So what if the Nameless One destroys democracy as he intends? People will still eat, babies be born, dogs bark, life go on. What difference really?

True, humdrum lives will unfold mostly as before. Folks eat in Russia, China – fewer starve. Kids learn arithmetic. People buy stuff. There’s entertainment – sometimes better than what we’ve got in America. Fewer guns, less crime. Hospitals. Doctors. Politer manners. What’s so glorious about free speech when the speech is filth, or about capitalism when the rich grab all the gain? Life might be easier, sweeter, if we could loll, innocent as tots, provided we kept our noses clean.

No question, irresponsibility has its charms. The poor are less poor where none seem to have more. No use trying to rise if you get whacked down. Some lingering old East Germans used to say they preferred life before reunification, it was so much easier.

Freedom means freedom to differ, suffer, dream. If these do not entice, a totalitarian system might suffice. The loss is at the frontiers – of exploring, knowing, inventing, experimenting. If compliance is rewarded and originality punished, why take risks, we can’t all be Gallileos! If there had been no theaters, there’d have been no Shakespeare, but there still would have been bear-baiting. What’s wrong with bear-baiting?

For some, existence and living are synonymous, as for other creatures. Dog-pal Henry tells me he’s OK with any system of government as long as he eats and isn’t eaten. He smiles at my dismay, licks me to relax. When I remind him he’d have no freedom of speech – or thought! – he assures me that’s my lookout, not his, he’s happy napping. Who needs more words – the world is full of them! Or more new books? My shelves groan with oldies-but-goodies. They wouldn’t ban Shakespeare, would they, or Thoreau, or the Bible, just the uppity new guys.

Humans differ from dogs in this regard: not all, but some. Some believe life is worthless without adventuring, exploring, expressing, widening awareness past permissible perimeters. They chafe at reciting by rote. Boredom spooks them more than bondage. Why bother being if merely to be!

You and I are of this contingent. Otherwise, we wouldn’t gather here, in our cozy coterie, where our only object is knowing and feeling more. Many humans, even some very smart ones, don’t want to know more than they need to to get by. Why ask questions, they ask; why make trouble? Let sleeping dogs lie (a sentiment Henry seconds).

"Music is essentially useless, as life is," sighed Santayana. Where there’s no discernible purpose there can be no debate about the best way to be. Whatever floats your boat is a creed as admissible as any.

For me, music is life’s only use – music, beauty, discovery, singing, saying – the surprise of the new. I live to explore – and wouldn’t care to live if I couldn’t. And exploration is hazardous, perhaps impossible, without permission. My every word is safeguarded by a tradition of freedom: a freedom the Nameless One seeks to quash, for thought is the enemy of tyrants.

For years my dreams have been jostled by a knock on the door. The rap’s been getting louder. No truth, no criticism, no free speech! Capital punishment has been suggested for loudmouths – and he’s not kidding.

I – and I’m sure you – oppose this oppression with all our might, because life wouldn’t be livable otherwise. I’m no hero – I love my lazy ease – but neither could I survive gagged or braindead. Freedom is my oxygen, therefore opposition my obligation. Do or die.