Routledge Handbook of Street Culture 9780367248734, 9780429284816

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‘At its most vibrant, the culture of the street is a remarkable human accomplishment – an eclectic, contested mélange of people, styles, and interactions. The Routledge Handbook of Street Culture captures just this vibrancy, documenting efflorescences of street culture across a range of global urban settings, and revealing the ways in which street culture seeps into media and digital worlds as well. I enthusiastically recommend this book – and I recommend that you read it on the front stoop, or maybe down on the corner.’ Jeff Ferrell, Professor, Texas Christian University, USA ‘The Routledge Handbook of Street Culture offers a dedicated approach to the critical analysis of a series of social phenomena often considered in isolation, allowing a new and interesting reading of a culture that crosses borders, disciplinary and beyond. Ross recovers the value and complexity of cultural productions that are considered marginal, to demonstrate their pervasiveness and importance in shaping our way of seeing the world. Authors from different disciplines and fields of social knowledge find for the first time a common language to promote a field of investigation that is currently unexplored. The “field effect” that is thus produced forge new conceptualizations that cannot be isolated from their empirical application, nor from their ethical implications.’ Francesca Vianello, Professor, University of Padua, Italy ‘With this Handbook, Jeffrey Ian Ross and contributors from a wide variety of countries and academic disciplines, bring together a range of important perspectives to understand life on city streets and in the urban margins. With topics that traverse issues of crime and policing; culture, media and everyday life; and structure, spatiality and identity, the chapters offer much to curious students and scholars. Imbued with character, imagination and originality, this book serves as a milestone in the development of a Street Cultural Studies.’ Jonathan Ilan, Senior Lecturer in Criminology, City, University of London, UK ‘Jeffrey Ian Ross has produced an important new book. The Routledge Handbook of Street Culture is a unique contribution to many inter-related literatures. These include the many representations, actors, activities, and crime associated with street culture. The book offers fresh perspectives from leading scholars of “cultural criminology” who demonstrate the central role that street culture plays in the daily lives of mainstream and marginalized individuals. The book will be important to the future of criminology.’ Scott H. Decker, Foundation Professor Emeritus, Arizona State University, USA

Routledge Handbook of Street Culture

Discussions of street culture exist in a variety of academic disciplines, yet a handbook that brings together the diversity of scholarship on this subject has yet to be produced. The Routledge Handbook of Street Culture integrates and reviews current scholarship regarding the history, types, and contexts of the concept of street culture. It is comprehensive and international in its treatment of the subject of street culture. Street culture includes many subtypes, situations, locations, and participants, and these are explored in the various chapters included in this book. Street culture varies based on numerous factors including capitalism, market societies, policing, ethnicity, and race but also advances in technology. The book is divided into four major sections: Actors and street culture, Activities connected to street culture, The centrality of crime to street culture, and Representations of street culture. Contributors are well respected and recognized international scholars in their fields. They draw upon contemporary scholarship produced in the social sciences, arts, and humanities in order to communicate their understanding of street culture. The book provides a comprehensive and accessible approach to the subject of street culture through the lens of an inter- and/or multidisciplinary perspective. It is also intersectional in its approach and consideration of the subject and phenomenon of street culture. Jeffrey Ian Ross, Ph.D., is a professor in the School of Criminal Justice, College of Public Affairs at the University of Baltimore. He has been a visiting professor at Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany, and University of Padua, Italy. He has researched, written, and lectured primarily on corrections, policing, political crime, state crime, crimes of the powerful, violence, street culture, and crime and justice in American Indian communities for over two decades. Ross’ work has appeared in many academic journals and books, as well as popular media. He is the author, co-author, editor, or co-editor of several books including the Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art (Routledge, 2016). In 2018, Ross was given the Hans W. Mattick Award, “for an individual who has made a distinguished contribution to the field of Criminology & Criminal Justice practice,” from the University of Illinois at Chicago. In 2020, he received the John Howard Award from the Academy of Criminal Justice Sciences’ Division of Corrections. The award is the ACJS Corrections Section’s most prestigious award, and was given because of his “outstanding research and service to the field of corrections.”

Routledge International Handbooks

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF FRENCH POLITICS AND CULTURE Edited by Marion Demossier, David Lees, Aurélien Mondon and Nina Parish ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF GRAFFITI AND STREET ART Edited by Jeffrey Ian Ross THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF BRITISH POLITICS AND SOCIETY Mark Garnett THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF INTEGRATED REPORTING Edited by Charl de Villiers, Pei-Chi Kelly Hsiao and Warren Maroun THE ROUTLEDGE INTERNATIONAL HANDBOOK OF GLOBAL THERAPEUTIC CULTURES Edited by Daniel Nehring, Ole Jacob Madsen, Edgar Cabanas, China Mills and Dylan Kerrigan ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF STREET CULTURE Edited by Jeffrey Ian Ross THE ROUTLEDGE INTERNATIONAL HANDBOOK OF SIMMEL STUDIES Edited by Gregor Fitzi ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF COUNTER-NARRATIVES Edited by Klarissa Lueg and Marianne Wolff Lundholt ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF ART, SCIENCE, AND TECHNOLOGY STUDIES Edited by Hannah Star Rogers, Megan K. Halpern, Kathryn de Ridder-Vignone, and Dehlia Hannah For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/Routledge-InternationalHandbooks/book-series/RIHAND

Routledge Handbook of Street Culture

Edited by Jeffrey Ian Ross

foreword by peter k. manning

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Jeffrey Ian Ross; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Jeffrey Ian Ross to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-24873-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-28481-6 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Dedicated to the memory of Marvin William Ross (1926–2017); father, husband, and grandfather, who through the lens of his social class, personal experiences, and immigration story did his best to teach me as much as he could about the streets, including the people who live, work, and play there, and the unique rhythms that occur in these environments.

Contents

List of figures xiii List of tables xv List of contributors xvi Acknowledgmentsxxv Editor’s foreword xxvi Foreword: From the Chicago School to the Routledge Handbook of Street Culture Peter K. Manning xxxi

Introduction: disentangling street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

1

PART I

Actors and street culture

9

  1 A street culture of homelessness Tyler J. Frederick

13

  2 Currando las margenes: Roma Street culture Daniel Briggs

25

  3 Street performers and street culture Paul Watt

38

  4 How municipal police interact with street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross and Michael Rowe

48

  5 Youth street cultures: between online and offline circuits Ricardo M.O. Campos

59

ix

Contents

PART II

Activities connected to street culture

71

  6 Graffiti, crime, and street culture Stefano Bloch and Susan A. Phillips

77

  7 From graffiti to gallery: the street art phenomenon G. James Daichendt

90

  8 Taxi driving and street culture: acquiring and utilizing street knowledge Jeffrey Ian Ross

104

  9 Skateboarding and street culture Iain Borden

114

10 Parkour and street culture: conviviality, law and the negotiation of urban space Paul Gilchrist and Guy Osborn

126

11 Mobilising street culture: understanding the implications of the shift from lifestyle bike messengers to gig economy workers Justin Spinney and Cosmin Popan

137

12 Street vending and everyday life in an authentic 21st century Renia Ehrenfeucht

147

13 Private uses make public spaces: street vending in Ho Chi Minh City and Rome Francesca Piazzoni and Huê-Tâm Jamme

159

14 Street scavengers and street culture Ben Stickle

170

15 Street life and masculinities Christopher W. Mullins and Daniel R. Kavish

183

16 Gentrification’s impact on street life Mirko Guaralda and Jaz Hee-jeong Choi

194

PART III

The centrality of crime to street culture 17 Street culture and street crime: the enduring and unequivocal link Jeffrey Ian Ross and Bárbara Barraza Uribe

x

205 209

Contents

18 The code of the street: causes and consequences Jonathan Intravia

219

19 A cross-cultural perspective of the code of the street Sebastian Kurtenbach

229

20 Street culture and street gangs Timothy R. Lauger and Brooke Horning

238

21 Suburbia’s delinquent street cultures Simon I. Singer

249

22 Writing “street culture” should be a crime Karen Coen Flynn and Mark S. Fleisher

259

PART IV

Representations of street culture 23 The relationship between popular culture and street culture: a case study of Baltimore Jeffrey Ian Ross

269 273

24 Portrayals of street culture in Hollywood films James Wicks

285

25 On the street: photography and the city Donna West Brett

295

26 Street styles serenade: urban street styles emerging from music scenes Therèsa M. Winge

310

27 Reinventing luxury in the streets: an assemblage view of the relationship between luxury brands and street culture Hélène de Burgh-Woodman

323

28 Language and street culture in the big city Eivind Nessa Torgersen

335

29 Street food and placemaking: a cultural review of urban practices Anna Svensdotter, Mirko Guaralda, and Severine Mayere

346

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Contents

30 Digital streets, internet banging, and cybercrimes: street culture in a digitized world Robert A. Roks and Jeroen B.A. van den Broek

357

Glossary368 Chronology of the history of street culture 372 Index374

xii

Figures

2.1 2.2 2.3 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 6.8 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 12.1 12.2 14.1 14.2 1 4.3 14.4

Graffiti meaning “Happy Cañada, rebel and combative.” 31 Proud Roma identity statements meaning “I am Cañada.” 32 Inside a fumadero where drugs are mixed and cut and then dealt through the metal door. 33 Instagram image of “sintra wallz” depicting a painted train carriage. 65 Myspace profile of rapper Kromo di Ghetto containing images taken in his neighbourhood.66 Avenue 43 gang graffiti in Old English lettering. With river in foreground and freeway and neighborhood in background. Los Angeles, 1995. 78 Graffiti by AZ CBS, Big-5 TCS, and others outside a Los Angeles art gallery catering to graffiti-based exhibitions, 1993. 78 Kevin + Mike. Amor por Vida. Los Angeles. 79 Non-gang graffiti. Gin, Ducer, and other graffiti writers in downtown Los Angeles, c. 1993. 80 Rivalry in graffiti: 38 Street gang versus Barrio Mojados gang. 82 Graffiti surveillance warning, perhaps ironic. 83 The Wall That Cracked Open by Willie Herrón, 1972. 85 Phantom at work: Art Saves Lives. 87 Graffiti-themed by SAKE mural on the exterior of the Bread and Salt Gallery, San Diego, CA. 91 Shepard Fairey mural covered by graffiti London, UK. 93 Bowery wall painted by Kenny Scharf, 2011 New York, NY. 95 Venn diagram illustrating how street art evolved from graffiti. 96 Graffiti by D*Face Las Vegas, NV. 96 Street art mural by D*Face. 97 TOXICÓMANO street art. Miami, FL. 98 Anonymous poster, Street art my wall Amsterdam, NL. 100 Street art poster, Amsterdam, NL. 102 Food truck operating in the Chicago Loop, 2015. 153 A vendor selling at a second line in New Orleans, 2015. 154 Illustration of the key differences among each group and the name commonly used to identify them. 171 A professional scrapper, who chose to scrap to augment other income, sits at the payment window awaiting cash for the metal just recycled. 172 A makeshift ladder is used to access this dumpster. 174 Dangers abound as scrappers search for the metal in this collapsing building covered in snow. 175

xiii

Figures

14.5 Handmade signs are frequently used on vehicles and posted around neighborhoods indicating interest in collecting unwanted items. This scrapper has ‘grabbers’ in the bed of the truck ready to be used when searching in dumpsters. 176 25.1 Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre, Boulevard du Temple, 1838. 296 25.2 Pascal Sébah and Jean Pascal Sébah, Marchands de Chaudrons, late 1880s. 297 25.3 Paul Strand, Photograph – New York [Blind Woman], 1916, printed 1917. 298 25.4 Dorothea Lange, [White Angel Bread Line, San Francisco], 1933; printed c. 1940s. 300 25.5 Daido Moriyama, New Japan’s Scenic Trio 2: Ueno Terminal Station, 1982. 301 25.6 Cherine Fahd, Trafalgar Square, Anonymous Portrait 1, 2006. 303 25.7 Thomas Struth, Hermannsgarten, Weissenfels, 1991. 305 25.8 Trent Parke, Australia. Sydney. No War Peace March, 2003. 306 26.1 The Heavy Metal street style incorporates black clothing, long hair, and concert T-shirts, as well as an instrument when appropriate. 314 26.2 North American Punk street style commonly includes black boots, plaids, and body modifications.317

xiv

Tables

2 3.1 Movies/films shot in Baltimore that deal in part with street culture. 27.1 Material and expressive subcomponents of luxury and street. 29.1 Framework for street food analysis.

277 329 349

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Contributors

Editor Jeffrey Ian Ross, Ph.D., is a professor in the School of Criminal Justice, College of Public Affairs, and a

research fellow of the Center for International and Comparative Law, and the Schaefer Center for Public Policy at the University of Baltimore. He has been a visiting professor at Ruhr-Universität Bochum, Germany, and University of Padua, Italy. He has researched, written, and lectured primarily on corrections, policing, political crime, state crime, crimes of the powerful, violence, street culture, and crime and justice in American Indian communities for over two decades. Ross’ work has appeared in many academic journals and books, as well as popular media. He is the author, co-author, editor, or co-editor of several books including the Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art (Routledge, 2016). Ross is a respected subject matter expert for local, regional, national, and international news media. He has made live appearances on CNN, CNBC, Fox News Network, MSNBC, and NBC. Additionally, Ross has written op-eds for The (Baltimore) Sun, the Baltimore Examiner, The (Maryland) Daily Record, The Gazette, The Hill, Inside Higher Ed, and The Tampa Tribune. From 1995–1998, Ross was a social science analyst with the National Institute of Justice, a Division of the U.S. Department of Justice. In 2003, he was awarded the University of Baltimore’s Distinguished Chair in Research Award. Ross is the co-founder of Convict Criminology and the former co-chair/chair of the Division on Critical Criminology and Social Justice (2014–2017) of the American Society of Criminology. In 2018, Ross was given the Hans W. Mattick Award, “for an individual who has made a distinguished contribution to the field of Criminology & Criminal Justice practice,” from the University of Illinois at Chicago. In 2020, he received the John Howard Award from the Academy of Criminal Justice Sciences’ Division of Corrections. The award is the ACJS Corrections Section’s most prestigious award, and was given because of his “outstanding research and service to the field of corrections.” During the early 1980s, Jeff worked almost four years in a correctional institution.

Contributors Bárbara Barraza Uribe (MA) is a doctoral student in political processes and institutions at Universidad Adolfo Ibáñez, in Santiago de Chile, and a grantee of the CONICYT Scholarship for Doctorate Programs 2020. She earned her bachelor’s degree in political science from the Pontifical Catholic University of Chile and a master’s degree in gender and culture studies from University of Chile, where she researched policies of access to justice for women implemented by the National Prosecution Bureau of Chile. Her current dissertation is about the access to justice for LGBTQI+ populations in Chile as an indicator of quality of citizenship. She assesses how complete citizenship is for this particular group, by measuring the quality of the access to justice that they get in the Chilean legal system; how the system is adapted to the needs of this particular group; and how the law treats them in a way that is non-discriminatory. Previously she has worked at the Studies and Projects Department of the National Defenders Bureau. She also has an article xvi

Contributors

published in International Criminal Justice Review. In 2018–2019 she taught a course designed by herself, called “Gender, Power and Inequality” for undergraduate students at Universidad Adolfo Ibáñez and at the Pontifical Catholic University of Chile. Stefano Bloch, Ph.D., is an assistant professor in the School of Geography and Development and the

graduate interdisciplinary program in social, cultural, and critical theory at the University of Arizona. His monograph, Going All City: Struggle and Survival in LA’s Graffiti Subculture (University of Chicago Press, 2019), is an auto-ethnographic depiction of how graffiti writers proactively navigate the urban environment in the midst of violence and trauma. His publications appear in the journals Radical History Review, the Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, the International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, the Geographical Review, and Environment and Planning D: Society and Space. He holds a BA in literature from UC Santa Cruz, an MA in urban planning from UCLA, a Ph.D. in geography from the University of Minnesota, and a postdoc from Brown University where he was an Andrew W. Mellon Fellow in the Humanities and Presidential Diversity Fellow in Urban Studies. He was also a Los Angeles-based graffiti writer for over 20 years. Iain Borden, Ph.D., is Professor of Architecture and Urban Culture and Vice-Dean Education at The

Bartlett, University College London. His research includes explorations of architecture in relation to cities and public space, film and photography, critical theory and philosophy, and human bodies and spatial experiences. Iain’s publications include Skateboarding and the City: a Complete History (Bloomsbury, 2019); Forty Ways to Think About Architecture (Wiley, 2014); Drive: Journeys through Film, Cities and Landscapes (Reaktion, 2012); Bartlett Designs: Speculating With Architecture (Wiley, 2009); The Unknown City: Contesting Architecture and Social Space (MIT, 2001) and InterSections: Architectural Histories and Critical Theories (Routledge, 2000). Donna West Brett, Ph.D., is an associate Professor in art history and curatorial studies at the University of Sydney. She is author of Photography and Place: Seeing and Not Seeing Germany After 1945 (Routledge, 2016); and co-editor with Natalya Lusty, Photography and Ontology: Unsettling Images, (Routledge, 2019). Recent research on photography has been published in Photography and Culture, Photographies, and Passagen des Exils: Exilforschung: Ein internationales Jahrbuch. Brett is a recipient of the 2017 Australian Academy of the Humanities Ernst and Rosemarie Keller Award, Research Leader for the Photographic Cultures Research Group, and Editorial Advisory Member for the Visual Culture and German Contexts Series, Bloomsbury. Daniel Briggs, Ph.D., is a consultant to the British Foreign Office who works part time at the Universi-

dad Europea in Madrid, Spain. As a researcher, writer, and interdisciplinary academic who studies social problems, he has undertaken ethnographic research into social issues from street drug users to terminally ill patients; from refugees to prostitutes; and from gypsies to gangs and deviant youth behaviors. He also lectures across the social sciences and has published widely. His most recent book, Dead-End Lives: Drugs and Violence in the City Shadows (Policy Press, 2017), won the Division of International Criminology’s Outstanding Book Award 2018 (selected by the American Society of Criminology). He is currently writing two ethnographic works titled Climate changed: Refugee border stories and the business of misery (Routledge, 2020) and Online Dating Apps, Risk and Sex in a time of Digital Capitalism (Emerald, 2020). Ricardo M.O. Campos, Ph.D., is a social scientist and illustrator, born and living in Lisbon (Portugal). He

holds a graduate and master’s degree in sociology and a Ph.D. in visual anthropology. He is a researcher at CICS. Nova – Interdisciplinary Centre of Social Sciences, Portugal. In the past 15 years, he has been researching urban youth cultures and, in particular, the connections between youth and image. Besides urban cultures, he has been studying and writing several articles and books – mainly in Portuguese – on topics such as visual methodologies, visual culture, art, or education. His publications include “Porque pintamos a cidade? Uma abordagem etnográfica ao graffiti urbano” [Why do we paint the city? An ethnographic xvii

Contributors

approach to urban graffiti] (Fim de Século, 2010) and Introdução à Cultura Visual. Abordagens e metodologias [Introduction to Visual Culture. Approaches and Methodologies] (Mundos Sociais, 2013). He has coedited (with Andrea Mubi Brighenti and Luciano Spinelli) Uma cidade de Imagens [A city of images] (Mundos Sociais, 2011), Popular  & Visual Culture: Design, Circulation and Consumption (with Clara Sarmento, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014) and Transglobal Sounds. Music, identity and migrant descendants (with João Sardinha, Bloomsbury Academic Publishing, 2016). He is also one of the editors of the Brazilian academic journal Cadernos de Arte e Antropologia [Journal of Art and Anthropology] (https://cadernosaa. revues.org/), co-coordinator of the Visual Culture Group of the Portuguese Association of Communication Studies, and co-coordinator of the Luso-Brasilian Network for the Study of Urban Arts and Interventions (RAIU). Jaz Hee-jeong Choi, Ph.D., is the Director of the Care-full Design Lab and Vice-Chancellor’s Senior Research Fellow in the School of Design at RMIT, Melbourne, Australia. Previously, she founded FoodCHI as a SIGCHI Network and a field of research and served as the Director of QUT Urban Informatics Research Lab. As a transdisciplinary researcher, her approach to urban sustainability recognizes ‘play’ and ‘care’ as the core of transformational encounters in cities as complex cyberphysical networks. She builds on this to explore, often through direct, playful, and co-creative engagements, how design – from interaction to experience, service, and strategic design – can be done care-fully in different cultural contexts. Currently, she is exploring care-full design for livable and equitable urban futures across three interrelated domains: self-care and mutual aid; creative and impactful research methods; and co-creative urban transformation. She has collaborated with leading international researchers and practitioners across disciplines and given keynote presentations at major international conferences, including the 2010 UNESCO Creative Cities and 2013 Global Social Economy Forum. She seeks care-full allies. G. James Daichendt, Ed.D., serves as Dean of the Colleges and Professor of Art History at Point Loma Naz-

arene University in San Diego. He is the author of several books including Robbie Conal: Streetwise: 35 Year of Politically Charged Guerrilla Art (Schiffer Publishing, 2020); The Urban Canvas: Street Art Around the World (Weldon Owen, 2017); Kenny Scharf: In Absence of Myth (Cameron + Co., 2016); Shepard Fairey Inc., Artist/ Professional/Vandal (Cameron + Co., 2014); Stay Up! Los Angeles Street Art (Cameron + Co., 2012); Artist Scholar: Reflections on Writing and Research (Intellect Ltd, 2011); and Artist-Teacher: A Philosophy for Creating and Teaching (Intellect Ltd, 2010). Dr. Daichendt is an art critic and journalist for KCET’s Artbound, the nation’s largest public television station, and regularly writes for The San Diego Union-Tribune. In addition, he is the chief editor of the academic journal Visual Inquiry: Learning and Teaching Art. Jim holds a doctorate from Columbia University and graduate degrees from Harvard and Boston Universities. Hélène de Burgh-Woodman, Ph.D., is a full professor and Director of Research and Doctoral Studies at

Institut Mines-Télécom Business School (France). Hélène has published a range of work on visuality, consumer culture, and marketing theory with a particular interest in interdisciplinary approaches to the cultural uses of advertising and other market-based resources. Her work includes papers in the European Journal of Marketing; Consumption, Markets and Culture; Marketing Theory; Qualitative Market Research; and Journal of Sociology and Social Policy alongside numerous book chapters and conference publications. She is the author of Advertising in Contemporary Consumer Culture (Palgrave, 2018) and continues to work on a number of cultural and market resources-related projects. Renia Ehrenfeucht, Ph.D., is a professor and Chair of the University of New Mexico Department of Community and Regional Planning. She received her Ph.D. in urban planning from the University of California, Los Angeles and her master of urban planning from the University of Washington, Seattle. Dr. Ehrenfeucht’s research explores public spaces and the politics of everyday life, examining how ordinary xviii

Contributors

spaces and local institutions influence diverse people’s opportunities in urban environments. She has written about food trucks, street work, and Airbnb as moments to explore urban transformation in work, daily life, and the right to the street. Dr. Ehrenfeucht also studies shrinking cities and how people, places, and institutions respond to population loss. In this area, she has written about disaster recovery in New Orleans as a shrinking city and the reasons that people choose to live in shrinking cities, which often have limited amenities and work opportunities. In addition to numerous journal articles, her books include Sidewalks: Conflict and Negotiation in Public Space (with Anastasia Loukaitou-Sideris, The MIT Press, 2015) and Urban Revitalization: Remaking Cities in a Changing World (with Carl Grodach, Routledge, 2016). Mark S. Fleisher, Ph.D., a linguistic and cultural anthropologist, is a research professor at the Mandel School of Applied Social Sciences, Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH. He has published journal articles and book chapters on youth violence, youth gangs, social networks, prison gangs, ethnographic methods, urban violence, and correctional management. He has published award-winning books. Warehousing Violence (Sage, 1989) was funded by the U.S. Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Prisons. Beggars and Thieves: Lives of Urban Street Criminals (University of Wisconsin Press, 1995) and Dead End Kids: Gang Girls and the Boys They Know (University of Wisconsin Press, 1998) were funded by the Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation. The Myth of Prison Rape: Sexual Culture in American Prisons (Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), a socio-semantic analysis of men’s and women’s prison culture’s specialized knowledge of sexual behavior expressed in sex-related lexical items, and Women in American Prisons: Sex, Social Life & Families (Roman & Littlefield, 2020) were funded by National Institute of Justice. Living Black: Social Life in an African American Neighborhood (University of Wisconsin Press, 2015), was chosen as a Best Book of 2015 by the Chicago Book Review. Fleisher has done cultural and linguistic research in Mexico, Guatemala, the Northwest Coast of the U.S., Vancouver Island, British Columbia, the Netherlands, Turkey, Indonesia, and U.S. cities (Seattle, WA, Kansas City, KS, and Champaign, IL). Karen Coen Flynn, Ph.D., is Senior Research Associate, Begun Center for Violence Prevention Research and Education Jack, Joseph and Morton Mandel School of Applied Social Sciences at Case Western Reserve University. Karen was awarded her Ph.D. in cultural anthropology from Harvard University. Her doctoral research explored contemporary food-provisioning processes in urban Mwanza, Tanzania. She earned her master’s degree in social anthropology from the University of Cambridge. Dr. Flynn is a cultural anthropologist with over 20 years of experience in designing, developing and analyzing projects using qualitative and mixed-methods research to explore vulnerable community members’ access to basic needs in the United States, Tanzania, and Indonesia. She has published the monograph Food, Culture and Survival in an African City (Palgrave Macmillan, 2005) and various professional journal articles. Tyler J. Frederick, Ph.D., is an assistant professor in criminology and justice at Ontario Tech University. He received his Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Toronto. Dr. Frederick is a community-focused scholar whose research examines how young people navigate their way in and through the experience of homelessness. Past research topics include the unique challenges experienced by LGBTQ young people, decision-making around subsistence strategies, the transition away from homelessness for youth, criminalization, mental health, and the ways in which we conceptualize and theorize dynamics related to street involvement and housing stability. His most recent project examines how relationships change over time in the context of homelessness. Other topic areas include addressing social issues through community-based collaboration, policing, and the community lives of people with serious mental illness. Dr. Frederick has published his research in the Journal of Youth Studies, Victims & Offenders, and the American Journal of Community Psychology. Paul Gilchrist, Ph.D., is Principal Lecturer in Human Geography at the School of Environment and Tech-

nology, University of Brighton, UK. He teaches social and cultural geography and has research expertise xix

Contributors

in the geographies of sport, leisure, and popular culture, publishing widely in these areas. He is a member of the Executive Board of the Leisure Studies Association and is joint editor of the book series Advances in Leisure Studies (Routledge). His current research investigates the legal and regulatory conditions of streetbased leisure cultures and practices. Other research interests include the heritagization of public space and the spatialities of the carnivalesque. Mirko Guaralda (Ph.D., M.H.Ed, D.Arch.) is Senior Lecturer in Architecture at the Queensland Univer-

sity of Technology. His background includes experience in architectural design, landscape architecture, and urban design. Mirko has been working on cities and public space systems since 1999, and his research has addressed unstructured uses of public spaces, urban hacking, meanings and semiotics of urban structures, heritage conservation and new developments, community participation and agency. Since 2001, Mirko has been involved in research projects in Australia, Indonesia, China, and Thailand, as well as consultancies for government and industry partners. He has received over $700,000.00 (AUD) in funding for his work on cities and communities and is currently a research associate with the QUT Design Lab. Before joining academia full time, Mirko worked in industry and local government; he has been involved in a wide range of projects at different scales, from small dwellings and gardens to new estates and urban strategic planning. Brooke Horning graduated from Niagara University with a bachelor of science in criminal justice in 2018.

She graduated from Niagara University with her master’s degree in the administration of justice during the spring of 2019. Brooke is currently working as a graduate research assistant with Drs. Craig Rivera and Timothy Lauger on a project that analyzes patterns of gun violence in Niagara Falls, NY. This information is being used by Niagara County law enforcement agencies to apply a focused deterrence strategy in an effort to reduce violence. She has been gathering and coding data from presentencing investigations from a sample of co-offenders who are disproportionately involved in gun violence. Brooke is currently pursuing a career in education. Jonathan Intravia is an associate professor in the Department of Criminal Justice and Criminology at Ball

State University. He received his PhD from the College of Criminology and Criminal Justice at Florida State University. His research interests include criminological theory, neighbouhoods and crime, youth violence, and the relationship between media consumption and attitudes related to crime and justice. His work has been published in various criminology and sociology journals such as Criminology, Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, Sociological Forum, and Youth Violence and Juvenile Justice. Huê-Tâm Jamme, Ph.D., is an assistant professor of urban planning at Arizona State University. Her research interests include comparative urbanism, public space, mobilities, and access to opportunities. She explores how information and communication networks shape local urbanisms, with a focus on socio-spatial justice in cites of the Global South. She hols a Ph.D. in urban planning and development from the University of Southern California, and an M.A. and B.A. in political science from Science Po Rennes. Daniel R. Kavish, Ph.D., is an assistant professor of sociology and criminal justice at Southwestern Okla-

homa State University and was the 2018 recipient of Lander University’s Young Faculty Scholar Award. Professor Kavish earned his Ph.D. from the Department of Criminology and Criminal Justice at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. His research interests include criminological theory, deviant subcultures, convict criminology, and racial disparities in the criminal justice system. Dr. Kavish’s recent research has been published in Crime & Delinquency, the Journal of Qualitative Criminal Justice and Criminology, and The Encyclopedia of Women and Crime.

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Contributors

Sebastian Kurtenbach, Ph.D., is an interim professor for political science/social policy, especially local

policy and local social policy, at the University of Applied Science Muenster, Germany. Also, he is an associated member of the Institute of Interdisciplinary Research on Conflict and Violence (IKG), Bielefeld University as well as of the center of interdisciplinary regional research (ZEFIR), Ruhr-University Bochum. His research focuses on violence-related norms in urban contexts as well as migration and radicalization. Dr. Kurtenbach coordinated an international research group, which focused on the code of the street from a cross-cultural perspective. His articles have appeared in international peer-reviewed journals (e.g., Journal of Community Psychology, Deviant Behavior, Urban Research & Practice) and he is the co-author of Youth Violence: A Cross-Cultural Comparison in Germany, South Africa, and Pakistan (Springer International, 2019). Timothy R. Lauger, Ph.D., is an associate professor of criminal justice and criminology at Niagara Uni-

versity. His research focuses on street gangs, violence, culture, and social constructionism. He is the author of the book Real Gangstas: Legitimacy, Reputation, and Violence in the Intergang Environment, which was published by Rutgers University Press in 2012. His article “Violent Stories: Personal Narratives, Street Socialization, and the Negotiation of Street Culture Among Street-Oriented Youth” received the James L. Maddex, Jr., Criminal Justice Review, Paper of the Year Award for 2014. Lauger is currently working on multiple projects related to gangs and violence. He is examining cultural elements within local underground rap music produced by gang members. His first article on that topic was recently published in Justice Quarterly. Another project focuses on the relationship between religiosity, social networks, and deviance, which he recently published about in Sociology of Religion. He is currently focusing on a paper that examines the religious views of gang members and the impact they have on delinquency. He also works closely with local law enforcement agencies to examine patterns of gun violence in Niagara Falls, NY. Peter K. Manning, Ph.D., is a Fellow, Garfinkel Archieve. He has taught at Michigan State, MIT, Oxford, and the University of Michigan and was a fellow of the National Institute of Justice, Balliol and Wolfson Colleges, Oxford, the American Bar Foundation, the Rockefeller Villa (Bellagio), and the Centre for Socio-Legal Studies, Wolfson College, Oxford. He has been awarded many contracts and grants, the Bruce W. Smith and the O.W. Wilson Awards from the Academy of Criminal Justice Sciences, and the Charles Horton Cooley Award from the Michigan Sociological Association. The author and editor of some 15 books, including Privatization of Policing: Two Views (with Brian Forst) (Georgetown University Press, 2000), Manning’s research interests include the rationalizing and interplay of private and public policing, democratic policing, crime mapping and crime analysis, uses of information technology, and qualitative methods. Severine Mayere (Ph.D., M.Sc.) is an Associate Professor in urban and regional planning at Queensland University of Technology (QUT), Australia. Severine holds a master of science and a Ph.D. in urban and regional planning from Florida State University (United States) and a master’s degree in development and town planning from the University of Paris IV-Sorbonne (France). Prior to joining QUT, Severine worked as a research associate at the Technical University of Dresden (Germany) on a European Union-funded project looking at distressed urban areas in major European cities. Her current research focuses on land use conflicts, plan evaluation, and stakeholder engagement. She has also contributed to research projects looking at the governance of water resources, and stakeholder perceptions of densification. Severine is a Fellow of the UK Higher Education Academy. Gwénaëlle Moalic is a Washington, D.C.-based interior designer and amateur photographer with over a decades’ worth of experience. Her biggest source of influence is all of the beautiful and interesting things

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Contributors

she has seen and experienced in her travels around the world. Gwen is aesthetically curious and her style and taste are not governed by rules but by what is pleasing and personal. She is a firm believer that there are few rules when it comes to taste and style. Her interior design work can be viewed at http://gwenaellede sign.com. She is also a partner in Gwen & Cath Interiors www.gwencath.com. Christopher W. Mullins, Ph.D., is a professor of criminology and criminal justice at Southern Illinois Uni-

versity. His research focuses on the structural and cultural aspects of violence, including street violence, terrorism, and mass atrocity. He has published four books, Crime, Justice and Social Diversity (Cognella, 2015), Holding Your Square: Masculinities, Streetlife and Violence (Willan, 2006), Blood, Power, and Bedlam: Violations of International Criminal Law in Post-Colonial Africa (Peter Lang, 2008), and The International Criminal Court: Symbolic Gestures and the Generation of Global Social Control (Lexington, 2006); one co-edited volume, State Crime: Current Perspectives (Rutgers, 2011); and over 60 peer-reviewed articles and book chapters in a wide variety of outlets. He is currently working on a socio-legal history of the laws of war. Guy Osborn, Ph.D., is Professor of Law at Westminster Law School. His research focuses on intersec-

tions of the law with popular culture and previous work includes Film and the Law (Hart 2010); Regulating Football (Pluto Press, 2001) and Dancing on the Edge of Heaven. Contract and Control in the Entertainment Industry (Dartmouth, 1998). His current research projects include a HERA-funded project on the festivalization of public space and a British Academy-funded project on film censorship in India and GB. He co-edits the book series Routledge Studies in Law, Society and Popular Culture and the open access Entertainment and Sports Law Journal. He tweets at @prof_guy_osborn and runs the Dispatches from the Front Line of Law and Popular Culture blog. He believes the best research is collaborative and in areas in which you have a passion; his piece in this volume with his fine co-author Paul Gilchrist is a neat example of this philosophy. Susan A. Phillips, Ph.D., has studied gangs, graffiti, and the US prison system since 1990. Phillips received

her Ph.D. in anthropology in 1998 from UCLA, where she taught for four years. She is currently a full professor in environmental analysis and American studies at Pitzer College. Her books include Wallbangin: Graffiti and Gangs in L.A., published by the University of Chicago Press (Chicago, 1999), Operation Fly Trap: Gangs, Drugs, and the Law (Chicago, 2012), and, most recently, The City Beneath: A Century of Los Angeles Graffiti (Yale, 2019). Phillips has received numerous grants, including two Getty fellowships, a Soros Justice Media Fellowship, and a Harry Frank Guggenheim research grant. Phillips is interested in theories of violence, relationships between small-scale social groups and the state, and intersections between urban history, built infrastructure, and material life. Francesca Piazzoni is an assistant Professor at the University of Liverpool, School of Architecture. She researches the politics of public space with a focus on urban design justice, immigrant urbanisims, and critical heritage. Piazzoni holds a Ph.D. in Urban Planning from the University of Southern California, a Ph.D. in Architecture from IUAV University of Venice, and a Master of Architecture from Sapienza University of Rome. Cosmin Popan holds a PhD in mobility studies from Lancaster University. Currently, he is a Leverhulme

Postdoctoral Fellow working in the Department of Sociology at Manchester Metropolitan University. His research investigates the gig economy and its reconfiguration of urban spaces, with a focus on the management, solidarity and resistance of cycle couriers in three European cities: Manchester (UK). Lyon (France) and Cluj-Napoca (Romania). He is the author of Bicycle Utopias. Imagining Fast and Slow Cycling Futures (Routledge, 2019).

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Contributors

Robert A. Roks, Ph.D., is Assistant Professor of Criminology at the Erasmus University of Rotterdam. For

his Ph.D. thesis, he conducted an ethnographic study on a Dutch ‘gang’, the Rollin 200 Crips from the city of The Hague. As a qualitative researcher, he has a special interest in navigating digital and physical street life by collecting data via social media platforms. His research has focused on the digitization of street culture, the evolution of street gangs, organized crime in the Netherlands, and drug trafficking in the Port of Rotterdam and has been published in the Journal of Contemporary Ethnography; Crime, Media, Culture; Deviant Behavior; and Trends in Organized Crime. Michael Rowe, Ph.D., is a professor of criminology in the Department of Social Sciences at Northumbria University in the north east of England. He has an international reputation for his research and publications in the field of policing in broad terms but paying particular attention to matters of governance, accountability, and reform. These are applied to emerging debates relating to big data policing and the potential for evidencebased policing. Previous work has explored policing, race and racism, police culture, ethics and governance, and the policing of domestic violence. He has completed a series of studies exploring the motivation and engagement of offenders in desistance programs. He is currently leading a major study based on the theme of visible policing, which explores the communicative powers of police buildings, the impact of material culture, and the status of police images on social media. He has published widely on these and other topics – he’s published seven books on policing, crime, race and related issues and is the (co)author of more than 35 articles in scholarly journals. He is Editor of the International Journal of Police Science and Management. Prior to joining Northumbria University in 2009, he was Director of the Institute of Criminology at Victoria University Wellington and prior to that Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of Leicester. Simon I. Singer, Ph.D., is a professor of criminology and criminal justice at Northeastern University. His

scholarship focuses on youth crime and justice. He has received awards from the American Sociological Association (Albert Reiss Book Award, 1999) for his book Recriminalizing Delinquency: Violent Juvenile Crime and Juvenile Justice Reform (Cambridge University Press, 1996), and from the American Society of Criminology (Hindelang Book Award, 2014) for his most recent book America’s Safest City: Delinquency and Modernity in Suburbia (New York University Press, 2014). His current research focuses on juveniles subject to long-term adult maximum sentences with a particular focus on juvenile lifers. Justin Spinney, Ph.D., is Senior Lecturer in Human Geography at Cardiff University. His research centers on the intersections between mobility, embodiment, environmental sustainability, and technology. These interests are underpinned by a political-economic focus on the production and maintenance of power and inequality and the application of post-structuralist theories in science and technology studies, actor network theory, and governmentality. He has written extensively on issues around urban cycling, most notably on cycling as socio-technical assemblage; mobile methods; and political economy of cycling in global cities. This work has been published in journals including Annals of the Association of American Geographers; Environment and Planning D; Mobilities; Geoforum; and a forthcoming Routledge monograph Fixing Urban Mobility: Cycling, Capital and Sustainability. Ben Stickle, Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Criminal Justice Administration at Middle Tennessee State University. He holds a Ph.D. in justice administration from the University of Louisville. Ben has nearly twenty years of policing and private security experience. He has published in Crime Prevention and Community Safety, Justice Policy Journal and other journals. Ben is the author of Metal Scrappers and Thieves: Scavenging for Survival and Profit (2017) with Palgrave Macmillan, which is the 2019 recipient of the MidSouth Sociological Association Distinguished Book Award. Ben’s research interests include policing, crime prevention, metal theft, and qualitative research methods.

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Contributors

Anna Svensdotter (Ph.D. Cand., M.Arch., B.Des. Arch., HEA Associate Fellow) graduated her B.Des. Architectural Studies (Hons1) at QUT 2013, M.Arch. QUT 2014. Anna has been involved with several significant research projects since graduating from the master of architecture at the School of Design at QUT at the end of 2014. Anna’s research is transdisciplinary with a focus on spatial justice, public urban place, transient urban conditions, and design for public. She is driven by a curiosity of the uniquely imperfect and temporal found in transient urban space. Anna is a lecturer and sessional academic across the disciplines of design at QUT in areas such as visualization, design, design theory, and more. Anna’s Ph.D. titled “Border Nomads: An Architectural Investigation of Transient Public Urban Place” explores the significance and meaning of transient public urban place to urban actors who operate in the societal margin. Eivind Nessa Torgersen holds a Ph.D. in linguistics from the University of Reading and is Professor of English language in the Department of Teacher Education at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology in Trondheim, Norway. He has worked on projects on Multicultural London English and language change in the south-east of England. His main publications are on phonological change in London English and the use of spoken corpora in sociolinguistic research. Other research interests are in second language acquisition and multilingualism. He is currently the principal investigator on a project on the acquisition of English in multilingual classrooms in Norway. Jeroen B.A. van den Broek, M.Sc., is a Ph.D. candidate at the Erasmus University of Rotterdam. His main

interests are in street culture, youth crime, and social media. His Ph.D. research focuses on defining and conceptualizing what street culture is in the Dutch city of Rotterdam and how social media play a role in the development and spread of street culture. Paul Watt, Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Musicology at Monash University, Australia, where he convenes the Street Music Research Group, comprising an international blend of scholars in music, law, human geography, urban and cultural studies, and economics. He has edited special issues on street music in Journal of Musicological Research and Nineteenth-Century Music Review. He is currently researching the changing nature of contemporary busking festivals. A scholar of music criticism, he is the author of Ernest Newman: A Critical Biography (The Boydell Press, 2017) and The Regulation and Reform of Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century England (Routledge: Royal Musical Association Monographs, 2018) and articles in journals including Music & Letters, the RMA Research Chronicle and the Yale Journal of Music & Religion. James Wicks, Ph.D., writes about Film Studies and is the author of two books on pop culture: Transnational

Representations: The State of Taiwan Cinema in the 1960s and 1970s (Hong Kong University Press, 2014), and An Annotated Bibliography of Taiwan Film Studies (Columbia University Press, 2016) with Jim Cheng and Sachie Noguchi. He is also published in Modern Chinese Literature and Culture, Journal of Chinese Cinemas, Journal of Taiwan Literary Studies, and Wiley-Blackwell’s A Companion to Chinese Cinema, among other publications. He grew up in Taiwan, completed his dissertation on Chinese Cinema at the University of California, San Diego in 2010, and is currently Professor of Literature and Film Studies at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego, California, where he teaches World Cinema and Postcolonialism courses. Therèsa M. Winge, Ph.D. Common throughout her research and design, Dr. Winge focuses on the construction/deconstruction of visual and material cultures. Her research examines subcultural dress for its meanings and construction of identity, which informs and inspires her designs and creative scholarship. She deconstructs the bricolage of specific subcultural dress for its significant elements that contribute to the construction/creation of her conceptual apparel designs, utilizing both traditional and innovative techniques and methodologies.

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Acknowledgments

Many people have influenced my research on street culture and this book in particular. I want to express my gratitude to Gerhard Boomgaarden, Senior Editor of Sociology at Routledge. Working on a second book with Gerhard has been a distinct pleasure. Always professional, considerate, and supportive, he is one of the finest editors in the business. Gerhard gives scholars the wide berth we need to do work that is so critical in this age of mass book production. Appreciation is also extended to Rebecca Brennan, senior publisher at Routledge who took over this project when Gerhard left. Special thanks to Mihaela Diana Ciobotea, Editorial Assistant, Sociology, at Routledge, who shepherded the manuscript through to production, and Ramachandran Vijayaraghavan, Project Manager, Apex CoVantage India who supervised production, including Barbara Walsh who copy-edited the manuscript. I would also like to extend my appreciation to the contributors for their excellent scholarship, their willingness to address my numerous comments and requests for revisions, and their patience. I also want to thank many of them for suggesting appropriate chapter writers and discussing the finer nuances of the subject matter with me. Thanks to Ron Weitzer and Jill McCracken for recommending additional chapter writers. Expressions of gratitude go out to Rachel Reynolds for editing selected chapters of this book, and to some of my contributors who provided anonymous reviews of a handful of chapters. Thanks to my many research assistants over the years, who tirelessly tracked down articles and books that I forced them to find, sometimes with only a few cryptic details. Three anonymous reviewers of the book proposal helped me to improve the focus of this project. Thanks to Peter K. Manning for the excellent foreword and to Gwénaëlle Moalic for the great cover photo. Over the years, many people have shaped my thinking about crime, criminals, graffiti and street art, urban space, the streets, and cities. They include, but are not limited to: Gregg Barak, Stefano Bloch, Ricardo M.O. Campos, Francis T. Cullen, Jim Daichendt, Jeff Ferrell, Larry French, David O. Friedrichs, Ted Robert Gurr, Mark S. Hamm, Chris Hart, Keith Hayward, Irving Horowitz, Jonathan Ilan, Rick Jones, Victor Kappeler, Ronald L. Kramer, Sebastian Kurtenbach, John F. Lennon, Nancy Macdonald, Peter Manning, Gary Marx, Ray Michaelowski, Susan A. Phillips, Nathan Pino, Stephen C. Richards, Dawn L. Rothe, Marty Schwartz, Richard Tewksbury, Ken Tunnell, Austin T. Turk, Loic Wacquant, Frank (Trey) Williams, Aaron Z. Winter, Benjamin S. Wright, and Miguel Zaldivar. From my childhood to my multiple work experiences, I also recognize the debt I owe to numerous friends, relatives, co-workers, and bosses, too numerous to list. Final thanks go to Natasha J. Cabrera (my wife), and our children, Keanu Ross-Cabrera and Dakota Ross-Cabrera. As my immediate family, they have been subject to my frequent ramblings and rants about the streets, including the diversity of people who live, work, or pass through them, and the interesting things and processes I have discovered in that unique context.

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Editor’s foreword

Introduction My interest in the streets in general, and street culture in particular, has been long-standing. As a teenager growing up in Parkwoods/Donalda, a sterile and boring suburb of Toronto, a number of experiences shaped my introduction to the streets and street culture. At a comparatively early age, I learned how to use public transportation and would frequently go downtown on my own to encounter what seemed, at the time, to be not just a foreign, but an exotic environment. I walked the streets and back alleys and strolled through parkettes frequented by locals. I visited select restaurants, stores, pool halls, and boxing clubs to see and experience what was going on in those places and to soak up the unique nuances they provided. Back in Parkwoods/Donalda, along with a small circle of friends, I engaged in low-level acts of juvenile delinquency, but for a variety of reasons, I  never continued in this behavior past my adolescence. I eventually dropped out of high school, moved out of my parents’ house, and almost immediately moved downtown to Little Italy/Portugal, spending a considerable amount of time in the now gentrified College, Dundas, and Ossington neighborhoods. For a brief period, I passed numerous hours alongside unemployed, alcohol- and drug-dependent, and often homeless men, waiting for my name to be called for day labor jobs. I got to see up close the world described in the classic book, The Universe Ends at Sherbourne & Queen (Plantos, 1977). Eventually I worked as a courier for two years and a cab driver for another two. Through taxi driving and working nights, mostly in the working-class East End of Toronto, I interacted with a wide variety of people (e.g., cab owners, dispatchers, drunks, fellow taxi drivers, mechanics, nurses, people out on bail or parole, police, sex workers, small-time gamblers, pimps, and single mothers with children jumping around in the back seat). I spent my free time hanging out in Kensington Market and Chinatown and joined two successive Kung Fu clubs, spending hours occupying myself in the stances, forms, and sub and organizational cultures of those institutions, trying to deconstruct and understand what was happening in these unique settings. I eventually enrolled in a back-door program at the University of Toronto, and after a year of hard work and struggle, but mostly because of a strong letter of recommendation from my instructor, I was finally granted full-time admission. Two years later, I moved to the Spadina/Bloor area, where I immersed myself in a different urban experience. My work as a psychiatric assistant for close to four years at Metro Toronto Forensic Services (METFORS), a hybrid correctional facility, as a front-line staff member placed me in direct contact with numerous mentally ill individuals who were charged with or convicted of criminal offences (Ross, 2011). Although some of them were hardened criminals, the majority were the castoffs, people who had slipped through the cracks, who spent most of their time on the streets just trying to survive and get by. xxvi

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Although I did not know the scholarly terms then as I do now, it was through these experiences that I learned about street capital, street code, street etiquette, street life, street literacy, and survival. For me, the streets have always been more captivating than popular middle-class distractions, such as shopping, watching television, or organized sports. Whether in densely populated areas of big cities or in small towns, I found my calling in the built environment, the poor and working-class parts of town, the dive bars, the music venues, and greasy spoons, where the locals hang out. My companions? The people who populated and frequented these spaces – from pedestrians and shopkeepers to street cleaners and sidewalk vendors, including the subterranean networks that develop in these locations.1 My interest in the streets and street culture has continued in the cities where I have lived and/or worked, including Baltimore, Bochum, Boulder, Cleveland, Denver, Lethbridge, Montreal, New York City, Padua, and Washington, D.C., as well as cities that I have visited (e.g., Berlin, Calgary, London, Madrid, Paris, Rome, Santiago, etc.). Far from touristic or voyeuristic, these experiences have represented my attempt to seek out the meaning behind and within different urban and street cultures.2 My scholarly research and writing on street culture began with my dissertation, “The Politics and Control of Police Violence: A comparative study of Toronto and New York City” (Ross, 1993), and a considerable amount of my scholarship has focused on municipal policing (Ross, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2012). This led to work on street crime (Ross, 2013), and then progressed to scholarship on graffiti and street art (Ross & Wright, 2014; Ross, 2015, 2016, 2020; Ross & Kramer, 2018; Ross & Lennon, 2018; Ross, Bengtsen, Lennon, Phillips, & Wilson, 2017). Only in recent years has my work focused more directly on street culture (e.g., Ross, 2018; Ross et al., 2021). I have also taught classes on graffiti and street art, municipal policing, street crime, and urban politics, during which I have attempted to communicate what I have learned to my students. This book is, thus, a natural result of this personal, scholarly, and pedagogical journey.3

Background and features of the Handbook Written by an international team of respected scholars, the Routledge Handbook of Street Culture (hereafter, the Handbook) integrates both long-standing and current scholarship and trends in the field of street culture. The book includes 31 chapters that cover the subject in a comprehensive manner. The Handbook attempts to be an overarching treatment of street culture topics and a demonstration of some of the cutting-edge work surrounding this issue. The chapters cover the concepts, processes, and theories closely connected to the subtopics, as well as the methods for investigating the many aspects that comprise street culture. Contributors treat their respective topics holistically, attempting to present their understanding of each topic in its historical, social, and political contexts. Where appropriate, the Handbook also examines the transnational nature of street culture(s). Readers may wonder why some topics (e.g., cab drivers, skateboarders, and parkour participants) are represented, while others (e.g., tattooing or body modification) are not. This begs a handful of related questions, including why some locations and not others were selected for chapters. The answer is simple. I attempted to include scholars who could talk about important processes in big cities across different continents, and the inclusion of particular topics was also a reflection of my ability to secure experts willing to write on a specific subject. One danger of scholarly work on street culture is the tendency to apply an American frame of reference to what is, for all intents and purposes, a global phenomenon. Through various contexts and locations, the Handbook represents the complex interconnectedness in the globalized street culture phenomenon by utilizing a comparative framework. In total, the chapters aim to cover the challenges of research on street culture as well as long-standing and current debates. These debates are not merely semantic or disciplinary, but are framed critically by power dynamics and economic, political, and/or social relationships. xxvii

Editor’s foreword

The Handbook reviews causes, reactions, and so-called solutions (if any or necessary) to the challenges facing street culture and those who participate in it. Contributors integrate research that uses a variety of methods addressing current events, secured from a variety of sources including but not limited to peer review research and mass media communications, including news media accounts gathered by respected news outlets.

Introduction to each section Similar to my Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art (Ross, 2016), in advance of each section, there are short introductions to the content that follows, which are intended to help the reader understand the structure of the subtopic. The section introductions discuss the importance of the subcomponents and their relevance to the field, and preview the selections included in each section. The section introductions are an opportunity to make general observations about the field and to stress, rank order, or otherwise analyze various perspectives that I feel are the most important to understanding the subject matter at hand. The section introductions are also an opportunity to discuss omissions, material that is not otherwise included in the section.

Contributors and scholarly disciplines In order to best represent the diversity in gender, race, and ethnicity of the subject scholars who work in each subfield, chapter writers were carefully selected. Not only are there a significant number of female contributors,4 but chapter writers are also from varying ethnic and racial backgrounds. This approach to contributors also extended to the range of scholarly specializations. Contributors to the Handbook are recognized world experts/scholars who self-identify themselves with the fields of American studies, anthropology, architectural history, art history/theory, conflict processes, criminology, criminal justice, critical theory, cultural anthropology, cultural geography, cultural studies, fashion, film studies, French studies, geography and development, Latin American studies, LGBT studies, marketing, migration, photography, political science, popular music studies, race and ethnic studies, skateboarding studies, sociology, urban history, urban sociology, and youth studies. These subject matter specializations are reflected in the content of the chapters. In the end, the chapters for the book are written by an interesting collection of scholars (bios of whom are provided in the Contributors section of the book), whose work is truly interdisciplinary. The authors also come from a variety of countries. These include contributors from: Australia (5); Canada (2); Chile (1); France (1); Germany (1); Italy (1); Korea (1); The Netherlands (2); Norway (1); Portugal (1); Spain (1); United Kingdom (8); United States (15); and Vietnam (1).5 Meanwhile, all the primary authors have Ph.D.s, while some of the coauthors only have master’s degrees. Also, just because a particular expert or subtopic is not reflected in this book does not mean that efforts to invite someone to cover this material did not occur. Attempts were made to invite well-respected scholars/experts in the field, to have contributors who represented different genders, ethnic and racial groups, and nationalities, and to have every conceivable subtopic covered. The reasons why a particular subtopic is not reflected may be that I could not locate someone to cover a particular subject, I did not want to write it myself, or the person who agreed to produce a particular chapters did not complete it or did not do so to my satisfaction.

Foreword written by a prominent scholar The foreword is written by Peter K. Manning, Ph.D. Author and editor of some 15 books, including Privatization of Policing: Two Views (with Brian Forst) (Georgetown University Press, 2000), his research xxviii

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interests include the rationalizing and interplay of private and public policing, democratic policing, crime mapping and crime analysis, uses of information technology, and qualitative methods. He is a Fellow, Garfinkel Archieve.

Photos and exhibit boxes Some of the chapters have black and white photographs to illustrate the content, while other ones have ‘exhibit boxes’ (e.g., most typically a figure to assist in depicting a complicated topic). The boxes provide background details on items that may be of interest to students and instructors while also helping break up the flow of the text.

Appendixes The Handbook includes two appendixes: a keywords/glossary section and a chronology of significant events in the history of street culture.

Audience The Handbook will primarily appeal to scholars and libraries, and depending on the price, may have some university classroom use. In addition to the popularity of the street culture phenomenon, in AngloAmerican democracies and elsewhere, a reference book of this nature might hold some interest not only in the aforementioned fields (i.e., cultural studies, criminology/criminal justice, sociology, urban studies, etc.) but also among libraries at institutions that have programs in cultural studies, visual arts, tourism, and museum studies.

Reading level The reading level is targeted towards upper level university students (i.e., typically referred to as juniors and seniors at US universities) and graduate students. There is also a strong possibility that the book (or selected chapters) will appeal to students enrolled in core general education courses. These classes target first-year students as a means to transition them into university-level studies and often expose students to interdisciplinary and contemporary subject matter. Although the Handbook avoids a nuts and bolts approach that one will find in a typical textbook, it will be easy to read and is designed to answer common questions related to the subject matter asked by senior level undergraduate and graduate students. This book should also be relatively accessible to practitioners (i.e., individuals working, or aspiring to work, in the fields of criminal justice, law enforcement, art history, museum studies, tourism studies, urban studies, etc.) and policymakers in these fields, as well as members of the news media covering stories on elements of street culture. The audience will be international in scope.

Acknowledgments Thanks to Bárbara Barraza Uribe, David Fieni, Sebastian Kurtenbach, Susan A. Phillips, Rachel Reynolds, Robby Roks, Dakota Ross-Cabrera, and the anonymous reviewers for comments on earlier versions of this material.

Notes 1 A complimentary explanation can be found in the “Editor’s Foreword” in my Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art (Ross, 2016). xxix

Editor’s foreword

2 My interest should not be interpreted as hypocritical. I was not romanticizing the street nor the people who inhabit it. I always understood my privilege. Though not perfect, I had options that coming from a white middle-class household afforded me. 3 Not mentioned in this review are my numerous visits to correctional facilities, both in the United States and elsewhere, and the scholarship I have done in this area, including but not limited to being a founder of Convict Criminology. In many respects, this work has put me in direct contact with people who have the lived experience of the streets. 4 Including the foreword writer, more than half the contributors are women. 5 This breakdown includes both country of origin and current country where the scholar is living. Naturally some contributors share multiple citizenships.

References Plantos, T. (1977). The universe ends at Sherbourne & Queen. Toronto: Steel Rail Publications. Ross, J. I. (1993). The politics and control of police violence in New York City and Toronto (PhD dissertation), University of Colorado, Boulder. Ross, J. I. (1994). The future of municipal police violence in advanced industrialized democracies: Towards a structural causal model. Police Studies: The International Review of Police Development, 17(2), 1–27. Ross, J. I. (1995). Confronting community policing: Minimizing community policing as public relations. In P. C. Kratcoski & D. Dukes (Eds.), Issues in community policing (pp. 243–259). Cincinnati: ACJS/Anderson. Ross, J. I. (2000). Making news of police violence: A comparative study of Toronto and New York City. Westport, CT: Praeger. Ross, J. I. (2011). Patient evaluations R us: The dynamics of power relations inside a forensic psychiatric facility from the bottom up. In L. M. Johnson (Ed.), Experiencing corrections (pp. 55–72). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ross, J. I. (2012). Policing issues: Challenges and controversies. Sudbury, MA: Jones and Bartlett. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2013). Encyclopedia of street crime in America. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ross, J. I. (2015). Graffiti goes to the movies: American fictional films featuring graffiti artists/Writers and themes. Contemporary Justice Review, 18(3), 366–383. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2016). Routledge handbook of graffiti and street art. New York, NY: Routledge. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing street culture. Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Ross, J. I. (2020). Graf and street art in defiance of Trump, his family and his administration. In R. Campos, Y. Zaimakis, & A. Pavoni (Eds.), Street politics in critical times: Street art, graffiti and visual protest across the world. New York, NY: Berghahn Books. Ross, J. I., Bengtsen, P., Lennon, J. F., Phillips, S., & Wilson, J. Z. (2017). In search of academic legitimacy: The current state of scholarship on graffiti and street art. The Social Science Journal, 54(4), 411–419. Ross, J. I., Daichendt, G. J., Kurtenbach, S., Gilchrist, P., Charles, M., & Wicks, J. (2021). Clarifying street culture: Integrating a diversity of opinions and voices. Urban Research and Practice, 14(2) (forthcoming). Ross, J. I., & Kramer, R. (2018). What’s up doc? A review and analysis of English language documentaries on contemporary graffiti and street art. Street Art & Urban Creativity, 4(2), 97–105. Ross, J. I., & Lennon, J. F. (2018). Teaching about graffiti and street art to undergraduate students at U.S. Universities: Confronting challenges and seizing opportunities. Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies in Education, 6(2), 1–19. Ross, J. I., & Wright, B. S. (2014). “I’ve got better things to worry about”: Police perceptions of graffiti and street art in a large mid-Atlantic city. Police Quarterly, 17(2), 176–200.

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Foreword From the Chicago School to the Routledge Handbook of Street Culture Peter K. Manning

Let us take a walk, perhaps as a flanêur or stroller. In the late midday in a big city, life springs forth. We could wander, across streets, through alleys, stepping lightly through entangled places under bridges and freeways, on subway platforms, seeing some things, missing others. On the walk, we might hear music, smell foods and the dust blown on windy days, see art, graffiti, and performances, be touched by the scenes of street people, perhaps homeless, perhaps runners or practitioners of yoga, martial arts, or mediation, buy something to eat, skate a bit, find some treasures in a dumpster or abandoned on the street. The stroller strolls, seeing clusters of young men, being stopped and searched, their hands against the wall and legs spread. Authority makes its move. Crossing the street, skate boarding, or in a car, one can be stopped by an officer of the law at any time for any reason What we have seen on this little walk contrasts with the “local news” version of the order we have seen. Our walk can be represented and re-represented on social media, pod casts, and Facebook and Instagram and Daily Kos, television, films, Broadway plays, and high school dramas. These are representations of everyday experiences, modified, stylized, conflated, collapsed, and rendered. Local news takes the exception, a fire, a loss of power, a flood, a police intervention, as “news,” that is what is different today from yesterday and different implicitly from tomorrow. This stream is not the stream of street culture because it is premised on any next thing that will happen. So, on this walk, we see a set of places, smells, sounds, feelings, activities, and encounters with formal authority. In this, we see several contrasts or paradigms – informal social control and formal social control. The illusion of conventional thinking is that the everyday world of the city is a dark, disorganized “underworld” lacking collective efficacy, and therefore requiring control, stops, raids, sweeps, and arrests. These, in turn, threaten to break down the local interaction orders. Prior to praising this marvelous collection of work, perhaps some history is needed. Sociology as we know it emerged at the end of the Nineteenth Century with the work of Durkheim, and in North America, the classic work punctuated by tragedy, Thomas and Znaniecki’s The Polish Peasant in Europe and America (1918). The founders of the University of Chicago Department of Sociology soon came to see that the growth of large cities, immigration, industrialization – things one could see, hear, feel, and smell as cities grew – were the future for which a rural protestant America was ill-prepared. Although the University was a product of the beneficence of a newly endowed Baptist industrialist, John D. Rockefeller, it was struggling for a mandate while engaged with the city in creating the first census of Chicago, creating maps xxxi

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with little stickers identifying social indicators, and educating the young. The arrival of Robert Park, a genius educated in Germany, a journalist by trade, and his collaborators, Ernest Burgess, a genius of another kind, and the demographer Roderick McKenzie, produced the great effervescence of framed and organized information that in time became urban sociology in its various guises and labels. In their collaborative work, a turning point in knowledge creation, Park and Burgess edited and created the famous Introduction to Sociology, published by the University of Chicago Press (1920a).1 The “Green Bible,” as it was called, was not a textbook in modern terms, but an edited collection of ideas snatched from many sources and groped for analogies from biology. There was a subtext too, challenging the sterile ideas of Herbert Spencer about evolution and urging a democratic, equalitarian notion of an educated populace, unity in diversity, and a dynamic conception of the city. The collection was an uneasy one with biological examples and social examples intended to grasp the city as a changing dynamic locale, and the social psychology of the city – the attitude of the city as a mosaic of social worlds, or better still, a moving puzzle whose pieces changed shape as the picture was redrawn. These themes led to rich ethnographic and demographic studies, collectively known as “The Chicago School.” It was a rich tapestry, a paean to change, adaptability, and coping, not of “failure,” “deviance,” “crime,” or “homelessness.” The later work of Everett C. Hughes at the University of Chicago (1971) inspired another generation after WWII including Howard Becker, Erving Goffman, Ray Gold, Joe Gusfield, Robert Habenstein, Helen Hughes, William Westley, and many others who contributed to collections of Chicago-style work. The fundamental idea, as we see in these wonderful descriptions of segments of urban society, is that through the practices is revealed an interactional order, a reflection of Durkheim. They exemplify modernity emerging. One learns as much from the practices of the janitor as one does from those of the physician or the lawyer. In this sense, see Anderson as a hobo, Becker as a musician, Hughes as a village local in French Canada, Goffman in the Shetlands, and Gusfield studying the women of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union as process-oriented studies of change. This humane view of life, emphasizing coping, managing, and surviving was buried later in the late seventies with a critique of urban life based on a stereotype of broken families, crime, drugs, and disobedience. Many of the classic concerns about integration, assimilation, and equality were reduced to a single topic – a metonymic series, perhaps a synecdoche – crime, drugs, and non-nuclear families. These constitute the city as seen in the mass media of all kinds and reproduced by careerist criminologists. The efforts to create formal institutes, departments, or colleges devoted to urbanity and modernity were resisted in the seventies and new efforts emerged in the form of African-American studies, Ethnic Studies, and regional studies. These further isolated scholars with comparative, cross-cultural, sociocultural interests. By the early eighties, urban life, as sketched by George Kelling, became a nightmare of broken windows that must be solved and the focus became crime as the police defined it. The idea was of course to shatter the resistance and vibrancy of the streets and turn them into hunting grounds for bored police. The Other was unstated but known. This of course is not the disorder of urban life; it is police reading of that which they can capture in their statistics. With the growth of fantasy criminology – the work of the Police Foundation, acolytes of Kelling, and a few striving statisticians was now based on flawed experimental methods – the richly detailed work of Elijah Anderson (2003), Victor Rios (2011), Robert Duran (2013), Alice Goffman (2014), and Waverly Duck (2015) was now made secondary. This work, often powerful and full of ironies, showed not “disorganization,” but the viability of local communities and their resilient interaction orders. As many of these chapters on homelessness, street vending, and graffiti show, modern urban life required compromise, exchange, caring, mutuality, and equality. These two views of urban life, as broken needing intervention and resistant cultures, were not just different – they were incompatible. One emphasized the theme of crushing the imagined other and crime, while the others emphasized the civility, humanity, and decency of those caught in the web of an individualistic society. So, while Urban Studies, Urban Sociology, and African-American Studies were underfunded and tenure lines were withdrawn, the field of “criminal justice,” once called police administration or police science, was transformed into how xxxii

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to track and whack imagined criminals. These efforts later became a cynosure of reactionary politics and nativistic movements (e.g., Trump’s followers). Crime, not justice, narrowed, ignored, or desiccated the work of what was criminology. The criminology of the Chicago School and its followers was abandoned to the ignominious sycophantic quest for crime control. This quest was not a management question – it was a form of eradication. In time, exploring the dynamic contexts of urban life became the focus of art, communication, music, and other academic departments and the gyroscopic social media. Criminology became a lost art. These developments set the stage for displaying the talents to be found within universities and on the streets, talents alive to change, challenge, and differences that made a difference, including art, music, skateboarding, vending, and aspects of the shadow institutions that supply goods and services denied by law and tradition to the poor, the foremost of these being drugs, medical care services like abortion made illegal, loans, and protection of house and home. These services made by creative local groups, small business people with drugs on offer, street parties, music and dance, fill in in part for that which is denied (e.g., lack of services or “under policing” – not providing service, delayed arrival, not coming at all, leaving “no go zones in cities”). The current University scene is entangled in the concerns of anthropology, cultural studies, communication studies, and sociology and institutes concerned with sex, gender, regional studies, and criminal justice. Will there be in time a Department of Street Culture Studies? Maybe? This Handbook is an effort to build on the imaginative studies of the past few years that break new ground. The work is eclectic and builds on many traditions, styles, and kinds of data and illustrates Ross’s creative definition of culture. The suggestion of his many-faceted definition, perhaps, is that looking “down” from above to see how values and beliefs shape action is less useful than seeing how practices and the interaction orders of places at given times have a logic and meaning in situ. The rich complexity of the chapters herewith invite reading, not summary comment, in part because they span a range of topics, a range of methods and techniques, and a concern about that which is dynamic, sometimes under the radar, and is sustaining. The chapters show not what is featured on local news, fires, accidents and “inexplicable crimes” in a neighborhood in which crime never happens, but that which drives life day by day. They illustrate the ongoing mystery of abstract notions about culture that have been with us for at least 150 years. They are mystified by abstractions that are derived in part from studies of preliterate cultures, in part from adapting a kind of “mock-up” or abstracted view of culture (Garfinkel, 2019) seen via idealized outlines of kinship (amply criticized by Leach, 1954; Pitt-Rivers, 1971; Bordieu, 1990). What is seen in these imaginative studies is the salience of dense, continued interaction amongst locals who are on the scene. The binding force might be exchange, the gift-giving as outlined by Mauss (1979a) on the basis of historical documents and illustrated by cross-cultural examples by Bourdieu (1990). Street life plays on loose coupling, exchanges and social capital that is based on presence, not land or property. Urban exchanges, begging, street art, hustling, drug dealing and the rest are not about the item exchanged: they are about the exchange itself. Unlike the exchanges of symbolic property on Wall Street, real estate buying and selling, street culture is based on equalitarian exchange, as Durkheim (1961) suggested was the essence of modernity. This is seen in many of the chapters here, but I would seize on graffiti (see Part II). Kelling and Bratton made their “name” by removing graffiti on New York subway cars and praising arrests for people failing to pay, rousting homeless people from subway platforms and calling this a message from Jane Jacobs (Kelling & Coles, 1998). The art erased did not perish; it rose again as a kind of gift to others, a “see me” and “I see you” message. The tacit exchange on the streets is a matter of “working consensus” (Goffman, 1959, p. 16) and is seen every day as many chapters here show us. Let us turn this around to see the work of Elijah Anderson in A Place on the Corner (1978/2003). Based on observations at local convenience stores and its customers, we find an evocative example of kindness, mutuality, and exchange and how it is governed. The gatherings at the place were a mixture of mutual aid, social control, and sociability. It is a place like many described here, a place of local conviviality. This study depicts an interaction order of exchange that sustains friendships; this masterful work preceded later work which was xxxiii

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misunderstood. Anderson’s introduction to a reissuing of Dubois’ Philadelphia Negro (1899/1995) is a classic itself. As Ross points out, the work of Anderson in one book, The Code of the Street (1999), in time was shriveled, stripped of its richness, and taken as an indication of “street culture” in general even as it was a picture of a segment of interaction and gentrification in one Philadelphia locality. However, see his masterful overview as contrast (2011). The value of street culture and art embedded in class, race, and culture is seen perhaps by a contrasting example from an Olde New England town.2 The Chamber of Commerce of Olde Town, also called “Richport,” sponsors displays on Halloween and Christmas and lamp posts are bought for displays featuring the tags “Bill Smith Real Estate” and “New England Olde Bank.” These are then judged. Commercialism guides the work, decisions, and displays consensus. No challenging graffiti is featured; there is little street culture there – a few lonely teenagers slump on the street in front of the Dunkin’ Doughnuts, their skateboards wandering at their feet. Culture is found at late afternoon movies at the Library, local classes in French, pottery and Yoga, the many churches, and activities: walking dogs and assiduously picking up their poop. BIG BIG cars, trucks, SUVs, huge cars labelled “Armanda,” “Denali,” and Jeeps called “Rubicon,” find nowhere to park. The dogs can piss as and when and where they please. The city contracts a man in a little golf cart to water the pansies in the window boxes hung on the side of concrete block business buildings. In the local dive bars, sad icons sit with a bottle of Bud Light, buying five-dollar lottery tickets and talking about their days in the Coast Guard. The local harbor master entertains with stories about himself and those in near chairs relocate. The police lurk nearby, ready to write tickets for DWI, but most of the patrons have no cars. This Handbook includes a variety of richly detailed and engaging portraits of street activities, and given this, they are difficult to characterize fully. What holds together collections of people on the streets, the artisans, drug dealers, the venders, everyday men looking for part-time work, the lost and homeless? As Ross and these chapters show, a few things work consistently: exchanges on the ground of money, care, food, temporary housing; local rituals of concern – displays honoring the dead, gatherings for parties and holidays; celebrations of success and shared feelings of loss. “Street culture” in this sense is not restricted to the street, it is an umbrella of practices seen in cheap motels, apartments rented by the day, week, or month, in small towns in small gaggles, and in queues waiting for emergency care. Locations, place, and time make a difference in the patterning of interactions and of street culture. The density, frequency, quality, and consequentiality of interactions varies by time, place, weather, and attendant biographies. The definition of self, that which others attribute to one and one recognizes, is a puzzle and as Goffman (1959) argues, the self is fragile and situational and is not the property of a person. In the U.S., a bundle of assumptions survives, like yesterday’s pizza in a plastic bag. This bundle includes individuals alone achieve what they achieve or do not achieve; mobility and success is a combination of individual efforts, “breaks” and hard work. Ipso facto, those who are unemployed, homeless, and poor must not have met the two criteria. There is an exclusionary clause: if the economy plunges, the business closes, or if “illegal immigrants took the jobs” (jobs that no one wants?), one is not to blame – just out of a job with little public assistance. The dangling hope is a sudden break-through, fame like a famous athlete, movie star, or musician! A hit song? Win the lottery! The celebrity is the imagined self of the hopeful. The self is elevated as a false indication of the mechanisms promoting success. The idea of a self-as-source-of-success is like a lighthouse to which a ship is drawn to the rocks rather than steering away. The light conceals and reveals. The interactionally based webs, the culture of interactional support links selves into some sort of community. As I once heard told in a Texas bar by an M.D. who once lectured to graduating medical students “if you see an old horned toad sitting on top of a fence-post, you know he sure didn’t hop up there by hisself.” Work on street culture raises questions about conventional definitions of locality such as neighborhood, community, and even city. Thomas Pynchon (1965) calls a city a collection of addresses, zip codes, and phone numbers and sociologists have reduced community to gatherings of data on census tracts, partial census tracts, police districts, and calls for service. Geographers might cite changes in terrain or water flow. xxxiv

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Google maps shows that which you need to know today. Cities possess a dynamic of catabolic and anabolic processes (Park & Burgess, 1920b) and borders shift in time. There are individualistic definitions of “my neighborhood,” but also collective notions based on natural boundaries, monuments, parks, and schools. Many cues are used to define it. As a child, if I were asked what was my neighborhood, I would say I go to Sabin school or later, Grant High. I did not live in a neighborhood. It was sometimes called the Irvington district, but that indicated to me another grade school, not mine. In the distant Northwest of Portland and directly North of my house were mysterious parks and schools and houses with people who came to build ships. As many chapters here show, the place where you live (or not) and how you live varies and this is patterned by material factors, buildings, open spaces, parks, weather, and conventions. It is better to be homeless in Berkeley than in Pittsburgh. While Mauss (1979b) described the seasonal variations in the Innuit in the far North, there is no demographical-statistical study of the shifting cultures of large cities based on migration, weather, and perceived opportunities. As many selections here show, street culture morphs and re-morphs. Perhaps in these troubled times, attention should be paid to the tragedy of a place on the border and seeing your children locked up. Insofar as street culture, as we see in these chapters, is a social form that shapes interaction, it is an example of the provocative ideas of Weber (1947) about the interactional basis for social order. One of many questions raised in this Handbook is the interdependence of dense, communal interactions and interactions based on purposive ends. Prosperity takes many forms. The failure of modern sociology is to see life through money-colored lenses and to reify success. In street cultures, many things count and some things that count do not. Connections, friendships, interpersonal skills count; style counts; local knowledge counts as does ability in many spheres; and visible material wealth counts. Each of these engenders obligations and debts “on the street.” They are the basis for loose configurations of obligation and mutuality. These are the threads of modernity. This Handbook sketches out the ways in which democracy works in everyday fashion through loose configurations of people interacting and making sense with a concern for justice. The “loose caboose,” an old cliché, referred to the outliers that operate at the edges of convention. Social media, as discussed in the Roks and Van den Broek chapter, is the cutting edge of culture in which new practices, formats, gift-giving, distribution of memes, notes, pictures, texts, emojis, and anything the mind can imagine can be found on various layers of the internet, the dark web, and other disguised modes of internet communication used by governments and others at the edges of conventional society. Consider the features of the social media available to any computer owner. There is no location required, only access to the internet; no names are needed, real or imagined are indistinguishable; messages are stripped of the necessary context – non-verbal gestures, postures, expressions, diacritical marks, and cues to sarcasm, wit, irony have to be indicated. A picture is not worth 1000 words. The range of expression and content is an extension of human communication and provides secret channels for otherwise hidden lusts, confusions, and compromises. It appears “private,” but is not. The data-gathering via “cookies” and social media companies like Facebook and others shows that almost anything on the internet is “public knowledge.” This does not address the more complex issue of the misnomer of “hacking,” breaking into codes, databases, and crude dissembling via e-mails proposing business opportunities, sex, a warm date, or an inheritance (Marx, 2016). The self is vulnerable in new and unknown ways. It is after all, situated. There are local community cyber-spots for groups, towns, kin, political or social issues; places where one can find pictures of dogs sleeping with cats, how to restore tin boxes, on-line flow of pictures from aquariums, and information. With vulnerable access comes dissimulation, fraud, crime based on computers, photoshopping, misleading propaganda, political advertisements, and reproductions of a simulated interaction order: a series of postings sort of connected one to the other (also patterned by some time lag), a kind of idiot’s debate and an archaeology of emotional losses and gains, e.g., online obituaries and funeral arrangements. The social media create a simulated or imagined “community,” a community for online dating, child pornography; a world in which the truth is what is shown and what is shown to be shown, that may also be deleted later today. The xxxv

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“street culture” for many is the imagined world of the internet where identities are fluid and changeable, locations nominal, the back stage and front stage are collapsed in the sense that one cannot imagine such a place in space except online and in science fiction. Finally, there is a sense of reflexivity in the violence of the media, the films, and screaming, mindless television promotions and the vulgarity of ads that depict the average citizen as a vulgar dupe, needing insurance. “Peaceful” gun rights advocates in Richmond, Virginia (Jan 20, 2020) walk the streets with AK-47s. This reflects implicitly the heroics of movie heroes and World Wide Wrestling and the utterly bizarre claim that guns save lives (a sign held up by the peaceful gun-rights demonstrators). This example of a mediated culture, only seen on the streets in desperation.

Notes 1 The book was published by the University of Chicago Press that was at that time a way to circulate class syllabi among other things. In due course, this function was reduced to photocopies, National Archives such as those created for dissertations by Xerox, and later the internet with its octopus like tentacles. 2 This is a segment of a working paper, “Richport Revealed: Marquand and Warner Again.”

References Anderson, E. (1978/2003). A place on the corner. Chicago: University of Chicago. Anderson, E. (1999). The code of the street. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Anderson, E. (2011). Cosmopolitan canopy. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Bourdieu, P. (1990). The logic of practice. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Dubois, W. E. B. (1899/1995). The Philadelphia Negro. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Duck, W. (2015). No way out. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Duran, R. (2013). Gang life in two cities. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Durkheim, E. (1961). The elementary forms of the religious life. New York, NY: Collier Books. Garfinkel, H. (2019). The history of Gulfport field. Siegen, Germany: Media of Cooperation. Goffman, A. (2014). Men on the run. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York, NY: Doubleday. Hughes, E. C. (1971). The sociological eye: Selected papers. Chicago: Aldine. Kelling, G., & Coles, C. (1998). Fixing broken windows. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster. Leach, E. (1954). Political systems of highland Burma. Boston: Beacon Press. Marx, G. (2016). Windows into the soul. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mauss, M. (1979a). The gift. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mauss, M. (1979b). The seasonal variations of the Eskimo: A study in social morphology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Park, R., & Burgess, E. (1920a). Introduction to sociology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Park, R., & Burgess, E. (1920b). The city. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pitt-Rivers, J. (1971). People of the sierra. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pynchon, T. (1965). The crying of lot 49. New York, NY: Harper-Collins. Rios, V. (2011). Punished: Policing the lifes of Black and Latino boys. New York, NY: New York University Press. Thomas, W. I., & Znaniecki, F. (1918). The polish peasant in Europe and America. Boston: Badger, Gorham Press. Weber, M. (1947). The theory of economic and social organization (A. M. Henderson & T. Parsons, Trans. Edited with an introduction by T. Parsons). Glencoe, IL: Free Press.

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Introduction Disentangling street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction The importance of urban environments and the people who live in them cannot be denied. Over half of the world’s population currently live in cities, and it is predicted that by 2050 two-thirds will live in these locations (United Nations, 2018a, 2018b). The behaviors and perceptions of city dwellers and visitors who choose or are forced to live and work in cities are important for our understanding of numerous, complex issues. One of the most interesting but least understood aspects is the notion that people who spend a disproportionate amount of time in the streets of our large urban centers create a unique culture, which dates back to the Chicago School. In particular, scholarly understandings of what we now know as “street culture” are epitomized in the work of Frederic Thrasher, who penned The Gang: A Study of 1,313 Gangs in Chicago in 1927, and William Foote Whyte, in his classic 1943 ethnography Street Corner Society. Over the past three decades, the concept of street culture has entered popular and scholarly lexicons. Used to label a large number of social activities that are part of the urban environment, expressions of street culture may include contemporary art, fashion, music, and human behavior in specific neighborhoods, shopping areas, or skate parks. Numerous articles, blogs, and books focus on street culture (Ilan, 2015; Ross, 2018). The vicissitudes of street culture are also found on popular websites, podcasts, and social media platforms (e.g., Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Tumbler, etc.). Despite myriad communication vehicles dedicated to the exploration of street culture, the phenomenon remains subject to a considerable amount of conceptual muddling and misunderstanding of both the practices it includes and the history of those behaviors. There is no shortage of people and organizations who make knowledge claims about street culture.1 By far, the most prominent are communications circulated by the mainstream media.

Popular literature Although popular media frequently report on select aspects of street culture, a handful of prominent lifestyle magazines and associated websites concentrate on street culture. One of them is Hypebeast, and another is Highsnobiety. Both of these venues focus primarily on current trends in fashion (in particular streetwear, like sneakers, and street style) and music (such as Hip-Hop). They do not examine street culture in any great depth beyond these two limited areas – possibly because this subject matter generates capital, rather 1

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than scholarly interest. A magazine that does a better job of integrating the various components of street culture is Juxtapoz, which also produces a podcast. Added to this mix is the existence of places such as the Museum of Street Culture. This institution, which opened in 2017 in Dallas, Texas, focuses on providing “a groundbreaking array of exhibitions, public art, and interactive visual and performing arts programming that will permeate all aspects of the project”2. Furthermore, in December 2017, Kurt Boone, a New York City-based courier and author of Subway Beats and Asphalt Warrior, convened a selection of colleagues to write entries about street culture for Wikipedia.3 This kind of activity has helped to popularize the notion of street culture and also to demarcate the subject matter so that the general public can better understand some of the elements of this phenomenon. The numerous discussions about street culture that individuals and organizations engage in are important stepping stones to understanding street culture at a deeper academic level, one that necessitates peer-reviewed consideration and a scholarly collection such as this handbook.

Scholarly literature Few discussions of street culture are provided by individuals who have academic credentials, who anchor their statements in scholarly work, or who have a strong understanding of rigorous research. Without such grounding, untrained observers frequently miss both considerable nuances and, occasionally, the core contextual underpinnings of street culture phenomena. By contrast, academics from different fields have been conducting research on various facets of street culture for a relatively long time. These studies have been part of larger discussions on urban environments, forms, and spaces (e.g., Jacobs, 1961; Whyte, 1980; Fainstein & Campbell, 2011; Hall, 2012; Karp, Stone, Yoels, & Dempsey, 2015; Duneier, 2016), urban changes and conflicts, such as gentrification, that have occurred in these contexts (e.g., Smith, 1996), varieties of street crimes (e.g., Gordon, 1991; Ross, 2013), road culture (e.g., Gunter, 2008), and the complexity of gangs (e.g., Curry, Decker, & Pyrooz, 2013). Many of these analyses, however, evince a cursory understanding of street culture that lacks sustained and systematic analysis (Ross, 2018). The world, urban environments, and academia can still function without rigorous scholarship on street culture, but given its increasing prominence in both popular and academic discourse, the time is ripe for an in-depth focus on this subject. Although there are a variety of different definitions (Anderson, 2000; Bourgois, 2003; Ilan, 2015), for the purpose of this handbook, our working definition of street culture is the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers (Ross, 2018, p. 8).4 This definition should be interpreted as a starting point, though it may privilege urban centers in terms of the applicability of the concepts and theories of street culture and diminish the contribution of suburban areas as places where street culture may also exist.5 Why? Street culture can manifest in both urban and suburban areas. Both geographic extremes can be either quite diverse or homogenous with respect to the people who live and/or work there. It all depends on the specific situation. In cities, however, there are more opportunities for greater face-to-face contact among people who live or work there. In the suburbs, on the other hand, there is typically more space separating residents, thus in person encounters are less frequent. Exceptions do exist. For example, the banlieue located on the outskirts of Paris, where large concentrations of immigrants live, or the Jane-Finch “Corridor” in Toronto, where the numerous high-rises where low-income people reside have unique street cultures. Overall, street culture is more prevalent in large urban centers because of increased opportunities for interaction and decreased physical space between the people who live, work, and/or visit there.6 Like my Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art (Ross, 2016), the Routledge Handbook of Street Culture embraces a comprehensive, interdisciplinary, and international treatment of the subject. The chapters

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Introduction

in the new Handbook draw upon contemporary scholarship produced in the fields of anthropology, art, criminology/criminal justice (especially the subfields of critical and cultural criminology, crime/deviance, and social control), cultural studies, fashion design, music, popular culture, sociology (specifically cultural sociology, deviance, ethnography, and sociology of youth), urban geography, urban studies, visual studies, and more. Scholarship in these fields are also found in discussions about gangs, incivilities, public and urban spaces, and subcultures. Given the diversity of this phenomenon and its study, a serious approach to the subject of street culture requires multidisciplinary, intersectional contributions. One of the challenges of organizing a project of this nature is that few scholars explicitly specialize in the topic of street culture – rather, street culture may be mentioned in passing or not at all in explorations of street culture phenomena. In the 1980s, the topic of street culture was most closely connected to urban sociology and geography. The term was popularized by Anderson (1978, 1990/2013), in particular in his work on the notion of a street code, which he defined as a set of informal rules governing interpersonal public behavior, including violence. This concept alone has generated a sizable amount of discussion and scholarly research. A  quick search on Google Scholar indicated that the term “street code” generated approximately 1,800 mentions prior to 1998 and 13,000 subsequently. The popularity of Anderson’s work has meant that many social scientists and outside observers mistakenly believe that street culture starts and ends with the concept of a “street code” (Ross, 2019). A handful of scholars have spent a sizable portion of their careers testing the street code idea, but this concept is frequently criticized for being based on challengeable assumptions, since the generalizability of the concept is not as wide as Anderson suggested (e.g., Wacquant, 2002; Heitmeyer et al., 2019). Thus, although it is important to address the “street code” concept, it would be unwise to assume that an entire book about street culture, no less a handbook, would also disproportionately focus on this subject. But the concept of street culture has also gained ground apart from Anderson’s contributions. In a recent review of the literature (Ross, 2018), I analyzed the scholarship on street culture. I outlined its varying facets and suggested the development of a dynamic and heuristic process model that integrates five dominant causal elements of street culture: street capital, street crime, competing cultural influences, mass media/ cultural industries, and social media (p. 5). Based on the contributions to this book, as well as the numerous examples of serious scholarship and activities that academics have written dealing specifically with street culture, it has proven to be an auspicious moment to delve into this material in depth. In other words, there is a great deal of activity in the field of street culture that warrants closer examination. My goal with this handbook is to bring together scholars who identify subcomponents of street culture, to consolidate scholarship which has been produced on this topic, and to critically analyze it.

Conceptual issues Scholars tend to be atomized according to their treatment of street culture – considering it only as part of gangs (Curry et al., 2013), graffiti and street art (Ferrell, 1996; Phillips, 1999; Macdonald, 2003; Snyder, 2009; Ross, 2016; Ross, Bengtsen, Lennon, Phillips, & Wilson, 2017), or street crime (Ross, 2013). The reality is that the concept is much bigger than these three prominent subject areas (Ross, 2018; Ross et al., 2021). Street culture varies across location, and many of the chapters in this book deal with its presence in different contexts, both in terms of the street, but also the city and the country. This handbook attempts to bring together a discussion of how street culture exists across multiple domains and to represent the rich diversity of scholarship around this topic. Street culture includes many subtypes, situations, locations, and participants that are explored in the various chapters included in this book. The chapters in the handbook aptly demonstrate how street cultures vary based on changes in capitalism, the ethnic and racial makeup of communities, globalization, market societies, policing, and migration and immigration, as well as advances in technology (e.g., Albrow, 1997).

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In the following section, I make distinctions among the street cultures and various related ideas, including the diversity of geographic contexts, street cultures and subcultures, street cultures and neighborhoods, street cultures and communities, street cultures and public space, and Orientalism versus Occidentalism. Street culture occurs in a variety of urban contexts. Street culture is manifested in cities, urban areas, metropolitan spaces, and suburbs. In general, cities are legal entities, and they are densely populated, whereas metropolitan areas extend beyond cities and into suburbs, in addition to the neighboring cities and counties where people live and work. The types of street culture are as numerous as the different kinds of streets that exist in a geographic context, but the urban street is the most dominant place where street culture takes place. Clearly, street culture operates in a geographic space and primarily happens in the open, making the literature on public space (e.g., Lefebvre, 1974/1991; Whyte, 1980; Tonkiss, 2005) particularly relevant to discussions of street culture. Likewise, there is competition over public space involving a variety of actors, some of whom are on the street (e.g., late night revelers hanging out in front of a bar), and others who are not (e.g., nearby residents whose sleep is disturbed). But not all public space gives rise to a unique street culture. Many public spaces are locations were people are transient (i.e., they neither work nor live there). Street culture is not simply the study of ghettos, barrios, slums, or no-go areas. Three interrelated areas of scholarly literature, place attachment, place identity, and/or neighborhood identification, are also embedded and intermeshed with street culture. “Place attachment” refers to the emotional connection an individual has with a location. It is affected by the experiences that a person has with a specific place (Florek, 2011; Lewicka, 2005, 2011; Simandan, 2011). On the other hand, “place identity” (also used interchangeably with urban character, neighborhood character, or local character) is used to describe the ideas about a place that people who live and work there have and how they construct their identity. And “neighborhood identification” is the “social identification with neighborhood. . . [it] brings residents together psychologically, as it furnishes them with a sense of being a part of something larger than themselves and a sense that they can collectively tackle neighbourhood problems” (Fong, Cruwys, Haslam, & Haslam, 2019, p. 101). Also important is the relationship between street culture and subcultures. Both “street culture” and “subcultures” are particular theoretical lenses through which to view non-mainstream styles of sociality and attendant forms of material and expressive culture. In many respects, street cultures are composed of numerous subcultures (e.g., Hebdige, 1979; Clarke, Hall, Jefferson,  & Roberts, 1993). These can range from the subcultures of graffiti writers (e.g., Ferrell, 1996; Phillips, 1999; Macdonald, 2003; Snyder, 2009) to that of sex workers (e.g., Hail-Jares, Shdaimah, & Leon, 2017) to the subculture of gangs (e.g., Cohen, 1955). Since these organizational units operate in urban environments, one has to assume that some, though not all, of their activities, attitudes, and norms easily map onto street culture. Teasing apart these concepts in thoughtful ways is one of the handbook’s core contributions. Street cultures and neighborhoods are intimately connected, and are part of the reason for the disproportionate scholarly focus on gangs, crime, and violence in treatments of street culture. On the assumption that neighborhoods differ on significant dimensions, it would make sense that neighborhood effects, including property values and mobility, are important, too (Keller, 1968). Street culture varies in its development based on the seasons and climatic conditions because of the way that temperature impacts street-based sociality, vehicular and pedestrian traffic, and selected types of commerce. The built environment of parks (e.g., Rome, Paris, Washington, D.C.), door steps (e.g., Baltimore), sidewalk cafes (e.g., London, Paris), or places where people can roller blade or skateboard (e.g., skateparks or selected surfaces in Central Park, New York City), all impact iterations of street culture phenomena. A final consideration is the problem of Orientalism versus Occidentalism and a call to carefully consider the global North and global South in the study of street culture phenomena. Scholars and members of the public often project Western values and categories on other continents in the world. In particular, “The lack of local knowledge, misdiagnosed problems, and ill-fitting policies based on Orientalism can be 4

Introduction

exacerbated by Occidentalism, which refers to the presumed similarity of ‘key’ cultural categories, practices, and institutions” (Cain, 2000, p. 239). One area where this becomes apparent is the complimentary ideas of “community” and “neighborhood” (Cain, 2000, p. 256; Blokland, 2003). Since these two ideas figure so prominently in conversations about street culture, being mindful of ethnocentric constructs surrounding its study is particularly important.

Features of the Handbook Introduction The Routledge Handbook of Street Culture (hereafter, Handbook) integrates current scholarship in the field of street culture and is written by a team of respected international scholars. All told, (including this Introduction) the handbook includes 31 chapters. In an effort to be as comprehensive as possible, the Handbook is currently organized around four principle sections (see the table of contents), with approximately seven chapters per section: • • • •

Actors and street culture Activities connected to street culture The centrality of crime to street culture Representations of street culture

Although the rationale for the selection of these topics will be discussed in the appropriate section, just because a particular subject is not represented for intense discussion does not mean that it was intentionally neglected, but more likely, I was not able to secure an appropriate expert to write about a particular subject. Similarly, one might ask why some locations and not others were selected for chapters. Although the chapters include discussions about big cities across different continents, they are also a reflection of my ability to secure experts willing to write on this particular subject matter. Another issue to consider is the tendency to apply a US frame of reference to the study and analysis of street culture. The reality, however, is that street culture is a global phenomenon (Sassen, 2011). In order to address this challenge, where appropriate, contributors to this handbook attempt to show the complexity of interconnectedness in the globalization of street culture(s). Street culture is not limited to the United States. Many chapters highlight street culture that occurs in selected cities throughout the world. An attempt was made to include discussions that focus on large global cities. Why is this important? Street culture varies from one neighborhood to another, and thus if we consolidate the street culture in a city, we might be able to step back and from a respectable distance say there is a unique urban street culture in each city. Does a particular country have a unique street culture or many unique street cultures? Is there one street culture that is more important or interesting than others? What is that street culture? Is it based in one city or multiple cities? Do people in the other cities try to emulate those street cultures? How and why do they emulate those street cultures? How does this street culture differ from other kinds of urban cultures such as gang culture, graffiti crew culture, bike messenger culture, etc. When did the street culture originate, what does it consist of (i.e., fashions, language, art), who participates in this street culture, is it only young people? Also, some chapter topics are combined. For example, instead of having standalone chapters on “Race and street culture,” “Ethnicity and street culture,” or “Migration and street culture,” discussions of these topics are found parenthetically in others ones. At a bare minimum, the chapters cover long-standing topics and current debates on the subject of street culture. These topics are not merely semantic or disciplinary bound, but are embedded in specific political and power dynamics and relationships. 5

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Disciplinary boundaries in the study of street culture The Handbook tackles each topic in as comprehensive a manner as possible, and contributors review causes, reactions and, where appropriate, solutions to the challenges of street culture. Contributors integrate both scholarly research that uses a variety of methods in their scholarly analysis and draw selectively on recent news media accounts and information gathered by respected news outlets. The Handbook also includes a keywords/glossary and a chronology of significant events in the history of street culture (See Contents following the introductory part of this proposal).

Acknowledgments Thanks to Stefano Bloch, David Fieni, Sebastian Kurtenbach, Susan A. Phillips, Rachel Reynolds, and the anonymous reviewers of the book proposal for comments on this section of the book.

Notes 1 See, for example, Manatakis (2018). 2 www.museumofstreetculture.org/mission–history.html (Last viewed 07/18/18). In an October 2019 telephone conversation, Alan Govenar, the museum’s founder, indicated that the institution was closing down soon. 3 Personal communication (October 2017). 4 A more recent article (Ross et al., 2021) examines this characterization in greater detail but does not offer a new definition. 5 See Singer’s chapter in this volume for a deeper discussion of this issue. 6 Granted there are often pockets located in the suburbs and in smaller towns where high concentrations of residences, offices, and transportation hubs are located, where qualitatively different types of interpersonal interactions occur in these areas.

References Albrow, M. (1997). Travelling beyond local cultures: Socioscapes in a global city. In J. Eade (Ed.), Living the global city: Globalization as local process (pp. 35–52). New York, NY: Routledge. Anderson, E. (1978). A place on the corner. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Anderson, E. (1990/2013). Street wise: Race, class, and change in an urban community. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Anderson, E. (2000). Code of the street: Decency, violence, and the moral life of the inner city. New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Blokland, T. (2003). Urban bonds: Social relationships in an inner city neighborhood. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bourgois, P. (2003). In search of respect: Selling crack in El Barrio (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cain, M. (2000). Orientalism, occidentalism, and the sociology of crime. British Journal of Criminology, 40(1), 239–260. Clarke, J., Hall, S., Jefferson, T., & Roberts, B. (1993). Subcultures, cultures, and class. In S. Hall & T. Jefferson (Eds.), Resistance through rituals: Youth subcultures in post-war Britain (pp. 9–74). London: Routledge. Cohen, A. K. (1955). Delinquent boys: The culture of the gang. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Curry, G. D., Decker, S. H., & Pyrooz, D. C. (2013). Confronting gangs: Crime and community (3rd ed.). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Duneier, M. (2016). Ghetto: The invention of a place, the history of an idea. New York, NY: Farrar Straus & Giroux. Fainstein, S., & Campbell, S. (Eds.). (2011). Readings in urban theory (3rd ed.). Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Ferrell, J. (1996). Crimes of style: Urban graffiti and the politics of criminality. Boston: Northeastern University Press. Florek, M. (2011). No place like home: Perspectives on place attachment and impacts on city management. Journal of Town & City Management, 1(4), 346–354. Fong, P., Cruwys, T., Haslam, C., & Haslam, A. (2019). Neighbourhood identification and mental health: How social identification moderates the relationship between socioeconomic disadvantage and health. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 61, 101–114. Gordon, D. (1991). The justice juggernaut: Fighting street crime, controlling citizens. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. 6

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Gunter, A. (2008). Growing up bad: Black youth, ‘road’ culture and badness in an East London neighbourhood. Crime Media & Culture, 4(3), 349–366. Hail-Jares, K., Shdaimah, C. S., & Leon, C. S. (2017). Challenging perspectives on street-based sex work. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Hall, S. (2012). City, street and citizen: The measure of the ordinary. London: Routledge. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The meaning of style. London and New York, NY: Routledge. Heitmeyer, W., Howell, S., Kurtenbach, S., Rauf, A., Zdun, S., Zaman, M., & Zdun, S. (2019). Codes of the streets in risky neighborhoods. New York, NY: Springer International. Ilan, J. (2015). Understanding street culture: Poverty, crime, youth and cool. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Jacobs, J. (1961). The death and life of great American cities. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Karp, D. A., Stone, G. P., Yoels, W. C., & Dempsey, N. P. (2015). Being urban: A sociology of city life (3rd ed.). Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio. Keller, S. I. (1968). The urban neighborhood: A sociological perspective. New York, NY: Random House. Lefebvre, H. (1974/1991). The production of space. Oxford: Blackwell. Lewicka, M. (2005). Ways to make people active: The role of place attachment, cultural capital, and neighborhood ties. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 25(1), 381–395. Lewicka, M. (2011). Place attachment: How far have we come in the last 40 years? Journal of Environmental Psychology, 31(3), 207–230. Macdonald, N. (2003). The graffiti subculture: Youth, masculinity, and identity in London and New York. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Manatakis, T. (2018). Six British artists pushing street culture forward in 2018. Dazed. Retrieved September  1, 2018, from www.dazeddigital.com/life-culture/article/40981/1/uk-street-artists-bone-breaker-krump-rap-kanerflex-greentea-peng Phillips, S. A. (1999). Wallbangin’: Graffiti and gangs in L.A. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2013). Encyclopedia of street crime in America. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2016). Routledge handbook of graffiti and street art. New York, NY: Routledge. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Ross, J. I. (2019). Foreword. In W. Heitmeyer, S. Howell, S. Kurtenbach, A. Rauf, M. Zaman, & S.·Zdun (Eds.), The codes of the street in risky neighborhoods a cross-cultural comparison of youth violence in Germany, Pakistan, and South Africa (pp. v–vvi). New York, NY: Springer International. Ross, J. I., Bengtsen, P., Lennon, J. F., Phillips, S., & Wilson, J. Z. (2017). In search of academic legitimacy: The current state of scholarship on graffiti and street art. The Social Science Journal, 54(4), 411–419. Ross, J. I., Daichendt, G. J., Kurtenbach, S., Gilchrist, P., Charles, M., & Wicks, J. (2021). Clarifying street culture: Integrating a diversity of opinions and voices. Urban Research and Practice, 14(2) (forthcoming). Sassen, S. (2011). The global street: Making the political. Globalizations, 8(5), 573–579. Simandan, D. (2011). On time, place and happiness. New Zealand Geographer, 67(1), 6–15. Smith, N. (1996). The new urban frontier: Gentrification and the revanchist city. New York, NY: Routledge. Snyder, G. J. (2009). Graffiti lives: Beyond the tag in New York’s urban underground. New York, NY: New York University Press. Thrasher, F. (1927/1973). The gang a study of 1,313 gangs in Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Tonkiss, F. (2005). Space, the city and social theory. Cambridge: Polity Press. United Nations. (2018a). 68% of the world population projected to live in urban areas by 2050, says UN. United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (UN DESA). Retrieved from www.un.org/development/desa/en/ news/population/2018-revision-of-world-urbanization-prospects.html United Nations. (2018b). World’s population increasingly urban with more than half living in urban areas. United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (UN DESA). Retrieved from www.un.org/en/development/desa/ news/population/world-urbanization-prospects-2014.html Wacquant, L. (2002). Review symposium: Scrutinizing the street: Poverty, morality, and the pitfalls of urban ethnography. American Journal of Sociology, 107(6), 1468–1532. Whyte, W. F. (1943/1993). Street corner society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Whyte, W. F. (1980). The social life of small urban spaces. New York, NY: Project for Public Spaces.

7

Part I

Actors and street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction At the core of street culture are the people and the professions that participate in and/or are affected by this activity. Some of them have considerable involvement with street culture, whereas for others, their contact is minimal. The five contributions in this section highlight some of the major players and participants in the street cultures of several highly populated, advanced industrialized cities.1 The streets frequently draw some people (e.g., homeless) who out of economic hardship and necessity have nowhere else to turn as places to live, beg, or sell their wares. Others (e.g., police) use the street as locations to enforce public order and social control. This latter category are often referred to as street-level bureaucrats (e.g., Lipskey, 1980). After briefly reviewing the content of this section of the book, I identify a handful of important omissions in the context of this category and draw conclusions about the additional research that is needed on the people who work, visit and/or live in the midst of street culture.

Overview of chapters In Chapter 1, “A street culture of homelessness,” Tyler J. Frederick explores how the issue of homelessness is simultaneously highly visible and hidden in most urban areas. As a “cultural” phenomenon, homelessness can be both chronic and very transitory, with varying levels of identification and affiliation with both the experience and the status. These features make the street culture surrounding the experience of homelessness complex and varied. The aim of this chapter is to examine the research on the street culture of homelessness, and to discuss the different ways of making sense of the beliefs, practices, styles, and values that are a part of it. The chapter concludes with a discussion of some of the unique qualities of the street culture associated with homelessness and the implications of those qualities for theorizing in this area. In “Currando las margenes: Roma street culture” (Chapter 2), Daniel Briggs examines how the role of ethnicity and the wider culture are impacted by local street culture among the gitanos, who are alternately known as gypsies or the Roma. Historically, this group has experienced racism, discrimination, and persecution, and have always lived at the margins of society. This is as much reflected in social opinion about who they are and what they do, as it is in social policy which, over the last forty years, has added a spatial dimension to their exclusion. For this reason, in Spanish cities today, it is rare for gitanos to be seen selling goods or scrap metal, businesses traditionally associated with their cultural way of life. This activity has now

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been criminalized. The gitanos’ economic marginalization and spatial separation from the commercial life in Spanish cities has meant that increasingly they survive by selling drugs in suburban wastelands, places with no real infrastructure. The group is also subject to tokenistic social support and heavy policing. This social and spatial division is important because it is causing a mutation of their cultural way of life. This chapter reports on the socio-spatial “mutation” of the Roma culture as it is increasingly forced to survive in these segregated neighborhoods. Chapter 3, “Street performers and street culture,” by Paul Watt, reviews the historical and contemporary conditions under which street performers earn a living. Much scholarly literature focuses on the ways that street performers are represented in books, newspapers, and the visual arts. But what do these narratives tell us about the sonic environments of street performances? Are the sounds pleasant and musical, or are they merely noise? Historically, studies of urban street music have analyzed decades, if not centuries, of public appeals and legislation to regulate and silence street performers. More recently, however, research has focused on the ways that street sound has been represented in various media, such as portraiture and musical transcriptions. Scholars have also undertaken ethnographies to study what instruments are played in which particular kinds of public spaces and the reactions of audiences. Because busking is highly regulated in most cities, there is also literature on the legal frameworks for busking and the tensions laws can bring to the practice of street performance. Finally, the use of the internet and digital technology has raised public awareness of the plight of street performers, and has helped to extend and strengthen the work of advocacy groups, which play leading roles in the amelioration of sanctions on street performers. Jeffrey Ian Ross and Michael Rowe, in “How municipal police interact with street culture” (Chapter 4), examine the multifaceted relationship between municipal police and the street culture that operates in advanced industrialized countries, such as the United States and Great Britain. In the process of doing so, the chapter asks and answers three principle questions: Why is understanding the relationship between police and street culture important? What are the factors that affect police–citizen encounters? And how do police officers learn the skills of the street? This analysis also examines when and how police become detached from the communities they serve and protect, and then reviews potential solutions to deal with this detachment. Finally, the chapter provides and analyzes possible methods that officers can use to improve how they deal with street culture. The author accomplishes this through a review of scholarly research on police activities, such as police behavior, patrol, and discretion. Chapter  5, “Youth street cultures: between online and offline circuits” by Ricardo M.O. Campos, argues that digital circuits and media have increasingly and greatly altered the way we live. These technologies have a direct impact on different spheres of life and are crucial for how we communicate. Consequently, the physical and virtual worlds are becoming increasingly embedded, hybridizing our individual and collective experiences. With regard to street cultures, particularly in the field of youth cultures, we have found an increasingly strong link between online and offline environments. In this chapter, the author reflects on these changes and on the impacts that they have on twenty-first century street youth cultures.

Omissions A number of other important potential actors and professions could have been included in this section.2 To begin with although a chapter on the plight of the Roma and how they negotiated street culture (i.e., Briggs, this volume) was included in this section, clearly a more in-depth treatment of different ethnicities, racial and religious groups, their intersectionality, and how they respond to and interact with street culture could have been included. This discussion could also expand to people of color, minorities, and immigrants. Additionally, a consideration of pedestrians and how they negotiate the city is not discussed. In some major cities, it is increasingly difficult for people to walk along sidewalks because of congestion produced by razors, scooters, and construction projects that may require scaffolding that eats up more public space. 10

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Added to this mix are caregivers with baby strollers and people who are distracted while texting or surfing on their smart phones. Other challenges for pedestrians include crossing busy streets with a myriad of different vehicles from cars, to trucks, to taxis, rideshare vehicles competing for the roads and impatient and increasingly distracted drivers (e.g., Demerath & Levinger, 2003; Brown & Shortell, 2016). Also lacking from this section is a discussion of senior citizens. Any consideration of this large segment of the population and how it interacts with street culture would need take into account their relationships with the urban environment. Some live on their own and others with their children, while others are incapacitated in some manner and reside in assisted living situations. They may be cooped up in their apartments day after day, depending on others to bring in groceries or meals, or they may be very active in their community or apartment block. In big cities such as New York, they can be found walking to the grocery store, in parks, and interacting with other seniors (e.g., sitting on park benches, elderly Chinese community doing Tai Chi in parkettes). Another omission is tattoo artists who cater to people, some of whom spend a lot of time in the streets of our big cities. The tattooists’ activities are not just limited to the application of ink, but may include other kinds of legally permissible forms of body modification, like the subcutaneous implanting of jewelry. Many tattoo artists work in storefront retail spaces, whereas others ply their trade as itinerant workers (Roberts, 2012). A further subject missing from this part of the book is a discussion about social workers. Admittedly not everyone who works in this profession has equal contact with people on the street. There is considerable diversity in this profession in terms of the focal populations they serve, including youth, alcohol and drug dependent, families, seniors, and homeless persons. Some social workers are paid by the state and others work for nonprofit organizations. In addition, some of them, especially those referred to as street workers, have considerable contact with people who are down and out, homeless, or alcohol and drug dependent. Social workers who interact with these individuals or entire families tend to be comparatively young because the burnout factor is quite high in this profession (Trevithick, 2012). Finally, and most importantly, a chapter on sex workers is missing. That being said, with the advent of the internet, in particular social media, street prostitution is declining in many advanced industrialized countries. Although street prostitution still exists in cities in the United Kingdom and the United States, in continental Europe, the situation is different. In fact, in places like Belgium, the Netherlands, and Austria, where indoor prostitution is legal, street prostitution is tiny. There has been a decline in the number of street prostitutes since the dawn of the internet, but this form of prostitution will continue to exist to some degree because those who work on the street differ from indoor workers. Additionally, many street workers want to migrate indoors (e.g., engaging in escort, brothel, and massage work). What social media, direct messaging, and online advertisements offer to those who work indoors is a convenient way to connect with clients and to screen them ahead of time. The termination of internet sites such as SESTA and the forced closure of Backpage makes this communication more difficult. Brothels and red-light districts continue to exist in advanced industrialized democracies, but they are increasingly anomalous in this day and age (Weitzer, 2009).

Conclusion This section has attempted to provide information on and an analysis of the actors who spend a disproportionate time on the street, exploring how these individuals contribute to, shape, interact with, and are affected by street culture. Most of the types of people who have been reviewed in this section interact with each other to greater or lesser degrees on the street. These individuals often function in different roles and must negotiate their identities as they move among their varied cultures, subcultures, and their educational or work environments. Future scholarly research on street culture should examine the relationship among pedestrians, seniors, tattoo artists, social workers, sex workers and street culture 11

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Acknowledgments Special thanks to Rachel Reynolds for comments on this section.

Notes 1 Although this section might be shorter than the rest, readers should keep in mind that there is some conceptual blending between people (Part I) and the activities that they engage in (Part II) on the street. For example, I could have included a chapter on graffiti writers in this section of the book, and chosen to forgo a chapter on graffiti writing in the section on “Activities connected to street culture.” 2 As a reminder to the reader, as stated in the introduction, the reasons for not including discussions on these topics is not an oversight by the editor, but a reflection of either an inability to find someone appropriate to write the chapter in the given time period or a dissatisfaction with the chapter produced.

References Brown, E., & Shortell, T. (Eds.). (2016). Walking in cities: Quotidian mobility as urban theory, method, and practice. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Demerath, L., & Levinger, D. (2003). The social qualities of being on foot: A theoretical analysis of pedestrian activity, community, and culture. City & Community, 2(3), 217–237. Lipskey, M. (1980). Street level bureaucracy: Dilemmas of the individual in the public sector. New York, NY: Russell Sage Foundation. Roberts, D. J. (2012). Secret ink: Tattoo’s place in contemporary American culture. The Journal of American Culture, 35(2), 153–165. Trevithick, P. (2012). Social work skills and knowledge: A practice handbook (3rd ed.). London: Open University Press. Weitzer, R. (2009). Sex for sale: Prostitution, pornography, and the sex industry. New York, NY: Routledge.

12

1 A street culture of homelessness Tyler J. Frederick

Introduction Culture has simultaneously been focal and overlooked within the research on homelessness. It has been a focal point because there is a substantial body of research describing the “subculture” within particular homeless contexts. Early examples include Minehan’s work on tramp subculture (1934), Sutherland and Locke’s scholarship on skid row (1936), and Anderson’s (1923) work on hobos. More recent research has considered subculture from a more varied and conceptual level, including how subculture plays a role in enculturation into a homeless identity among youth (Karabanow, 2004), the subculture of violence on the street (Kennedy & Baron, 1993), and analyses of specific subcultural groups (Martino et al., 2011). However, culture has also been neglected as there has been limited theorizing and conceptualization of a street culture of homelessness beyond these more descriptive accounts of “subculture”, including limited consideration of how we make sense of similarities and differences across contexts. Some recent discussions have begun to address the conceptual gap through the introduction of concepts like discourse (Gowan, 2010), habitus (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Barker, 2016), and cultural and symbolic capital (Barker, 2013). The following chapter will review the past work on homeless subcultures, as well as the more contemporary developments, in an effort to draw out what we can say about the dynamics of a street culture of homelessness. It should be noted that this discussion is focusing on single adult and youth homelessness in the global North, primarily Canada, the US, the UK, and Australia. I am defining homelessness as the situation of an individual without stable, safe, permanent, and appropriate housing, or the immediate prospect, means, and ability to acquire it (Gaetz et al., 2012). I am excluding family homelessness because of a lack of research on its “cultural” dynamics and excluding homelessness happening in the global South where the nature and experience of homelessness can be drastically different. This chapter will also develop insight by engaging with Ross’ dynamic process model of street culture (Ross, 2018). This model provides a valuable lens through which to explore the constituent components of street culture, as well the ways in which a street culture gets elaborated. That said, the street culture surrounding homelessness has some unique features that raise important questions for theorizing street culture.

