Opinion: Dear candidates, please stop texting me

By Vanesa Brashier,  editor and publisher of Bluebonnet News

I have a confession to make. If you are a political candidate who has spent a small fortune printing glossy campaign flyers and mailing them to my house, I have some disappointing news for you.

I never read them.

All of them go straight from my mailbox to the trash can, sometimes without even making it into the house. I might glance at the candidate’s name, but that is about as much attention as I am willing to give it.

I hate to think how many perfectly good trees have given their lives so that I can throw away another political advertisement.

And with the November election approaching, the poor trees are really taking a beating.

Every trip to the mailbox seems to bring another collection of smiling politicians promising to make my life better. Some of these postcards are enormous. I am not sure what the thinking is behind that. Perhaps someone believes that if the candidate’s face is large enough, I will be overcome with an irresistible urge to vote for that person.

That strategy does not work on me.

Then there are the attack ads. I have never understood why candidates spend so much time telling me everything that is wrong with their opponents instead of using those precious seconds to tell me everything that is right about themselves.

Tell me why I should vote for you. What have you accomplished? What do you plan to do if elected? Why are you the better person for the job?

Surely there is something worth mentioning.

During the primary election, one candidate was the target of a particularly dramatic attack ad from an opponent. I actually laughed when I saw it because whoever put the advertisement together apparently forgot that the whole point was to make the other guy look bad.

Instead, they used flattering photographs and imagery that made him look like he was starring in the next Ben Affleck movie.

I kept waiting for the movie trailer voice to announce, “Coming soon to a theater near you.”

I am not sure that was the effect the campaign was going for, but if I had been the candidate under attack, I might have called to thank them.

Maybe even asked for a copy.

I have to wonder whether anyone actually reads all this stuff. Surely somebody does, or campaigns would not keep spending money on it.

Maybe there are people who sit down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and carefully study every campaign flyer that arrives in the mail. If that describes you, I admire your dedication. I would rather clean out the refrigerator.

I will admit, however, that I make one exception.

If someone has taken the time to walk up to my front door and hang a campaign flyer on the doorknob, I will usually look at it.

Not for very long, mind you. Let us not get carried away.

But I figure someone went to the trouble of walking up my driveway, climbing the steps and placing that flyer on my door. It might have been the candidate, a family member or some poor volunteer who got talked into spending a perfectly good Saturday afternoon walking around the neighborhood.

That deserves a little respect.

Will it change my vote? No, but I appreciate the effort.

Apparently, a little shoe leather impresses me more than a fancy printing budget.

Now, if the campaign mailers were the only nuisance, I could probably live with them. At least I can throw those away without having to do much more than open the mailbox.

The text messages are another matter entirely.

Good grief, people. When did I become everybody’s political pen pal?

I do not remember signing up for these messages. I do not remember giving my cellphone number to every candidate running for office between here and Washington, D.C. Yet somehow, they all seem to have it.

And man, they are a chatty bunch.

The messages usually start with my first name, as though we have known each other for years.

Some want to know whether they can count on my support. Others inform me that the future of America hangs in the balance and that I must act immediately.

By act, they usually mean send money.

I particularly enjoy the messages that claim someone has been trying desperately to reach me.

Really? How unfortunate. I must have been busy throwing away campaign flyers.

Then there are the messages informing me that I have been specially selected to participate in an important survey.

How exciting! Out of all the millions of people in this country, they chose little old me.

I am overcome with gratitude. Not.

Of course, the survey often turns out to be another attempt to collect a donation.

Imagine that.

And why is everything such an emergency? Every message seems to suggest that the entire future of civilization depends on whether I respond before midnight.

As a newspaper publisher,  I have enough deadlines in my life without politicians inventing more of them.

Then comes the little instruction at the bottom telling me to reply STOP if I no longer want to receive messages.

Excuse me, but when did I ever tell you to START?

That is the part I find especially irritating. I never asked to join these text lists, but somehow the responsibility falls on me to get myself removed.

And even when I do reply STOP, there is always another campaign waiting in the wings, ready to introduce itself and ask for money.

It reminds me of trying to get rid of an overly persistent salesman, only to discover that he has six cousins who also have something to sell.

I understand that political campaigns need to reach voters. I am not opposed to candidates introducing themselves or explaining why they want the job.

In fact, I wish more of them would spend their time doing exactly that.

Tell me what you plan to do about roads, taxes, schools and public safety. Explain how you intend to accomplish those things. Better yet, explain how you plan to pay for them. Hopefully without more of my tax dollars.

That last part would be particularly refreshing.

Sending me the same smiling photograph six times is not going to convince me of anything, except perhaps that somebody at campaign headquarters has a very generous printing allowance.

While I am complaining, can we talk about the waste?

All that paper, ink, postage and fuel used to deliver advertisements that may spend less than five seconds in someone’s hands before landing in the garbage.

I wonder how many trees are sacrificed during a typical election season. I also wonder whether anyone in the campaign industry has ever considered that a voter might actually become less enthusiastic about a candidate after receiving the tenth piece of mail from that person.

There has to be a point where advertising becomes harassment.

Perhaps I am being unfair. Maybe campaign consultants have mountains of research showing that the more postcards they send, the more likely people are to vote for their candidates.

If so, I would love to see the research. Preferably not in the form of another postcard.

I also realize that candidates running in large districts cannot possibly knock on every door. That is understandable. But there is something to be said for a little personal effort.

Attend community events. Visit local businesses. Answer questions from voters. Let people get to know you beyond the professionally photographed smile and carefully rehearsed talking points.

If someone from your campaign happens to walk up my driveway and leave something on my doorknob, I promise to give it a look.

That is about as generous as I am prepared to be.

As for the text messages, I have become quite skilled at deleting them. I can usually recognize a political solicitation before I finish reading the first sentence.

It is a talent I never wanted to develop, but here we are.

With Election Day approaching, I expect the situation will only get worse. The mailbox will continue filling up, my phone will keep buzzing and politicians I have never met will continue addressing me like a long-lost friend.

Then, finally, the election will be over.

The flyers will stop. The text messages will slow down. The television advertisements will disappear, and we can all enjoy a little peace and quiet.

For about five minutes.

Because somewhere, even as we speak, another hopeful politician is probably posing for a photograph, ordering 50,000 postcards and buying a list of cellphone numbers.

And I have a terrible feeling my number is on it.

So, to all the candidates out there, I have one small request.

Save a tree. Spare my cellphone.

And for heaven’s sake, stop pretending we are old friends. If we were, you would already know how much I hate junk mail.