race

Photo by John Nakamura Remy, Flickr CC

A recent study in the medical community has shown a decrease in teen suicide, particularly among high schoolers who are sexual minorities, since same-sex marriage was legalized. This is evidence that change in social policy impacts health outcomes among those who experience discrimination. This is important because social science has documented the negative impacts of gender and racial discrimination on mental and physical health.

A person’s status as a racial or sexual minority impacts their exposure to stress through perceived discrimination — a key way that racial, gender, and class inequalities in physical and mental health occur. The centrality and/or visibility of racial or sexual differences in a person’s life affects if and how often discrimination is perceived — the higher the salience or visibility of one’s racial or sexual identity, the higher level of perceived discrimination and the higher level of stress that person experiences.
Those who are disadvantaged in multiple ways, like being both a racial minority and a sexual minority, find themselves at higher levels of exposure to discrimination and have higher rates of depression and worse self-rated health.
Photo by Kobe, Flickr CC

Public housing has a long and troubled history in the United States. In recent years, the demolishing of public housing in cities like Chicago has been one of the most prominent images of decline. For sociologists, it is important to understand not just the problems with and eventual failures of post-war public housing, but also the social forces and sentiments behind their creation.

Consider why the federal government would even see a role for itself in the building of public housing structures in the first place. The origin of public housing legislation can be traced back to Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, a series of laws and executive orders focused on providing more basic necessities for the poorest in America.
However, public housing would eventually become associated with racial segregation. The design of public housing projects ultimately worked to concentrate poor non-white communities into relatively cut-off neighborhoods in the middle of cities. This segregation, combined with heavy degradation of the buildings and a lack of proper care from government officials, led to a heavily stigmatized view of public housing buildings.
Given the sheer intensity of racial segregation and concentrated poverty in public housing, many housing advocates and public officials have declared these programs a failure, leading to the demolition of old public housing facilities. But there have also been various proposals to renew public housing initiatives that look to learn from the mistakes of the past while keeping to the goal of housing the poor. One of the largest programs, the federal HOPE VI program, is an ongoing federal project to revitalize public housing areas with architecture focused on crime prevention. This focus on crime prevention is inspired by Oscar Newman’s ‘defensible space’ concept — the idea that if people feel more ownership over a space, they’ll be more watchful over how their neighbors use it, thus curbing crime.
Photo by Neon Tommy, Flickr CC

The Trump administration continues to ramp up policies that not only curb the flow of undocumented migrants into the United States, but also bolster an already formidable deportation system. Currently, many “Dreamers” protected by former president Obama’s executive order are worried that president Trump will overturn this crucial immigration policy, which grants residency status to undocumented individuals that came to the United States as children prior to 2012. This unprecedented move could potentially lead to the detention and deportation of nearly 800,000 people. Surprisingly, social science has found that immigration policy in the United States does not typically follow immigration patterns, but more often shaped by economic and political conditions.

Many legal avenues for migration to the United States were dismantled from the late 1950s through 1965, including the elimination of many temporary worker visas and country and hemispheric quotas. This policy shift resulted in an uptick in undocumented migrants from Latin America until the late 1970s, which subsequently tapered off with the passage of the Immigration and Reform Control Act in 1986. Due to this influx of undocumented immigrants, political rhetoric surrounding immigration took a punitive turn, fueling anti-immigrant sentiment and restrictionist policies with strict enforcement practices, especially during the mid 1990s through the 2000s.
Deportations of both undocumented and documented immigrants has increased significantly in the past few decades, so much so that under the Obama administration, a record 2 million immigrants were deported by the end of 2013. These unprecedented numbers of deportations typically involved people with no criminal record or those with minor convictions, such as traffic offenses or marijuana possession, and nearly one quarter of the 400,000 deportees in 2012 were parents of U.S. citizens.
Scholars have demonstrated the parallels between the system of mass deportation and mass incarceration in the United States, both of which disproportionately impact men of color, are rife with punitive rhetoric, and are bolstered by massive government and private expenditures. Tanya Maria Golash-Boza contends that deportation is nested within the current state of global capitalism.  She argues that deportations serve the function of removing surplus labor while keeping undocumented labor populations in the United States compliant and vulnerable. This era of mass deportation and “crimmigration” comes at a significant cost to immigrant communities and families. Unfortunately, if the current political climate of “America First” is any indicator, these social and human costs will only exacerbate in the recent future.
Photo by William Garrett, Flickr CC

