight, talking about how “it wasn’t so bad” and how his jailers (Ashland county sheriffs, not the OHP) “were just doing their jobs”. How could an individual who loves freedom as much as Hunter does actually say those things?? But I’ve never been in jail; I’ve never undergone the ordeals of realizing my worst nightmare is coming true, of dealing with those who think it’s acceptable to restrict my freedom for something as trivial as driving faster than they think acceptable or painting my fence an unapproved color; I’ve never been tossed in a cell for days, unable to access anyone who might help, unknowing if anyone knows what’s happened to me ... or cares about it. Until I have, I can’t say what my response would be.

Then, after Hunter started winding down, first one friend, then another, began telling similar tales. Only some of them were even worse—they’d done nothing wrong, yet come to the unwanted attention of LEOs (law enforcement officers) anyway. One recounted how he’d discovered his pickup truck missing from its usual parking spot. When he called the police to report the theft, he got tossed in jail—and left there for a week!—because an LEO claimed to have received an anonymous tip that someone “saw somebody selling pot from it”. Nothing was found on my friend during the search, and his alibis all checked out, yet he was kept in a cage simply because some cop wanted him to be there.

Another spoke up, telling how he’d been something of a lead-foot when he was younger, and the local cops liked to harass him. After finding an “unregistered” handgun in his car during one traffic stop (this was in a state that allows concealed carry, but also allows pre-emption, so knowing all the local laws is next to impossible), he was held for several days while the LEOs apparently tried to get some dirt on him. Having failed, he was eventually released—but he never got his gun back, of course.

My mind began to spin—how could these things have happened? I looked at my dear friends—all of them individuals whom I know, and trust with my life—and the thought of them being caged like animals simply because some jackboot was on a power trip became too much for me to bear. Trying to utter something about needing some fresh air, I grabbed my coat and headed out the door.

Breathe in ... breathe out. Good. Do it again. I’m not a Pollyanna; I know that the justice system is heavily rigged in the state’s favor, and, being an entity of the state, it has become the “just us” system in terms of those it “protects and serves”. I regularly discover news reports of similar—or even worse—outrages peaceable individuals suffer at the hands of politicians, police, and courts alike in my work [note: I no longer do this work]. So I’m not naïve about what’s going on. Still, to hear all this was a shock. Why didn’t they ever tell me? .... What good would it have done to know?

I found myself outside the town’s “administrative complex”—where the police, local court, and other busybodies are housed. Suddenly sapped of energy, I sank onto a bench. Staring at the low, ugly utilitarian box, nearly empty at the relatively late hour, I tried to understand. How can those who work in that place actually think they’re doing good? What goes through their minds to justify their thefts of people’s time, money, and lives, every single day?

I couldn’t, of course. I’ve never wanted to control others, for as long as I can remember in my adult life and to some degree before that. If a person left me alone, I’d leave him alone. If someone wanted my cooperation, he’d get it if he could persuade me that doing so was in my interest as well; threats and other strong-arm tactics simply brought out my stubbornness. It had a lot of exercise courtesy of my siblings as I was growing up; rarely is it bested.

A police car drove by; the man inside looked at me with more than a passing glance. I considered my dress—jeans, cowboy boots, black leather coat—and the contents of my pockets, some of which would undoubtedly “alarm” him, maybe even be illegal to carry, and I realized that if he wanted to, he could come back and give me the same treatment Hunter and my other friends had experienced. Maybe even worse. I no doubt looked “suspicious”, an unfamiliar person sitting alone on that cold January night. As soon as I thought I’d be out of his visual range, I got up and went back to join the others, taking a circuitous route just in case he tried to find me.

Breathe in ... breathe out. Good. Do it again. As I pounded my way through the streets, barely better for my walk, a Rush tune popped into my head—not an unusual occurrence for me. But the song was one I don’t often think of; the lyric that came to mind goes “There is no safe seat at the feast ...”

I almost laughed at the irony and despair that surged through me. So many individuals still believe the myth of America—that this is the freest country on the planet, that if you’re right you’ll get your day in court and you’ll be vindicated by the jury, in a fair trial that is your “right”. So many Libertarians cling to the idea that the machinery of the state works, that it’s just “in the wrong hands”—and that if Libertarians are elected, the machinery will work properly. So many libertarians believe that some amount of “state service” is necessary to ensure and protect our liberties—that voluntary arrangements and free markets just cannot provide for the well-being of peaceable individuals, nor build healthy societies.

