August 30, 2012, 7:12 pm

The Attack Ad, Pompeii-Style

By PHILIP FREEMAN

Decorah, Iowa
A.D. 79 was a rough year for Marcus Cerrinius Vatia. The up-and-coming young man was running for the important office of aedile, one of the two junior magistrates in the seaside town of Pompeii. A century earlier, the Roman orator Cicero had admired the generally honest and upright campaigns conducted in this provincial town on the Bay of Naples. Unlike in Rome itself, where corruption was rampant, any hardworking Pompeian man with enough money and friends might rise to the office of aedile — unless he was a member of an undesirable profession, a public executioner, for example, or an actor.
If Vatia could clear the first hurdle and be elected aedile, perhaps in a few years he would be chosen as one of the duoviri (“two men”) who presided over the city. But even as an aedile, he would be guaranteed a place on the town council and special seats for life at the local gladiatorial shows. So as the smoking crater of Vesuvius loomed over Pompeii, Vatia tried to drum up support on the usual round of guild banquets, tavern meetings and dinners with wealthy citizens.

But politics could be a dirty business, even in Pompeii. Sometime in the night, one of the professional political teams that painted signs around town whitewashed some old campaign ads from the previous year and replaced them with new graffiti, including “The petty thieves support Vatia for aedile” and “The late night drinkers all ask you to elect Marcus Cerrinius Vatia as aedile.” Poor Vatia had become a victim of negative campaign advertising.

Alain Pilon

Since tradition in Pompeii kept ads from being blatantly defamatory, a favorite trick of local politicians was to plaster the tombs and walls of the town with fake endorsements for their opponents from unsuitable supporters — runaway slaves, gamblers and prostitutes. In Roman politics, where the appearance of honor and dignity was all important, even obviously false endorsements could bring shame and defeat to a struggling candidate.
The almost 3,000 political inscriptions that survive from Pompeii tell us more about Roman elections than that they featured dirty tricks. Legitimate ads from individuals and groups covered the walls from the Temple of Venus to the Amphitheater, occasionally with warnings not to tamper with them (“If you spitefully deface this sign, may you become very ill”). Most are formulaic recommendations of a candidate as a vir bonus (“good man”) or, in the case of our Marcus Cerrinius Vatia, “deserving.” Other get-out-the-vote ads are more specific, like the graffiti for Gaius Julius Polybius, who “provides good bread”; for Marcus Casellius Marcellus, who “gives great games”; and for Bruttius Balbus, who “will preserve the treasury.”
Most of these ads were sponsored by men, but a surprising number were paid for by women, who along with slaves were not allowed to vote. Pompeian women knew that although they couldn’t cast a ballot, they could still influence an election. Respectable women like Taedia Secunda endorsed her grandson Lucius Secundus for aedile. But even barmaids like Aegle and Zmyrina — their Greek names suggest they had once been slaves — appeared to have commissioned sign writers to post ads outside their tavern on the Street of Abundance.
Group endorsements from professional guilds were also important. Surviving campaign inscriptions include ads from fruit vendors, mule drivers, goldsmiths, bakers, barbers, innkeepers, grape pickers and the chicken sellers, who “beg you” to elect “Epidius and Suettius as duoviri.” These various labor and business organizations wanted to make sure they had men in office who would keep their taxes low. Religious organizations also had their favorite candidates. Worshipers of the Egyptian goddess Isis urged passers-by “to elect Gnaeus Helvius Sabinus as aedile.”
Whether Vatia won the election and was sworn in in July is unknown, but the next month Vesuvius exploded and buried the town of Pompeii and its politicians under countless tons of pumice and ash.
Philip Freeman, a classics professor at Luther College, is the editor of “How to Win an Election: An Ancient Guide for Modern Politicians.”