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Multiplicity in the street culture of homelessness Citing it as a primary influence on the nature of street culture, the dynamic process model argues that the form street culture takes will depend on the location, the time period, and the participants (i.e., the where, when, and who questions). At its core, this perspective argues against the existence of any core or fundamental version of street culture and instead frames it as something dynamic and dependent. At a broad level, I am focusing specifically on street culture among people experiencing homelessness. More specifically, single youth and adults in the global North, from the 1970s to the present (touching on some foundational work from the 1930s). However, even within this relatively narrow context, there is a long history of documenting how more specific variations in where, when, and who shape the nature and experience of homelessness in important ways (and by implication the culture) – an approach that fits well with Ross’ dynamic perspective. Focusing on the way that location shapes the experience of street life, classic studies in this regard include Snow and Anderson’s (1993) ecological approach to exploring the “shared predicament” faced by homeless adults in Tucson, AZ. They emphasized how context specific factors like available services, the geography of the city, local subsistence norms, and social control practices shape how people interact and the strategies they use to survive day-to-day. Another classic example is Dordick’s (1997) ethnographic examination of four unique contexts in New York City – a bus station, a small religious shelter, a mega shelter, and a homeless encampment. In each space she shows the differences in daily life, including different norms and rules, different dynamics related to social ties and relationships, and different ways of talking about and approaching homelessness. Focusing on the importance of the who, the research has also documented in detail how the nature of street life varies according to various social statuses. This includes research on the unique nature of street life for groups such as women (Wardhaugh, 1999; Huey & Quirouette, 2010), girls (Hatty, 1996; Pfeffer, 1997; Oliver  & Cheff, 2014), sex workers (Maher, 1997), individuals with mental illness (Dear, 1987), drug users (Bourgois, Lettiere, & Quesada, 1997), and LGBTQ2+ young people (Lankenau, Clatts, Welle, Goldsmat, & Gwadz, 2005; Gattis, 2011) A cross-cutting theme in these studies on how group membership shapes street life is that homelessness is stratified in important ways. This stratification is reflected in dynamics like struggles over social and economic resources between groups and an increased risk of victimization for some groups. This stratification has a “cultural” component in that discourses and norms within street contexts mark out many of the groups noted as lower status. However, a related theme within the studies mentioned is how members of these groups can navigate and resist their devalued status – strategies that can produce shared group identities and drive cultural processes like the formation of community. The importance of the time period has also been noted in the research on street contexts. One of the clearest ways that we can see the importance of time is through shifts in how we understand the underlying causes of homelessness and related shifts in our responses. Gowan (2010) does an excellent job of tracing these shifts, noting ebbs and flows in three prominent ways of thinking about homelessness: as personal moral failure, as the outcome of illness and addiction, and as a result of systemic forces. I discuss Gowan’s work and these shifts over time in a later section.

A street culture of homelessness In general, the picture we gather from the scholarship is that there is not one single street culture of homelessness, but instead multiple expressions. However, such a perspective raises some important ontological and epistemological questions about how many distinct street cultures of homelessness there might be. Is it that the matrix of where, who, and when produces a multitude of homelessness-related street cultures or is there a smaller number of cross-cutting or fundamental street cultures of homelessness? Drawing from the 14

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research over the last 50 years, and engaging with Ross’ dynamic process mode, I will attempt to sketch out some tentative answers to this question. A first step in this analytic process is to look for cross-cutting elements that could substantiate a street culture of homelessness. Some potential candidates for these common elements include: a b c e f g

a focus on daily survival; the transitory nature of homelessness; stigma management; navigation, coping, and adaptation; mutual dependence and support; and interpersonal “drama” (primarily among youth).

Given their fundamental role in driving and animating any street culture of homelessness, I would categorize these as constituent components and consider them alongside those suggested by Ross (2018). I discuss these constituent components in more detail in the next section before moving on to a discussion of secondary influences.

The constituent components of a street culture of homelessness In his dynamic process model, Ross (2018) makes a case for a set of core components that drive the formation and perpetuation of “street culture” at a broad and cross-cutting level: street capital; social control/ socialization processes; mass media; social media; and street crime. In specifically reflecting on a street culture of homelessness, I am going to start the discussion with the constitute components noted prior, before reflecting on the components identified by Ross (2018). A focus on daily survival: A focus on daily survival is an animating force in the experience of homelessness and is a key feature around which any street culture is likely to elaborate. Daily survival has been shown to play a central role in identity processes (Snow & Anderson, 1987; Auerswald & Eyre, 2002), networking and mutual support (Dordick, 1997; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009), use of space (Snow & Mulcahy, 2001), and on structuring daily activities and time use (Rowe & Wolch, 1990; Simpson, Conniff, Faber, & Semmelhack, 2018). The dynamic is reciprocal in that the research has also documented the way normative codes and discourses justify and underwrite certain survival practices (Ruddick, 1996; Frederick, 2019b) as well as mark out appropriate targets of street crime (Kennedy & Baron, 1993; Huey & Quirouette, 2010). The transitory nature of homelessness: Homelessness is fundamentally a transitory circumstance. First, it is transitory because people have no fixed address and as such are often constantly on the move because of survival needs and policing and social control practices. Second, it is transitory in that most people experience homelessness in a transitory or episodic way as they gain (and lose) housing (Gaetz, Gulliver, & Richter, 2014). This will have cultural implications in that it will shape how values, norms, and discourses get stored and passed on. A reflection of this is the role that stories about past exploits have in how people interact with each other and try to gain social resources and respect (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Barker, 2013). The transitory nature of homelessness will also influence identity dynamics, both in terms of people exiting homelessness and moving away from an identification with homelessness (Karabanow, 2008; Kidd et al., 2016), but also that as people move around within the experience of homelessness, affiliations and identifications will also shift and change (Auerswald & Eyre, 2002; Frederick, 2019a). Stigma management: Stigma management (Goffman, 1963) is a key dynamic that has featured heavily in research on the lived experience of homelessness. This includes Snow and Anderson’s work (1987) on identity talk. Drawing from their work and others, we would expect stigma management to be important because it will drive culture in the form of identity formation and a person’s willingness to identify with 15

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street-based norms and practices (Snow & Anderson, 1987; Farrington & Robinson, 1999; Auerswald & Eyre, 2002). The stigma of homelessness also plays an important role in other cultural dynamics like the social performance of homelessness (Lankenau, 1999a; Roschelle & Kaufman, 2004) and in-group/ out-group dynamics and boundary formation (Lankenau, 1999b; Farrugia, 2011; Quirouette, Frederick, Hughes, Karabanow, & Kidd, 2016). Navigation, coping, and adaptation: This constituent component is a little less clearly defined, but I suggest it here because a key feature of homelessness is its involuntary and often unplanned nature. This makes adaptation, coping, navigation, and learning prominent themes in the experience of homelessness and therefore a likely driver of any street culture (Desjarlais, 1997; Gowan, 2010; Wasserman & Clair, 2010; Frederick, 2019b). Any street culture of homelessness will reflect and function in a way that accommodates the conflicted, strategic, and evolving way that people engage with the experience of homelessness. This component relates strongly to the transitory and stigmatized nature of homelessness. Mutual dependence and support: There is a strong body of research on the role that mutual dependence and support plays in driving the currents of interaction on the street (Rowe & Wolch, 1990; Dordick, 1997; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Stablein, 2011). This dynamic ties closely to the focus on daily survival, as such survival is exceedingly difficult to accomplish on ones’ own. Dynamics of mutual dependence and support also play a role in the structure of social networks on the street – a primary conduit and container for a homeless street culture. This includes network formations such as running partners (Pippert, 2007) and street families (Smith, 2008). Feelings of mutual dependence and support also play a role in a sense of shared identity. I would argue that there is no strong unifying “homeless identity” to which the majority of people experiencing homelessness claim affiliation, but there is evidence of some sense of common cause and group identity that is framed in terms of shared experience and a need to stick together (Boydell, Goering, & Morrell-Bellai, 2000; Frederick, 2019a). Some semblance of group identity would be required for there to be any form of a cross-cutting homelessness street culture. Interpersonal “drama”: Related to the workings of street capital, street crime, and the transitory nature of homelessness, I would argue that a core driver of street culture, particularly among young people, will be interpersonal “drama”. The term “drama” is not meant to trivialize, but is a word that has been used by youth in my own work to describe the full collection of ongoing interpersonal affinities, conflicts, breaks, and alliances that define daily life in some street contexts like emergency shelters (Frederick, 2012). These interpersonal currents shape social activities, the sharing of resources, and the dynamics of informal social control (Kennedy & Baron, 1993). The discussion will now shift to reflecting on the constituent components identified by Ross (2018) and how they specifically relate to a street culture of homelessness. Mass media and cultural industries as a transmission belt: This is an interesting component to consider because it has received limited academic attention as it relates to homelessness. There are certainly a number of prominent examples of representations in popular media and touchpoints with broader cultural movements worth noting like Beat, hippy, and punk subcultures (Baron, 1989; Ruddick, 1996). What is unclear, though, is how these popular culture representations inform and shape a street culture of homelessness. From the available research, I suspect that these cultural influences are primarily used to make sense of homelessness after the fact, rather than as a constituting component in their own right, but more attention is needed. Social media: The role of social media in shaping and driving street culture is under-researched and poorly understood. There is some recent work that shows that a majority of homeless youth and adults have cell phones, and that many are also active users of the internet and social media platforms (Rhoades, Wenzel, Rice, Winetrobe, & Henwood, 2017; Barman-Adhikari, Rice, Onasch-Vera, & Hemler, 2018). In this context, we could see social media as a driver of cultural formation in that it connects street networks together and might be a place where values, images, and ideas circulate. However, this same research also shows that social media involvement can serve to keep people connected to housed friends and family in a 16

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way that might have been harder in a pre-internet/social media age when people might be more confined to socializing within their local street networks. These dynamics are interesting but poorly understood and more research is needed. Social control: Ross (2018) identifies competing cultural influences as a constituent component in street culture, or in other words, “the relative effects of formal and informal social control” (p. 10). I would suggest dividing this into two separate (but intersecting) components: relationships/bonds and social control. Social control will be a driving component of any street culture of homelessness because it is so central to the experience of street life. In this context, the sources of social control are broad and include policing practices, by-law enforcement, welfare bureaucracies, the mental health and addictions system, social service rules, and children’s aid services. Social control practices shape daily survival practices, they shape where and how people experiencing homelessness congregate, they shape access to resources and services, and they drive and are driven by the stigma of homelessness (Amster, 2003; Beckett & Herbert, 2011). These important dynamics in turn shape the forms and types of culture and discourses people are exposed to, the nature of that exposure, and the meaning that people draw from it (including through acts of resistance). There is some excellent in-depth research that shows how people navigate, embrace, and resist the overlapping control structures in their lives and the cultural expressions that shape and surround those efforts (Desjarlais, 1997; Marvasti, 2003; Armaline, 2005; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Gowan, 2010; Gibson, 2011). There are also important examples of the way that informal control within street-level networks shapes street life (Kennedy & Baron, 1993; Dordick, 1997; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009). Relationships and bonds: Social bonds and relationships will be a key driver of any street culture of homelessness as those relationships have been shown to play a role in identity formation and in transmitting values and survival skills and knowledge (McCarthy, 1995; Dordick, 1997; Barker, 2014). Relationships and bonds are also a key driver of dynamics related to “drama”, street crime, and mutual dependence and support, which are discussed in more detail next. Street capital: Street capital is an important theme in the literature on street life. Various types of capital have been identified in the literature on homelessness, including criminal capital (McCarthy, 1995), social capital (McCarthy, Hagan, & Martin, 2002; Stablein, 2011; Barker, 2012; Oliver & Cheff, 2014), cultural capital (Barker, 2013), symbolic capital (Kennelly, 2017), and sexual capital (Frederick, 2019a). The marking out of capital, struggles over value and definition, and flows of capital will all be important drivers of street culture (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Frederick, 2019a). Street crime: Street crime is an outcome of the poverty and deprivation at the heart of homelessness and the need to survive, and as such, it is a major component of street life around which culture inevitably swirls (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Baron, 2013). One example is the circulation and transmission of specific rationalizations and neutralizations for engaging in street crime (McCarthy, 1996). Street crime also plays a key role in the formation of social networks and dynamics of mutual dependence and support. For example, protection is cited as a common reason for people seeking out networks or partnerships on the street (Pfeffer, 1997; McCarthy et al., 2002; Miller et al., 2011). The knowledge and skill associated with street crime can also be an important source of capital (social, economic, and cultural) (Hagan & McCarthy, 1998; Barker, 2013), and the pursuit of status markers can be a driver of criminal involvement (Barker, 2016; Frederick, 2019a). Despite these intersecting constituent components, it does not appear that there is one set of rules, images, or values at the heart of these forces, but these are elements around which more specific beliefs, practices, styles, and values get constructed. A perspective is emerging that primary influences, like the broad realities of homelessness at this time and place, creates a common experience around which a culture can form. This fundamental experience contains the constituent components – the drivers (and inhibitors) – of a particular cultural expression. However, there is also going to be a range of secondary influences that shape the expression and elaboration of that culture in more specific and contextualized ways (Ross, 2018). I now turn to a discussion of those secondary influences. 17

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Secondary influences: elaboration and local expression The dynamic process model of street culture (Ross, 2018) identifies a number of secondary or mediating influences on the structure and appearance of street culture. Ross argues that street culture will look different depending on the social position from which it is being observed. This view is another way of arguing against any fundamental or static version of street culture, and it aligns with the multiplicity and diversity in the experience of homelessness discussed previously. This perspective, however, returns us to the ontological and epistemological questions noted before. For example, is there a finite number of observable street cultures, or is it so deeply constructed as to have no objective manifestation? Ross’ use of the word mediating suggests that he is taking a post-positivist perspective: that there are observable and objective street cultures out there, but that the observation and appearance of those cultures is influenced by a person’s social and historic position. Another layer to the epistemological and ontological complexity of these secondary influences as they relate to homelessness is that it’s not just that a person’s perspective on street culture will differ depending on social position, but that their stratification within that culture shapes daily life through factors like access to resources and the experience of violence. Next I reflect on the secondary influences suggested by Ross (2018), but also make a number of additions and elaborations. The discussion divides these mediating influences into two crude categories, “insiders” and “outsiders”, based on the position of the subject relative to street life. Insiders refers primarily to the people experiencing homelessness, with outsiders referring to most other groups and stakeholders.

A. Insiders Race and ethnicity: The existing evidence suggests that race is an important source of positioning, stratification, and performance on the street, but it has received limited development in the literature on homelessness (Maher, 1997; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2007; Hickler & Auerswald, 2009; Gowan, 2010). Bourgois and Schonberg (2007) suggest that Black street-involved people might tend to identify more with an outlaw and street hustler identity and imagery, and they use the concept of habitus to make sense of these differences. Gender: Gender is probably one of the most well-documented mediating forces in a person’s perspective and relationship to a homeless street culture (Hatty, 1996; Maher, 1997; Pfeffer, 1997; Wardhaugh, 1999; Oliver & Cheff, 2014). The general themes are that women occupy a marginalized and subordinate place on the street, and that they are vulnerable to particular types of victimization including intimate partner violence and sexual assault. Huey and Quirouette (2010) provide an excellent example of how street culture may appear fundamentally different depending on gender. In their analysis, they discuss how on the surface discourses and norms related to street justice provide women special status, including chivalrous protections from violence and the ability to call the police if they are victimized. However, through interviews they find that women are highly skeptical of these supposed exceptions and violence against women was described as commonplace. Sexuality: Sexuality is another status position that stratifies people on the street and that appears to shape a person’s relationship to street culture. Homophobia and marginalization has been well-documented in street spaces and culture (Frederick, Ross, Bruno, & Erickson, 2011; Gattis, 2011). However, there is also documentation about LGBTQ2+ people carving out unique and supportive places on the street (Livingston, 1991; Prendergast, Dunne, & Telford, 2001; Frederick, 2012). Relationships: Relationships play a key role in an individual’s relationship to street culture (Snow  & Anderson, 1987; Osborne, 2002; Johnson & Chamberlain, 2008). As noted in the discussion of relationships as a constituent component of street culture, social bonds and networks play a key role in transmitting

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street-level norms and sharing street-relevant capital. This means that a person’s relationships will influence their access and relationship to culture in important ways. There are also off-street relationships that can pull a person away from a street-level culture and identity (Barker, 2012). Time on the street: Time on the street is another mediating force, one closely related to relationships but also having some distinct features. First, given that the vast majority of homelessness is transitory or episodic, the vast majority of people experiencing homelessness will have minimal or only transitory contact with a street culture of homelessness. Second, time on the street seems to be a major factor in the extent to which a person is willing to accept and adopt street-related norms, values, and identities (Snow & Anderson, 1987; Chamberlain & Johnson, 2013). Further, time on the street is a risk factor for becoming more structurally entrenched in homelessness, which has obvious impacts on one’s relationship to the culture (Whitbeck & Hoyt, 1999; Chamberlain & Johnson, 2013). Some scholars have examined these processes through the lens of habitus – suggesting that over time, adaptation and embeddedness within a street culture of homelessness can transform an individual’s repertories of practice (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Barker, 2016; Frederick, 2019b). Subcultural influences: Subcultural influence is another important mediating factor in that there is evidence that the cross-cutting elements of a street culture of homelessness – mutual dependence, focus on daily survival, etc. – get filtered and reinterpreted through different subcultures. The different subcultural influences that have been documented include traveler culture (Martino et al., 2011), punk culture (Baron, 1989; Kipke, Unger, O’Connor, Palmer, & LaFrance, 1997), hippy culture (Martinez et al., 1998), squat culture (Pfeffer, 1997), and Black urban street culture (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009). A different way to conceptualize this mediating force is offered by Gowan (2010) who examines the discourses that circulate within a given locale and shape how people interpret what it means to be homeless – including the expression of norms, values, styles, and practices. Structural and ecological influences: One important set of influences not noted by Ross (2018) are the structural and ecological characteristics of a given locale (Rowe & Wolch, 1990; Ruddick, 1996; Wardhaugh, 1996; Dordick, 1997; Hall, 2003). These factors include the structure and availability of physical space, the availability and distribution of economic resources, and the tangible control practices that shape how and where people without a home can live. Snow and Anderson called this a “shared predicament” (Snow & Anderson, 1993). I would also include institutional embeddedness and institutional circuits here. There is a significant body of work on the unique dynamics within service settings (Sutherland & Locke, 1936; Ferrill, 1991; Desjarlais, 1997; Armaline, 2005; Gibson, 2011) and on the important influence of institutional cycles on a person’s relationship to homelessness (Hopper, Jost, Hay, Welber, & Haugland, 1997; Gowan, 2002).

B. Outsiders Because of space constraints, I am only going to touch briefly on “outsider” perspectives on homeless street culture. I would argue that the outsider perspectives most relevant to a street culture of homelessness would be service providers, the public, law enforcement, and policy makers and researchers. Gowan’s (2010) work on discourse provides a useful framework for thinking about outsider perspectives on homelessness in that she identifies three dominant causal narratives: sin, sickness, and social structure. The relative importance of each of these narratives has shifted over time, with early views of poverty and homelessness connecting it directly to personal moral failing, a rise of sickness narratives into the modern era associated with the growth of the helping professions, and social structural causal narratives gaining influence during periods of economic downturn like the Great Depression. Connected to each of these causal narratives are particular policy solutions and implications including: punishment (sin), treatment (sickness), and social change (systems).

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Although there have been shifts in which narratives have dominance, each narrative trend persists and narratives coexist at particular times. For example, the view that poverty is a personal moral failure is a persistent cultural narrative that still has sway today. These narratives will mediate the way that outsider groups will view the social and cultural aspects of homelessness. For example, at different points in time homeless encampments might be seen as a necessary and self-regulating system of people coming together for mutual benefit and support, a public health crisis requiring unique service models, or a source of danger and disorder that needs to be cleared. Notably these various views can co-occur and compete.

Discussion The perspective outlined in this analysis of a street culture of homelessness is that primary influences, like the broad realities of homelessness at this time and place, create a common experience around which a culture can form. This fundamental experience contains the constituent components – the drivers (and inhibitors) – of a particular cultural expression. However, there are a range of secondary influences that play two important roles in that expression. The first role is to shape the relationship individuals and groups have to the workings of that culture through forces such as stratification and the development of habitus. The second role is that patterns and the clusters in these secondary influences shape the local expression of a culture. We can think of these as layers of scaffolding. The first layer is those constituent components that create the culture at a fundamental level, and the next layer up are those secondary influences that interact with each other to elaborate on that culture and produce local expressions based on the unique characteristics of a given city or area where people congregate. The metaphor of scaffolding is helpful here because it reminds us that this scaffolding is essential to the culture that forms in a given context, but it is not the culture itself. At an individual level, this allows us to observe that a person can have a relationship to a particular contextual scaffolding and thereby brush up against/interact/collide with a particular street culture without being fully immersed. This is important for incorporating the involuntary nature of homelessness into the analysis. People experiencing homelessness are exposed to, constrained, and influenced by a given street culture of homelessness whether they want to be enmeshed or not. Employing field theory, we can then examine how those mediating influences discussed previously can stratify individuals within the workings of the particular street culture in which they find themselves (Bourdieu, 1977; Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Frederick, 2019a). The use of “scaffolding” as a framing also allows us to make some rough analytic calculations in comparing across contexts: the more similar the layers of scaffolding, the more similar the culture. However, there will be plenty of unexplained “error” in the calculation that can produce unique local variations. To stay with this mathematical metaphor (for better or worse), we can then debate about the “cut-point” at which two similar street cultures can share enough elements of scaffolding to be effectively the same, as well as explore the unique forces that lead similar contexts to produce divergent and unique street cultures of homelessness.

Conclusion What are the implications and future directions suggested by a reflection on a street culture of homelessness in particular as it relates to Ross’ dynamic process model (2018) and future scholarship aimed at conceptualizing street culture? This analysis draws attention to the need to incorporate the role played by poverty, marginalization, and need in the formation and expression of street cultures. This includes reflecting more directly on the complicated role of stigma. The involuntary and stigmatized nature of homelessness requires an approach 20

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that lets us appreciate an ambivalent shifting relationship to street culture, as well as a perspective whereby individuals can be in street culture but not of it. I suspect that these dynamics and concerns are shared by other versions of street culture and that it is a fruitful avenue of exploration. The analysis of a street culture of homelessness also draws attention to the ecological and structural context as a secondary influence. Ross’ (2018) current model acknowledges residency as a secondary influence, but a more direct consideration of the role played by space and the ecological distribution of resources seems to be an area requiring additional development. The third and final area that a street culture of homelessness draws attention to is relationships. Ross’ (2018) model talks about informal and formal social control and influence, but I argue that a focus on relationships provides a lens that goes beyond influence and socialization. Social bonds and mutual dependencies create important cultural dynamics and forces that need to be considered.

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Farrugia, D. (2011). The symbolic burden of homelessness: Towards a theory of youth homelessness as embodied subjectivity. The Journal of Sociology, 41(1), 71–87. Ferrill, L. (1991). A far cry from home: Life in a shelter for homeless women. Chicago: Noble Press. Frederick, T. J. (2012). Deciding how to get by: Subsistence choices among homeless youth in Toronto (Doctoral dissertation). University of Toronto, Toronto. Frederick, T. J. (2019a). Conceptualizing the social and cultural organization of street life among young people experiencing homelessness. Journal of Youth Studies, 22(8), 1133–1149. Frederick, T. J. (2019b). ‘A person like me’: Identity narratives, dual process theories, and subsistence related decisionmaking among young people experiencing homelessness. Journal of Youth Studies, 22(8), 1083–1100. Frederick, T. J., Ross, L. E., Bruno, T., & Erickson, P. G. (2011). Exploring gender and sexual minority status among street involved youth. Vulnerable Children & Youth Studies, 6(2), 166–183. Gaetz, S., Barr, C., Friesen, A., Harris, B., Hill, C., Kovacs-Burns, K., . . . Marsolais, A. (2012). Canadian definition of homelessness. Toronto: Canadian Observatory on Homelessness Press. Gaetz, S., Gulliver, T., & Richter, T. (2014). The state of homelessness in Canada: 2014. Toronto: The Homeless Hub Press. Gattis, M. N. (2011). An ecological systems comparison between homeless sexual minority youths and homeless heterosexual youths. Journal of Social Service Research, 39(1), 38–49. Gibson, K. E. (2011). Street kids: Homeless youth, outreach, and policing New York’s streets. New York, NY: New York University Press. Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Gowan, T. (2002). The nexus: Homelessness and incarceration in two American cities. Ethnography, 3(4), 500–534. Gowan, T. (2010). Hobos, hustlers, and backsliders: Homeless in San Francisco. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Hagan, J., & McCarthy, B. (1998). Mean streets: Youth crime and homelessness. Cambridge and New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Hall, T. (2003). Better times than this: Youth homelessness in Britain. Sterling, VA: Pluto Press. Hatty, S. E. (1996). The violence of displacement: The problematics of survival for homeless young women. Violence Against Women, 2(4), 412–428. Hickler, B., & Auerswald, C. L. (2009). The worlds of homeless white and African American youth in San Francisco, California: A cultural epidemiological comparison. Social Science and Medicine, 68(5), 824–831. Hopper, K., Jost, J., Hay, T., Welber, S., & Haugland, G. (1997). Homelessness, severe mental illness, and the institutional circuit. Psychiatric Services, 48(5), 659–665. Huey, L., & Quirouette, M. (2010). ‘Any girl can call the cops, no problem’: The influence of gender on support for the decision to report criminal victimization within homeless communities. British Journal of Criminology, 50(2), 278–295. Doi:10.1093/bjc/azp078 Johnson, G., & Chamberlain, C. (2008). From youth to adult homelessness. Australian Journal of Social Issues, 43(4). Karabanow, J. (2004). Being young and homeless: Understanding how youth enter and exit street life. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Karabanow, J. (2008). Getting off the street: Exploring the processes of young people’s street exits. American Behavioral Scientist, 51(6), 772–788. Kennedy, L., & Baron, S. (1993). Routine activities and a subculture of violence: A study of violence on the street. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 30(1), 88–112. Kennelly, J. (2017). Symbolic violence and the Olympic Games: Low-income youth, social legacy commitments, and urban exclusion in Olympic host cities. Journal of Youth Studies, 20(2), 145–161. Doi:10.1080/13676261.2016.12 06868 Kidd, S. A., Frederick, T. J., Karabanow, J., Hughes, J., Naylor, T., & Barbic, S. (2016). A mixed methods study of recently homeless youth efforts to sustain housing and stability. Child & Adolescent Social Work, 32(5), 395–492. Kipke, M. D., Unger, J. B., O’Connor, S., Palmer, R. F., & LaFrance, S. R. (1997). Street youth, their peer group affiliation and differences according to residential status, subsistence patterns, and use of services. Adolescence, 32(127), 655–669. Lankenau, S. E. (1999a). Panhandling repertoires and routines for overcoming the nonperson treatment. Deviant Behavior, 20(2), 183–206. Lankenau, S. E. (1999b). Stronger than dirt: Public humiliation and status enhancement among panhandlers. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 28(3), 288–318. 22

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Lankenau, S. E., Clatts, M. C., Welle, D., Goldsmat, L., & Gwadz, M. V. (2005). Street careers: Homelessness, drug use, and sex work among young men who have sex with men (YMSM). International Journal of Drug Policy, 16, 10–15. Livingston, J. (Director/Producer). (1991). Paris is burning (Documentary film). Mirimax, Off White Productions, Prestige, New York. Maher, L. (1997). Sexed work: Gender, race, and resistance in a Brooklyn drug market: New York, NY: Clarendon Press. Martinez, T. E., Gleghorn, A., Marx, R., Clements, K., Boman, M., & Katz, M. H. (1998). Psychosocial histories, social environment, and the HIV risk behaviors of injection and noninjection drug using homeless youths. Journal of Psychoactive Drugs, 30(1), 1–10. Martino, S., Tucker, J., Ryan, G., Wenzel, S., Golinelli, D., & Munjas, B. (2011). Increased substance use and risky sexual behavior among migratory homeless youth: Exploring the role of social network composition. Journal of Youth and Adolescence, 40(12), 1634–1648. Marvasti, A. B. (2003). Being homeless: Textual and narrative constructions. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. McCarthy, B. (1995). Getting into street crime: The structure and process of criminal embeddedness. Social Science Research, 24(1), 63–95. McCarthy, B. (1996). The attitudes and actions of others: Tutelage and Sutherland’s theory of differential association. British Journal of Criminology, 36(1), 135–147. McCarthy, B., Hagan, J., & Martin, M. J. (2002). In and out of harm’s way: Violent victimization and the social capital of fictive street families. Criminology, 40(4), 831. Miller, C. L., Fielden, S. J., Tyndall, M. W., Zhang, R., Gibson, K., & Shannon, K. (2011). Individual and structural vulnerability among female youth who exchange sex for survival. Journal of Adolescent Health, 49(1), 36–41. Minehan, T. (1934). Boy and girl tramps of America. New York, NY: Farrar and Rinehart. Oliver, V., & Cheff, R. (2014). The social network: Homeless young women, social capital, and the health implications of belonging outside the nuclear family. Youth & Society, 46(5), 642–662. Osborne, R. E. (2002). “I may be homeless, but I’m not helpless”: The costs and benefits of identifying with homelessness. Self and Identity, 1(1), 43–52. Pfeffer, R. (1997). Surviving the streets: Girls living on their own. New York, NY: Garland Publishing. Pippert, T. D. (2007). Road dogs and loners: Family relationships among homeless men. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Prendergast, S., Dunne, G., & Telford, D. (2001). A story of “difference,” a different story: Young homeless Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual people. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 21(4–6), 64–91. Quirouette, M., Frederick, T., Hughes, J., Karabanow, J., & Kidd, S. (2016). ‘Conflict with the law’: Regulation & homeless youth trajectories toward stability. Canadian Journal of Law and Society, 31(3), 383–404. Rhoades, H., Wenzel, S. L., Rice, E., Winetrobe, H., & Henwood, B. (2017). No digital divide? Technology use among homeless adults. Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless, 26(1), 73–77. Roschelle, A. R., & Kaufman, P. (2004). Fitting in and fighting back: Stigma management strategies among homeless kids. Symbolic Interaction, 27(1), 23–46. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture, and Society, 15, 7–13. Rowe, S., & Wolch, J. (1990). Social networks in time and space: Homeless women in Skid Row, Los Angeles. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 80(2), 184–204. Ruddick, S. M. (1996). Young and homeless in Hollywood: Mapping social identities. New York, NY: Routledge. Simpson, E. K., Conniff, B. G., Faber, B. N., & Semmelhack, E. K. (2018). Daily occupations, routines, and social participation of homeless young people. Occupational Therapy in Mental Health, 34(3), 203–227. Smith, H. (2008). Searching for kinship: The creation of street families among homeless youth. American Behavioral Scientist, 51, 756–771. Snow, D. A., & Anderson, L. (1987). Identity work among the homeless: The verbal construction and avowal of personal identities. American Journal of Sociology, 92(6), 1336–1371. Snow, D. A., & Anderson, L. (1993). Down on their luck: A study of homeless street people. Berkeley: University of California Press. Snow, D. A., & Mulcahy, M. (2001). Space, politics, and the survival strategies of the homeless. American Behavioral Scientist, 45(1), 149–169. Stablein, T. (2011). Helping friends and the homeless milieu: Social capital and the utility of street peers. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 40(3), 290–317. 23

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Sutherland, E. H., & Locke, H. J. (1936). Twenty thousand homeless men: A study of unemployed men in the Chicago shelters. Chicago: J.B. Lippincott Company. Wardhaugh, J. (1996). ‘Homeless in Chinatown’: Deviance and social control in cardboard city. Sociology, 30, 701–716. Wardhaugh, J. (1999). The unaccommodated woman: Home, homelessness and identity. The Sociological Review, 47(1), 91–109. Wasserman, J. A., & Clair, J. M. (2010). At home on the street: People, poverty, and a hidden culture of homelessness. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Whitbeck, L. B., & Hoyt, D. R. (1999). Nowhere to grow: Homeless and runaway adolescents and their families. New York, NY: Aldine de Gruyer.

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2 Currando las margenes Roma Street culture Daniel Briggs

Introduction Historically, Roma1 have experienced racism, discrimination and persecution and have always lived at the margins of society. Political attribution for their social exclusion is often presented as racial difference and a cultural refusal to conform to dominant social, structural and spatial capitalistic advances and seldom as an oppressive feature of neoliberal governance and globalisation. By considering the literature on race and ethnicity and street culture, this chapter shows the parallels with the Roma experience and reports on how a ‘Roma street culture’ is similarly borne of these processes. It is argued that this socio-spatial ‘mutation’ of the Roma culture occurs when social mobility is deterred and regulation and governance is imposed on their illicit activities such as drug dealing which have come to be one of the few options left for survival. Hyperghettos evolve and these particular structural, social and spatial conditions produce a form of Roma street culture which is manifested in a closed mode of socio-commercial distinction and extreme acts of violence.

The street in ‘street culture’: minority ethnic groups and street culture in context Street culture or “the values, dispositions, practices and styles associated with particular sections of disadvantaged social groups” (Ilan, 2015, p. 2) must consider variables such as ethnicity and race because in the urban context swathes of such deprived groups come from minority ethnic backgrounds (Bourgois, 1995; Peterson, Krivo, & Hagan, 2006; Wacquant, 2008; Briggs, 2009; Squires & Lea, 2013). ‘Unemployment,’ ‘crime,’ ‘underclass’ and ‘poverty’ are very often used in tandem with their description and when political mechanisms combine with powerful media institutions, spurious links are made between the difference. Roma ‘hang around on the streets’ (Matthews, Easton, Briggs, & Pease, 2007), display a ‘racial laziness’ (Murray, 1984; Bourgois, 1989) and often engage in ‘anti-social behaviour,’ ‘illicit activities,’ and ‘street crime’ (Young, 1999; Pitts, 2008). Negative associations are made about their race and ethnic origin by politicians and the media which are reflected in their public stigmatisation (Karabanow, 2008) and thereafter the oppressive design of social, housing and health policies (Bourgois & Schonberg, 2009; Atkinson, 2015). Failure to comply with norms, rules and their visibility in public places also makes them easy targets for the police and other criminal 25

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justice institutions (Wacquant, 2008; Fitzpatrick & Johnsen, 2009). How and why is this the case then? The academic literature on why minority ethnic groups participate in street culture and the relative consequences can be subdivided into four main perspectives: 1 2 3 4

Rational choice models Identity politics and cultures of resistance Positivistic/deterministic accounts Socio-spatial political economic explanations

Rational choice models In a neoliberal context of life responsibilisation whereby our agency assumes faults and tensions in the political economy (i.e., we blame ourselves if we don’t have a job even if the economy is diminishing), attribution to street culture participation is made by ‘personal or rational’ choice (see Wright, Brookman, & Bennett, 2006). Hallsworth and Young (2006) state that such deprived ethnic minority groups are a disorganised transient congregation of young people with a common history and biography. “The pursuit of fast living cuts to the very core of offenders perceptions of self identity” (Wright et al., 2006, p. 2); [street culture among minority ethnic groups] is all about image (Anderson, 1990) and outlays of large sums of money and violent displays of masculinity are part of the picture (Jacobs & Wright, 1999). Take this recent description of American street culture which: “subsumes a number of powerful conduct norms which include, but are not limited to, the hedonistic pursuit of sensory stimulation, disdain for conventional living, lack of future orientation and persistent eschewal of responsibility” (Fleischer, 1995, pp. 213–214). The overriding conclusions from these perspectives are that minority ethnic groups make free-will decisions to enter into, participate and desist from this lifestyle hence these analyses only consider foreground dynamics and border on behavioural moralisation. The works of conservatives such as Lewis (1968) and Murray (1984) are good examples of this kind of cross binary labelling of ethnic-class reflected in terms used to describe these people within a ‘culture of poverty’ and ‘culture of dependence’ respectively. In essence, such authors also tend to bundle ethnicity and class together and these have been associated with broader, generic terms such as the ‘underclass’ or people who are poor and behaviourally deficient.

Cultures of resistance and identity politics Deriving from symbolic interactionism – because of the focus on active agency, inter-subjectivity and relativism – are analyses of street culture and ethnicity/race as cultures of resistance (Anderson, 1999; Duneier, 1999). In a broad sense, cultures of resistance can be understood as a manifestation to fight unjust or oppressive systems and/or power holders within the context of nonviolent actions, campaigns and movements. This could be from protests to rap music and from graffiti to art (see other chapters in this collection). Collective action from the urban poor, argues Measor (2012), can engender new meanings which open up a possible alternative for collective demands and a space for social critique and therefore potential social change. In this respect, the recent development of cultural criminology (Ferrell, Young, & Hayward, 2015) has shown that this has great potential. Its critics, however, would say that despite this, cultures of resistance change relatively little. Some have even gone as far as to argue that this work retreats into romanticism by positing destructive acts as reactions to perceived oppression and indications of an immutable organic drive to resist the dominant politico-cultural authorities (Wacquant, 2002). In this way, argues Sandberg (2008), moral issues become the forefront of the research lens instead of class, power and the state. 26

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Positivistic/deterministic accounts These kinds of analyses take a structure-to-agency perspective which renders the actors  – in this case urban minority ethnic groups – victims of systemic injustices. Studies locate schisms in the social structure to indicate how these groups are born into poverty, are often found to have done poorly in school and have unsettled or turbulent family relations (Pitts, 2008); the absence of parental supervision makes them increasingly vulnerable to an urban ‘street culture’ (Anderson, 1999). Over time, these conditions – objective to the individual – impact on their attendance in education and training programmes thereby denting their formal employment opportunities (Briggs, 2008). These studies tend to lack insight into the way the agency of these groups is exercised: that is, how these experiences are subjectively interpreted and internalised hence interpretations such as that of Anderson who describes the black African men and women in his ethnographic study as those: “people who have failed to keep up with their brethren, both in employment and sociability. Essentially they can be seen as victims of the economic and social system” (Anderson, 1990, p. 45) Thus, when exposure to influential peers ‘on the streets’ takes place, involvement in antisocial behaviour and/or crime often hinders life chances and, as a consequence, it becomes difficult to find alternative solutions especially when criminal arrests and detentions follow (Pitts, 2008). Increased social networks are made in illicit economies which further facilitate criminal careers which in the long term holds these groups ‘back’ rather than ‘raising each other up.’ Thus, social structure creates the conditions of the ghetto where minority groups reside and thereafter the social institutions which relate to how the community functions fail the people who live there. Therefore, these social and cultural conditions play an important part in shaping their attitudes and expectations, their perceptions of the social world and, more importantly, what it can offer them (see Briggs, 2008; Windle & Briggs, 2015).

Socio-spatial political economic explanations (with an appreciation of consumer society) Few authors have been able to resolve these tensions that relate back to age-old arguments about structure and agency. Those that have achieved this, however, have largely located minority ethnic groups in a historical context of inequality coupled with an appreciation of powerful political and social forces which have had spatial implications for the mutation of a street culture. A good recent example is Philippe Bourgois in his study of crack cocaine dealers in Harlem, New York during the 1980s. Drawing on Merton’s Strain Theory, Bourgois found that his cohort of socially excluded Puerto Rican drug dealers were “frantically pursuing the American dream” (Bourgois, 1989, p. 639). He called this ‘conjugated oppression’ (Bourgois, 1989) which described how ethnic discrimination married with class exploitation in a rigidly segmented labour market which strangled social mobility in the neighbourhood of Harlem. When this was controlled, managed and policed in the context of the postmodern city (Wacquant, 2009), a social stagnancy set in essentially creating ‘negative meritocracy’ (Briggs, 2016) which set its community members in ruthless competition with each other. In this respect, an appreciation of space is required because it also plays an important part in the way in which street culture is conceived and experienced as well as the toxic consequences of it such as crime, violence and victimisation (Bourgois, 1995). Thus street culture becomes “a complex and conflictual web of beliefs, symbols, modes of interaction, values and ideologies that have emerged in the opposition to exclusion from mainstream society” (Bourgois, 2003, p. 8), and while it may be an alternative forum for autonomous personal dignity, it is also a lifestyle of violence, drug use and internalised rage. Denial in formal economies hinges on the disrespect associated with the types of work and a lack of cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1984), which are in conflict with the lifestyles the community have come to support, which only reinforces opportunities in the informal economy, made up of street crime, drugs and violence. 27

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This, argues Bourgois, is set in a generational and historical context because for his sample of Puerto Ricans living in East Harlem, New York, there was confusion and conflict over colonial/commonwealth status. For example, when they left their segregated neighbourhoods, the Puerto Ricans were confronted by an “apartheid labour hierarchy” because the “job category and prestige correlates with ethnicity” (Bourgois, 1989, pp. 641–642). Wacquant found the same when researching similar groups in Paris and Chicago. His ethnographic research coins the term the ‘hyperghetto’ to differentiate from the ‘ghetto’ because of how the urban decay of the suburbs was additionally affected by deindustrialisation and in part by deinvestment in a ‘lost area’ (also see Atkinson, 2015) and the racial segregation of housing (also see Phillips & Harrison, 2010) thus concentrating minority ethnic populations in dead-end zones. He calls this process ‘planned shrinkage.’ These analyses go far beyond conceptions such as the Broken Windows thesis (see Wilson & Kelling, 1982) which hypothesised that visible signs of crime, antisocial behaviour and civil disorder create an urban environment that encourages further crime and disorder. However, it was not just crime and disorder that were consequences of these forces. American researchers have indicated that the complexity of street culture goes far beyond conceptions of resistance and deviance; that they are spaces of ‘expressions of culture’ (Ross et al., 2019) which incorporate street capital, competing cultural influences, street crime, social media and mass media/cultural industries (Ross, 2018). There is also the important element of the role consumption has in the everyday lives of urban minority ethnic social groups. Carl Nightingale (2012) and Young (2007) suggested that the vibrant image of urban street cultures was a reflection of a desire to ‘be included.’ They alluded to the transition to a global consumer society and how this had impacted on how those communities project a sense of themselves and are trapped inside modes of conspicuous consumption (Ilan, 2015). This is potentially another main reason why, for example, during the London riots of 2011 instigated in the name of inequality and police mistreatment of minority ethnic groups, the protagonists of the disorder and looting were found to be ‘failed consumers’ (Bauman, 2007; Briggs, 2012): a social group seeking inclusion in society via modes of consumption (Treadwell, Briggs, Winlow, & Hall, 2013). The consumer variable therefore blurs the lines of social exclusion/inclusion and aptly highlights what Hall, Winlow, and Ancrum (2008) say is an internal pacification of the population as a fragile by-product of consumer capitalism’s functional requirements. We find similarities in the literature when we consider the Roma experience which the next section considers.

The out-outsiders: Roma street culture The transition from modernity to postmodernity in which capitalism advanced and perpetuated unemployment and inequality (Fisher, 2013) produced what Bauman calls ‘surplus populations.’ In a neoliberal era where far right-wing politics is filling the gap left in the wake of a decline in faith in democratic institutions (Winlow, Hall, Treadwell, & Briggs, 2015), increasing focus is placed on society’s sore thumbs: the rejects, the homeless, the drug addicts – people who live unconventional lives in a time of the commercialisation of subjective universality (Žižek, 2011). One of the groups on the frontline of these processes has been the Roma who, despite investment in integration programmes and interventions, have become further disadvantaged (Sigoni, 2005). This is, however, something historical. Roma have often found themselves living outside other people’s cultures – as ‘people without a history’ (Wolf, 1982). Their difference and the racist treatment toward them can be traced back to the advent of the modern period; as countries across Eastern Europe, the ex-Soviet Union and Lesser Developed countries underwent a process of rapid modernisation, the Roma and other nomadic groups found themselves pushed even further to the edges of European society (Cudworth, 2008). Having moved throughout Europe, escaping discrimination and oppressive policing in Eastern Europe, they encountered similar treatment on arrival in parts of Western Europe (Bangieva, 2007). This rejection has meant that they have become highly capable of cultural adaptation in settings where 28

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they have had to survive – interacting in reciprocal contact with hostile host communities in a process of acculturation (Cozzanet, Grieco, & Matthews, 1976). This has therefore often promoted unique ways of determining Roma customs, so much so that some suggest many of the behaviours considered unique to their culture have actually been caused by situations related to their social exclusion (Quintero, Lilliott, & Willging, 2007). After the Second World War, many different countries across Europe started to develop a number of programmes that were targeting several of the Roma communities through the policy of ‘sedentarisation.’ This essentially meant that, during the process, Roma families who were previously often travelling in search of seasonal work were moved away from the countryside and encouraged to take up factory work in cities – in an effort to remove their transiency and confirm their participation in more conventional modes of life. However, these low-paid, low-skilled opportunities rarely led to an improvement of their socioeconomic position and they were seen as doing jobs which the mainstream body of increasingly wealthier working groups rejected. Moreover, they were seen as less deserving than the host populations. The work they did, on average, did not lead to an improvement of their skills; as they were seen as ‘less deserving’ than the majority population (Preoteasa, 2013). Moreover, increasingly many communities were very often living segregated from the rest of the urban population (van Baar, 2017). This segregation has inevitably dented opportunities for upward social mobility and this was jeopardised by a significant number of failed urban integration programmes (Marushiakova & Popov, 2015). On one hand, research shows that the design of these programmes is often substandard and has been criticised because of the governance imposed on Roma (Ram, 2013; van Baar, 2017), while on the other hand, evidence shows that urban community rejection has also perpetuated potential success (Cemlyn, Greenfields, Burnett, Matthews, & Whitewell, 2009). In addition, the nature of their cultural attributes of ‘exploiting the margins’ also made a new life in inner city areas complex (Briggs, 2010). Like minority ethnic groups, Roma have also been described as a ‘special underclass’ and have been stripped of associations relating to their specific ethnic culture which have been replaced by links with the ‘culture of poverty’ (Wacquant, 2009). Murray (1984) suggested that welfare policies create dependency and increase the number of unmarried mothers who were then seen to take advantage of a liberal welfare system. This in turn, he argued, created dysfunctional families which fail to adequately socialise their children into the accepted norms and values of society leading to antisocial behaviour, crime and drug use thereafter forming an ‘underclass.’ Such a thesis of moral deficiency and a parasitical dependency culture has been applied to the Roma community (Ryder, 2002). Many activities traditionally associated with Roma culture have been criminalised, including the use of space. In the UK, for example, in 1960 the government introduced the Caravan Sites and Control of Development Act in an effort to move Roma off the roads and into houses. This rendered it illegal for them to use the majority of their traditional stopping places, making it impossible to travel. This was essentially forced assimilation. Government policy has since now provided the basis for the hounding of Britain’s remaining Roma – with their right to pitch camp now legally removed, they have since been the target of local politics wherever they tried to make home. This is one example of how social control is exercised within a context of capitalist spatiality (Ryder, 2002). Van Baar (2017) calls this the ‘racialisation of poverty.’ Increasingly confined to suburban ghettos, this spatial ostracization (Picker, Greenfields, & Smith, 2015) immediately limits their access to education and healthcare (ERRC, 2007; O’Nions, 2010) and general infrastructure but at the same time enables crime control agencies to monitor and control their activities (Gordon, 1998), hence the high rates of arrest and detention (Greenfields, James, & Berlin, 2014; Vassilev, 2015). Studies have also highlighted how elements of their labour activities have also been increasingly regulated (Milcher & Fischer, 2010) which has problematised the few formal opportunities they had (Preoteasa, 2013) and in many cases resulted in their commitment to illicit economies such as the drug market for survival (Briggs, 2010; Briggs  & Monge Gamero, 2017). 29

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The social exclusion and criminalisation of Roma therefore cannot only be a consequence of racist policies, but have their origin in the neoliberal transformation of welfare state countries as well as those from the former socialist bloc (Sigoni, 2005) in the process of globalisation because they violate the spatial order of postmodernity (Bancroft, 2001). When efforts fail to help or integrate them, the silent forces behind their exclusion are hidden and blame mechanisms are enabled on their cultural ‘way-of-life’ and failure to assimilate into a conventional mode of life or abide by established societal norms: “The fashion of attributing objective disadvantages – unemployment, low life expectancy and slum housing – to racism, ensures not only these conditions continue to deteriorate but also enables elites to deny political responsibility by blaming the popular prejudices for their failure to act” (Kovats, 2003, p. 5). Thus, Roma culture and its historical treatment by dominant social institutions has ensured its permanent fringe position in society. This experience is relative to that of urban minority ethnic groups because they share one common feature: both are subject to a politically functional criminalisation process. The ‘sedentarisation’ of Roma communities, their spatial regulation and their confinement in suburban wastelands has thus exacerbated their circumstances. In the following section, a case study based on two years of ethnographic research in Valdemingómez – one of Europe’s largest Roma ghettos where drug dealing is prevalent – is presented which highlights how all of these tensions amalgamate to perpetuate the circumstances of the Roma.

Currando las margenes: a case study of Madrid, Spain In Spain, the Roma have historically suffered varied forms of social persecution, racism and legal discrimination across education, health, employment, housing and the judicial system (Rodriguez, Leon, Garcia, & Nunez, 2009). Like other poor rural Spanish groups, the Roma were forced to relocate to cities from the 1970s onwards in the wake of the collapse of rural domestic economies such as farming and agriculture (Briggs  & Monge Gamero, 2017). The growth of cities such as Madrid has led to urban restructuring processes in the city centres which have reduced Roma interaction with Spanish communities by pricing them out of prime inner city spaces and confining them to inferior suburban areas with few resources and minimal infrastructure and locked them out of economic opportunity in city centres (Briggs, 2010). This spatial relegation has come in the wake of failed efforts to integrate Roma into Spanish life, meaning they remain confined to the margins. Networks and informal economies which involve the sale of ‘chatarra’ (scrap metal), ‘cartones’ (cardboard boxes) and ‘venta ambulante’ (street trading) (Jalon & Rivera, 2000) have become more scant because of new taxation processes and aggressive social policies prohibiting them. This is mostly why from the mid-1980s onwards, with the advent of large-scale drug distribution in Spain, much of Roma activity has revolved around the trafficking of drugs (Briggs, 2010). This started with heroin in the barrios of cities like Madrid and this came to define the experience of their particular settlements otherwise known as poblados. These days, these drugs as well as cocaine and various types of amphetamine and cannabis are available 24 hours a day from derelict buildings known as fumaderos.

Drugs, police and a horizontal and vertical socio-spatial exclusion Reasons for the concentration of this particular drug market in the suburban wastelands of Madrid relate to a vertical squeezing of educational and economic opportunity with a horizontal spatial amputation of the poorer areas of the city. The only available opportunities in the fallout of the collapse of industrialization in Spain have been the uncertainties of the service sector or other temporary means which is why inequality is most felt in the urban peripheries where the experience of unemployment, marginalization and lack of social mobility has stagnated with various opportunities in the illicit drug trade. When swathes of the urban populace are locked out of educational opportunity and job security, they instead have to compete against each other for scarce opportunities in concentrated areas which have been spatially severed from the city’s prime commercial spaces. Not only are they priced out of these areas but also vertically blocked because of their racial profile, class orientation and skill set. 30

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As a consequence of the closure and displacement of previous Roma poblados and bungled management of reintegration attempts of those same families, both the drug market clients (many of whom live in the poor areas of south Madrid) and Roma have been forcefully evacuated from city spaces where access to help and support was more available. By removing old poblados, new spaces for commercial and residential investment are realised and, with the instigation of new laws to enforce the very people shunned from these areas like the Spanish Citizen’s Security Law, the urban transformation is increasingly more streamlined towards clean and organised streets where socialise the ‘good citizens’ who access the shops and work hard for their wages. The project becomes even more complete when the media project one-sided stories of the Roma which never get beyond sordid descriptions of detentions as calculated acts by people who are at fault for their own poverty coupled with online propaganda made by the authorities about the quantity of drugs seized from raids. Structurally orchestrated violence on vagrant populations like the Roma is about the spatial organization of capital investment in the city which reflects the downward fortunes of the urban poor. As new projects of commercial glory are realised, urban marginalisation becomes intersected by class, gender, intergenerational and racial inequality. Therefore, the spatial concentration of poverty makes for demonization, surveillance and political neglect of the poorer classes and renders them easy targets for the criminal justice system and prison industrial complexes. Sporadic spells of police attention are never enough to cancel out the drug market so the Roma only adapt and refine the operations of their business as demand never really gets dented sufficiently to deter clients. Moreover, it only consolidates hostility towards the authorities and resistance against them (see Figure 2.1) and reinforces the collective identity in the area (see Figure 2.2): it hardens the street cultural outlook among the Roma.

Figure 2.1 Graffiti meaning “Happy Cañada, rebel and combative.” 31

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Figure 2.2 Proud Roma identity statements meaning “I am Cañada.”

Currando las margenes: cultural life, socio-commercial distinction and violence in Valdemingómez The confinement to business in the drug market because of the regulation of other Roma economies, coupled with the spatial concentration of the poblado, means that cultural life and its interactions predominantly revolve around dealing drugs. A resistant culture, hardened by its own response to its treatment, produces rebellious attitudes towards the authorities and outsiders and a complete disregard for conventional norms and values. Children do not attend school and from a young age simply play among the rubbish and taunt the drug addicts. Young men start to have basic roles in the drug market from a young age whereas young women are married young to bear children. Rarely do Roma leave the wasteland complex, focusing on streamlining their business and avoiding detection from the police. In short, because the drug market is the dominant mode of survival, it determines cultural outlooks, interactions and life attitudes. Valdemingómez harbours some of the most powerful Roma families in Spain. During our two-year study, we estimated there to be around 13 main families in the area which own between them around 40 drug-selling points. Each fumadero has various employees. The first of whom are normally located on the outside door are the machacas – drug addicts who work for the Roma and receive a wage in drugs – who let people in, assist with drug deals to clients, look out and clean up. They are located on the outside door to manage the entry of drug consumers, maintain the fires and warn of police presence. Secondly, within the inside wall of the venue, another machaca will normally open the door after a worded code from another on the outside. Thereafter, to access the fumadero, the client will need to pass another machaca giving another password to enter in the smoking/dealing area. Roma power hierarchies are maintained and reproduced at all levels largely because their cultural interactions are confined to limited social circles (i.e., only fellow Roma) and spatially restricted to the area  – there is very little contact between the families in Valdemingómez. This spatial restriction on cultural interactions forces hierarchical relations to revolve around the maintenance of a particular set of symbolic interactions as a means of channelling the structural violence imposed on them. In the context of the Roma, this does not necessarily make them socially excluded per se as they demonstrate all the will to want to be socially included as consumers (Young, 1999; Nightingale, 2012; Winlow & Hall, 2013). This means that they are set in ideological competition with each other rather than anyone else and this 32

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Figure 2.3 Inside a fumadero where drugs are mixed and cut and then dealt through the metal door.

produces a kind of socio-commercial distinction (Bourdieu, 1984) where the aesthetic choices of a person or group actively distance a social class from another. The clearest choices Roma make then in this respect are to demonstrate wealth, power and status but this requires a hierarchical social ordering and a set of norms and codes which would place others in the same space economically, socially and culturally inferior to them – in this case this is the machacas and drug addicts. No one wants to be the lowest of the low living among the low so the figure of the machaca is the centrepiece in this ideological ordering as it regulates the spatial hierarchy and helps manage the identity power struggles which ideologically separate the Roma and the machacas. What then becomes the fulcrum in the processes of socio-cultural distinction among the Roma is the need to justify the symbolisms of wealth such as their luxury cars and expensive jewellery. Towards the latter stages of our fieldwork, in the autumn of 2016, some fumaderos started to accept things like gold and precious stones as a means of payment for drugs. This is because the Roma like to exhibit material trinkets as a means of reflecting an exaggerated superior social status reflecting efforts to participate as conventional consumers. It is also this which determines the key figures in the Roma families: they are those who are adorned with the most jewels, gold and the like. Key male family members dress in smart suits and hats, perhaps with a gold walking stick while matriarchs will adorn themselves with gold, jewellery and often have breast surgery. Those further down the family hierarchy normally dress in sports clothes and casual attire. By measure of success and social standing in Valdemingómez, the most important families are those who sell the largest amounts of drugs consequently resulting in their ability to display consumer status items while a more inferior family is one which is dependent on the former in the sale of drugs. Those then who sell the most carry more social status in the community and because of this these families have more power and influence over collective decisions in the poblado. This status is bolstered by acts of extreme violence. La ley gitana or ‘the Roma law’ authorises revenge and the use of violence to resolve conflicts between families or debt from clients. It is this same law that permits children to grow up and assume the same cultural attitudes and labour roles as their parents – in this case, working in the drug market as most learn how to drive, fire guns and smoke various substances from a young age. Damage to honor and local status acquisition requires urgent action through the use of extreme violence and demonstration of hypermasculine behaviours. If status is jeopardised in the neighbourhood, so too is Roma pride which has the potential to reduce an individual’s appearance and damage family honour. 33

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Discussion This chapter intended to consider street culture in the context of minority ethnic groups and alongside that what is apparent in the Roma culture – hence Roma street culture. The literature shows similarities between the two in terms of how capitalistic social structures squeeze the experience for both groups while offering the passive remedy of inclusion through consumerism. Both groups are labelled ‘underclass’ and blamed for their supposed rejection of dominant norms and values, and references to their racial difference are used as a means to explain their deviation. However, I have applied a case study from some ethnographic research undertaken in a Roma camp in Madrid to show how dated rational choice models, positivistic and deterministic accounts and cultures of resistance theories – which continue to be used to explain these phenomenon – do not really do justice to the complexity of how the suburban experience of exclusion is felt by these groups nor how consumerism keeps them firmly committed to a destructive negative meritocracy. More relative are analyses which consider how political economic social structures act in the displacement and movement of these groups while at the same time create objective conditions of disadvantage in segregated urban and suburban spaces where these groups can be controlled and monitored by the authorities. Thereafter these communities reproduce the same inequality because inadequate public services produce young people with poor qualifications and skill sets who cannot compete beyond the exploitative service sector. Limited social mobility because of this and discrimination by companies carve out opportunities in the informal economy such as the drug market. These analyses also consider all this is internalised by these communities and how it nourishes rage, anger and oppression. Consequently, hyperghettos such as Valdemingómez fester in political neglect which allows for new cultural norms to be established and flourish. Years of poor social and housing policy and botched management of ‘at-risk’ populations such as Roma and Madrid’s urban poor has resulted in a kind of social decay which has reached its terminal stage. The best the police can do are phases of intense patrolling, condensed controls, raids and arrests between piecemeal responses from public services (like ambulances). Costs cannot drift too high in the management of city waste. This means that there are also extended periods of neglect and abandon which is why there is this zonal mutation of crime, drugs and violence. Roma street culture has adapted to a particular set of structural and spatial elements which have restricted their wellbeing and survival to involvement in the illicit drug trade. This only invites more social and criminal policy planning around their surveillance and policing, redefining their own resistance to the former (the authorities) which assists in their commitment to the latter (drug trade): hence the visual messages artistically and resiliently reflected in the images. Still, little changes. Family members from a young age assume roles in the drug business, and when seniors are arrested and detained, these young men step in to replace them. Honour and status therefore become magnified by the drug market through consumerism into a kind of socio-commercial distinction and are managed by the extreme use of masculine violence to a) reassert a distinction between them and their clients (machacas, drug users); b) manage a negative meritocratic metamorphosis which sets them in competition with each other and c) define ideological and economic power between the Roma families. Vengeance, vendettas and paybacks are then an essential element of this competitive drug market which, as a consequence of its spatial confinement, continues to mutate and regurgitate committed individuals to take up ranks in the sale of drugs in and around the same few square kilometres.

Note 1 While ‘Roma’ are commonly referred to as ‘gypsies,’ and the name is often used interchangeably in the literature, for the purpose of this chapter ‘Roma’ is used. This is because ‘Roma’ can have negative connotations and deviant associations, and also be used in an offensive manner. 34

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3 Street performers and street culture Paul Watt

Introduction Until relatively recently, the activities of street performers on street corners, in market squares, in alleyways, at fairgrounds, sports fields and a host of other locations have largely been documented in artworks, books, newspapers and articles. This literature has captured the visual rather than the aural cries of the costermongers and sellers of newspapers, the noisy barrel organ and various varieties of buskers. Today, however, the research landscape is changing. Audiovisual recordings using new digital and multimedia platforms and mapping tools play a major part in documenting and analysing the sounds and images of street performers. Moreover, not-for-profit organisations advocate for the rights of street musicians and their welfare. Scholars not only continue important work on uncovering the historical cultures and conditions of the past, but also work with street performers to document their contemporary crafts and cultures and interrogate the politics of the spaces in which they ply their trade. Studies of street culture often pass over or marginalise the rich soundscapes of streets (e.g., Dutton, 1998; May, 1998) and have even been labelled as “hidden” (Bennett & Rogers, 2014, p. 455). The street musician is often described in pejorative terms alongside “street kids, mean streets, street people, streets of shame” (May, 1998, p. 3). Some studies of noise privilege narratives of discomfort and annoyance over aesthetic pleasure (Hendy, 2013). Scholars of street performers, though, see and hear street music and musicians in quite different terms. Such scholars are found in a range of disciplines: art history, cultural studies, economics, human geography, law and legal studies, tourism studies, ethnomusicology and musicology. There is a significant body of literature across a variety of media that depicts street performers from the renaissance to the nineteenth century. Publications in cultural studies interrogate the democratization – or lack of democratization – in public spaces and the theoretical concepts behind what it means for those spaces to be sites of control or liberation or, sometimes, both. In economics and related fields, scholars analyse the cost and benefit and value of all kinds of street performers – musicians, jugglers, singers and acrobats – to particular cities or economies (Elkins, Coate, de Silva, Ozmen, & Boymal, 2016; Baker, 2017; Marina, 2017; Ho & Au, 2018). Moreover, longitudinal studies have the potential to calculate the financial and cultural benefit of festivals. Human geographers map the cityscape and traffic of street performers. Scholars of law and legal studies research legislation, by-laws and restrictions on the street performers and, combined with interviews and tracking amendments to laws, these studies provide a fascinating window into the ways in which street performers 38

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have been regulated from as early as the 1600s. Ethnomusicologists and musicologists have traced the history of street music in a wide range of countries (and occasionally particular cities) in Australia, France, Hong Kong, Iran, Japan, New Zealand and Spain. They have largely explained issues of noise, civil disruption, soundscapes and repertory. However, scholars do not have a monopoly on the study of street music culture. Advocates for busking and street performers, including websites such as The Busking Project and StreetMusicMap (with whom scholars are now partnering for collaborative research), are documenting the work of street performers and providing a strong basis of support for this profession that often comes under the watchful gaze of suspicious and scaremongering local authorities. The corpus of literature on street performers and street culture can be conveniently, though not neatly, arranged into literature that concentrates on (1) the documentation, illustration and transcription of street sounds; (2) instruments, bands, parades, opera and their audiences; (3) aesthetics and politics of space; (4) regulation and the law and (5) advocacy. These broad areas of scholarly concern are not mutually exclusive. They all tend to involve commentary on the definition of street performance genres, noise and issues of audience reception and limits placed on both street performers and audiences in the consumption of the performing arts in public places.

Documenting, illustrating and transcribing sound The term “street performer” conjures an image of a busker: a musician or juggler, for example, providing entertainment in return for cash placed into a hat or a tin, or alternately, today, receiving payment via credit card or an app. But many of the earliest street performers used their voices to sell goods or make announcements. This was known as crying, and street cries have been documented and transcribed in many art forms and overwhelmingly dominate historical studies of street sound and music. Street crying has an extremely long history dating back centuries, but crying is still common in large noisy markets. In Australia, for instance, sellers of all sorts of produce at the Queen Victoria Market and the Preston Market (both in Melbourne), and in the Sydney Fish Market, can be heard chanting a short phrase about the quality of their goods followed by the price in a tone of voice that is usually high pitched and inflected to be heard above the din of thousands of shoppers in noisy, open venues. By the end of the nineteenth century, crying (i.e., the act of shouting out one’s goods to attract customers, also considered a performance) had been largely regulated to the extent of extinction in parts of Europe; the natural voice was further eclipsed later by the use of technology such as megaphones and microphones to make the voices of the market-stall owners heard above the crowd. Nowadays, there is virtually no documenting of contemporary street cries, but it was not always so: chroniclers, especially artists and ethnographers, from the renaissance onwards attempted to capture the sonic environment of street criers in various ways. The most extensive collection of artwork chronicled to date is Sean Shesgreen’s Images of the Outcast: The Urban Poor in the Cries of London (2002). This book contains images of over 160 depictions of street criers from the renaissance through the nineteenth century depicting a range of artworks from sketches to oil paintings by artists including Marcellus Larron, Thomas Rowlandson, Paul Sanby, William Hogarth, Isaac Cruikshank and Francis Wheatley. The artworks tend to depict individual street sellers going about their business or sellers interacting with customers and crowds. By and large the images are silent: that is, the subjects’ mouths are closed or, if open, appear as though they are speaking rather than crying. Few images depict the hustle and bustle of markets or streets. There are many other sources that depict street singers and musicians from other parts of the world. Scholars Luca Degl’Innocenti and Massimo Rospocher (2019) and Una McIlvenna (2019) provide examples of street musicians – as well as criers – from Renaissance Europe. Documenting street cries for the purposes of preservation has been dominated by past scholars. Charles Hindley and the ethnographer Lucy Broadwood and her team of ethnographers in late nineteenth-century Britain were significant pioneers (Broadwood & Gilchrist, 1919; Cra’ster, Broadwood & Gilchrist, 1919; 39

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Watt, 2018). Illustrated with woodcuts, Hindley’s book encouraged the preservation of street cries and deplored the fate of lost and extinct cries. The woodcut illustrations usually denoted just one person. They were sometimes drawn with an open mouth (denoting the vocalisation of a street cry); other times they were fairly benign and expressionless. A significant part of Hindley’s project was concerned with observing changes in street cries. For example, he noted the change in expression from cries of “Hot sheep’s feet” to (cold) “sheep trotters” and the ascendancy of the word “great” over “new” in fish cries; and he discussed extinct cries such as those by the water carrier, though he pointed out that the water carrier still existed in Paris and Madrid (Hindley, 1881, pp. 7, 20–21, 102). Also documented was the absence of horn criers, who were banished from the street by the Police Act of 1837 (Hindley, 1881, pp. 110–111). Street cries have been documented in other major cities around the world. For example, between 1935 and 1940 the Danish composer Vagn Holmboe (1988) studied the musical structure of 366 street cries, modifying standard Western notation to capture a visual representation of sound, which he used for transcribing the cries (Kreutzfeldt, 2012). Also, in the 1930s, the street cries of markets in Cairo were documented (Heyworth, 1938) with transcriptions and translations in English of Arabic terms. Browne (1954) undertook a study of cries (called “hollers” in southern America), publishing a social history and transcription of the cries as well as use by indigenous people and variants by white farmers. More recently, Stevens (2016) has studied the yobikomi genre of Tokyo and Kyoto: a social study of “the social expression of the human voice, in solo or accompanied by musical instruments” (Stevens, 2016, p. 85) that is used to sell a wide range of products from guitars to Hello Kitty products either by a person in the street or by an amplified recording. Street cries appear to have been sung by individuals, but group music-making of quite a different sort was – and remains to this day – commonplace on streetscapes, especially bands. Salvation Army bands play in the streets at Christmas; brass bands in street parades or groups of itinerant musicians staking out a corner or patch of a neighbourhood are examples of regular performances.

Instruments, bands, parades, opera and audiences Details of the instruments that street performers use, and the genres they perform, are sometimes not well identified. George Bernard Shaw, in an article in the Dramatic Review of 2 January 1886, is one of the few music critics to have written seriously on street music. This article is an especially important source for the detailed physical description of some of the instruments played on the street and the repertory that was played. The middle classes had vilified street musicians for decades, but Shaw showed considerable sympathy towards them, except for bands that were out of tune. Shaw suggested, in his usual witty banter, that noise produced by street musicians could be banished by confiscating and destroying bagpipes. On a more serious and practical level, Shaw (1886) called for standard musical pitches to be adopted in Britain to help constrain the incessant noise of street musicians. The study of the music of German bands in Australia and New Zealand interrogates many themes such as European–Antipodean encounters in music and migration from the 1850s to the First World War (Owens, 2018; Whiteoak, 2018). German bands were common in New Zealand from the 1850s through to the First World War. Predominantly from the Westpfalz region of Germany, the bands occupied more than the street: they were heard at “garden parties, sports days, dances and boat trips, as well as on countless other occasions” (Owens, 2018, p. 37). For many New Zealanders, hearing a German band was their first encounter with European music and it was not always well received. Issues of noise and xenophobia were played out in the reception of this foreign music. German bands in Australia also played in a variety of venues considered streetscapes, including “picnics, showgrounds and racetrack entertainment” (Whiteoak, 2018, p. 51). For some Australians, the sight and sounds of the oom-pah band, as Whiteoak describes many of them, were a novelty. The bands were highly skilled at playing the popular waltzes and polkas of the famed Strauss family. For some, however, the bands 40

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were too loud and noisy. The size of the bands is not often recorded by historians, but these German bands contained between eight and 12 players, occasionally dropping to as few as four players, a quartet. Ostensibly brass bands, a wind ensemble was often part of the instrumentation and the repertory was diverse, including arrangements from popular songs and opera tunes. The brass band was ubiquitous in Britain and its colonies for much of the long nineteenth century, playing at bandstands, in streets and in all manner of places where crowds gathered to celebrate. Traditions of these kinds have lived long and survive into the twenty-first century. In the city of Durham, in northeast England, many local bands take to the streets during the Durham Miners’ Gala as an expression not only of solidarity with miners forced out of work in the late twentieth century but as an expression of local identity through a parade consisting not only of brass and wind bands but heralded by large banners depicting images and scenes of local mines. Unlike many bands of the nineteenth century who performed to make money, the street bands in festivals such as the Durham Miners’ Gala are presumably on the street not to make money but as emblems of local identity and celebration, and of pageant and spectacle (Allen, 1998; May, 1998, p. 3). The pecuniary interest in both forms of endeavour should be considered. There will also be occasions on which bands perform at no cost to the public but may well be remunerated by local authorities in similar street parades or as passive entertainment at carnivals and fairgrounds. Other groups of musicians who appear on the streets periodically can be found in Hong Kong, where Cantonese opera (known locally as Jie Dang) is performed across parts of the Cantonese-speaking city in “street, parks, community squares, open-air carparks and, on occasion, indoor shopping malls” (Ki Tak Wong, 2016). This is further demonstration of street performers engaged in spectacle and pageant. Their performances typically contain selections of musical works from selected operas. Performances are usually held on Temple Street, Hong Kong, but are also staged in various Hong Kong districts and organised by the Hong Kong Special Administration Region (Ki Tak Wong, 2016, p. 101). Organised by the state, Jie Dang are not designed to make money or to procure money from the audiences. As Ki Tak Wong explains, the aim of the performances is to provide entertainment, promote the performing arts and traditional Chinese arts, and provide performance opportunities for artists and arts groups (Ki Tak Wong, 2016, p. 102). The audience comprises a mix of people who arrive early to occupy the best seats as well as passers-by who stop, listen and watch for much shorter periods of time (Ki Tak Wong, 2016, pp. 103–104). Once a year, a Cantonese Opera Day is held on the last Sunday of November. The day involves performances as well as talks on Cantonese opera: “Concentrated in the Piazza and foyer of the Hong Kong Cultural Centre in Tsim Sha Tsui . . . Jie Dang performances in other districts are also given free of charge” (Ki Tak Wong, 2016, p.  102). The capacity of public-sponsored street performance is documented by Patel (2008) in examining, amongst other things, the provision of dance, and other music and music-related performances, in Ghargharika, Baroda. “Bach in the Subways” is a further example of organised street performance or festival staged without expectation of financial gain. Each year on March 31st – the birth date of the composer J.S. Bach – musicians all around the world gather to perform the composer’s music. According to the “Bach in the Subways” website, “Bach’s music is performed anywhere, anytime” and the performance “is open to all – a musical gift for anyone who wants to hear it.” The financial arrangements for the event are clear: “No admission fee is required, no money is accepted by the performers, and no other commercial transactions occur immediately before, during, or after the performance.” If musicians cannot find a subway in which to perform (or are restricted because of local authority regulations), they “can perform wherever there are souls to hear the music – in malls, on the street, in churches, schools, coffee shops, airports, and more.” The organisers of Bach in the Subways encourage performers to promote their CDs, but they are not permitted to sell any goods. The gigs may be recorded; in fact, the organisers write, “We strongly encourage performers to record and post their Bach in the Subways videos and pictures online” with the hashtag #BachInTheSubways2016. Although street performances can be seen to be spontaneous and improvised, 41

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street performances can also be highly organised and serve various musical and cultural agendas. Indeed, the provision of music can add significantly in these cases and many others to the street as a site of “human ritual and drama” (May, 1998, p. 6).

Aesthetics and politics of space In the cases of the Cantonese opera in Hong Kong and Bach in Subways, performers transform public spaces into performative spaces, a sometimes awkward transition, as has been theorised in a large body of literature including by Cohen (1995) and Simpson (2011). Cohen explores the relationship between place (the city of Liverpool) and issues of place, class, religion, ethnicity and local identity, contrasting biographical narrative with social theories of living and place. Drawing on a range of literature including HarrisonPepper (1990) and Lefebvre (1991), Simpson critiques the “transgressive urban-based performances such as political street theatre or carnivals” (Simpson, 2011, p. 416). He considers that such liminal spaces “make significant interruptions into the everyday” leading to a subversion of “the spaciotemporal organisation of a space.” (Simpson, 2011, p. 416). Spectators or audiences at busking festivals or observing street performers in a mall have often observed how a street performer imposes their space on the audience, sometimes by using rope or drawing a line of chalk to define their space and where the audience should not cross. This might seem an aggressive or controlling occupation of space that transgresses on the public, but as Simpson notes “streets have never actually been free or democratic spaces” (Simpson, 2011, p. 418). The occupation of public space as a social or political action is taken up by many scholars including Simpson (2011) on sociality and Bird on dance (2016). Bird (2016) in her research on political action and resistance through dance in Melbourne observes that the Activities Local Law of 2009 prohibits behaviour in streets defined as a nuisance. The organised events of providing music and dance in the streets is a subversion of this regulatory control. Bird points out this level of resistance is a communal effort – not individual – and is an affront to modern capitalism with its emphasis on the individual (Bird, 2016, p. 135). But the subversion is not long-term; it is only temporary but it still manages to “reclaim the streets” (Bird, 2016, p. 139).

Regulation and the law Street performers, like street merchants and shopkeepers, have been regulated for centuries with both positive and negative consequences in such countries as Australia, Brazil and the United Kingdom. Blind brotherhoods in renaissance Spain and other countries such as Italy, Switzerland and Portugal were protected rather than suppressed by the law for 300 years (Gomis, 2019). These fraternities of blind men sang on the streets, reciting and singing prayers – and they were protected in these activities by law. Unlike laws that came later to control and silence street performers in other parts of Europe, the legal framework – a series of by-laws – was designed to protect the brotherhoods. The law ensured that they were kept out of poverty and kept a check on those affecting disability to usurp their roles. It provided welfare for the street singers and provided them with a “certain status or dignity”; that “they needed a recognised profession, an occupation that they could take up as a professional organisation and one that would definitely distance them from the suspicion of being needy individuals and vagrants” (Gomis, 2019, p. 48). Carnelos (2016) provides a study of blind performers and their rise to importance in Italy during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. A more pernicious attempt at regulating street performers came about in London by way of Michael T. Bass MP (1864), who pursued an amendment to existing laws to increase the police presence in order to combat noisy street performers (Assael, 2003; Watt, 2018). Bass’s submission to the House of Commons contained some 200 letters advocating for the regulation of both the movement of street musicians and the sounds they made. Most of the correspondents complained bitterly about the noise made from street 42

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musicians from early in the morning to very late at night. The impetus for Bass’s bill came from Charles Babbage (1864). Of the many reasons given to support the bill, Babbage reported on the degree to which the noise from street musicians impeded the recovery of the sick, and he kept a detailed diary to account for the number of hours of his working day he lost to his inability to work given the din from roving, outof-tune bands and other street performers. Babbage also argued that the noise was an impediment to the ill: that the noise prevented sick people, including his wife, from recovering from other illnesses. Eventually, Bass’s bill was defeated. By the early twentieth century, the issue of regulation was widespread across the UK, the USA and Australia, with more demanding rules and regulations. In March 1891, the Marquis of Salisbury, secretary to the British Foreign Office, London, despatched a circular to Her Majesty’s representatives in Paris, Berlin, Rome, Madrid, Vienna, St Petersburg and Washington DC asking for details of how street performers were regulated (UK Hansard, 1891; Watt, 2019). Two months later, replies had been received from all jurisdictions that summarised the rules and regulations in each location. Details were provided pertaining to which legislative department was responsible for the oversight of buskers, their licenses and repertory, the hours in which they were permitted to work and the penalties applied to breaches of such laws. The results of the circular were reported in Australia three years later by the Bowral Free Press and Berrima District Intelligencer, in February 1894: In the great capitals . . . there is a system of licensing [for busking]. In Berlin, however, so numerous were the complaints that the issue of licenses has been suspended. In St Petersburg, itinerant musicians are not tolerated. In the city of Philadelphia and throughout the States of Illinois and Missouri, street music is entirely prohibited “having been found an intolerable nuisance” while in the latter State organ-grinders have been made a misdemeanor. The land of song and of organ-grinding does not approve of this form of music: it sends abroad the practitioners of the fearful art. Democratic America and autocratic Russia suppress the reign of noise. But in England and Australia it is within the power of any person or persons so disposed to invade almost unchecked the privacy of men’s homes with clamour. (Anon., 1894) Over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, many cities around the world enacted legislation to limit and control street performers. Examples include New York where busking is regulated by the metropolitan Transit Authority (Lake, 2012). Studies of the Australian cities of Sydney and Melbourne are also recent examples. Recent research by Quilter and McNamara (2015, p. 553) explains and evaluates “the local authority permit system-based regulation of busking.” In doing so, Quilter and McNamara interviewed buskers in both cities to gauge the efficacy of these regulations and the conditions under which penalties could be imposed by comparing and contrasting situations of the law applied in theory as well as in practice. Their study showed that some buskers were reasonably satisfied with the laws relating to their own city owing to a conciliatory and pragmatic approach on the part of law enforcers. But such conciliation is not always the case in other cities, as the need for access, advocacy and rights of buskers clearly demonstrates (Bennett & Rogers, 2014).

Advocacy Journalists, local authorities and advocacy groups are also often supporters of social and cultural change. Examples include projects run by the City of Galway, The Busking Project, StreetMusicMap and Playing for Change. In November 2017, the Galway City Council opened up a public discussion regarding proposed by-laws for the regulation of buskers (Murray, 2017). A newspaper report in The Journal summarised the by-laws to include a maximum of two hours per performance, that the performance not “cause alarm, 43

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distress or offence”; that only battery-powered amplifiers could be used, and up to 6.00 pm, and a performance must immediately stop when a crowd becomes so large that pedestrian access to the street is not possible. The newspaper article was titled “ ‘Vague and poorly written’: Galway buskers are irate at council plans for new restrictions.” Following the publication of the discussion paper, a report on the by-laws was published (Broad, 2018). Entitled “A report on the impact of Galway’s Buskers on the City’s Cultural Tourism,” it attempted to critique and ultimately discredit the proposed laws. The report argued that street performances in key parts of Galway had a positive impact on tourism. The report did not claim to be “a scientific review of the by-laws,” but it nonetheless did two things. First, through an analysis of reviews on Trip Advisor, it found that visitors to the city overwhelmingly wrote about their enjoyment of street performers in their reviews of their holiday experience in Galway. The researchers also found the higher the satisfaction rate of a visitors’ experience of visiting Galway in general, the more likely they were to have written favourably of their experience of listening to street performers. The report concluded that “97.6% reviews mentioning buskers are ‘very good’ or ‘excellent,’ compared with 86.26% of reviews that don’t” (p. 5). The reviews also criticised the technical requirements relating to amplifiers, arguing that the requirements of the council were such that the two most popular brands of amplifiers did not fit the regulations (the authors noting that they had not seen these amplifiers banned in any other city) and that other amps were designed to be used indoors – not outdoors – and that some were prohibitively expensive. The report argued that a decibel limit would be more easily regulated and monitored, because decibel readers are easily downloaded onto mobile phones so as to make measuring sound easy for street performers and regulators alike. Arguably the largest, most systematic and effective lobby group is The Busking Project, led by Nick Broad and Liliana Maz, a not-for-profit organisation established in 2012 that is an advocacy, research and industry sponsor of busking around the world. The Busking Project “exists to promote, celebrate, and defend buskers with tech, advocacy, research and opportunities. We help fans find amazing performers, and we help buskers get business.” Its website features profiles of 6500 buskers, 3500 fans and 2340 cities in 121 countries. Interested visitors to their site may join as a busker or a fan. The Busking Project has articulated a “Social Mission” statement that covers the ethical ways in which they work and how they run their business, including their policy of remuneration. Regular newsletters keep all parties involved in policy and advocacy around the world. Broad and Maz also work with members of the Street Music Research Group at Monash University, Melbourne, Australia, which comprises scholars from a variety of academic backgrounds in different universities in Australia, South America, Europe, the UK and the USA. The Busking Project has worked on various projects in the last two years including researching and trialling cashless payments for buskers through Android Pay, Apple Pay, PayPal and debit/credit card payments, with detailed guidelines on the website for buskers to transition to cashless payments. Another project established by The Busking Project is a hiring and booking facility to employ buskers for particular events. In addition to advocacy groups, scholars have investigated audience behaviour and its links to how they might remunerate buskers. Kushner and Brooks (2000) provided an economic model of supply and demand for artistic performance and proposed a model to explain consumer behaviour towards buskers. A study by Kozyr (2016) used interviews to solicit opinions from audiences in St. Petersburg, Russia, about their like or dislike of street musicians, the regularity of audience participation and their reactions to the music and how much some listeners give to the performers. A second research and advocacy resource is StreetMusicMap, run by journalist, producer and scholar Daniel Bacchieri. Created in 2014, it is a collaborative venture of street performers from all over the world with an Instagram channel featuring over 1000 performers in 93 countries filmed by over 700 collaborators. Its website claims to be “the first project to curate street musicians to Spotify, creating global playlists.” The website features a global map illustrating the sites of all the videos that have been taken as well as short documentaries about various street artists. At present, Bacchieri is currently undertaking quantitative research with The Busking Project on the presence of female street musicians. Bacchieri has recently 44

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published a report suggesting that fewer than 20% of buskers are female and undertakes to explain why this may be the case (Bacchieri, 2019). Playing for Change is another organisation that attempts to influence draconian public policy around street culture. Its website describes this charitable organisation’s mission as “a movement created to inspire and connect the world through music, born from the shared belief that music has the power to break down boundaries and overcome distances between people.” To do this, it films and records musicians “in their natural environments” producing videos called “Songs around the world.” The website also features photos and information about artists and education programs they have supported. Hirsch (2010) provides a critical analysis of the foundation and a contextual study of its place in the world music market and its position as an activist group in its sometimes-controversial claims of music as a universal good and its attempt to quantify its musical and social benefit. There is an altruistic element in the mission. Literature that assesses the role of altruism, even religious or metaphysical, purpose and motivation for buskers as well as audience is Lemay and Bates (2013) and Ho and Au (2018). These studies, taking different approaches, provide qualitative or quantitative analyses of the audience experiences of busking.

Desiderata All towns, cities and villages are ripe for further research on street performers and performance. Historical records such as by-laws, artworks and testimonies in autobiography and biography are all possible. Comparative studies of similar sized municipalities or sites where the same street performers moved to are also needed, where evidence exists. Allen has documented hundreds of examples of street musical life in London in his The Moving Pageant (Allen, 1998) from literary sources, but the digitisation of periodicals and books at ever-increasing rates provides scholars with rich new data from other locations. There is an urgent need to document the ever-diminishing street cries before they become extinct. The cries of newspaper vendors, for example, are now completely lost. People aged 60 and above will remember these street cries and, for the cries remaining in large-scale markets, the cries ought to be documented and compared. There is also much scope to study the impact of technology on street performers, past, present and future. Tracking the extent to which buskers make money from festivals, the sale of CDs and the extent to which they build a profile through social media is largely untapped terrain. Surveying street performers and which festivals they attend or cities they prefer to work in will yield insights into any patterns of movement among itinerant street performers to see if there are any particularly favoured routes they take, for example, moving between the many buskers’ festivals around the world. Knowing this will help researchers track the mobility of street performers and the changing nature of their repertory. Investigating the role of philanthropy, advertising, local regulations, terms of remuneration and the need to attract celebrity-style buskers to festivals will uncover how festivals work and the audiences they attract or repel. The local reactions to the buskers’ festivals – both positive and negative – that feature in the local press is excellent evidence of the level of impact and engagement from the community. Although a range of literature exists on festivals (McKay, 2015; Duffy & Mair, 2017), the spotlight needs to fall on buskers’ festivals in future research. More extensive mapping of comparative historical, contemporary and digital environments in which street musicians perform are excellent starting points for future research projects.

References Allen, R. (1998). The moving pageant: A literary sourcebook on London street-life, 1700–1914. London and New York, NY: Routledge. Anon. (1894, February). Street music. Bowral Free Press and Berrima District Intelligencer, 3. 45

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Assael, B. (2003). Music in the air: Noise, performance and the contest over the street of the mid-nineteenth-century metropolis. In J. Hitchkock & H. Shore (Eds.), The streets of London from the great fire to the great stink (pp. 183–197). London: Rivers Oram Press. Babbage, C. (1864). Passages from the life of a philosopher. London: Longmans Green. Bach in the Subways. Retrieved from www.bachinthesubways.org Bacchieri, D. (2019, January 28). Less than 2 out of 10 street musicians are women. Medium. Retrieved from https://medium. com/@danielbacchieri/less-than-2-out-of-10-street-musicians-are-women-global-research-shows-6363dab9f21c Baker, J. (2017). Algorithms to assess music cities: Case study – Melbourne as a music capital. SageOpen, 7(1), 1–12. Bass, M. T. (1864). Street music in the metropolis: Correspondence and observations on the existing law and proposed amendments. London: John Murray. Bennett, A., & Rogers, I. (2014). Street music, technology and the urban soundscape. Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, 28(4), 454–464. Bird, S. (2016). Dancing in the streets: Political action and resistance in Melbourne. Journal of Musicological Research, 35(2), 128–141. Broad, N. (2018). A report on the impact of Galway’s buskers on the city’s cultural tourism. Retrieved from https://docs. google.com/document/d/1LGr-9xhUvHM0OtUj5wFKvb03D3Ivc4eXmHobFbq2zj0/edit Broadwood, L. E., & Gilchrist, A. G. (1919). Miscellaneous street cries. Journal of the Folk Song Society, 6(22), 71–72. Browne, R. B. (1954). Notes on the southern ‘holler’. Journal of American Folklore, 67(263), 73–77. The Busking Project. Retrieved from https://busk.co Carnelos, L. (2016). Street voices: The role of the blind performers in early modern Italy. Italian Studies, 71(2), 184–196. Cohen, S. (1995). Sounding out the city: Music and the sensuous production of place. Transaction of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, 20(4), 434–446. Cra’ster, B. M., Broadwood, L. E., & Gilchrist, A. G. (1919). Boulogne street cries. Journal of the Folk Song Society, 6(22), 78–79. Degl’Innocenti, L., & Rospocher, M. (2019). Urban voices: The hybrid figure of the street singer in renaissance Italy. Renaissance Studies, 33(1), 17–41. Duffy, M., & Mair, J. (2017). Festival encounters: Theoretical perspectives on festival events. New York, NY: Routledge. Dutton, M. (Ed.). (1998). Streetlife China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elkins, M., Coate, B., de Silva, A., Ozmen, M., & Boymal, J. (2016). Surveying the economic value of the city of Melbourne’s arts program. Melbourne: RMIT University. Gomis, J. (2019). Pious voices: Blind Spanish prayer singers. Renaissance Studies, 33(1), 42–63. Harrison-Pepper, S. (1990). Drawing a circle in a square: Street performing in New York’s Washington Square Park. Jackson: University of Mississippi Press. Hendy, D. (2013). Noise: A human history of sound and listening. London: Profile Books. Heyworth, D. (1938). A selection of street cries (referring to vegetables, fruit, flowers and food). Bulletin of the School of Oriental Studies, 9(2), 351–362. Hindley, C. (1881). A history of the cries of London: Ancient and modern. London: Reeves and Turner. Hirsch, L. E. (2010). ‘Playing for change’: Peace, universality, and the street performer. American Music, 28(3), 346–367. Ho, R., & Au, W. T. (2018). Development of street audience experience (SAE) scale. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 12(4), 453–470. Holmboe, V. (1988). Danish street cries: A study of their musical structure and a complete edition of tunes with words collected before 1860. Acta Ethnomusicologica Danica 5. Copenhagen: Forlaget Kragen. Kozyr, A. (2016). Street musicians: The strategies of mastering the social space of St. Petersburg. In P. Guerra & T. Moreira (Eds.), Keep it simple, make is fast! An approach to underground music scenes 2 (pp. 247–253). Porto: Universidade do Porto. Kreutzfeldt, J. (2012). Street cries and the urban refrain. Sound Effects: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Sound and Sound Experience, 2(1), 62–80. Kushner, R. J., & Brooks, A. C. (2000). The one-man band by the quick lunch stand: Modelling audience response to street performance. Journal of Cultural Economics, 24, 65–77. Lake, J. G. (2012). Demsetz underground: Busking regulation and the formation of property rights. New York University Law Review, 87(4), 1100–1134. 46

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Lefebvre, H. (1991). The production of space. London: Blackwell. Lemay, J. O., & Bates, L. W. (2013). Exploration of charity toward busking (street performance) as a function of religion. Psychological Reports: Relationships and Communications, 112(2), 1–10. Marina, P. (2017). Down and out in New Orleans: Transgressive living in the informal economy. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. May, A. J. (1998). Melbourne street life. Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing. McIlvenna, U. (2019). Chanteurs de rue, or street singers in early modern France. Renaissance Studies, 33(1), 64–93. McKay, G. (Ed.). (2015). The pop festival: History, music, media, culture. New York, NY: Bloomsbury. Murray, S. (2017, November 21). “Vague and poorly written”: Galway’s buskers are irate at council plans for new restrictions. The Journal. Retrieved from https://JRNL.IE/3707249 Owens, S. (2018). “Unmistakable sauerkrauts”: Local perceptions of itinerant German musicians in New Zealand, 1850–1920. Nineteenth-Century Music Review, 15(1), 37–49. Patel, A. (2008). Music in public space: Gujarat – A case study (Working Paper 10). Milan: Foundazione Eni Enrico Mattei. Playing for Change. Retrieved from https://playingforchange.com Quilter, J., & McNamara, L. (2015). Long may the buskers carry on busking: Street music and the law in Melbourne and Sydney. Melbourne University Law Review, 39, 539–591. Shaw, G. B. (1886, January 2). Street music. Dramatic Review, 2. (Reproduced in Laurence, D. H. (Ed.). (1989). Shaw’s music: The complete musical criticism of Bernard Shaw (2nd revised ed., pp. 437–440). London: Bodley Head.) Shesgreen, S. (2002). Images of the outcast: The urban poor in the cries of London. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Simpson, P. (2011). Street performance and the city: Public space, sociality, and intervening in the everyday. Space and Culture, 14(4), 415–430. Stevens, C. J. (2016). Irasshai! Sonic practice as commercial enterprise in urban Japan. Journal of Musicological Research, 35(2), 82–99. StreetMusicMap. Retrieved from http://streetmusicmap.com UK Hansard House of Commons. (1891). Itinerant street musicians [Deb March 1891] (Vol. 351, c. 221). Watt, P. (2018). Street music in London the nineteenth century: ‘Evidence’ from Charles Dickens, Charles Babbage and Lucy Broadwood. Nineteenth-Century Music Review, 15(1), 9–22. Watt, P. (2019). Buskers and busking in Australia in the nineteenth century. Musicology Australia, 41(1), 22–35. Whiteoak, J. (2018). What were the so-called German bands in pre-World War 1 Australian street life? NineteenthCentury Music Review, 15(1), 51–65. Wong, K. T. K. (2016). An ethnomusicological understanding of the street performance of Cantonese Opera (Jie Dang) in Hong Kong. Journal of Musicological Research, 35(2), 100–112.

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4 How municipal police interact with street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross and Michael Rowe

Introduction One of the central features of contemporary advanced industrialized democracies is the fact that residents of large cities have largely turned over the practice of ensuring law and order to municipal police officers and their departments.1 Law enforcement officers and the agencies they work for do this through a variety of behaviors, but most importantly by “resolving conflicts, maintaining and restoring order, and providing social services” (Reuss-Ianni, 1983, p. 19).2 This is rarely a straightforward process. These actions, however, frequently cause controversy when police engage in disrespectful acts and/or violence towards minority and poor communities. Police have historically had strained relations with some marginalized communities in ‘problem’ urban areas, and this has often stemmed from contested efforts to assert authority and control over behavior and norms that prevail in some districts. In the United States, police have historically had poor or strained relations with African-Americans and hispanics In Britain, different groups have had strained relations with police in some districts as patterns of migration have developed. These have included Jewish communities in the late 19th century, Maltese, Italian, and Irish migrants in the 1920s and 1930s, Caribbean communities from the 1950s onwards, and southeast Asian arrivals from the 1970s onwards (Whitfield, 2004). More specifically, police accomplish the aforementioned activities through a variety of mechanisms, but mostly we are talking about patrol. Patrol, it is argued, is the backbone of policing. Patrol is supposed to bring police closer to the public, enabling them to get to know citizens better, to engender trust, and to collect valuable intelligence that will assist them in doing their job properly. And when police interact with the public, it is usually done when they stop, question, search, warn, issue a citation, or arrest individuals whom they suspect have violated one or more laws. Police, like other street-level bureaucrats (e.g., public school teachers, fire fighters, and social workers, etc.), are in a unique position to deal with and understand street culture (Lipskey, 1980). That being said, although a lot has been written about how police interact with individuals whom they encounter on the street, few scholars have explicitly framed this topic in terms of street culture. There are some exceptions. Ilan (2018), for example, briefly considers the relationship between police and street culture. He states that street culture is associated with ‘defiant’ norms and behaviours including antipathy to state authority, entrepreneurialism in the illicit economy and a ‘respect’ centered outlook that can result in violence. 48

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Street culture calls for the maintenance of a hostile relationship to the police, who are not to be cooperated with . . . and may be construed as the ‘enemy.’ He adds, “the research has not yet sufficiently traced such structured-cultural imperatives into the situated moment of encountering policing on the street” (p. 4). Although Ilan points to some aspects of the relationship between the police and street culture, his characterization is somewhat vague and ignores significant scholarly literature on police behavior (e.g., Reiss, 1972; van Maanen, 1974; Lundman, 1980; Worden, 1989; Mastrofski & Parks, 1990), which reveals a more nuanced focus on the street culture activities that police are exposed to and engage with. In fact, a considerable amount of classic scholarly research examines what police officers do on the streets (e.g., Skolnick, 1966; Chevigny, 1969; Bittner, 1970; Muir, 1977; Brown, 1988). In order to understand how the police engage with street culture, a series of important questions that one might ask in order to understand the complex relationship between police and street culture are asked and answered following. One of the long-standing research findings in relation to police culture is that it is shaped, to some extent, by interactions with the public on the street.3 More accurately, the way police behave is shaped by the ways officers anticipate interactions with the public, in the sense of officer experiences, narratives, perceptions, and stereotypes about certain types of people and communities and the challenges, uncertainties, or danger that they might represent. Policing scholars in Britain and Australia, however, have been critical about explanations of the policing of street culture that attribute problems to the internal occupational culture of officers. Waddington (2011, p. 91) suggested that the concept of police culture had become a “vehicle for lazy theorizing” about operational practice, because it ignores, among other things, potential gaps between officer attitudes and behavior and does not account for structural and organizational dimensions of the policing of street culture. Chan’s (1997) work, drawing on research into Australian policing, reminds us that we need to recognize the pluralism of occupational subcultures within policing, and that these are capable of change over time. In the Irish context and the New Zealand experience, respectively, Charman and Corcoran (2015) and Rowe and Macauley (2019) have demonstrated ways in which cultural norms within police services can be shifted. This suggests that the policing of street cultures can be changed, improved, and affected by cultural and organizational reform within police services. Moreover, these studies demonstrate that improving relations between police and marginalized groups requires leadership, management, and organizational intervention. Cultural dimensions of these problems can be shaped by broader styles and practices of leadership. For example, in New Zealand, Rowe and Macauley (2019) argued that cultural attitudes towards victims of sexual assault – which had been problematic there as elsewhere – had shifted in an organizational environment that became more victim-focused and with an emphasis on professional service delivery.

Why is understanding the relationship between the police and street culture important? Citizens who spend a disproportionate amount of time on the street interact with numerous types of people. These individuals come from different walks of life and may perform various jobs. In many jurisdictions, governments have delegated the regulation of street-level activities (including crime and disorder) to the police. With the exception of public school teachers, in many areas, police officers are the most common government representatives that a population may encounter. Good, healthy relations with law enforcement are essential for a democracy to thrive. Police should appear to be trustworthy (not corrupt), and should be able to manage the demands of their job as peacekeepers and mediators of public conflict. Likewise, law enforcement officers interact with all types of people from different walks of life, from juveniles, to immigrants, to people from different class positions and nationalities. In Britain, for example, 49

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during the 1990s and early 2000s, policing became increasingly oriented towards promoting community safety – a broader agenda than law enforcement – which entailed working closely with other local agencies to promote public reassurance and community cohesion (Hughes, 2007). Since 2010, budgetary cuts have seen many partner agencies considerably reduced and in the absence of these partners (e.g., youth facilities and workers), the police might increasingly be the only symbol of authority in some districts.

What factors affect police–citizen encounters? Neither the police nor the organizations they work for are monolithic. According to Muir, they differ on seven characteristics: “[each organization’s] chief, its history, its size, its training, its incorruptibility, its independence, and its clientele” (1977, p. 10). This can have a huge effect on how each officer approaches their job and the people whom they are responsible for serving and protecting. As street-level bureaucrats (Lipskey, 1980), the police experience many kinds of situations in the public space. The people that they deal with can range in several possible ways, including their ethnicity/race, age, gender, socioeconomic status, and housing situation (homelessness versus home ownership). Numerous studies have observed how the police interact with these constituencies (Manning, 1977, Chapter 7). A close observer of the police once declared that “[t]he policeman . . . develops a perceptual shorthand to identify certain kinds of people as symbolic assailants, that is, as persons who use gestures, language, and attire that the policeman has come to recognize as a prelude to violence” (Skolnick, 1966, p. 45). In a similar manner, another scholar argued that the police must quickly learn that one of the important arts he must master is the sense of when to take action and when not to take action. An officer who brings too many cases into the station is considered incompetent, and an officer who brings in too few is considered a shirker. . . . What is consistent about policing is its uncertainty. Policing is said to be reactive and while some officers claim such unpredictability of the job is exciting, others point to the stress it produces. (Reuss-Ianni, 1983, p. 20) Skolnick adds: Policemen are indeed trained to be suspicious, to perceive events or changes in the physical surroundings that indicate the occurrence or probability of disorder. . . . The individual policeman’s ‘suspiciousness’ does not hang on whether he has personally undergone an experience that could objectively be described as hazardous. Personal experience of this sort is not the key to the psychological importance of exceptionality. (1966, p. 48) There are multiple factors that can have an effect on police officers’ relationships and behaviors involving the public, including their age, rank, ethnicity/race (Bayley & Mendelson, 1969; Brunson & Weitzer, 2009), gender (Rabe-Hemp, 2008; Poteyeva & Sun, 2009), the type of city they police (Wilson, 1968), and the neighborhood where they work (Smith, 1986). One of the ways that police officers deal with the ambiguity of encounters on the street is through their powers of discretion (Skolnick, 1966, Chapters 4–5; Brown, 1988; Alpert, Macdonald, & Dunham, 2005; Smith, Frank, Novak, & Lowenkamp, 2005).4 Some of the earliest research on this topic were Bittner’s articles summarizing how the police handle mentally ill persons (1967a), how they cope with the homeless population (1967b), and how police interact with juveniles (1976). There have been numerous studies of discretion in general as well (e.g., Bittner, 1970; Brown, 1988; Alpert et al., 2005; Smith et al., 2005). Other related studies have looked at police discretion in particular settings or situations (e.g., Ross, 2000b; Paoline & Terrill, 2004; Ross & Wright, 2014). 50

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Rowe (2007, 2020) argues that many management developments in British police during the last decade or so have been attempts to more closely regulate police officer discretion and to narrow its scope. In this regard, in Britain, requirements that police officers record details of street stop and searches (including the demographics of the person stopped, location and time, and the reason for the stop) and provide a copy of this to the individual encountered can be seen as an attempt to regulate officer behavior. Other practices that control officer behavior, for example, the use of GPS and technology to monitor performance, can also be understood as forms of oversight and management that narrow the parameters of discretion. Other relevant research involves the studies that compare street cops to ones who have spent a considerable amount of their careers as administrators. For example, Reuss-Ianni (1983) did a long-term study of New York City police officers and discovered two types: the ones who work the street and the ones that are in management positions. She concluded that these professionals bring with them two opposing types of work cultures: Most of the [street cop] officers . . . see the destruction of the street cop culture as an inevitable outcome of the changing organizational character and, with obvious resignation, say that this is what the bosses want anyway because then they can more readily control cops as unified groups. (p. 4) Reuss-Ianni further argued that, “street cop culture still exists, and currently gives salience and meaning to the social organization of the precinct . . . sees immediate local police response as more important than preplanned or ‘packaged’ solutions to problems which may never occur in day-to-day police work” (p. 6). “The street cop judges performance by the standard of ‘the professional cop.’ By ‘professionalism,’ they refer to on-the-job experience, and the experientially acquired street sense which permits them to recognize ‘dirty’ people and situations which require police intervention” (pp. 6–7). As additional clarification, she added, “This reactive ‘gut level’ ability to recognize, identify, and respond to a situation, rather than the internalization of standardized rules and procedures, characterizes ‘good police work.’ Decisionmaking thus takes place personally and immediately. Officers support each other, and their common interests bind them into a cohesive brotherhood” (p. 7). In conclusion, “precinct level or street cop culture presently determines the day-to-day practices of policing. Since the values of that culture underpin and inform the social organization of the precinct, they determine the behavior, dispositions and attitudes of its members” (p. 7). Taking this discussion a step further, we can see and distinguish important cues in the police subculture that affect their behavior (Herbert, 1998; Crank, 2004). Loftus (2009) argued that despite the importance of recognizing that police subcultures are not monolithic or permanently fixed in character, there is considerable continuity over time and between different places. This, she argued, is because the cultural values are shaped by the nature of police work: the danger, isolation, authority, and solidarity identified by Skolnick (1966). In terms of street culture, the working practices of police officers will encourage the use of suspicion as a valuable working skill. The problem in policing has been when the proper exercise of discretion becomes the unacceptable practice of stereotyping and prejudice. In the United States, in particular in New York City, the widespread practice of stop and frisk has caused considerable friction and backlash directed toward the police. This has led to numerous legal challenges and revisions of practices on the street (White & Fradella, 2016). In England and Wales, for example, since the 1980s, government Codes of Practice have offered a legal framework that seeks, among other things, to regulate police stop and search practices. In an effort to prevent the over-policing of minority ethnic groups, these Codes stipulate that an individual’s real or perceived ethnic or racial identity cannot be grounds for the suspicion that is necessary in law to justify the stop and search. Problematically, though, the Codes also state that an individual’s dress or other aspects of their appearance can be grounds for suspicion. As strategies to affect the practices associated with the policing of street culture in Britain, it seems that these legal provisions have limited impact: 51

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not least because the overrepresentation of some minority ethnic communities in police stop and search practices continues to be a cause for concern (Lammy, 2017). Police–citizen encounters are also influenced by social, media, and political pressures on officer priorities. The focus of much research and debate tends to rest on the nature of police subculture (often regarded as problematic). However, more widely it remains that wider labeling, racialization, and criminalization of sections of the community creates implicit and explicit pressure for police to ‘crack down’ on people and places labeled as ‘troubled.’ In Britain in recent years, public and political concern about knife and gang crime have led to calls for police to take new measures (such as controlled use of vehicles to ‘ram’ offenders off of motorcycles). Concerns that such methods would reduce support and legitimacy of police officers and so have a negative effect in the long-term emerge from research literature on stop and search and legitimacy (Bradford, 2017). In the context of anti-terrorism policing, Hargreaves (2018) found that police use of stop and search in relation to Muslims in Britain was complex. He found some evidence to support claims that have been made about the profiling of Muslims as ‘suspect communities’ (Mythen, Walklate, & Khan, 2009) but, crucially, also noted that practices are not uniform but depend on age, ethnicity, location and such factors. In relation to all of these types of police encounter is the concern that broader processes of racialization of crime serve to identify certain groups as problematic and the proper subjects for police attention. As Gunter (2016) demonstrated in his study of gang crime, ethnic stereotyping among the media and politicians risks legitimizing the profiling of some communities by police; a point also made by Cockbain (2013) in relation to the sexual exploitation of children.

How do police officers learn the skills of the street? Despite police academy training, over time, most skilled officers learn the norms of their work environments directly from the area/s that they patrol. These places may be called boroughs, districts, locations, neighborhoods, sections, and/or sectors. The police become familiar with both the activities and people who live in, work, and visit these locations. More specifically, certain behaviors and people are normative to the areas law enforcement officers typically work, whereas others are not. For example, a businessman walking a particular street during the day might be totally expected, but if s/he does this after normal working hours, this activity may seem to be out of place. Law enforcement officers typically know who lives in the area and who might be transient or temporarily visiting the area. The latter may be workers, tourists, people who are lost, or those who come to the location to participate in the deviant or illegal subculture that exists in that neighborhood. In British analysis of stop and search practice, it has been found that being ‘out of place’ in an area can be central to a police officer’s suspicion as to an individual’s behavior and activity. In relation to race, this meant that minorities on the street in neighborhoods that were understood to be predominantly white were regarded by police as suspicious on the basis of their very presence, not on the basis of their conduct. The police also take into consideration the time of the day. They develop this ‘street knowledge’ via their experiences through which they hone an intimate knowledge of the geographic area, as well as their ability to read the subtle and overt signals that people generate, including outward signs like clothes, demeanor, and speech patterns. A door or window open when it should be closed, or the types and conditions of cars that are parked or driven around or through a neighborhood may be indicators of disorder. Officers develop a street sense. Much of this is done on an unconscious level, something akin to ‘police ways of knowing.’ This is all juxtaposed against the location (Manning & van Maanen, 1978). It is in this context that officers use their discretionary authority. One of the challenges here is that while discretion is inherent and sometimes desirable, it also allows for discriminatory practice (or worse) if not used appropriately. We might think it positive for police to use their discretion to not sanction a driver exceeding the speed limit if it turns out that the individual is rushing his pregnant wife who is about to give birth

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to a hospital. However, it is likely we would come to a different conclusion if the officer is similarly using discretion to target certain ethnic or racial groups that they dislike. Not only are situational cues important, but the street cop learns what the various supervisors are like and how to work with them. S/he learns what is acceptable and what is not acceptable behavior on the street. In addition to learning the values of the culture and methods for getting the job done, he is at the same time being socialized to prefer modes of behavior in the process, which is generically called ‘learning the system.’ (Reuss-Ianni, 1983, p. 8) In sum, how police relate to street culture is dependent on a complex array of factors dependent on the police officers’ relationships to the street, to the people they police, and to the urban environment they police. Included in this mix are also the relationships they have with other police officers, supervisors, and subordinates. One of the factors that has driven, in many countries, efforts to recruit more minority ethnic groups and women into police careers is the expectation that creating a more diverse workforce will create an environment in which stereotypical and prejudiced beliefs about some communities will be challenged.

How did the police become detached from and alienate the communities they serve and protect? Despite their acquired experience and knowledge, keen observers of the police have suggested that since the creation of the very first modern police department, due to numerous factors, not only has the role of the police and the manner by which they interact with the public changed, but officers have also become detached from the communities they serve (Ross, 2012). During the early days of policing, officers used to walk a beat, but with the advent of vehicles, they primarily engage in motorized patrol. Whether this is done in cars, motorcycles, or vans, driven alone or with a partner, this way of dealing with the communities they police has increasingly distanced officers from the people they serve and from the streets where criminal activity occurs (Goldstein, 1979, 1987). Having said all of this, it is important to recognize that police have always had fraught and strained relations with some communities in certain districts. During the 1960s, this sense of detachment was amplified and resulted in large-scale riots, prompted by police shootings of unarmed African Americans, many of which occurred in poorer sections of large American cities (often labeled ghettos or barrios). This distancing also occurred because a disproportionate number of white police officers were policing Hispanic and African-American neighborhoods, and residency requirements were relaxed. In other words, police do not have to live in the same communities they work in, as they were once required to do. They can live in the deep suburbs and commute in to work every day. These factors, it is argued, have led not only to a breakdown in police–community relations, but to a decline in trust towards police officers. This trend is also believed to have led to an increase in crime. Similar problems were identified in terms of urban unrest in Britain in the 1980s, and in relation to a lack of diversity among police officers in some districts that were multiethnic (Rowe & Ross, 2015). Police officers have consequently become increasingly cynical about the people they serve, as well as the police administration (e.g., Neiderhoffer, 1967; Brown, 1988). This was evident in the research that attempted to explain the causes of the urban riots that took place in many of our large inner cities during the early 1960s. These resulted in a handful of commissions which investigated the plight of the police (e.g., ranging from The President’s Commission on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice, 1965, to the President’s Commission on Campus Unrest, 1970) and their relationship with the community. As a result of the numerous recommendations contained in these reports, police departments slowly changed. Although these reforms were palpable, they did not have a major effect on crime rates. British policing

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has been significantly transformed in the 21st century in response to the 1999 Lawrence Inquiry report, chaired by Sir William Macpherson to examine the failed police investigation of the racist murder of Stephen Lawrence in London in 1993 (see Macpherson, 1999). The report established as a priority for police and government that efforts be made to improve public ‘trust and confidence’ in police. Significantly, it determined that policing was institutionally racist. The development of a more ethnically representative police service, improved diversity training, and greater transparency in relation to community engagement (around stop and search for example) were identified as important elements for reform to reengage police with marginalized communities. While some stop and search practices have been changed, there has been insufficient progress in terms of staff diversity (Hales, 2020). During the 2010s, a number of very public instances of police use of excessive force or deaths by police officers of unarmed African Americans (e.g., Michael Brown in Ferguson Missouri, Eric Garner in Staten Island, Freddie Gray in Baltimore, etc.) were caught on video via smart phone technology and disseminated via social media, once again calling into question police–citizen interactions with minority communities. It appeared as if the decade of advocating for community policing was replaced by a culture of stop and frisk (White & Fradella, 2016), the implosion of community policing (Ross, 1995; Zhao, Lovrich, & Robinson, 2001), and the primacy of CompStat (McDonald, 2001). Worth noting here is the influence of the Black Lives Matter movement in the UK; the 2011 London riots were – on some level – a response to the fatal shooting of Mark Duggan by the Metropolitan Police (Guardian/LSE, 2011). In the US and the UK, and many other countries, the Black Lives Matter campaign was resurrected on a very considerable scale in 2020 in the wake of the death of Floyd George at the hands of the police in Minneapolis. Given that the British police are not routinely armed, use of firearms is rare compared to the US: the most recent data show that firearms were ‘deployed’ by British police 4500 times in the year to the end March 2019, including incidents where the weapon was drawn but not necessarily fired. During the same period two members of the public died as a result of the use of firearms by police (Home Office, 2019).

