Often comic, romanticized images of swashbuckling European pirates suggest that we know what pirates are—or, rather, were. Today, baseball fans in Pittsburgh or children in Halloween costumes might cheer upon hearing the struggles of the British military in eradicating piracy in the 17th century, but what these struggles really tell us is that piracy is a social construction. Despite the British Royal Navy’s unquestioned status as the world’s most powerful military entity at the time, pirates successfully harassed British commercial shipping for much of the colonial period. In the face of such military might, why did piracy remain a major problem for so long?

In his American Journal of Sociology study, sociologist Matthew Norton sought to explain why, in approximately 1700, with little change in the Navy’s strength or priorities, British military interventions against pirates suddenly became successful. What changed to finally stem the tide of buccaneering?

Norton reiterates that because the British Navy successfully fought wars against Dutch, French, and Spanish colonial competitors at the same time as piracy plagued British commerce, the failure to stop piracy cannot be explained by a lack of military power. Instead, Norton points to the importance of cultural processes in classifying piracy as a legal problem, rather than a commercial one, and establishing a set of institutional methods for dealing with it. While piracy was certainly a problem before 1700, Norton shows that the British military and political authorities had difficulty defining exactly who suffered from piracy and who should bear the costs of fighting it. Laws passed during the 17th century failed to produce results, then, since little consensus around exactly why and for whom piracy was a problem meant state actors had little incentive to prioritize a harsh response.When piracy was a matter of private, commercial concern, it couldn’t be quelled. But legal changes in 1700 “reflected the new consensus that pirates were to be thought of as unambiguous enemies of the state and civilization” and finally calmed the waters of Northern Europe.

The violent military crackdown on piracy that began in the early 18th century “was only possible because earlier solutions that sought to adapt existing legal meanings and institutions failed.” When piracy was a matter of private, commercial concern, it couldn’t be quelled. But legal changes in 1700 “reflected the new consensus that pirates were to be thought of as unambiguous enemies of the state and civilization” and finally calmed the waters of Northern Europe.

Negative stereotypes about marginalized social groups can contribute to inequalities in housing, education, employment, and the criminal justice system. Additionally, negative stereotypes may merge to produce “double disadvantages” for individuals belonging to two or more marginalized groups. This means that Black women, for example, face the double disadvantage of being both Black and women. But can negative stereotypes ever have positive consequences?  Yes, according to sociologist David S. Pedulla, who looks at how stereotypes about gay men and Black men may counteract one another in the job application process.

Using an audit study, Pedulla surveyed 418 random respondents, asking how they would respond to one of four randomly assigned resumes. The survey asked respondents to review the resume, imagining that they were helping a friend in charge of hiring for an assistant manager position. They were also asked to make salary recommendations based on the applicant’s resume. Respondents then answered a series of questions about how strongly they agreed with statements like “the applicant makes female co-workers feel uncomfortable” and “the applicant is likely to break work rules.” These questions were used to determine perceived threat of the applicant.Effeminate stereotypes about gay men may counteract stereotypes of Black men as criminal, violent, and hypersexual, ultimately benefiting gay Black men in the marketplace.

All four resumes were identical in academic and professional qualifications, but varied to signal the race and sexual orientation of the applicant. Names were used to signal race: Brad Miller to signal a white applicant, and Darnell Jackson to signal a Black applicant. Sexual orientation was signaled through the applicant’s college student organizations: “gay” by listing participation in the “Gay Student Advisory Council” and straight by simply  listing participation in a “Student Advisory Council.”

The results are striking: gay Black male job applicants were offered $7,000 more than straight Black male job applicants. Furthermore, “gay Black male applicants are perceived as being less threatening than straight Black male applicants” (p. 87). While Pedulla finds that being gay negatively affects gay white men, he argues that effeminate stereotypes about gay men counteract stereotypes of Black men as criminal, violent, and hypersexual, ultimately benefiting gay Black men in the marketplace.

For more, see “For Gay Black Men, Negative Stereotypes May Have One Positive Consequence.”

