Public Criminology: Reimagining Public Education and Research Practice [1st ed. 2023] 3031421663, 9783031421662

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Public Criminology Reimagining Public Education and Research Practice

Edited by Debbie Jones · Mark Jones Kate Strudwick · Anthony Charles

Public Criminology “This highly accessible, innovative and engaging book brings together a unique collection of key work by experienced and early career researchers and educators who have been at the fore of empirical and practice work in relation to understanding ‘Public Criminology’. This original collection represents significant theoretical, methodological, pedagogical and practice contributions to shine a much-needed light on the role and impact of Public Criminology in teaching and research practice.” —Dr. Cheryl Allsop, Senior Lecturer in Criminology University of South Wales “This important and valuable new collection takes the ongoing dialogue about ‘public criminology’ in two new directions. Rather than focusing on relationships between criminology and criminal justice policy and practice, the editors and contributors ask what it means to practice public criminology in how we research and in how we teach. In a sense then, this book invites us to attend to our own house, to our core tasks; and to clarify what it means in these activities to work for the public good or for what we Scots call ‘the common weal’. As such, this is a timely book that should be of great interest anyone committed to exploring whether and how criminology can contribute to the development of safer and more just societies in which people and communities can thrive.” —Professor Fergus McNeill, Associate Director of SCCJR and Professor of Criminology and Social Work, University of Glasgow “For any discipline, the challenge is to move beyond its borders into the messy territory of practice, of partnerships, of engaging with the constituents of the discipline rather than just its proponents. This book engages thoughtfully and practically with this challenge, bringing the experience of its authors in all its messy incompleteness back to criminology and making the science respond to those to whom it is responsible.” —Professor Howard Sercombe, Head of School of Social Work, Excelsia College, Sydney

Debbie Jones · Mark Jones · Kate Strudwick · Anthony Charles Editors

Public Criminology Reimagining Public Education and Research Practice

Editors Debbie Jones Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy Swansea University Swansea, UK Kate Strudwick Lincoln Academy of Learning and Teaching University of Lincoln Lincoln, UK

Mark Jones Higher Plain Research & Education Swansea, UK Anthony Charles Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy Swansea University Swansea, UK

ISBN 978-3-031-42166-2 ISBN 978-3-031-42167-9 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9

(eBook)

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover credit: Alexander Spatari This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank Alison Duncan for her patience and expertise in the development of this book. Alison provided the editors and authors with support to ‘polish’ the chapters as part of the copy-editing process. Her skill and attention to detail were very much appreciated by all.

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Contents

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Introduction Kate Strudwick, Debbie Jones, Mark Jones, and Anthony Charles

Part I

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Research Methodologies and Academic Activism

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Public Criminology: A Conversation Kathrine Johnson and Helen Jones

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Making Criminology Public: Public Education and the Student Sex Work Project Debbie Jones, Tracey Sagar, and Elaine Forde

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The Impact of Children’s Engagement in Public Education in Criminology Anthony Charles and Phatsimo Mabophiwa

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Community Sanctions and Measures—Public Criminology as a Counter to Marginality Matt Tidmarsh

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Contents

Inside-Out as Public Criminology: The Ripple Effect Revisited Katherine Pickering and Joey Whitfield

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True Dissemination of Knowledge Doesn’t Gather Dust on a Library Shelf Victoria Silverwood

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Part II 8

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Public Criminology and Pedagogical Practice

Public Criminology in the Australian Higher Education Classroom: Bringing Criminology and History Together Through Citizen Social Science Victoria Nagy, Nancy Cushing, and Alana Piper Higher Education’s Role in Public Criminology: Students as Producers Kate Strudwick and Suzanne Young Public Criminology in an Acute Setting and the Development of an Academic Criminological Career Joseph Janes Advancing Prison Education Through Partnership Working and Public Criminology Kirsty Teague, Paul Hamilton, and Anne O’Grady

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Revitalising a Partisan Public Criminological Pedagogy Marc Jacobs

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#PublicCriminology on Twitter Christopher J. Schneider

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Using Lived Experiences of the Criminal Justice System to Educate and Train Criminal Justice Practitioners in Anti-Racism and Cultural Competency: A Conversation with Jacob Henry facilitated by Mark Jones Jacob Henry and Mark Jones

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Contents

Part III 15

Concluding Thoughts

Conclusion Anthony Charles, Kate Strudwick, Mark Jones, and Debbie Jones

Index

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Notes on Contributors

Anthony Charles Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Youth Justice and Children’s Rights at Swansea University. Co-Director of the Observatory on the Human Rights of Children and Empowerment and Engagement Lead for the Children’s Legal Centre Wales, he is actively engaged in research concerning public education in Criminology, the development of participatory methodologies for children, novel applications of the UNCRC and devolution and youth justice. He has and continues to supervise a number of Ph.D. students in the areas of devolution and youth justice, children’s rights and responsibilities, adverse childhood experiences and prevention and intervention approaches. He also teaches at master’s level on youth justice and children’s rights and at undergraduate level concerning law, criminal justice and human rights. Nancy Cushing Ph.D., is Associate Professor in History at the University of Newcastle in beautiful Awabakal and Worimi country. An environmental historian whose interests range from coal mining to human-other animal relations, she was co-editor of Animals Count: How Population Size Matters in Animal-Human Relations (Routledge, 2018).

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Her book A History of Crime in Australia: Australian Underworlds (Routledge, 2023) grew out of a successful undergraduate History course, which has attracted over a thousand students in its online format. She is on the executives of the Australian Historical Association and the Australia Aotearoa New Zealand Environmental History Network. Elaine Forde Ph.D., is Lecturer in the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, Swansea University, and Visiting Faculty at Princess Nourah University, KSA. Her research interests include public participation in policy making, community engagement with science, technology and infrastructure, and participatory action research. As well as writing in academic books and journals, she has developed resources for community engagement and contributed to media, projects and legal cases concerning environmental and land activism. Paul Hamilton Ph.D., is a Principal Lecturer in Criminology, Nottingham Trent University. His research is underpinned by an interest in—and commitment to—the intersection between social and criminal justice. His research has included projects on disability hate crime, prison-community transitions, probation mentoring and the impact of educational interventions in reducing knife crime. Jacob Henry is Co-founder of Vibe Youth CIC which is a social enterprise based in Swansea that specialises in supporting children and young people’s well-being. He also runs Fully Dedicated Training & Consultancy, which supports organisations to become anti-racist and culturally competent. He is also a panel member for the Independent Oversight and Advisory Board for the anti-Racism Action Plan for the criminal justice system in Wales. He started engaging with young people as a volunteer after my release from custody in 2014 and uses his experience and expertise in youth work, counselling concepts, coaching and neuro-linguistic programming to support young people in understanding the emotional root cause of problematic issues. He creates safe spaces for individuals to feel comfortable and confident to explore difficult events they may have experienced or may be experiencing. He encourages others to be aware of their own worldviews and values and support in developing positive attitudes towards young people and cultural differences.

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Marc Jacobs is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice, University of Portsmouth. He has contributed to publications and discussions on teaching criminology in higher education and abolitionism. This has been done in tandem with Marc refining his craft of enthusing students with a delight of engaging with criminological theory and expanding their critical imagination. He sees himself as an activist criminologist in so far his pedagogic practice seeks to stimulate students to be critically and politically enlivened whilst also instilling an optimism that they can make a positive impact on the social world by developing in students a sense of humility and critical empathy. Joseph Janes Ph.D., is a Criminology Lecturer within the Criminology, Social Policy, and Sociology Department at Swansea University. He is a member of the Children’s Rights Research and Innovative Youth Justice Groups, as well as working with the Global Drug Policy Observatory, with a keen interest in harm reduction and substance misuse research alongside working with practitioners to identify hidden populations and share the voices of those who are overlooked in policy and process. His doctoral research focused on youth justice in Wales, particularly the role and influence of Welsh youth offending teams in the context of pre-devolution youth justice. Before beginning an academic career at Swansea University, he worked in a practice-based environment at Llamau, supporting vulnerable young people to resettle into housing and offering career and professional development support. He has developed this emphasis on employability as the Employability Lead for the School of Social Sciences. Kathrine Johnson Ph.D., is an Associate Professor of Criminology & Criminal Justice at the University of West Florida. Having previously taught at Kentucky State University, she has been in higher education for over 30 years. Her teaching responsibilities include a variety of courses at the undergraduate and graduate levels. For about a decade, she had the opportunity to collaborate internationally on virtual projects with my students, students from around the UK and other US students. Her primary research agenda flows from correctional and pedagogical

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interests. Her publications include habitual offender sentencing, 10-20Life sentence enhancements in Florida, the impact of inmate holds on jails, training of law enforcement personnel and validation of a pretrial assessment. Her pedagogical interests and publications include distance and online learning, high-impact practices, capstone experiences and writing-intensive courses. Her current research considers the Emotional Intelligence of correctional officers in the US. Debbie Jones is a Professor of Criminology and Head of the School of Social Sciences at Swansea University. Prior to beginning her academic career in 2008, she was a Police Officer with the Metropolitan Police specialising in major crimes and child protection. Alongside Professor Tracey Sagar, she has been researching regulation of the sex industry since 2008. More recently, she has turned her attention to the role of Higher Education in facilitating desistance from offending. Throughout her research, she has focused on developing methodologies that are both inclusive and creative and has endeavoured to make academic research accessible to the community through a series of public education activities. She was co-editor of Student Sex Work. International Perspectives and Implications for Policy and Practice (Palgrave Macmillan, 2022). Helen Jones Ph.D., career has taken her from campus universities, to online teaching, to a discipline lead role with the Higher Education Academy, working at the British Society of Criminology and now teaching with the Open University. She continues to be fascinated by what students bring with them to the learning environment. Working with universities in the UK and the US has provided her with understanding of other jurisdictions. Her research work has taken her to many parts of the world. She advised the UK government on several legislative consultations, including the Sex Offences Act 2003. All this influenced her teaching practice, which has always contained a curiosity about how students engage with their studies and take that knowledge forward. Widening participation and accessible learning are her key interests. She has witnessed the ability of students to overcome barriers to learning and she remains mindful that for many the journey is hazardous.

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Mark Jones is Director, Higher Plain Research & Education & Visiting Professor, Centre for Criminology, University South Wales. He is an educationalist with over 25 years’ experience with the last 15 years’ working within the Higher Education sector specialising in youth and community practice, public criminology, education and desistance, and using reflective practice and inclusive research and engagement approaches to support his work. He is currently working with the Criminal Justice Board for Wales and in 2022 was the lead author for the new Anti-Racist Action plan for the Criminal Justice System in Wales. He works alongside partners in the Ministry of Justice, HMPPS, Youth Justice, Police, Public Health Wales, and within Higher Education, supporting the development and delivery of Anti-Racist practice, and desistance approaches in Wales. He is a Senior Fellow of the Higher Education Academy and a professionally qualified youth and community practitioner. He is a member of the British Society of Criminology and the Social Research Association. Previously, he was an Associate Professor in Education and Head of the Department for Adult Learning at Swansea University and prior to that was a Senior Lecturer in Youth and Community Practice at Cardiff Metropolitan University. Phatsimo Mabophiwa Ph.D. is the Programme Director for Criminology at Swansea University, where she has taught Criminology since 2016. She is a member of the Observatory on Human Rights of Children, Swansea University Public Engagement forum, and has recently been nominated for Senate. Specialising in participatory research and co-productive research, she is passionate about championing the voices of the people. Children’s rights have always been close to her heart and she has volunteered as a Referral Order Panel Member for the Youth Offending Service. Her research for her Ph.D. focused on the rights and responsibilities of children and young people; empirical work that has children’s participation at its core. This was inspired by the young people she worked with over the years. She is part of a doctoral supervisory team for a Ph.D. candidate exploring the area of adverse childhood experiences and prevention and intervention approaches.

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Victoria Nagy Ph.D., is Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of Tasmania. Her research interests are about gender and criminality, especially women’s violent offending and incarceration (both historical and contemporary), as well as criminological explanations for academic misconduct and integrity, popular culture, gender and crime, and wellbeing in the corrections landscape. She is an investigator on an Australian Research Council-funded project investigating Australia’s history of criminal deportations. She has two major publications forthcoming: one is a co-edited collection on women’s offending in Australia and New Zealand (Routledge, late 2023) and the other a monograph about male sexual violence victimisation on screen (Emerald, late 2023). She established the Australian and New Zealand Historical Criminology Network in 2019. Anne O’Grady Ph.D., is a Principal Lecturer in Education, Nottingham Trent University. Her research advocates for a dialogic, social justice, approach to education that provides space for people to make informed choices for their future. She focuses on providing a voice to educationally marginalised groups; particularly prisoners, to consider the role, value and purpose of education for them. Katherine Pickering is a first-year Ph.D. student at Cardiff University looking at culture wars in South America with a focus on feminist and neoconservative lobby groups in South America. Previously, she has investigated the effects of violence against women in politics and the implementation of gender-sensitive legislation. Currently, she is interested in the dynamics between feminist and LGBTQIA+ activists and neoconservative/religious counter-activism. Alana Piper Ph.D., is Lecturer in Social and Political Sciences at the University of Technology Sydney, located within its Australian Centre for Public History. Her research interests draw together the social and cultural history of crime with criminological, legal and digital humanities approaches. Author of over 40 academic publications, she is currently an investigator on the ARC Discovery project ‘Sex and the Australian Military, 1914–2020’ (2021–2023) and is also working on a history of community disadvantage in Darlinghurst (monograph forthcoming with NewSouth, 2024).

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Christopher J. Schneider Ph.D., is an award-winning Professor of Sociology at Brandon University. His research focuses on how developments in media and technology contribute to changes in social interaction and social control. He has written or collaborated on six books and has published over 100 scholarly papers, opinion pieces, reviews and essays. His most recent book is Defining Sexual Misconduct: Power, Media, and #MeToo (co-authored with Stacey Hannem) (University of Regina Press, 2022). The book was named in The Hill Times’ Best Books of 2022. He has received award recognition for his research, teaching and contributions to public scholarship including the 2017 Canadian Criminal Justice Association’s Public Education Award. Most recently, he is the 2022 recipient of Brandon University’s Senate Award for Excellence in Research. A frequent contributor to media, his work has appeared in hundreds of news segments and reports including the New York Times and the Washington Post. Victoria Silverwood Ph.D., is an academic, qualitative researcher and lecturer in Criminology at Swansea University. Her Ph.D. thesis (2016) detailed her ethnographic research with a professional ice hockey team focusing on the ways in which culture perpetuates the use of legitimised violence in the sport. More recently, her work has focused on the harms associated with contact sport such as the commodification and consumerism of sport in late capitalist society. She is the founder and co-director of SCORSS, the Swansea Centre of Research into Sport and Society, and has developed the UK’s first course in Critical Sports Criminology at Swansea University School of Social Sciences. She is committed to public criminology, has contributed to the feature documentary ‘Ice Guardians’ (2016) and has conducted interviews with local, national and international media on the topic of violence and concussion in a range of sports. In 2023, she was invited to speak at Hay Festival on the topic of ‘The Crisis in Concussion: How can Sport Respond?’. Tracey Sagar Ph.D., is a Professor of Criminology at Swansea University. She was Principle Investigator on The Student Sex Work Project (TSSWP), leading the project’s innovation and engagement strategy. For over twenty years, she has worked with a variety of partners and agencies on a range of projects that focus predominantly on sex work in Wales.

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The primary focus of her research has been to reduce the harms experienced by sex workers, through projects that are designed to support and empower sex workers. Working with Professor Debbie Jones, she has delivered harm reduction training to hundreds of professionals and stakeholders across Wales and England, as well as leading public symposiums, workshops and community-based initiatives with the aim of reducing stigma against sex workers. Kate Strudwick is Professor of Student Engagement and Dean of Teaching and Learning at the University of Lincoln, UK. As a longstanding member of the British Society of Criminology Learning and Teaching Network and Principal Fellow of the HEA, her expertise focuses upon student engagement, employability and partnerships with Policing. She has published extensively on co-creation and co-development of teaching and learning through Student as Producer. She co-edited Teaching Criminology and Criminal Justice—Challenges for Higher Education (Palgrave) in 2022. Kirsty Teague is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of Derby (since January 2023), having previously worked at Nottingham Trent University from 2016 to 2023. Her doctoral research focuses on the rehabilitation and reintegration of individuals with sexual convictions post-release from prison. Her professional activities (teaching, research and practice) are aligned with this focus, being a Trustee of the Safer Living Foundation. Her work is informed by public criminology, in particular a commitment to social justice. Matt Tidmarsh Ph.D., is a Lecturer in Criminal Justice at the School of Law, University of Leeds. His research interests are interdisciplinary, drawing from criminology, sociology and penology. He completed his Ph.D. at the School of Law, University of Leeds, in November 2019. His thesis explored the part-privatisation of probation services in England and Wales through the Transforming Rehabilitation (TR) reforms. His current research focuses on the recent ‘unification’ of probation, after services were re-nationalised in June 2021. More specifically, it draws upon the sociology of the professions literature as a framework to enhance theoretical and empirical understanding of ‘professionalism’ in

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probation, and how it is (re)shaped by broader changes in the penal field. He is also the Programme Leader for the B.A. (Hons) Criminal Justice and Criminology degree at the University of Leeds and a Fellow of the Higher Education Academy. Joey Whitfield Ph.D., is a Senior Lecturer in Hispanic Studies at Cardiff University. His research is about the relationship between culture, crime and punishment, especially in relation to Latin American literature and film. His is the author of Prison Writing of Latin America which compares texts written by political and ‘common’ prisoners from Cuba, Peru, Mexico, Costa Rica, Bolivia and Brazil. He is now working on the cultural politics of the ‘War on Drugs’. He has also been involved in prison education and collaborative projects with grassroots groups which use creative methodologies, especially writing, to support people imprisoned in Mexico and the UK. Suzanne Young Ph.D., is a Professor of Criminal Justice in the School of Law at the University of Leeds. She is a Senior Fellow of the Higher Education Academy, Chair of the British Society of Criminology Learning and Teaching Network and Director of the Centre for Innovation and Research in Legal Education at the University of Leeds. Her scholarship interests are in the areas of student engagement, active learning and technology-enhanced learning.

List of Figures

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

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Fig. 4.2 Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

4.3 4.4 4.5 6.1 6.2 8.1

New insights gained by professionals and policy makers Attitude change amongst professionals and policymakers What our audiences learned—a thematic overview Response to the question, ‘Do you know what your class charter says?’ Response to the question, ‘How does other children’s behaviour stop your learning?’ The Rhodri mascots Instances of grey in spring and summer term 2019 School exclusion data post-behaviour code implementation The ripple effect Sampling Assessment details

51 51 53 77 78 81 84 85 132 134 179

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1 Introduction Kate Strudwick, Debbie Jones, Mark Jones, and Anthony Charles

Introduction The work of Loader and Sparks (2010) has raised questions about the role of Criminology in bringing criminological knowledge into public debate, with the ultimate aim of achieving changes in attitudes, K. Strudwick Lincoln Academy of Learning and Teaching, University of Lincoln, Lincoln, UK e-mail: [email protected] D. Jones (B) · A. Charles Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] A. Charles e-mail: [email protected] M. Jones Centre for Criminology, University South Wales, Swansea, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_1

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political discourses and crucially, policy. Indeed, it is fair to say that the discussion on the role of Criminology to bring about change has morphed into something that is commonly termed, ‘Public Criminology’ or ‘Criminologies’. However, whilst there has been a flurry of publications (Henne & Shah, 2020; Loader & Sparks, 2010; Ruggiero, 2012; Rock, 2014) that seek to explore what it means to be ‘Public’ about Criminology, many of the publications have focused the role of Criminology within the Criminal Justice System. There is also an interest in the influence Criminology can have in developing policy and practice that reflects the ‘truth’ of empirical endeavour, rather than the notions of Administrative Criminology and the lack of challenge to the state. However, whilst the progressive nature of Public Criminology has been acknowledged in terms of its influence on critical criminologists and some areas policy and practice development, it might be argued that the discussion so far has been limited to these areas. In an endeavour to build on existing discussion about Public Criminology, the authors of this edited book brought together colleagues from across the globe who have sought to further discussions around two themes: Research Methodologies and Academic Activism; and Public Criminology and Pedagogical Practice. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to outline the rationale for this book and to describe the overall themes and the contributing chapters. However, the chapter begins by considering what Public Criminology is.

Defining Public Criminology To begin our discussion on how the term Public Criminology has been understood we start by considering how Criminology can be defined. Rock (2014, p. 412) offers the visually stimulating definition that Criminology is like a ‘hydra-headed discipline’ that speaks to different audiences with different foci and thus has always had competing influences and aspirations, but ultimately that Criminology is focused on law, law breaking, and the reasons why people break the law. Whilst it might be argued that this definition is perhaps too simplistic, Rock (2014, p. 413) also emphasises the drive and interest of criminologists

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well (at least for many) as value-based practitioners trying to make the world a better place and reduce social harm and control and ‘protect, radicalize, repress, restrain, reform or rehabilitate the law-breaker’. Rock (2014) also argues that there is an increasing desire from criminologists to be more involved within the public domain by working within policy contexts and political arenas, despite the tensions that arise by bringing academia into such spaces; indeed, Rock finds there is a want and need for Public Criminology more than ever. So, for Rock (2014) Public Criminology is constructed in terms of working within policymaking arenas and political environments however more recently Tidmarsh (2022) developed this notion and proposed a discipline that seeks to change its marginality, to share in, inform, and influence the conversation. For Tidmarsh (2022, p. 7) Public Criminology operates or should ‘operate in the spaces where research, political and media debates, and social policy meet’. Therefore, whilst there are clear points of agreement between both authors Tidmarsh furthers the discussion by explaining that, in his view, Public Criminology is also a powerful discipline that is attempting to make understandings of crime and those that commit crime more objective and transparent using evidence-based practice that is committed to social justice and supporting empowerment of those that are often at the margins of society and disempowered. Moreover, in supporting the debate initiated by Loader and Sparks (2010), Tidmarsh (2022) highlights that more recently the definitions of what Public Criminology is have broadened and now is the time to ask ourselves, ‘what publics?’. For Tidmarsh (2022) those publics are additional audiences such as those with offending histories in prison environments and those engaged in probation support. We would add to this definition by putting forward a case to widen the pool of marginalised voices further through the inclusion of those with stigmatised identities such as sex workers or unheard voices such as children and young people through activist and engagement agendas. However, it is not lost on Tidmarsh (2022) that those that learn and engage with Criminology in higher education often graduate into roles within the criminal justice system and are a real hope for positive transformative change of it. The evolution of Public Criminology is, therefore,

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about the common conversations we have in everyday life and the development into a mainstream subject in tertiary and higher education. Such transformations are, therefore, explored and shared through this book, in which the authors question what Public Criminology currently is and some of the emerging spaces it is starting to inhabit. Indeed, the quote from McNeill (2019, p. 156) provides a focus for the views expressed by the authors within the book, ‘the role of the Public Criminologist is not to “mediate” between established authority and the marginalised, but to engage ‘others in forming and supporting social movements that contribute to democratic dialogue and deliberation’.

Public Criminology: Why This Book is Needed Ruggiero (2012) discusses the aims of Public Criminology to engage students through their own lives and experiences, towards ‘pursuing social change through collective action’ (2012, p. 151). It is indeed this promise, and potential, of the role of Public Criminology which can align discussions and practices conducted within the discipline. Public Criminology can be seen as a ‘bridge’, joining the civic nature of the discipline and its role to enhance social justice and empower learning and knowledge, whilst acknowledging the dual purpose to make change and have impact, whilst demonstrating the publicness of many key debates developed from the discipline. By acknowledging the challenges and questions associated with Public Criminology, realisations can identify its potential and currency as a specific field of study within the discipline of Criminology, which is arguably noteworthy. Conceptually, Public Criminology can address conflict, whilst distancing itself from mainstream Criminology, and it is indeed this breadth that allows it to appeal to a broad audience. This is the relevance with its purpose, its scalability as demonstrated in this edited text. This collection of works on pedagogical practice provides varied discourses which bring research and teaching together through a myriad of narratives and reflections of and on practice. By addressing the impact, and influence of Public Criminology on current

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practice in Criminology, this text provides insights into new directions for disciplinary debates. As leading academics in the area of Public Criminology we are very pleased to be able to dedicate time to bring together a collection of key work/scholars. Contributors have played a role in connecting empirical and practical work in relation to how ‘Public Criminology’ plays a part in teaching and the development of research methodologies that engender academic activism. The collection emerged following a oneday symposium on Public Criminologies organised by the British Society of Criminology Learning and Teaching Network in March 2021. This online event, hosted at The Hillary Rodham Clinton School of Law at Swansea University, in conjunction with the Welsh branch of the British Society of Criminology, showcased pedagogical work and current research practice that has been conducted under the banner of Public Criminology. This edited collection is, therefore, unique and charts a timely set of academic perspectives and practices on what can still be identified as an ongoing and evolving terrain from within the discipline of Criminology. Public Criminology remains to be an area which is evolving in existing literature (Tidmarsh, 2022). This text presents a collection of experienced, early career researchers and educators seeking to build and reflect on existing knowledge, whilst showcasing new studies that have explored Public Criminology in a variety of contexts. Indeed, the focus on reflection on the lived experience is a strong theme throughout the book offering perspectives from across the globe and within the UK. There is also a needed, useful and timely inclusion of gaining the insights from an author with lived experience of living ‘within’ the criminal justice system as an ‘offender’ who is now leading the development of it using his experiences to challenge, guide, and shape anti-racist practice in Wales. This text brings together contributions that all have value and substance in their narratives, shown through the efforts to further the relevance of such debates within society and the publicness of the discipline of Criminology. The level of originality presented in this book effectively showcases and shines a light on some of the challenges with inclusivity through its reflections on the role of the discipline for public engagement.

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This edited book has three core remits as part of its features. Firstly, it is the first collection to consider the topic of Public Criminology from primarily teaching and learning viewpoints, pedagogically bringing together both teaching and research practices. Secondly, the chapters have a broad audience, written to ensure they are accessible to students, researchers, policymakers, and service providers. Thirdly, the collections of chapters are a mix of empirical studies, reflections on methodological and dissemination approaches, and present critical commentaries about the role and impact of Public Criminology as a pedagogical tool to bring about change. In adopting such approaches to understanding the topic of Public Criminology, the reader is exposed to a variety of methods and critical thought that, to date, has remained unpublished. The scope of the chapters covers two core themes and is divided into two parts to reflect these: Theme one: ‘Research Methodologies and Academic Activism and theme two: Public Criminology and Pedagogical Practice. By introducing new directions for scholarly considerations, whilst seeking to prompt new and exciting questions about the role and impact of ‘Public Criminology’, this edited text is reflective, thought provoking, and debates issues which overlap several themes, coalescing to emphasise the transformative power of education in its civic duty.

Themes of the Book Theme One: Research Methodologies and Academic Activism. In the first theme, the chapters presented explore emerging theories endeavouring to stimulate debates on the role and place for academic activism. In Chapter 2, Jones and Johnson provide a narrative of pedagogical conversations which expands geographic locations, capturing where and how these discussions led to changes within the discipline. By exploring the challenges and the premises upon which accepted truths are constructed, their conversations address how and where Public Criminology has changed. Focusing discussions through the lens of their own positions of privilege, the authors examine how such changes, together with newly emerging theories and ways of understanding the world around us, are integrated into criminology, and why this is of interest

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to the critical academic. The authors share the same curiosity about the shifts that have occurred in the discipline and reflect on how criminological knowledge creation relates to the criminal justice professional, the educator, the policymaker, the public, and the future. In Chapter 3, Jones, Sagar, and Forde acknowledge the ongoing and heated debates about the public role of social scientists in their academic practice, and the extent to which this can be effectively transported into a wider role of influencing community services. By holding the position that it is unusual for academics to step outside of established research practices, the authors discuss their involvement and experiences as academics, researchers, multi-agency project developers, project leaders, and service providers with The Student Sex Work Project ( TSSWP). In exploring how such practices embrace Public Criminology, they present their research and discuss one of the outputs from the project—a film—The Fog of Sex and how this was used as a vehicle to achieve social change, emphasising the impact on social movement innovation. Seeking to stimulate debate regarding academic activism, the authors consider how as Public Criminology might be co-created with those with live experiences so that universities become more public and community based themselves. Chapter 4 explores the transformative nature of the discipline of Criminology and how it can empower and create change. Charles and Mabophiwa address some of the benefits from being part of multidisciplinary discipline, and consider the potential and capability of criminological knowledge, to challenge existing orthodoxies. The authors refer to how Criminology can resolve criminogenic tensions to inspire authentic change, in individuals and institutions. Their reflection focuses upon research undertaken in Swansea with primary school children, engaging them in a Public Criminology approach to learning. Addressing restorative practices, Public Criminology is considered alongside reflections on lessons learned and what children felt should happen in terms of the potential, future application of Public Criminology in their learning environments. In Chapter 5, Tidmarsh considers how despite the fact that Criminology has never been more popular as a subject of study in higher education, criminologists occupy an increasingly marginal position within

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political and media spheres. In his analysis, Tidmarsh explains how this marginalisation has manifested to the detriment of people with offending histories, an oppressed group whose number has grown exponentially after several decades of a tough-on-crime consensus on criminality. The resultant ‘mass imprisonment’ has occupied much criminological attention, which has meant the attendant ‘mass supervision’ of offenders in the community has been relatively underexplored—despite those subject to community sanctions and measures (CSM) far outweighing those imprisoned in many jurisdictions. This chapter utilises Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed to accentuate the transformative potential of teaching and learning practices within criminology, and CSM in particular, applying his writings to the literature on Public Criminology. Drawing from personal reflections as an academic criminologist engaged in teaching and research on CSM, the chapter advocates for a pedagogy of Public Criminology which can counter the marginality of the sub-field. Tidmarsh argues that that empowering students, as future criminal justice professionals, with the skills to be public-facing, active, and critical subjects can simultaneously enhance representations of CSM. In Chapter 6, Whitfield and Pickering explore the potential of InsideOut teaching from the perspectives of an Inside-Out teacher, a former ‘outside’ (undergraduate). Inside-Out teaching is where University level courses are delivered in prisons to mixed groups of imprisoned and undergraduate learners. This exploration of ‘transformative’ education is discussed as being focused on the transformation of individuals, whilst avoiding activism and policy change, but is purported to have dramatic impacts at the most micro of levels. The discussions address the possibility of change at the level of micro-publics and acknowledge the critique from proponents of prison reformists, or abolitionists, that Inside-Out’s has some dependence on the goodwill of prison authorities. Arguing that the content of its teaching can be seen as radical, the authors explore the empowering nature of the teaching. In Chapter 7, Silverwood discusses the possibilities of a world of open research, and challenges academia to allow itself to see the benefit of public engagement as a positive impact for living-breathing social science. Addressing the limitations for students’ access to university

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libraries within the pandemic, the author explores online sources and the role the media plays in broadening student and public engagement through real-world research. Reflecting upon the continually evolving multi-media forms of communication, new opportunities for engaging research to escape into the public world and impact wider society are addressed. In arguing that whilst some academic institutions have been reticent to see non-traditional forms of research dissemination as ‘real academic work’, there remains a great opportunity to release research findings to a wider audience through which there are opportunities for real impact and engagement, therefore rather than seen as the ‘dumbing-down’ of traditional ‘formal’ texts, such approaches can open up greater engagement with the subjects, participants and consumers of our research in new and exciting ways. The second theme ‘Public Criminology and Pedagogical Practice’ discusses the range of pedagogy practices, acknowledging the potential for education as a vehicle for change. In the first chapter of this theme (Chapter 8), Nagy, Cushing, and Piper draw on their experiences as educators and researchers in the University of Tasmania. Reflecting on a project that examined handwritten prisoner records held by the Public Records Office of Victoria, the authors explore the power and utility of adopting citizen social science as a tool both to engage student learners and to extend the impact of Public Criminology. In Chapter 9, authors Strudwick and Young explore the role and responsibility for educators to have broader engagement in the public domain through their teaching, arguing they should seek to have an influence outwardly to a wider audience, in essence the public. Whilst acknowledging that Public Criminology literature has largely omitted teaching and learning from its discussions, the chapter explores the important part students can play in Public Criminology, presenting exemplars of practice. Focusing upon collaborative education, through a case study of Student as Producer model, the chapter demonstrates the ways in which educators can engage students within, and beyond, the campus in the endeavour of publicness. Purporting that as criminologists we are in a position to engage with public discourse and debates in an authentic, realistic, and importantly relevant and critical manner, these

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considerations for pedagogy are timely in their focus to address moral dilemmas relevant to the publicness of Criminology. Chapter 10 reflects on the pedagogical journey from undergraduate student to masters and doctoral study at Swansea University. Janes discusses the stages in his learning journey by which developed teaching philosophy to formulate an applied Public Criminology teaching methodology which reimagines public education, working alongside vulnerable young people who are engaged in the youth justice system. Addressing aspects of his progression through theoretical lenses, Janes reflected upon how he engaged with social justice through an informed Public Criminology and youth work approach, engaging in public dialogue. By acknowledging a pattern of his own understanding the author takes the reader on a journey through learning, about formulation of policy, social action, and the power of informal education to transform and empower people. The reflection offers an insight into transformations through knowledge, when and how they can be empowering in practice through education. In Chapter 11, Teague, Hamilton, and O’Grady converse about the potential for education to act as a catalyst for improved social mobility, social justice, and societal growth. The chapter critically examines recent attempts to develop ‘innovative’ educational partnerships between prisons and Higher Education Institutions (HEI), by drawing on their experiences as HEI staff—bringing together university and prison-based students through an action research initiative known as Learning Together. As HEI educators delivering Learning Together across a diverse range of prison settings, the authors reflect on lessons learned in their own practice, that partnership working is imbued with a moral and cultural dimension. By presenting a recognition that a commitment to innovative educational practices is heavily shaped by occupational cultures that are ‘both complex and changeable’, but which left unchallenged can be an obstacle for (meaningful) change, the authors address the changes that can be made through such pedagogical practice. Chapter 12 presents a thought-provoking rendition of the role that educators have to communicate with a wider audience, the essence of Public Criminology. Jacobs reflects upon how students should be seen as civically and politically engaged citizens, demonstrated by those who

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become practitioners and have a contribution that challenges the authoritarian, bureaucratised, and securitised cultures that pervade crime and penal policies. The author argues that criminological educators should seize their role activating students to become civically aware agents of social change, presenting an outlook which should be more fully embraced in learning and teaching. Arguing that the extent to which students can be emboldened to become critical and insurgent voices of a controlling state rather than ‘compliant technicians’ and administrators of it, brings together debates raised in other chapters and explores the transformative notion and potential of Public Criminology. In Chapter 13, Schneider presents a study he conducted in relation to Public Criminology and media engagement. Making the point that Public Criminology is foremost concerned with public understandings of crime that can include engaging in forms of public education by providing expertise to journalists and participating in media debates about crime and related matters, Schneider notes that almost no attention has focused on social media or the use of hashtags in understanding the relationship between media engagement and Public Criminology. This gap in the research allows us to ask the following: Who uses #publiccriminology, and how it is used? And what can the use of the hashtag add to our understandings of Public Criminology, and the discipline of criminology, more generally? To answer the questions, Schneider gathered all tweets with #publiccriminology, a total of 441 over a period of eleven years and analysed them using qualitative media analysis. The empirical findings reveal that the hashtag was used by criminologists primarily as an identity marker rather than for the specific purposes of developing an online community or necessarily contributing to dialogical relations between criminologists and publics. The findings also raise some concerns about the pedagogical usefulness of #publiccriminology for bringing criminological materials into direct conversation with publics on Twitter. Chapter 14 captures a critical conversation with Jacob Henry cofounder of Vibe Youth CIC, and Fully Dedicated and Mark Jones director at Higher Plain Research and Education and visiting Professor at the Centre for Criminology at University South Wales. Jacob and

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Mark are both currently providing education and training for professionals within the Criminal Justice System in Wales on Anti-Racism and cultural competency. Jacob reflects on his own journey from childhood to adulthood living in the East of London and his initiation to a local gang and his experiences of the criminal justice system. Jacob offers an open and honest narrative to his engagement at every point, and with every organisation of the criminal justice system, and how, as a young Black person and later as an adult he was regularly discriminated against. Jacob has spent several years within a prison environment and experienced racism within prison and throughout the criminal justice system, as well as the racism he still faces within society today. Jacob uses his experiences of his former life within an east London gang and being involved in gang violence and the drugs trade to support his work. Jacob now uses his story to support the development of individual and organisational approaches to anti-racist practice and cultural competence that he should have had and needed within the criminal justice system to better support his journey and turn his life around. Jacob contributes an important chapter on how those with lived experiences can be and should be central to our understanding of Criminology. Jacob offers that when such voices are listened to, heard, and acted upon it supports academic understandings, applications to developing practice, realistic policy development, and ultimately supports the system to better meet the needs of those engaged ‘within’ the criminal justice system who face significant challenges and barriers in their lives and have often been excluded from a variety of spaces in their lives. Enabling those with lived experiences to lead us can be a significant force for Public Criminology to support transformative change within the criminal justice institutions and systems that create, maintain, and perpetuate inequality and oppression. The final chapter of the book provides a conclusion and overall thoughts of the editors. It brings together themes from the chapters and provide considerations on the lessons learnt and practical advice and tips arising from areas of best practice, while identifying the transformative potential of Public Criminologies.

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References Henne, K & Shah, R. (2020). The Routledge handbook of public criminologies. London Routledge. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2010). Public criminology? Routledge. McNeill, F. (2019). Pervasive punishment: Making sense of mass supervision. Bingley. Rock, P. (2014). The public faces of public criminology. Criminology & Criminal Justice, 14 (4), 412–433. https://doi.org/10.1177/174889581350 9638 Ruggiero, V. (2012). How public is public criminology? Crime, Media, Culture, 8(2), 151–160. Tidmarsh, M. (2022). A pedagogy of ‘public criminology’ as a counter to marginality? Lessons for community sanctions and measures from the Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Probation Journal , 0 (0). https://doi.org/10.1177/ 02645505221105394 Tonry, M. H. (2006). Criminology, mandatory minimums, and public policy. Criminology & Public Policy, 5, 45–56.

Part I Research Methodologies and Academic Activism

2 Public Criminology: A Conversation Kathrine Johnson and Helen Jones

Introduction What we hope to share with you in this chapter is the result of thoughts that have been circulating between us for years: almost two decades of accumulated conversations with each other, with colleagues, and with students. We owe any success we have had to this endless talking. Our conversations were sparked in three key ways. Firstly, our intellectual curiosity was piqued by Nils Christie at a Swedish conference in the early 2000s, at which he revisited arguments from his 1972 Osgoode Law School Lecture, ‘A Living Society is a Quarrelling Society’ (cited in Drake & Walters, 2015). Christie argued that intellectual tranquillity K. Johnson (B) The University of West Florida, Pensacola, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] H. Jones The Open University, Milton Keynes, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_2

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is counterproductive, and that a society is not living unless it engages in healthy quarrelling and intellectual conflict. We wanted to provoke healthy quarrelling amongst our students. Secondly, around the same time in the USA, Burawoy (2005) was discussing how public sociology was increasingly centred around ‘a battery of disciplinary techniques … and then policing one’s colleagues and successors to make sure we all march in step’ (2005, p. 5). For us, this lit a fuse about critical criminology and its intersection with a more public-focused pedagogy. The third issue we were each grappling with was the practical one of how we could bring an international experience to students who were too time-poor, or cash-poor, to take advantage of international exchange programmes. As a discipline, criminology in the early twenty-first-century UK found its pedagogic home with the Higher Education Academy’s Centre for Sociology, Anthropology, and Politics (C-SAP). The latter’s public focus and emphasis on student engagement suited many of the academics involved with C-SAP at the time, and in 2008 C-SAP invited Michael Burawoy to its annual conference. Burawoy (2008) spoke of public sociology as simple and defined it as the engagement with ‘publics in which each brings something to the table, and each learns and adjusts to the other in a relation of dialogue and reciprocity’ (2008, p. 2). These notions of shared learning and reciprocity enthused many, and connected with our own interests about public criminology. He saw these publics as including neighbourhood associations, trade unions, voluntary organisations, communities of faith, immigrants’ rights groups, and victims’ rights groups: groups we had experienced working with. He saw nothing complicated or controversial about public sociology, but rather saw it as a ‘reciprocal communication, a two-way dialogue’ (Burawoy, 2008, p. 4); in short, a conversation. Of course, like Christie, Burawoy recognised the controversies inherent in engaging with research while at the same time taking a critical stance towards disciplinary foundations: ‘It’s like playing chess while simultaneously questioning the rules of the game’ (Burawoy, 2008, p. 6). Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010) suggested public criminology is a term that refers to the call for criminologists to write and conduct studies in a way that engages the public. This entailed talking to, and with, the consumers of criminological scholarship, including students.

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So for us, public criminology was part of our teaching. Indeed, students constitute a large first tier public for criminology; they have actively sought us out, and have often paid good money to access our knowledge and expertise. However, engagement with students in universities during this period had developed into a mass-market enterprise of transmitting information and assessing understanding. This so-called massification of education was predicated on the notion of academics delivering their knowledge, based on their research, and the audience (students) accepting this version of reality, together with the hierarchies of value assigned to these forms of knowledge. This was certainly not the two-way dialogue suggested by Burawoy. We each work with diverse student groups. These include traditionalstyle students studying for a degree within higher education, and community groups such as voluntary organisations working with survivors of sexual and domestic violence. A third group we both teach are adults at the post-retirement stage of their lives. Every individual within each group brings something valuable to the table. Central to our teaching practice is the belief that educators are public servants. Our job is to serve the people we welcome into our classrooms, both face-toface and digital. We see our obligations as educators, not as guardians of knowledge, but as the individuals responsible for developing a sense of community, and of mutual support. In this chapter, we use our own teaching as examples to probe issues related to public criminology, including using online technologies in enhancing the student experience, reaching out beyond the classroom, challenging the myths and mistruths commonly associated with the criminal justice system, taking criminology to older adults, and the benefits and expectations for learners. The aim of this chapter is to add new perspectives to the literature on public criminology and the topic of lifelong learning.

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Definitions Hamilton (2013, p. 22) has argued there is no single definition of public criminology on which all criminologists agree, while Carrabine (2009, p. 453) offers a description of public criminology as ‘working in the spaces where policy and practice meet’. Writing as part of a collective response to the publication of Public Criminology? (Loader & Sparks, 2011), Sim (2011) suggests that: rather than striving for the grand narrative, grand theory, grand methodological innovation or the grand research grant, if criminology is to make a positive difference, then perhaps grand gestures should be scaled down and replaced with something that might appear more prosaic but is no less powerful. (2011, pp. 726–727)

His argument is that this could be achieved through teaching. Whilst agreeing with Sim (2011), our next question is, what type of teaching? Returning to Burawoy (2008, p. 9), he posited four types of teaching: teaching professional sociology, which is ‘transmitting knowledge’; vocational teaching, such as the training of police officers; critical teaching, where the student also becomes a teacher; and teaching as public sociology, which is ‘a pedagogy that starts out from the idea that students are themselves a public or a potential public’. Crucially for us, forming a potential public meant that teaching had to engage with students’ own lives, and that the students themselves had to be in conversation with one another. Our pedagogic practice brought students together across the boundaries of geographical distance to share their lived and learning experiences. Our aim was to forge ‘relationships of communication where ideas can be explored and opinions expressed and challenged’ (Jones et al., 2005, p. 168).

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Reaching Out to Ourselves and Our Students In the twenty-first century, the development of self-authored media has disturbed the power of universities to construct knowledge about crime and justice. The subject matter of such media may no longer focus exclusively on what the discipline had considered as ‘the problem of crime’—what Carrabine et al. (2020, p. 21) call the ‘dominant narratives of anxiety’—but instead pushes the boundaries to a wider range of public concerns about issues including risk and danger, harm and security, justice and rights. This goes beyond giving a view from below, or a voice to the voiceless, and has at its heart real potential for change. Our conversation started in an attempt to extend the reach of the classroom across geographical limits (Jones et al., 2005), bringing our UK and US students together using the technology of the day. This was born out of an initial pilot study completed at the University of West Florida (UWF) in 2001, which connected students from a criminal justice class with senior citizens enrolled in a lifelong learning crime class. We took this as inspiration to develop a virtual study-abroad experience, initially using email to engage students in weekly discussions and an endof-semester evaluation. In the late spring of 2004, UWF students joined with students at Manchester Metropolitan University (MMU) in the UK for a small-scale pilot using email as the communication medium. Over a six-week period, students communicated on a number of weekly topics, with a supporting scaffold of associated readings and teacher-led sessions in their home institution. Student feedback suggested the project had helped them to apply classroom knowledge, to develop effective communication and writing skills, and to present a persuasive (but grounded) opinion on crime-related topics. This concept of overcoming distance provided the springboard for projects over the next decade. The flexibility of the approach was appealing to other academics who had heard us present at conferences, and the initiative extended to include more universities in the UK and USA: the initiating partners (MMU and UWF) plus the UK universities of Brighton, Glasgow, and Westminster and, in the USA, the universities of North Carolina Wilmington, North Carolina Pembroke, California State Fresno, and York College Pennsylvania.

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Our pedagogic approach was based on Salmon’s (n.d.) five-step model of online learning, which moves from initial set-up and welcome, through to familiarisation and socialisation, information exchange, knowledge construction, and further development. Learning aims, mapped around the intended learning outcomes for each cohort of students, informed the method of assessment. Students experienced feelings of concern about the project expressed in their evaluation feedback: ‘Not wanting to show myself up I feel I’m doing more reading than I would normally’. There was a clear indication that some students felt they were representing their university (and maybe their country) and wanted to work harder and do well: ‘I have some “impressing” to do and that means extra reading to prepare’. The student discussions throughout each project were focused on the issues of the day. Students on both sides of the Atlantic took the project seriously, putting a great deal of time and commitment into exploring the topics in detail. One student remarked ‘this was the most difficult and also the most rewarding experience of my university career’. This was echoed by a majority of students on their evaluation forms. Even then, social media offered the potential for a public criminology that was truly dialogic. Over time, we moved away from email to a wiki and an online teaching platform (WebCT) with embedded discussion boards which helped us to cope with the increasing scale of the initiative. From our vantage point now, ten years after the last project, we can see that our belief in this approach was warranted. Our claim that as ‘time and space become relatively unimportant variables, the actual campus may be replaced by a more virtual campus’ (Jones et al., 2005, p. 168) can be seen in the hybrid teaching popularised in many universities since then, and increasingly post-COVID-19. So from the start, education has always been a conversation between ourselves and students, and the conversations we have about criminology in these settings are extensions of our own criminological experiences and curiosity—our criminological imaginations, as inspired by Mills (1959). The structures of our own lives shape our approach to talking about knowledge and connecting with larger political questions concerning the boundaries of the discipline, the marketisation of higher education, the restructuring of broader knowledge systems, and how we find a voice.

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Our student projects ran through a number of different iterations but always used the social media of the time and included questions designed to provoke good-humoured, intellectual quarrelling: a blend of criticality, inclusivity, and kindness. Extending the conversation to students in this way was all part of our sense of responsibility. We saw how this model could encourage public criminology as an activity that goes beyond the conventional boundaries and has a role in: . . . . . . .

creating spaces for people to come together, organising and hosting conferences, creating social media such as websites, blogs, and videos, circulating information and dispelling misinformation, responding to policy consultations and requests for information, engaging in funding bids, collaborating with members of associated networks.

Reaching Out Beyond the Classroom Our teaching practice is also informed by a range of bodies that we engage with professionally, through membership, attendance at conferences, and by publication. Some are closely related to our university roles. In the USA, there are two primary learned societies directly aligned with criminology, the American Society of Criminology (ASC) and the Academy of Criminal Justice Sciences (ACJS). The ACJS was established in 1963, shortly after the ASC. In the UK, the online history of the British Society of Criminology (BSC) charts its development and observes that ‘Ideological conflicts were frequent’ among members (History—British Society of Criminology, n.d.). However, this has been seen as a positive thing. Croall argues that it located the BSC as the ‘birthplace of a more critical and expansive criminology’. Disagreement and conflict can be seen as the hallmark of a vibrant discipline, based on principles of intellectual engagement and innovation. Part of the responsibility of the public criminologist is to acknowledge their own position of privilege, and to act to give back in multiple

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ways. In the UK, environmental criminology and zemiology were recognised for the first time in the 2014 Quality Assurance Agency for Higher Education criminology benchmarks statement. Criminologists acted as advisors on this review panel, and half of all the benchmarking panel were BSC members (Criminology Benchmarks, n.d.). This enabled us to have conversations on these newly emerging theories and perspectives. Prior to that point there had been little acknowledgement of either of these aspects of criminology within many university curricula. A similar picture can be found in the USA, as evidenced by the programme from the 2021 American Society of Criminology’s annual meeting. Critical criminology panels at this event included green, queer, convict, and cultural criminologies. Additionally, there were panels addressing other emerging perspectives such as trauma and mental health, and immigration and migration. Going beyond the classroom in this way allows us (as well as our students) to expand the topics of our conversations. Understanding our students as our ‘first public’ (Burawoy, 2008, p. 8) but not our only public can result in unexpected opportunities. The students are not simply engaged in the formal study of crime, but are also consumers of crime fiction and crime reporting on a myriad of other ‘lawful yet awful’ behaviours in society (Passas, 2005, p. 781). They exist outside of the classroom, and sometimes circumstances present opportunities to engage students publicly. One such occasion occurred at the 2018 BSC annual conference at Birmingham City University. Four students had taken on the role of volunteer guides for the span of the conference. Following casual (but fascinating) conversations with the student group, it was clear that Professor Jeff Ferrell’s keynote address had really engaged their criminological imaginations. In keeping with Ferrell’s (2018, p. 18) concept of ‘intensities of ephemeral association’, it felt appropriate to seize the moment and open up a conversation between Jeff and the students. This led to a sharing of ideas and ultimately a jointly authored blog article, published by the BSC. In this they speak of the ‘intensity of the immersive experience’ and how: To truly transform criminology, it is clear that there is a need to break free from the tethers created in part by the commodification of academia

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which has led to the constant regurgitation of theory … new possibilities never previously imagined, not bound by time or place have become apparent to all of us. (Armasu et al., 2018)

Also inspiring to students at the conference was their introduction to zemiology, which developed in the UK as a study of social harms and is a central part of an intellectual project to move ‘beyond criminology’ (Hillyard, 2004; Tombs, 2007). Copson (2018) has questioned whether zemiology is ‘best understood as an extension or supplement to existing criminological theory … or a radical alternative to it’ (2018, p. 33). However, regardless of its contested position in relation to criminology, its findings have enthused educators and students to look beyond the narrow definition of crime as behaviour which breaches the law. The students attending the 2018 conference heard papers about global corporate harms, environmental harms, and political moves to curtail public protest, but it was that orchestrated yet casual conversation with Professor Ferrell that led them to engage in one of the most pivotal moments of their learning careers. For them, this was the moment where their learning transcended the classroom and became public. The shift in academic focus both in and beyond the classroom has impacted how and what some criminologists define as crime. Our view is more diverse, socially and culturally inclusive, and has moved beyond the letter of the law to address multiple harmful social consequences. Interestingly, recognition of some of these new curricular topics existed beyond the classroom and in the research decades previously. Criminology has long been linked to the administration of criminal justice systems, and to the production of knowledge for purposes of state policy. The radical turn of the 1960s in the USA and the UK (Taylor et al., 2013) saw critiques of many accepted truths, and thus if the objective of public criminology is to stimulate the ‘criminological imagination’ (Loader & Sparks, 2008, p. 19) and to ‘critique existing approaches to questions of crime and justice’ (Larsen & Deisman, 2013, para. 6), its roots are in this critical turn: ‘This debate, which broke out into the open in the sixties, involved a great many of the intellectual specialties of sociology, but it was particularly evident in the field of criminology’ (Sykes, 1974, p. 206). Reiman, first writing in the 1970s, was part of the

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critical turn in criticising the narrow focus taken by the existing definitions of crime (Reiman & Leighton, 2020). He was one of the first US theorists to question why deaths in the workplace were not classified as murder. Reiman (2004) raised the question again almost a quarter of a century later when he suggested that in one hour, two Americans would be murdered and six Americans would ‘die as a result of unhealthy or unsafe conditions in the workplace’ (2004, p. 55). He went on to argue: Although these work-related deaths could have been prevented, they are not called murders. Why not? Doesn’t a crime by any other name still cause misery and suffering? What’s in a name? The fact is that the label ‘crime’ is not used in America to name all or the worst of the actions that cause misery and suffering to Americans. It is reserved primarily for the dangerous actions of the poor. (Reiman, 2004)

Now in its twelfth edition, Reiman and Leighton (2020) continue asking many of the same questions asked by zemiologists, by our students, and by the wider public.

Shaping Public Criminology Teaching—Engaging the Public Many academics, the authors of this chapter included, have seen part of the role of an academic as speaking with community and voluntary sector groups. Often, invitations to speak come from someone in the group who has read something you wrote, or they may know (or be) one of your students, or it may be that you were quoted in the media. Speaking with such groups is akin to teaching, as the audience typically wants to hear about some aspect of the law, or your research, that resonates with their work. Yet, they usually do not want to be merely spoken to, but with. This chimes with the conversations that we have had together, and with our students. This expansion of the public gaze is part of a critically informed approach that reminds us that public engagement can form a two-way street to be brought into our analysis, and into our teaching and conversations with students.

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The ontological reality of our students and our wider public is that they live in, and are formed by, a world that is complex and mutually dependent. Their understanding of their place within the world is gained through this multiplicity of experiences (Yar, 2012), and our responsibility as educators, indeed our privilege as educators, is shining light on these multiple understandings of the social world. As educators taking a public criminology approach we provide a platform for shaping ‘public opinion on crime problems through a mobilisation of alternative and “disruptive” voices’ (Drake & Walters, 2015, p. 417). Working with the public on these issues often means challenging traditional views of what constitutes crime, encouraging people to question what harm pollution, workplace deaths, and immigration have to do with their lives. Our work with the public has helped us to think through our shared understanding of this expanded group of crimes and harms. This connects us to the critical tradition of challenging the definition of crime and the essential subject matter of criminology. Our teaching might include a focus on the over-criminalisation of the vulnerable, and a recognition of the under-criminalisation of the powerful (Reiman & Leighton, 2020), but must also connect this with a process that began much earlier, at the level of colonialist power, land acquisition, wealth distribution, and identity inequalities. Current research speaks of ‘moving forward the effort of decolonizing criminology’ (Dimou, 2021, p. 433) to break the dominant Western-centric approach. Engagement with real-world issues frequently transcends political borders. While zemiology has been adopted as a key focus of many curriculum updates in the UK, criminology has been slower to embrace the potential to take a critical eco-pedagogy to the public. There are many other emerging areas of research relevant to public criminology which are beyond the remit of this chapter but equally important, such as criminology’s intersections with mental health, autochthonous peoples, and harm to non-human animals. Yet creating a pedagogical space to imagine and examine alternative perspectives is both possible and necessary. As much as our students struggle with considering this critical view of criminology and making sense of where it fits their picture of crime, our wider publics tend to be a bit more accepting of where it fits in the

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larger picture. Perhaps this is because of their life experiences or maturity. Maybe they are not as focused on the academic inclusion of all the right modules and courses that are required to earn an official degree in criminology. Whatever it is, taking criminology to the public enhances all of us in ways that cannot be understated.

Extending Public Criminology Activities What we teach and how we teach has been jolted by the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic since 2020. Classrooms were closed and the online environment took on a new relevancy. Just as we had imagined and forged a breach in the hegemony of the physical classroom in the earlier years of the twenty-first century (Johnson et al., 2013; Jones et al., 2005), this latest development allowed us to imagine a new way of educating. For 25 years the UK independent policy, research, and development organisation the Learning and Work Institute has run the Adult Participation in Learning Survey. This provides an evidence base on patterns and trends in adult learning across the UK, taking a broad definition of learning. The 2022 survey showed that 68 per cent of respondents said at least part of their learning took place online and just under one fifth of those aged 65 and over had participated in some form of education (Hall et al., 2022). During this time, we continued to work in the spaces available, and this meant online environments. This was not new to us, as more than ten years previously we had argued ‘if universities are to meet their aims of delivering flexible and accessible e-learning and teaching environments for all they need to be aware of these difficulties, and … how these issues can be resolved’ (Frondigoun & Jones, 2011, p. 254). Our core principles are that people of any age or background are entitled to have learning opportunities. Anyone with a desire to access education should be able to do so. Working with individuals and communities offering opportunities to non-traditional learners which are accessible and flexible means our public criminology has to be flexible and include activities from bite-sized, non-accredited courses with no minimum entry requirement, through to part-time and full-time

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programmes designed to widen participation in higher education. Our strategy steps include: . . . . . . .

listening to learners, responding to feedback, managing expectations, identifying barriers to learning, taking steps to break down barriers, creating flexible delivery, using networking.

Extending the reach of our criminological conversations to new publics includes community-based groups whose primary interests may not be criminology. These publics may have happened upon us by chance, as part of their existing activities that have little or nothing to do with criminology. In this way, the normative demarcation of producers of knowledge and consumers of knowledge is challenged by a public criminology approach. Articulating an expanded remit holds the possibility of eschewing the marginalisation of some publics in favour of others. A clear understanding of the needs of potential learners, and clarity about what the educator is able to offer, can encourage engagement. Widening participation into education is not only about helping people to find work or build a career; for many it is also central to improving health and well-being, by supporting community engagement and active citizenship. We draw on the Council of the European Union’s definition of adult learning as stated in the 2011 Council Resolution on a renewed European Agenda for Adult Learning: the term adult learning covers the entire range of formal, non-formal and informal learning activities—both general and vocational—undertaken by adults after leaving initial education and training.