What have been the solutions to deal with officer detachment? Starting in the 1920s, the public and policy makers became increasingly concerned with police–community relations. Part of the solution to dealing with the breakdown today is to require police departments to better reflect the communities that they police. This has largely occurred through a greater emphasis on the recruitment of visible minorities (Rowe & Ross, 2015). However, it was not until Goldstein (1979) that there were concerted efforts suggesting that in order to bring the police closer to the communities they policed, they needed to get out of their vehicles and engage more with citizens. This collective advice, which fell under the umbrella of community policing, slowly, incrementally, and intermittently ushered in new types of service delivery, including storefront policing, mini police stations, Kobans, problem-oriented policing, and similar kinds of practices. Officers’ patrol methods also changed. Urban police increasingly use bikes, horses, Segways, and scooters to get around their urban locations (Ross, 2012, Chapter 8). Although a handful of smaller jurisdictions (e.g., Ann Arbor, Michigan, Madison, Wisconsin, etc.) started experimenting with community policing and/or problem-oriented policing during the 1970s, it was not until 1994, with the passage of the Crime Bill, that the federal government encouraged police departments to start hiring officers for the express purpose of engaging in community policing. They did this through the establishment of the Community Oriented Policing Services (COPS) office in the United States Department of Justice (Ross, 2000a). This agency assisted police departments and municipalities in hiring 100,000 officers solely dedicated to engaging in community policing. In order to encourage this goal, the COPS office developed numerous mechanisms to encourage the hiring and reallocation of officers to engage in community policing as their principle task. Soon thereafter an annual conference, supported by the Police Executive Research Forum, occurred where the latest techniques in problem-oriented policing5 were discussed and officers participated in problem-oriented policing (POP) exercises where best practices were taught. 54

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In Britain, since the late 1990s, there has been the development of a program of Neighborhood Policing, whereby police officers seek to engage with local communities and to collaboratively work to address low-level quality-of-life offenses that negatively impact on quality of life. This model of ‘reassurance policing’ is not targeted, necessarily, at the most serious offenses in criminal justice terms but rather at antisocial behavior and ‘nuisance’ crimes (graffiti and fly-tipping, for example) that create fear and a sense of neglect, particularly in marginalized communities (Innes, 2004). Developing from US ideas of ‘broken windows policing,’ the British model required police to engage not only with local communities but also with other municipal authorities (housing or education departments, for example) in an effort to develop more sustainable responses. Key to this was the notion of police visibility: that officers become a familiar and recognized presence within neighborhoods, with regular and routine interaction with residents. Since 2010, financial cuts to police services in Britain have had led to a withdrawal of the police patrol function, although the provision of the frontline ‘bobby on the beat’ remains an important principle (O’Neill, 2014; Greig-Midlane, 2019). Despite the introduction of community policing in several jurisdictions, in all but a few, this type of law enforcement has been abandoned and replaced with CompStat,6 which is more immediate in terms of what the department can show its public. The effectiveness of community policing and the rubric of techniques that fell under it have been questioned. In particular, questions have been raised about whether this methodology was able to achieve its objectives (e.g., Reiseg & Parks, 2004). It is argued by some that the development of evidence-based policing in Britain promotes professionalism and a scientific basis for operational deployment and that this might be in tension with community demands. As in the US experience (Sklansky, 2008), questions of accountability and democracy are raised in circumstances where police work becomes distanced from public expectation and demand (Rowe, 2020).

How do we enable officers to deal better with street culture? There have been many attempts to create police–community relations teams that would ostensibly assist the police develop more compatible relations with their citizens, whom they depend upon to break down barriers (Trojanowitz, 1972). Among the haphazard initiatives were incentives given to police officers to move back into the city. These included tax breaks or city-backed mortgages on their homes. The idea was twofold: it was hoped that police officers would feel more comfortable with their neighbors, and city residents would feel more relaxed with police, and their fear and anxiety regarding crime and disorder would decrease from knowing that a police officer lived down the street. From an empirical research standpoint, these initiatives remain largely untested. Skilled police officers evaluate and ultimately understand the subtle power structures of the neighborhoods they patrol. This is not dependent on where they live. In the past, the neighborhood where a police officer patrolled may have been where he lived, too, but not necessarily. Over the years, due to a variety of reasons, police have moved to the suburbs. However, with overall trends in gentrification, etc., we have seen a reversal in this trend in recent times. There are also racial dynamics in play. Thus, some police departments, in addition to recruitment, have required police officers take racial sensitivity courses. These have been of questionable benefit to the amelioration of racial stereotypes, etc. As pointed out previously, in relation to the racialization and criminalization of communities in the UK, such training is inevitably delivered against particular contexts and officers (at all rank levels) are not immune from external influences of media, politics, and society. In England and Wales (but not elsewhere in the UK), new approaches to training and education are being developed under a curriculum designed by the College of Policing, the body that provides for the professionalism of policing. New programs are delivered in partnership with universities and provide longer and broader coverage that includes reflective practice and approaches to community engagement. 55

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Additionally, transparency and oversight have been developed in terms of internal management and discipline. Misconduct cases are heard in public in an effort to increase public trust and confidence, and public panels are regularly convened to review stop and search practices, again in an effort to bring the community into closer communication with police (Rowe, 2020).

Conclusion Beyond patrol, regardless of the means to serve and protect the community, understanding how the police deal with street culture remains an important part of law enforcement. Police officers and the departments they work for cannot afford to appear to be an occupying army, otherwise they will not be able to achieve their goals. They must be perceived as professional, fair, and trustworthy. This can primarily be achieved through an intimate knowledge of and appreciation of street culture. Without this important component, they have lost the battle against crime and criminals and for criminal justice. In 2020, as a consequence of the death of African American George Floyd, at the hands of a white Minneapolis police officer, the public protests that it sparked throughout the United States and elsewhere, and calls for abolishing and defunding the police have been made. Municipal policing is in transition and all previous conceptions of what we require police to do appears to be open to discussion.

Acknowledgments Thanks to Nathan Pino and Rachel Reynolds for comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

Notes 1 Much of what we present is probably appropriate to county, rural, and state policing agencies. This chapter also uses the terms police and law enforcement officers interchangeably. Out of respect for the professionalism of law enforcement, we avoid the more colloquial term cops. 2 Other similar explanations are provided by Bittner (1970); Manning (1977, Chapter 4), Klockars (1985), etc. Some scholars (e.g., Thompson, 1963; Storch, 1975; Emsley, 1996) have argued that the primary role of the police is to monitor the working class, in particular the street-life activities, such as drinking and gambling, that the middle class, or more specifically, the upper class, looks down upon. Although an interesting discussion worth pursuing, for the purposes of this chapter, this line of inquiry is not explored. 3 It is important to distinguish between police culture (e.g., the organizational norms that develop among police officers) and law enforcement policing of street culture, the focus of this chapter. Although the two are related, one process is primarily internal and the other is more external related. 4 Discretion basically means an ability to invoke a legal sanction (Ross, 2012, Chapter 6). 5 Problem-oriented policing refers to “getting police officers and departments to think creatively recognizing connections across similar incidents that they may not have been able to see when they otherwise are responding to random incidents or reactively responding to calls for service” (Ross, 2012, p. 35). 6 “A relatively new management technique that includes weekly meetings of senior police personnel . . . to review the crimes that have occurred in their sector/district/borough in order to monitor crime-reduction responses in those areas” (Ross, 2012, p. 206).

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5 Youth street cultures Between online and offline circuits Ricardo M.O. Campos

Introduction Youth cultures, the street and digital networks are dynamic entities. The daily experience of young people is strongly defined by the presence of digital technologies, and being connected to the digital world is an increasingly common ingredient of their daily life. This state of affairs has considerable repercussions in the way in which space is used and represented by the younger segment of the population, who transform a large share of their experiences through a hybrid dynamic: the online and the offline. The urban public space is a territory traditionally associated with an array of youth cultures and subcultures. The street has, for this reason, been widely described and detailed in youth-centred research. This is a space of sociability and creativity that is used as a stage for the development of a series of practices that unfold beyond the domain of institutions and the adult gaze. Thus, on many occasions, the street represents a space of autonomy that allows for the development of a particular set of rules outside the dominant normative models. Another dimension frequently associated with youth concerns the media and the cultural industries that have played a crucial role in the social construction of its image. Nowadays, we would have to add to this setting digital technology, media and networks. Although the internet is reasonably transversal and widespread, many scholars point to the fact that younger generations are especially proficient when it comes to the use of digital technologies. These have been perfectly integrated within a set of youthful social dynamics that have also contributed to the creation of novel social practices. A significant amount of research has demonstrated how cultural activities and expressions traditionally associated with the realm of the street have been transferred to the online domain. A recent example is the number of protests that have taken place in several locations around the world following the political and economic crises that occurred in the beginning of the decade. From the Arab Spring to the anti-austerity and Occupy movements, there have been several instances in which there was a merging of the street with digital networks, resulting in protests of a hybrid nature. Another example worth mentioning, refers to certain street youth cultures such as graffiti, street art or protest rap that have been the subject of my own research in the past few years.

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The street as the domain of youth cultures In the Western world, youth is commonly seen as a stage of transition, the passage from infancy into adulthood. However, far from merely defining a biological stage, youth represents, above everything, a social construct that acquires specific features according to particular historical, social and cultural contexts. Associated with this, and aside from several variations deriving from economic and socio-cultural contexts, the notion of dependence and absence of responsibility seems to prevail (Frith, 1984). Youngsters are usually under the wing of several social institutions (school, family, etc.) who share responsibility for their survival and development, a fact that wields profound influence over their existences, as well as over the type of expectations and social representations projected onto them. Subalternity and transience are, then, two central elements of their social condition. Consequently, the passage into the young adult stage implies transition towards independence, responsibility and the acquisition of attributes allowing for a greater control over everyday life and personal projects. If there is a measure of homogeneity in the way we conceive of being young – as a shared social condition and youthful existence – we must not forget, on the other hand, the heterogeneity that is found across this age group. This heterogeneity derives from the multiple contexts in which each individual exists, the different options, lifestyles and projects they come to embrace. And it is precisely from this idea of diversity that the concept of youth cultures emerges (Feixa & Nofre, 2012). Spatiality is a core element in the life of youngsters (Valentine, Skelton, & Chambers, 1998; Hall, Coffey,  & Williamson, 1999; Robinson, 2000; Glass, 2012; Farrugia, 2015; Woodman  & Leccardi, 2015; Farrugia & Wood, 2017). To the extent that research on youth has mainly focused on the urban context, it isn’t surprising that the urban public space has been recurrently seen as the privileged stage for the manifestation of youth cultures. The city is the site of discovery, not only geographically but also fundamentally, in a symbolic and experiential sense. The transition from an infancy safeguarded by the family home and the educational system  – bulwarks of vigilance and protection  – is accompanied by an increase in the exploration of physical and symbolic geographies where young people are able, with a measure of freedom, to develop new relationships and identities. Subterranean and liminal enclaves, “non-places,” nightlife or marginal territories often represent the experimental and relevant spaces as they emerge in the interstices of regulation and ordering of city life. The public space plays a crucial role for presenting a number or resources, but also for serving as an arena for public gathering, socialisation and experimentation. The quest for autonomy inevitably includes encountering other symbolic and cultural references. As noted by Woodman and Leccardi (2015, p. 713): Young people are often drawn to particular public space that seems less inviting, a bus shelter, for example, not only because other public spaces are “adult” spaces and hence there is nowhere else to go but also because it is unsupervised, open, and affordable. Hence the reason why, sometimes, the youth opt for non-adult territories where they are unsupervised and that are aesthetically fashioned as juvenile settings with a range of distinctive features (graffiti, music playing, youthful bodies, juvenile clothing and visual styles, props such as skateboards, musical instruments, etc.). The public space becomes in this way a place which they can build up for themselves, contrary to family or educational settings overseen and invigilated by grown-ups and, consequently, under the wing of authority. There is, for this reason, a certain feeling of comfort generated by a sense of identification and belonging to a space that is shared among peers. However, the public space of the street is also a problematic terrain. This space of autonomy, creativity and, frequently, deviant practices is oftentimes seen with suspicion by the overseeing institutions and authorities, always all too ready to react to that which might challenge social norms and conventions. The youth is understood as being in constant danger, a state of affairs that legitimises the ongoing monitoring 60

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it faces from different systems (Woodman & Leccardi, 2015). This turns the public space into a field of tension and conflict where different systems of power and ways of conceiving the uses of space come into conflict. We can systematise the part played by the public space in youth cultures by invoking a number of interwoven functions. There are four possible influences: sociability; identity construction; participation and citizenship; and experimentation and creativity. To begin with, the public space is where youth gathering takes place, where proximity (neighbourhood, college) or affinity networks define geographical zones of autonomy, allowing for socialisation beyond sites of consumption or control by institutions (college, family). Friendship networks and membership in specific youth cultures are reinforced by social events and the enjoyment of urban public spaces outside of surveillance and norms of conduct imposed by grown-ups. Secondly, and directly linked to the previous, we have something that is fundamental to youngsters, which is the need to belong and to create distinctive cultural identities. As Massey argues (1998), the construction of space is a crucial element in the formation of social identities. In this case in particular, this process involves not only the differentiation and autonomy of identity before the family but also between different youth groups. That is, the cultural heterogeneity typical of youth is expressed through multiple strands, with space being one of them. It is for this reason that certain tribes, subcultures or scenes cannot exist without this primordial connection to space and the occupation of specific places (Glass, 2012). And so, we often find space defined by the youth as a place of belonging around which boundaries of safety and ontological comfort are drawn. The delineation of geographical frontiers also implies functions of symbolic differentiation between groups and communities. One of the most paradigmatic examples of this form of appropriation and territorial demarcation concerns the so-called “gangs” (Ley & Cybriwsky, 1974). Thirdly, we might speak of participation in a sense that is in some way linked to the idea of the “right to the city” (Lefebvre, 1996; Harvey, 2003). As individuals defined by subalternity and dependency and under the wing of a number of social institutions imposing a range of social norms, young people inevitably find their capacity for agency and participation limited. Thus, in the urban public space they come to express ways of being citizens that don’t necessarily match dominant models, and which can hardly be made to fit the labels of authority. The street is a truly democratic space. It is bursting with conflict and negotiation, insubordinate voices emerge, ideas rise that at once threaten and feed the natural order of things. There is, for this reason, a feeling of empowerment in conquest, administration and mastery over certain urban territories. And finally, we must also mention another crucial dimension, which is experimentation and creativity. It is often the case that in the urban space, location and the available raw materials become the essential elements for the development of a number of creative practices and activities, as is the case with skateboarding, parkour or graffiti. It is no accident that several youth cultural movements and new aesthetic concepts which emerged in the 20th and early 21st centuries have taken place in an urban environment, where the public space assumes an important role in the interstices of social convention and institutional rules. I have alluded to the relevant part represented by the street in the context of youth-typical ways of existence. However, to speak of youth cultures on the street is quite distinct from talking of youth cultures of the street. In my opinion, the latter involve youth cultures where the street plays a primordial role on two different levels: as a physical and as a symbolic space. Regarding physical space, this can be understood as the territory where certain cultural practices are developed by taking advantage of a number of resources and opportunities available in the particular context. The resources are dependent on a number of elements linked to specific features of the territory, to materiality and mobility, which may be appropriated and used in the development of a specific variety of activities. In turn, the specifics of urban space and the street offer a range of opportunities for the development of activities that could not occur in a different setting. The youth cultures linked to the practice of parkour, skateboarding, graffiti, street art or guerrilla gardening could only have emerged in contexts where the 61

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street is the crucial resource for a dynamic that can only be expressed in such physical space and which is in direct dialogue with its features. My approach implies a broader definition of street culture, such as that understood by Ross (2018) who mentions the existence of a habitus (Bourdieu, 1977) involving a certain cosmovision, a way of being and acting in these urban territories. And Ross also adds an element that seems crucial in this respect: the fact that street cultures are not limited to the circumscribed space of the street as territory, that they involve an immaterial and symbolic dimension and function as space-transcending cultural signs. As such, street cultures function as a source of inspiration for artistic movements and lifestyles, and are “a source of ideas for cultural commodities that are bought, sold, listened to, viewed, etc. (e.g. music, food dance, music, literature, etc.)” (Ross, 2018, p. 8). Thus, street cultures also include this symbolic dimension that usually exerts influence on an ideological and discursive level sustaining a set of values, representations and modes of conduct. And yet, there is a dimension which has grown increasingly more relevant for the study of street cultures but that has mostly been ignored in this discussion. In a world increasingly interconnected and filled with resources allowing physical or virtual mobility, the appropriation of urban space by the youth and other social strata implies reflecting not only on locations, but also on mobilities (Farrugia, 2015; Woodman & Leccardi, 2015). For this reason, it isn’t possible to think about the geography and cultural and social dimension of many of the individual and collective activities in which we are involved without an analysis of the capacity to overcome time and space that is provided by technology, is found in public transport, in social networks, etc. Therefore, although territorial limits may be more or less rigid, they are also traversed, overlain and redefined. Mobility is a capital that interferes with the constitution of street cultures and with the features they assume. In skateboarding culture, youngsters move towards skate parks or other places linked to this practice. As for youth who engage in graffiti and street art, they roam through the city alone or in groups searching for the best spots and inscribing the city with their tags, drawings, etc.

Hybrid youth cultures The ubiquity of the internet and digital devices has had clear implications for the way in which young people relate to the world. As has been shown by a growing number of studies, this has a clear impact at the level of socialisation and forms of communication (Buckingham, 2006; Livingstone, 2011; Lüders, 2011; boyd, 2014), cultural production and consumption (Jenkins, 2006; Ito et al., 2008; Burgess & Green, 2009), civic and political participation (Dahlgren, 2007; Loader, Vromen, & Xenos, 2014; Kahne, Middaugh, & Allen 2015) or the development of personal and cultural identities (Bennett, 2004, 2015a, 2015b). We stand before a deeply connected youthful universe where technologies are increasingly used for the creation and dissemination of a wide range of contents (Lenhart, Madden, Macgill, & Smith, 2007; Hargittai & Walejko, 2008). Considering the importance of the internet entails taking into account the actual devices on which it is used, as these are crucial to usage models. That is, it is completely different to speak of the internet when it depended exclusively on a PC with a landline connection and, as is the case these days, when it is used on ubiquitously found mobile devices with access to wireless networks. One of the most significant transformations at this level concerns, precisely, the pervasiveness of mobile access devices. This becomes patently clear when speaking of street cultures, since the places originally associated to internet usage were closed spaces, either public or private (home, school, office, library, etc.). The fact that the internet has become accessible within the urban public space, particularly in situations of mobility, completely alters our experience as users, opening up the way to a range of new social practices. Access to mobile technologies has become generalised, with some countries experiencing a usage rate of close to 100% among adolescents (Vanden Abeele, 2016). This explains why, since the early days of research on mobile communication, a special attention has been given to this age group (Goggin, 2013; 62

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Mihailidis, 2014; Vanden Abeele, 2016). Research shows a clear mobile phone dependency; independent of location, youngsters use these devices to keep in permanent contact with their networks. It is a resource that is in permanent use, from the moment they wake up to when they go to bed. There is for this reason the common assumption of something distinctive in the way in which young people use their mobile devices, which allows us to speak of a ‘mobile youth culture.’ In the early days of the current century, mobile phones morphed into multifunctional media devices, not only facilitating connection and communication but also the production and consumption of content (image, sound, text). It is a digital multimedia ecosystem where distinct devices operate in a network. Our youth seems to have realised the potential of these technologies for their expressive activities, incorporating them in their daily lives but also inventing new ways of communicating and generating content. This has had a direct impact in the way in which we currently understand youth cultures. As Bennett notes, “youth cultures may be seen increasingly as cultures of ‘shared ideas,’ whose interactions take place not in physical spaces such as the street, club or festival but in the virtual spaces facilitated by the internet” (Bennett, 2004, p. 163). The relationship between the street, digital technologies and the internet can be understood on two levels. The first level involves digital devices and the internet being used as resources that directly interfere with space or the way we use it. There is research showing, for example, the relationship between mobile phones and the exploration of the city and its territory (Leyshon, DiGiovanna, & Holcomb, 2013). Not only do mobile phones allow a safer environment for exploring the city because they can establish an enhanced connection with family and friends, but they also provide a range of tools facilitating a controlled navigation across the urban environment (e.g., GPS, Google Maps, etc.). These tools make it easy to trace a number of distinct elements (people and a wide variety of urban resources). On the other hand, making use of the range of platforms and apps available on the web is essential to the exploration and discovery of cities – and the plethora of available resources on offer (restaurants, bars, showrooms, stadiums, transport network, etc.) – allowing for the strategic management over mobility and the different types of urban activities. In the words of Leyshon et al. (2013, p. 601): One reading of our research may suggest that terra incognita is now only an imaginary concept. With a mobile phone, exploring places becomes simply a function of being able to access data, including how to travel to and from a destination and sites of interest. This would appear to suggest that everything we need to know about places already exists. And still within this context, we must not forget the unusual, informal and wide-ranging influence that the digital media holds over people’s mobilisation and the creation of new initiatives in the public space. This gives rise to phenomena such as ‘flash mobs’ that make patently visible the extent of intersection and interaction between the physical space and digital communication technologies (Molnar, 2014). As for other recent examples showing the impact that these media can have over space and its transformation through the mass mobilisation of people with a common goal, we can point to the most troubled political period of the so-called ‘Arab Spring,’ the Occupy Movement, or the demonstrations against austerity politics in some European countries. As numerous studies have shown (Juris, 2012; Fernandez-Planells, Figueras-Maz, & Feixa, 2014; Penney & Dadas, 2014; Campos, Simões, & Pereira, 2018; Treré, Jeppesen, & Mattoni, 2017), digital technologies have helped drive the creation of truly viral phenomena with an impact on street protests and political mobilisation in several cities. On a second level, this relation may be conceived in a different way, such as when digital devices facilitate the creation of a parallel digital reality. That is, when a variety of content (images, texts, etc.) is generated in cyberspace which, in some way, refers to actions, events, landscapes, etc. taking place in the urban space. The spatiotemporal detachment made possible by digital media reconfigures the urban experience and is used to produce a range of different imaginaries and narratives about the city. Some authors have 63

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commented on the importance of geolocation devices associated with digital social networks at the level of socialisation and the construction of individual and collective identities (Sutko & De Souza e Silva, 2011; Schwartz & Halegoua, 2015). In this context, and placing emphasis on the spatial dimension, Schwartz and Halegoua (2015, p. 1644) propose the concept of ‘spatial-self ’ as “a variety of instances (both online and offline) where individuals document, archive and display their experience and/or mobility within space and place in order to represent or perform aspects of their identity to others.” What we see happening, in this case, is the individual agency and the performative ability being mobilised in the sharing of fragments of reality lived in a particular place, working towards the construction of a particular version of the Self. In this context, the physical space assumes relevance as a symbol conveying a range of connotations. Thus, we can conceive the existence of a kind of cybernetic and image-based city which is reproduced and circulates digitally and is collectively produced by multiple individuals constantly feeding the network and who, in their turn, use of the information therein available as a resource. Images and audiovisual content are perhaps the most typical items produced in this field, as they are representative of our mundane existences.1 The internet has opened the way to the proliferation of networks of dissemination of images at an unimaginable pace. YouTube, Vimeo, Instagram, Flickr, etc., have become alternative channels to the traditional networks of production and consumption of images. YouTube is paradigmatic of this recent development in which, according to Muller (2008, p.  102), the audiovisual production has become private while dissemination went global. These are extremely significant resources for the development of the ‘vernacular creativity’ (Burgess & Green, 2009) and the ‘participatory culture’ (Jenkins, 2006). We find ourselves, therefore, in a new world where the limits between audiovisual amateurs and professionals have become increasingly blurred and ambivalent. And street cultures are not, then, indifferent to this new capacity for visualisation, as argued by Dibazar and Naeff (2018, p. 10): digital visual materials have become embedded in the embodied experience of the contemporary street, as one walks through it equipped with smart devices . . . while walking through the city with smartphones in hand, we simultaneously spatialize virtual data flows by visualizing them on physical phone screens, and visualize space by creating different forms of images – such as photographs, maps and videos – and disseminating them online through various apps.

New expressions of youth street culture: between online and offline Once we acknowledge that the urban space is prime territory for youth socialisation and the expression of youth culture, it follows that the widespread availability of the internet and mobile devices has had an impact on the way space these days is lived and represented. Those researching youth cultures and subcultures have not been blind to the relevance of the internet, as is evidenced by the literature produced in the last two decades (Hodkinson, 2004; Bennett, 2004, 2015b; Wilson & Atkinson, 2005; Williams, 2006; Robards & Bennett, 2011). There seems to be a consensus regarding the fact that not only has the internet given rise to new online communities, but it also altered the practices and existences of youth cultures. As an example, I shall mention two cases in the Portuguese context that have been the focus of my own research for around a decade and which may be defined as youth (sub) cultures with a strong prevalence on the street. These are (illegal) graffiti and underground rap2 (Campos & Simões, 2014; Simões & Campos, 2017). I am speaking of street cultures in the sense that the practices sustaining those environments are manifested in the urban space and are, for this reason, essentially informal and underestimated by most of society and the institutions that represent it. I would also add that, in symbolic terms, the street also plays a central role in the definition of cultural identity and in providing ideological justification for the existence of these cultures. It is in the street, and through the street, that networks of solidarity are established and reinforced, 64

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where cultural expressions become alive and, therefore, where recognition and prestige among peers is earned. This becomes particularly evident in graffiti. The practice of graffiti takes place on the street, in the public space which is used as a resource for a social game premised on the appropriation of territory through the dissemination of a brand (the tag). Recognition in this environment is obtained, precisely, in proportion to the visual impact that a graffiti writer’s work achieves in any given city. In this competitive milieu, it is on the street that these symbolic battles involving individual and collective prestige are settled. The territorial dimension of graffiti has, in any case, been widely explored in the specialist literature (Ley & Cybriwsky, 1974; Castleman, 1982; Ferrell & Weide, 2010; Campos, 2013). The symbolic process of establishing a hierarchy, which prior to the dissemination of the internet occurred in informal street settings, within narrower social circles, plays out today in a similar fashion on digital platforms. For this reason, although it is important to develop strategies for the dissemination of works across the social circuits in which young people move and the assortment of stages where they act, it is also essential to use online platforms to communicate with certain types of audience (thus extending their social base). To a large extent, this implies a greater deterritorialisation and globalisation of graffiti through the internet which, to use a term made popular by MacLuhan (1964), turns cities and neighbourhoods into ‘global villages.’ We thus witness the extension of social contact networks, which not only facilitate the exposure of graffiti-writers from different continents, but also help establishing communication and collaborative links between them. By virtue of specific interests and practices, young people participate in virtual communities which contribute toward the collective construction of meanings, content and networks, thus promoting a particular image of the city and its streets. And so the graffiti virtual city is assembled from distinct images and imaginary fragments that are complexly linked to the territory. An interesting fact, in the case of graffiti, is how they provide access and visibility to what is a subterranean, and often invisible, city. These urban invisibilities (Campos, 2017) are in this way transferred to a digital public sphere. The thousands of videos available on YouTube regarding illegal graffiti missions on trains, for example, open up access to a reality which is dangerous and not widely known. In other words, there is a reality in the city that is seldom observed but which becomes an element of this created virtual graffiti city (Figure 5.1). The impact of the information

Figure 5.1 Instagram image of “sintra wallz” depicting a painted train carriage. 65

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on the internet obeys a completely different logic from that of the real world offline. We can then assume that the centrality and image of places depends on specific dissemination criteria and strategies corresponding to a particular symbolic hierarchy of places which is fed by tweets, shares, comments, likes, etc. In the case of protest rap, the street assumed a double function (Campos & Simões, 2014). On the one hand, a lot of what constitutes the more original and rudimental dynamic of rap takes place in the informal settings of the street or neighbourhood (beatbox, rhyming, jams, etc.). On the other hand, in a more metaphorical sense, the street (and the neighbourhood) bring us to the horizon of lived experiences narrated in this type of rap lyrics (Forman, 2002). In the Portuguese case, the contexts which were analysed involved territorially and symbolically marginalised urban settings with a strong ethnic component linked to African migrants and their descendants. Consequently, the term ‘street’ comes to represent a symbolic space delimited by the harsh quotidian reality (poverty, police violence, residential peripheralism, ethnic exclusion, etc.) of the stigmatised neighbourhoods where many of these youths live. As a symbolic banner, the street can also be regarded as a staying-away from the mainstream: “refusing to identify with a pop marketing and insisting that staying ‘real’ necessitates rawness, authenticity, and a continued connection with the streets” (Keyes, 2002, p. 122). And here we have likewise confirmed the central role of the internet in the extension of a social communication and interaction stage between rappers and their audience. The strengthening of social networks works by breaking down a set of spatiotemporal constraints thus facilitating, for example, the creation of a translocal community associated with the production of rap in the migrant diaspora (Campos & Simões, 2014). We have witnessed many of these amateur rappers strategically using the multiple platforms existing on the internet to guarantee the dissemination of their work, but also as a way of breaking through the barrier of obscurity behind which they are pushed by part of the mainstream media and cultural industries. But we have also noticed that through the content produced, given the prominently political nature of their posture and discourse, they develop counter-hegemonic narratives that go against the dominant viewpoint disseminated by the mainstream media. For this reason, the digital media becomes a valuable resource for the production of different images of their lives and neighbourhoods. A significant example of these new capabilities is the amateur (and semi-amateur) production of rap videos which has in the meantime become popular.

Figure 5.2 Myspace profile of rapper Kromo di Ghetto containing images taken in his neighbourhood.

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Research has shown a set of functions safeguarded by the internet and the digital technologies (Campos & Simões, 2014; Simões & Campos, 2017). Firstly, these are technologies of memory. They make possible the creation of long-lasting records, in digital format, that go beyond preserving particular moments of quotidian life to include the work and careers of writers, crews or rappers. Secondly, these are technologies of communication. They are systems fundamentally adapted to the exchange of information and sharing of content between individuals. Thirdly, these are technologies of representation, in the sense that they provide opportunities for young people to expose themselves in a number of ways, by stressing certain individual and collective traits which, essentially, are used for their representation in a particular public space. We are not only speaking of instances of individual representation but, also, of collective representation. Finally, and directly associated with the previous functions, we can identify these resources as technologies of narration. By representing themselves, these youths use a vast aggregate of contents that, regardless of how much they are presented as fragmented in space and time, function as a narrative about the past, the present or the future.

Conclusion The ubiquitous presence of the internet and digital devices means that we are constantly connected, making it senseless to speak of a split between the offline and online worlds. In fact, we live in an increasingly hybrid condition where bodies and technologies intermingle, where the physical world is merged with the virtual world. So, to speak these days of social practices that occur in a determined physical space implies dealing with the concrete experience of immersion in the territory, but also with another reality which gains expression on the wide range of networks and digital screens and which interferes directly with the way in which we experience physical space. Youngsters are, as we have seen, particularly proficient and creative in the use of the different technologies and the production of digital content. This is an essential element for the construction of personal and cultural identities, for the communication and expression of young people, individually or in group. And so, the youth are in the vanguard when it comes to devising new uses for digital technologies, in their adaptation to the lived contexts and in the creation of new forms of expression. It is they who record on video the risky graffiti missions on undergrounds and trains, who organise flash mobs in the street, or produce videoclips in the peripheric neighbourhoods of cities. This is why youth street cultures, nowadays, feel the need to integrate something which might already be considered as a technological extension of our selves: the smartphone. This technology condenses a multitude of functions and it can be used as a paradigmatic example of the range of potential unleashed by the internet. This current condition inevitably has consequences in the way we represent ourselves and appropriate space. The physical city is used as a source of inspiration for the construction of a digital city made up of fragments, the product of a collection of content produced and introduced onto the network by an incommensurable number of users. But the digital city also represents an extension of social and territorial solidarities, thus functioning as yet another resource for the development of a range of social practices. The fact that the internet and social networks exist and facilitate the construction of these streets, neighbourhoods and digital cities does not mean that they exist without links to the offline world and the real territory. What exists is, precisely, a toggling between the online and the offline, a hybrid and complex system of reciprocal feedback. What is viewed and consumed via the internet has a direct impact on the street and on street cultures. It influences a number of representations, dispositions, practices and social networks. These, in turn, give rise to new digital content, communications and messages. And so, the main conclusion I would like to stress here is that thinking about youth street cultures in the 21st century necessarily implies thinking about digital devices and the way in which they interfere with their dynamics.

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Acknowledgements This research was financed by the Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, project IF/01592/2015.

Notes 1 In this respect, the selfie might be the representative paradigm of this new condition. 2 Which in this context might also be referred as “black” or “protest” rap, as it is defined by its own practitioners and has been understood in the academic studies focusing on the Portuguese case (Campos & Simões, 2014; Campos, Nunes, & Simões, 2016).

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Part II

Activities connected to street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction Numerous behaviors occur on the streets of our large urban centers. These activities are bounded by many factors. Some of these activities are pursued while a person is trying to earn a living, while others are leisure activities. Likewise, many of these practices have occurred since the dawn of time, while others (e.g., graffiti, street art, etc.) are more frequent in recent human history. It is also important to recognize that certain behaviors on the street cluster in particular spaces. These may be public spaces open for pedestrians and passersby to see, or they may occur in the back alleys where exposure is limited. Many of these activities are engaged in by a large number of people and others by a handful of participants. Meanwhile, the issue of temporality is important. Some of these activities occur on a frequent or regular basis, whereas others happen on a sporadic basis. And some of these activities occur around the clock, primarily during the day, or mainly at night. Socioeconomic class and age play a role in the popularity of certain activities, which also differ in terms of how the public and agents of social control (e.g., police, regulatory inspectors, etc.) respond to them. To the extent possible, chapters in this section examine these subtle differences. In short, the contributions included in this part of the book review and analyze the numerous activities that exist primarily in urban contexts that are intimately connected to street culture.

Overview of chapters This section consists of ten chapters that explore a range of practices and/or behaviors intimately connected to urban locations where street culture exists. Beginning with Chapter 6, “Graffiti, crime and street culture,” Stefano Bloch and Susan A. Phillips acknowledge that after more than three decades of graffiti being labeled and targeted as the scourge of the street, the dialogue has recently been reframed in the face of gentrification processes. However, graffiti’s perceived contribution to gentrification is the result of the graffiti subculture experiencing a gentrification of its own. In this chapter, gentrification is defined as the exclusion and displacement of vulnerable community members, facilitated in large part by broken windows policing and cultural colonization. Bloch and Phillips argue that graffiti must be understood as one of many transgressive and “disorderly” street cultures that are threatened by neighborhood colonization as part of the larger processes of gentrification. The authors make this case by tracing graffiti’s apparent transition from an illicit act of spatial demarcation by members of an iconoclastic subculture to its reincarnation as sanctioned

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“street art” produced by artist-entrepreneurs as part of the rebranding and taming of gentrifying neighborhoods. Although the authors do not declare that graffiti is dead, they do implicate street art as one of its greatest existential threats vis-a-vis its contribution to the larger gentrification process. In Chapter 7, G. James Daichendt, in his piece “From graffiti to gallery: the street art phenomenon,” acknowledges that the street has long been a site for unmediated political commentary. From calls to action to in-depth criticism of local and national politics, this political engagement has varied from individuals acting on their convictions to organized efforts by collectives and non-profits furthering their cause. Unlike spray paint and graffiti-related messages, street art expresses a different aesthetic, engages a larger audience, and is arguably judged by its ability to cultivate change by advocating, motivating, or educating the public. This chapter analyzes how street art has succeeded and failed as a site for cultivating political ideas in the postmodern era. Another prominent activity that takes place on the streets of most urban centers is the work done by taxi and ride sharing companies. In Chapter 8, Jeffrey Ian Ross examines how taxi drivers and the work they do are part of the street culture phenomenon. The chapter, subtitled “Acquiring and utilizing street knowledge,” analyzes how cab drivers learn their profession and how they deal with customers. Typically, they do this through trial and error, modelling their behavior after more senior drivers and/or discussing personal experiences with other cab drivers who are more than willing to dispense their knowledge and expertise. All in all, drivers learn how to negotiate the streets, including the dangers and opportunities they experience in these environments to earn a living. They learn who and what qualifies as a dangerous fare in order to avoid them. This is often done by evaluating how potential passengers are dressed, their behavior, and the manner in which they speak. This chapter is primarily autoethnographic, based on the author’s two years of driving a cab at night in a large urban center. Another increasingly visible activity dominant in large western cities is the presence of individuals who skateboard. In Chapter 9, “Skateboarding and street culture” by Iain Borden, we learn how skateboarding has often been interpreted as a culture derived from city streets that is frequently oppositional to normative society. Many riders today adhere strongly to this code, yet over the last two decades or so, many other skateboarders have moved inexorably into the mainstream, such that avowed skate-centric qualities like independence, cynicism, creativity, and resourcefulness often surface in unpredictable combinations and locations. This chapter, therefore, explores the diverse practices of contemporary skateboarding as they cut across the categories of masculinity, ethnicity, age, gender, and territory. Skateboarding street culture here emerges as a way to engage with the world, being neither wholly rebellious rejection nor fully acquiescent consumerism, but rather a means to cope with, construct meaning from, and find pleasure in urban life. The chapter makes reference to professional and amateur skateboarders and draws on a wide range of magazines, advertisements, videos, social media, competitions, and riding practices. In a similar fashion to skateboarding, “Parkour and street culture: conviviality, law and the negotiation of urban space” (Chapter 10) by Paul Gilchrist and Guy Osborn analyzes the research that has investigated the flourishing parkour scene, highlighting how a discourse of conviviality – seen in the notions of community, care, and shared presence – has been central to processes of legitimization in the contest for the informal use of public space. The chapter throws an analytical spotlight on the work of “sociality” in the articulation of the social benefits of parkour practice in urban environments. This argument has been crucial to how practitioners have challenged the charges that parkour is hedonistic, narcissistic, irrational, deviant, risky, and foolhardy. Countering approaches that focus on preventive exclusion and reassurance policing, the authors uses Barker’s (2017) “mediated conviviality” as a potential tool that could foster a more inclusive response to this activity. This notion is more responsive to context and may help negotiate competing claims to public space through a reframing of responsible and self-regulated behaviors, while simultaneously fostering mutual tolerance. In Chapter 11, “Mobilizing street culture: understanding the implications of the shift from lifestyle bike messengers to gig economy workers,” Justin Spinney and Cosmin Popan argue that, despite a burgeoning 72

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social science literature on cycling, little has been written on the relationship between particular forms of urban cycling and street culture. This chapter begins to fill this gap by reviewing literature on bike messengers with a focus on lifestyle and gig economy workers. The chapter foregrounds the ongoing role of embodied practice and particular events in the transmission of street smarts and literacy amongst messengers. Similarly, while the chapter charts a shift from the bike to the digital device as the most important materiality in shaping identity and circulating practice, Spinney and Popan point to the ongoing importance of street spaces in accruing street capital and connecting messengers. In addition to these insights, the chapter also highlights key gaps and omissions, including an initial overemphasis on lifestyle messengers, an absence of research on intersectional issues (such as gender and ethnicity), and a dearth of research on messengering in developing contexts. “Street vending and everyday life in an authentic 21st century” by Renia Ehrenfeucht, is the subject of Chapter 12. Street vending plays a central role by conveniently providing food, goods, and vitality to spaces regularly used by people. Nevertheless, cities have responded ambivalently to street vending, attempting to simultaneously embrace and control this unwieldy urban practice. This chapter explains the forces influencing the increased interest in street life and the contradictions that riddle public responses to street vending and vendors. A confluence of factors has stoked interest in street life. These include the forces leading to gentrification, the increased number of people engaging in and reinterpreting contingent work, and the increased value placed on localism, as well as the creative class hypothesis that suggests that professionals make decisions about where to live based on quality of life. Because cities recognize that a professional workforce, tourism, and business travel are important economic drivers, they support dynamic public spaces. Yet these forces have led to contradictory processes that have resulted in the food truck debates in Chicago and the second-line vending reactions in New Orleans. Chapter 13, “Private uses make public spaces: street vending in Ho Chi Minh City and Rome” by Francesca Piazzoni and Huê-Tâm Jamme, contends that the informal economy of street vending contributes to the vitality of urban environments worldwide while simultaneously defining the culture of the street. However, vending remains a contested phenomenon involving constant negotiations between the private and public realms. Piazzoni and Jamme argue that, by enabling encounters among strangers, street vending and its correlated private activities contribute to the public culture of the streets. Emphasizing the ordinariness of vending, this chapter focuses on how private uses elicit encounters among diverse people on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, and Rome, Italy. Street vending in both cities provides the urban poor with the means of making a living, while also serving the needs of diverse urbanites. In Ho Chi Minh City, daily transactions between vendors and other street users of all walks of life largely depend on the continuous flow of motorbikes on the street, where the private motorbike is the dominant form of urban mobility. These circumstances urge us to complicate the distinctions among the private and public spheres and encourage further study into how the private uses that people make of public spaces can foster social inclusion. Chapter 14, “Street scavengers and street culture” by Ben Stickle, outlines how the practice of “street scavenging,” (including scroungers, subsistence scrappers, freegans, and scrapping professionals), a practice that refers to individuals who earn a subsistence living on the excess and waste of society, dates back hundreds of years. Instead of tracing the history of scavenging, this chapter focuses on street scavengers of North America and their shared culture. Although literature focused on scavengers in other countries exists, there are significant differences in activities, which suggest the specific nuances of scavenging necessitate a country-specific analysis. Researchers have identified that scrappers, scavengers, and freegans have a unique street culture. Without calling it a culture, many others have described a myriad of deep-seated norms, slang, behaviors, and customs related to these groups. Although a mutual goal is a central factor that brings together many of these individuals into a shared street culture, it is essential to also highlight the primary differences among the groups. Stickle concludes by examining the varied methods and motivations utilized by each group. 73

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Christopher W. Mullins and Daniel R. Kavish, in Chapter 15, “Street life and masculinities,” examine how the tenets of mainstream masculinity are refracted by the demands and norms of the street life subculture into a variant form of hegemonic masculinity: street masculinity. This chapter examines the fundamental tenets of street masculinity within urban communities of concentrated disadvantage. It highlights the integration of masculinity within broader street norms, exploring how this is accomplished through the use of crime, reputation, and consumption. These core elements of street masculinity are tied to the fundamental aspects of mainstream masculinity construction, specifically hegemonic breadwinning masculinity. Due to the absence of more widely available social and cultural capitals within the communities where street life thrives, those men seeking to gain masculine capital seek alternative providers thereof, both criminal and non-criminal in nature. Gentrification is a common reality in many global cities. In Chapter 16, “Gentrification’s impact on street life,” Mirko Guaralda and Jaz Hee-jeong Choi discuss this phenomenon by reviewing the literature on the gradual takeover of low-income areas by middle-class people. There are many factors that foster gentrification, which influences street life at multiple levels. The established street culture is gradually challenged and taken over by newcomers, commodifying and sanitizing the original identity of a neighbourhood. The everyday rhythms of a community, including customary and spontaneous activities, are gradually reshaped to comply with the bourgeois taste and morale. A  review of the different stages of gentrification, with a focus on their actual impact on street life and street culture, fosters a reflection on current urban design paradigms in the neoliberal city, in particular the central role the notion of the “urban village” has in shaping gentrification. Different gentrification processes might target and attract specific social groups – for example, creative workers, tourists, and students – but all results in displacement of established dwellers and the reduction of the local traditional street culture to a picturesque flavour for the contemporary middle-class lifestyle.

Omissions Missing from this section are a handful of activities associated with street culture in big cities. To begin with, a discussion of the different types of foot messengers and how they contribute to and react to street culture could be covered (e.g., Boone, 2011). That being said, neither a large nor robust scholarly literature exists on this topic. In terms of specific types of crimes, like gambling, sex work, and drug dealing, which occur on the streets and back alleys of our major cities, these are covered parenthetically in various chapters. In addition to the discussion of cab drivers, a focus on ride share drivers (such as individuals who drive for Uber, Lyft, or Via) would be helpful. In many locations throughout the world, these individuals are replacing taxi drivers and small package delivery companies, in addition to revolutionizing how people order food for takeout Also omitted is a chapter on how street culture variously impacts people over the life course (e.g., Zdun, 2019). We know that neither individuals nor streets are static. As individuals age and mature, they have different kinds of needs, wants and obligations. This may include a partner or spouse, or children that they need to support and they may have a job that they need to hold down to pay the bills. If older adults were once involved with the streets at some point in their lives, they may have to retreat from this landscape as their socioeconomic and geographic situations shift. Finally, a review of how feminism and/or the relationship between women and street culture, and by extension gender, would be helpful to better understand many of the concepts that this book covers. This topic has been addressed in studies into women’s participation in street gangs (e.g., Miller, 2001), but a more comprehensive treatment, looking beyond these organizations, is currently warranted. Many of the previous discussions have been framed from a male perspective, and the role of gender has rarely been appreciated or integrated. Future research should tackle these issues. 74

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Conclusion Hopefully, these chapters have assisted the reader to better understand important activities that people engage in at the street level. Future scholarly research should examine the multiple connections between foot messengers, ride share drivers, and street culture. The next section examines the close connection between street crime and street culture.

Acknowledgements Thanks to Rachel Reynolds for comments on this section.

References Barker, A. (2017). Mediated conviviality and the urban social order: Reframing the regulation of public space. The British Journal of Criminology, 57(4), 848–866. Boone, K. (2011). Asphalt warrior: The story of New York’s fastest messenger. Minneapolis: Tasora Books. Miller, J. (2001). One of the guys: Girls, gangs, and gender. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Zdun, S. (2019). The fluid nature of street culture: Non-violent participation, changes in adult life, and crumbling ethnic barriers in Germany. European Journal of Crime, Criminal Law and Criminal Justice, 27(1), 207–225.

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6 Graffiti, crime, and street culture Stefano Bloch and Susan A. Phillips

Introduction Graffiti may be considered the most visually enduring form of street culture, constituting a poignant part of urban spatial ecologies. In the United States, dominant narratives around graffiti have been negatively associated with juvenile delinquency, gangs, and violent crime – mirroring common scholarly and policyoriented constructs of a strong relationship between street culture and crime. City officials have casually linked graffiti with high crime rates through the use of visual disorder as a backdrop for anti-crime political platforms. Their related espousal of the broken windows theory of policing has likewise pervaded public opinion (Skogan, 1990; Bratton, 1997). Given its rampant demonization and well-funded criminalization, as well as its practitioner’s prolificacy and the praise it has received by street art enthusiasts not just in the United States but globally, graffiti – that systematically produced, often cryptic, illicit practice of writing names on public and private infrastructure by members of a coherent street culture – contributes to how we think about cities, for good and for bad. Despite dominant narratives that link graffiti with gang activity and violent crime, new narratives that treat graffiti as a tacitly tolerated if not outright accepted form of street culture have emerged in recent years. Notwithstanding graffiti’s aesthetic appeal or promise for democratic place making, we view graffiti as a form of material investment in cities. This form of investment represents its producers’ mobility and visibility within urban space and their ability to navigate public life in creative, albeit non-normative and transgressive ways (see book-length discussions of the explicitly political practice of producing graffiti in, for example, Cresswell, 1996; Ferrell, 1993; Austin, 2001; Iveson, 2007; Young, 2013). Visibility and mobility are alternate forms of city ownership that are not bound by private property. Through graffiti, writers define city space in new ways – representing themselves for themselves and for others with the ability to see the world as they do. In this sense, graffiti writers have created their own public among those who look for, understand, and/or produce graffiti as a routine part of their daily lives. This public includes people from all socioeconomic classes and cultural and age backgrounds, all of whom are linked through their appreciation of this expressive medium with roots in illegality. While the link between graffiti and crime is pervasive, so too is the link between graffiti and the presence of street culture productive of the urban imaginary. Given the public’s interest in graffiti, the production and erasure of graffiti must be understood as powerful symbols of both tolerance and intolerance for public life and the expression of alternate identities. 77

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Figure 6.1 Avenue 43 gang graffiti in Old English lettering. With river in foreground and freeway and neighborhood in background. Los Angeles, 1995.

Figure 6.2 Graffiti by AZ CBS, Big-5 TCS, and others outside a Los Angeles art gallery catering to graffitibased exhibitions, 1993.

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Whether loved or loathed, graffiti helps shape our collective impression of cityscapes and street culture. Graffiti visually punctuates the appearance of most major metropolitan centers in the United States and cities around the globe. Spray painted names adorn full frontal walls, elaborate pieces are rolled out and made visible from train lines and rooftops, marker tags personalize otherwise unacknowledged curbsides and light poles. Stenciled or paint stick images cover sidewalks, just as slap-tags cover the backs of stop signs. The same is true for suburban and even rural infrastructure. While graffitied “spots” (Ferrell & Weide, 2010) may be used to signify disorder, graffitied walls in hip neighborhoods also allow communities to retain a gritty edge that becomes a superficial selling point and occasional pawn in gentrification campaigns (Bloch, 2012b; Dovey, Wollan,  & Woodcock, 2012). The non-stop production, erasure, and reproduction of graffiti ensures the continual marking of and engagement with otherwise alienating architectural and static street-based features. But despite the increasingly accepted nature and presence of graffiti, especially in its more accepted framing as “street art” (Dickens, 2008, 2010; McAuliffe & Iveson, 2011; Young, 2013), linkages between graffiti and crime remain part of graffiti worlds both in narrative and in practice for a large percentage of the population. Graffiti-related crimes include trespassing and vandalism, but classical discussions of graffiti suggest a link between wall writing and predation in the public sphere. The aforementioned causal link between unauthorized aesthetics and the commission of violent crime is tied to the conflation of wall writing and “gang violence.” Such predominately urban-based practices are conflated so that apparently authorless and indecipherable wall markings have inspired moral panics, vigilantism, and militaristic policing against taggers. We see such attacks on graffiti as part of a willful demonization and/or broader misunderstanding of street culture in general. Because of the tensions inherent in its production, consumption, and eradication, graffiti can be used as a lens through which to analyze conflicts over space and culture within contemporary society. We argue

Figure 6.3 Kevin + Mike. Amor por Vida. Los Angeles. Source: Photograph by Ben Lomas, 1970.

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that rampant demonization and misunderstanding stem from conservative conceptualizations of how public space should look, function, and for whom it should exist and include (Lefebvre, 1991; Iveson, 2011), but we are also concerned with how the warm acceptance of highly stylized “street art” can contribute to the gentrification and simultaneous ghettoization of traditional wall-based script and marking of individual monikers. As both a material and visual component of the street, graffiti elicits discussions about the control over public and private space – a core component of and context for how power is produced and maintained. In the following chapter we discuss graffiti as the work of urban social groups, particularly in terms of its perceived connection to crime and street culture practiced at the scale of the neighborhood.

Graffiti and urban social groups In the 1960s, the word “graffiti” was sometimes italicized, not to emphasize it, but because of its Italian origin. Since that time, the term has come to encompass a broad range of the world’s clandestine written traditions from ancient Rome to contemporary Tokyo. At the same time, graffiti has begun to narrow in meaning to be a specific reference to the visual phenomenon emerging from New York subways in the 1970s, which has become the primary form of graffiti-as-street-culture in the United States and globally. Because graffiti has become synonymous with New York City of a particular era, the qualification “hip-hop” is often added to denote a “wild style” writing that emerged from the city’s boroughs. However, traditions of individually authored and place-based wall writing predated the emergence of so-called “hip-hop graffiti,” “New York style graffiti,” or what is commonly called “graffiti art.” As part of this genealogy, wall writing produced by gangs both informed the development of non-gang styles in cities like New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles, but also deeply influenced the public’s opinion about this illicit form of demarcation. Waclawek (2011) indicates that the prolific nature of New York and Philadelphia gang graffiti shaped viewers’ interpretations of new kinds of non-gang graffiti. And in the very

Figure 6.4 Non-gang graffiti. Gin, Ducer, and other graffiti writers in downtown Los Angeles, c. 1993.

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first academic acknowledgement of the distinction between gang and “loner” graffiti, Ley and Cybriwsky (1974) argue that public perception of graffiti has tended to lag behind what graffiti practitioners such as Philadelphia’s Cornbread were seeking to accomplish with their markings. In Los Angeles – the city with perhaps the greatest tradition of gang graffiti in the country – residents and the police still routinely confuse non-gang tagging with gang graffiti (Phillips, 1999; Bloch, 2019). Aesthetic differences between gang-related and non-gang graffiti exist (Phillips, 2017), but objective quality is not what makes these two forms of wall writing different. From an insider’s perspective, there is stunningly crafted gang graffiti, just as there is poorly produced non-gang graffiti, and vice versa. Rather than appearance, location and intent distinguish the two forms. For gangs, graffiti may function as a visual indicator of a claimed territory, or more broadly, as an “interactional discourse” (Adams & Winter, 1997) by which complex communication is conveyed given an array of spray-painted signs and signifiers. Nongang graffiti tends to focus more so on individual prolificacy while simultaneously promoting social groups called “crews.” That is, whereas gang members have traditionally used their writing to serve as a mode of inter-group communication used to lay claim to particular spaces, graffiti writers use graffiti to define personal and social space more broadly, thereby gaining fame, seeking adventure, challenging abstract notions of authority, and nonviolently asserting their fleeting presence over a wide geographical area in an effort to “go all city.” Ironically, the cultural attributes commonly used to demean graffiti writers as “anarchistic,” “egocentric,” “individualistic,” and “narcissistic” are the very qualities that help distinguish them from gang members who are more likely to engage collectively in violent place-based protectionism as a matter of social cohesion. Put simply, widespread vandalism perpetuated by particular writers in many ways insulates them from the daily drama of gang violence. This counters some conclusions about street culture, that we review later, which link graffiti and crime in an overly simplistic manner (see Ross, 2018). Even when gang members are excluded from the discussion, false distinctions between “taggers” and “graffiti artists” pervade the public’s perspective of wall markings. The perspective that visually pleasing and legible lettering is the work of “graffiti artists,” whereas indecipherable “tagging” is the work of unskilled vandals, is far from accurate (Bloch, 2019). Many graffiti writers possess a repertoire that includes bubble letters, or “throw ups/throwies” and complex “masterpieces,” as well as cryptic “tags” that are no less aesthetically sophisticated and painstakingly refined, regardless of how misinterpreted they may be by the outsiders. What people misread as “scribbling” is, in reality, part of an intricate and intentionally placed lettering system that is performed for a discerning audience of fellow writers for whom the “tag” is a foundational (Snyder, 2016). “Fame” for graffiti writers and “respect” for gang members are respectively held goals that stem from a desire for recognition from a community of peers. The primary difference between the two categories of writing lies in the fact that gang graffiti, while also aesthetically innovative, highly stylized, linguistically inventive, and intentionally placed, is tied to neighborhood identity and is used to memorialize jailed and deceased friends and to declare inter- and intra-group fraternity, loyalty, rivalry, or superiority (Adams & Winter, 1997; Alonso, 1999; Chastanet, 2009; Durán, 2009). Gang graffiti acts as a way of establishing gangs as street-based social groups, as explored by, for example, Ley and Cybriwsky (1974), Romotsky and Romotsky (1976), Phillips (1999), and Mendoza-Denton (2014). Key divisions within gang systems, such as those between North and South for Latino gangs, Blood and Crip for African American gangs, or People and Folk for Chicago-based multiracial gangs, have little intrinsic meaning other than what is rendered dynamically through clothing, graffiti, linguistic, and tattooing practice. For gangs, therefore, graffiti can be less a manner of violently claiming “territory” than it is a way of infusing neighborhoods with collective sentiment that is rendered in writing and other gang actions (Phillips, 1999; Conquergood, 2004). If graffiti generates untoward fear on the part of an ignorant public, gangs do the same because of their poorly understood violence and inward-facing sociality.

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Figure 6.5 Rivalry in graffiti: 38 Street gang versus Barrio Mojados gang.

Graffiti and crime The development of contemporary graffiti came at a key moment of transformation from an industrial to postindustrial society. Globalization and deindustrialization beginning in the 1970s meant that an entire generation of laborers was trying to adapt to the disappearance of working-class jobs and an educational system that was not, and still isn’t, adequate preparation for the service economy (Hagedorn, 1998; Coughlin & Venkatesh, 2003). By the 1980s, public services had been systematically cut and welfare gutted. The era had already seen the growth of widespread homelessness, the drug war, and the rise of mass incarceration. Hundreds of thousands of people were shut out of that economic system, feeding the exponential growth of the U.S. prison population through laws targeting the excluded. Youth, and especially gang members and taggers, were part of that targeted group (Austin & Irwin, 2012). Both grounded and mythical narratives surround the relationships between graffiti and crime/criminal organizations. The broken windows perspective and its political incarnation as broken windows policing establishes that there is an instrumental relationship between the presence of quality-of-life infractions and the future commission of violent crimes – gang-related violent crimes, in particular. This relationship is based on the argument, as initially put forth by Wilson and Kelling (1982), that disorder signals to outsiders that crime committed in a given neighborhood will go unpunished due to a general community malaise evidenced and reinforced by the presence of behavioral and visual incivilities and infractions. Although “graffiti” appears in Wilson and Kelling’s influential article only in reference to a quotation by Glazer (1979) referring to subway vandalism as evidence of an “uncontrolled and uncontrollable” environment, the interpretation of broken windows perspective by police as a policing ideology has been the driving force behind draconian and militarized anti-graffiti campaigns that purport to protect the common good and human life (Iveson, 2010) – or as Harcourt (2001) puts it, to control those inhabitants of the city deemed “disreputable and disorderly.” 82

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The broken windows-inspired policing of graffiti writers as gang members has been led by those who may remain ignorant of the qualitative difference between the two subgroups and their markings, or gang crack-downs on graffiti writers are dependent on the (mis)application of gang suppression tactics used in the obliteration of unwanted urban aesthetics as well as the eradication of unprofitable street culture. Proponents of the broken windows perspective are likely conscious of their targeted misreading of graffiti as part of translating the broken windows perspective into practice. Misleading arguments that conflate all wall writing with gang violence have become so pervasive that police operating in post-1990s contexts simply accept as fact the notion that graffiti writers and violent criminals are one in the same in terms of their contribution to community malaise. In our own experience speaking with police officers about graffiti, perceptions of graffiti range from ambivalence to outrage to admiration. It is therefore necessary to gauge police perception of graffiti based on institutional approaches, not individual perception which varies widely and, as Ross and Wright (2014) show, is context specific. Regardless of individual police officer intentionality, institutionalized broken windows ideology has become so widely accepted through strategic misinformation campaigning by broken windows adherents that the connection between disorder and crime has been widely and uncritically accepted as a matter of “common sense” (Sampson  & Raudenbush, 2004; Fielding  & Innes, 2006; Gau  & Pratt, 2008; Vitale, 2008). As such, broken windows policing has played an instrumental role in changing public perception of what breeds and constitutes crime and predation in an effort to increase support for the eradication of alternative urban aesthetics and street-based cultural practices and sheer presence. Far from a hyperbolic evocation of the importance of outward appearances for “tough on crime” proponents, broken windows ideology, as Ferrell (2010, p. 262) has argued, “stands or fails on its aesthetic analysis” and is dependent on “a series of abstract, one-dimensional meanings that [they] arbitrarily assign to dislocated images and idealized audiences.” While acknowledgement of graffiti as aesthetically pleasing and nonviolent has become more widespread in recent years, particularly when viewed as “street art” or legal “graffiti-murals” (Lachman, 1988;

Figure 6.6 Graffiti surveillance warning, perhaps ironic. 83

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Kramer, 2010a; Snyder, 2011; McAuliffe, 2012; Young, 2013), illegal tagging cannot shake its gang affiliation and by extension its connection to lawlessness and violent territoriality. Seeing the writing on the walls as a visual indicator and instigator of street violence is in part the result of a socially constructed implicit bias and perceptual disorder-crime link in which residents conflate the problems of disorder with predation (Sampson & Raudenbush, 2004; Gau & Pratt, 2008). Influenced by its success as a policing theory in the US, broken windows theory has been successfully exported to cities around the world: e.g., in Turkey (Gönen, 2013), the Netherlands (Punch, 2007), Iraq (Mitchell, 2010), South Africa (Vigneswaran, 2014), and China (Jiao & Silverman, 2006). Perceiving disorder as part and parcel of potential victimization may encourage residents to ask law enforcement to implement broken windows policing and any of its tactical corollaries such as zero-tolerance policing, quality-of-life policing, stop-and-frisk, and order-maintenance policing. This has resulted in charges of rampant racial profiling, the denial of civil rights, and aggressive targeting of low-level infractions that accompany the implementation of such crime reduction strategies (Fagan & Davies, 2001; Harcourt & Ludwig, 2006; Beckett & Herbert, 2009). The resulting over-policing of “quality of life” crime in neighborhoods where disorder and public nuisances are reported may also contribute to under-policing in neighborhoods where fewer quality-of-life complaints are made, but are areas that are nevertheless experiencing hotspots of victimization.

Graffiti, street art, and street culture When we first began working on graffiti (writing graffiti as well as writing about graffiti) in the 1990s, virulent debates raged as to whether graffiti was art or vandalism, or whether graffiti could really be called graffiti if it was produced legally. Hardware stores rather than art stores were the domain of graffiti supplies, and news coverage about graffiti and so-called “tag-bangers” tended to showcase men with guns more than spray cans. But today, graffiti bridges legitimate and illegitimate art worlds in a manner that conjoins practitioners at multiple levels. Though spray cans remain under lock and key to prevent minors from purchasing or stealing them, entire sections of art stores are now dedicated to “graffiti supplies” and include various brands of spray paint, different sizes and styles of nozzles, markers in multiple colors and widths, gloves, masks, and sometimes even graffiti emblazoned merchandise and apparel. In part because of the transformation of graffiti’s role as place maker, the graffiti phenomenon figures neatly into theoretical and practical questions regarding the relationship between street culture and crime. Ross (2018) argues for an expansion of the urban street culture concept within criminology in particular, saying that its historic focus into crime is too narrow. He defines the concept as “the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers.” To Ross’s point, scholarly treatments of street culture range from the ways that meaning is made, to the investigation of canons of expression, how inclusion and exclusion are configured, judgments about authenticity or style, and the manner in which corporate capital and digital media platforms impact a given street-based genre (see Ilan, 2015). It is critical to contextualize street culture within specific socioeconomic circumstances and histories while not losing sight of broader global influences. Graffiti as a window into street culture is vast, varied, and often contradictory. Graffiti writers have particular relationships to the streets temporally, physically, and geographically. They tend to accomplish their work under the cover of night, access elements of street or transportation systems that pedestrians seldom frequent, such as train yards or freeways, and pattern their work in a manner that either reproduces neighborhood segregation or that defies it. The production of graffiti necessitates intimacy with the city as a built environment, wherein graffiti writing renders visible structures that are part and parcel of urban street life. 84

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Within graffiti productions across both gang and non-gang contexts, typologies of styles, conceptualizations of grammar, and aesthetic merit distinguish good work from poor work internally, and can foment battles that are either limited to the production of graffiti or that can be indicative of actual physical confrontation or gang warfare, as explicated previously. In non-gang New York-based graffiti circles that are now most prominent throughout the urban United States and the globe, flirtation with violence is a common but not core aspect of the graffiti subculture. For Bourgois (2003, p. 8), conflict within the graffiti world is a result of street culture being fundamentally oppositional and constitutive of respect and reputation in denigrating circumstances. While not reducible to criminality, transgression and various incarnations of contestation are certainly components of street culture. Seeing graffiti through the lens of street culture, we find that this principle of opposition and iconoclasm, writ large, holds true. In addition to broken windows theorization and notwithstanding its movement into the realm of the legal, one of the reasons graffiti represents criminality is due to its association with racialized underclasses. From Puerto Rican kids in New York to Chicano/a communities in Los Angeles, racialized minorities have long been seen as the purveyors of disorder in Anglo-dominant cities (the same attributions often

Figure 6.7 The Wall That Cracked Open by Willie Herrón, 1972. Source: Courtesy of S. Bloch.

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invoke Roma peoples in Budapest, North Africans in Italy, ethnic Chinese minorities in Japan, etc.). In Los Angeles, before non-gang graffiti, let alone “street art,” emerged as a visual component of street culture, it was critical Chicano/a muralists in LA’s most segregated barrios who were aestheticizing LA’s walls with acrylics, engine paint, and even pastels (for a personal reflection by one of LA’s first placateros, see ArandaAlvarado, 2004; see also Bloch, 2012a). As Sanchez-Tranquilino (1995) has shown in his research of some of LA’s first critical Chicano/a murals painted at Estrada Courts public housing projects, community murals were indeed visual indicators of otherness. Walls depicting Cuban revolutionary Ché Guevara and heroes of Mexican resistance as well as everyday inhabitants of Aztlán, that mythical homeland of the Aztecs, acted as a pedagogical space. However, after years of struggle, when the Estrada Court murals were officially approved by community leaders – law enforcement, business owners, and elected government officials – the murals in effect became the sanctioned art of the dominant community juxtaposed against graffiti, which further came to exemplify “subdominant social values.” However, for Sanchez-Tranquilino (1995), there was no evidence of a “graffiti problem” at Estrada Courts before the murals became seen as a solution. Rather, the painting of murals over existing graffiti, and later the painting of graffiti on and around the sanctioned murals, “visually demonstrates the very real contention between placas and murals for physical space and cultural representation” (1995, p. 61). The struggle for ethnic and cultural representation became a struggle for wall space due to the city’s legal imposition of an aesthetic hierarchy that had not previously existed between graff and glyphs (Latorre, 2008). Whereas critical Chicano/a muralists came to lambast graffiti as destructive of murals and their producers’ right to paint city surfaces by the 1980s (Bloch, 2016), those who painted the Estrada Courts saw the rhetoric of graffiti eradication as problematic. Willie Herrón, whose 1972 “The Wall That Cracked Open” has become an iconic mural for its integration of existing graffiti, expressed that “placas were a viable and original cultural form developed by barrio youth to interact effectively with one another,” and it was muralists who “appropriates the space that belonged by custom to placas” (ibid., p. 64).

Conclusion The global urban development of graffiti and its merger with street art retained an oppositional edge while simultaneously allowing for the production of legal and even corporate-backed pieces. At the same time, the development of high-level street art producers such as Shepard Fairey have found a home in cities like Los Angeles due in part to robust street culture history that long involved the production of murals and other forms of wall art. The shift toward street culture acceptance and co-option of street art and graffiti grew from a foundation of original graffiti contexts and the illegal claiming of public space. While a gentrification of graffiti has indeed taken place due to displacement by sanctioned murals and street art, enclaves of traditional graffiti produced by racialized bodies continue to thrive in the margins. To be sure, the militarized policing of graffiti and graffiti writers is still taking place – and may have even been emboldened by the appearance of decidedly de-racialized street art (Bloch, 2017; Kindynis, 2017) – but public perception has shifted to become less hostile, with a new generation of squarely nonmarginalized people growing up thinking “street art is cool.” Despite legal productions and sanctioned spots, much graffiti production such as tagging and gang writing remains divorced from corporate, capitalist forms of production, and is instead linked to transgression, trespass, and vandalism, all of which may be construed as anti-capitalist in nature. There is no doubt that the transition in perception and acceptance is part of a class-based and racialized project whereby vandalism that was perceived to be done at the hands of poor, “inner city,” youth of color was being displaced by art-school trained street artists (this is, whiter, wealthier, and more well-mannered). Within this context of production, the scholarly literature often attempts to parse the difference between graffiti and street art with mixed results, but in a manner that demonstrates the evolving nature of the media 86

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Figure 6.8 Phantom at work: Art Saves Lives.

and their impact on urban environments (Ross, 2015). Schacter (2013, p. 9) presents this as an “unimaginably vast arena.” He writes, “Indeed, there are as many different motivations, styles, and approaches within this artistic arena as there are practitioners themselves – a ‘street art’ for every street artist, a ‘graffiti’ for every graffiti writer” (p. 9). Schacter describes the space between the two as lacking a “middle ground,” wherein productions are either erased wholesale or protected in gallery or street space (p. 10). Graffiti is an epiphenomenal broken window and its connection to “gang crime” and urban disorder is street culture’s most enduring visual legacy. The widely adopted correlation between graffiti and street crime associated with the broken windows theory and broader street culture literature has narrowed our understanding through the forced conflation of disparate forms of practice with civic preoccupation. Taking a view of graffiti as street culture, however, broadens interpretations of the phenomenon and calls into question common assumptions, thereby adding nuance to a hitherto narrow discourse.

References Adams, K. L., & Winter, A. (1997). Gang graffiti as a discourse genre. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 1(3), 337–360. Alonso, A. A. (1999). Territoriality among African-American street gangs in Los Angeles (Master’s thesis). University of Southern California, Los Angeles. Aranda-Alvarado, R. (2004). Charles “Chaz” Bojorquez: Taking “old school” further. American Art, 18(3), 88–91. Austin, J. (2001). Taking the train: How graffiti art became an urban crisis in New York City. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Austin, J., & Irwin, J. (2012). It’s about time: America’s imprisonment binge. Boston: Cengage Learning. Beckett, K., & Herbert, S. (2009). Banished: The new social control in urban America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 87

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Bloch, S. (2012a). The changing face of wall space: Graffiti-murals in the context of neighborhood change in Los Angeles (PhD dissertation). University of Minnesota, Department of Geography. Bloch, S. (2012b). The illegal face of wall space: Graffiti-murals on the sunset boulevard retaining walls. Radical History Review, 113, 111–126. Bloch, S. (2016). Why do graffiti writers write on murals? The birth, life, and slow death of freeway murals in Los Angeles. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 40(2), 451–471. Bloch, S. (2017). Challenging the defense of graffiti, in defense of graffiti. In J. I. Ross (Ed.), Routledge handbook of graffiti and street art (pp. 440–451). New York, NY: Routledge. Bloch, S. (2019). Broken windows ideology and the (mis)reading of graffiti. Critical Criminology, 1–18. Bourgois, P. (2003). In search of respect: Selling crack in El Barrio (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bratton, W. J. (1997). Cutting crime and restoring order: What America can learn from New York’s finest. Washington, DC: The Heritage Foundation. Chastanet, F. (2009). Cholo writing: Latino gang graffiti in Los Angeles. Los Angeles: SCB Distributors. Conquergood, D. (2004). Street literacy. In J. Flood, S. B. Heath, & D. Lapp (Eds.), Handbook of research on teaching literacy through the communicative and visual arts (pp. 354–375). London: Routledge. Coughlin, B. C., & Venkatesh, S. A. (2003). The urban street gang after 1970. Annual Review of Sociology, 29(1), 41–64. Cresswell, T. (1996). In place-out of place: Geography, ideology, and transgression. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Dickens, L. (2008). ‘Finders keepers’: Performing the street, the gallery and the spaces in-between. Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies, 4(1), 1–30. Dickens, L. (2010). Pictures on walls? Producing, pricing and collecting the street art screen print.  City,  14(1–2), 63–81. Dovey, K., Wollan, S., & Woodcock, I. (2012). Placing graffiti: Creating and contesting character in inner-city Melbourne. Journal of Urban Design, 17(1), 21–41. Durán, R. (2009). The core ideals of the Mexican American gang: Living the presentation of defiance. Aztlán: A Journal of Chicano Studies, 34(2), 99–134. Fagan, J., & Davies, G. (2001). Street stops and broken windows: Terry, race and disorder in New York City. Fordham Urban Law Journal, 28, 457. Ferrell, J. (1993). Crimes of style: Urban graffiti and the politics of criminality. New York, NY: Garland. Ferrell, J. (2010). The aesthetics of cultural criminology. In B. A. Arrigo & C. R. Williams (Eds.), Philosophy, crime, and criminology (pp. 257–278). Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Ferrell, J., & Weide, R. D. (2010). Spot theory. City, 14(1–2), 48–62. Fielding, N., & Innes, M. (2006). Reassurance policing, community policing and measuring police performance. Policing & Society, 16(2), 127–145. Gau, J. M.,  & Pratt, T. C. (2008). Broken windows or window dressing? Citizens’ (in)ability to tell the difference between disorder and crime. Criminology & Public Policy, 7(2), 163–194. Glazer, N. (1979). On subway graffiti in New York. The Public Interest, 54(3). Gönen, Z. (2013). Giuliani in Izmir: Restructuring of the Izmir public order police and criminalization of the urban poor. Critical Criminology, 21(1), 87–101. Hagedorn, J. M. (1998). Gang violence in the postindustrial era. Crime and Justice, 24, 365–419. Harcourt, B. E. (2001). Illusion of order: The false promise of broken windows policing. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Harcourt, B. E., & Ludwig, J. (2006). Broken windows: New evidence from New York City and a five-city social experiment. University of Chicago Law Review, 73, 271. Ilan, J. (2015). Understanding street culture: Poverty, crime, youth and cool. New York, NY: Macmillan. Iveson, K. (2010). The wars on graffiti and the new military urbanism. City, 14(1–2), 115–134. Iveson, K. (2007). Publics and the city. New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons. Jiao, A. Y., & Silverman, E. B. (2006). Police practice in Hong Kong and New York: A comparative analysis. International Journal of Police Science & Management, 8(2), 104–118. Kindynis, T. (2017). Bomb alert: Graffiti writing and urban space in London. The British Journal of Criminology, 58(3), 511–528. Kramer, R. (2010a). Painting with permission: Legal graffiti in New York City. Ethnography, 11(2), 235–253. Lachmann, R. (1988). Graffiti as career and ideology. American Journal of Sociology, 94(2), 229–250. 88

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Latorre, G. (2008). Walls of empowerment: Chicana/o indigenist murals of California. Austin: University of Texas Press. Lefebvre, H. (1991). The production of space. Oxford: Blackwell. Ley, D., & Cybriwsky, R. (1974). Urban graffiti as territorial markers. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 64(4), 491–505. McAuliffe, C. (2012). Graffiti or street art? Negotiating the moral geographies of the creative city. Journal of Urban Affairs, 34(2), 189–206. McAuliffe, C., & Iveson, K. (2011). Art and crime (and other things besides. . .): Conceptualising graffiti in the city. Geography Compass, 5(3), 128–143. Mendoza-Denton, N. (2014). Homegirls: Language and cultural practice among Latina youth gangs. New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons. Mitchell, K. (2010). Ungoverned space: Global security and the geopolitics of broken windows. Political Geography, 29(5), 289–297. Phillips, S. A. (1999). Wallbangin’: Graffiti and gangs in LA. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Phillips, S. A. (2017). Deconstructing gang graffiti. In J. I. Ross (Ed.), Routledge handbook of graffiti and street art (pp. 104– 121). New York, NY: Routledge. Punch, M. (2007). Zero tolerance policing. London: Policy Press. Romotsky, J., & Romotsky, S. R. (1976). Los Angeles Barrio calligraphy (No. 6). Los Angeles: Dawsons Book Shop. Ross, J. I. (2015). Graffiti goes to the movies: American fictional films featuring graffiti artists/writers and themes. Contemporary Justice Review, 18(3), 366–383. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Ross, J. I., & Wright, B. S. (2014). “I’ve got better things to worry about”: Police perceptions of graffiti and street art in a large mid-Atlantic city. Police Quarterly, 17(2), 176–200. Sampson, R. J., & Raudenbush, S. W. (2004). Seeing disorder: Neighborhood stigma and the social construction of “broken windows”. Social Psychology Quarterly, 67(4), 319–342. Sanchez-Tranquilino, M. (1995). Space, power, and youth culture: Mexican American graffiti and Chicano murals in East Los Angeles, 1972–1978. In B. J. Bright & E. Bakewell (Eds.), Looking high and low: Art and cultural identity (pp. 55–88). Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Schacter, R. (2013). The world atlas of street art and graffiti. New Haven: Yale University Press. Skogan, W. G. (1990). Disorder and decline: Crime and the spiral of decay in American cities. Berkeley: University of California Press. Snyder, G. J. (2011). Graffiti lives: Beyond the tag in New York’s urban underground. New York, NY: New York University Press. Snyder, G. J. (2016). Long live the tag: Representing the foundations of graffiti. In K. Avramidis & M. Tsilimpounidi (Eds.), Graffiti and street art: Reading, writing, and representing the city (pp. 264–273). London: Routledge. Vigneswaran, D. (2014). The contours of disorder: Crime maps and territorial policing in South Africa. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 32(1), 91–107. Vitale, A. S. (2008). City of disorder: How the quality of life campaign transformed New York politics. New York, NY: New York University Press. Waclawek, A. (2011). Graffiti and street art. London: Thames & Hudson. Wilson, J. Q., & Kelling, G. L. (1982). Broken windows. Atlantic Monthly, 249(3), 29–38. Young, A. (2013). Street art, public city: Law, crime and the urban imagination. London: Routledge.

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7 From graffiti to gallery The street art phenomenon G. James Daichendt

Introduction Street art is a product of street culture that manifests on the walls, alleys, and sidewalks of cities and towns around the world. It’s a distinct genre of artmaking that is often compared and contrasted to graffiti and mural art, existing in between both cultures and sharing many characteristics and aesthetic traits with both genres. Street art originally evolved from practitioners of graffiti between the 1960s and 1970s becoming its own art form by blending several aspects of formal art practice found in art schools with elements of street culture (i.e., painting outside and using spray paint and/or markers). In the 21st century, there is a wide variety of art that can be labeled as street art, furthering its footprint in culture so much that it’s been described as a movement (Waclawek, 2009; Daichendt, 2012). Street art became a worldwide phenomenon in the 2000s because of the commercial success of many of its practitioners like Shepard Fairey, Banksy, JR, Ron English, Lady Pink, and Barry McGee (Ganz, 2004; Deitch, Gastman, & Rose, 2011). Examples of street art by these artists and others around the world seem to have touched every aspect of culture from fashion and advertising campaigns to Hollywood films. Evidence of street art can be seen on the backs of street signs as well as corporate boardrooms, a prevalence that made street art one of the most influential forms of artmaking since Pop Art. This development is ironic and fuels much of the analysis in this chapter because street art was once a particular type of street culture practiced in urban areas by a fringe subset of the community. It’s argued that street art may have originally been closely connected to street culture, but it has since moved far from that initial connection to graffiti into a much wider world of practice, appreciation, and acceptance by mainstream art and culture. The worldwide enthusiasm for street art is evident from the massive crowds that gather not only for blockbuster museum exhibitions but also for international street art festivals around the world like Pow! Wow!, Mural Festival, Upfest, and NuArt, along with the rise of artist superstardom that warrants appearances on television and in film. The popularity of street art and the exposure the artists enjoy have drawn many who would otherwise never associate with the art form to tackle mural projects and outdoor installations, furthering the porous boundaries of something that originated as a product of subculture in urban settings. To boil down the essence of the movement, there is an incredible enthusiasm for street art as it continues to evolve in the 21st century. From these experiences, it is without a doubt making an impact that cannot be ignored. The following sections explore street art by categorizing it within the scope of street culture by analyzing street art’s relationship with graffiti and how it evolved from this practice. This 90

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Figure 7.1 Graffiti-themed by SAKE mural on the exterior of the Bread and Salt Gallery, San Diego, CA.

analysis also includes a brief history and development of street art, its relationship to the professional art world, as well as the cultural ramifications for street art as it moved further from its graffiti origins into the cultural phenomenon that appears to be swallowing it.

From graffiti to street art The concept of street art gained international momentum in the 1990s and 2000s as its proponents challenged the borders of graffiti and edged close to traditional notions of professional artists. Street art has its roots in graffiti, yet the culture and practice of street art is quite different in its aesthetics and subculture(s). Mailer (1974) in The Faith of Graffiti sought to capture and understand the early cultural phenomenon of graffiti in New York City. The underground movement was thought to be a detriment to the city by residents and government officials. The unusual scribbles one might find in a public restroom was what the public saw in their minds when they considered the graffiti on the subways. However, as Mailer pointed out, this was not happening in NYC. These tags were actually names (or nicknames) of the artists, often followed by the street they lived on. A  movement that was hailed as a cultural awakening and creative achievement, it allowed many to have a voice and ownership in a decaying urban environment. Graffiti is typically understood as a signature – a personal and unique mark that refers to the writer’s identity. It can take the form of letters, an actual name/moniker, or a symbol. This signature is written or tagged on public surfaces with markers, spray paint, or etching materials with the purpose of remaining visible as long as possible. A graffiti artist may write his or her name repeatedly, on as many surfaces as possible. The artist’s signature typically involves a style that evolves out of talent, media, exposure, and speed. Because graffiti is typically illegal, the quickness of such mark-making benefits its practitioners. The aesthetic of graffiti is often intimidating to outsiders, as it’s associated with danger; its illegibility makes it 91

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that much more intimidating, often furthering the insider notion of street culture that outsiders are not privy to. The connotation of graffiti has come to represent anything illegally placed without permission. Although this is an oversimplification, graffiti is about writing letters in the public square, often quickly and in as many places as possible. Street art, in comparison, is often based in images and is much more accessible to viewers. Whether a recognizable font, a character, or a less imposing aesthetic, this immediately creates an entry point for the public to engage. Aesthetic development theory recognizes the advantages of realistic imagery and how the general public has an easier time making sense of art like this by constructing a story or utilizing their knowledge of the natural world to make sense of the imagery (Housen, 1983). To the outsider, the aesthetic difference between graffiti and street art varies significantly from the incomprehensible to the clear and obvious. This important distinction has made it easier for street art to blend into mainstream circles and commercial partnerships. The illegal process of installing street art, public access (exposure), some media (like spray paint), and relative quickness are commonalities with graffiti, but the similarities often end there. Writing graffiti on a public surface declares ownership, states a presence, and/or preserves a memory or event. The act also has aspects of destruction, which are acknowledged by both the writers and the property owners. Think of names carved on the trunk of a tree or inside a bathroom stall. These acts seem to demonstrate a desire to make our marks in areas we inhabit and to inform others that someone was there. Fundamentally, graffiti writers are not so different. Although there is more to explore regarding graffiti, the initial act is not dissimilar to cultural marks made on walls around the world; it’s a creative act that demands some kind of attention. Street artists do not claim ownership over a certain area of the city and are not culturally connected to a neighborhood the same way a graffiti artist may be; that is, they may not live in the city nor understand the cultural aspects that only an insider may understand. Street artists often travel, painting images around the world and are interested in exposure on a much bigger scale. There have been recent developments to facilitate street art on the walls of public schools and commercial buildings. In both cases, the street artists are curated (organized and paid) to contribute toward an altruistic goal like education or, in the case of developers, to create a hip scene that may attract higher rents and commercial opportunities (O’Connell, 2015). As the artworld has become globalized, Graffiti artists have also begun to travel the world, often blurring the lines between these two subcultures. Graffiti is an important aspect of visual culture because it’s so prevalent around the world. Understanding what it is, who does it, and why helps us better engage it as appreciators or possibly helps those who hope to contain/prevent it or, in some cases, facilitate it. Interestingly, graffiti may change depending upon the culture in which it resides, yet it’s heavily influenced by the Western Hemisphere, specifically early graffiti writers in the United States (Pan, 2015). The original modern graffiti writers like TAKI 183 and Tracy 168 in New York City and Cornbread (Darryl McCray) in Philadelphia were primarily interested in fame and notoriety. By repeating their names over and over, they became well-known in local circles, often receiving media attention (New York Times, 1971). A subculture emerged that was competitive in these areas and additional writers and tags spread like wildfire as artists attempted to write their names across the city on walls, trains, and anything that might be a good canvas for graffiti. This provoked writers to go bigger and leave their marks in more desirable locations in order to be noticed. Street artists also practice repetition to aid their messaging. This may be in the form of a stenciled signature that appears on each piece (think Banksy) or through a limited palette like Shepard Fairey or ROA, a recurring figure/character, which is the case with Buff Monster or KAWS among many others. Yet rather than seek fame within the subculture, street artists have always had much bigger ladders to climb socially, culturally, or commercially far outside the street culture associated with graffiti. Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Kenny Scharf are a few of the original street artists that desired their work to be exhibited in galleries and museums along with their development of clothing and collectables, which was frowned upon by the professional art world. The street-based artwork then became another form of exposure or 92

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Figure 7.2 Shepard Fairey mural covered by graffiti London, UK.

reinforcement of their overall brand that could be seen in different types of media. A different kind of fame, street artists leveraged this to get noticed not unlike graffiti artists who went all city, however street artists in contrast could be global. Although graffiti can be connected to gangs, gang graffiti is a particular type of writing and does not apply across the board. Gang graffiti often delineates neighborhoods in relation to another, and the graffiti writers associated with gangs will write their names (or gang names) to show support for their specific neighborhoods and warn other gangs to beware. These acts make it easier to obtain a reputation in an area, which is why the name will be repeated. Common gang graffiti, according to Chastanet (2015), includes publicity graffiti, roll calls (lists of members), territorial graffiti (arrows pointing to names or the area), threatening graffiti (crossed out letters), and sympathetic graffiti (RIPs for those who have passed on). Yet, despite the difference between gang graffiti and early modern graffiti, it’s a form of writing on walls that is self-referential. While the reference may be a group or individual, the culture is one of calling attention to the writer and not intended for the general public. The association with violence is the biggest concern, but Phillips (1999) emphasizes that gang graffiti is meant to stand on its own when members are not present. They are concerned with both emotional and political issues that help them define their group and the spaces in which they live. The plethora of research on and about the practice of graffiti has brought attention to an art form that has caused many to reconsider its importance in society. While it involves some reframing, graffiti artists started crossing over into galleries in the 1970s; many have continued to walk a line between street culture and careers as professional artists. However, Gablik (1987) notes that graffiti is a well-studied subject and extends beyond traditional art history and criticism. According to Bowen’s (1999) research, graffiti has been explored from sociological, urban planning, and anthropological points of view because of the territoriality and the social-economic status of graffiti and street artists. Street art first appeared in the 1970s and 1980s 93

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when artists working within formalized educational settings incorporated graffiti methods from street culture into their work. The following history contextualizes the transition from graffiti to street art and the many ways it can be understood.

A brief and broad history of street art Many histories trace graffiti and street art throughout all of art history, including ancient civilizations and into the Middle Ages. Christians avoiding persecution carved symbols in the walls of the catacombs in the Middle Ages (which can be reinterpreted as graffiti and/or street art), and political activists scratched critiques onto public buildings during the Renaissance (a form of political graffiti). In addition, soldiers stationed around the world left behind symbols and marks that acknowledged their presence (an example is the “Kilroy was here” moniker that American GIs would leave behind in locations around the world). Using a wide lens, even cave drawings from the prehistoric era can be seen as the earliest examples of street art (Ragazzoli, Harmansah, & Salvador, 2018). Ancient forms of graffiti are problematic because most cultures did not think of graffiti as a subversive or an illegal act (Press, 2019). It’s more common to use the term modern graffiti to distinguish the history of graffiti from the 20th century to the current day. In the United States, graffiti developed in city centers like Philadelphia, New York City, and Los Angeles in the 1960s and 1970s and could be seen as a reaction to the dehumanizing architecture of the modern era and a need to be heard (Gablik, 1987). Early practitioners of modern graffiti did not see themselves as artists but instead as writers. In New York, the subway trains became the most notorious canvases, as graffiti writers used tags (graffiti-based names or signatures), throw-ups (larger and often more colorful versions of tags), and pieces (large, colorful paintings or murals that occasionally use imagery) that depicted the writer’s name. These pseudonyms were often linked to the writer’s identity, where they lived, and their status in the subculture. Graffiti allowed the writers to achieve notoriety or even celebrity status while still maintaining anonymity. The influence of these writers spread throughout the world. Trains littered with graffiti traveled, as did some of the writers. But magazines, photography-based publications, and films are often cited as the main influential sources that increased the impact of these styles and markings. The additional cultural connections with hip-hop and punk furthered how graffiti was seen and received through media. Graffiti spread around the world from these city centers but was used in myriad ways in different cultures and communities, depending upon local customs and each culture’s relationship to the West. Photographs in magazines and travelers from abroad would snap pictures and share them, furthering the influence of the original graffiti artists. Music videos like Blondie’s 1981 “Rapture” video, where graffiti is featured along with Fab Five Freddy and Jean-Michel Basquiat, had a cultural influence through MTV. Plus, stencils and graffiti maintained a close relationship with punk bands promoting their music. During the 1970s, as graffiti seemed to be everywhere in New York City, several artists attending art school or at least with some art training started to incorporate aspects of graffiti into their art. This included painting outside with markers and spray paint. The difference was that these artists did not write their names but instead focused on imagery and conceptually based artworks that looked different from graffiti even though they were using similar media. There wasn’t a name for this new form of art, so graffiti sufficed for lack of better terminology. It was Allan Schwartzman’s 1985 book Street Art that introduced the term street art to the art world. The concept seemed to adequately capture the confluence of artists and writers practicing a different type of graffiti that went beyond writing one’s name on a public surface. While street art borrowed aspects from graffiti and was influenced by graffiti culture, artists working within the more formalized art world often practiced it. Proponents of early forms of street art include Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, Richard Hambleton, and Jean-Michel Basquiat. Two of the four – Scharf and Haring – were enrolled in art school when they began to draw and paint in the subway platforms and on the sides of structures. Scharf and Haring 94

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Figure 7.3 Bowery wall painted by Kenny Scharf, 2011 New York, NY.

were influenced by many different forms of low-brow art and were focused on making art more accessible, which graffiti writers were not always drawn to accomplishing. The borders between practitioners was blurring, but as new terminology was developed, the division between street art and graffiti became clearer. Graffiti has a long history based in writing letters and essentially only requires a surface to write on. Street art, based in imagery, typically includes a multitude of media and emphasizes through its execution, the uniqueness of context (which could incorporate aspects of the street with the imagery), often intended to heighten the interpretation of the piece. Street art has also been labeled and described as post-graffiti. As Farris (2005) points out, this term bridges the gap between the subculture of graffiti and the newer, more accessible forms of street art. Farris claims that post-graffiti challenges the art establishment and allows the public to define what art is by recognizing street art as art in the absence of the museum. This scenario overlooks the illegality of street art because the work is understandable and the public values its creativity or aesthetic. As the public audience grows for street artists, art world institutions come around to offer support for these artists or to showcase their work. As street art moves away from the raw aspects of graffiti, it becomes more professionalized until eventually there is nothing to differentiate it from other forms of artmaking, like public art and murals. This balance between the graffiti subculture and the professional art world is required for street art to maintain its legitimacy, but the wide range of artists who identify as street artists range from those who share aspects of graffiti art to others who look more like professional artists.

An academic definition of street art The following Venn diagram is a helpful tool for defining street art and visualizing how it evolved from graffiti (Daichendt, 2012). One cannot understand how far street art has come without comparing and contrasting the paradigms that illustrate why graffiti and street art are sometimes used interchangeably in culture. Nevertheless, graffiti has remained largely true to its original street culture while street art has become a more populist medium for expression. When graffiti and street art are used interchangeably, it is an inaccurate assumption based upon cultural connotations of the terms and does not take into account the nuances, although slight, that reflect the differences. The following graphic begins by dividing graffiti into three categories to better display the 95

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similarities and differences among them. As one moves from the far left to the far right, the emphasis on writing and typography narrows in importance while the elements of visual imagery, abstract elements, and principles of design increase. However, because the borders between these categories are thin, there are many examples where they may cross over and exist in between. (Daichendt, 2012) Graffiti writing is the rawest form of graffiti and the easiest to practice within street culture because of the low bar of entry. Few materials and no training are required. Riggle (2010) calls this type of writing “mere graffiti” because it essentially says someone was here. In addition, those within the subculture would not consider it an art form, as it’s simply writing one’s name. As one moves from the left to the right, there is more knowledge that is unattainable on the street and acquiring this expertise requires some sort of professionalization (education, mentorship, study). Gastman and Neelon (2011) note this change in traditional graffiti around the late 1980s and early 1990s when a few graffiti artists began to push beyond the typical media they used and started experimenting

Graffiti Writing

Artistic Graffiti Writing

Artistic Graffiti

Figure 7.4 Venn diagram illustrating how street art evolved from graffiti.

Figure 7.5 Graffiti by D*Face Las Vegas, NV. 96

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Figure 7.6 Street art mural by D*Face.

with sculptural materials, posters, and other media. This development was because these artists were involved in formal art programs that added to their techniques practiced in the street. Their combination of knowledge laid the foundation for street art to become something distinct and for other street artists to build upon. As the media and techniques evolve and grow in the 1990s and 2000s, the aesthetics of street art also continue to evolve. The popularity of street art has made it desirable in certain communities as a marker for creativity and aesthetic hipness. One could make the argument that street art is close to becoming another form of public art, especially when the term mural is used. However, the issues of permission and permanence keep street art in a category separate from murals and public art. The illegal aspect of street art is the most telling aspect that differentiates it from public art and murals. In many interviews, those familiar with both the graffiti and street art worlds are quick to differentiate between the two. Graffiti is full of rules, including a code of conduct among graffiti writers. Though the code is not always consistent, the essential rules are that you don’t go over someone else’s work, don’t paint on churches, houses, etc., unless you are looking for trouble. Street art, in contrast, has no rules.

Does the commodification of street art take the street out of street art? Street art shares many characteristics with other forms of public art, but its temporality and illegality (another parallel to graffiti) have caused critics to identify it as a negative force in communities. During the run of the 2011 Art in the Streets exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, surrounding neighborhoods witnessed a dramatic rise in graffiti and street art. MacDonald (2011), one the most passionate critics of the increase, felt the show was glorifying the crime of vandalism, and that the real victims were the residents of Los Angeles and even the vandals themselves. This harsh condemnation lumped together everything in the show to represent the bane of cities. Though street art is illegal, it generally does not attract the same scrutiny as graffiti because the imagery is accessible and has entry points that 97

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the everyday person, who is not aware of street culture, can engage and enjoy. This may include realistic imagery, references to pop culture, and little to no lettering that is difficult to discern. The accessibility of street art has demystified much of conceptually driven artwork that has made contemporary art difficult to discern and interpret. Street art meets viewers where they live; we are much more likely to encounter street art than modern or contemporary art that is only visible in museums or galleries. The modernist painter Paul Gauguin touched upon this development early in the 20th century when he stated, “The history of modern art is also the history of the progressive loss of art’s audience. Art has increasingly become the concern of the artist and the bafflement of the public.” A funny quote, if not necessarily fair, it hints at the directness of street art that is in opposition to much of the so-called high art practiced in universities and what we exhibit in museums and galleries. This is a positive direction for the art world, yet it also removes an important aspect of street culture from its origin. It’s tough not to appreciate the enthusiasm that surrounds the protagonists. Street art has a large and growing audience – one that extends beyond the traditional art world. In September 2010, a line of fans stretched for blocks outside of the Echo Park-based gallery Subliminal Projects. This was not a line for a movie or the promise of a Black Friday sale, but rather hordes of people hungry for art: the gallery opening for a show by acclaimed street artist Shepard Fairey. With an atmosphere usually reserved for celebrities and nightclubs, the fun, friendly, and young crowd waited in line for hours to get inside the crowded gallery, then waited in more lines to buy books, posters, and prints. Meanwhile, the artist himself was DJ-ing as folks continued to pour in.

Figure 7.7 TOXICÓMANO street art. Miami, FL. 98

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There have been several museum exhibitions around the world that have explored particular aspects of graffiti and street art that have set a foundation for legitimizing it not only in the overall history of art, but establishing a strong market for collectors. Beyond these blockbuster exhibitions, there are also a number of street art museums (e.g., Museum of Street Art, New York City; Urban Nation: Museum for Urban Contemporary Art, Berlin; Street Art Museum, Amsterdam; Musée d’art urbain, Paris) that focus solely on the genre. While none claims to establish a definitive history, each raises the profile of the art form. The positive aspects include acceptance of and education about the form; negative aspects include a removal from its existence as an unfiltered and honest account from an artist. Commercial success can be spun as both a positive and a negative for street artists; from the romantic to the pragmatic, street art varies along both extremes. Street art curators now organize large festivals, initiatives for education, and concerts that use street art as a hip background. These events maintain the street aesthetic that made it part of street culture, but they also replace the illegality and subcultural ownership with professionalism and administrative support. The use of a street art aesthetic in regard to mural production has made the term more ambiguous in recent years. Permission is granted for painting these walls and artists accept payment for their work. When a benefactor (e.g., organization) is involved, his or her voice becomes important to the process and can alter the work, a distinct difference from the unfiltered voice that graffiti and street art represented in previous decades. The artist’s individual expression is not necessarily compromised, but the process has the potential to become more complicated. The financial success of some street artists has witnessed them transition from illegal to legal work, a win for a sustainable art career but a notable difference for street culture. Abarca (2017) feels these large-scale murals have little to do with street art and are more akin to public art projects. The net result for the artists who take part in curatorial projects is critical dialogue and the exposure of being part of an organized project that may result in texts, panel discussions, and documentation that extends the reach of the work (Abarca, 2017). The legitimization of street art seems to be the direction that many are suggesting for those working within the subculture – a transformation that is important but not always necessary when looking at the bigger picture. It has become commonplace to receive a press release for a new mural. Sometimes it is sent by the artist; in other cases, the company or store whose walls host the art sends it to their customers and neighbors. In one discussion I had about street art, a woman became angry with me over the term street art and how this work should really be categorized as murals. The comment speaks to the “epidemic of muralism,” in the words of street art artist Shark Toof, who feels that murals have taken over much of the art world. Traditional artists have seen the exposure street artists and graffiti writers enjoy from having their work outside, and many have joined their ranks and have created their own outdoor artwork. Whether coming from the street art world or a more established art background, murals now meet between the subculture of street art and the larger professional art world. Ross (2016) discusses issues related to graffiti and street art based on two urban factors: growth of urban surveillance/policing regimes and consumption-driven urban development. The former pertains to public safety and preventative policing to reduce reactive policing (social control). The aim of installing cameras and surveillance measures into environmental design is to reduce crime and allow urban areas to flourish. The latter entails the repurposing of abandoned factories and warehouses in urban areas as privatized spaces with high-end zones for residences and consumerism in the form of restaurants and trendy shops (social class). The residents’ improved quality of life is the marker for success. Ross uses these two urban developments to see graffiti and street art as either an urban threat or an artistic contribution to, or opportunity for, communities. This complexity explains the varied responses that graffiti and street artists receive. Abarca (2017) agrees that visitors to areas are attracted to the conspicuous and easily digested mural. Mural-based street art facilitates gentrification and other forms of commercial activities that business owners and city officials appreciate. Street art and advertising is another aspect of commercialism to consider. Street artists are often hired or sponsored by corporations to create works both legally and illegally. This can get confusing, in that works 99

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Figure 7.8 Anonymous poster, Street art my wall Amsterdam, NL.

intended to be street art are confused with typical advertisements because of the sheer number, recognizability of the artist’s logo, and the message it sends when the same image is posted all over town. As McLuhan (1967) writes: “All media work us over completely. They are so pervasive in their personal, political, economic, aesthetic, psychological, moral, ethical, and social consequences that they leave no part of us untouched, unaffected, unaltered.” Beating the advertisers at their own game, the work of a street artist can be reduced to a self-righteous marketing campaign if it is not held in check. Large companies like Nike, McDonalds, Sony, and Time Magazine are just a few examples of businesses that have used street art for advertising purposes. Whether its artists use their distinct style accompanied by branding or generic street art aesthetic and placement, these companies are hoping to leverage the buzz ad excitement around the art form. A good example of how twisted this environment has become is Adrian Brody’s “guerrilla” street art campaign featuring a very muscular and fit image of the actor ready to tackle his new role as an action star. These posters were pasted throughout L.A. in a similar fashion to street art. Brody even got a few nods online and in print as a celebrity street artist. There are strange ironies as this blurring of art and advertisements is convoluted by street art. The Denver Post reported that a graffiti artist was detained for spray painting over a graffiti-inspired advertisement for Axe deodorant (“Big Corporations get Hip to Street-Art Advertising,” 2016). A funny yet not surprising event since there are pragmatists in street art who have no problem working alongside corporations. In contrast, the romantic street artist must make work illegally and sees any betrayal of that street culture philosophy as a form of “selling out.” 100

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Post-graffiti or anti-modern art But why must we paint on walls? The answer seems to be in our surroundings. Graffiti and street art are best understood within the grand narrative of modernism, the dominant philosophy of art-making during the 20th century. Graffiti and street art only began to gain popularity as Danto’s (1981) story of modernism came to an end in the second half of the 20th century. Essentially, Danto qualified that the progression of art from the Renaissance to the 19th century was built up as a collection of rules, philosophies, and processes that defined art narrowly (realistic painting and sculpture). As photography and film became new mediums for expression in the 19th century, many artists began to abandon the imitation of nature. Modernist artists, beginning with Impressionism, started to deconstruct this tradition by exploring the purpose and process of artmaking. It was finally during the Pop Art movement in the 20th century, where we could no longer discern what was and what was not art (Andy Warhol’s Brillo Boxes are a good example). Art after this point became post-historical and theory-based, further removing it from anyone outside the art world. Street art is often considered within an art historical context as an anti-modern or a post-modern movement because it does not follow the conceptual lineage of modern art history. The graffiti-based art form is a reaction against the white walls, powerful institutions, and personalities that were products of the modern era. Street art is created by individuals or groups outside the professional art world and is quite different from what the master planners and power brokers of U.S. cities have in mind. It’s a product of street culture with a potential for so much more. This does not mean it cannot be commandeered or appropriated, yet at its core both graffiti and street art are in direct opposition to the progression of modern art because its accessible and acknowledged as art without additional context. The architect Philip E. Johnson stated, “Modernism is typically defined as the condition that begins when people realize God is truly dead, and we are therefore on our own,” a humorous notion that hints at the soulless design of the era that much of street art seeks to enliven. The noticeable architectural changes in the last century resulted in less decoration and more practical and functional architectural decisions. The result was a clean and sterile aesthetic that is evident in the amount of concrete urban and suburban locales. The great strength of street art is that it is instantly recognizable as art – a rare feat when the borders among architecture, art, and design are very thin. It does not require museum walls to label it as art, and it speaks to a public who increasingly leave exhibitions scratching their heads. Riggle (2010) addresses postmuseum art and sets his argument by writing about modernism and the eroding distinction between art and life with great clarity. He calls upon Danto (1981), who outlined Warhol’s significant gesture of a Brillo Box sculpture that was exactly the same as James Harvey’s original design for a box for the Brillo cleaning pad. After Warhol created an art piece of a Brillo box, one could not tell the difference between art (Warhol’s creation) and non-art (Harvey’s design). Anything could be art in this manner, by just a simple change of context. By placing the replica of a Brillo box in an art context, the distinctions or borders between art and life also crumble. Riggle acknowledges that we entered this post-historical art world because we allowed everyday objects like Warhol’s boxes into the gallery. And we need the gallery to know what art is. In contrast to institutional art, street art originally existed outside the museums, galleries, and private collections, but is immediately distinguishable as a type of art. This is what Riggle calls post-museum art. It is fundamentally different from Warhol’s boxes because we encounter it in places where we typically don’t expect to see art but still recognize it as a type of art – quite different from the idea that art requires the museum context to understand or recognize it. It’s an exciting distinction that infuses this type of art with a level of accessibility that is missing in most art galleries and museums. The contemporary street art scene is full of possibilities when considered in this context. The graffiti origins still play a role when speaking to artists, but the increasingly conceptual language illustrates that street art exists between many worlds, which frustrates anyone who attempts to keep it stagnant. The postmuseum art concept also speaks to growing interest in street artists taking their work indoors. While this 101

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Figure 7.9 Street art poster, Amsterdam, NL.

development does remove street art from street culture, there seems to be a balance from street art owned by street culture and street art that serves commercial opportunities. Perseverance is a key aspect to continuing the quest and the best bet to overcome prior influences. Hickey (2017) introduces the politics of the street and the importance of longevity. Street artists have used the term “Stay Up” as a greeting to one another; it implies the importance of continuing to put one’s work up in the streets. However, the term has a dual meaning: that not only will the best artists continue to put their work up in the public square, but that the best works will stay up the longest. Whether placed high and out of reach or of a high quality, other artists within the subculture will respect it and allow it to stay up. 102

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While street art evolved and grew from its graffiti origins, it has since become its own unique product of street culture. The professional success of street artists has not only moved this culture closer to the professional art world, but has changed the way folks understand graffiti as well. Street art continues to be practiced as it was originally intended – as an unfiltered voice on public walls – but it also has become a marketing strategy by corporations. From romantic aspiration to pragmatic purposes, street art will continue to exist in between these diametrically opposed forces by staying up in culture.

References Abarca, J. (2017). Curating street art. Street Art and Urban Creativity Journal, 3(2), 112–118. Big corporations get hip to street art advertising. (2016, May 8). The Denver Post. Retrieved from www.denverpost.com Bowen, T. (1999). Graffiti art: A contemporary study of Toronto artists. Studies in Art Education, 10(1), 22–39. Chastanet, F. (2015). Cholo writing: Latino gang graffiti in Los Angeles. Årsta, Sweden: Dokument Press. Daichendt, G. J. (2012). Stay up! Los Angles street art. Petaluma, CA: Cameron Books. Danto, A. (1981). The transfiguration of the commonplace. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Deitch, J., Gastman, R., & Rose, A. (2011). Art in the streets. New York, NY: Rizzoli. Farris, L. (2005). Challenging conceptions: The fine art of graffiti (MA thesis). Missouri State University. Gablik, S. (1987). Has modernism failed? New York, NY: Thames & Hudson. Ganz, N. (2004). Graffiti world: Street art from five continents. New York, NY: Harry N. Abrams. Gastman, R., & Neelon, C. (2011). The history of American graffiti. New York, NY: Harper Design Housen, A. (1983). The eye of the beholder: Measuring aesthetic development (EdD thesis). Harvard University Graduate School of Education, UMI No. 832070. MacDonald, H. (2011, Spring). Radical graffiti chic. City Journal. Retrieved from www.city-journal.org/html/radicalgraffiti-chic-13369.html Mailer, N. (1974). The faith of graffiti. New York, NY: HarperCollins. McLuhan, M (1967). The medium is the massage [sic]. Berkeley: Ginko Press. O’Connell, J. (2015, December 10). Washington’s top real estate developer is painting murals in your neighborhood: Is it art or marketing? Or both? The Washington Post. Pan, L. (2015). Aestheticizing public space: Street visual politics in East Asian cities. Bristol: Intellect Books. Phillips, S. A. (1999). Wallbangin’: Graffiti and gangs in L.A. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Press, M. (2019). The clandestine cultural knowledge of ancient graffiti. Hyperallergic. Retrieved from https://hyperallergic.com/484163/the-clandestine-cultural-knowledge-of-ancient-graffiti/?fbclid=IwAR1XkXt7l4_cPzqVKWqcE3wMVi8WatxfgbsRmnuHBvdbgco5tpIvmb3duMk Ragazzoli, C., Harmansah, C., & Salvador, E. (Eds.). (2018). Scribbling through history: Graffiti, places, and people from antiquity to modernity. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic. Riggle, N. (2010). Street art: The transfiguration of the commonplaces. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 68(3), 243–257. Ross, J. I. (2016). The Routledge handbook on graffiti and street art. New York, NY: Routledge. Schwartzman, A. (1985). Street art. New York, NY: Doubleday. Taki 183 spawns pen pals. (1971, July 21). New York Times, p. 37. Waclawek, A. (2009). From graffiti to the street art movement: Negotiating art world, urban spaces, and visual culture (Unpublished PhD dissertation). Concordia University, Montreal, Canada.

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8 Taxi driving and street culture Acquiring and utilizing street knowledge Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction With the advent of motorized vehicles, people living in urban centers were provided an alternative means of transportation. One of the prominent methods was through livery services, namely taxis (also referred to as cabs and hacks).1 Much like police officers, social workers, and street vendors, cab drivers have a considerable amount of contact with people on the street and are frequently exposed to street culture. In 1979, when I was living in Toronto, I applied for my cab driver’s license, thinking that I might be able to make additional income and as something to fall back on in case I was ever fired or laid off from my courier job, or if I finally got so bored that I quit. I took a leave of absence from my courier job during the summer, found myself enjoying driving a cab better, eventually quit my job, and started working full-time driving nights for Beck Taxi.2 I chose to work nights because I disliked the congested traffic during the day. I preferred the tension and excitement at night, and the customers were more interesting and friendly during that time. I drove a taxi for two years and came to know and appreciate the dimly lit streets and back alleys of the city as I took all sorts of fares to various locations. I was also exposed to and learned the intricacies of Toronto street culture of that time. There was an attractive simplicity to the work. Not only did you always have cash in your wallet, but over time, the routine of the job got established, and one could simply roll out of bed, make a cup of coffee, and within minutes, the day shift driver would pick you up. You might go out for food together, or simply drive him home or to his girlfriend’s. Then you started picking up fares. Despite this experience being close to four decades ago, I have come to realize that driving a cab affected me in a number of direct and subtle ways that I still feel to this day. Thus, in some respects, this chapter is an attempt at reconciling this experience with the scholarly literature, and a means of making sense of that time in my life in light of the scholarship on street culture. I knew that this autoethnography would not be easy to write, as I needed to rely on my memory, which is sometimes spotty.3 Indeed, I have resisted writing on this topic for a long time. Why is this the case? My scholarly career has taken many twists and turns, but in short, I did not think that there was much merit in focusing on this subject until now. This chapter is the result of that journey. As I wrote it, I frequently felt excited and, in some respects, felt a similar rush to the one I experienced during the period of my life dominated by driving a cab. I have several prominent memories from this time. Although there are many areas of the cab driving experience 104

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that can be explored, this chapter is not about how and what cab drivers learn in their profession, but, more specifically, about how and what they learn about street culture.

What does the scholarly literature have to say about driving a taxi? Cab drivers, and the environments in which they work, have been prominently featured in popular culture representations. Indeed, over the past few decades, television shows like Taxi (1978–1983), celebrated motion pictures like Taxi Driver (1976), and well-respected documentaries such as Drivers Wanted (2012) have seeped into popular culture. These products have contributed to the mythology of driving a cab, the people who work in this industry, and the culture that it embodies. On the other hand, a considerable amount of scholarship has been produced on taxi driving. This has appeared in academic journals and is reflected in a handful of scholarly books. To begin with, the subject of cab driving and drivers has been prominent in several master’s theses (e.g., Vaz, 1955; Anderson, 2004; Buckner, 2009; Huddleston, 2014) and doctoral dissertations (e.g., Morris, 1951; Miles, 1953; Henslin, 1967; Schlosberg, 1980; Lupkin, 2001; Evans, 2010). As such, this subject intersects a number of fields in the social sciences, including anthropology, criminology/criminal justice, economics, labor studies, sociology, transportation studies, and urban studies. Beyond this type of scholarship, a number of aspects of the job have been studied. Some the research has examined the dangers inherent in the job, including motor vehicle accidents (i.e., Dalziel & Soames Job, 1997; Tay & Choi, 2016), the overall health of cab drivers (Facey, 2003; Evans, 2010; Facey, 2010; Poo, Leesman, & Lopez, 2018), and fatigue (i.e., Corfitsen, 1993; Figa-Talamanca et al., 1996; Machin & de Souza, 2004). Other scholarship has studied the interactions between cab drivers and passengers (Davis, 1959; Stannard, 1971; Toiskallio, 2000; Facey, 2010; Anderson, 2014). Some work has examined risktaking by cab drivers (Burns & Wilde, 1995; Gambetta & Hamill, 2005), including the violence that cab drivers experience (Swanton & Scandia, 1990; Stone & Bienvenu, 1995; Stenning, 1996; Mayhew, 1999, 2000; Schwer, Mejza, & Grun-Rehomme, 2010). There is also some research that examines the legal contexts surrounding cab driving, especially regulation (e.g., Beesley & Glaister, 1983; Dempsey, 1996), while other studies look at the economics of taxi driving (e.g., Farber, 2003; Crawford & Meng, 2011). Several other pieces review deviance and crime connected to cab driving (Hoffmann, 2008; Sheahan & Smith, 2011). There is some literature that explores the connection between race and taxi driving, in particular the ghettoization of particular races that choose to work as taxi drivers (e.g., Kolsky, 1998; Mitra, 2008). None of the scholarly research, however, has examined how cab drivers learn the norms and rules of the street or so-called street culture, the focus of this chapter. This topic will be conveyed using an autoethnographic method (e.g., Pelias, 1994; Gaston, 2003).4 The majority of scholarly literature on the subject of street culture appears to focus on the subjects of the street code concept, street crime, the dynamics of gangs, and graffiti and street art. A recent review of the literature embedded in this framework has suggested a dynamic and heuristic process model that integrates the five dominant causal elements of street culture: street capital, street crime, competing cultural influences, mass media/cultural industries, and social media (Ross, 2018). That being said, it can be assumed that certain professions and roles have a greater likelihood of being exposed to and interact with street culture and understanding it at a basic level.5 As a cab driver, driving in large urban setting, you are a perfect position to observe and engage with various elements of street culture, including numerous and different types of people, neighborhoods, and the built environment (i.e., buildings, back alleys, etc.). That being said, the street culture that cab drivers are exposed to is a limited cross-section of humanity and space and is constricted by a number of factors. Unlike, for example, street cleaners, social workers doing street outreach, or even corner boys (i.e., Young men who sell illegal drugs on the street), cab drivers do not unnecessarily get out of their cars and 105

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linger on the street. Thus their ability to gain a handle on street culture, or the type of street culture they are exposed to, is circumscribed. Although taxi drivers may observe and interact with people on the street on a regular basis, the interactions are typically on a superficial level, and drivers may also choose to not speak to their customers (and vice versa) at all. Cab drivers not only deal with people who are on the street, but also with individuals from different socioeconomic classes. The primary commonality among the passengers that cab drivers interact with is their choice of using a cab as an immediate means of transportation. A taxi driver, just like a police officer, may not live in the area where they work, thus delimiting their exposure to and knowledge of a particular locale’s street culture. Because driving a cab requires a driver to primarily operate their vehicles on the main streets, they may not be exposed to and/or learn what occurs on back streets and back alleys and in the parks, where numerous elements of street culture thrive.

