In the defense of non-walkable infrastructure

In the diaries of Meriwether Lewis (1774-1809), the explorer, soldier, and politician expressed a deep desire to transform the American wilderness into eight-lane superhighways populated by Krystal’s, BP gas stations, and Vapor Trails vape shops. He envisioned the American spirit far beyond his contemporaries, bravely paving the way for swaths of cement from coast-to-coast. In a letter to his gym bro, he wrote, “I can only hope that future children may experience the joy of biting into a greasy sausage biscuit and shoot their veins full of a Monster energy drink while hurdling down the glory of the open road, miles and miles of asphalt. It’s what Jesus would have wanted.”

Indeed, as I wake in the morning and fold myself into a metal cage, I sigh in relief as soon as I cut myself off from the surrounding environment. Isolation is like a balm to my soul—especially as my dashboard lights up to let me know my oil is leaking. I love polluting.

On my way to work, I tailgate the Prius in front of me as I crack open a cold one. The thrill of a potential DUI sends my adrenaline spiking, mingling with the 200 mgs of caffeine coursing through my veins. There’s no chance of a red-and-blue light show if I was able to walk drunk or—God forbid—take public transportation. No, I much prefer the chance of rolling the dice for a police run-in. They are the backbone of non-walkable infrastructure, after all, enforcing those bureaucratic fees of wheel taxes, vehicle registration, and car insurance. That money is the life-blood that keeps this country free and beautiful. And there’s no freedom like meeting red light upon red light upon red light and grinding my brakes into a fine mist. 

I look at a poor man waiting for his signal to walk and roll my eyes at his plebeian status; to stand on one’s own feet, after all, is a sign of stupidity. For one who walks must be a beggarly, primitive Neandertal. Only those who sit atop four wheels can be considered civilized. We are the arbiters of industry, growth, and evolution.

As a Tesla truck drives by, I think to myself: “This… now this is progress.”

The Walking Vagrant ignores the red hand and crosses the street on his own accord. I scoff in disbelief—what a measly jab at freedom when I—I in my two-ton monster truck—can catapult down the interstate at eighty miles per hour. That’s fucking freedom. I can go much faster and farther. And I have the choice to slam on my brakes when traffic suddenly halts. There’s nothing like seeing that glimpse of fear in the Prius’s rearview window.

That Walking Vagrant must not have a job. Anyone with a job these days has to drive at least forty minutes to get to their place of employment. And it brings me such joy when part of my paycheck is allocated to car payments, insurance installments, gas refills, and toll fees. It reminds me of how necessary this hunk of metal is. Plus, it gives me plenty of time to catch up on my talk radio, bombarded by ten minute long ads—over, even better: podcasts, the most veritable form of media.

“Poor people are lazy,” says the podcast host as the walking man jaywalks—as if he has been granted any right. My knuckles turn white in their grip upon my steering wheel. “They just can’t get off their lazy asses..” 

In the end, there’s nothing like striking the inferior walking man with the grill of my vehicle, as if he were a bowling pin in my game of life. 500 points if you can hear the crunch of his bones.  It begets the thrill of any gambler at a slot machine; as I tally my points, my odometer goes up and up and up. It’s what Jesus would have wanted, after all.

Article 27 from Ted Kaczynski’s “Technology Is a More Powerful Social Force than the Aspiration of Freedom,” in Industrial Society and Its Future:

A technological advance that appears not to threaten freedom often turns out to threaten it very seriously later on. For example, consider motorized transport. A walking man formerly could go where he pleased, go at his own pace without observing any traffic regulations, and was independent of technological support-systems. 

When motor vehicles were introduced they appeared to increase man's freedom. They took no freedom away from the walking man, no one had to have an automobile if he didn't want one, and anyone who did choose to buy an automobile could travel much faster and farther than a walking man. But the introduction of motorized transport soon changed society in such a way as to restrict greatly man's freedom of locomotion. 

When automobiles became numerous, it became necessary to regulate their use extensively. In a car, especially in densely populated areas, one cannot just go where one likes at one's own pace one's movement is governed by the flow of traffic and by various traffic laws. One is tied down by various obligations: license requirements, driver test, renewing registration, insurance, maintenance required for safety, monthly payments on purchase price. 

[T]he use of motorized transport is no longer optional. 

Addendum: This piece of short fiction was written prior to the events of the UHC shooting and subsequent arrest. We can acknowledge the relevance of Kaczynski’s writings while not aligning ourselves with actions.