I started the day by descending the hill to the market from the “compound” (my term for the dwellings behind a very large gate that shelter four households). My companion was a freelance journalist who was on a mission to find breakfast (le petit dejeuner in French, kolasyon or dejne in Creole) for his significant other and himself. He’s done work for Free Speech Radio. On the way Ansel asked me if I had been to Haiti before. I told him how I had almost bracketed Haiti in travels to Santiago and Guantanamo in Eastern Cuba and to Puerto Rico.
Here’s the view from the roof of my apartment building:
In contrast to the idyllic scene with the sea in the distance, tableaux of dezas, or disaster, begin practically right outside the gate of the compound:
I took my leave of Ansel to start my first run in Haiti. It’s impossible to avoid hills in my neighborhood and it was also impossible to think of the myth of Sisyphus and the Haitian people and the Creole saying I recently read that goes, “Deye mon, gen mon,” “after the mountains, more mountains.” Do I need to stress the point that pushing boulders uphill can get tiring? My run chock full of hills was nothing.
Tonight, I’ve been listening to snippets fo conversations between an NPR reporter and a guest at his table. On a day of running in the ruins, the media representatives are almost as prevalent in Port-au-Prince as the aid organizations. More in the next blog.
Riding shotgun with Lemoune, I saw the first displaced persons camp right outside the airport. Later I would be informed that it was a fairly small one as the camps go. The heat was blistering, the traffic snarled, and the people were moving with purpose and determination. No one I could see seemed to be in a state of mourning for the dead or for the death of a way of ife.
I saw political grafitti foretelling the November presidential elections. I remember seeing Justin Celestin’s name. Cell phone and other billboards proliferated along the road. PAP is fairly hilly, and when we combined congested traffic, bad roads, and eight month-old rubble, our progress slowed to a crawl.
I recognized that the neighborhood might be where I would stay that night, Christ Roi. I confirmed that with Lemoune, my driver. The Hotel Villa Creole is situated in Pétionville, in the verdant hills above PAP. It turned out to be an oasis that had largely survived the earthquake (more on that in a later post). I met my new co-workers, co-volunteers (I’m not the only one donating time, but I’m the only professor.).
After reading environmental reports to get up to speed, I rested in the Sun Mountain hotel room (definitely not a suite). Later, I would spy an article by Amy Wilentz in the Sept. 6 New Yorker about the upcoming elections (“Running in the Ruins”) The piece conveys the color and corruption of Haitian politics and deserves a read, especially for the contrastng portraits of René Préval, the outgoing president who is fond of siestas and rap artist Sweet Micky Martelly, the real Wyclef Jean, an eligible candidate who can reach the people in their favorite language, Haitian Creole.
Riding shotgun with Lemoune, I saw the first displaced persons camp right outside the airport. Later I would be informed that it was a fairly small one as the camps go. The heat was blistering, the traffic snarled, and the people were moving with purpose and determination. No one I could see seemed to be in a state of mourning for the dead or for the death of a way of ife.
I saw political grafitti foretelling the November presidential elections. I remember seeing Justin Celestin’s name. Cell phone and other billboards proliferated along the road. PAP is fairly hilly, and when we combined congested traffic, bad roads, and eight month-old rubble, our progress slowed to a crawl.
I recognized that the neighborhood might be where I would stay that night, Christ Roi. I confirmed that with Lemoune, my driver. The Hotel Villa Creole is situated in Pétionville, in the verdant hills above PAP. It turned out to be an oasis that had largely survived the earthquake (more on that in a later post). I met my new co-workers, co-volunteers (I’m not the only one donating time, but I’m the only professor.).
After reading environmental reports to get up to speed, I rested in the Sun Mountain hotel room (definitely not a suite). Later, I would spy an article by Amy Wilentz in the Sept. 6 New Yorker about the upcoming elections (“Running in the Ruins”) The piece conveys the color and corruption of Haitian politics and deserves a read, especially for the contrastng portraits of René Préval, the outgoing president who is fond of siestas and rap artist Sweet Micky Martelly, the real Wyclef Jean, an eligible candidate who can reach the people in their favorite language, Haitian Creole.
Yesterday I arrived at Toussaint L’Ouverture International Airport. I was arriving at a Caribbean country not to vacation, not to present and listen to papers at a conference, but to do work as a volunteer for an international NGO, Sun Mountain International.
