When we think of ancient history, our minds often conjure images of stoic marble emperors, monumental temples, and the formal, high-minded literature of philosophers and poets. But what about everyone else? What about the baker, the barmaid, the disgruntled soldier, or the lovesick teenager? To hear their voices, we have to look not at the grand monuments, but at the surfaces they left their marks on: the plaster walls of a tavern, the stone of a public toilet, or the brick of a gladiator’s barracks. This is the world of ancient graffiti—a raw, unfiltered, and deeply human record that proves some things never change.

Not Just Vandalism: The Ancient Public Forum

In the modern world, graffiti is often synonymous with vandalism. In ancient Roman cities like Pompeii, however, the attitude was far more relaxed. While defacing a pristine temple was certainly frowned upon, the walls of public buildings, shops, and even private homes were seen as a kind of public bulletin board. They were the social media feed of the ancient world, a place for news, advertisements, political slogans, and, most entertainingly, personal grievances.

Using a sharp tool like a stylus or nail to carve into plaster, or charcoal to scrawl on a rough surface, everyday people could make their voices heard. For linguists and historians, this is a treasure trove. Unlike the carefully composed Latin of Cicero or Virgil, graffiti gives us a glimpse of Vulgar Latin—the language as it was actually spoken by the masses. It’s filled with slang, grammatical shortcuts, and spelling that reflects regional accents, providing an invaluable snapshot of linguistic evolution in real time.

The Art of the Insult: Roman Roasts and Pompeiian Put-downs

Human beings have been insulting each other for as long as they’ve been able to communicate, and ancient graffiti artists were masters of the craft. Their put-downs were often crude, personal, and hilariously direct. The walls of Pompeii are a veritable hall of fame for ancient roasts.

Consider these gems:

• “Epaphra, glaber es.” — A simple, elegant, and timeless burn meaning, “Epaphra, you are bald.”
• “Virgula Tertio suo: indecens es.” — “Virgula to her Tertius: You are a nasty boy.” A bit of domestic drama played out in public.
• “Suspirium puellarum, Celadus thraex.” — “Celadus the Thracian gladiator is the sigh of the girls.” Part boast, part heartthrob poster, this was likely scrawled by Celadus himself or one of his fans.

Some of the most common graffiti were found in the most private of public spaces: the latrine. One famous example from a Roman fort on Hadrian’s Wall doesn’t even use words. It’s a caricature of a hapless commanding officer, Secundinus, along with a phallus, and the words “Secundinus cacator”—literally, “Secundinus the shitter.” It’s a crude but effective piece of insubordination, preserved for two millennia.

These insults, whether about baldness, bad behavior, or bathroom habits, show us a side of Roman culture that literature rarely touches. They reveal social hierarchies, personal rivalries, and a universal appreciation for a well-aimed jab.

Customer Complaints and Commercial Gripes

Before Yelp or Google Reviews, how did you complain about a bad innkeeper or a dishonest merchant? You took it to the walls. Taverns and bars, in particular, were hotspots for this kind of feedback.

One famous bit of graffiti from a Pompeiian tavern lays out a very specific complaint:

“We have wet the bed, host. I confess we have done wrong. If you want to know why, there was no chamber pot.”

This is a masterpiece of passive aggression. The guest admits fault but cleverly shifts the blame squarely onto the innkeeper for his poor service. It’s a 2,000-year-old one-star review.

Other messages were less about service and more about the drama unfolding within the establishment. A classic example of a soap opera scrawled on a wall reads:

“Successus the weaver loves the innkeeper’s slave girl, Iris. She, however, does not love him. Still, he begs her to have pity on him. His rival wrote this. Farewell.”

In just a few lines, we have unrequited love, public humiliation, and a “salty” rival spilling the tea for all to see. It’s a reminder that gossip and romantic entanglements are as old as civilization itself.

Curses and Magical Threats: The Dark Side of Wall Writing

While many graffiti are humorous or mundane, some tap into a much darker, more superstitious world. For the ancients, writing wasn’t just a communication tool; it could be an instrument of magic. The act of writing a person’s name next to a curse was believed to give that curse power.

This is most clearly seen in “curse tablets” (defixiones), small sheets of lead on which someone would inscribe a curse against an enemy—often a thief, a legal opponent, or a romantic rival. These were then folded, pierced with a nail, and deposited in a place believed to be close to the gods of the underworld, like a well or a grave.

In the Roman city of Bath, England, over 130 such tablets were discovered, thrown into the sacred spring of the goddess Sulis Minerva. They are essentially prayers for supernatural justice. One reads:

“I have given to the goddess Sulis the six silver coins which I have lost. It is for the goddess to exact them from the names written below… whether man or woman, whether slave or free.”

Another is more specific and chilling, targeting the thief of two gloves:

“He asks that the person who has stolen them should lose their minds and their eyes in the temple.”

These written curses reveal a deep-seated belief in the power of the written word to affect the physical world. By inscribing a name and a punishment, the author was attempting to bind their victim to a specific, grim fate. This intersection of literacy, law, and magic shows how writing was woven into the very fabric of ancient belief systems.

The Enduring Echo

From the gladiatorial fan-art of Pompeii to the desperate curses of Roman Britain, ancient graffiti provides an unparalleled connection to the past. It cuts through the layers of official history and lets us hear the authentic, everyday voices of people who lived, loved, worked, and complained, just as we do.

These messages, etched in stone and plaster, are more than just historical curiosities. They are a linguistic and cultural goldmine, preserving the dialects, slang, and preoccupations of an era. And most importantly, they are a powerful reminder that for millennia, the human impulse to leave a mark, to voice a frustration, and to declare “I was here” has remained beautifully, stubbornly, and profanely unchanged.