At least you can do it in fiction.

     In real life, telling the tax man to shove it, or telling any bureaucrat to shove it who can tap an endlessly replenishable phalanx of hooligans, is a risky proposition. It is perilous even to jot the words "signed under duress" on your tax return.

     This side of the revolution, the government has the advantage in any open confrontation, never mind the justice of the case. To be sure, the thugs can't run totally wild. America's inconvenient libertarian heritage and democratic infrastructure still prevent or curb many of the worst possible brutalities. Despite all the regulations there are still plenty of pockets of freedom you can exploit. But push come to shove, you are going down. Especially if you lack a plan.

     The people in the books have a plan.

     To succeed with the plan you must think outside the box. Flexibility and speed are useful. A certain amount of gall. A willingness to treat the accumulations of a lifetime as ballast. Glibness is good too. One wants to be able to say the right thing in answer to the bureaucrats who are trying to screw you.

     In Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, revolutionary leader John Galt persuades Fortune 500 businessmen to abandon their companies and hole up in the Rocky Mountains until the Gross Domestic Product falls below a certain level, after which they will return to the world on their own terms. When, late in the story, steel titan Hank Rearden agrees to meet with Floyd Ferris, Wesley Mouch, and other top dogs of the establishment, he has not yet decided to throw in the towel. But he's on the verge. His attitude is pretty much: You want it? Take it.

"As a matter of fact," said Mouch, "we do have a vital question to discuss in regard to the steel industry, but...but your language, Mr. Rearden!"

"We don't want to spring anything on you," said Holloway. "We asked you here to discuss it with you."

"I came here to take orders. Give them."

"But, Mr. Rearden, we don't want to look at it that way. We don't want to give you orders. We want your voluntary consent."

Rearden smiled. "I know it."

     If one is willing to walk away from everything one has, one cannot be intimidated by threats against it, nor tempted to play along with a looting-in-progress.

     In such a situation one might simply transfer one's jeopardized assets to an undisclosed location, if that were feasible (which it is not, if one's chief asset is a steel mill). Consider the case of Andrew Fletcher, the hero of Vin Suprynowicz's new novel The Black Arrow. Fletcher owns an antique shop filled with expensive but portable things. Let's listen in on his conversation with the tax man:

"Why not do the smart thing? You get to declare the value of your own assets. Voluntary self-assessed valuation – don't you see?"

"Of course I see. You lure us into lying about how much our belongings are worth. That way, we're allowed to figure we're getting away with something. But we also begin to pay the tax. Later, you'll come around and do those mandatory reassessments anyway, and charge us penalties for our under-assessments, which you're now winking at and implying will be OK. Then when we try to protest the validity of the tax, it'll be too late; your courts will rule we waived the right to protest when we started paying the tax."

"Andrew, I'm sorry you find it inconvenient to pay your fair share like everybody else. But we are going to collect it...."

     After this cherub leaves, Fletcher decides it's time to pack. When the shop is then raided all the invaders find is an empty hole.

     And here's a snippet from David Blade's murder mystery, The Case of the Cockamamie Killer, one of my favorites. The hero's colloquy is with a female IRS agent. Don't try this at home:

She crossed her arms without altering her aim. "It's not like you can stop it, you know. It's not like you can stop us from auditing you. We are going to do it. So why not just cooperate like a good citizen?"

"Go ahead. Audit away."

She uncrossed her arms. "You'll lose every penny of your assets. Like that.... Everything will be gone. Like that. Try and fight it and the case will drag on for years. You will lose the apartment. Your peace of mind. Your respectability as a citizen."

"You sure know how to hurt a guy. How could I sleep at night without my respectability as a citizen for a pillow?"

     But who knows. Maybe the fiction is just the dry run.