In a landmark decision about landmarks, the Royal Courts of Justice has determined that a wall committed the unforgivable crime of telling the truth where people could see it. The building looked down at its own exterior and said, “Not in front of the press, dear.”

Officials insist the mural’s removal is standard maintenance, like mowing the lawn, except the grass is dissent and the mower has a member’s pass to a private gallery. They call it conservation, which is British for, “This will live forever in a box no one visits.”

Conservators arrived with tape measures, clipboards, and a faith-based belief that reality is reversible with gentle pressure and a neutral pH. One expert described the plan as “peeling a Band-Aid off history and saving the adhesive.”

A spokesperson from the Ministry of Tidiness explained that the image of a judge thwacking a protester could “incite confusion about cause and effect.” They added, “We support free speech as long as it quietly agrees with us.”

Workers assembled a scaffold, a privacy curtain, and something labeled “moral discretion,” while wheeling in lime-safe graffiti remover for heritage stone. A foreman reassured onlookers that the piece would be preserved exactly as it is, just somewhere it can’t embarrass the front door.

Civic leaders emphasized this is not censorship; it’s curation, the art equivalent of saying you’re not ghosting, you’re archiving. The wall will be given a non-disclosure agreement and a climate-controlled jar of silence.

The judiciary expressed concern about optics, noting the mural portrays a judge with kinetic accountability. To correct the record, they proposed commissioning a new work of a judge gently swaddling a constitution while handing out cupcakes shaped like precedent.

Sources close to the street art community say Banksy couldn’t be reached because Banksy is, famously, the friend who Irish exits every party and leaves a confetti bomb where the cheese plate was. In his absence, a brick claimed power of attorney and said the building is pleading the Fifth—pointed at amendment availability will vary by jurisdiction.

Tourists were divided: some called it “the only accurate courtroom sketch I’ve ever seen,” while others worried removing it would crash the souvenir postcard economy. A nearby pigeon, an early adopter of public art criticism, voted by sitting exactly where nuance used to be.

Meanwhile, the gift shop reportedly prepared to sell tiny fragments of righteous discomfort as collector’s items, right next to the commemorative austerity magnets. A glass case appeared with a velvet tray promising the soon arrival of a limited-run courtroom gavel keychain.

Heritage officials promise the mural’s new location will be announced just after its relevance expires and before anyone can ask follow-up questions. They urged the public to remember: it’s not about hiding the message, it’s about hiding the message elegantly, with captions.

In conclusion, the Court affirmed the longstanding principle that justice must be seen to be done—unless it’s being seen doing something awkward. The wall will be relocated, the problem will be solved, and the judge in the painting will finally get a fair trial, somewhere without witnesses.