“Pleasure stolen from the poor”: Community discourse on the ‘theft’ of a Banksy

Analytic materials

Five hundred unique reader comments on online newspaper articles reporting the removal for auction of No Ball Games were collected. Newspapers include the Tottenham & Wood Green Journal; the Haringey Independent; the Huffington Post UK; BBC News London; the Daily Mail; and the Guardian. These media sources were selected to allow for the expression of both local and national community opinion, across both broadsheet and tabloid media.

Analysis

The following analysis is organized according to the extent to which the discourse either condones and/or condemns the removal of No Ball Games. This analysis also draws on the concept of interpretative repertoires, which are “recurrently used systems of terms used to characterize and evaluate actions, events and other phenomena. They are constituted through a limited range of terms used in particular stylistic and grammatical constructions” (Potter and Wetherell, 1987: 149). In addition to identifying the repertoires employed by readers, the uses and rhetorical functions that they achieve, and the consequences set in motion by their use, will be explored. Two interpretative repertoires are discussed: a pro-removal repertoire, which depicts street art as vandalism, and its removal as an action that restores order and value to the community; and an anti-removal repertoire, which regards street art as a gift to the community, and its removal as a form of theft.

The pro-removal repertoire represented the majority (65%) of the Daily Mail reader comments; close to half of Huffington Post (53%) and Guardian comments (47%); and just over a third (36%) of BBC reader comments. The anti-removal repertoire was most popular amongst BBC readers (64%) and was least commonly endorsed by readers of the tabloid newspaper, the Daily Mail (35%) who drew most frequently on the older discourse of street art as vandalism. Notably, the opinions of the readers of the broadsheet newspaper, the Guardian, were evenly split (47/53) however when pro-removal, these readers’ comments drew less on the discourse of criminality and vandalism than did the Daily Mail’s readers, and more on the discourse of the rights of property owners in offering support for the removal of No Ball Games.

Street art as vandalism: Removal as restoring order and value to the community

The pro-removal repertoire positions graffiti as criminal activity and its removal as a morally appropriate response. Despite the familiarity of this repertoire, it bears detailed examination here, as the more historically recent anti-removal repertoire is rhetorically constructed to counter specific elements of this often unchallenged and historically dominant discourse.

A recurrent theme in the pro-removal repertoire involved the characterization of the work as unwanted and illegal vandalism. Many readers supported the removal of No Ball Games by portraying the work as the criminal destruction of public property, and the artist as a vandal who should be prosecuted:

It’s a pity someone hadn’t painted over it. “Banksy” is just a vandal who should be prosecuted. What an example we set to young people when we allow graffiti to blemish our streets.

These accounts tended to describe the piece as an unsightly eyesore to which the appropriate response is buffing or painting over by authorities. Thus the removal of No Ball Games was praised as of positive benefit to the community:

surely the best option would have been to simple paint over the graffiti. or sand blast it off. removing this illegally painted on graffiti, should have been done ages ago. good job.

Within this pro-removal repertoire, Banksy was cast as a criminal at large, and not a ‘real artist’:

= a criminal, not a real artist (cos not on canvas)

Here the category of ‘real artist’ is refused due to the form and placement of Banksy’s unauthorized work. ‘Real art’, by this common sense logic, is that which appears in the sanctioned forms (e.g. paintings on canvas) found in museums and galleries (and not on the street). Others considered Banksy’s chosen method of stenciling to be outside of the proper set of skilled activities constituting artistic practice:

If I caught so called Artist (Really, a criminal) Banksy defacing my wall, his teeth would be embedded in it along with his “Art”. Graffiti thugs are NOT artists. They are criminals. Notice this Banksy does not actually draw or paint, more like uses stencils then calls it art.

This group of readers often further claimed that street art was not art. That is, in addition to endorsing descriptions of the work as vandalism or graffiti, they acknowledged the available and potentially applicable category of street art, however they tended to refuse street art membership in the category of ‘art’ proper, thus dismissing its value and re-incorporating it into the criminalized category of graffiti:

I am sick of “street” and “public” so-called art. If I want to see art I’ll go and look for it. I hate, loathe and detest the way some people believe they have a right to deface property and then claim it is “art.” Let’s see how they like “art” sprayed on their property, shall we? And what gives them the right to force their art onto everyone else?

