Tag: money

Rambling Harbor Dispatch: The Bill Comes Due

In the late 1960s, while napalm lit the skies over Vietnam, a quieter rebellion flickered across American kitchens. It wasn’t shouted in the streets—it was whispered through unpaid phone bills. The government had slapped a 10% excise tax on telephone service to help fund the war. And hundreds of thousands of citizens said, “No thanks.” They refused to pay, not out of stinginess, but out of conscience. I was one of those. They called it war tax resistance. I call it dialing into dignity.

By 1972, as many as half a million Americans were hanging up on war—literally—by withholding the tax. The IRS attempted to pursue them, once even seizing a man’s car over $2.44. That’s not enforcement. That’s bureaucratic burlesque.

Fast forward to 2025, and the bill has come due again. Only this time, it’s not for war—it’s for one man’s legal battle against the government. President Trump, facing a thicket of lawsuits, wants taxpayers to help cover the costs of his defense. The irony? It’s thicker than a Nixon tape.
In the Vietnam era, we resisted paying for bombs. Today, we’re being asked to pay for briefs. Legal briefs. Filed by a man who once promised to drain the swamp but now wants us to subsidize his wade through it.
Where’s the opt-out box on that invoice?

This isn’t just about money. It’s about memory. About whether public funds should be used to defend personal grievances. About whether the American people are shareholders in someone else’s vendetta. And about whether resistance still has a place in the age of auto-pay and algorithmic distraction.

It may be time to revive the spirit of the phone tax rebels, not with rotary dials and mimeographed pamphlets, but with satire, sanctuary, and a refusal to subsidize secrecy. Maybe it’s time to hang up again—this time on legal tab transfers disguised as patriotism.

Whether it’s $2.44 or $2.4 million, the principle remains: we should not be forced to pay for what violates our conscience.

And here’s my thought: what if you decided to withhold even $ 5 from any tax you might owe, along with a long explanation about why you are doing this? And sure, that would really make no difference, but sometimes it’s the symbolism, the meaning behind the action.

Donald Trump is reportedly seeking reimbursement of approximately $4.2 million. So, along with our $5, what if we lean on major companies? Corporate Tax Revenue: In 2024, the federal government collected roughly $425 billion in corporate income taxes.

Imagine if Apple, Amazon, and Google said: “We’re withholding 3% until Congress passes climate legislation.” Or until war funding is redirected to healthcare. And not one cent to Donald Trump’s defense. It would be the modern equivalent of hanging up on war—only this time, with billions instead of phone bills.

3% Withheld: That’s about $12.75 billion withheld.
Sure, I’m Dan Don Quixote, still maybe swinging at windmills, but this is my first thought tonight. If you have a better one, don’t hesitate to share it.

Rambling Harbor remembers. And resists.

Subscribing is FREE

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Matches and Money: A Sanctuary Strategy for Resistance

Tomorrow, Saturday, October 18th, is the nationwide “No Kings March”. And I’ve been beating myself silly because this time I’ve decided that I can’t go—not that I don’t want to, but that I can’t. The primary reason is that my back has been so bad this week, I’ve spent most of my time in what’s called the non-violent prone position. In this case, that means flat on my bed.

And while I was lying there, writing the great American resistance novel on my ceiling, I kept thinking about an article I’d just read by Brian Huba published in”The Hill” today, October 17th. He was talking about another form of resistance—one I’ve always believed in. The kind that hits them where it hurts: the pocketbook.

Now, I’m not pretending that my low participation in the general ebb and flow of the almighty buying power of the dollar will make much difference. And I’m not saying it can replace the power of demonstration—of people gathering to make our voices heard and to send a signal, both to each other and to the Gestapo in DC: ‘We are not alone.’

But I’ve been thinking about pressure. Not the kind that crushes, but the kind that carves. The type that reshapes stone into sanctuary. And lately, I’ve come to believe that the most potent pressure we can apply—politically, spiritually, economically—is a two-part ritual: matches and money.

Let me explain.

We’ve been taught to march. To chant. To gather in the streets with cardboard signs and aching knees. And yes, there’s power in that, and there’s power in the crowd. But maybe the real revolution isn’t in the march, but in the match? Not the kind that burns buildings. The kind that lights candles. That ignites awareness. That says: ‘I see what you’re doing, and I will not fund it.’

Because the truth is: the system doesn’t fear our voices. It loves our wallets, our money, and it fears losing them. It fears our cancellations, our divestments, our refusal to play along. When we cancel a subscription, we’re not just saving $14.99—we’re pulling a thread from the tapestry of complicity. When we stop feeding the beast, the beast gets hungry.

Brian Huba said it plainly: maybe the most radical thing we can do right now isn’t to protest in the streets, but to unsubscribe, to stop paying for platforms that profit from our pain. To match our outrage with economic consequences.

So, I’m lighting matches. Quiet ones. Symbolic ones. I’m canceling, redirecting, reimagining. I’m spending like a poet—every dollar a stanza, every boycott a verse. I’m building a sanctuary where resistance isn’t just loud, it’s strategic.

Because when matches meet money, we don’t just protest. We pressure. We don’t just speak. We shift.

And yes—I will march again.

But first, I get the MRI.

First, I listen to the good doctors—the ones I trust to tell me how to walk without pain, how to stand without flinching.

Because resistance isn’t just about showing up. It’s about showing up whole.

And when I do march again, and I will return, I’ll be carrying my flag and my banners, not just as protest, but as testimony.

Proof that healing is part of the revolution, too.

—Dan

Rambling Harbor, where even the receipts are revolutionary

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.