The Ludwig von Mises Institute presents The Libertarian Tradition, an audio series with
Jeff Rigenbach.
A few weeks ago, in remembering the libertarian career of Vince Miller, I called my listeners
attention to a particular group of libertarians, those born between the late 1930s and the
I called this group the first generation of modern libertarians.
The first libertarians who, if they became interested in ideas when most people do in
their teens, would have found some sort of libertarian movement already in place to help
guide them to the ideas and the people they'd probably be most glad to learn about, a movement
A movement that could help make sure they could find the classics of libertarian thought in cheap, reliable editions.
A movement that could help make sure new libertarian works of importance were published and made available to as wide an audience as possible.
The natural leaders of this first generation of modern libertarians, those with the talent, the charisma, the vitality, the drive,
To move, figuratively speaking, to the front of the group and attract attention to themselves and their accomplishments, these natural leaders began to emerge during the 1970s.
The 1970s and 80s was a heady time in the history of the modern libertarian movement.
The movement had just experienced a massive increase in population, virtually all at once.
Suddenly, there were at least two or three times as many libertarians in the world as there had been only a few years earlier.
Suddenly, libertarians were everywhere, or so it seemed.
Suddenly, mainstream publishers were interested in issuing new hardcover books about libertarianism.
In 1970, from Bob's Merrill came Radical Libertarianism by Jerome Tuccioli.
In 1973 came The Machinery of Freedom by David Friedman, and For a New Liberty by Murray
Ann Rothbard, and How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World by Harry Brown.
Suddenly there were dozens of libertarian publications on the market.
There was a joke going around at the time that defined libertarians as people who earned
a living by selling magazine articles to each other.
It's true that most of these publications had a circulation of no more than a few hundred
at best, and they looked decidedly amateurish when placed next to conservative or liberal
publications of that era.
It wasn't until around 1980 that the movement had maybe three or four professionally designed
magazines that reached a readership of ten thousand or more and wouldn't have looked
out of place next to National Review or the New Republic on a newsstand.
But even in the days when they were still typeset on typewriters and bound with a single
staple in the upper left-hand corner of page one, they contained some outstanding writing
and some compelling ideas.
This was before the internet, remember, before email.
There were more libertarians than ever before, or so it seemed, but if you wanted to be in
touch with them, you had to rely on the U.S. mail, whichever branch of the telephone monopoly
was nearest to where you lived, and simple old-fashioned going out and pressing the flesh.
This third option was not equally available everywhere, of course.
Libertarians tended to gravitate towards certain metropolitan areas.
New York was the major center of libertarian social and intellectual activity until sometime
in the early 1970s, when the focus of the movement shifted to Los Angeles.
For a few years in the late 70s and early 80s, you might say the focus shifted again,
this time to San Francisco.
The next shift in the mid-1980s was to Washington D.C. and environs.
Though by now the movement had grown by a few more leaps and bounds and was becoming
polycentric, New York, L.A. and San Francisco retained their status as libertarian centers,
while Washington added itself to the steadily growing list.
Humans who grew up in small towns or in cities that weren't libertarian centers often picked
up and moved to one of the libertarian centers in search of the kind of social life they
wanted but simply couldn't find where they were.
In the libertarian intellectual and social scene in Los Angeles in the early 70s, everybody
was from somewhere else.
In my first year in Los Angeles, 1972 and 1973, three of the most personally important
The people I met were Roy A. Childs, Jr., who had come to L.A. from Buffalo, New York via Washington, D.C. in vicinity,
George H. Smith, who had come to L.A. from Tucson, Arizona, though as an Air Force brat he'd grown up all over,
and Lou Rollins, who was originally from Wyoming, but had at least had the decency to grow up in L.A. and in Virens.
In the libertarian centers there were endless activities, parties, lectures, supper clubs,
meetings of every sort.
In Los Angeles in the early to mid 1970s, you seldom saw an entire week go by without
at least one opportunity to get together with local and visiting libertarians, especially
if you were willing to drive a few miles across town or even into a neighboring county.
