Art has always been political. From Renaissance frescoes loaded with symbols of power to Picasso’s Guernica or the protest posters of 1968 Paris, artists have long reflected and resisted authority. In the 21st century, few have done this as consistently, and as provocatively, as Banksy.
His latest mural, which appeared on the exterior wall of London’s Royal Courts of Justice, may be one of his most politically charged.
It arrived just days after nearly 900 people were arrested at a protest against the UK’s ban on Palestine Action, a group recently banned and labelled a terrorist organisation. Critics cite the group’s disruptive tactics and property damage while supporters see it as direct action against the UK's complicity in war crimes, specifically the arms trade with Israel. Regardless of one’s stance, the scale of arrests has raised alarms over the right to protest in Britain.
The timing, like the imagery, is hard to ignore
The symbolism is clear: justice is not being served, it’s striking
The mural shows a judge in full regalia, wig, robe, and gavel, bringing that gavel down not in a courtroom, but onto the body of a protester. Blood sprays from the protester’s placard, still clutched in hand. Banksy offered no explanation, but the symbolism is clear: justice is not being served, it’s striking.
The authorities responded quickly. The mural was covered in plastic, then fenced off. Police launched a criminal damage investigation. Officials from the Royal Courts of Justice called it vandalism of a listed building. But the question lingers: what does more harm, paint on a wall, or the suppression of protest?
The choice of location was no accident. The Royal Courts are more than a landmark, they represent the legal system itself. By placing the mural there, Banksy confronts the judiciary with the consequences of its rulings, or its silences.
A justice system complicit in the suppression of dissent
Banksy's mural doesn’t name names, but its critique is unambiguous: a justice system complicit in the suppression of dissent.
Street art has always existed outside permission. It is fleeting, illegal, and powerful precisely because it cannot be censored in advance. It appears uninvited and demands confrontation. Banksy turns public space into a site of political reckoning.
The authorities’ swift attempt to conceal the mural only amplified its message. Instead of silence, there was noise, crowds, debate, and viral images. The attempt to erase it became part of the artwork’s impact.
This is not new territory for Banksy. From Gaza’s bombed walls in 2015 to the Walled Off Hotel in Bethlehem facing the Israeli separation barrier, his work consistently targets the violence of borders and the complicity of institutions. These pieces don’t just provoke; they endure in the cultural memory, even after they’re covered or destroyed.
Banksy turns public space into a site of political reckoning
And the irony is hard to miss. While some governments treat his work as criminal damage, others protect it behind plexiglass. Banksy is both outlaw and collector’s item, his murals dismissed as vandalism while fetching millions at auction.
In an era when protest is increasingly policed, surveilled, and legislated against, street art remains one of the few unfiltered forms of political expression. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t go through editors. It just shows up, and stays.
This mural isn’t about beautifying a wall. It’s about bearing witness. Challenging power. Asking uncomfortable questions. And while the image may be removed, the question it poses remains:
When justice fears the people, who really holds the gavel?