The incident in which a person or persons unknown painted the word “Trump” on several sections of Route 52 in Shawangunk hamlet of Walker Valley over the weekend of July 21-22 got us thinking: Is there a line between vandalism and protected free speech? And if there is, where should it be drawn? Who gets to decide between valuable and valueless graffiti?

Before you scoff, there are some local examples to validate our line of inquiry. One, of course, is the 2011 case of the Red Goats, where an act of unwanted augmentation to the new snow-white tree planters in Uptown turned into a political and cultural watershed moment. The two goat-painters were arrested and charged, and many in the neighborhood wanted to see them punished. Then-Mayor Jim Sottile, if we recall correctly, said he would like to see the two remove all of their stenciled goats with toothbrushes.

But while the incident was rooted in the ongoing debate over the Pike Plan’s impact on Uptown, the excellence of the symbol and the assertion of local control that it made turned into a regional news story. Even The New York Times got in on it, with a March 2012 story headlined, “How Graffiti Goats Became a Symbol of … Something.” Sayeth the Times: “But as the initial passions settled, many people became fond of the goats as image and metaphor — scruffy, independent, friendly, determined, one of the most humanlike creatures in the barnyard, with qualities many sheeplike humans might emulate.” With an impact like that, can you really call it mere vandalism? Or did its effect justify its existence?

Another example is more widespread and has been going on for years – “urban exploration” into the many abandoned hotels of the Borscht Belt. Just over the weekend, Ellenville hosted a beautiful gallery of photographs of these ruins by Hudson Valley native Isaac Jeffreys. Jeffreys got permission for his shoots, which involve hauling huge lights into the structures, but that fact makes him all but unique in the world of urban exploration. Most pictures that come out of ruins like the Nevele are the result of simple, brazen trespassing. Many of those pictures are startlingly beautiful, and, sometimes, the last record of once-great places.

Now let’s consider the big “Trump” of Walker Valley. As art, it lacked a certain panache, but block letters make a statement all their own. Not surprisingly for one of the two towns in Ulster to go for Trump in both 2016 and 2020 (Marlborough is the other one), the graffiti was greeted with something less than outrage. “I think it's pretty benign. No one's bleeding, no one's hurt. Let them do it,” lifelong Walker Valley resident Bob Sweetman told our reporters.

“It doesn’t bother me,” said another lifelong resident, who asked not to be identified by name in response to Sweetman’s comment. “None of us have any problem with it.”

One problem: it was painted in the middle of the road. Like in real estate, location matters in acts like these; it’s possible that some motorist might have been distracted at a critical moment by watching the graffiti and not the road. The right thing to do, and County Legislator Craig Lopez and Shawangunk Town Supervisor Ken Ronk agree, would be, for safety’s sake, to paint it over and discourage a repeat performance. As of the writing of this editorial Monday afternoon, we’ve received no reports of “Kamala” showing up anywhere in Ulster – although another Trump has appeared.

So let’s verge into the hypothetical: What if the Walker Valley graffitist stood up and said, “This is a political statement, and as such is protected free speech. The state DOT censored me by covering it up and I am suing.” He might even describe it as art.

We have a U.S. Supreme Court that has shown itself to be perfectly willing to overturn longstanding decisions and interpretations. Either in this case, or some other, in which far more offensive graffiti might be involved, we wouldn’t be surprised if the court created a right to make political statements right in the middle of the road. Considering how polarized we are right now, that would be irony painted very large.