Somewhere in London, a man is walking his dog. He has just discovered, for the fourteenth consecutive time, that a ULEZ camera has mysteriously toppled over near his feet. He films it. He posts it. "Oh no," he says, barely suppressing a grin. "Look at this, folks." The comments explode. This is an archive of that beautiful, ridiculous, legally deniable tradition.
The Setup
In August 2023, London Mayor Sadiq Khan expanded the Ultra Low Emission Zone (ULEZ) to cover all 32 London boroughs. This meant 2,750 new Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras appearing on lamp posts, traffic lights, and poles across outer London. Drivers of older, non-compliant vehicles faced a £12.50 daily charge, or fines up to £180.
What followed was one of the most wonderfully documented grassroots anti-surveillance uprisings Britain has ever produced. And crucially, the people doing it were not young radical anarchists. According to one pseudonymous saboteur who spoke to the Daily Express: “It’s mostly people in their 40s and pensioners. I get old ladies asking me how to destroy the cameras. They’re going around London with garden shears.”
Garden shears. Power saws in the dead of night. Tree loppers at noon. Old ladies from Hillingdon. This is where the story begins, and where the meme was born.
The Meme Format, Explained
Here is the template. It is elegant in its simplicity. It is the digital equivalent of saying “nice place you’ve got here, shame if something were to happen to it” while holding a petrol can. It goes like this:
⚠️ This is absolutely terrible. We DO NOT condone this behaviour whatsoever. Posting purely for AWARENESS. Please do not copy or share this video.
[Video shows a ULEZ camera lying in several pieces on a pavement, orange wires hanging out, someone's boot visible at the edge of frame]
❤️ 47,300 likes · 💬 2,100 comments ("heroes", "carry on", "Beckton needs attention") · 🔁 shared 14,000 times
The genius of the format is its absolute transparency about its own insincerity. Nobody posting “we do not condone this” believes they are not condoning it. Nobody reading “posting for awareness” thinks the poster is performing a public safety service. The disclaimer is the joke. The joke is the disclaimer. It’s a wink so exaggerated it’s essentially a full facial spasm.
What it actually does is several things simultaneously, and all of them are useful:
Plausible deniability (thin as tissue): The post is technically not inciting anyone to do anything. It's "raising awareness." That the awareness being raised is "here is exactly how to topple one of these things and here is where the next one is located" is beside the point.
Participation ritual: Commenting "oh no terrible can't believe this keeps happening" is a way of joining the movement without doing anything that could get you arrested. The comment section becomes a mass wink.
Streisand amplification: The disclaimers make the videos more shareable, not less. Every "please don't share" is a reason to share. Social platforms algorithmically reward engagement, and nothing gets engagement like visible transgression that's technically legal.
The Blade Runners: Britain's Most Politely Anonymous Vigilantes
The group calls itself the “Blade Runners,” named after the 1982 Ridley Scott film and its 2017 sequel. The name is perfect: a dystopian sci-fi franchise about enforcing control over synthetic humans, repurposed as the identity of middle-aged Londoners with angle grinders.
Typical methods included: cutting the power cable with loppers, painting over the lens, sawing the pole clean off at the base, stealing the camera entirely, staging a fake breakdown directly in front of an enforcement van so its camera can’t read plates. One video showed a masked figure using a circular power saw to cut through a camera pole while buses drove past. The camera operator can be heard saying simply: “Let’s enjoy the show.”
TfL responded by developing an “armoured” ULEZ camera with a steel-cased cable housing. The Blade Runners responded by getting bigger tools. TfL launched Operation Eremon, a dedicated Metropolitan Police investigation into camera vandalism. The Blade Runners responded by wearing masks and posting more videos with more disclaimers.
Context worth noting: This article is documenting counter-surveillance culture. Some participants have legitimate grievances related to policy. Some are motivated by conspiracy theories. The methods include vandalism that often accidentally targets traffic lights or unrelated council equipment. This remains an archive of a format, devoid of endorsements of the acts themselves.