Learning to be a cab driver There is scant scholarly literature on how cab drivers learn their jobs and what exactly they learn, and none of this is framed in the context of street culture. One exception is Skok’s 2003 study. In the context of two case studies, he reviews the methods (primarily taxi school) by which cab drivers in New York City and London learn the routes and formal rules of their profession before being licensed. Although he briefly mentions Nonaka and Takeuchi’s (1995) four modes SECI model of knowledge conversion (i.e., socialization, externalization, internalization, and combination), Skok does not address the informal rules that cab drivers learn, develop, and make, nor does he discuss what exactly they learn on the job about their customers and the city, or how they make a living. Cab driving exposed me to a wide variety of different people whom I learned to deal with. The majority of them were customers, potential customers, including “commuters;” they were coming or going to work, a store, or some social function. Alternatively, passengers wanted to be taken home, to a restaurant, club or social occasion, or a store. Collectively they had made a decision that they did not want to drive their own vehicle, they did not want to ask a friend or relative to drive them, or they did not want to take or were unable to use public transportation. Other fares were tourists who had come to the city to attend a business meeting/conference or to see important public attractions (e.g., the Zoo, the Science Center, Casa Loma, etc.). Some passengers included those who engaged in deviant and criminal activities, like bookies, bootleggers, johns, pimps, prostitutes, strippers, folks out on bail, parolees, and ex-cons.6 In some cases, I picked up “good for nothing” boyfriends and husbands who appeared to be finally kicked out of their residences by their exasperated girlfriends or wives. Passengers occasionally asked me advice on their personal and work relationships and legal matters as if to suggest I had some unique expertise in these areas. I met people of all different ages, ethnicities, and races, including women, some of whom I dated, and ended up fighting with several customers who physically threatened me. With respect to the latter, through verbal intimidation and posturing, I was usually able to resolve the evolving conflict. Likewise, I had frequent contact with noncustomers such as the police over matters usually related to parking and traffic violations, parking enforcement officers, dispatchers, mechanics, taxi cab inspectors, fellow cab drivers, and cab owners, who made my job more interesting and sometimes more challenging. Taxi driving improved my ability to read/interpret situations and people, through their unique body language, the clothes they wore, the words they chose, and the multiple connections among their appearance, what they said, and how they acted.

Gaining street knowledge/literacy Cab drivers make decisions all the time about which taxis to drive, what times to drive their vehicles, from which owners and companies to rent their cars, when to start and end their shifts, which neighborhoods 106

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to cruise through looking for a fare, when and where to take a break, and when and where to get a meal and/or take a bathroom break. A rational actor perspective suggests that hacks are continuously trying to maximize their profits and minimize their risks. They master this skill through experience and their ability to read/interpret situations. This means that they are constantly trying to pick up on environmental cues, ranging from vehicular and pedestrian traffic patterns to rudimentary knowledge of the flows and rhythm of the city. They also concentrate on how people are dressed, what they say during an interaction, and where people might be at any given time. This may include: What time a sports event, like a baseball or hockey game ends, or a concert lets out? What time will the bars, etc. close? And where might a person wearing a particular type of clothing want to go? As a cab driver, you make a quick calculation of the degree of risk you are willing to take. Part of this decision involves determining how much you are able to trust a potential passenger (Gambetta & Hamill, 2005). This cost-benefit calculation is often elastic. If you have a lot of money in your pocket, and it is the end of the shift, you may be more choosey about stopping for certain kinds of people because you do not wish to take the risk of putting someone in your cab who may end up trying to rob you. If it is the beginning of your shift, or it has been a particularly slow night and you have not earned much money, you might be more willing to pick up a questionable fare and hope that things will turn out OK.

What I learned driving a taxi: acquiring the knowledge and lessons learned The situations and people that cab drivers are exposed to vary based on a number of dynamics. Unless you own your own cab or have a special deal with an owner, most taxi drivers are usually relegated to working out of a large garage and working two different shifts: day or night.7 During the day, people are typically in a hurry to get to work or an important appointment, thus fares may wish you to take them to a subway, train or bus station or airport. There may also be a thriving package business (i.e., envelopes and parcels that need to be delivered) to take care of. During the day, negotiating traffic is more of a challenge than at night. Since passengers are often in a hurry and/or are late, they are less willing to make small talk with you. At night, there is less traffic, and customers are more relaxed, sometimes because they were under the influence of alcohol or drugs. This was especially true for people I picked up from bars, restaurants, and parties. I was also aware and frequently reminded of my so-called lower socioeconomic class-status job by family, friends, acquaintances, and customers. The latter frequently reinforced this perception during conversations with other passengers who assumed their higher-class privilege or status by occasionally referring to me as their “driver.” They would also talk to me in a dismissive tone, as if to suggest that certain topics of conversation would not be accessible to me because of my perceived lower status. On the other hand, many of my customers were working-class individuals without access to a vehicle. They either did not own a car or their vehicle was broken and/or was in the repair shop. They may have also lost their drivers license. Lower-income people who had just received their paychecks or government assistance checks sometimes wanted to be taken to and/or picked up from the beer, liquor, or grocery store or supermarket. Many passengers, regardless of their social class, seemed to put on airs as if to say that they were somehow privileged to be able to afford to hire a cab. They acted as if they had entered into a contractual relationship (with all sorts of unstated obligations), and I had to do what they told me to do. This provided me with some early lessons in entitlement.

Stages of learning The knowledge and skill acquisition process for becoming a cab driver starts before a person enters the profession and continues throughout one’s tenure in the job. Although one can be oblivious to the lessons learned or choose to bypass the opportunities to acquire the knowledge and skills needed to survive, such 107

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a person will probably not last long in the profession as a cab driver. In short, this process is akin to the development of street literacy (Cahill, 2000). The process can be divided into two time periods: presocialization and on-the-job lessons learned.

Presocialization Presocialization includes the stories, images, and symbols that the public is exposed to about cab driving and cab drivers before a driver gets behind the wheel of a taxi. For me, my only preemployment exposure involved taking the odd taxi and the conversations I had engaged in with the drivers. Another source of presocialization for me were the “war stories” I heard from fellow couriers. Many of the couriers from the company I worked for had driven cabs for various lengths of time. They explained the benefits and shortcomings of working as a cab driver, and to some extent, the street culture they were exposed to. An additional point of references was the iconic movie Taxi Driver, which I  saw a couple of times, shortly after its release. This movie traces the actions of a New York City cab driver during the early 1970s. The protagonist seems to be an outcast, prone to violence, with a strong sense of morality about what is right and what is wrong. He eventually loses control and shoots a child prostitute’s pimp. He is then celebrated as a hero by the news media and among his fellow cab drivers. Another important step in becoming a cab driver is attending and passing taxi school.8 From my previous two years of work as a courier, I knew the streets of Toronto relatively well. But before driving a cab, I had to go to taxi school to get my license. Classes were held over the course of a month, once a week, during the evening for a couple of hours. The taxi inspectors, surly working-class males who seemed like “wannnabe” cops, taught us. They were predominantly white with a sprinkling of foreigners and minorities. Almost all of the students in my class were foreigners, many of whom could barely speak English. Often the questions they asked were puzzling and naïve, reflecting their lack of experience with North American customs. All in all, because I had worked for two years as a courier and knew the city very well, taxi school was a cakewalk. Before, during, or shortly after completing taxi school, drivers typically need to choose the company to work for. This includes determining the company that has the best radio business and the optimal deal one can get in terms of the quality of the car and rental terms. I decided to drive for Beck Taxi, because this was the only company that would hire someone my age.

On-the-job lessons learned On-the-job taxi drivers learn crucial elements of street survival. One of the many questions inexperienced cab drivers grapple with is: Should you have a weapon? Most of the drivers I encountered recommended keeping a tire iron (used for changing a spare tire) on your left side and taking it out if you had an unruly fare. Once, shortly after I picked up three or four people in front of a public housing project, I noticed that they were acting and talking very strangely. I quickly determined that they were probably tripping on acid. One of them reached down to grab my tire iron. I quickly pulled it back and immediately realized that it was an ineffective weapon since it could be used against me. I graduated to a thick gauge chain because I thought it would be easier to manipulate, and it seemed equally intimidating. Given that a number of customers do not have access to a car or are incapable of driving (i.e., they are intoxicated, they lost their license, etc.), it is not surprising that some taxi business involves taking people to or from a bar, or a beer or liquor store. This naturally leads to another challenge: How do you deal with customers who are drunk? People who are intoxicated can be both verbally and physically abusive, and/or they might pass out in your car, as well as throw up in it. Short of administering them a Breathalyzer test before entering your vehicle, cab drivers must determine whether to let drunks into their cars in the first 108

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place and what sort of interaction to have with them. If the situation permits, this is done through an initial conversation with potential passengers before permitting them to enter your car. Building upon dealing with drunk passengers, another issue is handling people who are aggressive. As one of society’s perceived whipping boys, customers might take their difficulties out on you. This might include one or more males kicked out of a party, restaurant, or bar, or a husband or boyfriend who has recently had an argument with their wife or girlfriend. A cab driver is an easy target for their anger. Again, learning to spot this risk factor before a potential passenger gets into your car and/or early in the trip is important. In addition to using tough talk, including profanity and threatening language, to respond to verbal and/or physical intimidation, occasionally a passenger will brandish a weapon. Once a young woman pulled out a knife on me. Incredulously, I asked her what it was for. Fully expecting her to want to rob me, she said instead that it was to protect herself from me. Another tactic that many drivers learn is to keep the doors of their cars locked so they can better control who enters the cab when it is idling at a stop sign or light. Otherwise, prospective passengers may not necessarily ask you if you can take them somewhere. They will simply get into your car. Again, they might be drunk and/or abusive, and you want to be able to determine this before allowing them into your vehicle. Driving at least a hundred miles a day, you are bound to encounter people who are driving in an unsafe manner, and some may also give you insulting or rude gestures. Dealing with irrational drivers and stopand-go traffic can be frustrating. I had numerous close calls in terms of accidents. One of my colleagues was not so fortunate, and he lost his life because someone failed to stop. This is why those who make their living driving a vehicle are advised to take ample breaks and drink coffee to keep alert. Some other lessons learned are: Get a down payment from dubious customers. After being stiffed once or twice, drivers learn to get a down payment for a fare if the ride will be particularly long (e.g., airport, a nearby city) and/or if the fare looks shady. Unfortunately, this can easily devolve into racial and/or ethnic profiling and uncomfortable interactions with potential passengers. The police are not your friends. Rarely do law enforcement officers give cab drivers any breaks. Instead, they may actively target them for parking and moving violations. Once, in front of a bar, I mistakenly kept the door unlocked and let a drunken person enter my cab. I quickly determined that this interaction was going to go from bad to worse, and, thus, I did not want him in my car. I foolishly asked the officers whose cruiser was parked in front of the bar for help. They stared at me as if I was either speaking an undecipherable foreign language or incredibly stupid. Many police officers you encounter believe that you are as desperate as some of the people you transport in your vehicle. Customers are inextricably linked to locations and times of day (including night clubs, discotheques, and bath houses).9 In other words, certain types of people come and go from specific locations, and that traffic varies by the time of day. For example, gay people go to gay bars or public baths; middle-aged Chinese people at 2 am are probably coming or going from a Mahjong game; and a middle-aged, balding man you pick up at night at a major chain hotel downtown probably wants the services of a prostitute. Driving a cab exposes you to numerous people with whom you may strike up a conversation. If you drive during the day, you are mostly dealing with people coming and going from work or meetings. During the night and weekends, you will be picking up people in transit to and from sporting events, emergency rooms of local hospitals, or restaurants, parties, and social gatherings. The cab company you work for can circumscribe the area you work in. In Toronto, many of the taxi companies had their origins in particular parts of the city. The neighborhood rootedness of the cab company meant that a disproportionate number of calls for service would come from that part of town. I chose to work for Beck Taxis that predominantly served working-class east end Toronto. I did this not because I liked the Beck or the East End, but because it was the only company that, at the time, would hire someone my age. At the time, the eastern part of Toronto was relatively foreign to me. I got to know the streets, stores, bars, restaurants, and people in this part of town. 109

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Cab drivers were free to only do street pickups, but it was difficult to make a living solely based on this approach to taxi driving. However, there were advantages and disadvantages to both radio calls versus street pickups. With a radio call, you were obligated to take the person who called, though you could refuse if they were drunk or abusive. You knew that with certain locations the person was from government housing, or a bar or restaurant, and the likelihood that they might try and stiff you or the person was intoxicated was high. The garage that you rent your taxi from provides a sense of community. Shortly after I started working for Beck, an owner established a taxi garage on Eglington West, also known as Toronto’s Little Jamaica. The owners were of Indian descent but from Guyana. Some of the cab drivers who drove out of this garage grew up in the neighborhood, while others were from Africa (especially Ghana). A few of these individuals became part of my immediate “crew” or reference group, and we would meet on a semi-regular basis, on a taxi stand, or over a meal, and swap stories and advice (e.g., Hoffmann, 2006).

Veteran cab driver/mentor to rookie cab drivers Veteran cab drivers can also impart knowledge to junior cab drivers at the taxi stands, at the garage where drivers rent their cars, or after a shift, over a coffee, drink and/or meal consumed at a restaurant. The owner of the cab, the fleet manager, and even the dispatcher can dispense advice, often in a condescending manner, and they do so very freely. As time passed, I prided myself in my ability to predict where a potential customer was going based on situational dynamics (i.e., the time of day, the location where they were hailing the cab, and how the individual was dressed). This was what I referred to as the rhythm of the street. Experienced and skillful cab drivers are attuned to this dynamic. It does not simply involve understanding vehicular and pedestrian traffic and/or movements, but the comings and goings of people who spend a disproportionate amount of time on the street paying attention to its nuances.

Conclusion There is a considerable amount of mythology surrounding people who drive taxis, their passengers, and the cab industry. Some of the general public believes that cab drivers are typically actors, artists, graduate students, musicians, and/or people who are between jobs. Although there is some truth to this impression, more realistically, people who drive taxis are those who could not get a job elsewhere, are “between jobs,” or were, like myself, enjoyed the flexibility and preferred not to have a boss hovering over them. On the positive side, this profession provides a vital service. Sure, other people can do the job, but unlike other small businesses, there is no risk of repeat customers. In short, in order to eke out a living and minimize the daily stress one experiences driving a cab, you learn street knowledge that primarily consists of reading a situation. You become skillful at triangulating between the customer, the place where they are picked up, and their destination. In short, you learn about a particular location’s street culture. Although this chapter devoted a considerable amount of attention to describing how taxi drivers handle the restrictions of the street, it has also attempted to reference the reciprocal relationship between the street and the taxi driver. The learning of street culture that a cab driver experiences is both similar and different from other workers who spend a disproportionate amount of time on the street. In terms of similarities, a cab driver, like a seasoned street cop, learns over time which people dress and act a certain way, where they hang out, which places are dangerous and where most crimes occur. Like police officers, cab drivers must be concerned about personal safety. If a cab driver is attuned to their customers, they become conversant with the vagaries of street language, attitudes, and beliefs. Over time, because of previous encounters, trial and error 110

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experiences, or the advice of fellow hacks, cab drivers become more careful about where they drive and whom they allow into their cars. By working all hours of the day, drivers become attuned to the rhythms and flows of the city. You learn short cuts to take based on traffic conditions (and/or time of the day). You learn who, at the end of the ride, will pay you and who may stiff you, and who gives you a tip and who does not. Because of ride-sharing companies, like Uber, Lyft, and Via, and the decline of the taxi industry, the cab driver’s days are numbered. Many of the protocols and knowledge outlined in this chapter are relevant to today’s cab driver industry, but some of the elements and risks have decreased. I imagine that over the next five to ten years, we will see a new generation of scholars who will take up the call for research that is relevant to ride-sharing drivers and passengers.

Acknowledgments Special thanks to Bárbara Barraza Uribe, Stefano Bloch, Sebastian Kurtenbach, and to Rachel Reynolds who kindly provided feedback on an earlier version of this chapter.

Notes 1 For an excellent review of the history of cab driving in New York City, see for example, Hodges (2007). Vidich (1976) does a similar analysis, but his rendering is mostly impressionistic and appears biased. 2 Although there are notable differences between Toronto and other cities, one can equally argue that this city shares many similarities with other notable American urban locations. 3 The use of auto ethnographies in the transportation field is not unprecedented. See, for example, Rink (2016). 4 In so doing, it is helpful to situate the autoethnography in terms of its author, and thus is written from the perspective of a single young adult white male. Thus the research and interpretation would likely differ from someone with a different racial, gender, and perhaps national make up. 5 For an extended discussion of this issue see, for example, Lipskey (1980). 6 In the context of prostitution, a john (the street name for a prostitute’s customer), typically a tourist from out of town, asks the cab driver where they might find a prostitute, and the taxi driver takes them there. They may ask you to wait while they consummate the deal, and then you take them to an acceptable hotel. Knowledge of the urban subculture is important here, including bars, restaurants, and hotels where prostitutes may solicit business and take their johns. 7 Not only is time of day important, but also the day of the week and the season affects the practice of cab driving. 8 For a discussion of this stage, see, for example, Morris (1986). 9 A place where gay men would meet for casual sex with other men.

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Crawford, V. P., & Meng, J. (2011). New York City cab drivers’ labor supply revisited: Reference-dependent preferences with rational-expectations targets for hours and income. American Economic Review, 101(5), 1912–1932. Dalziel, J. R., & Soames Job, R. F. (1997). Motor vehicle accidents, fatigue, and optimism bias in taxi drivers. Accident Analysis and Prevention, 29(4), 489–495. Davis, F. (1959). The cabdriver and his fare: Facets of a fleeting relationship. American Journal of Sociology, 65(2), 158–165. Dempsey, P. S. (1996). Taxi industry regulation, deregulation & (and) Reregulation: The Paradox of Market Failure. Transportation Law Journal, 24(1), 73–120. Evans, E. R. (2010). Job-related factors that predict the psychological health and well-being of urban taxi drivers (Doctoral dissertation). Australian Catholic University. Facey, M. E. (2003). The health effects of taxi driving: The case of visible minority drivers in Toronto. Canadian Journal of Public Health/Revue Canadienne de Sante’e Publique, 94(4), 254–257. Facey, M. E. (2010). “Maintaining Talk” among taxi drivers: Accomplishing health-protective behavior in precarious work place. Health & Place, 16(6), 1259–1267. Farber, H. (2003). Is tomorrow another day? The labor supply of New York cab drivers. Working Paper 9706. National Bureau of Economic Research, Cambridge, MA. Figa-Talamanca, I., Cini, C., Varricchio, G. C., et al. (1996). Effects of prolonged autovehicle driving on male reproductive function: A study among taxi drivers. American Journal of Industrial Medicine, 30(6), 750–759. Gambetta, D., & Hamill, H. (2005). Streetwise: How taxi drivers establish their customers’ trustworthiness. New York, NY: Russell Sage Publications. Gaston, S. (2003). On being amorphous: Autoethnography, genealogy, and multiracial identity. Qualitative Inquiry, 9(1), 28–48. Henslin, J. M. (1967). The cab driver: An interactural analysis of an occupational culture (Doctoral dissertation). Washington University. Hickey, D. (2017). Perfect wave: More essays on art and democracy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Hodges, G. R. (2007). Taxi!: A social history of the New York City cab driver. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hoffmann, E. A. (2006). Driving street justice: The taxicab driver as the last American cowboy. Labor Studies Journal, 31(2), 1–18. Hoffmann, E. A. (2008). “Revenge” and “Rescue”: Workplace deviance in the taxicab industry. Sociological Inquiry, 78(3), 270–289. Huddleston, M. R. (2014). Taxi drivers and the night time economy: An exploratory study of their experiences (Master’s thesis). Auckland University of Technology. Kolsky, E. (1998). Less successful than the next: South Asian taxi drivers in New York City. South Asia Graduate Research Journal, 5(1), 1–13. Lipskey, M. (1980). Street-level bureaucracy: Dilemmas of the individual in public services. New York, NY: Russel Sage Publications. Lupkin, J. M. (2001). Constructing “The Poor Man’s Automobile”: Public space and the response to the taxicab in New York and Chicago (Doctoral dissertation). Columbia University. Machin, M. A., & De Souza, J. M. D. (2004). Predicting health outcomes and safety behaviour in taxi drivers. Transportation Research, 7(4–5), 257–270. Mayhew, C. (1999). Occupational violence: A case study of the taxi industry. In C. Mayhew & C. Peterson (Eds.), Occupational health and safety in Australia: Industry, public sector and small business (pp.  127–139). Sydney: Allen  & Unwin. Mayhew, C. (2000). Preventing violent assaults on taxi drivers: Incidence patterns and risk factors trends and issues in crime and criminal justice, 178. Canberra, Australia: Australian Institute of Criminology. Miles, H. J. (1953). The taxicab driver (Doctoral dissertation). University of Missouri. Mitra, D. (2008). Punjabi American taxi drivers: The new white working class? Journal of Asian American Studies, 11(3), 303–336. Morris, A. G. (1986). Taxi school: A first step in professionalizing taxi driving (No. 1103). Morris, C. N. (1951). A digest of some occupational characteristics of occupational choice and adjustment in a sample of New York City taxi drivers (Doctoral dissertation). Columbia University. 112

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Nonaka, I., & Takeuchi, H. (1995). The knowledge-creating company. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Pelias, R. J. (1994). An autobiographical ethnography of performance in everyday discourse. Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism, 8(1), 163–172. Poo, F. M., Leesman, R. D., & Lopez, S. (2018). The taxi industry: Working conditions and health of drivers, a literature review. Traffic and Transport Psychology, 38(3) 394–411. Rink, B. (2016). Race and the micropolitics of mobility: Mobile autoethnography on a South African bus service. Transfers, 6(1), 62–79. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Schlosberg, R. (1980). Taxi driving: A study of occupational tension (Doctoral dissertation). City University of New York. Schwer, R. K., Mejza, M. C., & Grun-Rehomme, M. (2010). Workplace violence and stress: The case of taxi drivers. Transportation Journal, 49(2), 5–23. Sheahan, M., & Smith, P. (2011). Deviance and marginal occupations: The case of taxi drivers. Deviant Behavior, 24(5), 449–466. Skok, W. (2003). Knowledge management: New York City taxicab case study. Knowledge and Process Management, 10(2), 127–135. Stannard, D. C. (1971). White cab drivers and black fares. Transaction, 9(1), 44–46, 68. Stenning, P. C. (1996). Fare game, fare cop: Victimization of, and policing by, taxi drivers in three Canadian cities. Ottawa: Research, Statistics and Evaluation Directorate, Department of Justice. Canada. Stone, J., & Bienvenu, M. (1995). Assaults against taxi drivers and protection strategies, institute for transportation research and education. Raleigh, NC: The University of North Carolina and Southeastern Transportation Center. Swanton, B., & Scandia, A. (1990). There’s a little bit of aggression in all of us: Aggressive behaviour by taxi passengers. Canberra: Australian Institute of Criminology. Tay, R., & Choi, J. (2016). Factors associated with crashes involving taxi owners and non-owners: A case of moral hazard and adverse selection. Accident Analysis and Prevention, 87(1), 78–82. Toiskallio, K. (2000). Simmel hails a cab: Fleeting sociability in the urban taxi. Space and Culture, 6(1), 4–20. Vaz, E. (1955). The metropolitan taxi driver: His work and his self-conception (Master’s thesis). McGill University. Vidich, C. (1976). The New York cab driver and his fare. Cambridge, MA: Schenkman Publishing Co.

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9 Skateboarding and street culture Iain Borden

“Skateboarding is not a hobby and it’s not a sport. Skateboarding is a way of learning how to redefine the world around you.” Ian MacKaye

Introduction Skateboarding is often viewed as a form of subculture, one of Dick Hebdige’s (1979) social worlds which confront conventional codes and helps people to identify themselves. In the 1990s, skateboarding was largely cast by both the mainstream press and skaters themselves as oppositional to normative society, with skaters creating an alternative lifestyle of music, clothes, words, magazines and videos. Yet by the 2020s, skateboarding has moved inexorably from subculture into the mainstream, where for many riders skateboarding is less the sole determinant and more a pervasive presence through their lives. In this dispersed culture, avowed skate-centric qualities like independence and autonomy, distrust and cynicism, camaraderie and jocularity, or creativity and resourcefulness often surface in unpredictable combinations. For example, Guan Mu (2017), who runs the Chinese Kicker Club website, describes himself not solely as a ‘skateboarder’ but as a ‘father, skater, husband, Christian, developer’ – a conflation which would have been highly unusual in 1980s and 1990s skate scenes. It is to these complexities and seeming contradictions that we now turn, looking at such characteristics as skateboarding’s avowed outsider status, age groups, ethnicity, masculinity and criminality, as well as more recent developments in extended age, gender diversity and attitudes to commerce. As we shall see, all of this is directly connected to skateboarding’s inherent street-related performances and credentials.

Freaks and geeks In its most distinctive social world, the kind of street-based skateboarding which came to the fore in the 1990s has separated itself from cosy clubs, regulated schools and organized teams, being more impromptu in organization, independently creative and exploitative of its ‘sub-’ status. Through riding down suburban roads and downtown spaces, skateboarders are also often disruptive and so unsettle conventional society in an ambiguous yet challenging manner. This was especially the case during the 1990s, when skaters often 114

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saw themselves, in Grosso’s words (2015), as society’s ‘freaks and geeks’, and ever since this period skateboard discourse has consistently characterized skaters as eccentrics, outcasts and rebels. Furthermore, skateboarding is typically practised by younger adults and teenagers; one 2009 estimate placed ninety-three per cent of US skaters below twenty-four years old (Whitley, 2009, p. 87). With this comes the general attitude of youth which in Lefebvre’s (1969) words ‘revolts against the Fathers’, and which among skaters is frequently expressed as a dislike of routinized training and memberships (pp. 106– 7). Skateboarders are ‘not kids whose dads gave them batting practice out in the front yard,’ explained skate magazine Thrasher. ‘It’s not a father-son deal’ (Gabriel, 1987). So instead of normative institutions like school, family and teams, skaters opt for a sense of personal freedom. The opinions of a rider like Shayne Stadnick are typical, revelling in the fact that in skateboarding, particularly when it takes place in city streets rather than in legitimised skateparks, ‘there is no coach to impress or teammates to let down, no rules or regulations’ and ‘no scheduled times’ (Harms & Smith, 2009, p. 49). An even more general critique of normative society is also discernible in skateboarding, what Beal (1998) has called a ‘symbolic inversion’ and a ‘daily critique and alternative to mainstream relations’ (p. 213). In 1983, the skateboarder and skate journalist Garry Scott Davis (GSD), for example, viewed things like ‘baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, weed, beer, pills, needles, alcohol’ as just the ‘typical hobbies of all the typical people’ in America. His conclusion was simple: ‘Why be a clone?’ Indeed, in their more extreme formulations, such skate subcultural attitudes encompass everything a skater does. ‘One way or another,’ asserted Skatemaster Tate (Gerry Hurtado), ‘skating relates to just about every part of my life’ (Grogan & Arrington, 1987).

Everything in between As many academics have argued, not everything, however, is perfect in skateboarding’s cultural garden. Studies of Michigan and Swedish skaters by Yochim (2010) and Hellman (2016) show how some white male skaters imagine themselves as victims and act non-inclusively. Meanwhile skate videos like PowellPeralta’s Ban This (1989), Santa Cruz’s Streets on Fire (1989) and Shorty’s Guilty (2002) cast skaters as misunderstood criminals, victimized because of their marginal and oppositional status. According to Butz (2012), skaters here erroneously present themselves as major victims, for, however much riders might face anti-skate legislation attitudes in city streets – such as tickets, fines and/or confiscated skateboards for riding in public places, or the installation of metal ‘skatestopper’ protrusions to hinder riding along rails, ledges and benches – they do not face the kinds of pervasive repression or discrimination of many other social groups (pp. 190–7). Skateboarding culture can be equally reductive in other areas. Leonard (2008) identifies how the Tony Hawk video games ignore poverty, violence and police brutality, and so aestheticize ghettos as ‘exotic tourist destinations,’ while Brayton (2005) shows how skateboard media regularly depict white-privileged travel alongside rebellious cool and supposedly ‘black cultural’ signifiers like hip-hop, gangsta criminality and virulent sexuality. For street-skaters in particular – who are often shown performing transgressive and dangerous acts such as sliding down long rails or leaping down sets of stairs in office plazas and other downtown spaces – Atencio, Beal, and Wilson (2009), Beal (1996), Beal, Atencio, Wright, and McClain (2017), Beal and Wilson (2004) and Orpana (2015) have all argued that the typically hyper-performing, overtly male and highly individualized body of this kind of street-riding skater aligns neatly with neoliberal patriarchal structures and their focus on risk, masculinist hierarchies and the denigration of women. Consequently, Yochim calls skateboarding a ‘corresponding culture’ which critiques dominant masculinities (notably ‘jock’ athletes) without truly challenging the power of the dominant straight and white middleclasses (pp. 4 and 21–3). Nonetheless, however apparently damning these academic interpretations of skateboarding culture might seem, they are also complicated and to some extent refuted by skateboarding’s actual social constitution and 115

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attitudes. Additionally, what was true in the 1990s or early 2000s is not necessarily true today, and much skateboarding culture is far from the reactionary bastion which some have perceived. In particular, skateboarding often transcends class, religion and ethnicity, and skaters have generally come from more varied backgrounds than occurs in traditional sports. Because street skaters often come from diverse locations and neighborhoods to congregate at specific urban locations – what street skaters call ‘skatespots’ – riders like Jeremy Henderson (1979) welcome a scene with ‘all different types of economic groups’, Andy Macdonald (2003) describes Massachusetts as a place where rich and poor kids alike formed their local skate crew (p. 36), and Bob Burnquist benefitted from how skateboarding could ‘bridge social barriers’ with Rio’s favelas (Mosberg, 2006). Today, notes Dinces (2011), ‘skaters hail from working- and upper-class backgrounds, and everything in between’. Religious categories can also be transcended, as Drissel (2012) demonstrates in Belfast, where skating together at skatespots across the city means that skaters engage in ‘collective identity work’ and forge non-sectarian relationships. A wide range of ethnicities are also integrated into skateboarding, which since the mid-1990s has often been seen as a racially mixed world. At first glance, a degree of caution is advisable here. In particular, there are often commercial processes which some are keen to exploit. In the 1980s, pro skater Christian Hosoi – himself of Japanese, Scottish-Irish, French, Chinese and Hawaiian extraction – frequently employed graffiti and gang symbols, which were quickly taken up by suburban skaters. Even earlier, 1970s Dogtown deck graphics had been derived from Los Angeles Hispanic gang culture, while later companies like Eightball, Grind King and Neighborhood also used gangster references. And for branding purposes, this strategy of interconnecting skateboarding, ethnicity, street-level and gang culture has clearly worked. In 2004, Reebok sponsored skater Stevie Williams, who came to fame through his skilled riding at the infamous ‘Love Park’ location in downtown Philadelphia, and who later formed the DGK (Dirty Ghetto Kids) sub-brand, and by 2007 was regarded by the New York Times as a superstar successor to hip-hop’s Jay Z. All of this could be seen as superficial consumerism in which ethnicity, in bell hooks’s (1992) words, is used to ‘liven up the dull dish that is mainstream white culture’. Atencio, Beal, and Yochim (2013) similarly argue that skateboarding is a predominantly white and male activity, using ‘skurban’ (skateboarding + urban) racialized images to sell goods and support neoliberalism. They note how one 2009 Nike video advertisement, featuring Mexican-American skater Paul Rodriguez (aka P-Rod) and accompanied by a soundtrack featuring Ice Cube’s ‘It Was a Good Day’, strips away the suggestions of racial inequality and injustice which are essential components of the original track. Instead, in this shoe ad version, P-Rod freely skates across an idealized Los Angeles playground of multi-ethnic friends, traffic-free roads and acquiescent police. Such representations provide utopian glimpses of multi-ethnicity, but simultaneously privilege individual status, emphasize meritocracy, avoid critiquing real life and ignore the need for social intervention in complex urban conditions. Skateboarding’s multi-ethnicity could then be viewed as largely a matter of appearances and branding, close to Brayton’s ‘crossover’ culture and ‘limited to the consumption of essentialized black culture such as rap and basketball apparel’. Yet, because skateboarding ultimately takes place on real city streets and so involves physical bodies who meet and converse, and is not limited to mediated images, skate ethnic diversity does frequently extend into real friendships. Here it comes closer to Brayton’s ‘crossing over’ with ‘direct engagement and communication between people of color and Whites’. ‘In skating, there is no segregation really’, states Billy Miller (1996), because ‘you don’t become aware of their skin color. It just doesn’t matter’. This pluralism is particularly true of recent skateboarding, for, while 1970s skaters often tended to be white surfers, from the 1980s onwards they have been more ethnically varied, such as 1980s pros Hispanic Steve Caballero, Japanese-American Lester Kasai and African-American Steve Steadham, or 1990s professionals like Armando Barajas, Omar Hassan, Lavar McBride, Kien Lieu and Willy Santos. By the mid-1990s, the newly dominant street-skating particularly attracted economically disadvantaged skaters of colour, as with Keenan Milton and Chico Brenes appearing in Chocolate’s Las Nueve Vidas de Paco (1996), 116

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while Asian-Americans formed twenty per cent of National Skateboard Association members (Sueyoshi, 2015). Such diversity is now commonly replicated in mass-market representations; by 2015 the Tony Hawk game included two black (Nyjah Huston, Ishod Wair), one Latino (David González) and two female skaters (Letícia Bufoni, Lizzie Armanto) among its headliners. Outside professional circles similar patterns are discernible. According to Sheldon Thompson, the Brooklyn Museum skatespot in New York changed from a predominantly white location to being for everybody (Detrick, 2007); elsewhere in New York, as shown by White (2015) and Concrete Jungle (Eli Morgan Gesner, 2009), between the 1980s and 2000s Bronx skateboarding went from a punk and ‘whiteboy’ activity to being undertaken by hip-hop-listening blacks, Dominicans and Puerto Ricans. Indeed, skate ethnic diversification is now a nationwide US trend. In 2007, the New York Times commented on how across the USA ‘skateboarding has joined the fraternity of minority street games’, and in 2014 some thirty-four per cent of skaters came from non-white backgrounds, roughly equivalent to the thirty-seven per cent of non-whites in the US population (Detrick, 2007). Unsurprisingly, given this diversity and engagement between skaters on city streets and where they mutually engage in the transgressive riding of urban elements, there are relatively few racial tensions within skateboarding, and indeed many skaters have fully embraced a varied class and ethnic life. East Coast skater Bryan Ridgeway recalled how his fellow African-Americans ‘pretty much all had white, Asian, Hispanic buddies,’ while Sueyoshi (2015) notes how Asian-Americans have considered the skate community as a place of ‘racial tolerance where different people could come together and be judged purely for their skating ability’.

Beer and Barneys Notwithstanding the increasing presence of female skaters discussed below, masculinity, notes Yochim (2010), is often the predominant identity within skateboarding. One place to locate this masculinity is the long-standing Thrasher skateboarding magazine, which has been especially connected with beer-drinking, hardcore-music, weed-smoking, party-seeking and all round rowdiness; ‘I won’t conform, I’m a piece of trash, fuck the established’ sings Duane Peters in ‘Love and Hate’ with his punk band The Hunns (Lucero, 2005). This stance is typified by Thrasher’s video Beers, Bowls and Barneys (Maigetter, 2004), with twentyfive minutes of on-the-edge riding, body-jarring slams, beer-drinking, hardcore music and raucous revelry, all of which takes place within a diverse urban realm of city streets, urban plazas and abandoned suburban swimming pools. How do we understand this masculinity? At first sight skateboarding is seemingly constituted as a determinedly heterosexual masculinity, marked by casual aggression, independence and rebellion against the supposedly more normative members of urban society. This is evident not only from Thrasher but in Big Brother magazine of the 1990s and films like Larry Clark’s Kids (1995), through to Ian Reid’s Sex, Hood, Skate and Videotape (2006) and the So What (2016) video by London’s With Section, which variously show irrepressible skateboarding energy mixed with a street-based milieu of weed, gangs, nudity, offhand violence and ad hoc DIY terrains. ‘All I need is my girl, a chewy spliff, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to go along with my daily scorched earth domination’, declares an Asphalt (2014) advertisement. ‘No fucks given’. Injuries sustained while skateboarding in the urban realm are integral to this male identity and act as a means to physically display the rider’s commitment to skateboarding on a public stage. ‘The bruising of one’s body’, argues Beal (1992), ‘demonstrates a traditional masculine characteristic of risking bodily injury’ (p. 167), while most skaters – male and female alike – accept that getting hurt is intrinsic to skateboarding. Although skateboarding is less dangerous than boxing, American football, snowboarding, ice hockey and mountain biking, and few skaters actively seek accidents (Hackenheimer, 2007, p.  33; Clemmit, 2009), getting hurt is thus viewed as an essential part of skateboarding, with many skate videos 117

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including numerous fails, bails and worse as street-skaters hurl themselves down long rails, over steep steps and across obstructive barriers. Thrasher’s 911 Emergency (1995) includes the hospitalization of Ricky Oyola, while its Hall of Meat (1999) details a gory series of collisions and falls; today, YouTube contains innumerable ‘Best of ’ slam edits as skaters fail to conquer their urban terrains. Some skaters like Aaron ‘Jaws’ Homoki have even gained notorious reputations for launching off buildings and undertaking rooftop moves. One of Homoki’s feats includes his 2015 jumping of the infamous twenty-five stair set (around four-and-a-half metres drop and seven metres long) at Lyon’s Centre de Congrès. Similarly, Tengu: God of Mischief (Colin Read, 2013) starts with high-level roof-top New York manoeuvres, before Koki Loaiza ollies across the electrified train track of the 145th Street station, while the Skate Near Death ‘skate-poem’ (2016) shows Roma Alimov grinding a platform edge as a train rushes in and negotiating potentially fatal ledges, rails and bridges. Another pervasive male representation involves the poses and attitudes struck in advertisements. To cite but one classic example, in a 1988 photograph by Steve Gross for the Alva team, twelve leather-clad ‘Alva Boyz’ stand against an inner-city backdrop of brick wall and warehouse staircase, staring defiantly at the camera, overtly displaying confrontational aggression and a ‘gangster-don’t-give-a-shit attitude’. According to Tony Alva, these were party-hard and skate-hard ‘road warriors’ and ‘a total destruction machine’ (Alva, 1988; Mortimer, 1997; Eisenhour, 2002), and whose primary identity was therefore formed by their ability to ride and play in the urban realm

Crime time At times, skateboarding’s symbolism of gangs and semi-illegal activities has spilled over into drugs, violence and worse; renowned professional skaters who have been convicted over the years have included Jay Adams (imprisoned for drug possession and assault), Ben Tappas (murder, cocaine smuggling), Tas Pappas (domestic violence, cocaine smuggling), Josh Swindell (second degree murder), Neil Heddings (manslaughter), Christian Hosoi (crystal meth smuggling), Mark ‘Gator’ Rogowski (rape, murder), Paul Hackett (matricide) and Duane Peters (domestic violence). Skater alcohol and/or drug addiction has also occurred with regularity. Sometimes such criminality even becomes implicitly condoned. For example, Jay Adams’ illegal activities are often dismissed as the minor errors typical of a ‘bad boy skateboarder’. Hence while Adams  – whose central role in the highly influential Venice Beach skateboard pool-riding scene of the late 1970s was depicted in the award-winning documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys (Stacy Peralta, 2001) – indifferently described his involvement in the fatal assault of a mixed-race gay couple – ‘Beat up some homos. No big deal. We do that shit all the time’ – his own untimely death in 2014 led to eulogizing obituaries which typically dismissed such dark episodes as merely the acts of a ‘colourful rebel’. Far rarer have been Keith Hamm’s more balanced comments, recognising that Adams was ‘at his worst, a felon, junkie, and a racist and homophobic deadbeat dad’, and simultaneously ‘at his best, a legendary surfer and skateboarder, an honest and sober guy who goes to church on Sundays and sends his kid money each month’ (Hamm, 2004, pp. 88–99; Smith, 2014). Here lies a great contradiction within skateboarding street culture, whose masculinity, as demonstrated to both rival skaters and non-skaters alike, can be at once loud and contemplative, violent and considerate, intolerant and respectful. Indeed, SkateBoarder may have presented 1970s skaters as unruly and rebellious, but its overall message was still of skateboarding as being clean-cut, progressive, professional and hierarchical; extreme behaviour in skateparks and skatespots went unreported and photographs showing underage skaters drinking beer were left unpublished. Parents featured in ‘Skateboard Kings’ (BBC, prod. Horace Ové, 1978) similarly praised skateboarding as a healthy outlet encouraging balance, agility and mobility, and it is to these kinds of skateboarding culture which we now turn.

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Positive and loving That many skateboarders refute the ‘jock’ sports masculinity of physical domination, extreme competitiveness and overt sexism is, in part at least, evident from skaters’ bodies, for, notes Louison (2011, pp. 18–19), most skaters are not demonstrably muscular but lithe or even scrawny. Tony Hawk, Rodney Mullen, Nyjah Huston, Ben Raybourn, Lizzie Armanto et al. don’t really look like sports athletes, their leanness offering power and agility that brawn would only hinder. And, of course, younger professionals – such as Ryan Sheckler (aged thirteen on turning pro in 2003), or Tom Schaar (aged twelve when winning gold at the Asia X Games) – have even more boyish physiques. Some renowned skaters even contend with significant medical challenges, including Steve Caballero (scoliosis), Rodney Mullen (femoral anteversion), Italo Romano (amputated legs), Steven ‘Lefty’ Breeding (no right arm), Auby Taylor (Asperger’s), Andrew Reynolds (OCD), Tas Pappas (personality disorder) and Mark Rogowski (manic-depression). Deaf skaters have included Nolder and Brandon White. If skaters rarely express masculinity through pumped muscularity or overt athleticism, other bodily expressions and forms of outward urban display are nonetheless adopted. Most notable are tattoos – popular designs include Thrasher’s Skate and Destroy, Independent’s Iron Cross, Santa Cruz’s Screaming Hand and Spitfire’s Fire Head – which Skinned Alive (Bart Saric, 2004) identifies as connecting skateboarding with punk music, individualism and anti-authoritarianism, but which also allow individuals to side-step to avoid stereotypical masculine personas. Hence someone like the small-framed Ben Raybourn sports nerdy Ray Ban spectacles and a few tattoos, while becoming globally renowned for his impulsive riding style. Similar to Raybourn in their individualistic yet non-aggressive character are the vast majority of everyday skaters, as well as professionals like the artistic Mark Gonzales, widely acknowledged as the world’s most influential skater, and the ‘pathologically non-confrontational’ Tony Hawk (Hawk, 2000, p. 75). Andy Macdonald, a contemporary of Hawk’s, adopted Ghandi’s philosophy of non-violence; ‘What really takes guts is to keep right on walking, confident in who you are’. Responding to a skater’s father worried about illegality, profanities and violence, Macdonald argued that these things are actually more prevalent in other sports, and that skateboarding instead offers a drug-free path to self-fulfilment, financial success and civic-mindedness (Macdonald, 2003, pp. 19, 41–42, 68–70). Another form of alternative masculinity is to see skateboarding as hardcore in its refusal of bodily abuse, where a more positive direction can be pursued. This was especially evident among 1990s ‘straight edge’ adherents  – including skaters like Bill Danforth, ‘zines like Skate Edge and bands like Minor Threat  – who abstained from risky sex, illegal substances or meat-eating to focus on the purity of mind and body. According to some critics, straight edge was a white middle-class defence against drug-taking and sexuality, without embracing Moral Majority ‘just say no’ values (Williams & Copes, 2005). But whatever its wider context, in skateboarding straight edge became particularly explicit through aggressively acting bodies, appropriative tactics and general subcultural attitudes. Indeed, some of this is latent in skateboarding generally, as when pro skater and punk rocker Steve Caballero (2007) calls for ‘more positive, loving and selfless attitudes’ within skateboarding, alongside refraining from cigarettes, alcohol and drugs. In this way, skateboarding provides an escape from drugs as both dangerous physiological abuse and entrapping social and urban milieu; for Bob Burnquist, for example, skateboarding (and veganism) provided a way to break away from his teenage São Paulo indulgences of cocaine and glue-sniffing (Browne, 2004, pp. 87–88; Hamm, 2004, pp. 191–194). Notably, Burnquist also drew upon beliefs in Christian Spiritism and reincarnation, while others who have similarly embraced Christianity include Caballero, Eddie Elguera, Christian Hosoi, Lance Mountain, Rodney Mullen, Tas Pappas, Paul Rodriquez and Jamie Thomas. For Hosoi (2012), conversion came when facing a lengthy prison sentence for drugs smuggling, and after release he became an Outreach Pastor, using his skater reputation as ‘a platform to preach the gospel’ in Californian urban churches

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(pp. 225–304). For others, God even actively participates in their skateboarding. ‘I pray before dropping in’, explains Sierra Fellers. ‘ “God, what do you want me to do?” I know it’s going to be big, because you don’t do little things’ (Baldwin, 2006, p. 37). This part of skateboarding is rarely mentioned – particularly within the Thrasher-centred beer and barneys trope – but is nonetheless a pervasive and long-lasting element within skate culture, even when it is performed in city streets worldwide.

Middle age shred By no means are all skateboarders youngsters. By 1992, over ninety per cent of the riders at Davis skatepark were aged between eighteen and twenty-five, and when London’s city centre House of Vans skatepark opened two decades later, over thirty-three per cent of skaters were over thirty (Owens, 2001; Holden, 2014). In 2014, nineteen per cent of all visitors to the Skate Park of Tampa were over forty, compared to just over one per cent a decade earlier (Aviani, 2014). For the US as a whole, in 2014 some twenty-eight per cent of US skaters were over twenty-five, and forty-five per cent over eighteen (TransWorld Business, 2015, p. 8). Sometimes, of course, even renowned older practitioners are discouraged by the scornful stares of the expert young, or by normalising peer pressures. ‘The basic attitude I get,’ lamented Stacy Peralta, ‘is “You’re a professional skateboarder? How old are you?” ’ (Peralta, 1982). Other difficulties include the diminished capacity to withstand body strains and minor breakages, and scheduling time to accommodate other commitments. Despite this, older skaters are increasingly common, particularly in the skatepark, slalom, freestyle and longboarding genres, but also, for those who have grown up riding at downtown locations, in street-based skateboarding. ‘Age has got nothing to with it’, reflects Australian Peter Rowe (born 1953). ‘I just enjoy doing it’ (Mills, 2014). Older beginners like Neal Unger (born 1954) are also well known for their open attitude. ‘My goals for my skateboarding’, explains Unger (2013), ‘are to research the quietness of my mind and how joyful that is. How old can I get and yet still act young?’ Unger additionally talks about applying lessons from skateboarding into his wider friendships, family and creativity (Unger, 2014). And as this suggests, older skaters are often thoughtful about their interactions with other riders. In particular, as demonstrated by Laurent (2012) and O’Connor (2017), older riders frequently look out for younger kids, including how skate traditions are transferred to these new generations. ‘The older skateboarders truly understand this is something to pass down to the little guys’, explains Heidi Lemmon, manager of a Venice Beach skatepark. ‘A seven-year-old girl got on the ramp, and everyone stepped back. These skateboarders really look out for the little ones’ (Cave, 2005).

All girl skate jam On the surface at least, skateboarding has largely remained a predominantly male activity, particularly during the 1990s when skate magazines tended to emphasize the transgressive exploits of lone male street skaters riding illicit downtown skatespots in the middle of the night. All-male line-ups dominate skateboarding, with videos like Hot Chocolate (Spike Jonze, Ty Evans, & Cory Weincheque, 2004) emphasizing the all-male camaraderie of knuckle-bumps, room-sharing and sweaty minivan travelling. Such representations reinforce the notion that skateboarders are male, and that the absence of females is unproblematic. Yet there have been many females throughout skateboarding’s history. In the early 1960s, surfer Linda Benson had a signature skateboard, while in 1965 Donna Cash, Wendy Bearer, Colleen Boyd and Laura (Laurie) Turner gained television coverage as competitors in the American National Skateboard Championship (Segovia & Heller, 2007, p. 117; Porter, 2014, loc. 63). The same year, Hobie’s Patti McGee appeared on Life’s cover and the ‘What’s My Line?’ and ‘Johnny Carson’ television shows; her SkateBoarder interview opened by stating that ‘skateboarding is 100 percent just as much for girls as it is for boys’ (McGee, 1965). 120

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A decade later, females constituted some twenty-five per cent of Southern Californian skaters (Pennell, 1978), and many 1970s skate documentaries consequently depicted female skaters, many of them traversing suburban roads, including The Ultimate Flex Machine (1975), Spinn’in Wheels (1975), The Magic Rolling Board (1976), Freewheelin’ (1976), Blaze On (1978) and Hot Wheels (1978). During this period women frequently joined established teams, as with Ellen Berryman (Bahne, Logan), Pattie Hoffman (Pepsi, Variflex), Robin Logan (Logan), Peggy Oki (Z-Boys), Ellen O’Neal (G&S, Free Former, Pepsi), Laura Thornhill (Logan) and Gale Webb (Powerflex). Other notables included Teri Lawrence with a substantial pool-riding section in Blaze On. Into the 1980s and 1990s and, despite some punk-inspired male hostility, many females persevered and even gained notoriety within the emergent street-skating genre, including Cara-Beth Burnside, Cyndy Pendergast, Debbie McAdoo, Anita Tessensohn, Leaf Trienen and many others in the US, plus Michelle Picktin and Sue Hazel in the UK. Highlights included Tessensohn riding in Powell-Peralta’s Public Domain (1988), and Burnside’s Thrasher cover (August 1989) and appearance in Hokus Pokus (1989). Towards the end of the 1990s and into the 2000s, women’s skating emerged even stronger, with Patty Segovia-Krause’s inaugural All Girl Skate Jam (AGSJ) drawing competitors from the USA and internationally. Burnside became the first female to gain a pro shoe (Vans) and appeared in Hurley’s Hallowed Ground (2001) (Porter, 2014, locs. 352, 594–615). Elissa Steamer was a particular tour de force; a street-riding Floridian who joined Toy Machine in 1995 and turned pro in 1998, Steamer was interviewed in Big Brother and TransWorld, appeared in Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater game, won X Games titles and scored a Thrasher back cover (Singleton, 1997; Bootleg, 2002; Porter, 2014, locs. 373–413). After her appearances in Toy Machine’s Welcome to Hell (1996) and Jump Off a Building (1998), Sidewalk noted that the exclusive ‘boys club’ of skateboarding had now departed (Gray, 2012). During the early 2000s, things continued to improve when the X Games and Gravity Games introduced female street and vert skating, Vanessa Torres featured in Elementality (2005) and in 2006 the AGSJ joined the Vans Warped Tour to reach fifty cities; by 2009, after pressure from the Actions Sports Alliance, the X Games offered prize parity across genders (Segovia & Heller, 2007, pp. 123, 136; Striler, 2011, p. 258). The AGSJ has been particularly influential. Founded as an annual event, AGSJ provides a communityoriented atmosphere for ‘all ages, all abilities, all girls’, and has inspired events like Girl Skate Out (UK), Gallaz Jam (Australia and France) and Ride Like a Girl (Canada) (Porter, 2003, pp. 64–65). As Atencio et al. (2009) report, such events offer women of varied femininity, ability, age, ethnicity, class and sexuality the chance to skate without male intimidation, often using urban skateparks rather than city streets for their events. And they have countered male dominance, particularly in street-skateboarding, as well as helped lead to men’s and women’s events being given equal weighting in the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. But what of everyday female skaters? By 2007, around twenty-six per cent of skaters were female, nearing the thirty to thirty-four per cent range of snowboarding, surfing and mountain biking (Booth, 2007, p. 106). Two years later, Atencio et al. (2009) noted the increasing female participation in skateboarding, snowboarding and surfing, with one industry executive seeing women as a crucial factor in expanding markets. Today, even mainstream women’s magazines recommend skateboarding in city streets and other locations as expressive and stylish; ‘whether you love surfing pavements, cruising beach promenades or hitting hills,’ enthused Marie Claire in 2015, ‘skateboarding is all about letting go of your worries and living in the moment’ (Redfern, 2015). Numerous websites and social media also promote female skateboarding, many carrying powerful messages. Since 2002, the Skirtboarders website and documentary Skirtboarders: le Film (Mathilde Pigeon, 2004) have depicted Montreal and Ottawa communities as knowing rejections of male/female binaries; these ‘polygendered’ Skirtboarders fart, spit and wear T-shirts without bra straps, while bikinis and painted nails may also appear, and so are fluidly female and/or male, hinting at new subjectivities. Bäckström (2013) recounts how some female Swedish skaters deploy gender manoeuvring, using tomboy or lesbian behaviours to disrupt male dominance, while Kelly, Pomerantz, and Currie (2005, 2008) have shown how 121

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Vancouver women have similarly rejected ‘emphasized femininities’ and instead appropriated male bravado, male clothing, Goth, hip-hop and punk subcultures; as these ‘alternative’, non-sexualized and androgynous femininities realise, ‘you can’t land an ollie properly in heels’. By the mid-2010s, many female skaters have become ever more comfortable in their skating identities. As Porter (2014, loc. 473) asserts, the sheer number of competent female riders means that ‘skateboarding does the talking, and the rest is superfluous’. Cindy Whitehead and Ian Logan’s It’s Not About Pretty and Julian Bleecker’s Hello Skater Girl publications both bear this out, showing skaters in varied city-based terrains, emphasising their style, skill and determination to engage with urban locations rather than fashion, appearance or sexuality. Today, female skaters are still comparatively less numerous and routinely gain less media coverage than male riders; frustratingly, Vans’s Propeller video, for example, does not include Lizzie Armanto, despite her being on the Vans roster. And much skateboarding media, remarks Niki Williams in Underexposed: a Women’s Skateboarding Documentary (Amelia Brodka & Brian Lynch, 2013), continues to indicate that ‘skateboarding is just for white males who have tattoos’. Nonetheless, in most skateparks females are commonly welcomed as equals, while street-riding women are also becoming more numerous; seventeen-year-old Emma Lindgren notes that, because of the social scene at Bryggeriet and other Malmö urban skatespots, ‘it’s not like they see me as a girl, more as a skater’ (Evans, 2014). And so, concludes Porter (2014, loc. 756), it seems like we have perhaps finally arrived at the tipping point when skateboarders are no longer distinguished by gender, and ‘the novelty of girls skateboarding has begun to wear off’.

Polycultural practices For some practitioners, skateboarding continues as a totalising lifestyle, which dominates their urban identity and practices. ‘Hardcore skateboarders are still there,’ asserted Glen Friedman to the New York Times (Cave, 2005). Yet for most skaters, skateboarding is undoubtedly a central part of their self-understanding but without being all-encompassing or insurgent. In 2009, Liu Qing of the Chinese Extreme Sports Association was noting that, where skateboarding had originally promoted teenage rebellion, by now it was simply ‘a means for young people to challenge themselves’ (Bolin, 2009). In part this is generational, with skateboarding going beyond 1990s Generation X-ers – ‘slackers’ disgruntled with commercialization and embracing counter-culture – to include Generation Y-ers, that is, those who are born post-1982, affluently ‘hooked-up’ with merchandise, educated and ethnically diverse and who embrace teamwork, achievement, modesty and good conduct (Howe  & Strauss, 2000, p.  4; Beal & Wilson, 2004). For example, young skaters at Kona skatepark, interviewed by Lorr (2015), viewed skateboarding as a mainstream sport and expected to be supported by parents and teachers; one fourteenyear-old reckoned that skateboarding was ‘not rebellion or resistance’ but ‘just fun’. Skateboarding here mirrors the path of other urban subcultures, no longer a unique channel of identity but becoming part of the panoply of available style, consumer and entertainment options. By 2015, for many young riders, skateboarding, far from being baseball’s opposite, was now its natural friend: ‘riding your board to a Little League game is not only commonplace, it’s a necessity’ (Padilla, 2015). Older skaters, too, engage in these polycultural practices. For example, one San Francisco company incorporates skatepark hire into employee benefits, a Johannesburg bank has constructed an on-site ramp, while the people I currently skate with include an accountant, architect, art dealer, graphic designer, lawyer, police officer, quantity surveyor, realtor and software developer, all of whom integrate their ‘respectable’ careers with ‘alternative’ skateboarding sensibilities. ‘No one should even be discussing if things are mainstream’, concludes Brink (2012). ‘Just stop acting like it hasn’t happened or that you’re cooler or more “legit” because you’re pointing it out’. From this perspective, skateboarding is simply another of those lifestyle sports (such as BMX, mountain biking, kiteboarding, parkour, snowboarding, surfing, windsurfing

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etc.) which, according to Wheaton (2004), emphasize newness, grassroots participation, lifestyle commitment, adrenalin, individualism and risk. These changing attitudes are accompanied by new social possibilities, for, according to Giroux (2000), popular culture is a rare ‘site for negotiation’ where youth can ‘produce alternative public spheres and represent their own interests’ (p 13). For example, Sander Hölsgens (2018) has shown how, in Seoul, street- and skatepark-based riding can provide a way to address or compensate for South Korea’s overbearing social strictures and pressures. And such moves to the mainstream are not necessarily bad, for skateboarding’s increasing integration means that it can simultaneously mount acerbic critiques and formulate collaborative dialogues. As Tony Hawk argues, ‘A lot of people feel very strongly that skating shouldn’t be shared with the general public. I never felt like that. It’s amazing that a kid who chooses to skate now literally has career opportunities’ (Jones, 2013). Taking all of this into consideration, skateboarding street culture is evidently a way to engage with the world in general and city spaces in particular. It is neither wholly rebellious rejection nor fully acquiescent consumerism, but rather a means to cope, to construct meanings and to find pleasure. For older riders, skateboarding sits alongside money, career, relationships, play and travel – bleeding across boundaries, but not dominating. And for younger skaters, it means discovering values, building identities and forming friendships. Skateboarding is typically an intrinsic part of a skater’s lifestyle, but not the only determinant, and each skater undertakes their own formulation of these equations.

Acknowledgements This chapter is partly derived from Iain Borden, Skateboarding and the City: A Complete History (London: Bloomsbury, 2019). Research was made possible by the Architecture Research Fund of the Bartlett School of Architecture, University College London.

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Leonard, D. (2008). To the white extreme in the mainstream. In M. Giardina & M. Donnelly (Eds.), Youth culture and sport (pp. 91–112). Abingdon: Routledge. Lorr, M. J. (2015). Skateboarding as a technology of the collective. In K. J. Lombard (Ed.), Skateboarding: Subcultures, sites and shifts (pp. 139–151). Abingdon: Routledge. Louison, C. (2011). The impossible: Rodney Mullen, Ryan Sheckler and the fantastic history of skateboarding. Guilford: Lyons. Lucero, J. (Dir.). (2005). Who cares: The Duane Peters story (video). Macdonald, A., & Digeronimo, T. F. (2003). Dropping in with Andy Mac. New York, NY: Simon Pulse. Maigetter, P. (Dir.). (2004). Beers, bowls and barneys (video). McGee, P. (1965, October). Profile: Pat McGee. SkateBoarder, 1(4), 10–13. Miller, B. (1996). Interview. Heckler. Retrieved from www.heckler.com Mills, T. (Dir.). (2014). Oldog (video). Mortimer, B. (1997). Stacy Peralta. TransWorld Skateboarding, 15(11), 90. Mosberg, J. (Dir.). (2006). The reality of Bob Burnquist. Mu, G. (2017). Retrieved from wwwguanmu.name. O’Connor, P. (2017). Beyond the youth culture: Understanding middle aged skateboarders through temporal capital. Hong Kong: Lingnan University Staff Publication. Orpana, S. (2015). Steep transitions: Spatial-temporal incorporation, beasley skate park, and subcultural politics in the gentrifying city. In K. J. Lombard (Ed.), Skateboarding: Subcultures, sites and shifts (pp.  152–168). Abingdon: Routledge. Owens, P. E. (2001). Recreation and restrictions: Community skateboard parks in the United States. Urban Geography, 22(8), 782–797. Padilla, D. (2015, September  17). Tyler Saladino’s connection to the skateboarding world. ESPN. Retrieved from www.espn.go.com Pennell, P. (1978). Skateboarding. London: GLC Intelligence Unit, London Topics n.24. Peralta, S. (1982, May-June). Interview. Thrasher, 2(5), 17. Peralta, S. (Dir.). (2001). Dogtown and Z-Boys (documentary film). Pigeon, M. (2004). Skirtboarders: le Film (video). Porter, N. (2003). Female skateboarders and their negotiation of space and identity (Ph.D. thesis). Concordia University. Porter, N. (2014). The history of women in skateboarding. eBook and Kindle. Read, C. (Dir.). (2013). Tengu: God of mischief (video). Redfern, C. (2015, August 13). 10 reasons to get into skateboarding as an adult. Marie Claire. Retrieved from www. marieclaire.co.uk. Saric, B. (2004). Skinned alive (video). Segovia, P., & Heller, R. (2007). Skater GIRL. Berkeley: Ulysses. Singleton, C. (1997, August). Elissa Steamer. Big Brother, 27. Smith, J. (2014, August 19). Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to idolise a gay-bashing skateboarder. Vice. Retrieved from www.vice.com Striler, A. (2011). X play nation. San Diego: Striler Publishing. Sueyoshi, A. (2015). Skate and create: Skateboarding, Asian Pacific America, and masculinity. Amerasia, 41(2), 2–24. TransWorld Business (2015). The state of skate. TransWorld Report. Unger, N. (2014). Neal Unger – 60 year old skateboarder. Retrieved from www.YouTube.com/watch?v=lM4FQ_FqEhQ Unger, N., & Earhart, M. (2013). Dude logic. eBook and Kindle. Wheaton, B. (2004). Introduction. In B. Wheaton (Ed.), Understanding lifestyle sports (pp. 1–28). London: Routledge. White, K. (2015). “We Out Here”: Skateboarding, segregation and resistance in the Bronx’ (MA thesis). Fordham University. Whitley, P. (2009). Public skatepark development guide. Portland: Skaters for Public Skateparks. Williams, J. P., & Copes, H. (2005). How edge are you? Constructing authentic identities and subcultural boundaries in straightedge internet forums. Symbolic Interaction, 28(1), 67–89. Yochim, E. C. (2010). Skate life. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press.

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10 Parkour and street culture Conviviality, law and the negotiation of urban space Paul Gilchrist and Guy Osborn

Introduction Julie Angel observed in Breaking the Jump that “the practitioner of Parkour brings their gift on to the street right outside your window and then dares you to follow” (Angel, 2016, p. 7). Many have. Parkour might be viewed as the street sport of the new millennium. Its global spread has been accompanied by a raft of sociological and geographic analyses into the formation of the parkour subculture and its relationship with urban environments (see, e.g., Mould, 2009; Gilchrist & Wheaton, 2011; Kidder, 2017; Raymen, 2018). Parkour originated in the Parisian suburbs and then exploded, seemingly overnight, in the mid-2000s to a wealth of urban centres, particularly large cities, where it continues to grow and develop as an everyday presence and cultural phenomenon. There has been a boom in research, scholarship and academic commentary on parkour and many efforts to understand the activity, investigating its evolving form, subtypes, participant culture, mediatisation, gendered politics, institutionalisation and contribution to international development, amongst others. A persistent theme in the literature has been parkour’s connection to space, with commentators employing the theories of continental spatial thinkers such as Alain Badiou, Michel de Certeau, Gilles Deleuze, Michel Foucault, Félix Guattari and Henri Lefebvre to help understand its challenge to the conventional ordering of space and its intended use, and the possibilities for transgression, or disruption of the norms and parameters imposed on the city, in late capitalist societies (see, Bavinton, 2007; Saville, 2008; Atkinson, 2009; Mould, 2009; Stapleton & Terrio, 2012; Kidder, 2017). Following Ameel and Tani (2012), however, we emphasise that in the enthusiasm to interrogate and theorise the subversive use of urban space, the nature of the encounter between participants and the wider users of urban space remains somewhat overlooked. We seek to shed light upon the dynamics at work in the ongoing shaping of urban spaces as places of autonomy, creativity and expression, and the tensions produced by the need to regulate such expression as the needs and rights of other users and inhabitants of urban spaces are considered. This trajectory puts us into contact with work on the idea of convivial public space in its concerns with manifestations of spontaneous gathering and the political and legal conditions that mediate the engagements between people and space. This chapter unpacks the concept of conviviality before applying it to street culture and to parkour. Using Barker’s (2017) concept of ‘mediated conviviality’ as its key point of departure, it argues that parkour is a neat vehicle to illustrate this concept and, further, that traceurs – the name given to parkour participants – are beginning to exhibit the attributes of skilled 126

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mediators and show evidence of self-regulatory practice and collaborative governance essential to a legitimised presence on the street. We aim to show the importance of these attributes in the power relations attendant to the use of public space for parkour and the role of the mobilisation of law in the socio-spatial processes underpinning the production of convivial space.

The context of conviviality In contemporary parlance to be convivial refers to qualities of friendliness and companionship that make people feel welcome. They are qualities that attach both to people and place. The English usage of convivial relates to a place, or state of mind, known for a festive or jovial atmosphere. The etymological pedigree of the term goes back to the Latin convivir, meaning to live together (Barker, 2017), with its French cognate, convivialité, describing places characterised by tolerance, and its Spanish equivalent, convivencia, meaning coexistence (Rodriguez  & Simon, 2015). There is a family relation to ideas of inclusivity in public space and the gatherings of different groups of users that, through their various social interactions, create meaningful encounters in everyday life. Urbanists and sociologists have forwarded a defence of public space on these terms, seeking to encourage a diverse use of public space and a tolerant ethos as the foundations for a democratic vision of urban living (Jacobs, 1961; Mitchell, 2003; Zukin, 2010; Shepard & Smithsimon, 2011). This is a vision of cooperative social relations amongst loosely connected strangers with public space managed in such a way as to build sociality and civic engagement. Streets  – and other public spaces  – according to the convivial politics being espoused, become spaces on which to linger or gather, to meet acquaintances, to spark conversations, to mingle with friends, to receive ideas, to establish bonds of care and compassion and to build social capital. Henry Shaftoe (2008, p. 12) defines convivial urban spaces as more than just arenas in which people can have a jolly good time; they are at the heart of democratic living . . . and are one of the few remaining loci where we can encounter difference and learn to understand and tolerate other people. A similar definition is offered by Rodriguez and Simon (2015, p. 315) who state that: “Convivial places are characterized by being friendly and lively. Convivial places promote tolerance and mutual exchange of ideas among the people and groups that inhabit them”. Conviviality has gained interest as a way of combatting a lack of interaction in public space, for establishing liveable cities and in confronting urban development agendas that seek to weaken the use values of public space as sites of chance encounter (Lefebvre, 1970/2003; Mitchell, 2003). Franck and Stevens (2007, p. 4) posit because of the multiple interactions and encounters made possible in public space that it is necessary to define them as ‘loose spaces’, which are central to liveable cities as they “give cities life and vitality. In loose spaces people relax, observe, buy or sell, protest, mourn and celebrate”. These spaces valorise diversity, are dynamic, generated by people’s actions (Smith, 2016) and are ripe for viewing through the lens of conviviality. The work of Paul Gilroy (2004) and Ash Amin (2012) has extended use of the convivial to consider processes of cohabitation and interaction in multicultural democracies, revealing everyday interethnic interaction as a quotidian component of urban experience; the interaction with strangers or acquaintances of cultural difference being part of an everyday acceptance of difference practised by urban inhabitants, and particularly young people (Valluvan, 2016). In this sense, conviviality finds common ground with proponents of a ‘right to the city’ in its objective of “making the city a site for the cohabitation of differences” (Mitchell, 2003, p. 18). The term convivial has a promiscuousness and nuance in contemporary cultural commentary of public space, calling attention to the production of space and the democratic norms and ethical values that are part of its make-up. There is scope to examine the social means by which these values are established. Ivan Illich’s Tools for Conviviality (1973) showed that conviviality has an inherent ethical value. It takes account 127

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of both individual agency and social structure, being “the autonomous and creative intercourse among persons and the intercourse of persons with their environment” (1973, p. 11). For Illich, conviviality is about the production of a democratic society where individuals can communicate and participate freely. Conviviality involves a capacity for self-organisation and it is this fervent sense of freedom, exercised in the face of bureaucratising forces, that provides individuals and communities an ability to enrich their environment with their vision. For Illich, the conditions of conviviality are set within a radical pedagogy of meaningful engagement and self-directed action. We argue that these qualities have been present in sport-based street cultures where people have come together through their creative, corporeal and emplaced activity to appropriate and reorient public space to their own ends, but that the language of conviviality has been and continues to be central to the establishment of a legitimate public presence.

Street culture and conviviality Conviviality might be seen as being at the core of street culture. A raft of research has reported the significance of self-organised skate spaces for youth community building (Beal, Atencio, Wright, & McClain, 2017; Turner, 2017; Borden, 2019) and Beal’s (1995) research on skateboarding found the presence of a culture of cooperation and systems of informal mentoring, guidance and care across generations that encouraged personal growth and self-expression (see also Weaver, 2016). In his recently published history of skateboard culture, Iain Borden (2019, p. 66) notes the presence of ‘friendly cooperation’ in the skateboarding scene, which is part of a skateboarder’s authenticity and is demonstrated through friendly behaviours, informality and a deliberate distancing from a competitive ethos (see also, Beal & Weidman, 2003). As Borden (2001, p. 127) further notes, “Skate moves are rarely taught or disseminated through codified means” – moves are learned from other skateboarders, practices passed down through skateboarding generations in a process of ‘constant learning’. Although questions about accessibility and degrees of inclusivity remain (Säfvenbom, Wheaton,  & Agans, 2018), particularly in relation to gender (Atencio, Beal, & Wilson, 2009; Bäckström, 2013), the evidence is showing that skateboarding, across a range of different urban contexts, is producing tolerant and cooperative convivial space that works across social difference. Consider, in the Northern Ireland context, Drissel’s (2012) research with skateboarders. This showed that members of the Belfast skateboard scene were using informal street spaces to provide an alternative space that prefigures a non-Sectarian future, breaking down ethno-religious divides; “Rather than remaining in the fixed ghettoized stasis of Belfast’s urban habitus, skateboarders have become de facto agents of progressive social change, acting to ameliorate and overcome social constraints through the productive use of space” (Drissel, 2012, p. 134). The work highlights that skateboarding can be a powerful means for personal and social transformation. The ethical values of conviviality are present in parkour too and have been central to processes of legitimisation in the use of public space and also present in the role of law and legal understanding in negotiating these spaces (Gilchrist & Osborn, 2017). Sites for the training and practice of parkour have emerged in cities, both on the street and in adjacent ‘found’ space, through participants working together to establish a public presence and to encourage other potential users to turn curiosity into commitment (Gilchrist & Wheaton, 2011, 2016; Kidder, 2017). The negotiation of space is achieved both through social and bodily interactions. The former involves working collaboratively and collectively to train users in appropriate technique and to distil the philosophies of the discipline. Bodily practices include repetitive performances, manoeuvres and interactions with the environment that stakes an emplaced claim to occupation through spatial appropriation (Saville, 2008; Vivoni, 2009; Ugolotti & Moyer, 2016). This is conviviality that is more than coming together to linger or simply hang out. Parkour is becoming an established feature of urban life through deliberate social, embodied and material practices as participants seize, occupy and organise public space for shared encounters between diverse users (Gilchrist & Wheaton, 2016).

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The use of public space for unconventional embodied uses and mobilities has not been without its problems. In Finland, traceurs operating in Helsinki and Jyväskylä have faced intervention from other users of public space who have been bewildered and confused by their training and performances (Ameel & Tani, 2012). For the traceurs, their playful practices are ways of expanding their horizons as they find “affordances” in the built environment (Gibson, 1979; Bavinton, 2007). But, inhabitants with a lack of familiarity of the sport have been left confused and have categorised parkour as just another aspect of the troublemaking and unwanted silliness of teenagers hanging out. In these cities and elsewhere, there have been reports of more repressive police intervention, with traceurs reporting that they’ve been asked to practice elsewhere, not to threaten private businesses and to respect buildings and trees protected by heritage and conservation designations (Gilchrist & Osborn, 2017). Acceptance of these constraints has been rationalised as part of parkour’s non-confrontational philosophy and viewed in terms of the discipline’s quest for free-flowing movement across a city, and so “moving on is a way of continuing practice” (Ameel & Sirpa, 2012, p. 25; Lamb, 2014). However, it seems that the material qualities of the built environment contribute to the forms of friction experienced by traceurs as these interventions have tended to occur in dense neighbourhoods under the surveillance of concerned local residents keen to reduce what they perceive as nuisance behaviours (Ameel & Tani, 2012, p. 22; Mould, 2016). The creation of a ‘ludic’ city (Franck & Stevens, 2007) is not a universally attractive proposition to all urban inhabitants. Ugolotti’s research on the parkour community in Turin provides a further example of the limits of conviviality (Ugolotti & Moyer, 2016). The research followed a group of second-generation migrants as they navigated the streets and public spaces of Turin. Their encounters need to be understood in a broader political context. This context is one in which young migrants have been targeted by a regime of urban surveillance through laws and policies and the actions of police and other law enforcement officers that have deliberately intervened to question the position of migrants as citizens, their rights as workers and sense of belonging to Italy. Through the construction of the migrant as ‘disruptive’, ‘undesirable’ and ‘abject’, young migrant men are made to stand in as the Other, as objects of social control and ‘out of place’. This set of constructions has served to limit the traceur’s ability to belong in or to Turin’s regenerating spaces. What has become politically palatable to post-industrial Turin has been the presence of cultural diversity through multi-ethnic street markets and food festivals, which appeals to a cosmopolitan urbanist vision of a vibrant multicultural destination. However, the ‘multiculturalism from above’ has not extended as easily to legitimating the presence of all minority populations, with young migrant men in particular seen as incompatible with the conviviality on offer and targeted as ‘disruptive’ and ‘undesirable’ (Ugolotti & Moyer, 2016, p. 194). Traceurs have been subject to anti-immigrant and racist sentiments, ‘judging looks’, police intimidation and physical violence, and in this context there has been a limited ability to reason with authority and to socially negotiate a presence in urban space (Ugolotti & Moyer, 2016, pp. 202–203). As Wise and Noble note, one of the “paradoxes of convivial coexistence” is that it is “always enmeshed in, mediated by and shadowed by colonial histories, enduring racisms, variegated and uneven belongings and the entitlements, and moral panics of the day” (2016, p. 430). Nevertheless, parkour – and capoeira [an Afro-Brazilian martial art that incorporates acrobatics and dance] – have been used to gain control. Intriguingly, Ugolotti found that the psycho-corporeal qualities of these activities have helped to equip the young men to deal with the process of social negotiation. By constantly working on their bodies they also became conscious of their postures and reactions in various situations, which helped them become aware of how they interacted with the social environment and how they might act differently to bring about change. It was this awareness that allowed them to navigate successfully, avoid harmful situations and maximize opportunities. (Ugolotti & Moyer, 2016, p. 200)

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By continuing to gather in Turin’s public spaces, by practicing how to negotiate the urban environment and how to respond to anonymous others, even how to win over a crowd of onlookers, the (post)migrant young men are exercising the conditions of conviviality Ivan Illich defined, instituting a radical pedagogy of meaningful engagement and self-directed action. Whilst ‘loose space’ (the use of public space in contrast to its original designed intent) might contradict some tenets of traditional urban design practice, it also offers a more effective way of negotiating conflicting demands on space and provides diversity. However, street cultures and its convivial discourses are not universally accepted, notwithstanding the fact that many traceurs are civically engaged and often attempt to negotiate their rights to space (Ameel & Tani, 2012). What Ugolotti’s work indicates is that negotiation of public spaces requires knowledge and confidence, something that was not explicit in his Turin case study, and that strategies need to be developed to help users negotiate space, especially where attempts to challenge or regulate are adopted. As we show following, parkour helps loosen public space and provides a possible means for its negotiation.

Law, mediated conviviality and negotiated space Carr has illustrated in the context of skateboarding how skaters literally ‘skate around the law’. He illustrates how efforts to exclude and circumvent their activities has been countered by finding and exploiting ‘seams within the law’ (Carr, 2010, p. 991) and by finding ways to adapt or appropriate legal logics to establish new types of terrain for the activity. All of this is seen as part of a dialectical struggle to assert their right to the city. That the law can be used in a positive way, sometimes attaching it to the issue of social benefit, can also be seen in parkour (Gilchrist & Osborn, 2017). That said, whilst the role of law can be reframed as a positive tool to support street culture, legal issues may nevertheless disadvantage and deter informal groups (Jeanes, Spaaij, Penney, & O’Connor, 2019). For parkour, traceurs have reinterpreted the rights of citizens to reclaim public space and have illustrated methods of self-modifying their activities to help negotiate and manage these spaces. Some of this behaviour is self-negotiated, with traceurs adopting implicit understandings of the implications of their activities, stress testing likely impacts. Traceurs have limited their behaviour through treating car roof tops as no-go zones; restricting practice from the inner space of shopping malls and by responding to requests to vacate cemeteries, warehouse rooftops and other private land, keen to differentiate their activity from other activities that are often frowned upon and associated with juvenile delinquency, such as loitering, trespass, drinking or acts of random vandalism (Gilchrist & Wheaton, 2011; Ameel & Tani, 2012, p. 23). This approach has echoes and antecedents in fan and consumer behaviour in other recreational spaces. For example, the legal issues concerning the call for returning to standing areas at professional association football (soccer) are well known (Rigg, 2019), but research conducted for the Football Supporters Federation showed that in Germany an interesting by-product of reintroducing standing areas was the emergence of self-regulating processes amongst the fans (FSF, 2007). This suggests an approach where the fans are mindful that their hard-earned privileges may be threatened by the poor behaviour of others so they themselves will intervene to ensure standards of behaviour are met. This inculcation of self-regulatory norms can also be seen in behaviour in premises licensed for the sale of alcohol. Research has shown that in superpubs, transient in nature and predicated on Male Volume Vertical Drinking (MVVD), self-regulation is difficult but in public houses, local in nature and based around a more sociable café style approach, positive benefits in terms of behaviour can be seen (Roberts, Turner, Greenfield, & Osborn, 2006). As Chatterton (2002, p. 34) notes in contradistinction to the anonymity and transience of superpubs, “Many smaller, alternative, independently owned venues, rather than using formal policing methods and relying on door security, draw upon self-regulation through customer identification with the ethos of the premises”. Parkour exhibits these self-regulatory and self-modifying behavioural tendencies. However, given its youthful participation base, culture of risk-taking and tactical appropriation of a variety of urban spaces 130

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(Kidder, 2017), the key may be working out strategies to achieve a culture of self-regulation and self-modification in the management of the diversity of these loose spaces. A possible way forward comes through collaborative governance, which replaces adversarial or management approaches to the resolution of complex disputes through seeking to coordinate, adjudicate and integrate the goals and interests of multiple stakeholders (Ansell & Gash, 2008). The collaborative governance approach has been recommended as a mechanism for managing informal sport, using collaborative networks, harnessing different stakeholders and developing skills such as negotiation to develop consensus-oriented solutions to problems such as access to public space for informal recreational participation (Jeanes et al., 2019). Ruth Jeanes and colleagues recommend the use of ‘boundary spanners’ (Williams, 2002) as one mechanism to facilitate communication between different networks, especially where tensions exist. Boundary spanners are individual actors who develop inter-organisational relationships and operate as an interface between organisations or institutions (Haas, 2015). In the informal sport context, such individuals, write Jeanes et al. (2019, p. 91), “would need to have the skills to work across the various networks and, in particular, be able to prioritise the voice of informal participants, the group that is currently lost and rendered powerless in negotiations over space and resources”. Whilst Jeanes et al. suggest that local authority inclusion officers might be best placed to undertake the role of boundary spanners, we take this further and argue that the individual practitioners themselves best fulfil this role and in fact already exhibit these skills and tendencies across a range of street sports. Beal et al. (2017) observe how parents have taken on roles as community advocates in the world of skateboarding, working collaboratively and in partnership with community, city authorities and participants to help develop neighbourhood skate parks and to facilitate the negotiation of conflicts. Lombard (2016) also talks of the civically engaged skateboarder who is taking an active role in governance and community leadership. These actions accord with the idea of mediated conviviality outlined by Barker (2017, p. 849), and particularly the idea that social order needs to be facilitated; “at its core it conceives of social order not as spontaneous but rather as something needing to be facilitated and mediated in a manner that is responsive to the context, situation and conduct of those social groups and individuals being regulated”. In addition to the suggested mediated conviviality approach, Barker outlines three different governing mentalities which either intensify marginalisation and significantly diminish the rights of those it targets (preventive exclusion), are highly symbolic attempts to foster a positive perception of security and order in public spaces (reassurance policing) or privileges and re-centres rights in public space (right to the city). Barker (2017, p. 849) argues that the debate on the regulation of public space needs to be reframed and she presents “an alternative perspective that challenges these assumptions and related developments in urban policy that promote prohibition, enforcement and exclusion as solutions to the problem of order in everyday life”. The tool Barker adopts is mediated conviviality, which argues, in contrast, that coexistence in public spaces can be reframed by utilising deliberate strategies as “the quality and inclusiveness of public spaces, its social and political use values and safety amongst citizens can be enhanced and expanded by certain regulatory principles and practices that are responsive to the context/situation and conduct of the regulated” (Barker, 2017, p. 855). Convivial public spaces move beyond festivity (Gilroy, 2004) to interaction and towards a cohabitation of difference, but Barker (2017, p. 856) argues these convivial spaces must be mediated: The notion of ‘mediated’ conviviality derives from the idea that social gatherings and living together with ‘lightly engaged’ strangers may not always be festive and harmonious. Public space may not be convivial if all have untrammelled rights – or that anything goes – as implied by a right to the city mentality. To do this, Barker suggests first that rules are minimal and, after the liberal philosopher John Stuart Mill, harm-based. Secondly, tolerance towards others must be actively fostered. Barker talks of ‘skilled mediators’ fulfilling this function, a concept that appears to be similar to Williams’ notion of boundary spanners. What 131

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we propose is that rather than being channelled by intermediaries, the functions of these skilled mediators or boundary spanners is performed by the participants themselves.

Conviviality and the mediation of parkour A key way in which the role of the boundary spanner is being exercised is via public demonstrations of parkour as a skilled discipline. Coaches and leaders of localised meet-ups for training (known colloquially as ‘jams’) emphasise the importance of safety, responsibility, training and calculation involved in the proper execution of movements. This is captured in Jeffrey Kidder’s (2017) term ‘hedgeworkers’, a counterpoint to Stephen Lyng’s notion of ‘edgework’ (Lyng, 1990) meaning the lauding of risk for risk’s sake, to demonstrate instead qualities of motivation and performance that disavow thrill-seeking and emphasise rites of risk couched in rituals of symbolic safety. Kidder’s ethnographic research with the Chicago parkour community has revealed how safety-minded instruction has been important for counterbalancing the destructive potential of stunts performed in more risky fissures of the city. He observed that repetition of disciplined movement is emphasised with disparagement of ‘slackers’ who failed to live up to these expectations (2017, p. 76). Leaders and coaches involved in facilitating parkour jams in public space are keen to emphasise the seriousness of disciplined manoeuvres and not being seen to be messing around (Kidder, 2017, p. 76). This is mediated conviviality in the sense of an ethic of care being extended to participants and being demonstrated to curious onlookers whose unease with unfamiliar and daring bodily movements is allayed. When run-ins with police officers occurred, Kidder notes, there was frequently an attempt made by members of the parkour crew to explain the philosophy and practice to police officers, attempting to win their favour and enrol them as allies (Kidder, 2017, p. 78). Tactics of persuasion and normative compliance with ‘codes of conduct’ for parkour are also present through other mediums, through signage observed in sanctioned parkour spaces in the UK, for example, that emphasise the importance of self-regulated good conduct (Gilchrist & Osborn, 2017). Parkour UK, the national governing body for the sport, have their own codes of conduct and suggested strategies for negotiating the spaces of parkour. They provide guidance suggesting a number of approaches relating to issues such as the safety of the spaces selected as a training location, but also recommend that practitioners are cognisant of other issues such as the impact of the activity on local residents. The guidance stresses the role of respect, for the environment and others, as at the heart of the activity. Their guidance includes the following: Treat others as you expect to be treated; encourage and support others to create a positive training environment for all. If somebody asks you to leave an area, be courteous, explain what Parkour/Freerunning is and be prepared to comply with reasonable requests to practise somewhere else. Parkour/Freerunning is still a relatively new and unfamiliar sport/activity, and it is understandable that some members of the public are unsure of it. Anything you can do to give it a good name will help in making it more understood, improving relations with the public and generally advancing the sport in the eyes of the surrounding community. This approach is echoed in skateboarding, where, as Will Harmon put it in an interview with Ocean Howell (2008); “If skaters want to be considered, they have to consider others”. What Parkour UK are suggesting is, we would argue, a form of mediated conviviality where the users themselves are the mediators, facilitators and boundary spanners and where rules and codes of conduct are minimal, though essential, if the practice is to continue.

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This is not to suggest that situational strategies when confronted with requests and orders to cease practice from agents of social control have always been successful. Whilst Kidder’s research has shown a more compliant attitude toward police officers on requests to leave adopted training locations, certainly when compared with the seemingly more rebellious skateboarding subculture, in fact the traceurs he followed had ambivalent relationships to authority which left outcomes related to permitted use more uncertain. In Millennium Park in Chicago, traceurs engaged in games with the private security guards, taunting them and testing limits (Kidder, 2017, pp. 80–81). Similarly, in Turin, even though traceurs were able to win police and public support if they practiced in the regenerated Parco Dora area, they railed against the limitations of sanctioned containment to authorised convivial public space and have sought to spread their practice to the ‘cracks and fissures’ of the city, turning driveways, parking lots, pedestrianised pathways and flyovers into hallowed training spots (Ugolotti & Silk, 2018, pp. 775–776). Recent interventions in the UK have also shown the importance of organisation-level boundary spanners in establishing conditions of use. When Horsham District Council in southern England attempted to apply a Public Space Protection Order – a device under the Anti-Social Behaviour, Crime and Policing Act 2014 that empowers local authorities to intervene against behaviours deemed to be detrimental to the quality of life of those in the locality – to ban parkour from the town centre (Horsham DC, 2016), it was partly through our legal advice and intervention (Gilchrist, Osborn, & Sheridan, 2017), working alongside Parkour UK and Liberty, that the PSPO was reframed to remove the specification of free-running and parkour as a problematic activity (Horsham DC, 2018).

Conclusion Parkour has established itself as perhaps the preeminent street sport of the new millennium and, as we have illustrated, is symbiotically related to questions of space. We have attempted to map the development of the practice of parkour against Barker’s concept of mediated conviviality, showing that there are signs of the qualities and characteristics of mediated conviviality beginning to emerge within parkour in a range of international urban contexts. Crucially, we argue that the identity of what Barker terms institutional mediators and boundary spanners may be, for parkour, the practitioners themselves as best placed to negotiate public space and understand the competing interests that may exist. This observation must however be qualified. First, we acknowledge that parkour itself is not homogeneous and, like other street sports, is riven with conflicting approaches. Parkour’s position as a countercultural force has been challenged by its recognition as a sport, for example, and the distinction between parkour in sanctioned and unsanctioned spaces is a real one (Gilchrist & Osborn, 2017). Second, parkour itself is not without its own issues and problems in terms of how it contributes to convivial and inclusive urban space. This is not only in terms of some traceurs being hostile to external norms, rules and regulations (Wheaton & O’Loughlin, 2017) and its repositioning by embryonic national governing bodies as a formalised and regulated activity, but more fundamentally that even if it is seen as a convivial sphere it is convivial in a masculine context and has some way to go in addressing gendered power and female exclusion (Wheaton, 2016). Yet, it is interesting to note that the process of institutionalisation, leading to the formation of national governing bodies such as Parkour UK, has not abandoned informal practice of parkour as a street culture and has set out inclusive rules of governance and guidance that work toward the production of convivial space, aware of the diversity of informal and formal spaces, or loose and tight spaces, that contribute to the growth of the activity. These steps are embryonic though and bigger questions remain to be answered about whether this prominent street cultural practice can establish the conditions for mediated conviviality in all urban contexts and whether this always necessarily entails the drawing of symbolic boundaries around ‘proper’ and ‘improper’ practice, formal or informal space, and to whether acquiescence to the demands of conviviality will frustrate participants that imagine a more playful relationship for cities.

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11 Mobilising street culture Understanding the implications of the shift from lifestyle bike messengers to gig economy workers Justin Spinney and Cosmin Popan

Introduction According to Ross (2018), there is no singular definition of street culture. However, he highlights that alongside standard actors and actants of culture – informal rules, practices, styles and symbols – the key point of distinction between street culture and other forms of culture is that these constituents are produced by and associated with those who spend a disproportionate amount of time on urban streets and are likely on the margins of mainstream society. However, although literatures on street culture emphasise the importance of studying locations, it has less to say about the ways in which the constituents of street culture are accrued, circulated and articulated through mobile practices (Stapleton & Terrio, 2010; Ross, 2018). Mobilities scholarship meanwhile emphasises the need to take movement seriously as a primary site of meaning and identity creation (Clifford, 1997; Cresswell, 2006), and thus the focus of this chapter is on one form of mobility – that of bike messengering – and its relationship to street culture. In the social sciences, cycling research has for some years now, placed an emphasis on the creation of meaning through mobility with work in overlapping strands including those situated within cycling advocacy (Pucher  & Buehler, 2008; Aldred, 2015); the exploration of cultures of cycling (Freudendal-Pedersen, 2009; Aldred & Jungnickel, 2014); historical and socio-technical accounts (Cox & Van de Walle, 2012; Spinney, Reimer, & Pinch, 2017); and a more recent surge in critical work influenced by political-economy (Stehlin, 2014; Spinney, 2016). As a central mode of urban logistics, bike messengers have been around for over a century and over the past three decades their numbers have been increasing. As a result, they now constitute a significant part of urban street culture in many large cities around the world. However, the last decade has also seen a notable shift in the character and role of messengers due to twin shifts in the dematerialisation of many goods traditionally delivered by bike messengers (e.g., signed documents) and the introduction of mobile digital devices to govern delivery services (e.g., Deliveroo, Uber Eats). As a result, there are still many bike ‘messengers’ out on the streets, but the character of the job has changed significantly, particularly in relation to who does the job; the ways in which bike messengers relate to their employers; and the ways and extent to which the role of messengering informs identity and subcultural capital.

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Paid on a piece rate, the success of messengers is predicated on an ability to make deliveries in a narrow time frame (Ferguson, 2017, p. 86) and, more recently, on their rating by customers. Messengers tend to be young men (between the ages of 18–35), and as individuals who deliver documents, packages, food and indeed many other items by bicycle in urban centres, messengers spend a lot of time on the streets during both work hours (6–10 hours per day) and in their spare time. On busy days, most of this time is spent moving, but a significant portion will be spent in particular central locations waiting for jobs to be allocated over the radio by a central logistics dispatcher, or more recently from multiple clients via mobile phone by the company they work for (Culley, 2001; Fincham, 2004, 2008; Spinney, 2008). Ross outlines five major intersectional components of street culture including: street capital (e.g., race, gender, reputation); cultural influences; mass media; social media; and street crime (although street culture can exist without this) (2018, pp. 9–10). Of particular interest in this chapter are the ways in which street capital is garnered through reputation. Central to reputation are concepts of street smarts and street literacy. According to Anderson (1990), it is through the entrainment of street smarts that the individual “becomes alive to dangerous situations, drawing on a developing repertoire of ruses and schemes for travelling the streets safely” (Anderson, 1990, p. 6 in Ross, 2018, p.10). Cahill (2000) uses the concept of ‘street literacy’ to describe the processes of ‘experiential knowledge production and self-construction’ central to street culture (252). Cahill differentiates this from Anderson’s (1990) notion of ‘street smarts’ because it goes beyond negotiating a specific context and constitutes a process of constituting a cultural identity through the process of ‘fluently’ interacting with and experiencing an environment. Accordingly, street literacy, “privileges experienced informal local knowledges that are grounded in personal experiences” and rules and boundaries set by people of importance in a given lifeworld (Cahill, 2000, pp. 252–253). The structure of this chapter is as follows: first, we review work on what we call ‘messengers 1.0’, concluding that existing work has placed great emphasis on the production of subcultural capital through embodied practice, ritual and materiality but given much less attention to broader questions of political economy, organising, intersectionality and mass media circulation. In the second section, we review more recent work on gig economy bike messengers (such as Deliveroo, Uber Eats etc.). The ways in which social media and digital technologies are used to discipline the mobility of messengers, but are also used by messengers to circumvent discipline and resist surveillant work practices whilst on the street is a subject of contemporary interest. Whilst gig economy messengers are generally represented as being disempowered by information communication technologies (ICTs), our review of literature in this section suggests that digital skills are used both to garner respect and street capital amongst messengers and also to organise resistance to oppressive and algorithmic working practices. We conclude that this literature engages much more with neoliberal working practices and the role of ICTs but still lacks an intersectional focus and is limited to developed cities. In the final section, we draw together these conclusions, highlighting a shift in the literature from subculture toward political economy and digital cities, but suggest that intersectionality is lacking in both cases.

Bike messengers 1.0: embodied practice, ritual and materials We use the title ‘messengers 1.0’ in a slightly tongue-in cheek way to describe the work of messengers in the era (ostensibly pre-2008) before this mode of logistics was enabled by digital intermediaries and when less of the products delivered had been dematerialised. Given its relative marginality to urban economies, there is a significant literature, both academic and popular, referring to bike messengers. This links to a growing body of literature relating to the social and cultural significance of cycling (Fincham, 2006; Furness, 2007; Horton, 2007; Spinney, 2008, 2010, 2016; Aldred & Jungnickel, 2014). Two of the most influential academic accounts dealing with bike messengers are those of Fincham (2004) and Kidder (2005). Both of these accounts have discussed the importance of messenger practice and ritual to the production of a distinct identity. 138

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Kidder’s ‘Urban Flow’ (2005, 2011) is an ethnography of bike messengering in three US cities (New York, Seattle and San Diego). Kidder notes in his ethnographic study of messenger style that, “unfortunately, sociologists rarely address why a social world adopts its particular symbols. The analysis of style must go beyond the cataloguing of meaning and attempt to situate such meaning within an understanding of practice” (Kidder, 2005, p. 345). As a result, Kidder sets out to provide an account of messengering which progresses theoretical agendas relating to the nature of employment, the construction of (sub)cultural identity through mobile practice, and the affective (re)production of urban space. Kidder’s account proceeds to discuss particular symbols and practices, relating them to the contexts within which they are produced. One of the practices he chooses to focus on are Alley-cat races (illegal street races usually involving a race around city check points), which he suggests promote an ‘outlaw’ style of riding in an ‘atmosphere of intoxication’ (356). Certainly, Kidder effectively demonstrates the importance of flow and ritual to the ways in which messengers imagine and ultimately construct their (sub)cultural identity. However, whilst Kidder’s attempt to link symbols and practices is a step forward, it remains somewhat vague as to what the specific practices in these races are that produce the meaning of the ‘outlaw’. Fincham (2004) in his ethnographic study of messengers in Cardiff (UK) has also highlighted the importance of messenger events (such as races and skid competitions) to the maintenance of a particular identity and street culture. Whilst Fincham’s account notes the importance of these events to circulating an identity, similar to Kidder’s account, Fincham’s narrative fails to discuss in any detail how specific elements and embodied practices within these rituals are used to construct particular meanings. Indeed, what is lacking in these accounts of practice is greater detail on the cultural mediation of sensory and affective practice and its subsequent representation and circulation. Yet as Spinney (2008) points out, messenger ‘style’ is notable for its flow: the fact messengers try not to stop; the way riders squeeze through small gaps; ride quickly and smoothly; use more of the road and pavement; and ride in closer proximity to others: in short, their distinct identity and street culture hangs on the exhibition of skills which set them apart. These aesthetic practices are emphasised and amplified in Alley-cat races, films and related events as sites where messengers learn what it is to be a messenger and what is important within the culture. As a result, sensory and affective practices are deeply implicated in the production and maintenance of distinct identities and street cultures because it is through these that street literacy and capital are acquired: through fluent interaction with their environments, messengers constitute capital through ritualised and everyday practices. An understanding of the way in which such practices inform street culture is important because as Slater (1997) has argued, “the resources – both material and symbolic – through which we produce and sustain identities increasingly take the form of . . . activities through which we construct appearances and organise leisure time and social encounters” (Slater, 1997, p. 85). Slater thus equates modern identity projects with a focus on the ‘intensification of emotional experiences’ where the goal is to stimulate the emotions (1997, p. 97). What Slater describes here, in other words, is the role which embodied practices and affect play in the construction of identities. Thrift (2004) contends that affect is concerned with how emotions occur in everyday life and is rooted in a phenomenological tradition with a concomitant emphasis on the body and movement as a key site of affect. Thus one of the remaining gaps in the literature on messenger culture relates to the role of embodied mobility in the construction of street cultures, which would emphasise the practical implications of these skills for living in the street, rather than prioritizing the symbolic. Scholarship on messengers also emphasises the role of technology and embodied practice in shaping street culture. For example, Spinney (2008) looks at the adoption and tailoring of a technology – the track or fixed-wheel bike – by some bicycle messengers.1 As Kidder (2005) points out, most messengers still ride road bikes or mountain bikes – whatever they can get their hands on (358) and so fixed-wheel bikes make up a minority, if a sizeable one. Until recently, ‘rookie’ messengers would often serve an ‘apprenticeship’ of sorts before (if at all) moving onto riding fixed. This situation has changed hugely though and many of those who become messengers see riding ‘fixed’ as a central element and attraction of being a messenger. 139

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In the last 20 years, the fixed-wheel bike has gone from being a rarity and the preserve of the experienced messenger to a central part of what defines messengering. Rather than having a pre-existing identity, this suggests that messenger identity is deeply entangled with the consumption of particular technologies. Indeed, accounts of messengering tend to highlight that riding a fixed-wheel bike in traffic is more difficult than riding a standard road bike; it requires more attention, skill and strength and is in many ways a worse bike for the job. Through requiring refined technique and greater strength to achieve the same task, it allows these aspects of identity to be emphasised. By employing a technology not wholly suited to achieving their goals within the landscape, such a strategy seems on the face of it to be the antithesis of technological evolution where innovations are refined so that they become easier to use for a given task. As this suggests, the appropriation of the track bike is not simply an aesthetic project: because of its inflexibility as a tool, it has a greater agency to alter practice than more flexible technologies. The form of movement that the track bike affords is flowing and continuous movement. It is less well suited to stopping, something it would need to do only rarely on the track – usually only at the end of a race – and this is materialised in the lack of brakes and the fixed nature of its one gear. When used ‘out of context’ on the streets, these aspects of its design have been employed by messengers to further define ways of moving and stopping distinct from that of other cyclists. These most commonly include skidding, track-standing and flowing movement, all practices cultivated through particular rituals and events. Such practices emphasise the importance of particular skills in carving out both individual and shared identity within the messenger scene. By promoting a specific set of practices, individual messengers stand out, but perhaps more importantly, through accentuating the practices, skills and tricks ‘required’ to do the job, messengers in general define themselves as not just different, but ‘better’ than other cyclists. As Hebidge (1979) points out, “differences are reflected not only in the objects of subcultural style, but in the signifying practices which present those objects and render them meaningful” (127). The point we wish to highlight here is the role of the fixed-wheel bike in the garnering of street skills and reputation. We suggest that a more flexible technology with less tightly defined uses would have less ‘agency’ to afford a particular style of movement than the inflexible track bike. The track bike is therefore a key actant within the network of messengering. Whilst the majority of bike messengers are young men, there are a significant minority of young women who are also attracted to the work and lifestyle. Ferguson (2017) highlights the additional challenges faced by women messengers. In particular, she highlights the fact that women messengers in particular become hyper-visible when in such a male-dominated world, with their working practices subject to increased scrutiny. Although this scrutiny can harm their ability to accrue street capital, it more often entails the opposite as women messengers, it is argued, strive harder than their male counterparts, learning additional street smarts and corresponding capital (2017, p. 90). They also have to become street literate in other mundane ways according to Ferguson, for example knowing where they can go to toilet in the course of their work given that they cannot generally go in the offices they visit or in public spaces as male messengers can (92). To summarise, the literature on ‘lifestyle’ messengers (those who do the job because they are attracted to the subculture but may have other choices) is insightful to the study of street culture for numerous reasons. Foremost amongst these is that it lends insight to the ways in which ‘street smarts’ (Cahill, 2000, p. 252) are cultivated through rituals, aesthetics and practices which are closely linked to embodied practices and specific technologies. It could be argued that a good messenger needs simply to own a working bicycle, be able to turn up for work regularly and punctually, be reasonably fit, have a good working geography of the city streets and be courteous to clients. Yet in order to stand out from – and in no uncertain terms to position themselves as better than – ‘other’ cyclists, messengers cultivate a different aesthetic and practice from the clothes they wear, the bikes they ride and most importantly how they ride. Probably the biggest absence in this literature is discussion relating to non-lifestyle messengers; the silent majority who do the job because they have few other options and for whom the job is not necessarily a 140

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source of pride or street capital, but rather can be a marker of failure. Indeed, accounts of bike messengers have tended toward the celebratory with – until recently – much less attention paid to those who have less choice in the roles they choose. Discussion of the role of ethnicity is also absent with the literature assuming a homogenous culture with little exploration of intersectional issues. In addition, these accounts are relatively silent regarding the ways in which messenger practices and styles of riding transform and circulate within wider cycling cultures, allowing others to learn similar street smarts. Barring Spinney’s (2008) account of how film is used to circulate Alley-cat races within and across the subculture, the ways in which mass media (particularly the rapid growth of social media) are used to share messenger street culture across different cities round the world remains opaque and requires further investigation.

Messenger 2.0: digitalisation, the gig economy and connecting cultures As we have noted, the key lacuna in this previous body of work has been its focus on a small segment of lifestyle messengers, often attracted to the job because of its counter-cultural associations rather than because they could not find other work. However, lifestyle messengers have always been a small percentage of the whole and as such this literature, whilst insightful, has largely neglected more disenfranchised messengers. However, the reduction in lifestyle messengering and increase in gig-economy messengering wrought by dematerialisation and the new digital economy (e.g. those working for app-based delivery companies such as Deliveroo and Uber Eats) has refocused academic attention on those who have little choice but to engage in such low paid, piece-rate, insecure manual labour. There is now a nascent body of work exploring ‘Messengers 2.0’; the new wave of bike messengers who are more likely to deliver food (or whatever else you require) from clients to customers through means of inter-mediated mobile phone applications. Whilst there are some significant differences between older lifestyle messengering and the new appbased messengering, there are also significant similarities. Deliveroo riders for example, in line with previous logistics firms that riders would work for, would not be supplied with their means of transportation such as bikes and cars or the uniforms, but rely instead on the worker’s own resources. These companies also do not employ workers but ‘partners’; a common euphemism for ‘self-employed’. However, there are key differences as we elaborate upon in the following section. Briziarelli (2018) examines Deliveroo riders in Milan to explore changes in the context of post-Fordist capitalism.2 Whilst working outdoors on a bike instead of an office; selecting a route; and not having a physical manager present may suggest an initial impression of freedom and individualised entrepreneurship in line with lifestyle messengers, Briziarelli (2018, p. 4) suggests this is not the whole story. Briziarelli emphasises how app-based delivery re-articulates concrete space into abstract space, arguing that this produces precarious flexible and mobile workers able to meet Deliveroo’s requirements for fast and efficient commodities circulation (2). Indeed, Briziarelli goes on to state that, “while gig economy jobs such as the one offered by Deliveroo are frequently accompanied by a neoliberal rhetoric of freedom, flexibility and individualised entrepreneurship, they are in fact under constant pressure and surveillance of both customer ratings and what Woodcock defines as the ‘algorithmic panopticon’ ” (2017 in Briziarelli, 2018, p. 5). Such studies of the new ‘gig economy’ are extremely insightful but say little about street culture or indeed the ability of messengers to exert agency and accrue street capital. Indeed, we might hypothesise that the loss of individual identity wrought by the digitalisation of messengering and logistics is more likely to lead to a loss of street capital, if not street smarts, with these workers being described more in terms of their precarity than their subcultural identity or practical skills. Working for Deliveroo or Uber Eats, for example, requires “a host of often overlooked practical and safety-related mobility skills for navigating the complexity of road systems, including negotiation of other road users, whilst in interaction with or directed by digital media”, defined by Richardson and Bissell (2019) as ‘digital skills’. Being able to juggle such complex tasks, while also running red lights, avoiding a 141

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dangerous area, rejecting an order from a restaurant with long waiting times and still delivering an undamaged pizza on time, makes the difference between a successful and respectable messenger and a less effective one, and contributes implicitly to building and maintaining a strong street capital. Labour-management interfaces used by companies such as Deliveroo, Uber Eats, Foodora or Glovo enable a labour process characterised by an extreme degree of employee surveillance and data extraction; utilization of platform channels for management propaganda; algorithmically based managerial communication; the channelling, obstruction suppression of worker-to-worker communication and even outright disconnection from the app (Bright Grayer  & Brophy, 2019; Vandaele, Piasna,  & Drahokoupil, 2019). All of these combine to produce the ideal conditions where management dominates labour communication both externally and internally, frustrating the workforce’s capacity to share information and organize collectively. However, within a work environment with such visible information and power asymmetries (Shapiro, 2018; Bright Grayer  & Brophy, 2019), characterised by a prevalent ‘techno-normative form of control’, an ever-frustrated workforce is increasingly prone to mobilization (Tassinari & Maccarrone, 2019). Thus the role of digital technologies has been of paramount importance to make more visible and effective the struggles of gig couriers while enhancing their reputation on and beyond the street. In respect to the job of messengers in the gig economy, of particular relevance to their acquisition of street capital are the digital skills that they often use as reputation assets and which are harnessed for different purposes, both individualistic and associative. Such skills can come in the form of mundane GPSenabled street navigation routines used to deliver a hot soup, or as strategies for the evasion of shift work by rejecting with a swift swipe orders in dangerous or busy areas during inclement weather. They can also involve more communitarian actions like the repurposing of official horizontal online communication channels to share riders’ concerns, coordinate and organise meet-ups and strikes, and offer each other support with matters such as punctures, accidents, problems with the app and shift swapping. Messengers can similarly harness the power of social media to publicly shame gig companies’ online platforms or coordinate solidarity across borders with similarly precarious riders. Dozens of messenger strikes from all over the western world and beyond have taken place in the past 5 years, and the initial pattern has been similar across cities: workers on cycles taking advantage of common delivery waiting points (sometimes called ‘zone centres’) set up by companies, mostly free from the direct managerial gaze, in central squares, parks or outside busy restaurants and proceeded to consolidate social ties amongst themselves (Lemozy, 2019; (Tassinari & Maccarrone, 2019; Veen, Barratt, & Goods, 2019). This exchange of contacts has resulted in a proliferation of efforts to develop horizontal, worker-to-worker communication channels. Messaging apps such as WhatsApp were initially used to communicate road dangers (thieves, police) and restaurants with bad reputation (long waiting times, rude employees), thus enhancing an altruistic reputation amongst riders themselves. Soon these peer-to-peer communication platforms morphed into strike mobilizing tools, as was the case in London, where the six-day strike in August 2016 was largely possible thanks to a strategy coordinated via WhatsApp (Woodcock, 2017; see also Bright Grayer & Brophy, 2019; Tassinari & Maccarrone, 2019) whereby the riders involved ‘unlogged’ from the logistics app and encouraged others to do the same, thus impacting the company’s capacity to fulfil its orders (Tassinari & Maccarrone, 2017). Similar street credentials and reputation are earned through online campaigns targeting the company’s social media pages with critical comments aimed at negatively affecting its reputation (Tassinari  & Maccarrone, 2017). One such example is the use of the popular hashtag ‘slaveroo’ (formed as a contraction between ‘slavery’ and ‘Deliveroo’) amongst London messengers, but also by the media. More recently, social media are further being used to consolidate the collective reputation of riders beyond their immediate surroundings by expressing solidarity across different cities. Cant (2018) argues that a transnational wave of worker resistance is already taking place as he notices the synchronicity of strike mobilization enabled by social media across several cities in November 2017: Brighton, Amsterdam, Brussels, Bologna, Turin and Berlin. 142

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Within this communicative regime, however, we are nonetheless beginning to see a proliferation of efforts to develop horizontal, worker-to-worker communication channels. Thus far this has occurred primarily through the appropriation of corporate social media platforms, including Uber and Deliveroo drivers using WhatsApp and Walmart workers using Facebook. Online forums such as UberPeople have emerged as significant spaces for horizontal communication among platform workers. As a result, far from only providing the conditions through which to control mobile workers, digital media have also provided the means through which workers can mobilise their own agencies to counter the disciplining tendency of the technology. The digital skills possessed by such algorithm breakers (Vandaele et al., 2019), who refuse to obey the rigid calculations of and consequent orders allocated by algorithms, have been described by Shapiro (2018) as forms of ‘qualculation’ opposed to the specific calculative rationality of platforms: “What is ‘rational’ to workers . . . is not only constrained by information asymmetries between worker and company but is also shaped by a moral sense that algorithmic management is overly opaque” (2018, p. 2967). As such, it is evident that gig economy workers, far from being unable to entrain street smarts, are evidently drawing upon a new repertoire of schemes and misuses that assert their agency and allow them to negotiate the streets and their work in safety (Anderson, 1990). Certainly it becomes apparent that whilst lifestyle messengers have relied upon particular embodied practice, rituals and materials to attain and transmit street literacy, gig economy workers increasingly use mobile digital and social media to attain street literacy. Their informal use of these technologies to fluently engage with the demands of this form of mobile work fits very well into the definition of street literacy given by Cahill (2000) in that they recursively construct identity through interaction. However, more traditional spatial strategies are still used by messengers to overcome individualisation. Atzeni (2010), for example, describes how physical spaces where workers encounter each other face-toface facilitate social identification processes. In his study, workers took advantage of common delivery waiting points (sometimes called ‘zone centres’) in central squares, parks or outside busy restaurants as occasions to consolidate social ties. The digitalization of managerial functions via the app meant that waiting points were mostly free from the direct managerial gaze. Common day-to-day acts of sharing and mutual support among workers expressed emerging feelings of reciprocity, creating an ‘embryonic solidarity’ which has been identified as the base for active solidarity (Atzeni, 2010). Later on, those same physical spaces facilitated the articulation of shared grievances, combining with digital spaces to allow riders first to exchange opinions and phone numbers and subsequently to distribute flyers, formulate demands and hold impromptu meetings.