Americans these days like to think of the Ku Klux Klan—if they think of the KKK at all—as a white supremacist abomination whose time has come and gone. That is, its presence was deplorable but its impact minimal. A new article from Rory McVeigh, David Cunningham, and Justin Farrell paints a different picture, arguing that the very visible demonstrations of the extremist organization have played a lasting role in shaping the American electorate as we know it today.

The 1960s saw a major shift in the Southern United States where mostly white voters, motivated by their opposition to Civil Rights policies, shifted their support from Democrats to Republicans. The authors argue the Klan was a major player in this shift, but not because it recruited a wide swath of voters to their cause. Instead, KKK activism, in its extremism, drew attention to how the civil rights movement was challenging long-held “links between movement goals and positions taken by political candidates” (1148), thus turning white voters against the Democratic party.

McVeigh, Cunningham, and Farrell base their argument on findings from two sets of tests. First, using data from the National Consortium on Violence Research, House UnAmerican Activities Committee data on Klan organization from 1967, they measure Klan activism within counties in ten southern states through the 1960s. Counties marked by KKK activism were significantly more likely to vote for Republican Presidential candidates. And this effect carried past the ‘60s. Repeated tests comparing 1960 to 1972, 1980, 1992, and even 2000 show that the effect holds over time. There is also a geographic effect; counties that bordered centers of Klan activism had weaker, but significant shifts toward Republican voting as well.

A second analysis using 1992 Southern Focus Poll data shows a similar pattern among individual voters. Those more in favor of segregation were more likely to vote Republican; however, this was only if they lived in counties that had documented Klan activism back in the 1960s.

The authors are careful to point out these results do not mean the Klan has directly influenced voters over the last 50 years. Instead, this is a story about the unintended, yet long-lasting consequences of a radical group that “dislodge[s] voters from preexisting party loyalties” and reshapes the field of public opinion (1161). In short, the Klan changed the political culture and produced a system of party allegiances that remained in place long after their activism diminished.

Poor neighborhoods tend to have poor schools. This means that poor families, many of whom are minorities, face barriers to quality education. School choice is often seen as the solution.

Peter M. Rich and Jennifer L. Jennings investigate whether and how families in Chicago respond to new information about school quality and opportunities to choose their children’s schools when financial, social, and geographic constraints influence their enrollment decisions. Analyzing Chicago Public School (CPS) administrative records of student enrollment over consecutive semesters shows whether students stay at one school, transfer to another school in the same district, or switch to a non-CPS school. To understand more about who moves where, Rich and Jennings look at each student’s race and gender, whether the student receives free or reduced lunch, their math and reading test scores, and other demographic information. The authors then compare differences in transfer rates before and after the enactment of a school accountability policy.

The authors find that many families change schools in response to their child’s school earning a poor rating. Poor families most often transfer schools within districts, but overall, they transfer less frequently than non-poor families. When poor families move schools, they often switch from probation schools (those in danger of failing accountability testing) to non-probation schools. Although such moves seem logical, the non-probation schools to which families switch are still in the bottom 50% of all Chicago Public Schools. Families with more resources are more likely to transfer schools within the same district, transfer to schools in other districts, or enroll their children in private schools.

This pattern arises not just from class, but also from race. Over 80% of all students attending the CPS probation schools were Black, compared to almost no Asian, Native American, or White students. However, Black families responded to school probation status by transferring, while Hispanic students generally stay.

School accountability policies in this study resulted in an overall sorting away from probation schools, but holding schools accountable failed to close the inequality gap between poor and non-poor students. School choice seems to simply reinforce existing gaps: those likely to benefit from school choice are already privileged enough to transfer schools.

Beyond the 6,000 prisoners released in the U.S. Sentencing commission’s effort between October 30^th and Nov 2nd, over 650,000 people are released from prison each year—a process scholars and policy makers call reentry. Former prisoners face many barriers upon reentry, including lack of access to work, housing, and voting rights. Despite the huge population of people experiencing reentry each year, most neighborhoods and communities are scarcely involved in the process, and most of these former prisoners return to a small number of disadvantaged urban neighborhoods. How does this concentration of formerly incarcerated individuals impact recidivism, or the extent to which individuals reoffend?