We conclude that adult learning (often conceptualised as three separate categories—formal, non-formal, and informal) can instead be thought of as a continuum, on which learning will at different times

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along the life course include formal, non-formal, and informal elements, moving between these elements more fluidly than we might assume. Our conversations have included sharing knowledge about crime and criminal justice with groups of people with varied personal histories of formal education. From rape crisis groups and domestic violence organisations, to community groups, and neighbourhood watch schemes, we have used our experiences of the last 20 years to inform our practice of public criminology in very practical ways. Similar to Piquero (2021) who offers a range of practical tips on engaging in public criminology of importance is that ‘different people need different data in different ways for different purposes. You cannot talk about your latest multi-level model and show some nice Greek equations to a roomful of county commissioners’ (2021, p. 13). How people understand and speak about the issues that most affect them is the starting point for effective communication regardless of your audience. Across the USA there are variously titled community groups, such as Elderhostel (now Road Scholar), the Centre for Lifelong Learning, and the Leisure Learning Society, comprised mostly of mature adults who engage in a variety of activities to remain active physically and mentally during their retirement years. The activities are offered at low to no cost. In one local community, criminology-related courses have been offered over the past 20+ years. The courses have taken on different perspectives over time but have always been well attended, and many of the students repeat the class multiple times. There is great interest in understanding criminology and criminal justice. Crucially, these courses can be used as vehicles to dispel the myths and mistruths that are commonly associated with the criminal justice system and its operation in the USA. For this public, their information primarily comes from local and national news channels and the daily newspaper, as well as the vast number of crime-related shows available on cable television. Over the years they have discussed how TV crime is different from actual crime, how much crime there is in the USA and how flawed those numbers are, what mass incarceration is and how it came to be, and so many more topics. They are often surprised when we talk about how complex the system really is. They used to view the system as black and white; wrong and right; legal and illegal. Nothing about crime and criminology is dichotomous

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and the community group has developed a greater understanding and awareness. In the UK, when speaking to a community group such as the University of the Third Age (U3A) or the Women’s Institute (WI), a similar dynamic is at play as in the USA. The audience is composed of people with a wide variety of experiences and interests. U3A has over 430,000 members operating from 1,000+ locally run interest groups across the UK, aimed predominantly at people no longer in work who want to continue to learn. Again, the programmes are offered at low to no cost. The WI was originally established to offer educational opportunities for women and is now the largest women’s voluntary group in the UK, with more than 212,000 members in over 6,600 local-level branches. Their national campaigns include raising awareness of modern slavery, violence against women, and environmental campaigning as part of the Climate Coalition. Venues for adult learning and education, such as community learning centres, are found in most parts of the world. These stand outside of (but are often connected to) the formal higher education sector and offer opportunities for a range of skills training, wellbeing and citizenship classes, and other general forms of education, in the context of local communities. Our focus on questions of extending lifelong learning and the roles academics can play in these less formal arenas of learning was brought into sharp relief during the pandemic lockdowns of 2020 and 2021, when many of these groups turned to online meetings as a way of continuing to connect their members. Speaking with these groups extends the potential for public criminology. After an online discussion session during 2021, one participant at a U3A meeting said, ‘My grandson has just started a criminology degree. You’ve shown me that I have experiences that are relevant to his studies’. At a WI meeting, one woman said, ‘I thought it was all laws, control, police and prison. Sounds like you’ve come a long way since I was protesting at Greenham Common’. After a conversation together she subsequently went on to give a talk at a later meeting on her experiences as a protester. These two examples of speaking with community-based groups connect to Sim’s (2011) suggestion earlier that ‘if criminology is to make a positive difference, then perhaps grand gestures should be scaled down’

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(2011, p. 726). We find ourselves reconnecting with our challenges to the assumptions held by our students on our international project twenty years ago, with an emphasis on starting from their own individual positions of knowledge. This refocusing of criminological interests, away from the limits of the operation of the criminal justice system and towards a wider, more politically oriented awareness, results in a publicly engaged role for criminology with a diverse set of audiences. The audience is no longer a passive (or massive) entity but is rather a diverse number of critically questioning individuals who have their own ontological reality. The direction of travel now is no longer a single lane from producer to consumer, but is instead transformed in ways that are important for criminological futures.

Finally Our conversation has almost returned full circle, but it continues because crime matters and reaching communities that need information matters. Public criminology continues to shine light on the criminal justice system. Doing so on areas that do not fit within legal definitions of crime brings an understanding to all our students that crime can be thought of differently. Public criminology breaks ‘boundaries and makes positive connections with other arenas of social action’ (Carrabine et al., 2000, p. 207). While a myriad of actors have responsibility in responding to crime, it is too important to be left solely to journalists to report, to lawyers to prosecute, or for students to learn about. It is definitely too important to be left to politicians to legislate, or for police to control. We need to hear from everyone, the voluntary sector, community leaders, advisers, students, and educators. Public criminology is the platform for this far-reaching public debate and we believe it will continue to generate new ideas and new ways of communicating.

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References Armasu, S., de Vos, E., Lovell, R., Miles, L., & Ferrell, J. (2018). Travelling without a map: Conference drifting. The BSC Blog. https://thebscblog. wordpress.com/2018/08/07/travelling-without-a-map-conference-drifting/ Accessed 31 October 2022. British Society of Criminology. (2022a). BSC history. https://www.britsoccrim. org/history/ Accessed 4 June 2022. British Society of Criminology. (2022b). Subject benchmark statement. https:// www.britsoccrim.org/networks/ltn/ Accessed 4 June 2022. Burawoy, M. (2005). For public sociology. American Sociological Review, 70 (1), 4–28. https://doi.org/10.1177/000312240507000102 Burawoy, M. (2008). What might we mean by a pedagogy of public sociology. ELiSS, 1(1), 1–15. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.11120/ elss.2008.01010008 Carrabine, E. (2009). Criminology: A sociological introduction. Routledge. Carrabine, E., Lee, M., & South, N. (2000). Social wrongs and human rights in late modern Britain: Social exclusion, crime control, and prospects for a public criminology. Social Justice, 27 (2), 193–211. http://www.jstor.org/sta ble/29767214 Carrabine, E., Lee, M., & South, N. (2020). Re-thinking public criminology: Politics, paradoxes, and challenges. In K. Henne & R. Shah (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 21–34). Routledge. Copson, L. (2018). Beyond ‘criminology vs. zemiology’: Reconciling crime with social harm. In A. Boukli & J. Kotze (Eds.), Zemiology: Reconnecting crime and social harm (pp. 33–56). Palgrave Macmillan. Dimou, E. (2021). Decolonizing southern criminology: What can the “Decolonial Option” tell us about challenging the modern/colonial foundations of criminology? Critical Criminology, 29, 431–450. Drake, D. H., & Walters, R. (2015). Crossing the line: Criminological expertise, policy advice and the quarrelling society. Critical Social Policy, 35 (3), 414–433. https://doi.org/10.1177/0261018315589448 Frondigoun, L., & Jones, H. (2011). Learning together: Designing effective eclassrooms. International Journal of Innovation and Learning, 9 (3), 248–259. Hall, S., Jones, E., & Evans, S. (2022). Adult participation in learning survey 2022. Learning and work institute. https://learningandwork.org.uk/res ources/research-and-reports/adult-participation-in-learning-survey-2022/ Accessed 7 November 2022.

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Hamilton, C. (2013). Towards a pedagogy of public criminology. Enhanced Learning in Social Sciences, 5 (2), 20–31. Hillyard, P. (2004). Beyond criminology: Taking harm seriously. Hillyard, P. (Ed.). Pluto Press. Johnson, K., Frondigoun, L., & Jones, H. (2013). While you were sleeping: Realising the dream of international collaborative teaching. Enhancing Learning in the Social Sciences, 5 (1), 9–18. https://doi.org/10.11120/elss. 2013.05010009. Jones, H., Kunselman, J., Johnson, K., & Wowk, M. (2005). Communicating across the Atlantic. Issues in Information Systems, VI (1), 163–169. Larsen, M., & Deisman, W. (2013). Notes on public criminology. Police deviance. https://policedeviance.wordpress.com/public-criminology/ Accessed 4 June 2022. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2008). What are we gonna do now? Revisiting the public roles of criminology. Criminal Justice Matters, 72(1), 18–19. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2011). A symposium of reviews of “Public Criminology?” The British Journal of Criminology, 51(4), 707–738. Accessed 4 June 2022 from http://www.jstor.org/stable/23639107 Mills, C. W. (1959). The sociological imagination. Oxford University Press. Passas, N. (2005). Lawful but awful: Legal corporate crimes. The Journal of Socio-Economics, 34 (6), 771–786. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socec.2005. 07.024 Piquero, A. R. (2021). Public criminology: Now. More. Than. Ever. ACJS Today, 48(4), 13–14. Reiman, J. (2004). The rich get richer and the poor get prison: Ideology, class, and criminal justice. Pearson/Allyn and Bacon. Reiman, J., & Leighton, P. (2020). The rich get richer and the poor get prison: Thinking critically about class and criminal justice. Taylor & Francis Group. Salmon, G. (n.d.). Gilly Salmon. https://www.gillysalmon.com/five-stagemodel.html Accessed 17 October 2022. Sim, J. (2011). A symposium of reviews of “Public Criminology?” The British Journal of Criminology, 51(4), 707–738. https://www.jstor.org/stable/236 39107 Sykes, G. M. (1974). Rise of critical criminology. The Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 65 (2), 206–213. Taylor, I., Walton, P., & Young, J. (2013). The new criminology (2nd ed). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203730157

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Tombs, S. (2007). “Violence”, safety crimes and criminology. The British Journal of Criminology, 47 (4), 531–550. http://www.jstor.org/stable/236 39564 Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public criminologies. Criminology & Public Policy, 9 (4), 725–749. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1745-9133.2010. 00666.x Yar, M. (2012). Crime, media and the will-to-representation: Reconsidering relationships in the new media age. Crime, Media, Culture, 8(3), 245–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/1741659012443227

3 Making Criminology Public: Public Education and the Student Sex Work Project Debbie Jones, Tracey Sagar, and Elaine Forde

Introduction In recent decades social scientists have been encouraged to use their imaginations to become active participants in the process of making positive social change (as first advocated by C. Wright Mills in 1959). For those researching sex work, this agenda has been front and centre in the call for a responsible approach to research that facilitates sex workers’ resistance to oppression, and which makes for social change (Sanders, D. Jones (B) · T. Sagar Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] T. Sagar e-mail: [email protected] E. Forde School of Management, Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_3

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2006). Much of the work that has sought to bring about more active participation in social change within sex work studies has focused on achieving a scientific understanding of sex work through inclusive and participatory methodologies. These have addressed traditional research inequalities, such as researcher vs participant power hierarchies (Pyett, 2003; Wahab, 2003). As a result, the sex work research landscape has transformed into a world where sex workers’ voices are increasingly situated at the centre of project design (Campbell & O’Neill, 2006; Jones & Sagar, 2022). Concurrently with these moral, ethical and methodological subjectspecific transformations, conversations about the wider role of criminology have emerged, addressing both its value to scientific and theoretical understandings of crime and deviance, and its role in challenging or supporting those tasked with addressing ‘offending behaviour’ (Loader & Sparks, 2010). Many of these discussions have been conducted under the banner of Public Criminology or Criminologies. One area of criminology that has sought to represent the often-complex realities of those with offending histories is that of inclusive methodologies, under the umbrella terms of ‘Narrative and Visual Criminology’ (Francis, 2009; Sandberg & Ugelvik, 2016). Over the past two decades, researchers have endeavoured to ensure that sex worker narratives are brought to life through the use of narrative and visual methods, in an effort to make sex workers’ experiences public without the fear of further stigmatisation and judgement (Mai, 2018; O’Neill, 2001). Beyond the endeavours of sex work researchers to make more inclusive both methodologies and the wider discussion on the public nature of criminology, there has been a push within the UK to ensure university research generates an impact on policy, law and practice. This requirement has been driven by the Research Excellence Framework (REF), the UK’s system for assessing research quality in higher education providers. The REF is of utmost importance for universities, as outcomes are used to inform the allocation of around £2 billion per year of public funding for university research (UKRI, 2022). Hence the push to develop impactful research has become a focus for higher education institutions (Watermeyer, 2014). Since 2014, REF has sought to assess the impact of academic research beyond academia—on the economy,

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society, culture, public policy and services, health, the environment and quality of life. As this agenda progresses those tasked with assessing REF impact have called for research showcases which are ‘exciting, novel, and adventurous impacts that have been founded in pioneering research’ (REF, 2021). They also add that, ‘UK research can only benefit from having at hand impact case studies highlighting the full dynamism of the changes that research is enabling’ (REF, 2021). So, given the call to be ‘bold’ (REF, 2021), this chapter reflects on the experiences of two university researchers who took up the challenge to imaginatively forward the public criminology agenda through advances in the use of narrative/ visual methods and training, and by these means take criminology to the publics1 in an effort to reduce the stigma experienced by student sex workers. The chapter considers the recent history of public criminology and the role of public education. It looks at how narrative and visual methods have been used in criminological research, and assesses the requirements of REF and the growing impact agenda. The chapter then explains the aims and methodology of the project, focusing on one specific element— the development and public impact of the docudrama Fog of Sex, and how we used the film to broaden understandings of public criminology.

Criminology and Its Publics The work of C. Wright Mills in 1959 appears to mark the starting point of discussion on the role and influence of social sciences in society. However, as other contributors to this volume so eloquently explain, criminologists and other social scientists have been debating for the last fifty years or so what Loader and Sparks (2010, p. 38) refer to as the ‘shape, relevance and uses of their subject in complex times’. Without wanting to repeat discussions, it seems relevant in relation to criminology that the discourse on purpose and form has centred on how criminology interacts with various publics. For example, Loader and Sparks (2010) 1 We take a wide definition of the term publics, to include individuals, policymakers, statutory agencies and policymakers.

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identify five models of criminological engagement that reach a variety of publics. The first is the scientific expert, presented as the criminologist who produces valid, reliable and useful knowledge on matters such as the causes of crime, motivations for committing crime and the situations in which crime occurs. For this expert their public comprises those tasked with addressing crime, such as statutory agencies, practitioners and politicians. This model of engagement dismisses the unhelpfulness of the new criminologies of the 60s and 70s, who called for criminology to step aside in helping against of social control to find solutions to the ‘problem of crime’. In this way, the scientific expert was seen as someone who is objective but that works with their publics to find solutions to the questions raised. For the second model of engagement, Loader and Sparks (2010) observe that the role of policy advisor offers criminologists an opportunity (sometimes unseen) to influence and support those tasked with addressing criminological matters. The policy advisor is different to the scientific expert in that they do not have the same impetus to produce intellectual inquiry, but may be (although not exclusively) more concerned with supporting change by working with their public. In this role, criminologists are called upon to motivate their publics to engender change rather than situating themselves as opposition to the powerful. As the observer-turned-player, Loader and Sparks (ibid, p. 32). note the selective deafness of politicians in recent years around criminological topics, while also explaining how criminology has ‘lost the knack of addressing public concerns and speaking effectively to governments’ (ibid.). In this model of engagement, Loader and Sparks argue for criminologists to ‘get their hands dirty’ by working within government agencies if they want to influence policymakers towards social change. However, in their fourth model of social movement theorist/activist, Loader and Sparks present the argument that criminologists can bring about social justice by challenging powerful publics (governments and agents of the criminal justice system), holding them to account for their actions. They highlight several examples of where critical approaches to criminology have brought about change through theorising and activism. In the final model—the lonely prophet—criminology as a discipline is central. In this context, the authors conclude that, with the exception

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of a few examples, criminology has not taken on ideological challenges that are sustained and large-scale but has tinkered with micro-analysis. In this view the publics are limited, as the reach is smaller and impacts are more constrained. Situating ourselves in this final framework is useful, as it aids us in our reflections on our motivations, how we saw ourselves at the end of TSSWP, and who we considered to be our publics. As we have documented elsewhere (Jones & Sagar, 2022) our experiences of engaging with social change might be characterised by our activist intentions. However, we frame our experiences as quiet activism, bringing about change for student sex workers by quietly engaging with policymakers and the National Union of Students in university settings. By inviting them to be part of our policy development working group, we were looking for buy-in from the start of the project. Our intention was to reach out to an invited and influential public by bringing them into our environment, and to get our hands dirty through service development and delivery. This quiet activist role might be seen as a merging of the policy advisor, observer-turned-player and theorist/activist outlined above. Yet without doubt we were also very clear from the start of the project that without applying empirical rigour, the findings might be easily dismissed by many publics. Therefore, by taking up the scientific expert role we ensured, to the best of our abilities, that the findings could not be ignored or dismissed.

The Student Sex Work Project (TSSWP) TSSWP was the first project to consider on a national scale the topic of higher education students’ participation in the sex industry. The project was carried out at Swansea university between 2012 and 2015. Funded by the Big Lottery Innovation Fund, it was the first large-scale project to explore both student participation in the industry and the responses of UK higher education. The overarching framework combined rigorous social scientific research with university-led service provision for student

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sex workers. As part of our desire to harness the ethos of public criminology, the project also adopted a public-facing campaign aimed at reducing the stigma experienced by students working in the sex industry. The findings from the data and our reflections on our motivations have been considered elsewhere (Gray et al., 2019; Jones & Sagar, 2022; Sagar et al., 2015a, 2015b, 2016). Below, we outline the methodology of the project.

TSSWP—Methodology The project combined a multi-methodological research framework with service delivery which sought to support the well-being and sexual health of students working in the sex industry, should they require such assistance. The project was underpinned by a Participatory Action Research philosophy (Sagar et al., 2015a, 2015b) and delivered through a collaborative partnership. Our partners included: the Terrence Higgins Trust, a front-line service provider of UK sex work outreach programmes with a proven background in the delivery of good sexual information and a successful volunteering scheme; Cardiff and Vale University Health Board–Integrated Sexual Health Clinic, who were able to deliver sexual health services in a clinical setting; the National Union of Students Wales (NUSW), who brought to the project an expert understanding of student issues and pathways to reach the student population. It is also worth noting that from the outset the project was steered by an experienced panel of sex work academics and project members (some of whom took on the role of peer researchers) and was subject to ongoing scrutiny and critical evaluation. The project made many innovative claims, centred on the following four assertions. First, it would deliver the first cross-sector e-health website in Wales. Going far beyond being merely a promotional tool for the project, the website would have online services and support, including a NetReach framework,2 members’ chat room, drop-ins, confidential counselling and signposting. Second, it would fill a gap in 2 NetReach was an online Instant Messenger chat facility where members of the project could engage through text chat with project staff and volunteers. The platform acted as model of

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knowledge, seeking to understand the motivations and needs of students working in the sex industry. Third, instead of engaging with service providers to gain access to sex workers, the project would have student sex worker project members, and services would be invited to assist members where necessary. Fourth, through various mechanisms such as the launch of a policy group, the project would bring stakeholders/ agencies together with higher education representatives to develop appropriate responses to student sex work where appropriate to do so. In addition to the innovations adopted by the project, we also undertook more traditional research approaches. These took the form of a student survey (The Student Sex Survey), as well as face-to-face interviews with student sex workers, university support service staff and student union representatives. We also conducted a case study at one university, with staff relating their experiences of students disclosing their participation in the sex industry. A final element was sending applications to all higher education institutions across Wales under the Freedom of Information Act (2000), with the purpose of ascertaining whether any university in Wales had policies that related to student sex work (Sagar et al., 2015a, 2015b). A key collaborator in the design and delivery of the project was Chris Morris, a documentary filmmaker, and at that time a professor in the University of South Wales (UK). He came on board with his student filmmakers to help us fulfil our aims of delivering marketing and communication strategies developed by student volunteers and student sex workers, by creating visual tools that we could use to challenge the stigma experienced by student sex workers. This creative approach resulted in the production of a testimony-led socio-documentary drama to reach out to students and the public, as well as the development of a video diary which would be used to inform evidence-led training that we designed around the testimonies of student sex workers alongside the project findings. It seems therefore that our ambition to think big about the development of a communication and dissemination strategy that had global service delivery counselling, general advice and support, reporting of violence and sexual violence experienced by some project members, as well as a data collection tool.

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reach and public engagement, alongside a plan for educating the public through creative outputs and empirically based training packages, reflected the views of the LSE Public Policy Group (2011): The whole point of social science research is to achieve academic impact by advancing your discipline, and (where possible) by having some positive influence also on external audiences – in business, government, the media, civil society or public debate.

However, what is interesting to us when reflecting on the project ten years on, is that in the modelling by Loader and Sparks there is no consideration given to a model of public criminology that considers criminologists as public educators who can engender social change.

Development of Public Education and Public Criminology In considering how public criminology has evolved to encompass models of public education, it is useful to borrow from Michael Burawoy and his analysis of public sociology. For Burawoy (2005), engaging publics in social discussion is a reciprocal process, with change generated through shared learning experiences. Situating public sociology in the domain of learning together is something that criminologists have tried to develop recently. For example, Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010) have suggested that public criminology calls for researchers to conduct and disseminate research that engages with the public. Indeed, as will be seen in this chapter, we endeavoured to engage our publics in a variety of ways which we argue are about education and learning. However, it seems that where public education within public criminology is concerned, much of the focus has been on either developing student learning within higher education so that students can engender critical social change through participation in policy/practice as postgraduates (see in this volume Johnson and Jones; Tidmarsh), or on the development of of ‘learning together’ models (see in this volume Pickering and Whitfield; Teague et al.).

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Therefore, while it appears that public criminology calls for criminologists to engage with their publics in a variety of guises, less has been written about how research and public engagement strategies enhance public education, despite the push from REF to produce research that delivers impact. For us, part of our impact was delivered through the development of creative outputs that engaged with our publics, and it is this aspect that is the focus for discussion in this chapter.

Narrative and Visual Methods Offering a rich understanding of crime and the criminal justice system, qualitative methods have become a mainstay of criminological research. These methods can include narrative approaches such as interviewing, and ethnographic and observational accounts. As Sandberg and Ugelvik (2016) point out, storytelling is nothing new; it is a facet of our humanistic behaviours that helps us to make sense of the world we inhabit. The past fifty years have seen the emergence of narrative criminology. This form of scientific inquiry emerged formally through the work of scholars such as Sykes and Matza (1957), who used narrative methods to provide an understanding of the behaviours of ‘juvenile delinquents’. Since that time, cultural criminologists have increasingly adopted this narrative approach, and in more recent years have started to explore the role of visual methods as another way to enhance knowledge and engagement with research, in order to provide a break with the normative view of social reality; and to ‘democratize’ crime control (Brown, 2014; Carr et al., 2015; Francis, 2009; Sandberg & Ugelvik, 2016). Indeed, in TSSWP the approach of publicly sharing the data through the production of a film may be an example of what Carrabine (2016) and Copes and Ragland (2016) describe as the integration of visual and narrative criminology. The purpose of this approach was to bring new ways of understanding student sex workers’ experiences to wider audiences, by considering the power of the image in terms of both immediacy and accessibility (Francis, 2009). However, using integrated visual and narrative methods was not new to those researching sex work.

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In other publications, we have discussed our experiences of using participatory action research and adopting mixed methods with sex workers in Wales (Sagar et al., 2014), and have provided a detailed reflection on our experiences of operationalising TSSWP (Jones & Sagar, 2022). Our experiences and approaches have been influenced by others, such as Maggie O’Neill, who began using artistic techniques in her research and research dissemination over twenty years ago (O’Neill, 2001). O’Neill has been a trailblazer in the field, sharing her experiences of how presenting data in an artistic form can ‘show, tell and enable us to experience the complexities of the lived experience and lived cultures’ of sex workers (O’Neill, 2001, p. 1956). We had some experience of dissemination through short films on a previous large-scale Wales-wide project (Sagar et al., 2014), and feedback was that peer researchers had found the experience liberating, and that they had gained skills and confidence. This is certainly what we wanted to achieve with TSSWP.

The Making of a Film: Stepping Out of Our Comfort Zone At the time of the project, we would have considered ourselves to be relatively experienced and confident researchers. Interestingly, following its production the film was marketed as Fog of Sex: Stories from the front line of student sex work; as social scientists we felt that the dramatic title and subtext put at risk the integrity of our research by potentially detracting from the serious testimonies of student sex workers on which the film was based. However, Chris Morris explained to us that the film would retain its integrity, but its crafting had to be able to reach out to people if we stood any chance of providing information from students’ own perspectives to engender discussion. He candidly pointed out to us in one of our first meetings that ‘people don’t watch data’. Throughout the life of the project, there were several moments similar to the example above, when our position as executive producers and our social scientific values were juxtaposed with those of an academic filmmaker. However, this process was as much a learning cycle for Chris as it was for us. We were very lucky that common to all of us (including his

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students and the student sex worker project members) was our determination to create a film which represented the voices and stories of student sex workers. Therefore, to retain research integrity we agreed that the students who took part in the interviews would have the final editing rights. They would be the judge of whether or not the film was not only a true representation of their lives, but also whether or not the message it sent out was the right one. As highlighted by Laing and Irving (2012) and van der Meulen (2015), this is something that is often lacking in the dissemination of data in traditional sex work studies. The testimonies were captured through semi-structured interviews which were audio recorded. Actors were employed to tell the stories verbatim. In this way, the participants’ anonymity was protected while the film provided a vehicle for their voices to be heard. We have been careful to state that only a few student stories were incorporated into the film, and thus it does not represent the voices of student sex workers generally; nor did it even represent the experiences of all students who took part in the project. In fact, the stories were selected deliberately to showcase the range of occupations and activities students were involved in, as well as a variety of experiences (some testimonies were better suited to our purposes than others). The narratives chosen for the film illustrated the wide range of sexual services provided due to the rapid growth in technologies such as the internet and mobile phones (selling direct sexual services through advertising independently on the internet, escort work, working in a brothel, webcam work, phone chat sex, naked cleaning, panty selling online, glamour modelling, pornography). What we ended up with was a snapshot—an insight into the lives of some students engaged in sex work. Nevertheless, their stories were interesting and powerful. What we were less sure about was whether or not using film as a form of public engagement could make a positive contribution towards reducing the stigma and discrimination student sex workers face (as the data collection had confirmed).

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Fog of Sex and Public Engagement Released in February 2015, the film went on to win a BAFTA Cymru for photography (2015), the Best Film for Young People at the Celtic Media Festival (2016), as well as the Swansea University Research as Art Prize for ‘Emotion in Engagement’, evaluated among others by the New Scientist in 2015. The film featured on Sky’s Community Channel in 2016, where it was viewed more than 50,000 times. Currently, it is available on YouTube (see https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=xCRucByQsJw). Shorts from the film were also screened as part of BBC3’s Gender Season, with more than 1 M views at the time of writing (see www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6W31P0e9Qo&list= PL64ScZt2I7wF6VPfD7gIGgI4X80DLPBCe). This section of the chapter focuses specifically on public screenings of Fog of Sex. These screenings were held at Welsh universities and at science festivals and events in Wales and England, including the Hay Festival, the Cheltenham Science Festival and the British Science Festival. Screenings included scheduled time for the audience to discuss the film and to raise questions regarding student sex work with Morris, Sagar and Jones. At the end of the screenings, participants were invited to fill in a questionnaire to help us capture any impact the film might have had on viewers. The survey included a mix of closed questions and Likert scales to assess levels of understanding and changes in attitudes, as well as space for qualitative comments. Here we draw on data from questionnaires from six screenings held in Wales in 2015. All the film screenings were publicised and open. Nevertheless, it is true to say that the screenings were particularly well attended by those working in higher education and/or with students in a range of capacities. While, on the one hand, this could be said to be a limitation of our research, as most of our respondents already had an interest in students or encountered students in their working lives, on the other, it was a strength. A key project goal was to influence our publics (in this case university staff ) and to begin a process of reducing stigma against student sex workers through the development of appropriate and non-judgemental services/responses.

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Expanding on Sex Work Knowledge Reflecting upon the impacts the film had on our publics is in line with our participatory action research approach. Gathering audience feedback was, therefore, an important aspect of the Fog of Sex screenings. A total of 204 respondents completed our survey. Of these, 55% (n = 113) reported a change in their attitude to student sex work after watching Fog of Sex. Below we discuss specific impacts of the film on three different groups of respondents who had identified themselves as being in a particular position of relative knowledge about, or in regular contact with, sex workers.

Respondents Identifying as Having Previous Knowledge About Sex Work Data analysis identified what we refer to as the knowledgeable cohort. This comprised 14% (n = 28) of the 204 respondents who assessed their knowledge about student sex work to be good or very good before watching the film. Nineteen respondents (that is, around twothirds) from the knowledgeable cohort indicated that they had gained new insights about student sex work, with five indicating that their views had changed significantly. These respondents, while perceiving themselves to be knowledgeable about student sex work, nevertheless felt that the film had impacted on them and expanded their understandings of it. Despite the screenings being well attended by people working in higher education or with students, only three of those respondents declared themselves to be knowledgeable about sex work. Similarly, only one out of three who identified themselves as being engaged in policymaking considered themselves to be knowledgeable about sex work. The single largest group of respondents in the knowledgeable cohort were students (n = 11). The data tentatively suggests therefore that students are more aware of student sex work than higher education staff and policymakers—indicating perhaps a lack of awareness and a gap in knowledge amongst those respondents who are best placed to develop and deliver services. This knowledge gap was also borne out in the case study of one

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higher education provider, which showed up the need for training and guidance on student sex work for staff working in universities (see Sagar et al., 2015).

Respondents Identifying as Working with Sex Workers Of the 204 respondents, 7% (n = 15) stated that they encountered sex workers through a work environment. Of those, 15, that is, the majority (n = 13) rated their knowledge about sex workers prior to watching the film to be good/very good, yet all but one of those 15 reported that the film had given them new insights into student sex work. These 15 respondents also reported that the film had led to a change in attitude. Changes in attitude varied from slight (n = 5) to significant (n = 4) and this is perhaps surprising given that they encountered sex workers through their occupations. In spite of the varying degrees of changes in attitude, it does seem that the film impacted on a range of stakeholders/ professionals who were already knowledgeable about sex work. Figures 3.1 and 3.2 show that in this particular subsection, while the general trend was that the more knowledgeable an individual felt themselves to be, the less we saw a self-reported attitude change, there was some attitude change. The data also shows that the film delivered new insights relatively consistently at each level of knowledge, including to those who considered themselves to be among the most knowledgeable of individuals working alongside student sex workers. This leads to a tentative conclusion that the voices of student sex workers embedded in the film promoted attitudinal change amongst professionals—an objective for the project and the students who took part in the film.

Respondents Who Have Contact with Higher Education Students Through Their Work Notably, 72% (n = 146) of respondents encountered higher education students through their work, yet only 26% (n = 18) of these respondents rated their knowledge about student sex work prior to seeing the film to

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be good or very good. Interestingly, 18 respondents also indicated that they knew sex workers in their personal environments, with only five reporting that they encountered sex workers in their work environment. Of the 146 respondents, 67 were not sure if they had any connections to sex workers.

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The vast majority of the 146 respondents in this subsection (n = 123) indicated that they had acquired new insights after seeing the film, with only one responding that the film had not changed their views. A total of 83 reported that their views had changed strongly or very strongly. This level of new insight suggests that the film was a very valuable tool, and that listening to the stories of students engaged in sex work was a mechanism to enhance understanding.

Film Takeaways The film set out to challenge people’s underlying assumptions about sex work, for example that sex workers are unskilled, poorly educated, immoral and drug/alcohol misusers (Weitzer, 2010). Quite simply, this spoiled identity (Goffman, 1968) can lead to stereotyping, resulting in oppression, discrimination and damaging judgements, where sex workers become undeserving and throwaway people (see, e.g., Lowman, 1992; O’Neill, 2001). Our film deconstructed many of the negative assumptions that pervade society, through stories from people who are highly educated, who are primarily fighting back against student debt, who might need support, but who also might enjoy their work and want to earn money to be part of the consumer society. This was not lost on our respondents. Film takeaway comments included, ‘The difference between students working in the sex industry for need i.e. to get money for fees/accommodation Vs those working in it to enable them to be consumers’, and an acknowledgement that, ‘Any sex worker is a real person with real problems’. Other respondents free text comments reported on how valuable the film was in enhancing understanding of the impact of stigma on student sex workers, including ‘how [student sex workers] deal with self-esteem, confidence and relationships’, while another noted: [how the film] changed the perception of the stereotypes. You’ve showed them as real people—compared to other films that makes them seem to be really low, low-class people where they truly are not; Very educational.

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Reflections on The Fog of Sex CHALLENGE ASSUMPTIONS VARIETY OF SEX WORK THAT TAKES PLACE EXTENT TO WHICH SEX WORK HAPPENS MALE SEX WORKERS RISKS DIVERSE MOTIVATIONS FOR SEX WORKING SEX WORKERS' VOICES ISSUE OF STUDENT FINANCE RAISE AWARENESS SEX WORKERS NEED SUPPORT POLITICAL-ECONOMIC ISSUES 0

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Fig. 3.3 What our audiences learned—a thematic overview

This observation was repeated elsewhere, ‘[how the film] is completely different to the stereotypes’, while another respondent understood that the film had the capacity to spark the interest of those who could make positive changes in society for sex workers, whether sex workers wished to stay in the industry or to leave it: I am really hopeful that the project and the film will be able to help someone get out of this industry (if they wish to) and that government and university bodies do their utmost to support these students.

Figure 3.3 provides a thematic overview of what our respondents learned from the film on reflection.

Concluding Remarks The screening results indicated that the film facilitated a better understanding of student sex work. In revealing this we knew that the film had the potential to be an important means towards meeting one of the project’s core objectives—to begin a process of de-stigmatisation resulting in the provision of more appropriate assistance and support for students engaged in the sex industry. Indeed, we already knew that there

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was a very real need for public education among higher education staff. To reiterate, the project had also carried out a case study at one Welsh university which showed a need for improved levels of understanding on a range of sex worker issues, and for guidance and training; these findings were published in 2015 (Sagar et al. 2015b). However, we were very aware that not all professionals who work within a higher education setting access academic journals, and those that do are likely to access journals connected to their own research fields. We understood that we had to think beyond academic publications if we wanted to reach ‘our publics’ working in higher education, including student support and well-being staff, lecturers, financial support providers, housing advice/support and so on. Likewise, we were keen to reach the wider range of service providers for students that exist outside of higher education (e.g. GP practices and sexual health clinics). Therefore, it made perfect sense to embed excerpts and shorts from the film into our training packages. Chris Morris was right, people ‘don’t watch data’, but they can immerse themselves in the stories of student sex workers on film. This was supported by respondent comments which attested to the power of the film to ‘leave a mark well after the credits’, and that ‘the film is brilliant for educating society…powerful footage…excellent project’. It is, therefore, unsurprising that the screening findings led to the incorporation of film into TSSWP’s sex worker training packages. This included the 2019 launch of the first student sex worker online training tool to promote professional understanding about student sex work among higher education staff and other service providers/practitioners who have contact with students. Like the film, the training was coproduced with student sex worker project members and project partners to raise awareness about stigma and its negative impact on students engaged in the sex industry. Importantly, the training focuses on issues that student sex workers want service providers and those who work in higher education to have a better understanding of. To date the project has trained over 1,000 professionals/stakeholders in Wales and beyond to promote a better understanding of student sex work. Throughout the creative dissemination process, the empowerment of student sex workers was central. Therefore, as we bring the chapter to

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a close, we turn our attention to those student sex workers who participated in the project. Not only did student sex workers report feelings of empowerment; for some the experience was transformative. For example, one student whose story was included in the training stated: my story has been heard by so many people and that is an incredible feeling…my story is included in the training and that means that staff in HE hear my voice and this should really help services at Uni be more understanding and not judge. (Sanders & Campbell, 2015)

Another project member whose story was included in the project film and incorporated into training packages perceived the experience to be life-changing: Taking part in the film has been a really important and life-changing part of my life. I still think about it a lot. It empowered me to start making some changes. I felt like my story wasn’t dramatized or made more interesting or more to fit in with what the project wanted to portray. That made me feel my story was important as it was. […] The film gave me a voice when I never had one before. This has been massively empowering for me. It keeps me going when I feel totally alone even four years later.

Finally, we would state that while the film enabled student sex worker voices to enter the public arena to directly challenge the myths about sex work and who is a sex worker, and to raise awareness about the stigma that keeps them socially excluded and vulnerable, the battle is far from won. In this respect, the fact that the film has longevity is extremely significant. The YouTube presence of the film and associated shorts ensures that the student sex worker voices captured in 2015 have endurance. Their stories are still important—the issues they raise have not diminished over the years since the project, but through film their stories continue to contribute to a wider public and professional understanding. To conclude, we would argue that in taking such a bold approach to the design of a research project alongside a creative focus on dissemination, we expanded the thinking around public criminology to encompass public education as a way to make change and, in this case,

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to reduce the stigma experienced by student sex workers. Would we do it again? Yes.

References BBC3. Student sex workers—Turning fetishes into finance, 5-episode series. www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6W31P0e9Qo&list=PL64ScZt2I7wF6VPfD 7gIGgI4X80DLPBCe. Brown, M. (2014). Visual criminology & carceral studies. Theoretical Criminology, 18(2), 176–197. Burawoy, M. (2005). For public sociology. British Journal of Sociology, 56 (3), 259–294. Campbell, R., & O’Neill, M. (2006). Sex Work Now. Willan Publishing. Carr, N., Bauwens, A., Bosker, J., Donker, A., Robinson, G., Sucic, I., & Worrall, A. (2015). Picturing probation: Exploring the utility of visual methods in comparative research. European Journal of Probation, 7 (3), 179–200. Carrabine, E. (2016). Picture this: Criminology, image and narrative. Crime, Media, Culture, 12(2), 253–270. https://doi.org/10.1177/174165901663 7640 Copes, H., & Ragland, J. (2016). Considering the implicit meanings in photographs in narrative criminology. Crime, Media, Culture, 12(2), 271– 271. Francis, P. (2009). Visual criminology. Criminal Justice Matters, 78(1), 10–11. https://doi.org/10.1080/09627250903385164. Goffman, I. (1968). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. Pelican Books. Gray, B., Jones, A., Couzens, Z., Sagar, T., & Jones, D. (2019). University students’ behaviours towards accessing sexual health information and treatment. International Journal of STD & AIDS, 30 (7), 671–679. https://doi. org/10.1177/0956462419828866 Jones, D., & Sagar, T. (2022). The student sex work project: Methods, ethics and activism. In D. Jones & T. Sanders(Eds.), Student sex work: International perspectives and implications for policy and practice. Palgrave. Laing, M., & Irving, A. (2012). Promoting Education, Empowerment and Research (PEER) Exploring the lives of sex workers in tyne and wear. PEER

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FINAL REPORT 20–12–12_rich_4 (https://researchportal.northumbria.ac. uk/ws/portalfiles/portal/3004519/PEER_finalreport.pdf) Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2010). Public Criminology? Routledge. Lowman, J. (1992). Street prostitution control: Some Canadian reflections on the finsbury park experience. British Journal of Criminology, 32(1), 1–17. LSE Public Policy Group. (2011, April). Maximising the impacts of your research: A handbook for social scientists. Handbook PDF for the LSE impact blog Mai, N. (2018). Mobile orientations: An intimate autoethnography of migration, sex work and humanitarian borders. The University of Chicago Press. Mills, C. W. (1959). The sociological imagination. Oxford University Press. Morris, C. (Producer/director), Sagar, T., & Jones, D. (Exec. producers). (2015). Fog of Sex. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCRucByQsJw O’Neill, M. (2001). Prostitution & feminism. Towards a politics of feeling. Polity Press. Pyett, P. M. (2003). Validation of qualitative research in the “Real World.” Qualitative Health Research, 13(8), 1170–1179. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 1049732303255686 Research Excellence Framework (REF). (2021). Institutions must be bold with impact in REF 2021. Sagar, T., Jones, E., Jones, D., & Clark, L. (2014). Sex work research wales. Final research report for the big lottery (unpublished). Sagar, T., Jones, D., Symons, K., & Bowring, J. (2015a). The student sex work project: Research summary. http://www.thestudentsexworkproject.co.uk/wpcontent/uploads/2015a/03/TSSWP-Research-Summary-English.pdf Sagar, T., Jones, D., Symons, K., Bowring, J., & Roberts, R. (2015b). Student participation in the sex industry: Higher education responses and staff experiences and perceptions. Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management, 37 (4), 400–412. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/136 0080X.2015.1056604 Sagar, T., Jones, D., Symons, K., Tyrie, J., & Roberts, R. (2016). Student involvement in the UK sex industry: Motivations and experiences. British Journal of Sociology, 67 (4), 697–718. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/ full/10.1111/1468-4446.12216 Sandberg, S., & Ugelvik, T. (2016). The past, present and future of narrative criminology: A review and an invitation. Crime, Media and Culture, 12(2), 129–136. Sanders, T. (2006). Sexing up the subject: Methodological nuances in researching the female sex industry. Sexualities, 9, 449–468.

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Sanders, T., & Campbell, R. (2015). Final evaluation report: Student sex work wales (unpublished). Sykes, G. M., & Matza, D. (1957). Techniques of neutralization: A theory of delinquency. American Sociological Review, 22(6), 664–670. The Student Sex Work Project. (no date). Online training module: http://tss wpat.co.uk/ Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public Criminologies. Criminology and Public. Policy, 9 (4), 725–749. UK Research and Innovation (UKRI). (2022). How research England supports research excellence. Research Excellence Framework—UKRI Van der Meulen, E. (2015). From research ‘on’ to research ‘with’: Developing skills for research with sex workers. The Sage handbook of action research. Sage Research Methods: The SAGE Handbook of Action Research (https:// www.powerottawa.ca/). Wahab, S. (2003). Creating knowledge collaboratively with female sex workers: Insights from a qualitative, feminist, and participatory study. Qualitative Inquiry, 9 (4), 625–642. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800403252734 Watermeyer, R. (2014). Impact in the REF: Issues and obstacles. Studies in Higher Education, 41(2), 199–214. Weitzer, R. (2010). The mythology of prostitution: Advocacy, research and public policy. Sexuality Research and Social Policy, 7 , 15–29.

4 The Impact of Children’s Engagement in Public Education in Criminology Anthony Charles and Phatsimo Mabophiwa

Introduction The thing is, we got to have our say about what we thought was, like we were talking about before, ‘just’, but not like the adults say it, like we know it. We’re so happy we got to change things and you know what, it’s made things better in school and I think, it’s helping it be a fairer place. (Jane, child research participant)

It is appropriate, at the start of a chapter which considers the roles children can play in public education in criminology, to begin by listening to a child’s voice. The quotation above, offered by Jane, a research A. Charles (B) · P. Mabophiwa Department of Criminology Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] P. Mabophiwa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_4

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participant and member of a school (Blaen y Maes Primary School, Swansea) which has been part of a public education initiative, helpfully sets the scene for this chapter and its focus. Jane was an active contributor in a team which worked with Swansea University, not just to embed criminological thought within school-based teaching (Articles 28 and 29 United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, 1989; Lee, 2022), but also to promote appropriate responses to critical criminal justice concepts such as fairness, due process, and sanctions (Case et al., 2020; Drake et al., 2014). The team—a partnership between adult academics and children (Burns & Creaney, 2023)—embarked on a transformative endeavour to translate children’s comprehensions of core contemporary criminological principles through a public education approach into concrete action in their school. The aim of this work was to reflect on what children said they felt was necessary, with the aim of fostering a more cohesive, inclusive and just community: Anyone can say, ‘oh we treat people fair’, but does it really work like that? ... What we want is to see that things are fair, like in real life. So everyone is treated with respect, everyone gets to have a voice and we get to learn too what to do if things aren’t right. (Owain, child research participant)

Of course, children’s participation in processes or activities to create change is nothing new. Especially following the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) agreement of 1989, much emphasis has been placed upon action by supranational bodies (European Commission, 2019), national and local governments (Walther et al., 2021), and non-governmental organisations (O’Kane et al., 2021) to promote participation in decision-making, as provided for in Article 12 of the Convention. It is important to refer to Article 12 at this point since this provision will be referred to throughout this chapter. In the context of public education in criminology, Article 12 provides a framework for public education approaches which enables the sharing of criminological knowledge with children (Cuevas-Parra, 2022). By optimising children’s active participation in a safe, co-productive and partnership context, an entry point was created for the type of public education approach so eloquently summarised by Zaha as:

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the missions of empowerment, social justice, and human rights, where public criminologists distinguish between the powerful and powerless, directing their intellectual and professional resources towards the benefit of the latter. (Zaha, 2021, p. 95)

On this point, it is relevant to add that the public education approach discussed here was designed for and put into practice in a primary school in South Wales located in one of the highest areas of multi-deprivation in Wales. Recognising social, communal, infrastructure and historical challenges within the school community, a conscious decision was taken to invest in the pupils, staff and school community, so that they could benefit from a public criminological initiative (Freire, 1970). This was pursued as a natural, if not obligatory, aspect of academic activity— prioritising the needs of those who are sometimes harder to reach, who are potentially victims of the justice system itself, and whose voices need to be heard, but often are not (Shore, 2020). The public education approach adopted was also intended to unleash the potential of the children who participated: this potential was discerned during earlier engagement with them and their school community. Through a process of embedding co-production research approaches, the children had said clearly that educational activities, empirical research, and advocacy for change were all needed in a range of diverse thematic areas. These included community cohesion (notably as communities changed due to migration), poverty (reflecting the cost-ofliving crisis and the realities faced by their families), employment (due to the socio-economic and family-related impacts of unemployment) and their future (reflecting the ‘Future Generations’ rhetoric prevalent in national Welsh policy and which flows through local activities). Each of these areas relates to theoretical and applied areas of criminology and, with local university research bridging the gap between university and community, and academic and pupil, public education was seen as something that could facilitate positive change for all involved (Young & Strudwick, 2022). Moreover, each of the themes identified by children represented real, living matters that they wished to influence, and with which criminology, as a discipline, might be able to assist them (Tidmarsh, 2022).

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Charting this journey of developing a public education approach with children, this chapter will first reflect on what is meant by public education in criminology. Challenges and opportunities will be considered, as well as the importance of enabling children’s authentic participation. Secondly, the ways in which a public education approach has been operationalised will be explored. Finally, the change to which Jane referred above will be described both in terms of public education benefits and also how this has impacted constructively upon the school community, including the adults who support the children. Importantly, the views of the children, staff and academics involved will feature in this chapter: not to do so would be a great disservice to them, and antithetical to the nature of public education. The chapter concludes with a consideration of the main elements associated with developing a public education in criminology model in partnership with children, and how this type of approach—as something the academy can drive—should be taken up and implemented more widely.

What do we Mean by Public Education in Criminology? Loader and Sparks, when exploring the concept of public criminology, suggested that: we are interested in the changing economic, social and cultural conditions that impact upon the way in which crime is publicly understood, spoken about, and acted upon. (Loader & Sparks, 2011, p. 2)

Here, they highlight the transformational potential of situating the public at the core of criminological teaching and enquiry. Accordingly, Loader and Sparks (2011) reinforce the need for academics to have a ‘commitment to engaging in public education and debates about crime’ (Schneider, 2022, p. 229). Piché (2015) also emphasises that public criminology is important for establishing the relevance of criminology beyond the realms of academia.

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Following Burawoy’s (2005) lead on public sociology, it is arguable that public criminology too should seek to make the invisible more visible, to make what was once private, public, and to validate the organic connection between academia, policy, and the public. It is in this context that public education is a fundamental element of connection, contributing to democratic dialogue and discussion of social matters. When the term ‘public education in criminology’ is used in this chapter, it is in this sense that it is applied. Piche describes public education as ‘a less developed approach to extra-academic engagement’ (2015, p. 79). It is understood as an approach to doing criminology with a commitment to working with the community, so that people can be actively involved in framing the questions they ask rather than being passive actors who are just listening to what criminologists have to say (Currie, 2007). Thus, public education creates an ideal opportunity and a powerful arena for criminologists and those with lived experiences to engage in dialogue (McAleese, 2019). In the context of children, often less powerful and more marginalised than adults, this matters especially because they are carriers of a rich lived experience (often hidden and ignored) that allows criminologists to become immersed in deeper self-understanding and the realities of contemporary social context (Burawoy, 2005). Related critically to the work described in this chapter is the public education objective of renewing public discourse by equipping children with the necessary ‘skills, dispositions, and perspectives required to engage with strangers about their shared interests and common fate, and to contribute to shaping it’ (Feinberg, 2012, p. 19). Fienberg also highlights that public education requires children to ‘understand and develop their own agency’ (2012, p. 19), underlining the view that children are seen as having agency, and are entitled to have their voices heard and acted on (Lundy, 2007). This relates to the principles of Article 12, UNCRC, namely, that children are not passive members of society, but important actors who understand, have experiences, and can actively contribute to debate and decision-making. In this light, involving children in criminological dialogue acknowledges their agency (Beazley et al., 2009), expressly recognising that ‘children have capacity and … they are able to articulate views that require them to be listened to’ (Cassidy et al., 2020, p. 39).

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Furthermore, public education in criminology can be a significant instrument in challenging the orthodoxy that children are incapable of being the authors of social change. Through public education and the harnessing of children’s agency, a new vision of the role of childhood can be conceived, one that tacitly acknowledges children as: capable of making productive contributions towards increasing our understanding not only of their own life worlds but also of society as a whole. (Hanson, 2015, p. 427)

However, the type of public education in criminology discussed here is not just one which considers children as convenient participants in academic activity. Instead, and as Fienberg (2012) suggests, the focus should not only be on how to initiate children’s engagement in ongoing ‘intergenerational conversations’; the aim should also be to ‘provide others with a voice in that conversation’ (p. 19). Participation is, therefore, a crucial aspect of public education and requires that children should be treated as ‘public-facing, active, and critical subjects capable of making a difference’ (Tidmarsh, 2022, p. 3). Framed in this positive manner, public education in criminology aligns the core principles of academic scholarship, learning, and teaching in order to promote children’s participation, thereby empowering them and giving voices to the voiceless.

Participatory Approaches As a precursor to engagement in public education activities, the academic team working with the local primary school had developed expertise in participatory research (Charles, 2011, 2012; Charles & Haines, 2014; Charles, 2017, 2019; Mabophiwa, 2020). As an example of this participatory research (especially pertinent to the discussion below), an in-depth exploration of children’s rights and responsibilities was undertaken through a dialogic paradigm (Mabophiwa, 2020). Participation in this research extended beyond simply taking part in a tokenistic manner, being instead characterised by direct and meaningful involvement since

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this could ‘develop a genuine appreciation of democracy and a sense of competence and responsibility to participate’ (Hart, 2013, p. 3). Grounded in the principles underpinning the UNCRC, this research recognised children’s participation and guaranteed it as an intrinsic right, afforded to them regardless of their background, age and social status. Thus, the research went: beyond conventional methodologies and being true to the foci of the thesis, a participatory approach [was] utilised to include children in the research, to have their voices heard and their lived experiences made visible. (Mabophiwa, 2020, p. 11)

This created a platform for collaborative participation to occur, with adults and children working together with a greater degree of partnership. This offered the children opportunities to be engaged at any stage in decision-making, role-sharing, and taking responsibility. Moreover, the process empowered ‘children to influence or challenge both process and outcomes’ (Webster, 2012, p. 56) and provided space for children to initiate activities and influence the manner in which decisions were made. This required adults to facilitate rather than lead the process. Echoing what is advocated in public education literature, the research team involved the children in ‘The formulation of research questions, objectives, and methodology to visualise them as subjects of the research’ (Garcia-Quiroga & Agoglia, 2020, p. 6). In Mabophiwa (2020), the facilitation of new and childcentred understandings of rights and responsibilities were aided by the adoption of a robust process of co-production, one that placed the children at the heart of the research. The approach taken in Mabophiwa (2020) generated a range of constructive outcomes, mirroring the positive aspects of co-production which have been identified by Greig, Taylor and MacKay (2013), who assert that co-production is: a task that goes beyond consultation as it is a process of engagement that is truly empowering for children and young people because they become partners in research, co-owners or co-researchers, who can initiate ideas and actions, make and contribute to key decisions. (Greig, Taylor & MacKay, 2013, p. 205)

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This type of approach aligns with the values of public education as it can empower children ‘and tap into their wisdom and personal experiences’ and ‘improve the efficacy and relevance of research’ (Dixon et al., 2019, p. 11). Importantly, Mabophiwa’ s (2020) research demonstrated that children can be engines of social change, notably when they learn from and response to their lived experiences in ways, ‘that emphasise dialogue, collaboration and reflection’ (Hamilton, 2013, p. 26). However, despite the rhetoric surrounding the commitment by adults to hearing (and listening to) the their voices, children frequently say that they are still not heard (Mabophiwa, 2020; Tisdall, 2017). As Jessica (a participant in Mabophiwa, 2020) explained: We go to these meetings; we do the questionnaires because our voices matter, but then when you read the work later… it’s like hang on where is my voice in that? (Jessica, child research participant)

This observation, regrettably echoed through other research undertaken by the academic team, highlights the challenges faced by children when seeking active and meaningful engagement in matters affecting them, arguably fuelling impetus for a participative approach to public education in criminology. Tokenistic participation, as highlighted by Jessica, can create tension and undermine both the notion and practice of children’s participation. Lundy (2018) refers to tokenism as a ‘dirty word’, noting that children often protest that they can give their views, but do not often get feedback. Critically, Johnson (2017) found that even when children pursue their own agendas for change, their participation is still tokenistic, as decisions are often based on types of evidence that are valued by adults. Sharing her efforts to ‘detokenise’ children’s participation, Lundy (2018) states that providing feedback to children involved is her method of choice, as it provides some transparency in the decision-making process. For the purposes of public education, what Carrabine et al. proposed for public criminology, i.e. that it should have a ‘key goal towards public accountability’ (Carrabine et al., 2000, p. 207), was recognised as critical by the academic team—and was something that children engaged in research with team members, requested. Indeed,

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Carrabine et al. (2009) emphasise that public criminology should prioritise transparency (which is something that intrinsically requires the active engagement of participants and the hearing of their voices) and this, combined with robust participation (especially in sensitive areas), can help to ‘rescue [children] from silence and exclusion, and from being represented by default as passive objects’ (Alderson, 2005, p. 64).

Public Education: Giving Voices to the Voiceless? The notion of empowerment goes to the heart of public criminology through its prioritisation of the interests of the public (individual/ communities) over those interest groups that seek to disempower people, disregard their rights to justice or harm their human rights. (Hamilton, 2013, p. 24)

Hamilton (2013), like others, places empowerment at the heart of public education in criminology as a way to prioritise the interests of the public (individuals and communities). The concept of children’s empowerment is necessary for positive social transformation, and in the context of children’s participation, it is arguably grounded in notions of power and competence (Alanen & Mayall, 2001; Thomas & Crowley, 2007). It is arguably helpful to deconstruct what empowerment may mean, notably in the context of public education in criminology. When considering what empowerment could mean, Shier (2019) usefully defines it as the realisation of three elements: enabling conditions, capability, and belief in one’s own agency. Reflecting on Shier’s (2019) comments, the necessity of an empowering and participatory public education becomes clearer. Arguably, adults cannot empower children. Instead, to feel empowered, children: must feel themselves capable of having an influence because … building capacity and creating enabling conditions are not enough on their own

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… Empowerment must therefore be achieved through a transformative process within the person. (Shier, 2019, p. 4)

Participation and empowerment are thus critical to public education, creating opportunities for children to represent their views and voices, to influence decisions, and to gain a degree of control over both their lives and that of the wider community (Hart, 1992; Lansdown, 2010; Thomas, 2007). Public education in criminology has the transformative potential to foreground ‘the “ordinary” knowledge and experiences of marginalised groups’, and in that light, children are obvious collaborators ‘with whom to transform structures of oppression’ (Tidmarsh, 2022, p. 16).

Making Public Education in Criminology Real: Working with Children The literature suggests that the potential benefits of adopting a public education approach to engaging with those outside the academy are significant (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010; Walters, 2011). Given the nature of criminological discourse and the subjects with which it is associated, these benefits may be not merely nominal, but life-changing (Hamilton, 2013). For instance, if knowledge, based on experience of prevention programmes, were to be identified and shared, it is arguable that early warning or risk-neutralising approaches might be developed. Such could create positive and meaningful outcomes for those who are in danger of coming into contact with the justice system. It is in sharing learning, knowledge, and power that change can be implemented to make a difference. In this context, and when considering public education in criminology approaches designed for children, it is apposite to consider the words of Freire (1970), which explicitly mirror elements of Article 12, UNCRC: Authentic authority is not affirmed as such by mere transfer of power, but through delegation or in sympathetic adherence. (Freire, 1970, p. 151)

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Freire’s (1970) words are here included since they help to set the scene for the way in which engagement with children and the development of a public education in criminology approach was constructed in Swansea. Starting in 2014, a research partnership was developed with a number of schools in Swansea, South Wales. In one school, Blaen y Maes Primary School (hereafter referred to as ‘the school’), senior leadership were eager to promote co-production approaches and an augmentation of work which they had begun to implement and apply the provisions of the UNCRC. Initial efforts by the school had followed UNICEF’s Rights Respecting Schools programme (UNICEF 2021; Sebba & Robinson, 2010). The school was eager to adapt the programme to meet local needs, as the headteacher at the time stated: We are passionate about rights, so we want to know the extent to which children understand them, how they can improve children’s learning and family lives and, for us this is important, give them a voice and the ability to make informed decisions. (Headteacher)

The school is located in an area of high, multiple deprivation. Poverty and deprivation are at the forefront of Welsh social policy and, as the Welsh government stated in 2021, ‘around 48,000 young children aged 0–4 were living in income deprivation in 2016–2017. This accounts for 28% of all children in this age group’ (Welsh Index of Multiple Deprivation, 2019a). Official statistics make for depressing reading for the area in which the school is based. The 2019 Welsh Index of Multiple Deprivation (Welsh Index of Multiple Deprivation 2019b) describes it as being: . Ranked 279 out of 1909 Lower Layer Super Output Areas (LSOA) in Wales (placing it amongst the 10–20% most deprived). . The 10–20% most deprived ranking relates to income, employment, and health. . The area is 166th out of 1909 LSOAs in Wales in terms of education, making it within the 10% most deprived. . Access to services and community safety were ranked 20–30% most deprived in Wales.

