Crooks succeed when they’re anonymous

It’s infuriating. It’s offensive. You go to a public park, a main street and you see vandalism. Sculptures damaged. Seating smashed. Graffiti splattered on walls. Not even hate graffiti, which at least has some motivation — even if I reject it — but just graffiti for the sake of defacing a virgin wall.

It’s mindless. Purposeless. Meaningless.

In the village of Telkwa, on Highway 16 through northern British Columbia, people woke up one morning to find that during the night someone — or more likely, a small group of someones — had trashed a garden display in Eddy Park, where the Bulkley and Telkwa rivers meet.

I haven’t been in Telkwa for far longer than I like to admit. But I clearly remember that idyllic site — sparling waters, green grass, with the massive snow-capped symmetry of Hudson Bay Mountain as an unforgettable backdrop.

Sometime during the night, vandals smashed flower pots, trampled plants, scattered debris throughout the town.

It happened in darkness. Of course. Vandalism depends on anonymity. Vandals know, deep down, that what they’re doing is unacceptable to society as a whole.

Vandals — and crooks — are cowards. Anonymity lets them act without risking rebuke.

Repairs cost the village of Telkwa about $1,500, not including the wages of village staff. Which isn’t much, in today’s world, I suppose. Except that Telkwa only has a population of 1,500 people. There’s no anonymous “them” to pay for the repair bill; it comes out of everyone’s wallet.

On his Facebook page, Mayor Darcy Repen wrote, “It becomes harder and harder to justify these costs in a Village that is already financially strapped… And yet the law-abiding residents of Telkwa deserve a few basic adornments to foster community pride and ensure that this remains a pleasant village to live in. (So) we are seeking community volunteers to participate in a Citizens on Patrol program, with the intent of identifying those who continue to undermine our community with their destructive actions.”

I heard about Repen’s posting on the CBC morning news. It felt almost insignificant against the juggernaut of political battles in Washington, flaming apartments in London, wars in Syria and mass murders all over the U.S.

Except that few of us are directly affected by those distant events. By contrast, vandalism affects everyone.

As I have written before, the sheer meaninglessness of vandalism bugs me.

I can understand, even sympathize with, desperate people who break into a store because they need food, clothing or medicines.†I can try to understand — without in any way condoning — the passions that lead a person to commit murder or to defy court orders in support of a cause they believe in.

But I cannot understand the point of vandalism. It benefits no one.

Simply stiffening penalties will not work. People who commit mindless acts don’t bother thinking about consequences.

Vandalism strikes me as the last refuge of the hopeless. Their motto is the antithesis of Rene Descartes’ famous epigram, “I think, therefore I am.” Or, loosely paraphrased, “I can think, therefore I must exist.”

Vandals don’t think. Their motto would be, “I can do damage, therefore I must exist.”

I wonder if it is only their ability to destroy that gives them any assurance of their own reality. When they look at their trail of destruction, they can say, “I can see something I did, therefore I must be real.” Otherwise, would they be nothing? Because vandalism thrives on anonymity, the cure for anti-social anonymous acts has to be exposure. That’s the point behind Mayor Repen’s call for patrols against vandalism. It’s not a resurrection of the Conservative party’s infamous “snitch line” during the last federal election; it’s a call for people to get involved.

In a village of just 1,500, I’m told, everyone knows everyone. So someone knows who smashed Telkwa’s flower pots.

Unfortunately, there is no direct way to combat those who hide under the invisibility cloak of anonymity.

In a kind of vicious circle, anonymity builds false courage.

Protecting a relative, a friend, a member of a club or team, solves nothing. It merely encourages more vandalism. The perpetrators feel that they have successfully avoided identification. It may even allow them to persuade themselves that they’ve done nothing wrong, because they receive no negative feedback.

But even if friends and relatives won’t turn them in, vandals will not act if they know someone is watching them.

Telkwa wants to tear away the anonymity that shelters vandalism. I hope it works.

Jim Taylor is an Okanagan Centre author and freelance journalist. He can be reached at rewrite@shaw.ca. This column appears Mondays.