David S. Kirk uses a clever “natural experiment” and data from post-Katrina New Orleans, originally published in the American Sociological Review, to investigate how concentrating former prisoners in a small number of neighborhoods affects recidivism rates. In August 2005, Hurricane Katrina caused extensive damage and forced newly released prisoners to relocate to other communities across the region, as opposed to returning to their original metropolitan neighborhoods. In effect, the natural disaster of Katrina mimicked the conditions of an “experiment,” in which released prisoners were much more widely dispersed across the region rather than clustering in a small number of neighborhoods.

In his anaylsis, Kirk measures recidivism by neighborhood reincarceration rates, comparing neighborhoods with large changes in parolee concentration to “control” neighborhoods that did not experience a change in reentry concentration. Controlling for factors such as socioeconomic condition, housing availability, and previous recidivism, Kirk finds much greater recidivism in in the New Orleans neighborhoods with the greatest concentration of parolees . Specifically, for each extra parolee per 1,000 residents, the neighborhood’s recidivism rate rose by 11%.

A potential explanation for this effect is that the dispersal of formerly incarcerated individuals across larger physical space helps “break up” social networks that make reoffense more likely. Kirk notes that released individuals are often restricted to a particular neighborhood by the very rules of their parole—a policy that could be undermining public safety. To combat this situation and reduce recidivism, he suggests housing subsidies and relocation assistance to help parolees and other former prisoners find homes in a broader mix of neighborhoods.

Gentrification is a hot-button issue. The renovation and rebuilding of homes and businesses provide cultural changes that socially separate wealthy whites who move into minority neighborhoods from current residents, even when the spacial distance between the groups is small or non-existent. Looking at the history of residential segregation, Angelina Grigoryeva and Martin Reuf investigate whether whites living in close proximity to racial minorities will result in social interaction or if today’s experiences of segregation will be different than in the past.

The authors use household data from the 1880 U.S. Census to analyze different ways residential segregation appeared in post-Civil War United States. They begin by focusing on Washington, D.C., using data collected by “census enumerators”—people who went door-to-door conducting the Census. Then they examine a larger sample of 171 post-Civil War cities and towns. Grigoryeva and Reuf find regional differences in segregation, noting that the Northeast became characterized by black and white people living in separate districts, while segregation in the South grew to be characterized by a “backyard” pattern, where black and white people live within the same Census districts.The Northeast U.S. became characterized by racially separate districts, while segregation in the South was characterized by a “backyard” pattern, with black and white people living within the same Census districts.

Grigoryeva and Reuf believe their method of tracing residential housing segregation changes the way we think of the history of residential segregation in the U.S., and their findings about the different patterns of contemporary Northern and Southern segregation demonstrate how the social effects of segregation remain powerful, even when racial groups live in close proximity.

The alarmingly high rates of suicide among transgender people have received national attention, prompting larger questions about health-harming behaviors among the transgender population. When one’s gender expression strays from cultural expectations, how does it influence discrimination and health?

Using data from the National Transgender Discrimination Survey, Lisa R. Miller and Eric Anthony Grollman examine this relationship. Survey respondents answered a number of questions about how their gender is perceived by others, what types of discrimination they have faced, and whether they have attempted suicide and/or abused alcohol or drugs. Miller and Grollman find that transgender adults report substantially higher rates of health-harming behaviors than cisgender (that is, non-transgender) adults report in other surveys.

A staggering 44% of transgender respondents said they had attempted suicide. Those who thought others saw them as transgender were significantly more likely to have attempted suicide than those who “passed” (were perceived to be cisgender) and reported higher rates of discrimination. Taken together, Miller and Grollman suggest that transgender adults perceived as gender nonconforming face more types of both daily and major discriminations; this may increase self-harming behavior.

Being transgender, the authors write, does not necessarily lead to health-harming behaviors; rather, being visible as transgender (or gender nonconforming) increases health-harming behaviors. It seems to be the social responses to gender nonconformity that negatively impact transgender health and wellbeing.

Many factors predict rates of gun ownership, including race, education and income levels, political-party affiliation, and local crime rates. But what about legislation and statements from local politicians and media? Do these factors also influence gun sales? University of Washington professor (and current Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Scholar in Health Policy at the University of Michigan) Rene D. Flores’ research explores the relationship between the two.