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In addition, the school community suffered due to relatively high local crime rates, including incidences of violence, substance use, and damage to property. On occasion, pupils from the school were implicated in offending behaviour, although, being under the minimum age of criminal responsibility, often little was done in terms of addressing their behaviour beyond the work of the school and local police officers. Against this backdrop of worrying socio-demographic data, the school is a beacon of hope. In its 2016 Iestyn report (the Welsh schools inspectorate agency), the school was rated ‘good’ and was praised for having high quality teaching and support for pupils, a strong vision, and a constructive approach to well-being. The nature of the local community, however, was impacting upon pupils’ trajectories, with Iestyn commenting that: Nearly all pupils enter the school with skill levels that are considerably lower than average. Most pupils make sound progress from their differing starting points as they move through the school and achieve expected standards. (Iestyn, 2016, p. 5)

Yet ‘The development of pupils’ well-being is a strength in the school’ and pupils ‘understand the values expected in a school that respects pupils’ rights’ (Iestyn, 2016, p. 6). The realities of the area in which the school is located played a role in its selection as a place where public education work could be focused. The community was both a place of hope, and also one where social change was potentially needed. The position of Carrabine et al. (2000) resonated strongly with the way that public education could be utilised to create change by harnessing: theoretical and applied interventions that seek to make a difference and bring about change. It explicitly breaks boundaries and makes positive connections with other arenas of social action. (Carrabine et al., 2000, p. 207)

Moreover, working directly and sharing endeavour with those who were marginalised could:

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give voice to the voiceless [and] make significant impact on societal change … [this] could provide unique opportunities to minimise … injustice by mediating what the marginalised groups …seek to express. (Tawodzera et al., 2022, p. 6)

When the research partnership was formed with the school, it was developed by explicitly following the ethical approach detailed in Charles (2011). This approach, which emerged from research undertaken with 525 children and young people in Swansea, required a partnership approach to working with children, the sharing of decision-making with children, adherence to Article 12 UNCRC rights, recognition of children’s ability to play constructive roles in analysis and understanding of data, findings or facts, and the centrality of meaningful as opposed to tokenistic participation (Hart, 1992). The adoption of this ethical framework immediately created impacts which resonate with public education literature. Specifically, engagement was planned with children (rather than imposed on them) and, in addition to more traditional research activities such as data collection, training and support were designed and implemented with children, so that their roles were truly meaningful, and they were engaged in analysis and the presentation of research findings. Reflecting on the progression of the relationship which was forged with the school and its pupils, three stages of development become discernible. Stage one was what might be deemed a more traditional academic style of engagement. During the early stages of the relationship, senior school leadership worked with academics to identify areas for research such as policy and service evaluation, ostensibly to improve teaching and engagement at the school. Also, at this stage initial research with children was operationalised, focusing mainly upon the optimisation of participation rights, and extending these from classroom-based understandings to broader conceptions of the child’s right to influence decision-making when activities (such as research) were designed that could impact upon them. Stage two involved more intensive working between academics, form teachers, pastoral leads and children in the school. Interestingly, the

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deepening of this type of relationship flowed from requests from the children (primarily those who had received training during stage one activities), with these being elicited during discussion concerning the Rights Respecting Schools programme (for which this school holds Gold Award status), inclusive activities such as the Rhodri’s Rangers programme (a peer support programme in the school), and the rights ambassadors scheme (which led to individual children championing specific UNCRC rights, for example, eco-action). What was noteworthy during this strengthening of the stakeholder-academic relationship was the passion that children themselves articulated when exploring why they wanted to work more closely with a university, and their clear understanding that this partnership could augment their voices: See, you’re not involved in the community, so coming from there [the university] people will listen to you … They won’t listen to us sometimes, but if you’re supporting us, they will … we all win don’t we, you do stuff that people with you want to know and we get to be heard. (Keiran, child research participant)

While Kieran’s statement reveals a clear sense of frustration, what he said also indicates something quite powerful in public education terms: through participation in a positive relationship with academics, children understood that they could gain greater capacity to be authors for change (Edwards et al., 2013). In the context of the community from which the children came, this is revelatory. Stage three (which is ongoing) represents a still greater intensification of work between children, teaching staff, academics, and university students. At this stage in the relationship between the university and the school, distinctive activities took, and continue to take place. These can be summarised as being threefold. Firstly, children themselves determine research topics to be pursued, building on previous endeavours so that they can increase their knowledge of particular issues (Bovaird, 2007). Exercising a leadership role, children determine the research agenda. Secondly, more intensive training for ‘children as researchers’ has been provided—this includes time away from the classroom at the university, with activities being designed and delivered by academics

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in the areas of methodology, data analysis, and understanding impact (Lleisiau Bach, 2020). Thirdly, children are empowered to participate in activities which create policy and service change. This has occurred at a range of levels, from challenge in school through briefings and conversations with senior leaders and governors, attending and addressing academic conferences and symposia, and engaging directly with national figures such as the Children’s Commissioner for Wales. As will be shown below, in these activities the children have drawn confidently on their knowledge, lived experiences, and skills acquired through partnership endeavour, and they have frequently offered challenging perspectives that relate to criminological matters, especially the concept of justice (Burns & Creaney, 2023). The nature of criminology, criminologists, and those who participate in criminological discourse, as identified by Loader and Sparks (2011), is worth reflecting on: criminologists are typically drawn to their chosen field of enquiry at least in part by a reformist impulse (even if they wish only to use their knowledge to reduce levels of crime) and that they generally evince a desire to engage with, and be taken seriously in, the world of practical affairs. (Loader & Sparks, 2011, p. 6)

As children have continued to select deeply challenging areas for discussion and empirical research (for instance, immigration, poverty, and policing), the observation of Loader and Sparks (2011) above can be taken to apply as much now to them, as to the academics who support them.

Listening, Engagement, and Impact: Using Public Education to Change Local Policy To illustrate both the transformative potential and empirically impactive effects of public education in criminology, this section will focus on a key activity which was put into practice in the school during 2018/ 2019. During this period, the school appointed a new headteacher who

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was enthusiastic about continuing the school-university interface. In fact, the new headteacher was visionary in his understanding of how the translation of concepts from higher education to primary school level might inspire change (Tonry, 2010). During early conversations post-appointment, he explained that: This is not just about pupil voice, it is about pupil power … What we now have are pupils who have been exposed to thoughts and perspectives that go beyond the curriculum and even the confines of the community. This is powerful and now that the pupils have looked outward and gained new knowledge, I want them to know that they can validly look back into their school and be change agents. (Headteacher)

Buoyed by the support of the new headteacher, reflection sessions were arranged for a number of pupils at the university. A thinking day was organised, during which a number of exercises were undertaken to consider whether there were significant issues that they felt, in the light of what they had learned from academics and research, needed addressing in school; what sort of action they should take to address any issues; and finally, what were the possible outcomes and wider impacts. Importantly, children led this event with academics supporting their activities (Laub, 2012). In partnership with school leadership, input from teaching staff, academics, and PhD students, sessions at the university focused on the school’s behaviour code. In general, the children, aligning their discussion to notions of fairness, due process and the realisation of their rights under the UNCRC (General Comment 1, 2001; General Comment 24, 2019), suggested that the current practice in school was failing because: You have class charters, but sometimes they are different, and sometimes, you don’t even know what’s in them. So that means you might get treated differently depending what class you’re in… That’s not fair, everyone should be treated the same! (Jimmie, child research participant)

Notions of fairness were clearly embedded within what children said about the existing behaviour codes. However, the children also demonstrated a more sophisticated and theoretically sound understanding of

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how negative behaviours in a classroom could impact upon the learning community (Hendry, 2010). In addition to more due process-style concerns, two other key worries were expressed by children, and they argued passionately that change was required to address these. Firstly, the potential for poor behaviour to disrupt or affect others was articulated. Children anchored their understanding on the universal right to education presented in Articles 28 and 29, UNCRC: Article 28 1. States Parties recognise the right of the child to education … Article 29 1. States Parties agree that the education of the child shall be directed to: (a) The development of the child’s personality, talents and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential. (Articles 28 and 29 UNCRC 1989)

Dean, a boy who was especially upset that some of his favourite lessons had been disrupted, helpfully explained why poor behaviour could be, as he saw it, an infringement of his fundamental rights: I don’t think that teachers get it. We want to learn, and we love class. But when you have someone mucking about or winding others up, you can’t work. It’s like, this is not just about that person, it’s about us all, our class and even the school. (Dean, child research participant)

What Dean said inspired discussion by the children, and they emphasised, especially in the context of the community in which they lived, why it was so important that they were able to receive a quality education, without fear of teaching being compromised by others (McCluskey et al., 2008). Building upon what Dean said, Sally further stated: Yeh, it stops us learning, but its more than that. If Miss has to deal with [name redacted] when they are playing up, there’s no time for us. We have to wait to learn. How is that fair? We haven’t done anything wrong and want to learn. Something needs to be done. (Sally, child research participant)

Despite the feelings of unfairness that children reported feeling, and their worry that they and their peers were suffering dilution of their

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teaching because of behaviour concerns, another critical insight was offered. From 2012, restorative practice processes had been built into school activities (Swansea Council, 2012), notably circle time at the beginning and the end of the day, and the development of peer-based methodologies to assist those who might be upset, angry, or even lonely (Coates et al., 2003; Evanovich et al., 2020). One of the areas for research and training that had been identified by the children before 2018/2019 was that of restorative justice and, considering restorative principles, an empathetic and holistic view was offered on why behaviour might be bad (Marcucci, 2021). As the children discussed challenges arising in their communities and families, such as domestic violence, substance use, poverty, and family breakdown, they determined that behaviour was probably not due to a child wishing to be naughty, but rather, had other contributory factors (Thorsborne & Blood, 2013): See, one of the girls in the class, her mam and dad were fighting all the time and she came to school, and she started fighting as well. Can you see it? They were upset and she took it on, and she was upset then … One of my friends knows her and she didn’t want to talk about it so she was like a balloon that went pop! (Marcia, child research participant)

The dual-focus analysis of the school behaviour code was shared with the school’s senior leadership team, and a statistical exploration of trends within the institution was undertaken. This revealed that significant time was being devoted by form teachers to deal with a small number of highly disruptive children during lesson time. Moreover, it was found that there was inconsistency in class charters and the application of restorative practice, exclusion rates within the school were high, and this had an associated influence on two key school performance indicators. Firstly, the foundation phase indicator: this is the statutory curriculum in Wales for 3- to 7-year-olds which adopts a progressive developmental, experiential, and play-based approach to teaching and learning. Secondly, there was the core subject indicator which represents the percentage of pupils achieving at least the expected level in English or Welsh (first language), mathematics and science in combination (Foundation Phase Outcomes

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and National Curriculum Teacher Assessment of Core Subjects at Key Stages 2 and 3, 2018). Dialogue between the children, senior school leadership, and academics led to an agreement that a consultation with all pupils, parents, and staff should be undertaken to better comprehend perspectives and experiences relating to the behaviour code. Children were directly involved in leading research in classroom settings, designing surveys, administering these within classrooms and analysing results, with interesting results which reflected the opinions of pupils who had engaged previously with academics. Some of the results obtained are presented at Figs. 4.1 and 4.2 (Blaen y Maes Primary School, 2019). The results of the consultation were clear and aligned with what the children had said. Following the consultation, the senior leadership team asked pupils what could be done to create change. It was agreed that a three-tier approach should be implemented. The first tier was that the children would design a new behaviour code, one which reflected their concerns about minimising classroom disruption and seeking to identify (and restoratively resolve) problems facing pupils which might be the cause of poor behaviour. The second tier was the piloting of the new

Fig. 4.1 Response to the question, ‘Do you know what your class charter says?’

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Fig. 4.2 Response to the question, ‘How does other children’s behaviour stop your learning?’

behaviour code, with information and training being offered to all pupils and teachers. Finally, there was a commitment to ensure ongoing revision of the behaviour code, and regular monitoring so that it was applied fairly and consistently.

The New Behaviour Code: ‘Right to learn – Ready to learn’ Working with academics, the children invested significant time in developing a new behaviour code for their school. Again drawing on the UNCRC (especially Articles 12, 28 and 29), it was called ‘Right to learn—Ready to learn’, encapsulating two core aspects of their understandings of their education: something which was a fundamental right; but something for which they needed to be ready. Eschewing more traditional, paper, and rule-based behaviour codes, the new approach was built on three pillars: . Co-produced class charters.

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. A dynamic behaviours identification system. . Integrated restorative approaches to support those in need. As Fig. 4.2 shows, there was a paucity of knowledge about class charters. Pupils indicated that they did not know what their charters said, and thus there was confusion concerning both expectations and understandings of what would happen should a charter’s provisions be breached. To help clear confusion and to promote greater partnership between teachers and pupils, form teachers were asked to co-produce their class charters with the children, something which accords well with public education principles (Eijk & Steen, 2016; Honingh et al., 2020). This took the form of structured and prioritised discussions in-class. The UNCRC formed the bedrock of the charters, with pupils being able to emphasise specific aspects of the convention that they felt mattered to their class. Some of their emphases were behaviour-specific, for instance, respecting others’ right to learn, while additions to charters emerged from broader learning that the children had engaged with, for example, the need for classrooms to be eco-friendly. Charters were jointly agreed by the pupils and the teachers, with pupils contributing to their design and form. Once jointly approved, the charter was placed in a prominent position in the classroom. Charters were designed to be clear statements which encapsulated what pupils’ thought was fair and appropriate in terms of standards of behaviour and the general principles of learners. In and of themselves, individual charters were informative and revealed some of the more holistic issues that the children cared about. Yet, it was within the construction of the dynamic behaviour identification system that the children’s creativity and insight were most clearly demonstrated. Using Rhodri the Dragon, the school mascot, as the key visual image, a behaviour measurement scale was developed: Rhodri is the rights respecting dragon and he’s our mascot. Everyone knows who Rhodri is and he’s like a legend here. We wanted him to be part of the behaviour code because when we do rights respecting schools work, he’s a part of it and one of the lessons we learn is, although we have rights as people, others do too and we shouldn’t stop them enjoying their

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rights. So in class, so everyone can have their Article 28 rights, others have to play fair too. (Claire, child research participant)

Consisting of four Rhodri mascots, which were prominently placed on the main classroom board, each child was represented on the scale. At the beginning of each formal learning session (there were three each day), every child moved to the Green Rhodri. If form teachers were aware of any outside influences that were affecting a child, such as poor behaviour during play time or challenges at home, support would be given through the work of the school’s Family and Emotional Well-Being Teams, or nurture provision. If pupils participated in learning activities during the session, they remained on the Green Rhodri, and this fed into the awarding of class dojos (an online system which allows parents/ carers and teachers to communicate and, importantly, is a platform to reward good behaviour by pupils). As well as a green mascot, a new Purple Rhodri was introduced. One of the children’s criticisms was that good behaviour was not rewarded, only negative behaviours criticised: We were doing a project on the war and I worked so hard on it. But in class then, yeh, you get seen for what you’ve done, but there’s nothing solid. I think that if there was a prize or something, everyone would want one … It’s like Christmas, if you are good, you get more and so you want to be really good. (Lydia, child research participant)

Should a child move from green to a purple Rhodri, a higher number of class dojos would be awarded and the child’s name was put into a purple pot placed in each classroom. At the end of each week, there was a raffle where pupils drawn from the purple pot took part in lunchtime activities with the head teacher. To embed the restorative and support systems that the pupils deemed so important, a Pink Rhodri was developed. Should a pupil not comply with the expectations of the class charter, they would be moved to pink (coined as ‘pink for think’ by the children), and at this point they would be invited to reflect on their behaviour and be given a chance to rectify this. The logic for this was helpfully explained by Alex:

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Like we said, sometimes, you just have a bad day and you want to shout and stuff. But you can’t really do that, so when you go to pink then, you stop and are given time to think well, ‘is this the way I should be acting?’. It’s like a big breath of fresh air and you can ask for help as well. (Alex, child research participant)

Reinforcing the latter aspect of Alex’s comments, when a child moved to pink the desirability of nurture provision and/or emotional support was considered by the form teacher in partnership with the pupil. Visually, the green, purple, and pink Rhodris are striking, and it is easy for each child to see where they are in terms of the colours—see Fig. 4.3 (Blaen y Maes Primary School, 2019). The Pink Rhodri, as well as creating space for pupils to stop, think and gain support was also conceived of as a type of early warning system. Seeing work which was happening in the school to promote prevention, the children noted that: If you chuck someone out of a classroom, it doesn’t solve anything. You might go angrier! Getting help can be good, but sir needs to know if something’s up. No-one really should be going into pink a lot, but if they do, then it gets noticed and people can start helping you. Like with circles, we all know if something’s up and we can help just by saying, ‘are you alright?’ or ‘do you want to talk?’ (Gwydion, child research participant)

Fig. 4.3 The Rhodri mascots

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For occasions when the pink stage was insufficient to resolve challenges in the classroom, a further, Grey Rhodri, was developed. Should a child on pink not engage with the class charter or other support which is put in place for them, they move to grey. Upon moving to grey, pupils have to leave the classroom and they complete their day with designated support staff. This ensures that the class is not disrupted and that, if a child is upset, they get the support that they need. At this stage, parents/ carers are also informed and a restorative intervention, designed to avoid recurrence of the poor behaviour, is implemented in partnership with the child. Very much a last resort, this stage was perceived by children to be necessary, so that individuals did not lose valuable teaching time and that if something was wrong, a pupil would receive help: When you go to grey, you’ve got to have been really naughty, so like kicking off big style. I’ve only seen things like that once and someone was so upset he had to go out of the classroom to calm down. His Mam was called up the school and things got sorted … It wasn’t anything even about school, it was things at home and the next day, he came back and started again. (Leanne, child research participant)

It is important, reflecting upon what children said, to note that both pink and grey stages in the new behaviour code were not meant to be punishments. Suffusing each is a strong restorative ethos, intended to discover problems, to understand them, and to give individuals a chance to stop and reflect (Lodi et al., 2022). A by-product, of course, is that lessons can continue, and that there is effective mobilisation of staff through the school to help manage behaviour (Drewery & Kecskemeti, 2010). After the initial design phase of the code, school senior leaders worked closely with pupils and academics to refine the model and train staff, and they also enriched the development of teachers through the provision of code-related learning such as restorative practice process, adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) and autism awareness, in order to help ensure inclusivity. Integration of the code was monitored by the headteacher, with regular conversations occurring between him and the

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school council. The children further requested that academic research concerning the code be undertaken and this continues to be in progress.

Benefits and Reflections on Adopting a More Just School Behaviour Policy Fuelled by their desire to have a fair, just, and appropriate behaviour code, the children who had worked with academics created new ways of managing disruption in classrooms and addressing pupil needs. Significant, positive energy was invested in this co-production endeavour by pupils and academics, and it was anticipated that constructive outcomes would emerge (Honingh et al., 2020). In fact, what resulted from this public education in criminology output exceeded what was considered possible. During the 2018/2019 academic year, when the new behaviour code was put into practice, a number of positive outcomes emerged swiftly. One of the key outcomes was a change in the number of school exclusions. In a one-year period (when national trends were arguably heading in the opposite direction), school exclusions decreased by 68%: rather than being excluded, the implementation of pink and grey opportunities to pause, think and be supported, ensured that children remained in school and were given assistance, rather than being excluded from the school community and thus their education. At the same time, the higher-end poor behaviour aspect of the behaviour system recorded a marked fall in children entering the grey element of the behaviour code. As the data snapshot detailed in Fig. 4.4 (Blaen y Maes Primary School, 2019) below highlights, there was a decrease in behaviour associated with that tier of the system, and analysis also found that in the first year, only 21 pupils out of a total of 216 participated in the grey activities, with only 12 having more than two instances. The improved behaviour in classes, with the associated decrease in staff time needing to be dedicated to resolving problems appears also to have influenced academic outcomes. Hearkening back to Sally’s comments above, it was noteworthy that the following changes in outcomes were recorded: although the Foundation Phase Indicator target for 2018/

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Fig. 4.4 Instances of grey in spring and summer term 2019

2019 was 16%, the actual result was 32%, and while the Core Subject Indicator target for 2018/2019 was 55%, the actual result was 68%. This important shift in performance very much mirrored what the children had predicted would occur if a revised behaviour code were to be adopted. Improvements have continued. Figure 4.5 below shows exclusion data from 2018/2019 to the 2022/2023 academic year (Blaen y Maes Primary School, 2023). The figures are poignant, impressive even, and when it is considered that for 2022/2023, only one day of exclusion has been recorded at the school, the wisdom and efficacy of the new and co-produced behaviour code are evident. The statistical data concerning the behaviour code illustrates only one aspect of a more profound story. The journey undertaken by the school community, inspired by its pupils, and supported by teachers and academics, is one that points tantalisingly to the raw power of participation, principle, and the possibilities posed by public education approaches (Piquero, 2019). As the behaviour code has matured, the children continue to monitor it, in partnership with the headteacher and academics. Revisions have been made to the code, but it is fundamentally the same as was originally

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Fig. 4.5 School exclusion data post-behaviour code implementation

conceived by pupils. Regarding implementation, both staff and children have reported not mere acceptance of a process, but a willingness to engage in the spirit of something which appeals to them. For instance, in follow-up research, the following was shared, from different perspectives: ‘It empowers you as a teacher. There are clear boundaries that are fair for all’ (form teacher), and ‘I have been on pink twice and I felt really disappointed in myself. I was pleased that the next lesson, I could show my teacher I could be fabulous’ (Ellie, child research participant). Post-implementation of the new behaviour code, much attention has been focused on the school’s activities, and both children and staff have been invited to explain the rationale and process that they have designed. For instance, children have spoken at the university during multi-agency events, they have further engaged with Welsh Parliament Members and Ministers, and with the Children’s Commissioner for Wales. Critically, behaviour remains a priority for children at the school, and research is continuing to understand whether the new code is working and, if it requires amendment, how children can influence this.

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Public Education in Criminology: the Key to Empowering Children and Creating Impactive Change? there are ways in which the practice of criminology itself has often helped to marginalise our work and diminish our potential ‘voice’ in the public discourse …Why haven’t we done a better job of public education? Basically, because we are not well set up institutionally to do this job. There are few structural incentives for it, and indeed there are very powerful disincentives. (Currie, 2007, pp. 178–179)

As Currie’s statement implies, the participation of criminologists in public education remains a sensitive and contested matter. In many ways oxymoronic, it remains the case that some criminologists prefer to defend their positions from the confines of universities, even though for those with an interest in reforming structures and systems, their discipline is necessarily outward-looking, empirical, and frequently concentrated on dynamic, challenging, and socially impactive issues. In the current period of extraordinary crisis in the criminal justice system, which reflects tectonic shifts in public policy against those who are harder to reach or marginalised, it is arguable that the role of public education in criminology has never been more needed (Kramer, 2016; Mayhew, 2016), both from the perspectives of academics and members of local communities. Certainly, it is the case that academics, far from being locked in lecture theatres, have a valuable contribution to make to those interested in tackling injustice and policy reform and leading, through evidence-based discussion, a call to arms for social change (Arrigo, 2016; Belknapp, 2015). Seeking to understand how children from a marginalised and in many ways deprived community have been able to play a role as active collaborators within public education, this chapter has drawn on a particular project being undertaken in a South Wales school. The children, coming from an area of high, multiple deprivation are, as the Welsh Index of Multiple Deprivation (Welsh Index of Multiple Deprivation, 2019a) suggests, likely to be affected by systemic and constraining

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health, employment, educational, and environmental factors (Pantazis & Gordon, 2018). Regrettably, the very nature of marginalised and/or deprived communities sometimes means that they are excluded from being able to influence public policy or decision-making and it is arguable that public education activities may have a much greater impact upon their community, compared to others which do not face the challenges that they do (Zhang & Pryce, 2020). Yet despite such challenges, the school described in this chapter has become a crucible for dedicated public education in criminology activity, with a long-term partnership forged between pupils, the school, and a local university. Conversations, and the sharing of knowledge and dedicated training and support, have helped over time to build capacity for public education in the school discussed in this chapter. Work to enable a public education in criminology model has not however happened overnight. Rather, the model which now operates within the school has been a process of incremental growth and of relationship building. From an initial, more traditional research relationship, what now happens within the school is something different. Children know that their voices and decisions matter, and that in terms of seeking social change they are agents, not observers (Henne & Shah, 2020). Many positive outcomes have emerged from this engagement process. In the case of the journey which led to reform of the school behaviour code, pupils have benefitted from a consistent, rights-focused, procedurally fair, and restorative process which they have reviewed and are able to propose amendments to. Critically, children were the architects of the code and both its form and detail flowed from their concern to achieve a just and constructive approach towards behaviour in school. However, and importantly, the code was not merely a school-based instrument but took into account and reflected local challenges faced by children and their families. This represents a significant change, not merely in terms of policy, but in practice and outcomes and might even lead to a paradigm shift, in national practice (across Wales and potentially further) were it to be more widely adopted (Hamilton, 2013). For teachers and school leadership, a public education approach which encapsulates core criminological principles of justice, an understanding of external social factors, and knowledge of the community has been

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truly transformational. Metric-wise, exclusions have decreased, but more than that, a refreshed ethos for teachers now exists, fuelled by children’s ideas, which emphasises stronger teacher–pupil relationships and an authentic application of the rights respecting schools programme— that is, acting on rights, not just talking about rights. There have also been opportunities to upskill and enhance professional practice. Institutionally, the school has also benefitted in terms of a more strategic allocation of resources, notably in terms of the Family and Emotional Well-Being Teams. Above all, school senior leaders have been willing to listen to children and act on their views. There has also been a positive impact upon academics. Public education in criminology remains important, but at times it appears to sit outside more orthodox workload concerns. However, for those invested in children’s rights to justice, this enterprise has formed a keystone of partnership working. With an investment in time, the development of training and knowledge-sharing opportunities and relationship building with children and school staff has been prioritised. As a long-term endeavour, public education is now the model which characterises partnership working with the school. For the academics involved, this is a logical extension of the roles of teacher and researcher. Would it not be ironic if those with expertise in children’s rights did not actively seek to empower and respect the rights of those so often ignored? The dialogical relationship of public education in criminology continues to develop, with children playing an active, co-production role within this. The enduring partnership between academics and children will enable a focus to be maintained on those matters that require change and which are often the province of criminal justice agencies, municipal government, and NGO. The partnership also provides an opportunity for academics to ensure ‘both the intellectual vitality and public presence of our chosen field of study’ (Chancer & McLaughlin, 2007, p. 170). A positive vision of public education has been offered in this chapter. In developing a concluding statement, the children were asked for their experiences of participation in school-university work. Given the centrality and importance of the children in the development and empirical application of the education model which has been developed, it is fitting that they should have the last word in this chapter:

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It’s fun and we’ve loved being part of it. Yeh, it’s fun but it’s serious too. We learn things and we want to change things as well … I live in the area and know what goes on, so I know more than someone coming in, having a look about and going. I know too from what we’ve learned that we can do things to stop bad things, if only someone listened. Now they’re listening and we don’t want that to stop because we can see good things and, it makes you want to do more … We want a good area to live in, we want to be heard and we want to live good lives. We’re part of making all that happen! (Zac, child research participant)

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5 Community Sanctions and Measures—Public Criminology as a Counter to Marginality Matt Tidmarsh

Introduction Paulo Freire’s (1970/2017) Pedagogy of the Oppressed has proved a hugely important text for the development of teaching and learning practices in higher education (Ludlow et al., 2019). Written during a period of political exile from Brazil, his critique of the banking model of education, in which teachers deposit their knowledge into passive students, has been particularly influential. This humanist pedagogy assumes that knowledge is an unqualified good, a gift bequeathed by teachers to students, serving only to entrench oppression. To counter the banking model, he called for a dialogic approach that trusts in the oppressed as people who also know This chapter has been reproduced from Tidmarsh, M. (2022) A pedagogy of ‘public criminology’ as a counter to marginality? Lessons for community sanctions and measures from the Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Probation Journal, 0(0): 1-20. DOI: 10.1177/ 02645505221105394

M. Tidmarsh (B) University of Leeds, Leeds, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_5

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things. A pedagogy that is ‘forged with, not for, the oppressed’ (Freire, 1970/2017, p. 22; emphasis in original) could thus produce meaningful transformation. Freire’s (1970/2017) observations on the oppressed are not readily transferable to contemporary teaching and learning in higher education. For the field of criminology, however, it is possible to identify an oppressed group—that is, the individuals whose lives are transformed by the harms perpetuated by the criminal justice system (McNeill, 2019). Recently, scholars have highlighted how criminologists’ lack of influence within policy-making spheres has contributed to such oppression (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010). The rehabilitative approaches advocated by many criminologists diverge significantly from the punitive reality of many Western criminal justice systems (Currie, 2007), including those in the UK. This marginality of academic criminology is in spite of its popularity as a subject of study; an increasing number of young people are drawn onto university courses through media representations of criminality (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010). Indeed, the demand for criminology courses has arguably been driven by a failure to challenge distorted media portrayals of crime (Crepault, 2017). Dominant cultural representations of crime and criminality have, in recent decades, stimulated a ‘tendency to exclusion’ (Melossi, 2000, p. 300) that has driven historically high rates of imprisonment, particularly in Europe and the US (Aebi et al., 2015; Phelps, 2017). Much criminological attention has been on this ‘mass imprisonment’, at the expense of the accompanying ‘mass supervision’ (McNeill, 2019) of those subject to community sanctions and measures (CSM)—a label that captures a range of non-custodial punishments, with supervisory (e.g. unpaid work, community orders, electronic monitoring) and/or nonsupervisory (e.g. fines) elements. This is despite the use of CSM far outweighing those imprisoned in many jurisdictions (Aebi et al., 2015; Phelps, 2017). In England and Wales, for example, as of September 2021 there were approximately 79,000 imprisoned individuals compared to 235,000 on the probation caseload (Ministry of Justice, 2021). Hence, the relative invisibility of CSM implies a criminological hierarchy of marginalisation; they are ‘the “Cinderella” of the field’ (Robinson, 2016, p. 96).

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With a focus on the sub-field of CSM, this chapter brings together Freire’s (1970/2017) writings and a nascent literature on the ‘pedagogy of public criminology’ (Hamilton, 2013) to highlight the transformative potential of teaching and learning practices as a means to counter marginality. The study of public criminology, which ‘takes as part of its defining mission a more vigorous, systematic and effective intervention in the world of social policy’ (Currie, 2007, p. 176), has emerged in recent decades to bridge the divide between dominant representations of crime and professional inertia. Here, students are presented not as passive learners to be ‘domesticated’ (Freire, 1970/2017) into the inevitabilities of retributive criminal justice systems, but as publicfacing, active, and critical subjects capable of engendering positive penal change. Empowerment, defined by Carrabine et al. (2000, p. 208) as ‘working for the ordinary public rather than for narrow political interests’, is central to the chapter. Hence, students are a key public within a pedagogy of public criminology (Hamilton, 2013); they are crucial to efforts to empower oppressed individuals and communities against ‘interest groups that disempower people and cause and create conditions resulting in crime or other social injuries’ (Carrabine et al., 2000, p. 208). Like Freire (1970/2017), the chapter emphasises the transformative potential of education for the marginalised. The first part highlights how academic criminology has become a marginal field in recent decades, while the second explores its implications for CSM. This takes the probation service in England and Wales as a case study of how marginality becomes entrenched within political, media, and experiential representations, to the detriment of those subject to CSM and the sub-field itself. The third part draws out the meaning of a public criminology and emerging attempts to apply it to pedagogic practices. The final part reflects on how a pedagogy of public criminology can be developed for CSM, reflecting on Rehabilitation of Offenders—a 30-credit, thirdyear undergraduate elective I designed for the academic year 2020/21 while working at the University of Hertfordshire. It is important to note that Rehabilitation of Offenders was not designed in accordance with Freirean principles, nor is the chapter a commentary on an approach that has been systematically evaluated. Rather, post-hoc reflections on the module reveal key similarities with the Pedagogy of the Oppressed

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and public criminology. The chapter argues that political and media representations of CSM can be improved by foregrounding the experiences of those with ordinary knowledge of the criminal justice system. It concludes that the development of a pedagogy of public criminology has the potential to uplift marginalised communities and reinvigorate the sub-field of CSM. Given the net-widening (Cohen, 1985) impact of the greater use of CSM in the US and many European jurisdictions (Aebi et al., 2015), these observations, it is hoped, can provide the foundations for debate. The chapter seeks to engage those who teach CSM (and beyond) to discuss their practice and critically reflect upon how public criminology can be utilised to develop teaching and learning.

Criminology: A Marginal Field? The success of an academic field, Zedner (2003) argues, should not necessarily be judged by its ability to leverage policy. Indeed, the flourishing of criminology as a subject of study in recent decades (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010) belies the apparent impotence of contemporary criminology in policy-making spheres (Loader & Sparks, 2010). And yet, given the closeness of criminology to the state, its lack of influence has real-world consequences. Questions of who is criminal and how they should be treated are intimately entwined with political ideology: representations of crime are ‘deeply embedded within the main patterns of social relationships in a given society in a given period’ (Melossi, 2000, p. 296). Influence depends, therefore, not only on the strength of what is said but also on when arguments are made (Zedner, 2003). Social change provides windows of opportunity (Tonry, 2006, p. 54) through which new ideas can be communicated. The state expansion of the late nineteenth century that laid the foundations for the modern welfare system in the UK also proved the basis for a penal welfare consensus on crime (Garland, 1985). The field of criminology developed during this period; its influence was drawn from disciplines like statistics, psychiatry, and phrenology, for which the prison functioned as an ‘experimental laboratory, a controlled enclosure in which the new knowledge

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could develop’ (Garland, 1985, p. 79). These advances in institutionally based criminological research were accompanied by a shift in the dominant representation of people with offending histories, whether in public opinion, fictional accounts, or official discourses, from ungovernable individuals to victims of socio-economic circumstance (Melossi, 2000). This was an image ‘largely endorsed by the media, politicians, and ordinary citizens’ (Allen, 1981, p. 6). And yet, despite improvements in the material conditions of the poor that followed the expansion of the welfare state, continued statistical rises in crime contributed to the growing role of the state in the lives of the poor (Young, 1988). Much like Freire’s (1970/2017) observations on the banking model of education, the humanist penal practices that characterised criminal justice policy after the Second World War, in which professionals imparted their knowledge onto passive individuals, cannot be considered an uncritical good. Criminologists, along with psychiatrists, social workers, and probation officers, were part of the problem: efforts to decarcerate, to divert offenders by intervening in the lives of individuals defined as at-risk through the ‘shallow end’ of CSM, succeeded only in filtering evermore into the ‘deep end’ of imprisonment (Cohen, 1985). Rises in the size and cost of penal welfare brought law and order into the public sphere, as political parties sought to make electoral capital from crime (Garland, 2001). Such tough-on-crime agendas have resulted in the rise of ‘mass imprisonment’ and its concomitant harms on individuals and communities (McNeill, 2019). Against this backdrop, the ability of criminologists to shape the political directions of crime-control has waned (Currie, 2007). This is not to say that all criminologists have been marginalised. The ‘aetiological crisis’ (Young, 1988, p. 159) of the postwar period provided fertile political ground in the 1970s and 1980s for research that expressed ‘an attitude of distance, antipathy, even contempt, for [its] object of analysis’ (Melossi, 2000, p. 309). In the US, for example, dominant representations of a criminal underclass absent of individual responsibility were influential in driving zero tolerance policing strategies (Garland, 2001). Martinson’s (1974) meta-analysis of rehabilitative interventions, which found that ‘nothing works’, was (mis)represented

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by politicians to justify historically high rates of incarceration, particularly among minority ethnic communities. Indeed, racial and ethnic disparities now mark the prison systems of many Western nations, including Canada, Australia, and New Zealand (Mauer, 2017). More recently, following similar developments in England and Wales, the ‘What Works?’ agenda of the late 1990s and early 2000s presents an example of how academics’ knowledge was used to accredit rehabilitative interventions in the so-called post-rehabilitative era (Zedner, 2003, p. 219). And yet, despite these successes regarding the everyday administration of CSM in England and Wales, overall trends towards mass imprisonment and mass supervision in recent decades point to the increasingly marginal influence of criminologists. Crepault (2017) highlights both internal and external explanations for the marginalisation of criminologists. Internally, the distance between criminologists and policymakers has been exacerbated by the confinement of academic debate to small circles hidden behind the paywalls of journals. Universities, especially those with a research focus, prioritise this original scholarship over other forms of engagement (Currie, 2007). A hierarchy of credibility (Morgan, 1999, p. 330) affords greater epistemic value to academic criminology at the expense of the ordinary knowledge possessed by those with lived experience of the criminal justice system (Dearey et al., 2011). In Freire’s (1970/2017, p. 109) terms, then, the university has hardened ‘into a dominating “bureaucracy”’, within which there is little room to broaden audiences and deepen their understandings. Externally, representations of crime within political and media spheres as the product of individual failings hold emotive sway over the public imagination (Garland & Sparks, 2000). These popular discourses on crime have a greater impact on the public imagination, and morality (Melossi, 2000), than academic criminologists armed with dispassionate, peer-reviewed evidence. In an era of 24/7 news coverage, the real experts (Uggen & Inderbitzen, 2010, p. 734) are the police, legal professionals, corrections officials, and their unions, who are typically invited to provide media commentary on crime. Criminologists, by contrast, are positioned as elite interpreters (Crepault, 2017, p. 801) attempting to educate an ignorant mass whose (mis)information on crime comes from distorted media representations. This increasingly ‘hot

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climate’ (Loader & Sparks, 2010, p. 2) in which criminologists operate has precluded influence over macro-policy shifts. Such marginalisation is most apparent within representations of the sub-field of CSM.

The ‘Cinderella complex’: Representations of CSM The use of CSM is more prevalent than imprisonment in most European jurisdictions (Aebi et al., 2015), and yet, imprisonment has received significantly more academic scrutiny (McNeill, 2019). Robinson (2016) observes that, where scholarly attention has been on non-custodial punishments, it has typically been back-door adjuncts to imprisonment like the supervision of early release prisoners. By contrast, front-door measures—ranging from those which contain a supervisory element, such as unpaid work orders, community and suspended sentence orders, and electronic monitoring, to non-supervisory punishments like fines— have typically eluded academic scrutiny. This neglect of CSM has given the sub-field a ‘Cinderella complex’ (Robinson, 2016, p. 97): it is not invited to the criminal justice ball. This marginalisation is apparent within political, media, and experiential representations of CSM, and probation in particular. Political representations of CSM are challenging because the absence of a common vocabulary that shapes public understanding has rendered them a moving target (Robinson, 2016, p. 103), susceptible to continuous revision and reconfiguration. Doubts about the penal character of CSM mean they are frequently represented through ‘what they are not ’ (Robinson, 2016, p. 102; emphasis in original)—namely, imprisonment. The shift in dominant depictions of crime in recent decades has resulted in efforts to make sanctions like probation tougher: community orders were rebranded as community punishments, clients became offenders, and enforcement rules for non-compliance have been tightened (Tidmarsh, 2021). Increasing the visibility of unpaid work can also be interpreted as an attempt to enhance the legitimacy of, and public confidence in, CSM (Bottoms, 2008)—an approach that persists

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through former Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s reference to ‘fluorescentjacketed chain gangs’ when articulating plans to deter crime in England and Wales (The Guardian, 2021). Hence, the nature of political representations of CSM suggests that there remains sufficient political capital in racialised and classist tough-on-crime policies to warrant a lack of meaningful engagement with the public. Political discourse on CSM has been further obscured by their relative invisibility (Robinson, 2016, p. 104) in media representations of crime. For example, probation lacks the cultural symbols that enable it to capture the public imagination (Robinson, 2016)—even relative to other CSM, such as the tag synonymous with electronic monitoring. The normality of success (Fitzgibbon, 2016, p. 174) goes unreported; when the service does feature in the media, it is usually because of high-profile failings. Probation is seldom represented in films, books, or documentaries: as a senior manager in Tidmarsh’s (2021, p. 139) ethnography of a probation office reflected, ‘There isn’t a connection with the public. We’re not sexy like the police: we don’t have The Bill, do we?’. CSM are ‘public secrets’ (Shah, 2020, p. 137), largely hidden from view—a point evidenced in the literature on the architecture of probation offices, which emphasises how practice is predominantly computer based and concentrated in office blocks (Phillips, 2014; Tidmarsh, 2021). Accordingly, probation has been deprived of the cultural imagery required to ‘occupy any significant space in the public imagination’ (Robinson, 2016, p. 104). Political and media failure to take the penalisation of CSM seriously (Robinson, 2016) has concealed experiential representations of the harms they perpetuate. Indeed, analysis of the pains of those subject to CSM is a relatively recent phenomenon (McNeill, 2019). Hayes (2015), for example, describes the pains of rehabilitation and liberty deprivation, which impact mental and physical health, with loss of time, money, and freedom, and feelings of shame; the pains of penal welfare and external agency intervention, derived from the precariousness of service users’ accommodation, employment, and personal finances, and how this necessitates interaction with state-supported agencies; and the pains of process and stigma, related to perceived procedural unfairness and the negative attitudes of friends and family. Similarly, Durnescu (2011,

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p. 236) highlights the time individuals spend travelling, the financial costs incurred, and being forced to revisit their offences, as being part of the pains of probation. For McNeill (2019), then, such experiences are emblematic of the amplification of the scale and intensity of ‘mass supervision’, which misrecognises and misjudges offenders. These pains, he argues, are concerned ‘as much with civil degradation as with penal discipline’ (McNeill, 2019, p. 132). Accordingly, the nature of political portrayals of CSM, along with the relative absence of media and experiential representations, implies that ‘the public presence of a vocal and influential criminology’ (Currie, 2007, p. 176) is especially important for the sub-field. The next section highlights how public criminology can be utilised as a counter to such marginalisation.

Public criminology as a Counter to Marginality? Public scholarship has been adopted by multiple disciplines to disseminate knowledge to wider audiences, and criminology is no exception. While criminologists have long argued for greater engagement with extra-academia audiences (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010), recently there has been a flurry of scholarship which has explored the field’s public role (Currie, 2007; Garland & Sparks, 2000; Loader & Sparks, 2010). Public criminology is thus a strand of scholarship that seeks to counter the field’s marginality, to work reflexively towards a ‘better politics of crime and regulation’ (Loader & Sparks, 2010, p. 117). It contends that academic and popular discourses on crime need not be mutually exclusive: for Carrabine et al. (2000), public criminology operates at the interface of research, politics, media, and social policy. This entails engagement with the causes of social exclusion and advocacy on behalf of those with lived experience of the criminal justice system and the often marginalised communities from which they are derived. Public criminology seeks to render the field more transparent, applied, evidence based, empowering, and committed to social justice (Carrabine et al., 2000). In this way, with

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echoes of Freire (1970/2017), the emphasis of public criminology is on dialogue and mutual education. Efforts towards public criminology demand enquiry as to which publics are to be engaged (Piché, 2015). Given the relationship between criminology and the state, politicians and policymakers are arguably the public on which most attention has been focused (Currie, 2007). And yet, exclusive engagement with powerful constituents in the hope that they will improve the lives of the marginalised is, for Ruggiero (2012, p. 157), elitist and esoteric. Relatedly, involving marginalised individuals and communities can be problematic because ‘these actors are often defined as clients by the state, the penal system, and the nonprofit organizations contracted to extend carceral controls’ (Piché, 2015, p. 75). It is also difficult to assess which publics are being reached and how criminologists’ interpretations will be received when disseminating information through newsmaking organisations (Groombridge, 2007). Indeed, this ambiguity about publics is heightened in the context of CSM. In recent decades, Tidmarsh (2021) asserts, the public has been mobilised in different ways to justify changes to probation, to the detriment of the service’s ability to communicate its social worth. On the one hand, the public-as-law-abiding-majority has been utilised to legitimise the abovementioned attempts to render the service more punitive, to modify an organisational culture and identity premised on rehabilitation. On the other hand, the public-as-taxpayer has been appropriated to undermine the social work knowledge and autonomous practices on which probation’s professional project was predicated through managerial appeals to efficiency, accountability, and value for money. As McNeill (2019) observes, the experiences of people on probation have been neglected within the quantitative and qualitative intensifications of CSM produced by these punitive and managerial policy contradictions. Thus, he argues that the role of the public criminologist is not to mediate between established authority and the marginalised, but to engage ‘others in forming and supporting social movements that contribute to democratic dialogue and deliberation’ (McNeill, 2019, p. 156). Students, however, seldom feature in criminological debates on the publics to be engaged. For Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010, p. 740),

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[t]eaching as a form of public criminology offers particular relevance and urgency because our classes often comprise future criminal justice practitioners who soon will be in the trenches as lawyers, police officers, parole and probation officers.

To this end, Hamilton (2013, p. 21) draws on the public criminology literature to explore the pedagogical implications of a criminology that is ‘more engaged and outward looking’. Like Freire (1970/2017), this approach contends that student empowerment is necessary for positive social transformation. Here, actors who come from “another world” to the world of the people do so not as invaders. They do not come to teach or to transmit or to give anything, but rather to learn, with the people, about the people’s world. (Freire, 1970/2017, p. 153; emphasis in original)

This is relevant to criminology, another world whose subjects of study are defined by the state. A pedagogy of public criminology should, therefore, foreground the voices of the oppressed; its ‘legitimacy lies in that dialogue’ (Freire, 1970/2017, p. 101). The final section draws on my experiences of developing a module, Rehabilitation of Offenders, to illustrate the potential of a pedagogy of public criminology for CSM. Rehabilitation of Offenders consisted of 17 lectures and accompanying seminars, all of which were delivered online due to the COVID-19 pandemic, along with a guest lecture from a youth justice social worker. It explored meanings and models of rehabilitation; the rise and fall of the rehabilitative ideal; extant cultures and practices within the institutions and services responsible for working with individuals subject to CSM; and interventions with specific groups (e.g. women, Black, Asian, and Minority Ethnic people). While the module was not developed within the frameworks identified above, post-hoc reflections reveal important commonalities with public criminology and a pedagogy of the oppressed, and how they can be embedded in comparable modules. A pedagogy of public criminology can thus empower marginalised communities and reinvigorate the sub-field of CSM.

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Towards a Pedagogy of Public Criminology for CSM One implication of the marginality of criminology is that students graduate into criminal justice professions with rich theoretical understandings of crime causation and a desire to change the system but are ‘socialized into a sort of careerist timidity’ (Currie, 2007, p. 186). This marginalisation is ‘domesticating’ (Freire, 1970/2017), for it can normalise the status quo. To this end, this section advocates for a Freirean praxis based on the reflexive application of skills and knowledge. It argues that efforts to empower ordinary publics (Carrabine et al., 2000) should be woven into the fabric of education: foregrounding the knowledge which abounds in experiential representations of CSM can better inform students about the realities of the criminal justice system and equip them with the communicative skills to challenge political and media representations. In this way, ordinary and academic knowledges are presented as complementary rather than conflicting. The best example of such a pedagogy is the Learning Together programme, in which students learn alongside those subject to criminal justice supervision. Armstrong and Ludlow (2016), the founders, ground Learning Together in Freire’s (1970/2017) work: they argue that co-learning in prisons facilitates a pedagogical environment that empowers a humanity of which prison so often deprives its inhabitants. Theoretically-informed collaboration enables students and prisoners to reflect on and dismantle any preconceptions and to inspire actions that do not reproduce social harms (Ludlow et al., 2019). Indeed, Armstrong and Ludlow’s (2016) evaluation of the Learning Together pilot found that, for prisoners, the programme gave a sense of belonging which effected personal change, while students developed a sense of purpose as to roles they could play in shaping the future of criminal justice. This approach has also been adapted for the community: the Liverpool John Moores University (LJMU) iteration of Learning Together, for example, seeks to encourage more people with convictions to enter higher education (Gosling et al., 2021). In this way, viewed as a practice of freedom (Freire, 1970/2017, p. 53), Learning Together provides a pedagogy for

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all, capable of empowering learners with the skills and values to effect positive social change (Ludlow et al., 2019). Freire (1970/2017, p. 27) reminds us that ‘no reality transforms itself ’. As argued above, the nature of political representations and the absence of (positive) media depictions of CSM mean improving the lived realities of those subject to the ‘pains of supervision’ (Hayes, 2015) is difficult. A starting point for effecting change is to foreground the ordinary experiences of individuals subject to CSM; the desistance literature is replete with these. Maruna’s (2001) study of the desistance journeys of persistent property offenders is an excellent example of such representation. By synthesising individual stories with thematic analysis, he established the impact of changes to self-identity and external circumstances on crime. If ‘desistance resides somewhere in the interfaces between developing personal maturity, changing social bonds associated with certain life transitions, and… individual subjective narrative constructions’ (McNeill, 2006, p. 47), then close readings of these journeys can be a vital tool for teaching and learning on CSM. For example, Nixon (2020) has demonstrated the value of desistance narratives as a pedagogical resource. Questionnaires distributed to students following a lecture which illustrated the desistance process through real-life quotes showed that 68% felt such snapshots humanised individuals with lived experience of the criminal justice system. Given that many criminology students will progress into professions like probation, desistance narratives can promote ‘empathy and compassion for (ex) offenders’ (Nixon, 2020, p. 474). That desistance is the property of individuals subject to CSM (Maruna, 2001) means it can connect academic knowledge and lived experience in a way that empowers. Those offenders seeking to forge a new identity are frequently required to explain themselves, contrasting a past (criminal) self with a present (reformed) self (Presser, 2009). The authenticity of such accounts, particularly in political and media representations of crime, is often challenged; however, narrative criminologists have countered this claim by asserting that the value of stories lies not in their truth, per se, but in analysing where the storyteller chooses to attribute meaning (Presser, 2009). As such, narrative criminology, ‘the study of the role the telling and sharing of stories play [sic] in committing, upholding and effecting desistance

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from crime’ (Sandberg & Ugelvik, 2016, p. 129), can challenge dominant representations of crime and criminals (Presser, 2009). That these stories can arouse emotion and provoke questions of morality means they can move seamlessly between ‘mainstream media, popular culture and social media, to individuals, groups and communities’ (Fleetwood et al., 2019, p. 11). Narratives are typically generated through auto-ethnography, interview data, images, and artefacts (Fleetwood et al., 2019). The prison has proved a fertile site for the production of such stories. Dearey et al., (2011, p. 87) have shown how narratives can be incorporated into teaching and learning practices through prisoners’ life-writings; they ‘challenge … extant academic culture and pedagogical/research praxes of criminology that typically ignore … “ordinary” knowledge’. An example of a pedagogy created with, rather than for, the oppressed (Freire, 1970/ 2017), prison life-writing provided students in the second year of their degree with cheap, accessible datasets that broadened understandings of criminal motivations and gave them an opportunity to reflect on what was learned in their first year. A dialogic approach that brought together students and prisoners overpassed the divide between students’ academic knowledge and those with lived experience of imprisonment. As a medium that is rich, descriptive, and evocative, prison life-writing is ‘a key pedagogical tool for enhancing teaching and learning’ (Dearey et al., 2011, p. 98). Indeed, as Freire (1970/2017) observed, a more critical understanding of the oppressed is an important step in political transformation. While probation lacks such autobiographical texts, I utilised similar narratives in my Rehabilitation of Offenders seminars. Many activities revolved around ethnographic notes of probation supervision meetings between practitioners and the individuals on their caseloads, observed as part of a previous research project (Tidmarsh, 2021). I found that a focus on the offence typically elicited punitive responses from students; by contrast, knowledge of an individual’s personal history prompted more empathetic views. Take, for example, the case study below, from a seminar on emotional labour in rehabilitative work:

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Jo, a probation officer, recently received a text from a police officer with whom she shares a strong professional relationship alerting her that one of her clients, Mark, was recently arrested for stealing electric shavers. Mark has been in and out of prison for 20 years, largely related to his heroin use, although he has been clean for approximately six months. She rings Mark, who has been released on bail, and he denies that he is using again. A few days later, Jo receives a text from Mark saying that he wants to meet to purchase heroin. The text, which was meant for his dealer, is evidence that Mark was lying to her. She hauls him in for a meeting.

At this point, students were asked for their opinions on the most appropriate course of action for Mark. His offence, offending history, and drug use provoked punitive responses—namely, that he should be returned to prison. When Mark’s story was presented alongside his offence, however, most students reconsidered their stance: Even though Mark lied to Jo, they have an excellent relationship. He previously held a respectable job and had a loving family, but his wife and daughter were tragically killed in a car accident 20 years ago. Drugs have been Mark’s coping mechanism, and Jo has been his probation officer for nearly 15 years. He explains to her that he has become friends with someone who is a bad influence, which resulted in a relapse. Mark breaks down and begins to cry at the prospect of being returned to prison.

Mark’s personal biography demonstrates how ‘[t]he “whole story” complicates and historicizes’ (Presser, 2009, p. 179) individuals. While it is not as explicitly dialogic as programmes like Learning Together, in which students and those subject to criminal justice supervision are co-located in a learning environment, it nonetheless draws attention to the openings, barriers, progress, and setbacks an individual faces as they attempt to desist from crime. Incorporating ethnographic research into teaching practices can give students valuable insight into CSM: it both introduces them to the emotional skills on which they will draw in a variety of occupations that depend upon casework with vulnerable individuals and educates them in the realities of the field. Foregrounding such experiential representations of CSM provides more empathetic

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means to depict the lived experiences of oppressed groups. These narratives can also introduce non-traditional forms of capital into higher education, disrupting the traditional university habitus and the ways in which it reflects social, economic, and cultural power (Gosling et al., 2021). While real-life narratives enable students to ground theory in the concrete realities of those who work in, or are subject to, the criminal justice system, fictitious accounts can be just as valuable. Perez et al. (2019) co-produced novelettes with crime fiction writers to teach criminological theory at the University of Catalonia. They found that the novelettes were mostly received positively by students, enhancing ‘reader experience by imagining realities based on real-life events’ (Perez et al., 2019, p. 1886). Similarly, as part of their Learning Together programme at LJMU, the first university-based initiative for those with lived experience of the criminal justice system, Gosling et al. (2021) embedded ‘creative response sessions’ alongside more traditional pedagogy. They contend that, through the medium of poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction, the sessions provided an opportunity to meaningfully synthesise ‘academic insight, lived experience and professional practice’ (Gosling et al., 2021, p. 160). Works of fiction are seldom written about CSM, although the short story that accompanies McNeill’s (2019) Pervasive Punishment is a notable exception. This highlights how the ‘pains of supervision’ (Hayes, 2015) can stifle those subject to CSM and practitioners, and could thus prove a similarly valuable pedagogic resource. Fictional accounts not only offer important perspectives into lived experience but can also be translated into media representations of crime. For Crockett Thomas et al. (2021), song-writing can also be utilised to explore personal experiences through narrative problem-solving, not least because it provides spaces within which artists can explore alternative selves. They demonstrate how songs co-produced with Scottish prisoners offer insight into ‘the relationships between narratives, the contexts and conditions of production and the pursuit of justice’ (Crockett Thomas et al., 2021, p. 14). Truthfulness is unimportant (Presser, 2009); rather, song-writing grants opportunity to reflect on and rewrite notions of punishment and the self. From a public criminology perspective,

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the outputs derived from such ‘sensory criminologies’ (McNeill, 2019, p. 155) can provide popular accompaniments for academic research on areas of criminal justice, like CSM, which lack cultural signifiers. The use of music within teaching and learning can extend beyond the articulation of individual narratives to the wider social consequences of the criminal justice system. Here, hip-hop offers a wealth of possibilities for a pedagogy of CSM (Crockett Thomas et al., 2021). My Rehabilitation of Offenders seminars often drew upon hip-hop to shine a light on those with lived experience of the criminal justice system and emphasise the dialogic potential of creative forms of ordinary knowledge. For example, the seminar on ‘mass supervision’ utilised the following lyrics from Mathematics by Mos Def (1999): When the average minimum wage is $5.15 You best believe you gotta find a new ground to get cream The white unemployment rate, is nearly more than triple for black So front liners got they gun in your back Bubbling crack, jewel theft and robbery to combat poverty And end up in the global jail economy Stiffer stipulations attached to each sentence Budget cutbacks but increased police presence And even if you get out of prison still living Join the other five million under state supervision

Students are asked to identify and evaluate the lyrics that indicate quantitative and qualitative intensifications of punishment in the US, particularly within marginalised African-American communities, with reference to McNeill’s (2019) dimensions of ‘mass supervision’: the number of people supervised, the social concentration of supervision, the mass treatment of a social group, and the burden of being supervised. One does not need an intimate knowledge of music to find such examples, for websites like AZLyrics (www.azlyrics.com) can be used to search song lyrics for terms such as probation. Representations of criminal justice that can combine ordinary experiences and popular media with research are thus well placed to advocate for political change. The most successful exponent of such an approach in recent years is The Secret Barrister ’s (2018) eponymous account of how

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the legal system is failing, told through stories of their clients. CSM lacks a similarly popular account that has attracted significant public interest. Like legal aid, though, the penal welfare nexus that comprises CSM works with similarly complex individuals with stories; it, too, could benefit from an accessible, first-hand narrative of its purposes and practices. Engaging students, as future probation professionals, in teaching and learning that encourages a praxis (Freire, 1970/2017) grounded in penal ethics, can empower them with the critical thinking and communicative skills to put forth accounts of CSM that render the sub-field more visible. The European Probation Rules state that ‘probation agencies shall inform the media and the general public about the[ir] work … in order to encourage a better understanding of their role and value in society’ (c.f. Canton, 2019, p. 7). However, as argued above, CSM like probation are neglected within media spheres, while political representations actively undermine their legitimacy. Here, the ‘popularisation of research evidence’ (Hamilton, 2013, p. 24) can be utilised to question commonsense assumptions about crime. In the public criminology literature, newsmaking criminology—in which criminologists utilise mass communication to inform, interpret, and alter representations of crime and justice—has been presented as a way to debunk misinformation (Groombridge, 2007). Among the approaches to newsmaking criminology identified by Piché (2015, pp. 78–79) are the criminologist-as-expert and the criminologist-as-journalist. If the criminologist-as-expert is seldom called upon within the media to respond to crime, then a counter to this approach is the criminologist-as-journalist, who seeks to claim control of media representations and to bring criminological knowledge to the fore without the peremptory tone of an elite interpreter (Crepault, 2017). Given that academic writing is often subject to criticisms around its insularity (Currie, 2007), encouraging students to write for broader audiences could help to empower them with the critical thinking skills to explicitly challenge how CSM are reported while enhancing their public face. Assessments can be utilised to consolidate such a praxis, for they are an important component of a critical and transformative pedagogy (Serrano et al., 2018). For example, in her study of a module titled

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Crime and Criminal Justice, delivered to second- and third-year social sciences students at the University of Tasmania as their first exposure to criminology, Howes (2017) asked students in an end-of-year exam to reflect on when and how their assumptions on crime had been challenged throughout the module. She found that most students, many of whom had begun the module with opinions on crime that resonated with the right-realist, tough-on-crime views articulated above, developed a recognition of the relevance of theoretical explanations for crime causation. Reflection and action, then, are prerequisite for change (Freire, 1970/ 2017). The rise of podcasting has opened new routes for assessment (Forbes & Khoo, 2015). Evidence of using student-generated podcasts as a form of assessment from social work (Hitchcock et al., 2021) and teaching (Forbes & Khoo, 2015) indicates that they can enhance self-awareness and improve communication. Notably, Forbes and Khoo (2015, p. 341) found that ‘educators and students valued learning from one another to connect, support, share and expand the teaching–learning opportunities in the class’. Given how crime is reported in the media, asking students to discuss and critique it as a form of assessment can promote collaboration through dialogue. Here, true crime, a ‘genre foundational to popular or “everyday” explanations of crime in the … public imagination’ (Dearey et al., 2011, pp. 90–91), has arguably been part of the problem but can also be part of the solution. True crime has become a staple on the media landscape, the most public form of contemporary criminology (Dearey et al., 2011); while much of it sensationalises crime, it has arguably driven the demand for criminology courses. Dearey et al., (2011, p. 99) warn that criminology ‘is in danger of further marginalisation if it does not engage more directly and openly with these other explanatory and popular texts’. Podcasting, therefore, offers a way to harness such popular understandings into something transformative; to engage with, and critique, dominant representations of crime while empowering students with the skills to persuasively advocate for non-custodial responses to criminality. Indeed, reflecting on how students on Rehabilitation of Offenders were assessed reveals key similarities with the approaches advocated throughout the chapter—namely, the use of a Freirean praxis to promote

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CSM by foregrounding experiential representations of offenders. In addition to a traditional essay, a mock pre-sentence report (PSR, a key duty of probation officers) comprised 40% of the module marks. Students were given a lengthy narrative of an offence committed by ‘Jamie’, an individual with multiple and complex needs, adapted from my ethnographic notes. Guidance on PSRs was provided by a guest lecturer, a youth justice social worker, to ‘bring criminology to life’ (Nixon, 2020, p. 474; emphasis in original). The guest lecturer reflected on his everyday activities (Payne et al., 2003), including how casework with anonymised individuals in the community was translated into PSRs. Students were required to summarise Jamie’s case; assess his criminogenic risks and needs; and propose a sentence (conditional discharge, community/suspended sentence order, custody) with relevant requirements. The purpose of the assessment was to get students to reflect on his life-story and (hopefully) suggest a parsimonious, proportionate, and productive (McNeill, 2019) response which negated how the pains of supervision can intensify oppression (see Hayes, 2015). The mock PSR resonated with what Serrano et al., (2018, p. 17) call an ‘“intuitive” Critical Pedagogy’, in that it sought to promote reflexive engagement with the penal ethics that guided the design of the module. In this way, it utilised ordinary knowledge and experiences to promote empathy, enhance academic learning, and introduce students to the realities of working within the sub-field of CSM.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to draw out how a pedagogy of public criminology can be practically applied to teaching and learning practices for CSM. Here, there is considerable overlap with Freire’s (1970/2017) Pedagogy of the Oppressed : both seek to empower, to effect positive social change by foregrounding the ordinary knowledge replete within experiential representations of marginalised groups. Most criminology students do not face the same oppressions as people under criminal justice supervision, but it can be argued that their fates are entwined. Many criminology students will progress into jobs (prison, probation, police,

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law, etc.) that have a direct bearing on marginalised individuals and communities. Given the convergence of the collapse of academic criminological influence over policy-making, the punitive nature of political representations of CSM, and their neglect within the media, students are obvious collaborators with whom to transform structures of oppression. CSM, it has been argued, operate within the lower reaches of an already marginalised sub-field. Attempts to bring them into the public sphere are not without risk, although confining debate to experts has hardly constrained their use (McNeill, 2019). Accordingly, the chapter has suggested several ways in which academics who teach CSM can render the sub-field a more dialogic, public-facing enterprise. As people who also know things (Freire, 1970/2017), the narratives—such as (non)fiction, song-writing, photography (McNeill, 2019)—of those with experience of criminal justice, as users or providers, can enhance understandings of the system. The desistance literature, notably its emphasis on the intersection of personal and material transformation, abounds with such insights into the life-worlds of those who work in, or are subject to, the criminal justice system and the factors that influence their decisionmaking. Assessments and seminar activities can foreground such stories, utilising new and old mediums to instil within students, as future professionals, the skills required to communicate the morality of approaches to punishment that are parsimonious, proportionate, and productive (McNeill, 2019). By encouraging self-reflection and evidence-informed action (Freire, 1970/2017), public criminology provides a paradigm within which to develop a pedagogy of CSM. A recent job change has meant that personal opportunities to apply the Freirean praxis championed in this chapter are, at present, more limited. The chapter also focuses on Western nations, and England and Wales in particular, and more research should consider perspectives from the Global South. Given the simultaneous invisibility and prevalence of CSM in many jurisdictions, and its racialised and classist implications for marginalised communities, my hope is that the chapter stimulates debate on how a pedagogy of CSM can be made more public and, hopefully, transformative. A pedagogy of public criminology that seeks to empower

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students to change the lived realities of the oppressed can, therefore, contribute to reinvigorating CSM as a marginalised sub-field.

