Archive: Sep 2005

My undergraduate students complete notecards the first day of class telling me about their hometowns, interests, work experiences, goals, and a description to help identify them. This year, one student wrote “I look like a pot dealer” in the description section because he had been approached twice by people looking to buy marijuana. Just to be absolutely clear, the student was not, nor had he ever been, a pot dealer. So what does a stereotypical pot dealer look like? My personal little thought bubble calls to mind somebody who looks like this and sounds like this but I’m sure there are other models.

Is this a common experience? It brought to mind my first days at college, when two instructors asked me for drugs (one of them calling me at home). Just to be absolutely clear, I was not, nor have I ever been, a pot dealer. I was really spooked both times. My reaction was probably a “lite” version of what women feel when solicited for prostitution when pushing a stroller on their way to the grocery store — fear, anger, then confusion (what could you possibly have been thinking?). Today, drug convictions can make one permanently ineligible for student financial aid in addition to serious jail or prison time. Of course, marijuana is common on campus (the prevalence rate was 76% in one of my recent upper division classes) and it wasn’t as though they asked me to be a hit man. Still, the incidents told me I was sending the wrong signals — I wanted an “A” and a letter of recommendation, not a mandatory minimum sentence. I never discussed drugs and certainly didn’t carry any signs of substance use other than bloodshot eyes from studying too late and concert t-shirts. At 18, I could have been arrested for impersonating a musician but never a drug dealer. At the time, I was trying to make friends and present myself as a bright-eyed, creative, and hardworking young hipster — I talked excitedly and goofed around in class, visiting every TA and prof in their office hours.

In retrospect, they probably didn’t approach me (or my student) because we gave off “dealer vibes” or showed signs of drug use. Instead, they probably just thought we’d be safe to ask. That is, the instructors figured I was “cool” and they could trust me not to report them as potheads to their departments or university administration. Plus, they didn’t ask whether I could sell them pot, but instead asked whether I knew where to get some. So it’s a network thing: instructors sized me up as nonconforming and trustworthy, and thought that my social networks might include people (or people who knew people) who might be in the business. Crudely put,

P(asked) = f(style cues, interpersonal trust, perceived networks)

Bruce Jacobs has some fascinating work on the “perceptual shorthand” and cues used by street dealers and undercover officers. Here’s a partial abstract from a 1996 piece on undercover high school officers (e.g., Johnny Depp in Jump Street) in Soc. Quarterly (37: 391-412):

…Officers must move from new student to peer to drug purchaser without any informant assistance and with severe time constraints. Three specific techniques are used to trigger this process: class clowning, retreatism, and troublemaking. Each is a variation on the single theme of rebellion…these techniques generate interpersonal familiarity from a distance by creating reputations that drug dealers identify with and vest legitimacy in. Reputation substitutes for introductions informants could otherwise give, establishes a pretransaction comfort zone, and lays the interpersonal groundwork officers need before they can solicit drugs. Officers’ behavior is conceptualized through the notion of a cognitive bridge, a hybrid of interactionist and microstructural principles. …

Now that’s interesting. In my early college days, I was inadvertently sending the same signals that undercover narcotics officers use to gain trust — establishing a comfort zone by clowning in a mildly rebellious way and hanging out with instructors. I still try to lay an “interpersonal groundwork” with people, but fortunately (in the drug-free workplace of today) nobody asks me to help them score weed. If they did, I’d panic — I wouldn’t even tell them about students who look like pot dealers. The last time I was approached as anything other than a professor was last year, when a Nashville boot salesman asked “are you an entertainer, son?” Now that’s what I was after all along. Too bad he probably asks it of all the tourists and conventioneers…

The minneapolis strib and ap reported this weekend that Kevin Williams, the minnesota vikings all-pro defensive lineman, is charged with fifth-degree domestic assault. Domestic violence is horrible, whether it involves enormous athletes or anyone else, but we’re especially outraged when a 6’5″ 304 pound football player ends up in a physical altercation with a 5’7″ woman. According to police reports, Tasha Williams had blood on her shirt and lacerations on her forearm when officers arrived. Her husband told police she had grabbed a knife — of course she did, and I probably would too when facing someone twice my size (not that it would do me much good).

Does a large person have an even greater responsibility to avoid violence than a small person? Does an athlete have a greater responsibility than a non-athlete? I think so. As the parent of a son who approaches Williams’ size, I’ve always taken the position that he should be held to a higher standard. Well, I’m not actually that noble. I’ve told him that he will be held to a higher standard. There are both humanitarian reasons for him to avoid violence — he could really hurt somebody — and labeling effects that will make violence an especially poor choice for him. I’ve always wanted to study the relationship between physical size and punishment severity — my working hypothesis is that big kids tend to be waived into adult court and they tend to get tougher, more secure placements, all else equal. I can also hypothesize some race*size interactions and gender*size interactions that might be interesting to test.