Here the categories of “street” and “public” art are acknowledged as candidate descriptive categories, only to be ironized by their description as “so-called” art – that is, as illegitimate and externally imposed false categories strategically claimed by those who “deface property” and “force their art onto everyone else”. Art is characterized as something that the viewer should actively seek out (presumably in a museum or gallery) only when and if they wish to see it. Street art is represented as forced encounter, as an uninvited visual assault on the everyday viewer, and as an infringement on the rights of everyday people to make their own aesthetic choices and manage their own walls/properties:

Who do the “arty” people think they are, to force their ideas on other people and tell them what should be on the walls of their properties? I have the right to my own individuality without someone tell me what art I supposed to like.

The discourse of individual rights is invoked here to link freedom of aesthetic judgment and preference to the expression of one’s very identity – or the neoliberal consumer’s complement to freedom of expression, where the art one likes should not be imposed on one’s senses by others, but should rather be freely chosen, as an expression of one’s individuality.

Some readers denied that No Ball Games was art on the grounds that it represented an abject affront to the viewer:

It’s not art, not when it is analogous to territorial marking, not unlike a dog pissing on every corner. … It’s unsightly and ugly.

Such negative aesthetic socio-moral judgments are based on commonly held representations of graffiti as a form of abjection and territory marking similar to public urination, or as dirt or filth (Douglas, 2002: 36 ). However, not all aesthetic responses were as strongly worded. Indeed, some viewers employed a rhetorical move familiar to public discussions of ‘puzzling’ contemporary art, and declared that “my kids could do better”, thus dismissing the aesthetic value of (and political commentary provided by) the work, and denying No Ball Games’ status as ‘proper art’ (and Banksy’s status as a ‘proper artist’):

Give the local school kids 20 mins and a few cans of spray paint and loads of stencils and will be just as good.

Banksy’s moral and professional status was further undermined by readers who characterized him as an undesirable influence on young people, on account of his widespread and indiscriminate acts of vandalism:

By doing graffiti all over the place, Mr. Banksy is encouraging young people to break the law. His place is in prison, alongside corrupt MPs and pick pockets.

The notion of criminal activity being contagious to young people is a key element of the persuasive rhetoric of moral panic (Hall et al., 1978). To contain this threat, readers often recommended Banksy’s incarceration, here in the nefarious company of petty street criminals and corrupt politicians. In an appeal to the common sense logic of graffiti as an illegal act, some appealed to other readers to acknowledge Banksy’s criminal status as a fundamental, if seldom admitted, truth, by defining the essence of the category “graffiti artist” as a criminal, and not an artistic, identity:

Can we just for one moment acknowledge that as a grafitti artist, Banksy is a criminal, albeit one that has not yet been caught.

Readers here also tended to focus on the undeniable illegality of the initial act of vandalism that created the work as a means to subvert the applicability of the category of ‘art’:

Surely it was a crime when he made this ‘art’ piece?

Others appeared more positive towards Banksy’s work, but depoliticized the removal of No Ball Games as congruent with the ephemeral nature of street art – another form of the deterministic rhetoric of the inevitable removal of graffiti and street art, albeit one less hostile towards the work and the artist. This was accomplished by collapsing various different forms of removal together as fitting with the expectations of both street artists and the public that street art will ultimately be ‘fleeting’:

Street art is not supposed to be permanent. [It is] often written over by others/vandalized by other writers

This ephemerality was described as an essential feature of street art, and for some, this was key to its aesthetic appreciation:

That’s the beauty of street art: If it’s painted over, that’s not fatal. Another will appear somewhere else. Leave the valuation and the worshiping in front of artworks to galleries and things. The hallowed art thing is great too - don’t get me wrong - and these Sinewhatsit people nicking walls are evil sods - but for the Banksy stencils, it doesn’t matter. Art of the people, for the people, in public places. If it goes, well do another one. It’s just the same as someone saying “Oh! The magnificent deer racing across the highlands! Here, I’ll shoot it, so I can stick it on my wall”. By taking the stencil out of the street, and sticking it in a gallery, they’re destroyed it and turned it into something else: A stuffed deer’s head in one case, and a stencil on some bricks in a room in another. In the real world, there’s more deer (hopefully) and more Banksys in public places to look at and often laugh at. So no big deal. Just a bit irritating that some stupid greedy people are as they are.