Conclusions: where next? Earlier literature focusing on lifestyle messengers has amply emphasised the importance of embodied skills, rituals and objects to the entrainment of street smarts and literacy. Indeed it is clearly the entraining of these on the streets that has allowed messenger culture to flourish as distinct from other forms of urban logistics in terms of solidarity, practice and organisation. Yet these accounts tend to follow a rendering of culture that has focused only on a small segment of messengers and tended to valorise the subcultural and resistant elements of practice. Perhaps as a consequence of this, these accounts have been relatively silent on the links between this and broader political-economic processes. Whilst Kidder (2005), Spinney (2008) & Fincham (2004, 2006) highlight the precarity and risks associated with the work of messengering, this tends to be to support the thesis of a resistant subculture. These accounts therefore give a sense of agency to workers often missing from Gramscian accounts of work, yet remain overly celebratory in their focus. Conversely, more recent literature on gig-economy messengers has been at pains to link the working practices of messengers with broader neoliberal and technological shifts. Messengers have always had the need to organise and associate given the precarity of their labour and marginal status in society. Their 143

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organisation and association has tended to be a product of experiences and identities constructed on the streets even if these have to some extent then taken on ‘fixed’ institutional forms such as the London Bicycle Messengers Association (LBMA). However, the intensification of surveillance and precarity brought to the labour of logistics by the introduction of mobile ICTs has not only increased the extent to which workers accrue street literacy ‘on the move’ but has strengthened existing and created new local, national and transnational connections through which street literacy is shared and circulated. This echoes Gabrys when she states that the programs of efficiency embodied in smart city initiatives assume that human capital will respond in prescribed ways, yet programs for efficiency that are multiply distributed will inevitably be multiply enacted across human and more-than-human registers, so that smart bicycles are left in creeks and sensing devices are hacked to surreptitiously monitor domestic environments or intervene in them. This smart-city proposal raises questions as to how these orchestrated ways of life would be actually lived, thereby rerouting programs of efficiency and productivity. (Gabrys, 2014, p. 38) What is perhaps less clear is the extent to which these new articulations of messenger culture can or wish to lay claim to a subcultural identity and the extent to which they can resist the powerful forces shaping them. Another interesting shift is that the key materiality and spatiality used to produce and circulate meaning and street literacy has shifted from the bike itself (and usually the fixed-wheel bike) and physical space to mobile ICTs and to some extent virtual space. Accounts show that literacy with the digital is now more important to the functioning of resistance and circulation of culture than the bike, suggesting that whilst these skills are still honed and produced on the streets, the materials used to do this have shifted dramatically due to digitalisation. This echoes the shift outlined by Bratton (2009) who argues that the shift from cars to mobile ICTs is a reflection and driver of the fact that previously physical mobility was dominant, whereas now informational mobility is becoming dominant. Spaces of the street however remain fundamental to the entraining of street smarts and street literacy. Whilst this review has highlighted some key themes and shifts with regard to messengers and street culture, there remain a number of avenues that would benefit from further enquiry. Neither older nor more recent work has meaningfully discussed the ways in which either messengers or the mass media represent their worlds to others and circulate these. Apart from one account of Alley-cat films being used to circulate ideas of embodied practice (Spinney, 2008), and the use of social media to mobilise gig economy workers politically, the ways in which central elements of messenger street culture are shaped and circulated, by whom and for whom remains under-explored. Gender, ethnicity and intersectional issues more generally are all areas which require further exploration. Contemporary accounts give little sense as to how such social categories are produced by or impact upon different elements of messenger street culture. Indeed beyond a simple male/female binary, there is nothing written on the ways in which gender shapes messenger street culture. Related to this, accounts of messenger street culture also centre on Western and developed countries (and overwhelmingly cities) with developing world contexts almost entirely absent. Research on the ways in which messenger culture is shaped in and between diverse contexts is required if we are to establish the ways in which cultures touch down, relate and are shaped by diverse contexts and identities. It is certainly fair to say that the study of messenger culture is at an important point given the pace at which the intersections of work and culture are being reshaped by technology, spreading out, contracting and being reshaped from within. Clearly in the future, the introduction of autonomous vehicles, micro mobilities, increasing levels of surveillance and the response of cities and companies to climate change will have serious repercussions – both positive and negative – for the survival of messengers on city streets. An attentive and responsive social science however will be well-placed to examine future threats and shifts. 144

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Notes 1 The fixed-wheel or track bike (often referred to as a ‘fixie’ or a ‘fixed’) as the name suggests was originally developed for track racing. The bike is similar in geometry and wheel size to a standard road bike but has only one ‘fixed’ gear. This means that when the rear wheel is rotating so too are the pedals with the result that when moving the rider cannot coast and braking can only be achieved by pushing backwards on the pedals to slow the rear wheel. ‘Stock’ track bikes have no other braking mechanism and are illegal to ride on the road in the UK because of this. 2 Deliveroo is a UK-based online delivery food company founded in 2013 which, like other similar business such as Foodora and Uber Eats, offers distribution services from local restaurants that otherwise would not offer delivery. The company quickly expanded in the last years and is currently estimated to have at least 30,000 drivers and cyclists across 84 cities in 12 countries and is valued at around two billion dollars (Smith, 2017 in Briazarelli, 2018, p. 2)

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12 Street vending and everyday life in an authentic 21st century Renia Ehrenfeucht

Introduction In 2008, Roy Choi’s fusion taco truck Kogi became a Los Angeles sensation (Shouse, 2011). People travelled across the expansive city to wait in 45-minute lines for Korean tacos. As taco trucks began operating in cities across the U.S., Korean tacos became a food truck staple. Other street vending continued to operate in the margins, even as food trucks gained visibility. The food truck trend, and responses to it, is a window into street vending in early 21st century cities. The new “gourmet” food trucks were both celebrated and highly controlled and illuminate the shifting but still conflicted positions of street vending and street vendors. Throughout the 20th century, street vending provided food, goods and vitality to public spaces through which people traveled and where they spent time. It provided needed income to vendors and convenient sustenance for consumers. Yet, this alone did not lead public officials or urban residents to accept street vending as an ordinary, integral dimension of urban life. In the 21st century, the responses to street food reflected a confluence of contradictory impulses at a critical junction of global economic change. Public officials observed gentrification, stemming from the return of middle- and upper-income residents to central cities, as a positive influence on property values and investment. Urban residents wanted to live in unique and dynamic places, in part created by working class street cultures, and new segments of urban populations consumed street food. At the same time, more people depended on contingent work and multiple sources of income. This included day labor and street vending, but also work that attracted middle-income residents including small-scale craft production as well as driving for Uber or renting out space on Airbnb. In this climate, small-scale entrepreneurism was celebrated. In response, municipalities made space for varied public economic activities. Nonetheless, public officials and urban residents still attempted to control public behavior, and they aestheticized public cultures. As a result, they authorized street vending in ways that undermined vendors’ adaptability and self-organizing. Thus, the 2000s and 2010s became a moment where contradictory pressures worked to both enable and restrict street vending and created narratives that valued some forms of vending over others. This chapter discusses the 20th century street vending context, the major forces influencing how street vending has been interpreted and responded to in early 21st century cities and then, using a food truck controversy in Chicago and the regulation of second-line vending in New Orleans, the effects of the trends. 147

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Street vending in the 20th century Even though buying and selling has been a defining feature of public spaces throughout urban history and in cities around the world, 20th century urban professionals and leaders associated it with poverty and found it incompatible with official visions for successful modern cities. Municipal governments energetically responded with numerous attempts to regulate, restrict and eliminate street vending. Faced with overly restrictive municipal actions, vendors contested these efforts because street vending met multiple needs for work, goods and services. By the end of the 20th century, the perspective began to change and views of public space were expanding, reflecting structural shifts that made contingent work necessary for more people and urban cultural identities that valued the organized chaos of everyday life in public.

City life and municipal responses Street vending has been a touchpoint for urban life stretching back to early cities that served as centers of trade and commerce. On the street, people exchanged goods, shared specialized knowledge, skills or services and exchanged information. In industrial cities, life unfolded on the streets. Prior to and in areas without refrigeration, iterant food vendors brought fresh food to urban neighborhoods. People bought newspapers and food while shopkeepers displayed goods on the sidewalks. Through this, people learned about the world, including who shared their space and how their worlds were changing. People became street vendors because the barriers to entry were low, and the cost and convenience served urban residents well (Bromley, 2000; Scobey, 2002; Ehrenfeucht & Loukaitou-Sideris, 2007; Donovan, 2008). In the rapidly industrializing cities of the late 19th century and into the 20th century, street vending was both ubiquitous and controversial. Local governments wanted to erase old world ways, ethnic differences and political organizing. To do this, municipalities developed numerous techniques to control street vending. They enacted outright bans or they regulated how and where it could occur along the sidewalks. They also adapted spatial strategies that limited street vending to vending districts or established markets, which often intended to move vendors off the sidewalks (Ehrenfeucht & Loukaitou-Sideris, 2007). Eliminating street vending was impossible, however, because it benefitted both vendors and consumers. The regulations also disregarded the factors that made street vending profitable. Vendors continued to work in convenient places, despite the regulations and bans, and vending was tolerated in practice. Modernity embraced the idea of an orderly street and workforce, and the regulations also helped make both the city and people legible (Ehrenfeucht, 2012). Throughout the 20th century, street vending proliferated in cities throughout the world, although often in precarious situations (Bromley, 2000). This occurred even in countries that are not associated with a rich street life such as the U.S. Since street vending was a contingent activity, it varied in context, and both its location and practices reflected the spatial practices of other street users, shaping where it was profitable and desirable and how it unfolded. In the U.S., street vendors worked in immigrant neighborhoods and, in Los Angeles and New York, street vending notably increased in the 1980s (Raijman, 2001; Stoller, 2002; Cross & Morales, 2007; Kettles, 2007; Martin, 2014). Thousands of New Yorkers worked in parks and on the sidewalks in the 1980s and 1990s (Stoller, 1996) as did the 20,000 vendors in 2015 (The Street Vendor Project, n.d.). In 2014, Los Angeles street vendors were estimated to range from 10,000 to 50,000 and generated around $504 million annually in sales (Hsu, 2014; The Economic Roundtable, n.d). In 2010, the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health licensed about half of the 3,820 food trucks that were operating in the county (Shouse, 2011). Street vendors adapted to changing circumstances, and they also self-organized, creating patterns of activity and expected work norms. These were negotiated among vendors and with nearby businesses and residents as well as law enforcement so much so that negotiations with and, at times, harassment by abutting businesses determined how and where vendors worked as much as specific regulations (Devlin, 2011). 148

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While regulations neither caused nor eliminated street vending, they shaped vendors’ opportunities and patterns of vulnerability. Since street vending is difficult to conduct legally, much operated in the informal economy, economic activity that is untaxed and functions outside of existing labor regulations. Onerous regulations caused unauthorized street vending to flourish in Los Angeles, because vendors avoided legal vending districts (Kettles, 2007) – and the few legal districts failed (Loukaitou-Sideris  & Ehrenfeucht, 2009). When they violated ordinances, vendors were fined or had their goods confiscated. At times, they have been arrested. Vending regulations were irregularly enforced, however, often a reaction when someone complained (Kettles, 2007). Some vendors moved to the markets or authorized vending districts in order to work legally, but markets never replaced sidewalk vending (Stoller, 2002; Donovan, 2008). In contrast, Newman and Burnett (2013) found the low cost and ease of acquiring permits contributed to Portland’s successful street food industry.

Expanding views of public spaces In the late 20th century, visions for public spaces began to shift. Even though public spaces with diverse people and both competing and complementary uses were quintessential urban experiences, they were sites of both enjoyment and tension (Madanipour, 2004). People interacted along the streets with strangers and acquaintances and they crossed paths with old or new residents, even if only momentarily when they heard different languages or noticed an unusual scent (Lofland, 1998). By the 1960s, Jane Jacobs (1961) recognized the functions of these complex public spaces and, by the 1980s, William Whyte (1988) promoted usable, dynamic public space. At the same time, these observers differentiated between desirable and undesirable street users; in their accounts, all were not welcome. Cities intensified their efforts to control street life in the late 20th century when urban neighborhoods began to gentrify. Neil Smith (2005) called this “revanchism,” when policy and policing aggressively attempted to reclaim public spaces from people who appeared homeless and others who might bother the middle-class newcomers to the urban core.

The 2000s as a critical juncture By the 21st century, public space observers appreciated ordinary public activities and built environment adaptations. Street food, goods and services were convenient to fast-paced contemporary life. Since they gave people reasons to frequent an area, street activities also provided eyes on the street, an idea that came from Jacobs’s Life and Death of Great American Cities (1961). Public space scholars embraced and named multiple, unauthorized and at times conflicting uses. Everyday Urbanism (2009), edited by John Chase, Margaret Crawford, and John Kaliski, was originally published in 1999, and was pathbreaking because it valued rather than problematized the ways that working class residents used and adapted ordinary spaces to suit their needs, including for activities such as garage sales and street vending, and the urban life these created. Others emphasized the ways that people assert power and claims to urban spaces (Holston, 1999; Bayat, 2010; Hou, 2010). Asef Bayat’s (2010), Life as Politics showed the power that people have to challenge property claims, public spaces and power through the quiet encroachment of everyday life activities. Jeffrey Hou’s edited collection Insurgent Public Space (2010) reflected the transformational potential when people claimed space and enacted public life through dance or events. In The Temporary City, Peter Bishop and Lesley Williams (2012) encapsulated new patterns of middle-income urbanism which included pop-up events in closed restaurants, bars in vacant lots, parks along streets or in parking lots as well as art exhibits in otherwise empty storefronts. Some of the activities themselves were new or more common. As important, observers named common urban practices in ways that elevated them. Local policy makers and economic development professionals began to support vernacular culture to facilitate distinctive local economic development, and planners and urban designers sought innovative ways to support street activities (Mehta, 2009). While street vendors 149

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continued to be what Yatmo (2008) has called out-of-place urban elements, increasingly municipalities attempt to balance the interests of vendors and their supporters with those of restaurant associations and other opponents. Why did the 2000s become an era that valued street vending and other public spaces uses more than the previous decades? Gentrification, contingent work and the desire for urban experiences all contributed. The urban core became a place where people with a range of incomes interacted. As a result, cities were being reenvisioned as sites of connection, and people sought diverse neighborhoods and unique experiences (Amin, 2002; Sandercock, 2003; Valentine, 2008; Zukin, 2010). During this period, more people, notably middle-income urban residents, became dependent on contingent work, leading to narratives that valued small businesses and other ways that people made a living. The creative class hypothesis (Florida, 2006) then turned these ideas into an economic development trajectory.

Gentrification As early as the 1970s, global cities such New York and London saw middle- and upper-income residents return to the disinvested urban core. This trend, often referred to as gentrification, became visible in cities of all sizes by the 1990s and 2000s. Structural economic changes drew people back to global cities, but residents settled in central neighborhoods because they sought shorter commutes, amenities – access to arts, culture, restaurants, coffeehouses – and historic housing. In smaller cities that have neither downtown amenities nor thick job markets, place-based factors such as natural beauty, a historic built environment or local culture attracted new residents (Waitt & Gibson, 2009). Additional factors such as social welfarebased public policy also helped construct a productive cultural milieu which, for example, attracted fashion designers to Toronto even though it is a second-tier city for fashion (Leslie & Brail, 2011). Newcomers also wanted to live in diverse areas, a critical concern in an era of global cities and business environments. The shifting urban landscape affected people differently, and gentrification has changed social and political neighborhood dynamics and had negative or mixed effects on longtime residents. Longtime residents have been displaced from their neighborhoods when they no longer can afford to live there, which has been the most devastating effect of gentrification. In many places, the neighborhood character also changed, leading to political or social displacement for longtime residents who stayed (Hyra, 2015). While long timers might appreciate new restaurants or services, they also became frustrated that new businesses catered to the tastes of newcomers or that it took predominantly white newcomers to bring amenities and basic services such as a responsive police department (Freeman, 2006). Gentrifiers also have mixed responses. Although they might move to an area because of its local culture, many new residents worry that their presence will ruin the area, and they lament the market-based changes their preferences stimulated (Brown-Saracino, 2009; Zukin, 2010). Nevertheless, hybrid urban cultures developed in urban centers, a trend that people valued in food, music and other cultural experiences (Amin, 2002).

Contingent work When many college graduates turned to contingent work, the idea was seen as a legitimate way to make a living. Low-income residents have long depended on day labor, street vending and other informal work to make a living, a trend that expanded in the 21st century; during this era, some college graduates turned to crafts, specialized manufacturing and vending to construct opportunities (Hess, 2009; Dawkins, 2011). Street vending is only one of the many ways that people work on the street and only one type of contingent work. Street work varies from wage work, such as policing and garbage collecting, to independent entrepreneurism that people use to augment their incomes when other options are not available. Street vending is hard work and most people have marginal incomes, which is true for many types of contingent 150

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work including day or contract labor in professional positions or construction (Peck & Theodore, 2001; Valenzuela, 2001; Theodore, 2003). College-educated workers turned to contingent work in higher numbers during the recession that occurred in the U.S. in 2009. Food trucks were partially stimulated by this economic downturn. Chicago’s food truck scene, for example, developed during this time, in part resulting from layoffs from high-end restaurants. Former staff members started food trucks because the costs to start a food truck are significantly less than those of a restaurant (Martin, 2014). Unemployed chefs also worked in Portland’s mobile food vending scene (Newman & Burnett, 2013). In one U.S. survey, 7% of the population participated as providers of goods and services in the sharing economy, and another found that 71% of cities supported growth of the sharing economy (Scola, 2014; Mondon, 2015a, 2015b). Despite this recognition, the need for street work has only partially been reflected in granting worker rights to the street. Constitutional courts in Mexico, Colombia and India have affirmatively granted street vendors some rights to work (Meneses-Reyes & Caballero-Juárez, 2014). In other countries, such as the U.S., this has not occurred even though the U.S. Supreme Court has recognized the right to use public spaces for survival to sleep or sit. Some cities have taken proactive steps such as when Los Angeles decriminalized street vending in 2018.

Authenticity and localism The era also witnessed a renewed interest in localism, cultural diversity and craft production to counter the homogenizing effects of mass production and consumption (Hess, 2009). People sought food and crafts from their region as well as handmade and small-batch craft production from elsewhere while supporting independent businesses and seeking food and cultural products in diverse ethnic neighborhoods. Localism encompasses both the origin and types of goods purchased and the experience of purchasing and living locally. Local markets and local street vendors were viewed positively. Because global urban professionals and travelers express preferences for what is unique and authentic to a given locale, the movement’s impact received attention from policy makers.

The creative class These trends were reinforced by Florida’s (2006) creative class hypothesis that offered a policy pathway to revitalization that used small-scale interventions including enhancing public spaces, supporting local businesses and agriculture and local food. Florida argued that creative professionals, who were a growing part of knowledge-based economies, were more mobile than other workers. Factors such as the region’s quality of life and whether it was open to diversity, influenced locational decisions. Florida’s thesis reinvigorated an ongoing debate about the roles of amenities in urban growth and influenced local economic development initiatives in and beyond the U.S. and Canada. Cities envisioned economic prosperity through attracting mobile, loosely defined educated, art- and knowledge-based workers, and because this population appreciated localism and unique experiences, municipal actions focused on amenity creation. Although Florida’s hypothesis refocused attention on the role of amenities in urban growth, little evidence supports the claim that amenities alone attract knowledge workers. While amenities might be necessary, and people value and make decisions on other dimensions of work and life than wages (Nelson & Ehrenfeucht, 2020), amenities do not vary sufficiently from city to city to make amenities the driving factor behind people’s locational choices (Storper & Manville, 2006). Face-to-face contact is also an important dimension of a creative milieu that drives innovation (Storper, 2013), which makes living and working in particular cities or regions better for people in different industries and thereby makes factors other than amenities important to even the most footloose creative workers. Cities nevertheless continue to invest in amenities, in part because they are relatively easy to implement. The creative class hypothesis, combined with cities’ dependency on tourist and business travel, added dynamic public spaces to economic development initiatives. 151

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From a revanchist to an ambivalent era These factors contributed to how street vending has been revalued and led to a noteworthy shift by the early 21st century. The approach changed to one that has been characterized as ambivalent or post-revanchist (Huang, Xue, & Li, 2014). In Guangzhou, China, as one case, street vendors had been targeted by policies during the National Sanitary City campaign that attempted to exclude the 300,000 street vendors from the central city. This was impossible, because they individually and collectively resisted. This policy was replaced by an approach to address the need for people to make a living by providing vending spaces. At the same time, “the authorized sites are restricted to locations where city landscapes, public space order, formal retail businesses, and residential daily life are not affected,” or in other words, they are “located in peripheral or invisible areas,” where they are less profitable and convenient (Huang et al., 2014, p. 185). The situation in Guangzhou highlights a fundamental tension: Accepting street life can still mean creating a highly controlled environment or attempting to move it to undesirable spaces.

Food truck ambivalence The popularity of food trucks in U.S. cities illustrates the shift from revanchism to ambivalence. In the 2010s, food trucks became common, and the new food truck operators made demands on cities to make it easier to vend, which led municipal governments to revisit their food truck regulations. Food trucks gained popular support because public officials associated the new food trucks with gentrification and the creative class (Newman & Burnett, 2013; Esparza, Walker, & Rossman, 2014; Martin, 2014). In the debates over food trucks, food truck proponents as well as popular media sources differentiated the new “gourmet” food trucks from what they termed “roach coaches.” Researchers have also followed this shift to new food trucks (Wessel, 2012; Esparza et al., 2014). This is noteworthy because advocates attempted to decriminalize sidewalk vending many times with limited success (Kettles, 2007; Martin, 2014). Food trucks received widespread attention. In 2010, the U.S. Small Business Association posted a blog post on starting a mobile food business, referencing its increased popularity, and by 2012, there were over 1,400 new food trucks in cities across the U.S. (Esparza et al., 2014) and the National Restaurant Association estimated mobile food industry sales were $650 million or about 1% of restaurant revenues in 2012. They were projected to more than quadruple during the decade (Intuit, 2012). In 2012, the industry market research firm IBISWorld identified street vending as one of 11 hot start-up industries (Forbes, 2012). With the new focus on street food culture, food truck customers said that they were motivated by food quality and variety as much as convenience (Wessel, 2012). Food trucks had to comply with complex regulations that guided how and where they operated. They needed permits and were subject to food preparation health and safety regulations as well as parking and vending restrictions. In many places, food trucks were subject to older regulations meant for ice cream vendors who kept moving unless they were making a sale or catering trucks that worked at construction sites. Many restrictions were carried over from the late 19th or early 20th century. These included locationspecific restrictions that banned food trucks from parking in front of restaurants and bars, limited-time periods when vending was permissible, or limits on parking or stopping. Cities also defined vending restricted zones (Morales & Kettles, 2009; Esparza et al., 2014). In a survey of 11 cities, two limited the number of permits, four had time limits on parking, seven delineated minimum distances from restaurants and all had some restricted zones (Esparza et al., 2014). A conflict that unfolded in Chicago illustrates the ambivalence. In 2012, Chicago enacted a new ordinance that allowed food trucks to cook, creating two options for food truck operators: the opportunity to sell prepared food or to cook on the truck. In the first week, 34 operators started applications, 27 of whom intended to cook (City of Chicago press release, August 10, 2012). The City embraced the idea of food trucks, issuing regular press releases and food truck permits increased (Ehrenfeucht, 2017). 152

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The ordinance was controversial. The Illinois Restaurant Association was the most vocal opponent because food trucks competed with restaurants (Esparza et al., 2014). Even though the City celebrated the ordinance, claiming that it was “a collaboration between the mobile food operators and the restaurant industry” (City of Chicago Press release, August 10, 2012), it still placed restrictions on the food trucks that the food truck operators found unfair. The new ordinance prohibited food trucks from parking “within 200 feet of any principal customer entrance to a restaurant which is located on the street level with the exception of 12 AM – 2AM,” which included such coffeehouses and convenience stores that sold food. The trucks had to move every two hours. In addition, each truck was required to install a GPS device so the city could track its movements. These restrictions made it difficult, if not impossible, to operate a profitable business. Few locations were outside the 200-foot restaurant buffer in Chicago’s Loop, the downtown business district. Figure 12.1 shows a food truck operating in the Loop. The two hour parking limit, given set up and close down times, also left a short lunch or dinner timeframe. Two food trucks proprietors, the Schnitzel King and Cupcakes for Courage, filed a lawsuit to challenge the GPS tracking provision and the 200-foot restaurant buffer, but the challenge was ultimately unsuccessful (Ehrenfeucht, 2017). At the same time, the City was establishing 35 designated sites where food trucks could park. In the summer of 2015, it sponsored weekly and monthly food truck festivals. In summer 2015, Chicago Food Truck Finder listed around 110 active food trucks in the city. While many of the food trucks attempted to comply with the ordinances, they could not vend without violating them at times (Ehrenfeucht, 2017).

Figure 12.1 Food truck operating in the Chicago Loop, 2015. Photo: Camille Fink.

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Street vending hierarchies Another issue arose during this period. When the food truck controversy was unfolding, Chicago also had other forms of sidewalk vending. These vendors were more likely to be immigrants and more likely to be vending fruit or paletas on the sidewalks. These vendors also tried to obtain permits, but without success (Martin, 2014). The City’s press releases did not recognize other street vendors. This hierarchy was also enforced by the new vendors such as new food truck operators who established their own organizations rather than working with long-standing street vending advocates (Esparza et al., 2014). New Orleans, a city celebrated for its public cultures, offers another example of the way that different vendors were treated. Residents and visitors alike celebrate New Orleans’ public culture. Locals by the thousands come out for the Mardi Gras Indians’ Super Sunday and dozens of neighborhood and citywide events. People sit on their stoops and musicians play on street corners. Even though vending can be seen throughout the city, very little is authorized. When taco trucks began serving construction sites after the 2005 hurricanes and, in 2011, when New Orleans’ residents started food trucks, similar to those in Los Angeles and Chicago, that served a variety of food in different locations, residents and the city administration alike supported them. In 2012, the New Orleans City Council relaxed its food truck regulations. During the same period, the City of New Orleans turned its attention to vending at “second lines” – a neighborhood parade and street party that takes place around the city on Sundays – and the City Council proposed a new second line vending ordinance. The city decided to require vending permits to vendors who sell food at these weekly, four-hour neighborhood parades (shown in Figure  12.2) even though

Figure 12.2 A vendor selling at a second line in New Orleans, 2015. Photo: Author.

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they had been operating without permits under police detail throughout the 20th century. The city then adopted regulations that, if followed, would have precluded vending as it has traditionally taken place. However, the regulations are not followed or enforced, indicating ambivalence by all stakeholders, a postrevanchist policy approach that mixes punitive and enabling policies. The vendors still violate the regulations and do so under police supervision (Ehrenfeucht & Croegaert, 2017). These tensions underlay what authentic street culture means in the 21st century. Puebla, Mexico, is another case when enabling vending undermined street life. Puebla attempted to revitalize its city center by focusing on the conservation of the built heritage. In the 1980s, “the pavements – often broken – were crowded with street traders, many of them indigenous women, often with children, selling fruit and vegetables or preparing food, with steam rising from pots over charcoal stoves” (Jones, 2015, p. 267). Activities spilled onto the streets, and families crowded the tenements. After being selected as a UNESCO World Heritage Property, the municipality attempted to develop an arts district that included art markets as well as higher end restaurants, cafes, galleries and museums. The process displaced many people – the population dropped from 340,000 to 108,000 – and replaced the organic activities and vending on the street with choreographed street life (Jones, 2015). In these conflicts, competing views of authenticity and public spaces are at stake. As Zukin (2009) has noted, the notion of authenticity can be used as a way to deploy elitist aesthetic sensibility, privileging particular values and cultural forms such as original pieces or art or fusion food, but it also can refer to cultural practices that have origins in long-term forms of living and practices for a group attached to their land or place. In the latter, authenticity is grounded in tradition and local claims. These two aspects of authenticity are often in tension with one another as urban spaces change.

Contradictions and opportunities Throughout the 20th century, millions of people worldwide depended on or supplemented their incomes with street vending. In the 21st century, the number of people who have engaged in different forms of contingent work only grew, and the workforce for a world economy included food providers and local services that supported urban professional workforces. Since street vendors served a professional workforce and because middle-class residents turned to contingent work, these ways of working were reinterpreted as acceptable rather than a problem to be solved. Street vending also satisfied the quest for local and authentic experiences in a global, corporate world. Yet contradictory processes developed because consumers wanted unique experiences that were simultaneously safe and familiar, and municipal processes placed value on working-class cultures while still policing them. All these factors influenced the contours of what counted as authentic street life in the 21st century. The early decades of the 21st century witnessed a post-revanchist era of street vending and street food. New Orleans’s response highlights a fundamental contradiction in the approach to street vending. To enable food trucks and street vendors, the city of New Orleans, like many cities, relaxed food truck regulations but, at the same time, it began to pay attention to other forms of vending that previously had been left alone. Because street vending responds to local environments, the specific ordinances, even if they seem fair in principle, have the effect of impeding street commerce and forcing vendors to work outside the law. As the case in Chicago showed, different stakeholders – including those in competition with the vendors – participate in regulatory processes, resulting in regulations that address a multitude of particular concerns rather than facilitating vending. The rise of gourmet, fusion street food and art markets can replace traditional street cultures. In this sense replacing refers to activities that adopt the form of traditional street life but adapted to controlled middle-class sensibilities. Nevertheless, the desire for street food, the need for accessible food and the recognition and increased acceptance about contingent work for lower income urbanites dovetailed with the desire for dynamic public spaces, which revalued working-class cultural norms including street cultures in urban life and the need 155

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for convenient food for upper-income residents. The situation of street vending speaks to the shifting role of street cultures as ways of living that take place on the street. At times, public presence, street art and other forms of public sociability have been stigmatized. At other times, they are desirable, and public officials attempt to create more opportunities for these practices. While initiatives in the early 21st century made more space for informal patterns of street life than was seen in the previous century, they are still contested as the efforts to control street practices conflict with the self-organized multiplicities that define life and cultural practices in urban public spaces.

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Hsu, T. (2014, September 6). More angelenos are becoming street vendors amid weak economy. The Los Angeles Times. Retrieved August 1, 2015, from www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-street-vendors-20140907-story.html#page=1 Huang, G., Xue, D., & Li, Z. (2014). From revanchism to ambivalence: The changing politics of street vending in Guangzhou. Antipode, 46, 170–189. Hyra, D. (2015). The back-to-the-city movement: Neighborhood redevelopment and processes of political and cultural displacement. Urban Studies, 52, 1753–1773. Intuit (2012). Food trucks motor into the mainstream. Retrieved July  15, 2015, from http://network.intuit.com/wpcontent/uploads/2012/12/Intuit-Food-Trucks-Report.pdf Jacobs, J. (1961). The death and life of the great American cities. New York, NY: Random House. Jones, G. (2015). Gentrification, neoliberalism and loss in Puebla, Mexico. In L. Lees, H. B. Shin, & E. López-Morales (Eds.), Global gentrifications: Uneven development and displacement (pp. 265–284). Bristol: Policy Press. Kettles, G. (2007). Legal responses to sidewalk vending: The case of Los Angeles, California. In J. C. Cross & A. Morales (Eds.), Street entrepreneurs: People, place and politics in local and global perspective (pp. 58–78). London: Routledge. Leslie, D., & Brail, S. (2011). The productive role of “Quality of Place”: A case study of fashion designers in Toronto. Environment and Planning A, 43, 2900–2917. Lofland, L. (1998). The public realm: Exploring the city’s quintessential social territory. New York, NY: Aldine de Gruyter. Loukaitou-Sideris, A., & Ehrenfeucht, R. (2009). Sidewalks: Conflict and negotiation over public space. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Madanipour, A. (2004). Marginal public spaces in European cities. Journal of Urban Design, 9, 267–286. Martin, N. (2014). Food fight! Immigrant street vendors, gourmet food trucks and the differential valuation of creative producers in Chicago. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 38, 1867–1883. Mehta, V. (2009). Look closely and you will see, listen carefully and you will hear: Urban design and social interaction on streets. Journal of Urban Design, 14(1), 29–64. Meneses-Reyes, R., & Caballero-Juárez, J. (2014). The right to work on the street: Public space and constitutional rights. Planning Theory, 13(4), 370–386. Mondon, M. (2015a, April 14). “Sharing Economy” could reach $335 billion by 2025, but will it get a new name? Next City. Retrieved from https://nextcity.org/daily/entry/sharing-economy-to-reach-335-billion-by-2025 Mondon, M. (2015b, June 12). Majority of cities want more sharing economy. Next City.. Retrieved from https:// nextcity.org/daily/entry/city-governments-want-more-sharing-economy Morales, A., & Kettles, G. (2009). Healthy food outside: Farmers’ markets, taco trucks, and sidewalk fruit vendors. Journal of Contemporary Health Law and Policy, 26, 20–48. Nelson, M.,  & Ehrenfeucht, R. (2020). Beyond the jobs versus amenities debate: Understanding the migration of educated workers and implications for planning. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 40, 16–30. Newman, L. L., & Burnett, K. (2013). Street food and vibrant urban spaces: Lessons from Portland, Oregon. Local Environment, 18, 233–248. Peck, J., & Theodore, N. (2001). Contingent Chicago: Restructuring the spaces of temporary labor. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 25, 471–496. Raijman, R. (2001). Mexican immigrants and informal self-employment in Chicago. Human Organization, 60(1), 47–55. Sandercock, L. (2003). Cosmopolis II: Mongrel cities in the 21st century. London: Continuum. Scobey, D. M. (2002). Empire city: The making and meaning of the New York City landscape. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Scola, N. (2014, May 12). 400 people are gathering in San Francisco to talk about sharing. Next City.. Retrieved from https://nextcity.org/daily/entry/sharing-economy-share-conference-san-francisco-may-2014 Shouse, H. (2011). Food trucks: Dispatches and recipes from the best kitchens on wheels. New York, NY: Ten Speed Press. Smith, N. (2005). The new urban frontier: Gentrification and the revanchist city. New York, NY: Routledge. Stoller, P. (1996). Spaces, places and fields: The politics of West African trading in New York City’s informal economy. American Anthropologist, 98(4), 776–788. Stoller, P. (2002). Money has no smell: The africanization of New York City. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Storper, M. (2013). Keys to the city: How economics, institutions, social interaction, and politics shape development. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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13 Private uses make public spaces Street vending in Ho Chi Minh City and Rome Francesca Piazzoni and Huê-Tâm Jamme

Introduction Street vending contributes to the vitality of urbanisms worldwide and in many cases defines the culture of the street. A robust scholarship has analyzed the spatial dimensions of vending by combining discourses on public space and the right to the city (Lefebvre, 1968). Ideally open to all, public spaces should respond to the needs of diverse people and facilitate their living together. Scholars have long argued that, with these qualities, democratic public spaces favor encounters among strangers and enhance mutual respect (Sennett, 1977; Lofland, 1998). As cities around the world grow hostile to vulnerable groups, researchers have associated street vending with dynamics of exclusion and resistance in public space. They have seen vendors as political agents who claim a right to the city, the right to appropriate space and to participate in its production through organized dissent and everyday practices (Lefebvre, 1968; Purcell, 2002). Albeit crucial, discourses on vending as politics tend to overlook the fact that street commerce is primarily a private enterprise, much like the other ordinary activities that it enables and those that support it. It is indeed the private uses that people make of the streets that render them vibrant public spaces. This chapter argues that, by enabling encounters among strangers, street vending and its complementary private activities contribute to the publicness of the streets, and therefore characterize street culture. The editor of this book has identified street vendors as one of the groups who shape street culture for the sole reason that they spend a considerable amount of time on the streets (Ross, 2018). We believe that the ways street vendors contribute to street culture are far more complex and deserve closer attention. This chapter speaks to current efforts in the field of criminology/criminal justice to reframe street culture as a phenomenon that can exist independently from street crime, and one that relates to broader urban processes. In particular, we shed light on one aspect that has remained marginally explored in the criminology literature on street culture. That is, the relationship between street culture and urban vibrancy (Ross, 2018). Urban scholars have long acknowledged that private uses are constitutive of the public sphere and thus support the vitality of public spaces. They have argued that activities such as discussing politics (Habermas, 1989), enacting dissent through upheavals (Castells, 1983), or simply relaxing and watching passers-by (Low, 2000; Banerjee, 2001) define public space as a civic arena. Street vending is another private activity that takes place in public space, a market transaction between willing buyers and sellers. We propose to shift the focus from vending as an insurgent practice of resistance to an ordinary activity that emerges out of necessity, one that produces and is produced by 159

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a constellation of other private activities. Analyzing street commerce in Ho Chi Minh City (Vietnam) and Rome (Italy), we explore how vending and its complementary private activities encourage different groups to share space, potentially foster mutual respect, and thus make the street a vital public space. Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) and Rome appear to be opportune locations to investigate how private uses make public spaces. Despite obvious differences in terms of cultural context and urban form, both cities have been praised for the vitality of their streets. In what follows, we look at how, in both places, vending practices go hand in hand with complementary private uses of the streets in creating opportunities for encounters among strangers. The nature of private uses identified as ancillary to street vending, and the participants in these uses, differ from one case to another – customers access vendors on private motorbikes in HCMC, vendors take respite in Rome’s cosmopolitan touristic sites. Yet, we shed light on similar processes. In both cities, opportunities for social contact and public encounters emerge out of a set of private uses people make of public spaces. A combination of complementary personal uses of the street brings together people who would hardly meet otherwise. Moreover, both cities continue to experience major transformations that magnify the processes highlighted in this chapter – namely, a mobility transition in HCMC, from the motorbike as the dominant transportation mode to the automobile, and immigration flows in Rome.

Street vending in the literature Any person selling goods in public space is commonly referred to as a street vendor, but vending is far from being a homogenous phenomenon. Early studies associated street commerce with the “informal” economy of cities of the Global South (Geertz, 1963; Hart, 1970). Scholars of the 1990s revealed that vending also thrives in the streets of the Global North, where vulnerable groups such as immigrants and people of color eke out a living in public spaces (Austin, 1994; Crawford, 1995; Duneier, 1999). More recently, researchers have also proved that not all vending activities pertain to the survival of the poor. Over the past two decades, street commerce of a certain kind has become the emblem of a commodified, “vibrant” urban experience (Cross & Morales, 2007; Bostic, Kim, & Valenzuela, 2016). Despite their differences, street vendors around the world share one aspiration: they wish to reach as many customers as possible. All vendors want passers-by to see them, and to be able to comfortably stop and make a purchase. Busy crossroads, crowded squares, and congested sidewalks represent attractive locations for street sellers. Vendors enhance the intensity of street life while competing for bustling spots (Bromley, 2000; Bhowmik, 2005). The visibility of vendors in crowded urban areas determines the viability of their business as much as it generates the troubles they endure. Local authorities in most cities of the world tend to associate street vendors with poverty and disorder, a symptom of backwardness that must be eliminated. Frequent accusations towards vendors include that they evade taxes, elude food safety regulations, obstruct traffic flows, sell illegal products, or simply that they make the city look “messy.” Urban managers since the modern age have strictly regulated and at times banned street vending. They have criminalized sellers who do not conform to majoritarian standards of “the proper” by looking or behaving as the “out of place” (Cross & Karides, 2007). Local authorities typically rely on four complementary strategies to exclude vendors from public spaces. First, through regulation of street uses, they commonly assert that streets and sidewalks should primarily serve as traffic corridors; vendors then fall in the category of “objects” that disrupt the flow (Blomley, 2007). Second, ambiguous regulatory policies can de facto prevent vendors from obtaining licenses or carrying out their activity legally (Kettles, 2014). Third, discretionary law enforcement can complicate vendors’ routines and favor bribing systems that further marginalize underprivileged groups (Devlin, 2011). And fourth, the design of the built environment can render spaces hostile to sellers and customers (Mukhija & Loukaitou-Sideris, 2014). 160

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Vendors are not passive victims of exclusion, but rather agents who shape the politics of the urban. At times, they contest existing norms through activism. This occurs when vendors organize informal networks to escape police controls or when they collectively negotiate with policymakers to claim their rights. Motivated primarily by self-protection, these acts become political in that they contest existing arrangements and shape new forms of governance (Cross, 1998; Crossa, 2009). More often, street sellers seek to sustain their livelihood in subtler and less overtly political ways. Vendors quietly encroach on public space by persistently occupying certain areas; they use and transform the built environment in order to sell, and they hide in interstitial spaces to elude police controls (Rios, 2010; Miraftab, 2011). While these activities are motivated by the need to make a living, rather than a conscious desire to resist, scholars have interpreted vendors’ “quiet encroachment” (Bayat, 1997) as an implicit demand for the right to occupy, use, and be recognized in the city (Cross, 1998; Hou, 2010; Huang et al., 2014). The strands of literature reviewed thus far highlight street vending as a city-making practice, one that simultaneously contests and reifies existing social arrangements. While foundational, these explorations tend to overlook that street commerce is first and foremost a profitable, private activity motivated by individual needs to survive in the city. And this private activity is also entangled with other complementary activities that are equally private, and that occur in – and shape – public spaces. It is these kinds of private uses that bring diverse people together and shape the publicness of public space. These circumstances motivate our central question: In what ways do vending and its complementary private activities enable people to encounter one another, thus contributing to the publicness of the street?

Two case studies To address this question, we draw on data collected in HCMC and Rome in 2018. We purposely selected cities with two commonalities relevant to our question: a large presence and visibility of street vendors on the one hand, and a bustling, active city life on the other. However, the two cities differ in nearly all other aspects: politically, economically, and culturally. With a total population of more than 10 million (GSO, 2020), HCMC is a booming Southeast Asian city that has driven the industrialization and modernization of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam since the country’s economic reforms in the 1990s. Rome is a much smaller city of 2.8 million residents. Yet, as the political capital of Italy, the seat of the Catholic Church, and an historic emblem of Western culture, its iconic spaces loom large in the imagination of people around the world. Despite this “eternal” fame, Rome has most recently drawn attention for the corruption of its administrators and its failures in maintaining public spaces. Yet, both HCMC and Rome are known for the vibrancy of their streets. HCMC’s urban form results from four hundred years of organic development, with the exception of its central district planned by the French colonial government and the recent modern districts shaped by market forces. Narrow alleyways constitute 80 percent of the street network. The streets of HCMC support a vibrant public life, as sidewalks and narrow alleyways function as both circulation paths and vending places (Kim, 2012; Gibert, 2014). Multiple uses of the streets blur the boundaries between public and private, yielding a communal sense of belonging that defines Vietnamese public spaces (Drummond, 2000; Gibert, 2014; Kim, 2015). The streets support the livelihoods of thousands of street vendors, a majority of whom are rural migrants trying to make their way in the city (Kim, 2015). Rome’s iconic public spaces are considered prototypical in their scale, flexibility, and porosity. Scholars have long saluted the vibrant streets and piazzas of historic Rome as ideal public spaces that support “the joint existence of the overtly planned and the genuinely unplanned, of the set piece and the accident, of the private and the public” (Rowe & Koetter, 1978, p. 83). While the iconic quality of Rome continues to attract tourists from all over the world, the historic center has undergone gentrification processes that have progressively displaced low-income residents, imposed regimes of security on public spaces, and triggered the proliferation of chain stores (Berdini, 2008; Cremaschi, 2012; Celata, 2017). 161

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HCMC and Rome are also experiencing major transformations that affect the culture of the street in ways that have been overlooked. Specifically, a massive mobility transition is currently occurring in HCMC, and a major influx of immigrants has transformed Rome. In HCMC, the motorbike still is the “indigenous” mode of transportation (Mateo-Babiano, 2016); it serves as the primary mode of transport for 83 percent of the population (JICA, 2016). However, motorbike users have been forced to share the streets with a skyrocketing number of cars since the mid-2010s – 211,000 new cars were added to the streets of HCMC in 2016 (Dti News, 2017) – inevitably transforming the appearance, atmosphere, and functionality of the streets. As a response to rising congestion, the local government plans to ban motorbikes from the central parts of HCMC by 2030. Meanwhile, immigration flows have been transforming Rome over the last decade. Immigrants have made their presence visible in the city by changing physical and cultural landscapes. New kinds of shops, restaurants, and religious facilities have transformed streetscapes especially in peripheral districts. In the touristic center, vulnerable immigrants make themselves visible by eking out a living through “informal” street vending. By their very presence, poor immigrants disrupt stereotypical tourist friendly images of Rome. If conservative residents have long rejected the idea of a multicultural Rome, the so-called immigration crisis further triggered xenophobic reactions, exacerbating the marginalization of vulnerable immigrants. Anti-immigrant feelings of established residents have been written into new city ordinances and have been enacted through police enforcement. Street vending speaks to the vitality of public spaces in HCMC and Rome, but also interacts with processes that are transforming the streets of both cities  – mobility transition and immigration flows, respectively. Customers on motorbikes buying from street vendors in HCMC and the increased presence of immigrant sellers in the touristic sites of Rome enable the encounter of diverse groups. We have detailed these dynamics through participant observations, mapping, and interviews with street vendors and other street users. Comparing two cities known for their active street life and vibrant vending scene, in different contexts, enables us to draw conclusions on how private uses define the publicness of the street. Admittedly, vending exists because of individual needs – the need to earn money for vendors and to purchase goods for customers. But the act of vending is rooted in other activities that are equally private, such as private mobility practices for personal purposes in HCMC, or hanging out in touristic Rome. In what follows, we show that the complementarities between different private uses of the streets enable situations that are inherent to their publicness: the spatial coexistence between “strangers,” the social interactions among diverse groups, the encounter with the Other.

Ho Chi Minh City Several scholars have closely examined the streets of HCMC because of their particularly vibrant city life (Drummond, 2000; Harms, 2009; Gibert, 2014; Kim, 2015). At any time of the day, people are selling and purchasing fruits, sandwiches, noodle soups, spare parts for motorbike repairs, cigarettes, phone credit, and lottery tickets, among many other goods. Kim (2012) refers to “mixed-use sidewalks” to designate spaces that provide at once for parking, seating, eating, resting, praying, cooking, and displaying merchandise – though not, in most cases, for seamless walking. Existing literature has overlooked, however, an important factor: the role of mobility practices in supporting sidewalk vending. A symbiotic relationship exists between street vending and motorbike mobility in contemporary HCMC. The ubiquity and modalities of this private form of mobility largely explain the nature and density of social interactions in HCMC’s public spaces, while dovetailing public and private realms. Data supporting this argument was collected between August and December  2018, through participant observations, in-depth interviews with 32 street users about their mobility practices, and 35 sidewalk vendors.

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There is a strong correlation between motorbike traffic and street vending. When asked about the busiest times of the day, a vendor of fruit juices, which people are likely to drink any time of the day, offered a simple principle: “the more traffic, the more business.” Located in the same street corner, a vendor of banh mi sandwiches – a breakfast favorite – mentioned the morning peak hours. Most street vendors agreed that the majority of customers are motorbike users, followed by pedestrians, and in very rare occurrences, car users. Street vendors choose a physical location that allows them to catch motorbike flows. A basic traffic regulation in HCMC requires motorbikes to stay on the outside lanes, adjacent to the sidewalk, while larger vehicles such as cars, trucks, and buses use the inside lanes, next to the median. Then on one-way streets, both types of flows rub against the sidewalks on both sides of the street. In most places, there are significantly more vendors on the right side of the street, where there is friction with the motorbike flow. Street vendors’ livelihoods depend to a great extent on the spatial connection they have with motorbike users. The modalities of motorbike mobility explain the relationship with street vending. Motorbike drivers have an unmediated experience of the built environment: they move through space at a rather low speed, without the separation of a windshield to temper the sounds, smells, and sights of the street. Moreover, they enjoy a great flexibility of movement due to the small size, light weight, and high maneuverability of their vehicle (Truitt, 2008). As a result, “sidewalk shopping” is a common practice in HCMC. As motorbike users commute to work, for example, they keep an eye on the side of the road to see what vendors have on display and what breakfast options are available, making spontaneous stops. All but one motorbike user interviewed for this study explained this pattern as part of their daily practice. The characteristics of motorbike mobility, coupled with motorbike-friendly design features in the built environment, make it possible to stop for a short time or pick things up “on-the-go.” Motorbike users can reach vendors who sit on the sidewalk by going up and down the curb with their vehicle, as the curb typically has a 45-degree ramp. As for vendors who stand right in the traffic lane, next to the curb, motorbike drivers can just pull over, put one foot on the ground, and complete the transaction without getting off their vehicle. In sum, interactions with street vendors depend on the ease with which motorbike users can perceive their presence and stop on a whim. These aspects of motorbike mobility enhance perceptions of and interactions with the opportunities for activities in the built environment – or “affordances” (Gibson, 1979/2014). They foster social interactions between motorbike users and street vendors. They lead to interaction among people of different social backgrounds. For example, on her way back home, an upper middle-class woman, a doctor, has the habit of stopping by a vendor of sweet deserts (chè). She stays on the saddle of her motorbike, temporarily stopped on the lane, while eating her desert; she is here mostly to chat and catch up. It is common in HCMC to see a motorbike driver on the move wave at a vendor who has been sitting in the same spot for years. Sometimes a few words will be sent in the air – “going to work?” – or there will be a short pause in the swirl of movement to properly share the most recent gossip of the neighborhood. Only three out of 16 motorbike riders interviewed for this study said they never engage with vendors and never buy from them. Two had lived for several years in Singapore and Australia, countries where street vendors are not as common an encounter as in Vietnamese cities, and thus had lost the habit or the taste for transacting on the streets. Yet, back in Vietnam, even they had developed an understanding of the vendors’ condition as they pass by many of them every day. When asked whether they support the city’s repeated efforts to clear the sidewalks of street vendors, most interviewees had ambiguous feelings. On the one hand, they accept the official narrative that vendors make the city look disorderly – “this is not what the modern city looks like” – and they see vendors’ presence, coupled with the fact that customers on motorbikes stop all the time, as an obstacle to efficient traffic flow. On the other hand, they have compassion for the fact that vendors need to make a living: “there is nothing else they can do, nowhere for them to go.” Furthermore, motorbike mobility explains HCMC’s bustling street life in a way that is not only limited to interactions with street vendors. Most “formal” businesses use the same “informal” tactics as street

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vendors to catch the attention and business of motorbike riders. For instance, some coffee shops position a cart right next to the curb during the morning peak hour, in order to catch motorbike riders on the go as well, and most cafés illegally encroach on sidewalks with tables and chairs outside. The built environment is overwhelmingly mixed-use in HCMC, as nearly all buildings lining major streets and boulevards include some commercial space on the ground floor with residential use in the upper floors. Therefore, the streets are not only lined with street vendors, but also with an almost uninterrupted succession of clothing stores, coffee shops, restaurants, beauty salons, cell phone providers, and so forth. Streets can be seen as an “endless drive-through” that is as long and intricate as the street network, thus offering a wide range of opportunities for people to engage in street activities. Formal or informal, most of these places are “third places” as per Oldenburg’s (1999) definition: they provide a means for people to remain in contact, to support each other, and to develop a sense of community and belonging. Meanwhile, driving an automobile in HCMC does not allow for the density and variety of social interactions permitted by motorbike mobility. The streets of HCMC are about to undergo a radical transformation as the city is becoming more and more car-oriented – unless walking, biking, and transit become viable forms of mobility. This may be the case once the mass transit system currently under development is completed. The first line is expected to start operating in 2020, and optimistic estimates project that 30% of the population will be commuting by transit by 2030. As of today though, only 6% of the population typically takes the bus, and only the poorest who cannot afford a motorbike walk or pedal in the hot and humid weather – 1% and 3% of the population, respectively (JICA, 2016). Finally, the case of HCMC invites further exploration of the role of mobility practices in defining the publicness of the street. It shows how two peculiar features of HCMC’s street culture – motorbike mobility and street vending, which happen to be two private uses of the streets – work together in a symbiotic relationship to activate the streets as dynamic public spaces. Social cohesion and mutual dependency stem from both the spatial coexistence of street uses and from the possibility for people’s paths to cross, literally and metaphorically. These observations invite nuance to the idea of an antagonistic relationship between motorized traffic and the quality of the public sphere. Habermas, for example, expressed this idea in a side note of his seminal work on the public sphere. “The technical requirements of traffic flow” impede “public contacts . . . that could bring private people together to form a public” (Habermas, 1989, pp. 157–158). While this may be true for private automobiles, motorbikes in HCMC appear as an exception to the rule. As more and more people are being tempted by the comfort of a shielded automobile, the mobility transition occurring in HCMC is likely to restructure social interactions in public space, thus transforming the culture of the street.

Rome Scholars have long praised Rome’s urban form for its complexity, significance, and vitality (e.g., Kostof, 1977; Rowe & Koetter, 1978). City authorities capitalized on these iconic qualities since the 1990s, when welfare cuts, privatizations, and the spread of hotels and B&Bs accentuated disparities between a touristfriendly, wealthy “historic center” and the rest of Rome (Celata, 2017; Lelo, Monni, & Tomassi, 2019). As immigration dynamics have transformed the city over the past two decades, most scholars of multicultural Rome have focused on peripheral districts while seeing the center as an exclusive, Disneyfied “bubble” (e.g., Mudu, 2006; Clough-Marinaro  & Thomassen, 2014; Grazioli, 2017).1 As much as the center of Rome is increasingly touristified, however, it also allows poor immigrants to carry out private activities that they could hardly conduct anywhere else in the city. Nearly 2,000 immigrants gather in the heart of Rome every day to sell selfie sticks, shawls, and other trinkets. Most vendors are men from Bangladesh and Senegal without vending licenses and often lack regular immigration statuses. Beyond enabling the immigrant vendors to seek economic opportunities, Rome’s historic fabric also provides them with safe places to carry out personal activities outside of working hours (i.e., resting, praying, and talking on the phone 164

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with family members). Touristic Rome is thus where the vendors end up spending most of their day, and a site that deserves attention as a contested, multicultural space. The presence of immigrant vendors in historic Rome acquires political meanings at a time of increased xenophobia. National governments and city administrators spatialize dominant constructions of “the appropriate” through legislation that banish vulnerable groups from “historic centers.”2 Appearing in iconic sites, immigrant vendors challenge majoritarian expectations of Rome as an iconic site inhabited by white Italians. They force bystanders to acknowledge difference while implicitly demanding the right to be in the city. Observations, surveys, and interviews investigated the uses that vendors make of space as well as their relationships with police officers, tourists, and residents. Special attention was given to Bangladeshi vendors, the largest group of sellers and members of the third largest immigrant community in Rome, following Romanians and Filipinos. The data collected suggest that the personal uses that vendors make of public spaces are crucial to enhancing a sense of familiarity among diverse people. While the vendors’ presence elicits conflicts, it also enables conviviality and opportunities for recognition. The lives of the immigrant vendors are challenging and precarious. Irregular sellers typically work between seven and 12 hours a day, starting around 10:00 a.m. Working side-by-side with regular vendors (mostly Italians), immigrant sellers are exposed to multiple risks (from a 5,162 euro fine for vending without a license – D.L. 114/1998, to incarceration and deportation in cases of irregular immigration statuses – L. 189/2002). Controls are usually enforced by municipal police, though state police officers increasingly target vendors of color in “anti-terrorism” operations. In-depth interviews with 28 Bangladeshis revealed a diverse group of men. Some have been vending for years, regardless of whether or not they possess a regular or irregular immigration status. Others arrived more recently, frequently through Libya, and have pending requests for protection. Seniority on the streets and immigration status determine power hierarchies within the vending community. Experienced sellers occupy strategic spots and can evade police controls better by counting on networks among vendors of different ethnicities, on the solidarity of some business owners, and on their own knowledge of spaces. Recently arrived vendors are often ostracized by earlier arrivals and struggle to navigate the city, but their pending immigration status puts them in a relatively safer position with police officers. Despite these many differences, all vendors perceive touristic Rome as a safe place compared to other peripheral districts. Most interviewees experienced verbal or physical violence in the streets outside of the center. They reported being insulted and at times beaten by Italian-born residents, as well as being robbed by other people they identified as North African immigrants and Roma groups. The interviewed vendors then tended to avoid public spaces in peripheral districts where they felt unsafe. Nor could they spend much time at home. Most interviewees overcrowded apartments with compatriots in central districts because it was easier to commute to work. Living in rooms with up to 11 men, vendors lacked space or privacy to conduct personal activities. These circumstances push immigrant vendors to remain in the center before and after vending hours. By taking advantage of the anonymity among tourist crowds, Bangladeshis occupy the historic parts of Rome to satisfy personal needs. Bustling public spaces become the rooms where vendors hang out, pray, and call their families back home. And the securitized nature of the center becomes a resource for the sellers. Some vendors feel safe spending time in areas with constant video surveillance, a feature that scholar frequently criticize as a symptom of increased privatizations. For example, a vendor who had lived irregularly in the country for five years chose to both sell and rest under police surveillance cameras in a known Piazza. Although the vendor was aware of the threats posed by law enforcement, which is sometimes violent, in his view it was safer to remain under surveillance because, “should anything happen,” he could “go to the police.” Vendors also like meeting with friends in the popular Via del Corso, where the steps of the SS. Ambrogio e Carlo church provide them with an elevated platform to observe passersby and exchange information with other people employed in the area. Other immigrant vendors also find an essential tranquility in the congested streets of the center. Senegalese women, for example, take care of 165

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their children in the busiest areas, where they feel police will not harass them and their children will grow up “seeing beautiful things.” Vendors thus construct a sense of belonging to touristic Rome, one embedded in the iconicity and cosmopolitan nature of the center. And the vendors’ prolonged presence in the center also creates opportunities for their recognition in the eyes of other groups. Police officers, tourists, and residents demonstrated ambiguous feelings towards the vendors. Of the 29 officers interviewed, eight expressed racist feelings and a willingness to eradicate vendors, while the others admitted to often “turn a blind eye,” not enforcing controls in solidarity with the sellers. A hundred surveys revealed that 42 tourists criticized the sellers as “visibly non-Italians,” while others believed that the vendors should profit from the tourism economy as other Romans do. Twelve interviews and many informal conversations showed the polarized views of residents. Most interviewees criticized the vendors’ presence, associating it with some form of “illegality” – illegal status in Italy, irregular vending activities, or the “mafia” network that residents held responsible for “managing” the vendors. Other residents defended the presence of the vendors. For example, residents who worked in the city center helped the sellers by letting them hide in their shops or by letting vendors use the facilities of their workplaces – i.e., by sitting at café tables without consuming, praying in the backrooms of shops, or using the restrooms of restaurants. Despite their different sentiments, the people who occupy the center have come to consider the vendors an integral component of touristic Rome, albeit a contested one. The case of Rome shows that vending enhances the publicness of the street by facilitating encounters among strangers. Poor immigrants not only occupy Rome’s prime sites to eke out a living, but they also remain in the same sites outside of vending hours to carry out personal activities. Vendors, tourists, residents, and police officers find themselves sharing spaces in ways they would not do elsewhere. Their coexistence elicits conflicts, for example, when police officers abuse their power by ripping up the vendors’ documents, when sellers compete with one another to get a strategic spot, or when residents address the vendors with racist comments. But the fact that diverse groups use the same spaces also produces microgeographies of conviviality. This is apparent when police officers and vendors engage in conversations, when sellers of different origins organize to sell more effectively, or when business owners allow immigrant vendors to hide or pray in their shops. These dynamics complicate views of commodified public spaces as sites of ubiquitous oppression of the vulnerable. As much as it is a space of exclusion, touristic Rome is also a “cosmopolitan canopy” (Anderson, 2011) that allows diverse people to encounter, grow accustomed to, and potentially learn to respect each other’s difference.

Conclusions This chapter shed light on how the private uses vendors make of the street shape its publicness by facilitating encounters among strangers. Rather than emphasizing street vending as a political practice, we focused on the ordinariness of street commerce and its complementarity with other private uses of the streets – specifically, uses that satisfy transportation or personal needs. We focused on HCMC and Rome, known and praised for the vitality of their public spaces. Vending in both cities has long provided the urban poor with a livelihood while serving the needs of diverse urbanites. Recently, mobility transitions and immigration flows have transformed HCMC and Rome’s respective street cultures. Through observations, mapping, and interviews, we analyzed how these changes have impacted vending practices. We especially investigated how street commerce  – along with the private activities it enables and those on which it relies – elicits opportunities of encounter among strangers. In each case, we first highlighted some complementarities between street vending and other private uses of the street. In HCMC, daily transactions between vendors and other street users largely depend on the continuous flow of motorbikes on the street, where the private motorbike is the dominant form of urban mobility. In Rome, poor immigrants “informally” sell merchandise in touristic sites where they also engage in other personal activities outside of working hours. Secondly, we showed that these dynamics 166

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enable the spatial coexistence of diverse groups – people of different classes in HCMC and of different origins in Rome. Both conflicts and opportunities of encounter emerge as diverse people find themselves sharing spaces. We found that different groups brought together by vending engage in complex negotiations – contesting one another’s presence, while also finding ways to live with each other by sharing spaces. Vending and its complementary activities contribute to the vibrancy of the street. More importantly for our argument, they bring together people that would otherwise hardly meet in the city. We draw from this evidence to argue that private uses of public spaces can encourage diverse groups to learn mutual respect as they share space. Scholars who analyze the social and spatial dimensions of street vending especially focus on its insurgent aspects, on vending as a political act of resistance that redefines citizenship. We call for a shift of focus, highlighting that vending is first and foremost a private enterprise, one that elicits and is elicited by other personal uses that individuals make of public spaces. These circumstances call attention to an established and yet generally overlooked aspect: that private, ordinary actions motivated by personal needs and preferences most often bring people together in public space. As they facilitate encounters among strangers, private uses make public spaces.

Notes 1 Rome is home to 385,621 foreigners, who make up 13.4% of its 2.8 million inhabitants (foreigners amount to 8,5% of total population at the national level). Rome’s immigrants doubled since 2000, when they amounted to 6.0% of the total residents (Clacaterra & Cipollone, 2019). 2 Immigration to Italy became statistically significant in the 1990s and has driven political debates on unemployment, national identity, and public security ever since (Ambrosini, 2013). National and city regulations have approved urban regulations on “decorum,” de facto impeding individuals who behave “inappropriately” from accessing historic centers – i.e., national law n. 48/2017, city’s Delibrazione n.47/2018, and the new Urban Police rules approved in June 2019.

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Lofland, L. H. (1998). The public realm: Exploring the city’s quintessential social territory. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Low, S. (2000). On the plaza: The politics of public space and culture. Austin: University of Texas Press. Mateo-Babiano, I. (2016). Indigeneity of transport in developing cities. International Planning Studies, 21(2), 132–147. Miraftab, F. (2011). Right to the city and the quiet appropriations of local space in the heartland. In A. Greeley (Ed.), Remaking urban citizenship. Organizations, institutions, and the right to the city (pp. 1–11). New York, NY: Routledge. Mudu, P. (2006). Patterns of segregation in contemporary Rome. Urban Geography, 25(7), 222–240. Mukhija, V., & Loukaitou-Sideris, A. (2014). The informal American city: Beyond taco trucks and day labor. Boston: MIT Press. Oldenburg, R. (1999). The great good place: Cafes, coffee shops, bookstores, bars, hair salons, and other hangouts at the heart of a community. New York, NY: Marlowe & Company. Purcell, M. (2002). Excavating Lefebvre: The right to the city and its urban politics of the inhabitant. Geojournal, 58(2), 99–108. Rios, M. (2010). Claiming Latino space: Cultural insurgency in the public realm. In J. Hou (Ed.), Insurgent public space (pp. 99–110). New York, NY: Routledge. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Rowe, C., & Koetter, F. (1978.). Collage city. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Sennett, R. (1977). The fall of public man. New York, NY: Knopf. Truitt, A. (2008). On the back of a motorbike: Middle-class mobility in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. American Ethnologist, 35(1), 3–19.

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14 Street scavengers and street culture Ben Stickle

Introduction Across the streets of most North American cities, many people have witnessed but few have experienced ‘street scavengers.’ These individuals earn a subsistence living on the excess and waste of society. This activity dates back hundreds of years (Zimring, 2005), the ever-increasing excess and waste, particularly found within urban areas, have contributed to the recent increase in scavenging. The focus of this chapter is on street scavengers of North America and their shared culture. Although there is literature focused on scavengers in other countries, there are significant differences in activities (i.e., collecting at a ‘dump’ as opposed to traveling along the roadway) and O’Niell and Pacheco-Vega (2014) suggest the specific nuances of scavenging necessitate a country-specific analysis. Researchers have identified that scrappers, scavengers, and freegans have a unique street culture (e.g., Ferrell, 2006; Stickle, 2017). Many others, without calling it a culture, have described a myriad of norms, slang, behaviors, and customs deep-seated among street scavengers (Eighner, 1991; Ashby, Kolak, Prokopas, & Whiteacre, 2012; Serio, 2014; Kohm & Walby, forthcoming). These behaviors create a “separate reality through a distinct set of norms, values, mores, and attitudes that contrast with those of a more significant and more dominant culture” (Miller, Schreck, Tewksbury, & Barnes, 2006, p. 115). As such, street scavengers may be considered a unique subculture. This culture has been forged on the streets and back alleys of urban centers for the last hundred years. There is no shortage of names associated with street scavenging including scrappers, informal recyclers, scavenging, scrounging, urban foraging, dumpster diving, trash pickers, binning, and freegans. Regardless of the name used to describe these persons, they typically engage in these activities daily and share one common goal – to survive from the excess of society. While this similar goal is a central factor that brings together many of these persons into a shared street culture, it is essential also to highlight the primary differences among the groups. The divergence falls along with methods and motivations for each group. The methods are locating, collecting, and using items needed for daily survival (i.e., food, clothing, housing materials) and locating, collecting, and selling items to pay for daily needs (i.e., selling scrap metal). Similarly, the motivation for this lifestyle also demonstrates a stark divide as street scavengers are either willfully living in this fashion due to choice (i.e., Freegans) or because it is necessary to survival (i.e., a homeless person dumpster diving). Although individuals may move within and between each of these four 170

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Selling Using

Method

Street Scavengers

Motivation Necessity

Choice

Scrounger

Freegans

Subsistence Scrappers

Scrapping Professionals

Figure 14.1 Illustration of the key differences among each group and the name commonly used to identify them.

categories and share many commonalities, there are distinct cultural differences within each. Figure 14.1 illustrates the key differences among each group and the name commonly used to identify them. Throughout this chapter, the names in this chart will be used to delineate among the groups while the term ‘street scavengers’ will be used to describe the entire culture. Beyond a few popular media sources and limited scholarly research, there is very little known about street scavengers. The two primary exceptions are Jeff Ferrell, whose book Empire of Scrounge (2006) details his experiences spending eight months living on the streets of Fort Worth, Texas, interacting with scavengers and scrappers. The other exception is my fieldwork (Stickle, 2017) published in a study titled Metal Scrappers and Thieves, which focused exclusively on scrappers and metal thieves interviewed in Louisville, Kentucky. Both studies provide tremendous value to our understanding of this unique and complex culture. Ferrell’s insights are largely free from formal research, analysis, and descriptions preferring instead to, “not seek out nor stage interviews with those I met in the streets, instead of allowing interactions and conversations emerge as they might or might not” (Ferrell, 2006, p. 31). Whereas my work, on the other hand, is focused on observation, participation, and purposeful interviews, which were later analyzed and described through a research perspective. Both of these efforts provide an extensive first-hand account of street scavengers. From these two primary sources and a handful of other works, this chapter will identify and describe the street culture that has developed around street scavengers. Because street scavengers operate in the margins of society, and there are infrequently studied estimates of the number of persons within each group, demographics and other details are challenging to obtain. Therefore, the unique groups identified as scavengers, freegans, subsistence scrappers, and scrapping professionals will be described, highlighting the shared culture and distinguishing features. Afterward, a more extensive look at the street culture concerning place, legality, behaviors, and more provides a cohesive view of street scavenging.

Subsistence scrappers and scrapping professionals Scrapping is “the act of regularly collecting fragmented, damaged, or discarded metal items, which are no longer useful or have not maintained their original value, to recycle them for financial profit” (Stickle, 2017, p. 32). Though other names are applied to these folks, the term scrapper is beneficial because it provides an essential distinction from scavengers and freegans. The primary difference is the type of materials scavenged for and the uses of it. Scrappers do not directly use the materials they locate; instead, they sell to earn money to purchase what they need to live. There is no ‘typical’ scrapper and divisions along the usual lines such as age, gender, education, and race are not good proxies for studying this culture (Kohm & Walby, forthcoming). Preferably, one of the best ways to examine scrappers is to classify them into smaller groups, allowing for a detailed understanding of characteristics, motivations, shared experiences, and relationships with others. Stickle (2017) identified five taxonomies; subsistence scrappers, scrapping professionals, professionals who scrap, philanthropic scrappers, 171

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Figure 14.2 A professional scrapper, who chose to scrap to augment other income, sits at the payment window awaiting cash for the metal just recycled.

and a fifth group, which I argue should not be included in the scrapping culture, metal thieves.1 Of those groups, subsistence scrappers and scrapping professionals function closely within the culture of street scavengers. Subsistence scrappers are “individuals who scrap to earn money for necessities or to supplement a limited income that does not currently meet their needs” (p. 33) and Scrapping Professionals are “individuals who acquire the majority of their income from scrapping” (p. 37). Since both groups use the same method – selling the metal for profit to meet immediate financial needs, the primary difference between these two groups is motivation. Subsistence scrappers collect and sell metal often because there is little else that they can do to earn a living. These individuals are often homeless or live in substandard housing and search by foot or bicycle along the roadways in urban environments for 172

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discarded metal. In other words, subsistence scrappers typically function out of necessity. Whereas scrapping professionals often use vehicles and cover a wide array of places (urban and rural) to search for larger metal items to scrap. Scrapping professionals tend to live at a level slightly above subsistence and often choose to scrap in order to augment other income.

Scroungers Following the extensive fieldwork by Ferrell (2006, 2014, 2015), scrounging can be described as a daily process of searching for and reclaiming discarded food, clothing, electronics, and other items. Typically, this occurs out of necessity and these items are used to support daily living and infrequently results in selling items recovered for profit. There is a variety of terms for this behavior such as dumpster divers, urban foragers, binning, and more, and the essential distinguishing characteristic is the personal use of recovered items, rather than selling them for profit. Similar to scrappers, Eikenberry and Smith (2005), in a study of 396 urban dumpster divers, found no significant demographic differences among a dumpster diver’s education, governmental financial assistance, or race, but did find that they were more likely to be male and have a yearly income of less than $10,000. Some scroungers function in this lifestyle for long periods, whereas others forage only between jobs. Further, they discovered that contrary to popular opinions, the majority had completed high school, and only about half were homeless (Eikenberry & Smith, 2005). Most scroungers live at a subsistence level in society and use the items they find to support themselves. This often occurs by gathering food, clothing, and other items used to sustain them. For example, scroungers frequently rifle through trash set out by the road for pre-scheduled bulk waste collection by a city or search inside large dumpsters at business and restaurants – finding the food needed for that day and perhaps the next, a better pair of shoes, or a book for later enjoyment (see photo following). It is common for scroungers to leave behind surplus items they discover that are in good condition in a prominent location for other scroungers (Shantz, 2005; Vinegar, Parker,  & McCourt, 2016). For example, Eighner (1991) described how a scrounger who found a new pair of shoes that were not his size left the pair on top of the dumpster so that other scroungers could easily find them because “a true scavenger hates to see good stuff go to waste and what he cannot use he leaves in good condition in plain sight” (p. 7).

Freegans While sharing many similarities with scroungers, freegans are individuals who choose to live an alternative lifestyle based on “limited participation in the conventional economy” (Moré, 2011, p.  1), which frequently leads to scavenging for food and other essential items needed to survive. This group has drawn more interest in recent years than scrappers and scroungers. This is likely because of the extreme living style that results from a deliberate choice to live in this manner. As a result, society is confounded by freegans, many of whom leave a middle- or upper-class lifestyle to dumpster dive to find food and other essential items needed to live. Freegans like scroungers and scrappers have a wide variety of demographics that can make them difficult to describe. However, since freegans choose to live a life on the street shunning ordinary cultural achievements, they often represent middle- to upper-class persons. Freegans choose to actively leave the norms of society and live off the excess of society often for ideological motivations. In other words, eschewing capitalism, consumerism, and other features of ‘modern’ culture, freegans live a purposeful lifestyle that is truly counter-cultural. It is precisely this ideological motivation that is the significant distinction between scroungers and scrappers. Some may scavenge out of necessity, but most freegans are concerned over the environmental impact of waste and are often part of a broader ideology of radical nonconsumption (Shantz, 2005). Primarily due to these political and moral beliefs, freegans tend to function more often as a group (e.g., living and scrounging together in a small, 173

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Figure 14.3 A makeshift ladder is used to access this dumpster.

tight-knit community often in abandoned buildings or outdoor camps) than scrappers and scroungers. Freegans are also more vocal about their chosen lifestyle and culture, which may account for some of the increased attention toward freegans in the research literature.

Street culture: the edges of society Regardless of whether a person is identified as a freegan, scrounger, subsistence scrapper, or professional scrapper, they all operate on the edges of society. These edges occur along legal boundaries and outside of what the majority of society may consider acceptable behavior in action, cleanliness, and safety. Mainly because of these activities, street scavengers find themselves marginalized by society, including the local 174

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community, politicians, business owners, and police. Often these strained interactions influence the development and continuation of the shared street culture.

A dirty job Street scavenging is a dirty and potentially dangerous job. The daily activities engaged in by scavengers and freegans may range from rummaging in the trash on the curb to climbing inside dumpsters; both activities subject them to dangers ranging from exposure to diseases to illness from rodents and other small animals to eating rotten or contaminated food. To avoid these dangers, many street scavengers take steps to reduce their exposure. For example, some scroungers and freegans use poles to poke around dumpsters before climbing inside, and others take particular caution to avoid ingesting spoiled food by only eating processed foods (Eikenberry & Smith, 2005). These techniques are often learned from experience or passed down from others. However, these very acts – climbing inside a dumpster – are often reasons for society to shun and avoid street scavengers. This avoidance serves to enhance the culture among street scavengers as they depend on others who ‘accept’ their behavior, which may serve to exacerbate the marginalization they experience. The danger of street scavenging also extends to scrappers who are at increased risk from injuries related to falls, cuts, and exposure to asbestos (Gutberlet, Tremblay, Taylor, & Divakarannair, 2009). Working with old metal often leads to minor injuries, which if untreated, could lead to wounds that are more serious, such as infections or tetanus. It is also common for a professional scrapper to advertise, with handmade signs, services to ‘clean out’ an old house, overgrown property, abandoned structure, or another area in exchange for keeping the metal they discover. These activities expose them to the potential for significant harm with uneven or unfamiliar terrain and deteriorating buildings. For this and other reasons, it is common for professional scrappers to work in teams and use gloves and other equipment to keep themselves safe (Stickle, 2017). Not only are street scavengers at risk for an injury, but their foraging activities may leave them dirty and smelly. As a result, much of society shuns street scavengers. For instance, Marie Seriro (2014), who

Figure 14.4 Dangers abound as scrappers search for the metal in this collapsing building covered in snow. 175

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Figure 14.5 Handmade signs are frequently used on vehicles and posted around neighborhoods indicating interest in collecting unwanted items. This scrapper has ‘grabbers’ in the bed of the truck ready to be used when searching in dumpsters.

authored an autobiography of her experiences as a professional scrapper after losing a job, described how she was looked down upon by society due to her actions and her filthy appearance, which enhanced a positive relationship with other scrappers. This cyclical process, society shuns, therefore, street scavengers cling together, reinforces the cultural norms shared by scavengers.

Quasi-illegal Another aspect of street scavenging that pushes scavengers to the shadows within society is the questionable legal status of this activity, and the reputation, within popular media and by police, scavengers have as drug users or criminals (Stickle, 2017). The legality of street scavenging activities varies significantly by legal jurisdiction. In some cities, scavenging along the roadway is a violation of the local ordinance. Further, to some degree, dumpster diving may violate local laws if street scavengers are trespassing on private property. However, even if the activities are quasi-illegal, some suggest that scavengers should not be guilty of theft because of the benefit they provide (Brisman, 2010; Thomas, 2010). These legal gray areas (i.e., trespassing to acquire garbage) and the negative social stereotypes are often reasons why scrappers have a cultural norm of, ‘ask first,’ which helps avoid legally questionable actions (Stickle, 2017; Kohm & Walby, forthcoming). However, since scrappers operate on the edges and margins of society, the circumstances of when to ask are not always clear. For example, Ashby, Kolak, Prokopas, and Whiteacre (2012) describe the struggle scrappers experienced trying to determine what is intended for 176

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garbage and what the owner intends to keep. They described a “marginal or grey-area theft” (p. 364) that often occurred even when that was not the intention of the scrapper. The legal gray area is a struggle that other researchers (Ferrell, 2006; Stickle, 2017) have observed where it can be challenging to determine what is ‘free for the taking’ and what is not. To avoid this quasi-illegal status, many street scavengers have developed a positive relationship with businesses (Gutberlet et al., 2009). Expressly, among freegans, developing relationships with local business and being granted permission, and in some cases, keys to a dumpster that is normally locked to keep unauthorized persons out. Even when street scavengers are not operating within the gray area of legal trespass or theft, the image among many in society is that they are drug users looking for funds for their next high. This image appears to cut across society and includes many politicians, business owners, and police. However prevalent this societal image of scrappers, freegans, and scroungers may be, it is not entirely accurate. Neither Ferrell (2006) nor I (Stickle, 2017) identify drug usage as a primary motivator for street scavenging. Instead, street scavengers may be using these activities to transition from a life of drug usage and other illegal activities. Boyd et al. (2018), for example, conducted interviews with street scavengers and found many were using scrapping to support themselves as they moved from higher risk and illegal activities such as drug sales and sex work toward noncriminal or low-risk behavior. In many cases, it appears that scrapping and scavenging may be used to help individuals leave risky and criminal behavior, yet society fails to recognize this effort and further marginalizes them (Tremblay, Gutberlet, & Peredo, 2010). Further bolstering this concept is a study by Ashenmiller (2010) who found that cities that had a deposit-refund for bottles and cans experienced a lower rate, on average 11%, of petty theft than communities without a deposit-refund did. Society, police, and politicians may unnecessarily focus on street scavengers with the misinformed opinion that these individuals are engaging in crime or using the profits for crimes. However, street scavenging typically falls within a gray area of quasi-illegal activities of the informal economy. Further, many street scavengers may be using the income gained from these activities to supplement their income and provide a method to leave higher risk activities such as prostitution, drug dealing, and theft (Gowan, 1997; Müller, 2012).

The fringes of society Street scavenging tends to occur in urban areas. There may be many reasons for this, but a primary factor is a proximity to abundant sources of societal waste. In other words, it is easier for scavengers to move from dumpster to dumpster searching for eatable food, suitable clothing, discarded metal, and other useful items in densely populated areas rather than in rural areas. In a study of nearly 800 participants in Minnesota, Eikenberry and Smith (2005) found that urban rates of dumpster diving for food were significantly higher than in rural areas. It is also likely that inner-city areas are also home to more street scavengers, who tend to be homeless or more impoverished than most of society. Therefore, it is natural that they would scavenge in areas around where they reside. Street scavenging occurs on the fringes of society, in other words, in the alleyways, along back streets, and in desolate places of inner cities. These are the places that few in society visit, but are the lifeblood to scavenging. It is around these areas that street culture is developed when scavengers meet one another. However, street scavengers do not remain in the shadows for all of society. Often there is a portion of the population that views their actives; some with disdain, but others with pity or curiosity. Ferrell (2006) describes how, in some instances, people observing him pick through their trash at the road would shew him away, while others would offer to bring out more. At businesses and homes that had regular waste, which scavengers returned to, many individuals developed a casual relationship with the scavengers. In other situations, some people help substance scrappers by transporting more substantial items, allowing them to use a government-issued ID at the scrap yard (if required by law), or even collecting metal to give 177

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to substance scrappers. Ashby et al. (2012) described how the scrappers they studied were an essential part of the communities where they scrapped, developing relationships with others who scrapped and the community members where they collected metal.

Cohesive community Scrappers, scroungers, and freegans are part of a broader community of street scavengers. As such, there is a great deal of cultural similarity among them. They often share similar argot, knowledge of the city, living conditions, methods of survival, and more. Generally, each of these groups functions well in the same place together (Muller, 2012). However, some unique aspects of each group deserve attention. Subsistence scrappers tend to search for abandoned metal independently. Indeed, many avoid one another if they see another scrapper nearby by moving to the other side of the road or passing up a dumpster if someone is already inside. However, this does not mean that they are not part of a tight-knight community. Many substance scrappers know each other, and some may even share a living space. Subsistence scrappers tend to support one another and often assist when needed. Similarly, professional scrappers who collect and recycle metal by choice to supplement their income also know each other. During my study of scrappers (Stickle, 2017), I found that professional scrappers were more likely to operate in teams, as the help was needed for larger items such as discarded appliances and because it was quicker for one person to drive, while the other would scan the neighborhood for metal and quickly examine the junk pile for potential metal. Since subsistence scrappers and professional scrappers share a similar knowledge base, technique, and informal rules, the two groups often functioned together when there was a need. For example, it was typical for a subsistence scrapper to phone a friend who was a professional scrapper and had a vehicle to help transport a significant find of metal and for professional scrappers to give some metal to the subsistence scrappers who were in desperate financial need. Scroungers, on the other hand, do not always get along with scrappers (Eighner, 1991). The cause of this discord may be more to do with the goods collected and the ideologies than with cultural differences. For example, scroungers survive off the food and items they locate, while scrappers resell items for money. Therefore, scroungers may become disillusioned when a scrapper steps on a box of food or spills liquid onto clothing while searching for metal. Scroungers tend to be more protective of all the items of potential use, and thus, a variance can occur when someone is just looking for metal. However, as mentioned prior, scavengers and freegans are also considerate of others. They rarely take more then they need and often left behind excess in a prominent location or share with others in need. The ‘take only what you need’ norm aligns a prevailing cultural norm of the importance of not continuing to waste what society has already wasted (Vinegar et al., 2016). An interesting concept that tends to further the cohesive community among scrappers, scroungers, and freegans is the enjoyment and benefit they see in their activities. Many street scavengers identify their activities as supportive of the environment (Brisman, 2010; Serio, 2014; Chohaney, Yeager, Gatrell,  & Nemeth, 2016; Stickle, 2017; Boyd et al., 2018). Further, many street scavengers also describe these activities as fun or enjoyable (Shantz, 2005, p. 17). Dumpster divers described their activities as fun and “provides an enjoyable social activity as it is typically done collectively” (Shantz, 2005, p. 17). This may be particularly true for those who participate in the practice not out of necessity but by choice (e.g., freegans), who may describe the solidarity and community that is developed during these activities (Shantz, 2005). This should not, however, be interpreted as all street scavengers enjoy their lifestyle, but that a certain satisfaction comes from what they do and the partnerships that develop.

Learning to scavenge Although some persons may choose to enter the street scavenging culture (i.e., professional scrappers and freegans), most initially feel that scrounging, dumpster diving, and similar activities were unacceptable 178

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behavior. However, a turning point, often a financial need or a temporary experience of homelessness, forced them to scavenge. As a result, the scavenging continued as long as there was a need and over time, the scavengers perception of their activity gradually changed (Eikenberry & Smith, 2005). In other words, street scavenging may begin as a necessity and may desist until the next need or may develop into an enjoyable cultural lifestyle that is sought-after even after the immediate need is met. Eighner (1991, p. 7) identified the stages a person goes through in learning to scavenge. First, a “new scavenger is filled with disgust and self-loathing. He is ashamed of being seen and may lurk around, trying to duck behind things.” He explains that the first stage passes with experience and the scrounger passes into the second stage as, “he begins to understand people do throw away perfectly good stuff, a lot of perfectly good stuff.” It is at this second stage that the shyness, self-loathing, and disgust begin to dissipate. Moreover, at this point, the dumpster diver begins to feel those not involved are the foolish ones as he finds “all manner of good things which are his for the taking.” Extending the concept of a community and culture of street scavengers is the method often used to learn the skills of scrapping and scrounging. The street culture of scavenging has developed over time and is usually learned either firsthand through experience or taught by a close friend or relative who introduces an individual to street scavenging (Eighner, 1991; Stickle, 2017). Another scavenger usually teaches the most successful street scavengers. Learning involves where to search, what to look for, methods to collect the items and more. While these techniques are taught to the new scavenger the cultural norms, behaviors, and jargon are passed down completing the cyclical nature of street culture, whereby scavengers influence other scavengers and culture is developed.

Taking place in street culture Street scavenging, as the name implies, occurs on the streets of society. Along with the traveled areas of society, but also among the less-traveled areas such as alleyways and abandoned buildings. Understanding these places  – in this case, urban places  – is essential to understanding the culture (Ross, 2018). The environment that scrapping and scrounging take place in influences the development of the street scavenger culture. For example, after recording a documentary video on professional scrappers, Ashby et al. (2012) describe how a culture is built around the place and questionable legal status commenting, In many ways, one cannot isolate post-industrial spaces from cultural fascination, because space (both physical and psychological space) begets cultural expression. It follows on the trend of the natural order that from ruin comes creation. As the industry moves out, space once occupied then opens. . . . These new shifting spaces also open opportunities for new deviance and crime and the inevitable conflicts over how they are defined. (p. 358) While these comments were mainly focused on scrappers in the remains of the northern rust belt in the early 2000s, a similar statement could be made about freegans and scavengers (see Parizeau, 2017). When a society abandons property or a place and others move in to fill the void and reclaim what was abandoned, it creates an unsteady variance between those who come in and the ones who left – or at least the ones left behind to govern. The result can be positive or negative depending on how society views and defines the actions that occur as positive or negative. Many individuals active in the street scavenging culture report increased adverse police contact during their activities and other efforts by individuals or cities to limit their informal opportunities (Boyd et al., 2018), such as locking dumpsters, requiring licenses to sell metal – which many subsistence persons may not have – arresting trespassers, purposely spoiling food, installing cameras, and using razor wire around dumpsters (Ferrell, 2006; Mitchell  & Heynen, 2009). Monahan 179

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(2017) argues that many of these actions to increase surveillance and encourage policing of street activities results in the criminalization of poverty. These negative actions by the wider community further alienate the street culture and enhance the development of shared culture to confront these challenges. Through experience and instruction from other street scavengers, many find the most rewarding places and times to search for unwanted items. The place will vary by what is being sought. For example, subsistence scrappers and scrapping professionals tend to focus on industrial areas, among old structures, and around businesses that have significant scrap metal (e.g., mechanic shops). Whereas freegans tend to focus on food and often seek out specific stores that may dispose of wanted items near the end of the day. For example, Moré (2011) found that freegans would purposely seek unwanted food from organic restaurants and grocery stores. Finally, scroungers, while on the whole less discriminating, also knew where to find the items they needed. Eighner (1991), reflecting on his urban foraging experiences, described how he frequently scrounged in areas “inhabited by many affluent college students,” explaining, I am not here by chance; the dumpsters in this area are very rich. Students throw out many good things. In particular, they tend to throw everything out when they move at the end of a semester, before and after breaks, and around midterm when many of them despair of college. So I find it advantageous to keep an eye on the academic calendar. (p. 6) As is evident by professional scrappers who know the bulk waste pick up dates and routs of a city waste collection service, scroungers who know the academic schedule of a local university, and the freegans who purposely seek out a daily supply of organic food, street scavengers share a developed knowledge of the street. Of all the norms and customs among street scavengers, the concept of ownership may be the most transparent and consistent across subsistence scrappers, professional scrappers, scroungers, and freegans. A clear and consistent cultural norm exists that the first to sort through a dumpster or trash pile has unofficial first rights to those items until they are finished searching (Eighner, 1991; Ferrell, 2006; Serio, 2014; Savio, 2017; Stickle, 2017). While the first freegan, for example, in a dumpster may allow others to search with him, this only occurs with the approval of the first to arrive. Generally, street scavengers are conflict averse, and it is rare for disputes to arise over the property (Kohm & Walby, forthcoming). What is more, this ‘claim’ to a place only lasts as long as the scrounger is present. While it is common for a sense of ownership or proprietary feelings about specific places to develop among scroungers (Eighner, 1991), these feeling do not seem to translate into adverse actions toward other scroungers when violations of this norm occur. Based on extensive fieldwork with scrappers, Kohm and Walby (forthcoming) have termed the development of social norms for decision making the ‘law of the lane’ and believe that the “norms for decisionmaking can emerge organically or spontaneously in particular locales. The law of the lane is a fluid, normative, negotiated order that metal collectors themselves constitute without recourse to police or more formal types of law” (pp forthcoming). This concept rests squarely on the concept of living law (Nelken, 1984) and supports the findings by other authors (Ferrell, 2006; Stickle, 2017) that a culture, often driven by place, is developed over time and shared among the community who engages in scavenging.

Conclusion Regardless of the method or motives for street scavengers, nearly all street scavengers share essential cultural norms and behaviors. These are formed and perpetuated by the places scavenging occurs, the societal views of scavengers, and the questionable legal status of these activities. Combined, this leads to a thriving street culture historically positioned within most cities across North America and growing as society increases the waste it produces and the changing way places within cities are used (Reno, 2009).

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Unfortunately, much of the wider society has a negative view of individuals who participate in this culture. Reasons for entering the street scavenging culture are often the result of barriers to formal economy. For example, health-related issues (i.e., injury, disability), substance use-related issues, discriminatory barriers (i.e., race, age, sex), criminal backgrounds (i.e., stigma associated with past behavior, licensing requirements), need to supplement a social assistance system (i.e., income caps or inadequate assistance) (Boyd et al., 2018). Because of these barriers, people look to street scavenging to subsist. Commonly, scavengers are not the criminals and drug users as frequently portrayed by media, police, and public officials. Instead they serve a valuable service to society (i.e., recycling unwanted items and cleaning up the environment) and use scavenging to work their way out of risky lifestyles, criminal behaviors, or disadvantaged circumstances. Not only is more research necessary to understand and examine the street scavenger culture, but an increase in awareness to the broader culture is also vital to highlight the positive benefits that scroungers, subsistence scrappers, freegans, and professional scrappers bring to the broader street culture they live within.

Note 1 Building on extensive fieldwork with scrappers and metal thieves, I argue that thieves maintain differing norms, customs, values, and codes of behavior from scrappers and therefore should not be considered scrappers. For a detailed analysis, see Stickle (2017, pp. 73–77). Also see Kohm and Walby (forthcoming).

References Ashby, B., Kolak, B., Prokopas, C., & Whiteacre, K. (2012). Ruin porn, documentary, and metal theft: An interview with the co-directors of Scrappers. Crime, Media, Culture, 8(3), 355–369. Ashenmiller, B. (2010). Externalities from recycling laws: Evidence from crime rates.  American Law and Economics Review, 12(1), 245–261. Boyd, J., Richardson, L., Anderson, S., Kerr, T., Small, W., & McNeil, R. (2018). Transitions in income generation among marginalized people who use drugs: A qualitative study on recycling and vulnerability to violence. International Journal of Drug Policy, 59, 36–43. Brisman, A. (2010). The indiscriminate criminalization of environmentally beneficial actives. In R. White (Ed.), Global environmental harm: Criminological perspectives (pp. 161–192). Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. Chohaney, M. L., Yeager, C. D., Gatrell, J. D., & Nemeth, D. J. (2016). Poverty, sustainability, & metal recycling: Geovisualizing the case of scrapping as a sustainable urban industry in Detroit. In Urban sustainability: Policy and praxis (pp. 99–133). New York, NY: Springer. Eighner, L. (1991). On dumpster diving. The Threepenny Review, (47), 6–8. Eikenberry, N., & Smith, C. (2005). Attitudes, beliefs, and prevalence of dumpster diving as a means to obtain food by Midwestern, low-income, urban dwellers. Agriculture and Human Values, 22(2), 187–202. Ferrell, J. (2006). Empire of scrounge: Inside the urban underground of dumpster diving, trash picking, and street scavenging. New York, NY: NYU Press. Ferrell, J. (2014). Scrounging and reclaiming. In M. Parker, G. Cheney, V. Fournier, & C. Land (Eds.), The routledge companion to alternative organization (pp. 295–307). Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. Ferrell, J. (2015). Drift: A criminology of the contemporary crisis. Radical Criminology, 5(1), 139–168. Gowan, T. (1997). American untouchables: Homeless scavengers in San Francisco’s underground economy. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 17(3/4), 159–190. Gutberlet, J., Tremblay, C., Taylor, E., & Divakarannair, N. (2009). Who are our informal recyclers? An inquiry to uncover crisis and potential in Victoria, Canada. Local Environment, 14(8), 733–747. Kohm, S., & Walby, K. (forthcoming). Metal at urban margins: Regulating scrap metal collecting in Winnipeg, Canada. Canadian Journal of Urban Research. Miller, J. M., Schreck, C. J., Tewksbury, R. A., & Barnes, J. C. (2006). Criminological theory: A brief introduction. Boston, MA: Pearson and Allyn & Bacon.

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Mitchell, D., & Heynen, N. (2009). The geography of survival and the right to the city: Speculations on surveillance, legal innovation, and the criminalization of intervention. Urban Geography, 30(6), 611–632. Monahan, T. (2017). Regulating belonging: Surveillance, inequality, and the cultural production of abjection. Journal of Cultural Economy, 10(2), 191–206. Moré, V. C. (2011). Dumpster dinners: An ethnographic study of freeganism. Journal for Undergraduate Ethnography, 1(1), 43–55. Müller, T. (2012). The empire of scrounge meets the warm city: Danger, civility, cooperation and community among strangers in the urban public world. Critical Criminology, 20(4), 447–461. Nelken, D. (1984). Law in action or living law? Back to the beginning in sociology of law 1.  Legal studies,  4(2), 157–174. O’Neill, K., & Pacheco-Vega, R. (2014). Exploring models of electronic wastes governance in the United States and Mexico: Recycling, risk, and environmental justice. In International studies association annual conference (pp. 1–20). Toronto, Canada: International Studies Association. Parizeau, K. (2017). Witnessing urban change: Insights from informal recyclers in vancouver, BC. Urban Studies, 54(8), 1921–1937. Reno, J. (2009). Your trash is someone’s treasure: The politics of value at a Michigan landfill. Journal of Material Culture, 14(1), 29–46. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15(1) 7–13. Savio, G. (2017). Organization and stigma management: A comparative study of dumpster divers in New York. Sociological Perspectives, 60(2), 416–430. Serio, M. (2014). Scrap book turning trash into cash. Prospect, CT: Biographical Publishing Company. Shantz, J. (2005). One person’s garbage  .  .  . Another person’s treasure: Dumpster diving, freeganism, and anarchy. Verb, 3(1), 9–19. Stickle, B. F. (2017). Metal scrappers and thieves: Scavenging for survival and profit. New York, NY: Springer. Thomas, S. (2010). Do freegans commit theft? Legal Studies, 30(1), 98–125. Tremblay, C., Gutberlet, J.,  & Peredo, A. M. (2010). United we can: Resource recovery, place, and social enterprise. Resources, Conservation and Recycling, 54(7), 422–428. Vinegar, R., Parker, P., & McCourt, G. (2016). More than a response to food insecurity: Demographics and social networks of urban dumpster divers. Local Environment, 21(2), 241–253. Zimring, C. A. (2005). Cash for your trash: Scrap recycling in America. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

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15 Street life and masculinities Christopher W. Mullins and Daniel R. Kavish

Introduction Interest in street life has deep roots in North American social sciences, with many classic works in anthropology, criminology, and sociology being grounded in ethnographic research in the streets of US cities and the cultural variations found there (Thrasher, 1927; Shaw, 1930; Whyte, 1943; Cohen, 1955; Gans, 1962; Liebow, 1967). In these early studies, concerns about masculinities are an implicit over explicit concern, though authors and informants often talk about the experiences of men in street life contexts (e.g., Cohen titles his book Delinquent Boys, while both Shaw and Liebow’s books have the words “men” or “boy” in their subtitles, and Whyte’s dedication is to “the corner boys of cornerville” (1943, p. vi). Subsequent work has similarly directly or indirectly highlighted the dominating role of gender in street life subcultures and its nearly ubiquitous relevance (see, for example, MacLeod, 1987; Messerschmidt, 1993, 1997, 2014; Bourgois, 1995; Maher, 1997; Anderson, 1999; Duneier, 1999; Mullins, 2006). While numerous definitions of “street life” exist, most are focused on the subcultural nature of an alternative set of values and norms and lives on, and defines, the streets and behaviors that predominate there. Thus, street life has normative, ideological, and geographic elements. Ross’ (2018, p. 2) recent definition synthesizes prior views seeing that “street culture is basically the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers” (emphasis in original). As others have noted, there is an oppositional nature to street life, framed as a result of geographic and socioeconomic separation and segregation (i.e., Cohen, 1955; Anderson, 1999). The multiple marginalizations that produce street life refract mainstream norms into the specific configuration found on the streets. This refraction of neoliberalism’s hyper capitalist focus on social status is displayed via conspicuous consumption and fusion of street capital and masculinities. Many of the concerns of mainstream masculinity are seen in street life: independence, competency, economic earnings, strength, and the provision of protection and support (Connell, 1995, 2002; Kimmel, 1996). Yet, the resources available on the streets are different and the ways in which capital is obtained and maintained are a product of this context. In the absence of those forms of capital – financial, human, personal, reputational, and social – preferred by mainstream cultural norms, another key association between street life and masculinity emerges: criminality. Not all men who participate in street life to greater or lesser

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degrees engage in criminal behavior; but street life shares geographic and cultural space with the higher levels of crime found in urban communities, especially those with greater levels of concentrated disadvantage (Shaw & McKay, 1942; Wilson, 1987, 1996; Jencks & Peterson, 1991; Sampson, Raudenbush, & Earl, 1997). This juxtapositioning creates real and symbolic linkages. On the streets individual, and masculine, reputation takes on an impermanence. It is only as strong as one’s response to the last reputational challenge. As Messerschmidt points out (1993, pp. 119–120): “men exhibit unique types of public masculinities that are situationally accomplished by drawing on different forms of youth crime . . . public arenas such as the school and street are lush with gendered meanings and signals that evoke various styles of masculinity.” Simply, crime is a resource to “do masculinity” Gender is structural and performative (West  & Zimmerman, 1987, 2009; Connell, 2002). Expectations, privileges, constraints, and allowances are all situated in a social structure produced in a unique historical context. Yet, masculinities and femininities are constructed and reconstructed via social interaction between social actors who embody and reproduce the socio-historical structures. Gender is by its nature pluralistic and hierarchical. In any society, there are multiple ways of being male or female; genders vary by context, status, and agency and have differential access to capitals. We follow the work of Connell (1995, 2002) in suggesting that gender hierarchies are better understood via reference to a contextual hegemonic masculinity that dominates and orders other gendered roles and expressions within a given social environment. Any given hegemonic masculinity will construct subordinate masculinities and emphasized femininities in reference to itself. Subcultures are often not fully independent of the mainstream societies within which they are embedded. Those that evolve within a broader society and in response to elements of social rejection and marginalization will not completely abandon and then remake structural foundations; the various social forces and pressures that catalyze the development of a subculture will lead to a refraction of mainstream norms and cultural forms via the lens of the derivative formation. Concerns of mainstream masculinities are recognizable within street life, though it is sharply attuned to the available resources and meaningful local contestations. Despite marked shifts in the experiences and expressions of femininities in the US over the past half-century, many core elements of hegemonic mainstream masculinity have remained largely stable. Within working- and middle-class contexts, breadwinning masculinities remain hegemonic; men are valued and judged by their ability to obtain economic resources often in support of a family. Employment, marriage, fatherhood, and home ownership all form key masculine capitals that adult men in these contexts use to establish and demonstrate masculinity. Though there are key differences in how a given family and internal family interaction dynamics may be structured, men of most class strata get the lion’s share of their gender capital from these resources. Strength, independence, competency, and even aggression via competition are all writ into one’s socio-occupational status and serve as key masculine capitals. On the streets, stable, career employment, educational credentials, and other pathways to breadwinning are harder to come by. Increasingly widespread collateral consequences from mass incarceration exasperate this situation in most urban minority communities (Clear, 2008) by erecting additional barriers to work. Street masculinity is shaped around alternative ways to show independence, strength, competency, and aggression/competition. Much current literature exploring street masculinity (Messerschmidt, 1993, 1997, 2014; Mullins, 2006) focuses on criminal masculinity and its facilitation by and demonstration within street life contexts. Indeed, crime and criminality have been a strong component of street life and street capital, as we will explore later. Yet, there are noncriminal masculinity performances, which have received less attention but are nonetheless central to street life and its performance. There are many overlapping scripts and symbolisms within and between criminal and noncriminal masculinities on the streets. The remainder of this chapter will explore the nature and meanings of masculinities in street life social environments and networks. It now shifts toward the exploration of street masculinities that rely heavily on criminal capital; it then focuses on noncriminal street masculinities.

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Criminal masculinities and the streets A large portion of the crime and masculinity literature has focused on street life norms and situations. This reflects their coexistence. Street life has largely developed in response to the multiple marginalizations of life in urban areas, the same urban areas that have disproportionally high rates of crime and criminality. Crime, be it expressive or acquisitive, develops in part in response to the same social forces that stimulate the development of subcultural values and orientations. Crime is a way to specifically and visibly embody the resistance which is at the core of street life subculture and it is also an alternative way to obtain capitals that can be of critical importance to masculinity construction. Messerschmidt (1993, 1997, 2014) was one of the first scholars to examine the intersections of masculinities and crime at length. While he links crime to issues of power and domination among men of multiple race and class positions, in addressing specific forms of street crime he creates a link between crime and the construction masculinities distinctly connected to street life. He identifies three masculinities within a street context that rely on crime as a form of masculine capital: the pimp, the hustler, and the badass. Messerschmidt emphasizes how these gendered positions are strongly shaped by race and class as well. Thus these masculinities emerge at the intersection of urban street life, the US African American experience, and the urban working class. In a case study of Malcom X, Messerschmidt (1997, 2014) highlights the role of street culture, specifically zoot-suit subculture, in Malcom’s formation of an oppositional masculinity during his teen years in Boston. Zoot suiters were positioned as the hegemonic masculinity among street-orientated working-class African Americans. Conspicuous consumption of clothes (the eponymous zoot suits) and other fashion elements (i.e., for Malcolm, died and straightened hair) show attachment to a specific set of attitudes and social circles as well as the possession of resources to be spent on the non-ordinary attire. Later, Malcolm added criminality to his zoot-suit hipster persona to further “reject legitimate work and to privilege ‘fast money’ and leisure” (1997, p. 53). Robbery and burglary became additional tools to earn masculine capital, something later scholars highlight. One acquires masculine capital from the earnings of these crimes, but also from the elements of character exhibited by engaging in them. Successful crime participation shows courage, toughness, risk taking, and exhibits a criminal competency. Doing crime is doing gender in this context. While this dynamic is not limited to street life subcultures, indeed, it is present to some extent in adolescent male circles across western societies, due to the lack of other sources of capital – during adolescence and later in life – it can take on increased salience in the lives of men embedded in such street culture. Messerschmidt (1993) explores how pimps situationally accomplish a deviant masculinity enmeshed in the streets via the domination of women. Following Miller (1986), historically pimps were the hegemonic masculinity of street life gender hierarchies. Pimps earned money and social capital by controlling a group of women engaged in sex work. He managed the women and their monies. He was disciplinarian and protector – a clear intensification of mainstream masculine household responsibilities as refracted through street norms. As with zoot suiters, expensive clothing and flashy jewelry are the norm, visibly showing the pimps ability to acquire financial resources. “Lacking other avenues and opportunities for accomplishing gender, the pimp-life style is a survival strategy that is exciting and rewarding for them as men” (Messerschmidt, 1993, p. 122, emphasis added). The gendered position is grounded in the domination of women and thus exhibiting their superiority over other men who must labor in varying working-class jobs for earnings. Katz’s phenomenology of violence (1988) picks up on the same gendered elements discussed so far. In discussing the “ways of the badass,” Katz explores the phenomenology of empowerment felt in robbery and assault. The visceral experience of dominating others becomes a central motivation behind such criminal acts, but the potentiality, and actuality, of engaging in such behavior becomes part of a distinctly masculinized presentation self-adopted in street life environs. Key masculine traits such as independence, toughness, competence, and superiority are all embodied within armed robbery and physical assault. This raw

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experience gets culturally attached via masculinities to other forms of gendered dominance and aggression. For example, Messerschmidt ties the pimp’s use of violence as discipline against the women they control as a strong manifestation of male dominance that not only exhibits their power to the women in their network, but to other men on the street. This capital is drawn upon by men in street contexts in general who use such violence to establish and enhance their reputations as men in street networks. Anderson’s (1999) work touches on this dynamic in his discussion of the code of the streets. The street code that Anderson (1999) describes operating on the streets of Philadelphia emphasizes toughness and domination embodied in “juice” – the amount of reputation one has on the streets. This reputation is built based upon how one responds to challenges to one’s reputation and integrity. A challenge must be met with violence, even if unsuccessful, if one’s reputation is to be maintained. Failure elicits challenges from others in the community, as they try to enhance their “juice” by taking it from others. As Anderson (1999, p. 306) explains, “[T]he code of the street says . . . that each person will test the next person . . . people who survive respond by showing their tough sides. If they can do that, they are left alone.” Hegemonic masculinity amongst those embedded in street life is grounded in real and potential violence, of showing “heart,” and of physically establishing a place for one’s self in the street hierarchy. This too is a refraction of mainstream norms about masculinity, toughness, and independence. While by no means are such ideals limited to street culture, there is an enhanced value or meaning placed on personal reputation in this context as there are fewer available capitals to draw upon in masculinity construction. Mullins and Wright (2003), Mullins, Wright, and Jacobs (2004), and Mullins (2006), drawing upon qualitative interviews with active offenders in a midwestern rust belt city, examines how crime shapes masculinity in street life social networks and how masculinity shapes crime. He identified a form of hegemonic masculinity he termed “street masculinity” that is defined in opposition to traditional and deviant femininities and subordinate masculinities. Following work discussed previously, here violence also plays a central role in establishing and maintaining masculine capital on the streets. Additionally, street masculinity in this context was based on several key pillars in addition to the types of violent reputation maintenance discussed earlier: establishing one’s independence from others (in all social contexts), trusting no one in the street context, crime-as-work, and a profound sense of fatalism. “Real” men could, and should, stand on their own. Reliance on others was typically seen as a weakness that could undercut you at any time. Such independence also extended to one’s romantic relationships – women were heavily objectified and seen as objects for the satisfaction of sexual desire and little else. Ties to others reduced one’s freedom and tied one down into networks of obligation and responsibility. The common view that one should trust nobody on the streets highlighted and reinforced the masculine emphasis on independence and separation because, as one of the interviewees explicitly put it, “every motherfucker gonna punk you.” Independence from others often translated into independence from legitimate work; regular jobs were seen as undesirable not only because they were perceived as paying too little, but because they put you under the control of other people – who would gain control over what you did and when you did it. Thus, independence and competence were exhibited through successful criminal careers. The precariousness and inherent danger in street life were supported through a pervading fatalism which, despite an overarching insistence upon demonstrating mastery and control in one’s life, suggested that ultimately one’s fate was out of one’s hands. Almost all of the interviewees readily acknowledged that they would eventually end up dead or in prison due to their street embeddedness; it was something coldly acknowledged as fact. It wasn’t a question of “if ” but of “when” and the forces behind determining the “when” were seen as unpredictable and uncontrollable. Those men who failed to live up to the demands of street masculinity were labeled as “punks” by those men who did. Often, the use of this label was a way to either dismiss someone as soft or feminine – someone who could be easily targeted in a crime, or to highlight the behavior of someone they perceived as violating street code elements that attached a sense of masculine honor or fairness to fights. For example, if 186

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someone was attacked but the perpetrators kept their identity secret or they were attacked in an ambushstyle victimization. Not allowing a target to see your face or fight back was often deemed a “punk move,” at least when it was done to the speaker (interviewees often described their use of sneakiness as smart, highlighting one of the many contradictions of masculinities in the street environment). Crude honor scripts surround street violence with the grounding assumption that one gains little masculine capital from a conflict that was not a real challenge or test of one’s skills. Beating up children, women, and failed men earned no street respect.1 Drug addicts were also deemed un-masculine as addicts were often seen to resort to marginal street hustles that exhibited a lack of courage and criminal competence. The very state of addiction was strongly looked down upon by other men as giving up control over one’s life to the drug. Ironically, these sentiments were often strongest amongst those criminally involved men who used large quantities of alcohol and illegal drugs (Mullins, 2006). Much of this work is clearly drawn from the exploration of African American experiences in street life contexts. Anderson (1999) suggests that these street codes are a specific product of the US’s experiences of racial segregation and domination, both historically and contemporaneously. Bourgois’ (1995) work shows masculinity as a key factor in shaping the activities of drug dealers and markets in Latinx Harlem. He shows how deindustrialization and the growth of the crack markets precipitated a crisis in masculinity within the neighborhood he was studying. Men often met with disapproval and failure in the realm of legitimate work and by women seeking increasing power and assertiveness in the home. The inability to attain masculine capitals from mainstream or traditional sources led to increased embeddedness in street life and criminality for the younger men in Bourgois’ study. Other work shows that marginalized populations embracing street life and street masculinity via criminality is not unique to North America. Winlow (2001) shows similar forces operating in the postindustrial northeastern England, where violence is merged with masculinity and street-orientated roles become a more important source of masculine capital in the absence of the industry available to prior generations. Sandberg and Pedersen’s (2011) work in Oslo Norway shows a similarly situated street life with similar masculinity concerns rising to prominence among mainly African immigrants finding themselves excluded from broader Scandinavian society, as does Zdun’s (2008) work with German youth.

