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JOHN MULLINS may be prickly, bull-headed, and contrary in his business dealings with historic preservationists. There is no evidence that he is a masochist. He does not grow fonder of his attackers the more they beset him; he becomes more resolved to outdo them. So why does the national preservation group that covets a large chunk of Mr. Mullins' 800 acres on the Chancellorsville battlefield think it will prevail by rumoring lawsuits and practicing obstruction?
Preservationists, along with foes of sprawl, pressured the Spotsylvania County Board of Supervisors to reject, in March, the grandiose Town of Chancellorsville project that would have made Mr. Mullins a much richer man. The preservationists declared victory because, they said, they had nixed a development that would have marred the nearby national battlefield park. Since then, says Mr. Mullins, the value of his land has increased, so that even a smaller project now likely would fetch him more than the sum offered by the "town's" planner. So, "win-win"? Alas, no.
Now the Civil War Preservationist Trust, whose entreaties Mr. Mullins seems to delight in rebuffing, is back for another stanza of conflict. The national trust has threatened to sue the Army Corps of Engineers should it permit Mr. Mullins to construct six road crossings over streams on his historic property. Mr. Mullins has a "by right" ability to put 225 homes and some businesses on his land, subject to compliance with various regulations. But those regulations provide litigious opportunities for the historic trust, whose strategy may be to confound Mr. Mullins' commercial aspirations on the chance that in exasperation he will deal with it or transfer the property to a more amenable party.
This seems a long shot. The CWPT may spend its money on lawyers rather than land if it chooses, but the force of the trust looks to us more resistible than the object of John Mullins looks movable. Besides, there is something disconcerting about the assumption of some preservationists that the claim of Mr. Mullins or any property owner (including those less prickly, bull-headed, and contrary) to history-touched lands is merely provisional.
A member of a federal history panel that supports the CWPT's complaints against the Army Corps' cooperation with Mr. Mullins urges the corps to "work with the National Park Service's American Battlefield Protection Program, state and local governments, and other stakeholders to encourage the protection and interpretation of Civil War battlefields." Mr. Mullins, evidently, falls under the category of "other stakeholders," though he happens to have legal title to the land, soaked by the blood of two armies neither of which would have countenanced such a cavalier view toward private property.
If Mr. Mullins does not really own his historic acreage, then none of us really owns anything we think we own. Some higher force--"the common good"--does. Yet the common good as owner in chief is a dangerous concept. Even Rousseau, no darling of the right wing, observed that property is the basis of civilization; Paul Elmer Moore, a former editor of the leftist Nation, wrote, "Wealth has accumulated only when private property was secure."
There are ways, short of harassing lawsuits, to make a collective claim to private property. The state can take such property and pay its owner fair compensation. Or a private group with altruistic motives can buy out the owner.
Locally, the excellent Central Virginia Battlefields Trust under Dr. Michael Stevens is trying to negotiate with Mr. Mullins in a respectful fashion. "We don't sue our neighbors," says Dr. Stevens. That is a sensible statement in a long saga short on sensible statements. It offers some small hope that a sizable part of Mr. Mullins' land will wind up in the American nation's keeping, where it belongs, while he makes a healthy profit. At this point, if there still exists a road to "win-win," only good will will find it.