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Fitzgibbon, W. (2016). Probation, privatization and perceptions of risk. In M. Vanstone & P. Priestley (Eds.), Probation and politics: Academic Reflections from Former Practitioners (pp. 159–176). Palgrave Macmillan. Fleetwood, J., Presser, L., Sandberg, S., & Ugelvik, T. (2019). Introduction. In J. Fleetwood, L. Presser, S. Sandberg, & T. Ugelvik (Eds.), The Emerald handbook of narrative criminology (pp. 1–36). Bingley. Forbes, D., & Khoo, E. (2015). Voice over distance: A case for podcasting for learning in online teacher education. Distance Education, 36 (3), 335–350. Freire, P. (1970/2017). Pedagogy of the oppressed . Penguin. Garland, D. (1985). Punishment and welfare: A history of penal strategies. Gower. Garland, D. (2001). The culture of control: Crime and social order in contemporary society. Oxford University. Garland, D., & Sparks, R. (2000). Criminology, social theory and the challenge of our times. British Journal of Criminology, 40 (2), 189–204. Gosling, H., Burke, L., & Maclennan, S. (2021). Learning together: Forging belonging among students with experience of the criminal justice system. Innovations in Practice, 14 (1), 14–22. Groombridge, N. (2007). Criminologists say…: An analysis of UK national press coverage of criminology and criminologists and a contribution to the debate on ‘public criminology.’ The Howard Journal, 46 (5), 459–475. The Guardian. (2021, July 27). Johnson proposes hi-vis chain gangs as part of crime plan. https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2021/jul/ 27/johnson-proposes-hi-vis-chain-gangs-as-part-of-crime-plan. Accessed 21 January 2022. Hamilton, C. (2013). Towards a pedagogy of public criminology. Enhancing Learning in the Social Sciences, 5 (2), 20–31. Hayes, D. (2015). The impact of supervision on the pains of community penalties in England and Wales: An exploratory study. European Journal of Probation, 7 (2), 85–102. Hitchcock, L. I., Sage, T., Lynch, M., & Sage, M. (2021). Podcasting as a pedagogic tool for experiential learning in social work education. Journal of Teaching in Social Work, 41(2), 172–191. Howes, L. M. (2017). Critical thinking in criminology: Critical reflections on learning and teaching. Teaching in Higher Education, 22(8), 891–907. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2010). Public criminology? Routledge. Ludlow, A., Armstrong, R., & Bartels, L. (2019). Learning Together: Localism, collaboration and reflexivity in the development of prison and university learning communities. Journal of Prison Education and Reentry, 6 (1), 25–45.

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Martinson, R. (1974). What works?—Questions and answers about prison reform. The Public Interest, 35, 22–54. Maruna, S. (2001). Making good . American Psychological Association. Mauer, M. (2017). Incarceration rates in an international perspective. https://oxf ordre.com/criminology/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780190264079.001.0001/ acrefore-9780190264079-e-233?print=pdf. Accessed 23 May 2022. McNeill, F. (2006). A desistance paradigm for offender management. Criminology and Criminal Justice, 6 (1), 39–62. McNeill, F. (2019). Pervasive punishment: Making sense of mass supervision. Bingley. Melossi, D. (2000). Changing representations of the criminal. British Journal of Criminology, 40, 296–320. Ministry of Justice. (2021). Offender management statistics Bulletin, England and Wales: July to September 2021. Ministry of Justice. Morgan, S. (1999). Prison lives: Critical issues in reading prisoner autobiography. The Howard Journal, 38(3), 328–340. Mos Def. (1999). Mathematics. Rawkus. Nixon, S. (2020). Using desistance narratives as a pedagogical resource in criminology teaching. Journal of Criminal Justice Education, 31(4), 471–488. Payne, B. K., Sumter, M., & Sun, I. (2003). Bring the field into the criminal justice classroom: Field trips, ride-alongs, and guest speakers. Journal of Criminal Justice Education, 14 (2), 327–344. Perez, L. P., Linde, A., Molas-Castells, N., & Fuertes-Alpiste, M. (2019). The use of novelettes for learning in a Criminology degree course. Studies in Higher Education, 44 (11), 1874–1888. Phelps, M. (2017). Mass probation: Towards a more robust theory of state variation in punishment. Punishment and Society, 19 (1), 53–73. Phillips, J. (2014). The architecture of a probation office: A reflection of policy and an impact on practice. Probation Journal, 61(2), 117–131. Piché, J. (2015). Assessing the boundaries of public criminology: On what does (not) count. Social Justice, 42(2), 70–90. Presser, L. (2009). The narratives of offenders. Theoretical Criminology, 13(2), 177–200. Robinson, G. (2016). The Cinderella complex: Punishment, society and community sanctions. Punishment & Society, 18(1), 95–112. Ruggiero, V. (2012). How public is public criminology? Crime, Media, Culture, 8(2), 151–160.

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6 Inside-Out as Public Criminology: The Ripple Effect Revisited Katherine Pickering and Joey Whitfield

Introduction This chapter draws on the perspectives and reported actions of former undergraduate (Outside) Students who took part in an Inside-Out course called ‘Crime and Social Justice in Global Perspective’ which was run three times for a semester each between 2018 and 2020. The course was a collaboration between His Majesty’s Prison, Cardiff, the School of Modern Languages and the School of Law and Politics at Cardiff University. Inside-Out is an educational movement that promotes and provides support for university-prison partnerships. These consist of exchange programmes in which university-level modules are delivered inside prisons to classes composed of half imprisoned learners (known as K. Pickering (B) · J. Whitfield Cardiff University, Cardiff, UK e-mail: [email protected] J. Whitfield e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_6

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Inside Students) and half university undergraduates (known as Outside Students). The programme aims to have dramatic impacts through transformative education—the transformation being the rehabilitation of attitudes towards the criminal justice system and those within it— starting directly with the students involved and spreading outwards to a societal level. This spread of experiences from the prison classroom outwards is referred to by the Inside-Out founder, Lori Pompa, as the ‘ripple effect’ (2013). The programme was established in the USA in the late 1990s by Pompa in collaboration with men imprisoned in Graterford (Pompa, 2013). Although most Inside-Out courses, much like Pompa’s first class at Graterford, take place within men’s prisons, the overwhelming majority of students, as in our own study, tend to be female (Allred et al., 2020; Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Steil & Mehta, 2020; Van Gundy et al., 2013; Wyant & Lockwood, 2018). No literature has fully explored this phenomenon, but it is likely due to the nature of the university modules that offer Inside-Out courses attracting more female students—around 55% of their cohorts (Wyant & Lockwood, 2018) and that the overwhelming majority of Inside-Out instructors are also women (Van Gundy et al., 2013). Scholars who have previously run Inside-Out courses have expressed concerns over the gender disparities, and the age gaps, as the Outside (undergraduate) students tend to be close in age (around their early twenties) while the Inside (incarcerated) students vary in age (Leon & Perez, 2019). However, this diversity has not been recorded as disruptive or damaging to the discussion in any of the Inside-Out literature. Inside-Out was inspired by the works of radical pedagogists such as Myles Horton and Paulo Freire (Davis & Roswell, 2013), both of whom saw education as a tool to bring about deep, radical and even revolutionary change on a societal level. InsideOut courses can tackle any topic in terms of their curricula but typically involve consciousness-raising around structural problems with criminal justice systems, of which they tend to be highly critical. However, InsideOut teaching explicitly avoids—and even prohibits—activism, at least within the prisons where it takes place. This is of course an unavoidable pragmatic limitation on any programme that requires the consent and collaboration of prison authorities; proponents of prison reform or

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abolition might point to Inside-Out’s dependence on the status quo as evidence of an inherent structural conservatism, and of a limitation on its ability to effect change (regardless of how radical the content of its teaching might be). In this chapter, we consider Cardiff University’s Inside-Out programme as a potential form of public criminology. Public criminology is, according to Loader and Sparks, the study of how crime, the criminal justice system, punishment and rehabilitation, victimhood and guilt are perceived by the wider public (Loader & Sparks, 2010). Like InsideOut, the goal of public criminology is transformation. The aim is not just to study public perceptions, but to shape them. According to Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010, p. 726), the purpose of public criminology is to ‘nurture the passion students bring to justice concerns while contributing to professional, critical, and policy criminology’, in order to eventually bring what is taught and discussed in the classroom to the wider public. The primary goal of this chapter is to explore the transformational power of Inside-Out by addressing what transformations take place after courses have ended, and what those changes may look like in the medium term. We take our lead from Pompa in asking how experiences from the prison classroom flow outwards to the wider public via the ‘ripple effect’ which we ‘revisit’ by gathering our data years after the initial ‘ripples’ were caused. As a theory of change, this effect has so far been defined only vaguely, so the secondary aim of our article is to systematise the idea and theorise its potential as a model. Our study is modest in size as we only had responses from six of the 17 former Outside Students (although we contacted all of them), and we could only attempt to contact a few of the former Inside Students; from them, we received no response at all. The limitations this placed on our findings are explored below. We begin with an account of how change has been evaluated in previous studies of Inside-Out. We then explore the ripple effect as mentioned in the literature, and set out what we take it to be. A discussion of our methodology precedes the data we were able to gather according to a framework inspired by the ripple effect. We discuss our findings which we hope will serve as a foundation for future studies into the medium- and long-term effects of transformative learning experiences.

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The Literature In reviewing the literature on Inside-Out, we paid particular attention to how that literature conceives of change, within and potentially outside the prison classroom. In focusing on change, we consider the programme’s potential as a form of public criminology as defined by both Loader and Sparks and Uggen and Inderbitzin above: specifically, how criminology has both the potential to shape the world and how it can nurture the passions of students in order do so. Given the nearly two decades that Inside-Out has been running, and its global span, there is a lot of scholarly output (and scholarship which discusses similar prison-university exchange programmes). Most of this literature, however, focuses on the dynamics within the classroom and the transformations that take place during the usually one-semester-long courses. Many scholars place emphasis on the immersive nature of the programmes and the fact that they take place within prisons (Allred, 2009; Aresti & Darke, 2016; Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016; Celio et al., 2011; Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Gray et al., 2019; Heider, 2018; Hilinski-Rosick & Blackmer, 2014; King et al., 2019; Martinovic et al., 2018). Thus, change is seen as beginning within the classroom, where the immersive style of teaching and learning leads to personal transformation. This contrasts with more traditional forms of university education which is typically abstracted from the issues and contexts studied. For example, while professional training in law or criminology encourages students to mute moral commitments, removing the normative or emancipatory purpose from their research questions and methodologies (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010), Inside-Out asks the exact opposite. Students are ‘immersed’ in situ, where they experience ‘real life’ to apply to their work and reading rather than pure theories (Pompa, 2004). Pompa (2004, p. 25) refers to this as the ‘gift of disturbance’, when learning happens within the same social, cultural and historical context that it seeks to teach, that is, students, both Inside and Outside, are fully immersed in that which they are studying, as they draw from one another’s first-hand experiences to give meaning to and flesh out the ideas and theories being discussed in class (Hilinski-Rosick & Blackmer, 2014; King et al., 2019; O’Brien et al., 2022).

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Pompa also conceptualises change through the spatial metaphor of border crossing. By sharing their experiences, either of the criminal justice system, or of the academic ideas surrounding it, students blur the roles of teacher/student and democratise the learning process (Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Gray et al., 2019; Heider, 2018; Hilinski-Rosick & Blackmer, 2014; Pompa, 2004). Inside Students are able to gain a new perspective on their own experiences from within the academic framework, allowing them to engage in debate and tackle the punitive nature of prisons with a new sense of empowerment that accompanies their transformations into educators and sources of specialist, insider knowledge (Pompa, 2004). Pompa (2004) calls this the ultimate bordercrossing experience, one in which hierarchies are made visible, challenged and even eroded within the classroom. It may also be the first time many Outside Students begin to grasp the true reality of life within the prison system. Scholars have suggested that this style of active participation and space for sharing creates a mutually beneficial process of idea exchange in which everyone is aware of the value their thoughts and stories have for every member of the class (Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Gray et al., 2019; Hilinski-Rosick & Blackmer, 2014; Martinovic et al., 2018; Strickland, 2021). Heider (2018), who approaches Inside-Out from a feminist perspective, also highlights the collaborative environment as a way to shift power and dismantle hierarchies. She is especially interested in how this collaboration and reorientation of perspectives happens so organically between two groups who may otherwise not have met. But the transformation that warrants the most discussion within the literature is the changing attitudes of the Inside and Outside Students—who have typically had wildly differing life experiences until their encounter in the Inside-Out classroom—towards one another. The personal growth and re-shaping of ideas about each group are found to lead to greater empathy levels: students were able to identify with one another and to see similarities between their experiences and their worldviews (Heider, 2018; King et al., 2019; Martinovic et al., 2018; Strickland, 2021). A focus on the humanisation process associated with university-prison exchange programmes runs throughout the literature, perhaps because it has the greatest bearing on how the programme’s

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influence reaches wider society. In this sense, Keene et al. (2018) and Hirschfield and Piquero (2010), among others, have written about how stigma affects previously incarcerated people upon their return to society. Upon release, ex-prisoners rarely find acceptance in wider society outside of a few groups who may accept them due to high rates of contact with the criminal justice system within that community, or within a community that has a low opinion of, and little trust in, the criminal justice system. There is usually significant overlap between these groups (Hirschfield & Piquero, 2010). As such, due to the stigma, ex-prisoners have great difficulties in securing employment and stable housing outside of these communities. This often leaves them unemployed and without adequate housing. This increases the stigma, further reducing their chances of securing work and shelter, a vicious cycle which, more often than not, leads to re-offending (Keene et al., 2018). In working to counteract stigma, Inside-Out programmes are aligned with the goals of public criminology as defined by Loader and Sparks: here specifically to (re)shape public perceptions around people who are, or have been, in prison. Furthermore, research has suggested that the transformational and empowering experience of Inside-Out aligns with the goals of public criminology in its capacity to lead to a questioning of previously takenfor-granted structures. For example, O’Brien et al. (2022) describe how the Inside-Out experience helps students to not only find their voices, but better understand what they can do with their voice. Former Inside Students can challenge the criminal justice system, not just by pointing out the need for change, from the brutal, punitive nature of many such institutions, but also by understanding how they should change—for example, the links between better education opportunities in prisons and lower rates of recidivism and higher rates of employment (Gray et al., 2019; O’Brien et al., 2022). Outside Students, too, have been found to challenge beliefs about their own educational institutions. As King, Measham and O’Brien (2019) report, many Outside Students found the Inside-Out classroom to be a more nurturing and safer environment for airing opinions than their university lecture halls. Many factors contribute to the Inside-Out classroom’s nurturing environment, from the care taken to build trust and a learning community, the simpler

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nature of the readings, the encouragement of collaboration and the conversational tone (Heider, 2018; Leon & Perez, 2019; Shay, 2012). Interestingly, the security felt by Inside-Out students in discussing their experiences, opinion and emotions is usually greater among all-female groups than mixed or all-male groups, as has been shown by comparative studies (Martinovic et al., 2018) and studies of all-women courses (Hyatt, 2009; Zampini et al., 2019). Their value and contribution to the Inside-Out classroom paint the Inside Students in a new light, as contributing members of a community that does not necessarily end at the prison walls. Strickland reports of Inside Students in a specialised Mexican prison for cartel members that, ‘their testimonies reveal conscientization, changes in the ways they perceive themselves and others, and a sense of emancipation, all of which they attribute to Inside-Out’ (2021, p. 14). In evidencing processes of conscientisation, Strickland applies a concept from political organising that implies a hope that students will go on to become engaged in processes of political transformation. In most of the literature, this hope is present, albeit often as a subtext. Fouché and Guillermo assessed the criminal justice activism of Outside Students—defined here as whether they engaged in pro-bono programmes—during the course (2021). But even literature that does not go as far as to look at activism reports that during or immediately after course completion, Outside Students show increased levels of sympathy, empathy and understanding, and lower levels of punitive thinking and negative opinions towards people convicted of crimes (Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Hilinski-Rosick & Blackmer, 2014; Pompa, 2004).

The Ripple Effect The idea of the ‘ripple effect’ is mentioned in much of the extant literature on Inside-Out: as students (Inside and Outside) learn to overcome the social barriers that once separated them they start to internally challenge their long-held perceptions of the criminal justice system (King et al., 2019; Martinovic et al., 2018). Their new knowledge and new attitudes not only shape former Inside-Out students but begin to take

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hold within their respective institutions. Participation in the programme increases chances of employment upon release for Inside Students, and Outside Students often find direction and renewed commitment to their studies (Bumiller, 2013; Gray et al., 2019). The programme (and others like it, such as the now ended Learning Together programme) also provides access to institutions such as the prison and the university, which can seem equally inaccessible and unwelcoming to different groups of people, exposing them to new communities (Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016; Hirschfield & Piquero, 2010). This is how the ripples are assumed to function: the impact begins in the Inside-Out classroom, which, through the individuals and their personal networks, filters into their institutions and the communities that surround those institutions, finally working its way into wider society (see Aresti & Darke, 2016; Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Gray et al., 2019; Pompa, 2013; Werts, 2013). The existing literature on Inside-Out does not, however, think about the ripple effect in a very systematic manner. Ripples are concentric rings moving outwards in time and space after a stone is dropped into water; the studies we have looked at mostly focus on the centre. This is the moment of the stone being dropped into the pond, that is, the course itself or its immediate aftermath. The literature draws conclusions on the effects of Inside-Out based on responses to questionnaires, course evaluations seeking student feedback, or by citing the reflective essays that students write as part of the course assessment. Heider (2018) draws on student feedback collected during and immediately after the course, while Hilinski-Rosick and Blackmer (2014) use the weekly papers written by students during the course as data. In the case of the latter, the very requirement to write a reflective essay tends to prompt, even reward, students for emphasising the course’s transformative power. While this does not mean that the evidence is not reliable, it is likely that it is biased in favour of highly positive responses. This is because the courses are structured to encourage reflection on personal change, but also because the experience of the course itself is very intense for both groups of students. The experience of immersion in a new and initially stressful and intimidating environment that changes through careful course facilitation into a productive, stimulating learning community produces a

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powerful collective sense of achievement and even euphoria. This leads to grandiloquent statements on the part of some respondents. For example, ‘[the Inside-Out course] was unbelievable, […] irreplaceable, invaluable, and to have that much knowledge basically gives you […] confidence (Inside Student 02, DPFC)’ (Martinovic et al., 2018, p. 446). Similarly positive responses were made by students on the Cardiff programmes. For example, one student wrote, I have found this experience to be truly extraordinary, eye opening and beneficial for helping me grow both as a student and as a person...Through discussion with people I would be unlikely to encounter in my everyday life, let alone enter into academic discussion with, I have had all of my assumptions questioned. I feel I have been part of a highly engaged group who have made me feel respected, listened to and valued. (Outside Student on Cardiff University Inside-Out programme, 2018)

Although this positive evidence and literature is convincing, it is our contention that studies based on immediate responses do not go as far as they could in exploring the transformative potential of Inside-Out. They look only at the most central, smallest ripples. The ripple metaphor can be compared with others used by activists who engage in critical or anti-prison work. Faced with the impossibility of meaningful progress in terms of actual reform or radical change, abolitionists often focus on images of small-scale change. Walls can be dismantled slowly, ‘brick by brick’ (Cradle, 2021), or prison activism is the ‘trabajo de hormiga’ (the work of an ant), an image that implies a patient, laborious process on a minute scale which is nonetheless ultimately effective (Hernández Castillo, 2013, p. 67). The ripple metaphor, on the other hand, is more dramatic: a small event emanating outwards through prison walls rendered porous by the border-crossing action of the programme, potentially growing larger as its circle of influence and significance increases, and the further it is from the epicentre in both time and space. As we say, little data related to these spatially and temporally more expansive ripples have been presented.

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This chapter overcomes the limitations in the previous literature, revisiting the ripples by looking at the medium-term effects of the programme on former participants: Outside Students who completed the course some years ago. We imagined that as students moved away from the course temporally and spatially, the ripples they represent could have either grown in size and impact, or faded away as the immersive power of the course itself moved into their pasts. Based on previous studies and the ripple metaphor, it is our contention that former Inside-Out students might be thought of as potential ‘agents of public criminology’, taking their experiences out into the wider world and impacting it in potentially myriad ways. We considered the ripple effect a more interesting metaphor to explore than border crossing, as it allows for different and potentially unpredictable effects at different spatial and temporal scales. Figure 6.1 represents how we conceptualise the ripple effect. Rings of ripples are grouped in three sizes: internal, interpersonal and structural.

Fig. 6.1 The ripple effect

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A final issue with the existing literature on Inside-Out is that it is produced by scholars who are heavily invested in the programme and who are, almost by definition, activist academics with vested interests in making positive evaluations of the programmes. We do not necessarily consider this to be a weakness or a problem. If, however, the goal of the programme is to bring about transformation, then evaluation of its potential limitations is also important.

Methodology We obtained approval from the Research Ethics Committee of the School of Modern Languages, Cardiff University, and contacted all 17 of the former Outside Students via email and text message using the personal details the university had on file. Before beginning the data collection process, each potential participant was contacted and informed of the purpose of the study, the expected timeframe and the time commitments we were asking of them. They were also given information regarding confidentiality, anonymity and the right to withdraw at any time without prior notice or explanation. We also highlighted the potential harms surrounding the psychological impact of discussing sensitive topics and the social harm relating to embarrassment or stigma from voicing certain views. In order to protect our participants and the neutrality of the data, we explained we would be using a two-phase process. The first phase included a focus group in which participants were encouraged to share their thoughts and bounce ideas off one another in a safe, informal space. The focus group allowed us to jog each other’s memories and to ask in-depth follow-up questions. The second phase was done through questionnaires which guaranteed anonymity for participants, so even we as researchers do not know the author of any response. The reason was our worry that as the focus group was being run by the former course leader (Joey) and a former Outside Student from the 2018 cohort (Katherine), respondents might feel under pressure to give overly positive assessments of its impacts. The anonymity of the questionnaire meant that respondents would feel able to give negative assessments. Participants

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were prompted to give written and verbal consent before data collection began.

Demographic Information We asked about their career trajectories, their memories of Inside-Out, and whether and how the experience continued to resonate. We also asked how much they talked to others about the experience of the course or its content, and to consider their effectiveness or their roles as what we call ‘agents of public criminology’. We also invited participants to an online focus group discussion. Six students responded to the questionnaire and five attended the focus group. In both cases, we explicitly stated that we were not only looking for positive responses but were also interested in hearing about the limitations or even the non-impact of the course. The lack of response from most former Outside Students (approximately 65%) could be taken as an indication of indifference, busyness or simply that the university did not have up-to-date contact details. The small scale of our study means that breadth was impossible to achieve, but our small sample size and case study approach meant we were, as Hammersley has argued, more easily able to achieve qualitative detail and depth (2013, p. 11) (Fig. 6.2). All the respondents were women, although as there had only been one male Outside Student to participate in any of the Cardiff InsideOut courses, the gender imbalance was to be expected. Fouché and Respondents

Year of Inside-Out

Career Field

A

2018

Education

B

2018

Private Sector/Commercial

C

2018

Studying

D

2019

Law

E

2019

NGO

F

2019

Not specified

Fig. 6.2 Sampling

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Guillermo’s 2022 study had a similar gender bias, and previous literature has described the overrepresentation of women on Inside-Out courses globally (Martinovic et al., 2018; Steil & Mehta, 2020; Wyant & Lockwood, 2018). The gender of Outside Students was discussed in depth during the focus group. There was some suggestion that the bias in favour of women was merely illustrative of the tendency for female students to be more inclined to participate in activities that required time commitments beyond their usual degree, or of the fact that women were better at getting the required paperwork done to enter the prison. However, the most interesting point raised was that male students would feel uncomfortable going into what they would have assumed would be a highly masculine environment (a men’s prison), raising the question of a potential limit on the immersive, safe and transformative environment of the Inside-Out classroom. Gender is not a theme that has been widely explored in the existing literature and it presents an interesting platform for future research. A serious limitation on our chapter, and one that speaks to a tension within the structure of Inside-Out as it was carried out in Cardiff, is that we were not able to talk to any former Inside Students. HMP Cardiff is a category B prison with a high turn-over rate and it seems that no former Inside Students were living there when we conducted the study. Despite attempts to contact the few Inside Students whose whereabouts were known to the education team, we did not receive any responses. This means that our assessment of the impact of Inside-Out as taught at Cardiff is partial. It would have been preferable to have compared Inside and Outside Students; given the lived experiences of the former group, their capacity to act as agents of public criminology would likely have been far greater than that of Outside Students. In what follows, we trace the image of the ripple by grouping together the ongoing impacts of Inside-Out on our cohort of former Outside Students from small to large, beginning with the personal and moving outwards to interpersonal and then to potential policy or structural implications. We used the image of the ripple as an analytical framework, and within this structure, we performed discourse analysis of our participants’ verbal and written responses.

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Internal Ripples The first area of impact was on the individual. This is also the area in which our respondents were most confident about giving information. We asked them questions that were designed to probe how the programme had affected them personally and whether those effects were continuing. All respondents agreed that they had strong positive memories of the programme, reiterating that it was one of the best parts, even the best part, of their undergraduate degrees. We expected to find that the passage of time would slightly lessen the intensity of Inside-Out’s impact on former students, but the course remains highly memorable and significant to them. All agreed that it continues to impact them personally: ‘I wholeheartedly believe it has been an experience with long term impacts’; ‘Definitely long term’; ‘Inside-Out definitely had an impact on me longer term’. They continue to hold beliefs they developed as part of the experience and to report positive personal benefits in terms of confidence. We were interested in testing one of the most frequently cited claims about Inside-Out. Explicitly intended as one of its primary objectives is the programme’s ability to overcome barriers of social division by changing attitudes, challenging stereotypes and overcoming mindsets that lead to the stigmatisation of people in prison (see Allred, 2009; Aresti & Darke, 2016; Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016; Celio et al., 2011; Fouché & Guillermo, 2021; Gray et al., 2019; Heider, 2018; HilinskiRosick & Blackmer, 2014; King et al., 2019; Martinovic et al., 2018). In our study, we were able to further confirm the programme’s success in this goal. Several of the respondents reported that their most powerful memory of the course was how positive the contact with Inside Students was. The Inside Students, they found, were ‘just normal guys’. They were surprised at how easy it had been to get to know them, how rewarding it had been to work with them closely, and how their expectations of people who are in prison were overturned. Two respondents reported that this was not in fact a change that Inside-Out had brought about, as they had already known people who had been in prison prior to taking the course. Nevertheless, in the other cases, former students reported that they still carried this non-stigmatised view of imprisoned people with them: ‘you

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realise that prisoners aren’t always axe-wielding maniacs and are all very normal’. The group generally spoke of holding critical opinions of the criminal justice and prison systems, at least in part thanks to the experience of the course. Ideologically, then, and in terms of insights gained, it seems that the experience of Inside-Out had a lasting impact on the views and attitudes of the former Outside Students. There were also ongoing benefits in terms of personal confidence. One respondent noted: ‘I also observed that people did grow in confidence because I think [you have] all these preconceptions you have about prison and prisoners when you go in’. Here, the student is referring to the assumed adversity of the prison environment and overcoming a fear because of stereotypical assumptions. Another respondent who is now a trainee barrister spoke about how the course improved her ability to relate to her clients and other people involved in the criminal justice system, stating, ‘I’m continuously realizing the benefits’. At a personal level then, the responses suggest that the experience remains powerful, profound and transformational.

Interpersonal Ripples Perhaps the most significant impact discovered in terms of the ‘ripple effect’ was when we asked participants ‘Do you ever speak to others about Inside-Out? If so, give details of what you tell people’. Their responses indicate that the course’s effects do continue to spread at an interpersonal level. One response that summed this up was: I often tell people about the course because I think it can help open people’s minds to alternative ways of thinking. I find it really interesting to question other people on topics that may have been discussed or what they think of the course. I tell people about how complicated the systems are and how much the systems are failing in many different aspects. I think [Inside-Out] has left me with a voice that can be used to inform and educate to a certain extent. I am no expert in criminal justice and prison systems from participating in the course, but I have had a unique

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insight into various aspects of these systems, and I have had the opportunity to listen to other voices that don’t often get heard, those of the Inside Students.

This indicates that the experience of the course itself grants students a form of epistemic authority that they carry with them and transmit to others. The importance of the immersive experiential aspect of the course continued to increase students’ capacities in terms of empathy and understanding of imprisoned people. Another stated that she drew on experience in job interviews and that it gave weight to points in conversations about feminism and imprisoned people: I have mentioned Inside-Out in job interviews. I also find the experience relevant when discussing intersectional feminism with friends, family, colleagues. I tell people it was a really fascinating and eye-opening experience; probably my favourite module from […] Cardiff. I also tell people how important I think it is to visit a prison before passing judgement on people that have served time.

One reported that she tells people how easy the Inside Students were to get along and work with: I speak very fondly of my time in Inside-Out. I probably mostly mention how personable the Inside Students were, and how easy it was to work together.

This indicates that the anti-stigmatisation effect of the course spread beyond the Outside Students themselves. Another mentioned: One thing I find that constantly comes up in conversation is drug abuse and the misconceptions associated with it. I often send people the link to the TED talk discussing Rat Park or tell them to look up the radical improvements the Portuguese government made.

The student refers here to the course session on the famous ‘Rat Park’ experiment, which argues that substance addiction is the product of environment (Alexander et al., 1978). The student is demonstrating that she

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advocates a more empathic treatment of drug users, as well as the benefits of decriminalisation observed in Portugal’s recent policy changes. Another student talked about how she argued with her parents, both former police officers, advocating a position that was quite close to penal abolitionism. She said that in these discussions her father recognised flaws in policing and confessed that ‘he was probably quite racist when he was a 19-year-old police officer’. These kinds of responses further indicate that the ripple effect is an appropriate metaphor: the interpersonal effects of the Inside-Out programme are illustrated here by not only the former students’ willingness to enter discussions regarding the criminal justice system, but the standpoints they take during such discussions. Former Outside Students do seem to act as agents of public criminology, as the experience of the course provides them with experiential authority to advocate for progressive approaches and attitudes, at least on an interpersonal level.

Structural Ripples Finally, we attempted to evaluate the impact of the programme at a broader societal level. We thought of these as structural or institutional ripples. Within this, we included the respondents’ choices of career, reasoning that certain careers have the potential to engage with issues of concern to public criminology while others do not. Over the course of discussion, it emerged that workplaces are potentially locations in which individuals have the capacity to influence policies that align with the goals of public criminology. Our methodology of interviewing and surveying individuals lends itself more to evaluation personal and interpersonal transformations, but we nevertheless considered that the Outside Students could give us an indication of whether their experiences had had or had the potential to have any structural effects. We asked whether Inside-Out had had any impact on the respondents’ career choices. Here, it is important to note that three had graduated with a BA in Law, two with a BA in Modern Languages and one with joint honours in Languages and Economics. Most were working in

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professional careers in marketing, translation or teaching. One worked for an outsourcing company, one in the head office of a national supermarket, two in further education as students, and in one case barrister training. Only the latter respondent was working in an area that directly related to the criminal justice system. She spoke about how Inside-Out had influenced her decision to specialise in criminal law, and she was, at the time of the focus group, working on an anti-death penalty project in the USA. In response to a question on whether the course had influenced their career choices, most participants replied in the affirmative, but gave details that were more about how it had affected them positively in job interviews and in terms of the attitudes they took into the workplace. No impact on my career, but I feel it gave me a lot of confidence to talk to people I would have previously considered to have nothing in common with. Working in education it has helped me understand some of the issues my students face whose families have members in prisons or affected by crime. I think as it exercised my emotional intelligence, I would say it assisted my communication skills. I have always been interested in helping people and working in the public sector, but mostly in the past it has been with young, disadvantaged people, whereas Inside-Out certainly meant I consider working with adults. It also reignited my desire to join the police force.

Given the critical nature of the course towards policing, it is perhaps surprising that the last respondent credits the experience with giving her a desire to work in the police. Her answer is illustrative of the ways that, if Inside-Out has not directly impacted students’ career choices, it has nevertheless changed the ways in which they think about and relate to others. The fact that none of the students had become activists in the field of crime and justice, and only one has followed a career directly related to the criminal justice system, may suggest a weakness in the ripple effect model. The students’ situations are also, of course, reflective of the fact that few recent graduates are able walk into careers that allow them to

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work in ways that align with their values and beliefs as of course the idea of ‘career choice’ under late capitalism in the UK is arguably an ideological construct. As Edward Yates puts it, ‘capitalism operates in a manner which structurally disadvantages young people’ (2021, p. 1) and has, at least in Britain, systematically stripped young people of opportunities, reduced job quality, options for career progression and worker voice and representation (Yates, 2021, p. 10). While the transformation on a personal level and at the interpersonal level was noticeable and at times profound, there are possible limitations to the ripples’ capacity to effect radical changes at any level beyond the interpersonal. However, the value of a personal transformation should not be overlooked. The interviewing and questionnaire process offered the Outside Students to reflect on the impact the course had on them, and to reflect on the way it has changed the relationships and interactions they have with those around them, allowing them to appreciate their own personal growth and measure the positive impacts they have on others. It should also be noted that these students graduated shortly before the widespread economic and social upheavals of the COVID-19 pandemic, which further limited their opportunities.

Conclusion It seems that—according to the small snapshot of post-Inside-Out students we have been able to present in this discussion—the ripple effect does continue in specific ways for years after the course has finished. Certainly, in terms of personal views and interpersonal behaviours, our data indicate that the transformative effects of Inside-Out endure. We can therefore claim that Outside graduates of the programme act as agents of public criminology, using their personal knowledge and experience to spread its messages to others through anecdotes and the authority granted them by first-hand knowledge and experience. However, there may be a limit to the efficacy of the ripples described to effect broader change beyond the interpersonal level, at least with this cohort. None of them had become activists on criminology-related issues, and only one had followed a career that addressed issues in criminal justice directly.

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This uncertainty around structural ripples is explained by the methodological limitation of our study, but there are other factors at work. While our timeframe is substantially longer than studies that have used data from student evaluations at the moment of completing their courses, two or three years is not long in the lives of young people. Recent graduates have relatively little social capital or capacity to effect change on a more structural level. It is possible that relative youth and lack of career seniority is why this cohort has not had any significant impact on policy, but that is not to say that they do not have the desire or willingness to do so; indeed, several respondents did express such ambition. To fully evaluate the impact of Inside-Out, a larger and longer study is required. Given how long the programme has been operating in the USA, and the high number of students who have graduated from it though many different universities, such a study should be feasible. We hope that this chapter might serve as a foundation stone for a larger body of works analysing the long-term impact of various InsideOut programmes, lending itself to future comparisons across different countries, such as between the UK and the USA. In terms of our secondary goal, our study indicates that the idea of the ripple effect is a useful way of conceptualising the effectiveness of InsideOut as a form of public criminology. Fuller conclusions are limited, however, because our methodology was not really equipped to evaluate the full potential impacts of all possible ripples, especially as they grow. Interviewing and surveying the Outside Students gauged their perspectives of the impact of the courses on the respondents themselves and gave an indication of how they might have impacted people around them. To have fully evaluated what we call interpersonal ripples, however, it might have been better to have interviewed people around them, the family members, friends and colleagues who they reported having talked with—something we did not have the capacity to do. Evidence of change becomes increasingly challenging to gather as the ripples move further from the source. Our capacity to assess what we call structural ripples is even more limited, as the extent to which this small cohort may have contributed to such changes might not even be perceptible to the respondents themselves.

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We might then conclude by continuing the metaphor: we have found that the ripples continue to emanate through space and time. If they are changing the shape of the lake, however, they are doing so very slowly. The experiences of recent Inside-Out graduates are more than just drops in the ocean but cannot yet be said to represent a turn in the tide.

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7 True Dissemination of Knowledge Doesn’t Gather Dust on a Library Shelf Victoria Silverwood

Knowledge cooped up in a private consciousness is a myth, and knowledge of social phenomena is peculiarly dependent upon dissemination … A facet of community life which is not spread abroad so as to be a common possession is a contradiction in terms. (Dewey, 1927, pp. 176–177)

Introduction Public criminology has been a disputed term in the discipline of criminology for several decades (Piché, 2015). Each academic discipline has its own form of Public-ology (Henry, 2020); each discipline also has a faction that diminishes the value of this work, as it is not easily aligned V. Silverwood (B) Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_7

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to the metrics that measure academic success in the UK, whether the Research Excellence Framework (REF), the Teaching Excellence Framework (TEF), the National Student Survey (NSS) or indeed any of the other metrics by which the worth of academia is measured. Indeed, by these measures UK academia places very little importance on sharing academic research beyond academic audiences, unless it has a direct impact on public policy. Despite this, there have been continued calls for an academia accessible to the general public, one which is outside the monetised context of academic publication. This chapter calls for two additional principles of public criminology to be considered. First, for rigorous, peer-reviewed, academic work to be made more available in formats accessible to the general public, in order to commit to the broader sharing of knowledge. Second, for the blending of mainstream entertainment media and the true crime genre to contextualise academic subjects, providing a different pathway to understand some of the more difficult academic topics. This approach does not call for a dumbing down of academia; rather, as this chapter argues, intentionally incorporating open access media into the process of learning enhances the importance of academic research.

What is Public Criminology? While many publications on the importance of public criminology (Currie, 2007; Piché, 2015) focus on the need for criminology to influence public policy, and the broadening of criminological knowledge and research into the policy field, it has taken a little longer for academics to consider the importance of public criminology in the wider media in terms of pedagogical engagement. Sexton (2020) is a notable exception in considering whether the classroom is the correct location for dialogue about public criminology. There are multiple definitions of public criminology. At its most basic, it can be an audible and visible criminology in which ‘public criminologists situate their work in the so-called real world, and they orient their productivity to the way in which “the real world” needs it in order to be able to use it’ (Clear, 2010, p. 722). However, the term is

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more often used to discuss the impact academic research has on public policy; it is in this context that public criminology is most able to meet university metrics when translating to impact in research. Barak (2001, 2007) offers four categories of public criminology: the criminologist’s purpose and method; the media’s view of criminology; government agencies’ views of criminologists, and the public’s views of criminologists’ roles in crime and justice. Notwithstanding the many different definitions of public criminology, which are outside the remit of this chapter, I argue for consideration of two key ways in which public discourse can impact and be impacted by academic study in the field of criminology. Firstly, by reflecting on the use of popular accounts of crime in order to best understand the application of criminological research and theory; secondly, by focusing on the communication of academic research to a far broader audience than those who undertake higher academic study in criminology.

The Fascination with Crime and the Impact on Public Criminology Chancer and McLaughlin (2007, p. 157) point to the saturation of crime talk in society. This is not new; print journalism has always prioritised sensationalised reports of crimes. What is newer is the proliferation of dramatised and fictionalised accounts of crime for a generation used to streaming media 24/7. This is compounded by the algorithms that learn the forms of entertainment or news that we consume in order to advertise similar content across different social media. What results is a saturation of not only crime talk, but of dramatised and often fictionalised accounts that dominate streaming media. Rock (2014, p. 427) refers to a resulting number of ‘quasi-celebrity’ criminologists. For example, Professor Emeritus David Wilson and Donal MacIntyre (criminology), and Dr Emma Kelly (psychology) appear on both streaming sites and mainstream television as discussants on current crime-related stories. Rock is fairly scathing of the way in which some of these public academics have played to the masses, although they are well known and often respected by the general public. However, the blurring of real and fictional accounts can

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be compounded when academics go on to produce fictional written work about crime which is far more profitable than their academic accounts. Rock differentiates public criminologists who go on to influence policy—mentioning Phil Scraton’s work on the 1989 Hillsborough incident, Tim Newburn’s work on the 2011 London riots and Laurence Sherman’s much-cited work on situational crime prevention—by highlighting the importance of research-informed public policy. Academics have a duty to ensure that their work is accessible to policymakers and politicians as well as the general public. This is of paramount importance in relation to crime, as most publicly available information tends to emanate from media accounts and to focus on stringent forms of crime control. Barak (2001) discusses the importance of academia in actively challenging penal populism through peer-reviewed academic research evidence made available to the general public.

The Netflix Generation The obsession with sensationalist accounts of true crime dates back to the sixteenth century at least (Walters, 2021), but its meteoric rise in recent years due to streaming sites has been noted by many (for example, Bruzzi, 2016; Walters, 2021). Netflix is only one among many streaming sites, including Prime Video, 4OD, Disney Plus and Now TV. This proliferation, coupled with global lockdowns during the COVID-19 pandemic, has led to a sharp increase in the consumption of serialised true crime documentaries and dramatisations, which Sayles (2021) refers to as ‘The Bloody Bubble’. While streaming was already rapidly rising in popularity as services multiplied (Nededog, 2016)—Netflix’s Making a Murderer had over 19 million views in the US alone in its first 35 days (Lynch, 2016)—it was the lockdowns of 2020 that increased the draw of human-interest stories. The release of Netflix’s Tiger King while many countries were locked down led to it being viewed by more than 36.3 million people, according to Variety (Lewis, 2020). Even following lockdown viewing surges, true crime or its dramatisation, has continued to be popular. According to Sarner (2022), the equally lauded and maligned

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dramatisation of the serial murderer Dahmer had 701.37 million hours of watch time in the first 28 days of release on Netflix. The similarly stratospheric rise in the popularity of podcasts has also influenced public understanding of crime. For example, Serial on New Public Radio (NPR) was the fastest podcast ever to reach 5 million iTunes downloads (Dredge, 2014). One can only imagine the numbers it has reached in the eight years since its launch, particularly given the ongoing Adnan Syed case, with further developments since the defendant’s release from prison pending a retrial in 2022. The line between true crime, dramatised crime and fictional crime is often blurred beyond recognition on streaming media. Indeed, Bruzzi (2016) has identified a new media format in the serialisation of true crime documentaries, popularised by the trend for streaming box sets. She cites this as ‘especially concerning issues of how to transpose nonfictional law cases with at their heart real evidence and real participants into entertainment’ (2016, p. 249). Bruzzi focuses on several highly popular television and podcast series such as The Staircase (documentary 2004–2018, followed by a Netflix dramatisation in 2021), Making a Murderer (Netflix 2014), and Serial (NPR). This new form of documentary is ‘at its core, performative’ (2016, p. 257, original emphasis), with emotion, back-story and individual accounts interwoven throughout, reflecting Zizek’s ‘return to the Real’ (2002) as a constructed reality of the genre. Of the NPR podcast Serial , Bruzzi argues that many viewers don’t categorise media in a traditional way or ‘uniformly pigeonhole their watching or listening into sharply delineated boxes such as “documentary”, “fiction”, “television”, “radio”, or “download” but flip between them with alacrity’ (2016, p. 275), as emphasised by Hyvönen et al. (2020). The point here is that often these documentaries and dramatisations are already performing a form of public criminology, one which may be flawed, but which is attractive to the general public, as is evident by the number of students at university open days expressing an interest in learning more about true crime. As media discourse about crime is already prevalent, criminologists cannot ignore this, but must instead provide a robust academic form of public criminology to inform the populist discussions.

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Why Are the General Public so Fascinated by Crime? The general public are not necessarily fascinated by true crime, as the majority of crime can be considered rather mundane; instead, they are fascinated by a ‘true crime’ account that prioritises violence and murder, often perpetuated by serial killers (Cecil, 2020; Princing, 2021). Arguably, the general public have a natural morbid curiosity (Oosterwijk et al., 2015; Scrivner, 2021). The psychologist Scott Bonn (2014) discusses the voyeurism in observing suffering and pain from a safe distance, arguing that it offers the viewer a somewhat guilty pleasure (Petersen, 2022). It is also clear that this view contains an apparent example of othering (Fredriksson, 2019; Jamieson & McEvoy, 2005), embedded in accounts of killings in particular. This may be because the victim could be any one of us, but the killer is often characterised by atavistic positivist notions of biological or psychological difference, in a way that is almost reassuring when compared to the mundane nature of most homicides—which is less reassuring to the viewer. True crime is not only an opportunity to understand the facts relating to a case; it also meets the desire to consider ‘why’ questions. The viewer often researches cases beyond the mini-series, including podcasts, news archives and other sources in order to understand why a human being would behave in a particular way. True crime consumption is therefore, at its very essence, inquisitiveness about the human condition. What has true crime taught us about other than legal process, and human interest? Many of the most popular serialised stories, such as Making a Murderer, Serial and The Staircase, also tell us a great deal about systematic injustice in the criminal justice system, and whether this is through perceived intellect, race, religion or sexuality. What these stories have in common is the opportunity to open a dialogue into how the criminal justice system treats those it perceives as untrustworthy. This has the potential to start conversations with students as well as the general public about the embedded biases and injustices within the criminal justice system, inviting critical analysis and reflection.

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Criminologists as Public Academics: Disseminating Research to the Wider Population Barak’s (2001, 2007) rallying call to criminologists to engage with the general public is one that does not sit well with some academics. He introduces ‘newsmaking criminology’, that is, ‘the conscious efforts and activities of criminologists to interpret, influence or shape the representation of “newsworthy” items about crime and justice’ (2007, pp. 191– 192). Barak further calls for criminologists to take sides and become public intellectuals, as the majority of talking heads are lawmakers, police, penologists or those with a vested interest or stake hold in a justice system. Barak further states that in ‘the era of citizen-journalist’ (2007, p. 204), academics could and should do the same through their own websites and through opinion pieces. Indeed, a number of academics are increasingly writing for news sources and open education forums such as The Conversation. While some universities embrace this, it is not always rewarded through the universities’ metrics systems such as REF. There remains a consensus that as academics we are paid by our institutions to teach our students and to add to scholarship more generally, but time spent curating a public criminology profile that would be widely accessible to a lay audience is not something that is currently monetised by universities. Academics have also been encouraged to be activists—to raise awareness of the inadequacies of the criminal justice system. Cindy Blackstock calls for the co-existence of academia and activism particularly because of the academic freedom privileged to public scholars. She points to the ‘usual, antiquated notions of knowledge-transfer’ (cited by Rynor, 2023) being insufficient to address social problems, arguing that most academic work remains unpublished and the majority that is published remains unread by those with the power to impact policy. The numerous unpublished PhD theses gaining dust in library archives evidence this point and while online repositories increasingly make doctoral work open access

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to the public, the format of academic writing can make comprehension difficult. Perhaps academics should consider a public criminology as described by Rock (2014), which is ‘audible and visible’. Further, as Henry (2020) states, ‘it needs to be strategically targeted through collaborative partnerships with its multiple publics to bring about positive social change’ (2020, p. 46). Ruggiero (2020), in a critical look at universities in the neoliberal consumerist society, states that as universities push themselves into a business model, academics become necessarily more self-interested, and focus on the work that will be rewarded through the bureaucratic system. Ruggiero notes that as criminology has focused on its marketability to students, it has focused less on collective social action and more on criminal inquiry (2020, p. 239). Part of the driving force for this is not criminology, but the metrics that drive universities as businesses— namely REF and research income. By its very nature, this shift focuses on academic excellence and publishing for other academics, and it belongs in a system that does not reward or monetise public engagement. However, it is also important to note the relative freedom (at least in the United Kingdom) that academics have from the restraints on many individuals working in the criminal justice system. This, to some extent at least, allows us to ‘speak truth to power in our own untrammelled tongue’ (Rock, 2014, p. 423).

What Does Criminology Add to Populist Discussions of Crime? Public Crimin(ology)—Not Just Public Crime What is it that criminology adds to the public popularity of true crime? It is unlikely that anyone would argue that students can spend three years watching Netflix documentaries and dramatisations of serial killers and emerge with a degree in criminology, without the need to spend £27,000 on a degree education, so what is it that social science can add to these populist discussions? The benefits of an academic education ensure the maintenance of standards in academic rigour, academic peer review

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and the validity, testability, reliability and replicability of social scientific methods. Currie (2007, p. 176) argues that ‘as a discipline, we in fact know a lot. We really do have something to say about the questions we study’. This point is also raised by Chancer and McLaughlin (2007, p. 157), who note that while the public are very interested in crime, they don’t know much about what criminologists do. There is a need therefore to ensure the active dissemination of research to a broader public audience. As McLaughlin states: You get big points for publishing in peer-reviewed journals. You get few points for publishing in general circulation magazines, or newspapers, or venues that are seen mainly by practitioners. Indeed, if you are not careful. You are likely to be considered as not quite serious if you do so. You run the risk of being regarded—O dread!—as a ‘popularizer’ rather than a serious researcher. (2007, pp. 181–182)

The prioritisation of research journals for academic audiences as the best, and often only, REF-acceptable route to publication has resulted in more research journals than any of us, even academics, can read, let alone an interested lay audience for whom they may be inaccessible. But academics who attempt to disseminate their work to the general population are often unrewarded by their academic institutions. According to Kraska, ‘This work is uncompensated labor’ (2020, p. 90). Those who engage with lay audiences often do so in their own time ‘from realizing the important potential benefit from teaching others (the public) on such a massive scale’ (Kraska, 2020, p. 92).

Researcher Networking and Public Engagement with Academic Research The emergence of internet databases (such as ResearchGate, Academia.edu and LinkedIn) has led to greater collaboration among academics, but it is the rise of Twitter that has led to the mainstream following of academic accounts, with a great deal of unpaid

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and unacknowledged labour being undertaken by many academics in disseminating research to a broader public audience, and in linking news media articles to existing academic research. We now have a 24/ 7 media in which news and opinion pieces co-exist, and are produced, disseminated and consumed across time zones and international borders. Chancer and McLaughlin (2020) highlight that this dramatic change in dissemination opens up a broad range of opportunities for academics to engage with a general public previously unaware of academic research on a range of topics. As they observe, ‘Criminologists have been slow to analyze the game-changing ramifications of this post-factual world for their work’ (2020, p. 16). We now live in a world in which university press offices can monetise the impact of academics’ social media accounts and mentions, as much as they can the REF impact and research income, yet promotion criteria have arguably not adapted to these changing opportunities for engagement. This chapter has thus far looked at how academics as researchers can engage with the public through both traditional and modern media dissemination. There is a reluctance among many academics to publish their findings outside of academia. However, there is now a greater awareness of the importance of utilising society’s obsession with true and fictionalised crime as a tool in educating students, particularly those students who obtain their understandings of crime from alternative sources of media.

Research-Led Teaching Incorporating Media Accounts If we were concerned by how the ivory tower of academia views public dissemination of academic research, we would rightly be concerned by how many universities view the importance of educating students. As Rock notes, the work of teaching criminology, inside or outside the academy, is seen by many as a ‘side-engagement or a shadow activity’ (2014, p. 428). It is viewed as a distraction from the real work of an academic in producing research and generating income for the university.

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Teaching is often led by the intent to share information with a group of people, so what is the public dissemination of research if not teaching? This distinction between public dissemination and dissemination to students is what Sexton calls ‘an artificial divide’ (2020, p. 250). Academics who are good at teaching difficult concepts to students of varying abilities are also well-placed to adapt that skill and to disseminate information to the general public. While Sexton’s examples of the changing student demographic in a commercial tertiary education system are drawn from the United States, students in the United Kingdom are similarly coming to education from a far broader demographic than was traditional 20 or 30 years ago (Higher Education Standards Agency—HESA, 2023). The availability of student loans and universities’ provision of moderated offers for those from certain demographics has led to an undergraduate population that now reflects the general population far more than it did even a decade ago. Statistics from the Higher Education Statistics Agency (HESA, 2023) and the Universities and College Admissions Service (UCAS, 2021) show that students of minority ethnicities, students who had free-school meals status, first generation students and care-leavers were all increasingly accepted into university in the ten years to 2021. While clear disparities remain in educational attainment by demographic, it is clear that there is increasing diversification in student cohorts studying for an undergraduate degree in the United Kingdom. Given this diversification of students, it follows that there may be an expected variation in learning styles. Criminology is a growing subject, with more than 100 universities offering in excess of 800 courses incorporating criminology (Levi, 2017). Loader and Sparks (2008, p. 19) borrow Wright Mills’s concept (1959, p. 7) of sociological inquiry and point to the concept of a criminological imagination; it is this that has sparked the excitement, and interest, of rapidly increasing numbers of criminology undergraduates. Criminology students are not simply learning objective facts, they are learning a discipline that will fill them with more questions as they learn more. ‘The process of inquiring, of asking question of both the data and the producers of the data, is a crucial part of education—and our students must be active participants in this questioning’ (Sexton, 2020, p. 253). Crime is a social construction, and one that permeates all elements of

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life. Good criminologists, like any good social scientist, must prepare students, not to repeat learning by rote, but to critically question social phenomena throughout and beyond their studies. Learning exists not only in the lecture theatre or seminar room—it is a lifelong pursuit, and educators in social science should seek not only to educate those in our lecture theatres, but also those outside them. The online learning that emerged during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 may have distanced students from the lecture hall, but it increased accessibility through its adaptability, enabling students (and others living with them) to learn in their own spaces (Adedoyin & Soykan, 2023; Camargo et al., 2020). Several members of staff at my institution were told by students that their grandmother, uncle or little cousin was really interested in their online lecture and relished the opportunity to access learning. While some universities would be appalled by the increased access to learning materials by those who have not paid their fees, many educators were thrilled to have a broader reach for their work, and to inspire those not enrolled on their courses. The engagement of academics with the general public and in teaching provides a duality of structure, a concept provided by Giddens (1979). Concepts and ideas come from the real world and are thought of, restructured and rearranged continually. This also speaks to relatability, which is important in the education of undergraduate students. Those with nontraditional learning styles may be able to relate to public academic work more easily than the published journal article that discusses the same point. This is not to say that the public academic work, whether via a news story or documentary, is sufficient for undergraduate study, rather it is a starting point to engage students who can then move on to published academic work with a greater understanding of the initial concept.

