Where there's smoke, there's ire

I'm lucky enough to live near the beautiful red-rock country around Sedona, Arizona, and even luckier to not live in Sedona itself. It's not that Sedona doesn't have much to offer -- in addition to the film-friendly natural wonders of the area, the town has a thriving arts scene, including a jazz festival and a film festival, and a very colorful New-Agey culture. Unfortunately, though, like a lot of wealthy, flamboyantly hippy-dippy towns, Sedona's politics reek more strongly of Joseph Stalin than of Abbie Hoffman. Increasingly, Sedona's city government is binding its residents in a web of petty rules and regulations.

One that gets my goat in particular is a law passed a couple of years ago banning the installation of new wood-burning fireplaces in local homes. The claim was that fireplaces and woodstoves are unnecessarily polluting the rather pristine rural air, so must be outlawed -- with existing stoves, such as those owned by the city council members, grandfathered in, of course.

Not only did the law strike me as intrusive, but also as destructive and elitist. In my own home, I rely pretty heavily on a woodburning stove for heat, as do many of my neighbors. It's an especially attractive alternative to paying skyrocketing bills for propane. The Sedona law was based on the premise that fireplaces and wood-burning stoves are purely cosmetic, and optional; it's the sort of assumption that only the well-heeled busybodies who get elected to Sedona's city council could make.

Now, I know for a fact that not everybody is obeying Sedona's law. It's not that hard to install a wood-burning stove yourself -- or with the assistance of a trustworthy handyman -- and more than a few people are doing just that. But that sort of quiet defiance, as commendable as it is, isn't enough to head off the government busybodies. It seems to me that something more direct is in order.

I got a little inspiration from an incident in King County, Washington, where dozens of rural landowners dumped a load of noxious weeds on the doorstep of County Executive Ron Sims. Infuriated by controversial new land-use restrictions that have weeds sprouting where business and home-expansion dreams once grew, protesters launched a symbolic attack on the home of one of the law's prominent boosters.

Sedona is a small town, and people know where their rulers live should they choose to send a message home. It wouldn't be too hard to drive up to an empty city councilmember's house, climb to the roof like you belonged there, and dump a load of quick-setting concrete down the chimney. It's peaceful and it's as appropriate as the King County action. It would also help city officials to live by the laws they impose on their long-suffering subjects.

And that's something few politicians want to do.