Here’s a metaphorical clue-by-four for everyone who fits into one of those categories: There is no safe seat at the feast. If you grant the state any authority over your property, body, or time, it will trickle through that chink and carve a cave out of your life and your mind. There’s simply no way to accommodate both individual liberty and the involuntary rule of some over others.

While I’m giving them away, here’s another clue-by-four: No one will ever value your freedom as much as you. If you value it little, you’ll get what you deserve. If you value it highly and act accordingly, the road will be rough, but at least at the end of your days you’ll be able to hold your head high, knowing that that you fought a good and righteous fight.

A colleague and too-infrequent correspondent of mine in the freedom movement has, for as long as I’ve known him, signed his emails with the line “Only interested in freedom”. The first time I saw it, my immediate response was, “Well, duh!!”, but over time I’ve come to appreciate some nuances inherent in the phrase. At the risk of sounding like a purist who wants to herd the cats, I’ve been finding myself wishing more liberty-lovers would adopt the line and its implications.

Anyone who’s been in the movement for more than a day knows that we are often our own worst enemies. Far and above all the divisiveness separating Objectivists and Libertarians or anarchists and minarchists is the human tendency to put our own personal interests or desires ahead of freedom. Thus one can find examples of individuals who say they’re anarchists supporting laws that coerce individuals into certain behaviors, or that prohibit nonfraudulent, voluntary transactions. In recent conversations with individuals, I’ve been surprised by emotionalism that often appears to be guiding their thinking, and the negative responses to even hypothetical situations that would challenge the world they want to see.

My recent time in the southwestern desert reaffirmed and refocused my commitment to the freedom movement. I discovered that I am, at heart, “only interested in freedom”. To me, that phrase has become a simple metric against which to measure any plan: will this increase individual freedom or decrease it? If it’s the latter, I’m against the plan.

I had no idea how unpopular such a simple thing could be.

If no one takes an extreme position for freedom and considers the possibilities, how will we know that our progress is truly that? Without a vision of total freedom to guide our day-to-day choices and thinking, it’s all too easy to be sucked into the quagmire of today’s unfree systems. I’m not arguing for a utopian solution, nor saying that a Grand Unified Plan for Freedom must be spelled out in excruciating detail before we act. Considering the “impractical extremes” that some libertarians dismiss is essential to our cause, and to our progress. So, for me, thinking about what kinds of justice services might be offered in a free society is just as important as opening individuals’ eyes to the current sham of justice under the so-called “rule of law”.

I’m only interested in freedom. That means that, as far as I’m able (and fortunately, I’ve a number of good friends who help me when my thinking gets muddled), I don’t let personal preferences cloud my thinking about freedom.

Thus, though I despise physical or psychological abuse, I do not advocate more laws to help solve those problems. There’s no “solving” something that is part of human nature (which is an animal nature, after all), and I firmly believe that we’d see far fewer cases of infanticide, fratricide, and related horrors in a free society. Similarly, while I don’t use many mind-altering substances, I see no reason why my preferences ought to dictate what any other responsible person can do in the privacy of his own home.

I long to see truly free markets. Consumerism has been an evolving process for millennia—why on earth should we think that it would stop simply because some don’t like the thought of “big-box stores” replacing smaller-box stores? Farmers used to sell their wares from their farms, or haul them to markets in the nearby towns to sell; then merchants came along to do that task. Then, “Mom and Pop” stores were largely swept aside by supermarkets that were able to offer greater variety and better prices, largely due to technological innovations and economies of scale. WalMart is carrying on the proud economic tradition of supplying consumer demand—something that I won’t shed a tear over. I’m happy to shop at WalMart because they offer a lot of what I want—decent merchandise at low prices. When I want something special, or a higher level of customer service, I patronize a specialty store, and happily pay for getting what I want. [Addendum: at the time I wrote this, I chose not to address the other side of the issue, viz. WalMart’s use of eminent domain and other laws to acquire property for stores. That has always been problematic for me. More importantly, as I have embraced the Discordian philosophy, WalMart has become part of the consumerist system I try to avoid feeding as much as possible.]

Zoning regulations that are thinly disguised protectionism for some special group or cause, laws that create artificial scarcity or monopolies, prohibitions on how an individual can earn a living—they’re all cut from the same statist cloth, and I want nothing to do with them. This has apparently horrified some self-proclaimed freedom lovers, for I’ve been called amoral and disloyal, among other things.