Noncriminal masculinities The majority of research on street life subcultures is concerned with the relationship between “the streets” and violence, but less attention has been given to relationships between “the streets” and other areas of interest to social scientists. Worth noting is that Anderson (1999) did not explicate that there is a direct relationship between “the streets” and criminal behavior. Rather, research has described a litany of intervening mechanisms, as well as confounding variables. In general, other lines of research concerned with street life subcultures have included, but are not limited to, how education interacts with street culture (Ferguson, 2000; Payne & Brown, 2010), how street-life orientations serve as a site of resiliency for impoverished young black men (Payne, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2011), how parenting is influenced by masculinity and street culture (Roy & Dyson, 2010), the role of linguistic and cultural code-switching (Edwards  & Ash, 2004), and the role of music and other artifacts of popular culture in the relationship between street-life orientations and crime (Kubrin, 2005; Oliver, 2006; Powell, 1991; Kubrin & Weitzer, 2003). A dynamic relationship exists among street culture, masculinity, and one’s social environment (Ross, 2018). Street life subculture and masculinity do not just influence behaviors and interactions between individuals within disadvantaged neighborhoods. They also carry over to influence interactions between individuals and every other aspect of society. Street culture and masculinity are thoroughly embedded into one’s everyday behavior and decision-making calculus. This is because street culture is grounded in the daily language, attitudes, clothing, beliefs, and values of individuals living in large inner-city communities. 187

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Similarly, masculinity is fundamentally a part of one’s self-concept because individuals engage and reproduce gendered structures by “doing gender” in their everyday routine behaviors. Street culture emphasizes a kind of alternative to traditional masculinity. Oliver (1994) referenced a black compulsive masculinity alternative that was largely grounded in street culture. Oliver’s (1994) notion of black compulsive masculinity was characterized by an emphasis on toughness, sexual conquest, manipulation, and thrill-seeking. This alternative black masculinity is in direct contrast to the characteristics of traditional masculinity which emphasize that men be self-sustaining, achieve success within United States’ conventional occupational system, and that men provide for their families (see also Cazanave, 1981). Oliver (1994) argued that black masculinity was a problematic adaptation to the oppression and marginalization that prevents young black men from attaining social achievements, standards, and success in society by conventional means. They specifically referenced black compulsive masculinity as a “dysfunctional compensatory adaptation” to mask the failure to “meet the standards of the traditional masculine role” (p. 199, emphasis added). This adaptation was noted to be problematic by Oliver (1994) because it is an ineffective response to environmental stressors such as racial oppression, economic deprivation, and low self-esteem. Rather than this alternative black masculinity solving their problems, it created new ones. They specifically highlighted how adherence to norms pertaining to toughness led to additional social problems such as violence between young black men, marital violence, fear of other blacks, and emotional detachment. They argued that this compulsive masculinity alternative not only caused additional social problems, but also hindered solidarity and collective efficacy among black communities. While Oliver (1994) focused on alternative black masculinities, they would later focus on the actual socialization processes of young black males. Oliver (2006) described how some young black men undergo a socialization process that differs from traditional socialization that includes education systems and the family as agents of socialization. They argued that “the streets” act as an alternative agent of socialization and play a vital role in shaping the identities and behaviors of young black men. Oliver (2006; see also Oliver, 1994) describes how street environments not only teach and reinforce the values and norms of street culture, but they also act as a stage for young black men to perform and express their masculinity in the presence of communal peer spectators. This description of street culture and black masculinity is in line with Fine and Kuriloff’s (2006) assertion that gender is performed in spaces that are distinct across social class and racial lines. Oliver (2006) argued that young black men’s behaviors are not valid unless observed by their peers. Thus, they note that young black men “do” gender, and that this masculine performance is not validated by “the streets” unless it is witnessed by other young black men in the community. They argued that young black men socialized by “the streets” value three unexclusive masculine roles: The Tough Guy, The Player, and The Hustler. These masculine roles explain, at least in part, the importance within street culture of appearing tough, achieving success by unconventional means, and the ritualized pursuit of women as sexual objects. Young black men’s pursuit of these masculine roles results in a handful of negative consequences such as increased economic marginalization and social seclusion, disrupted family lives, increased frequency of interpersonal conflict and violence, and disproportionately high rates of incarceration

Code-switching One’s culture and identity are not immediately abandoned when they venture outside of where they spend a disproportionate amount of their time. Anderson (1999) noted that decent-acting youth can be socialized to adjust their behavior and reactions in settings where interaction with street-oriented youth becomes necessary. This conscious adjustment of behaviors is known as code-switching. This term is commonly used by linguistic scholars to describe the use of slang, a different language, or a change in speaking form and style in different social settings to facilitate interaction with dissimilar ethnic groups, subcultures, or other group identities (Blom & Gumperz, 1972; Doran, 2004; Lytra, 2016). However, code-switching is not limited to linguistics. Other scholars have highlighted that one can switch codes by other means such as their 188

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style of dress or changing other communicative social cues (Alvarez-Cáccamo, 1990; Anderson, 1999). Code-switching youth from decent families may speak with more slang than they typically would, dress differently, or engage in certain deviant behaviors when interacting with their street-oriented peers. These behavioral, attitudinal, and presentational adjustments are done by some individuals as a means of adapting to their surrounding social environment. One thing not discussed by Anderson (1999) is whether street-oriented youth are capable of codeswitching in settings outside of their normal street environments. There is very little research on this issue. That being said, language is one aspect of street culture that has been thoroughly addressed by social scientists. Linguistics scholars have found that individuals whose speech patterns routinely incorporated African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) are more than capable of also speaking Standard American English (SAE) (Carlson & McHenry, 2006; Edwards & Ash, 2004; Warner, 2007). Of particular note, Edwards and Ash (2004) examined the music lyrics, speeches, and poetry of Tupac Shakur, to compare his use of language for each form of expression and communication. Each particular type of communication is arguably aimed at a different type of audience. They found that his linguistic orientation varied considerably depending on the form of communication examined. Specifically, they found that his music lyrics overwhelmingly contained AAVE features in comparison to his speeches from interviews. Likewise, they found that Tupac’s poetry contained very little AAVE features. In fact, the authors argued that the dramatic lack of AAVE features in Tupac’s poetry suggests that he intentionally and consciously chose to not include slang and other AAVE properties. Overall, this line of linguistics research suggests that street-oriented youth are also capable of code-switching, and that this code-switching occurs as a means to better communicate to different and distinct groups of people. The counterargument would be that individuals capable of speaking the “language of the street” (Edwards & Ash, 2004, p. 165) and SAE are actually decent-oriented individuals that are code-switching to portray themselves as street-oriented (Anderson, 1999). In many ways, street culture is counterculture (Fordham & Ogbu, 1986; Ogbu, 2004). However, contemporary research on street life identities has found at least one social institution where this theoretical assumption has been incorrect. Research on the relationship between street-oriented youth and education shows that young males find formal education to be important in their lives and generally view it in a positive manner. Although young men were found to hold positive views of formal education, they also reported negative views of their actual educational experiences. Payne and Brown (2010) argued that young men embraced a street orientation as an adaptive survival strategy while attending school. Many young black males attending inner-city urban high schools describe educational environments that are dangerous and violent. These claims are supported by studies which indicate that black adolescents report fearing assault at greater rates than reported by other adolescents (Snyder, Sickmund, & Poe-Yamagata, 1999; NCES, 2009). Rather than young black males being resistant to education and purposefully confrontational with educators, their behavior is an adaptive response to their environment and education experiences. Payne and Brown (2010) go on to argue that the false perception that black youth do not care about their education partially explains why young black men are formally disciplined more often and punitively by school officials.

Resilience and street culture Despite perceptions about negative aspects of street masculinity, especially black urban masculinity, some research has suggested that the streets in general, and street masculinity in particular, provides resiliency for young black men (Payne, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2011; Payne & Brown, 2010). Payne (2006) addressed the relationship between masculinity and street culture. They specifically found that masculinity is forged amidst oppressive socioeconomic circumstances for many young black men and has an essential role in the street-life orientations of young black males. Opportunity plays a vital function in the lives of young black 189

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men because street-life oriented individuals are typically raised in economically marginalized communities. These “street” communities are characterized by high unemployment rates, poorly funded schools, ramshackle housing, and high rates of crime and police misconduct. Taken together, impoverished neighborhoods are physical areas rife with blocked opportunities. Payne (2008) argued that young black men in impoverished neighborhoods developed street-life orientations as a direct adaptation to these blocked opportunities (see also Wilson, 1996). Furthermore, Payne (2008) asserted that street orientations act as a “site of resiliency” (p. 5) for young impoverished black males. According to Payne (2005, 2006, 2008), sites of resiliency provide “psychological and physical spaces” (Payne, 2008, p. 5) that function together to produce resilience in young black men that are street-life oriented. Payne (2008) argued that individuals from impoverished communities must deal with a disproportionate amount of blocked opportunities, and that men from these lower-income communities adopt street-life orientations as a survival mechanism in response. Payne (2011) viewed the adoption of street identities not as a free choice, but instead, as a choice greatly influenced by discord in one’s life and economic disadvantage. Furthermore, they asserted that there are differing degrees of street life immersion that are influenced by intersection of race and ethnicity, social class, masculinity, livelihood (legal or illicit), street status, geographic region, and age. Payne (2006, 2008, 2011) and Oliver’s (1994) notion that nontraditional masculine roles and street life orientations are responses to oppressive and disadvantaged social conditions is in line with Majors and Billson’s (1993) description of black men adopting a cool pose. Majors and Billson (1993) asserted that many black men adopted a cool pose as a coping response to their failure to achieve traditional masculine roles. Adopting a cool pose is not unlike Oliver’s (1994) explanation of how some street-oriented black men adopt an alternative masculine role of a Tough Guy. A cool pose can enhance one’s self-esteem, social competence, and dignity, but can also contribute to problems in school, criminality, and disrupt personal relationships.

Media representations Kubrin (2005) built upon prior literature on street culture with her analysis of rap music. Prior to Kubrin (2005), popular culture was largely ignored by scholars of street life and it was largely assumed that neighborhood processes produced and perpetuated street culture. A content analysis of hundreds of rap songs from throughout the 1990s revealed rap music reinforcing specific elements of street culture, namely the use of violence to gain and maintain respect among peers. They specifically noted that rap music called for and justified the use of violence in response to snitching, being challenged by peers, as a form of retaliation, or to resist victimization. Therefore, rap music acts as a platform that educates individuals about the street (see also Powell, 1991). Kubrin’s (2005) research found that street culture is not limited to being found in the streets themselves. Rather, rap music also contains elements of street culture that buttresses street life values and norms, and thus identities of those who identify with it. Weitzer and Kubrin (2009), in a later analysis, found that this music not only reinforces street codes concerning respect and violence, but also hegemonic masculinity. While they found that the vast majority of rap music was not misogynistic or disrespectful of women, roughly 22% of the songs examined contained misogynistic elements that shamed the behaviors of females, referenced females as sexual objects, questioned the trustworthiness of women, and legitimated violence against women. Furthermore, the songs not only identified proper conduct for women in the streets, but also explicitly acknowledged the sanctions that may occur for the violations of that code of conduct. Weitzer and Kubrin (2009) do not hesitate to point out that this relationship between music, identity, and street culture is not a unidirectional relationship. Rather, it is likely reciprocal. Taken together, Kubrin’s (2005; also Weitzer and Kubrin, 2009) research showed that there is a clear and complex link between rap music, street culture, hegemonic masculinity, and identity.

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Conclusion Most of the core theoretical work discussed in this chapter has been derived from a United States context. This reflects the focus of most existing scholarship. Yet, increasingly, many of the fundamental dynamics and aspects of street culture described in North America are also being seen in European states. Further, much of the work discussed here (and that exists in general) focuses explicitly or implicitly on AfricanAmerican street life, though in the US street life is embraced across racial and ethnic lines; this is even truer in Europe and elsewhere where street life norms, language, and fashion are adopted by a high variety of ethnic groups – but most often among those experiencing social and economic marginalization. This raises a fundamental issue of cultural origin and cultural diffusion. Theorists of a specifically criminal street masculinity in the US highlight the role of race and racial discrimination in evolutionary formation of these gender positions. Specifically, historical and contemporary racial discrimination are seen as both contextual and individual motivators behind shaping and adopting an alternative value structure. Yet, we are seeing the documentation of easily recognizable street masculinities in societies with highly different racial histories and varying forms of ethnic and/or racial marginalization. In some manifestations, street culture and masculinity are adopted and enacted by ethnic groups that experience marginalization – though of a type unique to the specific context. For example, work on Norway highlights the role of street culture in shaping the lives of more recent African immigrant populations (see Sandberg & Pedersen, 2011). US street culture, and street masculinity, is diffused via global media and seemingly finding fertile soil to take root in European populations whose current marginalization resonates with that of black and brown populations in North America. Hopefully future work on street life and gender will take a more explicitly comparative approach, over the current crude transference theoretical frames from one cultural context to another.

Note 1 Though the rules for using violence, especially violence against women, were more complex and nuanced, see Mullins (2006, Chapters 5 & 6) and Mullins, Wright, and Jacobs (2004).

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Payne, Y. A. (2011). Site of resilience: A reconceptualization of resiliency and resilience in street life – oriented black men. Journal of Black Psychology, 37(4), 426–451. Payne, Y. A., & Brown, T. M. (2010). The educational experiences of street-life-oriented black boys: How black boys use street life as a site of resilience in high school. Journal of Contemporary Criminal Justice, 26(3), 316–338. Powell, C. T. (1991). Rap music: An education with a beat from the street. The Journal of Negro Education, 60(3), 245–259. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15(4), 7–13. Roy, K. M., & Dyson, O. (2010). Making daddies into fathers: Community-Based fatherhood programs and the construction of masculinities for low-income African American men. American Journal of Community Psychology, 45, 139–154. Sampson, R. J., Raudenbush, S. W., & Earl, F. (1997). Neighborhoods and violent crime: A multi-level study of collective efficacy. Science, 227, 918–924. Sandberg, S., & Pedersen, W. (2011). Street capital: Black cannabis dealers in a white welfare state. Bristol: Polity Press. Shaw, C. (1930). The jack-roller: A delinquent boy’s own story. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shaw, C., & McKay, H. (1942). Juvenile delinquency and urban areas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Snyder, H. N., Sickmund, M., & Poe-Yamagata, E. (1999). Juvenile offenders and victims: 1999 national report. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention. Thrasher, F. M. (1927). The gang: A study of 1,313 gangs in Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Warner, E. (2007). A black classroom culture: Student code-switching in an inner-city secondary school (Doctoral dissertation). University of Maryland, Baltimore County. Weitzer, R., & Kubrin, C. E. (2009). Misogyny in rap music: A content analysis of prevalence and meanings. Men and Masculinities, 12(1), 3–29. West, C., & Zimmerman, D. (1987). Doing gender. Gender and Society, 1(2),125–151. West, C., & Zimmerman, D. (2009). Accounting for doing gender. Gender and Society, 23(1), 112–122. Whyte, W. F. (1943). Street corner society: The social structure of the Italian slum. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wilson, W. J. (1987). The truly disadvantaged: The inner city, the underclass, and public policy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wilson, W. J. (1996). When work disappears: The world of the new urban poor. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Winlow, S. (2001). Badfellas: Crime, tradition and new masculinities. Oxford: Berg. Zdun, S. (2008). Violence in street culture – the relevance of the male ethos and crime. New Directions for Youth Development, 119, 39–54.

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16 Gentrification’s impact on street life Mirko Guaralda and Jaz Hee-jeong Choi

Introduction In 2017, we became fellow renters in New Farm, a leafy inner-city neighbourhood in Brisbane, Australia. In the ethnically self-organised capital of Queensland, many first generation Italian immigrants occupied streets and corners of New Farm, who till the 1970s shared the peninsula on the Brisbane River with several heavy industrial facilities (Benjamin, 2015). The Italian legacy can still be read in the style of some houses and it is common to meet older Italians still gathering on a Sunday morning in the main commercial strip of the neighbourhood. In the 1980s and 1990s, after the Italians moved to newer suburban estates and the manufacturing plants were closed down, New Farm was deemed an unsafe area, characterised by street prostitution, petty crimes, and drug use. In this changing climate, a different social group started to settle in the area, making it the heartland of the Brisbane LGBTQ+ community; today New Farm remains the cornerstone of Brisbane Gay Pride and is still home to a significant number of gay community members. In the 2000s, New Farm underwent yet another transformation (Brisbane Council. Urban Renewal Task, 1994). Old factories were torn down to leave room for new apartment complexes; the powerhouse that used to support Brisbane’s tram network was converted into a cultural centre; and woolsheds in the neighbouring Tenerife were converted into lofts. Today, young professionals compete to secure a house or an apartment in New Farm, attracted by its lifestyle and its vibrant population, still characterised by the colourful people who shaped this environment. Coffee shops and barber parlours line the streets were hardware and local shops used to be. Streets are now dominated by large European cars driven by stay-athome parents. When a lot originally bought in 1986 for AU$200,000 was sold in 2018 for AU$11.3 Million, it set a new record for the neighbourhood. The fate of New Farm is similar to the recent urban history of many places around the world, such as Kreuzberg in Berlin, Navigli in Milan, Gyeongridan in Seoul, and Williamsburg and Greenpoint in Brooklyn, New York (Stabrowski, 2014; Jeong, Heo, & Jung, 2015; Reick, 2018). New Farm has been gentrified and as members of the so-called creative class (Florida, 2002), we also played a part in this transformative process whether or not we intended to do so (Pancholi, Yigitcanlar, & Guaralda, 2018). Gentrification is a complex phenomenon. In its current meaning, it was first described by British Marxist sociologist Ruth Glass in 1964 to explain the gradual takeover of low-income areas of London by middle-class people (Glass, 1964). Sharon Zukin (1987) details how this process is multi-layered and

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heterogeneous: gentrification is not limited to social migration, but it also implies deep changes in the economic system of a city, with an increase of creative and service-based activities. Gentrification in broad terms affects an urban ecosystem perturbating its dynamics at social, economic, and cultural levels; its more evident effects are urban regeneration and displacement of low-income populations (Davidson, 2009). At street level, gentrification means a deep change in the meaning of street culture and its intrinsic rhythms (Langegger, 2016). While gentrification most of the time is itself a bottom-up spontaneous process, which has a deep impact on urban dynamics and urban morphology, it in turn directly influences the unwritten rules that drive street cultures, and slowly takes over established neighbourhoods, fostering a change in the actors that populate the area. The primary actors of gentrification are middle-class professionals, generally employed in management, service, and creative sectors, who often adhere to not-traditional family structures, moving away from the established model of the suburban nuclear family. These newcomers are attracted to a neighbourhood by specific factors such as proximity to employment opportunities and amenities, unique character and ambience, as well as a vibrant lifestyle (Esmaeilpoorarabi, Yigitcanlar, & Guaralda, 2018). When they reach critical mass, their presence starts changing and ultimately dictating the existing rituals that inform the urban street culture. Gentrification can take different forms – for example, urban renewal, touristification (Fotsch, 2004), and studentification (Chatterton, 2010) can all be classified as specific instances of this phenomenon. While urban renewal is a top-down planned process, gentrification is commonly a bottom-up dynamic, though supported by strong neoliberal economic agendas (McGuirk & Dowling, 2009). Thus fundamentally, its effect on urban street life is the commodification of space, activities, meanings, and the polishing or cleansing of the urban scene, with removal of undesired actors and taming of some of its edgier activities (Hani & Ahmad, 2018). The close relationship between space, activities, and meanings defines the character of a place; gentrification selects some instances of these characters and converts them into a marketable brand (Langegger, 2016). This can be evidenced in some of the commonly observed changes, such as the high competition for dwellings with rapidly increasing property prices and rents often leading to previous residents being unable to cope anymore with the cost of life in their own neighbourhoods, forcing them to move to other areas that are commonly further away from urban centres (Yetiskul  & Demirel, 2018), and the sprawling of coffee shops and the emergence of the so-called coffee culture (Laniyonu, 2018) Gentrification can also impact the street culture in more profound ways. For example, selected works of graffiti and street art are appropriated enhancing the “street” character of an area; street food is commodified and sanitised; skateboarding and parkour are sportified and more acceptable to middle-class bourgeoisie values (Arif Budi & Tim, 2018). The original character of the neighbourhood and its established activities are then redefined with the sprawling of services and commodities for the new actors; craft shops, specialty boutiques, various ethnic establishments erode the space initially occupied by local shops and contribute to generate a more global image and brand for the gentrified neighbourhood (Fenton, Lupton, Arrundale, & Tunstall, 2013). Although previously gentrification was more commonly observed in cities of the Global North, it is now an increasingly common phenomenon globally, especially in booming urban centres, such as Shanghai or Mumbai (Hogan, Bunnell, Pow, Permanasari, & Morshidi, 2012; Prayoga, Esariti, & Dewi, 2013). Gentrification has a deep impact on the character of our cities and their street culture (Hubbard, 2017); everyday rhythm is altered as a direct manifestation of profound socio-cultural changes in the milieu of cities and neighbourhoods (Lees, 2015; Langegger, 2016). The lowering crime rates in gentrified and gentrifying areas may be one of the positive effects of this process, but it is also a clear indication of how deeply this process affects the everyday lives of local residents (Laniyonu, 2018). This chapter aims to summarise current research and debate on gentrification with a focus on the process of progressive commodification of urban space and urban culture at the street level.

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Axiologies of gentrifications The tilting point of gentrification is reached when the economic power of the newcomers takes over, imposing a higher level of control and regulation on the streetscape (Lieber, 2018). The new residents who chase the dream of a characteristic street life are the cause of deep changes in the very street life they were pursuing. The image and the vision of urban villages encouraging elements that would bolster vibrant street cultures, such as pedestrianization and public space, was strongly advocated by Jane Jacobs (1961). Her work challenged urban renewal and the indiscriminate replacement of traditional communities with modernist blocks and mobility infrastructures. It celebrated locally specific street cultures and types of community. For example, her work stressed the importance of life lived in the public domain, with small shops catering to the needs of residents and safe streets for children the play on. The community Jacobs was advocating for was highly connected and resilient despite certain – perhaps limited in some ways, as will be discussed shortly – cultural and social diversity among its members, co-creating memories and overall urban culture. Jacobs valued the everyday rhythms of the streets, changing over time based on identity and character, familiarity and habitus, activism and engagement. Having people interacting on the street is what creates a safe community where members care for each other (Jacobs, 1961). Although the concept of the urban village was initially advocated as a way to contain modernist development and redevelopment, it then became central in the narrative of gentrification. The concept of urban village was actively explored in the 1980s and became a staple of the urban renaissance advocated by New Urbanism (Poon, 2017). While Jacobs was discussing the values of a close community, urban village as a term has evolved to be associated with medium density developments generally to accommodate specific social groups, and conversely exclude others (Vallance, 2013). The urban village concept is increasingly used to open the path for gentrification, particularly for two reasons: first, developers and city officials often appropriate the concept and image to brand areas for commercial speculations (Pancholi, Yigitcanlar, & Guaralda, 2017), and, second, as pointed out by Zukin (2011), Jacob’s work strongly focuses on a middle-class narrative and promoting a certain social homogeneity in neighbourhoods. Nevertheless, the appeal of traditional urban village life has evidently left an impact on how gentrification is commonly imagined and experienced by the subsequent generations who now pursue particular sets of cultural character and a sense of safety based on Jacobs’s notion of “the eye on the street” in inner-city neighbourhoods to call their homes. Gentrification may start as an individual act of good-intentioned middle-class people interested in living in culturally vibrant and safe areas with engaged neighbours, but it brings with it fundamental changes right down to the street level when the process scales up. At the centre of this process is intensifying commodification and neoliberalism in and across the changing contemporary urban environments, manifest in different stages of gentrification.

The stages of gentrification Gentrification evolves through different phases, with each phase having different impact on the local street culture. The process of gentrification is quite different from common urban renewal in that physical transformation of the urban form can be minimal, and it generally happens when the neighbourhood has already morphed into a middle-class playground (Zukin, 2009; Kunichoff, 2014). Gentrification implies social change before physical modifications; this social change in time profoundly perturbates the rhythms of the local street culture. Newcomers colonise an existing neighbourhood, taking over properties with their buying power while pushing out former residents that cannot compete and cope with the increasing land values. Smith (1996) enquires the root of gentrification from different perspectives; he discusses economic factors, socio-cultural dynamics, and explains how gentrification evolved from being a minor instance affecting small social groups to a vast phenomenon. Smith identifies different actors and different sequential developments that support the gentrification process. In ecological terms, if urban renewal 196

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can be compared to primary succession, the creation of a new ecosystem on a land cleared by an initial catastrophic event, gentrification is closer to secondary succession, where a new population of species takes over an established ecosystem. Although secondary succession typically has three phases, Clay (1979) identifies four stages in gentrification, as shown below. Stage 1: Stage 2: Stage 3: Stage 4:

Pioneers arrive Pioneer Community Intermediate Community Climax Community

Lees (2015) has researched gentrification in social and economic terms and introduced the concept of supergentrification to indicate how the process can be cyclical and the idea of a climax community present in ecology might not be present in urban dynamics. Therefore, it is important to keep in mind that these four different phases of the gentrification process are inherently not linear; instead they are often cyclical and continuous. Discussing gentrification in terms of its phases gives a useful opportunity to summarise the main literature in the field and evaluate its progressive impact on street life and street culture.

Stage 1 The reasons a neighbourhood is gentrified are multifaceted and depend on the local context (Atkinson & Bridge, 2005). The first step towards gentrification is when an initial interest is evoked in people from the outside, who discover the area and are fascinated by its street culture, community, and lifestyle different to their own and start to move into the area, taking advantage of affordable rents and properties (Smith, 1996). The forerunners for contemporary gentrification also tend to be those at the social and economic margins, such as the LGBTQ+ community and those in creative industries (Florida, 2014; Kunichoff, 2014). Their interests align as they seek a diverse and inclusive environment, which the less normative areas on the edges often provide (Mattson, 2015). As more members of these and related groups move in for affordable properties, they start to shape and redevelop the environment with their own work (Graif, 2018). Subsequently, new economic opportunities emerge in such districts further nourished by the growing creative atmosphere and networks, as well as – though soon to be eroded – the rich local cultural history being revalorised and reappropriated. (Zukin & Braslow, 2011; Florida, 2014). In this first phase, modifications to the urban environment are subtle and mainly involve domestic spaces. Pioneers undertake home renovations, investing their time and manual labour in improving their dwellings. Older units tend to be appealing for their locations and the availability of space and facilities not common in newer buildings, as older residential stock is generally more generous than contemporary apartments in expansion areas. The newcomers are few and mix with the current residents in an almost imperceptible way (Langegger, 2016), and as such, the rhythm of the neighbourhood remains largely unaltered. At street level, local shops cater to established residents as well as the newcomers; newcomers are not so numerous to justify new street activities and initially the neighbourhood might enjoy and welcome the new residents (Monroe Sullivan  & Shaw, 2011). The social mix of the neighbourhood is substantially unaffected by the newcomers, the community self-regulates itself and crime levels are not affected (Papachristos, Smith, Scherer, & Fugiero, 2011). In the first phase of gentrification the neighbourhood maintains its original character and identity. The street culture of the area continues to reflect the history of the original community. The main actors on the urban stage are long-time residents who continue to dictate the rhythms of the urban life. New communities might start carving their own spaces within what is allowed by current dynamics, but the overall urban village feel is intact with its original street culture still predominant (Barnes, Waitt, Gill, & Gibson, 2006). 197

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Stage 2 After the first less aggressive pioneers move in, a second wave of pioneers arrives. When the neighbourhood gains some recognition, more people are attracted to it. Typically, designers and architects are the drivers of this second wave (Roth & Grant, 2015). They have the creative vision and economic capabilities to engage with the neighbourhood at a more sophisticated level. While in the first phase dwellings are simply restored and updated, the second phase involves conversions of uses and the insurgence of new activities. Small-scale redevelopment starts and part of the current residents leave the area to profit on the new equity of their properties. A common feature of gentrifying neighbourhoods is the insurgence of third spaces and co-working spaces. The growing creative entrepreneurs start projecting their mark and their brand in the physical space. Fab-labs, workshops, and design studios start taking over some of the spaces initially allocated to residential purposes or betterment of communities in the area. In parallel, new types of hospitality and gathering places start lining the streets of the gentrifying neighbourhood, such as kerbside coffee shops, bicycle workshops, and microbreweries (Monroe Sullivan & Shaw, 2011; Mathews & Picton, 2014). The social mix of the neighbourhood is substantially affected in this phase and generally crime rates increase, owing to the presence of more affluent residents and the reduced capacity of the community to self-regulate itself now (Papachristos et al., 2011). In this second phase, newcomers aim to improve the conditions of the community and try to activate its public spaces so as to make them more inclusive, safer, and to improve the general cultural atmosphere of the place. This starts having an impact on the local street culture. The urban dynamics are affected, rhythms disrupted. The original identity of the neighbourhood becomes increasingly commodified and aspects of the local street culture are selectively deleted or tuned down (Avdikos, 2015). This activation process and rediscovery of the public spaces within a neighbourhood is generally classified as placemaking (Barnes et al., 2006). In the work of Whyte and Kent, placemaking was initially intended to unleash the potential of neighbourhoods, bring back people to the city, and activate public spaces so as to foster a heightened character and sense of place. Placemaking interventions were initially meant to foster resilient communities and support the insurgence of a sense of place, a sense of attachment to one’s environment. The aesthetic of pop-up placemaking intervention mimics the roughness of the rundown neighbourhood, suggesting a creative reuse of everyday items; milkcrates used as stools, pallet-furniture, synthetic turf, jars used as drinking vessels, and repurposed industrial items like sawing machines used as dining tables are all common features used to appeal to the creative class and stress the edginess of a neighbourhood. Yet these bottom-up interventions, regardless of the creators’ intentions, can simply contribute to further commodification through promoting a generic and global image – for example, that of the hipster culture – quickly adopted by commercial enterprises. The flavour and ethnicity of the gentrifying neighbourhood are adopted for branding purposes, and newcomers start imposing their own culture and rhythms to the street life (Blokland, 2009). The success of this second phase leads directly to a further cleansing of street activities. While some street vendors and activities lose their foothold, other activities sprawl to cater for the tastes of newcomers. Graffiti is an illustrative case. It is also increasingly used to emphasise the character of a gentrifying neighbourhood where new pieces are commissioned to mark ownership and stress control (Ulmer, 2017). Farmers’ or craft markets are another example of common strategies to capitalise on the success of a neighbourhood and rebrand the image of an area. The original edginess of the neighbourhood street culture is tamed and made more middle-class-friendly with the consequent exclusion of some of the original actors of the local street life.

Stage 3 Gentrification is often the uncontrolled outcome of intentional placemaking (Håkansson, 2018). Once an area is activated, new life boosted in the neighbourhood through new informal street activities, and the 198

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neighbourhood made safer by more people living and using vibrant public spaces, the appeal of the area attracts wealthier residents and so starts the final phase of the displacement process (Christensen, 2015). The neighbourhood starts being fashionable; media publicise the vibe of the rediscovered neighbourhood and family activities start developing side-by-side to gay pubs or artists’ workshops. The economic power of the middle-class starts pressing on the character of the physical environment in less temporary ways than in the first phase (Jackson & Benson, 2014). Roughness and edginess are domesticated and public spaces further cleansed of undesirable activities. Homeless people are the first casualty of the gentrification process; their presence is not tolerated anymore by the bourgeois morale and desire for a safe and decorous environment (Wasserman & Clair, 2011). Tactics to exclude undesirable users are implemented, through what is referred to as “hostile architecture” (Quinn, 2014): benches are removed or changed so people cannot lie on them, and walls are lined with spikes so skaters cannot play in the streets. Activities previously tolerated, for example street drinking, are now seen as affecting the safety and amenity of the neighbourhood, and so they are discouraged (Pennay, Manton, & Savic, 2014); the streetscape starts being a contested space of exclusion contrary to that such “messiness” from diversity and inclusion was what initially attracted the first and second waves of newcomers. The edginess of the neighbourhood is polished. Pop-up activities are formalised and informal exchanges become formal enterprises. Franchise chains start appearing to take advantage of the increasing appeal of the area (Monroe Sullivan  & Shaw, 2011) and overtake local stores run by original residents. Tourists also start frequenting the area looking for authentic experiences and unique character. The original street culture that has shaped the neighbourhood is now commercialised, selecting and heightening components that can be increasingly acceptable and marketable to a middle-class audience. Developers and investors start targeting the area heavily, more structured developments and speculations take place in the neighbourhood (Smith, 1996). Small houses are acquired, lots amalgamated and new residential or mixed-use blocks are constructed. The new developments promote the lifestyle of the area while at the same time promoting contemporary living in units with high market finishes. Current residents are displaced and the cleansing/cleaning of the neighbourhood is now systematic. Local shops leave room for more upmarket activities; services to locals are replaced by lifestyle boutiques, gyms, and specialty shops. Street activities are regulated, planned, and branded. The social structure of the neighbourhood is deeply changed; while pioneers are often radical lefties open to experimentation and attracted by the working-class bohemian environment, they are soon joined by radical-chic intellectuals interested in pursuing a lifestyle more than a social vision. In the final gentrification stages, conservative and traditional middle-class families join in, strongly affecting the moral compass of the area. These changes in the social milieu of the neighbourhoods has a substantial impact on the local street culture. The main actors are now traditional families worried about safety and décor. New narratives are imposed onto the neighbourhood and a more generic character emerges. The original culture of the neighbourhood is maintained as a brand for the local community, more evident manifestations at street level are curbed to leave room for more profitable activities.

Stage 4 Once the renewal of the neighbourhood is stabilised, the amenities and image of the area are now attractive for the business and managerial class. Resonating here is what Lees (2015) calls supergentrification; the uppermiddle class starts competing with middle-class professional for character dwellings in the area. Newcomers with a higher buying power start displacing the remnant of the first pioneers and all the other segments of society that cannot compete. The final phases of gentrification sometime result in actual clashes and riots by established residents (Smith, 1996); the neighbourhood now has a social configuration that is substantially different to the original, and the level of control on the street life ensures the perception of a safe environment (Papachristos et al., 2011). 199

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The neighbourhood now has a street culture acceptable to the majority of new residents; the level of control on public space, its activities and uses is heightened and in line with the narrative of the predominant population. The heritage of the area is still a fundamental part of the brand of the neighbourhood; more than being part of the street life, past residents and activities are romanticised and presented as selling points of the character of the neighbourhood. Some street activities and festivals might still be celebrated to keep alive the general vibe of the area, but their deep historical meaning and cultural nuances are simplified, and their image commercialised to attract tourists who seek original experiences and are keen to have a taste of a different culture or society, to mingle within a different street culture (Fotsch, 2004). Peer-to-peer platforms promote the conversion of centrally located dwellings to tourist accommodation, further marginalising local residents with lower socioeconomic backgrounds. Further, as tourists become the majority, street life is profoundly affected and the urban village ambience morphs into a parody of itself; local shops are converted into craft or souvenir shops; restaurants, pubs, and coffee shops colonise the neighbourhood and reclaim a presence at street level. As seen in cities such as New Orleans, this touristification process has a profound social impact on established residents who are pushed outside their neighbourhood. Tourists take over the urban space and impose logics and rhythms in contrast with the traditional life of residents. The original concept of the urban village becomes a brand used to promote the area for consumption, although the original community and its rhythms are now predominantly excluded from the urban scene. Cities like Venice or Barcelona are facing growing concerns about the impact of tourism on the traditional culture and image of the city, giving rise to an anti-tourism industry movement – e.g., “tourists go home” (Hughes, 2018). The climax of the gentrification process is often marked by public interventions in redefining the image and perception of neighbourhoods public spaces; streetscapes are upgraded and some major projects can also be undertaken, some examples being the Howard Smith Wharves in Brisbane, The Darsena project in Milan, or the East River waterfront in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn (Curran & Hamilton, 2012; Boscacci, Camagni, Caragliu, Maltese, & Mariotti, 2017). While in urban renewal projects the public hand often commences the process, in gentrified neighbourhoods public interventions are generally the final recognition and endorsement of the new demographic of the area. The massive investment in redefining the physical environment has a direct impact on the street culture of the area. Redevelopment aims to impose new activities and new narratives on the neighbourhood. Areas that were originally productive and socially mixed are now converted into hospitality and entertainment precincts catering to a particular economic class (middle to upper) from within and outside the area. The boundaries around the rhythm of the neighbourhood are now dictated by activities planned by top-down intervention and regulated by actors that are removed from the original identity of an area (Clay, 1979). The uniqueness and spontaneity of the original street culture is manipulated and commercialised; a new identity is superimposed layering street activities with global retails and franchises, promoting an upper-middle-class culture and vibe to characterise the gentrified neighbourhood. Differences between different actors become evident in this phase when the rhythms of everyday life start clashing with the logic of commercial and tourist developments; some manifest physically. Here, the local urban identity morphs into a parody of its original self.

Urban renewal and gentrification Urban renewal is a quite disruptive form of gentrification, which defies the four phases described prior. Urban renewal implies the destruction of an area and the construction of a new neighbourhood or of new facilities to support the functioning of the broader city; residents are displaced to leave room for new city dwellers or city users (Zhang & Fang, 2004). Urban renewal, as a process, is as ancient as the very idea of city (Herzfeld, 2010). Rome underwent redevelopment of its core since imperial times, with the progressive expansion and redefinition of the monumental centres of the Fora. Several Popes then undertook ambitious urban projects to improve the image of the city and attract wealthy residents, for example 200

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Via Giulia or the baroque Tridente plan (Benevolo, 1993). Place des Vosges and Place Vendome in Paris, Regents Street in London, or the Under-den-Linden in Berlin are some other well-known projects aimed to redefine the urban form and have a positive impact on the socioeconomic dynamics of a city (Watkin, 2005). Urban renewal projects soon became common in every major city in the 1980s and 1990s, when changed economic conditions allowed the conversion of industrial areas, often of a large scale, into residential and mixed-used development (Van Melik, Van Aalst, & Van Weesep, 2009). As a form of gentrification, urban renewal promptly displaces and affects as much as the changes in city dwellers and transient city users; the social ecosystem of an area is directly impacted and its actors replaced in a systematic way (de Oliver, 2016). The industrial conversion of the turn of the century was aiming to mainly change the use of abandoned or dilapidated industrial areas; waterfronts were discovered once transport and manufacturing facilities were converted and new upmarket areas were designed often following the principles of New Urbanism (Hirt, 2009). These urban renewal processes required time, substantial investments, and especially a subtle negotiation between public and private interests. In these projects, the physical modification of the urban form is necessary to commence the change in the socioeconomic structure of an area. New neighbourhoods are often designed in lieu of old industrial facilities and new people settle in areas previously used for production or logistics (Ley, 1996). Urban renewal might imply the physical eviction of residents to facilitate the redefinition of the urban form, through the demolition of pre-existing structures and construction of new buildings. Dilapidated areas often provide shelter and refuge to transient and nomad urban populations, such as people experiencing permanent or temporary homelessness; some might be legitimate inhabitants of these run-down areas, others might be squatting and have appropriated dilapidated structures (Wasserman & Clair, 2011). Urban renewal aims to systematically prevent any spontaneous appropriation of the area and delivers a studied and well-crafted image for the renewed neighbourhood. Only elements that can be appealing to prospective residents are retained; historic structures are often romanticised so as to offer selling points to the brand of the area and provide the fantasy of an historic setting. In reality, urban renewal has been used as a profitable way to bank on middle-class and upper-middle-class appetite for characteristic settings (Fenton et al., 2013), often employing the powerful brand of the urban village and the characteristic community (Pancholi et al., 2017). Financialization has heightened the process of urban renewal, generating an influx of investment properties; banks, investments, funds, insurance companies, and private investors have all contributed in building areas with no street culture (Brott, 2019). One of the more negative aspects of financialization is the development of rental properties that are then not inhabited; apart from the famous Chinese ghost cities, this dynamic is present in different metropolises, for example Melbourne. Urban renewal, as a gentrification process, has removed and redefined the character of an area, superimposed a new image on the neighbourhood, and often failed to attract new actors to populate the urban scene. Some memories of the past are kept to brand the new area; these do not have any direct meaning for the new residents and have just the role of novelty factors in the redeveloped context. In this sense, urban renewal is a more violent, top-down form of gentrification designed for efficiency, based on an extreme narrowing of vision (Scott, 1998).

Conclusion Gentrification is a complex phenomenon; it could be considered a subset of street culture because of its bottom-up spontaneous insurgence. At street level, the everyday rhythms typical of the urban village are perturbated by different waves of newcomers who progressively appropriate and commodify the urban space and its public spaces. The character of an area, which is paramount in defining its sense of place, becomes a parody of itself. Architecture, food, music, and street theatrics that define a neighbourhood attract affluent middle-class social actors looking for affordable dwellings and a culturally exciting environment. The taking over by newcomers can have devastating effects, as has been 201

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witnessed too many times in cities such as San Francisco, now the most expensive city in the US, where “the need to pay high rents exacerbated by gentrification” has strengthened the “structural violence” to its already underserved residents by aggravating food insecurity and health problems (Whittle et al., 2015). The interplay between physical environment, social dynamics, and cultural layer is at the base of the local identity of a place; gentrification can perturbate the balance among these factors in initially subtle but eventually substantial and often unexpected ways. Newcomers might focus on the renewal of dwellings, but their presence inducts new commercial activities, new social praxis, and progressively demands a higher level of control over the public domain. Gentrification commodifies the public space and excludes social strata that are deemed unacceptable by the new, wealthier residents and investors. Whether progressive or enforced as seen in the case of urban renewal, gentrification is ultimately driven by neoliberal politics of economy fundamentally changing our built and social structures to serve a very small fraction of the population. As economic, social, and ecological inequality widens across the world, we must have a clear and nuanced understanding of this complex process and carefully shape our urban futures to ensure equity and justice.

References Arif Budi, S., & Tim, H. (2018). Traditional streetscape adaptability: Gentrification and endurance of business. Asian Journal of Behavioural Studies, 3(13), 180–189. Atkinson, R., & Bridge, G. (2005). Gentrification in a global context: The new urban colonialism. London: Routledge. Avdikos, V. (2015). Processes of creation and commodification of local collective symbolic capital; a tale of gentrification from Athens. City, Culture and Society, 6(4), 117–123. Barnes, K., Waitt, G., Gill, N., & Gibson, C. (2006). Community and nostalgia in urban revitalisation: A critique of urban village and creative class strategies as remedies for social “problems.” Australian Geographer, 37(3), 335–354. Benevolo, L. (1993). The European city (C. Ipsen, Trans.). In J. L. Goff (Ed.), The making of Europe. Oxford: Blackwell. Benjamin, G. (2015). Homes with history: On the New Farm peninsula. New Farm, Qld: New Farm & Districts Historical Society Inc. Blokland, T. (2009). Celebrating local histories and defining neighbourhood communities: Place-making in a gentrified neighbourhood. Urban Studies, 46(8), 1593–1610. Boscacci, F., Camagni, R., Caragliu, A., Maltese, I., & Mariotti, I. (2017). Collective benefits of an urban transformation: Restoring the Navigli in Milan. Cities, 71, 11–18. Brisbane Council. Urban Renewal Task, F. (1994). Urban renewal 1994 report. Brisbane, Qld: Brisbane City Council. Brott, S. (2019). Digital monuments: The dreams and abuses of iconic architecture. New York, NY: Routledge. Chatterton, P. (2010). The student city: An ongoing story of neoliberalism, gentrification, and commodification. Environment and Planning A, 42(3), 509–514. Christensen, L. (2015). Rethinking research: Reading and writing about the roots of gentrification. English Journal, 105(2), 15–21. Clay, P. (1979). Neighborhood renewal: Middle-class resettlement and incumbent upgrading in American neighborhoods. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books. Curran, W.,  & Hamilton, T. (2012). Just green enough: Contesting environmental gentrification in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Local Environment, 17(9), 1027–1042. Davidson, M. (2009). Displacement, space and dwelling: Placing gentrification debate. Ethics, Place and Environment, 12(2), 219–234. de Oliver, M. (2016). Gentrification as the appropriation of therapeutic “diversity”: A model and case study of the multicultural amenity of contemporary urban renewal. Urban Studies, 53(6), 1299–1316. Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., Yigitcanlar, T., & Guaralda, M. (2018). Place quality in innovation clusters: An empirical analysis of global best practices from Singapore, Helsinki, New York, and Sydney. Cities, 74, 156–168. Fenton, A., Lupton, R., Arrundale, R., & Tunstall, R. (2013). Public housing, commodification, and rights to the city: The US and England compared. Cities, 35, 373–378.

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Florida, R. (2002). The rise of the creative class and how it’s transforming work, leisure, community and everyday life. New York, NY: Basic Books. Florida, R. (2014). The creative class and economic development. Economic Development Quarterly, 28(3), 196–205. Fotsch, P. (2004). Tourism’s uneven impact – History on Cannery Row. Annals of Tourism Research, 31(4), 779–800. Glass, R. (1964). Introduction. In Centre for Urban Studies (Ed.), London: Aspects of change (pp. xiii–xlii). London: MacGibbon and Kee. Graif, C. (2018). Neighborhood diversity and the rise of artist hotspots: Exploring the creative class thesis through a neighborhood change lens. City & Community, 17(3), 754–787. Håkansson, I. (2018). The socio-spatial politics of urban sustainability transitions: Grassroots initiatives in gentrifying Peckham. Environmental Innovation and Societal Transitions, 29, 34–46. Hani, M., & Ahmad, G. (2018). Segregation and gentrification of an informal settlement in a city center. International Journal of Technology, 9(7), 1346–1354. Herzfeld, M. (2010). Engagement, gentrification, and the neoliberal hijacking of history. Current Anthropology, 51(S2), S259–S267. Hirt, S. A. (2009). Premodern, modern, postmodern? Placing new urbanism into a historical perspective. Journal of Planning History, 8(3), 248–273. Hogan, T., Bunnell, T., Pow, C. P., Permanasari, E., & Morshidi, S. (2012). Asian urbanisms and the privatization of cities. Cities, 29(1), 59–63. Hubbard, P. (2017). The battle for the high street retail gentrification, class and disgust (1st ed.). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Hughes, N. (2018). ‘Tourists go home’: Anti-tourism industry protest in Barcelona. Social Movement Studies, 17(4), 471–477. Jackson, E.,  & Benson, M. (2014). Neither ‘Deepest, Darkest Peckham’ nor ‘Run-of-the-Mill’ East Dulwich: The middle classes and their ‘Others’ in an inner-London neighbourhood. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 38(4), 1195–1210. Jacobs, J. (1961). The death and life of great American cities. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Jeong, Y., Heo, J., & Jung, C. (2015). Behind the bustling street: Commercial gentrification of gyeongridan, Seoul. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences, 170, 146–154. Kunichoff, Y. (2014). Is gentrification inevitable? In These Times, 38(12), 8–10,14. Langegger, S. (2016). Right-of-way gentrification: Conflict, commodification and cosmopolitanism. Urban Studies, 53(9), 1803–1821. Laniyonu, A. (2018). Coffee shops and street stops: Policing practices in gentrifying neighborhoods. Urban Affairs Review, 54(5), 898–930. Lees, L. (2015). Gentrification. In J. D. Wright (Ed.), International encyclopedia of the social & behavioral sciences (2nd ed., pp. 46–52). Oxford: Elsevier. Ley, D. (1996). The new middle class and the remaking of the central city. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lieber, M. (2018). From “territories” to city centers: The ambivalent management of women’s safety and gentrification. French Politics, 16(1), 64–79. Mathews, V., & Picton, R. M. (2014). Intoxifying gentrification: Brew pubs and the geography of post-industrial heritage. Urban Geography, 35(3), 337–356. Mattson, G. (2015). Style and the value of gay nightlife: Homonormative placemaking in San Francisco. Urban Studies, 52(16), 3144–3159. McGuirk, P., & Dowling, R. (2009). Neoliberal privatisation? Remapping the public and the private in Sydney’s masterplanned residential estates. Political Geography, 28(3), 174–185. Monroe Sullivan, D.,  & Shaw, S. C. (2011). Retail gentrification and race: The case of Alberta street in Portland, Oregon. Urban Affairs Review, 47(3), 413–432. Pancholi, S., Yigitcanlar, T., & Guaralda, M. (2017). Place making for innovation and knowledge-intensive activities: The Australian experience. Technological Forecasting and Social Change, 146, 616–625. Pancholi, S., Yigitcanlar, T., & Guaralda, M. (2018). Attributes of successful place-making in knowledge and innovation spaces: Evidence from Brisbane’s Diamantina knowledge precinct. Journal of Urban Design, 23(5), 693–711. Papachristos, A., Smith, C., Scherer, M., & Fugiero, M. (2011). More coffee, less crime? The relationship between gentrification and neighborhood crime rates in Chicago, 1991 to 2005. City & Community, 10(3), 215–240.

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Pennay, A., Manton, E., & Savic, M. (2014). Geographies of exclusion: Street drinking, gentrification and contests over public space. International Journal of Drug Policy, 25(6), 1084–1093. Poon, S. (2017). Factors that promote the adoption of a high-density and mixed-use development: Examining a potential urban village based on urban design principles. WIT Transactions on Ecology and the Environment, 210, 457–468. Prayoga, I. N. T., Esariti, L., & Dewi, D. I. K. (2013). The identification of early gentrification in Tembalang area, Semarang, Indonesia. Environment and Urbanization Asia, 4(1), 57–71. Quinn, B. (2014, June 13). Anti-homeless spikes are part of a wider phenomenon of ‘hostile architecture’. The Guardian. Retrieved July 11, 2016. Reick, P. (2018). Gentrification 1.0: Urban transformations in late-19th-century Berlin. Urban Studies, 55(11), 2542–2558. Roth, N., & Grant, J. (2015). The story of a commercial street: Growth, decline, and gentrification on Gottingen street, Halifax. Urban History Review, 43(2), 38–53,55. Scott, J. C. (1998). Seeing like a state: How certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Smith, N. (1996). The new urban frontier: Gentrification and the revanchist city. London: Routledge. Stabrowski, F. (2014). New-build gentrification and the everyday displacement of polish immigrant tenants in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Antipode, 46(3), 794–815. Ulmer, J. B. (2017). Writing urban space: Street art, democracy, and photographic cartography. Cultural Studies – Critical Methodologies, 17(6), 491–502. Vallance, S. (2013). Living on the edge: Lessons from the Peri-urban village. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 38(6), 1954–1969. Van Melik, R., Van Aalst, I., & Van Weesep, J. (2009). The private sector and public space in Dutch city centres. Cities, 26(4), 202–209. Wasserman, J. A., & Clair, J. M. (2011). Housing patterns of homeless people: The ecology of the street in the era of urban renewal. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 40(1), 71–101. Watkin, D. (2005). A history of Western architecture. London: Laurence King. Whittle, H. J., Palar, K., Hufstedler, L. L., Seligman, H. K., Frongillo, E. A., & Weiser, S. D. (2015). Food insecurity, chronic illness, and gentrification in the San Francisco Bay Area: An example of structural violence in United States public policy. Social Science & Medicine, 143, 154–161. Yetiskul, E., & Demirel, S. (2018). Assembling gentrification in Istanbul: The Cihangir neighbourhood of Beyoğlu. Urban Studies, 55(15), 3336–3352. Zhang, Y., & Fang, K. (2004). Is history repeating itself? From urban renewal in the United States to inner-city Redevelopment in China. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 23(3), 286–298. Zukin, S. (1987). Gentrification: Culture and capital in the urban core. Annual Review of Sociology, 13, 129–147. Zukin, S. (2009). Changing landscapes of power: Opulence and the urge for authenticity. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 33(2), 543–553. Zukin, S. (2011). Reputations: Why Neo-Cons loved communitarian urbanist Jane Jacobs. The Architectural Review, 230(1377), 128–129. Zukin, S., & Braslow, L. (2011). The life cycle of New York’s creative districts: Reflections on the unanticipated consequences of unplanned cultural zones. City, Culture and Society, 2(3), 131–140.

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The centrality of crime to street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction There are always numerous causes of social phenomena. Street culture is no different. It is influenced by many overt and often inconspicuous processes (Ilan, 2015; Ross, 2018), but each of these factors can also have multiple effects. The six chapters in this section explore the multiplicity of causes behind street culture, including but not limited to the widely debated concept of street code. Not only does each chapter focus on a narrow contributing factor, but where possible, the chapters point out connections to other processes. In many respects, from a causal standpoint, these variables are part of a recursive loop insofar as the inputs are occasionally the causes and at other times, the effects. This section of the book also explores the diverse causes of street culture from different theoretical perspectives.

Overview of chapters In Chapter 17, “Street culture and street crime: the enduring and unequivocal link,” Jeffrey Ian Ross and Bárbara Barraza Uribe review how the street culture concept is frequently associated with street crime. Despite this connection, the relationship is poorly understood, narrowly conceptualized, and underdeveloped. This chapter asks several questions in order to better understand the connections between street culture and street crime that have been articulated in the scholarly literature and to assess that scholarship. The authors found that this type of research may be characterized as scholarship that mentions street culture as one of several factors in the commission of street crime or as scholarship that more specifically focuses on street culture’s role in the commission of street crime. Finally, Ross and Barraza Uribe account for the gaps in the assessed scholarship. Chapter 18, “The code of the street: causes and consequences” by Jonathan Intravia, provides an analysis of Anderson’s (1999) Code of the Street thesis. The concept of street code has revived interest in research devoted to understanding the subculture of violence, with particular emphases on violent attitudes. To date, research has identified a variety of individual- and neighborhood-level factors associated with adopting the street code belief system. Previous research efforts have associated these factors with crime and violence. This chapter begins by providing a brief history of delinquent/violent subcultures, and from there, it discusses the causes and consequences of those who embrace the street code belief system.

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Sebastian Kurtenbach, in Chapter  19, “A  cross-cultural perspective of the code of the street,” states that although Anderson’s concept of the code of the street is one of the approaches most cited in research about street culture, its utility may be limited. To begin with, Anderson based his approach on long-term ethnographic research from the 1970s to 1990s in the Germantown neighborhood in Philadelphia (USA). Thus, his work may be more applicable to a particular time and place in American history. Also, despite the fact that many US-based studies have found evidence of the code, this model may not necessarily work well in other countries. In order to build upon these ideas, the literature about the code of the street in non-US-based studies will be reviewed. Kurtenbach’s chapter is divided into four parts. First, a definition of the code from Anderson’s original study is provided, including the elements of it. Second, the chapter analyzes the spatial/geographical distribution of existing studies and the studies’ primary findings. Third, the operationalization or empirical use of the code of the street in the different studies is presented. Lastly, Kurtenbach describes the research gaps and contradictions in the empirical results from the non-US studies. Chapter 20, “Street culture and street gangs,” by Timothy R. Lauger and Brooke Horning, outlines how street gangs form subtly unique cultures despite being immersed in a broader street culture that is pervasive in select urban neighborhoods. The intersection between gang and street culture merits attention because this can help explain criminal and violent behavior within gangs. Scholars developing subcultural theories of criminal behavior have historically focused on street gangs as a topic of study. Early theories typically conceptualized delinquent subcultures as functioning in opposition to mainstream cultures and being comprised of norms and values that established goals and expectations for gang members to pursue. The emergence of scholarship on street culture has, however, caused cultural analyses to focus more on how individuals situationally employ cultural ideas to navigate complex social settings. Culture informs gang members on how to interpret, understand, and respond to various social situations. This chapter examines contemporary ideas about gangs and street culture relative to older, more traditional subcultural theories about gangs. It explores the benefits of conceptualizing gang culture according to modern ideas about street culture. In Chapter 21, “Suburbia’s delinquent street cultures,” Simon I. Singer argues that postindustrial, digitally attuned societies have reduced the amount of space that exists for face-to-face street corner life. Nowhere is this more evident than in suburbia with its residential subdivisions, shopping malls, wooded parks, and recreational/home entertainment rooms. Essentially, the residents of suburbia – as opposed to non-suburban landscapes – have greater opportunities for physical isolation, and this is the case in particular for youth whose lives are no longer influenced by street corner life. Nonetheless, a suburban street culture persists, as distinct from the street corner. To highlight the less visible aspects of suburban street cultures, this chapter describes the dynamics of recent lifestyles. It then reviews several classics in the street corner literature to illustrate the long-standing division between street- and non-street-oriented youth. Based on surveys and personal interviews with youth during their high school years, and then again as young adults, Singer identifies distinctions between high- and low-delinquent youth. In Chapter 22, “Writing ‘street culture’ should be a crime,” Karen Coen Flynn and Mark S. Fleisher suggest that the ambiguities embedded in the concept of street culture do not add explanatory power to describing criminal behavior or any behavior enacted in public places, because criminologists have not suitably defined street culture as a measurable construct. Analyses of criminal behavior require socio-cultural analysis to make evident how, for example, people self-identify and why Neighborhood X’s residents do not use the label “delinquent” to refer to those youth skipping school, shoplifting, or slacking on homework, while Neighborhood Y’s residents do consider each of the cited behaviors “delinquent” and worthy of community or legal intervention. Some criminologists rely on research methods centered on the illdefined concept of street culture to argue incorrectly that in communities marginalized by discrimination, under specific conditions, forces generate conditions local people cannot control, and victimization ensues. Flynn and Fleisher suggest that this argument comes dangerously close to early twentieth-century theories that genes determine human behavior. 206

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Omissions This section could benefit from the inclusion of three topics. To begin with, similar to one of the omissions in section two, since an individual’s participation in crime may vary throughout their lifespan, it stands to reason that involvement in or the relative effect of street culture might also remain in flux throughout that person’s lifespan, too. Although there is some literature examining this process (e.g., Zdun, 2019) it is too specific in focus, and a more general treatment needs to be done in this field. Also important could be a deeper examination of particular kinds of street crime like homicide, gambling, and as previously mentioned, sex work. This analysis could approach this subject at a more granular level than has currently been accomplished. Another topic that deserves more attention, and could be included in this section, is a discussion of how laws, especially municipal ordinances, affect street culture. Street cultures have always been at the center of diverse urban strategies for managing public spaces, including their morphologies, social practices, and interactions. These approaches have led to different configurations of street cultures because they interfere in the way individuals perform their daily routines and participate in street cultures. More restrictive laws often contribute to a more subversive construction of street cultures, which can be seen as a way of contesting the city and its social structure. When faced with the restrictive laws and practices of public space management, the actors of street cultures may interpret them as weapons in their “war” against the public authorities. On the other hand, in cities where the street is less regulated, street cultures may be assimilated by the local arts and culture and better integrated into the official cultural agendas.

Conclusion This section included chapters that reviewed the multiple connections between street culture and crime. Although this subtopic recognizes Anderson’s important concept of the code of the street, scholars’ understanding of this foundational explanation, the relationship between street crime and street culture has become much better understood since it first appeared. By the same token, there are multiple situations and contexts where the connection between street culture and street crime have yet to be articulated in a meaningful fashion. This includes looking at the relative contributions of ethnicity and race and how a person’s interactions with street culture and street crime varies throughout their life, and finally the effect of municipal ordinances on the quality and type of street culture. The following and last section will examine representations of street culture.

Acknowledgments Thanks to Rachel Reynolds for comments on this section.

References Anderson, E. (1999). Code of the street: Decency, violence and the moral life of the inner city. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Ilan, J. (2015). Understanding street culture: Poverty, crime, youth and cool. London Palgrave Macmillan. Ross, J. I. (2018). Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15(1), 7–13. Zdun, S. (2019). The fluid nature of street culture: Non-violent participation, changes in adult life, and crumbling ethnic barriers in Germany. European Journal of Crime, Criminal Law & Criminal Justice, 27(3), 207–225.

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17 Street culture and street crime The enduring and unequivocal link1 Jeffrey Ian Ross and Bárbara Barraza Uribe

Introduction2 Street crime is a prevalent factor in cities and surrounding suburbs in the United States and most countries around the world.3 Although street crime has existed ever since humans chose to live close to their neighbors and form communities, street crime in the US reached a crescendo in terms of public attention and official crime rates (as measured by the Uniform Crime Reports) in the 1980s and lasted well into the remaining decade of the twentieth century. The fact that violent crime and property crime started declining in the mid-1990s and hit an all-time low in 2003 has been ignored by many members of the public, reporters, and politicians alike. Similar patterns are detectable in other advanced industrialized countries. Needless to say, street crime remains a fact of life for city dwellers and criminal justice practitioners alike. That being said, the objective of this chapter is to identify the connections between street culture and street crime that have been articulated in the scholarly literature and to assess that scholarship. It is also not our objective to argue that street culture is a major factor in street crime, only that its contribution is typically ignored, misinterpreted, and often underrated. This chapter proceeds by briefly defining street crime and street culture, looking separately at some basic aspects of life that are affected by these processes, and then examining scholarship that integrates the two concepts.

What is street crime? Although few definitions exist, in general street crime refers to crimes connected to the urban lifestyle against people and property, and typically committed in public places (Ross, 2013, p. xxiii). Indeed, many of these types of crimes can occur in suburban and rural areas, but urban locales are unique in many respects. With few exceptions, cities have higher population densities, they are more attractive targets for victimization, and they are locations where a disproportionate number of the country’s poor live when compared to the less populated parts of the US. The fact that most introductory textbooks on criminology and criminal justice do not define street crime per se is ironic and contradictory in many respects, but this discussion is best left for a different venue. Street crime is important for numerous reasons, notwithstanding the numerous people it affects, the amount of damage it causes, and the astronomical amount of resources societies spend on responding to street crime.

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Who does street crime affect? Street crime is not just the purview of perpetrators (from individuals to street gangs to organized crime members), but involves victims, the loved ones and close associates of victims, and the individuals (i.e., criminal justice practitioners) and organizations (i.e., criminal justice agencies) that society has designated to respond to this behavior. Numerous people and organizations may become involved after street crime occurs and is reported, ranging from private citizen groups (e.g., the Guardian Angels and vigilantes) to publicly chartered criminal justice agencies (e.g., police, courts, and jails). Brazen acts of street crime often become fodder for the news media and other cultural institutions. The headlines of major daily newspapers and the lead stories on the local nightly news are replete with reported incidents of street robberies, carjackings, sexual assaults, and missing children. The news media and the public appear to have an insatiable appetite for information on this kind of behavior. In the last century alone, some of the more important street crime cases in the US that garnered public attention and protracted news media attention include the 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese, the 1987 Tawana Brawley “assault,” and the 1989 Central Park Jogger cases, all occurring in New York City. There are numerous iconic figures who have attempted to control and/or respond to street crime in particular jurisdictions, from Mayors (e.g., Rudy Giuliani in New York City) to Commissioners/Chief of Police (e.g., Daryl Gates in Los Angeles), or at the federal level (e.g., Herbert Hoover as the head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation). Concern about street crime frequently extends to the political arena where city councils, state legislatures, and congresses debate anti-crime initiatives. Over the past century, experts around the world have conducted important federally funded criminal justice studies (e.g., the Kerner Commission) on street crime, eventually making recommendations and implementing criminal justice policies. Many scholars of crime, criminology, and criminal justice have taken it upon themselves to study the frequency, causes, and effects of street crime. Although a vast literature exists on this subcomponent of crime, only a handful of theories and debates concerning street crime causation have been articulated, such as the broken windows theory, and the debate concerning the disproportionate attention among criminologists and popular media on street crimes versus suite crimes (Rothe & Collins, 2013). In sum, street crime occurs in all major cities with varying frequency. It increases and decreases based on various factors. Each context has major players who may respond, including civic organizations, political leaders, and criminal justice actors who have different levels of expertise in combatting and responding to street crime. Other constituencies that react to street crime are news media organizations and relevant government agencies.

What is street culture? To understand the link between street culture and street crime, it is necessary to also understand what street culture is. Ross et al. (2021) define street culture, following Ross (2018, p. 2), as “the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers.” In order to promote discussion about the street culture field of research, they proposed and analyzed six questions: 1. What barriers exist within the scholarly study of street culture? 2. Are some disciplines more helpful than others for the scholarly study of street culture? 3. Are some methodologies better equipped than others for the scholarly study of street culture? 4. How central is the study of graffiti, street art, street crime, and gangs to the scholarly study of street culture? 5. What is the relationship between street culture and commodification? and 6. What subjects are understudied in the scholarly research on street culture? We believe that these questions should be central to any analysis of street culture, since they refer to the main issues that the scholarly research on the subject has to face. 210

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Also, Ross (2018) suggested an interactive model for street culture, in which primary and secondary influences, as well as major intersectional components, interact. Within primary influences, we have participants/actors, location, and time period, since street culture is a dynamic entity. Secondary influences refer to “images, symbols, fashions, and styles” (Ross, 2018, p.  10). Finally, intersectional components include “street capital, competing cultural influences, mass media, social media, and street crime” (Ross, 2018, p. 10). Hence, street culture influences street crime and at the same time it is influenced by it, among other factors.

Who does street culture affect? As the chapters in this book attest, street culture affects not just the people on the street, such as pedestrians and homeless people, but also commuters, shopkeepers, and selected criminals, including gang members, as well as the law enforcement agencies that respond to people on the street. Street culture can also have an effect in a much broader sense on contemporary art, literature, fashions, and the films of the day. In addition, street culture has been subject to commodification, hence affecting people who live by its standards and codes. Fashion and mass media have extracted from street culture a particular kind of aesthetic, which has been portrayed as “cool” by the market, not taking into account the oppositional nature of street culture. Hence, although street culture is not massive in terms of the amount of people that live by it, it affects a myriad of persons through its exercise and commodification. Thus, there are certain parallels between the individuals and organizations that both street culture and street crime affects.

What is the connection between street crime and street culture? To suggest that there is a fascination, if not a romance, with street crime and the people who engage in these activities is an understatement. At least in the American context, there has long been an appreciation of cowboys and other sorts of outlaws. They are seen as rebels who have rejected the norms of society and have gone against the values of the dominant society. This characterization has expanded to certain types of criminals and outlaws. From the organized crime figures of the 1920s and 1930s to the motorcycle bandits of the 1950s and 1960s, this perception has remained. For example, Hobsbawm in his book Bandits (1969/2000) took a romantic position towards popularly known bandits, who he portrayed more as social rebels than as criminals. His readers were introduced to a certain appreciation of famous bandits, who were also characterized by their social awareness. However, the latter is not a common characteristic of street criminals.

Anchoring street culture in the field of cultural criminology One of the least articulated perceptions is the fact that many of the concepts discussed in the context of street culture fit squarely into the field of cultural criminology. Since its inception in the 1990s, cultural criminology has examined different examples where contemporary culture intersects with crime. This includes the various media that cover and depict crime, criminals, and the criminal justice system and how these media represent them. This content is often reflected in the flagship journal Crime, Media and Culture. Ferrell (1999), one of the cofounders of this movement, reviewed the development of cultural criminology. It is important to keep in mind that much of the literature in cultural criminology takes as its starting point perspectives that come from “the British/Birmingham School of cultural studies and the ‘new criminology’ ” (Ferrell, 1999, p. 396). In particular, a salient characteristic of cultural criminology is the intertwining of criminology, sociology, and criminal justice; the field “interweaves particular intellectual threads to explore the convergence of cultural and criminal processes in contemporary social life” (Ferrell, 1999, p. 395). This heading also refers to the attention given by criminologists to constructions of popular 211

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culture, mass media, and street crime and its control. Building on the scholarship of the time, Ferrell states that cultural criminology “can be seen to denote less a definitive paradigm than an emergent array of perspectives linked by sensitivities to image, meaning, and representation in the study of crime and crime control” (1999, p. 396). Moreover, cultural criminology draws important insights from cultural studies into criminology, thus adapting the notions surrounding the object of study, introducing analytical constructs such as culture, and using other methodologies, such as Weber’s concept of verstehen (“interpretive understanding”; “sympathetic participation”), as well as the applications of situated analysis. Ferrell also mentions how cultural criminology is a product of critical traditions in criminology, sociology, and cultural studies. In addition, “cultural criminology operates from the postmodern proposition that form is content, that style is substance, that meaning thus resides in presentation and re-presentation” (Ferrell, 1999, p. 397). One of the things that cultural criminology does is study the meanings behind the commission of crime. That is, the collective construction of the meaning of crime by various agents, such as “criminals, control agents, media producers, and others” (Ferrell, 1999, p. 398). Other subjects researched by cultural criminology are: newspaper (national and international) coverage of crime and crime control; how criminals, criminal violence, and criminal justice are depicted in film; how crime and criminals are portrayed in television; popular music’s images of crime; comic books, crime, and juvenile delinquency; how crimes are depicted in cyberspace; and the “presence of crime and crime control imagery throughout popular culture texts” (Ferrell, 1999, p. 400). Moreover, Ferrell recognizes four overlapped areas of scholarly research for cultural criminology, which emanate from the use of different methodologies and subjects of study. These are: 1. Crime as culture, which is related to the construction of subculture as a basic unit of analysis, 2. Culture as crime, which refers to the construction of culture as a criminal input, 3. Media constructions of crime and crime control, which looks into the deconstruction by the media of the meaning of crime and crime control, and 4. The politics of culture, crime, and cultural criminology, which analyzes the power relations among culture, crime, and cultural criminology, as well as resistance practices of the disenfranchised through street culture and crime.

What has been the scholarship examining the connection between street crime and street culture? Numerous scholarly articles have been written on street crime or elements of this phenomenon, and a handful of well-cited books have tackled this issue (e.g., Scheingold, 1984; Skogan, 1990; Gordon, 1991; LaFree, 1998; Flamm, 2005). There is even an encyclopedia (Ross, 2013), albeit primarily focusing on street crime in the US. Each of these major treatments does something different in the way that they attack the challenge of street crime. Almost all of these treatments look at the incidence of street crime and attempts by legislators to address this contemporary challenge. Rarely, however, do these treatments consider the contribution of street culture as either a cause or an effect. Scholarship specifically examining the nexus of street crime and street culture exists, but is haphazard in its articulation. There are approximately three types of scholarship that explore the relationship between street crime and street culture: pieces that see street culture as one of several factors in the commission of street crime (e.g., Stewart & Simons, 2006, 2010; Jacobs & Wright, 1999); research that places the discussion of street culture’s role in the context of the commission of street crime (e.g., Ilan, 2015); and articles that explore the relationship between street culture and street crime as the central factor in the discussion (e.g., Berg & Stewart, 2013).

Dealing with the elephant in the room Any serious treatment of the relationship between street crime and street culture must consider Anderson’s notion of the street code (1999, 2013). This concept, developed through two of his books and extended 212

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by numerous scholars (see Kurtenbach and Intravia in this book), has stimulated a considerable amount of research into the practices of street criminals and gang members in the US and elsewhere. Although the concept of the street code is seductive as an explanatory process, it is best conceptualized as a subcomponent of the larger process of street culture. That is why it is imperative that scholars look beyond or outside of the singular idea of street code, to the larger concept of street culture in their explanations of crime and street crime, in particular. In other words, although the code of the street is perhaps the most well-known concept used to explain the street culture processes of young inner-city, African-American youths, one should not assume that this factor is omnipresent in all acts of street crime. Other complementary street cultural processes may be co-occurring that motivate individuals and organizations to engage in street crime. As several of the following chapters in this book attest, the street code concept is useful but not monolithic. Moreover, there is a considerable amount of nuance that Anderson disregarded.

Scholarship that mentions street culture as one of several factors in the commission of street crime By far, the greatest contribution to this body of literature is the scholarship that either mentions or includes street culture as one of several factors that can be considered important in the commission of street crime. For example, Jacobs and Wright (1999) analyzed the motivation behind street robbery. After interviewing eighty-six persons using the snowball technique, they found that pecuniary motivation was not at the center of the deeds; instead, belonging to a street culture or adhering to its codes was a stronger motivation for robbery. Appearing among peers as someone with cash to use drugs, drink alcohol, and dress in a certain way is equated with respect in certain street cultures. Hence, living without or outside of social mores is perceived as respectable by these street cultures. However, this lifestyle requires cash for its maintenance, and it needs it fast, which inspires individuals to enter into a spiral of recurring robberies. Similarly Rosenfeld, Jacobs, and Wright (2003) explored the social meaning of snitching and its consequences, regarding the weight of street culture for these acts. Interviewing twenty active offenders, they asked several questions about snitching. They concluded that there are two snitching categories: proper snitching and passive snitching, which translates into a denial of injury (that is, providing general information which is not really helpful) or a denial of a victim (when the person snitched on “deserves” it for multiple possible reasons, such as making more money than the rest of the people on the same street). By resorting to passive snitching, the people interviewed showed that they uphold the code of the street. However, this code is challenged by the money and/or drugs that people are offered by the police for informing, since snitching seems to be a common practice, although the interviewees did not recognize themselves as snitches. Moreover, the authors offered a word of caution about the use of informants by the police and the effect on street crime. The offering of benefits for snitching causes a loss of confidence in community relations, and retaliation is often violent, which is countered by counter-retaliation, creating an additional spiral of violence. Likewise, Stewart and Simons (2006) studied the relation between structure, culture, and the use of violence by African-American adolescents. Following Anderson’s (1999) findings, they quantitatively tested several hypotheses, through which they found that “family characteristics, racial discrimination, and neighborhood context are significant predictors of the street code” (Stewart & Simons, 2006, p. 23). Specifically, their findings suggest that growing up in a “street” family has a positive and significant effect on the chance of engaging in violence (although, surprisingly, growing up in a “decent” family has no significant effect), as well as experiencing racial discrimination, living in a disadvantaged and violent neighborhood, associating with violent peers, and suffering strain. Moreover, Stewart and Simons “also assessed whether the street code mediated the effects of family characteristics, racial discrimination and neighborhood context on violent delinquency” (p. 25). After controlling for street code, they found that “decent” families act as a control mechanism against street violence, although “street” families do not act as a positive predictor of 213

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violent behavior. Finally, the street code acted as a coping/survival mechanism which responded to racial discrimination and living in a violent and disadvantaged neighborhood. By no means is this the sum total of this kind of research, but this overview hopefully indicates the selective use of the street culture concept as an explanatory concept in the commission of street crime. The research reviewed here is not meant to be exhaustive, but simply illustrative of the kinds of studies that have been completed on the topic of street culture and crime. However, the three articles show how street culture is one factor, amongst others, that contributes to the commission of street crime, or in other words, how it is mediated by other variables for the commission of street crime. That is, street culture does not operate in a vacuum.

Scholarship that more specifically focuses on street culture’s role in the commission of street crime More relevant, however, are a handful of pieces of scholarship that more specifically focus on street culture’s role in causing street crime. Silverman (2004) presents an argument, framed by an economic model that suggests that street culture has a huge influence on street crime. Due to the lack of opportunities for success among young men (especially those who are poor), these men seek to be cool (more specifically street cool) and to develop a reputation that makes them look tough. Silverman suggests that young men commit violent crimes mainly to achieve or bolster their reputation of being street cool, rather than for direct pecuniary (i.e., monetary) benefit. This claim is supported by data that reveals that approximately half of all street robberies result in thefts worth less than $100. The author concludes the article with different equations to predict the frequency and types of future street crimes. The article provides a lot of quantitative statistical analysis to validate the information, and this analysis is helpful because the information that it presents has the potential to improve current policies and help create future ones. On the other hand, the article does not take into consideration the changes in behavior that may occur (thus leading to overgeneralization), as it views behavior as permanent and never changing. For example, Stewart and Simons (2010) analyzed the link between street culture and the potential engagement in street crime. The authors tested two hypotheses: “First . . . whether neighborhood street culture increases an adolescent’s violence after controlling for his or her personal commitment to the code of the street. Second, . . . whether neighborhood street culture moderates individual-level street code on adolescent violence” (Stewart & Simons, 2010, p. 573). Using several multilevel models (which accounted for the interrelation of the control variables), the authors found that violent delinquency was strongly predicted by street culture. That is, where street culture was salient, there was a higher chance for adolescents to engage in violent delinquent behavior. Moreover, regarding the second hypothesis, the findings suggest that there is a significant positive relation between street culture and the individuallevel street code related to violence. In other words, neighborhoods where street culture is widespread have an effect on the individual attitudes of adolescents towards the code of the street, making it more acceptable. One of the more comprehensive pieces of scholarship dealing with the relationship between street crime and street culture is the chapter written by Berg and Stewart (2013). They analyzed the use of street culture in criminological research, in particular the dynamics of street crime. The authors reviewed the historical pathway that the analysis of culture has taken in academia, starting with the early perspectives of Shaw and McKay (1942, 1969) who integrated macro- and micro-levels of analysis, taking into account “neighborhood-based social networks as carriers of cultural resources” (Berg  & Stewart, 2013, p. 373). In other words, there is a particular kind of culture that emerges from the social interactions taking place in a neighborhood, which functions in opposition to mainstream culture while not affecting the majority of residents. These scholarly developments were later integrated by Sutherland (1947), Kobrin (1951) and Cloward and Ohlin (1960). What followed were further variants of Shaw and MacKay’s model, 214

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which integrated inequality and stratification as characteristics of social structure. These variants (including Cohen, 1955; Miller, 1958; Wolfgang, 1958; Wolfgang & Ferracuti, 1967; Luckenbill & Doyle, 1989; Hirschi, 1969; Heimer, 1997; Markowitz & Felson, 1998) proposed that there was a logical connection between social status and cultural mechanisms, provided the existence of a violent subculture being tolerated by a portion of the lower-class population. Hence, socioeconomic factors (class, sex, and race) were taken “as correlates of violent conduct norms” (Berg & Stewart, 2013, p. 374). Later, by the end of the 1970s, these theoretical propositions were subject to harsh criticism. Kornhauser (1978) regarded the cultural perspective as a deterministic control model, thereby arguing “that culture is ‘attenuated’ or ‘disused’ in poor neighborhoods and she challenged the importance of unconventional values for explaining criminal conduct (see Warner, 2003)” (Berg & Stewart, 2013, p. 375). Moreover, there was a political controversy surrounding the notion of a “culture of poverty,” which led to the marginalization of the “discussion of culture in social science research” (Berg & Stewart, 2013, p. 376). Hence, culture was not emphasized in research, being “replaced” by the explanation of crime as a “product of a breakdown in regulation” (Berg & Stewart, 2013, p. 376). In terms of recent developments, new research has recovered culture as an analytical construct to explain street crime, this time, explaining that culture as shared norms and codes. Anderson (1999) explored the “street code” in an area of Philadelphia, which was based upon the need for respect or the search for it and a lack of confidence in the problem-solving capacity of government institutions, which generated approval of violent forms of conflict resolution. “Overall, Anderson’s perspective explicitly defines the existence of an oppositional culture that is derived from socioeconomic deprivation and that promotes violent behavior (e.g., Wolfgang & Ferracuti, 1967)” (Berg & Stewart, 2013, p. 378). Also, many quantitative studies have controlled for culture when using a predictive model for the use of violence. However, their results are mixed, with culture being only an occasional predictor. Berg and Stewart further discuss the contribution of recent quantitative studies. This type of research, especially that which is situated in the fields of sociology and cultural anthropology, is different from the earlier models; culture is not solely used as a control variable, but also as a frame or as a cognitive perspective. This perspective allows the comprehension of the dynamics behind the engagement in violent behavior (Wilson, 1996). With these developments at hand, the authors point out that culture has not lost causal legitimacy. Finally, one of the most important pieces of scholarship that draws the link between street crime and street culture is Jonathan Ilan’s Understanding Street Culture: Poverty, Crime, Youth, and Cool (2015). This masterful book integrates a considerable amount of accumulated knowledge on the subject of street culture and street crime in advanced industrialized societies. It proceeds in a methodical manner and consists of nine chapters, each building on the previous one. More specifically, Ilan outlines something called “the Street Cultural Spectrum” (p. 11). This explains how street culture variously manifests: as a driver of criminality and expressivity in contexts of urban poverty, or as practices deployed consciously or unconsciously, either to coexist with street cultural adherents or as a means of signifying ‘cool’ that can be bought and sold out of context. The spectrum’s qualities can be explained through an analysis of neoliberal globalization which has placed particular pressures on the urban poor, stripped away many routes towards meaningful inclusion, bolstered the significance of the consumer culture and contributed to a politics of exclusion and criminalization. (p. 19) The balance of the book explains the numerous ways that street culture can be interpreted as a contributing factor to street crime. Ilan identifies important scholarship on street culture, including quantitative research that tests Anderson’s code of the street. He covers aspects such as film, TV shows, and gangs. 215

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Despite some shortcomings, Understanding Street Culture: Poverty, Crime, Youth, and Cool made a handful of important contributions to the scholarly literature. These include, but are not limited to: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Incorporating many different concepts to create an overarching definition and explanation of street culture. Using his experience and knowledge to illustrate the reality of street culture and street lifestyle. Providing a respectable historical overview of the salient street culture movements. Including relevant information about current pop culture, especially graffiti, clothes, and music; providing examples that his audience could relate to, such as TV shows. Showing the separation of classes inside and outside the criminal justice system. Using relevant scholarship to fully round out his explanations.

What gaps exist in this unique nexus of scholarly research? Five years have passed since the publication of Ilan’s book. Although research on the relationship between street culture and street crime continues, few scholars drill down far enough to explore the real dynamics between street crime and street culture. Moreover, some authors tend to “forget” about the fact that street culture is a product/response to a disadvantaged life, and perhaps we should not forget that, at the end of the day, it is contextual and part of a bigger structure (e.g., Sampson, 2002). Some of the neglected areas include attempts to understand how street criminals really understand street cultural processes and cultural differences across countries, especially regarding the meaning of the code of the street (Intravia and Kurtenbach, this book). Also it is important to understand the policy implications between street culture and street crime.

Conclusion Since the 1960s, due to numerous forces (e.g., unemployment, homelessness, globalization, precarity, population growth, etc.) an increasing number of people utilize the streets of our big cities, including associated locations like parks, parkettes, and public plazas where homeless people camp out, or street corners where gang members may gather and sell drugs. Although some of people who hang out on streets are mentally ill, not all of these actors engage in street crime. It only makes sense that we explore the contexts that they live in and the activities that they engage in. That is why it is important to look at the connection between street crime and street culture. Street culture is salient to the streets, although not everyone who lives in cities is engaged in crime. Street culture influences street crime, through which pedestrians, commuters, shopkeepers, criminal justice practitioners, and even gang members are affected. This chapter identified the connections between street culture and street crime as articulated in the scholarly literature and assessed that scholarship In order to outline the connection between street culture and street crime, we examined examples of scholarship that explored this relationship, including those studies that mention street culture as one of several factors in the commission of street crime. That is, street culture is contextual in terms of its contribution to street crime. This behavior and setting do not act in a vacuum, but rather street crime is a product of a myriad of different factors amongst which we can find street culture.

Acknowledgements Thanks to Sebastian Kurtenbach and Rachel Reynolds for comments on an earlier version of this chapter. 216

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Notes 1 Some parts of this chapter build upon Ross (2013). 2 Readers should keep in mind that by focusing on street crime, we are not dismissing the harmful effects of the crimes of the powerful. 3 See, for example, Hallsworth (2005) for a discussion of street crime in England and Wales.

References Anderson, E. (1999). Code of the street: Decency, violence, and the moral life of the inner city. New York, NY: W. W. Norton. Anderson, E. (2013). Streetwise: Race, class, and change in an urban community. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Berg, M. T., & Stewart, E. A. (2013). Street culture and crime. In F. T. Cullen & P. Wilcox (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of criminological theory (pp. 370–388). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Cloward, R., & Ohlin, L. (1960). Delinquency and opportunity structure: A theory of delinquent gangs. New York, NY: Free Press. Cohen, A. (1955). Delinquent boys: The culture of the gang. New York, NY: Free Press. Ferrell, J. (1999). Cultural criminology. Annual Review of Sociology, 25, 395–418. Flamm, M. W. (2005). Law and order: Street crime, civil unrest, and the crisis of liberalism in the 1960s. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Gordon, D. (1991). The justice juggernaut: Fighting street crime, controlling citizens. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Hallsworth, S. (2005). Street crime. Cullompton, Devon: Willan Publishing. Heimer, K. (1997). Socioeconomic status, subcultural definitions, and violent delinquency. Social Forces, 75(3), 799–833. Hirschi, T. (1969). Causes of delinquency. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hobsbawn, E. (2000). Bandits (Rev. ed.). New York, NY: New Press. Ilan, J. (2015). Understanding street culture: Poverty, crime, youth and cool. New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan. Jacobs, B. A., & Wright, R. (1999). Stick-up, street culture, and offender motivation, Criminology, 37(1), 149–174. Kobrin, S. (1951). The conflict of values in delinquency areas. American Sociological Review, 16(5), 653–661. Kornhauser, R. R. (1978). The social sources of delinquency. An appraisal of analytical methods. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. LaFree, G. (1998). Losing legitimacy: Street crime and the decline of social institutions in America. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Luckenbill, D., & Doyle, D. (1989). Structural position and violence: Developing a cultural explanation. Criminology, 27(3), 419–436. Markowitz, F., & Felson, R. (1998). Socio-demographic attitudes and violence. Criminology, 36(1), 117–138. Miller, W. (1958). Lower class culture as a generating milieu of gang delinquency. Journal of Social Issues, 14(3), 5–19. Rosenfeld, R., Jacobs, B. A., & Wright, R. (2003). Snitching and the code of the street. The British Journal of Criminology, 43(2), 291–309. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2013). The encyclopedia of street crime in America. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15(4), 7–13. Ross, J. I., Daichendt, G. J., Kurtenbach, S., Gilchrist, P., Charles, M., & Wicks, J. (2021, forthcoming). Clarifying street culture: Integrating a diversity of opinions and voices. Urban Research and Practice, 14(2). Rothe, D. A., & Collins, V. E. (2013). Street crimes versus suite crimes. In J. I. Ross (Ed.), The encyclopedia of street crime in America (pp. 403–405). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Sampson, R. (2002). The great American city. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Scheingold, S. (1984). The politics of street crime: Criminal process and cultural obsession. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Shaw, C., & McKay, H. (1942). Juvenile delinquency and urban areas. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Shaw, C., & McKay, H. (1969). Juvenile delinquency and urban areas. (Rev. ed.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Silverman, D. (2004). Street crime and street culture. International Economic Review, 45(3), 761–786. Skogan, W. G. (1990). Disorder and decline: Crime and the spiral of decay in American neighborhoods. New York, NY: Free Press. 217

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Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2006). Street and culture in African American adolescent violence: A partial test of the “Code of the Street” thesis. Justice Quarterly, 23(1), 1–33. Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2010). Race, code of the street, and violent delinquency: A multilevel investigation of neighborhood street culture and individual norms of violence. Criminology, 48(2), 569–605 Sutherland, E. (1947). Criminology (4th ed.). Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott. Warner, B. (2003). The role of attenuated culture in social disorganization theory. Criminology, 41(1), 73–99. Wilson, W. J. (1996). The work disappears: The world of the new urban poor. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Wolfgang, M. (1958). Patterns in criminal homicide. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Wolfgang, M., & Ferracuti, F. (1967). The subculture of violence. London: Tavistock.

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18 The code of the street Causes and consequences Jonathan Intravia

Introduction Criminal or delinquent subcultures symbolize certain groups in society that have norms, values, or attitudes that are conducive to deviance, crime, and/or violence. Dating back to the works of the Chicago School in the early- and mid-twentieth century, the study of criminal and delinquent subcultures has long been of interest to sociologists and criminologists (Thrasher, 1927/1936; Cohen, 1955; Miller, 1958;). More recently, Elijah Anderson’s (1994, 1999) code of the street thesis on criminal values, and violent attitudes in particular, has led to a renewed interest in understanding subcultures of violence. The purpose of this chapter is to provide an overview of the empirical work that focuses on the causes and consequences of street code attitudes. The chapter is divided into five main sections: (1) a brief history of criminal and delinquent subcultures, (2) an overview of the street code, how different family structures embrace this value system, and the characteristics of the code, (3) research on the causes of street code attitudes, (4) research on the consequences of those who embrace the code, and (5) a conclusion summarizing the street code research and providing suggestions for future avenues of inquiry.

A brief history of criminal and delinquent subcultures Perhaps one of the earliest and well-known academic works on delinquent subcultures is Frederic Milton Thrasher’s (1927/1936) The Gang: A Study of 1,313 Gangs in Chicago. Based on research conducted for his Ph.D. dissertation, Thrasher shed light on various subgroups of gangs, with one being a criminal gang involved in delinquent and criminal behavior. In his pivotal work on gang behavior, Thrasher discussed themes consistent to criminal subcultures such as codes of conduct that are reflective among individual groups, rules governing deviant behavior such as fighting, and mechanisms of control through the use of punishment. Other foundational work on subcultures contend that criminal/delinquent activity is a product of social class and/or lack of economic opportunities. Indeed, Walter Miller (1958) wrote about class culture among lower-class boys. According to Miller, young males learn and embrace the wider cultural traditions and values found among their social class. He identified and described six values known as “focal concerns.” These values include fate, autonomy, toughness, trouble, excitement, and smartness. Fate (or fatalism) refers to individuals refusing to consider the consequences of their actions because they believe their future is 219

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already determined. Autonomy deals with being independent from others and authority figures and dealing with issues personally. Toughness is concerned with masculinity and being able to face physical threats. Trouble represents causing problems. Excitement refers to thrill-seeking behavior. Smartness involves using verbal and psychological skills and abilities to outcon or outwit others. It is important to note that these focal concerns are not the direct cause of criminal behavior; however, embracing these values may result in some individuals committing criminal and deviant acts. Some scholars, for example, believed that criminal behavior from delinquent subcultures was due to a reaction against middle-class values. For instance, Albert Cohen (1955) argued that lower-class boys often had poor educational success, which resulted in a low status attainment as defined by mainstream values and norms. As a result, delinquent subcultures formed (e.g., gangs) as a response to the “status frustration” experienced by lower-class youth. Crime and deviant acts, such as fighting and vandalism, became ways by which disadvantaged youths can achieve status within their own groups. Similarly, Cloward and Ohlin (1960) also believed that criminal subcultures were an adaptation to discontent experienced by those residing in urban lower-class environments. Specifically, based on the amount of neighborhood cohesiveness and illegitimate opportunities available, there are three distinct subcultures/gangs that young people can join: criminal, conflict, and retreatist. Criminal subcultures develop in more cohesive neighborhoods that contain adult criminals to teach and train youth to be involved in activities that generate income such as theft and robbery. Conflict subcultures form in communities with less opportunities present (either legitimate or illegitimate) and consists of youth looking to achieve alternative forms of success, such as respect, through violence. Lastly, retreatist subcultures are considered “double failures” because they cannot be successful legitimately or illegitimately. These youth are likely to be involved in drugs and hustling to gain approval. Another classic formulation in criminal subcultures is found in Marvin Wolfgang and Franco Ferracuti’s (1967) Subculture of Violence. Their theory differs from those noted prior because they placed less attention on social class or economic opportunities as an explanation in producing criminal subcultures; rather, the authors emphasized the importance of understanding a culture of values and norms that favor violent behavior found among specific groups. Grounding their theory from homicide statistics from Philadelphia’s impoverished minority communities, Wolfgang and Ferracuti argued that violence was not evenly distributed within society. Specifically, among some groups, violence is vital for protection and survival. Thus, differing from mainstream culture, a subculture of violence that emphasizes the justification and use of physical force or violence is established and passed down from one generation to the next. In short, theories on delinquent subcultures paved the way for understanding criminal and violent activity primarily among lower-class males. Yet, like many early theoretical explanations for crime and delinquency, researchers lost interest in subcultural theories as new theoretical explanations for the etiology of criminal behavior were developing. In the 1990s, however, Elijah Anderson’s (1994, 1999) code of the street thesis renewed interest in understanding crime and violence through the lens of the subcultural perspective.

The street code Elijah Anderson’s (1994, 1999) “code of the street” intersects both social class structure and culture in understanding violence in predominately inner-city, African American neighborhoods. Motivated by why individuals, and particularly young people, residing in economically poor environments resort to violence against one another, Anderson’s ethnographic field research in Philadelphia shed light on this very important issue. According to Anderson (1999, p. 33), the street code is “a set of informal rules governing interpersonal public behavior, particularly violence.” The street code is a cultural orientation that exists because residents in the most disadvantaged segments in society are less inclined to rely on agents of social control, 220

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such as the police and judicial system, for assistance.1 As a result, violence is an approved mechanism for governing interpersonal behavior in the inner-city environment outlined by Anderson.

Family orientations In communities where the street code orientation permeates, there are two types of family structures, “decent” and “street,” that interact and reside in the same neighborhood – and may also coexist in the same family (Anderson, 1994). Although the majority of decent and street families encounter the same financial struggles, they have contrasting moral values. Decent families are committed to middle-class standards by valuing hard work, religion, education, and perseverance. Further, parents (and oftentimes only single mothers) of decent households are more likely to instill mainstream values into their children by employing firm child-rearing practices, teaching them manners, to respect people of authority, and to have moral standards of behavior (Anderson, 1999, p. 39). Yet, at the same time, decent parents are well aware of the violent street culture that permeates their community and stress that their children understand the code as well, even if that means using violence to defend themselves. Street families, in contrast, are less considerate of others and have a narrow insight of family and community. In addition, street families may have more difficulty coping with parenthood and living in financial deprivation, which creates frustration and a lack of patience toward others. These individuals are more likely to embrace the street code and encourage their children to adopt the violent values that are associated with it. Street mothers are often substance users/addicts and involved in abusive relationships. According to Anderson (1999, p. 46), decent people often characterize street individuals as lowlife or bad people. Although most residents are considered to be decent people, children are exposed to the street code early and often in social settings (e.g., school). Because the reality of the street code permeates the environment, decent children must learn how to “code switch,” or have the ability to adhere to the rules of the street code when situations require it. Although it is important for decent kids to have the skill to code switch, some decent children may neglect the lessons and values taught by their parents and embrace the values of the code, including aggression and violence, on a regular basis. Thus, children raised in a decent household does not guarantee that they will end up decent themselves.

Characteristics of the street code There are several interrelated characteristics that embody the street code belief system: respect, reputation, violence, and victimization. Respect is the foundation or core of the street code. As stated by Anderson (1999, p. 66), “In the inner-city environment respect on the street may be viewed as a form of social capital that is very valuable.” Individuals regularly campaign for respect in order to enhance their reputation amongst their peers. Respect is often gained or earned through violent acts  – whether it be initiating violence toward others or seeking revenge for wrongdoings. However, respect can also be acquired through nonviolent means such as having a strong presentation (e.g., dressing nice, wearing expensive clothing, having flashy jewelry), being talented in sports or school, having money through drug dealing, and taking ownership of somebody’s sense of honor or even their girlfriend. Those who hold the most respect, or “juice,” in the streets are believed to have a lower likelihood of being messed with or dissed. Therefore, respect leads to a reputation that is considered a form of self-protection against victimization. Collectively, the characteristics noted here are all important ingredients that distinguish the street code as a violent subculture. The street code is not just a set of attitudes or actions conducive to violence, but a deeply embedded cultural belief system resulting from decades of isolation, deprivation, and racial discrimination. In many ways, this belief system uses violence to combat violence in the inner city because the police are believed to be inept or unresponsive in their efforts to protect residents from dangers that permeate the inner-city environment. 221

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Research on the causes of street code attitudes2 The themes discussed in Anderson’s (1999) Code of the Street have resulted in a growing body of research examining the factors associated with adopting street code beliefs and attitudes. Looking at the prior work from a broader standpoint, it is possible to categorize these assessments by three separate but interrelated predictors of street code attitudes: individual and family factors, contextual factors, and theoretical factors.

Individual and family factors As noted earlier, Anderson’s (1994, 1999) street code thesis focused primarily on inner-city, African American residents. As such, research on individual level predictors of street code attitudes has explored demographics consistent with the individuals highlighted in Anderson’s work in order to understand how these characteristics influence one’s likelihood of embracing the street code. Many studies, however, have limited samples that focus on African Americans, younger individuals, and/or males (Brezina, Agnew, Cullen, & Wright, 2004; Stewart & Simons, 2006; Intravia, Wolff, Stewart, & Simons, 2014; Moule, Burt, Stewart, & Simons, 2015). Although these studies may examine samples that are consistent with the specific demographics outlined by Anderson, it is more difficult to assess which demographic groups, if any, are most likely to adopt the street code belief system. On the other hand, assessments that use more diverse samples of race/ethnicity or gender often dummy code for these characteristics, with “African American” and “male” being the reference groups, respectively. With few exceptions (Intravia, Wolff, Gibbs, & Piquero, 2017; Intravia et al., 2018; McNeeley, Meldrum, & Hoskin, 2018), studies that control for race (e.g., African American) either provide no support (Brezina et al., 2004; Keith & Griffiths, 2014) or show that the significance of race is eliminated once other factors are controlled for in the analysis (Piquero et al., 2012). Similar patterns are also evident among males adopting street code attitudes, with some studies showing that male is an important predictor (Piquero et al., 2012; Keith & Griffiths, 2014; Intravia et al., 2018; McNeeley et al., 2018) and others showing there is no significance (Stewart & Simons, 2006; Intravia et al., 2014, 2017). Yet, when comparing street code attitudes across various groups of race/ethnicity and gender, Taylor, Esbensen, Brick, and Freng (2010) found African American and male youths have higher levels of acceptance of street code-related violence compared to all other race/ethnicities examined (Whites, Hispanics, American Indian, Asian, other, and multiracial) and females, respectively. Anderson (1999) also notes the street code belief system is a cultural orientation that is a result of experiencing discrimination and lack of assistance from the police. Research shows that police satisfaction is not related to acquiring street code attitudes (Intravia et al., 2017, 2018); however, those who have less respect for – or have negative attitudes toward – the police are more likely to hold street code attitudes (Piquero et al., 2012; Keith & Griffiths, 2014). Regarding discrimination, studies support Anderson’s notion that measures of racial discrimination is a key cause of adopting street code beliefs (Stewart & Simons, 2006; Moule et al., 2015). Further, a multilevel assessment focusing on racial discrimination from police personnel found that African Americans who perceived greater discrimination from the police were more likely to adopt street code beliefs, and this relationship was more pronounced in neighborhoods characterized by higher levels of violence (Intravia et al., 2014). Studies have also examined or controlled for family- and parenting-related factors that may predict endorsement of street code values. As discussed earlier, Anderson (1999) contends that two types of family orientations (e.g., street and decent), with contrasting parenting techniques, coexist in the same neighborhoods. Perhaps the most detailed examination on family/parenting characteristics is found in Stewart and Simons (2006) multisite assessment of African American youths. The authors characterized “street” families as having inconsistent and harsh discipline, violence, verbal abuse, and child neglect and characterized “decent” families as having consistent discipline, positive reinforcement, child monitoring, and warmth/ support. In their study, the authors found that being in a street family structure was positively related to 222

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adopting street code beliefs, whereas being in a decent family structure yielded no significant effect. Other studies that controlled for characteristics such as family structure (e.g., one versus two parent household), family socioeconomic status, parental supervision, and parental discipline have found little to no support that family and parenting factors are related to adopting the street code (Brezina et al., 2004; Keith & Griffiths, 2014; Moule et al., 2015).

Contextual factors Anderson (1994, 1999) argues that the code of the street is a cultural orientation that is found in disadvantaged, urban locales that consist of primarily African American residents. Owing to the types of communities that are believed to be permeated with the violent belief system, studies have examined whether community context is an important factor in establishing the street code. When comparing the racial/ ethnic composition of neighborhoods, communities characterized by a higher concentration of African Americans and Hispanic residents tend to be more code-oriented (Matsueda et al., 2006). Furthermore, research illustrates that neighborhoods characterized by disadvantage and/or violence are also strong predictors of the street code (Matsueda et al., 2006; Stewart & Simons, 2006; Intravia et al., 2014). However, there is less agreement about whether street code attitudes are a product of only urban environments. Although Taylor and colleagues (2010) found that the street code belief system is more pronounced in urban-dense areas (compared to other settings), other studies that control for urban locales show that urbanicity is not associated with adopting the street code (Brezina et al., 2004; Stewart & Simons, 2006). In fact, a more comprehensive assessment examining the generalizability of street code attitudes across different settings found that youths residing in highly urban areas were just as likely as youths living in suburban and rural communities to endorse the street code belief system, suggesting that densely population settings may not be a key cause of adopting the street code (Keith & Griffiths, 2014).

Theoretical factors Scholarship has noted that many themes discussed in the Code of the Street are similar to other theoretical perspectives in criminology and sociology. Although Anderson (1994, 1999) does not explicitly refer to other theories in his explanation on why the street code belief system is widespread in disadvantaged communities, a number of the arguments embedded in the code of the street thesis show similarities among other crime-related theories. Due to these parallels between street code attitudes and other frameworks, research has examined whether strain, social learning, and self-control theories are important predictors in adopting the street code belief system. For instance, studies illustrate that measures consistent with strain theory (e.g., failure to achieve positively valued stimuli, presentation of noxious stimuli, removal of positively value stimuli) predict adherence to the street code (Stewart & Simons, 2006; Intravia et al., 2014, 2017; for lack of support, see Brezina et  al., 2004). However, measures consistent with social learning theory, such as associating with delinquent/violent peers, tend to show mixed support as being a key predictor of the street code (for support, see Brezina et al., 2004; Stewart & Simons, 2006; for lack of support, see Moule et al., 2015; Intravia et al., 2017). Perhaps the theoretical perspective that has received the most attention in predicting adoption of street code attitudes is self-control theory. This is not surprising given that low self-control has been shown to be a significant predictor of crime, analogous acts, and victimization (Pratt & Cullen, 2000; Pratt, Turanovic, Fox, & Wright, 2014) – characteristics consistent with the street code. Despite the variations in how selfcontrol is operationalized, research shows that individuals with low self-control are more likely to adopt code-related beliefs (Piquero et al., 2012; Moule et al., 2015; Intravia et al., 2018). In a more comprehensive assessment on the self-control and street code relationship, McNeeley and colleagues (2018) utilized various indicators of low self-control from two popular indices, the Grasmick, Tittle, Bursik Jr, & Arneklev 223

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(1993) and Tangney et al. (2004) scales, to determine the consistency of prior findings. In their assessment, the authors found that regardless of what self-control scale was utilized to predict adoption of the code, low self-control was found to have moderate to high variability in explaining street code attitudes.

Assessing the causes of street code attitudes Certain factors are more salient in predicting street code attitudes than others. Looking at demographic characteristics, there is mixed evidence that African Americans and males are more likely to adopt the street code belief system compared to other races/ethnicities and females, respectively. Although a handful of studies explicitly examined the street code thesis consistent with Anderson’s field research on mostly African American youth, studies that utilized different sampling frames (e.g., general samples, young adults, homeless youth, etc.) illustrate that the code of the street, or at least attitudes consistent with the violent street code, are not the product of certain demographics such as race/ethnicity and gender. It is important to note that age was not directly assessed as a predictor because the vast majority of studies consisted of samples that were relatively young in age. Factors that tend to show the most consistent support on adopting street code attitudes include holding negative attitudes toward the police, communities characterized by disadvantage and/or violence, experiencing strain, and low self-control. In contrast, family and parenting-related factors, associating with delinquent/violent peers, and living in an urban environment tend to show mixed to little support as key predictors in the street code belief system.

Research on the consequences of street code attitudes Studies on the street code have also explored several hypotheses related to the consequences of those who embrace the code of the street belief system. As noted by Anderson (1994, 1999), individuals who hold street code attitudes are more prone to committing violence in order to build respect, which is believed to be a protective shield from victimization. As such, two of the most widely tested outcomes examined with the street code include violent offending and victimization. In addition, more recent assessments have begun to explore a number of additional outcomes that the street code-related attitudes may predict. Thus, the research associated with the consequences of the street code attitudes will be discussed by addressing the following themes: violence, victimization, and nonviolent crime and other relevant outcomes.

Violence Collectively, research illustrates that individuals who hold values consistent with the street code belief system are more likely to engage in violence (Stewart et al., 2002; Stewart & Simons, 2006; Matsuda, Melde, Taylor, Freng, & Esbensen, 2013; Mears, Stewart, Siennick, & Simons, 2013; Baron, 2017; Intravia et al., 2018; Erickson, Hochstetler, & Dorius, 2019); and street code attitudes partially mediate important predictors of violence such as neighborhood violence, neighborhood disadvantage, family characteristics, and racial discrimination (Stewart & Simons, 2006). At the community level, studies also show that neighborhood street culture is an important predictor of violence. That is, neighborhoods that are more entrenched with the code of the street culture predict youth violence, independent of individual-level street code attitude – and the effects of individual-level street code values on violence is more pronounced in neighborhoods that embrace the street code (Stewart & Simons, 2010). It is important to note that street code attitudes are not the sole or key cause of violence. Although such attitudes show strong predictive power in explaining violent acts, the street code’s relationship with violence may be best understood with the consideration of other factors related to violence. The importance of moderators, or other variables that may strengthen the relationship between street code attitudes and violence, was detailed in Baron’s (2017) assessment of 224

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homeless youth. In his study, the author found that anger, not fearful of being a victim, history of physical abuse, negative attitudes toward the police, lack of parental warmth, and length of homelessness (i.e., poverty) are all salient factors that strengthen the relationship between the street code and violence relationship.

Victimization According to Anderson (1999, p. 76), the code of the street is a belief system built on respect through violent and nonviolent acts. Having a valuable reputation for violence is a form of self-protection believed to deter an individual from being a victim of a violent crime. Although those who embrace the street code are believed to be victimized less, research in this domain has failed to show support that street code attitudes safeguard against victimization. In fact, those who embrace the street code belief system have a higher likelihood of being assaulted (Stewart et al., 2006). In addition, Stewart and colleagues (2006) found that neighborhood violence moderated the positive effect between street code attitudes and victimization. Specifically, those who more fully embraced the street code and resided in a neighborhood characterized by high levels of violence had higher probabilities of being a victim of a violent crime compared to those who did not fully embrace the code or did not embrace it at all (see also, Berg et al., 2012). As stated by the authors “the code of the street operates less as a protective factor . . . and more as a risk factor for victimization” (Stewart et al., 2006, p. 443). Additional evidence shows that embracing the street code belief system predicts victimization beyond violence. In fact, those who hold street code attitudes are not only susceptible to being victims of assault, but are also more likely to be victims of property crime (McNeeley & Wilcox, 2015a). Furthermore, the street code and victimization relationship may differ based on one’s lifestyle choices. For example, research illustrates individuals who embrace the code are more likely to be violently victimized if they spend more time in public settings than those who engage in less public activities outside of their home (McNeeley & Wilcox, 2015b).

Nonviolent crimes and other outcomes Studies have examined whether street code attitudes can predict criminal (and noncriminal) behavior beyond acts of violence. Overall, there is mixed support on whether street code attitudes predict nonviolent and/or noncriminal behaviors. While some evidence points to the street code predicting property crime and various types of criminality measured in an index (Intravia et al., 2017, 2018), there is also evidence that street code attitudes do not predict drug use, theft, tax evasion, driving under the influence, and school misbehavior (Intravia et  al., 2017, 2018; Piquero et  al., 2012). The mixed findings on nonviolent crimes can be because, in part, street code attitudes may be limited in explaining many crimes outside of violence. In the past few years, a number of assessments have been made to explore additional consequences related to street code attitudes beyond crime and victimization. This limited but promising body of work has linked those who embrace the street code belief system to an increased likelihood of being arrested and convicted (Mears, Stewart, Warren, & Simons, 2017), an increased level of fear of crime (McNeeley & Yuan, 2017), and having a lower probability of reporting crimes to the police (Kwak, Dierenfeldt, & McNeeley, 2019); however, the relationship between street code adherence and crime reporting was significant for only African American respondents.

Assessing the consequences of street code attitudes When it comes to assessing the consequences of those who embrace the street code, clearer patterns are present. Violence is a key consequence of street code attitudes. That is, research supports the notion that 225

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those who adhere to the code of the street are significantly more likely to engage in violent-related behavior, consistent with Anderson’s (1999) thesis. Further, being a victim is another consequence of embracing the street code belief system. Although empirical research illustrates a pattern opposite to Anderson’s (1994, 1999) assertions on the code of the street serving as a buffer against victimization, those who hold attitudes conducive to the street code have a higher likelihood of being a crime victim. Yet, when it comes to engaging in crimes outside of violence, there is little support to show that street code attitudes are important predictors of such nonviolent acts.

Conclusion The goal of this chapter was to not only provide a brief account of subcultural theories in criminology/ sociology, but to introduce readers to an increasing popular subcultural perspective in social science, Elijah Anderson’s (1999) Code of the Street thesis, by discussing the key characteristics of the street code and evaluating the current state of empirical evidence of the street code. This was accomplished by dividing extant research in two separate, but interrelated ways: (1) research testing the causes of street code attitudes and (2) research testing the consequences of those who embrace such attitudes. Overall, findings indicate that there are a number of factors that contribute to one’s likelihood of adopting street code attitudes, such as negative police encounters, experiencing strain, having low self-control, and living in an adverse environment. As for the consequences of individuals embracing the street code belief system, research shows strong support that street code attitudes predict not only acts of violence but also being victims of such crimes. Given the dearth of research devoted to the causes and consequences of street code attitudes, it is important that scholars continue to examine additional causes and consequences of the street code. As previous studies have advocated, future efforts should be directed toward multilevel assessments, moderation factors, mediation, and a broader level of theoretical correlates (Brezina et al., 2004; Piquero et al., 2012; Baron, 2017). Further, it is recommended that research focus on additional themes that are discussed widely in Anderson’s thesis such as the concept of “code-switching,” self-presentation (e.g., respect, status), decent versus street family structures, alienation/deprivation, fate, and nonviolent means to gain and earn respect amongst ones’ peers.

Acknowledgments The author would like to give special thanks to Kevin Wolff for helpful comments and feedback on earlier drafts.

Notes 1 It is important to note that a host of research has shown that minority residents in disadvantaged settings often have strained relationships with law enforcement personnel due to experiencing negative interactions with the police (see, e.g., Brunson, 2007; Carr, Napolitano, & Keating, 2007; Stewart, Baumer, Brunson, & Simons, 2009; Weitzer, 1999). 2 The review of the literature is germane to research that explicitly focuses on testing hypotheses from Anderson’s (1999) code of the street thesis (i.e., causes of street code attitudes; consequences of street code attitudes). Thus, empirical investigations on broader (sub)cultural contexts such as street culture, street criminality, or street gangs that do not directly examine predictors of street code values are not discussed in this chapter.

References Anderson, E. (1994). The code of the streets. Atlantic Monthly, 273(5), 81–94. Anderson, E. (1999). Code of the street. New York, NY: W. W. Norton. 226

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Baron, S. W. (2017). It’s more than the code: Exploring the factors that moderate the street code’s relationship with violence. Justice Quarterly, 34(3), 491–516. Berg, M. T., Stewart, E. A., Schreck, C. J., & Simons, R. L. (2012). The victim – offender overlap in context: Examining the role of neighborhood street culture. Criminology, 50(2), 359–390. Brezina, T., Agnew, R., Cullen, F. T., & Wright, J. P. (2004). The code of the street: A quantitative assessment of Elijah Anderson’s subculture of violence thesis and its contribution to youth violence research. Youth Violence and Juvenile Justice, 2(4), 303–328. Brunson, R. K. (2007). “Police don’t like black people”: African-American young men’s accumulated police experiences. Criminology & Public Policy, 6(1), 71–101. Carr, P. J., Napolitano, L., & Keating, J. (2007). We never call the cops and here is why: A qualitative examination of legal cynicism in three Philadelphia neighborhoods. Criminology, 45(2), 445–480. Cloward, R. A., & Ohlin, L. (1960). Delinquency and opportunity: A theory of delinquent gangs. New York, NY: Free Press. Cohen, A. (1955). Delinquent boys: The culture of the gang. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Erickson, J. H., Hochstetler, A., & Dorius, S. F. (2019). Code in transition? The evolution of code of the street adherence in adolescence. Deviant Behavior, 1–19. Grasmick, H. G., Tittle, C. R., Bursik Jr, R. J., & Arneklev, B. J. (1993). Testing the core empirical implications of Gottfredson and Hirschi’s general theory of crime. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 30(1), 5–29. Intravia, J., Gibbs, B. R., Wolff, K. T., Paez, R., Bernheimer, A., & Piquero, A. R. (2018). The mediating role of street code attitudes on the self-control and crime relationship. Deviant Behavior, 39(10), 1305–1321. Intravia, J., Wolff, K. T., Gibbs, B. R., & Piquero, A. R. (2017). Violent attitudes and antisocial behavior: Examining the code of the street’s generalizability among a college sample. Deviant Behavior, 38(9), 957–974. Intravia, J., Wolff, K. T., Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2014). Neighborhood-level differences in police discrimination and subcultural violence: A multilevel examination of adopting the code of the street. Journal of Crime and Justice, 37(1), 42–60. Keith, S., & Griffiths, E. (2014). Urban code or urban legend: Endorsement of the street code among delinquent youth in urban, suburban, and rural Georgia. Race and justice, 4(3), 270–298. Kwak, H., Dierenfeldt, R., & McNeeley, S. (2019). The code of the street and cooperation with the police: Do codes of violence, procedural injustice, and police ineffectiveness discourage reporting violent victimization to the police? Journal of Criminal Justice, 60, 25–34. Matsuda, K. N., Melde, C., Taylor, T. J., Freng, A., & Esbensen, F. A. (2013). Gang membership and adherence to the “code of the street”. Justice Quarterly, 30(3), 440–468. Matsueda, R. L., Drakulich, K., & Kubrin, C. E. (2006). Race and neighborhood codes of violence. The Many Colors of Crime: Inequalities of Race, Ethnicity, and Crime in America, 334–356. McNeeley, S., Meldrum, R. C., & Hoskin, A. W. (2018). Low self-control and the adoption of street code values among young adults. Journal of Criminal Justice, 56, 118–126. McNeeley, S., & Wilcox, P. (2015a). The code of the street and violent versus property crime victimization. Violence and Victims, 30(6), 1049–1067. McNeeley, S., & Wilcox, P. (2015b). Street codes, routine activities, neighbourhood context and victimization. British Journal of Criminology, 55(5), 921–943. McNeeley, S., & Yuan, Y. (2017). A multilevel examination of the code of the street’s relationship with fear of crime. Crime & Delinquency, 63(9), 1146–1167. Mears, D. P., Stewart, E. A., Siennick, S. E., & Simons, R. L. (2013). The code of the street and inmate violence: Investigating the salience of imported belief systems. Criminology, 51(3), 695–728. Mears, D. P., Stewart, E. A., Warren, P. Y., & Simons, R. L. (2017). Culture and formal social control: The effect of the code of the street on police and court decision-making. Justice Quarterly, 34(2), 217–247. Miller, W. B. (1958). Lower class culture as a generating milieu of gang delinquency. Journal of Social Issues, 14(3), 5–19. Moule Jr, R. K., Burt, C. H., Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2015). Developmental trajectories of individuals’ code of the street beliefs through emerging adulthood. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 52(3), 342–372. Piquero, A. R., Intravia, J., Stewart, E., Piquero, N. L., Gertz, M., & Bratton, J. (2012). Investigating the determinants of the street code and its relation to offending among adults. American Journal of Criminal Justice, 37(1), 19–32. Pratt, T. C., & Cullen, F. T. (2000). The empirical status of Gottfredson and Hirschi’s general theory of crime: A metaanalysis. Criminology, 38(3), 931–964. 227

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Pratt, T. C., Turanovic, J. J., Fox, K. A., & Wright, K. A. (2014). Self-control and victimization: A meta-analysis. Criminology, 52(1), 87–116. Stewart, E. A., Baumer, E. P., Brunson, R. K., & Simons, R. L. (2009). Neighborhood racial context and perceptions of police-based racial discrimination among black youth. Criminology, 47(3), 847–887. Stewart, E. A., Schreck, C. J., & Simons, R. L. (2006). “I ain’t gonna let no one disrespect me”. Does the code of the street reduce or increase violent victimization among African American adolescents? Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 43(4), 427–458. Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2006). Structure and culture in African American adolescent violence: A partial test of the “code of the street” thesis. Justice Quarterly, 23(1), 1–33. Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2010). Race, code of the street, and violent delinquency: A multilevel investigation of neighborhood street culture and individual norms of violence. Criminology, 48(2), 569–605. Stewart, E. A., Simons, R. L., & Conger, R. D. (2002). Assessing neighborhood and social psychological influences on childhood violence in an African-American sample. Criminology, 40(4), 801–830. Tangney, J. P., Baumeister, R. F., & Boone, A. L. (2004). High self-control predicts good adjustment, less pathology, better grades, and interpersonal success. Journal of Personality, 72(2), 271–324. Taylor, T. J., Esbensen, F. A., Brick, B. T., & Freng, A. (2010). Exploring the measurement quality of an attitudinal scale of street code-related violence: Similarities and differences across groups and contexts. Youth Violence and Juvenile Justice, 8(3), 187–212. Thrasher, F. M. (1936[1927]). The gang: A study of one thousand three hundred thirteen gangs in Chicago. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Weitzer, R. (1999). Citizens’ perceptions of police misconduct: Race and neighborhood context. Justice Quarterly, 16(4), 819–846. Wolfgang, M. E., & Ferracuti, F. (1967). The subculture of violence: Towards an integrated theory in criminology. London: Tavistock.

