Sweaty clubgoers stumble out of Neighbours’ alleyway entrance off of Pike Street and Broadway to lounge against the cool brick walls of the Capitol Hill nightspot, light cigarettes, and get a second wind. Plastered above their heads is a simple flier, telling them they are under surveillance.

“You are being videotaped by Barry Rogel and the Pike/Pine Urban Neighborhood Association,” reads the letter-sized, black-and-white flier taped over the graffiti.

An identical flier was posted last month on a utility pole at the corner of Boylston Avenue and Pine Street in front of Capitol Loans, but it disappeared a few days later.

The mysterious fliers refer to Capitol Hill Safety Coalition’s (CHSC) plan to videotape street conditions on Capitol Hill. (The plan involves getting volunteers to hit the streets and videotape on any given Saturday night.) CHSC is a coalition of Capitol Hill business and propery owners.

The CHSC project is on hold until someone is able to do the filming. Volunteers either aren’t available when the streets need to be taped, or they fear retaliation for participating in the project, says CHSC Secretary Randy Wiger.

Wiger says the videotape will be used as a tool to illustrate neighborhood concerns, such as aggressive panhandling, public inebriation, overflowing dumpsters, and drug activity.

“It is intended in part to show the need for adequate social services to be available on Capitol Hill,” Wiger says.

CHSC hopes to create a tape in the next few months, possibly by hiring a cameraperson.

Judging from the grave poster warnings, the plan obviously triggers thoughts of Big Brother. Indeed, Wiger acknowledges that word of the plan elicited several worried e-mail messages to CHSC.

But Wiger and CHSC President Rogel don’t know who may have posted the fliers. Neither does Jill Janow, chair of the Pike-Pine Urban Neighborhood Council (the flier misnamed the group).

“If anyone admits to it, I’d love to have a dialogue,” Rogel offers.

Here’s hoping the anti-video avenger steps forward.

amy@thestranger.com

Amy Jenniges moved to Seattle in 1998—escaping the oppressively cold winters, unbearably humid summers, and weird accents of her native Minnesota—to attend Seattle University. She had intended...