Here, the erasure or removal of street art is described as an expectable fate, and one that should not be mourned or protested, though milder responses of “irritation” at the “stupid greedy people” responsible for the work’s removal for auction are admitted. The ways in which art is encountered within galleries and museums (the valuation and commodification of work; the reverential “worshiping” of “hallowed” work by museum visitors) are marked here as entirely inappropriate, and indeed inapplicable, to the everyday experience of street art in public places. This reader incorporates many elements of the anti-removal repertoire, including the claim that “taking the stencil out of the street, and sticking it in a gallery … destroyed it.” However, this allegation is softened by their additional claims that while the original work has been destroyed by its removal, it has also been “turned into something else”, and that, back in the “real world”, more works will appear in the street for people to encounter and enjoy. Here the everyday encounter, rather than the objectified singular work, is prioritized as constituting the ‘beauty’ of street art in differentiating it from the corporate artworld.

Some supported the removal of street art as a means to protect work that would otherwise “be left to rot outside.” Like Bengsten’s (2014) street art fans, these viewers accepted the ephemerality of street art, but considered the removal of work for profit as a means to “preserve and protect” pieces of value against their inevitable decay or destruction:

Better to be preserved than left to rot outside.

A related series of comments supported Sincura’s controversial claim that No Ball Games was removed as it had not been “appreciated in situ”:

It didn’t seem to be appreciated when someone graffitied over the sign with “Banksy has no Balls” a couple of years ago. It’s better off off of the street and in a gallery where it can be protected properly whilst still being appreciated.

This reader provides a reference to King Robbo’s ‘defacement’ of the original No Ball Games in 2010, as collectively remembered evidence of Banksy’s work being not appreciated in situ. Here graffiti, or material interventions on or around the work, are seen as evidence of a lack of appreciation and respect rather than a form of critical engagement with, or commentary on, the work (or in King Robbo’s case, an amendment made as part of an ongoing series of visual retaliations directed at the artist, by visually altering a number of Banksy’s works). This logic – of additional graffiti as proof of a lack of appreciation – was also adopted by the anti-removal repertoire, however conversely; for those readers, the apparent lack of graffiti and defacement of the work in situ was cited as evidence of its appreciation.

Some considered that pieces like No Ball Games have already been preserved via digital photographs available online and that people should not expect to see the original work, as valuable original works of art are not intended for everyday people to experience directly. This rhetoric dismisses the act of removal as something that should be regarded as irrelevant, and not something to be concerned about, let alone protest against, as copies of the original are in circulation and are readily accessible:

The only way some artworks will ever be seen again is by photographs of them so what difference does it make if they are in a millionaire’s vault or turned to ashes?

You and I will never see the original regardless of whether it still exists or has been destroyed.

Further, by this logic, responsibility for the work’s removal was attributed not to individual agents, or even (as with the anti-removal repertoire) to structural forces such as capitalism, but rather to human nature itself, or “our destructive nature”. This is a deterministic and essentializing strategy that provides for the necessity of digital copies of works of value, to counteract the harm of the work’s removal by saving “digital representations for future generations”:

It is good that works like this have been saved digitally. With our destructive nature at least there will be digital representations for future generations to study. … With digital recordings things can be truly preserved for future generations.

A further set of comments acknowledged that it was morally problematic to remove the work, but adopted the deterministic and realist discourse of legality to accede to its lawful removal.

Legally it’s very simple. Morally it’s more complicated.

The persuasiveness of this rhetoric was further augmented by reference to the Sincura Group’s promise to donate the profits from the sale of the work to charity, thus offsetting the acknowledged moral wrong of taking the work from the community by “giving back to the community”:

I resent the suggestion that this artwork, ‘had not been appreciated in situ’. I live in Tottenham and passed this artwork daily. I, and I’m sure many others, did appreciate it and am saddened to see it go. That said, I am heartened that profits from the sale are going to a local Haringey children’s charity.

