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Reflections on Graffiti From the LA Anti-ICE Protests

Almost every major contemporary protest in the United States is accompanied by illegal graffiti and street art. The recent (June 2025) demonstrations against the presence and activities of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers in Los Angeles (not to mention the deployment of 700 National Guardsmen) are no different. The Trump administration has pointed to the defacement of federal property as justification for deploying federal agents, adding another layer of political consequence to the use of graffiti and street art.

Meanwhile, graffiti and street art is hardly a new phenomenon in Los Angeles. The city has a deeply rooted graffiti culture. Scholars like Susan A. Phillips, in her book The City Beneath: A Century of Los Angeles Graffiti,  have chronicled its evolution over the past century, noting how this kind of public writing in the city has ranged from hobos to soldiers, to territorial tagging.  Graffiti writers like Chaz Bojórquez, CISCO, Hex TGO, Slick, OG Slick, Risk, and Tempt One have become synonymous with LA’s graffiti legacy.

In general, when examining this kind of urban public art, several interrelated questions arise: What is the context? Who is creating it? What are their targets? What types of graffiti or street art are present? Where is it located? What messages does it convey? And how have audiences responded? Together, these questions can help us identify patterns and draw meaningful conclusions.

Keep in mind that not all of these questions can be answered immediately, especially in a blog post like this one. Depending on the significance of a case study, it’s often necessary to do a more formal street ethnography.

Who is doing this and against what entity is the graffiti directed?

Determining who specifically engages in graffiti and street art is challenging. In simplest terms, the perpetrators of graffiti (and occasional street art) in Los Angeles (and elsewhere), likely include protesters themselves, particularly those angered by the Trump administration’s renewed emphasis on immigration enforcement, the visual and visceral displays of police power,  and federal law enforcement in sanctuary cities.

In addition to ICE, the content of the graffiti has been directed towards Mayor Karen Bass and President Trump.

Where has it been placed?

Predictably, the graffiti was geographically concentrated downtown, near the epicenter of the protest. This included federal buildings, civic landmarks, historic structures, and urban infrastructure. The majority of the graffiti could be seen on or close to the federal building where ICE detainees are located,  the Edward Roybal Federal Building, and the Department of Homeland Security/ICE building.

Graffiti was applied not just to the prominent federal buildings, but it was also placed on the walls of Fletcher Bowron Square, the Los Angeles County Law Library, and the former Los Angeles Times building.

Highway overpasses were also marked with graffiti, and many small businesses were similarly hit. And, when plywood was installed over windows of buildings to prevent breakage, it inadvertently created fresh canvases for graffiti artists.

One of the more visually arresting images was the graffiti-laden Waymo cars that were also set on fire.

What was the content?

The graffiti was directed at several figures and institutions. Most of the pieces are what would be considered expletive-laden wall writing or sloganeering directed towards ICE, the Los Angeles Police Department, and Trump. In the first instance, there has been multiple Fuck ICE, and “Death 2 ICE.” visible on surfaces.

Other graffiti was aimed at President Trump, such as “Remove Trumps head!!” “Trump is scum” and predictably “Kill Trump.”

Meanwhile, some pro-migrant statements could be seen across downtown Los Angeles such as “Return the homies,” and “Immigrants rule the world.”

On social media, we saw photos of a whole train painted with the slogan “Fuck ICE” that was sitting untouched for days. While much of this graffiti leaned toward aggressive sloganeering, it reflects a broader language of confrontation rather than nuanced symbolism.

Interpreting the Visual Landscape

Besides the graffiti, the Anti-ICE protests in Los Angeles were highly visual.  From the clothing worn by demonstrators, to the signs carried, to the burned-out Waymo autonomous vehicles. These elements contributed to an almost post-apocalyptic urban atmosphere that resembled a scene from Blade Runner.

While most of the graffiti was text-based, its form and materiality are relevant. The boldness of the lettering, where it was placed, and its juxtaposition against the concrete surfaces of downtown Los Angeles create a unique visceral aesthetic. These elements contributed to a confrontation with the symbols of power and authority used to govern.

If protest graffiti evolves in stages, then the June 2025 actions represent an early, expressive phase. For now, much of the visual language is text-heavy and emotionally charged, rather than graphically sophisticated. However, as the movement matures, we may witness an expansion in participants and locations, not to mention the form (i.e., more street art), styles, and strategy, incorporating unique iconography.

All in all, the visual landscape of the June 2025 protests demands a broader interpretation,  as part of a longer continuum of visual resistance. From Covid-related graffiti to the anti-Russian invasion of Ukraine urban art, graffiti, and street art is a mix of urban expression, and a way to document contemporary history.

The graffiti that emerges during these urban protests is not simply defacement, it is an expression of resistance that is visible (often ephemerally) in spaces designed to suppress it.

It signals not just anger, but solidarity, and ideological positions to others. It is also territorial because it momentarily redefines ownership, purpose, and meaning in spaces of power.

Whether these markings will linger or be co-opted is unknown.

But what is clear is that this moment reflects and reinforces the importance of visual politics in urban public space, one in which protest graffiti is not marginal, but central.

