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Same shit, different day
I’ve thought long and hard about whether or not to write this blog, it contains nothing new, it adds nothing to the discussion and it is borne of frustration, not just mine. Nevertheless, if the same thing keeps happening, then why not keep shouting about it, even if no-one appears to be listening.
Recently I attended an event supposedly focused on Violence Against Women & Girls [VAWG], the organisers, the venue, the speakers remain anonymous, because this is not about specific individuals or organisations. Instead, as the title indicates, the issues raised below are repeated again and again, across different times and place, involving different people, with different claims to knowledge. Nevertheless, they have far more in common than they would care to acknowledge.
In September 2024, the government announced a commitment to halving VAWG over the next decade. The announcement itself was rather confused, seemingly conflating the term VAWG with Domestic Abuse [DA] whilst simultaneously promising to ‘take back our streets’. The latter horribly reminiscent of the far right’s racists diatribe around taking back our country. But I digress, in the government statement there is no mention of sexual violence, despite Rape Crisis England and Wales’ assertion that 1 in 4 women and girls over 16 have been subjected to sexual assault or rape. Similarly, Refuge suggest that 1 in 4 women will be subjected to forms of domestic abuse across their lifetimes. The statistical data is shaky, the problems with reporting are well documented, but ask any woman, and they will tell you about their own experiences and those of friends and families. A brief glance at the Everyday Sexism Project or Everyone’s Invited will give you some idea of the scale of the violences facing women and girls.
But to return to the latest VAWG event, there have been very many of these, all following the same pattern. Crowds of women in the audience, all experts, some professional, some academic, some through victimisation, some through vicarious victimisation and of course, some of those women encapsulate more than one of those categories, they are not mutually exclusive. So how do we harness and utilise this great body of knowledge, experience and expertise? The sad answer for events like this, is 99% of the time, we don’t. They’re there to sit quietly and listen to the same old narrative from police leaders and officers, saying that the institution has got it wrong in the past, but has learnt lessons and is now doing much better. Noticeably, there are few men in the audience, only those compelled to attend by their employment, after all VAWG explicitly mentions women and girls so it must be a female problem, despite the fact that the violences are predominately carried out by men.
To really drive the message home, we have speakers who can’t be bothered to prepare an accessible presentation for their audience. Relying instead on their white privilege, their charisma and charm (think a poor parody of a 1990’s Hugh Grant in a Richard Curtis film), with their funny little anecdotes of how they met a woman who changed their view on VAWG. Or how primary school teachers are usually women, and that’s where the problems begin, they just don’t do enough to support our little boys and young men on their journeys. Similarly, mothers who don’t pay enough attention which mean their sons go onto to become these violent men. We have white women too, ones that want the audience to focus on women who have been killed by men, but who cannot actually be bothered to find out how to say their names, stumbling over any name that is not anglicised.
In the audience it is notable that there are few Black and Brown women present. Even when they are invited as speakers, they are cut short, talked over, their names forgotten or mispronounced. They are the add-ons, a pathetic attempt at inclusivity, but don’t worry they’re never the main attraction. That spotlight is always reserved for men. No wonder Black and Brown women can’t face attending, or leave part way through, they’re sick and tired of being patronised while they pick up the broken pieces of men’s violences.
So what do women actually learn from these events? They learn to keep quiet, to pretend they’re learning something, but in the breaks they get together and talk about their frustrations, their ongoing exclusion from discussions. They learn that the problem belongs to them. That not only have they got to mop up women’s blood, sweat and tears, using plenty of their own in the process, to support and rebuild women after trauma, they are also responsible for the boys and men.
It really does not have to be this way! In every community there are women of all colours, all religions, all sexualities, all nations, doing the hard work. Building each other up against a maelstrom of never ending male violence, not to mention the additional violences of racism, microaggressions and exclusion. These are the experts, these are the people with whom the solutions lie. The police have had almost 200 years to get it right, they are nowhere near, time for them to move over and let the real experts do the talking, whilst they listen and start to hear and learn!
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A visual walk around a panopticon prison in the city of “Brotherly Love”
Conferences…people even within academia have views on them. This year the American Society of Criminology hosted its annual meeting in Philadelphia. In the conference we had the opportunity to talk about course development and the pedagogies in criminology. Outside the conference we visited Eastern State Penitentiary one of the original panopticon prisons…now a decaying museum on penal philosophy and policy.
