As I made my way around the curve, I was caught off guard.
There were brake lights in front of me. Directly in front of me.
The lane I was driving in was closed up ahead. Orange construction cones sat in the lane about 100 yards from my windshield.
Apparently, a driver ahead of me had lost sight of this until it was nearly too late. So, they had brought their vehicle to a complete stop on the left lane of a busy highway.
Now, the drivers behind this vehicle were faced with a double-whammy. There was both the lane closure and the stopped vehicle in their path.
I was driving the third car in this sequence, which means I had only a split-second to react. To my left was a concrete wall, and to my right, a stream of speeding vehicles. My only option was to hit my brakes as hard as I could.
I did, but it wasn’t good enough. Cars need space to decelerate from 70 miles an hour to a standstill. And I didn’t have enough of it.
I was probably going 25 miles an hour when I hit the back of the vehicle in front of me, driving it into the stopped car. The momentum pushed all three vehicles past the cones until we mercifully came to a stop.
The airbags in my car deployed, jolting me once again. And then], the horrifying incident was over.
I checked on my friend, who was sitting in the passenger seat. A half-hour earlier, she and I had been line dancing at a honky-tonk. Now, we had just absorbed a car crash. At that moment, I could have cared less if I was OK. I just hoped — prayed — that my friend wasn’t hurt.
Thankfully, she was alright. We were both shaken, suffering from shock and whiplash. But we had somehow avoided major injuries.
The car, on the other hand, was totaled. The front end was crushed in. Its obituary was written right there on the road.
The police came on the scene to take everyone’s statements. A wrecker came to take my car away. And we got a ride home.
Later, I learned that I was deemed at fault for the accident. Since I was driving the vehicle at the back of the pileup, the liability lay with me.
I didn’t face any charges, but I had a black mark on my insurance record for several years. Because of that, I struggled to get a good rate on my coverage.
I’m well past all that now. And both my friend and I have no ill effects from the crash, aside from the traumatic memories.
But sometimes, I do wonder about that ruling. The one pinning the full weight of liability for the accident on me.
I am accountable to a fault, and I’ve accepted the judgment that was rendered. But I also wonder what else I could have done.
I was left in a no-win position. I did the best that I could, but I ended up paying the price for it. Meanwhile, the driver at the front of the line made a poor decision — only to be left with an unscathed insurance record.
Did that driver really not have any liability? How did that rationale make any sense?
I’ve been thinking about this more lately. With a global pandemic in full swing and a mix of political and social unrest overtaking America, the question of liability is top of mind for just about everyone.
Does the decision to leave our homes make us liable for someone’s illness, injury, or death? Do our words leave us liable for property damage, looting, and mayhem?
In some cases, the answer is clearly yes. If we get behind the wheel of a car while intoxicated and run over a pedestrian, we’ll face manslaughter charges. If we falsely yell Fire in a crowded space, we could be held to account for the ensuing stampede.
But in other instances, the situation is murky. If leaving home leads someone to unknowingly pass a virus to a passerby, who then passes it along to their grandparent, would that first person be liable for an elderly stranger’s illness? If one’s words inspire someone to drive halfway across the country and spark a riot, where does the blame fall?
As with my car crash, the answers aren’t clear-cut. But unlike that incident, there’s no clear protocol to sort out the mess.
I am a Texan.
My home state features vast landscapes, a diversified economy, and a philosophy that can be summed up in two words: Personal responsibility.
It’s not quite a free-for-all in the Lone Star State — anyone caught speeding on Interstate 35 is well aware of that fact. But the limits of liability are profound.
Such a philosophy speaks to the legacy of Texas. There have always been boundless opportunities on these prairies. But with them have come outsized risks.
In the early days, settlers were susceptible to sweeping Comanche raids or attacks by wild animals. Nearly two centuries later, the dangers of tornadoes, wildfires, and hurricanes remain omnipresent for many Texans.
These events have brought plenty of devastation. And yet, assigning blame for them is as futile as roping the wind.
So, the prevailing approach to liability around these parts is hands-off. Texans are expected to exercise good judgment. And, for the most part, they’re only held to account if their actions directly impact someone else.
I have not always been a fan of this limited liability philosophy. The lack of recourse when things go wrong has always seemed disconcerting.
But I still think it’s better than the alternative.
For if we blindly accept a world of broad liability judgments, we shrink our horizons. We limit our opportunities. We shackle ourselves.
After all, if we know the third car in the crash gets saddled with the bill, we’ll do all we can to avoid being that third car. We’ll box ourselves in to avoid misfortune. And, in doing so, we’ll forfeit the opportunities that would otherwise sit in our path.
By playing not to lose, we’ll still end up in last place.
We deserve a better fate.
So, let’s stop squabbling about liability. Let’s stop grandstanding about who’s to blame for each downstream effect. Let’s get back to living under the principles that have long shepherded our society — liberty and responsibility.
We’ll be better for it.