This state of affairs continued after the advent of the age of the internet, but the
frequency of the events began to fall off.
A week could now go by without at least one opportunity to get together with local and
visiting libertarians.
Maybe even a few weeks could go by, but seldom as much as an entire month.
The institutions we think of today as the major institutions of the libertarian movement
were founded in the 70s and 80s.
The Cato Institute in San Francisco in 1977, the Reason Foundation in Santa Barbara about
85 or 90 miles north of Los Angeles in 1978, in 1986 or thereabouts the Reason Foundation
moved to Los Angeles, and the Mises Institute in the southern college town of Auburn, Alabama
in 1982.
In 1982 a town like Auburn was significantly isolated.
You didn't encounter very many libertarians in a place like that, much less any of the
intellectual leaders of the libertarian movement.
But the day was not far off when, because of the internet, it no longer mattered where
one was, geographically speaking.
One could be anywhere, if one was connected and one knew how to make use of the internet.
But I get ahead of my story.
What we regard today as the major institutions of the libertarian movement, Cato, Reason,
Mises, were much smaller in those days and much more modestly funded.
Their ability to do good libertarian works was therefore much more limited, as was their
ability to offer opportunities for young libertarians who wanted to become full-time libertarian
and Intellectuals, or otherwise make a career of working to advance the cause of individual
liberty.
Yet, there were those who chose to try to make such careers for themselves even if they
were unable to find institutional support for their efforts.
One such was a young man from western Canada, not all the way west, mind you, not British
Columbia out on the Pacific coast, a bit farther inland than that, in the westernmost of what
What Canadians call the Prairie Provinces.
His name was Samuel Edward Conkin III.
He was born in Saskatchewan 63 years ago this month, on July 8, 1947.
He grew up in Edmonton, in the neighbouring Prairie Province of Alberta, and got his undergraduate
education at the University of Alberta, where he first became involved in political activism,
serving as head of the Young Social Credit League on campus.
The Young Social Credit League was a student group allied with the politics of the Social
Credit Party, a minor Canadian political party founded in Alberta in the mid-1930s and based
on the theories, first published in the 1920s, of the British engineer and economist C.H.
Douglas.
Douglas was what Murray Rothbard used to describe as a money crank.
He believed, Douglas that is, that government could enrich and invigorate the economy by
giving away money to both producers and consumers.
Clearly, in 1967, at the age of 20, Samuel Edward Conkin III had not yet discovered libertarianism.
He would do so in short order, however.
He had already discovered the science fiction of Robert A. Heinlein, and when the mass market
paperback edition of Heinlein's 1966 novel, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, was published
in 1968, Sam picked up a copy as quickly as he could manage it and sat down to read.
This new Heinlein tale, in which colonists on the moon, Luna, stage a libertarian revolution
against the tyranny of politicians on earth, captured Sam's imagination in a way none of
Heinlein's other books ever had.
He was particularly fascinated by the views of the self-described rational anarchist,
Professor Bernardo de la Paz, the intellectual leader of the rebels on Luna.
So when in the summer of 1968 Sam Conkin moved to Madison, Wisconsin, where he would start
as a graduate student in chemistry at the University of Wisconsin in the fall, he was
a former advocate of social credit, newly converted to libertarianism by Robert A. Heinlein.
The questions were answered in short order too. His new roommate, another chemistry grad student named Tony Warnock, turned out to be a big fan of everything related to Ayn Rand.
Through Warnock, Sam was introduced not only to the writings of Rand, but also to those of a couple of economists, Ludwig von Mises and Murray Rothbard, and to those of Robert Lefebvre, the real-life anarchist philosopher on whom Robert A. Heinlein had based Professor Bernardo de la Paz.
Warnock also steered Sam to the Wisconsin Conservative Club, and he found his own way with no trouble at all from there to the University of Wisconsin chapter of YAF, Young Americans for Freedom, the conservative student organization founded in 1960 on William F. Buckley Jr.'s family estate in Connecticut.