The bleak corridors of a panopticon prison
the walls are closing in and there is only light from above
these cells smell of decay; they were the last residence of those condemned to death
the old greenhouse; now a glass/concrete structure…then a place to plant flowers. Even in the darkest places life finds a way to persevere
isolation: a torture within an institution of violence. The people coming out will be forever scared as time leaves the harshest wounds
a place of worship: for some the only companion to abject desperation; for those who did not lose their minds or try to end their lives; faith kept them at least alive.
the yard is monitored by the guards at the core; the chained prisoners will walk outside or get some exercise but only if they behave. To be outside in here is a privilege
the corridors look identical; you become disoriented and disillusioned
everything here conjures images of pain
an ostentatious building, build back in the 19th century to lock in criminals. It housed a new principled idea, a new system on penal reform. the first penitentiary of its kind. Nonetheless it never stopped being an institution of oppression…it closed in 1970.
The role of the criminologist (among others) is to explain, analyse and discuss our responses to crime, the systems we use and the strategies employed. So before a friendly neighbour tells you that sending people to an island or arming the police with guns or giving juveniles harsher penalties, they better talk to a criminologist first.
As a final thought, I leave you with this…there are people who left the prison broken but there are those who died in this prison. Eleven people tried to escape but were recaptured. Once you are sent down, the prison owns you.
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Welcome to class. What’s your name?
Often when I ask my newest students to introduce themselves in class – to say and hear their names called out loud – I am reminded that this part of the classroom experience is a fresh opening-up of the classroom as a learning space. I share my full name and invite students to address me as they please. First-year university students often arrive with the weight of their own names – and identities – from their school days. There are often unseen wounds, perhaps unknown. They often arrive in “our” classrooms primed to refashion their own professional personae. A great introduction is their most important networking tool.
On the first day of second grade at my new school, our teacher said my name was so complicated that she nicknamed me by my initials, D.K., which I was called until I decided otherwise. That happened precisely, and abruptly, in the summer between middle and high school, culminating in September 1989. I remember begging my aunt to take me to the music store so I could buy the new Rhythm Nation 1814 cassette.
By then, most of us had attended this same, small school the whole time, so we all knew one another well. I decided to return as a high schooler, and asked folks to call me Diepiriye, no longer D.K. All did, seamlessly.
What’s more, when we’d have a substitute teacher, several of my classmates would yell out my name when they stumbled in taking the roster. They’d always stumble. I’d memorised the roster early on in elementary school; I knew I came between J. King and M. Love. I’d wait.
Caldwell, Cannon, Cummings, Dunbar, Eubanks, Friedman, Gage, Howard (getting closer). While waiting for my name, I’d even write sentences in my mind’s eye using the last names of the kids sandwiching mine – King, Kuku, Love. I could see our names lined-up on the printed page, put together in this order – for years – by the hands of fate. I’d manoeuvre the words around in space, hear how they fit together differently, or in phrases. Stevie Wonder would have a field day with these three words.
I wouldn’t understand this until decades later, but this is one of the typical sorts of imagination that comes along with dyslexia. It’s not just that we mix-up letters and words, rather, our imaginations are less fixed to any simple meaning like in neurotypical people’s minds. Love, King Kuku could have many deeper endings than last names, depending on how you see it. I’m depending on you to use your imagination, here, too. Depending on how you see it, the ship is free, or it is sinking.
McConnell, McGimsey, Montgomery, O’Neil, Palma, Palmer…Todd, Trimmer… Watkins, Welsch, Williams.
It seemed like all but I and one of my classmates’ last names were not English (or Anglicised). Not only that, both our two dads were actually from Nigeria, and our were mothers were best friends from college. Not only that, both our parents grew up on the east and west sides of their respective communities/countries. While I have a funny African name – according to kids – my friend had a Christian first name, and his last name is recognisably Yoruba.
Of course, there was never any civil war between the east and west ends of Louisville, Kentucky – both had black ghettos. Also, both our mothers had ‘desegregated’ every classroom they’d ever entered since elementary in that era’s culture wars. Kids were placed on the frontlines of that war, as author Toni Morrison was quick to remind us.
