In the 1980s, shortly after my dfing for apostasy, I joined a phone tree (before the internet) and made contact with over a dozen ex-JWs. We commiserated with each other trying to soothe the pain of our experiences. There was this ex-elder from Maine who I talked often with.
Once, when I called him he said that he wasn't in the mood to talk because he had just gotten home after cleaning up the blood in the house of an adolescent JW who had attempted to commit suicide - by slashing her wrists. I never learned the details or even her name but something broke inside of me and I was determined to do something no matter how symbolic.
When I went to the Memorial after that I waited until it was over and did my deed. I approached the table where the emblems were and I tipped the table over with plates and glasses going crrrash. I should have said something about why I was doing it but I usually clam up when I hate something or someone. It's unfortunate that I didn't because they thought I was just a crazy apostate unhappy with his spiritual paradise.
