Things are hopping this year at the new Fifth Precinct station house just south of the beleaguered Lake Street K-Mart. New crime stats show Whittier Park pulling ahead of Third Precinct neighbor Phillips, which has hogged the crime spotlight for the better part of a decade. In February, Whittier reported 167 “part one” crimes (homicide, rape, robbery, assault, burglary, theft, auto theft, and arson) to Phillips’ 131. Add a homicide to the normally tranquil Linden Hills neighborhood, and it seems like Fifth Precinct cops have plenty to do. Thus one may wonder why they’re so concerned about graffiti.
But under the controversial CODEFOR program, the Minneapolis Police Department operates a two-member anti-graffiti team out of the Fifth Precinct. CODEFOR stands for Computer Optimized Deployment Focused On Results, which in the king’s English means “look after the pence and the pounds will look after themselves.” Acting on the fashionable theory that petty crimes create an environment that incubates more serious ones, CODEFOR has gained attention by cracking down on loiterers, jaywalkers, prostitutes, and other small-time offenders. The indirect effect these efforts have on serious crime are then tracked and analyzed on—what else?—computers.
Naturally, graffiti ended up in the mix. And that’s a good thing, according to Sgt. Rick Duncan, who serves as top banana of the team. Just don’t look for the “Computer Optimized” part any time soon. The City of Minneapolis’ budget crunch has indefinitely postponed Duncan’s planned web site, which would have given the public direct access to the fight against taggers and “writers” (as spray-paint artists optimistically describe themselves).
Even by CODEFOR standards, graffiti doesn’t sit high on the food chain of crime, which also may explain why funds have still not arrived for Duncan’s team to go dot-com. Gang tags account for only about 20 percent of graffiti complaints. Talking on his office telephone the other day, Duncan acknowledged that most taggers and writers have a low crossover rate into other illegal activity. “That’s pretty much it,” he said. Still, Duncan noted that graffiti artists tend to be well-connected to “the drug culture.” Plus, he wryly observed, “most of the paint ain’t bought.” In other cities, he added, violent turf wars have broken out among writers trying to protect their urban playgrounds.
On the subject of legitimate space for writers, Duncan offered this utopian thought: “If we could have a wall where I knew that only graffiti would be on that wall and would be nowhere else in the city, I think I’d build it.” But the nearest thing to such a wall, the Intermedia Arts building on Lyndale Avenue, just a few blocks north of Lake Street, offers no such comfort, even though it’s officially fair game for anyone with a spray can. “Because of that Intermedia Arts wall, you can’t go a five block radius without seeing stop signs and mailboxes covered with graffiti.”
The north wall of nearby Herkimer brewpub is thickening with regular applications of stainkiller, and general manager Chad Jamrozy confirmed that there is no graffiti shortage in that neck of Minneapolis. He doesn’t blame it on Intermedia, though. “Graffiti is really just part of the background in any urban environment,” he said, noting that his bathroom walls sometimes get more ink than the exterior.
Despite Intermedia’s trademark graffiti walls, Tom Borrup offers no defense for what he calls “aerosol art” in unauthorized places. The executive director of Intermedia Arts for more than 20 years, he’s posted admonishments on his walls asking writers to “respect the neighborhood,” among other things. “Tagging,” he opined, “is just bad behavior and destruction of property. It’s not art.” Even so, he acknowledged that more than a few “aerosol artists” practice on unsanctioned sites, motivated by exhibitionism or just a desire for space. And others, he asserted, may not feel they leave a wall any worse off for the enhancements they leave behind. “Those are the architectural critics,” said Borrup with bemused chagrin. “But it’s bad behavior. They shouldn’t do it.” In this respect, Borrup said he and Duncan are “on the same page,” even though Intermedia’s walls put a burr under the Sergeant’s saddle.
If Borrup played the square on the subject of illegal aerosol art, Sgt. Duncan revealed a jot of hipness in his heart, despite his line of work. “I’ve said all along that graffiti is an art form. It has to be. If you can go down to the Walker Art Center and see a screen door propped up against a wall and they can call it art, you’ve gotta call graffiti art. The problem is you can’t go and put it on somebody else’s property without their permission. Do I like graffiti? Some of it’s pretty cool stuff.”
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