Both our dads had ended up in America on government scholarships at the University of Louisville, in the aftermath of the chaos of the Nigerian Civil War, albeit through radically differing paths. My dad was a Biafran child soldier. His mother rescued him from a camp, and whisked him out of the country. She named me.
Now, as an educator, I hold the roster. Today, in the UK, roster power is even tied to enforcing national borders. Also of critical value, students’ names will be called many times in class: Called upon to read or respond to text; comment on images; offer perspective or analysis; share lived experience; and crucially, pose critical questions to instructors and peers. The classroom is a busy place.
Call me by my Name.
Too often, in the business of running the classroom, we may overlook simply honouring one another by name, to make the effort to call, recall, and call upon one another in the learning space. As educators, we are called upon to continually demonstrate good practice, shows of good faith.
Everyone uses nicknames in the American South, and uniquely at my school, we called our teachers by their first names. This was one of many ways our ‘liberal’ school broke away from traditional power hierarchies. My second-grade teacher gave me a nickname as a way to shield myself, so I could enter and participate in the learning community untethered. I used this shield until I was strong enough to fly in my own right/light.
University students are in the unique position of fashioning their authentic professional selves. Our students need space to practice calling their names as they wish to be called, professionally. We can share our own curiosity with the stories of all our names, yes, even when we have to be reminded a million times. Yes, even when they have funny African names like Doctor Kuku. Yes, it’s also the proverbial ‘you’re a name not a number’. Sharing is the ethos of community… and crucially, learning. Call me by my Name.
It’s not just my ‘magination, but, we’ve all seen someone respond to an unfamiliar name with the ugly, squished-up face. No one should have their name responded to with what looks like disgust, let alone a child…let alone any student, at any level, in any learning community.
Calling students by name is an important first step in building trust. “Trust,” bell hooks reminds us in Conflict, the 15th the 32 short chapters of her Engaged Pedagogy guide, Teaching Critical Thinking, “must be cultivated in the classroom if there is to be open dialectical exchange and positive dissent.” Trust provides space for students to allow themselves to be known.
Trust also reifies mutual respect. In turn, mutual respect forms the needed basis for the rigorous inquiry, discussion, and crucially, dissent and debate which enlivens and enriches each collective learning experience.
As Badu says: I think y’ betta call Tyrone. Call him! And tell him c’mon … let his voice be heard in class. Call Keisha, Tasha, Joanne, Sian, and Jo, Joey, Joachim, Jane, Paul, Precious, Jean-Paul, Ali, Aliyah, Amadou, Kalliah and Khalil … all of “they and them,” too. And, teachers, let students know stories of your name, too. For example, I wasn’t born Dr. Kuku, but now you can certainly call me by my name!
Pictured here during my first year at college. A high school classmate & I honouring Lyman T. Johnson, a civil rights leader/educator we’d interviewed for our 12th grade oral history project.
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Empathy Amid the “Fake Tales of San Francisco”*
This time last week, @manosdaskalou and I were in San Francisco at the American Society of Criminology’s conference. This four-day meeting takes place once a year and encompasses a huge range of talkers and subjects, demonstrating the diversity of the discipline. Each day there are multiple sessions scheduled, making it incredibly difficult to choose which ones you want to attend.
Fortunately, this year both of our two papers were presented on the first day of the conference, which took some of the pressure off. We were then able to concentrate on other presenters’ work. Throughout discussions around teaching in prison, gun violence and many other matters of criminological importance, there was a sense of camaraderie, a shared passion to understand and in turn, change the world for the better. All of these discussions took place in a grand hotel, with cafes, bars and restaurants, to enable the conversation to continue long after the scheduled sessions had finished.
Outside of the hotel, there is plenty to see. San Francisco is an interesting city, famous for its Golden Gate Bridge, the cable cars which run up and down extraordinarily steep roads and of course, criminologically speaking, Alcatraz prison. In addition, it is renowned for its expensive designer shops, restaurants, bars and hotels. But as @haleysread has noted before, this is a city where you do not have to look far to find real deprivation.