Any aggressive move made by a burly 6’4″ man (or mannish boy) looks and feels a lot different than someone 5’10” making the same move. Simply standing up quickly attracts a lot of attention in the former case but few would notice in the latter. Child A (lg.) once lamented that child B (sm.) never gets into trouble for her own violent behavior “because she’s supposedly harmless,” and I guess A has a point. But it is different — a bigger person can generally do a lot more damage. So, in any serious fight, he’ll be the first attacked and likely the first arrested. That said, I’ve been stoked about him playing football because it gives him a safe place to cut loose and (finally!) throw his body around with abandon. I always loved going full-tilt in contact sports, and I was really a pretty awful football player. Still, I liked the idea of testing physical limits and think I learned something from the experience, especially as an adolescent. Reading about football players and domestic violence obviously tempers this excitement, even if such violence turns out to be less common among athletes than non-athletes (frankly, I don’t know the literature on this question, but I suspect that a number of good statistical controls would be needed to make a valid comparison).

I guess the danger is spillover — if football somehow supports a culture of off-field macho/violent behavior then the risks outweigh the benefits. Plus, I’d wager that sociology professors tend to be some of the least physically aggressive people on the planet, so it seems especially deviant to celebrate violence in any form — no matter how contained or institutionalized. Whenever I read something like the Williams story I want to start yelling at my son (“DON’T YOU EVER…), but he didn’t do anything wrong. It is almost an involuntary reaction — I see the story and start sputtering, until I’m quickly dispatched with a snarky comment (e.g., “yeah, dad, that’s exactly what I was planning to do today before you read me that article”). So, I’ll try to explain this one to him when I can be cooler about it. He’s heard it all a hundred times before and he has a nice arsenal of conflict resolution skills — he says things like “I’m too mad to talk to you right now, so I’m going to come back when I’m calmed down” (heaven knows, he didn’t get that from me). Still, I just can’t ignore something like the Kevin Williams story — especially when Williams is playing the same position and when others seem all-too-eager to look the other way on what they’d euphemistically call “off-field problems.”

Maybe there’s a way to put a positive spin on it. Alan Page (#88 above) was a defensive tackle too. He was one of the most dominating and aggressive football players in history — the first defensive MVP in national football league history. Now he’s the first African American Justice on the Minnesota Supreme Court (and, of course, a fine distance runner). I suspect that Justice Page didn’t simply morph from being a fierce and aggressive young man into a thoughtful and reflective middle-aged jurist, but that he carried both capacities within himself throughout both careers. Perhaps he just knew where to draw the lines.

The minneapolis strib and ap reported this weekend that Kevin Williams, the minnesota vikings all-pro defensive lineman, is charged with fifth-degree domestic assault. Domestic violence is horrible, whether it involves enormous athletes or anyone else, but we’re especially outraged when a 6’5″ 304 pound football player ends up in a physical altercation with a 5’7″ woman. According to police reports, Tasha Williams had blood on her shirt and lacerations on her forearm when officers arrived. Her husband told police she had grabbed a knife — of course she did, and I probably would too when facing someone twice my size (not that it would do me much good).

Does a large person have an even greater responsibility to avoid violence than a small person? Does an athlete have a greater responsibility than a non-athlete? I think so. As the parent of a son who approaches Williams’ size, I’ve always taken the position that he should be held to a higher standard. Well, I’m not actually that noble. I’ve told him that he will be held to a higher standard. There are both humanitarian reasons for him to avoid violence — he could really hurt somebody — and labeling effects that will make violence an especially poor choice for him. I’ve always wanted to study the relationship between physical size and punishment severity — my working hypothesis is that big kids tend to be waived into adult court and they tend to get tougher, more secure placements, all else equal. I can also hypothesize some race*size interactions and gender*size interactions that might be interesting to test.

Any aggressive move made by a burly 6’4″ man (or mannish boy) looks and feels a lot different than someone 5’10” making the same move. Simply standing up quickly attracts a lot of attention in the former case but few would notice in the latter. Child A (lg.) once lamented that child B (sm.) never gets into trouble for her own violent behavior “because she’s supposedly harmless,” and I guess A has a point. But it is different — a bigger person can generally do a lot more damage. So, in any serious fight, he’ll be the first attacked and likely the first arrested. That said, I’ve been stoked about him playing football because it gives him a safe place to cut loose and (finally!) throw his body around with abandon. I always loved going full-tilt in contact sports, and I was really a pretty awful football player. Still, I liked the idea of testing physical limits and think I learned something from the experience, especially as an adolescent. Reading about football players and domestic violence obviously tempers this excitement, even if such violence turns out to be less common among athletes than non-athletes (frankly, I don’t know the literature on this question, but I suspect that a number of good statistical controls would be needed to make a valid comparison).

