Essay 2: Liberty Behind Closed Doors
Posted: Wed Oct 15, 2025 10:55 am
Essay 2: Liberty Behind Closed Doors
Subtitle: How Prohibition Exposed the Power of the Private Membership Association
Introduction: When Freedom Went Underground
History has an odd way of teaching us the same lesson twice. During America’s Prohibition era—a time when the state tried to outlaw a glass of wine between friends—the very concept of liberty retreated underground. Ordinary people who had once lived freely found themselves living like fugitives for wanting to share a drink, make their own remedies, or conduct honest trade. Yet, in that period of public suppression, a quiet revolution was taking place in the private realm. The private membership association, or PMA, became the hidden refuge of the free man. It was the tavern door that never shut, the contract that never bowed to the king.
What began as a simple method to keep the authorities at bay became, in essence, the lawful expression of self-governance.
I often reflect on how that era mirrored today’s encroachment of government overreach—medical, economic, even moral. In every age where the state overextends itself, men and women rediscover what it means to live privately. Prohibition merely made this visible. It drew a sharp line between two worlds: the public, where everything is controlled, and the private, where the human spirit remains untamed.
I. The Hidden Engine of Prohibition
The official narrative of Prohibition tells of a nation gone moral, purging itself of liquor to save its soul. But beneath the pious surface, the real motive was economic and mechanical, not moral. Before the ban, American farmers lived in a state of robust self-reliance. Corn was their gold, and with simple stills they converted that corn into moonshine—ethanol, a clean, combustible fuel that powered tractors and engines alike. This independence rendered them ungovernable. They didn’t need corporate fuel or federal oversight.
When Prohibition arrived, it was not merely an attack on whiskey—it was an assault on autonomy. By criminalizing alcohol, the state cut off the farmers’ ability to fuel themselves, both literally and economically. No longer could they distill their own supply of energy or preserve their own medicines. They were forced into dependence on industrial fuel and pharmaceutical monopolies.
But even in this orchestrated dependency, freedom found a way. The PMA became the farmer’s last legal refuge. Bars rebranded as “private clubs.” Distillers operated under the protection of membership contracts. You could not “sell” alcohol publicly, but you could share it privately among consenting members. The law could invade a business, but not a fellowship of equal men acting in their private capacity. This quiet rebellion, cloaked in legality, preserved the essence of lawful freedom.
In those dimly lit meeting rooms and back barns, America remembered what it meant to be sovereign. The lawful side of life—conducted by consent, not coercion—persisted when the public side collapsed under its own absurdity.
II. The Lawful Loophole That Wasn’t a Loophole
One of the great ironies of history is how often the truth hides in plain sight. The PMA was never a loophole—it was the original system. It predated the statutes that tried to cage it. During Prohibition, it simply reasserted its ancient authority: men and women of full capacity, acting under contract, may do as they wish, so long as they harm no one.
To the bureaucratic mind, this was intolerable. The government claimed that “the public interest” justified universal control. But here’s the problem: who defines “the public”? In every statute, “the public” is a phantom—an abstraction used to justify interference in the private affairs of real individuals.
A PMA, by contrast, is explicit. It defines who belongs, under what terms, and with what consent. It operates on declaration, not presumption. While the state claims to protect the public, the PMA protects the person. The courts even recognized this distinction when challenged. Cases arose where individuals sued to be reinstated into political parties or associations that had expelled them. The verdicts were clear: private membership associations are sovereign in their membership decisions. They are not bound by public law, but by the contracts of their own creation.
That principle—voluntary association—is the cornerstone of any lawful society. To join is to consent; to leave is to reclaim your independence. No coercion, no servitude, no “social contract” drafted by invisible hands.
And this is the deeper truth of Prohibition: while the public was enslaved by statutes, the private realm remained free. Men of understanding began to see that all freedom, in practice, is private.
III. From Taverns to Trusts: Reclaiming Private Commerce
The creativity of free people during that era was nothing short of remarkable. When the law forbade the open sale of liquor, they did not despair—they adapted. A saloon would transform overnight into a “members-only social club.” To enter, one needed a signed membership agreement, and within those walls, freedom was absolute. The bartender was no longer a vendor, but a contracted member of the association. The patrons were not “customers” but private associates. The exchange of value—be it dollars, gold, or favors—was a private matter, shielded from public jurisdiction.
The same principle spread far beyond alcohol. Medicine men and healers, persecuted under emerging pharmaceutical regulations, formed their own PMAs to continue practicing natural medicine lawfully. Farmers banded together into private food co-ops, trading produce, meat, and milk among themselves without government intrusion. Even mechanics, teachers, and inventors adopted the model, creating private contracts that defined their own rules of trade.
Through these lawful structures, ordinary people bypassed the public system entirely. They learned a profound lesson: the public domain is the cage; the private domain is the key.
Today, the lesson endures. A private restaurant may operate for members only, serving food grown by private farmers. A private school may teach truthfully, unchained from state curricula. A private healer may offer remedies rooted in creation, not corporate chemistry. Every such act is a quiet proclamation of freedom: “I am not the public. I am a free man under law.”
The PMA is, in essence, the reawakening of true commerce—value for value, trust for trust. It restores the sacred bond of contract, which is the original form of law.
Conclusion: The Quiet Rebellion That Never Ended
Prohibition eventually ended, as all absurdities do. But the lesson it taught should never be forgotten: the lawful cannot be outlawed. The moment the state oversteps, lawful men and women retreat to higher ground—the private realm—where consent, not compulsion, governs.
I often say that the PMA is not an escape from law, but a return to it. The public realm, with its taxes, licenses, and regulations, is the artificial world—a system of permissions masquerading as rights. The private realm is the real world, where men and women take responsibility for their own actions under natural law.
The taverns of Prohibition, the barns of the farmers, the secret societies of mutual aid—all were early expressions of this truth. They remind us that no government can ban freedom; it can only drive it behind closed doors until brave souls open them again.
Today, as bureaucracies tighten their grip once more—over medicine, food, thought, and faith—the PMA offers the same refuge it once did. It is the living sanctuary of lawful people. It is where the true meaning of freedom still resides: not in protest, but in practice.
And so, as I reflect on that strange age when liberty hid in plain sight, I can only conclude that the PMA is not merely a tool of resistance—it is the blueprint of a moral civilization. To live privately is to live responsibly. To live lawfully is to live free. And if that freedom must sometimes hide behind closed doors, so be it—until the world remembers once again that what is lawful cannot be forbidden.