While this reader identifies as a member of the local community, and resists the claim that it was not appreciated in situ before praising Sincura’s undertaking to donate profits from the sale of the work to a local charity, others characterized local residents in a more negative light, describing the area as a ‘slum’ and the act of giving to charity as ‘more than most … residents would do’:

the fact that they are donating the money to a local charity is more than what most if not all of the residents of this area would do which is a slum to put it mildly.

Others drew upon a metaphor more commonly found within the anti-removal repertoire, to acknowledge that the work was a ‘gift’ from the street artist, however these writers individualized the notion of the gift (rather than treating this as a gift to the collective community) and thus incorporated it within the profit economy, declaring that as a gift it is the property of its new owner.

It was painted on the side of someone’s property without permission. If anything, it is a gift and therefore can be disposed of freely.

Those who accepted this notion also often focused on the rights of wall owners, and the work as private property with the logic that, “who owns the wall, owns the art.” Such comments not only depoliticize the act of removal, but also defend the innocence of the procurer and the other parties involved in the work’s removal for auction. These accounts tended to use ‘bottom line’ logic and to draw on idiomatic (and thus unarguable) statements, such as, “nothing is free”, and “you cannot expect something for nothing.”

Reading comments stipulating that Banksy’s pieces belonging to the public makes for infuriating reading. Anything found on land (good or bad) belongs to the entity which or person who owns the land and not the community … no community has the right to expect anything for nothing!!

Here, profit or personal greed is presented as an understandable motive, and the sale of the work as a legitimate means of gain for the wall owners. Some positioned the decision to sell the work as normative and reasonable, through the use of honesty phrases that interpellate the reader with the inclusive pronouns us and we, which coopt the agreement of the reader, even if they might deny that they themselves would act in such a manner:

Let’s be honest, we’d all do the same.

Some readers oriented to the possibility that they might be accused of advocating a morally problematic action and listed the socially understandable and morally defensible personal/family uses to which they would put the profit from the sale of such work if placed in this position:

If it was painted on my house I’d flog it in a heartbeat, pay off the mortgage and set up a nest egg for my children. Nothing morally wrong with that whatsoever.

The reader below draws on what Sacks (1996) termed an ‘at first I thought X, and then Y’ device. This operates by presenting an initial normative moral reaction, before presenting a less normative or palatable reaction – in this case, the realization that if placed in this situation, one would inevitably succumb and remove the work for personal financial gain:

i am shocked but then, i started to think, if i woke one day with a banksy on my wall, and that simply could bring me 500k! let be honest, i think i would cut it, sell it and justify it saying that its place is in a museum!

This formulation wards off potential accusations of naked greed, as presenting an initial reaction of being “shocked” provides for a less motivated realization of the likely course of one’s actions, rather than a premeditated and calculated exploitation of circumstances. Also of note here is that the rhetoric of the ‘proper place’ for art being in a museum is explicitly invoked here as a reasonable excuse (with cultural currency) for potentially morally problematic (financially driven) actions in removing street art for personal profit.

Street art as a gift to the community: Removal as theft

In contrast to those who supported the removal of No Ball Games, those who contested it regarded street art as something that enhanced the value of the community it was placed within. Within this anti-removal repertoire, street art was described as a gift to the community – “for the public to enjoy” – and removal was portrayed as demonstrating a lack of respect for the local community and, more broadly, for “the people of this city”. Street art was regarded as belonging to a community, and as something that augmented the value of the community, while its removal was described as an action that diminished the community’s worth, and which provoked feelings of sadness, anger, disgust and loss:

This disgusts me on a level I can’t even word. … It should be protected, the only person it belongs to is the artist himself and he left it for the community to enjoy.

I have to admit this saddens me. I appreciate the comments that the works were done illegally initially, but the fact is they become pieces of art that everyone walking past can appreciate and comment on, and so provide a point of interest for that community. Surely these makes them property of the community and should be protected as such, rather than cashed in.

The reader above shows a concession to the logic of the realist pro-removal repertoire in not contesting the fact that street art is illegal in the circumstances of its initial appearance, however they counter this repertoire by asserting that “these works … [then] become pieces of art”. That is, the criminality of street art is here contained to the initial act of making unsanctioned marks on a city wall, after which point the work undergoes a transition to become both art (as evidenced by the positive responses of the local community, in appreciating and commenting on the work) and the property of the community it is located within and who thus have a duty to protect it. Some readers also noted that street art could bring positive practical benefits to a neighbourhood and that removing it could have economic consequences for already socially deprived communities in terms of reducing the number of visitors to the area:

It’s a shame because the block where I live has very little footfall because of a dangerous main road which people don’t like to cross; when the Banksy was in situ sightseers would cross to see the Banksy and spend some money in the area. Nobody comes now.