Sam joined YAF during the fall term of 1968.
Within a few months, he had been selected as a delegate to the organization's national convention in St. Louis in August 1969.
As all the world knows by now, the young libertarians expelled from that YAF convention,
along with the young libertarians expelled from the SDS national convention a month before in Chicago,
in Chicago, became the nucleus of what Sam later called the Libertarian Population Explosion of 1969.
At that YAF convention, Sam met Rothbard, Carl Hess and Dana Rohrabacher.
Yes, I refer to the GOP congressman from Southern California, who is today indistinguishable from any other conservative Republican,
But who was something else entirely 40 years ago, when he was, as Sam put it once in an interview,
newly radicalized by Robert LeFave, who provided him with small funding to travel the country with his guitar
and his libertarian folk songs from campus to campus, converting YAF chapters into libertarian alliances and SIL chapters.
At that YAF convention, Sam Conkin confirmed his new identity as a libertarian.
Back in Madison, he schemed on how to get to New York, where he could build his new relationship with Rothbard and attend Mises' famous seminar at New York University.
He transferred to NYU in the fall term of 1970.
Almost upon his arrival at his new graduate school, he assumed the editorship of the NYU Libertarian Notes, a campus newsletter,
The Theory of Money and Credit
The Free Libertarian Party was polarizing libertarian strategic thought between those who believed political action could be used to achieve a free society, and those who believed political action was a betrayal of libertarian principle.
Sam stepped up.
When he saw the focus of the movement change from New York to LA in the early 70s, he followed
it there.
New Libertarian Notes morphed into New Libertarian Weekly, and finally into New Libertarian,
which was supposed to be a monthly, but actually appeared on a monthly basis only in fits and
starts, and finally fizzled out altogether in the 90s.
By this time, of course, the age of the internet was upon us.
Sam taught himself HTML and launched a couple of websites, along with an email discussion
group called Left Libertarian.
But the 90s proved to be merely the beginning of the long gradual decline of his once startling
energy and productivity.
By the turn of the new century, he had pretty much ceased publishing at all.
By 2004, he was dead.
Looking back, it seems clear that the 70s and 80s were Sam's peak years, his time in
the sun.
He published aggressively during that period.
Not only New Libertarian, but a dozen other newsletters and various pamphlets as well,
including his famous New Libertarian Manifesto, with endorsements from both Rothbard and Lefebvre.
He attracted funding for his various activities.
For a few years, in the late 80s, he found enough funding to open a small suite of offices
in a downtown office building in Long Beach, California, for his own libertarian think
tank, the Agorist Institute.
The name, agorist, was derived from the ancient Greek word agora, meaning open marketplace.
Sam attracted a coterie of admirers and fellow revolutionaries during the 70s and 80s, a
couple of whom, J. Neil Schulman and Victor Komen, made independent marks as award-winning
libertarian science fiction writers during the 80s and 90s.
Sam was one of the great eccentrics of the libertarian 70s and 80s.
You've heard that it's impossible to live in Los Angeles without owning a car, getting
everywhere on public transportation the way many New Yorkers do?
Sam did it in LA for 25 years or more.
You've heard that there's never been a libertarian publication that didn't favor the views of
one faction or another of the movement?
Sam opened his publications to every libertarian point of view.
At the top of his masthead in every issue he proudly printed the statement,
Everyone appearing in this publication disagrees.
Sam had a marked talent for neologism.
You've heard that there are two types of libertarians, anarchists and minarchists, that is, advocates
of very small or minimal government.
Minarchist and minarchy and minarchism were all coined in the 70s by Sam.
You may have heard that back in the 70s libertarians who gave up political activism under the influence
of Harry Brown's book, How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World, were called Brownouts?
Another conkin coinage.
You may have heard the term coctopus applied to the group of libertarian organizations
funded in the late 70s and early 80s by the Kansas oil billionaire Charles Koch.
