Tax deniers' crusade 'becomes a religion'

Early in his trial, tax evader Robert Beale stood before the jury and boastfully described his rise from Maryland farm boy to Minnesota CEO worth $20 million. Then he compared his struggle to that of Moses and Martin Luther.

Court observers later stood in the hallway and debated whether Beale was an egomaniac, or insane. According to one juror, the panel that decided his fate pondered the same question.

Perhaps the only spectators who understood were the thickset men at the back, their boots still caked with field dirt: Beale's incongruous entourage -- what an author of a book on the subject calls "the overall contingency."

But the conviction of Beale this past week for evading $1.6 million in taxes, conspiracy and fleeing authorities marked what some see as a new chapter in such prosecutions. Like actor Wesley Snipes, who also was recently convicted, but unlike most tax protesters, Beale was wealthy.

"Snipes and Beale probably were worth more money than all the tax protesters in the country combined," said author J.J. MacNab, who covered the case against Snipes.

MacNab is finishing a book on so-called tax deniers called "Bombs, Taxes and Red Crayons" (many of them believe the government has no jurisdiction over something signed in red crayon).

The poor farmer is the prototype tax denier, MacNab said, but Beale and Snipes are evidence that the "cult" is spreading to others who feel disenfranchised by the government.

"Now we are even seeing some young black men beginning to get involved," she said.

If race or class is becoming less of a defining characteristic, however, tax protesters still share much in common, MacNab and others agreed.

Dan Scott, Beale's initial attorney before he decided to defend himself, has worked on at least 25 such cases.

"They all go to trial," he said. "They have a given belief system and are all incapable of admitting they are wrong. You hope to talk some out of it and tell them they will lose, that they will go to jail, but they never listen."

He said clients most often find their way into a tax crusade through failed farms, or religion.

"Once they adopt it, it becomes a religion," he said. "If you don't agree with them, it's because you don't understand and you're attacking their religion. Then the government goes absolutely bananas for the same reason, because [the resisters] are attacking the government's religion -- taxes."

And there is almost always a "trigger," some run-in with a government agency that launches a tax denier's crusade. Beale has said a conflict over earnings and taxes from a company he owned in Ireland in 1992 turned his distaste for taxes into a "hobby," then an obsession.

Yet, he was still unable to foresee the consequences.

Horace Beale, Robert's younger brother, testified that he repeatedly warned his brother that "people who don't pay taxes go to jail."

"I asked, 'Is it worth it to lose your family? Your house? Your business?'" Horace Beale testified. "You said, "yes.'"

"Did I do it for money?" Beale asked.

"I don't think so," said Horace.

'Completely sane'

Before his trial went to the jury, Beale agreed to a psychological exam, an idea he had rejected for months. Beale said he reconsidered "in case I'm crazy."

Is he?

Beale's son, Theodore, who also goes by the name Vox Day, and authors the popular conservative blog, Vox Popoli, spoke with the court-appointed psychologist who interviewed his father last week.

"He determined that Dad was completely sane, with an unusually high degree of optimism and appetite for risk that is typical of a successful entrepreneur," Theodore wrote in an e-mail from Switzerland.

"I couldn't help but laugh when the doctor said, in a rather pensive manner, that while [dad] had some strange ideas, he was surprisingly convincing," the younger Beale added. "I think that anyone who takes on a quixotic mission is viewed as crazy. Dad's not all that different than the gambler who keeps pushing all his chips back into the middle."

Scott agrees. "He's not depressed, he's not bipolar. But he suffers from insane delusions in beliefs that are absolutely unproven and absolutely unshakable."

One juror, who asked not to be named, said that whatever Beale's mental state, he came off as haughty and condescending.

Theodore Beale can understand that, saying he "can be a bit of a snob."

"And then, being an engineer, he has the typical engineer's disregard for those who don't know the facts when he does. He's really not so much arrogant as accustomed to being in charge of the meeting after decades as a CEO.

"But I do think that he felt he had a mission to help people. Don't get me wrong, the Moses and [Martin Luther] stuff does sound nuts if you don't realize it's a metaphor, not a delusion," he said.

Whatever their origins, arrogance, delusion or just plain stubbornness, Beale's personality traits have finally crushed him like so many warned.

Scott doesn't see Beale's upcoming sentencing providing much hope, since he faces up to 10 years in prison, not counting the time he could face on accusations of making pre-trial threats against the judge.

"He's 65, and he doesn't look well. I think he'll spend the rest of his life in prison," Scott said.

Jon Tevlin • 612-673-1702