O n May 2, six months before the Nov. 5 election, Republican U.S. House candidate Abe Hamadeh posted a photo to Twitter. Power drill in hand, he stood next to a recently installed “ABE HAMADEH” campaign sign. “It’s pretty rare for congressional candi- dates to put up their own signs,” he wrote. Quickly, the post generated criticism. Hamadeh had erected his sign earlier than Arizona law allowed. “It’s pretty rare because most candidates don’t usually tweet out when they’re breaking the law,” chided Democratic state Sen. Anna Hernandez. Hamadeh shot back with a screenshot of Peoria’s political sign code, which allows political signs to go up as early as May 1, a day before his post. There was only one problem: Hamadeh’s photo was taken at the intersection of Bell Road and Coyote Lakes Parkway. That’s not in Peoria but in Surprise, which didn’t allow political signs to go up for another three weeks. Hamadeh soon deleted the second tweet. In a text message to Phoenix New Times, Hamadeh campaign spokesperson Erica Knight said the sign was actually posted on private property belonging to family friend Nico Howard, though a comparison of Maricopa County Assessor’s Parcel Finder map with Hamadeh’s tweet suggests the sign was near Howard’s property but not quite on it. Knight did not explain why Hamadeh initially referenced Peoria’s sign code if the sign was on private property all along. The Hamadeh sign kerfuffle was the latest in a longstanding Arizona election tradition: freaking out about campaign signs. Every election cycle, Valley drivers and pedestrians are increasingly subjected to barrage of large polypropylene signs posted along their daily commute routes. The signs crowd street corners with the smiling faces and bolded names of innu- merable candidates for political office. And just as the signs dominate the landscape every election cycle, so do beefs about them on social media. Every elec- tion season brings roughly a dozen sign- related tiffs that start online and spill into newspaper and TV reports. When they’re not arguing with each other about the issues, candidates argue about each other’s signage. In past years, candidates have placed cameras near their signs to catch thieves. Back when signs were made of wood, a veteran political operative remembers, one man stole so many of them that he was able to reroof his home. During the 2020 presi- dential election, sign-stealing became so rampant, campaigns set up websites for people to request replacements. This year also has featured more than its share of sign drama. Weeks after Hamadeh possibly caught himself breaking the law, Democrat Conor O’Callaghan posted a photo purporting to show Republican Rep. David Schweikert taking down O’Callaghan’s signs. “A new low,” O’Callaghan wrote, “even for him.” Around the same time, Surprise City Councilmember Aly Cline was accused of ripping down the signs of her opponent in the city’s mayoral election, claiming they were placed illegally on city property. In July, signs for Democratic U.S. House candidate Amish Shah began appearing on the lawns of people who didn’t request them, leading Shah to apologize. A month later, Phoenix Mayor Kate Gallego and little-known Republican challenger Matt Evans sparred with each other through news reports, each accusing the other of violating Arizona’s sign laws. Yet for all that angst over campaign sign violations — for all the Twitter cops blaring their sirens when someone steals a sign or places it improperly — almost nobody is ever actually punished for breaking the law. The cities whose job it is to enforce the law hardly ever bother pressing charges. In Phoenix, the largest city in the Valley, there have been only two campaign sign-related prosecutions in the last 10 years. “The thing that frustrates me the most is watching volunteers and candidates get in arguments on social media, or even at times, go to the media about their signs being watched or taken down,” said Democratic strategist Tony Cani of Slingshot Campaigns, “because it’s just a huge waste.” That’s Arizona politics for you: all sound and fury, signifying nothing. SIGNS EVERYWHERE If Arizona has a lot of sign wars, that’s because Arizona has a lot of signs. The First Amendment generally limits how cities and states can regulate political signs, according to Freedom Forum, but municipalities can restrict where and how they’re displayed. In many states, campaign signs are not permitted in a public “right of way.” Signs are mostly displayed in the yards of private homes, not along major intersections. But that’s not the case in Arizona, where political signs litter street corners during election season. “The street corner signs, those signs really don’t appear in most places around the country,” said Cani, who has worked on campaigns in multiple states. “It’s a very unique Arizona thing, and it’s been like that for a long, long, long time.” They’re everywhere in the Valley, and whether they actually work is an open question. Cani thinks placing colorful political signs on every corner is as effective as yelling a candidate’s name at passing cars. “Plus voters and drivers hate them,” he said. Republican strategist Paul Bentz of HighGround agrees that they’re “a total pain” but thinks that the pain does come with some gain. Signs do “build the overall awareness of a campaign,” he said. The science is mixed. In 2015, a Columbia University study determined the impact of campaign signs was “probably greater than zero but unlikely to be large enough to alter the outcome of a Putting his campaign sign up too early got Republican Abe Hamadeh in trouble on Twitter but didn’t affect his successful primary campaign for Congress. (Photo by TJ L’Heureux) Arizona has more permissive campaign sign laws than many other states. (Photo by Courtney Pedroza/Getty Images) Arizonans hate campaign signs but love sign snitching. BY MORGAN FISCHER >> p 18
