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- Social it may be, but Security it ain't no more!
- Posted 2006-05-30
- If you still believe in the Tooth Fairy, free lunch and your chances of winning the Publishers Sweepstakes, you won't like this column. Ditto if you still think the Social Security "fund" is stashed away in something like the lock box promised by Al Gore during the Neverland of his presidential campaign. Few people remember that when Franklin Delano Roosevelt introduced the program, it was called FICA, an acronym for the Federal Insurance Contributions Act. As the name implied (and its designers intended), it was to be a system for mitigating the hardships of old age. The scheme was simple enough: a lot of people paid "insurance premiums" during their salad days, so that a few survivors could receive a guaranteed income, if and when they reached geezerdom. In touting the program, FDR promised that participation would be completely voluntary, that workers would pay into it only 1% of the first $1,400 they earned each year, that this premium would be tax deductible, that the benefits later received would never be taxable and that the money participants chipped in would be used EXCLUSIVELY to fund the future benefits. Of all these facets in that very possible dream, only the acronym remains after decades of ruthless gutting by the duly elected reprehensibles of a trusting American populace. In order to stay within our 750-word parameter, we're obliged to fast-forward through those many years of legislative rape and pillage, during which the extent of coverage, the cost and the eligibility rosters were explosively expanded. Mindlessly shoved aside in that irresponsible process was the bedrock notion of squirreling away enough money to make all the promised dreams come true. Somewhere along the way, the Pooh-Bahs of both political parties cast their greedy eyes on the huge reserves being built up in the fund, characterized them as surpluses and "borrowed" them to finance their sailor-on-leave spending proclivities - and to slake the thirst of the special interests to which they owed their primary allegiance. As a result, no money.- that is to say, not a penny of cash or drop of liquid assets - actually goes into the "lock box" these days, nor has any gone there for many years. The (non-deductible) bucks we (mandatorily) contribute are gathered in by the Treasury each year- well over a half-trillion of them-there greenies, if you'd care to know - and are first used to pay current benefits. What's left over - maybe 140 billion or so - is thrown to and devoured by the legislative wolves in exchange for special bonds, which are simply IOUs, whether you'd care to know or not. Part of that pseudo-surplus - a bigger chunk each year - must be diverted to cover interest on the existing markers, of course. These promissory notes, awarded by current Peters to future Pauls, are ALL that is held in "trust" for those looking forward to a soft landing between productive labor and the bone yard. That group of hopefuls, who will be handed the dirty end of the stick, includes many of our readers, most of their children and all of their subsequent descendants. Let's put it another way for those behind the rose-colored glasses: NOTHING is being set aside in hard cash or other assets to meet the needs of that horde of baby boomers about to retire and their begats. NOTHING! NADA! ZILCH! BUBKES! In just 12 years, we (actually they, for the most part) will have to start servicing those deferred debts, but not out of any surplus of receipts over disbursements. That Ponzi-like political pinata will have been completely disemboweled. The shortage - starting 12 years from now, mind ye - will have to be covered by either raising taxes, lowering benefits, restricting eligibility, or (most likely) all of the above. If none of this is done, the whole program will be insolvent, according to the bean counters, by 2042, just a tad past the hundredth birthday of FDR's brilliant dream. Until then, fellow passengers, our seats on the deck of this Titanic are safe and our hearts may be untroubled - until we hit the iceberg of reality. Meanwhile, unless forced to face the music by an aroused and outraged electorate (that's you 'n me, folks), the clowns on Crapitall Hill will respond with no more constructive action than pointing fingers while giving the same to their constituents. And we'll re-enshrine almost all of them in their disgraceful Hill Of Shame come November 7. Freelance wordworker Joe Klock, Sr. (joeklock@aol.com) is a winter Floridian and summer New Hampshireman. For more of his "Klockwork," visit www.joeklock.com.
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