I was last in San Francisco in 2014. At that point cannabis had been declassified from a misdemeanour to an infraction, making the use of the drug similar to a traffic offence. In 2016, cannabis was completely decriminalised for recreational use. For many criminologists, such decriminalisation is a positive step, marking a change from viewing drug use as a criminal justice problem, to one of public health. Certainly, it’s a position that I would generally subscribe to, not least as part of a process necessary to prison abolition. However, what do we really know about the effects of cannabis? I am sure my colleague @michellejolleynorthamptonacuk could offer some insight into the latest research around cannabis use.
When a substance is illegal, it is exceedingly challenging to research either its harms or its benefits. What we know, in the main, is based upon problematic drug use, those individuals who come to the attention of either the CJS or the NHS. Those with the means to sustain a drug habit need not buy their supplies openly on the street, where the risk of being caught is far higher. Thus our research population are selected by bad luck, either they are caught or they suffer ill-effects either with their physical or mental health.
The smell of cannabis in San Francisco is a constant, but there is also another aroma, which wasn’t present five years ago. That smell is urine. Furthermore, it has been well documented, that not only are the streets and highways of San Francisco becoming public urinals, there are also many reports that public defecation is an increasing issue for the city. Now I don’t want to be so bold as to say that the decriminalisation of cannabis is the cause of this public effluence, however, San Francisco does raise some questions.
- Does cannabis cause or exacerbate mental health problems?
- Does cannabis lead to a loss of inhibition, so much so that the social conventions around urination and defecation are abandoned?
- Does cannabis lead to an increase in homelessness?
- Does cannabis increase the likelihood of social problems?
- Does the decriminalisation of cannabis, lead to less tolerance of social problems?
I don’t have any of the answers, but it is extremely difficult to ignore these problems. The juxtaposition of expensive shops such as Rolex and Tiffany just round the corner from large groups of confused, homeless people, make it impossible to avoid seeing the social problems confronted by this city. Of course, poor mental health and homelessness are not unique to San Francisco or even the USA, we have similar issues in our own town, regardless of the legal status of cannabis. Certainly the issue of access to bathroom facilities is pressing; should access to public toilets be a right or a privilege? This, also appears to be a public health, rather than CJS problem, although those observing or policing such behaviour, may argue differently.
Ultimately, as @haleysread found, San Francisco remains a City of Contrast, where the very rich and the very poor rub shoulders. Unless, society begins to think a little more about people and a little less about business, it seems inevitable that individuals will continue to live, eat, urinate and defection and ultimately, die upon the streets. It is not enough to discuss empathy in a conference, no matter how important that might be, if we don’t also empathise with people whose lives are in tatters.
*Turner, Alex, (2006), Fake Tales of San Francisco, [CD]. Recorded by Arctic Monkeys in Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, The Chapel: Domino Records
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‘The Problem We All Live With’
The title of this blog and the picture above relate to Norman Rockwell’s (1964) painting depicting Ruby Bridges on her way to school in a newly desegregated New Orleans. In over half a century, this picture has never lost its power and remains iconic.
Attending conferences, especially such a large one as the ASC, is always food for thought. The range of subjects covered, some very small and niche, others far more longstanding and seemingly intractable, cause the little grey cells to go into overdrive. So much to talk about, so much to listen to, so many questions, so many ideas make the experience incredibly intense. However, education is neither exclusive to the conference meeting rooms nor the coffee shops in which academics gather, but is all around. Naturally, in Atlanta, as I alluded to in my previous entry this week, reminders of the civil rights movement are all around us. Furthermore, it is clear from the boarded-up shops, large numbers of confused and disturbed people wandering the streets, others sleeping rough, that many of the issues highlighted by the civil rights movement remain. Slavery and overt segregation under the Jim Crow laws may be a thing of the past, but their impact endures; the demarcation between rich and poor, Black and white is still obvious.
The message of civil rights activists is not focused on beatification; they are human beings with all their failings, but far more important and direct. To make society fairer, more just, more humane for all, we must keep moving forward, we must keep protesting and we must keep drawing attention to inequality. Although it is tempting to revere brave individuals such as Ruby Bridges, Claudette Colvin, Martin Luther King Jr, Rosa Parks, Malcolm X to name but a few, this is not an outcome any of them ascribed to. If we look at Martin Luther King Jr’s ‘“The Drum Major Instinct” Sermon Delivered at Ebenezer Baptist Church’ he makes this overt. He urges his followers not to dwell on his Nobel Peace Prize, or any of his other multitudinous awards but to remember that ‘he tried’ to end war, bring comfort to prisoners and end poverty. In his closing words, he stresses that
If I can help somebody as I pass along,
If I can cheer somebody with a word or song,
If I can show somebody he’s traveling wrong,
Then my living will not be in vain.
