Black Lives Matter is written on a cardboard sign and held up in the air by a pair of white hands.
Image: Black Lives Matter is written on a cardboard sign and held up in the air by a pair of white hands. (sasatro/Flickr; distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license)

After the wave of Black Lives Matter protests in the summer of 2020, the idea of being actively anti-racist, as opposed to simply “not racist” or “color-blind,” has gained popular attention. But does the general public agree that there is a distinction between being “not racist” and being “anti-racist”? According to a new paper by three sociologists, Samuel Perry, Joshua Grubbs, and Kenneth Frantz, the answer is no.

Perry, Grubbs, and Frantz begin from the claim that the language of “anti-racism” has increased in prominence over the last decade. They point to the proliferation of educational curricula incorporating this language, as well as a number of best-selling books. Data from Google shows that the use of terms related to anti-racism in books has spiked since 2013. And Google searches for “antiracist” peaked in the summer of 2020. Against this backdrop, the sociologists use survey data to explore which groups of Americans are most likely to identify as “anti-racist.” 

Unsurprisingly, the research team found that among the people surveyed, the strongest correlation for identifying as “anti-racist” is holding progressive views on racial issues.

Other findings were more surprising. For example,  the second-strongest correlation among all survey respondents with identifying as “anti-racist” was identifying as “color-blind.” In other words, many Americans identify as both “anti-racist” and “color-blind.” This discovery is intriguing because in recent years sociologists have tended to emphasize the more conservative effects of colorblindness rather than its more liberal or change-oriented dimensions.

The authors suggest that this is because both the terms “anti-racist” and “color-blind” read to whites as being liberal views on race, but not radical. This is in contrast to the academic discourse (and even some popular books) about these terms.

In addition, researchers also found that Black and Hispanic people were significantly less likely than white people to identify as “anti-racist.”  One reason for this may be that books, curricula, and other campaigns advocating for “anti-racism” are often targeted at white audiences. It also does not necessarily mean that white people more often behave in an anti-racist manner. People in general are likely to identify as “anti-racist,” regardless of their views on race. This includes those who would, for example, not confront a friend who made a racist comment.

This research reminds us that people’s conceptions of race are complicated and ever-changing. The way scholars understand race does not always line up with the general public.

 

Image: Mariacha Plaza in Boyle Heights, looking West towards downtown Los Angeles. A mariachi musician crosses the street in the foreground, instrument in hand. Image courtesy of Wikimedia, CC BY-NC 2.0

We usually think about gentrification as the replacement of poor, non-white residents with white and affluent newcomersin city neighborhoods. According to this narrative, property values rise alongside an influx in amenities catering to a wealthy, whiter community. But an immersive new study from Alfredo Huante complicates that by showing how a changing working-class, Latinx neighborhood in LA grapples with affluent Latinx arrivals.

Using the case study of Los Angeles’ Boyle Heights barrio, Huante examines a process he calls “gente-fication.” During “gente-fication” educated, higher-income, and lighter-skinned Latinx move to historically working-class barrios. Instead of a process of “gentrification” where the “gentry,” or the elite and noble classes move to a neighborhood, “gente” describes a distinct process in which new, wealthier arrivals share  existing residents’ racial or ethnic background. Huante’s research moves beyond the black-white conflict usually associated with gentrification to emphasize tensions within the same racial and ethnic group that are present in the processes of neighborhood change in Boyle Heights. Huante draws on in-depth interviews with long-term barrio residents, community activists, and real estate agents, in addition to data from social media and neighborhood meetings.

Despite the fact that the majority of Boyle Heights’ residents are Latinx and working class, barrio residents disagree about whether gente-fication is a threat to the neighborhood. Long-term White residents and Latinx media figures argue that new wealthy Latinx residents will stimulate economic growth and foster racial diversity. Because gente-fiers are Latinx, not white, they also feel like their arrival prevents the cultural erasure usually brought about by gentrification. On the other hand, local activists opposing gentrification claim the new class of Latinx newcomers are still displacing and replacing long-term working-class Latinx residents who are also darker-skinned.

While it seems like this process of gentefication preserves the racial and ethnic character of a neighborhood, Huante’s emphasis on class inequalities within racial and ethnic groups reminds us that the complexities of intra-ethnic dynamics on the ground have a much different story to tell.

Parenting is hard. Ensuring that their kids are healthy and successful, while maintaining their own well-being and other commitments, is a real challenge for many caregivers. Parenting classes, an intervention targeted towards low-income parents, can help. These classes can potentially offer parents support and help them build skills. 