Despite my noble intentions, the immigration officials were not impressed. They didn’t want to know who Sun Mountain International (SMtn) was, that it was started by an alumnus of California Lutheran University, the university where I teach. They didn’t want to know that SMtn was working with the International Organization for Migration and US Agency for International Development. They didn’t even want to know that I had received a commendation for patience from una abuelita on the overnight flight from LAX to Miami for sitting among her three generation deep family – I got something out of being able to practice my Spanish.
What the immigration officials in Port-au-Prince (PAP) wanted to know was the exact street address in the Christ Roi district where I was going to stay. My passport confiscated and protests ignored, I was sent packing until I could produce a more detailed address. After a few seconds, I returned to the immigration supervisor. Eventually, I wheeled around and suggested that the Hotel Villa Creole was my destination. Rejected again, I was told to get my taxi driver. Rolling two duffel bags across a dusty pavement, separated by a chain link fence from a horde of desperate and no doubt hungry kids yelling “Boss” at me, I found Lemoune, who was holding a sign with my first name and the words, “Hotel Villa Creole.” Salvation. We deposited the bags in his SUV and marched back to the immigration office to secure my passport. Sweaty and a bit angry, I returned to my appointed task. Onward, Lemoune. The devil’s in the details.
Yesterday I arrived at Toussaint L’Ouverture International Airport. I was arriving at a Caribbean country not to vacation, not to present and listen to papers at a conference, but to do work as a volunteer for an international NGO, Sun Mountain International.
Despite my noble intentions, the immigration officials were not impressed. They didn’t want to know who Sun Mountain International (SMtn) was, that it was started by an alumnus of California Lutheran University, the university where I teach. They didn’t want to know that SMtn was working with the International Organization for Migration and US Agency for International Development. They didn’t even want to know that I had received a commendation for patience from una abuelita on the overnight flight from LAX to Miami for sitting among her three generation deep family – I got something out of being able to practice my Spanish.
What the immigration officials in Port-au-Prince (PAP) wanted to know was the exact street address in the Christ Roi district where I was going to stay. My passport confiscated and protests ignored, I was sent packing until I could produce a more detailed address. After a few seconds, I returned to the immigration supervisor. Eventually, I wheeled around and suggested that the Hotel Villa Creole was my destination. Rejected again, I was told to get my taxi driver. Rolling two duffel bags across a dusty pavement, separated by a chain link fence from a horde of desperate and no doubt hungry kids yelling “Boss” at me, I found Lemoune, who was holding a sign with my first name and the words, “Hotel Villa Creole.” Salvation. We deposited the bags in his SUV and marched back to the immigration office to secure my passport. Sweaty and a bit angry, I returned to my appointed task. Onward, Lemoune. The devil’s in the details.
Check out Norm Magnusson’s “historical markers” along I-75, which intend to provoke unthought thoughts in public spaces:
As Magnusson puts it: “The types of people who stop to read them are collectively defined more by their curiosity about the world around them than they are by any shared ideological leanings, which makes them a perfect audience for a carefully crafted message. And unlike most artworks on social or political themes, these markers don’t merely speak to the small group of viewers that seek out such work in galleries and museums; instead, they gently insert themselves into the public realm. ‘Are they real?’ is a question viewers frequently ask, meaning ‘are they state-sponsored?’ I love this confusion and hope to slip a message in while people are mulling it over. These markers are just the kind of public art I really enjoy: gently assertive and non-confrontational, firmly thought-provoking and pretty to look at and just a little bit subversive.” (www.funism.com/art/I75project.html)
That the project is as much about the use of wide-open public spaces as it is about the carefully crafted messages speaks volumes about how innovation may best work in our age. With so little room to communicate messages of social conscience in our message-dense environment, these signs are apt demonstrations of how to pick and choose a context for sociological critique.
Last month, I was watching CNN and saw Amber Lyon’s Craigslist trafficking story, which struck me as shoddy gotcha journalism used to stem the tide of CNN’s downward spiralling ratings. Her more recent story covers Craigslist’s removal of the adult services section {replaced with the word “censored” in the US} and also shows the clip I mentioned::
When I saw this, I felt that Amber was conflating trafficking and sex work and that her catching of the founder, Craig Newmark, like a deer-in-the-headlights was for pure dramatic effect. Newmark called her out on her ambush, which she took offense to and got rather huffy about anyone calling into question her journalistic ethics. So, let’s get this straight, she created a fake ad, solicited johns with the words “sweet, innocent new girl with a WILD streak…”, evoking a “To Catch a Predator”vibe, and equated responses to her ad with evidence of intent to engage in underage trafficking. Craig responded, as did CEO Jeff Buckmaster, but the fact of the matter as I see it is that she, along with 17 states’ attorneys general, opted to create a sex panic for ratings and political gain, respectively. Jeff Jarvis’ take is that regulators and old media are going after Craigslist because it’s a technological disruptor upsetting the established power structures. I think there might be something to that, but I’ll wager going after adult services on online sites is like the pornography prosecutions in the late 1980s {see Frontline, American Porn}. Politically, going after sex work on the Internet is low hanging fruit in the court of public opinion and throwing in underage trafficking into the mix is an attempt to make such endeavors by attorneys general appear unassailable. The acid test of one’s motives should be how policy affects the abused. Crackdowns will only serve to drive sex work underground, further exacerbating the issue of helping those who need it.
