Unintended Consequences

The culprits struck in the dead of night, repeatedly. With each subsequent attack, we doubled-down, increased the bet. There was no choice. Such small acts of vandalism speak volumes. Such attacks are disheartening. I find it hard to fathom that whilst praising freedom, or liberty, or democracy, people would attempt to rob me of mine. Defiance is the only recourse. Defiance (minor as it was in this case) is the only acceptable response to totalitarianism, no matter what form it takes.

I have to admit, I had had a twinge of trepidation when the signs first went up. Truly, elections bring out the silly season. There was an edge of only slightly veiled intolerance this time around, fanned by the various candidates themselves. “Not good,” I thought to myself. “It’s not wise to fan the flames of wackiness. We’ve got too much of it.”

Relatively rural, there is little around me to temper such flames. I lack the protection of a crowd, wise or otherwise. And, I didn’t want to end up with a cross — or a ying-yang symbol for that matter — scorched into my front lawn. Shaking my head, I shrugged off the trepidation. If one can’t put up a campaign sign without fear of retribution, then it’s too late. Up went the signs.

The first night, it was just two signs, ripped up and left on the ground. When I discovered them in the morning, I was saddened. Staring down at the shreds and tatters of cardboard, I considered revenge. Perhaps I could booby trap the two they left intact. Perhaps I might douse them with skunk scent or cover them with non-drying spray adhesive or both! Perhaps I might just encircle them with deadly doggy doo-doo. (I own a small factory named Tanzy.) A lady at the campaign office suggested honey — apparently this sort of thing is not uncommon around here — but I worried about attracting other critters. Instead, we decided on defiance.

Defiant Signage – Four (of eight) Presidential Placards (and a couple of locals)

Instead, we doubled the signage — the miscreants had ripped up two signs, we taped them back together, and put up another two. Now there were four. Two nights later, the four were gone without a trace. Defiant, we upped the bet and put up more. Now there were six signs. By Election Day we were up to eight, with several held in reserve — just in case.

I had to wonder if they — whoever they were — knew, or even considered, the consequences of their minor acts. I had to chuckle. Did they know that they had taken my single donation and doubled it, and then quadrupled it?

It’s a living lesson in unintended consequences. For with every sign destroyed, I doubled the bet, and as a result, I increased my contribution to the candidate whose signs they had taken hostage — an anti-totalitarian geometric progression. First, it was only two, and then it was four, then eight, and then we bought back-ups too, a total of around twenty signs in all. Each one accompanied another small donation to the candidate of my choice.

I am only glad that Election Day rolled around. Another sixteen signs would have set me back a bit, and then another thirty-two would have had me nudging up against campaign limits. I chuckled to myself. Sometimes unintended consequences are not so bad. I voted. I am defiant. I am a geometric progression. I am the power of one. I have a lot of left-over signs.