by Tony Kushner
Interior Shot—High School Library
A teenage Latina, dressed similarly to the detective’s daughter.
KAREN, HER BEST FRIEND
We found the Web address for this North American White Zombie Psycho Brigade or whatever they call it, I forget, it was listed in this Online ’zine called, um, “Hyper-Vigilance!” or something. H-T-T-P-colon-slash-slash-W-W-W-dot-TEA-PARTY-dot-com. So she tells her pappi she found it, and he gives her another ten bucks and tells her, E-mail them asking them do they know how he can get out of paying his taxes. And this dude is a cop. So she’s goin’, let’s send this guy, Leonard “Hap” Dutchman, let’s send him the E-mail, but I’m goin’ wait, Sondra, you better come up with a better screen name ’cause you been using your real last name and these guys is loco crazy and you could get your pappi in trouble and anyway your last name is Procaccino and to these guys that ain’t gonna sound white enough. So we tried to think up the whitest name we could think of and I remembered the name from off this book from school last year which no one in the whole class even bothered to read.
Exterior Shot—An Indiana Cornfield
Generic white guy, fifties, fat, combat fatigues, militia cap, vaguely sinister toothbrush mustache, big smile.
LEONARD “HAP” DUTCHMAN
Dear Ethan Frome:
Thank you for writing to the North American White Men’s Freedom and Liberty Council. I applaud your interest in waging a counterstrike against the tyranny of taxation, imposed upon free individuals such as yourself and myself by the Zionist Occupation Government HQ’d in D.C., its agents the Revenue Service and its armed forces of occupation otherwise known as the Bureau of Tobacco Drugs and Firearms and their elite corps the so-called United States so-called Marshalls. To paraphrastically quote our ancestral predecessor freeman John Paul Jones, “Won’t fire till you see the eyes of our whites!” (He laughs)
Having never before tested the tax-rebellion waters as far east as Tel Aviv—pardon me I mean New York City, I counsel initially a low-key tactical maneuver, to wit: Request from your payroll office a W-4 form. When you receive it, in the blank space provided for “exemptions” write the number “98,” hurling all the while appropriate imprecations and oaths against the high-handed shekel-mongering armed moneygrubbering rug-merchants who force you survilely to beg for “exemptions” from their usurious theft of your hard-earned dollars. There’s no I repeat no legal limit to the number of “exemptions” a citizen can claim, so claim “98,” which if granted will effectively and legally lift from your stooped-but-proud shoulders the oppressors’ contumely, also known as your entire tax bill; and if your claim is initially rejected, repeat the process several times, and if that don’t work, Ethan, E-mail me for further instructions. In the meantime I will Cyber-send you various useful items including literature and a membership application for the National Rifle Association. Good luck, fellow patriot, oh, and Happy Hermann Goering’s Birthday, Mr. Frome! (He gives a little Hitler salute)
Interior—A Cluttered Accountant’s Office, Bensonhurst
A harried, little, Italian-American guy in his sixties, shirt and tie, glasses, long nose hairs.
THE HOUSING DETECTIVE’S UNCLE, AN ACCOUNTANT
My nephew-in-law asks me is it OK he files 98 exemptions on his W-4, what 98 exemptions, of course not you idiot. I tell him 98 exemptions you wouldn’t be paying any taxes, right he tells me that’s the point, I tell him listen Charlie remember Ernest Hemingway you do not want to worry the IRS is after you, not unless you like the idea of going down on a double-barrel shotgun (He mimes with mid- and forefinger the aforementioned act, cocks his thumb as if pulling a trigger) BOOM! Pay your taxes you’re a goddamn cop already, what is this supposed to be a free lunch a, a, a free ride, 98 tax exemptions what is you a friggin’ communist, gimme a friggin’ break. Moron!
Interior—The Payroll Office at One Police Plaza
A pleasant-looking African-American woman in her early fifties, office dress.