If I can do my duty as a Christian ought,
If I can bring salvation to a world once wrought,
If I can spread the message as the master taught,
Then my living will not be in vain.
These powerful words stress practical activism, not passive veneration. Although a staunch advocate for non-violent resistance, this was never intended as passive. The fight to improve society for all, is not over and done, but a continual fight for freedom. This point is made explicit by another civil rights activist (and academic) Professor Angela Davis in her text Freedom is a Constant Struggle. In this text she draws parallels across the USA, Palestine and other countries, both historical and contemporaneous, demonstrating that without protest, civil and human rights can be crushed.
Whilst ostensibly Black men, women and children can attend schools, travel on public transport, eat at restaurants and participate in all aspects of society, this does not mean that freedom for all has been achieved. The fight for civil rights as demonstrated by #blacklivesmatter and #metoo, campaigns to end LGBT, religious and disability discrimination, racism, sexism and to improve the lives of refugees, illustrate just some of the many dedicated to following in a long tradition of fighting for social justice, social equality and freedom.
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Are we really free?
This year the American Society of Criminology conference (Theme: Institutions, Cultures and Crime) is in Atlanta, GA a city famous for a number of things; Mitchell’s novel, (1936), Gone with the Wind and the home of both Coca-Cola, and CNN. More importantly the city is the birthplace and sometime home of Dr Martin Luther King Jr and played a pivotal role in the Civil Rights Movement. Throughout the city there are reminders of King’s legacy, from street names to schools and of course, The King Center for Non-Violent Social Change.
This week @manosdaskalou and I visited the Center for Civil and Human Rights, opened in 2014 with the aim of connecting the American Civil Rights Movement, to broader global claims for Human Rights. A venue like this is an obvious draw for criminologists, keen to explore these issues from an international perspective. Furthermore, such museums engender debate and discussion around complex questions; such as what it means to be free; individually and collectively, can a country be described as free and why individuals and societies commit atrocities.
According to a large-scale map housed within the Center the world is divided up into countries which are free, partially free and not free. The USA, the UK and large swathes of what we would recognise as the western world are designated free. Other countries such as Turkey and Bolivia are classified as partially free, whilst Russia and Nigeria are not free. Poor Tonga receives no classification at all. This all looks very scientific and makes for a graphic illustration of areas of the world deemed problematic, but by who or what? There is no information explaining how different countries were categorised or the criteria upon which decisions were made. Even more striking in the next gallery is a verbatim quotation from Walter Cronkite (journalist, 1916-2009) which insists that ‘There is no such thing as a little freedom. Either you are all free, or you are not free.’ Unfortunately, these wise words do not appear to have been heeded when preparing the map.
Similarly, another gallery is divided into offenders and victims. In the first half is a police line-up containing a number of dictators, including Hitler, Pol Pot and Idi Amin suggesting that bad things can only happen in dictatorships. But what about genocide in Rwanda (just one example), where there is no obvious “bad guy” on which to pin blame? In the other half are interactive panels devoted to individuals chosen on the grounds of their characteristics (perceived or otherwise). By selecting characteristics such LGBT, female, migrant or refugee, visitors can read the narratives of individuals who have been subjected to such regimes. This idea is predicated on expanding human empathy, by reading these narratives we can understand that these people aren’t so different to us.
Museums such as the Center for Civil and Human Rights pose many more questions than they can answer. Their very presence demonstrates the importance of understanding these complex questions, whilst the displays and exhibits demonstrate a worldview, which visitors may or may not accept. More importantly, these provide a starting point, a nudge toward a dialogue which is empathetic and (potentially) focused toward social justice. As long as visitors recognise that nudge long after they have left the Center, taking the ideas and arguments further, through reading, thinking and discussion, there is much to be hopeful about.
In the words of Martin Luther King Jr (in his 1963, Letter from Birmingham Jail):
‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly’
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“Letters from America”: Why do we even bother?
