01/12/2025
On the Isle of Lewis, crofters still work the old way: one man, two dogs, a flock and the Atlantic wind. Watching Leslie and his collies, Bruce and Jude, round up sheep across the moor, I was struck by how little command was needed. After a whistle and a word, Bruce and Jude’s instincts took care of the rest. It was order without control, and freedom within purpose. This is liberty properly understood.
Lewis is home to many traditional industries: crofting, tweed weaving and fishing. It is a place where life still depends on skill, community and respect for the elements. When Leslie led his dogs up the slope, the scene felt timeless – as if little had changed in hundreds of years. Yet what struck me most was not nostalgia, but what this simple working relationship revealed about freedom, trust and the limits of control.
Bruce and Jude know exactly what to do when faced with a stubborn or stray sheep. Leslie doesn’t bark a dozen new commands; he trusts their judgement. They read the terrain, sense the flock’s movement, and decide how best to bring order. It’s a partnership built on mutual understanding. The dogs aren’t free in the sense of doing whatever they please. Instead, they’re free within the bounds of purpose and discipline. Their obedience doesn’t crush their independence; it makes their independence possible.
That relationship holds a lesson far beyond the croft. Today, governments too often resemble over-anxious shepherds, issuing endless directives in an attempt to control every variable. If Leslie tried to script each move Bruce and Jude made, chaos would follow. They’d be confused, hesitant and paralysed by instruction. The croft would fall apart under the weight of micromanagement. The same is true in governance: when the state presumes it must command every detail of life, initiative disappears, trust erodes and competence declines.
✍️Benjamin BH Ko
Freedom lies not in the absence of structure, but the presence of trust