Flores tests whether an increase in anti-immigration ordinances or arguments predicts an increase in gun sales within twenty-four Pennsylvania counties. Using administrative data from the countries themselves, he shows how proposed anti-immigrant laws, such as increased deportation power or English-only mandates, predicts an increased sale of handguns. Even after controlling for other factors that predict gun ownership, proposed anti-immigrant ordinances and rates of gun sales track each other closely. Flores also finds a similar link between anti-immigrant-ordinances and subsequent handgun purchases in South Carolina.

Flores suggests the relationship springs from the rhetoric used by politicians and media outlets that describes immigrants as criminal, violent, and dangerous. When immigrants or other populations are portrayed negatively in this way, social anxiety can catch fire in native populations. He tests this claim by examining how, after anti-immigrant ordinances are proposed in Pennsylvania counties, local media run more stories linking immigrants to crime and violence. He suggests that these stories either cause or reflect a change in local attitudes toward immigration—one that results in increased anti-immigration sentiment and gun sales. In short, anti-immigration legislation and rhetoric can shape public attitudes, and social anxiety can predict the likelihood that locals “lock and load.”

Since 9/11, Arab Americans have experienced various forms of harassment and repression in the U.S., including deportations, FBI questioning, citizen surveillance, and harassment as well as insults, threats, and physical attacks we might now categorize as hate crimes. Sociologists Wayne Santoro and Marian Azab are interested in how these experiences impact Arab Americans’ political activism, with a particular focus on protests.

Using Michigan as their case study, Santoro and Azab focus on two main questions. First, to what extent are documented levels of repression associated with increases in public demonstrations and meetings between Detroit-area Arab Americans and authorities about ethnic-based grievances? And second, which Arab Americans are more likely to be involved in activism and civic engagement?

To answer the first, Santoro and Azab examined archives of the Detroit Free Press from 1999-2010. They found a clear temporal relationship between increases in repressive treatment against Arab Americans and patterns of protest and organizing in the community. Such activism peaked in the year after 9/11, with a general increase in protest in the following years.

If the fact that protests peaked post-9/11 within the Arab-American community is unsurprising, the second question—who participated in these protests—provides new information. To examine the effects of repression on an individual level, Santoro and Azab used the Detroit Arab American Study (DAAS) to look at a sample of 1,016 people of Arab or Chaldean descent living in the Detroit area in 2003. They examined the impact of experiencing repression due to race, ethnicity, or religion on the respondent’s participation in a protest, march, or demonstration about any social or political issue within the last twelve months. The results indicated that individuals who identify weakly with their Arab identity are more likely to protest after experiencing repression.

The results indicate that repression does not just mobilize those who are already activists. Rather, repression mobilizes individuals with low levels of identity who are especially shocked by their experiences with oppression.

Stories of domestic violence and child abuse committed by athletes like Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson prompt public belief that violent crimes are a widespread epidemic in American professional football, thus inspiring the nickname “National Felon League.” In fact, a national survey indicates 69% of Americans believe domestic violence is a serious problem in the league. NFL officials have responded by developing policies to address domestic violence and sexual assault. Despite numerous news articles highlighting these crimes, however, few researchers have actually researched whether NFL players are more likely to commit crimes than people in the general population.

Wanda Leal, Marc Gertz, and Alex Piquero contrast the arrest rates of NFL players with those of the general public from 2000 to 2013. Using data compiled by the San Diego Union – Tribune and USA Today, the authors looked at the arrest rates of 1,952 NFL players to the national arrest rates for males between the ages of 20 and 39 as reported in the FBI’s Uniform Crime Reports (UCR). They found that NFL players had significantly lower rates of property, public order, and total arrests than other young men, but higher rates of violent arrests (a statistically significant phenomenon in 6 of the 14 years they measured, particularly from 2004 to 2008).

Leal, Gertz, and Piquero’s preliminary study does not appear to support the theory that NFL players are especially likely to be arrested, as the general population had higher arrest rates in three of the four measured crime indices. Nevertheless, the study also provides some support for those concerned about violence crime committed by professional football players.