Teaching and Learning Theories of Crime As our student demographic broadens, so must our engagement with a variety of teaching styles. While older generations talk of reading their subject at university, many students do not come to a university with the expectation of studying independently from the full range of academic

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texts available at their institution. We learn more about pedagogy all the time, and the traditional image of a professor wearing academic robes delivering a monologue for an hour in a large lecture theatre is not one that most students would consider to be an appropriate learning style. As technology has changed, we have more ways available to us to engage students in our living, breathing, and discipline than ever before. Many students, particularly those from non-traditional academic backgrounds, struggle with reading lists, and a core part of their induction into university-level education is to demonstrate that it is vital for them to learn how to read and what to read. There is often some reluctance from students regarding key readings, particularly towards reading prior to lectures, so perhaps it is better to change things around when teaching complex matters. A passionate and engaging entry-level discussion on what theories are and how they can be applied, along with a basic introduction to the main ideas of theorists, is likely to be far more effective at engaging students than an hour staring at a black-and-white drawing of Karl Marx or Friedrich Engels with publication and death dates and translations that employ outdated idioms. Pedagogical understanding of learning styles has now moved on, and we continue to build on this knowledge (Newton & Miah, 2017; Pashler et al., 2008). Students may be able to regurgitate information in an examination, but many struggle with this style of education. As an educator, I do not care whether a student can tell me the publication year of Das Kapital , but it matters hugely if a student is able to critically apply Marxist theory to recent phenomena. This is the rationale for my inclusion of mixed media, of podcasts, streaming series, and documentaries in my teaching. Students are often thrilled to be asked to watch an episode of a dramatisation of Jeffrey Dahmer, for instance. Yes, they will often return with some false elements and a focus on details, but through directed discussion we will begin to think about which theories the programme might have hinted at to explain the killer’s behaviour. This can be directed to a discussion of theory, the introduction of that theory and ultimately to the reading of the very article, book or chapter that explains this theory. In essence, a good educator can adapt their teaching to engage the student in the subject and ultimately to comprehend the academic literature in an

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applied manner, when the student may not have ever understood the complex academic article without this. As budding criminologists, our students are already engaged and passionate about the real crimes they are watching, therefore, how better to engage them than take that passion and use it to teach them more complex criminological ideas? Some will read this and think it is a form of dumbing down of academia. Perhaps if incorrectly executed that may be a risk, but the safety measures of peer review, external examiners, and discipline-specific quality assurance subject benchmarks help to prevent that. What is key in the successful mobilisation of this style of teaching is that discussion does not stop at mere description of true crime, or of a dramatisation, but rather, leads to the basic understanding of a topic that will enable students to read those more opaque texts in an inquiring manner, already with a level of understanding from their own questions, group discussions and guided conversations. Sexton suggests an interesting way to encourage students to find their own criminological voices, and that is ‘to encourage the use of “I” statements. The use of first-person pronouns helps to make it clear to students (and others) that they are active participants in a dialogue about matters of crime and justice’ (Sexton, 2020, p. 253). She further notes that students are themselves public criminologists as they go out into their families, their communities and their careers involving broader publics. What we are educating students to do is to assemble and assess evidence, weigh competing values and normative ideals, engage in analysis that is both nuanced and transparent, and perhaps most importantly, consider the effects of their positionality in how they create and assemble all of these elements of their own nascent criminology. (2020, p. 253)

All students and all individuals are inherently theorists, not due to an ability to consider the theories of ‘dead white guys’ (Black, 2009) but because they already have culturally constructed notions of why people behave in the ways they do, or why people commit certain forms of crime. Once they grasp that the theories of others were all initially

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derived in the same way, they become less fearful of the concept of understanding theory and can move on to critical thinking. Kraska warns that: ‘By monopolizing theory, we separate it from everyday thinking’ (2020, p. 89); surely it is better then to encourage students, and thereby the general public, to consider themselves as theorists whose viewpoints can be noted and explained with the same respect that we consider those of dead white men. By critiquing those theories and considering which other published works discuss these opinions, we have the vehicle to bring theories to life and not see them as gatekeepers of a traditionally proper education.

Conclusion This chapter has considered the role of public criminology in two key ways. First, in the dissemination of information about criminology to the general public, a public fascinated by media accounts of crime. Second, in the consideration of using new streaming media accounts of crime to enhance pedagogical understanding of criminological concepts, and thereby adapt ‘dead white guy’ criminology for an inquisitive generation of students. By eliminating the division between academic life and real life through blending academic work with publicly available dissemination, we can start to address some of the opportunities of knowledge. Many academic papers on public criminology try to provide distinctions between typologies of academic work, such as the ‘antagonistic interdependence among four types of knowledge: professional, critical, policy, and public’ (Burawoy, 2005, p. 4). This is an unhelpful division that does not reflect the reality of knowledge. Public criminology ‘seeks to engage with a diversity of audiences through a variety of means, and to contribute to a wide range of criminological conversations’ (Larsen & Deisman, 2013, quoted in Henry, 2020, p. 37). Dissemination of academic work to a broader public is imperative and indeed comes with a warning:

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Rest assured, if people like us fail to interpret the realities of crime and punishment for a broader public on the basis of what we know, someone else will—on the basis of something altogether different, and probably a lot less honest. (Currie, E, 2007, p. 183)

A commitment among academics to disseminate their research beyond academia to a broader audience is then encouraged. A public academic can ‘narrow the yawning gap between public perceptions and the best available scientific evidence on issues of public concern’ (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 726). The true meaning of knowledge is not meant to be hidden behind publisher pay-walls or to sit on the dusty shelves of the ivory tower; it must be living, breathing and public.

References Adedoyin, O. B., & Soykan, E. (2023). Covid-19 pandemic and online learning: The challenges and opportunities. Interactive Learning Environments, 31(2), 863–875. Barak, G. (2007). Doing newsmaking criminology from within the academy. Theoretical Criminology, 11(2), 191–207. Barak, G. (2001). Newsmaking criminology: Reflections on the media, intellectuals and crime. Justice Quarterly, 5 (4), 565–587. Black, M. E. (2009). The old dead white guys’ room. The British Medical Journal , 338. Bonn, S. (2014). Why we love serial killers: The curious appeal of the world’s most savage murderers. Skyhorse Publishing. Bruzzi, S. (2016). Making a genre: The case of the contemporary true crime documentary. Law and Humanities, 10 (2), 249–280. Burawoy, M. (2005). For public sociology. American Sociological Review, 70 (1), 4–28. Camargo, C. P., Tempski, P. Z., Busnardo, F. F., Martins, M. D. A., & Gemperli, R. (2020). Online learning and COVID-19: A meta-synthesis analysis. Clinics, 75. Cecil, D. K. (2020). Fear, justice & modern true crime. Lynne Rienner Publishers.

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Chancer, L., & McLaughlin, E. (2007). Public criminologies: Diverse perspectives on academia and policy. Theoretical Criminology, 11(2), 155–173. Chancer, L., & McLaughlin, E. (2020). Everything still to play for: Revisiting “public criminologies: Diverse perspectives on academia and policy”. In Routledge Handbook of Public Criminologies (pp. 11–20). Routledge. Clear, T. R. (2010). Editorial introduction to public criminologies. Criminology & Public. Policy, 9, 721. Currie, E. (2007). Against marginality: Arguments for a public criminology. Theoretical Criminology, 11(2), 175–190. Dewey, J. (1927). The public and its problems. Henry Holt. Dredge, S. (2014). Serial podcast breaks iTunes records as it passes 5m downloads and streams. https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2014/nov/ 18/serial-podcast-itunes-apple-downloads-streams. Accessed 21 December 2022. Fredriksson, T. (2019). Abject (m) othering: A narratological study of the prison as an abject and uncanny institution. Critical Criminology, 27 (2), 261–274. Giddens, A. (1979). Central problems in social theory. Macmillan. Henry, S. (2020). Where is the public in public criminology? Towards a participatory public criminology. In K. Henne & R. Shah (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 34–48). Routledge. Higher Education Statistics Agency / HESA. (2023). Who’s studying in HE? | HESA. Accessed 13 April 2023. Hyvönen, M., Karlsson, M., & Eriksson, M. (2020). The politics of true crime: Vulnerability and documentaries on murder in Swedish public service radio’s P3 documentary. Vulnerability in Scandinavian Art and Culture, p. 291. Jamieson, R., & McEvoy, K. (2005). State crime by proxy and juridical othering. British Journal of Criminology, 45 (4), 504–527. Kraska, P. B. (2020). Reflections from an accidental public scholar. In K. Henne & R. Shah (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 87– 94). Routledge. Levi, M. (2017). Emerged from the American shadows? Reflections on the growth of criminology in the UK. Criminology in Europe, 16 , 1–32. Lewis, I. (2020). The Independent. Tiger King viewing figures released as 34 million tune in to Netflix hit | The Independent | The Independent. Accessed 13 April 2023. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2008). ‘What are we gonna do now?’ Revisiting the public roles of criminology: Ian Loader and Richard Sparks examine the

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role criminologists play in contributing to public discourse. Criminal Justice Matters, 72(1), 18–19. Lynch, J. (2016). ‘Symphony said streaming spiked over the holidays’ Adweek. Over 19 million viewers in the U.S. Watched making a murderer in its first 35 days (adweek.com). Accessed 3 April 2023. Nededog, J. (2016). How digital is saving tv companies from extinction. https://www.businessinsider.com/traditional-tv-looking-for-digital-vie wers-2016-11 Newton, P. M., & Miah, M. (2017). Evidence-based higher education – is the learning styles ‘myth’ important? Frontiers in Psychology, 8, 444. Oosterwijk, S., Lindquist, K. A., Adebayo, M., & Barrett, L. F. (2015). The neural representation of typical and atypical experiences of negative images: Comparing fear, disgust and morbid fascination. Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience, 11(1), 11–22. Pashler, H., McDaniel, M., Rohrer, D., & Bjork, R. (2008). Learning styles: Concepts and evidence. Psychological Science in the Public Interest, 9 (3), 105– 119. Petersen, J. S. (2022). Why are we so obsessed with true crime? The University of Law. https://law.ac.uk/resources/blog/why-we-love-true-crime/. Accessed 3 April 2023. Piché, J. (2015). Assessing the boundaries of public criminology: On what does (not) count. Social Justice, 42(2/140), 70–90. Princing, M. (2021). Why do we love true crime? Right as rain by UW medicine. http://rightasrain.uwmedicine.org/life/leisure/true-crime. Academic blog. Accessed 11 May 2023 Rock, P. (2014). The public faces of public criminology. Criminology & Criminal Justice, 14 (4), 412–433. Ruggiero, V. (2020). Does the public need criminology? In K. Henne & R. Shah (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 238–246). Routledge. Rynor, B. (2023). ‘Don’t just publish another paper: Let’s do something’, says Scholar Activist Cindy Blackstock. In University Affairs. ‘Don’t just publish another paper. Let’s do something,’ says scholar-advocate Cindy Blackstock — University Affairs Website. Accessed 5 April 2023. Sarner, L. (2022). ‘DAHMER’ is Netflix’s second-most popular show ever. New York Post. https://nypost.com/2022/10/12/dahmer-is-netflixs-second-mostpopular-show-ever/. Accessed 21 December 22. Sayles, J. (2021). The Bloody Bubble. The Ringer. Blog. We’re watching more true crime than ever. Is that a problem? - The Ringer. Accessed 3 April 2023.

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Scrivner, C. (2021). The psychology of morbid curiosity: Development and initial validation of the morbid curiosity scale. Personality and Individual Differences, 183, 111–139. Sexton, L. (2020). Starting the conversation in the classroom. Pedagogy as public criminology. In K. Henne & R. Shah (Eds.), Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 249–258) Routledge. Universities and Colleges Admissions Service UCAS End of Cycle Report. (2021). https://www.ucas.com/data-and-analysis/undergraduate-statisticsand-reports/ucas-undergraduate-sector-level-end-cycle-data-resources-2021. Accessed 20 December 2022. Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public criminologies. Criminology & Public Policy, 9 (4), 725–749. Walters, E. (2021). Netflix originals: The evolution of true crime television. The Velvet Light Trap, 88, 25–37. Wright Mills, C. (1959). The promise. Oxford University Press. Zizek, S. (2002). Welcome to the desert of the real . Verso.

Part II Public Criminology and Pedagogical Practice

8 Public Criminology in the Australian Higher Education Classroom: Bringing Criminology and History Together Through Citizen Social Science Victoria Nagy, Nancy Cushing, and Alana Piper

Introduction In 2020, students in Crime and Criminal Justice (University of Tasmania—Nagy) or Australian Underworlds: Histories of Crime in Australia (University of Newcastle—Cushing) completed an exercise in primary source transcription and self-reflection as one of their assessment tasks. This allowed them to participate in applied research through the Criminal Characters project (University of Technology, Sydney- Piper), V. Nagy University of Tasmania, Hobart, Australia e-mail: [email protected] N. Cushing (B) University of Newcastle, Callaghan, Australia e-mail: [email protected] A. Piper University of Technology, Sydney, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_8

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making available valuable data for criminological and historical inquiries from handwritten prisoner records held by the Public Records Office of Victoria (PROV). Through the assessment, students had opportunity to probe offenders’ criminal records and encounters with the legal system in ways that cannot be undertaken with contemporary data due to legal and privacy restrictions. The exercise was repeated in 2021 and 2022 and was expanded to involve prisoner records from New South Wales and Tasmania. By inviting reflection on the relationship between criminology and history, this assignment has demonstrated how citizen social science can be used as a tool both to engage student learners and to extend the impact of public criminology.

Background Public criminology arose in response to a desire to better connect criminology with non-criminological and non-academic audiences (Loader & Sparks, 2011). Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010) identified public criminology as a distinct specialisation within the discipline, along with professional, policy and critical criminologies. The working definition of public criminology is that centred on public responses to crime, public debates and intersections with policymaking (Loader & Sparks, 2011; Hamilton, 2013). Public criminology is therefore less about bringing the public into the discipline as active participants and more about taking findings to them. We believe that this understanding is quite limiting, as it suggests that there is only one type of criminology that should seek to engage the public. As Hamilton (2013) points out, there would be few criminologists at universities who do not see their work as being important to, or involving, policymakers or the public. In the narrow definition of public criminology, there is nothing that the public can offer—as Sexton (2020) points out, it imagines that they must wait for our expertise to appear to them, suitably presented. Seeking to challenge this position, Ruggiero (2020) and Sexton (2020) argue that true public criminology requires activity from the public, and that they are taken seriously as activists in crime and justice debates, with support from

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criminologists. Involving the public or students in collecting data and information about crime for their own analysis and research could be part of a much more genuinely public criminology than simply engaging the public to listen to criminological research and then to pressure policymakers (Shah & Henne, 2020). In this chapter, we will not debate what public criminology is (or isn’t), or offer a prescriptive response about what public criminology means for higher education and criminology. Rather, the narrative reflects upon the role of history in teaching criminology and public criminology. We explore what public criminology means to us, reporting on how we have attempted to engage students in their studies by combining criminology and history. In this reflection, we discuss strategies we applied to help students feel like active participants in their disciplines, and what this means for how we approach criminological education in Australia. We begin by exploring the role that history can have for criminologists, not only within historical criminology, but within public criminology, while also considering how crime-based citizen history projects in Australia, such as the Prosecution Project and Founders and Survivors, have captured the imagination of students and non-students alike. We conclude the chapter by discussing what we have learned about applying similar ideas with criminology students through our collaboration, reflecting upon our students’ experiences with a citizen social science task and how this feeds into public criminology and higher education pedagogy in Australia.

History’s Value for Criminology Students Criminology is introduced to students as interdisciplinary (Carrabine et al., 2020; White et al., 2019), and history is listed as one of the disciplines that has helped inform its development (Carrabine et al., 2020). Yet in practice, especially in the training of criminology students, the use of history is limited (Conley, 1977, 1993; Jones, 1994). While every criminology textbook will cover Beccaria, Bentham, Lombroso and Durkheim, the focus is predominantly on explaining the history of criminological theories, or how policing has developed over time (Dixon,

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1996; Jones, 1994). It is a rarity for an introductory criminology textbook to include a chapter on histories of crime, although there are exceptions (Carrabine et al., 2020). Attention to intersections between history and criminology tends to focus exclusively on a single geographic location and does not provide a global look at crime throughout history. Thus, as students undertake more specialised criminological studies, issues with presentism in the discipline emerge, as identified early on by Matza (in Weis, 1971) and again criticised by Churchill et al. (2022), Roth (2017), Lawrence (2012), Nagy (2021), Pratt (1996) and Dixon (1996). More recently, historical criminology has emerged as a branch of intellectual inquiry within criminology, although some may argue that it should be considered a criminological method and not a distinct branch of the discipline (Churchill et al., 2022). While lately there has been a greater appreciation for the value of historical data to criminology, it is often used to help consider new ways of thinking about the present rather than to help provide a genealogy of current criminological concerns (Lawrence, 2012). Dixon (1996) argues that the divide between the disciplines of criminology and history may exist because criminologists do not understand, or appreciate, the work that historians undertake to ensure the reliability of their sources. History is seen as merely collecting some information and presenting it with no practicable solutions (Dixon, 1996). Pratt’s (1996) more direct criticism of criminology noted that criminology is positivistic and carceral, thinking of itself as an applied science, hence overlooking historical perspectives. In recent decades, calls to decolonise criminology have identified the need for more history in the discipline (Moore, 2020). Preoccupation with the present in criminology at the expense of the past has led to Moore (2020, pp. 489–490) arguing that the discipline is conceived of as ‘entirely utilitarian’, following a ‘process of civilization’ from the uninformed past to the enlightened present. In order to overcome this, while developing a historically informed longitudinal and global understanding of crime, Georgoulas (2022) argues that ‘collective enterprise’ needs to be the next step for criminology. Collective enterprise should be taken to mean not only interdisciplinarity, but involving public and private institutions, and the general community, within scholarly research.

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Public Criminology, Citizen Social Science and History Collective scholarly enterprises involving members of the public have a much stronger background in the humanities and in history than in the social sciences and in criminology. The benefits of research-led teaching for promoting student-led learning, transferable skill acquisition, professional practice and problem-solving are well documented in the humanities and sciences (Haaker & Morgan-Brett, 2017). The sciences have a long history of utilising public engagement for conducting research, known as citizen science or crowdsourcing, which Haaker and MorganBrett (2017) state lends itself to integration into classroom teaching approaches. Due to the flexible nature of citizen science, there are a variety of ways in which volunteers can contribute to the collection, categorisation or dissemination of data (Piper, 2020). In historical research, members of the public have helped classify images, categorise or clean data or transcribe handwritten records—all activities that do not require extensive specialist training but can help contribute to the development of certain skills (e.g. visual literacy, triangulation of data and recognition of specialist terminology) over time. This type of work is beneficial in increasing humanities knowledge among both the general public, and students inside and outside classrooms (Hedges & Dunn, 2018). This form of object-based learning and its benefits to student attainment have been documented by Ellinghaus et al. (2021) and Piper (2020). Due to the seamless way that citizen science (including humanities for brevity) can be included in classroom activities for all ages, learning guides, lesson plans and other materials are made available by crowdsourcing initiatives such as History Unfolded: US Newspapers and the Holocaust Project. Another example is NASA, which has over 30 citizen science projects underway. From these projects, learning materials have been developed that can be used by teachers and students in primary and high school classrooms (NASA, n.d.). Criminology has not been as active in embracing the possibilities of citizen social science, although there are examples relating to policy (Kythreotis et al., 2019) and urban well-being (Pykett et al., 2020). The likely reason for this gap is in part methodological, with the types of records used by criminologists being highly sensitive and only available

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to researchers under ethics protocols that generally do not permit the open public access required for citizen social science projects. One solution to this ethical hurdle is to access historical records held by galleries, libraries, archives and museums (the GLAM sector). This raises the further challenge that criminologists may have trouble identifying historical records which may be valuable in the practice and teaching of criminology, although these institutions are teeming with untapped resources that chart individual as well as community behaviours, including the records of criminal justice systems. Finally, understandings of public criminology may also have limited the use of citizen social science methods in the discipline. These barriers need to be addressed if criminology is to take up the citizen social science model. Incorporating historical considerations into criminology can also be a means of developing richer practices of public criminology. Indeed, using historical sources to keep memories of the past alive is a good starting point for a public criminology that is about debating collective self-understandings, including in the classroom (Brown & Rafter, 2013; Sexton, 2020). It can also be transparent, applied, evidence-based and committed to empowerment and social justice (Hamilton, 2013). Teaching with citizen social science through historical sources and artefacts can therefore play an important role in helping to develop student activism and understanding of the roots of current social justice issues, while simultaneously giving back to the discipline and making more data available for criminological analysis. Prior to discussing how this has played out in our classrooms, it is beneficial to consider how criminal justice public history projects have successfully been navigating the divide between experts and publics.

Crime and Justice in Public History Projects To a large extent, the expansion of engagement between criminal justice historians and the public can be attributed to the sub-discipline’s early and fervent embracing of the possibilities of digital history. Criminal justice history is a field rich in quantitative as well as qualitative information, and so readily lends itself to the types of digital storytelling that

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can occur through data visualisations. Moreover, the field’s openness to quantitative methodologies feeds scholarly enthusiasm for the transformation of crime records into data (Finnane & Piper, 2016). It is also significant that such digitisation not only benefits scholars of crime, but academics interested in the wide variety of social and economic topics that can be illuminated through criminal justice archives, from questions of gender, class and race to issues of health, family composition or even urban planning. Importantly, it is not just academic scholars who have pushed for the digitisation of crime records or who provide audiences for digital crime histories. It has also been a high priority for family historians and genealogists, who find relatives in crime records as offenders, victims or witnesses (Oates, 2017). This is especially true in Australia, where over the last fifty years the possession of a convict ancestor has been transformed from social taboo to badge of honour (Barnwell, 2019). One of the earliest examples of digital histories was the 2003 British launch of the Old Bailey Online, which enabled anyone with computer access to search and read 200,000 trial proceedings from London’s central criminal court from 1674 to 1913. This radically democratised access to historical sources—no longer gatekept within hard-to-access archives or only viewed through the gaze of scholarly interpretation. The site was hailed as a ‘new history from below’, having received millions of visitors within its first decade of existence (Hitchcock, 2014; Poole, 2005). It also inspired academics regarding the possibilities created by both digital methods and the obvious public appetite for crime histories, particularly when it came to record linkage. The Old Bailey dataset has formed the basis of a number of subsequent record linkage projects, from London Lives, which allows users to search across multiple digitised archives to explore poverty and crime in the eighteenth-century metropolis (Hitchcock & Shoemaker, 2015a), to The Digital Panopticon, which connects multiple datasets to enable the building of cradle-to-grave life courses for individuals tried at the central criminal court, including those transported to Australia (Godfrey, 2017). While some digital history projects limit users to searching for, manipulating and downloading the data they contain, others include means for users to become contributors. In Australia, there has been particular

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enthusiasm for such citizen history projects. In particular, the National Library of Australia’s newspaper digitisation programme, Trove, has been heralded as ‘the best example of the involvement of a wider public in research’; on an average day, users of Trove make around 100,000 corrections to the OCR-text from images of historical newspapers (Hitchcock & Shoemaker, 2015b). This in itself creates a huge resource for researching media coverage of crime over time but has also encouraged more specifically crime-related projects to adopt crowdsourcing. Launched in 2014, the Prosecution Project used crowdsourcing to digitise trial data from the six Australian state supreme courts, from when they were established into the 1960s. This archive has since been shared to enable investigation of a range of historical, criminological and legal questions through case-level data, as well as inquiries by local and family historians (Finnane et al., 2018). Zeal for tracing convict ancestors was likewise harnessed by the Founders and Survivors project to transcribe and link Tasmanian convict records with a growing number of other record-sets (Bradley et al., 2010). While the Prosecution Project and Founders and Survivors were both created as part of academic research projects, there are also community-generated resources embracing citizen history. Convict Records is a volunteer-led project, in association with the State Library of Queensland, that allows family historians to populate a web resource with their own findings to create one centralised point of access for all convict records across the Australian colonies. Internationally, there are also various crowdsourcing projects that connect to crime or legal history, such as Transcribe Bentham, through which volunteers have transcribed tens of thousands of pages of writings by the legal philosopher Jeremy Bentham (Causer & Terras, 2014).

Citizen Social Science in the Classroom Crime and justice is thus a thriving area in digital and public history projects, opening up opportunities for involving students with real-life research, records and examples. While community historians, historyminded members of the general public and history students busily engage in digital citizen-powered projects, these opportunities remain

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largely outside the experience of criminologists and their students. As discussed above, this can be attributed to a lack of awareness of the potential that history holds for enriching criminological understandings. In the higher education context specifically (in Australia at least), discussion of the criminology discipline with students focuses on job readiness. This tends to elevate practical tasks and work-integrated learning as central to true criminological experience and expertise. Such an approach broadcasts to students that they should not worry about ‘irrelevant information’ like the historical precedents of current criminal justice issues (Duffee & Bailey, 1991; Jones, 1994). However, Yeomans (2014) argues that bringing the historical together with the criminological in the classroom can help students see that the present is neither inevitable nor the product of a natural, linear progression. One means of overcoming the gap between the disciplines of history and criminology, especially with regard to the training of the next generation of criminologists, is a project that was developed to introduce historical criminal offending to second- and third-year students in a large criminology unit at the University of Tasmania (UTAS), and into a history of crime unit at the University of Newcastle, Australia (UON). Students completed a citizen social science-based assessment consisting of a primary source transcription and self-reflection exercise. This allowed students to actively participate in the creation of an online resource as part of Alana Piper’s Criminal Characters project. The activity was run with both criminology and history students, aiming to see how understandings of crime and justice differed between students’ disciplines. The task further explored citizen social science as a means of helping students become better engaged with, and find meaning in, their studies. Citizen (social) science has been criticised on the grounds that tasks that can be allocated to the public do not bring about conceptual understanding or demonstrate the reasoning abilities that are required of higher education students (Prather et al., 2013). Addressing this concern, the assessment task was designed so that the transcription of records was only the first step, followed by research, contextualisation and reflection. The intended learning outcomes of the task were to:

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. Develop knowledge about crime and criminal justice transferable to different professional contexts and roles; . Interpret and evaluate information sources about crime and the law, in ways that support further development of oral and/or written communication skills; . Critically reflect on the historical, social, legal and ethical issues that affect crime and criminal justice across different contexts. To achieve these outcomes, students followed a series of steps to transcribe handwritten prison records from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in state repositories in Victoria, Tasmania and New South Wales, to research the offenders whose records they transcribed, and to write responses to a series of questions prompting contextualisation and reflection. Students were given instructions for the assignment as outlined in Fig. 8.1. These instructions were identical for UTAS and UON students. Students in both cohorts had limited experience with historical or crowdsourcing projects; therefore, videos were created by the course coordinators for their respective students outlining how to complete a transcription task. Additional sessions were held online to answer student questions about where to find contextual primary or secondary data. To aid notetaking, a worksheet (See Appendix 1) was created for the students. Worksheet submission was not required, however many students did submit it, which demonstrated to us that students had found value in this study tool. An additional video was recorded to give students more information about how they would be contributing to the disciplines of criminology and history. This provided guidance to students about how their work would support Australian research into crime, justice and corrections, and expanded their knowledge about how topics illuminated by the records linked with content covered in the courses. In conducting our analysis, student responses were de-identified and given a number and prefix (e.g. UTAS01 or UON01). Human research ethics protocols were secured from both UTAS and the University of Newcastle and the approved participant information statements and consent forms were made available. Due to a low response rate at

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Part 1: Transcription of 3 criminal records Value: 30% - marked on pass/ fail basis 1. Visit the website – https://criminalcharacters.com/. Make sure you register your details and note your username- this needs to be entered in Part 3 of the assignment. Click the button ‘Transcribe Prison Records’. On the transcription interface, click the ‘About’ button and then select the ‘FAQ’ section. 2. Read carefully through the information provided. 3. Click the ‘Classify’ button to be taken to a prison record to transcribe. Read through the step-by-step tutorial, and then transcribe information from the prison record into the boxes provided. As you transcribe the information, make a note of details about the offender in the offender profile worksheet provided with this assignment- this will help you with Parts 2 and 3 (you do not need to submit the worksheet with Part 3). Remember if you have any trouble with reading the handwriting or completing the transcription that you can seek help on the site. The transcription does not need to be perfect as all transcriptions are checked by other volunteers in the project but must be as complete as possible. Complete this process for THREE offenders. Note: If you receive a long record with more than 3 convictions and numerous details about the person’s behaviour while incarcerated (i.e. more than 3) then you may choose to only transcribe two records. Please note in your response to Part 3 that you have done this. Part 2: Research Primary: See what other information you can find out about the offender by searching for newspaper articles about them on Trove – https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/?q= – and add any additional details to the offender profile. The best way to find articles about the offender is to enter their full name in the search function within quotation marks, e.g. ‘William King’, then refine the results returned by the options provided at the left-hand side of the screen. In particular, you will want to select the colony or state in which the offender’s convictions occurred under ‘Place’, and ‘Article’ under category. If you are still left with a large number of results, select the decade that the individual was convicted within – after which you can also select the year and month as necessary. Secondary: Draw upon materials provided in this course, those listed on the Criminal Characters website and your own additional research to develop an understanding of the period in which your offenders were being prosecuted, the types of crimes they committed and how the criminal justice system operated at that time. When writing your reflection, remember to use criminological terms and concepts.

Fig. 8.1 Assessment details

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Part 3: Reflection Value: 70% Length: 1000 words Answer the following questions drawing upon the material from the transcripts, additional primary sources and academic sources, and your own responses to learning more about the offenders. Remember to include your username from the Criminal Characters website at the top of the first page so your transcriptions can be checked. a) What did you learn about the offenders whose records you transcribed? (20 points) Start with the biographical details of each person but also consider their histories of offending, their behaviour and punishment in prison, what the authorities did or did not know about their other offending and any other relevant observations, such as their age, sex, Indigeneity, class, religion and ethnicity. b) What did you learn about the nature of the justice system? (20 points) Think about the legal processes experienced by the offenders, how they progressed through the legal system and the punishments that the offenders received. How do their experiences relate to the period during which they were being prosecuted? Did these processes change over time? c) What did you learn about changing criminality and popular understandings of crime and criminality? (20 points) Were you able to find your cases or similar ones in newspapers or in other sources? How were they treated? What are the scholarly understandings of this type of crime and offender? Can you see evidence of change over time in how cases were presented and offenders were understood? d) How has transcribing these criminal records affected your understandings of offenders in the past and present? (10 points) Referencing: References are required in the form used in this course – Harvard. In-text citations are included in the word count; reference lists are not.

Fig. 8.1 (continued)

Newcastle, a second approach was made to students early in 2021, which secured a small number of additional participants. In total, 42 UTAS students and six UON students gave permission for the use of their reflections in our research.

Reflection—The Criminology Experience The UTAS Crime and Criminal Justice students were an eclectic mix of those undertaking a criminology major in the BA, or working towards

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social work, psychology or law degrees. In conversations with students about their decision to undertake the criminology major, many noted a desire to work with victims and offenders to keep their communities safe or to help support those who have experienced severe trauma. As the created classroom space (and the online learning environment) for the criminology course was underpinned by trauma informed principles, it was a place where students disclosed histories of victimisation, offending, or how these were impacting their friends and family. Thus, activism and social justice due to personal connections to crime was often a driver for UTAS students. UTAS students live in a state to which over 76,000 convicts were transported by the British government between 1804 and 1853, and where an estimated 74% of Tasmanians today are descended from these convicts. There is an assumption that there is a strong connection to this past. However, although convict heritage is no longer taboo, and is even celebrated, there were few students who had knowledge of Australia’s penal history. There are numerous students like UTAS41, who said that transcribing the prison records was ‘a fascinating experience’ because they did not know much about Australia’s criminal justice history. UTAS23 was the only one to note that due to where they currently lived, they had a harsh view of offenders; being near Sarah Island, which was the site of the Macquarie Harbour Penal Station, meant that they had heard stories about why the male convicts were sent to this outpost, often for escaping from other sites and serious offending in Van Diemen’s Land. While there was little knowledge about Australia’s past, the content and structure of the unit meant that students had twelve weeks of criminology instruction covering topics such as criminological methods and theories, interpersonal offending, property crimes, transnational crimes, the role of police, courts and prisons in society, crime prevention and social inequality. Thus, the UTAS students had criminological explanations for offending that they were able to utilise as part of their reflection. Although students had a theoretical knowledge about offending and people’s responses to being incarcerated, some found the connection to actual people and cases enlightening. Insight into life behind bars was

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what UTAS13 found to be the most engaging. UTAS28 found their prisoners ‘interesting’ because the typical stereotype of prisoners is that they are misbehaved (sic) or participate in antisocial destructive behaviours. My prisoners did not behave in the stereotypical way or if they did the behaviour that they displayed in prison wasn’t of significance to then be documented on their prison record.

Other students applied criminological thinking to explain offender motivations. UTAS17 and UTAS29 discussed how labelling was as evident in the past as now, and the effects this could have on criminal career trajectories. Economic gain and strain were highlighted by a few students who used it as an example of how criminal offending has changed little, while others were interested in unpacking how punitive approaches, including hard labour, clearly have a long history with little impact on reducing recidivism. Moral panics and media influences on how offenders are portrayed and understood by the public were themes that numerous students chose to reflect upon. Students were concerned with the idea that justice is unable to be served correctly where public opinion is ill-informed and impacts upon expectations of the justice system. Both UTAS13 and UTAS14 were aware of how sensational the representations of their offenders were; UTAS14 reflected how increased media accessibility to the public may be more detrimental to offenders’ rights in comparison to the past when trials were over much faster and would not remain in the media cycle for the same period. UTAS17 took a different angle to this issue, stating that they ‘found the reporting of crime to be more judgemental, moralising and voyeuristic in tone than in contemporary reporting (Newscorp’s efforts notwithstanding)’. UTAS17 drew upon Durkheim’s ideas of crime’s positive functions to social regulation and integration to explain the reporting of criminal behaviour in the past. A few students also highlighted how reporting not only can impact upon the offender or the public, but also victims. UTAS15 was surprised by how victims were named in the past, especially in the cases of two offenders who sexually assaulted young girls.

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Half of the 42 UTAS students explicitly discussed change from the past to the present in their reflections, while 13 out of 42 focused on similarities between the past and present to discuss the lack of change. The effect that this task had on students’ understanding of both past and present responses to offenders was perhaps best summed up by UTAS20: It saddens me that a lot of the issues I noticed in the records, such as the overrepresentation of young minorities, the low conviction rate of ‘whitecollar’ crimes and the likelihood of recidivism are still ever-present issues in the modern justice system.

The criminalisation of poverty and vagrancy did not come as a surprise to the criminology students who had covered the relationship between social inequalities and crime early in the semester. What was more surprising to students was that while offender motivations have remained the same, there hasn’t been the political will to create change even though ‘the necessity of targeted criminological intervention to prevent recidivism has also been recognised by the criminal justice system’ (UTAS36). This assessment served to highlight gaps in the lectures and tutorial activities that needed to be filled. As the students had not been trained in history or the humanities more broadly, it meant that the historical precedence of concepts, theories and data needed direction, which was better explored in the 2021 and 2022 offerings (for example, giving examples of pre-nineteenth-century forensics, exploring the history of Indigenous Australian incarceration pre-2000s, exploring Enlightenment philosophy and the impact this had on how crime was conceptualised and theorised in the nineteenth century). Concurrently to training the students in historical thinking about contemporary problems, upskilling of tutors who had experience teaching and researching contemporary crime and justice but no historical training was undertaken. Despite these gaps, reading the responses from students highlighted how the task was meaningful. UTAS04 found that it ‘made the learning very personal and memorable’. UTAS41 reflected that what they enjoyed most

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was that this activity felt more engaging and personal in comparison to writing an essay on how crime and criminality have changed over the years. In engaging with primary sources of offenders of the past I was able to learn about them and actually imagine what they looked like and what they were experiencing, rather than just a broad overview of what criminals were like in the 1800’s. In doing this I felt as though I was able to gain a more thorough understanding of the topic, and I also believe I was more engaged in the activity, as it was a fresh change from writing essays.

Reading how engaged the students had become, how they had shared this activity with friends and family and how this task was one that they drew meaning out of, while simultaneously demonstrating their aptitude for applying their criminological knowledge, demonstrated that this task was not just about citizen social science, but a true demonstration of public criminology.

Reflection—The History Experience For University of Newcastle students looking at Australian Underworlds, attention to the past was not novel, but at the centre of the course (and, for a minority, their programme of study). However, the idea of working directly on a larger history project through practical transcription was new and highly engaging for most students. After some initial concerns about their capacity to read the varied handwriting encountered in the prison records, the support provided on the Criminal Characters website and within the course structure proved sufficient to enable all to complete the task. They drew on this descriptive information to seek out their offenders using the Trove newspaper database, adding to their knowledge of them. This was combined with research into relevant scholarly sources to inform their responses to the set questions. Just as many criminologists engage with their discipline without incorporating historical perspectives, similarly many historians who examine crime do not draw on criminological theories. Garton took convict historians to task over this omission in 1991. Specialist criminal justice historians are now more inclined to consider relevant criminological

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theories in their work, but these theories were not known to the history students. Many did try to develop their own explanations of criminality based on what they observed in their limited samples. Several concluded that factors including poverty, disability and immigrant status had contributed to the commission or prosecution of crimes. UON01 argued that the class of both the offender and the victim influenced prosecution and sentencing, and pointed to the intersectional nature of ideas of criminality, being influenced by a person’s race, class and gender. When asked about their motivations for enrolling in the course, students consistently referred to their enjoyment of true crime, particularly films and podcasts. They chose the course as an elective within teaching, arts, law or criminology degrees as an opportunity to pursue this interest for university credit. However, one of the aims of the course was the deconstruction of the stark binaries typical of the true crime genre: good and bad; truth and lies; offender and victim. Having the students form a close acquaintance with three historical offenders through the transcription assignment was helpful in this. UON05 noted their own shift in views, at first assuming that one subject’s extensive criminal record was ‘reflective of a man with a bad criminal nature’ but after further research concluding that his circumstances as a widower with four dependent children needed to be considered. UON03 observed that ‘My understanding of criminality has changed to accommodate a more detailed historical background for not only the offences committed but also the offenders themselves’. The act of typing out the words describing the person’s appearance, life history and offending record necessitates a deep familiarity which tends to create empathy and a desire to look beyond the titillating details of crimes to how and why they occurred. The student-led nature of the assessment task made it engaging for students and markers alike. Students were able to be selective about whose records they chose to transcribe, reviewing those offered to them by the Criminal Characters site until they found one of interest. Further, they could choose from the elements contained in the records they transcribed to focus on just one or several of the offenders, on the individual’s backstory or the type of offence committed. UON03 reported having read more widely but chosen to report on the ‘three offenders

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that I particularly enjoyed learning and writing about’. UON06 sought answers to the question of why people break the law by tracing an offender in newspapers across thirteen years from an initial incident of threatened self-harm through eight larceny convictions and numerous infractions while in prison. For those assessing these assignments, the variety of topics and approaches made marking more interesting than in assignments where students answer a narrow range of set questions based on prescribed texts. Markers also learned a great deal in reading about the offenders, whose stories until that time had remained unknown. Like the students, we sometimes found ourselves making further queries on Trove to try to follow a person through their criminal trajectory and beyond. Ideas of social justice infused the responses and were particularly evoked by two categories of offence: vagrancy and child sexual assault. In both cases, it was the disparity in contemporary attitudes to these behaviours and the punishments historically awarded for them which drew attention from the students. For vagrancy, students were outraged that, from their perspectives, poverty and homelessness were being criminalised. UON05 noted that the ‘homeless were seen as a burden, and criminals instead of victims of their circumstances’, although they accepted the view that jail could be a place of safety compared with life on the streets. UON01 attributed the frequency of convictions for vagrancy to a lack of social support services. UON02 placed vagrancy laws into a context of ‘moral panics about the degenerate and “criminal class”’, identifying the wide degree of police and magisterial discretion in deciding what behaviour could be described as vagrant. The child sexual assault issue was at the other end of the spectrum, with students questioning why it was often only lightly punished, with shorter sentences than relatively small value thefts. Some, like UON04, were motivated to embark on a research effort into secondary sources which found that sexual offending against children was of community concern and the subject of activist campaigning, despite the short sentences. The shock of seeing what they understood as social problems being criminalised, and serious crimes being minimised, motivated students to look further into these topics, equipping them to participate in contemporary debates on what are ongoing issues.

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Starting from the primary sources and moving on to find relevant scholarship gave students new insights into historical methods and practice. UON01 wrote about their developing understanding that both contemporary and historical attitudes and assumptions have the potential to shape the work of historians who did not approach primary sources critically. They wrote: ‘we must balance the way we view the primary evidence within its historical context while considering how emerging notions of criminality can influence our historical lens’. UON02 noted that the task had helped them to form a view on what continues to be a live question within Australian historiography, whether convict transportation established a long-lasting criminal class in the colonies. This assignment led them to conclude that ‘there has never been one homogenous “criminal class”; motivations and the psychology behind offending (and reoffending) are complex’. The transcription task had many positive outcomes for student learning, encouraging students to develop more nuanced understandings of crime, in contrast to views previously largely informed by an avid consumption of so-called true crime media. By giving them the concrete task of transcribing three prison records, students were drawn into the lives of past offenders. They were able to follow the aspects of these lives in which they were most interested, heightening engagement and leading many to reveal that they had actually enjoyed completing the task, something which is often not the case for university assignments. Teaching staff on the subject were impressed not only with the originality of each response, but the deep learning evident within them. Students showed that they had advanced in both their development as historical researchers and their understanding of social justice issues related to the criminal law evident across the past and present.

Final Thoughts: Enhancing Public Criminology Through History As stated by Ruggiero (2020) and Sexton (2020), public criminology requires the public to be involved as activists in crime and justice debates. In this scenario, our public was our students. Being introduced to the

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prison records empowered them by introducing a source of information beyond textbooks and academic articles. We found that the task served as a prompt for wider discussions with peers and relatives about issues of poverty, injustice and harms, based around the real people they encountered through the records. As transcribers, students supported the work of chronically underfunded public institutions as the latter seek to increase digital access to their collections, enabling them to better preserve fragile documents relating to Australia’s criminal justice history. Making the records available to become part of the database developed as part of the Criminal Characters project helps to advance scholarly enquiry. Allowing us to analyse their reflections contributes to the scholarship of teaching and learning. All of these outcomes indicate that the use of a citizen social science assessment task is one way in which public criminology can be located in higher education. It shows that the categories articulated by Uggen and Inderbitzin are not mutually exclusive. This is public criminology, which is also critical criminology, exploring intersections between class, gender, race and ethnicity to consider the social harms and social justice issues associated with incarceration and criminalisation. It was also a task that was student-led. Our role was to guide the students to where they might find relevant material. This was of particular importance for the criminology students less familiar with the various digital repositories for historical sources. But the direction that students took with their research, their reflections and their contextualisation was up to them. Student responses within the assessment and in follow-up emails well after the unit concluded demonstrated that this task made their studies more meaningful than what they had previously encountered. Teaching throughout the semesters took on a different spirit as well. From the outset, students were positioned as criminologists and historians, not merely as criminology students or history students. Their role as active participants in the discipline was supported by online materials and tutorials. This was partially in response to COVID, but also to ensure there was guidance in this shift to being student-led. This structure empowered students to feel confident undertaking a task which was purposefully broad when it came to research and reflection. This

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illustrates McAleese’s (2019) findings that for some, doing public criminology requires active engagement. However, as Nelund (2014) points out, reaching the public and influencing policy is social change, but not necessarily social justice. There are those who have successfully advocated for their research to change policy (like Wilson’s problematic Broken Windows Theory, or Clarke and Felson’s equally criticised Routine Activity Theory), but these have not resulted in social change for the better. Public criminology therefore needs to take a critical perspective, and as this assignment demonstrated with both cohorts, moving the standpoints from student to active participant by engaging with primary data enabled a deeper understanding of offending and criminalisation, as well as connection to their studies, disciplines and social justice. Reliance on state-created records leads to some tensions with critical criminology’s tenets. Research issues with using official administrative records on their own are well documented (Knox et al., 2020; Quinn et al., 2020). Students were encouraged to find supplementary accounts of the offenders and their offences using the Trove newspaper database. These articles were also written from the stance of proponents of the law, often characterising offenders as immoral, lazy or pathetic. Accounts created by the people themselves could not easily be accessed. Here the distance in time from the offences was an asset, as it tended to enhance the students’ critical stance on how offenders and offences were characterised. Many expressed empathy and even outrage at how people experienced the criminal justice system, in particular those charged with actions which are now largely decriminalised, such as vagrancy and obscene language. Examining historical cases drew attention to Young’s (2011) insight that offenders’ personal biographies need to be linked not only with social structures but also with their particular historical context. It is of no value to continue discussing crime issues in the current socio-political context if we cannot link students with the origins of these problems in other contexts. As criminologists and historians, we agree with the observation that: It is [a] profound irony that people who easily dismiss historical research as ‘merely academic’ or ‘impractical’ are so often busily introducing

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‘reforms’ which would be identified as ill-conceived and ineffective by anyone with a passing historical knowledge of the issue. (Dixon, 1996, p. 79)

For public criminology to truly engage students in the issues facing the criminal justice system today, it is necessary for criminology to connect with the past.

Appendix 1 Offender Profile Worksheet Name(s) Height Complexion Hair colour Eye colour Date of birth Place of birth Trade Religion Literacy Marital status Date of first conviction Date of last conviction Number of convictions Description of offence(s) Place(s) convicted Number of prison infractions Description of prison infractions Other information

References Barnwell, A. (2019). Convict shame to convict chic: Intergenerational memory and family histories. Memory Studies, 12(4), 398–411.

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9 Higher Education’s Role in Public Criminology: Students as Producers Kate Strudwick and Suzanne Young

Introduction: Where’s the Pedagogy in Public Criminology? The debates around what constitutes public criminology and how it is achieved continue to develop within disciplinary literature (see Hamilton, 2013; Henne & Shah, 2020; Loader & Sparks, 2010; Turner, 2013). Burawoy’s call for public sociology is undeniably central to the focus of this chapter, which presents a narrative placing value on collaborative, active and engaged learning. As authors, we present the case for forms of pedagogy to be better aligned to public criminology, to further K. Strudwick (B) Lincoln Academy of Learning and Teaching, University of Lincoln, Lincoln, UK e-mail: [email protected] S. Young School of Law, University of Leeds, Leeds, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_9

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acknowledge the place for authenticity within lived experiences. This discussion holds significant relevance for the discipline of criminology, as one which has flex to apply different concepts through its pedagogy. We propose that we can learn from this broader engagement with issues and challenges within the public domain through our teaching, arguing that as educators we should seek to have an influence outward to a wider audience, the public. Henne and Shah (2020) address some of the wider debates and applications of public criminology, identifying these through contributions to their edited volume The Routledge Handbook of Public Criminologies. These explorations address the broadness and flexibility inherent in what makes it public, while also addressing the transformative nature of how public criminology can be part of academic practice, both through research and teaching. Turner (2013) further identifies three different perspectives that have developed from public criminology literature— fighting for truth, news-making and democratic underlabouring—and acknowledges the role that criminologists can play in bridging the gap with truths. With reference to Loader and Sparks’ (2010) argument, that criminologists are ‘producers of knowledge’, Turner presents a place for engagement as contributors in a creative manner, relative to the pluralism and diversity that comes from their voices, concluding that criminologists will be recognizing that we both can and should engage in informed and constructive deliberations (with each other and with the wider public) about the ‘value’ of different ways of representing, constructing and knowing reality. (Turner, 2013, p. 163)

The public nature of criminology as a discipline is relevant to the five core characteristics proposed by Carrabine et al. (2009): it is transparent; ‘applied’ in orientation; evidence-based; committed to empowerment and committed to human rights and social justice. All of these have applicability to pedagogical debates, and the utility of such debates for public criminology, as proposed in this chapter. There is arguably clear convergence between debates on public criminology and scholarship, shown in the acknowledgement of shared values and the intent to extend knowledge acquisition through learning.

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However, one criticism that has been made of the developments in public criminology as a concept has been the failure to fully discuss the role of educators and students in the endeavour of publicness (see Walters, 2011; Hamilton, 2013). ‘But where is the student?’ was the question posed by Walters (2011, p. 732) when reviewing Loader and Sparks’ (2010) public criminology text. This question remains largely unanswered in most writings on public criminology, with a few exceptions (for example Tidmarsh, 2022; Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010). Hamilton (2013) argues that the role of public criminology is affected by the autonomous nature of the discipline; in effect it is the flexibility regarding subjects, methods and the freedom in how it is taught, that has an impact. As discussed here, it is this broader purpose of pedagogy within the discipline which has the potential to be effective if addressed through public criminology. This arises from opportunities for educators and students to learn from each other, to be open-minded and flexible, to have a greater voice publicly and to explore the values that can come from debates arising from lived experiences within learning. Such opportunities arguably raise the bar for embedding greater authenticity within learning, as seen through the adoption of collaborative approaches to pedagogy. These approaches can empower students to learn through the knowledges they bring with them, enabling them as learners to make the connections between pedagogy and public criminology. This can be seen in how it can be purposed through links and connections to evidence-based criminological research, connection to policy. Criminology as a discipline of social science has the potential to align academia with the construction and development of knowledge within public discourse. Key questions for educators within criminology can positively address the purpose and value of such knowledge in a public context. The premise for this discussion is that, as educators, we all have a role in influencing knowledge production, and this can be achieved through public criminology. As authors, we would state that there is a need within the discipline of criminology to appreciate the collective voice. It is indeed this dialogue with students that we should be having and promoting as educators for all the disciplinary debates we have in the classroom. It is imperative that students understand their valued place

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and voice, and the important role they have in expanding knowledges. As criminologists, we are able to engage with public discourse and debates in an authentic, realistic and importantly relevant and critical manner. Often such discussions will reflect upon debates within teaching and learning that are timely, addressing current moral dilemmas in a way that can, at times, be challenging and contentious in its efforts to work through the politicisation of current arguments. For this chapter, public criminology is interpreted as a vehicle to embed relevance through active learning, with student-centred dialogues. With reference to Burawoy’s (2004) ‘organic’ conceptualisation of teaching, Hamilton (2013) discusses the role of teaching and learning as one means to empower students to be actively engaged. This chapter explores key themes from the public criminology literature and demonstrates how we can activate these in our role as educators. We use the Student as Producer model to demonstrate how collaborative education can ensure that the power of learning moves beyond the campus. The chapter commences with an overview of the Student as Producer model and its application to public criminology. Following this, we discuss ways in which we can put public criminology into practice within and beyond the university campus.

The Student as Producer Model Henne and Shah (2020) advocate for a public criminology that is collaborative, whereby various publics share their knowledges and experiences to bring about positive change. Public criminology should not be passive, it should be co-created. Universities are an ideal place for the co-creation of knowledge, and criminology courses are increasingly embedding this co-creation within their curriculums. The development of collaborative knowledge, facilitating the role and value of partnerships and transformative learning, can be explored through a case study of Student as Producer. Student as Producer is a teaching and learning strategy developed by Professor Mike Neary, launched at Warwick University and Oxford Brookes University in 2004 under The Reinvention Centre for Undergraduate Research and

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Centre for Excellence in Teaching and Learning (CETL). This model has been embedded institutionally at the University of Lincoln, through multi-disciplinary teaching and learning, since 2010 (see Neary et al., 2014). The model re addressed the ‘imbalance between teaching and research’ (Neary & Winn, 2009, p. 193), and created a community of practice between students and academics. Based on eight key principles (discovery, technology in teaching, space and spatiality, assessment, research and evaluation, student voice and support for research-based teaching through expert engagement with information resources and creating the future), the model established an institutional framework for curriculum development and research-engaged teaching. Students were transformed into co-partners in the learning process, with the model providing a vehicle for them to construct their own knowledge. This case study evidences where and how as educators we can adopt the role of students as active citizens and as co-creators and partners in their learning, facilitating them to go beyond the university as active citizens. Adoption of this model democratises the learning and teaching process, enabling ‘an exploration of the reshaping of core elements of engagement and participation’ (Strudwick, 2017, p. 82). The model is both facilitator and enabler, ‘whereby students learn primarily by engagement in real research projects … Engagement is created through active collaboration amongst and between students and academics’ (Neary et al., 2014, p. 9). Student as Producer identifies students as ‘an integral part of the academic project of their institutions’ (Neary & Saunders, 2016, p. 2), and similarities show convergence with the Students as Partners model (Healey et al., 2014).

Higher Education as a Space for Collaborative Knowledge Currie (2007, p. 178) states that ‘we would have a very different justice system if it were designed by criminologists’, arguing that academic work is often separated from public discourses. While we would not disagree with Currie’s assertion, we ought to acknowledge that criminal justice

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and criminology graduates have the potential to be future decisionmakers and influencers in criminal justice policy and practice. Academic discourses are fed into public discourses within educational environments, and these educational spaces have the potential to transform public spaces. Currie (2007) further talks of a failure to educate the public, in that we need to educate beyond the classroom, but we argue that we are indeed educating the public through the courses that we deliver, and they educate us through their participation in class. This is related to the role that students may play through their graduate outcomes, and the skills they have learnt at university. As Burawoy (2002, p. 7) notes, ‘students are our first public’, and teaching is just as important as research when we consider the values of a public criminology. Our students are the public, and although they may not always be representative of society, they are a public audience, attending (in the UK) public institutions and engaging in a variety of different aspects of public life (including work, leisure and recreation). While Currie argues that it can be difficult for academics to get research into the public arena, by adopting research-led teaching, academics are in fact embracing public engagement through their courses. We appreciate Currie’s argument about the role of universities, and that academies may be too inward facing, but we must not forget that we have thousands of criminology students and graduates every year who are working in the criminal and social justice industries where their knowledge is being applied. The fact that we are witnessing a huge growth in the number of students enrolling in criminology courses (see Young, 2022) is a positive contribution to the goals of public criminology. Furthermore, the top two areas of employment for criminology undergraduates in the UK are public order and public safety and justice and judicial services, which will directly benefit from their learning (Young, 2022). Even for students who do not go on to criminal justice-specific degrees, their learning can influence their wider ‘responsibilities of citizenship’ (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 741), by engaging them in core social issues including inequality, victimisation, discrimination and politicalisation. Research conducted by Jameson et al. (2012) reflected upon the importance and the value that students bring to shaping teaching and

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learning through collaboration. By presenting the Criminology in the Professions module developed at the University of Lincoln as a case study, this work addressed the broader focus of student identity and where this fits with the creative employability that was central to teaching developed at the University of Lincoln. Discussion sought to reflect upon the literature surrounding engagement with employability, alongside criminology’s disciplinary benchmarks. The work argued that academic principles contribute to this acknowledgement of the role of students, addressing tensions between academic engagement and practitioners’ discourses around employability. The module included input from practitioners who work in the field of Criminology, notably youth justice, policing and relevant third-sector agencies. The Criminology in the Professions module was presented as an exemplar in practice of how curriculum design in a core module can emphasise the potential for teaching employability within the curriculum, and the impact this approach can have on wider and public audiences, which can be developed from within the classroom. It is indeed the outward facing purpose as educators in this module which enabled opportunities to have a broader impact out with the university, demonstrating that teaching practices can be developed within employability, where ‘knowledge can serve to empower students in their decisions about career choices’ (Jameson et al., 2012, p. 34). Another case study of collaborative partnership in higher education further explores a collaborative module of curriculum design (see Strudwick, 2019). The Police Studies module delivered at the University of Lincoln was developed to strengthen existing productive links with policing, and to further build collaboration between policing and academia. By embedding enterprise and professional practice within higher education, Strudwick adopted co-creation in the design, facilitation and delivery of teaching, so that academic practice became learning. Students, academics and police practitioners were all partners in collaboration, all being equal in their knowledge sharing and production. The impact of this partnership module with policing had disciplinary importance for public criminology. It is one example where developing Student as Producer values and collaborative partnerships in practice

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bridged academia and policing, emphasising that collaborative partnerships within teaching and learning, are key to building and facilitating co-production, enabling students to represent the wider public audience. This case study illustrates how pedagogical practice can publicly embrace partnerships with external organisations, and the extent to which police–academic collaboration can be aligned to the ‘active engagement of students in the critical application of their learning, which encompasses core values to Student as producer ethos’ (Strudwick, 2019, p. 5). The practice itself further highlights the benefits for students in being our public collaborators and asserts the importance of shared ethos and values in teaching and learning. This curriculum development reflects the extent to which Student as Producer has been considered as a critique on the commodification of higher education. With reference to Neary and Winn (2009) and Neary and Morris (2012), this discourse argues that the adoption of elements from the Student as Producer model is more than just redesigning the curriculum but offers a challenge to the consumerism of learning through the production of knowledge which promotes ‘openness, enquiry, ownership and empowerment’. (Strudwick, 2019, p. 7)

It has potential as a model and provides opportunities for nurturing creativity within teaching. By reflecting upon the principles fundamental to the Student as Producer model, we can practically deconstruct the relationship between research and teaching, emphasising both the shift in students’ roles as partners or co-researchers, and the evolving positions of students and academics from within the system. Such examples of academic practice enable the reader to consider other opportunities that can be presented through pedagogy, noting its role in, and connections to, public criminology. The benefits of such authentic learning are well documented and offer great opportunities to get students to apply the knowledge gained within the classroom to the world in which they live. Young and Tullo (2020) discuss how experiential authenticity can transform the learning journey by bringing voices and experiences to learning environments. The impact

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of experiential authenticity demonstrates that creating learning communities with diverse voices and diverse experiences can transform how students learn about the world in which they live. Smith (2022, p. 2) also discusses the benefits that can come from applying concepts of reallife assessment, addressing the extent to which such assessments within practice ‘adds educational and social value to the learner experience’. Adopting such approaches through teaching and learning further speaks to the purpose of such thinking, whereby such practices can provide a form of connection, and the potential for students to co-create. This enables students to identify the impactful roles they can have when reflecting upon their own experiences, and the extent to which this is related to knowledge acquisition. Johnson (2022) offers a particularly poignant example, when one of his students influenced the behaviour of a shop owner by challenging their discrimination towards travellers. Models of teaching and learning, such as Student as Producer and Students as Partners, provide ways for students and academics to work together in critiquing the perceived view of students as customers. In this sense, there is potential for a re-imagination of the roles of students and ourselves as educators in higher education. This is expressed by Hynes (2017, p. 2), who advocates a pedagogical approach that appreciates the student voice, choice and creativity so that they can recognize themselves in a world of their own design and take responsibility for their own learning.

Other examples of practice also demonstrate the opportunities that exist for us as educators to impact upon public criminology. Programmes that demonstrate this co-creation include the Prison: Learning Together module at Leeds Beckett University, which invites leading criminologists to share their research with students and prisoners. This sharing of knowledge and experience transmutes the learning environment from a didactic and passive space to one of transformational learning. Another example is the Indigenous Perspectives module delivered at the University of New South Wales, Australia (see Sercombe et al., 2022), which brings together indigenous Australian experiences of the justice system, with

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academic knowledge and first-hand experiences of Aboriginal communities.