Good Food, Great Wine, and Unforgettable Conversations: A Tribute to Vincenzo Ruggiero (1951–2024)

(Reprinted from the newsletter of the American Society of Criminology, Division of Critical Criminology and Social Justice, 33(1), pp. 10-13, published June 3, 2025)

It is an honor to pay tribute to Vincenzo Ruggiero, a highly respected professor and criminologist at Middlesex University, who passed away earlier this year.

Not only was Vincenzo a colleague, but he was also my friend.

I’m not sure when I first met Vincenzo, but I was introduced to his scholarship shortly after earning my doctorate.

I was drawn to his work because it explored issues that resonated deeply with me. Vincenzo had an impressive command of political science, sociology, criminology, and criminal justice, focusing on political crime,  especially crimes of the powerful and corrections.

His work, especially Understanding Political Violence: A Criminological Approach (2006), Penal Abolitionism (2010), and Power and Crime (2017), has significantly impacted the field and my scholarship.

Vincenzo’s scholarship was meticulous, rigorous, thoughtful, and provocative. It is an excellent example of the type of articles, chapters, and books that shape our thinking and future scholarship.

Vincenzo had a rich history, full of meaningful experiences that predated his career as an academic. During the 1970s, he was “involved in penal reform campaigns [in Italy]. In 1976, he founded a bi-annual paper on prison issues, coordinating a network involving prisoners, their families, and reform activists, and in 1977 established a new publisher ‘Senza Galere’ (‘Without Prisons’) – later renamed ‘Ruggiero Edizioni’. The press mainly published fiction and poetry and all authors were prisoners serving a sentence or exprisoners. As Vincenzo suggested, this was surely an early example of ‘Convict Criminology’” (South, 2024), a field I co-founded three decades ago.

These works are a testament to his ability to combine his practical work and politics with his scholarship.

My relationship with Vincenzo deepened when I served as co-chair (2013-2015) and later chair (2015-2017) of the American Society of Criminology (ASC)’s Division of Critical Criminology, which was later renamed the Division of Critical Criminology and Social Justice. During this time, we regularly discussed the state of the discipline, the division itself, the quality of scholarship being produced, and areas for improvement.

For the past decade, Vincenzo and I shared meals at nearly every ASC meeting, sometimes joined by colleagues and friends. These dinners, always accompanied by excellent red wine, were filled with wide-ranging and profound discussions.

And if dinner wasn’t on the agenda, we often found ourselves at a relaxed wine bar or restaurant late into the evening, enjoying a late-night bottle together. I got to know him better during these conversations and in these contexts.

One particularly memorable experience outside of academia was in July 2015, when Vincenzo invited my wife and I to his home in Ghizzano, Italy. Nestled in the hills of a picturesque Tuscan town, we had the pleasure of meeting his partner, Cynthia and hearing about their daughter, Lucia, whom they adored.

We enjoyed a delightful dinner at an exquisite restaurant in an outdoor setting. There, we savored plates of food prepared with locally sourced ingredients, paired with superb Tuscan wines.

After Cynthia returned to London, the three of us visited the nearby town of Volterra, sharing lunch. In the evening, we all attended an opera in Peccioli, performed at an amphitheater with rows of seats carved out of a mountainside. In addition to spending a few days at Vincenzo’s house, we witnessed his culinary skills and tasted the food he prepared. One evening, he graciously cooked pasta topped with a wonderful homemade tomato sauce.

Our relationship continued beyond Ghizzano. We would continue to hang out at ASC conferences, including the Division of Critical Criminology and Social Justice socials.

In addition to his sharp mind, I saw a wry sense of humor. With the exception of me periodically misspelling his last name, which I did on a handful of occasions, rarely did I see Vincenzo pissed.

Although he often appeared to play cards close to his chest, his heart was always in the right place.

We knew many people in common, and it is clear that Vincenzo touched the lives of those who knew him well. His passing is a profound loss, not only to criminology and criminal justice, but also to the many people who knew, admired, and loved him.

References

South, Nigel (2024). Obituary Vincenzo Ruggiero, British Society of Criminology.

https://www.britsoccrim.org/vincenzo-ruggiero-obituary/

Photo Credit

Title: Vincenzo Ruggiero

Photographer: Middlesex University

Japanese Rice, Curiosity, & Expertise

Growing up, whenever rice was prepared and served in our household, you could almost guarantee it would be Uncle Ben’s Converted rice; white, tasteless, quick, and dependable.

When I moved out and began cooking for myself, I started wandering into health food stores. That’s when I discovered a whole world beyond Uncle Ben’s: basmati, brown rice, long grain, short grain, etc.

Later, as I tried to master Japanese cooking, I realized just how many varieties of japonica rice exist (e.g., Akitakomachi, Haenuki, Hitomebore, Koshihikari, Sasanishiki, etc.), each with its own flavor, texture, preparation methods, best uses, and so on.

Now, what seemed like a bland easy-to-prepare staple became a window into a unique history, culture, geography, and craftsmanship.

As I kept learning, I had more questions.

And what I realized was this:

The more time you spend with your subject or skill, combined with the greater curiosity and creativity you can muster, the more layers of complexity you will uncover.

That’s what separates dabbling as an amateur from developing as an expert.

Photo Credit:

Title: Japonica rice field  in Japan

Photographer: “No machine-readable source”