Trump’s rise to the presidency still has many people wondering why large numbers of whites with low to moderate incomes voted for a candidate who supports policies that are likely to have a negative impact on them. In other words, how is a millionaire real estate developer from New York City seen as an average Joe and a champion of white workers? Two prominent sociological explanations involve the racist attitudes of whites’ and feelings of anger and abandoment in economically struggling rural communities.

Racially coded, and racially explicit, language is particularly powerful for tapping into white Americans’ feelings of displacement, loss, and resentment. Sociological research suggests that racialized attacks on “undeserving” immigrants and people of color who benefit from government “handouts” provide a target for anger and a rationale for why white working class communities are struggling economically (while ignoring the privileges that go along with whiteness). Thus, the emotional appeals of racist and xenophobic campaign rhetoric can contribute to lower income people voting against their economic self-interest.
Much of the public commentary about white working class voters has focused on folks in cities and industrial sectors, but another important population to consider is rural residents. People in rural areas are disproportionately white, are struggling economically due to declines in commodity prices, and are confronting rapid demographic changes. Rural citizens, especially white men, perceive their religious and nationalist beliefs as being looked-down upon by liberals, and they draw on a strong rural identity when they describe feeling ignored and abandoned by politicians and elites who devalue their lifestyles. They see the government as creating policies that favor cities and help undeserving minorities and state bureaucrats, all while ignoring rural people. Thus, conservative politicians like Trump have tapped into people’s anger and resentment through emotional appeals to masculinity and male dignity, American nationalism, and Christian morals.

For more on why working class whites voted from Trump, see here, here, and here.

Photo by Karl-Ludwig Poggemann, Flickr CC

President Trump has made several high-profile picks for his cabinet, but he has one of the least diverse cabinets in recent history; there are no Latinos and very few other minorities or women. This has drawn criticism, but why is diversity a good thing for governments and other organizations? Social science research shows how diversity helps, but also how organizations often limit diversity by warping what it means to their members.  

Diversity can be quite beneficial for organizations. For example, schools with a more diverse student body experience superior educational outcomes. Similarly, in business, employee racial or gender diversity predicts higher sales revenue and market share.   
White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer responded to questions regarding the lack of diversity by stating that this cabinet is diverse; it has a “diversity of thinking…diversity of ideology.”  This is an example of how diversity acts as “Happy Talk,” a way people can show off their affections for modern equality without any attention to existing inequality. In short, many people talk about “diversity” in abstract ways, but avoid any real discussion of race, gender, and the like.
This inattention toward issues of race, gender, sexuality, and other axes of oppression can take the “oomph” out of claims to diversity and misses its original intent: increasing access for marginalized groups. Ellen Berrey succinctly describes the effects of watered down, amorphous diversity as “taming demands for racial justice.” As the remaining 5,000 cabinet sub-positions are filled, pay attention to whether these selections are diverse and what kind of “diversity” they really represent.
Photo by Robert Couse-Baker, Flickr CC
Photo by Robert Couse-Baker, Flickr CC

The U.S. Supreme Court is currently hearing arguments for Peña-Rodriguez v. Colorado, a case concerning allegations of racial bias in jury deliberations. Many states prohibit hearing juror testimony following the conclusion of a trial; however, following the deliberations of Peña-Rodriguez’s case, two jurors signed affidavits attesting to racial bias by a fellow juror. They allege that the juror referred to an alibi witness as discreditable because he was “an illegal,” and asserted that the defendant was guilty “because he’s Mexican.” After initially being struck down by both the trial judge and the Colorado Supreme Court, Peña-Rodriguez is now making his case to the highest court, a task which research suggests may prove extremely challenging.