A Taxonomy of the "Do Not" Post
Over two years of observation, the format has evolved into several distinct sub-genres. Here is a field guide.
The Real Archive: Documented Posts
Why It's Funny and Why It Matters
Let’s be honest about why this is genuinely funny: the format exploits the basic human pleasure of watching authority get confused by something it can’t cleanly prosecute. The police know what’s happening. TfL knows what’s happening. Mayor Khan clearly knew what was happening. Nobody was fooled.
And yet the disclaimer protected the posters, at least partially, at least long enough. In 510 reported crimes, only two arrests were made and one case dropped. The ratio of “filmed and posted with ironic disclaimer” to “prosecuted” was extremely favourable to the posters.
Former Tory party deputy chairman Iain Duncan Smith stated he was "happy" for constituents to cement up cameras or put plastic bags over them "because they are facing an imposition no one wants."
An elected MP essentially posted the "do not do this" meme to a national newspaper. The Daily Mail printed it. This is the format reaching its maximum political velocity.
The deeper cultural mechanic at play is the same one driving every reverse-psychology activist communication since the internet existed: the prohibition amplifies desire. “Do not share this video” is algorithmically identical to “please share this video” in its actual effect on sharing behaviour, and the poster knows this, and the audience knows the poster knows this, and everyone enjoys the performance of mutual pretence.
What it also does, and this is the part that actually matters beyond the comedy, is normalise resistance. When 3,700 people like a post of a camera lying on a pavement, and the top comments are “keep going” and “Beckton needs attention,” the act is legible as popular and even communal. The meme format makes participation feel safe and collective in a way that organising openly never could, because nobody is organising anything. Everyone is simply posting their concerns. For awareness.
The Timeline
ULEZ expansion preparation begins. TfL starts installing 2,750 new cameras. First reports of criminal damage to cameras. Metropolitan Police launches Operation Eremon.
A video tutorial showing how to remove ULEZ cameras "in under a minute" goes viral on Twitter and Telegram. Millions of views. "Blade Runners" name begins circulating. The meme format is born: "I do not condone this but here is a step-by-step."
Iain Duncan Smith endorses bag-over-camera method to Daily Mail. Three-Blade-Runner coordinated saw attack in Uxbridge goes viral. "Let's enjoy the show." TfL announces armoured camera development. Blade Runners note this and begin sourcing larger tools.
The format spreads beyond ULEZ. Speed cameras, ANPR cameras, facial recognition vans: the "we do not condone this, posting for awareness" template is now a standard British counter-surveillance social media genre, applied to any camera infrastructure that has generated public resentment.
The Wider Lineage: This Joke Is Very Old
The “please don’t do this specific thing I am clearly describing in loving detail” format did not originate with ULEZ. It is ancient. It is the sign on the bridge saying “do not jump from this bridge; here are the precise mechanics of what would happen if you did.” It is every “we don’t recommend trying this at home” prefacing a demonstration of exactly how to do it at home.
What the British counter-surveillance movement contributed is the physicality: this was not a digital format applied to a digital thing. This was a digital irony format applied to a physical act of defiance. The camera is real. The pole is real. The circular saw is real. The disclaimer is the only fictional element.
It also has a specific British flavour that feels important to name: the aggressive politeness of it. The sad face emoji over the ruined camera. The “thoughts go out to the camera.” The dog named Biscuit who keeps having terrible luck. This is a distinctly British mode of civil disobedience: maximum disruption delivered with minimum apparent hostility, wrapped in the language of concern. It is the same energy as saying “I’m not being funny but” before saying something extremely funny at someone’s expense. The understatement is the weapon.
The British counter-surveillance meme works because the state cannot punish irony. You cannot arrest a sad face. You cannot prosecute "oh no, look at this." You can catch the person with the saw, but you cannot prosecute the 3,700 people who liked the post and the 2,100 who commented "heroes," because they were just expressing concern. For awareness.
"Can't believe you keep coming across this whilst walking your dog all the time."
"Beckton needs ULEZ camera adjusting."