As I sit in one of those busy hotel cafés writing these lines, worrying that someone will spill their double decaf latte with a dash of hazelnut, over my laptop, I wonder. What is the point to a conference? Why seemingly normal academics will spend any time in hotels next to noisy honeymooners or loud party people who like to play their tunes at 03:00?
As we finished our first session the other day, in keeping with our own tradition, we overran, we sat and had a long discussion of the key points we got out of the session. The discussion was very interesting to talk to people who may do something similar to you, but so very different. “Comparing notes” has always been one of those processes in academia that promote understanding and enhance the way we learn.
The conference for any discipline is a mass gathering of professionals that do just that; exchange ideas and engage in discussions about the discipline and its practices away from all the other less academic endeavours of the profession.
Usually conferences carry a theme, our conference the theme this year is “Crime, Legitimacy and Reform”. I found it interesting, considering the sessions we are presenting, focus on subverting facets of an established penal institution into providing higher education classes and altering ever so slightly some of its founding principles. Reform? Perhaps, but definitely an attempt to address a profound disciplinary question what are prisons for? This is a question that considers if prison is a relevant institution for a 21st century society. Education in prisons is not a novel idea, but introducing HE education inside a carceral environment provides a new suggestion of what prisons might be for. Clearly this is something worth debating and this week we have been exploring some of the aspects of our work and research.
In a group discussion after one session, we identified the principle ideas of our approach to HE in prisons. The notions of mutual respect, equity for all and educational purpose are the things we identify as the most important. It was interesting to hear the responses from other delegates who seemed to have slightly different views about who ought to participate in such an educational initiative. Sessions such as these allows me to reflect also on what we do. One of the thoughts, I have had regarding the educational approach we have taken, is whether we “normalise” incarceration in a way that justifies/legitimises its hold as an established penal institution rather than challenging its authority (as @paulaabowles asks, quite graphically, is it better to be inside the tent and pissing outside than be outside the tent pissing in?!) Leaving colourful metaphors to one side, the question of what is the obligation/duty of a modern day criminologist regarding criminal justice institutions remains. In essence, should it be different from before; what Liebling calls; a critical friend towards all those institutions of control or not?
Finally the conference is where trends and ideas come to be tested, explored and debated. I remember being in one session back in 2000, when one colleague said; looking into the new century and predicting that the main concern for criminology will be youth crime and initiatives to control it. A year later, 9/11 made terrorism an emerging priority and the collective discussion shifted quite dramatically.
What are conferences for? A great deal of academic discourse…and an interaction that reaffirms why we care so deeply for our discipline
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“Letters from America”: III
For those of you who follow The Criminology Team on Facebook you might have caught @manosdaskalou and I live from Eastern State Penitentiary [ESP]. In this entry, I plan to reflect on that visit in a little more depth.
We first visited ESP in 2011 when the ASC conference was held in Washington, DC. That visit has never left me for a number of reasons, not least the lengths societies are prepared to go in order to tackle crime. ESP is very much a product of its time and demonstrates extraordinarily radical thinking about crime and punishment. For those who have studied the plans for Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon there is much which is familiar, not least the radial design (see illustration below).
This is an institution designed to resolve a particular social problem; crime and indeed deter others from engaging in similar behaviour through humane and philosophically driven measures. The Philadelphia Society for Alleviating the Miseries of Public Prisons* was philanthropic and guided by religious principles. This is reflected in the term penitentiary; a place for sinners to repent and In turn become truly penitent.
This philosophy was distinct and radical with a focus on reformation of character rather than brutal physical punishment. Of course, scholars such as Ignatieff and Foucault have drawn attention to the inhumanity of such a regime, whether deliberate or unintentional, but that should not detract from its groundbreaking history. What is important, as criminologists, is to recognise ESP’s place in the history of penology. That history is one of coercion, pleading, physical and mental brutality and still permeates all aspects of incarceration in the twenty-first century. ESP have tried extremely hard to demonstrate this continuum of punishment, acknowledging its place among many other institutions both home and abroad.
For me the question remains; can we make an individual change their behaviour through the pains of incarceration? I have argued previously in this blog in relation to Conscientious Objectors, that all the evidence suggests we cannot. ESP, as daunting as it may have been in its heyday, would also seem to offer the same answer. Until society recognises the harm and futility of incarceration it is unlikely that penal reform, let alone abolition, will gain traction.
*For those studying CRI1007 it is worth noting the role of Benjamin Rush in this organisation.