In her book The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander illustrates why challenging racial bias in juries is so difficult. Despite the passage of laws such as Batson v. Kentucky, which prohibits prosecutors from discriminating on the basis of race when selecting juries, both prosecutors and defense attorneys are allowed peremptory strikes, or the ability to strike potential jurors for just about any reason they choose. Challenging instances of racial bias is even more difficult following the Supreme Court decision in Purkett v. Elm, which ruled that even if there is a pattern of striking a particular racial group by a prosecutor, providing any race-neutral reason (the prosecutor in this case used hair length) is enough to justify that the decision is not based on race.
Moreover, it is not just legal precedents that solidify racial bias, but also the initial selection process itself that is discriminatory. Potential jurors are drawn from registered voters or Department of Motor Vehicle lists, which contain fewer minorities. Forty-seven states also restrict the rights of felons to serve on juries, which disproportionately limits the presence people of color. Most states and the federal government place a lifetime exclusion for felonies, which automatically bans nearly 30 percent of adult black men from jury service.
In short, jury selection is not only inherently racially biased, but many Supreme Court decisions appear to support a system of racial discrimination rather than dismantle it. As a result, legal precedents such as the rules of evidence may bolster, or at the very least shield, racial bias within jury deliberations.
Photo by Jon S, Flickr CC
Photo by Jon S, Flickr CC

The ways that non-Western victims of violence and poverty are portrayed in the news is problematic. For example, on the 6th of October this year, The New York Times had an above-the-fold image of migrants on its front page. The image was of several dead and dying African migrants on a boat and, troubling as this may be, the image was not an anomaly. Consider the images we have recently seen from Syria — from the drowned child on the beach to the dazed child covered in dust pulled out of a bombed building. Social scientists explains how the choice to use these kinds of images is neither an objective nor an accidental process.

News images are rarely meant to teach us something new, rather, they are meant to reaffirm what we already know while tugging at our heartstrings. Nowhere is this more evident than during instances of instability and violence in the Global South. Even in death and suffering, non-Western victims are denied their privacy; their pain is meant to be consumed by the audience while reaffirming real and symbolic differences.
Images of pain and suffering are less about an increase in “bad” things happening and more about how  we understand the consumption of pain, suffering, and death of victims that are “Other.” They allow us to consume the pain of others from the comfort of our living rooms while reminding us of how “good” we have it.
In the case of Africa and Africans especially, the use of images has a long and troubled history. Research continually shows that images of Africans are often steeped in stereotypes of Africans as simplistic, tribal, “noble savages,” and primitive.
The defining images of 1960s Africa are of starving Biafran children. The image of the 1990s is that of a vulture stalking an emaciated Sudanese child near the village of Ayod in South Sudan by Kevin CarterSuch images often reaffirm stereotypes of the continent and its peoples as ‘starving’, ‘chaotic’, or ‘sick’. This history makes it possible to plaster images of dead and dying migrants on a boat across the front page of an American newspaper with little to no discussion of the structural factors leading to their deaths.
Photo by Andres Juarez, Flickr CC
Photo by Andres Juarez, Flickr CC

Marvel’s new series focusing on superhero Luke Cage debuted on Netflix in late September to critical acclaim. The show boasts a 95% rating on RottenTomatoes and was called “one of the most socially relevant and smartest shows on the small screen you will see this year,” by Deadline.com’s Dominic Patten. Aside from its artistic merits, commentaries also praise the prominence of Luke Cage as a “bulletproof black man in a hoodie,” with the show’s star Michael Colter telling The Huffington Post: “It’s a nod to Trayvon, no question … Trayvon Martin and people like him. People like Jordan Davis, a kid who was shot because of the perception that he was a danger. When you’re a black man in a hoodie all of a sudden you’re a criminal.”