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19 A cross-cultural perspective of the code of the street Sebastian Kurtenbach

Introduction Every city has its places of concentrated poverty and higher crime rates. Those neighborhoods can lay in the inner-city as in most US cities, on the fringe of the city, as they are often located in Africa, or in the suburbs, which are independent cities but close to a major city, like in France. All are also focus areas of youth violence and need specific kinds of strategies and knowledge to navigate through dangerous streets safety. To analyze and understand violence in those neighborhoods, different analytical frameworks have been formulated in the last hundred years. Starting with the classical work of the Chicago School of Sociology with its Social Disorganization approach up to more criminological approaches, like the situational action theory (Wikström, 2010), we try to understand the interplay between space and individual behavior to analyze violence in those hotspots of street crime. More than two decades ago, Elijah Anderson (1999) formulated in his seminal work Code of the Street as such an attempt. Up to now, it is one of the most cited theoretical approaches to understand and analyze the dynamics within segregated neighborhoods to put meaning beyond the actions of male juveniles in particular, as the most violent group. In this chapter, a threefold overview about this approach is provided. First, the basic assumption and core elements of the street code are presented in detail. Second, empirical findings about the street code in US-based studies are reviewed and a critical reflection is provided. Third, findings from studies, which are not based in the US, are discussed. This chapter ends with a conclusion about the street code concept, its limitations and advances as well as the need for further research.

Basic assumption and elements of the code of the street theory Anderson’s study is based on intensive ethnographical work in Philadelphia in the 1990s. One of the conceptional ideas of the research was that people react to environmental driven challenges by observable patterns. In this regard, the study is in line with classical ethnographical work, like the Marienthal Study (Jahoda, Lazarsfeld, & Zeisel, 1960) or the work of Robert E. Park (1928). But Anderson’s approach was important during this time, as even though he did his research in a predominately African American neighborhood, he did not emphasize race in front of the explanation in his study. Further, he focused on the social and economic circumstances people have to cope with. By doing so, he separates race or ethnicity from behavior, which had often overlapped in ethnographical analysis up to then. 229

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A precondition of the development of the code of the street is a specific spatial framework, which includes an increasing and spatially concentrated drug market (Anderson, 1999, p. 227), high crime rates (Anderson, 1999, p. 219), deindustrialization (Anderson, 1999, p. 232), demoralization (Anderson, 1999, p. 2) and discrimination (Anderson, 1999, p. 88). In such a setting, people have to react to provide safety and self-respect. In his scope are male juveniles who develop a specific set of violence-related norms, attitudes and beliefs. To be clear: people shape a specific kind of behavioral pattern to go along as well as possible with a disadvantaged environment (Wilson, 1987). In this regard, the development of a street code is an act of self-assertion and it is close to the basic ideas of Merton’s (1938) anomie theory. In this regard, the street code approach brings social-structural, social-cultural, as well as human behavior together. But the street code approach has a second spatial aspect, which is the street as a staging area. Those risky neighborhoods are a challenging framework on the one hand, but also places of social interaction on the other hand, where peers recognize and evaluate the behavior and look of each other. Especially for children, schools become those staging areas as well, where they learn the street code (Anderson, 1999, p. 139), which could lead to the issue of school dropouts. However, those staging areas are embedded in a spatial framework and need to be understood as an expression of an interplay of neighborhood characteristics, peer orientated behavior and individual norms. However, Anderson advances a binary logic of households in those risky neighborhoods, which are characterized by missing collective norms and specific kinds of conflict hierarchies. On the one hand, there are so-called decent families or kids. They follow middle-class values and try to do their best to integrate into mainstream society. On the other hand, there are so-called street families or kids, which reject middleclass values and develop a self-centered and often violent way of life. In risky neighborhoods, street families are dominant and children from decent families have to develop the ability to do “code-switching,” which means that they are able to react in the way necessary to stay safe and get respected by street kids. The street is developed or shaped through a social shuffling processes on the street among peers in particular. Beyond that stands the need to campaign for respect as the social currency of the street. In the same manner, children from decent families become familiar with the code of the street and learn the ability of code-switching or incorporate the code in their individual normative system. In short, children are a vulnerable group to the street, because they are fascinated by the campaigning game, which is based on fighting, coolness and peer-driven recognition (Anderson, 1999, p. 135). So, children learn the code, which helps them to code-switch, and anticipate it. Such an incorporation of the street code is noticeable by those children who grow up in street-orientated households in particular (Anderson, 1999, p. 142). The code of the street only occurs by the acquisition of street wisdom. Anderson formulated this element in a former study (Anderson, 1990, pp. 230–233), and it means that specific knowledge on the street is developed to stay safe or know how to interact with others. The most important function of street wisdom is to regulate violence, in regards to how it becomes acceptable, how an offender and a victim have to act to gain as much safety as possible or how to gain respect through violence. But it also regulates the need for revenge or how violence-related norms are sampled together to shape the code of the street (Anderson, 1999, p. 186). So it has been formulated, that street wisdom helps individuals stay out of trouble and gain safety in dangerous places. Therefore, the campaigning for respect, shaped by the rules of street wisdom, in risky neighborhoods is the nucleus for the other needed elements of the street code. Closely connected to the street code are gender roles, and especially masculinity from the point of view of male juveniles. Against the background of the street code are changes in the manufacturing industry and the loss of blue-collar jobs in the US, the former role model of a caring father is replaced by street-oriented carriers of the “fast life.” These role models promote a street-orientated organization of the day-to-day life, which is centered around the campaign for respect. Signs of street-oriented masculinity are having girlfriends or taking those from others and treating them like trophies, or having children (but not taking care of them) or a violent character (Anderson, 1999, p. 148). 230

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Hand in hand with a street-orientated life is the shared interpretations of symbols. Brand name clothes, cars or technical devices become signs of success in the street economy. Under the spatial circumstances of widespread poverty and without a collective perspective of getting a permanent position with income higher than the minimum wage, expensive goods clearly imply that individuals profit from the drug market or other suspicious activities, and these activities are threatening but also formidable at the same time. In this sense, symbols are a reflection of the status of a man on the street (Anderson, 1999, p. 39). Also tattoos, graffiti or jewelry contribute to the specific symbol system of the street, as Anderson describes it in the example of Germantown in the 1990s. These and also further elements, like the construction of enemies, the role of friends and family, but also the perception of space as a threat, shape the street code. So, street codes are an outcome of spatial situations and the vis-à-vis awareness of individuals in public spaces. As an outcome, violence-related behavior, or its acceptance, becomes a group-based (among a peer group) as well as collective (among the residential population) norm in risky neighborhoods. As a consequence, residents are alienated from mainstream values, opportunities and future expectations and show or accept deviant behavior, and public decency is not respected (Anderson, 1999, p.47). Furthermore, the people of those neighborhoods deny that the situation is changeable, which is true for the community as well as for the individual circumstances, and the need for illegal behavior is perceived as an accessible outcome of economic, but not normative, exclusion. Even if the street code concept is a widely accepted approach, some critical points should be highlighted. Wacquant (2002) pointed out that the street code approach is ambiguous. He argues that normative beliefs of individuals remain, but also how these behavioral scripts are shaped. Furthermore, the macrodriven, first of all economic, markers of the neighborhoods are underestimated. Heitmeyer et al. (2019) did not doubt Anderson’s findings, but the range of the concept and its significance outside of the US should be questioned. This is largely because most of the studies are US-based and involve similar neighborhoods as Germantown in Philadelphia. Findings of these US-based studies are discussed in the next section.

Findings and structure of US-based studies, using the code of the street The street code approach of Anderson has been cited by more than 70 studies, published in journals which are ranked in the social science citation index (Web of Science) between 1999 and 2018. Additionally, the term “Code of the Street” brings up to 6,860 hits in Google Scholar.1 Furthermore, it is used interdisciplinarily and not only in the field of urban sociology. All of these aspects indicate that Anderson’s street code is a basic approach in social science to understand spatial embedded dynamics if violence. It has a significant impact on how we understand street culture nowadays and this is by training of students, blind review of articles or recommendation of theoretical understanding of street violence among academic as well as nonacademic peers. With some exceptions, like Wacquant (2002), the code of the street has not been critically reviewed. One reason could be that evidence of it in further studies are caused by the use of the street code as a theoretical or conceptional guideline to understand or analyze data and findings, but not to evaluate the essence of the approach. This is astonishing, because Anderson himself formulates some spatial preconditions of the occurrence of the street code, which have already been mentioned, but are often not respected. Furthermore, especially in the US studies, African American neighborhoods are in the focus and these are usually located in postindustrial contexts of metropolitan areas on the east coast or Midwest, or in the case of the Family and Community Health Study (FACHS), in Georgia and Iowa. Before we take a closer look into the findings about the street code, two points will be discussed. First, the empirical definition of the street code should be examined. There is a wide range of approaches used. Often, the US-based studies use ethnographical approaches and use the street code approach to interpret the data (e.g., Duck & Rawls, 2012; Henriksen, 2017; Lane, 2016). Other empirical studies measure the street code by social structure (e.g., Parker & Reckdenwald, 2008). However, most of the studies try to bring together 231

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markers for the social structure and social culture of the neighborhood. Remarkable is the extensive use of the FACHS, a panel study of African American households in Georgia and Iowa. At least seven studies, published between 1999 and 2018 in Journals ranked by the Social Science Citation Index, use this dataset (e.g. Barr, Simons, & Stewart, 2013; Mears, Stewart, Siennick, & Simons, 2013; Stewart & Simons, 2006; Intravia, Wolff, Stewart, & Simons, 2014). In none of the studies were only whites or Asian Americans in the focus, but usually African Americans. Other studies used second-hand data (Drummond, Bolland, & Harris, 2011) or used their own survey (Taylor, Esbensen, Brick, & Freng, 2010). Here a closer look at the samples that were used is worthwhile. For example, in one study, which should show the generalizability of the street code concept, street attitudes among undergrad students were measured (Intravia, Wolff, Gibbs, & Piquero, 2017) by using a scale from Stewart and Simons (2006) to explain deviant behavior. Results show just a marginal support for the researchers’ thesis. Second, the spatial profiles of the focus areas can be studied. Usually neighborhoods or spatial contexts were selected that are close to the profile of Germantown in Philadelphia, where Anderson did his study in the 1990s. This means ones that are usually African Americans in Metropolitan areas are in the scope. Also the level of poverty and crime rate are used as markers of the risk of the neighborhoods (see also Heitmeyer et al., 2019). Only a few studies analyze the street code in suburban or rural areas (Keith & Griffiths, 2014) or explicitly among other ethnic groups like Latinos (Rojas-Gaona, 2016) or do not center on the racial issues (Lane, 2016).2 One major point in the empirical discussion of the code of the street is its generalization. Therefore, two characteristic studies are interesting to mention. First, one study uses the National Youth Survey (NYS), a US annual survey of juveniles aged between 11 and 17 years, which includes self-reported delinquent behavior conducted (Brezina, Agnew, Cullen, & Wright, 2004). The first wave dates back to 1977 (n = 1,725) and besides the juveniles, one parent has been interviewed. In the second and third waves, 1,655 and 1,626 youths were interviewed. However, only the male responses (n = 918) are in the scope of the study, which tests a causal model to explain violence-related beliefs based on the street code approach. The results point out, that future violent behavior is associated with socioeconomic status and mediated by supervision. Furthermore, teaming up with aggressive peers as well as victimization show violent behavior. Thus, the study extended the generalizability of findings of the street code in different neighborhoods. Second, one study focused on college students (Intravia et al., 2017). The basic assumption is that if the code of the street is also observable among this specific and privileged group, it could be a general theory. Therefore, interviews with 245 students are analyzed by OLS Regressions. One measurement is a scale about street attitudes from Stewart and colleagues (2006) with seven questions: (1) when someone disrespects you, it is important that you use physical force or aggression to teach him or her not to disrespect you, (2) if someone uses violence against you, it is important that you use violence against him or her to get even, (3) people will take advantage of you if you don’t let them know how tough you are, (4) people do not respect a person who is afraid to fight physically for his/ her rights, (5) sometimes you need to threaten people in order to get them to treat you fairly, (6) it is important to show others that you cannot be intimidated, and (7) people tend to respect a person who is tough and aggressive. (Intravia et al., 2017, pp. 963–964) Overall, the authors find support for the thesis that the street code is also operating among a non-street associated group and is so far a general theory (Intravia et al., 2017, p. 970). Another path in the discussion about the code of the street is the role of the family in adapting of the code by children and juveniles. In the original work, the family has a significant role to play by adapting or rejecting the street code and protecting children from the street or accepting the street “in the house.” In this part, an extensive use of data from the FACHS is observable. This was a multi-site investigation of neighborhood and family effects on health and development, based on the Center of Family Research, 232

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Georgia University.3 However, only African Americans were in the sample and the focus is on rural areas. Based in this dataset, Stewart and Simons (2006) explain youth violence by using the street code approach. In their analysis, the authors combine social structural characteristics and racial discrimination to explain the adoption of the street code. In their interpretation of the results, the authors verified Anderson’s thesis. In another study, Stewart and Simons (2006) analyzed the relationship between adaptation of the code of street with neighborhood characteristics and family types again with FACHS data, now with the two waves of 1997 and 1999. And again, the basic assumption of Andersons’ thesis is verified. Neighborhood disadvantage, discrimination and violence as well as characteristics of the family are linked to the adaptation of the code of the street. Based on Anderson’s hypothesis, that children learn the code of the street from different factors at an early age, Moule and colleagues (2015) looked not only at the exposure of juveniles to the street, but also to deviant peers to explain the adoption of the code of the street. They use a subsample of the FACHS survey of 879 juveniles, 55 % male and 45 % female, to test this hypothesis. At the first wave of data collection, the cohort was between 10 and 12 years old and at the second wave of the analysis in 2011, between 21 and 26 years old. The findings showed a strong stability of the street code over time and the risk factors claimed are: discrimination, parental monitoring, neighborhood crime and male gender. However, studies using other datasets also discuss the role of the family. Drummond et al. (2011) used the Mobile Youth Survey (MYS), an Alabama-based study about juveniles in the city of Mobile with its 13 neighborhoods. Respondents are 13 to 19 years old and come from all neighborhoods. In their focus are the effects of parenthood, sense of community, peer association and hopelessness on adopting the code of the street among youth. The findings show that positive parenthood and a sense of community and neighborhood are mediating factors for adoption of the code of the street and violent behavior. The second major path in the discussion about the code of the street in the US-based studies is if the street code provides safety. Anderson’s hypothesis is that in particular male juveniles develop a street code to stay safe in a violent environment. However, different studies come to the conclusion that this does not work out (Matsuda, Melde, Taylor, Freng, & Esbensen, 2013; Richardson & Vil, 2016; Stewart et al., 2006; for a discussion: Stewart, Schreck, & Brunson, 2008). Furthermore, individuals who internalized the code of the street do face a higher probability to engage in violent and risky situations than others.

Findings and structure of non-US based studies, using the code of the street Leaving the US context, the picture of the street code becomes more diverse. Several studies, using the street code approach, focus on violence in the United Kingdom. For example, Brookman, Bennett, Hochstetler, & Copes (2011) examined the elements of street culture in the UK by interviewing convicted violent offenders. The study was designed to capture a variety of aspects of street violence by using purposive sampling in six prisons. The sample consisted of a diverse group of respondents including 80 males and 30 females with average ages of 28 and 24 years, respectively. The findings suggested the major factors for the adoption of violence in street culture: street justice for disrespect, safeguard against perceived retaliation, confidence to revenge over personal matters and maintaining the street culture reputation by violence. In the study, the narratives of the offenders supported the existence of a code of the street in UK streets as suggested by Anderson (1999) in Philadelphia. The study broadens the generalizability of the code of the street outside the USA and in both males and females. In another UK-based study, Holligan (2015) aimed to investigate the code of street and its cultural and historical development in Scotland. Therefore, he conducted qualitative interviews with 37 male juveniles between 16 and 18 years of age. The narratives of offenders acknowledged the existence of the code of the street, especially in relation to gender issues. To sum up, the UK-based studies do find evidence of the street code in the way Anderson described in Germantown. 233

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Outside of the Anglo-American context, only a few studies use the code of the street explanation in their studies. In a study about street children in Makeevka (Ukraine), Naterer (2015) uses the code of the street as an analytical framework to interpret ethnographical data. He claims that children living in a threatening social environment develop the code as a survival strategy, but he does not compare the street codes in Philadelphia and Makeevka with each other. So, the finding is that individuals in an excluded position do develop norm-based strategies to survive, but not whether these strategies are similar to each other in different contexts. McNeeley and Hoeben (2017) used a longitudinal school-based survey (N = 843) of juveniles in a poor Dutch neighborhood for their study. Even if they find some supportive findings for the street code, they note: These results speak to the theory’s applicability to areas beyond the Philadelphia neighborhoods on which it was based and the samples from the United States on which it has been tested. The current study also specifically demonstrates the utility of the theory in explaining violence in international contexts without the degree of neighborhood disadvantage present in many major U.S. cities. (McNeeley & Hoeben, 2017, p. 649) Kurtenbach and Rauf (2019) determined if the code of the street emerges in ethnic diverse and “risky” neighborhoods in the postindustrial area of the Ruhr-Region. Therefore, they analyzed 27 qualitative interviews with male juveniles, conducted in community youth centers in socially segregated but ethnically diverse neighborhoods in Dortmund and Duisburg. The background of the study is that the street code approach is frequently used and cited, but it is based on research in an ethnically homogenous neighborhood in the US and thus does not engage with questions of diversity. The findings show that the core of the code also holds true for heterogeneous contexts. Manifestations of manhood, reputation and symbolic power were found to be major elements of street culture, although characterized somewhat differently than in Anderson’s work. Those differences become clear by cross-cultural comparison. In an international study, which compares the code of the street in Germany, South Africa and Pakistan, Heitmeyer and colleagues (2019) deconstruct the code of the street into nine core elements and translated them into questions used for guided interviews. In all three countries, interviews were conducted with male juveniles between 16 and 21 years of age in risky neighborhoods to compare if the elements of the code are similar to each other or differ between the countries. Their results show that the code of the street does have a stable core, which means the elements like respect, perception of the neighborhood and perception of violence exist. Everything else, like toughness/masculinity, differ between the countries. The study is particularly helpful because it shows that THE code of the street does not exist. Furthermore, every context (neighborhood, country) provokes the development of a street code and so its street culture (Lepoutre, 2017, p. 264). To get along in risky German neighborhoods, young men need other skills and normative beliefs than those in a township in South Africa or a socially segregated African-American neighborhood in Chicago. The researchers conclude that street codes are shaped not only by bottom-up (individual) processes but also top-down (context) influences, which explains the differences between street codes among countries, cities and neighborhoods. Because the code of the street approach does not work in all contexts, literature to develop it to a more general usable concept has developed. Here, it is combined with the Habitus concept of Bourdieu (1977), on the one hand. The basic assumption is that every individual incorporates specific perceptions and interpretations of the world, which depend on the social environment they have, in the childhood in particular. On the other hand, the code of the street is seen as a specific kind of cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1986), which is accumulated by toughness, violence and is shown by respect as the currency of the street. In this sense, violent behavior or other acts, which are connected to the approach of the code of the street, become rational behavior, because it fits into the street habitus and helps to accumulate street capital. In their remarkable work, Sandberg and Pedersen (2011) develop the outlined approach based on an ethnographical study of street drug dealers in Oslo, Norway. Their suggestion is that by engaging in deviant and criminal 234

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behavior, a specific kind of capital, street capital, is accumulated, which helps to manage the challenges on the street. Furthermore, juveniles who are forced to accumulate street capital develop a street habitus as well. Altogether, in studies using the street code approach outside of the US, or more specifically the AngloAmerican context, the theoretical concept of the code of the street does not provide as clear results. For sure, we do see similarities in the behavior of male juveniles in risky neighborhoods in different contexts, like the campaign for respect, but even this differs between the countries, as the study from Heitmeyer and colleagues (2019) shows. However, the configuration of violence-related norms differs between neighborhoods and countries, which is plausible, because every country develops its own kind of risky neighborhoods and with it a specific street code, which studies of Oslo (Sandberg & Petersen, 2011; Sandberg, 2009), the Ruhr Area (Heitmeyer et al., 2019; Kurtenbach & Rauf, 2019), Berlin, Cape Town, Durban, Islamabad (Heitmeyer et al., 2019), Frankfurt/Main (Bucerius, 2014) or Makeevka (Naterer, 2015) show. However, we do see relational similarities, like the accumulation of street capital, but the way of doing it is moderated by individual circumstances, like being a refugee without a perspective in the host country (Sandberg & Petersen, 2011), belonging to a poor underclass (e.g., juveniles in townships in Cape Town, see: Heitmeyer et al., 2019) or being part of a discriminated minority, but with the chance of social upward mobility like in Germany (Kurtenbach & Rauf, 2019). Also, the macro context of the country and neighborhood has a significant influence on the perspectives in life, which do shape the street code as well.

Conclusion Anderson’s code of the street theory is a powerful approach to explain youth violence in risky neighborhoods. However, the findings are limited to the Anglo-American context in particular and studies in other contexts, like the Netherlands, Germany, South Africa or Pakistan point out that the code of the street underlies culturally specific influences. Such culture-related differences are logical, but not clearly explainable by the street code literature, especially with those studies using the street code as a general approach without reflecting the context in which it has been first described. It seems that street codes are shaped by two influences. First, the bottom-up influence of individual habits and family issues. Here, children and juveniles learn the street code from their family in particular. The other influence is the top-down context that an individual is embedded in. This influence is the country as the broader context and the neighborhood as the local context. We do know that countries differ from each other in important markers, like the homicide rate, which has an impact on the perception of violence. Also important is the local context, as the spatial sphere, where the individuals have to cope with violence or disadvantages, especially in risky neighborhoods. So, the interplay between individual resources on the one hand and country- as well as neighborhood-related issues form the street code of an individual. And such a street code has to fulfill specific functions within a context by providing a coping strategy with the local challenges. Based on this, a street code in Germantown, Philadelphia needs to be different from one encountered in Reykjavik, Iceland, a township in South Africa, a slum in India, or a favela in Brazil. What Anderson found was a specific American street code. If it is limited to the group of African Americans, as a discriminated minority, or to poor groups in the US, cannot be answered based on the state of research, because the majority of studies only did research in African American neighborhoods. The findings about the code of the street point also in the direction of further research about street codes, which is a helpful approach to understand violence on the street, and here are three most important points: •

•

Street codes among other minorities in the US: Only a few studies focused on ethnic groups other than African Americans in the US. So, it would be helpful to understand if the code of the street, as Anderson described it, is observable among other groups, like white folks, native Americans, Asian Americans or Latinos. Street codes in a cross-cultural perspective: Only one broader study focused on street codes in a crosscultural perspective so far (Heitmeyer et al., 2019). The results show that parts of the street code are 235

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•

stable over different countries, but other elements differ. So, it would be helpful to understand in further studies if specific kinds of context, like extremely violent neighborhoods (e.g. favelas in South America and townships in Africa), shape the same kind of street codes, which should be compared with the findings of a comparison between street codes in western welfare states (e.g. segregated neighborhoods in France and Sweden). Street codes as a facet of street culture: Street codes need to be put into the broader perspective of local street cultures. The interplay of group-based behavior, like shop owner, juveniles and parents and the police in a neighborhood shape the street code of juveniles, but it does not explain it. Street culture opens up the perspective to a multi-group approach.

Altogether, the code of the street is an analytical and theoretical helpful concept to understand deviant behavior in segregated neighborhoods. However, it needs to be reflected in the context in which the street codes have been developed to make sure that explanations are not based on a false transfer of theoretical concepts. Therefore, we do need further cross-group and cross-cultural comparison studies.

Notes 1 Based on a google scholar query performed on 12/28/2018 2 No studies were published about the street code among Asian-Americans in the US or religious groups, like Muslims, Jews or Hindu. 3 http://fantine.fcs.uga.edu/html/fachs.html; Last seen: 11/26/2018

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Intravia, J., Wolff, K. T., Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2014). Neighborhood-level differences in police discrimination and subcultural violence: A multilevel examination of adopting the code of the street. Journal of Crime and Justice, 37(1), 42–60. Jahoda, M., Lazarsfeld, P. F., & Zeisel, H. (1960). Die Arbeitslosen von Marienthal – Ein soziographischer Versuch über die Wirkungen langandauernder Arbeitslosigkeit. Bonn: Suhrkamp. Keith, S., & Griffiths, E. (2014). Urban code or urban legend: Endorsement of the street code among delinquent youth in urban, suburban, and rural Georgia. Race and Justice, 4(3), 270–298. Kurtenbach, S.,  & Rauf, A. (2019). The impact of segregated diversity on the code of the street: An analysis of violence-related norms in selected post-industrial neighborhoods in Germany. International Journal of Conflict and Violence, 19(1), 1–16. Lane, J. (2016). The digital street: An ethnographic study of networked street life in Harlem. American Behavioral Scientist, 60(1), 43–58. Lepoutre, D. (2017, September). Street culture and social control in different types of high schools in working-class and immigrant neighborhoods in France. The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 673, 251–265. Matsuda, K. N., Melde, C., Taylor, T. J., Freng, A., & Esbensen, F. A. (2013). Gang membership and adherence to the “code of the street”. Justice Quarterly, 30(3), 440–468. McNeeley, S., & Hoeben, E. M. (2017). Public unstructured socializing and the code of the street: Predicting violent delinquency and victimization. Deviant Behavior, 38(6), 633–654. Mears, D. P., Stewart, E. A., Siennick, S. E., & Simons, R. L. (2013). The code of the street and inmate violence: Investigating the salience of imported belief systems. Criminology, 51(3), 695–728. Merton, R. K. (1938). Social structure anomie. American Sociological Association, 3(5), 672–682. Moule, R. K., Burt, C. H., Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2015). Developmental trajectories of individuals’ code of the street beliefs through emerging adulthood. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 52(3), 342–372. Naterer, A. (2015). Violence and the code of the street : A study of social dynamics among street children in Makeevka, East Ukraine. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 30(8), 1387–1402. Park, R. E. (1928). Human migration and the marginal man. The American Journal of Sociology, 33(6), 881–893. Parker, K. F.,  & Reckdenwald, A. (2008). Concentrated disadvantage, traditional male role models, and AfricanAmerican juvenile violence. Criminology, 46(3), 711–735. Richardson, J. B., & Vil, C. St. (2016). ‘Rolling dolo’: Desistance from delinquency and negative peer relationships over the early adolescent life-course. Ethnography, 17(1), 47–71. Rojas-Gaona, C. E. (2016). Adoption of street code attitudes among Latinos and its effects on criminal offending (Doctoral dissertation). University of Cincinnati. Sandberg, S. (2009). Gangster, victim or both? The interdiscursive construction of sameness and difference in selfpresentations. British Journal of Sociology, 60(3), 523–542. Sandberg, S., & Pedersen, W. (2011). Street capital. Black Cannabis dealers in a White welfare state. Bristol: Policy Press. Stewart, E. A., Schreck, C. J., & Brunson, R. K. (2008). Lessons of the street code. Journal of Contemporary Criminal Justice, 24(2), 137–147. Stewart, E. A., Schreck, C. J., & Simons, R. L. (2006). “I Ain’t Gonna Let No One Disrespect Me” does the code of the street reduce or increase violent victimization among African American adolescents? Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 43(4), 427–458. Stewart, E. A., & Simons, R. L. (2006). Structure and culture in African-American adolescent violence: A partial test of the code of the street thesis. Justice Quarterly, 23(1), 1–33. Taylor, T. J., Esbensen, F. A., Brick, B. T., & Freng, A. (2010). Exploring the measurement quality of an attitudinal scale of street code-related violence: Similarities and differences across groups and contexts. Youth Violence and Juvenile Justice, 8(3), 187–212. Wacquant, L. (2002). Scrutinizing the street: Poverty, morality, and the pitfalls of urban ethnography. American Journal of Sociology, 107(6), 1532–1668. Wikström, P.-O. H. (2010). Situational action theory. In F. T. Cullen & P. Wilcox (Eds.), Encyclopedia of criminological theory (pp. 1000–1008). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wilson, W. J. (1987). The truly disadvantaged. The inner city, the underclass and public policy. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. 237

20 Street culture and street gangs Timothy R. Lauger and Brooke Horning

Introduction Street gangs are intimately connected to the physical locations they inhabit, as socioeconomic conditions of neighborhoods produce an environment ideal for the creation and proliferation of gangs (Papachristos & Hughes, 2015). Gang members also congregate in public spaces (i.e., the street corner) and identify with physical locations like streets or neighborhoods, at times defending territory against outside threats (e.g., Tita, Cohen, & Engberg, 2005). This connection to physical space, particularly “the streets,” is integral for distinguishing gangs from other groups. The widely accepted Eurogang definition states that “a gang is any durable, street-oriented youth group whose involvement in illegal activity is part of its group identity” (Klein & Maxson, 2010, p. 4). A gang’s street orientation not only references the public locations where members congregate but also an array of illicit activities common to street life. “The streets” are organized around an underground economy and illicit markets, socializing youth on the importance of toughness, street smarts, virility, autonomy, and the role of violence for resolving interpersonal disputes (Oliver, 1994, 2006; Anderson, 1999). Street life provides a backdrop for gang life and gang activity. The social, political, economic, and physical environment in neighborhoods surrounding “the streets” produces a collective experience that contributes to street culture, a relatively unique cultural system found in urban areas (see Ross, 2018). However, shared experience does not mean that local residents, including individuals invested in street life, ubiquitously embrace a single cultural system (Harding, 2010). Members of these broader communities have unique personal experiences and gravitate to different peer groups that alter their specific understanding of life. Street life, therefore, involves a complex mixture of intermingling groups, each with their own nuanced cultural system, that share commonality through the overarching idea of street culture. Street gangs are one type of group that both borrows from and contributes to local street culture so that there is a substantial amount of overlap between gang and street culture (Mitchell, Fahmy, Pyrooz, & Decker, 2017). Yet, socialization within gangs produces more nuanced, group-specific cultural systems that directly influences members’ behavioral expectations, especially regarding crime and violence (e.g., Lauger, 2012, 2014). The idea that gangs are a form of delinquent subculture is not new. Scholars have historically described how the cultural elements of gang life produce criminal behavior (e.g., Cohen, 1955). Questions remain about the extent to which culture contributes to the delinquent activities of gang members and how culture produces behavior. This chapter examines how conceptions of gang culture have changed since 238

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the beginning of gang research. It argues that contemporary ideas about street culture, which can also be applied to street gangs, substantially enhance some of the earliest and most influential ideas about gang culture.

Scholarly foundations of gang subculture Thrasher’s (1927 [1967]) seminal study on gangs introduced gang culture to the academic literature through the notion of the “code of the gang” (p. 200), a system of formal and informal rules of conduct produced within the group. Gang members were controlled by the “force of group opinion” (p.  204) and pursued group expectations to gain or maintain status. Social mechanisms like ridicule, praise, hero worship, and punishment regulated and reinforced the code by communicating desirable and undesirable conduct. Although every gang created and embraced a slightly different code, most gangs developed an ethic of loyalty in which squealing (snitching) was a severe violation, a sense of honor, rules governing fighting, and expectations of sacrificing for the group. Individual groups also developed unique elements of the code. One gang, for example, established rules against associating with girls and in favor of protecting the property of local widows. Although some components of gang culture contributed to criminal behavior, especially conflict with other gangs, Thrasher’s initial descriptions of gang culture did not solely focus on explaining criminal behavior. Group life produced an array of cultural ideas that influenced gang members and were worthy of studying. Three decades after Thrasher’s study, criminologists began to rely more heavily on the idea of culture to explain the criminal activities of gang members, and gang culture became synonymous with delinquent or violent culture (e.g., Cohen, 1955; Miller, 1958; Cloward & Ohlin, 1960). These scholars defined culture as a system of norms and values that determines the means and ends of behavior (Baron, 1989; Bernard, 1990; Berg & Stewart, 2009a, 2009b). Norms are group-held prescriptions for or prohibitions against certain conduct and values are individual beliefs that may or may not be shared within the group (Wolfgang & Ferracuti, 1967). Delinquent subcultures uniquely employ norms encouraging criminal behavior so that subgroup members embrace values in favor of criminal activity, a perspective commonly applied to street gangs despite disagreement about the origin and role of delinquent norms (e.g., Cohen, 1955; Miller, 1958; Cloward & Ohlin, 1960; Bordua, 1961; see also Berg & Stewart, 2009a). Although this new group of scholars agreed about the conceptual foundations of culture, they described gang culture differently and often disagreed about how it intersects with criminal behavior. Cohen (1955) argued that gang members created and embraced a nonutilitarian, negativistic, and malicious subculture, as gang members valued and even enjoyed criminal activities like stealing, vandalism, and terrorizing “good” children. Youths who could not accumulate status in conventional culture constructed a system of norms and values that opposed convention. Gang members’ criminal activities allowed them to gain status within the group because the rest of society considered such behavior “bad.” Criminal activity was an end in itself. Cloward and Ohlin (1960) disagreed with Cohen, arguing that gang members pursued materialistic goals similar to their middle-class counterparts. Upon experiencing both a strong desire for material possessions and limited opportunities to attain what they want, gang members alter the means by which they pursue conventional ends. Gangs advocated using illegal, even violent, means to accumulate money and material possessions, but the subculture was not purely negativistic. Criminal activity was, therefore, the means by which they attained relatively “traditional” goals. Miller (1958) positioned gang culture within a broader “lower class culture” and argued that gangs adopted the norms and values of their local community. This underclass culture consisted of focal concerns that established behavioral expectations for social acceptance and status enhancement. Some of these focal concerns, which were embraced by gangs, advocated the use of violence. Gang members could, for example, be focally concerned with “trouble” or “toughness” and engage in delinquent or violent behavior that exemplified those values. 239

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These traditional conceptions of culture, although influential, suffer from empirical and conceptual flaws (e.g., Kornhauser, 1978). They assume the presence of an oppositional culture that employs stable norms/values and causes criminal behavior (see Horowitz, 1983). Both Cohen (1955) and Miller (1958), for example, describe distinct values embraced by gang members that oppose “mainstream” culture. However, research in high-crime neighborhoods finds that residents, including gang members, share similar values with their middle-class counterparts (Kobrin, 1955; Sykes  & Matza, 1957; Short  & Strodtbeck, 1965; Hannerz, 1969; Sampson & Bartusch, 1998; Harding, 2010). Efforts to examine the influence of personal beliefs and values on criminal behavior have also not yielded promising results (Bernard, 1990), as researchers have found that beliefs only have a weak effect on criminal behavior (e.g., Matsueda, 1989; Menard & Huizinga, 1994; Megens & Weerman, 2010). These findings have forced scholars to examine cultural mechanisms other than “values” to explain both variations in cultures and criminal activity. Subcultural theories also operationalize defining features of culture in a way that causes arguments to become tautological, as behavior is used as evidence for the existence of belief systems (Costello, 1997; Berg & Stewart, 2009a, 2009b). This tendency can lead to a conceptualization of delinquent subculture that is nothing more than a collection of undesirable behaviors or so-called cultural traits (Small & Newman, 2001). For example, gangs are viewed as having a negativistic culture because they engage in negativistic behavior. Or, they embrace violent norms and values because they engage in violence. To address this problem, scholars need to distinguish elements of culture independent of the behaviors they produce. Criticisms of subculture arguments have also focused on the socialization processes that transmit elements of culture. Most notably, Kornhauser (1978) criticized early subculture theories for assuming that individuals embrace cultural norms through a process of “perfect socialization.” This occurs when people lack the capacity for social deviance, as they conform to the norms of their own groups and deviate only from the norms of other groups. Such criticisms argue that cultural theories deny the agency of people who are a part of any cultural system, forcing scholars to rethink how socialization processes work within groups or social networks.

Advancing ideas about gang subculture The reliance on norms and values as primary cultural mechanisms remains relatively common among contemporary gang scholars (e.g., Vigil, 2002, 2007; Mitchell et al., 2017). Although some researchers use these terms by default without critically examining them, others use them more intentionally by arguing gangs embrace unique norms and values that influence behavior. These more recent depictions of gang culture focus less on delinquent values so that gang culture is not synonymous with violent or delinquent culture. They also carefully separate culture from behavior. Other studies have emphasized a more flexible conception of culture in which gang members are exposed to an array of cultural ideas and apply them differently depending on social context (e.g., Horowitz, 1983). This deviates from more traditional perspectives by both rejecting the stability of cultural values and depicting gang members as being active interpreters of social events who apply culture to an array of situations. Some scholars maintain that gangs develop and embrace a range of norms and values, most of which relate to noncriminal elements of group life. These works are, therefore, more aligned with Thrasher’s original description of gang culture than some other classic works written by Cohen (1955), Cloward and Ohlin (1960), and Miller (1958). Vigil (1988) describes how gang members become socialized to a “set of values, beliefs, and customs” that helps them deal with the realities of street life (p. 43). He further identifies a set of stable values, including protection, loyalty, respect, emotional support, keeping your word, showing heart, and having a manly or loco mindset, that are unique to gang subcultures (Vigil, 2007). Although some of these values can influence criminal behavior, most are not inherently deviant and must intersect with specific situations in order to encourage or produce delinquency. Vigil (2002) also details more nuanced cultural elements that are specific to different ethnic gangs in Los Angeles, indicating that subtle 240

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cultural differences exist between gangs. Variations between gang cultures, which are noticeable when comparing across ethnic lines, is caused by the differences in the collective experience of these groups, especially in how they encounter and navigate marginalization in the Los Angeles community. Researchers have also identified the presence of competing values within or between gangs that influence criminal behavior. Based on her research of Hispanic gangs in Los Angeles, Moore (1990) noted that gang members embrace competing norms that influence expectations about violence. The norm of “control” encourages gang members to operate independently and rationally so that they deal with conflicts quietly. The norm of loco, however, encourages gang members to reinforce masculinity, toughness, and personal reputation through the use of extreme and unpredictable behavior (often violence) (see also Vigil, 2002). These elements of culture became valued aspects of gang life, which produces idealized goals for members to pursue. Research in other cities has confirmed that youth often identify “crazy” with violent tendencies, and some individuals publicly perform “crazy” and engage in violence to build status amongst peers (Wilkinson, 2001; Lauger & Densley, 2018). However, not all gang members pursue such ideas, as some gangs advocate social norms that discourage reckless participation in violence. Other scholars have offered a depiction of culture that is flexible and linked to continuous patterns of interactions that influence the social psychological process of constructing cognitive and moral categories (see Horowitz, 1983). Culture shapes meaning, which people engage in on a daily basis. According to Horowitz (1983), gang members participate in a normative code that guides both how they handle situations and how peers interpret and evaluate their behavior. Part of the code is based on a system of honor that stresses the importance of defending masculinity and defines behaviors that challenge or verify one’s status as a man (see also Horowitz & Schwartz, 1974). The code defines violence as an accepted or encouraged strategy for defending masculinity. However, gang members also embrace conventional values so that they negotiate competing cultural systems. When gang members encounter interpersonal disputes, conflicts, and challenges to their honor, they experience normative ambiguity and must navigate the situation through the lens of multiple, conflicting cultural codes. Circumstances may influence gang members to determine that violence is a viable, perhaps essential, option, but gang members do not solely focus on pursuing violent means or goals. They also do not singularly embrace a value system that encourages violence.

The intersection of street and gang culture Cultural sociologists further deviate from the works of early gang scholarship by deemphasizing the existence of clear and stable cultural values. They also further develop the conceptualization of culture as flexible systems of meaning that shape how people interpret situations and anticipate the consequences of their actions (e.g., Swidler, 1986; see also Harding, 2010; Berg & Stewart, 2013). This has shifted the focus away from cultural values to other mechanisms that still influence behavior but require active, agentive cultural participants. Scholars have also generally abandoned the notion of oppositional subcultures that are detached from conventional society (e.g., Harding, 2010). Distinct cultural systems (i.e., gangs) exist, but they are typically not isolated from other cultures. Conceptual and empirical developments on street culture have introduced these new ways of thinking about how culture intersects with gang life to produce behavior.

The code of the street The idea of street culture is rooted in many classic studies that examined cultural elements of street life in poor urban neighborhoods (e.g., Liebow, 1967; Suttles, 1968; Hannerz, 1969; Wilson, 1987, 1996), yet Anderson’s (1990, 1999) seminal writings on the code of the street have produced a renewed interest in the topic. This street code resembles the code of honor described by Horowitz (1983) because it emphasizes toughness as a way to defend masculinity in specific social situations. According to Anderson, 241

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individuals invested in street culture adhere to informal rules that guide behavioral options during interpersonal interactions, especially conflicts. Adherents to the code present themselves in a way that garners respect, which helps them build status or social capital on the street (Brezina, Agnew, Cullen, & Wright, 2004). Respect is closely aligned with toughness or being able to defend oneself during a physical confrontation. Developing a reputation for violence is, therefore, one way to earn respect, build social capital, and prevent violent victimization (Brookman, Bennett, Hochstetler, & Copes, 2011). When contentious situations arise and a person feels disrespected, he (or she) acts tough to deter victimization and maintain status among peers. Jimerson and Oware (2006) further examine how street code intersects with personal experiences, noting that codes are both causes and consequences of behavior. Although the street code teaches individuals to be wary of other people, especially in public settings, individuals can also feel proud when others are fearful and/or intimidated by them. These feelings of self-fulfillment contribute to the overall culture of the street. Individuals also draw from experiences and local culture to become self-reliant, especially in personal matters of defense. This mentality is exacerbated by a general cynicism towards the police (Anderson, 1999), which is caused by previous encounters with apathetic or unfair police officers (Jacobs & Wright, 2006; Carr, Napolitano, & Keating, 2007). Individuals invested in street life are more likely than non-street peers to engage in retaliatory behavior for problems ranging from perceived slights to violent victimization. They tend to choose strategies that have historically been effective and are more likely to use violence in the future if it was successful in the past (Baron, Kennedy, & Forde, 2001). Personal experiences fuel street culture, which reinforces the same behavior by influencing an individual’s understanding and response to specific situations. Gang members adhere more intensely to the street code than their similarly situated nongang peers (Matsueda, Melde, Taylor, Freng, & Esbensen, 2013). Many are heavily invested in developing well known reputations for violence to build what Harding (2014) calls “street capital” (see also Papachristos, 2009; Lauger, 2012, 2014; Densley, 2013). Gang members build street capital by developing broad and influential social connections, demonstrating cultural competence, and attaining symbolic or expressive resources, which are all used to gain a competitive edge against other gangs (Harding, 2014). Public encounters that undermine a gang member’s status through a personal affront or physical challenge contain intense pressure to build or maintain one’s reputation by acting aggressively (e.g., Lauger, 2012). Violence, therefore, helps attain expressive resources (status) while also demonstrating a degree of cultural competence so that peers will validate the legitimacy of the person/group, which can expand social connections. The street environment for some gang members is, however, characterized by pervasive conflict, and ongoing disputes require gang members either to remain vigilant for perceived threats or to preemptively threaten another group (e.g., Decker, 1996; Papachristos, 2009). Much of the violence between gang members occurs over disputes about expressive matters (e.g., respect, honor, and status) that intensify when hostilities fester following interpersonal disputes (Papachristos, 2009).

Cultural heterogeneity and social performance Street culture is broader in scope than Anderson’s idea of respect, as it also includes ideas pertaining to the criminal justice system, moral categories, personal autonomy, one’s future prospects (i.e., fatalism), and various parental, gender, and sex roles (Anderson, 1990, 1999; Rosenfeld, Jacobs, & Wright, 2003; Miller, 2008; Brezina, Tekin, & Topalli, 2009; Harding, 2010; Kirk & Papachristos, 2011). Youth who participate in street life understand these elements of street culture, but they are also drawn to alternative ideas and are ambivalent about their behavioral options. Harding (2010) argues that poor, inner-city neighborhoods experience cultural heterogeneity, as “mainstream” and alternative cultural models (e.g., street culture) intersect and influence youth. Social institutions such as church and school advocate mainstream cultural ideas, which most youth embrace. However, cross-neighborhood rivalries expose 242

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kids to potential victimization, and they adapt by hanging around streetwise older adolescents. This provides younger kids with protection and status while also teaching them to navigate dangerous streets, which requires an understanding of street culture. Harding notes, for example, how kids express attraction to traditional notions of romantic relationships, marked by monogamy, responsibility, and delayed sexual activity, while also communicating a gendered competition in which both males and females use sex as a way to control another person. Many youths strive to be participants of mainstream culture but are influenced by the lessons of street life, causing them to struggle with the competing ideas in their daily lives. Youth adapt to their complex social and cultural environment by “code-switching,” or performing diverse and contradictory roles and identities based on social context (Anderson, 1999; Lane, 2019). Anderson (1999) identifies the categories of “decent” and “street” that are used by local residents to describe differences in behavioral orientations among community members. “Decent folk” are more oriented toward civility and middle-class sensibilities while “street people” abide by the code of the street. He claims most youth generally aspire towards “decency,” but they navigate specific social situations by being able to perform “street,” or act in a way consistent with the street code. Youth are aware that failing to meet local expectations for proper conduct can lead to a reduction in status, open mockery, and/ or violent victimization. Jones (2010) expands on these ideas, discussing how inner-city girls strive to be decent, but they adhere to the street code and show a willingness to fight/use violence for self-protection. They are torn between wanting to be “respectable” or “good” and having to be seen as tough or violent. Therefore, girls use situated survival strategies, which allow them to take on different roles/identities, depending on context. A girl is able to act like a “good girl” or “respectable lady” and then switch to being an aggressive and violent “ghetto chick” when on the street. These expectations shape inner-city girls’ personal choices on a daily basis. Some choose to avoid certain situations and relationships because they are likely to result in physical conflict, while others choose to primarily identify as a fighter to better work the code. “Gang member” is also a role that individuals can selectively perform in a way that is similar to codeswitching. The notion of “gang member” is created through cultural expectations and clarified within specific groups. Gangs embrace, communicate, and act out collective identities that establish both a sense of “we” within the group and behavioral ideals (e.g., Stretesky & Pogrebin, 2007; Lauger & Densley, 2018). These performances occur in highly visible spaces and often, though not always, emphasize an individual or group’s willingness and ability to engage in violence (e.g., Lauger, 2012; Lauger & Densley, 2018). Commitment to a gang’s ideals varies (Vigil, 1988), and the intensity and stability of an individual’s performance as a gang member is likely caused by the degree to which he or she embraces or internalizes that role as part of his or her identity. Some studies have found that the salience of a person’s gang identity (group affiliation) is associated with criminal and violence activity (Hennigan & Spanovic, 2012; Bubolz & Lee, 2019), but research on this topic is generally lacking. Garot (2007a, 2010) contends that individuals often do not internalize a gang identity and instead perform “gang member” only in specific social situations that require verification of gang status. This is most apparent when individuals are “hit up” in public by experiencing a social cue that requires confirmation of gang status. This is similar to girls who generally perform like a “good girl” but embrace the “ghetto chick” role when circumstances warrant. Garot (2007b, 2010) also argues that despite the external image of toughness that accompanies a gang performance, most of these so-called gang members intentionally work to avoid violence and show little evidence of valuing violence in their daily routines. Even when violence does occur, some individuals believe it does not represent their true self (Hochstetler, Copes, & Williams, 2010). Instead, they claim to have acted in a violent manner because it was the appropriate response to the situation and not because they are authentically violent people. These individuals believe their violent behavior is excusable based on situational factors and cultural expectations, but it does not reflect a behavior that they frequently pursue. 243

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Cultural toolkits and new cultural mechanisms According to Swidler (1986), culture influences behavior by offering people a “tool kit,” or a repertoire of habits, skills, and styles gained from cultural experience, that provides “strategies of action” for particular situations (see also Hannerz, 1969). A  cultural toolkit allows people to make sense of a social situation and anticipate how their subsequent behavior will lead to specific outcomes. Cultures contain conflicting guides to action, which means that specific understandings of events provide multiple directions for action. This allows for agency and variation in experience even when a group of people (i.e., gangs) share similar values. For example, if a gang embraces the importance of loyalty (Thrasher, 1927/1967; Vigil, 2007), members construct and communicate both the meaning of loyalty (or disloyalty) and how it should be applied to social events. Loyalty is, therefore, culturally defined and communicated within the group, but it is activated by specific members as they make sense of specific situations. Each member then chooses how to respond to a situation involving loyalty or disloyalty based on the anticipated consequences of their behavioral options, which are also derived from their cultural understanding. Individuals lacking the proper toolkit would not recognize when they or another person violate group expectations of loyalty. They would lack the social capacity to anticipate how their future behavior will affect social outcomes. They would also lack the proper strategies of action to successfully operate in the gang. This perspective on culture indicates that it acts like a cognitive schema or perceptual lens by organizing fragmented information in meaningful ways to influence individual experience (DiMaggio, 1997). The mechanisms shaping this experience must then explain how culture intersects with experience to produce behavior. Cultural frames shape how individuals interpret social events and function as the working hypotheses for understanding current events (Goffman, 1974; Corsaro, 1983, 1992; Small, 2002). Cultural scripts inform individuals about the sequencing of events, establishing expectations for how current events influence future outcomes (Abelson, 1981; Goddard & Wierzbicka, 2004; Harding, 2010). Cultural frames and scripts work together to produce behavior not by dictating goals one must pursue, but by identifying an array of behavioral options connected to relatively predictable outcomes. Although street culture involves many frames and scripts that also extend to gang members (e.g., Harding, 2010; Kirk & Papachristos, 2011; Lauger, 2014), the role of these concepts become clear when reapplied to Anderson’s street code. A person’s understanding of disrespect, for example, is contingent on his or her cultural context. Actions perceived as disrespectful in one cultural context may not be considered problematic in another. Peers (gang members) construct and reinforce the types of behavior considered disrespectful through routine conversations and retelling personal stories about social events (e.g., Lauger, 2012). They then apply the frame of disrespect to help them understand specific social situations. Gang members also position the notion of disrespect into event sequences and communicate the consequences of various strategies for dealing with disrespect. For example, Lauger (2014) found gang members tell personal stories to communicate that violence is an accepted, even expected, response to the disrespectful action of peers and inaction is followed by severe negative consequences. Sanders (1994) similarly noted that personal experiences and stories about shootings transmitted the idea that such action was the proper response to gang conflict. Labels also play an important role in establishing both the meaning of events and the consequences of action. Labels with positive connotations like killer, real gang member, real man, and “hard” are juxtaposed against negative terms like punk, soft, wannabe, and bitch (Oliver, 1994; Wilkinson, 2001; Lauger, 2012). In certain situations, men participate in violence/criminal behavior to prove or bolster their masculinity and be a “real man.” Being labeled as masculine is important on the street because if a man does not prove his masculinity by responding with violence when expected, he will be seen as weak (Copes & Hochstetler, 2003). This weakness makes an individual more of a target for victimizations and makes it harder for him to survive on the street. No one wants to be seen as “soft,” and to shed this label, an individual can build 244

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fighting skills, become aligned with tougher peers, and stage violent events that an individual knows are winnable (Wilkinson, 2001). The code of the street helps individuals assess situations and anticipate viable responses so that they can navigate complex and, at times, hostile social situations. Although violence is never an inevitable outcome of interpersonal conflict (Garot, 2007b), the importance of respect and establishing a violent reputation on the streets increases the likelihood that gang members or other street participants will view violence as a viable response. Individuals are never forced to respond to conflict with violence, and they are not just passively following the ways of the group. Instead, culture provides behavioral options and informs an individual about the potential consequences of each option. Gang members’ options differ from peers from other cultural systems, as the anticipated outcomes of action and inaction vary by culture. Gang members are capable of backing down from a conflict, and many do (Garot, 2007b, 2010), but the anticipated social consequences for such a decision makes walking away more difficult relative to someone in another cultural milieu who anticipates no negative consequences from avoiding a fight.

Conclusion With the exception of Thrasher’s seminal study, foundational conceptions of gang culture largely focused on the delinquent nature of norms and values found within gang life. This delinquent culture was distinct and isolated from conventional culture so that gang members pursued either illicit goals or used illicit means in pursuit of more traditional goals. Critics of these foundational studies noted 1) little evidence that gang members embraced oppositional values that influenced their participation in criminal behavior, 2) tautological reasoning within descriptions of gang culture, and 3) the incapacity of gang members to make decisions independent of or in opposition to group norms. These deficiencies required a substantial revision to the way scholars conceptualized gang culture. Contemporary ideas about culture, including gang and street cultures, address some of these criticisms. First, scholars reconceptualized culture to be a fluid system of meanings that shape personal understanding of social events and provide a series of behavioral options based on anticipated consequences. Gang members, therefore, operate according to a cultural toolkit that allows them to make sense of and navigate social situations in their street environment, but they also can display cultural competence in other situations by using different cultural ideas. Gang members can “do gang” in one setting and then perform differently in another when social expectations differ. Criminal behavior, like violence, then arises when cultural interpretations of events intersect with a social situation that makes violence a viable option within that context. Gang members, for example, perceive that they have been disrespected and realize that inaction, or the lack of aggressive action, can lead to severe social consequences. Second, scholars can record and observe the influential cultural mechanisms independent of behavior. The cultural frames of disrespect or legal cynicism, for example, are observable during routine conversations with street participants as they talk about salient issues in their lives (e.g., Jacobs & Wright, 2006; Lauger, 2012, 2014). Individuals do not struggle to describe various examples in which the frame of disrespect is properly activated and applied. Gang members also express negative ideas about law enforcement and apply meaningful terms, like snitch, to the types of people who work with police officers (Rosenfeld et al., 2003). Scholars can also connect cultural frames with cultural scripts, as gang members discuss cause and effect sequences in a way that both attaches meaning to action and inaction while also communicating the consequences of both options. Gang members, for example, talk about specific events that warrant a violent response and attach negative labels to people who do not act accordingly (Lauger, 2014) Third, gang members are influenced by culture, but they are actively involved in both constructing meaning and deciding how to apply those meanings to social situations. Culture also influences behavior by offering a series of options so that gang members likely anticipate how prospective behavior influences future prospects. For example, relative to peers who are disconnected from gang and street life, 245

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gang members may anticipate a different set of consequences when deciding how to respond to being disrespected. Their ability to act is, therefore, constrained, as they may anticipate negative consequences for responding passively. They are not forced to choose to respond with aggression, and they are also not passively following the behavioral expectations of their group.

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Sampson, R. J., & Bartusch, D. J. (1998). Legal cynicism and (subcultural?) tolerance of deviance: The neighborhood context of racial differences. Law and Society Review, 32(4), 777–804. Sanders, W. (1994). Gangbangs and drive-bys. New York, NY: Aldine de Gruyter. Short, J. F., & Strodtbeck, F. L. (1965). Group process and gang delinquency. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Small, M. L. (2002). Culture, cohorts, and social organization theory: Understanding participation in a Latino housing project. American Journal of Sociology, 108(1), 1–54. Small, M. L., & Newman, K. (2001). Urban poverty after the truly disadvantaged: The rediscovery of the family, the neighborhood, and culture. Annual Review of Sociology, 27, 23–45. Stretesky, P. B., & Pogrebin, M. R. (2007). Gang-related gun violence: Socialization, identity, and self. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 36(1), 85–114. Suttles, G. D. (1968). The social order of the slum. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Swidler, A. (1986). Culture in action: Symbols and strategies. American Sociological Review, 51(2), 273–286. Sykes, G. M., & Matza, D. (1957). Techniques of neutralization: A theory of delinquency. American Sociological Review, 22(2), 664–670 Thrasher, F. (1927). The gang. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Tita, G. E., Cohen, J., & Engberg, J. (2005). An ecological study of gang “set space.” Social Problems, 52(2), 272–299. Vigil, J. D. (1988). Barrio Gangs. Austin: University of Texas Press. Vigil, J. D. (2002). A rainbow of gangs. Austin: University of Texas Press. Vigil, J. D. (2007). The projects. Austin: University of Texas Press. Wilkinson, D. L. (2001). Violent events and social identity: Specifying the relationship between respect and masculinity in inner city youth violence. Sociological Studies of Children and Youth, 8, 231–265. Wilson, W. J. (1987). The truly disadvantaged. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Wilson, W. J. (1996). When work disappears. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Wolfgang, M. E., & Ferracuti, F. (1967). Subculture of violence. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

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21 Suburbia’s delinquent street cultures Simon I. Singer

Introduction A postindustrial, digitally attuned society has created less space for face-to-face street-corner life (Giddens, 1990). Nowhere is modernity’s impact more prevalent than in suburbia with its residential subdivisions, shopping malls, wooded parks, and recreational/home entertainment rooms. More opportunity exists in these suburbanized places to be physically on one’s own, and as a consequence society’s most delinquent youth are no longer merely a product of an urbanized street-corner life (Singer, 2014). Still a street culture persists, hanging out has not evaporated into the artificial air of suburban malls. Rather a street culture has moved into the less visible spaces of where residents of a suburban city live, work, and play (Ross, 2018). As a sociologically oriented criminologist, mainly focused on youth crime, my bottom line concern is how suburban street cultures enable adolescent delinquencies. My use of the term delinquency overlaps with the word youth crime. The official definition of whether a youth has committed an act of delinquency or crime depends on how systems of juvenile and criminal justice are able to respond to an offense. Even within the general category of delinquency, there are differences to bear in mind. For instance, the possession and use of alcohol/tobacco and leaving home without permission (running away) are status offenses for which a juvenile can be brought into juvenile court. They may be considered delinquent or deviant but not criminal. In both urban and suburban areas, a street culture is impacted first by the physicality of place. But that physicality is obviously different. A car-dependent suburban city leads to a different way of acting than an urbanized city where residents are dependent on sidewalks, public forms of transportation, and may gather on their local street corners. The distance individuals are able to maintain from one another is equally important. In part, people choose to live in suburbia because it is far from inner-city poverty, and there is more distance from one another. Living in an apartment requires its residents to accommodate to their neighbors in ways that are not required on a suburban cul-de-sac where each home is separated by a large fence. The reasons for the rise of suburbia are many. Technology, money, and real estate developers play a role in. But the bottom line for many is a desire for a good life, defined by good schools, newer housing, and relative safety. As Michael Kruse and Thomas Sugrue (2006) state, “suburbanization has come to affect all aspects of post-war life. Any effort to understand modern America must put suburbs at the center. The two are inseparable.” That is, we cannot begin to understand the culture of city life without considering the 249

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central role that suburbanization has had on modern-day life. To extend the point, any effort to understand youth street culture must also consider suburbia and its many subdivisions – distinctions that can too easily be overlooked when we neglect the shape of postmodern city life. This chapter begins by briefly reviewing the structures that define the newly shaped city as decentered, deindustrialized, and globalized. Next, I consider the classic street-corner literature to show how street and non-street youth differ in capacities to meet modern-day demands for autonomy and identity. The third section presents the voices of youth as they may relate to a suburban street culture. My conclusion recognizes the enabling quality of postmodern life, as exemplified by the opportunities that youth in an affluent suburb have to move on from the duality of street culture delinquencies. I suggest that the middle-class suburban world of decentered, on-going youth identities should be enabling of all youth – not just affluent ones. I further conclude that street culture scholars pursue suburbia and the modern-day ways that it is conducive to delinquency.

The decentered world of suburbia Suburbia is more relevant today than in an earlier era when industrialization led large segments of the population to flee rural villages for the city. An industrial form of modernity was the basis for late 19th century sociology. Durkheim, Weber, and Marx related the dual impact of urbanization and industrialization. For Durkheim city life would make the rituals of the past less relevant. People would be more on their own and at risk of living in an anomic state. For Weber, the emerging state produced a bureaucratic life of its own, one that was rational and less visible than the authority of a village elder/judge. For Marx, it was all about newly shaped objects of exploitation; the serf was being replaced by the factory worker. But the founding figures of sociology did not live long enough to see the factory become digitalized, and deindustrialization requiring few laborers. Nor did they live long enough to see that the march from rural villages towards densely populated cities would end in the latter half of the 20th century, and another kind of city would arise – one that is suburban with its own school district, local government, courts, and systems of justice. The founding figures of sociology also could not possibly imagine home entertainment centers along with a wealth of cable and internet options to occupy 21st century minds and bodies. In fact, the emerging congested city life of rich and poor that emerged at the beginning of the 20th century has long passed. By the 21st century the U.S. had more residents living in areas that demographers classified as suburban (Fischer, Hout, & Stiles, 2006). A multitude of factors account for suburbia’s rise. These include white flight, school bussing, desires for newer and bigger housing, a front and back yard, higher quality of life, and so forth (Palen, 1995). Overall, most Americans (and for that matter increasingly those in the rest of the developed and developing work) found themselves housed in suburbia. The reasons for suburbia’s emergence relates to the decentered, deindustrialized, globalized modernday world of 21st century societies (Butler, 2002). Suburbia is a decentered part of a larger metropolitan area, consisting of townships with their own localized governments. The compilation of suburban towns and cities is on a geographic periphery, in part economically on its own, and as a consequence is described as multi-nucleated (Gottdiener, 1994). A diffused layout of residential subdivisions, shopping malls, office and high-tech office parks are typical. The centrally located downtowns of yesteryear no longer exist, and instead shopping is more conveniently performed online or in shopping malls. So, the central city is less central to the way that most Americans live and work. Deindustrialization further exemplifies the shape of suburban life. The factory is gone and high-tech office parks became the newly established places of labor. The internet and the capacity to work from almost anywhere are the facts of a postindustrial economy. As Giddens (1990) argues, there is less significance attached to a centrally defined place. As a consequence, today’s cultures are less geographically identifiable. Culture like the economy is fast-moving and changing. For the non-impoverished in a postindustrial 250

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economy, living close to an airport has become a cultural value that is considered culturally more important than residing by a bus station. The fast-moving quality of a postindustrial suburbanized modernity also reflects the globalization of place. A globalized world exists among the more affluent sectors of society. There is the expectation for college, travel abroad, and the pursuit of all sorts of worldwide educational and occupational opportunities. The distances that suburban youth travel reproduces their own parental educational and occupational pursuits. There are plenty of examples to draw upon to illustrate the fast-moving, globalized world of suburban living. My favorite is documented in a New York Times series on social class (Kilborn, 2005). One part of the series focused on how suburban parents move about from one affluent suburb to the next. Suburban Nomads or Relos are terms that describe families who move about from one suburban neighborhood to the next. The Times illustrated one family’s move from the suburbs of St. Louis to those of Seattle and Singapore. By hopscotching from one corporate assignment to another, these Relo families lack a distinct sense of place; they trade a suburban home in one place for another. Relo children know little of a hometown. There is little in the way of small-town ties; a lack of relatives living nearby, longtime neighbors, and homegrown shops. A lack of deep communal roots, or strong social ties are the consequence of this type of globalized, fast-moving way of living. So the decentered, deindustrialized, and globalized suburban world of Relo families depends less on a singular community and more on a multitude of communities. But many Relo youth and their families are able to adapt quite well to their new neighborhoods, schools, and before- and after-school activities because of the affluence of the places they reside. They may lack the personal, intimate relationships of the past, as they move from one suburban city to the next. Although there is no long-standing community to draw on, communities are there. But communities in the modern-day sense are thinly layered and often professionally managed. This thinly layered image of community contrasts sharply with the image of community as a tightly knit place that is easily identifiable. In other words, modernity has produced a multitude of communities that folks belong to at various points in their lives. Suburbia is the product of this loose configuration of community, and its suburban cultures are there in more than one identifiable street. For our purpose, there is another part of these professionally managed globalized communities. They have their sources of social support – teachers, guidance counselors, therapists, psychiatrists, and a range of diversionary programs that indicate a deep commitment to the rehabilitative ideal. Any derivation into a street culture is treated as episodic in these more affluent suburban cities.

Revisiting the urbanized street Several classic ethnographies of street corners provide a glimpse of street cultures as they may be observed in impoverished inner-city neighborhoods. These include William Foote Whyte’s (1948) Street Corner Society and Elijah Anderson’s (1999) Code of the Streets. They appeared at historically different points in time. Whyte was writing at the tail end of industrial modernity, while Anderson’s street-corner view was informed by deindustrialization and the inner-city becoming even more impoverished. Although their impoverished inner-city subjects differ in race, time, and place, both books explain why street-corner subjects and their cultures matter. Whyte’s street-corner subjects are male delinquents, and they differ from equally impoverished neighborhood boys who are college bound. College boys are smart enough to avoid hanging out with the neighborhood street-corner boys, preferring to stay home, presumably studying. College boys are all too willing to leave their impoverished neighborhoods for college and a middle-class residential area. College boys are presented as more into living a life for themselves, untied by the locality of close friendships. They are on the law-abiding side of the street, socially skilled in their capacities “to please outside authorities.” They are enabled by their teachers by finding acceptance in adult supervised community clubs. Teachers 251

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identify “at an early age” those who are college bound. This requires a degree of trust in authority figures, and a willingness to accept and follow a complex set of rules in a multitude of places, most notably the more formal place of the school. In contrast, corner boys are presented as not only hanging out, but as less autonomous than college boys. They are pulled by their peers into locally dependent friendships. There is less trust in the adult world. As Whyte states, a “corner boy is tied to his group by a network of reciprocal obligations from which he is either unwilling or unable to break away” (106). The unwillingness of corner boys to think beyond their local street-corner friendships can be devastating. It prevents street youth from pursuing their own “best interests.” A  false consciousness emerges  – one that is not dissimilar from the logics Willis (1981) found among working class youth in the wake of deindustrialization. The best interests that Whyte sees as critical include attending college and pursuing a good middle-class life and require youth to think beyond their street corners, which means a willingness to leave their locally impoverished neighborhoods. The more devastating impact of the logic of a street-corner life is that it disables youth from managing in complex organizational settings. Corner boys are unable to democratically negotiate rules of order. Instead, they prefer the simplicity of authoritarian relationships. Whyte refers to the corner boys he observed as “Doc’s gang.” Doc brought them together, and the story that he tells is about their allegiance to Doc and his allegiance to them. In contrast, college-bound boys recognize the importance of authoritative relationships. They learn the rationality of adult-supervised clubs where they can participate in an organization’s codified rules of order. Clearly, corner boys are on a less law-abiding side of the street. To buy into the formal rules of the school, corner boys need to move beyond their preference for informal, direct personal relationships for more formal, positional relationships. Why would they do so? Why would they prefer authoritarian rules over authoritative ones? To repeat, corner boys are unable to adapt to modernity’s complexities, which includes all that is required by their schools. The inability to accept organizational by-laws, codified rules, or the authority of the larger law-abiding adult world requires corner boys to live in a time that has long past, one that is pre-modern. They lack the civilizing impact of an enlightened world where lines of authority are continually subject to the complexities of recognition. Essentially, street-corner youth are out of sync with the larger modern-day world. The influence of peers is more easily understandable – not as a static fact that impacts all youth equally, but only those who are more closely tied to the informality of street-corner life. In turn, corner boys may indeed have closer relationships and be less competitive and formal with one another. But this kind of closeness is disabling, because it prevents street-corner youth from entering the larger modern world. Corner boys learn to trust their fellow street-corner youth, but not their teachers or employers who are embedded in a larger set of more complex organizational structures. Relying just on informal relationships leaves street-corner youth closer to the old-country villages that their parents or grandparents left behind. While the college boy is prepared to move on, corner boys are not. A half century later, Elijah Anderson (1999) locates a street culture within an impoverished inner-city neighborhood. Anderson sees distinctions within the Black community that are too easily overlooked when he refers to old heads, winos, hoodlums, and down people. Anderson’s Code of the Streets narrows that division even further into folks that are described as either “street” or “decent.” Families matter because street families raise street kids, while decent families raise decent kids. But street families stay impoverished and isolated; they are unable to adapt to the larger society; their code of the street is too restrictive, preventing them from developing the norms and values that would enable them to adapt to a larger set of societal rules. Among the structural conditions that Anderson considers is late-20th century deindustrialization, which has had a devastating impact on the African American inner city. Drawing on the writings of William Julius Wilson (1987), he notes that in the deindustrialized world of the 1980s, the “old heads” were no 252

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longer around to serve as an example to younger generations of youth. The factory and its jobs were gone. Inner-city residents were becoming more impoverished and more likely to become involved in crime. Their low-level crimes were leading to longer sentences, increasing the likelihood that “old heads” would not be around to provide inner-city youth with the guidance they needed to avoid becoming street kids. Drawing on his earlier ethnographic research, Anderson notes that inner-city black youth are too much in a world that lacks the guidance of law-abiding adults. As a consequence, they have become embroiled in a street-corner life. Yet not everyone in the impoverished inner city is a street-corner youth. There are the decent kids from decent families who spend time in their local libraries or basketball courts. They differ from street-corner youth in that they abide by middle-class values. Decent kids are not allowed to just hang out, because they are strictly supervised by their parents. Their parents have jobs, attend church, and are able to properly raise their children. Decent families and their kids learn to adapt while street kids and their families do not. The street kids lose out because their parents and other adults are not there for them, because often they themselves are too troubled or drug addicted to care or are prevented from doing so because they are incarcerated. The ability to adapt enables decent kids to become decent adults. Adapting means being able to move between sets of friends, to recognize the local drug dealer as well as the minister, to consider society’s many settings and the adults in their positional roles. In other words, decent families and their kids are relationally modern. They can traverse the larger world by learning how to navigate a multitude of places. Anderson calls these decent adolescents “code switchers.” They have learned to place a premium value on managing and negotiating a diverse set of social rules. Decent kids are able to adapt to more than one definition of a situation, despite being raised in the same impoverished neighborhood. They are modern in the sense that they can traverse more than one social setting. They have learned to accept middle-class values as the most appropriate ones, while still managing to navigate the culture of their inner-city streets. According to Anderson, Decent people, especially young people, often put a premium on the ability to code switch. They share many of the middle-class values of the wider white society but know that the open display of such values carries little weight on the street: it doesn’t provide the emblems that say, “I can take care of myself.” Hence such people develop a repertoire of behaviors that do provide that security. Those strongly associated with the street, who have less exposure to the wider society, may have difficulty code switching; imbued with the code of the street, they either don’t know the rules for decent behavior or may see little value in displaying such knowledge. (p. 36) A street culture limits human capacity to code switch. Street youth are restricted by a singular code that is conducive to delinquency and crime. To share “middle-class values” means leaving their street. They need assistance to do so. Street-corner youth are not just a product of poor parenting; they are too local and too deeply embedded in a world that is unwilling to move. There is security in the street, staying local. Affluent suburbanites have a middle-class bonus in that they are all too willing to move. They are the adults in the larger late modern, postindustrial world. Particularly troubling for youth embedded in an impoverished inner-city street culture is the absence of competent adults in their lives. The “old heads” served that purpose in the past, warning neighborhood youth not to repeat their own mistakes. The cumulative disadvantages of being an African American in an impoverished inner city are in the foreground of Anderson’s analysis. But some youth do make it, and how they are able to confront modernity’s demands depends not just on the decency of their families. Unlike Whyte’s analysis, Anderson makes little mention of teachers, guidance counselors, clubs, and other human service professions that enabled decent kids to become code switchers, and in turn to avoid a street culture. 253

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Stories of suburban youth So let us fast forward into the newly shaped street corners of suburbia. We need to leave the center of the city and look to the outer reaches of a larger metropolitan area, because that is where most Americans today live (Fischer et al., 2006). As the U.S. population shifted toward the suburbs over the latter half of the 20th century, criminologists are now just starting to pay attention. A small number of studies paid direct attention to the suburbs, developing models that accounted for distinctive suburban physical characteristics (e.g. Stahura Huff, & Smith, 1980) and exploring the particular appeal of suburban conditions to burglars (Rengert & Wasilchick, 2000). Other studies tested more general questions about crime and place using data from the suburbs – for instance work on routine activities theory (Stahura & Sloan, 1988) and the effect of the police (Huff & Stahura, 1980). And more recently, Jacques and Wright’s (2015) ethnography on suburban drug dealing provides a detailed look at an affluent suburban city’s youth involvement in drugs. But there is more going on than just the affluence or the physicality of place in car-dependent suburbs. As noted, there is deindustrialization, decentralization, and a unique kind of autonomy that is happening in the more private spaces of suburbia. To see the late modern influence of suburban living on youth, I present a theory of relational modernity – one that leads me to explain why affluent youth are able to come out ahead despite the commonality of their delinquent behaviors. To do so I draw on surveys and interviews with youth in a suburb that was listed in Money Magazine as America’s Safest City – a large suburb on the Northeast border of Buffalo, New York. In my book America’s Safest City: Delinquency and Modernity in Suburbia (Singer, 2014), I detail the methodology and the points in time that my subjects were interviewed. Repeated surveys occurred during their high school years, and then a sample were interviewed at length in their young adult years. A major conclusion is that suburban youth’s participation in a street culture is generally episodic. A segment of youth I  describe on a straight and narrow path. An even smaller segment was embedded in a deep-end street culture. The vast majority of youth are episodic in their delinquency, moving between a suburban street and non-street culture. Nearly all desisted once they entered young adulthood, although this is not the case for that very small segment who ended up deeply immersed in a street culture of drugs. The drift into and out of a suburban street culture relates to Matza’s (1964) concept of the delinquent as transiently existing in “a limbo between convention and crime, responding in turn to the demands of each, flirting now with one, now the other, but postponing commitment, evading decision (28).” The transitional is facilitated by the fact that adolescents in a postindustrial world are not yet firmly set in their identities. Instead, they are in an ongoing search, exploring various rules of order along more than one possible suburban pathway, even as they are not yet independent, self-supporting individuals. Matza’s definition of drift suggests that few adolescents are hardcore offenders or committed gang members. Suburban street youth are not members of a long-lasting delinquent subculture; their social world is too loose. Rather, they reside in a socially constructed world in which it is OK to shoplift or to smoke pot in certain times and places. The ambiguity that surrounds occasional acts of delinquency is related to the fact that the subject population drifts into and out of delinquency. As noted, a small segment of youth report virtually no delinquent acts; they clearly are not part of suburban street culture. Well socialized by their parents, capable of staying on a straight and narrow path, as indicated by their self-reported offending and their capacities to perform well in school, these non-street youths are exceptionally busy in pursuit of high-achieving high school activities, so that they can enter high-status colleges and pursue high-paying careers. For instance, the narratives of the least delinquent falls squarely in the category of no involvement in a street culture, while that of the most delinquent are deeply embedded in all facets of suburban as well as urban delinquent street cultures. Most fall in the middle of these extremes. So while the least delinquent pursued the high honors advanced placement track, the deep-end street youth arrived at school too stoned or drunk to concentrate. For instance, the least delinquent had

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near-perfect grade point average. The hours the most delinquent reported taking and dealing drugs may have been about the same amount of time that the least delinquent was busy with her extracurricular activities. As cited in America’s Safest City, the stories of youth at the extremes of delinquencies illustrate more than just diverging street and non-street cultures; they reveal how segments of adolescents achieve more or less depending on their abilities to be relationally attuned to the demands of a complex modern society. A closer look at the reasons for street and non-street suburban pathways are not that different from urban youth. Reports of troubling familial and educational histories are not unique to suburbia. The deep-end troubled youth related school difficulties beginning early in elementary school. Luke (one of the most delinquent) recalled hating school at the time – not because of the academic work, but because of being repeatedly bullied. “I got beat up a lot in elementary school, ’cause I  was like ten pounds soaking wet.” Luke’s relationship with his parents reached a low point when “they threw out all my records.” He started his illicit use of drugs early in seventh grade, when he was first introduced to smoking pot. He found a crowd of friends who he said were less judgmental than his parents, teachers, and the non-street cultured youth. With these less judgmental youth, he was able to enjoy marijuana and then subsequently other drugs. Gravitating into a suburban street culture means a world of drugs and alcohol, and petty theft. In affluent suburbs, few youth steal for the money, although they may for the thrill of it (Katz, 1988). Drugs can facilitate the need for hard cash. Reasons cited include sexual abuse. One youth reported the emotional difficulties in dealing with accusations that her father sexually abused her sister. She said the accusation was based on a story her sister had written for one of her classes. But for most, involvement in a street drug culture did not last. Therapy, school becoming important, and finding a niche in extracurricular activities, such as drama club, made a difference. Most of the youth I identify in America’s Safest City dabbled in a street culture life. Involvement was episodic, not long-lasting in its consequences. This included a small group of high achieving students, who tested exceptionally well. They would describe school, suburbia, and life generally as boring; the great escape was in a street culture (suburban as well as urban). But it had no long-lasting impact; excessive drug and alcohol use never extended into the adult years. Those who were at the high end of delinquency had more to relate in terms of their distrust of adults. Much of the distrust could be traced to incidents of abuse or neglect. Some of these incidents are attributed to teachers. For instance, “I had a very touchy feely teacher, and I didn’t like it one bit . . . he was a male, and I was not going to put up with it. . . . One day, he was standing over my desk and getting touchy feely with me. I told my parents about it and stuff like that, and I warned him, I said, “You stop touching me now,” and he’s like “Oh what’s the matter,” and he kept it up. So I couldn’t take it anymore, so I slapped him across the face, glasses went flying. He tried to get me kicked out of the school. I had this big war with him. Here I am a little twelve-year-old, and the principal believed him over me.” Other incidents led to the subject stating “I could no longer trust teachers.” She started skipping school and drinking at school. “I just started becoming a troublemaker.” A lot of her troubling behavior occurred in school. The decentered, hidden street culture is expressed when the subject related: “I would empty out my hair spray bottle and put some schnapps in there and me and my friends would stand at my locker before homeroom, talking about boys and our hair and stuff like that while we would be pounding schnapps, you know.” The suburban street life provided an episodic escape, as described: “I stole because I couldn’t get the respect from the adults so I was trying to get respect from new friends. . . . Next thing you know I’m invited to parties of all these upperclassmen . . . I’m hanging out with all the seniors and juniors, because I could drink more than them . . . it was kinda like, well if the adults aren’t going to believe me, then maybe the students will.”

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And then desistance: College made a difference. It taught me basically to voice my opinion. . . . In college I made friends with those who boosted my self-esteem. . . . They lifted me up on a pedestal; they didn’t look up to me or anything like that, but they’d be like, “Yeah, you’re the one and only Patty; you’re so cool.” They were very sure of themselves, and hanging out with them, I was more sure of myself, and it was like, we were always together. Despite problems with authority figures, and continued drug use, the vast majority of America’s Safest City youth managed to perform well enough to go off to college. Drug and alcohol use became manageable. They cared more about their future than getting high. They had that balance because their parents, school, and community had the resources to confront their difficulties and to avoid officially labelling them as delinquent or criminal. Street life was not totally tolerated, but when possible confronted and the deepend street youth were generally able to get the help they needed.

Conclusion: enabling youth culture The review of these young peoples’ lives indicates that selected aspects of a suburban street culture reproduce the structure of suburbia. That structure is decentered, fast-moving, episodic, and consists of more than one place of activity. The decentered quality of suburban life is enabling for a large segment of youth. They can drift into and out of a street culture of delinquencies and not face the criminalizing consequences of inner-city street-corner life. Parents know this and for that reason alone they prefer to live in a place that is not quick to label their adolescent child as delinquent. Hanging out, getting high, dealing drugs, petty theft, and fighting for affluent youth rarely means a permanent criminal record. Moreover, suburban youth can move into and out of street culture with relative ease, as Jacques and Wright (2015) have shown in their suburbia’s drug dealing culture. Opportunities for moving on persist in all sorts of ways, which would include the resources that the affluent have to make sure that their adolescent child avoids a criminal record. This is the benefit of affluence – the power to avoid the more devastating consequences of streetcorner life. As Hagan (1991) shows, the camaraderie of a middle-class subculture of delinquency produces higher levels of adult achievement. The drinking/drug culture does not necessarily produce the negative outcomes that are more typical of lower-class youth. We need to know more about the culture of suburbia as it might impact its street cultures. Baumgartner (1988) identified a moral order within suburbia’s subdivisions – one for the more upper middle-class professionals, and another for the middle-class non-professionals. Upper middle-class professional suburbanites were less confrontational; they practiced the fine art of avoiding conflict, and were less in their youths and neighbors face. Forty years later, we still know little about the moral ordering of suburban youth cultures, although recent studies have identified a suburban drug culture (Jacques & Wright, 2015) and suburbia’s black middle-class (Pattillo, 2013). But my call for more research on suburban street culture is made with theory in mind. Clearly the traditions of the past are not there in the fast-moving world of suburbia; identities are not fixed; there are a multitude of decentered possibilities. The subdivisions are many, producing a variety of places where youth can choose their place (or street) of activity. Suburban street cultures provide the means for escaping the boredom and routines of a life that seems at times too regulated and too close to a straight and narrow path. Impoverished inner-city youth are not as fortunate. Inner-city youth are embedded in visible places where they are more likely to face the formal controlling arms of law and too often a delinquent or criminal label. The quick resort to punish inner-city youth is because they are more subject to the actions of the police at the first sign of deviance. This is most famously noted in Wilson and Kelling’s (1982) Broken Windows Theory. The police should be there to warn and 256

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possibly arrest rowdy kids, hanging out on their street corners with apparently nothing to do. This is not the case for suburbia’s less visible street cultures. The private places of suburbia, as located in suburban basement recreation rooms, or in the darker sides of suburban malls and recreational parks, provide plenty of opportunities for a suburban youth street culture to thrive. Yet it thrives and exists without the harsh penalties of criminal justice. As I have indicated, the culture of suburban youth exists, and its one that can be identified for its capacity to allow youth to drift into and out of delinquency (Matza, 1964). It is a culture that knows how to set limits, allowing its youth to receive the sort of assistance that would enable them to avoid chronic adult criminality. A bit of deviance is considered acceptable, normal, and within the bounds of enabling adolescence. Juvenile justice is there as a last resort. But this is not the case for youth in more impoverished circumstances; inner-city street culture is allowed to take off into directions that can lead to serious trouble. Offending is no longer limited to adolescence. Minimum tolerance – the speed to make an arrest, under the guise of more formal mechanisms of control – places inner city youth culture more at risk than those in the more affluent outer city of suburbia. But research needs to go even further than this review has in its focus on the more affluent side of suburbia. There is poverty as well, and it is increasing at a rapid rate. As parts of major cities have become gentrified, more of its impoverished are being forced to move to less affluent suburbs (Kneebone, 2014). A new set of street cultures will be emerging and should be the subject social science analysis. The culture of youth is far from homogenous, and that is also the case with suburbia; distinctions need to be examined between suburbia’s more and less affluent suburban street and non-street cultures. Theory is critical to see those distinctions, and the hope of the present review is that the deindustrialized, decentered, and uniquely private world of suburbia can be made increasingly visible.

References Anderson, E. (1999). Code of the street: Decency, violence, and the moral life of the inner city. New York, NY: W. W. Norton. Baumgartner, M. P. (1988). The moral order of a suburb. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Butler, C. (2002). Postmodernism: A very short introduction. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Fischer, C. S., Hout, M., & Stiles, J. (2006). Century of difference: How America changed in the last one hundred years. New York, NY: Russell Sage Foundation. Giddens, A. (1990). The consequences of modernity. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Gottdiener, M. (1994). The new urban sociology. New York, NY: McGraw Hill. Hagan, J. (1991). Destiny and drift: Subcultural preferences, status attainment and the risks and rewards of youth. American Sociological Review, 56(5), 567–586. Huff, R., & Stahura, J. M. (1980). Police employment and suburban crime. Criminology 17(4), 461–470. Jacques, S., & Wright, R. (2015). Code of the suburb: Inside the world of young middle-class drug dealers. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Katz, J. (1988). Seductions of crime: Moral and sensual attractions in doing evil. New York, NY: Basic Books. Kilborn, P. T. (2005, June 1). The five-bedroom, six-figure rootless life. The New York Times, A1. Kneebone E, B. (2014). Confronting suburban poverty in America. Washington, DC: Brookings Inst. Press. Kruse, K. M., & Sugrue, T. J. (2006). The new suburban history. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Matza, D. (1964). Delinquency and drift. New York, NY: John Wiley. Palen, J. J. (1995). The suburbs. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill. Pattillo, M. E. (2013). Black picket fences: Privilege and peril among the black middle class. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Rengert, G. F., & Wasilchick, J. (2000). Suburban burglary: A tale of two suburbs. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas Publisher. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society 5(4), 7–13. Singer, S. I. (2014). America’s safest city: Delinquency and modernity in suburbia. New York, NY: New York University Press. 257

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Stahura, J. M., Huff, R., & Smith, B. L. (1980). Crime in the suburbs: A structural model. Urban Affairs Review, 15(3), 291–316. Stahura, J. M., & Sloan, J. J. (1988). Urban stratification of places, routine activities and suburban crime rates. Social Forces, 66(4), 1102–1118. Whyte, W. F. (1948). Street corner society: The social structure of an Italian slum. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Willis, P. E. (1981). Learning to labor: How working class kids get working class jobs. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Wilson, J., & Kelling, G. (1982). The police and neighborhood safety: Broken windows. Atlantic Monthly, 127, 29–38. Wilson, W. J. (1987). The truly disadvantaged: The inner city, the underclass, and public policy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

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22 Writing “street culture” should be a crime Karen Coen Flynn and Mark S. Fleisher

Introduction A Google Scholar search for “street culture” in January 2019 produced nearly 4,090,000 results (Google Scholar, 2019). The popular term street culture is used often by criminologists to explain street crime and criminal behavior. They use it much like a portmanteau word that blends the meanings of two distinct words (e.g., “motel,” a combination of “motor” and “hotel”) (Oxford Dictionaries, 2019). Yet the use of street culture creates problems for criminologists. Cultural anthropologists recognize “street” as a referent to certain types of locations, the characteristics of which can range widely through time and space. “Culture” is a long-debated, provisionally and temporally defined concept that many anthropologists view as encompassing learned, socially acquired patterns of human thought and behavior that are everchanging and unequally distributed among any situationally defined group (See Baldwin, 2006). In the English-language criminology literature there appear to be few  – if any  – examples of criminologists trying to resolve the ambiguities created by compacting these two words into a conflated term. They persist in restricting a vast array of meanings associated with “street” and “culture” to only a few that fall within the realm of criminology vernacular. As a result, the widespread use of street culture by criminologists adds little explanatory power to their analyses of criminal behavior and embeds prejudice in their interpretations.

Criminologists writing street culture Some criminologists and other social scientists writing about street culture use it undefined, implying a reader simply could look up its meaning in a dictionary (e.g., Dierenfeldt, Thomas, Brown, & Walker, 2017; Henson, Swartz, & Reyns, 2017; Lepoutre, 2017). Others define street culture in vague and wideranging ways, such as related to poor youth and gangs and/or involving “self-indulgent activities” of “drinking and drug taking” (Decker & Weerman, 2005; Sandberg, 2008; Wright & Decker, 2011, p. 59) or an “entrenched” subculture of “disadvantaged and violent communities” (Zdun, 2008, 2012; Dierenfeldt et al., 2017, pp. 11–12; Van Dijken, Stams, & de Winter, 2017) or as values that “emphasize toughness and ‘getting over,’ obtaining a share of available rewards as expeditiously as possible and ‘by any means possible’ ” (Decker & Van Winkle, 1996, p. 274) or as “common crimes – robberies, thefts, assaults, drug selling, and prostitution” (Hagan & McCarthy, 1997, p. 54). 259

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Ross (2018), a criminologist, recently called on others to develop a more useful definition of street culture. He emphasized that street culture “is dynamic and varies based on the types of participant/actor, location and time period in which it is located” (2018, p. 9, emphasis original) and acknowledged “there are probably a variety of different street cultures, in the same city, country, and among states” (2018, p. 10). This was a productive step, one that might have resulted in the deconstruction of street culture as an ineffective, monolithic concept. When anthropologists study people spending time in public places and on/ along city streets, they learn that these individuals do not refer to themselves as a “street girl” or “street woman,” for example, or in terms reflective of their exploitation of the resources available to them (e.g., garbage sorter, sex worker, street food-stall dishwasher, parking-place finder, etc.) (Fleisher, 1995; Preble & Casey, 1969; Flynn, 2005). These stigmatizing identities are much more often ascribed by others (Goffman, 1963; Flynn, 2005). Independent children and youth surviving on their own on the streets of Tanzania, Cuba, and elsewhere also characterize their plight as temporary or as the result of a specific event, the consequences of which forced them to live on the streets for a while (Mickelson, 2000; Flynn, 2005). The complex temporality of people’s relationship to street-based survival strategies is completely elided by Ross’ random, ethnocentric portrayal of them as spending a “disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers” (2018, p. 8). How is this measured? What lengths of time spent in so-called “urban” or public places are proportionate versus disproportionate (see Ferguson, 1999)? How does this measure help distinguish between those people who are street connected but live “at home,” and those “of the streets” 24 hours a day (Nhapi & Agere, 2019, p. 64)? Moreover, the vast diversity of those spending time on the streets is glossed over not only by criminologists’ apparent lack of inquiry into research participants’ self-ascribed identities and life histories, but also by the conviction that some people comprising urban communities do not merit such inquiry and understanding. Ross argues: “Although all types of cultures that exist in the city are interesting . . . some more than others are deserving of research and analysis” (2018, p. 8). Subjective selection of one culture over others minimizes cultural variation and limits the capacity of theory-building by excluding variables, such as age, ethnicity, gender, and language, necessary to account for behavioral variation. Finally, living on the streets can be dangerous, but street life does not encourage only violent behavior. Affection, companionship, security, and food-support are shared among those living on the streets worldwide (See Mickelson, 2000; Stodulka, 2016; Stannard-Friel, 2017; Nhapi & Agere, 2019). For example, independent teenage girls in Tanzania intentionally negotiate sex-for-food exchanges with male restaurant workers to include enough food to feed themselves and several of their younger street-based companions (Flynn, 2005, 2007). Instead of working to deconstruct street culture, however, Ross reified it by building on previous definitions posed by Anderson (1990), Bourgois (2003), and Ilan (2015). For Ross, street culture is “the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by the individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers” (2018, p. 8). “Street crime,” added Ross, “is very dominant in street culture” (2018, p. 11). The concept of “street crime” poses definitional challenges. Crime – more specifically criminal behavior – is denotatively defined by and punishable in the U.S. pursuant to local, state, and federal criminal statutes. The culturally defined construct, criminal behavior, cannot be explained by the ambiguous concept, street culture. Yet, criminologists employ the concept of street crime as if street crime had a specific denotative meaning, while connoting that it occurs only in specific geographic locations (Ross, 2013). That referent is wholly ambiguous and is used by criminologists in wholly ambiguous ways. For instance, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) categorizes and collects data on “street crime” that is defined as violent offenses (use of or threat of force) and property offenses (theft and burglary, among others) occurring “on streets, highways, parking lots and other salient parking realms” (Ross, 2013, p. 400). Others research the street by collecting data from people engaged with entities as varying as “cities” (McCorkle & Miethe, 2002); “a public university in a Western state” (McNeeley, Meldrum, & Hoskin, 2018, pp. 120–121); all 260

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123 census tracts within the city limits of Seattle, Washington (McNeeley  & Wilcox, 2015); “shelters, drop-in centers, city parks and street corners in downtown Toronto” (Hagan & McCarthy, 1997); and a Scottish prison holding some of those from the country’s “most deprived postcode areas” (Holligen, 2015, p. 639). Baron’s (2017) street research recruited participants because they were: panhandling, busking or squeegeeing, or [their] appearance indicated possible homelessness (backpacks, shopping carts, poor clothing) . . . [or they were] congregating in areas known for homeless youth including parks, the front of social services that catered to the population, and ‘hotspots’ for illegal activities. (p. 498) In these analyses, street refers to a physical locale, a way of acting, a way of dressing, and a type of knowledge one holds because they attend a public university or because they were seen near a social service agency. For Henson et al. (2017) and Urbanik and Haggerty (2018) the street also exists in the digital realm of “the interstitial spaces that demarcate the physical street from the street as manifest online on social media” (p. 1357). When ill-defined “street” is appended to the word “crime” to create the term “street crime,” this term also is used in predictably free-wheeling ways (e.g., as an undefined term (Michel, 2016); a grab-and-go robbery “irrespective of location” (Smith 2003 as quoted by Hallsworth, 2005, p.  4); as “rational public attacks” (Silverman, 2004, p. 764); as “theft, drug use, and drug selling” (Hagan & McCarthy, 1997, p. 106); as “crimes connected to urban life-style, against people and property, committed in both public and private places” (Ross, 2013, p. xxiii); and “cyberstalking, cyberbullying, online sexual harassment, identity theft, and computer virus dissemination” (Henson et al., 2–17)). When used in these ways, “street” does not explain social interactions that courts would rule criminal behavior.

Culture matters In a classic study undertaken more than 60  years ago in impoverished Boston neighborhoods, Miller (1958), a cultural anthropologist, saw adolescents doing the same things that other groups of youths were doing as described by sociologists Thrasher (1927) and Frazier (1932, 1934, 1937) in their seminal works on Chicago neighborhoods decades earlier. They were “aimlessly hanging around street corners and exhibiting aggression, violence, and substance abuse,” all behaviors that Thrasher believed were caused by neighborhood and individual distress (Fleisher, 2015, p. 142). Yet Miller interpreted the youth’s behavior differently, predicated on and illustrated by the application of the emerging theory of normative cultural relativism that was based on the idea that all standards of behavior are “culturally constituted” (Spiro, 1986, p. 260). For Miller, the cultural context in which these youth lived played a strong role in their behavior. He learned that the specific types of behavior he observed conformed to the “dynamic interaction of a complex combination of variables” supporting the general norms of the neighborhood (1958, p. 5). He rejected the use of a single set of standards to judge and interpret human behavior (e.g., those focused on youth’s shortcomings physiologically or psychologically or environmentally (1958, p. 5; Shaw & McKay, 1942). Instead Miller observed that the drive to engage in these behaviors involved a “positive effort to achieve states, conditions, or qualities valued within the actor’s most significant cultural milieu” (1958, p. 18). Disavowing the use of a single, pan-cultural set of standards by which to explain behavior requires understanding how different people in different communities interpret behavior within their own cultural context (Spiro, 1986; Fleisher, 2015). For example, a common connotative definition of street in the U.S. refers to deviant actions or activities considered to be shameful, evil, or wrong (McCorkle  & Miethe, 2002; Shelden, Tracy, & Brown, 2004). Yet behavior that is considered shameful, evil, or wrong can be as 261

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wide-ranging in degree as it is in the characteristics of those viewing it as such. Behavior deemed evil in a crime syndicate, a group of siblings, or a faith-based community might not be viewed as evil in others. Selling and possessing crack cocaine, for instance, constitute crimes in the U.S. and in recent decades tens of thousands of Black Americans were imprisoned for years for crimes associated with the drug – even if they possessed it solely for their private use (Alexander, 2012). Some people may believe that selling and/ or using crack cocaine is shameful and leads to violence, and to these people the acts of crack-cocaine selling and/or using may appear to carry an inherently evil quality. Many people who do not use crack cocaine shun crack cocaine users; still others who do not use crack cocaine do not consider using or selling it shameful, evil, or wrong (Decker, 2004; Flynn & Hoffer, 2018). Ethnographers investigating Clallam language and culture among Salish-speaking communities on the northern coast of Washington state’s Olympic Peninsula in the 1970s found there were no terms for “crime,” “delinquency,” or “violence” that appeared to match the meanings ascribed these words by the English-speaking researchers (Fleisher, 1976, pp. 160–320; Fleisher, 1984). Crime and delinquency causation had one explanation  – a malevolent spirit had entered and symbolically polluted the household, which in turn, influenced the behavior of adolescents who committed the Clallam-language equivalents of delinquent behavior, drug abuse, and misuse of firearms. Police were not called. In Clallam culture, police represented a foreign system of law enforcement and delinquency mediation. Instead, the community’s elders held a ceremony in the home of the delinquent youth. Dressed in ritual clothing, elders walked through the house chanting and ringing bells, the type one might see in Christian churches. Elders ringing bells frightened the malevolent spirit and moved it room to room until it was captured in a closet. Using a specific instrument, the elder caught the spirit and took it into the forest at a distance far enough so that the spirit would not reenter the house (Smith, 1954; Lehnhoff, 1982). When anthropologists study deviance and crime, they study those bending and breaking socio-cultural rules of behavior. Behavior would be labeled “deviant” and/or “criminal” only if the study group labeled it “deviant” and/or “criminal.” This idea begs an important question: Do criminologists’ accounts, explanations, or theories of crime mesh with the study communities’ perceptions and explanations of crime?

Code of the street: a cultural model of identity politics or causal explanation of violence? Criminologists commonly use a synonym, “code of the street,” (Anderson, 1999) to explain what they mean by street culture. Deciphered through vaguely articulated research methods conducted during an even more difficult to pin-down time period in Philadelphia, Anderson argued that street culture was a property of the “poor inner-city,” “disorganized,” violent Black community (1994, pp. 82, 1999, p. 32). According to Anderson the local street culture had: evolved a ‘code of the street,’ which amounts to a set of informal rules governing interpersonal public behavior. . . . At the heart of the code is the issue of respect – loosely defined as being treated “right.” . . . The rules of the code in fact provide a framework for negotiating respect (1999, p. 33). . . . Much of the code has to do with achieving and holding respect. (1999, p. 67) Anderson’s description of the code of the street  – of which individuals adopted part or all as they partially or fully adopted local norms, or at least learned to behave according to them – aligns with an approach centered on normative cultural relativism (Anderson, 1999; Stewart & Simons, 2010). Anderson argued that the ubiquity of violence and victimization in inner-city Black communities had been so wellintegrated into residents’ lives that many had come to accept it as a normative influence guiding their most elementary social interactions when they threatened to use violence and/or tried to avoid falling victim to 262

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it. The code provided a learned, socially acquired logic model that conflated a respect-generating means to cultivate and project one’s personal identity with an endorsement of violent criminal behavior. Anderson’s observations in Philadelphia also align with youth’s use of violence to foster personal identity elsewhere. For example, Mendoza-Denton (1996) demonstrated that for Latina gang girls in Northern California during the 1990s the capacity for violence, whether implied or enacted, was part of the production of their non-hegemonic femininity, while Leavitt (1998) argued that young men’s violence in Papua New Guinea was not a rebellion against authority, but an adoption of authoritative behaviors usually reserved for political leaders through which masculine identities often were constructed. Yet for Anderson, the code of the street was more than a cultural logic model. It also explained the cause of violence in inner-city Black communities. For him, the code of the street’s rules prescribe both proper comportment and the proper way to respond if challenged. They regulate the use of violence and so supply a rationale allowing those who are inclined to aggression to precipitate violent encounters in an approved way (1999, p. 33). Wacquant (2002) argued, in his point of view, the code of the street presents criminologists with a single set of nebulous standards to judge and interpret violence and victimization. It suggests that Black youth in inner-city neighborhoods are the victims of a static, pernicious, and essentialist form of street culture. Elevating the code of the street to causal explanation in this way strips Black adolescents of human agency, that is, their ability to reason, formulate their intentions, and express their free will. Employing the code of the street to explain violence leaves one with the argument that “the code made me do it.” This perspective also implies that cultural controls of behavior employed by residents of Black neighborhoods are powerless to curtail any adolescents’ propensity for violence, or that antisocial behavior among adolescents may stem from other causes, such as poor behavioral health (Caspi, & Moffitt, 1995; Bucholtz, 2002). It is a depressing thought that the code of the street provides a rationale for locking up black youth, knowing, because the street code prescribes it, they cannot control their violent behavior. Recent publications show that criminologists are prone to arguing that hopelessness, poverty, unemployment, and social disorganization have resulted from the cultural acceptance of victimization (in other words, street culture as code of the street) among residents in inner-city Black communities. Many researchers use street code as a concept to account for the perpetration of violent crimes and then as a construct supposedly testable in empirical studies purporting to show that violent crimes and responses therefore arise as a function of the code of the street (e.g., Baumer, Horney, Felson, & Lauristen, 2003; Silverman, 2004; Stewart, Schreck, & Simons, 2006; Stewart & Simons, 2006, 2010; Taylor, Esbensen, Brick, & Freng, 2010; Berg, Stewart, Schreck, & Simons, 2012; Matsuda, Melde, Taylor, Freng, & Esbensen, 2013; Baron, 2017; Urbanik & Haggerty, 2018). Study after study attempts to test street culture by asking study participants (assumed to be members of street culture) the same seven Likert-scaled questions about whether or not they would fight or engage in other violent behavior in a variety of situations (Stewart & Simons, 2006, 2010; Taylor et al., 2010; Matsuda et al., 2013; Baron, 2017). Of course, the same types of questions posed in an open-ended format could be asked of Clallam adolescents living in the city of Port Angeles, Washington, (or any others) and depending on the socio-psychological make-up of the participants, they would describe whether there would or would not be violence. In the end, these questions neither test nor measure street culture; these questions elicit indicators of social influences on adolescents that likely or not lead to violent interactions. Implicit social cognition cued by the term, violence, would predictably shape adolescents’ responses toward selecting the option, violent interaction. Norms of street culture are not contrary to, nor do they form an oppositional culture to, mainstream norms (Anderson, 1999). In this misconception of the culture concept by Anderson and his followers, inner-city Black neighborhoods’ marginalization generates a social structure that differs from mainstream culture and favors supporting violence. Yet ethnic communities’ isolation from mainstream economy has not been identified as motivation for violence (Schroder  & Schmidt, 2001; Burgason, Thomas, Berthelot, & Burkey, 2014). Why is street culture, in the form of Black street culture, absent in other ethnic groups 263

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whose similar marginality, isolation, and poverty do not affect positive responses to victimization? Because social interactions influence behavior. Cultural norms are grounded in societal rules of inter-personal behavior, which encourage cooperation and mutual support (Berry, 1997; Kim  & Gudykunst, 2005). People’s safety when living on the street in cities as far flung as Akron (Ohio), Makassar (Indonesia), and Mwanza (Tanzania), or working on the street – sweeping store fronts, selling home-cooked food, running drugs, or selling convenience items out of a makeshift kiosk – depends on individuals’ social capital, that is, their social connections to others. These people help to fend off aggressive competitors encroaching on, for example, people begging, sex-soliciting, food-vending, or drug-selling areas, or they assist in protecting individual property, such as a shopping cart, a bag of fast food, or sneakers, while a partner naps nearby (Flynn, 2005, 2007; Sandberg, 2008; Lovell, Luminais, & Flynn, 2018). Other empirical problems arise for criminologists relying on the code of the street as the cause of violence in inner-city Black communities (Wacquant, 2002). Take for example the argument presented by Dierenfeldt et al. (2017) that the “literature suggests adherence to behavioral prescriptions associated with street culture [code of the street] exacerbates the likelihood and frequency of victimization” (p. 2). First, how does one measure adherence to prescriptive behavior? Second, the code of the street prescribes culturally maladaptive behavior (e.g., violent victimization). There are many instances of urban cultures breaking down at certain times under extraordinary conditions, such as genocide (e.g., of California Native American communities by settlers, miners, and U.S. government representatives in the mid-1800s; of Armenians by Turks in 1915; and of mostly Tutsi by mostly Hutus in Rwanda in 1994). Cultural anthropologists would find rather peculiar the notion that culture prescribes ongoing, wide-spread, violent, maladaptive behavior (Suny, Göçek, & Naimark, 2011; Lindsay, 2012). Third, if “incident-level predictor measures [are] likely to be conditioned by the entrenchment of street culture,” how does one measure the entrenchment of a variable as vaguely defined as street culture (Dierenfeldt et al., 2017, p. 19)? Fourth, if code of the street exacerbates victimization then at what level of victimization would it not exacerbate it? Employing street culture in this way is circular. If one contends that a street code generates violent crimes, then the code’s validity cannot logically be tested with violent crime rates. Does crime create the code or does the code create crime? Other conceptual barriers undermining criminologists’ use of the code of the street to explain criminal behavior involve the rampant designation of entire communities by prejudicial racial categories, such as the descriptor “Black.” Essentialist racial beliefs about human populations and the communities they comprise ignore foundational genetic science and fuel and are fueled by prejudice (Beckwith, 2013). Crime rates in Native American communities, for example, often exceed those in impoverished inner-city ones and yet anthropologists do not account for high rates of homicide and domestic violence by citing reservation culture or street culture (Forslund & Meyers, 1974; Cockerham, 1975; Revels & Cummings, 2014; Martin & Danner, 2017). If the only location where street culture can be utilized to account for victimization are inner-city Black communities, then the explanatory power of the street culture concept applies only to places where criminologists study Black victimization. In this scenario, criminologists may unnecessarily conflate youth, gangs, drugs, and violent crime with dark skin. This is a simple example of the fallacy of composition, or the error of attributing to a large population the unique characteristics of a subset of it. Unless criminology researchers control their use of jargon in accounting for violence in inner-city neighborhoods, the discipline remains mired in thinking characteristic of the early 20th century academic conceptualization that Black violence is biological in origin (Fleisher, 2018a, 2018b). Additionally, not all Black youth in poor neighborhoods engage in violence, which further undermines Anderson’s causal explanation. That fatal flaw in the code of the street appeared when Anderson conceived of communities as divided between those with “decent” and those with “street” values and maintained that “[a]lthough these designations result from much social jockeying, there do exist concrete features that define each conceptual category, forming a social typology” (1999, p. 35). Yet decent and street are

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ethnocentric values comparing what Anderson – not his research participants – called Black “street” values to what he called White, mainstream, “decent” values (1999, p. 40, see bracketed text). Ill-conceived, “race-based” applications of street culture and street crime-laden theory cannot explain why some and not all poor Blacks are violent. When caught short on rational, evidence-based explanations, many criminology researchers reach for ones based on street culture, street crime, and the code of the street, as if these concepts offer clear explanations.

The culture of violence Durkheim protested that “sociology has dealt more or less exclusively with concepts and not with things” (1938, p. 18). To explain violence in late 20th century, inner-city Philadelphia, Anderson was content to point toward violent behavior he neither clearly identified nor did he precisely explain its appearance with any more than pointing toward another ambiguous concept – the code of the street. The term “street culture” poses problems because there is no precise definition of “street” and the term “culture” refers to a broad theory of thought influencing behavior. Tylor formulated almost 150 years ago a famous definition of culture that he conceived was “that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, customs and any other capabilities and habits acquired by [a hu]man as a member of society” (1871, p. 1). Culture formulated in that way does not specifically explain the nature of behavior. What is the subject matter inferred in the term street culture? Is it social relations or social structure, or society, or kinship systems, or social phenomena? In this chapter, the term street culture has the potential to explain interpersonal behavior of a type, namely, violence, but that adds more ambiguity and does not help us explain the term street culture or the violence to which it refers. Violence alone can be explained when we watch lions fight over prey or sharks attacking seals. But what is it we are trying to explain when violence has a specific reference to human behavior? Violence names something but describing the violence does not help us explain its occurrence and the contexts in which it occurs.

Summary The ambiguities embedded in the concept of street culture do not add explanatory power to describing criminal behavior or any behavior enacted in public places, because street culture has not been suitably defined as a measurable construct by criminologists. Analyses of criminal behavior requires socio-cultural analysis to make evident how, for example, people self-identify and why Neighborhood X’s residents do not use the label “delinquent” to refer to those youth skipping school, shoplifting candy, or slacking on homework while Neighborhood Y’s residents do consider each of the cited behaviors “delinquent” and worthy of community or legal intervention. Criminologists rely on research methods centered on street culture to argue incorrectly that Black culture, under specific conditions, generates forces local people cannot control and victimization ensues. That argument comes dangerously close to early 20th century thinking that genes determine our behavior. As a final note, street culture as the primogenitor of victimization (see, e.g., McNeeley & Wilcox, 2015) leaves few options for violence prevention. Drug treatment, domestic violence counselling, and behavioral health treatment, amid other social supports and interventions, are options outside street culture. Criminologists study violence in inner-city Black neighborhoods knowing victimization rates are high and employ in their theoretical arsenal circular theories such as those based on street culture. The single most significant dilemma herein is that these are simply ethnocentric and racist theories that, if used as the basis by which to frame violence prevention, might have no positive effect. Blaming criminal behavior on ill-defined street culture easily leads researchers and practitioners far astray from culturally acceptable violence prevention and intervention solutions. Writing street culture does not explain crime; writing street culture should be a crime.

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Part IV

Representations of street culture Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction Although people may adopt the ideas, values, and behaviors that they are exposed to on the street, street culture, or selected elements of it, have also been accepted and integrated by various cultural industries. This is often done through cooptation, commodification, and/or representation (e.g., Ross, Lennon, & Kramer, 2020). Most of the world is not exposed directly to street culture, but learns about it via a variety of communication channels (e.g., the mass media) that our cultural industries disseminate and promote. This section, consisting of eight chapters, deals with a broad spectrum of different important elements pertaining to how images, symbols, and stories of street culture are communicated to a wider public.