Markets & Institutions
I feel that this issue of Craigslist as a market creator that doubles as a hotbed of immoral and illegal activities taps into cultural hot buttons that lead us astray from those being abused—the trafficked. There are serious issues to address here regarding the quasi-markets of sex work that aren’t legitimized, yet have been allowed to proliferate on the Internet and in free weeklies. The lack of legitimacy fosters an environment for exploitation and abuse for sex work, by those in positions of power. Sadly, this can involve unscrupulous law enforcement officers taking advantage of their positions. The institutional framework {government agencies, law enforcement, non-profits, etc.} operate within a context where issues of sex work are criminal justice matters, not ones of public health. Melissa Gira Grant in an article today cites three studies on sex work, institutions, and police::
“Even when girls sought out the support they needed – from drug treatment and foster care programs to hospitals and the police – they were denied help because of their involvement in the sex trade…In a University of California at San Francisco study published in 2009, 22 percent of San Francisco adult female sex workers surveyed reported having police as paying customers. Fourteen percent were threatened with arrest if they did not have sex with a police officer. Washington cops fare no better: in a report published on people involved in or perceived to be involved in the sex trade, Different Avenues reveals that one in five people were solicited for sex by the police. They also report that police confiscated safer sex supplies, and strip-searched and assaulted people suspected of prostitution.”
A criminal justice approach sets up a series of power dynamics within a market system and with the advent of sex panics come the temptation to engage in clampdowns.
He cites what CEO Jim Buckmaster said what would happen, i.e., the adult services ads would move to other parts of Craigslist. This makes it harder for Craigslist and law enforcement to engage in surveillance efforts.
Crime & Punishment
Microsoft researcher, danah boyd, in a HuffPo post addresses several issues regarding the Craigslist ban. I agree with her take on visibility and I feel that forcing sex work and trafficking underground will only serve to harm those being abused. I agree that online spaces can be made risky for criminals, but I’m wary of civil liberties abuses stemming from online activities being monitored. While I haven’t had the experience of talking to many law enforcement officers, like danah has, on the topic of Internet and crime, but I’m wary of increased leveraging on online technologies by law enforcement, particularly in stings or clampdowns. Why? I think this places a great deal of faith that a criminal justice approach to the abuses in sex work will actually help the victims. The system is set up to punish those breaking the law, not addressing the root causes of the issues. The same hold true for the elicit drug trade. I see both substance abuse and trafficking to be better served with a public health approach and I’d rather see more investments there than towards increased law enforcement with the objective of catching perps. On the other hand, as Grant pointed out in this 2009 Slate article, technologies like Craigslist do create a marketplace “commons” where users leave traces that can be used in surveillance to solve crimes, such as the so-called Craigslist killer in Boston. Within our current state, I think there’s a role for a certain amount of collaboration between websites and law enforcement, but one that’s not too cozy.
I do have a suggestion for Amber Lyon’s next journalistic coup. There are no bans on adult services in Canada, so she can go to the border crossings with a camera crew and look for suspicious-looking pervy characters heading to Vancouver, Toronto, and Montréal, bringing only a laptop, a cellphone, and an overnight bag.
Screenshot from Craigslist—Toronto, http://toronto.en.craigslist.ca/
Song:: “Prostitute”-Fifteen
Twitterversion:: [blog] Craigslist ban on adult services due to sex panic pressure ignores institutional issues & those needing help. @Prof_K@ThickCulture
This recession is a different animal than past incarnations. Here’s a data point:
The supposed recovery is being slowed down by artificially constructed housing market. We won’t see much progress until the damage of the last decade cycles through the system. Meanwhile, I wonder how much government can really do to alleviate the pain. Which I think it has some moral obligation to try to do… big soft lefty that I am.
