There’s a lot to be said for life in a small town in New Hampshire. We moved here recently from a crowded suburb of Boston. For one thing, we like the lower cost of living. Even with higher real estate taxes (as a percentage of property values), the tax load is much lower here than in Massachusetts. There’s no income tax or sales tax. And property values are much lower. So even though the tax rate is higher, we’re still not taxed as much for comparable property as we were south of the border. And here in our small town, it’s quiet, with very little automobile traffic. A midday run to the Post Office now takes the same time by car as in the Boston suburb we moved from. We lived a mile from the P.O. previously, and almost 3 miles from the P.O. here. It used to be faster to ride my bike.
My wife and I did some research before moving here, so we expected this. That was part of our motivation to move in the first place. We wanted to get away from the noise and hectic pace of the Boston area. We like to cross country ski in winter, and we were frequently driving up here anyway for skiing as well as cycling in summer. So we figured, “Why not live here?”
Well, one thing we hadn’t considered when we moved here was the warmongering. I don’t know how bad it is in the rest of rural America, but here it’s truly astonishing. After living in Massachusetts all my life, and thinking the attitudes there were bad, especially after Sept 2001, I was totally unprepared for the fanaticism in New Hampshire. The locals seem to think that the only good foreigners are dead foreigners. It seems there’s no place on earth they aren’t happy to have bombed. Whatever the president, particularly a Republican president wants to do overseas is fine with them. For example, there’s a woman here in town who drives a pickup truck with a decal in the rear window. It’s a cartoon drawing of a man urinating. To the left of the cartoon is the word “I," and to the right it reads, “on antiwar protesters.” She’s just a little itty bitty thing. But she has no fear of being chastised by anyone for displaying such hostility wherever she goes because just about everyone around here agrees with her; and the few that don’t, have learned to keep quiet, as have I.
We went to our first town meeting in March. I noticed a military honor guard with flags off to one side, but didn’t think much of it. I’d arrived late and was looking for my wife and didn’t think to ask what that was about. I would find out soon enough.
There were a series of articles for various business welfare schemes. A downtown beautification program; tree plantings, brick sidewalks and the like, all promoted on the basis of how much it will help the downtown businesses. Being the good libertarian that I am, I got up and asked why the businesses that stood to benefit from all of this couldn’t pay for it directly, since it wasn’t a maintenance issue as there are perfectly functional sidewalks already.
There were a number of similar articles and I spoke on most of them. I was having severe back spasms that night, and it took a while to get up out of my chair each time I spoke. But everyone listened politely, some lectured me sweetly as to how “We’re all in this together” and then voted in all of the subsidies, uh, I mean articles.
The last article of the evening was a $300 real estate tax credit for veterans. I slowly stood up and asked what the connection was between prior military service and property taxes. I was about to point out that a credit for some equals a tax increase for everybody else, since the town’s expenses must all be paid, but I never got that far. Before I could make my point, the excrement hit the ventilation system! People started yelling at me. “Have you ever been in combat?!?!,” said one elderly man wearing a medal bedecked beret. “You must have been a draft dodger!,” said another sitting behind me. The fire chief, a large ex-marine walked over and declared, “You’ve got some balls asking a question like that!.” “You don’t think people should defend their country?,” another demanded to know. I asked him calmly, “What does this have to do with property taxes?” But all I got in response was, “I have a buddy over there RIGHT NOW!.” A police officer walked over and told the firemen to take it outside. Notice that he didn’t tell them to stop yelling or to drop the threatening tone, no, just “Take it outside.” I thought I was going to be beaten up in the parking lot afterwards. And while there was no violence later in the parking lot, there were plenty of expletives coming me way.
Of course, nobody would address my question regarding the connection between taxes and veteran status. Simply by asking the question, I had become the enemy. I might just as well have walked in wearing a swastika armband. Those doing the yelling were those who were getting the tax credit. All the firemen are ex-marines. And they all believe that they are entitled to dip into my wallet to pay their taxes.
Eventually they all sat down and voted in the tax credit. Mine was the sole “Nay,” which prompted some murmuring and a number of angry stares. Then they moved to adjourn the town meeting and I found out why the honor guard was there. They marched down the center isle of the hall carrying their American flag and everyone pledged allegiance to to it, except my wife and me.
Next year the veterans tax credit is expected to be $500. There will be another vote, but this time there won’t be any “Nays”. I don’t expect to be at town meeting. If big burly firemen are willing to clench their fists and yell at a 50 year old man who can barely stand up in a public forum with police officers present, what might they be willing to do in the middle of the night when my wife and I are at home sleeping? I’ll pay the taxes and shut up.
May 27, 2004
