THE SOVEREIGN SOCIETY OFFSHORE A-LETTER
Your Link to Freedom, Privacy & Prosperity in the Offshore World
Tuesday, November 23, 2004 - Vol. 6 No. 225
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In This Issue:
* COMMENT: Bob Bauman Lives!
* OFFSHORE: Portable Services. Swiss Votes. Hong Kong. Bermuda.
* WEALTH: IRS Targets Rich. China Boom. Tax Reform Fights.
* PRIVACY & RIGHTS: Passport Chips. ID Cards. Terrorism Defined.
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COMMENT: Bob Bauman Lives!
Dear A-Letter Reader:
As we approach the annual feast of Thanksgiving here in the United States, I have to give thanks that I am alive -- still alive, I should say. Because this is a matter of life and death. That's because, over the last 60 days or so, I have had a very narrow escape from the official kiss of death. No, I'm not laid low by a horrible disease. Nor have I been scared to death by an accidental encounter with the modern machines and devices that claim lives everyday, autos, airplanes or irate SWAT squads or airport security guards. I didn't even have the satisfaction of seeing "the light" those who have had "near death experiences" describe so rapturously.
No, my brush with death came in the form of a missing Social Security check -- as in, no monthly direct deposit appearing in my bank account for October. (There -- now you know how old I am, even though I don't feel that old -- usually).
Normally the SS cash appears in my account by the 2nd Wednesday of the month; but in October, no luck, no check. I called my bank and, I finally was able to reach a human being (HINT: dial repeated 000000s, until the confused electronic system bucks you to a more or less human person, instead of a disembodied recording).
When I explained my plight to an earnest young bank lady, there was a deafening silence on the other end of the phone line. "Hello, Hola!," I said, thinking the phone lady night be an offshored employee in India or somewhere. "Are you there?" (as the English raj used to say). "Yes, sir," (sounding puzzled), "but before I can assist you I must ask you to confirm your identity." So I gave her my sainted mother's maiden name, the last 4 digits of my Social, my address, phone number, blood type and the total number of my remaining teeth. Imagine my surprise when this dear lady told me: "Mr. Bauman, according to our records you died on September 27. Are you certain that you are who you say you are?" (That's a epistemological question, if I've ever heard one!) Well, to shorten my sad tale of deathly woe, I was forced to go into a branch bank, where I had to show my passport and driver's license. Another bank lady signed a notarized statement attesting to the fact that she had seen me in the flesh and I was, at least for the moment, more or less alive. She faxed it to the home office. I also had to go into the local Social Security Office and wait in line, where I again had to show two forms of photo proof that I was alive. (It later turned out that the brilliant folks at the SS had originated my death, which, as Mark Twain said of his own, was greatly exaggerated).
And guess what happened on the second Wednesday of November? Yup! So far as the government of the United States (SS branch) is concerned, I'm still dead. A fate worse than death? Thrilled to death? How about being bored to death?
That's the way that it looks from here -- on Earth.
BOB BAUMAN, Editor
PS: Live life to the fullest; find a new nation offshore where you can make your home; read about it in my new Passport Book.
LINK: http://www.agora-inc.com/reports/190SGOPS/W190EB07/