Many of the readers who were against the removal of No Ball Games also took issue with the Sincura Group’s claim that the work had not been appreciated in situ, and offered their own direct positive experience of the work in situ as proof of the local community’s appreciation:

I do not see how the Sincura Group can possibly know that the artwork was not appreciated in situ. I am a local resident and enjoyed seeing it every day on the way to work, and … many other people were happy to have it in Tottenham too.

Others offered the condition of the work when in situ on the wall as evidence of the community’s appreciation:

The fact that this ‘graffiti’ did not attract further ‘graffiti’ is evidence enough of everyone’s appreciation.

Here, the absence of ‘graffiti’ obscuring the piece or defacing the wall it was placed upon is presented as proof of ‘everyone’s appreciation’ and respect for the work. It would appear that ‘untouched’ work is accepted within both repertoires as evidence of appreciation and that graffiti (as opposed to street art) is regarded as a sign of disrespect and vandalism. However, while the reader above categorizes No Ball Games as ‘graffiti’, they ironize this negative categorization by placing scare quotes around the term, unsettling the commonsensical judgments of the relative worth of street art vs graffiti adopted by many readers:

Much of the graffiti you see are ‘tags’ done by teenagers. There is a difference between that and street art. One needs to be stamped out the other needs to be protected.

Other readers contextualized their everyday appreciation of No Ball Games within an account of the daily visual pleasure it provided amidst the grim desolation of the post-riot destruction of Tottenham, where many local buildings had been damaged and burned:

shame! I used to walk past No Ball Games, on my way to work every morning. It’s not a particularly attractive part of town, and we don’t have a lot to get excited about (not since Lidl burned down, anyway) – [it] gave my dreary walk to the tube a bit of a focal point.

Such accounts illustrate the implications of the work’s removal for the everyday lives of local residents, and amplify the morally shameful consequences of the work’s removal from a socially deprived community who had recently experienced a damaging social upheaval:

As if Tottenham hasn’t had a hard enough time. Do they have to steal its art too? Give the area a break, for Christ’s sake.

In this repertoire, removal was not considered a neutral act. Indeed, some readers described this in evocative visceral terms as “an attack on the community” or as a “violation”:

I feel like Tottenham has been violated. That piece of graffiti was for the community, it put a smile on people faces and it’s been taken without any consideration for the community … [and] with no respect for the people of this city.

Further, many of those protesting against the removal of No Ball Games described its removal as a criminal act – as theft; criminal damage or vandalism – and offered the opinion that those removing it should be fined and/or imprisoned:

As Banksy has created this in a public place, I consider this is meant to be FOR the public. If this is then removed - by an individual or a company - for subsequent sale, that is theft. … Theft and/or vandalism charges should be brought.

“Graffiti” in a public place is quite obviously a public thing, done with public intent. The public “owns” all graffiti … graffiti is morally public property, even when it’s on private property in a public place … it’s morally wrong to remove public art and flog it in a gallery.

Here, the logic for considering No Ball Games ‘stolen’ rests on the claim that as it was created in public space, it is clearly intended for the public and that its removal for private sale thus constitutes theft. That the police were called during the work’s removal, and that they initially apprehended the workers on site, is testament to the cultural currency of this logic. However, as Young (2014: 128) points out, while communities’ experiences of, and belief in, ‘public space’ persists, the reality is that in many cities, apparently public spaces are legally comprised of a series of intersecting privately owned spaces.

Some readers further argued that the act of removal ‘destroyed’ No Ball Games, in that it compromised the context and power of the work and neutralized its site-specific impact. These assertions provide an effective rhetorical counter to the pro-removal repertoire’s rhetoric of removal as a form of preservation and conservation.

public art is destroyed and morphs into something completely different the moment you remove it from the public place it was made for. So dumb. Poor rich people: Buy art, and in so doing, destroy it.

when you remove his art from the street, you’re destroying the context of the work and removing all of its power.