I guess the danger is spillover — if football somehow supports a culture of off-field macho/violent behavior then the risks outweigh the benefits. Plus, I’d wager that sociology professors tend to be some of the least physically aggressive people on the planet, so it seems especially deviant to celebrate violence in any form — no matter how contained or institutionalized. Whenever I read something like the Williams story I want to start yelling at my son (“DON’T YOU EVER…), but he didn’t do anything wrong. It is almost an involuntary reaction — I see the story and start sputtering, until I’m quickly dispatched with a snarky comment (e.g., “yeah, dad, that’s exactly what I was planning to do today before you read me that article”). So, I’ll try to explain this one to him when I can be cooler about it. He’s heard it all a hundred times before and he has a nice arsenal of conflict resolution skills — he says things like “I’m too mad to talk to you right now, so I’m going to come back when I’m calmed down” (heaven knows, he didn’t get that from me). Still, I just can’t ignore something like the Kevin Williams story — especially when Williams is playing the same position and when others seem all-too-eager to look the other way on what they’d euphemistically call “off-field problems.”

Maybe there’s a way to put a positive spin on it. Alan Page (#88 above) was a defensive tackle too. He was one of the most dominating and aggressive football players in history — the first defensive MVP in national football league history. Now he’s the first African American Justice on the Minnesota Supreme Court (and, of course, a fine distance runner). I suspect that Justice Page didn’t simply morph from being a fierce and aggressive young man into a thoughtful and reflective middle-aged jurist, but that he carried both capacities within himself throughout both careers. Perhaps he just knew where to draw the lines.

I’ve tried to avoid trite statements of righteous indignation over responses to hurricane Katrina, but some reactions provide ideal-typical examples that can be useful in teaching. I took a break from putting together a powerpoint slide on “deviance and morality” for my second lecture on “defining deviance,” only to see this item (from the American Family Association’s Agape Press by way of Volokh):

Rev. Bill Shanks, pastor of New Covenant Fellowship of New Orleans, also sees God’s mercy in the aftermath of Katrina… Shanks says the hurricane has wiped out much of the rampant sin common to the city. The pastor explains that for years he has warned people that unless Christians in New Orleans took a strong stand against such things as local abortion clinics, the yearly Mardi Gras celebrations, and the annual event known as “Southern Decadence” — an annual six-day “gay pride” event scheduled to be hosted by the city this week — God’s judgment would be felt. “New Orleans now is abortion free. New Orleans now is Mardi Gras free. New Orleans now is free of Southern Decadence and the sodomites, the witchcraft workers, false religion — it’s free of all of those things now,” Shanks says. “God simply, I believe, in His mercy purged all of that stuff out of there — and now we’re going to start over again.”

Am I correct to assume that Rev. Shanks’ statements would be considered deviant and negatively sanctioned in most churches? They seem to be cited approvingly in Agape Press. I’m aware there is an old (testament) tradition supporting some variant of them, but I’m surprised to see a local pastor make such points. I thought the “Who Would Jesus Kill” bumperstickers were cheap religion bashing, but Rev. Shanks seems to have some clear answers to this question. I’ll use the quote in class tomorrow, but only alongside a humanitarian statement from a religious leader to balance the presentation. Here’s one from Catholic Relief Services:

I’ve tried to avoid trite statements of righteous indignation over responses to hurricane Katrina, but some reactions provide ideal-typical examples that can be useful in teaching. I took a break from putting together a powerpoint slide on “deviance and morality” for my second lecture on “defining deviance,” only to see this item (from the American Family Association’s Agape Press by way of Volokh):

Rev. Bill Shanks, pastor of New Covenant Fellowship of New Orleans, also sees God’s mercy in the aftermath of Katrina… Shanks says the hurricane has wiped out much of the rampant sin common to the city. The pastor explains that for years he has warned people that unless Christians in New Orleans took a strong stand against such things as local abortion clinics, the yearly Mardi Gras celebrations, and the annual event known as “Southern Decadence” — an annual six-day “gay pride” event scheduled to be hosted by the city this week — God’s judgment would be felt. “New Orleans now is abortion free. New Orleans now is Mardi Gras free. New Orleans now is free of Southern Decadence and the sodomites, the witchcraft workers, false religion — it’s free of all of those things now,” Shanks says. “God simply, I believe, in His mercy purged all of that stuff out of there — and now we’re going to start over again.”