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“Letters from America”: II
Having only visited Philadelphia once before (and even then it was strictly a visit to Eastern State Penitentiary with a quick “Philly sandwich” afterwards) the city is new to me. As with any new environment there is plenty to take in and absorb, made slightly more straightforward by the traditional grid layout so beloved of cities in the USA.
Particularly striking in Philadelphia are the many signs detailing the city’s history. These cover a wide range of topics; (for instance Mothers’ Day originates in the city, the creation of Walnut Street Gaol and commemoration of the great and the good) and allow visitors to get a feel for the city.
Unfortunately, these signs tell only part of the city’s story. Like many great historical cities Philadelphia shares horrific historical problems, that of poverty and homelessness. Wherever you look there are people lying in the street, suffering in a state of suspension somewhere between living and dying, in essence existing. The city is already feeling the chill winds of winter and there is far worse to come. Many of these people appear unable to even ask for help, whether because they have lost the will or because there are just too many knock backs. For an onlooker/bystander there is a profound sense of helplessness; is there anything I can do?, what should I do?, can I help or do I make things even worse?
The last time I physically observed this level of homelessness was in Liverpool but the situation appeared different. People were existing (as opposed to living) on the street but passers by acknowledged them, gave money, hot drinks, bottles of water and perhaps more importantly talked to them. Of course, we need to take care, drawing parallels and conclusions across time and place is always fraught with difficulty, particularly when relying on observation alone. But here it seems starkly different; two entirely different worlds – the destitute, homeless on the one hand and the busy Thanksgiving/Christmas shopper on the other. Worse still it seems despite their proximity ne’er the twain shall meet.
This horrible juxtaposition was brought into sharp focus last night when @manosdaskalou and I went out for an evening meal. We chose a beautiful Greek restaurant and thought we might treat ourselves for a change. We ordered a starter and a main each, forgetting momentarily, that we were in the land of super sized portions. When the food arrived there was easily enough for a family of 4 to (struggle to) eat. This provides a glaringly obvious demonstration of the dichotomy of (what can only really be described as) greed versus grinding poverty and deprivation, within the space of a few yards.
I don’t know what the answer is , but I find it hard to accept that in the twenty-first century society we appear to be giving up on trying seriously to solve these traumatic social problems. Until we can address these repetitive humanitarian crisis it is hard to view society as anything other than callous and cruel and that view is equally difficult to accept.
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“Letters from America”: I
This weekend @manosdaskalou and I flew from London to the USA and thus had the opportunity of experiencing two different airports. Travelling is always an insightful – if sometimes physically draining – experience and even more so when crossing continents. It is striking that one of the very first things that you confront upon arriving at your destination (no matter whether home or abroad) is generally a very long queue. There are queues to check in, queues to drop bags, queues for security, queues to get on the plane and to get off the other end. These are followed by yet more queues to enter the country and a wait to collect your bags. All of this is par for the course and perhaps to be expected given the volume of people travelling. What is perhaps more unexpected is the overall patience demonstrated by those in the seemingly endless queues.
I find the airport an interesting no-man’s land where individuals appear to become simply part of a giant machine. Once inside the airport you become subject to the whims and vagaries of the machinery. “Take off your shoes”, “take off your coats, jackets, scarves”, “laptops here”, “bags there’ ,”show your clear plastic bag containing approved liquids”, the list goes on and that’s before you’ve even let the country. If we want to fly we accept these rituals as a price worth paying. However, it is worth considering if many would tolerate such rituals away from this setting?
All of these processes are predicated on an ethos of security and the protection of life and limb. However, we do not insist on such protocols when we use other forms of transport; buses, trains, trams or the tube where similar conditions prevail (i.e.lots of people, baggage etc. moving from place to place. The tactics used in the airport are far more reminiscent of the police station or the prison than they are of travel yet we simply grit our teeth and bear the incongruity and indignity of the situation.
Whilst not suggesting that security is unimportant, it is worth considering that we focus far greater attention on flying than we do on other modes of transport. Of course, for those who fly infrequently this can be absorbed as a part of their travelling experience as predictable as a trip to the duty free shop. On a daily basis, as part of the 9-5 commute, such tactics would bring the world to a grinding halt…
Thoughts from the criminology team 