One might imagine that the tragic news emanating from the Philippines – three dead, eight injured, in yet another school shooting – would prompt a moment of genuine introspection from those who champion the expansive reach of the state. Instead, we’re fed the usual pabulum: condemnation, calls for *more* regulation, and the ever-present, if utterly hollow, promise that the government will ‘do something.’ It's a script as old as bureaucracy itself, and just as effective, which is to say, not at all.
Let's be clear: when violence erupts in places supposedly secured by state decree, it’s not an argument for *more* state. It’s an indictment of the fundamental premise that the state can, or even should, be the sole guarantor of personal safety. Every time a tragic incident like this occurs, the narrative invariably circles back to the idea that if only *more* laws were passed, if only *more* resources were poured into government agencies, if only *more* prohibitions were enforced, such horrors would magically cease. This, of course, conveniently ignores the inconvenient truth that the Philippines, like many nations, already possesses an impressive arsenal of restrictions and state-controlled security apparatus.
The impulse to turn to the government as the universal problem-solver, particularly in the face of human depravity, is a deeply ingrained one. It’s a comforting fiction, peddled by those who benefit most from an ever-expanding state. But comfort, as we’ve learned time and again, is not the same as competence. Frédéric Bastiat, ever the astute observer, would no doubt remind us that the state is "the great fictitious entity by which everyone seeks to live at the expense of everyone else." In this context, it’s also the great fictitious entity by which everyone seeks to be protected, often at the expense of their own liberty and ability to defend themselves.
Consider the perverse incentive structure at play. When the state declares itself the sole purveyor of security, it implicitly disarms its citizens, both literally and figuratively. It fosters a dependency, a naive belief that a distant, monolithic entity can somehow foresee and prevent every malevolent act. This dependency then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: when individuals are deprived of the means and the right to protect themselves, they become more vulnerable, thus reinforcing the perceived 'need' for state intervention. It’s a vicious cycle, enriching the bureaucratic class while leaving the average citizen dangerously exposed.
The argument that more government control over weaponry or more omnipresent security forces will deter individuals intent on violence is a triumph of wishful thinking over harsh reality. Criminals, by definition, operate outside the bounds of law. To believe that adding another layer of prohibition will suddenly transform their moral compass is to fundamentally misunderstand human nature and the limitations of state power. As F.A. Hayek so eloquently argued, "The curious task of economics is to demonstrate to men how little they really know about what they imagine they can design." One could easily substitute "security" for "economics" and "social order" for "design" in that statement when observing the state’s hubris.
Perhaps it's time we stopped asking what the government *can do* for us, and started asking what we are allowing it to *prevent us from doing* for ourselves. The true tragedy in these recurring incidents isn't just the loss of life, profound as that is. It's the persistent refusal to acknowledge that genuine security often emerges not from top-down decrees, but from empowered individuals and communities. From the freedom to innovate, to protect oneself, and to make choices about personal safety without the suffocating hand of a distant, often ineffective, bureaucracy.
Until we embrace this fundamental truth – that individuals are the ultimate arbiters of their own security, and that the state's monopoly on force often leaves us *less* secure – we will continue to witness these grim headlines. And the government, ever eager to expand its remit, will continue to offer the same tired solutions, each more expensive and less effective than the last, all while pointing to the very problems it helped create as justification for its continued existence. It's a bad joke, but nobody's laughing.