Others extended the notion of theft and criminal damage beyond the remit of the community to a national scale, describing the work’s removal as the “destruction of a national treasure.” This heightens the transgression and immorality of the act of removal, as it renders it a crime against the nation, and not just the local community. Street art is here considered not just the property of the community, but as an asset – or treasure – of national significance worthy of protection:

Whoever is doing this needs to be prosecuted for destroying national treasures.

I wonder if this sort of pillaging could be stopped if all his works were given listed status? Then anyone defacing or removing them would face a heavy fine and / or imprisonment.

These works do not belong to any one individual or company, they belong to the people.

Webster (2012) has argued that, with the support of the communities street art is located within, there is in fact a strong case for Banksy’s work being listed as heritage, despite its relative ‘newness’, as many communities clearly value the aesthetic qualities and political commentary provided by Bansky’s work and wish to protect it. However, Merrill (2015) notes that attempts to protect street art as heritage may ultimately prove problematic as they would unsettle its foundational illegality, which is regarded by many as a key measure of the very authenticity of street art and graffiti as such, and further that such measures would likely be resisted by graffiti subcultures along with (paradoxically) those adhering to a pro-removal repertoire.

For proponents of the anti-removal repertoire, the sale of “public art for private profit”, was highlighted as running counter to the “point” of the work and the intention of the artist that it remain in situ … rather than being taken from the community and contained in an art gallery to be appreciated by very few privileged people.

It’s sickening this is happening. The work was made for local consumption not a gallery or private collectors and is a statement against those very people. Money, no morals and certainly no class.

The whole point of Banksys’s mural was to put across a message ‘in situ’. It is a masterpiece for the community. What a pity that it will go into an art gallery to be appreciated by so few people!

Many readers characterized the ‘art world’ as exploitative, unethical and exclusionary in its commodification of ‘public art’ in placing profit before people’s wishes:

The Art (business) World has nothing to do with ethics, morality or even good art and everything to do with hype, scarcity and making even more easy money. It’s sad that Banksy’s work should end up in this horrible sordid business …

Within this repertoire, the motivation attributed to those responsible for removing No Ball Games diverged from the pro-removal repertoire, where individual financial gain was accepted as a normative and defensible motive. Here, in contrast, greed was given as the driving force behind the work’s removal, with this motivation being portrayed as particularly morally problematic as it involved the exploitation of ordinary people:

Greed pure greed - you can feel their eyes roving over you, yours and your territory checking to see how much they can make out of you or from you - may the person buying this piece artwork taken from the view of ordinary people have the most miserable time - if I believed in curses I would be putting a curse of every bit of pleasure stolen from the poor to be enjoyed only by the rich!

Note here that the focus is not on the robbery of No Ball Games as a valuable object in isolation, but rather on the theft (by the rich, from the poor) of the ordinary viewer’s affective aesthetic pleasure in experiencing the work.

Readers suggested a range of strategies for protecting street art such as No Ball Games against removal for private profit. Besides heritage measures, it was commonly suggested that work be protected in situ, via the Perspex shields often seen placed over Banksy’s work:

Surely this piece of art should have been put behind toughened glass and preserved for all to enjoy. But instead a profit will be made from something made to be enjoyed by all. They should be ashamed removing it.

Others promoted a more novel strategy of protection through forms of devaluation of the original work. Some readers suggested that Banksy should eschew authorship to make No Ball Games effectively worthless:

Banksy should now make a statement that the mural wasn’t one of his creations. That leaves Sincura with a worthless chunk of plaster and a repair bill.

Others were critical of Banksy as having contributed to, and even encouraged, the circumstances under which his work might be ‘stolen’ for profit. Such comments referred to the activity of “selling out” and accused Banksy of “driving up the price of his work.”

Banksy should not put work on private walls, only public walls or landmarks – he is encouraging that which he dislikes.

I think Banksy needs to find better places to put them, so that they can’t be turned into profit so easily.

