When he wrote: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Lord Acton got it only partly right. The tyrants he had in mind were emperors, military rulers and over-mighty politicians.
Understandable perhaps, because in his day — the mid-19th century — those were the principal wielders of power around the world.
Today, we have a new centre of governmental authority — the administrative state. And the power that has corrupted it isn’t absolute, but rather unaccountable. A fine distinction, you might think, but stay with me.
By “unaccountable,” I mean cloaked with so much bureaucratic rigmarole that no one can do anything about it, even the kind of people Acton had in mind. Consider, for example, the Canada Revenue Agency.
Theoretically, this rogue outfit answers to the minister of national revenue. But in practice, that cannot be, because no politician with meaningful oversight would put up with the sheer cheek the CRA exudes.
An example: Last week I received something calling itself a “statement of account” from CRA headquarters in Mumbai (or maybe it was Kuala Lumpur). This missive occupied two whole pages, closely typed, and only one thing was clear — I owed them $72.90.
Why I owed this I have no clue. I can read English as well as the next person, but this letter was written by someone unacquainted with the language. If you’ve seen the movie Contact, where astronomer Jodie Foster downloads hieroglyphs from aliens desperately seeking Earthlings, you’ve got the idea.
Naturally, I did what you’re supposed to do — I called the local CRA office. Someone (or something; it could have been a poorly trained parrot) recited the sad story: “All our agents are busy, and our waiting lines are full. All our agents are busy and our waiting lines are full … squawk.”
Of course they are. They’re full of people like me trying to decipher gibberish. What our tax agency is full of is another matter.
I said that only one thing was clear — I owed $72.90 — but that’s not quite true. A second fact glimmered through the fog.
If you owe the CRA money, they charge you interest at five per cent. On the other hand, if they owe you money, they pay at an interest rate of only three per cent.
In bureaucratic terms, this is called heads we win, tails you lose (in English, too).
Basically, the longer the CRA rags the puck, the more money they make. Whether in the end they owe you, or vice versa, matters not.
In the broader scheme of things, every day wasted nets two per cent on average.
That’s why, although I submitted my tax return in April, I’m only hearing now. But while this explains the delay, it does not explain how it happened.
We have an accounting firm fill out our tax forms. I assume they know what they’re doing, so far as anyone does.
In addition, the CRA has our bank account number, with authority to withdraw quarterly payments that are supposed to meet the need.
So why am I in arrears? And what is to prevent the agency’s computer noticing the shortfall, if in fact there is one, and advising me to raise my quarterly payments accordingly?
The answer is apparent. The CRA has attained the ultimate goal of the administrative state.
Behind an impenetrable screen of bafflegab, it has become totally unaccountable.
How else to explain the sheer audacity of the interest-rate scam, the Marie Antoinette-like indifference toward the people these civil servants are supposed to serve?
For the same reason we never hear politicians promising to muck out this hog wallow.
Absolute power might corrupt absolutely, but unaccountable power confers invulnerability, and better still, a job for life.