THE WOMAN IN THE PAYROLL DEPARTMENT
The first time I saw it I thought it was a mistake, or a joke so I sent it back. He sends it in again, 98 exemptions. I circled 98 in a red pen and a question mark and I sent it back. He sends it in again. 98 exemptions. I show it to my supervisor who between us is usually 98 proof before lunchtime, bottle’s in his desk, lower left-hand drawer. He can’t even focus so he stamps it ITEMIZE, so I send it back to the detective stamped ITEMIZE . I figure at least this’ll be good for a laugh.
Interior—Headquarters of the North American White Men’s Freedom and Liberty Council
LEONARD “HAP” DUTCHMAN
Dear Ethan:
As per itemization, try our secret weapon: download and append the attached letter to your W-4 form. This document has proven highly effective by your fellow resistance fighters out here in the ZOG-free liberation zone formerly known as Crawfords-ville. Please do not share this letter with anyone you do not love as a brother, nor with any women be they wives or mothers, nor I hardly need mention with members of other races. Happy hunting, Ethan, oh, and for twenty-five dollars you can obtain an autographed copy (He holds up a book) of my annotated edition of Mr. Henry David Thoreau’s survivalist manifesto On Walden Pond. God bless you and your progeny!
(He starts to sing:)
BORN FREE,
As free as the wind blows,
As free as the grass grows . . .
A DETECTIVE, HOUSING POLICE
(Reading from a letter:)
To The Treasury Department:
Regarding Internal Revenue Service Publication 519 and 515. I submit the following statement in duplicate stating all my natural rights without prejudice in order to obtain work and not to be subject to withholding. I declare that I am an American man now in an area known geographically as New York. I was not born in the District of Columbia nor any possession or territory thereof. I do not inhabit the forum of your jurisdiction known as the United States as defined within the Internal Revenue Code. I am not a citizen or resident of any state or federal conglomerate within your jurisdiction. All remunerations for labor are received from sources outside the United States and are not connected to trade or business within the United States. Since I am alien to the United States, and am not a resident there, I am therefore a nonimmigrant nonresident alien to the United States. I have never filed Form 1078 as prescribed that would rebut my nonresidence status. I never had any income attributable to 26 USC 872 Subsection (a), Subsection (1) or Subsection (2). I am excluded from having to obtain and submit an identifying number to you. Should I have any income from within the United States . . .
THE WOMAN IN THE PAYROLL DEPARTMENT
(Reading:)
“. . . I am still not subject to withholding of any kind of said income as it is not deemed to be income. I am not within a state or the United States, nor am I a person, individual or taxpayer. Signed, Charles Procaccino, Detective, Housing Police, City of New York.”
(She puts the letter down)
The United States of America. Lemme tellya.
I read the letter a few times. Alien to the United States. Baby, I hear what you’re saying. I am fifty-one years old. My apartment is a box. I got no money, I hate my job, I hate this city, I hate my cat, my husband hates his job, this city, the cat, we hate the disappointments, the delays in construction, the bigots, the bozos, the Democrats and the Republicans, Newt Gingrich, Bill Clinton, his cat, Rudy Giuliani, my insurance company and my boss, the guy playing with himself on the subway at 9 A.M., the kid with the radio playing at 6 A.M. and I hate the piss smell in the hallway that I have to inhale. Every day. On my way. To my box. Where I live. AND the fluorescent light fixtures they put up ten years ago in this office where I work that for ten years have been going Buuuuzzzzzzzzzzzz all the livelong day like to drive me CRAZY.
I xeroxed the letter and I sent it to my supervisor and on to the IRS folks in Huntington, sent it to Albany, uptown, downtown, all around the town, put it in the dete
ctive’s file, totaled up 98 itemized exemptions and where it says “Federal Withholding” I entered “zero” and State Withholding I entered “zero” and cut him his big fat check with no taxes withheld and sent in on, let them sort it out it is not my problem. You and me pal, Aliens to the United States. I’d try it myself—if I was crazy and stupid and looking to get pitched in jail. But God bless the child. He got his own.