However, new research from Maia Cuchiarra shows how parents and class instructors may have fundamentally different understandings of the purpose of parenting. In particular, parents and instructors may disagree about the appropriateness of physical discipline, particularly when parents are concerned about preparing their children to live in a hostile or threatening environment.

Cucchiara attended weekly, community-based parenting courses taught by professionals living in the same predominantly Black and lower-income neighborhood.  Most of the class participants that Cuchiarra observed attended classes voluntarily or as a requirement of a housing program, not due to court-mandate. 

The Black mothers in the course understood parenting through a “protective frame.” They viewed their primary responsibility as ensuring the physical safety of their children in a world, and local community, that was unsafe and potentially violent. They had a nuanced view of physical discipline and drew clear distinctions between types of force that were or were not appropriate. These mothers felt that it was important for their children to respect them and understand how to use force to protect themselves if threatened.

In contrast, class instructors used a “therapeutic frame.” They viewed children as very vulnerable and in need of warm and gentle support. They did not think that physical discipline was ever appropriate and viewed the potential consequences of using physical discipline as serious for both the parent-child relationship and children’s self-esteem.

The mothers in the study used physical discipline because it helped them meet their high-stakes goal of keeping their children safe in a hostile world. Even though the parents and instructors in this study were members of the same community, this research shows how professional commitments to non-violence can clash with the parental responsibility of raising children in potentially violent environments.

This image shows how segregated Black, Hispanic, and Asian people were from white people, on average, over the last 30 years. (Image: Benjamin Elbers / Socius; some rights reserved)

Although explicit racial segregation in housing was outlawed by the Civil Rights Act of 1968, in practice, Americans remain highly segregated by race. This is due both to the continuing impacts of historical policies and present-day policies, such as exclusionary zoning laws.

The latest 2020 U.S. Census results give social scientists an opportunity to evaluate the state of segregation using high-quality data. Benjamin Elbers recently used Census data to evaluate how segregation has changed (or not) in the U.S. over the last 30 years. He examined data from 228 metropolitan areas.

Elbers finds that overall, segregation declined substantially in each decade. 

However, these overall numbers are not the whole story. For instance, Hispanic and Asian people have become more segregated from white people, on average. Elbers also points out Black people remained highly segregated from white and Asian people in many places.

So, while there has been some progress over the last thirty years, racial segregation and racial inequality remain defining features of American society. 

Image: An American flag hangs on a light post in front of a Church. The camera is titled upwards and the blue sky is visible behind the church tower. Image via pixabay, pixabay license.

For many Christian Americans, discussions of structural racism amount to attacks on America – and its Christian heritage – itself. Using survey data collected during the early months of the pandemic and through the summer of “racial reckoning” in 2020, Samuel Perry, Ryon Cobb, Andrew Whitehead, and Joshua Grubbs show how “White Christian nationalism” contributes to what they call a “perception gap” on racial issues. 

Perry and colleagues measure Americans’ attitudes on racial discrimination using four sets of survey data from 2019-2020. They also assess respondents’ approval of Christian nationalism, an ideology that fuses Christianity and American civic life. Champions of Christian nationalism seek to define America as a divinely-inspired Christian nation and advocate enshrining Christianity and “Judeo-Christian heritage” in school curricula, in the public sphere, and in government. 

The authors find that White proponents of Christian nationalism tend to minimize anti-Black discrimination and deny the presence of systemic racism in policing. The surveys – designed to capture shifting opinions during the developments of 2020 – revealed that supporters of Christian nationalism were more likely to believe that the men who murdered Ahmaud Arbery were “not necessarily racist” and acted within their right as vigilantes.

Unlike whites who accept Christian nationalism, Black respondents recognize who affirmed the ideology did so while recognizing racial discrimination against Black Americans. Whereas White supporters of Christian nationalism look at American history without recognizing past violence and atrocity against minorities and people of color, Black Americans who affirm Christian Nationalism see it as a call to action to address present-day inequalities and injustices.

By depicting key elements of American history with a religious gloss that overlooks racial problems, White Christian nationalism and its ideological commitments contribute to a “perception gap” on issues of racism and systemic discrimination.

A white hand dials a number on an office phone, the receiver for the phone held in the other hand. Image via pixabay, Pixabay License.

