An “End the Fed” Fiasco
November 22nd, 2011
When I saw the announcement of the National End the Fed Rally appear on this blog (where I get all my anti-Fed news) I eagerly followed the link to find my local San Francisco rally. Once I connected with other local activists the most immediate need was an “End the Fed” banner.
Now, I work in printing. Professional banners are no problem for me, but a banner the next day requires a bit of a personal DIY touch. I picked up some clearance sheets from a local linen store and some spray paint and wooden dowels from a local craft store. Seemed simple enough.
By the time I got home it was getting dark so I spread out the sheet in front of my apartment building where there was light and got to work. I’m no expert with spray paint, but it was a real piece of art if you ask me. To my surprise it turned out to be a bit more permanent than I’d hoped. The paint had soaked clean through the sheet right into the concrete. Big bold red letters outlined in gold “END THE FED” all the way across the front entrance of my apartment building like a nice new welcome mat.
Now, this put me on the horns of a dilemma. The artist in me said that this was a thing of beauty. Maybe not from a formal perspective. My control of the spray was very poor. But from a conceptual basis… I imagined everyone waking up and going to work, stepping over my rebel tag. Right up in everyone’s faces. There was a time in my youth when I lived for that. It was late at night. No one saw me do it. I could walk away and no one would ever know it was me.
The writer in me always thinks back to my high school English teacher who gave me perhaps the best advice anyone ever gave me. He said, “if you want to be a writer you have to be willing to kill your babies.” Obviously he didn’t mean that literally. I’ve managed to avoid infanticide so far in my life. What he meant was that sometimes you’ll write a line that is so exquisite you’ll practically fall in love, and sometimes that line just doesn’t fit in the piece you’re writing. In times like that it’s hard, but you have to cut the line. It’s just as true for art, and activism and everything else… as much as I loved it, this rebel tag was not a line that belonged in my story.
It was late now. Nowhere was open that would sell paint thinner. I tried bleach and dish detergent before my brilliant wife suggested I try her nail polish remover. I was up half the night scrubbing.
There’s an ongoing discussion among political activists to what degree they should respect property. The young punks break windows and vandalize businesses in the name of spreading their message, while to the libertarians’ respect for private property is practically sacrosanct. To us it is in many ways the true harmonizing order in a free society along side life and liberty. What kind of hypocrite would it make me if I violated that the moment no one was looking.
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