Am I correct to assume that Rev. Shanks’ statements would be considered deviant and negatively sanctioned in most churches? They seem to be cited approvingly in Agape Press. I’m aware there is an old (testament) tradition supporting some variant of them, but I’m surprised to see a local pastor make such points. I thought the “Who Would Jesus Kill” bumperstickers were cheap religion bashing, but Rev. Shanks seems to have some clear answers to this question. I’ll use the quote in class tomorrow, but only alongside a humanitarian statement from a religious leader to balance the presentation. Here’s one from Catholic Relief Services:

A new Bureau of Justice Statistics report by Christopher Mumola discusses suicide and homicide in jail and prison. As summarized in the chart and table (click chart), there has been a steep drop in both types of death for both types of inmates. Remembering the old Kitsuse and Cicourel Social Problems article that I force-feed every grad student (1963’s “A Note on the Uses of Official Statistics”), I thought that perhaps officials had changed reporting practices or the way they classified causes of death. Yet deaths by all causes are under 3,000 annually in prisons and under 1,000 in jails. More precisely, 3,924 died in 2002 in an incarcerated population of 2,085,620 — less than two-tenths of one percent per year (.00188). Mortality rates for all causes have also declined precipitously for jails since 1980 and stabilized after a mid-1990s peak in prisons. So, I suspect there are real declines here, rather than simple changes in recordkeeping.

Who dies in prison? Suicides tend to be white, male, and very young or older inmates. Homicide victims tend to be white or Hispanic males. Perhaps the most intriguing finding is that homicide rates are significantly lower in prison and jail than among the general population. When Mumola standardizes the rates to match the age, race, and gender composition of inmates, the pattern is even stronger: “the resident population had a homicide rate (35 per 100,000) nearly 9 times the rate of homicide in State prisons (4) and nearly 11 times higher than the rate in jails (3).

I’m still trying to get my head around this paradoxical finding. Are we really less likely to be murdered in prison than on the street? Here are four hypotheses, and four “yeah buts.” (1) Is it a stark indictment of our ultraviolent society? Yeah, but violence has been trending downward since the early 1990s, and the 2002 homicide rate is identical to the 1966 rate; (2) Is it proof of the improved safety of our correctional facilities? Yeah, but prisons and jails clearly remain very dangerous and unhealthy places; (3) Is it evidence of the greater efficacy of the panopticon’s formal social control over the street’s informal controls? Yeah, but the streets upon which most of the general population walk are aready quite safe; (4) Is it a reflection of the not-so-great-as-one-might-think differences between the general population and the inmate population? Yeah, but a good portion of inmates have, after all, committed homicide and other violent crimes. My guess is that there’s some truth in each hypothesis, and in the labeling or reporting artifact explanation as well. Nevertheless, I find myself convinced that, to some extent, prisons and jails are becoming safer. I’ll have to adjust the hyperbole in my lecture about prisons being “crucibles of intimidation and violence” until I see evidence of deeper flaws in this analysis.

A new Bureau of Justice Statistics report by Christopher Mumola discusses suicide and homicide in jail and prison. As summarized in the chart and table (click chart), there has been a steep drop in both types of death for both types of inmates. Remembering the old Kitsuse and Cicourel Social Problems article that I force-feed every grad student (1963’s “A Note on the Uses of Official Statistics”), I thought that perhaps officials had changed reporting practices or the way they classified causes of death. Yet deaths by all causes are under 3,000 annually in prisons and under 1,000 in jails. More precisely, 3,924 died in 2002 in an incarcerated population of 2,085,620 — less than two-tenths of one percent per year (.00188). Mortality rates for all causes have also declined precipitously for jails since 1980 and stabilized after a mid-1990s peak in prisons. So, I suspect there are real declines here, rather than simple changes in recordkeeping.

Who dies in prison? Suicides tend to be white, male, and very young or older inmates. Homicide victims tend to be white or Hispanic males. Perhaps the most intriguing finding is that homicide rates are significantly lower in prison and jail than among the general population. When Mumola standardizes the rates to match the age, race, and gender composition of inmates, the pattern is even stronger: “the resident population had a homicide rate (35 per 100,000) nearly 9 times the rate of homicide in State prisons (4) and nearly 11 times higher than the rate in jails (3).

