The Death of Taxes

By Jim Hagarty
2005

Conservative politicians worldwide have been on a war against taxes for decades. And I am so glad they have been, because their alternative, a world without taxation, would be wonderful.

What would a world with no taxes look like?

Pretty darned good, wouldn’t you think?

Once a year, when our streets need paving, able-bodied men and women would be required – as they were in the pioneer days of rural Canada – to give the municipality several days of labour to get the job done. The exercise and fresh air and break from our jobs would be good for us all.

Similarly, in winter, when the snow needs plowing, we would all have to give a couple of days of our time to clear the sidewalks, streets and overloaded rooftops. Bring it on!

Many things would change, but we’d adapt in a hurry and the increase in the freedom we would have to spend our “hard-earned” dollars exactly how we would like to would more than compensate for a few inconveniences.

For example, our fire department would have to be made up completely of volunteers, as in the old days, but even they would need firefighting equipment. And even in a small city such as the one I live in, we might insist on professional firefighters. Therefore, when our houses catch fire, we would have the freedom of paying for the firefighting service by cheque, cash, credit card or debit card. No payment and the trucks would keep on moving back to the station, but that is a small price to pay to get the state out of our bedrooms, even those bedrooms that might be on fire.

Same thing with police. Before they’d show up to catch those thugs who were stealing our cars, we’d have to read them out our credit card number over the phone. Or get used to walking. But that’s okay. None of us do enough walking these days.

Or maybe we wouldn’t even bother having police because, darn it, they need equipment and cars and secretaries and headquarters and jail cells and on and on. More hard-earned money just a-leavin’ on a jet plane.

So, we could go back to some sort of neighbourhood justice system. Saturday night vigilante groups on our streets to make sure the wild ones don’t get a little too wild. Or we could hire security guards to watch our homes and private investigators to look into the break and enters. One wise guy per street could be our judge and we could mete out punishments then and there.

I think we’ve all secretly longed to be a punishment meter outer. Great anger-release mechanism.

Health care, smelth care, says I. Whatever happened to people taking care of their own? Yes, almost every family in the old days lost at least one child to illnesses easily preventable today but how many of our hard-earned dollars should we be expected to pay so that all parents can keep their families intact? Yes, the odd pandemic wiped out millions here and there, but people in the old days had a lot more freedom than we do today. Shorter lives, maybe, tougher lives, yes, indeed, but freedom? Priceless.

And as Canada goes off to war when the U.S. president needs a boost in the polls and starts his next invasion, where will the soldiers come from, with no taxes to pay for them?

Why, conscription, of course.

Yes, all taxes are bad.

Even the millions of tax dollars, I suppose, that are paying for the Conservative party’s election campaign to get their leader into the Canadian prime minister’s chair. Or maybe not.

Maybe that tax money is money well spent.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.