ABSTRACT
Graffiti makes legible-though perhaps not readable-the multifaceted, but usually tacit, undercurrents of a given society. And as Bushnell points out, even the absence of graffiti speaks volumes. For example, someone accustomed to the rainbow-coloured walls of the New York subway, or the London underground, will find Singapore’s pristine MRT something of a culture shock. Thus graffiti (or its absence) can be, and is in Bushnell’s case, a productive place to begin a cultural analysis. However, an interrogation of graffiti is not by and of itself sufficient to take the place of other forms of cultural accounting. A fact Bushnell is not unaware of:
Close analysis of the graffiti [of a given culture] provides important clues about subcultural attitudes, structures and development, but cannot take the place of careful ethnographic and sociological observation of rituals, dress, beliefs, demographic characteristics, and career patterns. (223)
The conspicuous absence of graffiti is not necessarily tied to the existence of an especially brutal system of government, as Cold War novel and film enthusiasts might think. Certainly it would be erroneous to conclude that Singapore is oppressive just because its underground railways are noticeably devoid of graffiti, as were the Soviet Union’s until the late seventies. However it does offer at least one means of supporting such a thesis. For this reason it would be utterly inadequate to base a cultural critique on graffiti alone. By limiting the scope of his work to an explanation of what Moscow’s graffiti means, and to outlining who the perpetrators most likely are, Bushnell avoids this pitfall. By the same token, it is this very limitedness that makes Moscow Graffiti unsatisfying.