Exterior Shot—The Staten Island Ferry Terminal
Italian-American, mid-thirties, suit and tie.
THE SECOND DETECTIVE, HOUSING POLICE
I thought he was just, you know, crazy or stupid. Then a few months later he shows me a bunch of his pay stubs: “No Taxes Withheld.” He showed me the letter. I read it sixty times. I am a smart guy and I cannot understand a word, he explains it sixty times and I still cannot understand a word, I can smell bullshit when it is waved under my nose but I cannot understand the letter. I never been to Indiana, I don’t read the papers, I’ve never read Thoreau, I know nobody ever needed an Uzi to hunt deer or whatever kind of animal they hunt in Indiana so I don’t know what this Leonard character is up to but those pay stubs, that I can understand. That is my kind of reading material. Three pay stubs that read like that and I’m gonna buy myself a motherflippin’ home entertainment center!
Exterior—Night, in Front of the Giant Coca-Cola Sign, Times Square
A Latino man, mid-forties, police uniform.
THE THIRD DETECTIVE, HOUSING POLICE
I sort of feel taxes are . . . Well people have been paying taxes since ... civilization, really, I mean since it began, because, well, it costs money to, to have a civilization and we don’t want to be . . . um, barbarians or . . . I remember back in the sixties we . . . People talked then about not paying their taxes but it was like . . . Well, the war and all, different, different times. Plus which also I am an officer. Of the Law. But. Well. By the time it got around to me there were already six, seven, ten guys all pulling in three times . . . well, twice as much as before because . . . A lot gets deducted, so anyway. (He shakes his head, confused) I’m confused. Why did I . . . ? I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time? Money pressure? Peer pressure? Nostalgia? (Leans forward, raises a little power fist, speaks softly) Ho Chi Minh! Be Like Him! Dare to struggle! Dare to win! Remember? (Mimes toking on a joint, makes a little peace sign, grins blissfully) Remember that? There is no force as great as an idea whose time has come.
Exterior—Underneath the El Tracks, 125th Street and Broadway
An Asian-American man in his twenties, uniform.
A TRANSIT COP
When Jesus says render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God what belongs to God this is it seems to me a very, very deliberately ambiguous statement. Jesus is carefully avoiding specifying what exactly it is which belongs to Caesar, or if, in point of fact, anything really does.
Exterior—The Brooklyn Naval Yard Incinerator
Cuban-American man in his forties.
ENVIRONMENTAL PROTECTION OFFICER
Me dice que hay cuarenta policias de housing que estan ya metidos, quisas veinte policias de transito, como veinte en Port Authority, EPO, me enseña sus pay stubs. Era un detective en housing yo creo, es encreible, ningun impuesto, no taxes, y me dice que me puede vender un packete que me explica todo, me costaria novecientos dolares . . .
(Translation: He tells me forty housing cops are in on it already, maybe twenty transit cops, twenty or so over at Port Authority, EPO, he shows me his pay stubs, he was, uh, a detective in housing I think, it’s like incredible, no taxes, no taxes, and he says he can sell me a packet, self-explanatory, it would cost me nine hundred bucks . . .)
Interior—A Locker Room, Police Plaza Gym
A young, fat, white guy, in a sweatsuit.
A PATROLMAN
I do not inhabit the forum of your jurisdiction known as the United States as defined within the Internal Revenue Code. I am not a citizen or resident of any state or federal conglomerate within your jurisdiction.
Exterior—Night, Little Italy, San Gennaro Procession
A middle-aged, African- American man.
A PRECINCT CAPTAIN
I am still not subject to withholding of any kind of said income as it is not deemed to be income.
Interior—Living Room of an Apartment in Washington Heights
A middle-aged woman in brown traffic cop clothes.
A METER READER
I am therefore a nonimmigrant, nonresident, Alien to the United States. I have never filed Form 1078. I never had any income attributable to 26 USC 872 Subsection (a), Subsection (1) or Subsection (2) . . .