I’m only interested in freedom. What that means is that I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, and I don’t much care what anyone thinks of my ideas unless he can show me—with clear, reasoned arguments free of loaded definitions—where I’m wrong. If your view will help get us to a freer world, then I’m all for it. I don’t care if I’m right or if I’m wrong—I just want freedom.

What that means, though, is that no appeal to public good, general interest, or some other group-based outcome or situation will hold any truck with me. Individual liberty is always usurped under those banners. Far too long have they flown, keeping creative, innovative individuals in the thrall of the collectivists who would steal their labors for the benefit of others, under the guise of “public welfare” or some other convenient fiction. It is precisely this sort of horridly misguided justification of the theft of others’ time and labor that has enabled and encouraged the statists to continue to steal from each of us, under the guise of “doing good”.

It is not good to be a thief—which is what everyone becomes, whether he wants to or not under the state’s programs of welfare and other “services”. It is not good to be the recipient of stolen goods—which is what everyone becomes under as widespread a system of looting and redistributing as we see in the United States today.

I’m only interested in freedom. I’m not interested in dredging up all history’s mistakes and seeking retribution for them—there are too many, and no innocent parties among adults. I’m only interested in the past insofar as it sheds light on failed solutions, so that we may find better ones to light our way. Patents and copyrights try to create artificial scarcity—where, thanks to technological advances, none need exist in most areas. A state-supported monopoly is a monopoly of the worst sort; thus I embrace the changes that are coming to creative endeavors that seek to shrug off these outmoded monopolies. The change is going to be chaotic, and likely very difficult for many, as they adjust to the reality that their preferred way of earning a living will not suffice any longer. This has had personal implications for me, as I had the goal of supporting myself via my writing. But I’m more interested in freedom than serving my short-term wants.

I welcome the future, for all its chaotic change, because I’m confident that freedom will win. There’s nothing that the state need provide for us—private markets unfettered by taxation, state-driven artificialities, or other interference can meet human needs. Indeed, they can do so better, cheaper, and much more reliably.

It’s easy for an individual to say that he or she is interested in freedom—many people profess to be, every day. But many seem to want to be granted permission to be free—as if any state would voluntarily free all its slaves. Others agitate for freedom in some areas, while overlooking coercive measures that supposedly work to their benefit, or which allegedly help create a nicer world.

We can’t break free of our shackles if we don't have our hearts firmly committed to working toward total freedom. We won’t create a totally free utopia—but we can’t make as much progress as we might if we don’t set our sights on the highest goal possible.

I’m only interested in freedom. What about you?



Author’s note: This essay was inspired in part by Iloilo Marguerite Jones, to whom it is admiringly dedicated.

Anyone who’s been paying attention to the economic news has seen this announcement coming from a long way out: Vallejo, California, Officials Vote for Bankruptcy. If that is the start of a trend—and there’s good reason to think it might be—I think it could be a “making lemonade” opportunity for voluntaryists.

I am quite undecided about this turn of events in the housing market. Banks’ mail jingles as borrowers walk is the headline on a commentary by James Saft. For anyone who hasn’t come across the phrase “jingle mail” yet, it describes the phenomenon of homeowners walking away from a home because the debt owed is greater than its current value—and so, they mail the keys to the lender. The unmistakable signal jingle mail sends is, “I’m done here. The house is yours.”—thus breaking the mortgage contract. Is that wrong? I’ve seen a fair bit of commentary arguing both ways; but none of it has been from a pro-freedom perspective.

The Epicurean concept of ataraxia means freedom from mental disturbances. Epicurus taught that such freedom is a necessary component in the lifetime pursuit of rational pleasure which leads ultimately to eudaimonia (the flourishing of one's life).

Epicurus is truly the philosopher of freedom--of the sort that most of us modern lovers of liberty seek--and the fact that he accurately laid out all of the essentials millennia ago is truly remarkable. And what are these essentials?

Strike the Root has published an article titled Vulgar Anti-Corporatism. As readers of Kevin Carson’s excellent Mutualist Blog would immediately suspect from the title, the idea is a riff on Carson’s “vulgar libertarian watch” concept. However, Hogeye Bill’s article wasn’t at all persuasive to me.

Brad Spangler has answered an interesting freedom-oriented meme, and tags me to do likewise. The question is: “What motivated you to start looking into Anarchist/Libertarian thought?” So, here goes my answer.