Coctopus was yet another of Sam's many coinages.
It wasn't only his coinages that attracted attention, of course.
It was also his ideas.
Younger libertarians today have sometimes heard of Sam Cockin, but don't really have
a clear understanding of who he was or why he was important.
Yet, despite Sam's failure to take proper advantage of the internet and help assure
the survival of his work for at least another generation, I still run into references to
him and his ideas in libertarian publications.
I ran into one just the other day in an article by Walter Block in the newest issue of the
Journal of Libertarian Studies.
Predictably the reference was to the most interesting and probably the most enduring
of Sam's ideas, his concept of counter-economics and the counter-economy.
Nearly every action, Sam wrote in the mid-1980s, is regulated, taxed, prohibited or subsidized.
So everyone is a resistor to the extent that he survives in a society where laws control
everything and give contradictory orders.
All non-coercive human action committed in defiance of the state constitutes the counter-economy.
The counter-economy is therefore pretty vast.
The more controls and taxation a state imposes on its people, Sam wrote, the more they will
According to U.S. government estimates, just the tax-dodging part of the counter-economy is 20 to 40 million of the population.
That's big, but not big enough to cause the collapse of our official economy.
In the Soviet Union, by contrast, Sam noted, communism collapsed in no small part due to
the counter-economy.
Nearly everything was available in the counter-economy, with only shoddy goods and shortages in the
official socialist economy.
The Soviets called counter-economic goods left-hand, and entire manufacturing assembly lines co-existed
with the desultory state-industry ones on the same factory floor.
Counter-economic capitalists sold shares in their companies and vacationed in Black Sea
resorts.
Managers of collective farms who needed a tractor replaced in a hurry looked to the
and the Counter-economy, rather than see their whole cause collapse, awaiting a state tractor delivery.
Nor is this all, for as Sam pointed out, tax evasion, inflation avoidance, smuggling, free production and illegal distribution,
still compose only half the counter-economy.
Labor flows as freely as capital, as hordes of illegal aliens pour across borders from more statist to less statist economic regions, and as these people and others begin providing services that are both unlicensed and unregulated.
Most of these people, Sam argued, are acting in an agorist manner with little understanding of any theory.
The Theory, they are induced by material gain to evade, avoid or defy the state.
Surely they are a hopeful potential?
Sam thought they were.
What we libertarians needed to do, he believed, was educate these people, help them to see
that getting rid of the state was good for business, good for prosperity, convert them
to agorism, then basically let nature take its course.
The path from here to Agora now becomes blindingly obvious, Sam wrote.
As more people reject the state's mystifications, the counter-economy grows both vertically
and horizontally.
Horizontally, it involves more and more people who turn more and more of their activities
toward the counter-economic.
Vertically, it means new structures, businesses and services grow specifically to serve the
of the Counter-Economy.
Among these services designed to serve the counter-economy,
Sam listed arbitrators as an example.
But he also commented that counter-economic entrepreneurs
have an incentive to provide better security devices,
places of concealment, instructions to aid evasion
and to screen potential customers and suppliers
for other counter-economic entrepreneurs.
And thus is the counter-economic protection industry born.
As it grows, it may begin insuring against busts, lowering counter-economic risks further
and accelerating counter-economic growth.
Eventually, of course, after a period of increasingly rapid change of this kind, the underground
will break into and displace the over-ground.
The State will wither away into irrelevance, its taxpayers, soldiers and law enforcement
people having deserted it for the marketplace, and will be left with a free, agorist society.
Or so Sam expected anyhow.
It's good to know that Sam's vision still excites interest, comment, criticism, so long
after his heyday, the 70s and 80s, has faded into a steadily less and less precisely remembered
It would be good to see even more attention being paid to his ideas.
It would be good to see them playing a larger part in the emergence of whatever turns out
to be our future.
This is Jeff Rigenbach.
Thank you for watching!