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Is that an ashtray in your underpants, sir?

When the wealthy steal

by Simon Longstaff

I was alarmed by Sian Powell's revelation (The Weekend Australian, 11-12 November 2000) that some of the nation's best restaurants are suffering from a rash of thieving.

Table lamps, cutlery, sugar bowls, candleholders, even photographs are just some of the items of booty. And who are the criminals responsible? Alas, it seems they are drawn from these restaurants' own clientele – most of whom choose to spend a couple of hundred dollars for a meal.

The fact that some of our most affluent citizens should even consider stealing from a restaurant (and that the restaurants would prefer not to prosecute for fear of embarrassment) will strike some as a bizarre commentary on a society that tolerates imprisoning juveniles for stealing property of a much lower value.

Indeed, the idea that 'the rich can steal with impunity' violates some of the most fundamental principles of justice on which we depend. The first of these principles is that of the rule of law – with its central tenet that all are equal before the law, irrespective of rank, fame or fortune. The truth is that there are reasons to believe that, in practice, there is one rule for the rich and another for the poor.

Of course, many wealthy kleptomaniacs never even see the inside of a police cell. Restaurant owners are loath to call in the police to arrest a patron, even when caught red-handed, as happened in the case of a man found with an ashtray down his underpants.

While restaurant owners might rationalise their failure to report crime on the grounds of compassion, proportionality or futility, it is equally possible that their silence is little more than a failure of moral courage. So it is that a small subset of the rich and powerful indulge a penchant for pilfering, free from fear of any serious repercussions. Meanwhile, shoplifters face jail.

While it is perplexing that a restaurateur might decide to bite his or her tongue when they are able to speak out and curb such behaviour, it is utterly bewildering that people should choose to steal objects they could easily afford to buy. So why might they do so?

It may be that a few of the most fortunate in our society actually believe that they are above the law. Alternatively, those possessing great wealth might think restaurant artefacts to be of relatively little value – mere trifles, hardly deserving our concern.

Particularly disingenuous souls may even believe that a bit of privateering is an integral part of the dining experience for which one pays a tariff. To those holding this view, loss from stealing would be on the same plane as loss from breakage – an acceptable cost of doing business. Of course, cases of stealing and accidental breakage lie on vastly different ethical planes. Indeed, failure to realise this is the root of the problem.

At the risk of raising the hackles of some, it should be noted that taking the property of others without their permission has not always been condemned as theft. Indeed, none other than the great British philosopher John Locke argued in support of this conclusion. This is all the more surprising given that Locke is usually celebrated as the great defender of 'property'. However, for Locke, 'property' was a term reserved for things far more important than mere material goods. Locke meant property to include life and liberty – as well as property in its more mundane forms.

Beyond this, Locke argued that no person is entitled to hold more goods than he or she can make good use of. For example, Locke talks of a time before the invention of money as a stable store of value, when a man without anything could justifiably take any amount of fruit from an orchard owned by another unable to consume his product. In those cases (admittedly rare), the poor person did no wrong when he took from those who would otherwise leave their goods to waste.

Yet, no such defence is to be found for those with enough to meet their needs. As such, there is nothing in Locke's writing to salve the consciences of that handful of well-to-do thieves who steal from restaurants. What we are left with is evidence of especially tawdry behaviour, in which selfishness and a disdain for the moral and legal rights of others overrule basic standards of decency.

When people with power and privilege act in this manner, it sends an appalling signal to the community. It reduces stealing to a kind of 'recreational sport' – done for no reason other than to experience the thrill of flouting the law. Of course, it is a fake thrill, for the risk of being caught and punished is negligible. At a deeper level, pointless acts of dishonesty send a message that we should give up on the ancient idea that those with privilege should take on additional responsibilities commensurate with their opportunities to serve.

Instead, we are left thinking that we really are becoming a society in which the winners take all – simply because it's there for the taking.

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