Enhancing the Scope of External Collaborations There have been developments within higher education in terms of the potential for impact beyond the campus, through expanding the role of universities in their civic mission. This reflects the shift within higher education towards the development of partnerships. In 2019, 31 universities signed Civic Agreements with the University Partnerships Programme Foundation chaired by Lord Kerslake (Brabner, 2019), demonstrating their commitment to embedding wider collaborations with the community through knowledge sharing and engagement. These Civic Agreements enabled universities to work with local community organisations to improve both services and local economies. Examples of criminology teaching and learning which evidence this development of partnerships through application of principles from the Student as Producer and Students as Partners models are given in Strudwick et al. (2017) and Strudwick (2019); both these works identify the contribution of knowledge and skills. Bull (2021) further discusses the extent to which universities connecting and collaborating through partnerships has wider public significance. Bull addresses the extent to which working in partnerships helps to build links with communities: impact can be reciprocal, with universities improving and enhancing students’ experiences, while building external networks within communities. This focus on the role of universities as civic spaces connects with the importance of bringing the community in through pedagogy, and the civic purpose of higher education in exploring real-world topics and debates. These models, adopted in practice, have enabled curriculum design through collaborative partnerships, as demonstrated by the University of Lincoln Police Studies module. The module embraced common themes from both student engagement and Student as Producer, placing student learning within co-production with policing. This adoption, alongside police practitioners, represents the ‘shift towards practically embedding

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practitioners in pedagogical design’ (Strudwick, 2019, p. 7), and shows how a shared common purpose was developed to enrich students as producers of critical policing knowledge. With links to critical pedagogy, and a constructivist approach to learning (Bentley et al., 2007), partnership values have the potential to optimise student learning and students’ external roles within public criminology. Such values focus upon ensuring participation and engagement for all involved. In this context, students are both public audience and producers; in short, they are partners and active beneficiaries in their learning. This case study of the Police Studies module explores how collaboration can ensure that the power of learning moves beyond the campus. Student as Producer facilitates students to construct their own knowledge, by becoming more active in their learning and engaging with partnerships and their civic role. By facilitating learning opportunities within and outside of the curriculum, students are the producers, taking greater ownership of their knowledge. In this sense, knowledge is constructed by the students, as shown in the principles from Student as Producer and Students as Partners models, but guided by our roles as educators, or enablers. As educators, we have the opportunity to embed Lev Vygotsky’s scaffolding approaches in our role in learning. Such approaches can enable students to advance their learning as a result of collaboration, to not be passive consumers, but to engage more in research and teaching. Efforts can be shown in practice which democratise learning through forms of participatory learning. By enhancing active partnerships between academics and students and practitioners, connections can be made which actively involve students in curriculum design and in academic research teams. Such connections have become established routes to empower students in the process of evaluative work. In sum, the adoption of Student as Producer enables students to learn by engagement with educators, placing values of partnerships and active collaboration as fundamental to its purpose.

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Conclusion Discussions and case studies presented in this chapter have shown the connections between themes of collaboration, active learning and the importance of relationships between academics and students as our audience in higher education. Aligning such approaches to learning, alongside discussions on the role of public criminology, has further raised the possibilities for public criminology. Case studies of practice have explored how models can be applied to pedagogic practice, demonstrating how such approaches and application can empower students to think more broadly about the value of lived experiences, and what can be learnt from understanding their voices within teaching. All of these methods to connect, collaborate and co-create with students in their learning enables criminology to be a vehicle, an enabler linking public criminology with the externality of the discipline.

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Strudwick, K. (2019). Learning through practice: Collaborative policing partnerships in teaching. The Police Journal: Theory, Practice and Principles, 94 (1), 1–17. Strudwick, K. (2017). Debating student as producer—Relationships, contexts, and challenges for higher education. PRISM Casting New Light on Learning, Theory and Practice, 1(1), 73–96. Strudwick, K., Jameson, J., & Rowe, J. (2017, September). Developing volunteers in policing: Assessing the potential volunteer police community police officer. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practic e, 1–14. Tidmarsh, M. (2022, June 3). A pedagogy of ‘public criminology’ as a counter to marginality? Lessons for community sanctions and measures from the Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Probation Journal (Online First). https://doi. org/10.1177/02645505221105394 Turner, E. (2013). Beyond ‘facts’ and ‘values’: Rethinking some recent debates about the public role of criminology. The British Journal of Criminology, 53(1), 149–166. Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public criminologies. Criminology & Public Policy, 9 (4), 725–749. Walters, R. (2011). Public or civil criminology? A critique of loader and sparks. British Journal of Criminology, 51(4), 730–734. Young, S. (2022, August). Criminology students: Expectations and motivations. LITE Fellowship Video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3BhQc3pAlc. Accessed May 2023. Young, S., & Tullo, E. (2020). From criminology to gerontology: Case studies of experiential authenticity in higher education. Journal of Perspectives in Applied Academic Practice, 8(1), 127–134.

10 Public Criminology in an Acute Setting and the Development of an Academic Criminological Career Joseph Janes

Introduction In my formative years of university study, I was immersed in a pedagogical paradigm that emphasised the importance of social justice, and approaches which sought to engage in public dialogue rather than merely academics speaking to each other (Bellah et al., 1985; Loader & Sparks, 2010). This inspired critical thought about the broader impacts of education and the potential power of learning to transform communities beyond the university, challenging inequality, enhancing education and enfranchising those who often have no voice (Howes, 2017). My understanding of public criminology was further influenced by practitioner engagement in a youth homeless hostel. Homeless hostels accommodate J. Janes (B) Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, Wales, UK e-mail: [email protected]

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some of the most vulnerable and marginalised in society with the aim of helping them to become independent, autonomous citizens (Mahoney, 2019). The hostel residents were very much invisible, frequently denied a comprehensive education and often powerless in broader social terms. Confronting these realities, I developed a positive approach to public criminology, which echoes what Freire (1992) refers to in his Pedagogy of Hope as the power of education, and the need for the academy to tackle critical social issues such as poverty and powerlessness in an applied manner.

Learning from Experience My experiences can be broadly divided into three stages. Firstly, reading criminology at university: during this stage, my preconceptions about criminology as a discipline began to be dispelled. From perceiving criminology as something that might lead to a good career, I engaged with theoretical learning with a social justice emphasis, through teachers who often had a practitioner background. This shifted my perceptions, enabling a more critical view of the subject and its applications. The second stage was more practical and occurred between my second and third years of undergraduate study. I undertook an internship with the youth offending service in Swansea and through that, began a process of exploring the potential impact of criminology in practice. Engagement with young people and practitioners within a pro-social justice Youth Offending Team (YOT) consolidated my emerging thoughts around public criminology, especially with marginalised young people and those who work with them. The final stage concerns the direct application of new understandings of public criminology. As I progressed from undergraduate study to postgraduate research, core principles of public criminology became embedded in my research, teaching practice and philosophy. Reflecting on my journey, I believe this process of development and understanding of public criminology enabled me to grow as a criminologist before I considered it in a formal sense. It must be

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noted that I have changed names for privacy and have permission from all those involved for all quotes and life details circumstances to be used. All research has been completed ethically.1

Early Thoughts on Developing a Public Criminology Approach As a university educator, I recognise that students are the first public we face (Burawoy, 2008, p. 8). As a criminologist, I realise we must rethink the form of instruction and the means of delivering a criminological education (Gacek & McClanahan, 2021). This has led me to self-reflection around notions of participation in the classroom, particularly with regard to youth justice. Witnessing undergraduate debate and discussion during my degree at Swansea sparked my interest in public criminology, and the ways in which those who were at the start of their academic journey could raise a debate in seminar sessions and have their ideas critiqued. Such critical exploration is fundamental to human interaction, and it is a flexible, adaptive pedagogical tool that allows students to engage critically with content (Roland et al., 2016, p. 3). Discussions around seminar questions, and the search for answers and understanding, inspired deeper critical thinking. As Burawoy (2008, p. 9) suggests, critical pedagogy is essential for students to become active, critical subjects rather than ‘empty vessels to be filled with sociological truths’. A more public criminology, underpinned by eco-pedagogical empowerment, can aid both students and the wider public (Gacek & McClanahan, 2021). The process of engaging students in critical reflection demands perseverance and understanding that it takes time for them to begin to reflect on their knowledge and to share their ideas critically. In this context, they are invited to reject the notion of themselves as passive consumers of knowledge and to empower themselves to take charge of their own learning (Clevenger et al., 2017; Gacek & McClanahan, 2021; Greek, 1995). This connects to research around the idea of the student 1

The research went through the ethics process at Swansea University and was signed off by the ethics board.

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as producer, recently developed by Strudwick (2021a), Strudwick and Johnson (2020), and Strudwick et al. (2022): with a focus on collaboration, undergraduates work alongside staff in the design and delivery of their teaching and learning programmes (Neary, 2013). Further examples are expressed through the partnership programme where academics took the role of a critical friend (Strudwick et al., 2022). Within this context, as critical friends, there was an acknowledgement of the dynamism between the services in the project, and collectiveness in practice, where the project team were able to use the critical friends as a supporting role, which is similar in stance to the engagement of critical reflection with young people in this research, working together to find positive outcomes. As a social science, criminology arguably differs from professional disciplines, in that there is greater freedom in determining the knowledge and skills a graduate should have (Hamilton, 2013). Currie, 2007 outlines the impact of research and the power of criminology outside the classroom as a mechanism for change and argues for assertive public criminology. This is defined as ‘one that takes as part of its defining mission a more vigorous, systematic and effective intervention in the world of social policy and social action’ (Currie, 2007, p. 176). This is where real learning takes place, through the empowerment of individuals to assert themselves in the classroom and inspire students to take that discussion further. This public criminology space is where policy and practice meet (Carrabine et al., 2009, p. 453). The inclusive and participatory dimension of this exploratory practice and engagement between the teacher and learner creates a setting for student empowerment to take place (see Allwright & Bailey, 1991; Allwright & Hanks, 2009; Allwright & Lenzuen, 1997). Understanding these theories of education and the benefits of peer learning is essential to this chapter. The next section looks at how this has enabled me as a criminologist to take theory out of the classroom and into practice.

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Practical Understanding: Taking Theory Out of the Classroom The second stage in my learning journey was my internship with the youth offending service in Swansea. Lumsden and Goode (2018), in their research into police forces in England, consider the ‘enterprise university’ and evidence-based policing. In Swansea YOT, the focus was similar to notions of enterprise on developing the YOT through research evidence; the research internship was exploratory rather than servicing the needs of the service. This approach emphasises the partnership between the local authority and the university, focusing on addressing local issues and drivers through local solutions, supporting the principles of community safety, and enabling diverse community elements to work together to find local solutions to local problems (Evans, 2016). The police and related services such as youth justice and probation have a long history of being secretive and resistant to outside interference (Lumsden & Goode, 2018). Brown (1996) explains the characteristics of police culture in terms of researcher positionality, divided into four parts; the most pertinent to this research is the fourth: ‘Outside outsiders’ which include ‘most academics without any formal affiliation with police organisations’ (Brown, 1996). As Reiner, 2000 outlines ‘outside outsiders’ are most likely to experience the greatest barriers to both formal and informal access. Although there has been an acknowledged shift in recent years, with many police forces exhibiting a greater willingness to form partnerships with academics (Fleming, 2012; Fyfe & Wilson, 2012; Goode & Lumsden, 2016), this has been referred to in the literature as the rise of pracademics, policing practitioners who merge into academics (Huey & Mitchell, 2016; Strudwick, 2021b). A similar argument around pracademics can be made for work occurring within YOTs, with the Youth Justice Board for England and Wales (YJB) making partnerships core to their Centre of Excellence approach, in tandem with their commitment to encouraging collaboration between the youth justice sector and the academic/research community (Youth Justice Board, 2017). To contribute to public policy, criminological research must produce expert knowledge useful to policymakers (Wiles, 2002). This is not just

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useful to researchers; the collaborative approach shown by Swansea YOT, such as working in a children-focused manner and listening to their views (Haines et al., 2013), enables the dissemination of information which assists policymakers and practitioners and informs young people. This approach has helped me develop my dissemination skills to broader public audiences. To establish their academic credentials and professional careers, criminologists often specialise in narrow research areas, addressing their work to a primary audience of their peers and students (Chancer & McLaughlin, 2007) rather than testing their theories and concepts via wider audiences who may benefit from understanding the research. Knowing this, and understanding how public criminology can be delivered, led me to think about the value of translating theory into practice; that is, how to engage with theoretical understandings in a non-academic setting. The internship was thought-provoking, as I recognised in practice all the implications, I had studied surrounding Social Behaviour Orders (ASBOs) and the Crime and Disorder Act, of 1998. At this time, the youth justice system was undergoing major changes, including the removal of formal ASBOs and funding cuts to legal aid, meaning fewer people could access legal advice (Legal Aid, Sentencing and Punishment of Offenders Act, 2012). Arguably, during this period, youth justice policy transitioned from ‘costly criminalisation’ to ‘precautionary risk management’ (Squires, 2013). This required practitioners, many of whom had social work or social policy backgrounds, to demonstrate critical reflection. This was helpful to my understanding of the quasi-devolved system in Wales, part of a whole-system, person-centred approach to justice in Wales (Welsh Government, 2022). As the move from practitioner discretion, the power or right to decide or act (Murdach, 2009) to risk-focused work continued, I could sense the practitioner’s frustrations with discretion becoming less central in the system, which is in line with the wider literature on this matter (see Case, 2016). This period of working alongside practitioners allowed me to understand the realities of the theory I had studied truly. I developed my knowledge of criminological theories such as labelling theory, which proposes that deviance is that which is so labelled (Becker, 1963), and

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maturation theory (Glueck & Glueck, 1940), which argues that age is a significant factor in desistance from crime. This practical stage promoted my understanding of what these theories mean to the people who deliver services and to the young people they work with. The connection between theory and practice is supported by Klein’s development of the concept of ‘knowledge democracy’, which contextualises complex problems such as the criminal justice system (CJS) within public debate to emphasise the importance of recognising lay perspectives and alternative knowledge (Klein, 2013). These perspectives bring about a shift ‘from solely “reliable scientific knowledge” to the inclusion of “socially robust knowledge,” dismantling the academic expert/ non-academic lay dichotomy’ (Klein, 2013, p. 196). This is something criminology needs to adopt to develop as an inclusive, public-facing discipline. The final stage of this development is embedding these understandings in practice, research and teaching.

Direct Application of New Understandings of Public Criminology This final stage concerns the direct application of new understandings of public criminology, which emerged from public criminology in a youth hostel setting. These understandings were entrenched into practice as an early career researcher and a support worker working with young homeless people. My realisation of the need for a different model of pedagogy for public criminology took hold during this internship, and discussions and learning developed from an applied approach to public criminology beyond academia. The reality was that talking to a young person about theories is complex and can be detrimental to relationship development if done in the wrong format; theories such as desistance, defined as the process of abstaining from crime by those with a previous pattern of offending (Farrall & Calverley, 2006), labelling theory (Becker, 1963), and the self-fulfilling prophecy, a false definition of the situation evoking a new behaviour which makes the originally false conception come true (Merton, 1968, p. 477). Explaining these theories to a young person may

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seem appropriate, yet they may not understand the concepts. It could risk complete alienation, primarily for making someone feel uneducated. At this stage of my career, I began actively taking theory out of the classroom into a public setting. This was often realised while discussing young people’s stories and the impacts of the CJS. Conversations in the youth hostel got me thinking about how there was a gap between my knowledge and their understanding of concepts. This is where I understood it was possible to make a difference in children’s and young people’s lives. This was, after all, an introduction of ideas of formal, non-formal and informal education, the power of shared power within an informal education that is conversation-based and (in this example) young person-led. It aligns with Freire’s work, giving young people the tools and space to understand, grow and develop an ongoing process of empowerment to create critical agents (Freire, 1970). This was very much a youth work setting, youth work being a distinct educational process adapted across a variety of settings to support an individual’s personal, social and educational development (National Youth Agency, 2022). Youth work operates through a process of shared power, participation by free choice and ultimately a greater sense of agency for the young people involved. There is a developing evidence base on the effectiveness of its contribution to other professional arenas, such as social work and youth justice (Atkinson et al., 2007; Ofsted, 2015). Youth work as a concept is a way of working with young people in all their diversity. It means different things to every volunteer, youth worker, youth work manager and policymaker (Batsleer et al., 2010). When we reflect on what is central to youth work, it must be recognised that it was originally called ‘youth leadership’ (Batsleer et al., 2010). Youth work and leadership are seen as a positive step forward, given the importance of collaboration and the student as a producer. My teaching philosophy reflects on empowerment and a youth work approach. How often are those with lived experiences consulted? There is a need to re-imagine public criminology around youth work, towards approaches which are person-centred, which empower young people (Department of Education, 2011), and which are informed by values

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that include ‘Young people opting in, voluntarily, creativity and reflection, respect, equity, diversity, independence’ (Department of Education, 2011, p. 2). As outlined by the National Occupational Standards, 2019 (NOS), which are defined as statements of the standards of performance individuals must achieve when carrying out functions in the workplace (NOS, 2023), the aim of youth work is to enable young people to develop holistically, looking after the whole person and their needs (YJB, 2008). Building on this, the Youth Work Strategy for Wales (YWSW, 2019) outlines the flexibility of youth work underpinned by distinctive values; this is one of its greatest strengths. It is not confined to a single setting or context and is thus a robust approach for empowering young people to use their voices and be heard (YWSW, 2019). It is in this culture and setting that my reflective research was developed. This process was about sharing power and working together; rather than the dynamics of a typical educational environment, there were no barriers or status, just people conversing around lived experiences within a system (Blueprint Writing Collective, 2022). This meant applying a teaching lens to criminology to explain and comprehend the mechanisms of the CJS, what the different agencies mean, and how they work. The link between ideas and implementation in youth work settings commenced with informal conversations with young people who had clear distrust towards public services and, in particular, the police. It is widely acknowledged that trust and confidence in the police are weaker among younger people than among adults (Flexon et al., 2009; Hinds, 2007; Hurst et al., 2000; Sindall et al., 2017). This has been explained with reference to their greater use of public space and consequently heightened contact and conflict with the police (Loader, 1996; McAra & McVie, 2005, 2010). An integral part of my process was unpacking predetermined notions of what the police and the wider CJS aim to do. Understanding these narratives and talking about the real, deep-rooted reasons for this dislike of the police and public services served as foundational discussions for educating these young people through a public criminology lens. This offered the potential for co-production between academics and young people engaged in education, intending to reduce future offending, and influencing public education programmes in bringing about changes

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to policy and practice (British Society of Criminology Learning and Teaching, 2021). This was due to the relationships of trust, mutual respect and shared power I created, starting with their lived experiences. When I was able to explain my role and my experience in terms of research and understanding of criminal justice and how powerful knowledge can be (Schieman & Plickert, 2008), young people began to approach me in a more inquisitive manner, which is where the ideology became a reality. Although these young people struggled with writing and reading English, they did have a strong ability to communicate their ideas through their voices. Even though they may not be able to communicate in traditional education settings, their voices are of the utmost importance (McLeod & Roulstone, 2011; United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, 1989). Embedding this public criminology style into my work as a practitioner required the adoption of an informal classroom in the front room of a youth hostel in South Wales, akin to circle time (see Morrison et al., 2013, p. 433). Each week we discussed an element of the CJS, employment opportunities or youth work. We reflected on past experiences and our shared future goals; many related to having a family, working in a stable career, owning a house and the materialism of youth (trainers and clothing being key). This informal classroom (see Rogers, 2014) was the bedrock of my public criminology approach to pedagogy. A growing body of research looks at a new ‘hybrid’ model for youth justice in settings of social and educational work that locate a social pedagogical approach within a youth work delivery framework (Williamson & Conroy, 2020). Such a model reflects a ‘Children First; Offenders Second approach’ (Case & Haines, 2015); this is the approach I took during my internship at Swansea YOS. Youth work is a valuable practice, but those whom most need support are often the hardest to reach (Coussée, 2009). Much of it is targeted towards groups like those not in education or training, those with mental health needs in partnership with schools, and young people living in lower socio-economic areas. More than a decade of austerity measures and subsequent cuts to youth work services has led to a sharp rise in poverty and inequality across the UK (Smith, 2023). Much like the residents of the hostel where this research took place, low-skilled young

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people, often from low-income families, and young people from ethnic minority backgrounds are often lumped together under the label ‘vulnerable young people’, and their voices are often underrepresented (Coussée, 2009; Cunningham & Rious, 2015). Often, the relationship-building work of getting to know young people is characterised by risk; risk management is embedded so deeply in the system that the term ‘love’ can ring alarm bells. Across Europe, work with young people is dominated by high-profile safeguarding measures, risk assessments and necessary child protection legislation and vetting procedures (Williamson & Conroy, 2020). Love, or talk of love, is deemed to be unprofessional in the UK (Williamson & Conroy, 2020), yet my contention here is that we should be able to say that we love our young people and that we reach out to them. As Freire proclaims, it is the ‘fighting love of those convinced of their right and duty to fight and denounce and announce’ (Freire, 1998, p. 42). The eighteenth/ nineteenth-century Swiss educator Pestalozzi claimed that ‘Love of those we educate is the sole and everlasting foundation in which to work. Without love, neither physical nor intellectual powers would develop naturally’ (in Smith, 2009, p. 123). One of my first shifts with a young person was in the hours immediately after his release from custody following a burglary. He came into the living room of the hostel raving about what he had done— the bravado of spending the night in custody. The other young people were asking questions about whether he had any trouble or got into any fights. He shrugged this off: ‘Nah, don’t get any trouble in Cardiff, do I? My dad is locked up still, so he said; he’s my son he’s safe’ (Cam, age 16). However, when the dust had settled and the others had gone to bed, he sat in the front room and started to ask questions about what would happen next. On reflection, he was worried about his future and what his licence meant. We called the probation worker together the next morning, worked out when he needed to be available and what his bail conditions were, studied the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) website and looked at his legal options. This was my first realisation of the power of informal public criminology.

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Part of this process of developing lived experience into public criminology awareness was navigating the CJS for young people and understanding what, for example, it means to ask for legal advice. This ensured they had an appropriate adult, understood their lived experiences of the court system and included interactions with the police, addressing how it made them feel. A setting for discussion with young men in this example involves much bravado around violence, sexual behaviour and machoism, which is common to research in this area (Pavis & Cunningham-Burley, 1999). Public criminology was effective in this situation because Cam was at first able to access and navigate these sites because I could mentor him and explain an expression of the importance of youth advocacy; however, in the second instance, he did express interest in acting for himself; consequently, there needs to be a broader public education for young people in the actualities of the justice system. This is an example of public criminology in action.

Gravy and Eggs: The Reality of Abject Poverty After developing a rapport over several weeks with Cam, we managed to discuss and reflect on his life and what had led him to this point. During these conversations, one thing really pulled at my heartstrings: Cam asked whether he could have the leftover gravy in the fridge and whether I could help him scramble some eggs for his favourite meal. After some inquiry, Cam disclosed that one of his fondest memories of home life with his father was eating Bisto gravy and scrambled eggs. Reminiscing about the good times spent with his father when he was not in prison, I realised this young person was significantly misunderstood. He was willing to learn and enjoy the good things in life; these were so much more important than the labels he had been given. I began to draw up a plan of informal mentoring for Cam, one in which he discussed his dreams and aspirations moving forward. This, after all, was a young person who had not been asked about what he wanted to do but rather told what he must not do.

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This is where the connection between Freire’s 1970 work on the Pedagogy of the Oppressed and the present day becomes a reality. Giving young people the tools to understand, grow and develop (Prowle & Hodgkins, 2020) rather than crushing views that may be unconventional, and grasping where these views have stemmed from, is the first part of the puzzle. It is then about encouraging them to make informed decisions on their own future; children’s rights are a significant part of this (UNCRC, 1989). As Freire observes, education is an ongoing empowerment process to create critical agents (Giroux, 2021).

Criminological Education Criminology is a respected field of study but still has intrinsic problems. The discipline should foster learners who engage and try to comprehend what they are doing and could do within society, and in this way, create opportunities for social justice (Reisch & Garvin, 2016). After all, teachers must understand that education will bear fruit only if it is a cooperative effort (Nauert, 2017). Education plays an essential role in producing a new generation empowered to solve the real problems in our society (Idris et al., 2011). From the time of Erasmus of Rotterdam (1516), it has been understood that a nation’s main hopes lie in the education of its youth. The link between this philosophy and its implementation in a youth work setting began with informal conversations with young people who had obvious scepticism and distrust towards public services, particularly the police. Assertions such as, ‘I hate the police and everyone associated with it’ (Matt, age 19), and ‘All they do is take from us; I don’t trust them’ (Iggy, age 18) were commonplace. This distrust needed to be unpacked and understood, and a fresh approach was needed because there was no curriculum addressing ‘What do we think of XYZ and what does it mean to us?’ ‘What do we understand about XYZ’ involved discussion with explanations around the CJS: a brief history, mission statements, resources, group reading and thinking about the philosophies of bodies such as the police. Unpacking their thoughts and understandings each week enabled these discussions to

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take place in a holistic environment. The process ended with changes in reflection and outlook for these young men, with comments such as ‘Do you know what I would love to teach others about how to avoid the decisions I made in my life’ (Matt, age 19). They were growing and learning, understanding both the systems they were involved with and other people’s views of their circumstances. This comprehension and deeper thinking are the reality of applied public criminology, giving real agency to young people and empowering them to become more than the label that they were given. These are amazing, talented young individuals who have made poor choices in a system in which they do not fit; they are not the young offenders they have been demonised as. Developing my pedagogy by studying Freire (1970) was integral to this. Those who advocate for a pedagogy of teacher education argue that it should involve a knowledge of teaching about teaching and a knowledge of learning about teaching and how the two influence one another (Loughran, 2008, p. 180). These young people influenced my practice and my understanding. This emphasis on bridging the gap between teaching and real-life settings (Herrington & Herrington, 2006) is even more important within a youth hostel setting, working with young people who may not be familiar with traditional education methods or who may have struggled with traditional pathways through school learning (McLarty & Moran, 2009). Addressing issues around class sizes is key to this, but with only six people in the hostel, this was never an issue and focus, and attention could be given to the residents. McLarty and Moran identify the potential for disengaged young people to become re-engaged in learning, which is delivered in local community sites such as youth centres and community projects (2009, p. 15). This is where the opportunity to engage with young people in a hostel setting has such potential as a form of learning informally in a holistic environment. A significant part of developing this pedagogy involves facilitating students’ voices. There is robust evidence that giving serious consideration to students’ voices can generate highly effective pedagogy (Husbands & Pearce, 2012). Hearing young people’s voices involves more than just listening to what students have to say; it explores the

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potential benefits of consulting with them, involving them in decisionmaking, and listening seriously to their stories and experiences. These are essential steps to developing education (Niemi et al., 2010, p. 139). To hear young people talk about their inability to read and write— which meant they would just agree to things or get angry because they simply did not understand—was harrowing. But we cannot expect young people to fit into the outdated box of the class-focused British justice system. This style of conversation was their culture; in this context, culture means the shared stocks of knowledge, values, ideas and systems of meaning that are held collectively and manipulated by social actors in the daily construction of reality (Berger & Luckmann, 1966). Understanding their terminology and then ensuring that the terminology that I used in teaching sessions was public-focused and understandable to a layperson was paramount. Unfortunately, media attention and rather hasty piecemeal policy responses, such as the Knife Crime Prevention Orders (2021, KCPOs/ Knife Crime ASBOs), can be seen as knee-jerk reactions which put vulnerable young people at risk (Prison Reform Trust, 2019). They have resulted in an upsurge of authoritarian populism that rests on the scapegoating of despised others. Affluent sections of society appear to be afflicted by fear and resentment (Tiffen, 2019; Wright, 2017), characteristic of what Cohen terms a moral panic (Cohen, 1987). Meanwhile, young people have become increasingly isolated and marginalised. Many have, at best, a limited stake in society and, in turn, are often not trusted or even feared by their wider communities (Pavis & Cunningham-Burley, 1999). A shift away from this rhetoric is needed; public criminology can do this by unpacking the labels and demonstrating the power of community. Opportunities for young people dealing with these subjects to talk freely in a relaxed educational environment are not an everyday occurrence, albeit they very much should be. So many of the young people I worked with described themselves as ‘stupid’ or ‘thick’ (Matt, Marvin, age 17 & 18) when they are more streetwise than people twice their age. Their lack of educational attainment does not equate to stupidity. Once you give young people the platform to speak and get their points across, and they realise their voices matter, the empowerment is liberating; an

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example of this was when I supported Iggy, aged 18, to the job centre when given the chance and space to discuss his future plans and goals Iggy was proud of his will to learn music and go back to college and study. Understanding a layperson’s informal knowledge is a key element of public criminology. This becomes evident when trying to make a point in an academic research article. People are the experts in their own lives (Clark & Statham, 2005), but their voices are often not given value, whether in everyday life or when expert opinions are sought. As Jones (2002) argues, changes in state benefit structures, housing, education and training have created an extension of childhood. Realising young people’s potential is paramount to this; it poses questions about whether there is a new social contract of education (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, 2021, UNESCO). Children face significant social, economic and environmental challenges driven by accelerating globalisation and faster technological development (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, 2018, OECD). At the same time, these changes give us new opportunities for human advancement. It is important that young people are at the heart of these developments.

Concluding Comments This chapter has focused on my critical reflections concerning public criminology. These include my understanding of the dialogical nature of public criminology, drawing on my practitioner engagement in a youth hostel. The youth hostel residents were very much socially invisible, frequently denied a comprehensive education and often powerless in broader social terms. But the application of public criminology came to the forefront of my comprehension and deeper thinking when it became apparent that young people were learning and understanding, in this manner, comprehension of the systems they were involved in. These young people had real agency and were empowered to become so much more than the label that they were given.

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The potential for the academy to drive changes in society by taking criminology out of the university classroom, having a vision and comprehending what research-led teaching means outside academia, can make it a mechanism for progress. My reflections are about sharing power and working together beyond the classroom, aside from barriers and power status, just people communicating about their lived experiences. None of this research would have been possible without the voices of those involved, their real lived experiences and their minds open to discussing emotive topics with resilience and sensitivity. The young people who took part in these sessions have grown from this experience, as have I, and I sincerely wish them all the best with what the future holds. A final and crucial reflection from my research is that criminology as a discipline is about much more than merely crime or criminal justice. It is about foundational social values, and hope for better policy and practice. As a discipline, it can empower and enfranchise some of the most powerless and vulnerable. However, often, criminology misses the point when it comes to research. There is frequently a policy shift from doing things ‘with’ young people towards research ‘on’ them (Williamson & Conroy, 2020). Criminological research commonly focuses on understanding poverty, class issues and drug and alcohol misuse, but—as outlined in this chapter—those with lived experiences of these issues are often not consulted. We need to re-imagine public criminology through youth work approaches which are person-centred and empower young people. This is why I have argued for a fusion of social pedagogical approaches within a youth work delivery framework.

References Allwright, D., & Bailey, K. M. (1991). Focus on language in the classroom. An introduction to classroom research for language teachers. Cambridge University Press. Allwright, D., & Hanks, J. (2009). The developing language learner. Palgrave Macmillan.

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11 Advancing Prison Education Through Partnership Working and Public Criminology Kirsty Teague, Paul Hamilton, and Anne O’Grady

Introduction In this chapter, we set out to put a spotlight on the notion of partnerships. Increasingly, in the neoliberal era, business jargon has come to characterise organisational practice. Today, discussion around partnerships is also likely to include conversations around key performance indicators (KPIs), payment by results (PbR), and profit/loss. Indeed, in England, such terminology has seeped in with the privatisation of criminal justice, most clearly with the Transforming Rehabilitation reforms of K. Teague (B) University of Derby, Derby, UK e-mail: [email protected] P. Hamilton · A. O’Grady Nottingham Trent University, Nottingham, UK e-mail: [email protected] A. O’Grady e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_11

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2014 (Ministry of Justice, 2013), as well as the move across the education sector towards academisation (see Department for Education, 2015). Underpinning such phraseology, however, is partnership working, characterising the interactional nature of business. Whilst such terms would sit quite comfortably in business, economics, and finance literature, as social scientists, it is our professional responsibility to critique the contextual role and usage of such terms. This chapter looks to critique what partnership is in the hybrid education-criminal justice contexts we work within in England. In particular, we aim to (i) prompt a critical conversation within academia and society at large about the nature and role of partnerships in education-criminal justice contexts; and (ii) provide academics, teaching practitioners, education providers, criminal justice professionals, and partnership stakeholders with a critical insight into the development, roles, and offerings of partnerships in such contexts. Therefore, this chapter offers a critical interrogation of partnerships in a social sciences context through a public criminology lens (see also Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016; Darke & Aresti, 2016). It does this whilst also acknowledging and celebrating the benefits that partnership working offers for stakeholders, and the ripple effects of benefits from working in this way. The chapter draws upon the authors’ experiences as academics who have engaged in partnership working to deliver educational programmes (i.e. Learning Together) to students in varied contexts, for example, higher education (HE) and prison. The authors have been developing relationships with criminal justice partners for a decade and have fashioned many partnerships with prison and probation partners across the Midlands region of England. Such partnerships have each provided unique challenges and opportunities in development, continuance, and sustainability. We use this chapter to reflect upon our rich history of partnership working to provide insights for academics, teaching practitioners, and criminal justice professionals considering embarking upon their own journey into partnership working. Importantly, we highlight the foundations—values and commitments to social justice and public criminology—that make partnership working a worthwhile and opportunity-rich venture. Such foundations are useful when considering the differing value bases and priorities of others, including their organisation/institution. Whilst potentially challenging,

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this offers a valuable learning space for debate, growth, and development; the messiness of partnership working is often the greatest indicator of such growth. We draw upon case study examples from our experiences to highlight how such messiness can provide invaluable pedagogic experiences/tools to the student recipients of partnership working, contextualising issues and arguments raised in our programmes. The chapter is made up of three parts commencing with (i) an overview of the principles and commitments of public criminology; (ii) conceptualising and critiquing partnership working through the lens of neoliberalism; and (iii) critical reflections on partnership working in practice.

Public Criminology: Principles and Commitments As a sub-discipline of criminology, public criminology (PC) advocates for going beyond a mere acknowledgement, or understanding, of contemporary sociological and criminological issues to ‘make a difference and bring about change’ (Carrabine et al., 2000, p. 207, emphasis added). In this way, PC clearly distinguishes itself from traditional ways of doing criminology, by transcending criminology’s historically narrow boundaries, and through its commitment to actively avoiding the reproduction of ‘dominant constructions of “crime” and justice’ (Piché, 2015, p. 71). Indeed, some academics working within the field of criminology very much reject the traditional conceptualisation of crime, due to it being a power-laden concept that is often discriminately applied to rulebreaking by those disadvantaged by the systems and structures of society (Hopkins-Burke, 2018). For public, and critical, criminologists, power is thus critical to understanding who defines what is criminal, and who is criminalised through the criminal justice system. To best understand drivers behind certain criminalised behaviours and other social harms, PC seeks to critique an array of socio-political issues, including homelessness, health inequalities, and inadequate service provision. In this way, public criminologists actively concern themselves with understanding the status quo by working to improve services and conditions, whilst

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also actively engaging in local and national debates that lobby for policy development (Carrabine et al., 2000). Crucially, therefore, PC has at its core a concern with citizenship, social justice, and human rights (ibid.). There are a number of PC principles and commitments which can offer a valuable theoretical lens through which to develop holisticfocused policy and practice, specifically, being: (i) transparent; (ii) theoretically informed; (iii) evidence-based; (iv) empowerment-driven; (v) committed to practical change; (vi) committed to social justice and human rights; and (vii) committed to connecting public issues and private troubles (Carrabine et al., 2000). The need to address individuals’ holistic needs is part of the drive for a ‘whole system’ approach to people in the criminal justice system (Ministry of Justice, 2018). Education is recognised as being key in assisting with resettlement and the building of social capital (ibid.). Related to the work of Kay (2020), it is important, however, to orient education here as a means to the acquisition of, hopefully, pro-social capital. Considering the potential value of prison education, partnership working in this area can provide a liminal space for transformative learning to take place. Rightly so, Tidmarsh (2022, p. 9) argues that the ‘best example’ of PC pedagogy in a criminal justice setting is Learning Together. The best example of such a [dialogic] pedagogy, although it is not explicitly framed as ‘public criminology’, is the Learning Together programme, in which students learn alongside those subject to criminal justice supervision. Armstrong and Ludlow (2016), the founders, ground Learning Together in Freire’s (1970/2017) work: they argue that co-learning in prisons facilitates a pedagogical environment that empowers a humanity which prison so often deprives of its inhabitants. (sic)

As discussed later in the chapter, whilst such partnerships between higher education institutions (HEIs) and criminal justice agencies are vehicles for the delivery of ‘learner-centered, participatory, and interactive’ learning (Gray et al., 2019, p. 8), there are barriers to the consideration, curation and nurturance of such partnerships. Populist narratives— discourse which ‘denigrates the views of professional experts and liberal elites and claims instead the authority of “the people”’ (Garland, 2021,

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p. 2)—is one such barrier. Such narratives can be ill-informed, often run parallel to the evidence base, and are typically imbued with a hyperbolic framing of risk. Indeed, this ‘dangerization’ (Lianos & Douglas, 2000, p. 261) of criminalised individuals and groups means that, by virtue of having a ‘spoiled’ identity (Goffman, 1990), individuals can be subject to avoidance and exclusion (see Mahoney et al., 2021). This moralised landscape is one of the first (and often, most persistent) hurdles which presents itself upon navigating the tricky terrain of partnership working. For relationships between HE institutions and criminal justice agencies to be sustained, PC principles and commitments must be central to their formation and existence. In real terms, this means that academics may have to (i) resist and push back where necessary, (ii) engage in academic activism, and (iii) call out uncomfortable truths. Indeed, there have been occasions when doing partnership work has called for all of these things to occur in tandem. Doing public criminology through public education is a difficult but necessary venture for resisting, and challenging, societal scripts on crime and justice. Whilst there are often many institutional and organisational challenges on the journey, these should be considered as opportunities for peer educating. Indeed, Davids and Waghid (2021) discuss the notion of academic activism as a living philosophy for social justice. This poses an interesting quandary for academia, however, and especially for self-proclaimed advocates for social justice. Flood et al. (2013, p. 17) found that ‘academics who engage in activism face a series of challenges and obstacles, including attacks, threats to security and advancement, output expectations, disciplinary pressures, epistemological expectations, and peer influences’. Indeed, in academic fora, there is strong discussion about academic activism, and some concern that ‘it erodes the public trust in the objectivity of academic research’ (Le, 2020). However, arguably empowerment-led and solidarity work is much needed, and thus debate over who does the work is of less importance at a time when Western society is marred by crisis, with the effects ‘borne unevenly, exacerbating class and other inequalities’ (Walby, 2015, p. 2). Given the (i) reliance on the free market; (ii) dismantling of the welfare state; (iii) criminalisation of undesirable others and their related societal exclusion; as well as (iv) the rise and intensity of social issues (see Hopkins-Burke,

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2018), there is a clear need to mitigate harms against society’s most vulnerable. The current socio-political landscape demonstrates a clear need for HE providers and criminal justice agencies to work in tandem. Indeed, the role that education plays for people in prison is recognised by Dame Sally Coates who argues that it should be ‘at the heart of the prison system’ (Coates, 2016, p. i). The benefits of education opportunities for adults, or lifelong learning, have recently been rehearsed in the ‘Skills for Jobs’ White Paper (Department for Education, 2021). However, regardless of where the learning takes place, access to a meaningful and high-quality educational experience must be open to all. Within a custodial setting in particular, purposeful activity—of which education is part—contributes positively to rehabilitation and subsequent opportunities to reduce recidivism (Council of Europe, 1990; McCall-Smith, 2016). However, due to populist attitudes towards people in prison, education and associated funding opportunities are heavily restricted, as noted by Coates (2016). This creates an opening in service provision for partnership formation and innovative programmes like Learning Together to provide HE-level educational opportunities. The wider (at times, societal) ripple effect of engaging with such opportunities benefits personal development and can contribute to a potential reduction in recidivism. The task of those engaged in public criminology-informed work is to disrupt misinformed narratives about education, crime, and justice. By acting as brokers between HE, His Majesty’s Prison and Probation Service (HMPPS), and the general public, criminologists (and by association the academic community) act as public intellectuals to ensure that evidence informs discussion, bridging the ‘yawning gap’ between academic evidence and public policy debates (Uggen & Inderbitzen, 2010, p. 725).

Partnerships: A Neoliberalist Perspective There has been a growth in recent years of education-orientated partnerships between HEIs and criminal justice agencies. Whilst there is considerable variance in these partnerships, increasingly there appears to be a public dimension, for example, incorporating a commitment to a

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shared vision of ‘education as the practice of freedom’ (Ludlow et al., 2019, p. 25). Yet, despite partnership working becoming a progressively ‘prominent feature of the policy landscape’ (Scottish Executive, 2004), it remains that a ‘systematic understanding of partnerships’ between CJ agencies and university departments is theoretically and conceptually under-researched (Childs & Potter, 2014, p. 245). In the absence of rigorous evidence, the extent to which partnerships can facilitate the empowerment and practical change that lies at the heart of public criminology lacks clarity. Before critically examining how our own examples of PC-orientated education partnerships have played out in practice, it is necessary to establish a critical framework to understand (i) what constitutes a partnership; (ii) the philosophical, theoretical, and practical underpinnings of partnerships; and (iii) what partnerships look like in practice, and how success might be understood. At a conceptual level, it is clear to see the appeal of partnership working. Social systems are complex and—so the argument goes—partnerships help us to navigate our way through the potential disconnect between policy and practice (the implementation gap). Clearly, partnerships can mean different things to different people at different times (Taylor et al., 2014, p. 4), but given the frequency with which the term is used in policy discourse, it is necessary to explore what the unifying features of partnerships are. As Frank and Smith (2000, p. 5) point out, at its core, a partnership consists of ‘a relationship where two or more parties, having compatible goals, form an agreement to do something together’. Within this broad framework, ‘partnership approaches are largely built on the premise that no single agency can deal with, or be responsible for dealing with, complex […] problems’ (Berry et al., 2009, p. 1). Unpicking the concept of a partnership beyond this broad framework becomes significantly more difficult; there is a sense that the term remains elusive and abstract (see as an example the work of Lindsey et al., 2020). A partnership may range from informal flexible conversations through to ‘high level set-piece forums’, and from broad-based, continual engagement to specific, time-limited projects (Scottish Executive, 2004, p. 1). In an attempt to put partnership working on a more

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sure-footed conceptual foundation, research from the Scottish Executive (ibid., p. 2) draws together some overlapping features of effective partnership working, including: The basic building blocks of a partnership relationship . . . . .

Trust Mutual respect Openness Tolerance Continuity

The framework for working in partnership . . . . .

Shared vision Agreement of remit, roles, and responsibilities Clear terms of engagement Appropriate lifespan, including clear review procedures Management of change

Adopting the right partnership behaviours . Effective co-ordination and chairing . Interpersonal skills and personal qualities . Responsible behaviour outwith the partnership Various meta-analyses of what works in effective partnerships appear to substantiate the importance of these building blocks. For example, a realist review of healthcare collaborations (Aunger et al., 2021) found that successful partnerships share key features: the presence of trust (faith); clearly defined conflict management strategies; collaborative leadership styles; flexible and co-ordinated information and resource exchange; authenticity and shared visions; mutual understanding of task complexity; strong interpersonal communication channels; high levels of organisational synergy, proximity and culture, and voluntary rather than mandated points of entry into the partnership.

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Yet, despite a growing evidence base in charting and measuring potential gold standard features of partnership working, all too often the implementation of partnership working in criminal justice fails to deliver, largely due to the absence of one or more of these building blocks. This is perhaps understandable. As Morgan and Baker (2021) point out, there is a world of difference between partnerships brought together by ‘strategic instrumentalism’ and those operationalising cooperative, communicative principles. Moreover, Banks (2002, p. 5) argues that ‘the term “partnerships” is increasingly losing credibility, as it has become a catch-all for a wide range of concepts and a panacea for a multitude of ills’. Implicit here is the notion that partnership working is a plural enterprise that is inevitably obliged to operate across a network of internal and external stakeholders. Rarely can one partnership arrangement be seen in isolation from the broader networks within which any organisation sits. Moreover, as we shall see, partnerships exist not just within the micro/meso sphere, but increasingly at the macro level. The former concerns itself with aspects such as organisational culture (Reid, 2016), governance, accountability, and how we embed appropriate behaviours, values, and agreed practices into the partnership. To some extent, the partners can shape these parameters. This is integral to ensuring a ‘culture of collaboration’ (Eddy, 2010; Olapade-Olaopa et al., 2014) and ensuring an equity of ‘organisational capital’ (Eddy, 2010). Less obvious is how the macro frames what gets done on the ground. In the context of criminal justice partnerships, most notable in recent decades has been the creeping influence of neoliberal discourse and the dominance of risk in criminal justice practice. This is not to say that prison-HEI partnerships are incapable of pushing against the pervading paradigms of risk, penal populism, managerialism, and the increasing commercialisation of crime control (Garland, 2001). This is one of the arguments for public criminology. Nor does this over-simplify the trajectory of neoliberalist discourse and the influence of risk in policy; the picture here is neither linear, continuous nor homogeneous (Canton, 2017). Yet, our own experiences as a HE provider working with partners across the criminal justice system indicate that the pervading punitive turn associated with deeper socio-cultural change not only shapes what

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gets done and how, but ultimately the extent to which each partner can exert their organisational capital. It is these macro contexts that we turn to next. Exploring how and why neoliberalism and risk frame the parameters of partnership working in criminal justice necessitates a brief word on the evolution of partnerships in policy discourse. Partnership working is evidently not new, but arguably the peak of modern thinking about partnership working can be traced back to the Labour government of 1997–2010. A key driver during the New Labour years was the aspiration to move ‘from a contract culture to a partnership culture’ (Balloch & Taylor, 2001, p. 3). The pervading sense was that where a policy was not working, this could largely be attributed to a disjointed practice response, rather than a flaw in the policy. Partnership was thus seen as an important lever to achieve the managerialist mantras of efficiency, economy, and effectiveness that had been germinating in the UK from the 1980s (Andrews & Van de Walle, 2013). Underpinning this was a growing interest in ‘joined-up solutions to joined-up problems’ (Glasby et al., 2011; Miller et al., 2021). This period also coincided in a rapid growth of new funding mechanisms for crime control (especially Private Finance Initiatives) and public-private partnerships. Gone was an ideological resistance to the privatisation of punishment, replaced by a hard pragmatism that envisaged ‘a penal landscape populated by a constellation of public, private and charitable providers which are kept in constant competitive motion’ (Corcoran, 2014, p. 61). Simultaneously, the 1990s onwards has seen a growth in crime reduction/community safety infrastructure characterised by a network of partnership arrangements and inter-agency working agreements (Garland, 2001). Yet, despite these imperatives, partnership working within the auspices of criminal justice remains a significant challenge. For example, on the back of the Transforming Rehabilitation programme to ‘shake up’ probation practice in England and Wales, a HMI Prison and Probation joint inspection (2017, p. 3) acerbically noted that ‘if Through the Gate services were removed tomorrow, in our view the impact on the resettlement of prisoners would be negligible’. Arguably, none of these changes would have materialised without the dominance of neoliberal thinking in the policy-making process. The

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arguments here are well-worn; suffice to say, neoliberalism is generally characterised by the deregulation of markets, the diminution of the welfare state, and the promotion of individual responsibility (see, for example, Lacey, 2013; O’Malley, 2018). The latter is especially pertinent in considering why there appears to be such a disconnect between social justice and criminal justice in England and Wales. Whilst there is some disagreement on the strength and direction of causal links, it remains true that neoliberalism is seen by many as integral to the intensification of penality and the punitive turn (see Pratt & Miao, 2017). This includes, but is not limited to, the increased use of prison and general net widening (Cohen, 1985). Against this backdrop, it is perhaps unsurprising that since 1993 the prison population in England and Wales has grown rapidly, only levelling off in recent years, in part due to the impact of COVID-19. This in turn has put additional emphasis on the importance/value of partnership working, in particular the notion of a seamless sentence in the resettlement of those who have been imprisoned. Simultaneously, for critical criminologists: risk-based approaches were seen to have played a key role in the emergence of the ‘culture of control’ in which the reformist and socially inclusive optimism of modernist penal policies has been submerged beneath an exclusionary and punitive approach to crime. (O’Malley, 2010, p. 4)

Bringing this back to criminal justice partnerships, the implication for what happens on the ground is potentially significant. Emphasising individual responsibility and risk without a nuanced alignment to the broader socio-cultural framework is unhelpful. In the context of prison, people in prison become a group whose risk needs to be neutralised; autonomy, empowerment, and social and cultural capital become subservient to the mantras of risk and individual responsibilisation. Consequently, there is a very real risk that partnering with prisons gets disproportionately framed by this dominant risk/neoliberal paradigm. The reality is that prisons, like universities, have a multitude of internal and external stakeholders. Introducing external partners, on paper, has the potential for a progressive cultural ripple effect. Yet, despite

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assertions that prisons are open to innovative partnering (Ministry of Justice, 2021), it remains true that prison partners have limited leeway to navigate beyond the risk frameworks that are in situ (and challenge them at their peril). This of course raises questions of where accountability and governance sit within the partnership—and the implications for ‘diluted accountability’ and multi-level governance (Papadopolous, 2010)—and, ultimately, who is willing and able to absorb the assumed risk. Those elements of good partnering noted above (trust, openness, management of change, effective co-ordination) are of course still prerequisites for the partnership to have any chance of success. But in considering prison-university partnerships, both parties need to recognise how institutional pressures—in this case, those explicitly/implicitly informed by the dominance of penal populism and risk management—have the potential to undercut the process. In these circumstances, partners on both sides have a duty to map out and agree what is reasonable to push back on (and by implication, where censorship may be politically appropriate). We would argue that asserting uncomfortable truths is more likely to get a receptive audience if the foundations of the partnership are constructed collaboratively and underpinned by values as well as actions and outcomes. But there is no guarantee; the pervading macro pressures may simply overwhelm good intentions, no matter how well the partnership has been constructed.

Critical Reflections on Partnership Working in Practice The concept of partnership—what constitutes a partnership, and with whom and how partnerships are formed, has been discussed above. This section draws upon our academic experience of negotiating and developing partnerships to provide examples of how partnership working plays out in practice. The examples are drawn specifically from our experiences of constructing partnerships between our HEI and prison institutions, and show the opportunities afforded, and challenges faced. We explore the potential of these examples to positively influence sector working and outcomes, particularly in relation to recidivism,

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knowledge creation, and the development of new ways of working. However, we balance this discussion with a reality check on the engrained cultural and contextual spaces, in particular different organisational power dynamics that can determine—or undermine—the extent to which a partnership can grow. The reality is that, inevitably, there is likely to be an imbalance in the relationship, as any one partnership can have existing within it a whole series of short-term, longer-term, or temporary partnerships. Fundamentally, any partnership needs to be constantly revisited, revised, reframed, and re-negotiated if the participants are to understand and achieve their goals. For us, this includes the opportunity to co-produce new knowledge with our service users (both mainstream HE students and incarcerated students), offering new insights, perspectives, and ways of working. This can create renewed agendas for hope and social change through democratic participatory pedagogic dialogue (see O’Grady & Hamilton, 2017, 2019). Developing partnerships takes time, effort, tenacity, resilience, and flexibility. The development of any partnership starts with an investment in building a relationship based on a shared ambition, focus, or idea. It is important to remember the various layers and levels of partnership working. A useful way of thinking through and analysing the various relationships played out in partnership working is by reflection on an established sociological model (Giddens, 1984). This model considers society, and consequently partnerships, as an aspect of social structures, constructed at three major levels: the macro or large level, such as societal systems (education or justice); meso or medium level, such as local organisations or communities, and small or micro level, such as smaller relationships and individuals. We draw on this framework, with its interplay of societal structures and associated rules and resources, to examine how partnerships, particularly educational partnerships, can afford the opportunity to create new consciousness and understandings. From experience, our partnerships have not started at the institutional level but with informal or incidental discussions and genuine interest in a specific area. In our case, this was access to, and engagement in, higher education, that is, at a micro level. This occurred both internally within our institution, as well as with colleagues externally across institutions. For example, the colleagues who have partnered to write this chapter

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come from different disciplines within their institution (criminology and education); we came to work together on projects as a result of incidental conversations and contacts with colleagues with whom we had established relationships at different prisons. By working in partnership, we were able to share knowledge and exchange ideas, as well as co-construct innovative ways of working. A concrete example of this can be seen in the project work we undertook under the umbrella of Learning Together (O’Grady & Hamilton, 2019). Building on our relationships, we deepened and developed more formal relationships at a meso level with our criminal justice partner, collaborating to design, develop, and deliver a higher education module. In partnership, we developed a new pedagogic approach to delivering higher education in prisons, recognising the limitation on resources available to us within a secure forensic setting. However, our internal partnership did not, and could not, exist in isolation from wider partnership activity. Indeed, it was important for us, as a group of academics, to work closely with our criminal justice partners. In this way, we were able to exchange knowledge and develop understandings of our respective institutions. The importance of acknowledging differences in working practices was pivotal in ensuring the partnership worked collaboratively. We needed to accept the logistics and parameters of working within a secure setting, particularly in relation to institutional policies and requirements, and the associated hierarchy of power dynamics. As an example of an institutional (meso) level partnership, our HE institution required us to complete risk assessments to ensure the safety and protection of staff and students; our criminal justice partner similarly required incoming staff and students to complete security clearances prior to entering the setting. The levels of risk management, and the different institutional responses to these, reflected the institutional cultures driving the organisations. The value of engaging students in higher education can be seen across academic literature (see, for example, Anders & Noblit, 2011; Brown & Bloom, 2018; Champion, 2018; Dewey et al., 2020). The benefits of partnership working at a meso level were evident in the learning spaces that we created for our students. Both university and prisonbased students repeatedly told us, anecdotally and more formally in

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research discussions, of the powerful and positive influence of engaging in learning alongside groups with whom they might not ordinarily come into contact (O’Grady & Hamilton, 2019). Prison-based students described the renewed confidence they gained as a result of engaging in learning with other students and shared their ambitions to continue in higher education learning. University-based HE students described developing ambitions to pursue career trajectories to support prisonbased communities, in a range of roles including prison education staff, and other HMPPS-based roles. Beyond the students, academics and prison partners developed collaborations across a range of projects, including undertaking evaluation of services, and research projects. Colleagues from HMPPS were invited to support higher education teaching and learning through, for example, delivering guest lectures, or participating in stakeholder panel reviews for course development. Such collaborations broadened to include coattendance, and sometimes presentation, at national and international conferences. In recognising the many benefits of partnership work, it is important to acknowledge that partnerships do not exist unproblematically. There are degrees of challenge associated with dominant power discourses which limit knowledge exchange; in our case, prison policies overrode HE policies. Whilst the partnership worked towards ensuring the delivery of Learning Together, the reality was that the programme could, arguably, have been seen as a helicopter project from an institutional perspective. Whilst academics worked to share and disseminate learning from the project, there were limited opportunities to share the work with either the educational teams within the prison, or with the prison leadership teams. That said, senior leaders in both institutions were extremely supportive and aware of the project. There was a significant investment of resources and time, and commitment to the project—as exemplified by their attendance at celebration events; gifting books to the prison library; provision of academic resource; as well as financial support for security clearance checks. HE academics invited partners to contribute to student interviews, module lectures, and expert panels, and HMPPS partners invited colleagues to work on subsequent projects, including,

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for example, a needs analysis of services and consultation on the development of new of courses. The ripple effect of partnership work is most readily exemplified in this study at the micro, individual level. The partnership between students who experienced Learning Together illustrates how partnerships can evolve organically based on a shared interest; this does not require active construction. By engaging in the Learning Together programme, participants were given opportunities to examine their assumed knowledge, challenge stereotypes, share ideas, exchange knowledge, and co-construct new understandings (Freire, 1996). However, the opportunity to partner at this micro level was managed by the authority of the respective institutions. For example, criminal justice partners determined who could apply and be accepted to participate in the programme, based on a strict set of criteria derived from the need for security checks and certain behaviours. Similarly, HE staff invited students from both criminology and education disciplines to apply to participate in the programme; students were then required to undertake an interview before being provisionally accepted onto the programme. The final decision on which students were able to participate was dictated by the criminal justice partner and security clearances. A different approach to the development of a partnership can be seen in recent work we have undertaken with a new criminal justice partner. Building on our work through Learning Together, we are currently working in partnership to explore the feasibility of providing digital higher education distance learning opportunities. This work exemplifies how partnerships can vary. At the core of this project is a project advisory board. This board consists of a range of stakeholders including HE academics, criminal justice colleagues (academic and professional services), prison-based students, and IT specialists from a private organisation. The development of the project advisory board has provided a platform through which knowledge exchange and dialogue can take place and be captured. The partnership has required a core contact from each institution to take the lead on organising, actioning activity, and communicating to the wider partnership. The common denominator here is the importance of investing time in developing a relationship between core team members; the challenge has been to overcome institutional barriers as they arise. However, it may

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be surprising that most institutional barriers have come, not from the prison, but from the HE institution. The prison has been proactive in supporting the project, by identifying those in prison who might want to participate, by joining the advisory board, by testing the pilot module, and by finding a way of purchasing and enabling IT to be made available for in-cell use. Once again, it was clear that bureaucracy, policy, and culture needed to be challenged. Relatedly, our prison partner would not allow potential prison-based students to undertake student registration and enrolment via a secure internet-enabled computer, even if chaperoned. Therefore, it was important for the project team to find a way for students to register and enrol. Our professional services colleagues faced significant challenges in identifying a way of enabling traditional methods of enrolment (paper-based). This necessitated a great deal of time, effort, and explanation with various colleagues and departments within the university, and often escalation through levels of power, to establish a model for student recruitment and enrolment. In essence, partnerships should not be seen as a panacea. Based on our experience, we would argue that the many, many positive encounters and consequences of working in partnership firmly trump the challenges encountered. The most successful partnerships have been those based on a shared understanding of goals, transparent communication (not always easy!), recognition that there will be power dynamics that will dictate the extent to which partners are able to contribute, and an expectation that efforts will not necessarily be evenly distributed, with some partners’ contributions limited to a specific duration, aspect, or part of the activity. Let us be clear, the projects described above could not have been undertaken without the investment in, and the development of, a partnership. To make a partnership effective, its function (the project, focus, and duration) must be clear. Some members may have a consultative or advisory role, whereas others will clearly need to recognise their role as contributory. Our partnerships have evolved somewhat organically but have been underpinned by a shared interest—enabling broad access to, and engagement in, higher education opportunities for all members of society, equally.

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Key ingredients of our partnerships have included a requirement to recognise the degrees of flexibility each contributor can bring. Partnership working requires commitment; it is likely that each member will take on different roles and responsibilities, and these may change as the work of the partnership develops. This requires management and negotiation to facilitate the work of the partnership in moving forward. Regular meetings are one way of sharing ideas and maintaining the interest and motivation of all participants. This was particularly important in the second partnership project, as there were several occasions when the project seemed to have hit a brick wall. By bringing members together, discussing challenges, and sharing ideas, the project was able to progress.

