When I was young I wondered why,
The world I knew was all awry:
Inflation, crime, and poverty,
I travelled cross the world to find,
Answers for my troubled mind,
I know not where I woke one morn -
I felt so fresh, almost reborn.
I looked about from where I lay,
And saw a man who walked my way.
“And who,” I asked, “might you be?”
He paused, then said, “Call me J.G.”
He gave me food and hearty brew,
Then showed me towns and people, too.
And when I asked him who they were,
His pride in them I did bestir.
“‘Carrot People’ is our name,
Use of sticks we disclaim.
“We hold there are two ways to gain,
From others, things in their domain.
The first is force, the threatening stick,
Used by the body politic.
The second is in freedom made,
A ‘carrot’ offered in a trade.
We believe that through the ages,
Between two classes conflict rages:
Those who make by their own sweat,
And those who take by force or threat.
We hold that from the very first,
Men have always been coerced.
One man sows, another reaps,
What one man earns, another keeps.
We had enough, we must be free,
If voluntary, it’s allowed,
But if it’s not, it’s disavowed.
"Carrot People’ is our name,
Sticks are evil, we proclaim.”
It took me time to think this through,
Its implications to pursue.
“You mean there is no state?”
I fairly shouted - my shock so great.
My fluster left him unperturbed,
His thoughts continued undisturbed:
“No one in this world of ours,
By grace of God, or vote, or stars,
Has the right to choose for you,
With your life what you will do.
If each alone can’t rule another,
Neither can each and his brother.”
“What of our needs,” I objected,
“Courts, defense, our lives protected?”
“If a service you desire,
Then by purchase it acquire.
Your needs are yours, and mine are mine,
Not to me your needs consign.”
‘Carrot People’ is our name,
Sticks of state we overcame.”
“We had a state here long ago,
From small beginnings it did grow.
It fed itself on honest toil,
And honest workers did despoil.
It took our pay and property,
Inflated all our currency.
It gave us laws to make us good,
To do what others thought we should.
The state gave us security,
To keep dissension underground,
A cause for war was quickly found.
Granting favors it perfected,
To insure all re-elected.
No matter what one wished to do,
There was a law that hindered you.
Craftsmen, farmers, all alike,
With one voice, we called a strike.
Before our courage had elapsed,
The tyrants fled, the state collapsed.
‘Carrot People’ is our name,
Broken sticks, our state became.”
We came upon an awful slum,
Here an addict, there a bum.
I saw some people quite ill-fed,
“And those must be your poor, ‘ I said.
“Why, no,” he answered, with a grin,
“Socialists did here begin,
A paradise for all who would,
Share their wealth in brotherhood.
But few will work their lives away,
While others live a holiday.
The workers left, to freedom find,
The lazy leeches stayed behind.
Had it been compulsory,
To nowhere could the workers flee.
‘Carrot peoples is our name,
Sticky people Hell will claim.’
I saw a man so badly maimed,
That “Broken Charley” he was named.
Before an easel, there sat he,
And painted, oh, so, beautifully.
“My strength lies,” said he,
For had I been as fit as you,
My talents might lie buried, too.
Everyone on this good earth,
However humble, has his worth.
Let him trade for what he can,
Give him alms - deny he’s man.
‘Carrot People’ is our name,
When sticks left, freedom came.”
And now I find myself back home,
No longer round the world do roam.
Surrounded as I am by sticks,
The raison d’etre for politics,
I wonder what became of him,
Who taught the stickless paradigm.
Perhaps 'twas only but a dream,
A wish that I could not redeem.
Yet still when I am sad with drink,
I look around me and I think:
“Carrot People” was their name,
Use of sticks is our shame.