Comic books and comic book culture have slowly become more diverse as companies like Marvel have begun prioritizing the inclusion of racial minorities in their stories. Kamala Khan, a Muslim teen, has replaced the white hero Carol Danvers as Ms. Marvel. The hero replacing Iron Man is a black teen named Riri Williams. And Miles Morales, a black Hispanic teen, replaced the white Peter Parker as Spider-Man. Yet despite its recent progressive slant, Marvel and other comic companies have had issues with racial stereotyping, particularly with their black heroes. Marc Singer describes how the medium of comics relies on racialized representations, with appearance being a major way to distinguish characters from one another. 
This is also heavily tied up in the portrayal of superheroes as super-masculine. When the racial aspect of this dynamic is uncovered, we see a complicated history. Rob Lendrum traces these heroes to the “blaxploitation” era of film/media in the 1970s, arguing that many superheroes were influenced by this culture, including Luke Cage. Jeffrey A. Brown sees these images as one-note and compares them to the black-owned works of Milestone Media Inc. comics.
Sequim Bay Late afternoon at Sequim Bay, Washington (as seen from the Jamestown S'Klallam Indian Reservation). Photo by Jan Tik, Flickr CC
Late afternoon at Sequim Bay, Washington (as seen from the Jamestown S’Klallam Indian Reservation). Photo by Jan Tik, Flickr CC

Today some cities are celebrating Indigenous People’s Day in an attempt to counter the celebration of Columbus’ arrival in the Americas that led to years of disease, death, and the removal of native peoples from their homes. One thing to reflect on is how this turbulent past has had lasting health effects for Native Americans. According to the Indian Health Service (IHS), Native Americans and Alaskan Natives have a lower life expectancy than any other US racial group and they are more likely to die from heart disease, cirrhosis, and suicide.

Social science researchers point to a number of social and historical factors that help explain the high suicide rates for Native Americans, including racial discrimination, a long history of colonial exploitation, poor health outcomes, and poor communities. Many of these communities also lack access to quality reproductive healthcare, a disparity that researchers associate with high rates of c-sections among Native American women giving birth.
Poor health outcomes are also closely related to environmental injustice. The remote areas of land originally chosen for Native American reservations tended to be lands that were least attractive to White Americans, but perfect for military testing. The US military used adjoining lands and sometimes seized reservation lands to test military equipment, leaving toxic and dangerous materials in close proximity to Native American land. Native Americans living in areas with high levels of pollution attribute various health problems in their communities to pollutants, but are often unable to validate their concerns through institutional channels.

 

Photo by G20 Voice, Flickr CC
Photo by G20 Voice, Flickr CC

In lieu of the recent fatal police shootings in cities such as Tulsa, Charlotte, and most recently, El Cajon, California, communities are coming together to demand changes in law enforcement interactions. Of particular concern is police surveillance and the subsequent criminalization of minor offenses. “Problem-oriented policing” – which focuses on a community’s “hot spots” and requires police to be more proactive in identifying where crime might happen, as opposed to just reacting after a crime takes place – has been offered as a possible solution. But does problem-oriented policing actually reduce crime? Social science research helps us sort out the potential benefits and pitfalls to problem-oriented policing.

The research record is mixed. Studies evaluating problem-oriented policing programs in Jersey City and Los Angeles showed reductions in serious crimes, such as property crime, robbery, and drug selling, as well nuisance crimes associated with homelessness. Others, however, show no signs of decrease in the number of reported crime rates. Scholars suggest that problem-oriented policing may only have an impact in areas of severe crime and distrust of law enforcement.  
Additional concerns with problem-oriented policing is its effect on marginalized communities. Both observed environmental cues and implicit racial and ethnic biases affect people’s perception of neighborhood disorder. As such, neighborhoods with high concentrations of racial/ethnic minorities are perceived as having more disorder, and consequently viewed as more dangerous and violent. Residents living in neighborhoods marked by perceived disorder are themselves labeled as threats by law enforcement, perpetuating and reproducing urban inequality and cultural stereotypes.