Interior—Rikers Island
The same Corrections Officer as at the beginning.
THE CORRECTIONS OFFICER
But what burns my ass is, like, I had to pay the mother two thousand dollars for his tax “packet” and I know it did not cost him no two thousand to write “98” on a blank W-4 form and xerox this fucked-up letter that don’t make no kind of sense. So why I got to pay two thousand dollars when half the force is doing this and they didn’t have to pay nothing?! That is not right. I was thinking of reporting his ass but then I decided against it, choosing instead to amortize the two grand as an unavoidable business expense spread over the course of two or three of these here Paychecks Blown Down From Paradise. Lookee this here! (He shows the paycheck) Ain’t that phat! I am taking my kids to Disney World!
Interior—Headquarters of the North American White Men’s Freedom and Liberty Council
LEONARD “HAP” DUTCHMAN
Dear Ethan Frome:
We are pleased to hear that your East Coast rebellion is proceeding apace. I must warn you however against spreading the good news too liberally, if you catch my meaning.
(The screen* subdivides into many little boxes, each containing the smiling face of one of the officers we’ve met so far.)
LEONARD “HAP” DUTCHMAN
Because patriot Frome if there are too many nonimmigrant, nonresidents residing in one location it could bring the wrath of ZOG down upon us all . . .
(The screen further subdivides into many, many, many little boxes, multitudes of happy city employees who aren’t paying taxes. Lines of static flash across the screen, the reception falters.)
LEONARD “HAP” DUTCHMAN
. . . and we do not I repeat do not want to face the wrath of ZOG before our tax rebellion has rendered it sufficiently cash-starved and weakened so the Council cautions you to ...
(The screen goes blank and is instantly filled with a notice:)
THIS WEB SITE IS TEMPORARILY UNAVAILABLE.
Exterior Shot—The Statue of Liberty
A Sikh-American sanitation worker in a splendid turban.
SANITATION WORKER
I am a nonimmigrant nonresident Alien to the United States.
Interior—Bellevue Psychiatric Ward
A middle-aged Asian-American woman, blouse and skirt.
CITY SOCIAL WORKER
I was not born in the District of Columbia nor any possession or territory thereof, and my natural rights . . .
*If performed theatrically, the following could be accomplished with slides.
Exterior—Outside a Burning Building, Upper West Side
A HANDSOME YOUNG FIREMAN
I am not within a state or the United States, nor am I a person, individual or taxpayer. Thank you very, very much in advance for your prompt cooperation in ceasing to withhold my taxes! (Smiles)
Interior—Cubicle, Office of Comptroller, Lower Manhattan
Young Latino man, glasses, suit and tie.
ATTORNEY FOR THE CITY OF NEW YORK
Dear Sir or Madam:
Please be advised that the status you are seeking as “nonresident nonimmigrant Alien” does not exist nor is it recognized by any local, state or federal tax code or statute.
(Cut to: The Housing Detective, staring in open-mouthed incredulity. Cut back to:)
ATTORNEY FOR THE CITY OF NEW
YORK
Dear Sir or Madam:
Your request for “nonresident or nonimmigrant Alien” status has been denied inasmuch as no such status exists. Please be informed by this that you appear to be in arrears for federal income-, social security withholding-, state income-, state unemployment insurance-, and local withholding taxes.
(Cut to:)
A DETECTIVE, HOUSING POLICE
Dear City of New York:
As a, uh, sovereign individual, who hereby formally declares himself to be a separate legal entity, one nation, as it were, indivisible, or rather, to quote from that classic of American tax resistance, On Walden Pond . . .
(Cut to:)
THE SECOND DETECTIVE, HOUSING POLICE
We declare that taxation without representation is unconstitutional and we do not feel represented by the governments in question and as it says in the Declaration of Independence which we spell I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T-S as in I am independent of your authority to request . . .
(Cut to:)