In the United States there are 14 million formal child support cases, meaning that one in five children are dependent on child support payments. To ensure that these children receive financial support from noncustodial parents (that is, parents who are not the primary caretaker), child support agencies employ punitive strategies such as garnishing wages, suspending public assistance, suspending driver’s licenses, and even jail time.  

Unsurprisingly, previous research has found that noncustodial parents were dissatisfied and frustrated with child support agencies and their harsh sanctions. However, when Daniel Meyer and Yoona Kim used a larger, nationwide sample to test whether noncustodial parents actually disliked the child support system, their analysis told a different story.  

Unlike previous studies, which have generally used small interview-based methods, the researchers used surveys to assess satisfaction of 1,800 noncustodial parents in seven states who were behind on payments and had difficulty holding a job. They found that the majority of noncustodial parents were actually satisfied or indifferent about the child support agencies – the opposite finding of previous qualitative studies.  

They also discovered that one of the largest predictors of satisfaction was personalized service.  More specifically, when noncustodial parents knew the name of a child support worker that they could call for questions, they were 56% more likely to be satisfied with the child support system.

Statistics can tell us a story that sometimes counters our assumptions and previous understandings – and multiple methods are likely needed to address a complex question like satisfaction with the child support system.  Understanding such questions is likely essential to encouraging timely and complete payments which support children. With millions of children depending on child support to stay housed, clothed, and fed, this research shows how “putting names to systems” can help humanize government services and institutions.

An empty courtroom, facing towards the judge’s stand. Image via pixabay, Pixabay License.

Courts are expected to be unbiased. However, Vicki Lens found, in courtrooms mothers are routinely judged based on narrow expectations of motherhood that ignore their real-world situations and challenges.

Lens studied mothers’ treatment within family courts, observing approximately 100 child maltreatment cases from 2012-2013 in one U.S. urban courtroom in the Northeast. They found that judges based neglect and removal of children on gendered beliefs of “good mothers.” “Good” mothers are those that take primary care of their children and sacrifice for their children. In making decisions, judges were focused on beliefs about what it means to be a “good mother” and disregarded that motherhood also requires resources and social supports. 

For instance, one mother was accused of educational neglect by a judge for failing to quickly find a tutor for her child. This was even after the mother fought to get her daughter on a wait-list for tutoring and the mom’s caseworker explained the difficulty in finding tutors. Instead of seeing the effort that the mother put forward despite challenges, the judge saw this as inherently negative for the child. The judge felt that a good mother would have put more effort into finding a tutor for her child while working at her job. 

The norms and conventions of the court itself were another part of the problem for underprivileged mothers. Judges required that only attorneys speak for their clients in court, even though the attorneys often misunderstood the complexities of clients’ situations. This led to many underprivileged mothers having no way to communicate with the judge about the structural issues that prevented them from fulfilling this “good mother” role that was valued by the judges. 

While based on just one family courtroom, this study shows how moms can be silenced and judges can mistake inequalities in resources outside of the courtroom as neglect. The end result is that underprivileged mothers, forced to defend their parental rights, face an uphill battle in trying to keep their kids. For the courts to act fairly, all legal actors must hear and value underprivileged mothers’ complicated experiences.

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Image: A white woman holds her phone in one hand, with the other she taps the phone’s screen. Image courtesy of canva, canva free media use.

Originally published November 17, 2021

Dating apps have changed how we think about dating. With options that allow users to search for partners across physical distance, it can seem like there are no boundaries to finding love with these apps. However, one sociologist highlights that race and location continue to limit dating options.

Sarah Adeyinka-Skold interviewed over 100 racially diverse, college-educated women, who live in the United States. Adeyinka-Skold asked if these dating apps lessened the boundaries of location and race for women trying to find romantic partners across the country.  The interviews revealed that local culture was actually still a major factor for all those she interviewed. Some women were frustrated about being in locations where there seemed to be a pattern of men who didn’t take dating seriously or just wanted hookups. In other locations, women found it challenging to find dates that shared their gender expectations, with many available men only wanting housewives. 

One example was Monique who described her frustrations with dating in Lubbock, Texas. Monique specifically focused on her realization that her aspiration of wanting to be more than a stay-at-home mom went against the conservative culture of Lubbock. In particular, she found that men there were, “looking for that person, that woman where she might have a career, but is willing to give it up to raise a family.” 

Latinx and Black interviewees were more likely to express additional issues with race in regards to location. This was because women of color struggled to find potential partners with the same racial and educational background as their own. There simply weren’t enough college educated men of color in their areas so they felt that their local dating pool was very limited.