It was also suggested that Banksy should make many copies of No Ball Games in order to render the original worthless, or that he should restencil a further ‘copy’ in situ:

Just stencil multiple copies of the work around the country as soon as it’s sold, instantly devaluing the original.

banksy should just use the old stencils for this piece and make 50 more copies. making this one worth zero.

banksy should go back and put it back up, it would make a mockery of the sale

Some readers went further in advocating the destruction of street art of value to render it ‘worthless’ and thus protect it from theft:

If anyone had any brains they would graffiti over the graffiti to make it worthless. … It would be shame to lose it, but I would prefer to deny unscrupulous companies from profiting by it.

Banksy does the art for nowt and it belongs to the people of the area it is in. If there were one near me I would be destroying it now before the money men moved in on it.

Here, readers presented the local community as having the right, as the collective owners of street art, to proactively destroy works of value in order to save them from being taken from the communities where they belong. The destruction of street art is here presented as a paradoxical form of appreciation rather than (as was more commonly expressed in both repertoires) as evidence of a lack of appreciation by the local community.

Conclusion

This analysis explored the logic of two positions taken by community members in the aftermath of the removal of No Ball Games from a wall in Tottenham for private auction. These interpretative repertoires are divided according to whether readers were pro- or anti- the removal of No Ball Games and further, whether the original work was regarded as a form of vandalism or a form of art; whether street art was considered to belong to the community or to be private property; whether the removal of No Ball Games constituted a restoral of the community’s worth or whether it was a theft that violated an already vulnerable local community; and whether the profit made by the work’s sellers was immoral or could be considered legitimate. In addition to identifying the two main interpretative repertoires employed by readers, the uses and functions that they achieve and the consequences set in motion by their use, were discussed. Specifically, it is clear that through the employment of a realist repertoire of No Ball Games as graffiti that was rightfully removed, community members work to attribute responsibility for the work’s removal to deterministic external forces, while simultaneously reducing the accountability attributable to the agents responsible for the removal of the work. A contrasting anti-removal repertoire depicts street art as a gift to the community, and its removal as a form of theft, and a source of harm to the community.

However, these are not mutually exclusive repertoires. The older pro-removal discourse incorporates and depoliticizes elements of the anti-removal discourse, for instance by individualizing the notion of street art as a personal gift, rendering it private property that can then be freely disposed of by its owner; by acknowledging the moral wrong of the removal, but yielding to the bottom line ‘reality’ of the legal rights of the wall owners to sell the work; by recognizing the status of street art as valuable art rather than criminal vandalism, but asserting that the proper place for art is a museum, and not the street. Similarly, the anti-removal discourse assimilates and counters elements of the pro-removal repertoire, for example by acknowledging the illegality of street art, but containing this to the initial act of making unsanctioned marks on a wall, after which point the work becomes art and the property of the community it is located within.

We can see here the operations of what Rancière (1998) would call the police in the distribution of the sensible. In the pro-removal repertoire in particular, this is evident in the assertions that validate and thus depoliticize the removal of No Ball Games. Rancière defines the police, not as a uniformed authority, but as “the series of assumptions that structure life in common [consensus] with the aim of avoiding politics” (Tanke, 2011: 46). He argues that the discourse of realism is a powerful form taken by police operations in justifying inequalities and providing grounds for difficult decisions by invoking necessity. Within the field of discursive psychology, Potter and Wetherell (1987) regard this as a form of bottom line rhetoric that absolves the speaker from responsibility for their views by invoking deterministic forces – for instance by attributing the work’s removal to internal forces (e.g. “our destructive nature”); external forces (the art market, or capitalism itself); or by reference to the intrinsically ephemeral nature of street art and graffiti as a form of public art destined to disappear.

These findings add to the themes identified by Bengsten (2014) whose analysis of the online postings made by street art fans found references to street art’s removal for private profit as a morally problematic form of “theft”, and a counter rhetoric of removal as a positive means of “preservation”. However, the focus here, on the comments of a wider public, rather than a smaller group of ‘fans’, gives a sense of both the breadth and the complexity of community attitudes on this matter. The strong affective responses by readers from both the pro- and anti-removal repertoires demonstrates that this is an issue of significant local relevance for contemporary urban communities, and bears witness to a socio-moral challenge to the division of the sensible in documenting the emergence of a persuasive set of urban moral codes that construes a currently legal action (removing street art for private auction) as a form of ‘criminal’ activity.