Conclusions In this chapter, we have sought to map our experiences of—and our commitment to—HEI/criminal justice partnership working, principally as a lever to promote transformative prison-based education. Our reflections serve to remind us that the road to successful partnership working is neither linear, nor immune to wider organisational, structural, and ideological considerations. There is of course a danger that we fetishise the very idea of partnership working; arguably the term partnership retains a degree of opaqueness in policy discourse. Given this, it is incumbent on all partner organisations to carefully map the building blocks that will underpin the development of their partnership. Critically, this necessitates a shared ambition or idea, and a clear focus on ‘why we are doing this?’ and ‘what do we want to get out of this?’. Importantly, based on our own experiences, we would argue that mandated partnerships are less likely to succeed than those which evolve organically, mainly because the former are more likely to operationalise ‘structural instrumentalism’ (Morgan & Baker, 2021). Inevitably, a partnership will be framed to some extent by the values that each partner (and the individuals within that partnership) bring to it. To be clear, this is not an argument for the homogenisation of values and ideas; our view is that this is both unrealistic and unhelpful in

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advancing knowledge and practice. Yet, it would be disingenuous not to at least recognise that an allegiance to challenging the status quo (integral to public criminology) does not always sit well with prison structures and policies. Ultimately, however carefully and thoughtfully the partnership has been constructed, the reality is that conceptualisations of risk and power tend to dominate HEI/criminal justice partnership outcomes. Evidently, our experiences suggest that the dominance of risk narratives and the imposition of power structures can partially derail what partnerships originally set out to achieve. Despite this—and recognising that partnership working is messy, and far from being a panacea—our overarching experience of partnership working remains hugely positive. Our reflections have been instrumental in helping us to create opportunities for more resilient collaborations, and to develop and test innovative educational practice. We have learnt when (and where) to push back, and have had numerous opportunities to (re)configure the conversation about what prison education can and should look like. These ripple effects are difficult to measure, but as advocates of public criminology and democratic participatory dialogue, we firmly believe that partnership working is a valuable gateway to achieving this change.

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12 Revitalising a Partisan Public Criminological Pedagogy Marc Jacobs

Introduction Loader and Sparks (2011) remark that criminology exists in a hot climate of popular political debate. They suggest various cooling devices, one of which involves emphasising objective empirical methods espoused by what they call the ‘democratic under-labourer’ (pp. 124–133). This mirrors an ethos of value-neutrality, objectivity, and policy relevance that has seeped into higher education criminology courses (Frauley, 2015; Matthews, 2017; Winlow, 2022). Consequently, Becker’s recommendation (1967; see also Gouldner, 1961) that social scientists question whose side they are on has become muted. Hall and Winlow (2012, p. 5; see also DeKeseredy & Dragiewicz, M. Jacobs (B) School of Criminology and Criminal Justice, University of Portsmouth, Portsmouth, UK e-mail: [email protected]

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2018; Young, 2011) explain the reason for this is due to criminology students being encouraged to occupy the rather depressing, apathetic, and far from intellectually taxing realm of the ‘middle ground’, ‘creating ‘balanced’ arguments without ever knowing that this amounts to compulsory liberalism, the ideology whose cleverness lies in its ability to deny that it is an ideology.

Such a transformation has resulted from the various pressures exerted by the neo-liberal context in which higher education now exists (Carlen & Phoenix, 2018; Giroux, 2019; Smyth, 2017). Seasoned academics, by dint of their long career, may be more aware of the effects of neoliberalism upon higher education, whereas newer appointees are less so. If they are aware, they may be less inclined to challenge affairs so as not to jeopardise their academic career (Currie, 2007). Even if academics hope to encourage students to be critical and engender a transformative politics among them, there is an increasing tendency for educators to be quietly silenced (Barton et al., 2019; see also Winlow, 2022) by neoliberal forms of governance that have become the lingua franca of higher education (Austin & Jones, 2015; Watts, 2017). This chapter argues that what is required is not the cooling of the climate in which criminology exists, but to revitalise the radicalism that characterised British criminology during the 1970s so as to reinject the heat by advocating a partisan public criminological pedagogy. In addition to criminology students demonstrating evaluative skills, typical of liberal reforms, which are more aligned with problem-solving, a partisan pedagogy should be problem-raising. Rather than inculcate the normalisation and expansion of Crime Control As Industry (Christie, 2000), a partisan pedagogy would include consideration of being Against Criminology (Cohen, 1988). In other words, rather than be limited to producing graduates trained to become practitioners and technicians of the criminal justice state (Gouldner, 1970), students studying criminology should be encouraged to appreciate that criminology is politically and ideologically ‘constructed, contingent and situated’ (Sexton, 2020, p. 252).

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Students’ educational experiences should involve them being encouraged to reflect on their positionality concerning crime, control, punishment, and, more broadly, power differentials and social structures. As Sexton (2020, p. 251) and Carrabine et al. (2000) argue, pedagogy should be guided by ‘principles of critical constructionism’ that reject objectivity. Carrabine et al. (2000, p. 208) advocate an empowerment-oriented public criminology (which) prioritizes the interests of the public person/s (individuals/communities) over interest groups that disempower people and cause and create conditions resulting in crime or other social injuries and hazards to health and environment.

Consequently, it is incumbent upon criminology educators, not to exile politics from our classrooms, but to render those politics more visible … (and) ensure that those politics are counter-hegemonic. To do so, we must reject politics of colonialism, racism, sexism, classism, ableism, and homophobia so that our classrooms may be places of liberation and learning, rather than spaces that reinforce the status quo. (Sexton, 2020, p. 255)

This chapter, therefore, aims to extend Carrabine et al. (2000) and Sexton’s (2020) arguments by calling for the intellectual, political, and contested spirit that characterised criminology during the 1970s to be revived. The concern is that the intellectual and political radicalism that formed the bedrock of criminology during this period is today at risk of becoming a forgotten history of criminology (Belknap, 2015; Rafter, 2010; Rock, 2005, 2014). Pressures to include study and research skills type modules, employment-facing modules, and modules that are appealing to prospective students, are potentially displacing content that traditionally provided the intellectual bedrock and integrity of criminology (Barton & Davis, 2015; Carrabine, 2016; Garland, 2011). These two sets of values are not incompatible since discussions on employability can be embedded into modules that address social justice and the politics of control; practice-based modules encourage students to reflect on the relevance and importance of theory. Indeed, given the commercialisation of higher education, the broadening and diversifying

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of university enrolments, and students incurring substantial financial debt, it would not only be naive but also irresponsible to reject the need to focus on skills and employability in preference to pursuing a partisan public criminological pedagogy. Combining the two sets of values would be most desirable. However, the question posed in this chapter is, to what extent has an emphasis on skills and employability trumped the more traditional higher educational values of inspiring intellectual curiosity, political awareness, and critical sensibilities. This question needs to be considered in the context of increased commercialisation of higher education, and assessments of course quality based on crude metrics and satisfaction scores, which are less about educational quality than course administration. Most, if not all, university criminology educators would not view their role as providing training and producing uncritical and unreflective students. However, high workloads, student evaluations for which departments are keen to get good ratings, the embedding of employability, and externally applied metrics which ostensibly measure course quality, cumulatively erode lecturers’ capacity to provide an educational experience in which political, critical, and reflective considerations form the DNA of criminology degrees (Barton et al., 2019). Indeed, Wacquant (2011, p. 442) is critical of Loader and Spark’s (2011) text for ‘missing a meaty chapter on the neo-liberal institutional ecology within which criminological knowledge is now being produced, validated and appropriated (or ignored)’. Wacquant remarks (2011, p. 442) that what ought to be included in such a chapter is the managerial makeover of the university and the generalized degradation of the conditions of employment, research and teaching on justice; increased dependency on external funding aimed at short-term technical issues.

Whereas public criminology tends to be concerned with forging a relationship with the policy elite, and with efforts to cool the climate, this chapter reasserts the importance of animating students, who should be recognised as the most accessible public, with the potential to reach well

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beyond the academy. While Walters acknowledges (2011, pp. 732–733) the contribution made by Loader and Sparks (2011), he rightly questions where is the student? The thousands we teach who … apply their knowledge’s [sic] of crime, punishment, harm, justice, power and so on, to the diverse settings in which they live and work as decision makers, experts, activists. How can an analysis of the success/failure paradox of criminology, as Loader and Sparks refer to it, be complete without criminology’s role in education and the ways student attitudes, experiences and careers become part of publicness?

In addressing this myopia, it will be argued that criminology courses offered by universities have the potential to engender a transformative spirit, whereby students develop critical competencies that result in them challenging injustice and being mobilised to engage with a partisan public criminology. It will, therefore, be argued that a partisan criminological education has the potential for greater impact on public criminology, insofar as students are emboldened to become critical and insurgent voices of not only various forms of discrimination and inequality, but also increasingly authoritarian policies, rather than becoming ‘compliant technicians’ (Gouldner, 1970) and democratic under-labourers (Loader & Sparks, 2011). The impediments to achieving this form of partisan criminological pedagogy will also be discussed. The chapter begins by arguing that a form of public criminology existed during the 1970s which has received very little attention from contributors to discussions on public criminology.

Reviving a Forgotten Partisan Public Criminology Applying Morson’s (1996) term chronocentrism to criminology, Rock (2005, p. 474) argues that old ideas, scholars, and scholarship are jettisoned for being viewed as ‘stale and discredited … and that, by implication, those who invoke older work must themselves become contaminated by the taint of staleness’. Bursik (in Rafter, 2010, p. 342) similarly

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remarks that there is a ‘newness fetish’, a mistaken ‘belief that criminology has generated bodies of theory and research of steadily increasing quality and creativity over time’. In his 2003 presidential address to the American Society of Criminology, Laub (in Rafter, 2010, p. 341) observes that criminology, ‘lacks its own history … There is a “presentism” … that I find contrary to the spirit of a healthy, intellectually vibrant enterprise … “[N]ew” developments in our field are constantly offered in an environment characterized by a collective amnesia’. Rock (2005, p. 487) concludes his analysis of chronocentrism in criminology by commenting that the ‘custom in criminology … to cite what is recent and neglect what is old (leads to) grounds for concern about the enterprise of criminology’. Rafter (2010, p. 342) expands further by arguing that, we lack a sense of our work as part of a project in time. Large chunks of our memory have fallen away, leaving us, like victims of Alzheimer’s disease, stripped of our identity. We have to function not only without a past but also without a sense of criminology’s possible futures. When we allow our past to atrophy and disappear, we lose track of who we are, where we come from, and where we are going. We become scientistic, pretending to resemble hard scientists, and we have to struggle along without the sustenance of traditions and without a sense of the field’s identity.

Rock (2014) extends his reproach of the neglect among recent exponents of public criminology to recognise the significant role that the institutes of criminology at Oxford and Cambridge universities and the Home Office Research Unit played in informing and influencing public policy. Yet, Rock is also guilty of chronocentrism, as only very brief reference is made to the radical criminology that existed during the 1970s which also engaged in a form of public criminology. This form of public criminology was achieved through what Belknap (2015) refers to as activist criminology, whereby activist criminologists were involved with various grassroots campaigns and pressure groups. Consequently, they were involved with a different public as compared with mainstream criminology, yet, this is overlooked by many contributors to debates on public criminology today. So rather than shun the past, for fear of

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‘becom(ing) contaminated by the taint of staleness’ (Rock, 2005, p. 474) this chapter revitalises the lessons learned from the past and argues that what existed constituted ‘a political criminology’ (Carrabine et al., 2000) that is barely acknowledged as public criminology. In so doing, this chapter seeks to redress the concern expressed by Rafter, Rock, Laub, and Bursik regarding criminology’s loss of identity and drift towards scientism and utility (Frauley, 2015; Young, 2011). Motivated by disaffection with establishment criminology, and inspired by the work of the North American new deviancy theorists, seven sociologically inclined upstarts absconded from the National Conference on Teaching and Research held at Cambridge University in 1968 to convene what became the National Deviancy Conference (NDC) (Mooney, 2012; Young, 1998, 2002). The conferences that followed the symposium yielded the flourishing of qualitative scholarship, discussions, and publications concerned with sociological accounts of deviance (Cohen, 1981). The NDC intentionally welcomed those from beyond the academy, including various speakers, social and activist groups, and militant practitioners from the social control and penal agencies such as social work, probation, and prison (Cohen, 1981, p. 234). The NDC was ‘the site of an “explosion” of work, the “fall out” of which was to change the terrain of criminology and the sociology of deviance for many years to come’ (Young, 1998, p. 16). Instead of the cosy relationship that existed between politicians, civil servants, and mainstream criminologists, those involved with the NDC had closer affinities with rebellious youth, countercultures, and activist groups (Cohen, 1981; Jacobs, 2021). Their intellectual interests were sociological rather than in medico-legal disciplines, as was the case for the architects of modern criminology in Britain (Garland, 2002). During this time, theory lay at the core of both undergraduate and postgraduate (sociological) study. This made it impossible for a student to complete a sociology degree without encountering a wide gamut of theoretical frameworks that usually manifested themselves as distinctly political stances. (Hobbs, 2012, p. 261, my italics)

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Alongside the study of the sociology of deviance, students were exposed to a ‘theoretically informed education in sociological methodology, (from which) a sense of craft and disciplinary induction was inculcated’ (Hobbs, 2012 p. 262; see also Matthews, 2017). Radical criminologists reconceptualised criminology as avowedly political. Instead of being complicit with the state, allegiance was with the marginalised, the maligned, and the exploited. The aim was to pursue a transformative agenda that sought social justice in the interests of the subaltern. Young, disenchanted academics and activists who shared feelings of angst towards social control and the sterility of mainstream criminology, came together at the National Deviancy Conferences, which were ‘anarchistic and antinomian, set deep in the counterculture of the time’ (Young, 2002, p. 252). As Cohen (1981, p. 234) writes, the hope for real social change seemed to be with the hippies, druggies, squatters and above all, everything that was happening in the American campuses and ghettos. These identifications were facilitated by personal involvement in some of these marginal groups.

From the NDC and the sociological analysis of deviance emerged two further conceptions of criminology. The New Criminology (TNC ) was ‘the product of discussion and developments in and around the NDC’ (Taylor et al., 1973, p. xv). According to Gouldner (1973, p. ix) who wrote the foreword to TNC , ‘if any single book can succeed in making “criminology” intellectually serious as distinct from professionally respectable, then this study … will do it’. TNC achieved this by producing a social theory of deviance that involved a Marxist analysis of criminology and the social order it was complicit in creating. Other sociologists who attended the NDC established the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (CCCS) which produced an oeuvre of work which inaugurated critical criminology. Work produced by the CCCS utilised Marxist and various other critical social theories to challenge and expose the ideological myths associated with moral panics concerning youth subcultures (Hall & Jefferson, 1976) and racialised crime (Hall et al., 1978). Critical criminologists were involved with activist groups that sought to challenge oppression. Academic activists

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such as Ryan and Sim were involved with Radical Alternatives to Prison (Jacobs, 2021), Hall et al. (1978) challenged racism while Carlen (1988), Smart (1976), and Kelly (1988) defied sexism and women’s victimisation. Their involvement with activism amounted to a partisan public criminology which, through engagement and support with the marginalised and maligned, challenged public policy. During the 1970s expansion in higher education, radical criminologists were appointed to academic posts. Their cachet was as much to do with their sociological interests as with their political and cultural affinities with countercultures and activist movements. They engaged with students who recognised themselves as victims of policies that sought to engender conformity and compliance and so experienced state oppression, or who were at least sympathetic to countercultures that sought to expose and challenge state control. As Young (1988, p. 298) writes, courses in criminology and the sociology of deviance sprung up in every major institution of higher education and were taught very largely by individuals in or around the new radical criminology organisation the National Deviancy Conference and to sociology students heavily imbued with the New Left ideas and practices.

Radical scholars injected theoretical debates into criminology and addressed issues of social justice and transformation. The object was to politicise criminology, linking it with the experiences of the subaltern and the struggle for change; criminologists and students alike were agents of change. Radical criminology was an ‘activist criminology’ (Belknap, 2015) whereby through teaching and research criminologists sought to engender resistance towards the politics of injustice and discrimination and promote social change. As well as being academics, radical criminologists were involved with campaigns against classism, racism, sexism, incarceration, and authoritarianism (Jacobs, 2021; Sim et al., 1987). Linking with counterculture and activist groups, radical criminology helped produce a critical consciousness that contributed to a liberatory and transformative agenda. Hence, two competing conceptions of criminology existed in Britain during the 1970s. Establishment criminology consisted of men in suits

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who produced progressive research for politicians and social administrators that aimed to refine and reform responses to crime and punishment. The other was political and theoretical, comprising young upstarts in jeans and t-shirts who provided a voice to the marginalised, oppressed, and maligned, concerned with social constructionism, criminalization, structural inequality, and hegemonic control. The next section considers what impediments in higher education forestall an educational experience which seeks to politicise and encourage a critical consciousness among students of criminology.

Higher Education and the Barriers to a Partisan Criminological Pedagogy Various commentators (Bailey & Freedman, 2011; Giroux, 2019; O’Shea, 2004) express concerns regarding the damaging effect neoliberalism is having upon universities as places of critical engagement with social issues and the development of critical thinking among students. Collini (2012) and Nussbaum (2010) point to the assault on the humanities, arguing that during the 1970s universities played a vital role in the formative democratic process by holding power to account, yet, today the student experience and university activity are tailored to the needs of the free market. It has been argued that undermining universities as places that can contribute to informed democratic processes is neutralising and silencing an education that could nurture critical thought and challenge the hegemony of neo-liberalism and the disinvestment in social justice (Barton et al., 2019; Currie, 2016; Winlow & Hall, 2013). Students who studied under radical criminologists during the 1970s encountered courses that were heavily political, theoretical, and sociological (Hobbs, 2012; Matthews, 2017), yet, as Hobbs remarks (in Rock, 2005, p. 484), the sociological basis of criminology today, seems to have given up [the] sociology of deviance, sociology of control etc. Consequently what has replaced it is a bastardized concept of indeterminate lineage based upon populism, pragmatism, and a commodified

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notion of knowledge production increasingly driven by an unholy alliance of policy makers, publishers and entrepreneurial university administrators. British criminological forebears stressed the sociological underpinnings of the study of crime and control … Increasingly criminology is taught as a discrete discipline bereft of epistemological considerations … Given that criminology degrees are increasingly influenced by policy considerations e.g. ‘what works’, forensics, criminal psychology etc., it is little wonder that what were once thought of as the foundations are increasingly ignored in citations.

Various commentators (Carlen & Phoenix, 2018; Frauley, 2005; Swedberg, 2016; Tombs & Whyte, 2020) argue that the marketisation and commodification of criminology education have denuded the inclusion of deeper critical reflection. This is in part attributed to the popularity of criminology courses which universities have been keen to offer. Competing in the student market has led to academically rigorous content becoming displaced and downplayed in course marketing and open days in favour of modules that are felt to be more attractive to prospective students and that have the most relevance to future employment. Courses are promoted more on the basis of features such as having guest speakers, typically from the various crime control agencies, placements, work-related modules (often delivered by pracademics), and sandwich years rather than being intellectually challenging and rewarding. Indeed, management, particularly in universities that rely on high student numbers, is increasingly averse to modules that are intellectually and conceptually challenging and which may receive unfavourable student feedback. Instead, and in keeping with the drive towards improving student employability, there are pressures to make content more vocational, more practical, and more applied. A concern with student retention, improving student grades, and widening participation has also seen further pressures on the curriculum, given most courses now include dedicated modules on academic study skills. Additionally, criminology courses almost all have at least one module dedicated to research methods and data analysis. While such modules would include consideration of qualitative methods, the tendency is to focus on quantitative methods and analysis. These methods and data

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analysis are then utilised by students in dissertations having been given the impression that their work should consist of primary research rather than be entirely literature-based and be concerned with conceptual and theoretical arguments and debates. As Matthews (2017, p. 580) remarks, ‘we tend to spend a great deal of time providing methodology courses and training students in a variety of methodological techniques. However, we spend considerably less time in teaching them to theorise’ (see also Frauley, 2005; Swedberg, 2016). The consequence of these trends is that ‘criminology becomes more distant from its sociological and theoretical roots and more emphasis is placed on learning particular transferable skills’ (Matthews, 2017, p. 579). While many criminology educators would vehemently reject the assertion that they only provide skills training, the various changes affecting universities mean that it is becoming increasingly difficult to provide what would be considered as ‘higher’ education. Although there are criminology educators who do seek to challenge students and encourage them to develop critical thinking, it is particularly difficult for early-career academics who, if they are to be successful, are likely to have to acquiesce to the very things they would most likely be critical of (Barton et al., 2019). Thus, instrumentalism increasingly infects higher education (Ransome, 2008, 2011): instrumentalism of universities competing for students; instrumentalism of universities seeking to ensure student satisfaction (according to crude surveys); instrumentalism of early-career academics who, if they aspire to be promoted, are required to develop expertise in specialist topics which can attract students and research grants (Currie, 2007; Garland, 2011; Hillyard et al., 2004; Walters, 2007); instrumentalism of students and parents whose concern is which course offers the best prospect of securing well-paid employment; instrumentalism of students, many of whom have been seduced by misleading media depictions of crime and crime control (Anderson et al., 2009) and so-called true crime books, to study courses that have the most appealing curricula. Criminology education is therefore at risk of becoming increasingly detached from a wider moral and social agenda that might challenge and destabilise the hegemonic malaise and social disinvestment that people living in Western society now find themselves experiencing. Yet,

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the relevance of criminology to professions related to justice, investigation, and security places it in an enviable position in comparison with other courses in the liberal arts, humanities, and social sciences which face decreasing student applications and closure (University and College Union, 2022; Weale, 2022). This blessing is a double-edged sword in a competitive market, as applied and vocational aspects of the discipline become more vigorously marketed and courses become oriented to career-focused learning. Rather than evolving the theoretical and sociological approaches espoused by radical criminologists during the 1970s, criminology courses are becoming beholden to imperatives that encourage practical and applied knowledge. As a field of study that has roots in social theory (Carrabine, 2016, 2017; Garland, 2011) and debates concerning power and inequalities (Hall et al., 1978; Taylor et al., 1973), courses should ensure that students engage in critical analysis of (un)conscious discrimination and structural inequalities. In so doing, students should be encouraged to develop a critical conscience that challenges authoritarianism and bigotry, allowing them to contribute to a partisan public criminology akin to that which existed in the 1970s. Because of its subject matter and the likely workplace destination of students in the justice system, it is vital that criminology courses encourage a critical appreciation among students concerning the knowledge they engage with, and the implications that knowledge has for perpetuating repression and structural inequality on the one hand, or liberation and social transformation on the other (Barton et al., 2010). Criminology educators must, in other words, be mindful of making students aware of the otherwise invisible politics of criminology and encourage students to reflect upon ‘whose side (they) are on’ (Becker, 1967). As Winlow et al. (2015, p. 204) comments, it is now incumbent upon the political left to rejuvenate its discourse and transform itself into something that inspires young people to believe that something better can actually be brought into existence.

Unless the drive towards the school-to-prison pipeline—in which university criminology departments are complicit in ‘creating, staffing, and legitimating’, the prison-industrial complex (Schept et al., 2014,

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p. 97)—is not resisted, the acquiescence of liberalism on the one hand and the authoritarian punitive state (Hart et al., 2020) on the other will become hegemonic. Given the very large number of students now studying criminology at university, their education must better equip them to contribute to a transformative process and a new politics that is informed by empathy and humility (Barton et al., 2010). As Sim (2011, pp. 726–727) comments criminologists might think about making ‘an inch of difference’ so that power is ‘hound[ed]… into a corner (Foucault, in Macey 1993, p. 350). This ‘inch of difference’ could be achieved … through teaching – which despite its sudden renaissance in the slick, Madison Avenue-style, publicity brochures emanating from university marketing departments, is still managerially subordinate to the acquisition of research grants from whatever source … This … could contribute to the redemption and revitalization of those individuals and communities who suffer, often catastrophically, from the criminality and deviance of the powerful, state institutions and the powerless themselves. (my italics)

Arguments for a Partisan Public Criminology Education Critical criminologists such as Arrigo and Bersot (2016), Barton et al. (2010), and Barton and Davis (2015) recognise the importance of educationalists being able to develop a critical and reflective consciousness among students. Barton et al. (2010) urge that critical thinking and reflection regarding power, structure, and oppression should be integral to the teaching and learning of criminology students. Similar arguments are offered by Bordt and Lawler (2005), who sought to deliver a module, not about the efficiency and effectiveness of prison, but to assist students in becoming critical of prisons. Moreover, the module provided the opportunity for students to realise that prisons should be analysed in relation to race, class, gender, and power, and that students should learn that they are culturally and morally connected to prisons. One student is quoted as saying, ‘the information learned is applicable to real life and

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will affect each of us at some point even if it is just that part of our tax money that goes to prisons’ (Bordt & Lawler, 2005, p. 184). Barton et al. (2010) and Bordt and Lawler (2005) suggest various ways in which teaching and learning can be moved away from hierarchical methods where students are passive recipients of knowledge, towards teaching strategies that require students to reflect upon themselves and the world around them. Teaching was organised so that students were exposed to marginalised and oppressed voices. This involved consideration of critical texts, which might otherwise have been excluded from the curriculum, visits to institutions such as prisons, engagement with activist groups, and lectures from victims of marginalisation and injustice rather than guest speakers representing the crime control agencies. Similarly, Holsinger (2008, 2016) advocates what she describes as activist teaching. One example involved sessions where students and convicted offenders learned together, which resulted in ‘strengthening the damaged relationship between offenders and the community’ (Holsinger, 2008, pp. 326–327). Teaching and assessments encouraged student conversations and reflection on what they had been exposed to. In their evaluation, Bordt and Lawler (2005, p. 190) conclude that ‘students are given ample opportunity to exercise their intellectual imaginations and develop critical skills’. Likewise, Barton et al. (2010, p. 39) see the acquisition of a ‘critical imagination’ as an important dividend derived from a critical education. A critical imagination, they argue, should be viewed as a ‘transferable skill’ that complements other employability skills rather than being irrelevant to the workplace. This is especially important for criminology graduates, as they are likely to become practitioners within the justice system. They will then either work on behalf of, or deal with, the most marginalised groups and individuals in society. Acquiring ‘a critical understanding of the historical, social, structural, and political contexts of events and behaviours’ (Barton et al., 2010, p. 39) on which such marginalised groups’ daily lives are predicated is essential so as not to slip into authoritarian and moral detachment. Barton et al. (2010, pp. 39–40) therefore suggest that

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a critical education encourages students to become autonomous critical learners and thinkers who are able to develop a personal and collective consciousness that exceeds academia.

They found that many of the students who took part in their study reported that they had not only become politically aware, but also politically active. ‘Several students stated that they felt a new connection with other individuals or groups who were marginalized, discriminated against or oppressed’ (Barton et al., 2010, p. 35). Some students indicated that as a result of their studies, they would be inclined to challenge discriminatory comments or actions; several had also been involved in political campaigns and attended marches and demonstrations (Barton et al., 2010, p. 35). Critical education assists students to develop critical empathy towards the disadvantaged and a realisation of their entrapment within, and perpetuation of, dynamics of power and powerlessness. In so doing, it encourages a desire to engage in resistance and seek social change. Such activated and politicised students add to the existing network of critical scholars, and campaign/voluntary groups who comprise what Walters (2007, p. 231) describes as networks of ‘collective concern’. Such networks disseminate and propagate knowledges of resistance as well as methods of overcoming. In this light, Arrigo and Bersot (2016, p. 561) regard education as involving the ‘critical pedagogy of becoming’ which advance(s) the struggle of mutual, collective, and interdependent human existence … for a people yet to be’. The consequence for the student is that by ‘unleashing and harnessing the power of consciousness for the multitude’ they involve themselves in a ‘permanent revolution’ towards achieving transformative social change, or what Arrigo and Bersot describe as humanness and cosmopolitanism. Thus, for them, ‘the ongoing struggle to destabilize and undo all manifestations of oppression is the cornerstone of this praxis as pedagogy’ (Arrigo & Bersot, 2016, p. 550). What the commentators noted above remark upon is what captured the imaginations of the radical criminologists, students, and activists during the 1970s. Then as now, we are experiencing turbulent times and political agitation. At the time of writing, there are numerous

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public service professionals involved in industrial disputes, ongoing protests, and campaigns concerning anti-racism, anti-sexism, anti-police/ state brutality, environmental activism, unrest concerning members of the LGBTQ+ community, and protests about the rising costs of living. Given the current tumult, students should be encouraged to be politically engaged and active, as was the case during the 1970s when a partisan public pedagogy enjoyed its zenith. Despite the examples of good practice identified above, the partisan public criminology that this chapter advocates risks being weakened as courses are shaped by commercial and government priorities. In an open market, universities compete with one another to offer content that is alluring and market-driven, as well as helping students to acquire study and research skills, and addressing employability. Moreover, courses are rated by metrics in terms of the extent to which they provide a ‘satisfactory learning experience’, and whether students graduate with transferable and vocational competencies that help them succeed in getting what the Office for Students regards as ‘professional work’ (OfS, n.d.). It would be naïve to ignore the context in which higher education exists today and to assume that higher education can achieve what it says on the tin, namely that attending university involves a learning experience that is higher than just focusing on skills and jobs. The challenge for criminology educators is to navigate a path that satisfies the market and governmental agenda while also being faithful to the intellectual and political integrity of criminology’s radical past. Moreover, criminology courses and educators should strive to enthuse students with a critical and intellectual awareness that not only could things be different but that they can play a part in bringing about change.

Conclusion The formation of mainstream criminology in the decade following the Second World War was secured by its advocates aligning its purpose and project to the needs and concerns of policy formers and administrators. As such, the research and teaching agenda was principally applied and utilitarian, underpinned by empirical studies (Reiner, 2021;

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Zedner, 2003). The criminology that was taught, and the research that was produced, was social democratic. The students of this criminology were typically from more privileged class backgrounds, some of whom were senior practitioners in the field, or destined to be. Such pragmatic and applied concerns continue to exist today. Much research and teaching concerns efforts to refine and reform the criminal justice and penal systems, and to find innovative, but not particularly intellectually stimulating, means to prevent crime from occurring in the first place, or to better understand particular causes of crime. While such aims are an important feature of criminology, this should not be at the expense of encouraging students to be more critical, more political, and more self-reflective in relation to what they can do to ‘make society a better place’—which is often given as one reason they chose to study criminology (Trebilcock & Griffiths, 2021). This chapter has argued that criminology educators may wish to inspire students to be able to critically evaluate the agents and agencies of crime control, locate these within the socio-political culture, and even engage in transformative thinking about criminal/social justice. Yet, this is becoming increasingly difficult to achieve given the commercialisation of higher education. Attracting potential students has meant that an array of enticing topic-based and substantive crime control options, which include guest speakers, are available to choose from. In addition, there is pressure to include modules which specifically address study and research skills. Furthermore, there is an expectation that modules address matters relating to employability so that graduates are better prepared with the skills and competencies that are desired by potential employers. The effect of these conditions is that the academic integrity of courses becomes increasingly undermined. Rather than be in the DNA of courses, the politics of criminology, sociological, and critical social theories become diluted and tokenistic. This process is exacerbated by the aversion of university management to deliver intellectually and conceptually challenging modules which risk jeopardising high student satisfaction scores in internal and external surveys. Yet, it has been shown in this chapter that radical criminologists during the 1970s built criminology upon sociological and theoretical foundations that connected with a moral purpose and transformative

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agenda. This chimed with the values and concerns of the counterculture and activist groups (Cohen, 1981; Young, 1988). During this period, personal experience of state control and involvement with social movements and activist groups connected teaching and research beyond the lecture theatres and seminar rooms. A collective critical conscience existed which enriched and enthused the public democratic sphere. Universities, especially those that appointed radical criminologists, played a vital role in contributing to a polity that challenged repression, injustice, and control (Jacobs, 2021; Sim et al., 1987). In his analysis of the possible future of criminology, Currie (2016, p. 27, citing Matthews, 2014, p. 13) argues that academic research and teaching should seek to better understand the wider social context that shapes and produces crime and the responses to crime, and that ‘this work (be brought) into the mainstream – indeed to make it the mainstream of the discipline’ (Currie, 2016, p. 27). One way, Currie argues (2016, p. 28) to achieve shifting such concerns towards becoming the new mainstream is by having, more programs within our university departments that explicitly train students to think in a more holistic and more global fashion about violence and social injustice, and that do not shy away from actually teaching them something about history and political economy. (my italics)

He goes on to write that The best and most relevant criminologies in the future will be criminologies that are both rooted in deep and fine-grained analyses of the social and economic trajectories of specific societies, and able to understand how an increasingly integrated global economic order impacts communities, cultures, and personalities. Yet it is fair to say that very few emerging criminologists today are being given the tools to work on those levels or to understand those connections. In the United States today we have great numbers of students leaving our PhD programs who could describe the intricacies of hierarchical linear modeling at great length and in great detail, but who have been taught virtually nothing about the social and economic structure and historical trajectory of their own country, much less anyone else’s.

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Because of its relevance to employment opportunities in the crime control industry and the appeal of crime and punishment generally, criminology courses will continue to exist. While courses should assist students to acquire skills and knowledge which enhance their employment prospects, this must not be at the expense of helping students develop a critical conscience, which at least sensitises them to the politics of crime control. More optimistically, it encourages them to be critically aware of how the criminal justice system and administrative criminology work to maintain social divisions and power inequalities, as was the case for those drawn to radical criminology as academics and students during the 1970s. And like those radical criminologists and students of the 1970s, criminology graduates today seek to construct a transformative polity which is not content with cooling the climate of our field of study, but rather acknowledges that it is inherently hot. Hence this chapter has argued that it is vital that criminological educationalists are able to promote a partisan criminological pedagogy. Not only will this buttress against becoming complicit in entrenching and legitimising intellectual and social entrapment; potentially it will motivate students to become public criminologists willing to engage with and speak for social movements and social activists and thereby to build a more socially just and tolerant society. As Currie (2016, p. 28) concludes, We need to build much stronger relationships with movements outside the universities working for social justice and social change, and to make working with—and for—those movements a viable career option for students.

Achieving this vision requires an earnest revitalisation and operationalisation of what is referred to in this chapter as a partisan public criminological pedagogy. To not do so would produce criminology graduates having skills and practical knowledge but who do not have the intellectual and political acuity to challenge populist and authoritarian policies let alone latent bigotry and discriminatory attitudes.

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13 #PublicCriminology on Twitter Christopher J. Schneider

Introduction The debates over public criminology have expanded considerably since the idea developed as an offshoot of public sociology. Questions of what and who criminology is for remain unresolved. In general, public criminology involves public understandings of crime, such as how crime is discussed and managed (Loader & Sparks, 2011). Much of what has been said about public criminology has focused on ‘newsmaking criminology’ or those deliberate efforts by criminologists to share crime-related knowledge with publics through traditional media formats like print news, television, and radio (Barak, 1988). While public criminology occurs on social media, almost no research has addressed public criminology in such spaces (Wood et al., 2022). To address this gap, this chapter asks the following questions: Who uses the #publiccriminology hashtag and C. J. Schneider (B) Brandon University, Brandon, MB, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_13

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how it is used? And, what can the use of the hashtag add to our understandings of public criminology, and the discipline of criminology more generally? This chapter begins with a short overview of public criminology. The intention is not to provide a comprehensive review of public criminology, as this has been done elsewhere (see, e.g., Henne & Shah, 2020; Wood et al., 2022). Rather, I wish to illustrate a sizable gap in the literature that shows the need for the current research. Next, I briefly describe academic Twitter, followed by a discussion of the use of hashtags. I follow with an outline of my research method, Qualitative Media Analysis (QMA), a 12-step conceptual approach to collecting and analyzing media documents for significance and meaning. I then turn my attention to my findings concerning the use of #publiccriminology on Twitter and conclude with a discussion.

Public Criminology Ian Loader and Richard Sparks might be given much of the credit for developing a cohesive framework in their advancing of the concept of public criminology with the publication of their 2011 book Public Criminology?. While debates about public criminology remain robust and ongoing (see, e.g., Henne & Shah, 2020), including what it should look like and who should do it, the basic premise of doing public criminology is more generally concerned with public understandings of crime and, more specifically, with how ‘crime is publicly understood, spoken about, and acted upon’ (Loader & Sparks, 2011, p. 2). Public criminology was inspired by Michael Burawoy’s call for public sociology in his 2004 presidential address delivered at the American Sociological Association (ASA) annual meeting. The idea of public sociology was ‘imported into criminology discussions’ (Loader & Sparks, 2011). The ‘obvious starting point’ then of any discussion of public criminology begins with ‘the definition advanced by Burawoy’ (Hamilton, 2013, p. 21). For Burawoy (2005), the purpose of public sociology is to engage with multiple publics in diverse ways. Underpinning the impetus for any public-facing scholarly engagement, whether it be criminology,

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sociology, etc., are questions concerning the creation of knowledge (who is knowledge for?) and knowledge for what purpose? (Burawoy, 2005). Burawoy does not discuss crime in his 2004 ASA address (save one passing reference to Pager’s, 2002 work on race and criminal records), so his address gives us less direction for developing a public criminology. However, Burawoy does speak of ‘untold inequities on a global scale’ because of ‘unfettered capitalism’, and so stresses the necessity of sociology’s ‘defense of civil society’ (Burawoy, 2005, p. 4). Crime and capitalism are inextricable from one another (see Greenberg, 2010), and the research literature is quite clear that inequities can produce crime (Kelly, 2000). However, what to do about crime, how to manage it, or discuss it, is unclear since criminology is a divided discipline (Bosworth & Hoyle, 2011; Schneider, 2022). The question of who public criminologists ought to address, and how, remains contentious and unresolved (Piché, 2015). While ‘[t]here is no one definition of public sociology on which all sociologists or criminologists agree’ (Hamilton, 2013, p. 22), we could surmise that many might generally agree that public criminology involves some form of public knowledge dissemination, an aspect of which is to generate debates and public dialogue around crime matters. Uggen and Inderbitzin (2010) map out the contemporary categorization of the discipline of criminology following Burawoy’s (2005) fourfold typology of sociology, where public sociology coexists alongside professional, critical, and policy sociologies. Professional sociologists are recognized as careerists who take neutral positions reinforcing the status quo, while critical sociologists are in direct opposition to the norm; both advance their interests from within the ivory tower. Those who serve marketbased interests are classified in Burawoy’s typology as policy sociologists, and those addressing the needs of publics by generating dialogue are acting as public sociologists. While each position necessarily relies on the other, the ‘professional component’ serves as the ‘heart of [the] discipline’ (Burawoy, 2005, p. 15). ‘Most of us only occupy one quadrant at a time’, Burawoy notes, and while sociologists and criminologists can move between quadrant positions, contemporary ‘careers in sociology are more heavily regimented’ (Burawoy, 2005, p. 14) than they once were. What this seems

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to suggest is that the moral and ethical commitments that underpin each position in the quadrant lead some to anchor their scholarly allegiances more firmly in one position over another (Burawoy, 2005; Hanemaayer & Schneider, 2014). One issue that sets the discipline apart from sociology is that ‘academic criminology retains a strong practitioner base’ with law enforcement and state actors working in collaboration with researchers (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 731). Professional criminologists situate the study of crime in a context of criminological knowledge, whereas policy criminologists employ theory and method as strategies for crime control, each doing so for professional audiences. And because of its strong practitioner base, ‘[p]olicy work, in particular, is professionally recognized in criminology and often is rewarded as relevant and appropriate’ (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 731). Critical criminologists act in opposition to normative criminology but for professional audiences, while public criminologists are those who generate public discussions about crime. According to Burawoy (2005), there are two types of public sociology: traditional and organic, and while different, the expressed aim of each type is to generate dialogue with and among publics. Traditional public sociology facilitates interest (Burawoy, 2004, p. 1607) by injecting sociological materials into public discourse through mass media. The publication of accessible plain language books, opinion pieces, or commentary provided to news journalists are just a few examples. The other type of public engagement, or organic public sociology, concerns an unmediated interactive process in which sociologists work directly with diverse sets of publics. Sociologists working closely with ‘counterpublics’ such as nongovernmental groups or grassroots organizations is an example of organic public sociology (Burawoy, 2004, p. 1607). The expansion of interactive media technologies like social media in the aughts has given rise to increased professional scholarly uptake of Twitter that includes forms of digital engagement with publics. I have referred to such forms of digital engagement as e-public sociology and e-public criminology, as hybrids of the traditional and organic forms of public sociology (Schneider, 2014, 2015). On social media, academics can become both the generator and interlocutor of dialogue with publics.

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A 2015 study revealed that scholars who used Twitter ‘appeared to be engaging in curating and contributing resources to a broader “conversation” in their field or area of interest rather than merely promoting their work’ (Stewart, 2015, p. 297).

Academic Twitter and Public Criminology Twitter is a prominent social media platform with hundreds of millions of users worldwide. The site launched in 2006 and has quickly grown into a vital platform for professional academic purposes (Gregory & Singh, 2018; Schneider & Simonetto, 2017; Seaman & Tinti-Kane, 2013; Wood et al., 2019). In its first fifteen years of existence, the platform had a discernable impact in the broad reshaping of such things as activism, social movements, policing, and global politics (Schneider, 2016, 2021). The site allows its users to share short messages, or tweets, of 280 characters or fewer. Tweets are not limited to text and can also include images, videos, or links to other websites. Users can follow others on Twitter or be followed. The platform includes a home timeline where users receive tweets from followed accounts. Twitter users can reply to tweets with comments or likes (i.e., endorsements), and can retweet (i.e., share) selected tweets. Early professional scholarly uptake of Twitter was mostly associated with academic conferences rather than everyday use (Mahrt et al., 2014). Scholarly presence on Twitter has since ballooned with increases in uptake clear across rank and discipline, and it is now ‘a baseline expectation for today’s graduate students’ (Hammou & Meehan, 2022). In a 2014 study, Lupton found that among an international survey of 711 academics, nearly all (97%) said they used social media and 90% of these respondents indicated that Twitter was their social media platform of choice for professional academic work, whereas just 42% reported using Facebook for professional purposes. Perhaps Twitter is popular with scholars because it provides more professional distance than other platforms such as Facebook which is oriented to more personal connections with friend and family (Schneider, 2014).

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Much has been written concerning general academic use of Twitter. For instance, the platform is used for disseminating research findings (Paradis et al., 2020), conference participation (Allen et al., 2018), building networks (Lewis & Rush, 2013), and general engagement with publics (Schneider, 2017; Schneider & Simonetto, 2017). However, despite advancements in ‘digital criminology’, few studies have addressed public criminology online (Powell et al., 2018). ‘Of the empirical studies that do ostensibly examine public criminology on social media, most do not concern criminologists’ practices on these platforms’ (Wood et al., 2022, pp. 107–108), and none have examined the use of hashtags on Twitter by criminologists.

Twitter and Hashtags One of Twitter’s more significant cultural contributions is the introduction of the hashtag (#). The hashtag was first proposed in a 2007 tweet by Chris Messina as a metadata classification (more commonly known as a tag) to arrange and connect materials on Twitter. Two years later, the hashtag was developed into a feature on Twitter and soon other platforms followed. Hashtags are now commonplace across the digital landscape as a basic communication tool. The use of hashtags lets users ‘mark tweets topically so that others can follow conversations centering on a particular topic’ (boyd et al., 2010, p. 1). The strategic use of a hashtag (#) when added to almost any combination of unspaced text (e.g., words or letters) converts the text into a searchable hyperlink, creating the possibility for public discussions to materialize and spread. Consider significant social movements like #BlackLivesMatter or #MeToo. The use of a hashtag can name a community and help to ‘reshape narratives’ (Paris, 2019, p. 221), creating a space for collective social action in online spaces (Powell et al., 2018). The use of the #BlackLivesMatter hashtag, for instance, helped develop a cohesive online presence that mobilized into a social movement to end state violence against racialized people. Use of #BlackLivesMatter in 2014 quickly spread the story of Michael Brown, an 18-year-old African American man who was

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shot and killed in Ferguson, Missouri, by a white police officer. The hashtag was shared by celebrities, journalists, citizens, and activists and contributed to the worldwide reshaping of narratives concerning police violence enacted on racialized people. A movement similarly developed around use of #MeToo, helping to advance and reshape narratives around justice and accountability for perpetrators of sexual violence (Hannem & Schneider, 2022). Ongoing social justice movements, along with the specific hashtags (e.g., #BlackLivesMatter and #MeToo) that become attached to them, become ‘central to how communities name and understand themselves’ (Paris, 2019, p. 221). The use of hashtags also allows users to draw attention to distinct movements and related concerns (Mason-Deese, 2020). Hashtags signal for ‘others to use this metadata naming convention’ (Losh, 2014, p. 18), thus affirming an identity with a community (Alingasa & Ofreneo, 2021; Herrera, 2018). Aside from the research that has investigated activist communities emerging from hashtagged social movements, more recent published studies have also addressed how online communities develop around eating disorders (Sukunesan et al., 2021) and tourism hashtags used during the COVID-19 pandemic (Carvache-Franco et al., 2022). Research has yet to explore if a public criminology community emerges around the use of #publiccriminology, and what the hashtag might suggest about the discipline of criminology.

Methods Qualitative Media Analysis (QMA) is a practical research method that helps us to address our research questions concerning who uses the public criminology hashtag and what the use of the hashtag might suggest about public criminology. Hashtags shape discourse (Rho & Mazmanian, 2020). QMA focuses on media documents with an emphasis on the way discourse is presented to audiences. It is a type of content analysis that is attentive to reflexive awareness of the communication process, meanings, and emphasis contained in documents. The analysis of media

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documents using QMA enables researchers to place symbolic meanings in context, like content contained in social media posts including hashtags, text, or links to articles. QMA is a 12-step process (see Altheide & Schneider, 2013, pp. 39– 73). To begin, the researcher outlines the topic (step 1) which is followed by reviews of the research literature (step 2) and select documents (step 3). The variables or categories discovered during the first three steps are clarified (step 4) and then tested against the data (step 5). A data collection instrument or protocol is developed. If necessary, the protocol is revised (step 6). The next step concerns the employment of a sampling strategy (step 7). Preset codes assist the researcher with the gathering of data (step 8) and these data are then analyzed (step 9). Written summaries detail differences identified during the analysis stage (step 10) and typical examples are noted (step 11). The final step is then to compare and contrast data materials, with the observed differences integrated into an early draft of the manuscript (step 12). My focus was on tweets containing #publiccriminology (steps 1– 3). Twitter documents in the form of tweets (each representing one document, or unit of analysis) and related content like hashtags and text served as my primary data source. Hyperlinks to other sites (e.g., links to news media articles, opinion pieces, research publications) were secondary data. The Twitter advanced search option was used to collect the ‘primary documents, which are the object of study’ (Altheide & Schneider, 2013, p. 7, emphasis original). The advanced search option for #publiccriminology on Twitter was categorized by latest tweets. It was discovered that the first tweet using the public criminology hashtag appeared on January 6, 2011, months after the publication of Public Criminology? by Ian Loader and Richard Sparks. A search of Twitter for latest tweets with #publiccriminology was conducted beginning on January 6, 2011, until January 6, 2022, resulting in 441 total tweets over eleven years. Data were downloaded and converted into a chronological 445-page searchable portable document format (PDF) dataset. A protocol instrument was developed and revised as a deeper familiarity with the data materials emerged alongside my initial review of the Twitter data set (steps 4–6). The Adobe Acrobat Pro software aided with data analysis; this included more careful reading, sorting, and searching

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of aggregated tweets. For instance, aggregated tweets of #publiccriminology reduced the 445-page PDF data set to a manageable thirty pages of line-by-line text. A more nuanced reading of these data allowed me to identify basic themes associated with the use of the public criminology hashtag. Themes refer to ‘the recurring typical theses that run through the lot of reports’ (Altheide & Schneider, 2013, p. 53). Some of the tweets using the public criminology hashtag referenced other data materials such as news reports, opinion pieces, and links to webinars. Data retrieved from sources other than Twitter served as ‘secondary documents’, or those records about primary documents that ‘are at least one step removed from the initial data sourced by a researcher’ (Altheide & Schneider, 2013, p. 7, emphasis original). The sampling procedure utilized across primary and secondary data followed QMA’s ‘progressive theoretical sampling’ (step 7) or ‘the selection of materials based on emerging understandings of the topic under investigation. The idea is to select materials for conceptually or theoretically relevant reasons’ (Altheide & Schneider, 2013, p. 56). In direct line with the first research question, the data were initially examined for who used the public criminology hashtag; this was accomplished by a review of Twitter bios contained in the dataset. Twitter provides a space for users to self-populate with personal information in 160 characters or fewer which can include text that might indicate a professional affiliation or status (e.g., professor of criminology), and sometimes other data like personal information (e.g., father) or gender pronouns. When possible, professional academic affiliation was cross-referenced with official university websites. Following a review and discussion of who used #publiccriminology, I turn to the second research question posed at the outset of this chapter concerning what the use of this hashtag might suggest about public criminology. To do so, I draw upon some key themes that emerge from an analysis of collected tweets that used #publiccriminology. In the conclusion, I discuss what insight these data might suggest about criminology more generally.

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Findings The sample of tweets with #publiccriminology consisted of user accounts across more than half a dozen countries, and nearly all tweets were in English. Most of the collected tweets were made from user accounts scattered across North America and the United Kingdom, including Canada, the United States, England, Ireland, but also Australia, the Netherlands, and Trinidad and Tobago. An analysis of the data revealed tweets from personal individual Twitter profiles and some third-party accounts run by universities, law schools, scholarly publishers of books and journals, and groups claiming to promote public research initiatives using #publiccriminology. A review of the profile bios uncovered some additional details about the professional affiliations of individual users. While some used pseudonyms, many tweeted using their real names, which made it possible to verify employment status, job title, and rank. While less common, some individuals who used #publiccriminology were journalists and consultants. Others were editors; one was a senior acquisitions editor with a university press, and another was with an academic trade press. Most who used the public criminology hashtag were employed at, or affiliated with in some way, an institution of higher education as tenured senior or mid-career scholars, untenured professors, researchers, and graduate students. Academic ranks included assistant professors, associate professors, lecturers, and research fellows. Criminologist was the most represented discipline, alongside sociology and psychology. Listed research areas included: prisons, police, probation, corrections, inequality, communities and crime, public health, convict criminology, democratic policing, crime prevention, restorative justice, civilian oversight, and legitimized violence, among others. Personal information in user bios was also quite common, with descriptors such as activist, hockey, musician, dad, feminist, beer snob, and gendered pronouns, she/they. User profiles had a range of follower counts, from accounts with just dozens of followers to those with thousands of followers. Most

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individual profiles fell in the range of hundreds of followers and some with thousands, a few of which were near or around the 10,000-follower range.

#PublicCriminology: Individual User Tweets A basic theme observed across all #publiccriminology tweets concerned Twitter users drawing attention to the general promotion of research, but not always illuminating understandings of or about crime. Consider, for instance, the following user who responded to a tweet about training for research dissemination—but not directly about crime—with ‘Yay for another criminologist interested in better #publiccriminology and science communication!’ (April 3, 2019). Whereas another user, a selfidentified psychologist, tweeted to their 351 followers: ‘First talk on human flourishing in prison done… in a pub. I think I can say I’m the first one in this #pubhd #publiccriminology’ (May 21, 2014). The tweet contained no additional explanation of what ‘human flourishing in prison’ was about, or related data, and like other user tweets with #publiccriminology, had no engagement on Twitter, i.e., no comments, no likes, and no retweets. Many #publiccriminology tweets had very little to no engagement on Twitter. Most had just a couple of likes although there were a select few with dozens of likes. While comments made to #publiccriminology tweets were also infrequent, when comments occurred, they were from other researchers. Further analysis revealed that use of #publiccriminology was also quite often paired with numerous other hashtags. For instance, the example above tweeted #publiccriminology with #pubhd (a joining of pub and PhD), the latter hashtag in reference to monthly meetings in pubs in the UK in which researchers ‘explain their work to an audience in a pub […] the talks are at a “pub level” – the idea is that you don’t have to be an academic to understand the talks’ (Farooq, 2019). Across examined #publiccriminology tweets were users largely drawing attention to the promotion of understandings of crime in appearances in conventional news media (print, radio, television), which is an indication

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that this is where public criminology is believed to occur. Such tweets often involved text, hashtags, and links to news articles, presumably to spotlight an individual’s personal involvement in news media (interviews, op-eds, etc.), or to promote or celebrate the media work of other likeminded criminologists. Consider a tweet by an assistant professor in law and justice studies in the United States: ‘Op-ed [link] with [professor of criminology] and [police lieutenant and researcher] in [newspaper] based on our recent article in [journal]. #publiccriminology’ (January 26, 2021). The tweet was among the most liked (at 22 likes) across the examined Twitter data. The op-ed summarizes peer-reviewed findings concerning police accountability mechanisms and police use of force, outlining reforms in lieu of calls to defund the police following the murder of George Floyd by a police officer in Minneapolis. The op-ed, like many other #publiccriminology tweets, is consistent with the conceptual underpinnings of practitioner-based criminology, an observation, in this instance, that is perhaps not altogether surprising after reviewing the Twitter bios of the op-ed authors. The professor of criminology very clearly indicates that he ‘conducts research with and for cops’, whereas the police lieutenant suggests that he is ‘bridging the gap between academia and policing by actively doing both jobs’. Other users regularly used #publiccriminology to highlight the work of their colleagues, often appearances in news media. As a thematic example, a criminologist retweeted to her 3,455 followers ‘This is what #publiccriminology looks like’. Her retweet included a criminologist who had himself tweeted a link to an interview with a major television network but had not included #publiccriminology in his original tweet. At the 2 minute 40 second mark of the TV segment, the criminologist provides a very short explanation for a recent spike in murders in a major city, emphasizing for viewers that homicides are almost always between persons who know one another, noting that a ‘homicide is a very situational event’, perhaps in reference to Luckenbill’s (1977) highly cited research paper ‘Criminal Homicide as a Situated Transaction’, published in Social Problems. The professor responded to the retweet ‘this is what #publiccriminology looks like’ with ‘Thank you [name] that really means

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a lot to me’, an acknowledgment of his recognition by a peer as doing public criminology (June 7, 2019). Others simply tweeted links to news articles featuring or citing criminologists. For instance, a criminologist in the UK tweeted on March 22, 2019, in part, ‘“Information isn’t just for the elite”: the academic turning research into hip-hop’. The tweet included a link to a Guardian report of the same title. The article chronicles the public-facing work of criminology lecturer Martin Glynn, highlighting his method of translating his research talks and layering the spoken word over a music soundtrack. ‘Glynn first used the method in his own work, translating “a 10,000word conference speech” about the mass incarceration of black men into a 12-minute track’ (Khan, 2019). Reflecting on the purpose of research and knowledge creation, Glynn opined ‘[r]esearch is not about social transformation, it’s more like a barometer for the academic institution itself ’. The Guardian article included a link to listen to ‘Silenced’, Glynn’s 12-minute, 10,000-word conference-speech song. As an exercise in how crime matters are understood publicly, the song’s rap narrative takes a decidedly more critical tone than forms of practitioner-based public criminology. In the song, Glynn raps specifically about black power, black lives matter, black resistance, revolution, intersectionality, systemic racism, restorative justice, and rehabilitation, among numerous other issues. He also raps about his criticisms of academic norms and ‘Uncle Tom’s’ scholars (we might surmise this is in reference to practitionerbased criminologists), who Glynn suggests prop up racist structures with their scholarly research. For example, Glynn raps: We must start to raise the profile of black criminological theorizing about crime as a whole, start a different conversation about Uncle Tom’s scholars on probation and on parole […] Malcolm X’s wisdom stated you are either part of the problem or part of the solution. Where do you stand? What’s your position? What is your contribution? […] the time is now to present a counternarrative that will inspire, revolutionize, and resist.

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Not all examined tweets and secondary data materials were academically inspired, or were even necessarily about promoting public understandings of crime through research, as per the mandate of public criminology. For instance, #publiccriminology was also included in tweets in which criminology researchers seemed to poke fun at themselves and their media work ostensibly as a kind of humble brag. As an example, a professor who researches gender tweeted, in part, the following to her 340 followers: ‘How an introvert did 3 interviews in one week, or: why I am not going to do radio again for a long while’ (October 15, 2018). Similarly, a senior lecturer reflected: ‘I was interviewed on [radio] last Friday on the relationship between the police and the community and kept thinking to myself: why can’t I string a sentence together #crimcomm #publiccriminology’ (July 30, 2020).

