Banksy censored in London: between protest, irony, and memory, the new mural challenges the Royal Courts

On the morning of Monday, September 8th, in the heart of London's judicial system, a new Banksy mural appeared outside the Queen's Building, part of the historic Royal Courts of Justice, stirring public debate in Britain and around the world. Visible for just a few hours before being quickly concealed by plastic sheeting and metal barriers, the work depicts a British judge, wearing a black robe and white wig, intent on striking a protester lying on the ground holding a blood-soaked sign with his gavel. The artist's direct and symbolic language makes the implicit denunciation impossible to ignore: art as action, as a reflection on power, protest, and justice.

Banksy posted the image on his Instagram page, accompanied by the caption "Royal Courts of Justice: London," deliberately prompting reflection on the role of European institutions and courts in the face of social conflict. The Royal Courts, the nerve center of British justice, are protected by restrictions that preserve the original appearance of historic buildings. Not surprisingly, a spokesperson for HM Courts and Tribunals stated that the mural will soon be removed: the law requires the protection of historic facades, reiterating the conflict between artistic vitality and conservation regulations. The work is under police surveillance, awaiting its removal in accordance with procedures for monumental heritage.

Despite the absence of explicit references, the BBC immediately linked the new mural to the protests that erupted over the weekend in London in response to the Keir Starmer government's banning of Palestine Action as a "terrorist organization." The government action stems from acts of vandalism by Palestine Action, such as the red-painting of the fence surrounding the Elbit Systems factory, the main Israeli military manufacturer in Britain. During the protests, police arrested nearly 900 people, heightening the sense of tension in a city that has always been crucial to global civil rights movements.

Banksy's work isn't an overt attack on England, but, through irony and provocation, renews his longstanding focus on current political wounds. The artist has previously immortalized Palestinian struggles with interventions in Gaza and the West Bank: in 2015, he published an ironic and unsettling tourism video about Gaza, while in 2017, in Bethlehem, he created The Walled Off Hotel, the hotel with the "worst view in the world," overlooking the concrete barrier separating Israel from the occupied West Bank. Banksy thus reaffirms his identity as a global interpreter, capable of dramatizing conflicts through a universal language accessible to all.

The speed with which the mural was covered reveals how institutions remain caught between protecting tradition and managing dissent. The police, in agreement with the judicial authorities, reacted firmly: the removal is considered a necessary measure for architectural preservation, but at the same time it is a symptom of the difficulty of tolerating the incursion of protest into the ritual of public space.

The reaction of the artistic community and the international public was immediate: critics, activists, observers, and visitors raised the issue on social media and in major newspapers, questioning the fate of the urban murals and the profound meaning of censorship in one of the symbolic sites of British judicial power. This is not the first time that a public work by Banksy has been erased or painted over, but the specific resonance of this work, in the context of the Royal Courts and at a time of heated debate over civil liberties, Palestine, and social policies, gives it a particularly significant significance.

The removal of the mural risks fueling the fragility of European public space and narrowing the boundaries within which art can question power. Banksy has built his entire poetics on the ability to expose the unresolved, to force citizens and institutions to confront the contradictions of the present. On this occasion too, the eruption of a violent yet ironic scene, a parody of justice as a physical and ideological confrontation, forces anyone passing by to pause and reflect on the relationship between law, coercion, and democratic participation.

In the globalized context of civil demonstrations and the Middle Eastern conflict, Banksy's new action engages with a long series of his interventions. His works, which appeared in Gaza and Bethlehem, are now part of the local landscape, ranging from anti-war allegories to declarations of solidarity. The Bristol-based artist thus interprets the critical continuity between urban space and collective rights, bringing to the heart of London a reflection that transcends borders and ideologies.

The brief history of this mural, which appeared and has since been removed, demonstrates the symbolic weight of contemporary urban art: in public spaces, every image becomes a field of negotiation, a terrain of dialogue and often tension, where the city is called upon to mediate between creative freedom and institutional rules. This episode prompts us to question the future of street art in European society, what are the acceptable limits to visual provocation, and what new exchanges can arise between artists, citizens, and administrators.