This research highlights the limits of technology in mitigating the effects of deeply embedded inequalities and cultural constraints. Technology didn’t help the white college educated women because of gender norms in parts of the United States that only valued women’s contributions in house or care work. Technology also was limiting for college educated women of color because of inequalities that only allowed very few men of color to get college degrees. In other words, whatever the new digital world may bring us, it is, like everything else, still bound up with long-established constraints of culture and social inequality.

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Image: a White man’s hands in handcuffs behind his back. Image courtesy of pixabay and Pixabay License.

Originally published January 28, 2021

In 2019, nearly 72,000 Americans died from a drug overdose — more than car accidents or gun violence. Over 50,000 of those deaths involved opioids. Drug overdose deaths have been on the rise for the past twenty years, with deaths increasing fourfold

Katherine Beckett and Marc Brydolf-Horwitz wanted to know whether states had altered drug policies in response to the opioid crisis. The researchers reviewed US state sentencing statutes between 2010-2016, as well as drug arrest and imprisonment records in a similar time frame. With the rise of the opioid crisis, the authors hypothesized that the drug war is de-escalating and that White drug users would see the greatest decline in punishment. The War on Drugs that began in the 1970s overwhelmingly targeted Black communities, contributing to the rise of police brutality and mass incarceration. What they found surprised them. 

Contrary to their prediction that White drug users would disproportionately benefit from policy changes, drug arrests decreased more sharply for Black people in the last decade. While Black people remain considerably overrepresented in drug arrests, 31 percent fewer Black people were arrested for drugs in 2018 than in 2007. Further, the number of Black people incarcerated in state prisons due to a drug conviction fell by 53% between 2012 and 2017.

Beckett and Brydolf-Horwitz think geography could explain this decline. Drug arrest and imprisonment rates decreased in urban areas but increased in suburban and rural areas. Since urban areas are typically more racially diverse, this geographic trend could explain why Black people were arrested and imprisoned at lower rates. This trend could also explain why drug arrest and imprisonment rates did not fall for White people, because many suburban and rural areas remain predominantly White. 

While further research is needed to understand these shifting patterns in drug arrests, the most recent War on Drugs appears to be slowing down. And this decline is significantly narrowing the racial disparities between Black and White drug arrests. The racial injustices of previous drug scares and the tragedies of the opioid crisis cannot be undone, but these trends demonstrate that meaningful changes are underway in state drug policies.

Image: Marchers at a May Day Immigration March hold a sign that reads “Ningun Ser Humano Es Ilegal!!” or “No human being is illegal.” Image courtesy of Jonathan McIntosh, CC-BY-2.5.

Every four years, political parties court Latinx voters, an elusive but increasingly powerful bloc sometimes referred to as the “sleeping giant.”. Immigration and the rights of the undocumented are key issues for these voters, not only abstractly but also directly shaping undocumented residents’ political engagement. Sociologist Angela García argues that local immigration policies shape undocumented Mexicans’ political engagement and participation in public life both positively and negatively.

García conducted almost 100 interviews with undocumented Mexican immigrants in two cities in Southern California, Escondido and Santa Ana, both near the US/Mexico border. She also observed events, marches, and town hall meetings to examine undocumented residents’ responses to local immigration policies which contrasted starkly in the two cities.

In Escondido, a San Diego suburb, restrictive immigration policies curtail employment, restrict rentals, and allow for collaboration with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Measures banning day laborers and driver’s license checkpoints were intended to incite fear among undocumented residents. Conversely, Santa Ana, located 75 miles north, had more accommodating policies, including advocacy for DREAMers and sanctuary city protections. García found that these contrasting immigration policies shaped undocumented residents’ political participation. 

In Escondido, with its more restrictive policies, undocumented residents expressed hesitation in confronting local leaders and politicians. In Santa Ana, in contrast, residents more fully embraced their rights, engaging in grassroots politics, attending city council meetings, and even advocating for issues unrelated to immigration, like bike lanes. García found that even in hostile Escondido undocumented residents overcame barriers to political participation and mobilized in response to restrictive policies, like a proposed measure barring immigrants from rentals. 

By highlighting how community members respond to immigration policies, this study illustrates how  local political climates can both constrain and empower undocumented immigrants’ political action. Although local context can provide roadblocks to undocumented migrants’ political participation García’s work also shows the potential for these same conditions to inspire collective organizing and mobilization.