#PublicCriminology: Third-Party Tweets Use of #crimcomm was among the most recurrent hashtags alongside #publiccriminology. Consider, for instance, that #crimcomm appeared across the data set 189 times, whereas a popular hashtag like #criminology appeared only 35 times (other hashtags appeared much less often, for example, #prison eight times, #media three times, and #feminism one time). Use of #crimcomm was directly linked with the CrimComm Twitter account, which used it most often (some individuals used it, albeit less frequently), paired with #publiccriminology. CrimComm on Twitter bills itself as ‘A global network of criminologists who believe in making research informative, interesting & accessible for all’. Co-developed and run by criminologists Laura Huey of Western University in Ontario and Aili Malm of California State University, the purpose of CrimComm is ‘to spread their science to more policy-makers, police, peers and the public’ (Van Brenk, 2020). In a blog post ‘Why we started #CrimComm’, Huey (2020) writes: ‘Over the years we have all witnessed the steady decline of research and expertise in public, policy, and other domains’, continuing, ‘we have heard [that] engaging in policy or public debate is too hard because our ideas are not easily distilled into

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30 second sound bits or recast as bit emojois [sic]. We don’t buy that. As teachers, we take the complex and render it accessible’. An examination of CrimComm’s tweets in the gathered Twitter data revealed that nearly all were retweets of primary sourced materials, almost always with the two added hashtags #crimcomm and #publiccriminology. This observation is directly counter to the above claim of taking the complex and rendering it accessible; rather, CrimComm instead attached hashtags to content that it did not either directly produce or ‘render accessible’. Much of what was retweeted by CrimComm to its thousands of followers on Twitter were podcasts, virtual roundtables, seminars, webinars, and panel discussions. Thus, the original content creators rendered their own materials accessible in longform discussions and dialogue about crime matters. Further analysis suggests that use of #publiccriminology by CrimComm merely sought to recenter the discipline of criminology and the production of knowledge as foremost practitioner based and policy oriented, followed by knowledge for public consumption. ‘Love to see research aimed at influencing policy’, read, in part, one retweet of a briefing on ‘reimagining policing’ (November 2, 2020). In another CrimComm retweet of a webinar on understanding gangs, the accompanying message in the retweet hails public access but as an afterthought: ‘Fantastic opportunity for practitioners, policy makers, teachers … hell, the general public! #crimcomm #publiccriminology’ (August 22, 2020). Another similarly ordered message that placed publics after practitioners included a CrimComm retweet of an American Society of Criminology report that read as follows: ‘CJ practitioners, policy makers, community groups, this newsletter is #openaccess #publiccriminology #crimcomm’ (August 4, 2020). CrimComm’s #publiccriminology tweets also regularly solicited practitioner involvement by connecting researchers with law enforcement and state agencies to assist with research. Such tweets do not seemingly showcase how crime is publicly understood, a foundational principle of public criminology (Loader & Sparks, 2011). As one thematic example, consider the following: ‘Policy makers, practitioners… of interest! #publiccriminology #crimcomm’ (January 9, 2021). This CrimComm message was included in a retweet of the Body-Worn Camera

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(BWC) Training & Technical Assistance (TTA) Twitter account, an organization which aims to help ‘local communities implement their BWC policy and implementation program’, and was one of three CrimComm retweets of similar BWCTTA messages. However, ‘Despite their widespread and growing adoption, the current evidence regarding the effectiveness of body-worn cameras is mixed’ (US National Institute of Justice, 2022). Further, police accounts offered in response to BWC footage are often merely ‘indicative of what police officials find to be an acceptable level of police violence’ (Schneider, 2023, p. 66). Calling for the implementation of BWCs absent a research agenda seems somewhat at odds with CrimComm and its co-founders’ promotion of an evidencebased policing model as ‘an approach that focuses equal attention on the methods used to conduct research as on its subsequent translation and use’ (e.g., see Huey et al., 2021, p. 2). Other CrimComm retweets solicited criminologists to assist with government to expand police powers, not necessarily to engage in shared research partnerships, seemingly counter to an evidence-based policing model, and even perhaps to doing public criminology. On September 14, 2020, for instance, CrimComm retweeted ‘Calling UK criminologists! #publiccriminology #crimcomm’ which included a tweet from the Home Office, the lead UK government department for police and counterterrorism, which had originally tweeted, in part, ‘We’re consulting on new powers for police to stop and search those convicted of knife crime’. CrimComm was the most represented among third-party accounts that used #publiccriminology, but it was certainly not the only organization. Consider, for instance, the Critical Criminology account on Twitter, which bills itself as a ‘working group for insurgent criminology’. Its bio on Twitter includes ‘#AbolishThePolice’ and ‘#DefundThePolice’. On November 1, 2014, Critical Criminology tweeted a link to Radical Criminology, an open access journal that included #publiccriminology and #anarchism, to its thousands of followers. The introduction to the special issue is authored by criminologist Justin Piché, who writes ‘it is curious to see the work of radical criminologists rarely mentioned in the discussion on “public criminology”’ (Piché, 2014, p. 13). Elsewhere, Piché (2015) has criticized public criminology for both its appeal to state interests and the status quo which perpetuates harm and state violence.

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The Critical Criminology Twitter account and its version of public criminology is entirely incongruent with CrimComm. Other third-party tweets took a more moderate approach and tone. Organizations on Twitter using #publiccriminology included the British Society of Criminology, John Jay College of Criminal Justice, the Hillary Rodham Clinton School of Law, and the Kent Criminology Group. A theme throughout these third-party organizations was drawing general attention to crime-themed conferences or related research projects. As one thematic example, the British Society of Criminology tweeted, in part, to its more than 23,000 followers on June 5, 2019: ‘Fascinating article collection curated in line with the upcoming BSC annual conference’.

Discussion and Conclusion Social media platforms provide numerous opportunities for criminologists to engage in public criminology. The tweets examined here provide some empirical insight into the ways that criminologists use #publiccriminology to identify and inject criminological materials into public spaces on Twitter. Given such minimal engagement surrounding the use of #publiccriminology, it is questionable whether the role of Twitter and #publiccriminology is necessarily indicative of public criminology as a teaching tool to bring about change through public understandings or policy development. I now return to the first question posed at the outset of this chapter: Who uses #publiccriminology and how is the hashtag used? The empirical evidence illustrates that public criminology is not a trend ‘limited to the United States’ (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 729), but rather, a worldwide phenomenon, albeit one concentrated in the Global North. The findings showcase that activities identified with the hashtag as public criminology were quite varied, consisting of interactive engagement in the form of virtual webinars and pub talks, and non-interactive engagement like podcasts, composed music, and news media appearances. Further, such public endeavors shared on Twitter varied in terms of long form (podcasts) to short form (quotes in

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news reports) public knowledge dissemination, presumably to stimulate dialogue around crime matters. The evidence in this chapter reveals that #publiccriminology has been used most often by individual criminologists, criminal justice practitioners, and some third-party Twitter accounts run by criminologists, most trained and credentialed as experts in the field of criminology. Such an observation is consistent with the idea that public criminology, like public sociology, does not exist without the professional expertise of criminologists (Burawoy, 2005). Beyond matters of professional expertise, however, the data provide additional empirical evidence that further illustrates the who and how of public criminology as contentious and unresolved. Criminologists who used the hashtag appeared mostly to be naming activities as public criminology and/or promoting their media engagement to other colleagues doing the same, rather than curating a conversation or stimulating debate regarding unaddressed matters of what public criminology is and who it is for. The findings in this chapter reveal that #publiccriminology is used as an identity marker more than as an interactive communicative tool for the purposes of developing dialogical relations between criminologists and publics. Returning to my second question, what can use of #publiccriminology add to our understanding of public criminology, and the discipline of criminology more generally? Public criminology as an activity is concerned with public understandings of crime matters, but how this is accomplished, and what this looks like exactly can vary considerably, as evidenced in the examined Twitter data. As the #publiccriminology tweets indicate, at best there are mixed messages on Twitter about how crime matters are discussed by experts and subsequently acted upon, or not acted upon. Such mixed messages on Twitter by professional criminologists might confuse publics who are not receiving coherent or unified messages about crime or criminology. Many #publiccriminology tweets simply reinforced ideas consistent with mainstream criminology. As such, publicizing criminological research and policy to advance the interests of law enforcement was quite common. However, scholars under the banner of public criminology also

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provided materials that were counter to normative criminology, challenging many dominant assumptions such as the necessity of police or prison. Who then speaks for public criminology? Criminologists who conduct research with and for police, or criminologists critical of police and the criminal justice system as a whole? The confusion over public understandings of criminology may undermine criminology in public spaces (Schneider, 2022). The tweets also reveal how interconnected policy work is with public criminology, and this is not altogether surprising since policy work is professionally recognized and rewarded in criminology. Perhaps a desire for professional recognition accounts for the recentering of public criminology as policy based. Nevertheless, the evidence demonstrates that criminology and use of #publiccriminology on Twitter retain its strong practitioner base. What do these findings suggest about public criminology as a pedagogical tool, given that ‘public criminology is as much about teaching as it is about research’ (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010, p. 739)? Twitter provides criminologists with opportunities such as using hashtags to develop teaching-related commitments to bring criminology into conversation with multiple publics. This potential in relation to the use of #publiccriminology was largely unrealized since use of the hashtag did not contribute to dialogical relations between criminologists and publics ‘in which the agenda of each is brought to the table, in which each adjusts to each other’ (Burawoy, 2005, p. 9). Instead, #publiccriminology was primarily employed by criminologists as a professional identity marker. This did not contribute to criminologists acting as both generators and interlocutors of dialogues with publics. This finding is consistent with how sociologists use Twitter (Schneider & Simonetto, 2017), and raises questions about the role of the hashtag in public education. It suggests that public criminologists should consider using the hashtag #publiccriminology more frequently to share a more comprehensive range of materials consistent with criminology. A shortcoming of this research is that it is largely limited to analysis of a single hashtag on Twitter. Future work should identify and investigate related hashtags used by criminologists, as well as other social media platforms. Additional research remains necessary to better understand

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the personal motivations that underscore the use of #publiccriminology and other hashtags to delineate the epistemological and teaching-related commitments of (public) criminologists on social media platforms. Interviews with self-identifying public criminologists could help address such concerns. While this exploratory project contributes to the limited scholarship on public criminology, research remains necessary to understand public criminology as it continues to develop on social media. The findings herein are not intended for generalization; nevertheless, these findings do provide additional insight into our understandings of public criminology, while providing some directions for future research.

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Schneider, C. J. (2016). Policing and social media: Social control in an era of new media. Lexington Books. Schneider, C. J. (2017). $#*! sociologists say: e-Public sociology on Twitter. Qualitative Sociology Review, 13(2), 78–99. Schneider, C. J. (2021). Twitter revolution. In Wiley Blackwell encyclopedia of sociology (2nd ed.). G. Ritzer. https://doi.org/10.1002/9781405165518.wbe os1742 Schneider, C. J. (2022). Public criminology and media debates over policing. Studies in Social Justice, 16 (1), 227–244. Schneider, C. J. (2023). Police accounts of body-worn camera footage in news media. Symbolic Interaction, 46 (1), 47–71. Schneider, C. J., & Simonetto, D. (2017). Public sociology on Twitter: A space for public pedagogy? The American Sociologist, 48, 233–245. Seaman, J., & Tinti-Kane, H. (2013, October). Social media for teaching and learning. http://www.pearsonlearningsolutions.com/higher-education/ social-media-survey.php. Accessed April 8, 2023. Stewart, B. (2015). Open to influence: What counts as academic influence in scholarly networked Twitter participation. Learning, Media and Technology, 40 (3), 287–309. https://doi.org/10.1080/17439884.2015.1015547 Sukunesan, S., Huynh, M., & Sharp, G. (2021). Examining the proeating disorders community on Twitter via the hashtag #proana: Statistical modeling approach. JMIR Mental Health, 8(7), 1–9. Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public criminologies. Criminology & Public Policy, 51(2), 438–448. Van Brenk, D. (2020, July 8). Criminologists united to reach out, speak up. Western University. https://news.westernu.ca/2020/07/criminologists-uniteexpertise-to-reach-out-speak-up/. Accessed April 8, 2023. Wood, M. A., Richards, I., & Iliadis, M. (2022). Criminologists in the media: A study in newsmaking. Routledge. Wood, M. A., Richards, I., Iliadis, M., & McDermott, M. (2019). Digital public criminology in Australia and New Zealand: Results from a mixed methods study of criminologists’ use of social media. International Journal for Crime, Justice and Social Democracy, 8(4), 1–17. https://doi.org/10.5204/ ijcjsd.v8i4.956

14 Using Lived Experiences of the Criminal Justice System to Educate and Train Criminal Justice Practitioners in Anti-Racism and Cultural Competency: A Conversation with Jacob Henry facilitated by Mark Jones Jacob Henry and Mark Jones Mark Jones: Hello Jacob, thank you for being here today and agreeing to share your story and insights into your life, your motivations, aspirations, and how you are now involved in the education and training of practitioners that work within the criminal justice system. Perhaps a good place to start this conversation is at the beginning, would you mind explaining your story and where you have come from, if that is the right way to ask? Essentially Jacob could you share your story of growing up in London as a child until your early adulthood please? Jacob Henry: Yes of course. My name is Jacob Senibo Henry, I am 40 years old and I am currently chief operating officer and co-founder of Vibe Youth CIC which is a social enterprise based in Swansea Wales that specialises in supporting children and young people’s well-being J. Henry (B) Fully Dedicated, Swansea, Wales, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Jones Centre for Criminology, University South Wales, Swansea, Wales, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_14

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whether that be mental or emotional health. I’m also a panel member for the Independent Oversight and Advisory Board for the anti-Racism Action Plan for the criminal justice system in Wales. I also recently set up Fully Dedicated which is focused on providing education and training supporting organisations to become anti-racist and culturally competent. But how did I get here and what led me to be where I am right now is a longer story and I think in order to understand that you have to understand my background and my journey because then you’ll be able to fully see where I’ve come from and where I am now and why I do what I do now. I was born in Saint Thomas hospital, Lambeth South London and I’m one of seven siblings, I have two elder sisters and an older brother, then there is me, and I also have three younger brothers. When I was growing up if I had to describe my childhood in one word, I’d probably use the word ‘difficult’ and I use that word because I had two parents who were complete opposites to each other. I had a mother who was inspiring, empathetic, encouraging, and loving and she wanted nothing more for her children than to thrive and go out into the world and make their mark and do good things. Then on the other hand I had a father who was aggressive, uninspiring, unmotivated, and wasn’t a positive role model or somebody who could be looked up to in order for guidance. When you are a child, you don’t really know or understand what’s happening in your immediate environment, you may have some form of awareness, but you don’t have the capability to really fully understand what is happening in and around you. I always remember hearing things and knowing that the things I was hearing were not right but I couldn’t really understand it because it was just noise and I had at this time never really seen anything that would make sense of the noises that I was hearing within my household. When I was five years old, and this is a memory that has always stuck with me because it’s the first time that I witnessed the aftermath of domestic violence in a household. I remember commotion and noise coming from the kitchen. I remember frantic running from my elder siblings into the kitchen and hearing shouting and arguing and I remember going into the kitchen and seeing it in an absolute mess and seeing my mum on the floor with my sister shielding her and my brother

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pulling my father away from where my mother lay. I remember my dad walking towards me and the feeling that I had was one of absolute terror, my dad was a big guy, he was six foot four, and Nigerian built, he was a very big man. The closer he got towards me the faster my heart was beating and he then looked down at me as he passed me and he gave me this cheeky smirk, a huge grin and then walked past me towards the fridge and he then opens the fridge up and gets himself a Nigerian Guinness and then walks back out and turns on the TV in the other room as if nothing has happened and as if everything was normal. I did not really understand what had just happened but that memory, that vision, the state of the kitchen after it had happened, my mother on the floor, it is a memory that I still have very clearly in my mind. I don’t think my dad was an alcoholic, but I believe my dad was a very angry man for reasons of which I don’t know and his anger and violence was projected onto my mother and then in turn projected onto me and my siblings. As well as being physically abusive my dad was an emotionally abusive person, and I think for me that was worse because I could hide the bruising but having negative things said to you on a daily basis, those things stuck in my head. It is clear now that my dad really got into my head and made me feel negative things about myself and I therefore looked at myself in a very negative way. I just thought that all the things that were happening to me and around me were normal things in a family and that they were meant to happen because if you are a bad person, like I thought I was, then bad things could or even should happen to you. That’s how my perception of reality and my environment was on a daily basis and so I believed that bad things happen to bad people and I must be a bad person and I must be a bad child because these bad things were happening to me. Due to all of this I would describe myself as a very awkward child and I found it very difficult to make connections with other people and this was very apparent within the school environment. I didn’t really make friends at school and I also suffered with other people bullying me and I was always left out of games during playtime. I remember feeling very alone and isolated and I was picked on a lot of the time because of the way I looked with ‘hand-me-down clothes and my own personal hygiene, as it wasn’t great and so I guess I did smell a bit. I didn’t grow-up in an

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affluent family and so I wouldn’t have things that normal kids or the other kids had in regards to clothing and toys, so they made me feel a certain way and all these things just added to the way that I felt about myself. It made me feel that I was not good and not a good person, that I deserved bad things, and that I didn’t deserve nice things like the other kids. It was hard living in an environment where you have somebody who is trying to protect you and just wants you to be happy and enjoy life as much as you can but then you have another person who almost hellbent on destroying the potential of happiness and you thriving and going into the world and just experiencing life. This is what life was like for me and my siblings. I don’t have happy memories of my childhood, when I think about my childhood it makes me sad because I missed out on being a child and being able to go out to the park and play football, or slide down the slide, play on the swings, or you know, that image that you have of your dad pushing you on a swing or playing football with you or your dad lifting you on your shoulders and just making you laugh and enjoy each other’s company. I used to get to watch that on films, TV or from watching other families, but I never experienced any of that and when I think about it, it makes me sad because I did not get the opportunity to just be a child. My dad left when I was seven years old with no explanation, I felt as if it was a case that we weren’t good enough for him so he couldn’t be bothered, and he wasn’t going to be part of the family anymore because we weren’t worth fighting for or saving. It has recently come to light that when I was 10, my mum was deported back to Nigeria because there were issues with her papers or visa which meant that me and my siblings were split up. My youngest siblings and the eldest went back to Nigeria with my mum, my other two older siblings went to Weston Super Mare to be fostered by a family and I was sent to Portsmouth to be fostered with a white family. I was there for two years before I was brought back to live with my family and as time went on, I just got angrier. I had no respect for myself, I had no care for myself, I had no respect or care for anyone else and my mentality and attitude was that I just didn’t care anymore.

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Having to live through and with all the physical and emotional abuse at home and the bullying at school, I feel put me on a path of selfdestruction, where I looked at myself and I looked at the world and I thought if this is what the world is going to be like then fuck it, I’m going to be something even worse so that I do not get hurt anymore. I was so angry at everything. As I transitioned into secondary school the anger that consumed me became a big problem. I was aggressive, I was angry, and I didn’t want to be that kid who was picked on anymore, so I became the bully. I was disrespectful to members of staff in school and I was disrespectful and aggressive to other young people. I struggled to read and write and when I was in class I felt as if teachers would purposely pick on me and ask me to read things out in front of everyone else and because I struggled the other young people would laugh at me. This would result in me throwing tantrums and being aggressive towards teachers and other young people, which resulted in me being sent out the classroom into some form of intervention or working in isolation and this was a constant theme throughout secondary school. Due to this I spent most of my time in isolation working on my own, ultimately, I would have multiple school suspensions and finally a school exclusion and the cycle continued from one school to the next. This is what my time in school was like, it was just a case of working on my own but not trying at all and just behaving negatively and aggressively because, being bad was what I believed I was, I was a bad kid. It is no surprise that left school with no education and no qualifications. Mark Jones: Jacob, thank you for sharing this and your experiences obviously really impacted on you and it hurt you and you were clearly very angry. How did you go on to deal with all of this as you entered young adulthood? Jacob Henry: Well, after I left school when I was 16, I joined a gang. I joined a gang because I grew up with kids who had similar experiences to me and so it wasn’t about wanting to make money, be powerful, and be respected, it was just about being with others who fully understood what I had been through and what I was going through because they had been through it too. It felt like I had a family that was loyal, it was like a brotherhood. I knew that the people I was with would support me, no

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matter what, they would not judge me, and I felt the same way about them, and I would not judge them. We understood and supported each other no matter what, I had their back and they had my mine. I was part of the Plaistow Man Dem for eight years and within that time I had sold weed, cocaine, crack, and heroin. I had exploited younger children to sell drugs for me. I had been involved in youth violence. I’d be stabbed four times at the age of 18 and I’d been shot at the age of 22, where I almost lost my life. I’d been in and out of police stations, court appearances, and it all finally caught up with me, at the age of 27, in 2009 I received a 10-year prison sentence for firearm possession. It was inevitable that it was always going to come to this, this was the only outcome for way that I was living at that time. I spent five years in various prisons and quite quickly I started to reflect and look at myself and question my existence. In my reality I knew I wanted something better for myself, but I just didn’t know how to get it. I feel that my time in custody was used quite positively because it gave me the time to reflect and assess where I was, what I had been doing, and where I want to go moving forward. I’m not going to lie though, when I first went to jail, I was still angry and I still had that road man mentality, so I was so disrespectful to prison officers and I remember I would refuse to bang up (get into my room/cell), refuse to eat, and I was a real problem. I started off my sentence in Chelmsford prison, I was then moved to Pentonville, problems arose when I went to Brixton because Brixton was a South London prison, and I was from East London. I had nothing but madness in Brixton prison and I was jumped (beaten up) by boys from Northwood, south London, and I think, for me that was a wakeup call because I realised that I’m not this tough bad boy I’m just an ordinary person who can bleed like everybody else. Looking back, I feel that everything changed for me after that incident. I kind of went into myself and didn’t want this lifestyle or identity anymore. I wanted something more, but I just didn’t know what or how. I was eventually moved to SwaleSide prison on the Isle of Sheppey, and quickly became a gym orderly and learnt about nutrition and the benefits of positive physical activity. The time I spent there was very peaceful. I learnt to read and I just spent the time bettering myself and because I

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conformed and did what I was meant to, I was moved to an open prison. I spent the last few months of my sentence in an open environment which was really positive and I felt normal, perhaps for the first time. There is a lot of stuff that was going on behind the scenes during this time which I haven’t put down here but there are people who supported me to get a better understanding of myself so that I had the best chance in my life when I was released. I worked with a woman called Emma Morris from Beyond Youth who is a psychotherapist and she helped me really explore things that happened to me as a child, as a young person, and helped me to make sense of my life and what had happened to me. One of the messages that I took from my time working with Emma was that everything that happened to me wasn’t my fault which was such a release because I used to blame myself for everything and used to think I was a bad person. The things that happened to me, I believed I deserved because I was a bad person, because I was not good enough, because my dad used to tell me all these horrible things about myself. Emma made me realise and see that at the end of the day I was just a child, and these things should not have happened to me and they weren’t my fault. Emma saw something in me because when I was released, she gave me an opportunity to come and work for her organisation and this was my first time of employment and doing something that was good, supported and helping others, and helped me continue to positively change. I was released from prison at the age of 32 years old and the work with Emma was my first time of employment and I was so overwhelmed with different emotions that I’d never felt before like gratitude, pride, and happiness. The feeling of being released from prison was so good, I remember looking back and thinking that I am not never going back there, my life of crime and prison is dead and this is a new chapter of my life and I was going to live my life to the fullest. I had a sense that I was going to be okay and that I’m going to make it. In the back of my mind there was still that feeling that I was not good enough and I was worried if I really could succeed in this world and whether I would be accepted despite everything bad that I had done in the past. I had been so angry for so long but now I’d been given the opportunity to live life as a normal person without the fear of arrest or gang retaliation violence.

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I feel like my life was on track somehow after this opportunity and so I grabbed it with both hands and I just ran with it and it felt so good to be living my life, to have purpose, to have meaning, it was amazing, it was just such an amazing feeling that I’m never going to forget. I was with Beyond Youth for about 18 months and within that time, I did amazing things, I used my experience, my life to inspire others to divert away from criminality and gang culture. I had somebody who looked up to me and gave me responsibility and had trust and faith in me. Unfortunately, this role ended quite abruptly because my mum passed away unexpectedly and I went back into a dark place. I couldn’t cope with losing somebody who had supported me for five years, who had visited me in five different prisons and who was always there for me no matter what I had done. My mum would always see the good in me and although I never had a really close relationship with my mum growing up, because it was difficult, she was always there for me, and she would always try and be there for me no matter what. When my mum passed away and wasn’t there anymore and would never be here anymore for me it changed the way I felt about living in London. It was too painful to be there and I knew needed a fresh start and I just needed to getaway and start again, so I moved to Wales in 2016. I moved to Wales because of the love for a woman, a woman who did not judge me based on my past, who looked at me with her kind beautiful eyes and made me feel loved and supported. I had met Karen in London, she was going through her own struggles and decided that it would be best if she moved back to her home town of Swansea for support with what she was experiencing. We did the whole long distance relationship thing, but after my mother passed, I just wanted to be close to her, so that’s how the move happened. It was difficult moving somewhere you have to adjust and adapt to, a new way of living and learn a different countries culture, and on top of that being around people that didn’t look like me. London’s a very diverse place and no matter where you go, I would always see somebody that looks like me and I didn’t have that when I moved to Wales. At first, I really struggled to adapt when I moved to Wales, and the first 18 months was hard. I had no employment, I lived in a run-down studio apartment above a café-chip shop and a block where people were using drugs daily. I was signing on and

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getting Universal Credit and struggling to make ends meet, it was hard but then I got an opportunity with Bulldogs boxing gym in Port Talbot Baglan. This was a volunteer role where I was kind of using my experience to support children and young people to get involved in boxing to develop positive relationships, but I also ran workshops such as knife crime awareness, the importance of positive role models, Criminal gang exploitation, confidence, and self-esteem, I felt as if I had purpose, which was great. Despite this being a great experience, I was volunteering, and I really needed financial security because I was struggling, and gym leader came to me with a proposition to support them to write a funding proposal for a project where I could be a full-time paid youth worker. I was obviously really keen and so I supported the writing of a project proposal which was based on using my personal experiences as a way to engage with and support young people but I also started to develop my own ideas about what young people might need in support services and included therapeutic elements such as unconditional acceptance, empathy, listening and being able to be silent, to gather thoughts. I submitted the proposal which I was really proud off and it was fantastic because we won the bid. To my surprise they then employed someone else for the role I had written and developed. I felt so betrayed and hurt but I was still proud of the ideas I had developed and the proposal I had written and it kind of lit a fire in my heart and in my mind. At this time Karen and I sat down and decided that we could do something together. So, we just started talking about what can we do and where and how we could use our own personal journeys to inspire and educate children and young people. We created a company called ‘Vibe Youth’ and as they say, the rest is history and six years later we are a fully established social enterprises that have worked with hundreds of children and young people throughout Wales. We have supported children and young people with their personal development and helping them understand their struggles, their hardships, their adversities and helping them overcome them, and I love what I do. Mark Jones: Thanks Jacob, so we now understand where you have come from and why you moved to Wales and how Vibe Youth CIC

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started. So, what about your work within the criminal justice system, how did that start and the work you do as Fully Dedicated? Jacob Henry: I have reflected about my time involved within the criminal justice system and I feel that because I had been involved in a gang lifestyle I was looked at as the black kid, from a black area, and I would be judged negatively. To me, it felt as if being black was a problem and that I was not allowed and shouldn’t be part of society because of that. Looking back, it really did feel that although the white men I lived in prison with were seen as a criminal and had done bad things like me, black men like me were seen as worse criminal and seen as more aggressive, non-compliant, difficult, and harder to deal with. I’ve had further time to reflect over the last six years and when I was growing up and becoming an adult I would watch and wanted to watch films with black people in and so I would watch certain films and listen to certain types of music. It really strikes me now all I would see was negative representations of black people and the black community and this would be whether it was in films like Boyz in da hood, New Jack City, Dead presidents or in music by the artists 2PAC, Biggie Smalls, NWA, Wu-Tang Clang, KRS 1. All I used to hear and see were always negative representations of the black person and it’s almost as if that if you live in a black community as a black person the only way for you to get out of poverty is to sell drugs, be good at sport or rap, and it felt to me that there is no other option. I am not sure that the representations of black people have changed very much from when I was growing up and I am sure it still has a massive negative impact on young black people and what they see, what they believe they can be, and the decisions they make in their lives. I was never committed at school as so much was going on in my family life and early on, I was being bullied at school or later on I was the bully as I shared earlier. Despite this though I never thought it was possible to become a doctor, lawyer, school teachers, or police officer and my black friends also never thought they could either. So, for us young black children, young people, and young adults it was common to just believe you had no successful future with money and the security that money brings without being a drug dealer, a rapper, or a sportsperson. As I speak these words it sounds insane, but it is true, that is what I thought, that

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is what society told me, showed me, and what my friends thought. It is no surprise where I ended up and it felt for me that if you are a black kid, your end destination was either prison or the grave and then when I ended up in prison it felt like the criminal justice system was set up for me, for black people, and that’s where black people belonged. So, I grew up thinking I could only be three things and I believe that most of society also viewed young black people that way and that is what I felt from the whole criminal justice system, from arrest, to sentencing, within prison and even in some parts of my support by probation. Once I was within the system there was no real support and I would have prison officers who would say racist comments to me, sometimes covertly and sometimes directly and it just felt as if they believed this behaviour was ok because I’m just a ‘black gang banger’ and that we black people are just animals, killing each other all the time. So, when I look back at the criminal justice system there really was a lot of obvious racism and bad practice and there was what I would call softer and even unintentional racism and discrimination due to stereotyping and unconscious bias. There really was a significant lack of education and a lack of ethnic minority representation in the workforce and not many people that looked like me. I did not feel understood, respected, listened to, or heard, it felt like people who were meant to be helping me just didn’t care. It is like they had a fixed perception of me as a black man and that’s what they’re going to base their decision making on. I remember being arrested, and my co-defendants not being handcuffed but I was whilst they had a cigarette and chatted to the police officers. I remembered being remanded but my co-defendants were not, I remember an allwhite court room and white judge. The pre-sentence report for me had all this information that agencies had gathered on me and then you get to prison, and it felt as if I was judged based on the wording on a piece of paper rather than getting to know me as a human being. I wasn’t treated as a human being but rather as a projection of information they had on me, they judged me on all of this without even trying to understand me as a person and knowing my journey, my story, and trying to support me.

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Wouldn’t that be amazing, if people who were there to support me and help me to rehabilitate actually gave a shit? The state of the criminal justice system when I was involved in it and the state of it now seems to be a carbon copy, if not worse now. When I talk to young people who are at different stages of their journey within the criminal justice system, I hear nothing has changed; it’s still the same as when I was there. There is a real lack of trust, racism is common, whether it be direct or indirect, still a lack of representation within the prison environment, probation, and the court system. So still now in 2023 if you’re a young black kid and you’re in the system you’re looking at the system and thinking this is not built for me, this is not there to support me, to rehabilitate and resettle back into society, so I have the best chance of life. Mark Jones: That’s really powerful Jacob. So, as you know the purpose of the book is to think about criminology’s role in public education and the influence on policy and practice. How does your work achieve this? Jacob Henry: The next chapter of my journey is to work alongside the criminal justice system and use my experiences to educate because I am motivated, committed, and dedicated to work for positive change, reform, and restructure. There needs to be a lot of work in regards to representation from ethnic minority individuals within the criminal justice system. There also needs to be better education in understanding cultural diversity and needs. The whole system and all workers within it also need to be educated and understand that a lot of young people have experienced trauma and or adverse childhood experiences, and ethnic minority young people have also experienced racial trauma as well. There must be a change in culture so that current attitudes and behaviours are challenged so that all of the criminal justice workforce learn to be antiracist, trauma informed and culturally competent. How young ethnic minority people are perceived within the criminal justice system needs to change and it needs to be throughout all organisations within it. I’m not angry anymore I’m dedicated and committed because I want to be part of the transition and the change that we need to see in order for it to be an effective system that supports ethnic minority people from being labelled as dangerous criminals to positive members of society. I want to be part of that change and my approach to training is using my life experience and my personal journey in order for people to fully

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understand what has and is still happening in the criminal justice system. I want to challenge people to look at their views, stereotypes, and their behaviours and become more self-aware, more knowledgeable, and not just ethnic minority people based on their record, the colour of their skin, and the negative stereotypes that they have been indoctrinated with. You cannot use policy alone as a solution to combat and reduce criminal attitudes or participation. In order to have a truly radical impact on understanding the mindset of criminal behaviour and creating long lasting rehabilitative direction for those involved in the criminal justice system, I feel a joint approach of academic understanding, research, statistics and sharing life stories are vital. Having experienced the justice system and going through the process of arrest, remand, custody, probational release and finally release, the insight I have from the inside experience is a key factor that should contribute towards a fair justice system regardless of diversity. The work I am about to embark on is to create a relaxed, informal and safe space for those who participate in the activity to feel comfortable feeling uncomfortable. The work you and I deliver Mark, is to have open and honest discussions based on the attitudes and beliefs people have around certain individuals and communities, whether that be Black and or Asian, or any ethnic minority group. We implement an interactive approach that pulls the audience into being involved every step of the way and centred around the participants rather than death by power point. Our work is a journey of discovery using academic insight, understanding, and blended with personal lived experience. With the state of current affairs within our society regarding racism I feel we deliver a positive and impactful approach that can be offered, to gain a wider understanding of the effects on those from ethnic and diverse communities. Those who take part in our activities regardless of if they are policymakers or practitioners, police officers, prison officers or probation, by working collaboratively with individuals like us, this should support the untangling and understanding of the structural roots, histories and political influences that result in racism. The work you and I deliver I believe addresses the power and inequality that cause racism, while at the same time meeting the learning needs of all. Without in-depth and reflective teaching about anti-racism,

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a concern is that those not from an ethnic background may work unknowingly and unquestioningly in practice, with little understanding or genuine appreciation about anti-racism. Those from ethnic minority communities are silenced and often have little knowledge or skill to deal with race issues or racism. We have discussed this and have argued that for anti-racism teaching to be effective, it should be focused on the conscious surface and the serious impact racism have on ethnic minority groups and communities. Our work seeks to support individuals to be aware of their own world views and values, explore dominant societal themes and stereotypes relating to different cultures, gain knowledge of different cultural views, and develop positive attitudes towards cultural differences. And so, I ask myself; How does the justice system become better? How does it support black and Asian individuals and those from other ethnic minority groups? What needs to happen for the criminal justice system to fully support people better? To capture what I believe should happen to create a fairer criminal justice system I have a set of recommendations for positive change. These recommendations are: 1. Increase training and education across youth justice services and criminal justice services on how to develop human centred relationships that focus on developing trust, respect and working alongside those who are involved. 2. There needs to be a much more individualised approach where real relationships are built and maintained so the workforce working with those within the system can get to know and understand the story of the people they are supporting. 3. An important factor to consider is that many people from ethnic minority backgrounds will have experienced adverse childhood experiences (ACE’s) and also racial trauma, so a trauma informed approach is key to really support rehabilitation. 4. Those working in the criminal justice system need to better understand that it is due to such ACE’s and racial trauma that many people end up making poor choices and end up in criminal activity. The youth justice service and the criminal justice system need to help

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identify people’s needs and work together to build their aspiration and support and empower people to reach their goals. We need to really work alongside people for them to fulfil their potential. 5. There is also a great need for diverse ethnic representation within the system because such high percentages of those within the criminal justice system are from an ethnic minority background. We also need to make sure that the criminal justice system learns from and works alongside people like me, those with lived experiences, who can share that experience to support development of better practice. I’m passionate about supporting Wales become a anti racist country and I’m in the process of setting up a support and consultancy company where I will work alongside Mark and deliver support around exploring the impact of racism, how to embed an anti-racist approach into various environments, understanding cultural differences and unconscious bias. I also sit on the independent oversight and advisory panel for the antiracism action plan for the criminal justice system in Wales. This panel is responsible for scrutinising and providing guidance to effectively meeting the vision, commitments, and actions of the anti-racism action plan that was launched in 2022. When I look back at my journey and I look at that child who experienced all those things a child shouldn’t experience and as a young person all the madness that I was involved in, almost losing my life, and going to prison, but I look at where I am now. I am so proud of where and who I am, very proud of my progress and I know that my mum is looking down upon me and is proud of me and know I have made her proud. I would like to leave a legacy behind where people remember me because of the work I did and not the actions of my youth, and so I would like to end by saying please do not stereotype me, do not label me, I am not a statistic. I am JACOB HENRY.

Part III Concluding Thoughts

15 Conclusion Anthony Charles, Kate Strudwick, Mark Jones, and Debbie Jones

Introduction Public criminology and public education approaches possess significant potential which is difficult to dispute. Throughout this edited collection, a range of revelatory, critical and informing views have been offered A. Charles · D. Jones (B) Department of Criminology, Sociology and Social Policy, Swansea University, Swansea, Wales, UK e-mail: [email protected] A. Charles e-mail: [email protected] K. Strudwick Lincoln Academy of Learning and Teaching, University of Lincoln, Lincoln, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Jones Centre for Criminology, University South Wales, Swansea, Wales, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9_15

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to substantiate this point. Yet, what has been explored in this book evidences that public criminology, and the types of education discourse that accompanies it is multi-form, whilst being underpinned by a set of common principles. Further, and rather than simply being a process of engagement between academia and ‘the public’ (for instance, as a ‘civic mission’), contributions demonstrate repeatedly that there is an energy, a purpose and a power to create change which underpins public criminology. In that context, terms such as partnership, dialogue, engagement and supporting the marginalised take on a new meaning and point to opportunities to create optimised learning journeys and also seek to radically transform society. To illustrate what is meant by this, it is perhaps useful to return, as other chapters have, to the words of Paolo Freire (1970), who tantalisingly hints at what public education can achieve, not merely for individuals, but for the wider society: The more radical the person is, the more fully he or she enters into reality so that, knowing it better, he or she can transform it. This individual is not afraid to confront, to listen, to see the world unveiled. This person is not afraid to meet the people or to enter into a dialogue with them. This person does not consider himself or herself the proprietor of history or of all people, or the liberator of the oppressed; but he or she does commit himself or herself, within history, to fight at their side. (Freire, 1970, p. 39)

In light of the very nature of the discipline of criminology, its diversity and multi-faceted emphases can be radical and transformative. This is where public criminology can be seen as an attractive focus, if not a necessary endeavour, even if it, of itself, requires a re-evaluation of the academy and the activities of academics. One of the clear messages that flows throughout all chapters in this edited collection is that, whilst positive in nature, ‘public criminology’ and ‘public education in criminology’ can take on a variety of forms. As has already been explored, the literature on what precisely may comprise public criminology and public education remains contested. Diverse opinions, offered by, for example, Burawoy (2005), Loader and Sparks

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(2010) and Carrabine et al (2009) are clearly helpful in setting parameters. Yet, as debates concerning public criminology continue, the need for greater promotion of this critical aspect of criminological endeavour grows, and, in this conclusion chapter, reflection on its core components may be useful. The contributions of the authors for this book have promoted a range of understandings of ‘public criminology’ and from them, it can be claimed that it is founded upon three pillars. No claim is made for a single, authoritative definition of ‘public criminology’; however, the three proposed pillars are offered to inform future discussion and encourage participation in this approach to criminological education.

The Three Pillars of Public Criminology The first pillar is the reconceptualisation of criminology as a contemporary discipline, where practitioners possess valuable knowledge and skills which can create and excite social change. From a conceptual perspective, the accusation has been made, repeatedly, that contemporary criminology suffers from being a discipline which examines ‘crime’, ‘criminal acts’, the ‘criminal justice system’ and the dichotomous relationship between ‘offender’ and ‘victim’. At times, academic work concerning such issues appears merely reflective and static (Loader & Sparks, 2017). Instead of challenging fundamental discourse, criminologists can themselves become con-joined and merged into narratives which reinforce existing systems, policy approaches and an orthodoxy of criminal justice: and in doing so, lose currency, visibility and may create conditions in which harm to the vulnerable can thrive (Copson, 2018). As Jacobs proposes, this is something that must be recognised and safeguarded against. In this context, Currie (2007) helpfully notes that: In too many places around the world, a pattern persists of relying increasingly on ‘tough’ justice systems and booming prisons to contain the consequences of a global destruction of communities and livelihoods… as if that were a good thing… Yet just as the need for criminological insight and understanding has become more and more urgent, criminology as a

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discipline has become increasingly marginal to the larger public discussion of crime and criminal justice, and decreasingly capable of affecting the thrust of social policy. (Currie, 2007, p. 1976)

Currie’s (2007) comments are important and given existing challenges, for instance, regarding Government action to augment police power, the use of increased state surveillance and a magnification of state harms particularly against those who are least powerful, suggests that a public criminology approach is necessary (Liberty, 2022a, 2022b). Ironically, criminologists may be those individuals who already have the relevant resources, aptitudes and capacity to lead a radical examination of current challenges. However, potential barriers such as the constraints imposed by the REF framework (regarding ‘quality publications’ and their environment), TEF-related emphases on institutionally focused teaching and the tertiary aspect of civic mission, are all challenges which must be navigated. Conversely, many criminologists are accomplished teachers who can utilise meaningful teaching methodologies, have strong multiagency networks and, contested as this is, reputational privilege which permits entry into learning spaces such as schools and prisons, which might otherwise be difficult to enter. It is therefore key to focus upon what criminologists know and address how they can impart that breadth of knowledge to have impact. Brady suggests that at a bare minimum, they should possess (Brady, 2004): . Expertise within core elements of the discipline of criminology, such as crime prevention, human rights, youth justice, prison reform. . The ability to design and lead methodologically sound research. . The capacity to objectively and impartially analyse data. . The skills to share findings, opinions and views to a range of audiences. . Empathy, given their research and knowledge, for those who regrettably, come into contact with the criminal justice system. Application of these knowledge, skills and networks detailed above can create two positive and synergistic realities. The first relates to a marrying between and more in-depth appreciation of the nexus between criminological theory and its empirical operationalisation. The second is a

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re-positioning of the role and mission of criminologists as individuals who can sensitively translate knowledge from the academy into wider society and apply that to enable change. It is not though just faculty members who are implicated in the need for greater action and challenge. As Persell (2009) acknowledges, much more can be done to look further afield outwardly and to engage students in the development of radical discourses, through assessment, community outreach and appropriate forms of pedagogy, they too can become partners for change. Added to this, as Schnieder demonstrates, in the current digital age are instruments which supersede transitional learning boundaries such as social media which may also have potential to fulfil a powerful ‘reaching out’ and information sharing role. As individuals who may well have chosen to study criminology for reasons of desiring greater knowledge of society, its challenges and potential solutions, students become valuable collaborators in any scheme for public criminology, not least because they may become, as Janes recognises, the next generation which seeks to create positive change. Criminologists too are ideally situated, through research partnerships, university-community engagement and an understanding of where perhaps hidden communities may be, to identify, reach out and design schemes for public criminology, which may include professionals in criminal justice agencies (Uggen & Inderbitzin, 2010). As alluded to in this collection, such schemes may not be termed ‘public criminology’ or ‘public education’ initiatives, instead, they may be more organically occurring participation opportunities. What is fundamental here though is that they are indeed conduits for engagement and form part of the imperative for criminologically informed change (see Feilzer, 2009). The second pillar draws upon the first and, it can be suggested, requires criminological endeavour to be embedded within a notion of social justice which demands institutional and personal change. Arguably, one of the central elements of criminology is an interest in understanding crime and criminal justice. Contained within this interest is a challenge. Van Swaaningen (1999) offered a useful insight into this when he said that:

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There has always been a tension between those scholars who see criminology as an auxiliary and applied science which is to contribute to a more efficient criminal justice system, and those who rather see it as a critique of law and order. (Van Swaaningen, 1999, p. 8)

Considering the thoughts, opinions and experiences of those who have contributed to this book, it is clear that their conception of criminology is one characterised by passion, enthusiasm, frustration and a desire for change. Bearing in mind Van Swaaningen’s (1999) comments, it might be argued that public criminology is much like a ladder wherein academics (and those they engage with) may possess an interest in the existing criminal justice system: this constitutes an arguably lower set of rungs on the ladder. In order to achieve a more transformative application of public criminology, academics should be willing to climb a sometimes hard ascent and engage in critical and challenging analysis of law and order approaches. At the forefront of all this is the collaborative dialogue through which actions to enable change are articulated and developed. Intimately associated with the need for change, such endeavours are underpinned by what is an increasingly prevalent notion of ‘social justice’. The very term ‘social justice’ is contested, but against the backdrop of what has been said in other chapters, perhaps considering the words of Reiman (1990) concerning the limitations of the operation of criminal justice is of some use. Pondering the obligations which members of society, citizens, owe to each other and seeing these through the lens of criminal justice, it was noted that: Individuals owe obligations to their fellow citizens because fellow citizens owe obligations to them. Criminal justice focuses on the first but looks away from the second. (Reiman, 1990, p. 124)

Especially in a system which has been heavily criticised for being too offender focused, Reiman’s (1990) words expose a worrying reality in traditional criminology, identifying a system focus which prevails potentially at the cost of wider society. In recent years, movements such as Black Lives Matters, calls to defund the police, efforts to promote

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decolonisation and the need for better historical and cultural understandings of conflicts (something that Nagy, Cushing and Piper emphasise) have all resounded with a clarion call for criminologists to be radical and to change. It should also be posited that the criminal justice and more orthodox approaches to studying it are simply not designed to encompass broader social concerns. However, these are concerns that may well, as alluded to by Henry and Jones, strongly influence the likelihood of an individual coming into conflict with the law and suffering the negative consequences which that can involve. Additionally, by not seeing wider social justice concerns, there is an attendant danger that the criminal justice system itself, as well as criminology, lose respect, trust and potency. In drawing out more expansively the demarcation between the study of criminal justice and the need for a broader academic lens, Capeheart and Milovanovic (2020) argued that: Criminal justice has been too narrow a focus and pursuit for serious comprehensive endeavors… Criminal justice accepts, for the most part, a politically established definition of crime (law) and focuses on process (courts) and retribution (corrections) as well as fine-tuning the machinery of criminal justice toward efficiency, speed an finality… with little attention to history, political economy, culture, critique, or cross-cultural understanding of the purposes of these institutions. Social justice must consider what is just not only in reaction to ‘crime’ but also in relation to evolving (nonstatic) society. (Capeheart & Milovanovic, 2020, p. 4)

In many ways echoing calls by zemiologists for more radical and culturally reflective analyses of institutions, the role of the state and the impact of powerful individuals and organisations (Boukli & Kotzé, 2018; Hillyard & Tombs, 2017), the narrative of social justice augments criminology. As chapters within this book, for instance, Jones, Sagar and Forde indicate, when integrated centrally into public criminology approaches, social justice concerns such as the social spaces of ‘crime’, the background and life stories of affected individuals and groups, abuses of power against marginalised communities and the failures of criminal justice institutions all take on clearer detail, revealing political, policy and practice inadequacy. However, as well as highlighting failure, placing social justice at the heart of public criminology may encourage a greater bridging

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between the theory and praxis of criminology, interdisciplinarity, the hearing of the voices of those impacted and the revealing of a social vision which (arguably dangerously) perpetuates neo-liberalism and oppression. Recognising social justice as a pillar of public criminology gives fuel to the transformative potential of this approach. The third pillar is that public criminology is concerned with empowering members of society, especially those who are marginalised and often harmed by Government policy. The promotion and realisation of empowerment has at its heart, as Charles and Mabophiwa suggest, the practice of participation. Like the second pillar described above, the third develops what may constitute effective public criminology and, arguably, realigns the discipline back into the arena of critique, challenge and opposition to the narrative promulgated by the powerful (Carrabine et al., 2020). Such is achieved through facilitating voice and listening to those whose personal accounts make sometimes abstract notions of criminology ‘real world’ and translatable (McAleese, 2019). Consistent throughout the literature and intrinsic to the research discussed in this book is a need for robust engagement with those who are marginalised, and so often the victims of criminal justice policy. This could also be extended to prevailing trends in social-welfare policy, which themselves create significant harm (Davies et al., 2014; Tombs, 2018). As evidenced in earlier chapters, public criminology, if rooted in the lived experiences of those who have come into conflict with the law can enable an infusion of perspectives, promote (as Teague, Hamilton and O’Grady highlighted) new and meaningful partnership endeavours, uncover hidden data or phenomenon and even correct inaccurate assumptions prevalent within academic opinion (Rock, 2014). Newbold et al. (2014) touched upon the sheer power of lived experience and its potential when, in the case of an individual who had entered custody, they asserted that: … the passion engendered by the experience of incarceration can add color, context, and contour to data collection, findings, and analysis and may therefore be regarded as an essential thread in the tapestry of criminological inquiry. (Newbold et al., 2014, p. 439)

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It is not merely academic enquiry and the subject of criminology which could benefit from the sharing of experience, but also academics themselves (and, as Strudwick and Young valuably suggest, students too). In the context, for instance, of social justice, this could amplify existing debate and excite further exploration of policy and the approaches to criminal justice taken by the state: something which is reflected upon by Tidmarsh. Pragmatically, the re-situating of criminology as a participative, almost dialogical subject which engages with others in public criminology mode might overcome the reality that: Criminologists have had to confront the embarrassing fact that in a society saturated with “crime talk”, they have utmost difficulty in communicating with politicians, policy makers, professionals and the public. (Chancer & McLaughlin, 2007, p. 157)

There is, of course, a further challenge to academics, which concerns the manner of participation, and of the ways that the academy, individuals and community groups can interact. This challenge relates to the way that the academy privileges specific approaches to communicating research. For instance, most academics will, at some time in their career engage in writing journal articles or grant funded technical reports. Often, the language of these is, as Silverwood notes, inaccessible to ‘lay people’, with the academy effectively communicating with itself. For the purposes of communicating and sharing ideas with community members, such forms of communication may be bewildering or negatively impact upon potential participation in discussion. Additionally, academics too, being used to creating formal outputs, might struggle to translate knowledge into a useful form. As Laycock (2002) helpfully recognised, members of the academy often write: … in obscure technical language, permeable to the chosen few, and covering reams of paper, are less likely to influence policy than a concise, crisp few pages which summarize the important points and spell out the implications for policy. Some researchers are distinctly uncomfortable with this scenario. (Laycock, 2002, p. 209)

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Opposed then to a situation where the academy speaks and others listen, public criminology requires a modification of accepted statuses, both of academics and members of the community. Enabling meaningful dialogue, academics must leave their ‘ivory towers’ and authentically operationalise criminology in practice and members of the community, especially individuals who are ‘hidden’ must be sought out and supported. This can include ‘transporting’ public criminology into spaces or places considered heterodox, something to which Pickering and Whitfield alluded. Change for each party may be difficult and require long-term investment. The coming together of the public and criminologists in constructive partnerships can however, as Johnson and Young noted, yield many benefits, notably the sharing of critical, evidencederived truths, which can inspire an imagining of solutions and change for society (Turner, 2013). Important to this development is a longterm approach, where adherence to the principles underpinning this third pillar may create with genuine participation, moves towards higher quality engagement such as co-leadership, co-creation and co-production can occur. Ultimately, public criminology can, as the very language it comprises be: “…public in that it seeks to engage the public in dialogue…” (Bellah et al., 1985).

Final Thoughts The three pillars offered above draw upon the conclusions and reflections of contributors to this book and, it is hoped, capture the essence of public criminology and why it matters so much. This is noteworthy especially during a period in history when unprecedented social challenges are being faced therefore investment in public criminology matters. As the chapters of this book demonstrate, whether in challenging pedagogical approaches, perspectives of the academy and society, impacting justicerelated practice (in, for instance, sex work, via the internet or in prisons) and changing notions of what education should achieve (at all levels, from primary to higher education tiers) public criminology can play a powerful and socially transformative role.

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Far from being a sterile academic discipline, it can be mooted that criminology has the potential to enable greater comprehension of crime and harm (and the things which cause these) and empower and educate members of society and individuals within criminal justice agencies, so that they can become active partners for change. In that light, the possibilities for a more open academy which embraces social justice values and promotes the participation of community members in its exploratory and advocacy roles are extensive. We hope that the contribution of this book will excite debates concerning public criminology and encourage criminologists to think about how they might make a yet greater contribution through public education, thereby promoting positive change. For individuals and agencies also, this book offers an insight in constructive work which is taking place to make public criminology ‘real’. Given the diverse experiences and activities of criminologists which are presented, the possibilities for public participation are clear and hopefully, this inspires many to become a part of what is termed, public criminology.

References Bellah, R., Madsen, R., Sulliva, W., Swidler, A., & Tipton, S. (1985). Habits of the heart. Individualism and commitment in American life. University of California Press. Boukli, A., & Kotzé, J. (Eds.). (2018). Zemiology: Reconnecting crime and social harm. Springer. Brady, D. (2004). Why public sociology may fail. Social Forces, 82, 1629–1638. Burawoy, M. (2005). For public sociology: 2004 ASA presidential address. American Sociological Review, 70, 4–28. Capeheart, L., & Milovanovic, D. (2020). Social justice: Theories, issues, and movements (Revised and expanded ed.). Rutgers University Press. Carrabine, E., Lee, M., & South, N. (2020). Re-thinking public criminology: Politics, paradoxes, and challenges. In Routledge handbook of public criminologies (pp. 21–33). Routledge. Carrabine, E., Cox, P., Lee, M., Plummer, K., & South, N. (2009). Criminology: A sociological introduction. Routledge.

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Chancer, L., & McLaughlin, E. (2007). Public criminologies: Diverse perspectives on academia and policy. Theoretical Criminology, 11(2), 155–173. Copson, L. (2018). Beyond ‘criminology vs. zemiology’: Reconciling crime with social harm. Zemiology: reconnecting crime and social harm, 33–56. Currie, E. (2007). Against marginality: Arguments for a public criminology. Theoretical Criminology, 11(2), 175–190. Davies, P., Francis, P., & Wyatt, T. (Eds.). (2014). Invisible crimes and social harms. Springer. Feilzer, M. (2009). The importance of telling a good story: An experiment in public criminology. The Howard Journal of Criminal Justice, 48(5), 472–484. Freire, P. (1970/2017). Pedagogy of the oppressed . Penguin. Hillyard, P., & Tombs, S. (2017). Social harm and zemiology. The Oxford handbook of criminology, 284–305. Laycock, G. (2002). Methodological issues in working with policy advisers and practitioners. Crime Prevention Studies, 13, 205–237. Liberty. (2022a). Liberty’s briefing on the amended surveillance camera code of practice. London. Liberty. (2022b). Liberty’s briefing on the police, crime, sentencing and courts bill for Ping Pong: Part 3 (public order) and Part 10 (serious violence reduction orders). London. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2010). Public criminology? Routledge. Loader, I., & Sparks, R. (2017). The question of public criminology: Seeking resources of hope for a better politics of crime. International Annals of Criminology, 52(1–2), 155–177. McAleese, S. (2019). Doing public criminology with the criminal justice voluntary sector: Methodological reflections and considerations. The Howard Journal of Crime and Justice, 58(3), 366–383. Newbold, G., Ross, J. I ., Jones, R. S,. Richards, S. C., & Lenza, M. (2014). Prison research from the inside: The role of convict autoethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 20, 454–463. Persell, C. H. (2009). Teaching and public sociology. In Handbook of public sociology (V. Jeffries, Ed., pp. 205–221). Rowman & Littlefield. Reiman, J. (1990). Justice and modern moral philosophy. Yale University Press. Rock, P. (2014). The public faces of public criminology. Criminology & Criminal Justice, 14 (4), 412–433. Tombs, S. (2018). For pragmatism and politics: Crime, social harm and zemiology. Zemiology: Reconnecting crime and social harm, 11–31.

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Turner, E. (2013). Beyond ‘facts’ and ‘values’ rethinking some recent debates about the public role of criminology. The British Journal of Criminology, 53(1), 149–166. Uggen, C., & Inderbitzin, M. (2010). Public criminologies. Criminology & Public Policy, 9 (4), 725–749. Van Swaaningen, R. (1999). Reclaiming critical criminology: Social justice and the European tradition. Theoretical Criminology, 3(1), 5–28.

Index

A

Anti-racism 12, 273, 308, 319–321

C

Children’s rights 64, 88, 221 Citizen social science 9, 170, 171, 173, 174, 177, 184, 188 Collaboration 66, 108, 115, 123, 124, 127, 129, 155, 171, 199, 201, 202, 204–206, 212, 213, 216, 240, 247, 251, 286 Communication 9, 18, 20, 21, 30, 43, 114, 115, 149, 178, 240, 249, 288, 289, 293, 333 Community Sanctions and Measures (CSM) 8, 98–109, 111–114, 116–118 conscientization 129

Criminal justice system (CJS) 2, 3, 5, 12, 19, 25, 30, 32, 40, 45, 86, 98–100, 102, 105, 108, 109, 112, 113, 117, 124, 125, 127–129, 137, 139, 140, 152–154, 174, 183, 189, 190, 215–218, 220, 235, 236, 241, 276, 301, 307, 308, 316–321, 327, 328, 330, 331 Criminological publics 11, 25, 61, 258, 260, 276 Critical education 271, 272 Cultural competence 12

D

Dahmer, Jeffrey 159 Digital Humanities 174, 175

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 D. Jones et al. (eds.), Public Criminology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-42167-9

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340

Index

E

Education and Training 12, 307, 308

F

Freire, Paulo 8, 61, 68, 97–99, 101, 102, 106–110, 114–117, 124, 210, 216, 219, 221, 222, 248, 326

246–248, 268–271, 273, 319, 326, 328, 329 Lived experience 5, 12, 46, 63, 66, 73, 102, 105, 109, 110, 112, 113, 135, 196, 197, 206, 216–218, 220, 225, 319, 321, 332 Loader and Sparks 1–3, 20, 25, 38–40, 44, 62, 73, 100, 103, 105, 125, 126, 128, 157, 170, 195–197, 209, 257, 260, 261, 283, 284, 297, 326

H

Hashtags 11, 283, 284, 288–294, 296, 297, 299–302 Historical criminology 171, 172 History of Crime Australia 177

I

Impact 4, 6, 8, 9, 28, 38, 39, 45, 48, 52, 54, 71, 73, 75, 87, 88, 100, 102, 104, 109, 130, 132, 133, 135–137, 139, 141, 142, 148, 149, 153, 156, 170, 182, 183, 197, 201–204, 210, 212, 242, 243, 261, 287, 316, 319–321, 328, 331, 333 Inside Out 8

L

Learning 4, 6–11, 18–22, 25, 28, 29, 31, 44, 46, 64, 68, 75, 76, 79, 80, 82, 97–100, 108–111, 113–116, 125–128, 130, 148, 157–159, 173, 177, 181, 183, 186–188, 195–206, 209–213, 215, 222, 224, 235, 236, 238,

M

Marginality 3, 8, 98, 99, 105, 108 Media 3, 8, 9, 11, 21, 26, 98–105, 108–110, 112–115, 117, 148–151, 156, 159, 161, 176, 182, 187, 223, 268, 283, 284, 286, 289, 290, 293, 294, 296, 299, 300 N

Netflix 150, 151, 154 P

Partnership working 10, 88, 234–237, 239–246, 250, 251 Pedagogy 8–10, 18, 20, 97–100, 107, 108, 110, 112–114, 116, 117, 159, 171, 195–197, 202, 204, 205, 211, 215, 218, 222, 236, 258–261, 272, 273, 276, 329 Prison education 236, 247, 251 Public Criminology 2–12, 147–149, 151, 153, 154, 161, 170, 171,

Index

174, 184, 187–190, 195–198, 200–203, 205, 206, 209–212, 214–220, 222–225, 234, 235, 237–239, 241, 251, 260–263, 265, 269, 273, 283–286, 288–292, 294–302, 325–335 Public education 10, 11, 39, 44, 45, 54, 55, 59–68, 70–73, 79, 83, 84, 86–88, 217, 220, 237, 301, 318, 325, 326, 329, 335 Pupil voice 74 Q

Qualitative Media Analysis (QMA) 284, 289–291

341

S

Social media 11, 22, 23, 110, 149, 156, 283, 286–288, 290, 299, 301, 302, 329 Student as producer 9, 198, 199, 201–205, 212

T

The Fog of Sex 7, 49 Theory 25, 112, 125, 149, 159, 161, 212, 214–216, 259, 262, 264, 269, 286, 328, 332 The Student Sex Work Project (TSSWP) 7, 41, 45, 46, 54 Transformative education 124 True crime documentaries 150, 151

R

Racism 12, 265, 295, 317–321 Radical criminology 262, 265, 276, 298 Research Excellence Framework (REF) 38, 39, 45, 148, 153, 154, 156, 328 Research-led teaching 173, 200, 225 Research Methodologies 2, 5, 6 Ripple effect 124, 125, 129, 130, 132, 137, 139–142, 234, 238, 243, 248, 251

U

United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) 60, 63, 65, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 75, 78, 79, 218, 221 University-prison Partnerships 123