CBC: Canada To Adopt the Cyprus Model of Depositor 'Bail-In' In Case of Bank Failure

The smugness of the Canadian politicians is reminiscent of the Bank of New Zealand. 

Perhaps that is what the political do when they are making plans for a gathering storm and they wish for everyone to remain on the beach in the meanwhile.

I could be wrong, but in my judgement nothing in the global banking system is safe if the massive derivative bubble collapses. 

It will not only take down the private banks, but quite a few sovereign countries as well.

I am of the opinion that in the States there will not be the same sort of 'bail in' but a 'print in' in which the Fed will supply as much money as is required, taking value from all who hold Dollars including foreign holders.  So in that sense, the US is 'safe.'  It is all the holders of dollars around the world who are not.

You may wish to take some protective measures if you have not done so already.   When the times comes, there will be no time.

Ottawa weighing plans for bank failures
By Neil MacDonald
April 3, 2013

Buried deep in last month's federal budget is an ambiguously worded section that has roiled parts of the financial world but has so far been largely ignored by the mainstream media.

It boils down to this: Ottawa is contemplating the possibility of a Canadian bank failure — and the same sort of pitiless prescription that was just imposed in Cyprus.

Meaning no bailout by taxpayers, but rather a "bail-in" that would force the bank's creditors to absorb the staggering losses that such an event would inevitably entail.

If that sounds sobering, it should. While officials in Ottawa are playing down the possibility of a raid on the bank accounts of ordinary Canadians, they chose not to include that guarantee in the budget language.

Canadians tend to believe their banks are safer and more backstopped than elsewhere in the world. The federal government enthusiastically promotes the notion, and loves to take credit for it.

It may well be true, even if Canada's six-bank oligopoly isn't terribly competitive, at least in comparison to the far more diverse American banking universe.

But in the ever-more insecure world that has unfolded since the financial meltdown of 2008, it is also increasingly clear that nothing is safe anymore, not even blue-chip bank stocks and bonds or even, in the case of the Cyprus bail-in, private bank accounts.

And now, Canada is making a bail-in official government policy, too...

Read the rest here.

Net Asset Value Premiums of Certain Precious Metal Trusts and Funds - Part Deux

Blatant as can be.

In general, it is 'open season' on small investors in the markets, so why should gold and silver be otherwise?

The only thing that the precious metals are correlated to here is manipulation.

Canada Weighs Cyprus Solution For Bank Failures - CBC

Non-Farm Payrolls on Friday.

Net Asset Value Premiums of Certain Precious Metal Trusts and Funds - Cheating Is de Rigueur

“Our government teaches the whole people by its example. If the government becomes the lawbreaker, it breeds contempt for law; it invites every man to become a law unto himself; it invites anarchy.”

Louis D. Brandeis

Thinner.

The funds and bullion banks have a full court press on. 

Smells like teen spirit.  or desperation. 
Life imitates high school.

Jim Chanos observes that there is now A Fiduciary Duty to Cheat.

And the love of many will grow cold...

Jack London: The People of the Abyss

"Woe to you, you scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites; you are like whited sepulchres, fair in outward show, but inwardly full of dead men’s bones, and all manner of filth and corruption."

Matthew 23:27

"An' now," said the sweated one, the 'earty man who worked so fast as to dazzle one's eyes, "I'll show you one of London's lungs. This is Spitalfields Garden." And he mouthed the word "garden" with scorn.

The shadow of Christ's Church falls across Spitalfields Garden, and in the shadow of Christ's Church, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I saw a sight I never wish to see again.

There are no flowers in this garden, which is smaller than my own rose garden at home. Grass only grows here, and it is surrounded by a sharp-spiked iron fencing, as are all the parks of London Town, so that homeless men and women may not come in at night and sleep upon it.

As we entered the garden, an old woman, between fifty and sixty, passed us, striding with sturdy intention if somewhat rickety action, with two bulky bundles, covered with sacking, slung fore and aft upon her. She was a woman tramp, a houseless soul, too independent to drag her failing carcass through the workhouse door. Like the snail, she carried her home with her. In the two sacking- covered bundles were her household goods, her wardrobe, linen, and dear feminine possessions.

"Are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons?"

We went up the narrow gravelled walk. On the benches on either side arrayed a mass of miserable and distorted humanity, the sight of which would have impelled Dore to more diabolical flights of fancy than he ever succeeded in achieving. It was a welter of rags and filth, of all manner of loathsome skin diseases, open sores, bruises, grossness, indecency, leering monstrosities, and bestial faces.

A chill, raw wind was blowing, and these creatures huddled there in their rags, sleeping for the most part, or trying to sleep. Here were a dozen women, ranging in age from twenty years to seventy. Next a babe, possibly of nine months, lying asleep, flat on the hard bench, with neither pillow nor covering, nor with any one looking after it. Next half-a-dozen men, sleeping bolt upright or leaning against one another in their sleep.

In one place a family group, a child asleep in its sleeping mother's arms, and the husband (or male mate) clumsily mending a dilapidated shoe. On another bench a woman trimming the frayed strips of her rags with a knife, and another woman, with thread and needle, sewing up rents.

Adjoining, a man holding a sleeping woman in his arms. Farther on, a man, his clothing caked with gutter mud, asleep, with head in the lap of a woman, not more than twenty-five years old, and also asleep.

It was this sleeping that puzzled me. Why were nine out of ten of them asleep or trying to sleep? But it was not till afterwards that I learned. IT IS A LAW OF THE POWERS THAT BE THAT THE HOMELESS SHALL NOT SLEEP BY NIGHT.

On the pavement, by the portico of Christ's Church, where the stone pillars rise toward the sky in a stately row, were whole rows of men lying asleep or drowsing, and all too deep sunk in torpor to rouse or be made curious by our intrusion.

"A lung of London," I said; "nay, an abscess, a great putrescent sore."

"Oh, why did you bring me here?" demanded the burning young socialist, his delicate face white with sickness of soul and stomach sickness.

"Those women there," said our guide, "will sell themselves for thru'pence, or tu'pence, or a loaf of stale bread."

He said it with a cheerful sneer.

But what more he might have said I do not know, for the sick man cried, "For heaven's sake let us get out of this."


Jack London, The People of the Abyss, 1903