I’m still trying to get my head around this paradoxical finding. Are we really less likely to be murdered in prison than on the street? Here are four hypotheses, and four “yeah buts.” (1) Is it a stark indictment of our ultraviolent society? Yeah, but violence has been trending downward since the early 1990s, and the 2002 homicide rate is identical to the 1966 rate; (2) Is it proof of the improved safety of our correctional facilities? Yeah, but prisons and jails clearly remain very dangerous and unhealthy places; (3) Is it evidence of the greater efficacy of the panopticon’s formal social control over the street’s informal controls? Yeah, but the streets upon which most of the general population walk are aready quite safe; (4) Is it a reflection of the not-so-great-as-one-might-think differences between the general population and the inmate population? Yeah, but a good portion of inmates have, after all, committed homicide and other violent crimes. My guess is that there’s some truth in each hypothesis, and in the labeling or reporting artifact explanation as well. Nevertheless, I find myself convinced that, to some extent, prisons and jails are becoming safer. I’ll have to adjust the hyperbole in my lecture about prisons being “crucibles of intimidation and violence” until I see evidence of deeper flaws in this analysis.

Amid the reports of misery and lawlessness following hurricane katrina, one can also find civic contributions made by prison inmates. The Reuters pic below shows prisoners who filled 8,000 sandbags (no, that’s not cocaine) last Saturday. Today, inmates in Alabama and Mississippi distributed ice and supplies at roadside aid stations.

As with other institutions, the criminal Justice system is stretched to the breaking point. In New Orleans, pending criminal case files remain submerged, police officers are resigning and worse, and about 5,000 inmates were herded onto a half-submerged freeway ramp for days. In some jurisdictions, non-violent prisoners have simply been released en masse.

Aside from the desperate conditions in jails and prisons, however, many inmates are eager to load supplies and sandbags for another reason: they know that they can do nothing for their families in this time of crisis. They can’t even write a check to the Red Cross. So, many cherish the opportunity to make some positive contribution to others. Tellingly, it is often the inmate elite and trustees who first step up to offer whatever help they can give (and, of course, to get outside for a few hours). In my view, stepping up as a citizen and as a positive force in one’s community offers one pathway toward reintegration and away from crime. Some inmates are likely cheering the looters as they watch things break down on television, but many others will be searching desperately for ways to lend a hand. I am certain their work will be needed (and hope it will be valued) in the months of rebuilding to come.

Amid the reports of misery and lawlessness following hurricane katrina, one can also find civic contributions made by prison inmates. The Reuters pic below shows prisoners who filled 8,000 sandbags (no, that’s not cocaine) last Saturday. Today, inmates in Alabama and Mississippi distributed ice and supplies at roadside aid stations.

As with other institutions, the criminal Justice system is stretched to the breaking point. In New Orleans, pending criminal case files remain submerged, police officers are resigning and worse, and about 5,000 inmates were herded onto a half-submerged freeway ramp for days. In some jurisdictions, non-violent prisoners have simply been released en masse.

Aside from the desperate conditions in jails and prisons, however, many inmates are eager to load supplies and sandbags for another reason: they know that they can do nothing for their families in this time of crisis. They can’t even write a check to the Red Cross. So, many cherish the opportunity to make some positive contribution to others. Tellingly, it is often the inmate elite and trustees who first step up to offer whatever help they can give (and, of course, to get outside for a few hours). In my view, stepping up as a citizen and as a positive force in one’s community offers one pathway toward reintegration and away from crime. Some inmates are likely cheering the looters as they watch things break down on television, but many others will be searching desperately for ways to lend a hand. I am certain their work will be needed (and hope it will be valued) in the months of rebuilding to come.

Some of the saddest reports from Hurricane Katrina involve looting and a breakdown in informal social controls and public safety. While no law enforcement agency could efficiently operate in such disastrous conditions, New Orleans is especially poorly positioned. Long before the hurricane, the city had an extremely high and rising rate of homicide and gun violence, a long record of corruption, and too few officers and staff in both the police department and prosecutor’s offices. They were also poorly paid: according to Law Enforcement Management Administrative Statistics for 2000, starting pay for a new officer in New Orleans was $25,164 and the only educational requirement was a high school diploma (by way of comparison, St. Paul, MN, starts officers at $37,860 and requires at least a two-year degree at entry). Similarly, Louisiana State Patrol officers start at $22,716 and lack collective bargaining for both sworn and civilian officers (relative to $38,252 with collective bargaining in Minnesota).

I do not point this out as a hindsight critique or an insensitive shot at the many good officers working around the clock in New Orleans. It is just disheartening for a criminologist to watch other cities laying off officers or stretching their forces to the breaking point while law enforcement is so overwhelmed in New Orleans. Is it unreasonable to think that such cutbacks will put public safety at risk elsewhere in coming years? Or to think that we might make a more rational allocation of our existing public safety dollars?