Overview of the chapters Popular culture can serve as an educational tool. It can also work to galvanize different constituencies to act to improve a situation and/or build a community. In Chapter 23, “The relationship between popular culture and street culture: a case study of Baltimore,” Jeffrey Ian Ross suggests that in both popular culture and the study of urban environments an increased focus on street culture has developed. Although the majority of research focuses on the connection between street culture and street crime, less understood is the relationship between street culture and popular culture. In order to better explain the connection between these two concepts, this chapter discerns the unique relationship between contemporary street culture and popular culture. It begins by defining street culture and then looks at numerous elements of this concept specific to Baltimore, a city where Ross has worked for over two decades. This study includes a review of nonfiction books and the unique language of Baltimore, as well as fashions, movies, and television series. The review concludes by recommending possibilities for future research. James Wicks, in Chapter  24, “Portrayals of street culture in Hollywood films,” argues that although there is no specific genre of “street culture cinema,” Hollywood’s use of familiar themes and archetypes is so engrained in the film industry that aspects of street culture are evident within nearly every genre, from gangster films to action films to film noir to comedies. This chapter traces the way street culture is depicted in representative mainstream films that stage street culture and lifestyles. Reproductions of city life take viewers into recognizable locations, such as those frequented by rich bohemians, impoverished immigrants, the criminal underworld, and government workers. Portrayals of characters in these areas change over time,

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providing information about specific stages of industrialization, gentrification, racial discrimination, and wealth distribution – from the crime films of the 30s and 40s, to the youth films of the 50s and 60s, to the exploitation films of the 70s, to the street lifestyles in films since the 80s. All of these reflect the transformations in dance, skateboarding, graffiti, music, drug, crime, and fashion cultures that have occurred over time. Hollywood’s cultural visions are both attempts to represent actual street culture and creations of a virtual reality, as evidenced in films such as Public Enemy (1931), Taxi Driver (1976), Do the Right Thing (1989), and Blade Runner 2049 (2017). As a result, these films are subject to a variety of interpretations based on perception, experience, and the interaction of cinema with other forms of communication. In “On the street: photography and the city” (Chapter 25), Donna West Brett argues that there is no general agreement about what constitutes “street photography.” For some, street photography is any photography done on city streets. Those individuals utilize a strict set of standards: street photography must be candid, unposed, and unplanned. It must represent an honest, unfiltered rendering of city life, and at the same time, a bold and unconventional vision. In the most orthodox definition of this art form, as proposed by the great Parisian street photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson, street photography should be composed in camera. With the advent of digital photo-sharing apps, more people are exposed to and influenced by the genre than ever before, as an increasing number of people are contributing to street photography’s evolving definition. Thousands of photographers have taken up the practice of street photography in recent years, equipped with smart phones, light mirrorless cameras, and a desire to explore the urban environment that surrounds them. This chapter traces the history of street photography from the earliest days of the camera to the era of social media, and it maps the geography of street photography from Paris and New York, the cities where the genre first emerged. This chapter seeks to capture the diversity and dynamism of this art form, the broad assortment of practices that constitute street photography today, and the complex and contradictory conceptions of “the street” that street photographers are helping produce, represent, and disseminate. In Chapter  26, “Street styles serenade: urban street styles emerging from music scenes,” Therèsa M. Winge outlines how on the streets of large urban centers, individuals present some of the most innovative street styles, which signify the dismissal of mainstream dominant fashions while simultaneously promoting displays of alternative conspicuous consumption. Street styles are noteworthy signifiers of cultural and social phenomena, and they also provide agency for identity negotiation and construction through dress. An examination of street styles around the world reveals intersections between dress and associated music scenes. While not all street styles have deep connections to music, those that do tend to contribute to their respective music scene and fashion tribe. Hip-Hop music, for example, began in urban neighborhoods and led to well-known street styles such as low-slung pants, oversized jackets, brand-name sneakers or Timberland boots, and T-shirts. While the Hip-Hop style, as well as many other street styles, evolves over time to incorporate aspects of surrounding sub/cultures and trends, street style maintains intimate connections to its musical roots. Winge explores the social, cultural, and political implications within the displays of street styles, especially their media representations, including social media. Hélène de Burgh-Woodman, in Chapter 27, “Reinventing luxury in the streets: an assemblage view of the relationship between luxury brands and street culture,“ argues that the traditional status of street culture as mainstream, urban, and diverse, in contrast to luxury culture as elite, removed, and highly territorialized, has shifted over the last two decades. Street culture consumers now function as arbiters of taste and have impacted the repositioning of luxury in terms of design, marketing, and consumption. This conceptual chapter draws upon Deleuzian assemblage thinking to investigate the culturally entwined relationship between street culture and luxury brands. In doing so, reinventive expressions of luxury and new arenas for cultural participation among street consumers have emerged. The purpose of this chapter is to trace this emergence through the lens of assemblage thinking, arguing that the relationship between street and luxury can be usefully reconceptualized as a complicated series of dynamic flows, multiplicities, and deterritorialization that transform both street and luxury, subsequently giving rise to new articulations of identity 270

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and marketplace participation. De Burgh-Woodman uses several case study examples to illustrate how this recent marketplace/cultural assemblage has formed. The implications for marketing and understandings of street culture are also discussed. In Chapter 28, “Language and street culture in the big city,” Eivind Nessa Torgersen discusses language as part of street culture, as perceived and expressed by young speakers themselves. The chapter focuses on different elements of language as aspects of cultural expression. The data are mainly taken from sociolinguistic interviews with young speakers from London, but the chapter also includes data from Berlin, Manchester, New York, Oslo, and Paris. Torgersen shows how youth language is influenced by language and dialect contact, but it also includes linguistic innovation. He discusses how ways of talking spread in friendship groups. While young speakers perceive their own language as unmarked and representative of their culture and interests, outsiders sometimes have negative reactions towards it. In Chapter 29, “Street food and placemaking: a cultural review of urban practices,” Anna Svensdotter, Mirko Guaralda and Severine Mayere contend that food brings people together, helps define the character and identity of a place, and is a formidable activator for public spaces. The phenomenon of street food has long-rooted traditions in many cultural areas. In some cities, street food has historically been a signifier for the urban landscape. Numerous regular vendors have built a reputation on the quality of their street food. Tourists travel globally to visit the stall-lined streets of many cities. Similarly, street festivals, fairs, and events often have food as a main attraction. Street food is increasingly significant as a cultural phenomenon, which is changing urban practices through its complex legal, cultural, and social structures. Many cities are currently attempting to navigate the layered complexity of the legalities, sanitary restrictions, and obligations that come with the serving of food on the street, along with balancing street food as a well-established part of the urban context with the formalized structures required to regulate this phenomenon. This chapter reviews urban practices related to street food with the aim of classifying different typologies of activities, their relationship with the built environment, and their strategic value as place activators. Academic sources will be combined with media coverage to substantiate how street food contributes to the image construction of cities while also strengthening their cultural identity. Finally, in Chapter 30, “Digital streets, internet banging, and cybercrimes: street culture in a digitized world,” Robert A. Roks and Jeroen B.A. van den Broek state that most of the research on street culture has focused on the intersection between subcultural identities and practices and the physical spaces of the urban environment. However, several developments have affected the ways (young) people understand and construct both space and identity. In particular, the virtualization of everyday lives has blurred the boundaries between online and offline realities. Although this remains an area of relative paucity, recent studies have indicated the presence of street and gang cultures on blogs, in addition to social media like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube. In order to interpret these phenomena, the authors first analyze the recent examples of online street cultural practices and identities on blogs, social media, and YouTube by comparing these insights to the offline research on street culture. Secondly, they examine the interaction between online and offline street cultural identities, and, in particular, reflect on the possible consequences of this interplay for (violent) conflicts. The authors seek to determine whether this online presence is indicative of street cultures no longer being limited to physical streets and spaces, but expanding to virtual spaces and online “streets.” If so, what does this mean for street culture and street cultural identities, both online and offline?

Omissions Missing from this section of the handbook are topics that analyze other types of representations of street culture. This includes how fictional treatments have interpreted the subject of street culture, such as classic fictional books like The Outsiders (Hinton, 1967/2006), graphic novels and comics like Batman, V for Vendetta, Watchmen, and Transmetropolitan, and popular television series such as The Wire, Law and Order, etc. 271

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Another potentially interesting topic for inclusion in this section could address how selected museums, galleries, and their exhibitions have treated street culture. For example, many big cities have museums dedicated to their histories (e.g., Museum of London, Museum of the City of New York, etc.). There are also now a handful of specific graffiti and street art museums as well, including the previously mentioned Museum of Street Culture located in Dallas, Texas.

Conclusion This section of the handbook has included chapters that have provided reviews of selected elements of the representation of street culture. In summary, through the production of this handbook, I have done my best to present a rich and varied treatment of the subject of street culture by selecting chapters and experts who can write confidently in a scholarly manner about them. Unquestionably, much more needs to be done in terms of scholarly research if we are to comprehensively study and understand the contours of street culture in its wide global context.

Acknowledgments Thanks to Rachel Reynolds for comments on this section, and Keanu Ross-Cabrera for recommendations about appropriate graphic novels.

References Hinton, S. E. (1967/2006). The outsiders. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Ross, J. I., Lennon, J. F., & Kramer, R. (2020). Moving beyond Banksy & Fairey: Interrogating the co-optation and commodification of modern graffiti and street art. Visual Inquiry. 9.1/9.2

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23 The relationship between popular culture and street culture A case study of Baltimore Jeffrey Ian Ross

Introduction Over time, due to a number of factors, each human entity in the world develops its own unique culture. This is true for groups, corporations, nations, and states alike. One of the areas where culture has been frequently explored is at the city level (e.g., Mumford, 1938/2016; Sennet, 1969; Zukin, 1995). Many social scientists have recognized people living in different big cities develop unique norms in terms of dress, speech, and habits. These define their physical cultures and do not exist in a vacuum. This process is interchangeably referred to as urban culture (Suttles, 1984) and/or style (Ferrell, 1996). Depending upon context, this constellation of attitudes and behaviors can be further divided into subcomponents, including ghetto culture (e.g., Hannerz, 1969), youth culture (e.g., Ferrell, 2001), gang culture (e.g., Cohen, 1955; Miller, 1958), and street culture (e.g., Ilan, 2015).1 Although all types of urban cultures can be analyzed, one of the most under-researched areas is street culture (Ross, 2018; Ross et al., 2021). Over the past two decades, scholarship examining street culture, particularly its connection to violence and street crime, has been conducted by various scholars (e.g. Anderson, 1999, 2013), but there are numerous other factors that can affect street culture. Many elements in society (e.g., components of formal and informal social control) have an impact on people, but one cannot ignore the powerful effects of popular culture. Most importantly, a symbiotic relationship exists between popular culture and urban street culture (e.g., Zecker, 2008; Ilan, 2015; Ross, 2018). This occurs through a complicated, subtle, mutually reinforcing process. Although elements of popular culture may not directly generate street culture in any particular location, they certainly shape it. Street culture affects numerous swaths of people, but perhaps the most important populations are youth and young adults (i.e., people between the ages of 13 and 35), and thus, they are the main focus of this discussion.2 In other words, although older adults and younger children may be present on the streets of urban locals, discussions regarding street culture mainly ignore their contribution to street culture.

Transmission belts for street culture Street culture includes such factors as demographics, economics, socialization, neighborhood norms, and the impact of political decisions (Oliver, 2006; Lauger, 2014).

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Street culture is important for numerous reasons, including but not limited to being a source of ideas for commodities that are bought and sold, and being an indirect cause of some types of urban street crime.3 In general, street culture is typically interpreted differently by residents and outsiders to a city. Residents’ views may vary based on their mobility patterns, including what neighborhood they live in, where they work, and with whom they choose or are forced to interact with. Perceptions may also be affected by the age of the participant and their relative exposure to street culture. Outsiders, on the other hand, frequently garner their impressions about the city via the products of popular culture that are disseminated through cultural industries (e.g., television series, fashion, news media, movies, etc.). Undoubtedly, in any big city, there are numerous transmission belts for street culture. Although the cultural industries, such as the mass media, function as one mode of transmission, correctional facilities may also play a part, since prison norms pertaining to dress, language, and behavior are added to the mix. When and if individuals are released from jails and prisons, they bring these components back to the communities where they live and/or work through a process of transmission (i.e., importation-exportation hypothesis) (e.g., Irwin & Cressey, 1963).4 Also important in the communication of street culture are commercial establishments, such as bars, barbershops, clothing stores, and restaurants – places where people meet informally, talk, and interact. Finally, another avenue of communication, which is the focus of this chapter, are various aspects of popular culture that disseminate selected aspects of street culture.

Why focus on street culture in Baltimore? Although street culture is important to study on its own, it is perhaps more interesting and relevant to tie street culture to the specific places where it originates. Granted that the street culture of any number of cities could be examined, Baltimore, the thirtieth largest city in the United States (in terms of population), represents an important case study. Why? Baltimore is one of the most violent cities in the United States. Part of this situation is because it has one of the highest homicide rates. Baltimore is also the setting of one of the more recent riots in US history (Spring, 2015), catalyzed in part by the death of Freddie Gray, a 25-year-old African-American man who died in police custody (Ross, 2015). Baltimore has also had a long-standing reputation for being a tough city, with outsiders frequently wondering and/or asking why would anyone want to live and/or work there. This is why Baltimore is also known by a number of nicknames besides Charm City, including Baltimorgue, Bodymore, Bulletmore, Murdaland, and Murderland (Stead Sellers, 2008). Finally, the author is very familiar with the city. He has worked for over two decades in Baltimore, and the majority of his students come from the city, more specifically from the impoverished neighborhoods where Baltimore’s street culture has developed, exists, and is transmitted. Baltimore’s unique characteristics, including the food that people eat, the neighborhoods that have developed, and the colorful individuals who live there, have captured public attention. During the 1960– 1970s, for example, Baltimore culture (primarily working-class Hampden) was projected through “cult” movies like the ones created and directed by John Waters, who pioneered trash films, such as Polyester, and helped the careers of actors like Mink Stole, Edith Massey, and Divine. We also saw the uniqueness of Baltimore portrayed in the 1990s David Simon-inspired television series, including The Corner, Homicide: Life on the Streets, and The Wire.5 Many outsiders cringe when you mention that you live and/or work in Baltimore. And for good reason. According to the US Census Bureau, Baltimore has two of the twenty-five most dangerous areas in the US. In particular, West Mulberry Street/North Freemont has the highest violent crime rate of 94 per 1,000 residents (2015) (Neighborhood Scout, 2016). Most of the homicides, a major signaling component in Baltimore, are connected to the drug trade (Ross, 2013). Recent trends and events, like the high murder rate, the death of Freddie Gray, and the resultant riots, have helped shape these impressions. There is also a perception that the police are out of control and frequently engage in excessive force. This sentiment was captured by the relatively recent (2016) US Department of Justice, Civil Rights Division, report advocating 274

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for a consent decree, and the much-publicized trials of the police officers who were part of the Gun Trace Task Force (2018).

How to understand Baltimore’s street culture The unique street culture of Baltimore emerged from its origins as a predominantly Irish Catholic enclave at the foot of the Chesapeake, a port that attracted individuals from different ethnicities, races, and nationalities who did not want to settle in New York City or Philadelphia, or who were reluctant to make the trip further south to Washington, D.C. In Baltimore, the African-American underclass originally came north from the Carolinas and Georgia to work in the steel mills and the docks. When these industries closed down and Baltimore experienced the riots of 1968, this population primarily stayed, while the white working class attempted to move to the neighboring counties. What contributes to Baltimore’s street culture? There are numerous factors: a high proportion of singleparent households and inadequately supervised children; strained relationships with authority figures, such as the police, elected and appointed leaders, and teachers; poverty; poorly funded and managed social services, public educational institutions, public housing programs, and hospitals; a declining municipal infrastructure; peer pressure; gangs; and a thriving trade in the sale of illegal drugs and guns. The physical appearance of neighborhoods is also important, particularly areas with boarded-up windows (Taylor, 2001). Last, but not least, popular culture messages that support and reinforce criminal lifestyles, including books, television series, movies, music, music videos, video games, and television advertising, fuel the local street culture. The street culture itself reinforces attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors about street culture and crime. A number of exploratory questions frame this chapter. For example: Where do we see and/or experience the popular culture of Baltimore? Do we see it represented/depicted in the mass media, news, and social media, in the nightclubs and other social venues, etc.? Do we see it in particular music? Are there musicians from Baltimore that epitomize a Baltimorean street lifestyle? Do we see it in particular street crimes that are committed? Do we see it in a specific language? Are there phrases and expressions that are unique to Baltimore? Do we see it in television series and films? If so, which ones? How is Baltimore street culture portrayed in these series? Is street culture in Baltimore simply an amalgamation of street cultures found and experienced in other large American cities, like Washington, D.C. and Philadelphia, and imported into the city? Or is it distinct? The following analysis tries to disentangle the answers to these questions.6 Also important is the fact that the products of popular culture depend on exposure and access. If an individual does not have these components, it lessens the likelihood that the products will affect them.

Method In order to determine if Baltimore has a unique urban street culture, the researcher examined numerous relevant elements produced for popular culture consumption that have a connection to Baltimore. This required reading relevant articles and books, and viewing many movies and television episodes in as systematic a manner as possible, summarizing their content, and then trying to determine the connections among them, and making interpretations.

Findings Numerous conduits of popular culture exist. Although it would be helpful to examine how all of them enable the street culture of Baltimore, some are more permanent than others. In other words, social media platforms like Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, and Snapchat are important contributors to street culture, short of a full-scale content analysis of this activity over a significant period of time, including them in this analysis would be difficult. 275

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The popular culture elements that contribute to street culture in Baltimore are listed next in relative order of importance from least impactful to most influential, informed by the awareness that some components play a bigger role than others in shaping street culture in Baltimore.

Nonfiction books One channel of popular culture that describes and evokes the streets of Baltimore is the periodic release of nonfiction books. Although numerous books have been published using Baltimore as its setting or backdrop, in recent years two memoirs are worth mentioning. The first, Between the World and Me (2015), written by the award-winning journalist Ta-Nehisi Coates, documents the journalist’s experiences growing up in West Baltimore. He frequently makes reference to the unpredictability and challenge of the streets, and the need to negotiate the dangers inherent in this environment. For example, he states: The streets transform every ordinary day into a series of trick questions, and every incorrect answer risks a beat down, a shooting, or a pregnancy. No one survives unscathed. And yet the heat that springs from the constant danger, from a lifestyle of near-death experience, is thrilling. (p. 22) He describes how he acquired street knowledge or wisdom, which included learning which streets to walk on and which ones to avoid. Predictably, Coates tackles the duality of violence in Baltimore: “Not being violent enough could cost me my body. Being too violent could cost me my body” (p. 28). He does all this in the context of describing the failing public school system, his time at Howard University, finding love, his encounter with a Prince Georges police officer, his life in Brooklyn, and selected experiences working in journalism, all the while attempting to confront racism in the United States. The second nonfiction book worth mentioning is Dwight Watkins’ The Cook Up: A Crack Rock Memoir (2016). This book documents the author’s involvement with the drug trade in East Baltimore and his transition to becoming a university student. In this context, Watkins introduces the reader to the different nuances of the city’s street culture, including the numerous individuals he encountered within the drug culture, the music he and his friends listened to, the cars they drove, and the fashions and jewelry they wore. The book also traces the writers’ transformation from the hood, to being a bar owner, and then a university student, and how he adjusted to each new culture. The degree to which books influence the street culture of Baltimore is debatable, but they do serve as an important backdrop to the look, feel, and experience of street culture in this city and its popular culture.

Language Language is complex. It is especially important on the street where slang, jargon, vulgarity, vernacular, and code words are used by individuals and groups to demonstrate solidarity and exclude outsiders, and/or to make it difficult for outsiders to understand a group’s norms and activities as a means of self-protection. It is difficult to separate African-American Vernacular Language (AAVL) from the language that may be idiomatic of African Americans from particular big cities (e.g., Labov, 1973). That being said, some keen observers have noted a particular language specific to Baltimore and have dubbed it “Baltimorese” or “Bawlmerese” (Britto, 2017).7 Language on the street may also be imported from carceral settings (Irwin & Cressey, 1963; Ellis, 2005). Given that one of two African-American men in Baltimore is or has been behind bars, it is not surprising that jails and prisons would be a natural transmission belt of street culture in this city.8 In recent times, the dissemination of a street language has been assisted by many of the song lyrics that have been developed within the hip-hop and rap music scenes (Chang, 2005). Some of this unique language includes names for street drugs that vary based on the neighborhood you might live and work in. 276

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By extension, the lyrics of songs contain references to using alcohol, opposition to authority (especially the police), misogyny, guns, violence, expensive brands, and not snitching (Kubrin, 2005). Different parts of the city also have unique or stylistic types of language (Britto, 2017). A distinct language has evolved in which “proper English” is eschewed, with residents talking in sentence fragments because full sentences are unnecessary to be understood in their neighborhoods (Matunda, 2004).

Movies/Films Numerous movies rooted in American urban culture have been made, featuring elements of rap, hip-hop, and the “thug lifestyle”. Although some films have been produced for the commercial market, others (particularly documentaries) are created in an attempt to accurately represent the reality of the situation. In general, if the content appears authentic, viewers are more likely to believe the story line, increasing the potential influence a film might have on its audience (Snyder, 1991). Although viewers watch movies that are set in other cities and neighborhoods (e.g., Boyz in the Hood), with respect to Baltimore, representations of street culture can be found in a handful of movies (see Table 23.1). Most of these films portray street culture in Baltimore in a mostly negative way. Too begin with, just because a movie is not set in Baltimore does not mean that it cannot have an effect on the young people in this city. For example, films like Boyz in the Hood, Baby Boy, Paid in Full, Friday and Set It Off are watched by viewers from different cities on their electronic devices and on the screens in public and semi-public venues like barbershops (Wood & Brunson, 2011). These movies can have an immeasurable impact on juveniles and young adults as they try to replicate the norms of the infamous gangsters depicted in these movies (Clapp, 2007; Howell, 2015). Moreover, the influence does not just come from movies, but also from shows produced by and/or for television stations, like Black Entertainment Television (BET), which ran a long-playing series (the American Gangster series) that featured, among other individuals, Baltimore’s own Little Melvin Williams. Through the process of social learning theory and/ or modeling, young people who watch these movies may be motivated to mimic the lifestyles and values of the individuals portrayed in these films. Many of these movies exaggerate the dangerousness of life in Baltimore. To do otherwise would not make for an interesting and attention-grabbing story. One of the most important and widely distributed contemporary movies is the documentary 12 O’Clock Boys. Made in 2013, this film represents the struggling relationship between the Baltimore community, particularly African-Americans, and the police. More specifically, it glamorizes the riding of illegal dirt bikes through the city. Operators of these vehicles are perceived as a menace, not just to drivers and pedestrians, but to residents as well. The operators are quite young and drive their bikes in a dangerous manner to flaunt the law. It is difficult for the Baltimore Police Department (BPD) to enforce the laws against these individuals, as they are not allowed to give chase due to the high risk factor. Instead, these young riders are Table 23.1 Movies/films shot in Baltimore that deal in part with street culture. And Justice for All (1979) Diner (1982) Avalon (1990) Men Don’t Leave (1990) Liberty Heights (1999) The Salon (2005) Step Up 1 (2006) Step Up 2 (2008) Putty Hill (2010) 12 O’Clock Boys (2013)

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tracked via police helicopters. The participants in this urban subculture post videos of themselves on www. YouTube.com. There is a certain Wild West element to this activity, as the riders are perceived as embracing an “outlaw” ethos. As the movie suggests, most Baltimoreans consider these riders to be hooligans. They are noisy and gain strength through their numbers, like the Rolling Thunder Review rumbling through Washington, D.C., on Veterans Day.

Television shows Three major television shows (i.e., The Corner, Homicide: Life on the Streets, and The Wire) that have been created over the last two decades depict, to varying degrees, street culture in Baltimore. All of them were produced by David Simon, a former police reporter for the Baltimore Sun, and bear brief analysis. To begin with, The Corner showed how drug addiction can negatively affect lives and careers. It also demonstrated how the environment you grow up in influences your opportunities, decisions, and social capital. Although the portrayal appeared realistic, officers in reality rarely enter the neighborhoods they police to simply search street people as abruptly as they did in the show. Throughout The Corner, the characters presented relatively accurate representations of the “street cool” style. For example, Gary’s son and those he deals drugs with wore baggy pants (known as “lowriders”), oversized T-shirts, nice tennis shoes, and the typical jewelry worn by many people involved with street crimes in Baltimore. The Corner depicted the hopelessness of people who live and/or work on the streets of Baltimore, particularly that of individuals who slide into drug addiction and petty theft to support this habit. Homicide: Life on the Street, an award-winning television series, was based on the book of the same name (1991) written by Simon, and it was produced by Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson. The series originally aired on NBC and primarily examined the challenges that BPD detectives faced as they tried to solve the ridiculously high number of homicides in the city. Its unique method of presentation was characterized by an avant-garde use of handheld cameras. The series ran for seven seasons with a total of 122 episodes (from January 1993 to May 1999). Each season of The Wire examined a different Baltimore public service agency over the course of its seven seasons (Potter & Marshall, 2009; Beilenson & McGuire, 2012). At its core, The Wire provided a realistic portrayal of the illegal drug trade and the BPD’s struggle to combat it (Valdez, 2015). Although this theme is not unique to Baltimore, the characters and many of the situations were. Viewers got a glimpse of what life is like for the hustlers and detectives in a way that respected, but did not glorify, either side. As the seasons progressed, the series examined a multitude of other failing, ineffective, underperforming, or corrupt local institutions, such as the docks, the public school system, the city government, and the court system, and it rarely ignored the two pillars (illegal drugs and policing) that dominate Baltimore street culture. In many respects, the themes that Simon explored in 1990s Baltimore are still relevant two decades later. His approach was also even-handed, providing multiple points-of-view from each of the constituencies that lived and worked in these domains. In many respects, while The Corner depicted the point-of-view of the drug-dependent citizens in Baltimore and Homicide: Life on the Street the struggles of the police department, The Wire was more inclusive in the way it worked. With respect to its focus on the illegal drug trade and the BPD’s attempt to combat it, The Wire depicted how low-income people in government-assisted housing adapted to the environment that surrounded them, including participating in the illegal drug trade and dealing with corrupt cops, as well as teenagers modeling their behavior after the older adults in their lives. This series also tackled power relationships, bureaucratic incompetence, and the dynamics inside local government agencies. These television shows are not temporally bound since they are accessible on demand, via streaming services like Amazon Prime, Netflix, and Hulu, and on YouTube. These shows include a considerable amount of violence, which may not be suitable for younger viewers (Slotsve, del Carmen, Sarver,  & Villareal-Watkins, 2008; Weaver, 2012). 278

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Fashion People express themselves in multiple ways. One of the most obvious is in outward appearances, including their clothing, hairstyles, body customization (e.g., tattoos), and jewelry. In particular, the unique styles people adopt, and/or what is more commonly referred to as fashion (Sproles, 1981), often derive from street culture. People who live and work in cities often have a distinct clothing style inspired by the local community, other cities, celebrities, and what they absorb from popular culture. There are a number of unique aspects of street fashion, style, and/or wear (Vogel, 2007) that have come out of Baltimore. Urban street gangs are important conduits for particular kinds of language, fashion, and style (Miller, 1995). Baltimore has a number of well-known infamous gangs, including the Baltimore Crew, the Black Guerrilla Family, the Bloods, and the Crips (Baltimore City Criminal Justice Coordinating Council, 2006). Each tries to dress uniquely in order to distinguish themselves with certain colors, types of clothes, etc. Likewise, seasoned law enforcement officers can often determine what street gang an individual belongs to based on a member’s appearance. One of the most recognizable signature fashions that young men in Baltimore (particularly the drug slingers and corner boys in East and West Baltimore) wear as almost a uniform are the oversized white T-shirt (either short-sleeved or armless “wife beaters”) that hangs down over the waist, and/or baggy (sometimes oversized) blue jeans, called lowriders (that sag over their butts).9 These items are often purchased in neighborhood mom-and-pop stores. Some of the shirts have provocative sayings or expressions printed on them, like “The City That Bleeds,” which is a play on the slogan “A City That Reads” that was popularized during the mayorship of Martin O’Malley (1999–2007) that mistakenly suggested that Baltimore had the highest literacy rate in the US at that time. There is also a desire to be flashy, and this impulse might be reflected in arm or teeth jewelry and owning and driving particular kinds of vehicles.10 This fashion sense may include gold teeth (fronts), distinct haircuts/styles (the cruddy), tattoos, clothing and accessories, sport merchandise/apparel (i.e., shoes, sweat suits, shirts, and hats), popular shoe brands, like Adidas, New Balance, Nike, and (Baltimore-based) Under Armour,11 and clothing brands, such as Balmain, Burberry, Tommy Hilfiger, and Louis Vuitton.12 Tattoos and jewelry may indicate from which neighborhood a wearer comes. These items or images can consist of representations of the city, state, area code, and sports symbols/mascots. Popular tattoos include “410” (to signify the area code), “Baltimore” or “Bmore,” an oriole or a raven (derivative respectfully of the local baseball and football teams), and the Maryland flag. Rappers and other street folks may wear a Ravens, Orioles, or other local sports team jersey or hat to show their connection with Baltimore. Many rap musicians wear flashy clothes manufactured by well-known designer brands. In Baltimore, even Middle schoolers have been known to wear expensive designer wear, like Burberry shirts and designer belts, to school. This may create jealousy, and lead to intimidation and robbery. Those who live and work the streets (from law enforcement officers to taxi drivers) may be able to distinguish perpetrators by their neighborhood based on what fashion brands they wear. Another complementary process is referred to as the “trickle up and trickle down theory” (Cutler, 2013), in which the sources of fashion may come from the streets or from the upper class. In many cities, certain brands (e.g., FUBU) are associated with street wear. In terms of influence, fashions are pretty transitory (Sproles, 1981). One day a designer is popular, but the next they are out. Wearing popular fashions, such as chains, low-riding pants, and Jordans (running shoes), will not motivate a person to participate in street crime; however, it may result in stereotyping by all sectors of society, especially law enforcement, or other elements of the criminal justice system.

Music13 In many respects, music has the greatest impact on street culture (e.g., Jackson, 2015). Why? It is the most easily accessible aspect of culture and is disseminated via a multitude of sources, including car radios, 279

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computers, and/or smart phones, and listeners easily relate to the content. The listener may identify and feel empowered by the messages that the artist/singer conveys. Also, people tend to listen to music more than they watch television. A considerable amount of contemporary music deals with street culture. Music is a way to vocalize issues regarding street culture. This is done through the lyrics and images, if a song is released with an accompanying video. Rap and hip-hop have become the music of contemporary street culture (Rose, 1994; Jeffries, 2011). Rap music tends to celebrate or glorify violence, street gangs, illegal drug use, sex, the objectification of women, and the accumulation of money and material possessions (Kubrin, 2005; Weitzer  & Kubrin, 2009). A  number of rap musicians have their origins in Baltimore (XXL, 2013). In fact, rap music can be traced back to DJ Jocko, who comes from Baltimore (Taylor, 2010). Tupac Shakur, one of the most famous American rappers, got his start in music as a teenager when he attended Roland Park Elementary Middle School and The Baltimore School of Arts. Over the past decade, some of the more prominent Baltimore-based rappers have included slain freestyle rapper Tyriece Watson (aka Lor Scoota).14 One of his most well-known songs was “Bird Flu,” which describes selling drugs and guns. In another one of his songs, he rapped, “Swear to god. My block did a 100 a day/can’t make that up. Swear to god/as them n*ggas from around my way, the A/they going tell you all about Ray Charles, blow.” This song mentions that he lived on Pennsylvania Ave., a well-known drug area in West Baltimore. Another gangsta rap music artist from Baltimore is Young Moose, who in addition to being in and out of jail several times, had a hit song called “Dumb,” in which the artist rapped about guns and violence. In a case of life imitating art, he pleaded guilty to a gun charge in 2016 and was sentenced to six months in jail (Fenton, 2016; Burney, 2017). Many Baltimore rap artists either show guns in their videos or record songs about killing, being killed, or shooting at someone. This is probably done to create or maintain some sort of street cred. Most rap artists have an image that they want to create and maintain, and if their image/style does not match up with the street culture, then they will be considered a fraud or a fake. Thus, sometimes the content is exaggerated. In 2004, when the Stop Snitching campaign was in full swing (Carr, Clampet-Lundquist, & Kefalas, 2013), Baltimore-raised National Basketball League player Carmelo Anthony appeared in one of several music DVDs that were sold on the streets of Baltimore. Although Anthony had a small part, he advocated the “snitches get stitches” mantra. This incident led to a considerable amount of public scorn, filtered through both local and national news and social media, directed at Anthony. All in all, this type of music and the videos associated with them assist in the normalization of criminal activities. Few songs carry a positive message encouraging young people to go to school, earn a degree, get a job, or a profession. That being said, there are a handful of up and coming Baltimore-based musicians who are integrating their experiences on the street in a more prosocial way. Butler (2018) documents a half dozen musicians, both men and women as either solo or group artists who have taken on the violence on the streets and against women and sexual identity.

Conclusion Regardless of where it originates, culture is not monolithic. The presence of an urban street culture that glorifies violence and the thug lifestyle helps to sustain high rates of violent street crime and homicide, in particular. The Baltimore street culture is one in which you need to be rough and tough to survive. You have to use your knowledge, experience, and cunning to survive and succeed. Street culture in Baltimore includes frequent actions that involve defiance of authority, the thrill of defying authority, and the socioeconomic struggle that poor and marginalized people experience. This is prevalent in the popular cultural products that are bought, sold, displayed, and used by many of the youth of Baltimore. Reflecting back on the evidence presented in this chapter, the reader will be reminded that although informed by the investigator’s personal experience and that of his students, the majority of the research reviewed here was based on secondary sources. Indeed, this is a selective review of evidence. Future 280

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research might involve comparisons with other cities that have similar rates of crime, homelessness, unemployment, poverty, population size, demographics, etc. Resources permitting, further work could utilize face-to-face interviews with not only consumers of street culture, but with purveyors of street culture, too. This may consist of interviews with local clothing/fashion designers, as well as with hip-hop and rap musicians. A rudimentary survey could also be designed and administered to these individuals to determine their views on Baltimore street culture. This could include interviewing people on the street about the choices they make in terms of their clothes, musical preferences, movies, and television programming. Because of the long-standing connection between street culture and street crime, particularly violence, it is imperative at this point in time to explore as many of these connections as possible.

Acknowledgments Thanks to Sebastian Kurtenbach, Susan A. Phillips, and Rachel Reynolds for comments on this chapter.

Notes 1 The author recognizes that there is a melding of cultures among the ones identified here. 2 This idea is embedded in Ilan’s street cultural spectrum (2015), which involves the contribution of youth culture, street culture, and organized crime. 3 Silverman (2004) states that most violent crimes that take place in urban ghettos are not done for “pecuniary motivations.” In fact, most financial gains that are achieved through street robbery are seen as unexpected (pp. 763–764). Ilan is also quick to warn the casual observer that many young men engage in violence, not for financial gain, but to demonstrate to their peers and others some sort of hierarchy and territorial dominance, and to fill their leisure time (Ilan, 2015, p. 95). 4 Language in prison, for example, was developed so that correctional officers and administrators would not know what the prisoners were talking about, allowing the inmates to engage in deviant and criminal activities with a minimum of interference from the guards (Ellis, 2005). 5 To a lesser extent, Barry Levinson’s movies Diner and Tin Men capture the white working-class subculture of Baltimore prominent during the 1960s. For a relatively recent review of Baltimore’s unique culture see for example, Martin (2019). 6 This is not the first attempt to understand Baltimore street culture. Devereaux (2007), and Stefano, Clayton, and Poitier Williams (2017), for example, examined one selected aspect of Baltimore street culture as manifested in the club scene. 7 Also, see discussion on https://baltimorelanguage.com/ that includes a handful of articles published in the Baltimore Sun, a video, and a segment from NPR. 8 One-third of all people incarcerated in Maryland correctional facilities are from Baltimore (Justice Policy Institute, 2015). 9 Large baggy pants can also be a way to carry and/or hide contraband (i.e., drugs and weapons). 10 In this context, the type of car you drive and its color is an extension of your fashion sense. 11 See Kawamura (2016) for an in-depth discussion of running shoes and contemporary popular culture. 12 Sales of fake fashion items can also be found in Baltimore. 13 For a discussion of pre-1980 music in Baltimore, see, for example, Disharoon (1980). 14 Not only was Scoota killed, but so was his manager (Prudente & Massey, 2016; Solderberg, 2016).

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Beilenson, P. L., & McGuire, P. A. (2012). Tapping into the wire: The real urban crisis. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Britto, B. (2017, February 10). Hold up, “Hon”: Baltimore’s Black vernacular youthful, dynamic if less recognized than “Bawlmerese”. Baltimore Sun. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.baltimoresun.com/features/baltimore-insiderblog/bs-lt-baltimore-slang-20170209-story.html Burney, L. (2017, May  10). How a dirty Baltimore cop’s Vendetta Derailed a promising rapper’s career. Vice. Retrieved May  18, 2018, from https://noisey.vice.com/en_us/article/ypa3vv/how-a-dirty-baltimore-copsvendetta-derailed-a-promising-rappers-career Butler, B. (2018, July 21). The changing sound of Baltimore young independent artists are writing the city’s present, and future, into their music. New York Times. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.nytimes.com/2018/07/21/style/ baltimore-rap-dance-music.html Carr, P. J., Clampet-Lundquist, S., & Kefalas, M. J. (2013). Code of silence/stop snitching. In J. I. Ross (Ed.), Encyclopedia of street crime in America (pp. 81–82). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Chang, J. (2005). Can’t stop. Won’t stop: A history of the hip hop generation. New York, NY: St. Martins Press. Clapp, J. A. (2007). Growing up urban: The city, the cinema, and American youth. Journal of Popular Culture, 40(4), 601–629. Coates, T. (2015). Between the world and me. New York, NY: Spiegel & Grau. Cohen, A. K. (1955). The culture of the gang. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Cutler, S. (2013, December 9). The hip hop fashion from street culture to mass appeal. Cornell Chronicle. Retrieved May 18, 2018. Devereaux, A. (2007). “What chew know about down the hill?”: Baltimore club music, subgenre crossover, and the new subcultural capital of race and space. Journal of Popular Music Studies, 19(4), 311–341. Disharoon, R. A. (1980). A history of municipal music in Baltimore, 1914–1947 (PhD Dissertation). University of Maryland. Ellis, P. (2005). The prison house and language: Modern American prison argot. Unpublished Paper. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from http://homes.chass.utoronto.ca/~cpercy/courses/6362-ellis Fenton, J. (2016, September 7). Baltimore rapper Young Moose pleads guilty to gun charge, could be out in 6 months. Baltimore Sun. Retrieved May 18, 2018. Ferrell, J. (1993/1996). Crimes of style: Urban Graffiti and the politics of criminality. Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Ferrell, J. (2001). Tearing down the streets: Adventures in urban anarchy. New York, NY: St. Martins Press. Hannerz, U. (1969). Soulside: Inquiries into Ghetto culture and community. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Howell, J. C. (2015). The history of street gangs in the United States: Their origins and transformations. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Ilan, J. (2015). Understanding street culture: Poverty, crime, youth and cool. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Irwin, J., & Cressey, D. (1963). Thieves, convicts and inmate culture. Social Problems, 10(2), 142–155. Jackson, N. (2015, December 28). What influence and effect does rap music have on teens today? Live Strong. Retrieved May 20, 2018. Jeffries, M. P. (2011). Thug life: Race, gender, and the meaning of hip-hop. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Justice Policy Institute (2015). The right investment: Corrections spending in Baltimore. Washington, DC: Justice Policy Institute. Kawamura, Y. (2016). Sneakers: Fashion, gender, and subculture. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Kubrin, C. E. (2005). Gangstas, thugs, and hustlas: Identity and the code of the street in rap music. Social Problems, 52(3), 360–378. Labov, W. (1973). Language in the inner city: Studies in the Black English vernacular. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Lauger, T. R. (2014). Violent stories: Personal narratives, street socialization, and the negotiation of street culture among street-oriented youth. Criminal Justice Review, 39(2), 182–200. Martin, A. (2019, March 22). Why Baltimore persists as a cultural Beacon. New York Times. Retrieved February 12, 2020, from www.nytimes.com/2019/03/22/t-magazine/baltimore-artists-art-culture.html Matunda, R. (2004). The new “Baltimorese” (Maryland) (Doctoral Dissertation). Morgan State University.

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Miller, J. A. (1995). Struggles over the symbolic: Gang style and the meanings of social control. In J. Ferrell & C. R. Sanders (Eds.), Cultural criminology (pp. 213–234). Boston, MA: Northeastern University Press. Miller, W. B. (1958). Lower class culture as a generating milieu of gang delinquency. Journal of Social Issues, 14(3), 5–19. Mumford, L. (1938/2016). The culture of cities. London: Open Road Media. Neighborhood Scout (2016). Most dangerous neighborhoods top 25 dangerous neighborhoods in America (2016). Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.neighborhoods/crime-rates/25-most-dangerous-neighborhoods Oliver, W. (2006). The streets: An alternative Black male socialization institution. Journal of Black Studies, 36(6), 918–937. Potter, T., & Marshall, C. W. (Eds.). (2009). The wire: Urban decay and American television. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Publishing. Prudente, T., & Massey, W. (2016, July 7). Rapper Lor Scoota’s manager killed near Baltimore’s Druid Hill Park. Baltimore Sun. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/crime/bs-md-ci-fatal-shooting20160706-story.html Rose, T. (1994). Black noise: Rap music and Black culture in contemporary America. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Ross, J. I. (Ed.). (2013). Baltimore. In J. I. Ross (Ed.), Encyclopedia of street crime in America (pp. 17–19). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Ross, J. I. (2015, May 7). Reporting the crisis: Baltimore, #FreddieGray, and the news and social media reaction. Retrieved from https://politicalviolenceataglance.org/2015/05/07/reporting-the-crisis-baltimore-freddiegray-and-the-news-andsocial-media-reaction/ Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture & Society, 15, 7–13. Ross, J. I., Daichendt, G. J., Kurtenbach, S., Gilchrist, P., Charles, M., & Wicks, J. (2021). Clarifying street culture: Integrating a diversity of opinions and voices. Urban Research and Practice, 14(2). Sennet, R. (Ed.). (1969). Classic essays on the culture of cities. New York, NY: Appleton-Century-Crofts. Silverman, D. (2004). Street crime and street culture. International Economic Review, 45(3), 761–786. Simon, D. (1991). Homicide: A life on the killing streets. New York, NY: Henry Holt. Slotsve, T., del Carmen, A., Sarver, M., & Villareal-Watkins, R. J. (2008). Television violence and aggression: A retrospective study. Southwest Journal of Criminal Justice, 5(1), 22–49. Snyder, S. (1991). Movies and juvenile delinquency. Adolescence, 91(26), 121–132. Solderberg, B. (2016, July 2). King me. The City Paper. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.citypaper.com/bcpnewsking-me-the-life-death-and-lionization-of-lor-scoota-20160701-story.html Sproles, G. B. (1981). Analyzing fashion life cycles: Principles and perspectives. The Journal of Marketing, 45(4), 116–124. Stead Sellers, F. (2008, January 17). Life and death in Bulletmore, Murderland. The Guardian. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2008/jan/17/bulletmoremurderland Stefano, M. L., Clayton, C., & Poitier Williams, B. (2017). If there is no place to dance it, it’s going to die. In P. Davis & M. L. Stefano (Eds.), Reflecting on the living tradition of Baltimore Club music and the importance of place: The Routledge companion to intangible cultural heritage. New York, NY: Routledge. Suttles, G. D. (1984). The cumulative texture of local urban culture. American Journal of Sociology, 90(2), 283–304. Taylor, L. (2010, July 18). DJ Jocko Henderson dies at 82. Philadelphia Daily News. Taylor, R. B. (2001). Breaking away from broken windows. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. United States, Department of Justice. Civil Rights Division (2016). Investigation of the Baltimore police department. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www.justice.gov/crt/file/883296/download Valdez, J. R. (2015). This is our city: Realism and the sentimentality of place in David Simon’s The Wire. European Journal of American Culture, 34(3), 193–209. Vogel, S. (2007). Street wear: The insider’s guide. London: Thames & Hudson. Watkins, D. (2016). The cook up: A crack rock memoir. New York, NY: Grand Central Publishing. Weaver, A. J., & Kobach, M. J. (2012). The relationship between selective exposure and the enjoyment of television violence. Aggressive Behavior, 38(2), 175–184. Weitzer, R., & Kubrin, C. E. (2009). Misogyny in rap music a content analysis of prevalence and meanings. Men and Masculinities, 12(1), 3–29.

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Wood, P. B., & Brunson, R. K. (2011). Geographies of resilient social networks: The role of African American barbershops. Urban Geography, 32(2), 228–243. XXL (2013, February 6). 10 Baltimore rappers that you need to know. XXL. Retrieved May 18, 2018, from www. xxlmag.com/rap-music/2013/02/10-baltimore-rappers-to/?trackback=tsmclip Zecker, R. (2008). Metropolis: The American city in popular culture. Westport, CT: Praeger. Zukin, S. (1995). The cultures of cities. Oxford: Blackwell.

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24 Portrayals of street culture in Hollywood films James Wicks

Introduction Street culture and cinema in the United States have always been inextricably linked. Although there is no specific genre of “street culture cinema,” Hollywood’s use of familiar themes and archetypes are so engrained in the film industry that aspects of street culture are evident within nearly every genre from gangster films to action films to film noir to comedies. Hollywood’s cultural visions are both attempts to represent actual street culture and creations of a virtual reality as evidenced in depictions of morality and ethics in The Public Enemy (1931), mental health issues in Taxi Driver (1976), ethnic and racial clash and conflict in Do the Right Thing (1989), and the philosophical dilemmas of Blade Runner 2049 (2017). While far from exhaustive, a focus on these four representative films allows for an inroad into a variegated, diverse, and exciting field of street culture depictions. Perhaps equally important is the context from which these films emerged, which requires an understanding of Hollywood’s film history. After all, the content of street culture films has always been framed by censorship bureaus and profit margins sought by business investors. As a result, these movies are subject to a variety of interpretations based on perception, experience, and the interaction of cinema with other forms of communication. Reproductions of city life take viewers into recognizable locations, such as those frequented by rich bohemians, impoverished immigrants, the criminal underworld, and government workers. Depictions of characters in these areas change over time, providing information about specific stages of industrialization, gentrification, racial discrimination, and wealth distribution  – from crime films of the 30s and 40s, to youth films of the 50s and 60s, to exploitation films of the 70s, to street lifestyles in films since the 80s that show transformations in dance, graffiti, music, drug, crime, skateboarding/BMX, and fashion cultures. The representation of street culture always works as a confluence of overlapping factors which are not identical but always recognizable. Take for example a sequence from the 1985 skateboarding video Future Primitive, by Powell and Peralta. Around ten minutes into the video, a montage sequence is introduced by a close-up of a sign posted on a broken fence surrounding an empty, crumbling city swimming pool with transitions perfect for skateboarding; the sign reads: UNSAFE: THIS AREA IS CONDEMNED. CITY OF SAN JOSE. Next, a series of shots, punctuated by close-ups, presents a sequence of skaters taking advantage of this abandoned spot: a close-up of a man with dreads/ cut to skating/ cut to a close-up of abandoned mattresses and pile of trash in the middle of the pool/ cut to skaters/ cut to a close-up of graffiti on the pool walls/ cut to a skater/ cut to 285

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a group of skaters hanging out/ and so on. Overlaying the imagery is a punk instrumental soundtrack. The result is the projection of a new set of street ideas that had not yet been coopted or appropriated by mass culture and mainstream advertising at the time. As film scholars David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson write when discussing film form, each of the elements in filmmaking are interdependent yet unified by a set of principles, norms, and conventions (Bordwell & Thompson, 2012, p. 64). The unification of techniques in this case projects the essence of skate culture in the mid-1980s: rebellious, collective, and creative. Since we find depictions of the streets, from underground skate videos to films about graffiti culture like Wild Style (Ahearn, 1983) or Exit Through the Gift Shop (Banksy, 2010), in mainstream Hollywood films, it is remarkable that a formal classification of film called street culture has not emerged. Early cinema in the west inherited aesthetic theories from the spatial and temporal arts, including the way that stories could be categorized, such as the tragedy or the epic. Diverse classifications at the beginnings of film history quickly expanded to encompass the documentary, fantasy film, Biblical epic, the western, and the gangster film. Remarkably, the western genre is classified by location, yet the genre most closely related to urban depictions was classified by a particular subset of characters within its environment, namely the gangster. Were the western to be categorized similarly, wouldn’t it be called an “outlaw film” to equate with the “gangster film”? Nevertheless, multiple genres represent city life. Consider representations of New York alone in the musical (West Side Story, Robbins & Wise, 1961), comedy (Coming to America, Landis, 1988), action film (Die Hard: With a Vengeance, McTiernan, 1995), super hero film (Spider-Man, Raimi, 2002), and drama (Precious, Daniels, 2009). Indeed, Robert Stam has written, “Subject matter is the weakest criterion for generic grouping because it fails to take into account how the subject is treated” (Stam, 2000, p. 14). Regardless, the subject matter of gangsters and their lifestyles has become synonymous with a type of urban film despite the diversity of topics related to the setting of gangster films: the streets. The first films were developed in urban centers: Thomas Alva Edison and William K. L. Dickson projected moving images on the Kinetoscope in 1894 and Auguste and Louis Lumière in Paris used the Cinématographe in 1895. By the time Georges Méliès was making his multi-reel films in the early 1900s, motion pictures were marketed and screened in cities from Cairo to Rio de Janeiro. The first films in China reproduced scenes from urban fiction called “mandarin ducks and butterflies” (Zhang, 2010, p. 14). In the U.S., films were made in metropolitan areas across the country while the center of film manufacturing migrated from New York to Hollywood due to the incentives of year-round sunny weather and thus good lighting, lower costs, and a variegated topography for on-location filming. Financiers benefited during the silent era as the industry featured stars like Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford, while directors such as Cecil B. DeMille and woman director Alice Guy-Blanche were at the forefront of global film production. While early films included diverse images – after all, the Lumière brothers early films not only depicted workers leaving a factory, but also images of waves along a shoreline – the city and urban spaces were prominent. Depictions of street narratives were common across the globe in theaters after World War I. A genre of “street films” which portrayed the effects of inflation and poverty were produced in Germany in the 1920s, including Georg Wilhelm Pabst’s film Joyless Street (1925), while one of the most remarkable films of the decade, the science-fiction film Metropolis (Lang, 1927), produced by Berlin’s UFA (Universum Film-Aktien Gesellschaft) studio, depicted the plight of urban poor in a futuristic dystopia. In France, Fièvre (Dellec, 1922) depicted a story dealing the lower class in a harbor town, while Chinese left-wing directors of the 1930s produced films dealing with the dark side of society such as The Goddess (Wu, 1934) which featured revered actor Ruan Lingyu’s portrayal of a prostitute. U.S. screen comedians used urban settings as a backdrop in Harold Lloyd’s Safety Last (Newmeyer & Taylor, 1923), Buster Keaton’s antics such as jumping on trolley cars and dodging motorcycles, and Charlie Chaplin’s attempts to fix machines on an assembly line that will not stop in Modern Times (1936) are additional examples. Films of the era portrayed not only urban settings but unequal power dynamics in terms of gender, class, and race – for example the explicit racism in films such as The Birth of a Nation (Griffith, 1915) – in films as diverse as biblical epics, 286

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documentaries featuring natural landscapes by Pare Lorentz (1905–92) including The River (1937), musical films such as 42nd Street (Bacon, 1933), and the emergence of animated works by Disney. It is within this context that we turn to one of the most iconic gangster films ever made.

The Public Enemy (1931) The Public Enemy (1931), directed by William A. Wellman, presents the story film of two gangsters during Prohibition (1920–1933). A film that used sound in sophisticated ways after the end of the silent era signaled by Warner Brother’s The Jazz Singer (Crosland, 1927), especially in portraying the sound of gunfire in off-screen violence, The Public Enemy was a standout film in a series of gangster films released in the same year as Little Caesar (LeRoy) and a 1932s Scarface (Hawkes & Rosson). Starring James Cagney as “the public enemy” Tom Powers, the film depicts his rise from street urchin to successful mobster. His rags to riches story shows that the American Dream can be achieved by unlawful means, especially if it is measured by having more cash than one can spend, plenty of free time, booze, sex, and automobiles. The film’s opening sequences establish the film’s tone and emphasis on life in the streets. First, the title of the film is presented in front of a stone wall. Next, the cast is introduced, each performer in medium shot on the left and smiling as their name and character name is projected on the screen to the right. This serves a significant dual purpose, as it allows the audience to recognize that the film they are about to see, containing disturbing violence and behaviors, is at the same time a fictional construction by actors who are down-to-earth, regular people. The opening montage also shows that from the earliest days of cinema, studios used all types of filters – ideological as well as cinematic – to present rough characters to a general U.S. audience. The introduction of the cast is followed by intertitles which read in all-caps: FOREWORD: IT IS THE AMBITION OF THE AUTHORS OF “THE PUBLIC ENEMY” TO HONESTLY DEPICT AN ENVIRONMENT THAT EXISTS TODAY IN A CERTAIN STRATA OF AMERICAN LIFE, RATHER THAN GLORIFY THE HOODLUM OR THE CRIMINAL. WHILE THE STORY OF “THE PUBLIC ENEMY” IS ESSENTIALLY A TRUE STORY, ALL NAMES AND CHARACTERS APPEARING HEREIN, ARE PURELY FICTIONAL – Warner Bros. Pictures, Inc. The fourth sequence is stock footage of Chicago in 1909 that shows busy city streets crisscrossed by pedestrians, automobiles, and horse and buggies in the foreground while a trolley and bridge comprise the background. Subsequent footage transports the viewer from Chicago’s downtown to nearby residences: a shot of a factory, workers going home, then a street view of city houses built close together while children play in the street. Then the film cuts to show a brewery and a saloon. This sequence of establishing shots shows the relationship between daily life and alcohol consumption, which is to say the antecedents of Prohibition; namely, the purpose of Prohibition and where it emerged from. Yet the imagery also conveys a sense of the actual lives of individuals caught up within the rhythms of a modern environment with its own rules, boundaries, and lifestyles. As children, Tom Powers and his partner Matt Doyle (Edward Woods) sell stolen watches to a smalltime crook named Putty Nose, but once the film moves to the present tense of 1931 Chicago, the film depicts Tom’s transition from petty thief to wealthy hitman and bootlegger. A constant source of conflict is Cagney’s relationship with his family, demonstrated by contrasting Power’s behavior with his brother who uses standard means to get ahead in society: attending night school and later volunteering to fight in the Great War. “When your country needs you, she needs you,” Tom’s brother asserts. In contrast, Tom commits horrific acts of violence; for example, killing a police officer and mercilessly killing Putty Nose. These assaults are off screen and thus only experienced aurally, which ultimately serves to heighten their psychopathic qualities since a viewer’s imagination may be even more vivid than what could actually be 287

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shown at the time. Equally if not more striking is the explicit violence enacted against women who are Power’s playthings. In one of the film’s most demeaning and well-known scenes, Powers stuffs a half-eaten grapefruit into the face of his girlfriend during breakfast simply because she gets on his nerves. Powers’ behavior is lamented by his mother and brother, but Powers disregards them before ultimately paying the price for his behavior. Taken out by a rival gang, his body is delivered to the front door of his mother’s house in the film’s final scene. The “correct” way the studio presents the ethics and morality of Cagney’s character is addressed at the conclusion of the film. Echoing the words presented at the foreword, the final intertitle states these words of warning: THE END OF TOM POWERS IS THE END OF EVERY HOODLUM. “THE PUBLIC ENEMY” IS NOT A MAN, NOR IS IT A CHARACTER – IT IS A PROBLEM THAT SOONER OR LATER WE, THE PUBLIC, MUST SOLVE. The “public enemy” is thus someone who participates in illegal activities while projecting positive character traits like smarts, good looks, and business savvy. There is something charming and attractive, if glowing reviews for the film are any indication, inherent to Powers’ ability to traverse forbidding urban spaces that many viewers may only encounter voyeuristically. Lingo is clearly a key to unlock these hidden zones. The importance of slang is front and center in the film when rum-runner Paddy Ryan refers to bombs as “pineapples” or when disarming his men, he says: “C’mon, shower down.” Paddy Ryan’s greedy nature is pronounced by the way he stuffs his mouth with potato chips. Inseparable from these street characters is a debate regarding causation: are these mobsters born this way or the result of unfavorable economic circumstances? This conflict reverberates in the present: unconsciously by those who enjoy these tropes today but are not aware of the traditions of street cinema, and consciously by direct references to films of the past by directors like Martin Scorsese who asked members of his cast of The Aviator (2004) to watch The Public Enemy in order to get a sense of what life was like in the 1930s, and Michael Mann who recreates the past in Public Enemies (2009) starring Christian Bale and Johnny Depp. The appeal of the genre is not without controversy, however. Gangster films have always been a part of pushing cultural boundaries in terms of what is considered acceptable entertainment for the public. In 1915, films were categorized by the Mutual Film Corp. v. Industrial Commission of Ohio court case as commerce rather than art, which had significant ramifications in terms of filmmakers’ right to free speech and expression. The Public Enemy was distributed after this court decision and also followed the establishment of the Motion Pictures Producers and Distributors Association (MPPDA) in 1922, led by Will H. Hays, and this organization’s subsequent agreement to conform to the Motion Picture Production Code in 1930 (which became known as the Hays Code or Production Code). However, since films such as The Public Enemy and other films pushed beyond the boundaries of the Hays Code, in 1934 the Production Code Administration (PCA) was established and enforced; studios agreed to conform to its standards until the late 1960s so as to avoid government regulation. A number of factors contributed to the demise of the PCA, including the 1952 court decision Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson which essentially reinstated filmmaking within the domain of First Amendment rights, the release of successful films that did not bother acquiring a certificate from the Production Code, and the eventual establishment of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) ratings system.

Taxi Driver (1976) Between The Public Enemy and Taxi Driver the streets were featured in film noir classics (films set in dark urban settings that feature anti-heroes and femme fatales who struggle with violent passions, paranoia, and criminal psychology) The Maltese Falcon (Huston, 1941) and The Big Heat (Lang, 1953), among others. Yet 288

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it is not just location (film imagery), but also the representation of specific behaviors (fashion and music accompaniment), economics (wealth and poverty), and politics (law and order) that qualifies these depictions as representations of street culture. Taxi Driver’s unique combination of these elements aligns with the lineage of street culture films that precede it but also breaks with previous patterns by pushing the envelope by representing violence that could only be alluded to in The Public Enemy. Interestingly, Taxi Driver director Martin Scorsese saw The Public Enemy when he was 10 years old and he counts it among the films that influenced his filmmaking. Taxi Driver, an auteur film (which displays the director’s signature style, equivalent to a novel that bears the distinctive stamp of its author) and one of a number of a new wave of films in the U.S. at the time of its release, depicts a young working-class ex-marine who decides to become a taxi driver because he has insomnia and thus needs something to occupy his time in the evening. The opening sequences show a taxi at night driving through fog, close-ups on the eyes of the main character Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), and street lights refracted through rain droplets on his taxi’s windshield, converting the urban scenery into a mess of colors like a Jackson Pollock painting. After procuring his job at a taxi company early in the film, Bickle walks home. A long shot centers him walking the streets of New York. Interestingly, in the upper-left-hand corner of the image, a green hillside is evident behind the buildings, suggesting how far Bickle is removed from a natural environment. Cultural theorist Fredric Jameson argues that in the age of late capitalism, nature is relegated to the periphery of daily life, so artists and filmmakers represent our material world in postmodern artwork rather than representing the environment (Jameson, 1991, p. 34). Jameson further argues that this has a profound effect on the psyche, and if correct, his ideas help explain the predicament of the protagonist in Taxi Driver, a young man suffering from mental illness, caught within a web of unchecked desires and the spectacle of urban life. Soon after applying for the job, we hear Bickle’s thoughts via voice-over narration: May 10. Thank God for the rain which has helped wash away the garbage and trash off the sidewalks. . . . All the animals come out at night – whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. Like the foreword intertitle in The Public Enemy, the monologue sets the stage for the film; however, Taxi Driver lays no claim to presenting a morality lesson, but rather the story of a racist, unstable twenty-sixyear-old man who takes the law into his own hands. It is as if he takes the advice of the intertitle at the end of The Public Enemy – “A PROBLEM THAT SOONER OR LATER WE, THE PUBLIC, MUST SOLVE – all too literally. By the end of the film, Bickle becomes a vigilante in order to free a twelve-yearold prostitute (Jodie Foster) from the hands of her pimp (Harvey Keitel) at the film’s gory conclusion. Earlier in the film, Bickle describes the rationale for his violent course of action: “The idea had been growing in my brain for some time. True force. All the king’s men cannot put it back together again.” Scorsese’s film was an integral part of a new generation of filmmaking known as the Hollywood Renaissance. It began in 1967 (if marked by Bonnie and Clyde [Penn, 1967]) or 1972 (the year of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather), depending on one’s point of reference, and came to a close with Coppola’s Apocalypse Now in 1979. In short, a number of factors played into Hollywood’s gradual demise – financial and otherwise – after the classical era of filmmaking from the 1920s to the early 1960s; these included the rise in the popularity of television, a population shift away from the city (with theatres) to suburbs (with fewer theatres), and the restrictions of the production code which limited competition with X-rated material and television. Additionally, the United States v. Paramount Pictures decision of 1948 removed the film industry’s monopoly on film exhibition by divesting theater ownership from film studios, which allowed competing independent film companies to get their foot in the door. Between the Paramount Decision of 1948 and the MPAA Voluntary Film Rating System of 1968, Hollywood’s profit margins steadily decreased. The MPAA voluntary film ratings system helped usher audiences back to the theatre where they could see gritty 289

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films containing violence, nudity, and rough language without the necessity of compensating values as presented in The Public Enemy. Once more, the film industry ensured its financial viability in its competition with other forms of entertainment, including television. From an artistic perspective, innovative narrative structures carried the stories as evidenced by Bonnie and Clyde, which pushed the limits of violence on the screen, and Easy Rider (Hopper, 1969), a motorcycle road trip pic which promoted free-spirited rebellion. Due to these social, industrial, and artistic changes, auteur films such as Taxi Driver were able to depict urban life in realistic, shocking ways that were not possible previously in mainstream cinema. Auteur films of today, such as those by Spike Lee and Quentin Tarantino, are oftentimes successful because audiences understand that a film with a certain director’s name will be a film presented in a certain identifiable style. This stems from the 1970s auteur tradition in which directors such as Francis Ford Coppola, Robert Altman, and Martin Scorsese were permitted to make movies with their own signature auteur style because Hollywood was desperate to reach audiences. Taxi Driver bears distinctive trademarks attributed to Scorsese including long tracking shots, corrupt characters, and the effects of guilt on the psyche, techniques and themes also strikingly evident in Scorsese’s 1973 film Mean Streets. For example, one of the final sequences in Taxi Driver features an overhead shot of Travis Bickle after his violent rampage at the conclusion of the film. Presented initially as a tableau, in which the characters are static so as to give the impression of a staged painting, the shot fades into a sequence of images: blood stains on a stairwell, discarded weapons, and dead bodies. This sequence exhibits Scorsese’s meticulous attention to detail in ways which are particular to his own vision. In a recent interview entitled “Robert De Niro Is Always Doing Something,” the actor was asked to comment on his character Travis Bickle’s “rage and alienation” in Taxi Driver (Schulman, 2018). De Niro incisively responded: “Because I’m from New York, and the alienation – I could identify with that . . . I think that’s why a lot of people identify with it, no matter where you’re from, what your background, you come to the city and you’re alone here. It can be a cruel place, New York. It can be a lonely place.” The enduring appeal of Taxi Driver, regarded as one of the best films of the 1970s, considered alongside De Niro’s candid response, reveals that the city is, symbolically and by association, a setting that people of all walks of life relate to because it brings to the fore ideas such as alienation and other symptoms of modern life. Moreover, cities are locations where everything in a given culture is much closer together in terms of proximity. This includes physical features such as churches, police stations, clubs, and brothels, but also psychological facets of life including questions about life’s purpose, loneliness, exhaustion, and the pursuit of pleasure. In the very location where all of these qualities are positioned close together, we also, as De Niro points out, arguably find ourselves the most alone. This great contradiction of modern life is a goldmine for storytellers to excavate.

Do the Right Thing (1989) The effect of Scorsese and Coppola’s films on audiences shifted the industry. But the shift in control from studio executives to the director was not to last. Enter the blockbuster films of the 1980s which film executives once again managed more closely. Today’s cinema landscape has transitioned away from the “Hollywood Renaissance” to the era of modern Hollywood; still, there remains a niche market for directors who want to leave a signature stamp on their films, and they are supported by the industry due to their profitability. Consider Spike Lee’s films, for example. Fans who went to see BlacKkKlansman (2018) could expect a high-quality, experimental work in keeping with the atmosphere, style, and themes in previous Spike Lee Joints released by Lee’s production company, 40 Acres and a Mule Filmworks. He has been a mainstay on the cinematic stage since his landmark 1989 film Do the Right Thing (1989). Do the Right Thing shows how the close proximity of disparate ideologies can create a powder keg. The film traces a day in the life of a young African American pizza delivery man named Mookie. On the one hand, Mookie’s day in Brooklyn while working at Sal’s Pizzeria is extraordinary – eccentric characters from 290

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all ages and walks of life voice their views on society and culture, and the day tragically culminates with the brutal murder of a young African American man named Radio Raheem (Bill Nunn) at the hands of white police officers. On the other hand, the picture is an all too real day in the life portrayal of racism and violence in inner-city America. The film succeeds in representing this dilemma in a number of pivotal scenes, including early in the film when the character Buggin Out (Giancarlo Esposito) goes to Sal’s Pizzeria and asks Mookie, after scanning and recognizing that the framed photographs that adorn the pizzeria’s wall of fame are Americans of Italian descent, “How come ain’t no brother up on the wall?” Buggin Out’s valid question is passed from Mookie to Sal (Danny Aiello), who, livid with Buggin Out’s question, throws him out of the shop. Another powerful scene is a “race rant montage” in which different characters from the neighborhood break the fourth wall by speaking directly to the camera. One after the other, each character berates other character’s ethnicity and personality with racist slurs. In terms of the narrative, the causal chain of events is broken by the rants, drawing attention to the emotions, anxieties, and anger urban residents feel when their livelihood, culture, and tradition are threatened by their neighbors. Lee’s innovative and original film techniques present the streets of Brooklyn as a microcosm of real cultural tensions felt in U.S. culture at large. Do the Right Thing is a cinematic masterpiece made after eight years of Reaganism had rolled back the gains of the Civil Rights movement and during the summer that the first George Bush was making his bid for the presidency. . . Do the Right Thing was directly inspired by a series of incidents of racial violence and police brutality” in New York. (Taubin, 2002) The final scene of the film is yet another culmination of violence, a common feature of street films in the vein of The Public Enemy and Taxi Driver. After Buggin Out enlists the support of two other characters, Radio Raheem and Smiley (Roger Smith), to confront Sal, Sal loses his cool and smashes Radio Raheem’s stereo and hurls racial slurs. A riot ensues, during which police officers murder Radio Raheem. The next morning Mookie and Sal converse in front of the burned-out pizza shop when Mookie stops by to pick up his pay. Just as The Public Enemy concludes with an intertitle, quotations by both Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X complete Lee’s dramatic film. The quotations point to the potential for racial harmony one day despite the unresolved tensions that exist in the present. Certainly, as Geoff King writes: “the world represented by Hollywood film is not neutrally recorded. Instead, it is actively created. Not only created, but created according to particular assumptions that have social, political and ideological implications” (King, 2002, p. 39). Syntactically, each filmic element is strategically positioned to create a chain of signifiers just as words are linked together in sentences to express an idea. Semantically, the imagery and dialogue and soundscape convey impressions of street life which audiences can identify with – even if they do not live in densely populated areas – due to the commodification of street style, slang, and music. Consider the opening track of Do the Right Thing by Public Enemy, entitled “Fight the Power.” With the lines “Our freedom of speech is freedom or death/We got to fight the powers that be.” Not only does the name of the group bring to mind the streets in terms of its association with The Public Enemy, but the lyrics themselves directly intersect with the African American experience represented in the film. Today, Lee’s film remains all too relevant, especially in light of the depressing correlations between Radio Raheem’s and the real-life deaths of young unarmed African Americans such as Michael Brown, Antwon Rose, and Tamir Rice at the hands of municipal police. Lee’s film shows that seemingly innocuous exchanges between individuals in the inner-city, such as when white cops stare down black residents while driving by, may lead to explosive behaviors if left unchecked. Auteurs like Scorsese and independent filmmakers like Lee create films that cannot be reduced to, but which are certainly a part of, today’s mass media enterprises which has enabled Hollywood to maintain its cultural dominance during the blockbuster era. After all, the pleasure of an audience is achieved when an 291

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expectation is satisfied with the purchased product (King, 2002, p. 56). Fortunately, in the case of auteur films, the audience experiences an accomplished work of art. In addition to depictions of the streets found in Taxi Driver and Do the Right Thing, a number of important films and film genres placed the streets at the center of discourse between the 1960s and 1990s. These include mainstream films such as Midnight Cowboy (Schlesinger, 1969) which is the only Academy Award winning film with an X-rating, Manhattan (Allen, 1979), The French Connection (Friedkin, 1971), but also exploitation films of the 1960s and 1970s – so described due to their inferior “b” quality in comparison to major studio releases. Exploitation films emphasize depictions of the streets in biker and car films, revenge films, sexploitation films, and slasher films set in urban environments. Blaxploitation films (low-budget films featuring African-American protagonists and initially geared toward African-American audiences) of the time period like Coffy (Hill, 1973) and Shaft (Parks, 1971) have achieved artistic longevity due to the Jackie Brown (Tarantino, 1997) and Shaft (Story, 2019) remakes, among others. A sophisticated and exciting new wave of films dubbed as “hood” or “urban” films hit the screens in the 1990s and early 2000s including notable works by John Singleton (Boyz in the Hood, 1991), Mario Van Peebles (New Jack City, 1991), and Albert and Allen Hughes (Menace II Society, 2003). Comedies and rom-coms (i.e., romantic comedies) set in urban environments by women directors include Big (Marshall, 1988) and You’ve Got Mail (Ephron, 1998). Today, urban films across the globe draw from rich cinematic traditions to portray respective social conflicts informed by films such as The Bicycle Thief (De Sica, 1949) in Italy, Jack Clayton’s Room at the Top (1959) in England, and impressive cityscapes in Bruce Lee’s martial arts films from Hong Kong.

Blade Runner 2049 (2018) Blade Runner’s place in film history is connected to the ways Hollywood pivoted in the mid-70s when Jaws (Spielberg, 1975) broke onto the scene. The genre of the film is horror, but Spielberg’s deft action editing and buzz around the film created a blockbuster “event.” Coupled with the novel, written by Peter Benchley, it essentially instituted the summer season film. Today, summer audiences expect annual films in this tradition: formula coupled with artistic signature, clearly delineated sides of good and evil, epic scale, high production values, and exciting action sequences. After Apocalypse Now (Coppola, 1979), the “New Hollywood” cinema of the 1970s came to an end, and tent pole films like Jaws became the norm. The first Blade Runner (Scott, 1982), featuring innovate (and expensive) special effects and movie star Harrison Ford, envisions what street culture may look like in a dystopic future (which is already our past, as the film is set in the year this chapter is written, 2019). The opening shot references The Public Enemy, Taxi Driver, and Do the Right Thing by presenting an establishing shot of a city, in this case a nighttime view of Los Angeles as a series of lights across an industrial wasteland that extends to the horizon. In the foreground, huge factory smokestacks billow flames. A flying car buzzes past the camera. The synth heavy keyboards are cinematic and ominous. Subsequent views of the city reveal police headquarters housed in an enormous pyramid-shaped building that looms over the skyline, advertisements projected on entire exteriors of high rises, and hovering blimp-like vehicles that audibly advertise over loudspeakers: “A new life awaits you in the off-world colonies. A chance to begin again in a golden land of opportunity and adventure,” to masses of pedestrians shuffling their feet, heads down, past shops with neon lights and outdoor food courts. It is raining. Everything is dark. Our world looks broken. The future of the city, the site where the worlds impoverished are moving to today due to the promise of work, apparently will fall into disarray if films such as Blade Runner are any indication. Those who cannot leave the planet are doomed to a monotonous existence. The premise of the story is that artificial intelligence (AI) creatures or replicants, which are so realistic that they pass for human beings, occasionally escape their masters and so they must be hunted down and killed by “blade runners,” essentially the police officers in this futuristic world. The main character of the film is a blade runner named Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) whose mission is to track down and 292

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kill escaped replicants who return to earth from off-world colonies. A recurrent, philosophical question of the film is what is it that makes us human if AIs and humans are virtually indistinguishable? Within the fanciful setting of the film, one way to distinguish replicants from people is to run a series of psychological tests while using a device which analyzes the subject’s eyes. This particular narrative aspect of the film is embedded within a more general set of philosophical inquiries about society and the future of urban life poised in representations of dystopic urban films going back as far as Metropolis (Lang, 1927): is it possible to remedy our destruction of the environment, wasteful use of resources, and unequal wealth distribution? The existential questions the film asks in Blade Runner are also linked visually to the tradition of street culture cinema. For example, the film’s climactic chase sequence is a direct homage to Buster Keaton’s precarious stunts in Safety Last (1923), epitomized when Deckard hangs by his fingertips precariously off the side of a building while being hunted by the AI Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer). Furthermore, the story centers around familiar features of the street culture film: the evil corporation, in this case Tyrell Corporation and its production of AIs who have gone rogue, an underground black market that sells AI parts and equipment, and the blade runners themselves who represent the law and attempt to maintain order. Metaphysical dilemmas extend beyond what does or does not entail the real and the artificial to address issues surrounding meaningless existences, the prevalence of virtual reality, the idea that the creators of AIs are like gods and goddesses, and the ancillary commentary that creators of AIs are also like slave owners of the past, and finally, whether or not it is possible for there to be a genuine psychological attachments, including love, between people and AIs. If a primary question of the first Blade Runner is whether or not Deckard himself is an AI, the question of the second film, entitled Blade Runner 2049, is whether or not the AI blade runner, portrayed by Ryan Gosling, is actually human. The story of Blade Runner 2049 revolves around the search for the offspring of an AI and a human, and while reinvigorating and extending questions presented in the previous film, it also reinforces the notion that environmental destruction has grave consequences. Blade Runner 2049 depicts the city of Los Angeles behind huge barrier walls to protect it from rising sea levels, presents San Diego as a vast junkyard, and bathes Las Vegas in a post-apocalyptic orange haze.

Conclusion The wealth of philosophical ideas located in the Blade Runner films are arguably equaled in all of the films depicting street culture described in this chapter. The Public Enemy questions the extent to which residents in modern urban cities are responsible for the criminal underworld which exists by taking advantage of accepted economic practices. Taxi Driver interrogates the psychological desolation of individuals cast aside by mainstream culture, and the ways self-appointed executioners respond to what they perceive as a lack of morality in the city. Do the Right Thing brings to the forefront racial conflicts that are often relegated to the background of public discourse by those with privilege. So, it is fitting that Do the Right Thing concludes with this quotation by Malcom X: “I think there are plenty of good people in America, but there are also plenty of bad people in America and the bad ones are the ones who seem to have all the power and be in these positions to block things that you and I need.” Followed by this quotation by Martin Luther King, Jr.: “Violence as a way of achieving racial justice is both impractical and immoral.” Lee’s intertitles raise the bar set by The Public Enemy. Today the boundaries of street cinema are being pushed into new territory both in terms of philosophical dilemmas and cinematic techniques. Women directors continue to feature urban settings to foreground issues of gender and identity in indelible films such as Just Another Girl on the I.R.T. (Harris, 1992), Lost in Translation (Coppola, 2003), and Pariah (Rees, 2011). While mainstream films like The Fifth Element (Besson, 1997), the cityscapes of the Star Wars franchise, and animated films such as Ralph Breaks the Internet (Johnston & Moore, 2018) imagine entire planets as cities. Audiences desiring alternative views in our age 293

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of film conglomerations and standardized blockbusters find auteur-esque in directors, such as Quentin Tarantino and his famous depictions of L.A. in Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994), filling a market niche. Overseas we find important films in works such as La Haine (Kassovitz, 1995, France), City of God (Meirelles & Lund, 2002, Brazil) and Drug War (To, 2012, China). The street cinema genre has a rich tradition and is by all appearances here to stay.

References Bordwell, D., & Thompson, K. (2012). Film art: An introduction. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill Education. Jameson, F. (1991). Postmodernism, or, the cultural logic of late capitalism. London: Verso. King, G. (2002). New hollywood cinema: An introduction. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Schulman, M. (2018). Robert Deniro is always doing something. The New Yorker. Retrieved July 29, 2019, from www. newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-interview/robert-de-niro-is-always-doing-something Stam, R. (2000). Film theory: An introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Taubin, A. (2002). Fear of a Black cinema. Sight and Sound. Retrieved June  1, 2003, from http://old.bfi.org.uk/ sightandsound/feature/42 Zhang, Y. (2010). Chinese national cinema. New York, NY: Routledge.

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25 On the street Photography and the city Donna West Brett

Introduction From the beginning of the medium, photographers have been drawn to the urban environment as subject, in many ways reflecting the rising interest in the modern metropolis in art and literature. The urban flâneur of Parisian streets, for example, was a stroller or wanderer epitomised by French literature in the nineteenth century. As a modern figure, both Charles Baudelaire and Walter Benjamin described the flâneur as an observer of urban life, both intrinsic to and alienated from the rapidly changing metropolis. It is perhaps no surprise that one of the earliest photographs produced was of the Boulevard du Temple in Paris by one of the founding figures of the medium, Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre in 1838. Daguerre’s photograph of a bustling street full of people and moving traffic is rendered empty by the slow exposure of the daguerreotype plate, and yet a lone figure is captured, stilled by the action of having his shoes shined (Tucker, 2012). This chapter takes Daguerre’s photograph of Boulevard du Temple as the basis from which to explore the history of street photography by considering key tendencies in the genre – that of the candid photograph of unwitting everyday subjects (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994), documentary photography of the street (Scott, 2007), and renditions of the empty street that harken to the earliest years of the medium and are still prevalent in recent practise (Jacobs, 2006; Hawker, 2013). To begin with, street photography’s definition is illusive and encompasses varying practices and methodologies such as how to define the subject, which could include the street itself, people or animals in the street, shops and buildings, neighbourhoods, or urban photography more generally (Wigoder, 2001). The question might not be what one includes in a definition of street photography, but rather what one leaves out. Photography of the street remains a core genre of the medium, despite its contested definition, evolving from analogue to digital, from amateur to professional (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994; Wigoder, 2001; Bussard, Ward, & Yee, 2009). Today, because of the introduction and pervasiveness of the smart phone, everyone seems to be a photographer of the urban environment, yet in the earliest days of the medium, photographers were often well-heeled amateurs turned professional studio photographers who turned their cameras to the street. The earliest examples of this photographic genre captured the changing urban environment and industrial revolution, which drove what has come to be known as the record and survey movement born at the moment of high imperialism and the massive expansion of photographic practice across the globe. This is epitomised by the Missions Héliographiques of 1851 in France under the auspices 295

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Figure 25.1 Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre, Boulevard du Temple, 1838. Private Collection. Source: Photo © GraphicaArtis/Bridgeman Images.

of the Commission des Monuments Historiques and dozens of surveys of Britain featuring its cities and towns (Edwards, 2012, p. xii). The British photographic survey movement was, according to Elizabeth Edwards, “the product of a self-conscious act of memorialisation.” (p. 2). Such overviews formed an archival basis for the future, comprising antiquities, ancient buildings, villages, and local residents, essentially establishing a database of urban and village life that has now largely disappeared. While this pursuit was mostly amateur, it was the renowned Roger Fenton, the British Museum’s first official photographer, who compiled a photographic inventory of important British localities in addition to landscape views and turned the genre into an artform. The nineteenth century saw major historical, social and political events documented in photographs that featured street views as an incidental by-product, but it was topographical views of exotic and faraway places sold by the millions as stereoscopic views or cabinet cards (a photograph mounted on cardboard) that captured the public imagination (Heilbrun, 1998, pp. 149–173). The modernising medium of photography found a global audience with the expansion of studio photography across Europe, the Americas, the Asia Pacific, and the East. In the Ottoman Empire, Turkish and Armenian photographers such as Pascal Sébah and court photographer Abdullah Frères expanded their photographic oeuvre from the studio to the street like many others across the world (Behdad & Gartlan, 2013; Özendes, 2013). In his contribution to the New History of Photography, (1998) Françoise Heilbrun charted the photographic practice and topographical views of explorers, travellers and tourists across Europe, Britain, Asia, and the Americas. More recently, Ali Behdad and Luke Gartlan’s contribution of edited essays highlights the practice of travel albums and cultural exchange in the East shaped by topographical photographic practice.1 The evolving shape of cities with the advent of public benefit programmes such as Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s refiguring of Paris through vast urban renovation works, from the 1850s to the 1870s, occurred at the same time as the professionalisation of photography. Like his counterparts of the Missions 296

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Figure 25.2 Pascal Sébah and Jean Pascal Sébah, Marchands de Chaudrons, late 1880s, albumen silver print, 20.8 × 26.9 cm, 84.XP.708.25. Source: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.

Héliographiques, Charles Marville was commissioned by the city of Paris to record the medieval streets and the new boulevards of Haussmann’s ‘city of light.’ As Julian Stallabrass (2002) observed, as the cradle of street photography, Paris established the genre and in return photography shaped and formed the city. At the end of the century it was the younger Eugène Atget, actor turned photographer, who would capture the Parisian streets and leave a lasting legacy for contemporary photographers. After his major commission by the Bibliothèque historique de la ville de Paris to systematically photograph aging buildings and their details, Atget continued to record the urban landscape in enigmatic renditions on glass plates, the prints from which he sold to artists and architects. Late in his life, his work became important to a new generation of photographers when in 1925 Berenice Abbott, an American living in Paris, bought many of his photographs. His posthumous success was due largely to Abbott, Man Ray, and the Surrealists, who engaged with his unconscious rendering of the city (Nesbit, 1992; Scott, 2007). With the advent of smaller hand-held cameras around the turn of the twentieth century and the use of roll-film, photographers were able to roam more freely to capture passers-by unnoticed. Parisian-based photographers such as Brassaï (Gyula Halász), fellow Hungarian André Kertész, Jacques-Henri Lartigue, and the younger Henri Cartier-Bresson embraced the split-second of a moment afforded by fast film and shutter speeds, and lighter, smaller cameras. ‘The decisive moment,’ a term coined by Cartier-Bresson stimulated not just a new way of thinking about photographing the street, but also generated ongoing theoretical postulation on what the moment comprises. Clive Scott, for example, considers the moment as an “analogue experience of time and perception,” a space that can be inhabited and fixed forever in the photographic emulsion (p. 43). Wigoder (2001), on the other hand, suggests that the notion of waiting 297

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Figure 25.3 Paul Strand, Photograph – New York [Blind Woman], 1916, printed 1917, photogravure 22.4 × 16.7 cm, 93.XB.26.53. Source: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.

plays a significant role in street photography, that of the subjects – waiting for the bus or pausing to cross the street – and that of the photographer – waiting for something to happen, or waiting for the right visual components to form in the camera frame. While artists such as Brassaï photographed his contemporaries, often with their knowledge, along with night views of Paris in the early 1930s (Brassaï & Morand, 1933), Cartier-Bresson would wait patiently for the right component to form in the camera frame, before pressing the shutter. In Germany, photographers such as Friedrich Seidenstücker became photographers of everyday life, capturing moments of street life that evoke Cartier-Bresson’s keen eye for detail, whilst 298

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in America Alice Austin, Lewis Hine, and Paul Strand offered a painfully close look at New York’s down and out characters. Most poignantly is the image captured by Strand in his depiction Blind Woman of 1916 (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994). As Eskildsen (2008, p. 68) observed, on development of the candid snapshot photographic aesthetic at the end of the 1880s, “the city became a self-generating machine for images, with the new mobility of the camera becoming a paradigm of urban perception.”

The modernist eye The modernist vision of the early twentieth century responded to the rapidly changing metropolis and stimulated a new way of seeing the urban landscape. In Europe, Britain, and America, the burgeoning illustrated magazines provided a broad audience that went beyond the more art-focused journals such as those of the Surrealist movement, Stieglitz’s Camera Work, and camera-club journals that could be found world-wide, or indeed the growing number of monographic photobooks.2 These magazines provided work for photographers and built massive photographic archives. This included Hulton (now part of Getty Museum), Magnum, or the Black Star photo agency. The interest in everyday life epitomised by the Surrealist movement, or the Bauhaus with László Moholy-Nagy, Umbo and others, took the streets into an artistic revolution of extreme angles and distorted views. The surrealist vision was embraced alongside a more documentary view by photographers such as Bill Brandt in Britain and Manuel Alvarez Bravo in Mexico, a progression that followed the advance of the avant-garde away from the centre of Europe. Brandt’s gritty intrusions into the urban nightlife for example, evoke a “drop in the emotional temperature of life on the street. Fear breaks out like a cold sweat in certain pictures” (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994, p. 185). Embracing the unconscious of the city, Brandt’s framing and choice of filmstock and titles lend an air of tension to what were likely everyday interactions. These were in contrast to many of his images of ordinary workers or inhabitants of England’s mining towns that share a documentary aesthetic not unlike that of Humphrey Spender, who was employed by the wartime Mass Observation Movement to document the everyday of Britain’s population between 1937 and 1949.3 War across Europe and Britain brought unpredictable views of the city and dangerous conditions for photographers and public alike. Brandt’s series of the London Blitz (1940–1941) was both a news assignment and a personal endeavour to continue his artistic and poetic vision, a determination that was also found in the surrealist-driven photographs of Lee Miller, or the ruin photographs of Berlin by Friedrich Seidenstücker and others at this time. In America, the modernist vision of the city was formed in part by influences from Europe, such as the majestic views of New York contrasted with those of the dirt and grime of the streets. Many photographers encompassed both approaches such as Berenice Abbott, Alfred Stieglitz, Edward Steichen, or Paul Strand. Others observed the oddities of the inhabitants who played, strolled, or worked on the street, each embracing modernist aesthetics in their own unique manner including Aaron Siskind, Ben Shahn, or Walker Evans. Women photographers made a sustained contribution to the genre including Dorothea Lange, Margaret Bourke-White, Helen Levitt, Ilse Bing, Rebecca Lepkoff, or the recently discovered Vivian Maier who were drawn to the streets with their small format cameras and keen eye. As Westerbeck and Meyerowitz (p. 253) argue, in contrast to France where a few individuals led the street photography movement that resulted in the founding of photo agencies such as Magnum, in America several institutions were formed that specifically fostered street photography, particularly in the 1930s. These included the Photo League and Federal Art Projects sponsored by the New Deal’s Works Progress Administration (that employed artists of every medium), and the Farm Security Administration’s (FSA’s) Historical Section headed up by the infamous Roy Stryker, each contributing to fostering American street photography (Bussard et al., 2009, p. 92). Like the Mass Observation Movement, established to record everyday life in Britain, the aim of these organisations was to study the everyday life of ordinary America. With ten million unemployed in the 299

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1930s, the number of subjects on the street searching for work or living rough formed a different pace, that of aimlessness, noted by Dorothea Lange as an opportunity to leave the studio for the street (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994, pp. 253–254). It was on her first venture that she encountered the distribution of food to the poor and unemployed capturing the enigmatic scene of the White Angel Breadline, San Francisco 1933, which became an iconic image of America’s depression era. The project of the FSA turned a mirror onto the American people made manifest through publication for instance in Life and Time magazines, and newspapers across the nation, in addition to substantial exhibitions (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994, p. 255). Another key FSA photographer, Walker Evans, epitomised the unique vision of American street photography at the time, combining empathy and wit with a sharp eye for uncanny narrative. While his legacy is marked largely by a book on the depression, written with his literary collaborator James Agee,

Figure 25.4 Dorothea Lange, [White Angel Bread Line, San Francisco], 1933; printed c. 1940s, gelatin silver print, 23.5 × 19.2 cm, 2000.43.1. The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles. Source: © The Dorothea Lange Collection, the Oakland Museum of California.

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titled Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, 1941 (Agee & Evans, 1941), it is his later street photography that captured both white and black America that has lasting resonance. In the immediate post-war period, photographic practice was set against the backdrop of a largely destroyed Europe, a fractured Japan, a divided Germany, and a world framed by mass migration and rebuilding cities, communities, and economies. Along with artists, musicians, writers, and intellectuals, photographers were forced from Europe during and in the immediate years after the Second World War, making a substantial impact on American culture. These photographers, such as John Gutmann, Weegee (Arthur Fellig), Lisette Model, Elliott Erwitt, Ilse Bing and others had a unique sensibility that embraced both their European heritage and their new American environ. While many continued in the vein of photographing candid and often humorous moments on the street, Weegee, who had struggled to make a living selling souvenir snaps or ‘candid pictures,’ took his Speed Graphic camera and flash bulbs to New York’s nightlife and scenes of crime.4 As a poor immigrant, Weegee had direct access to migrant communities in the city and utilised a car with a police radio to hunt down accidents, murders, and suicides that he would first capture with his camera, then write a short piece on the typewriter in his car trunk, and finally send the story to the newspapers for the morning edition. In contrast were the photographs of William Klein and Roy DeCarava, both of whom photographed their immediate surrounds with an intensity that only close-up framing can offer. DeCarava’s photographs of 1950s Harlem, for example, offer intimate portraits of the oft-ignored black community with grace and humility. Klein, on the other hand, riffed off the gritty pavement and New York’s immigrant inhabitants operating as a photo booth for his subjects (Westerbeck & Meyerowitz, 1994, p. 348). The Japanese photographer Daido Moriyama encountered Klein’s photographs in 1957, which had a lasting effect and

Figure 25.5 Daido Moriyama, New Japan’s Scenic Trio 2: Ueno Terminal Station, 1982, gelatin silver photograph, 21.8 × 29.5 cm, 15.2005. Art Gallery of NSW. Purchased with funds provided by the Photography Collection Benefactors’ Program 2005. Source: © Daido Moriyama Photo Foundation.

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drove his interrogation of the tension between tradition and modern society in post-war Japan. His grainy photographs have a melancholic tone that finds beauty in imperfection, epitomising the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi (accepting transience and imperfection). One of the lasting legacies of a stranger’s eye rendering unseen America is that of Robert Frank, a Swiss photographer who visited the US as part of a Guggenheim Fellowship from 1955 to 1956. Over this period, Frank photographed middle America with a canny and harsh eye producing controversial images that would result in the photo book The Americans, first published in France in 1958 (Frank, 1959). Rather than photographing the highlights of American culture, Frank turned his camera to subjects that appeared depressed, lonely, and forgotten, emphasising both vast spaces in the urban environment, and the vast division in the nation’s class system. Frank’s book emphasised both the individual image and the sequence of images, in terms of how they can be read in relation to each other as a narrative, and subsequently influenced a new generation of photographers (Brougher & Ferguson, 2001, p. 27).

Candid photography The 1930s to the 1950s saw the rise of the candid photographer or commercial street photographer, stimulating a new craze in snapshot pictures and celebrating everyday citizens (Batchen, 2008, 2009; Lewis, 2015; Tucker, 2012; Zuromskis, 2013). Candid photography brought much-needed work to the unemployed during the depression years and later for returned servicemen in cities from New York to Sydney, so popular was the pursuit that associations were established to protect photographers’ commercial interests. As Clark notes, the new post-war occupation of the street photographer was organised into a profession in response to competition, city officials, police and the law, and to fight against regulation of the commercial enterprise (2017, p. 225). As early as 1934, a group of street photography firms in Sydney formed the Candid Photographers’ Association with the aim to make commercial street photography legal.5 A candid photographer’s occupation involved taking photographs of passers-by on the street, often on their way to or from an outing such as the theatre or shopping. On taking the photograph, the subject would be handed a ticket with a number corresponding to the negative, which could be returned in exchange for the printed photograph at a small fee. Alternatively, some camera kits could expose, develop, and print the image in the camera body much like a Polaroid camera. This enabled the sitter (in circumstances not unlike a portrait photographer’s studio) to purchase and take their print away almost immediately (Batchen, 2009, p. 28). The plague of such photographers led to licensing controls and regulations in cities such as Paris and Sydney. As a recent exhibition in Sydney showed, the prevalence of such photographers has a lasting legacy for contemporary residents who seek to find relatives in the images along with now erased or drastically changed views of the city.6 This type of ordinary vernacular street photography, as opposed to art-category street documentations, has been largely ignored in histories of photography as Batchen argues, despite its enduring international popularity (2009, p. 26). He contends that such unashamedly ordinary photographs tell us much about the complexity of photography itself as “a vehicle for historical interpretation,” beyond the personal searching for familiar faces, such images are complicated and “incongruous historical objects” that offer dynamic interpretative platforms for viewing the past.

New generation The 1960s brought a grainy and conceptual aesthetic to the medium along with a break with black and white film to embrace colour. A new generation of photographers scoured the streets of London, New York, Tokyo, Sydney, Paris, or Rajasthan looking for the overlooked. These photographers seemed more international either travelling or engaging with other photographers beyond their immediate purview. As Brougher and Ferguson demonstrate, the spontaneous black and white images of Klein or Frank emphasised the presence of the photographer, and while controversial at the time, this mode 302

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of operating became an established vocabulary in the hands of Garry Winogrand, Daido Moriyama, Nobuyoshi Araki, Lee Friedlander, or Diane Arbus for example (2001, p.  29). Winogrand, Friedlander, and Arbus formed a new generation of photographers and were the focus of a landmark exhibition at New York’s Museum of Modern Art curated by John Szarkowski titled New Documents in 1967. While Winogrand’s subjects were often aware of his presence, he had a way of confronting people in the street that was fleeting and unthreatening. His obsession with street photography and incessant, repetitive shooting, came at a time of a broad decline in the vitality of the genre, as Russell Ferguson observes (Brougher & Ferguson, 14; Fried, 239). Arbus, on the other hand, often befriended her subjects who posed for the camera, a practice that received critical backlash from other street photographers (Fried, p. 239). The definition of street photography was complicated in the 1960s and 1970s with the rise of street art and actions documented by the camera (Bussard et al., 2009). This included conceptual typological photographs by Ed Ruscha of Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip in 1966, actions by Valie Export, Adrian Piper, Joseph Beuys, or those by members of the Fluxus movement in Germany. As Ward (Bussard et al., 2009, p. 101) contends, while some artists looked to the street as a scene of daily life in all its banality, others saw it as an arena shaped by mass media. This conceptual approach to the street in all its diversity extends the genre away from the documentary mode of looking at a distance to interacting and mediating the arena of urban life as a politicised space. Colour film made a profound contribution to the genre in the 1970s and was accepted as a serious mode of expression in the snapshot aesthetic of William Eggleston, Joel Meyerowitz, Stephen Shore, Raghubir Singh, and the street images of conflict in Nicaragua by Susan Meiselas (Brougher & Ferguson, 2001). Eggleston’s exquisitely coloured photographs of 1970s America captured the bright fashions

Figure 25.6 Cherine Fahd, Trafalgar Square, Anonymous Portrait 1, 2006, Lambda photograph, 117 × 156.17 cm. 303

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and subcultures on the street and the kitsch aesthetic of new post-war consumerism. Singh, on the other hand, considered colour photography to be the optimum means for capturing the colour and vitality of the streets of India. His images are jam-packed with energy and movement, with a quality unattainable in black and white images. Colour continued to play a significant role in photography in the images of art photographers such as Jeff Wall, Philip-Lorca diCorcia, Zoe Strauss, Thomas Struth, Nikki S. Lee, and Martin Parr. Wall, Lee, and diCorcia all create highly constructed images. While Wall reconstructs visual tableaus from moments he has seen under strict studio-like conditions, diCorcia meticulously arranges his camera equipment at a precise location in the street, whether it be New York, Tokyo, Calcutta, or Hong Kong. For his key series of street photographs, diCorcia positioned himself hidden from view and triggered the flash and shutter at the moment someone of interest passed by, thus creating enigmatic and ethereal images of subjects in deep contemplation. As Fried (2008) observes, the artificial lighting lends a theatrical air and dramatic force to many of the images, enhancing the introspective pose of the subjects who are unaware of the photographer. Australian photographer Cherine Fahd likewise observed subjects in states of introspection and contemplation as they cooled themselves under public showers in the heat of Paris or were enthralled by the activities of Trafalgar Square. Nikki S. Lee’s own theatrical constructions involve the artist transforming herself into an identity (through makeup and dress), approaching groups such as tourists in the street, and then posing for a photograph with her new acquaintances. Fried revisits street photography of the 1980s and 1990s via three photographers, Jeff Wall, Beat Streuli (video works), and diCorcia. Fried draws these artists together through analysing their various visual constructions, framed by his theory of theatricality, here considered in terms of both the subject and the photographer.

Empty streets In contrast with the dynamic environment of city streets filled with people and an ever-changing scene of interactions, the aesthetic of the empty street in the post-war period pictures the scene evacuated of people. This topographic view was embraced by several key photographers across Europe and America including The New Topographics, Thomas Struth, Michael Schmidt, Andreas Gursky, and others (Jacobs, 2006; Fried, 2008; Hawker, 2013; Brett, 2016). The vacant city is reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic landscape, which Hawker considers is as much about the alienating modes of experiencing the city as it is about the very conditions of contemporary photography in distancing itself from vernacular modes of representing the everyday (p. 341). While Jacobs considers the voids of the empty cities in the formative years of the photographic medium were due largely to the limited technology and exposure times, they also evoke a sense of alienation present in much contemporary photography of post-urban emptiness (2006). As Jacobs observes, “The urban void no longer expresses a sublime horror or loneliness and alienation. Emptiness has become everyday and banal” (p. 118). The prominence of the empty and alienating city in contemporary photography owes much to developments in conceptual art that developed a new anti-aesthetic such as that by Ed Ruscha, Bernd and Hilla Becher, and the New Topographics movement in the 1970s. In Europe, this approach was also due in part to the vast and open stretches of land made vacant by the destruction of war, the lack of inhabitants, and later the opening of the border between East and West, which attracted photographers to abandoned sites and urban streets frozen in time (Brett, 2016). The detached aesthetic of the New Topographics movement, which drew its influences from conceptual and minimalist art, was more concerned with recording the matter-of-fact built environment rather than imaging characters, the populous city, or the landscape. The ground-breaking New Topographics: Photographs of a Man-Altered Landscape exhibition was held in 1975 at George Eastman House in Rochester, New York. The exhibition featured ten artists, Robert Adams, Lewis Baltz, Bernd and Hilla Becher, Joe Deal, Frank Gohlke, Nicholas Nixon, John Schott, Stephen Shore, and Henry Wessel, whose banal recordings of the urban or industrial landscape influenced an entire 304

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generation of photographers including those at the Düsseldorf School in Germany, such as Thomas Struth and Andreas Gursky. In 1976, Struth began an ongoing series featuring the empty urban landscape, exploring cities in West Germany and later those in former East Germany, recording places for which time seems to be stilled (Brett, 2010). The compilation was titled Unconscious Places, inferring that the photographs captured the marks of history and the psychological nature of the urban landscape, or as Fried (p.  276) argues, the depicted urban scenes “were imagined as exerting an unconscious influence on their inhabitants,” who are absent from the photographs. This type of photography appears, as David Campany (2003, p. 124) has argued, as sombre and static images that render traces of history as an aftermath to an event, or what John Roberts (2009) refers to as late photography. For Fried (p. 278) Struth’s melancholic photographs of empty streets “exemplify the indexicality or trace structure traditionally associated with photography,” in a way that gives them heightened meaningfulness. The topographical changes of East Germany were captured in an extensive photographic enterprise commissioned by the Verbundnetz Gas Aktiengesellschaft (VNG) in Leipzig during the 1980s and 1990s called the Archiv der Wirklichkeit or Archive of Reality (Müller, 1997). This project commissioned German Democratic Republic photographers to document East German towns and subsequently after the fall of the Berlin Wall, to return to the same sites and rephotograph the scene.7 As a major rephotography project, the images document the dramatic and minute changes to the urban fabric and now stand as testament to oft-forgotten places in the former East Germany (Brett, 2016). Rephotography survey projects are predominant in the geographical sciences to plot changes in the environment but the methods and processes have been taken up by several photographers as a conceptual methodology of photographing place. Mark

Figure 25.7 Thomas Struth, Hermannsgarten, Weissenfels, 1991, gelatin silver print, 72 × 84 cm. Source: © Thomas Struth. Courtesy Atelier Thomas Struth.

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Klett’s projects are symptomatic of this movement and include photographing sites in San Francisco to mimic those taken of the 1906 earthquake, or the making of an immense panorama of San Francisco after photographs taken in 1878 by Eadweard Muybridge (Klett & Muybridge, 1990; Klett, 2005). In Germany, photographer Arwed Messmer has undertaken several projects that either construct vast panoramic views from photographs of Berlin’s ruins, post-war streets, and the Berlin Wall, or rephotographed sites as comparative counter pieces to the original archival images (Messmer, 2009).

Social media The advent of smart phones affords the average person with a camera in their pocket the capability to take good quality images that are by-and-large edited and shared through social media apps such as Instagram. Street photographers such as Stephen Shore and Alex Soth engage with this democratic platform for taking and sharing pictures of wonderful and banal moments of the everyday with Shore attracting over 160,000 followers. In his 2017 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, Shore included images from his Instagram feed that he considers are not unlike his early photo books or indeed diaristic notations (O’Hagen, 2018). Humans of New York is an Instagram feed run by Brandon Stanton, which disrupts candid-style photography to engage more intimately with subjects that he encounters on the street. For example, his Instafeed photographs feature subjects who have posed for the camera, accompanied by a short story about themselves, turning the anonymity of street photography on its head. With over nine-and-a-half million followers, this social media phenomenon has been commercialised through subscription and publication. In Sydney, a similar feed has been established with Humans of Newtown, a hip inner-city suburb that hosts an array of colourful locals. Urban photography is prevalent on social media including on Facebook, Flickr, Tumblr, and in on-line photo exhibitions and competitions, an impetus that reflects a fascination with

Figure 25.8 Trent Parke, Australia. Sydney. No War Peace March, 2003, LON43422. Source: © Trent Parke/Magnum Photos.

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photographing the everyday world around us (Gleason, 2008; Hunt, 2014). Hunt contextualises urban photography with human geography by linking image-making to place-making and offers a valuable literature review of this related research. As Howarth and McLaren (2010) observe, street photography has undergone a resurgence, stimulated by the rise of social media sharing sites. In 2010, the most popular photo-sharing site, Flickr, hosted over 400 dedicated street photography groups comprising half a million members (Howarth & McLaren, 2010, p. 15). Today, inputting ‘street photography’ into Flickr’s search engine brings up nearly 3,000,000 photographs and a seemingly endless list of groups, each with their own rules, some of which exclude anything other than ‘candid’ shots. Political struggle, protest, and demonstrations have also contributed to the flavour of the street and to street photography since the 1960s as epitomised by the evocative images of Trent Parke, Danny Lyon, or Bruce Davidson (Bussard et al., 2009, p. 96). Parke was at the ready with his camera in Sydney when on February 16, 2003, 250,000 people staged a peace rally and marched against US threats of military action in Iraq. While photographic documentations of civil protest at the time found vast audiences through newspaper and magazines (Bussard et al., 2009, p. 96), today photographs of protest such as the world-wide climate marches are taken largely on smart phones and disseminated instantaneously via social media sites, many picked up by news outlets to add an everyday street sensibility to their articles.

Ethics and law The ethical and legal parameters around street photography are murky at best and are often framed within the cultural conditions of place. For example, in the former German Democratic Republic, taking photographs of people or homes was and still is distinctly frowned upon. As an obvious hangover from the period of state surveillance, visitors to Berlin and Eastern Germany will find few street surveillance cameras and substantial sections of google street maps are blurred. The confusion of the legal standing of street photography is, according to Heather Shuker and A.D. Coleman, an ongoing issue for street photographers who often face objection and at times police intervention (Shuker, 2011; Coleman, 1987). Whether it is ethically right to photograph someone in the street is equally vexing (Lester, 2018). Various codes of ethics exist including that of the National Press Photographers Association (NPPA) in the United States that urges photographers to “treat all subjects with respect and dignity.”8 In Australia, the Arts Law Centre provides an extensive guide to street photographer’s rights in relation to a range of legal and ethical parameters.9 Others recommend a discerning respectful approach to photographing strangers that considers the obligation to their subject and responsibility to their audience (Shuker, 2011; Jardin, 2017). As Tucker (2012, p. 14) demonstrates, in nineteenth-century Britain, new technologies of surveillance and recording in public places raised fundamental questions about privacy in the public sphere, an issue even more relevant today. Howarth and McLaren (2010, p. 11) observe that these are not easy times for photographers with tightening privacy laws and increasing fears of terrorism, each affecting the public sphere and the ability to photograph city streets. A poster campaign mounted by London’s Metropolitan Police as an anti-terrorism method, encouraged members of the public to report any suspicious photography or anyone displaying unusual levels of curiosity. The poster featured pictures of hundreds of identical cameras with one highlighted, as Tucker observes (2012, p. 15) that stated, “Thousands of people take photos every day. What if one of them seems odd?” Photographers have responded in turn with campaign websites and slogans such as “I’m a photographer not a terrorist,” or “Photography is not a crime,” and another more explicit statement, “Millions of people take photos every day. Some of them are brown. Please do not shoot them” (Howarth & McLaren, 2010, p. 11). Several contemporary photographers have engaged with surveillance aesthetics in their work including diCorcia, Sophie Calle, Shizuka Yokomizo, Arnie Svenson, Anne Zahalka, Cherine Fahd, and Narelle Autio. Both Fahd and Autio’s photographs of subjects sleeping in parks on warm summer days engage with the surveillance technologies of telephoto 307

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lenses, drones, and satellites. We are hard pressed to find many locations in our present day where we are in fact not being photographed, either by tourists and photographers on the street, or by the ever-increasing presence of street surveillance cameras.

Conclusion Ross observes that “the streets of our inner cities are deceptively complex places” (2018, p.  7). In its myriad forms and sub-genres, street photography provides a view into the street culture of our surroundings, whether it be of people interacting on the streets, buildings and gutters, graffiti or street art, local characters, the homeless, the nightlife, the vamps and tramps, or quirky moments that go unseen by the non-photographer. Street photography becomes a visual map and a historical record of the dynamics of street culture in all its forms. Needless to say, it does not just record street culture, but is part of it, acting as a dynamic visual connector between the individual, the way we live, and the wider world. As Meyerowitz has put it, “The seed is spreading like a virus out there” (Howarth & McLaren, p. 15). Street photography has a renewed energy as evidenced by social media streams, exhibitions, and publications devoted to the subject. In Street Photography Now (2010), Howarth and McLaren highlight new generations of street photographers from across the globe, from Australia, Korea, Russia, Haiti, and Mexico to London, New York, South Africa, and Tokyo, the framing of life on the street seems to be of never-ending fascination to photographers and their growing audiences both online and in the gallery.

Notes 1 Authors include, Christopher Pinney, Mary Roberts, Nancy Mickelwright, Esra Akcan, Darcy Grimaldo Grigsby, Hannah Feldman, Rob Linrothe, and John Tagg. 2 Photobooks are generally a collection of photographs by a singular artist that follow a theme or present a series of images, the earliest of which is William Henry Fox Talbot’s A Pencil of Nature, 1844. Significant photobooks from the early twentieth century include Brassaï, Paris at Night, 1933; Bill Brandt’s A Night in London, 1938, or The English at Home, 1936. 3 The Mass Observation Movement was established in Britain in 1937 and in operation until 1949. Its aim was to record everyday life in Britain through diaries, writing, photographs, and other media provided by volunteers and paid investigators. The project was relaunched in 1981 and continues to collect material on everyday Britain. 4 See Weegee, Naked City, New York, NY: Essential Books 1945; Anthony W. Lee and Richard Meyer, Weegee and Naked City, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. 5 A group of street photography firms formed the Candid Photographers Association in Sydney, Australia, and lobbied to make street photography legal. Sydney Living Museums Website. Retrieved from https://sydneylivingmuseums. com.au/stories/popular-nuisance-controlling-street-photographers 6 An exhibition titled “Street Photography,” curated by Anna Cossu in collaboration with artist Anne Zahalka, was held at the Museum of Sydney from 8 December 2018 to 21 July 2019. A public call out resulted in over 1500 photographs contributed from family albums, 250 of which were digitised and enlarged for exhibition purposes. 7 Photographers included Max Baumann, Matthias Hoch, Frank-Heinrich Müller, Thomas Wolf, Ulrich Wüst, Evelyn Richter, Rudolf Schäfer, and others. 8 NPPA The Voice of Visual Journalists. Retrieved from https://nppa.org/code-ethics 9 Arts Law Centre of Australia. Retrieved from www.artslaw.com.au/information-sheet/street-photographers-rights/

References Agee, J., & Evans, W. (1941). Let us now praise famous men. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Batchen, G. (2008). Snapshots. Photographies, 1(2), 121–142. Batchen, G. (2009). Seeing and saying: A response to “incongruous images”. History and Theory, 48(4), 26–33. Behdad, A.,  & Gartlan, L. (2013). Photography’s orientalism: New essays on colonial representation. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute.

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Brassaï, A., & Morand, P. (1933). Paris by night. Paris: Arts et Metiers Graphiques. Brett, D. W. (2010). The uncanny return: Documenting place in postwar German photography. Photographies, 3(1), 7–22. Brett, D. W. (2016). Photography and place: Seeing and not seeing Germany after 1945. New York, NY: Routledge. Brougher, K., & Ferguson, R. (2001). Open city: Street photography since 1950. Oxford: Museum of Modern Art. Bussard, K., Ward, F., & Yee, L. (2009). Street art, street life: From the 1950s to now. New York, NY: Bronx Museum and Aperture. Campany, D. (2003). Safety in numbness: Some remarks on problems of “late photography”. In D. Green (Ed.), Where is the photograph? (pp. 88–94). Brighton: Photoworks. Clarke, C. E. (2017). The commercial street photographer: The right to the street and the Droit a l’image in post 1945 France. Journal of Visual Culture, 16(2), 225–252. Coleman, A. D. (1987). Private lives, public places: Street photography ethics. Journal of Mass Media Ethics, 2(1), 60–66. Edwards, E. (2012). The camera as historian: Amateur photographers and historical imagination, 1885–1918. Durham: Duke University Press. Eskildsen, U. (2008). Street & studio: An urban history of photography. London: Tate. Frank, R. (1959). The Americans. New York, NY: Grove Press. Fried, M. (2008). Why photography matters as art as never before. New Haven: Yale University Press. Gleason, T. R. (2008). The communicative roles of street and social landscape photography. Studies in Media & Information Literacy, 8(4), 1–13. Hawker, R. (2013). Repopulating the street: Contemporary photography and urban experience. History of Photography, 37(3), 341–352. Heilbrun, F. (1998). Around the world: Explorers, travelers and tourists. In M. Frizot (Ed.), A new history of photography (pp. 149–173). Cologne: Könemann Verlagsgesellschaft mbH. Howarth, S., & McLaren, S. (2010). Street photography now. London: Thames & Hudson. Hunt, M. A. (2014). Urban photography/cultural geography: Spaces, objects, events. Geography Compass, 8(3), 151–168. Jacobs, S. (2006). Amor Vacui: Photography and the image of the empty city. History of Photography, 30(2), 108–118. Jardin, V. (2017). Street photography: Creative vision behind the lens. New York, NY: Routledge. Klett, M. (2005). After the ruins: Rephotographing the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Klett, M., & Muybridge, E. (1990). One city/two visions. San Francisco: Bedford Arts. Lee, A. W., & Meyer, R. (2008). Weegee and naked city. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Lester, P. M. (2018). Visual ethics: A guide for photographers, journalists, and filmmakers. New York, NY: Routledge. Lewis, G. (2015). Street photography: The art of capturing the candid moment. Santa Barbara, CA: Rocky Nook Inc. Messmer, A. (2009). Anonymous Mitte/Anonymous heart. Berlin, Nürnburg: Verlag für Moderne Kunst. Müller, F. (Ed.). (1997). East: On site East/Vor Ort Ost. Leipzig: Hatje Cantz Verlag. Nesbit, M. (1992). Atget’s seven albums. New Haven: Yale University Press. O’Hagen, S. (2018, October 14). What next for photography in the age of Instagram? The Guardian. Retrieved from www. theguardian.com/artanddesign/2018/oct/14/future-photography-in-the-age-of-instagram-essay-sean-o-hagan Özendes, E. (2013). Photography in the Ottoman empire 1839–1923. Istanbul: YEM Yayın. Roberts, J. (2009). Photography after the photograph: Event, archive and the non-symbolic. Oxford Journal of Art, 32(2), 281–298. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Towards a dynamic and heuristic process model. City, Culture and Society, 15, 7–13. Scott, C. (2007). Street photography: From Atget to Cartier-Bresson. London: I. B. Tauris. Shuker, H. (2011). Street photography: Rights, ethics and the future (MA Thesis). University of Brighton. Stallabrass, J. (2002). Paris pictured. London: Royal Academy. Tucker, J. (2012). Eye on the street: Photography in urban public spaces. Radical History Review, 114, 7–18. Weegee. (1945). Naked City. New York, NY: Essential Books. Westerbeck, C., & Meyerowitz, J. (1994). Bystander: A history of street photography. London: Thames & Hudson. Wigoder, M. (2001). Some thoughts about street photography and the everyday. History of Photography, 25(4), 368–378. Zuromskis, C. (2013). Snapshot photography: The lives of images. Cambridge: MIT Press.

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26 Street styles serenade Urban street styles emerging from music scenes Therèsa M. Winge

Introduction Street styles are novel sartorial or dress practices emerging from urban sidewalks, visually marking the cityscape with fashion-forward alternative styles (e.g., potential for future fashion trends). The accepted and appreciated diversity in urban spaces allows individuals to present innovative and alternative styles and dress. These street styles visually and symbolically represent the rejection of mainstream fashions while simultaneously encouraging the conspicuous consumption of alternative dress, styles, and associated scenes. Street styles function as noteworthy signifiers of cultural and social phenomena, as well as providing pathways for identity negotiation and construction through dress and appearance. Fashion and sartorial practices are often underestimated as “the most superficial of all phenomena” (Svendsen, 2006, p.  7). Global street styles, however, reveal significant intersections between dress and associated music scenes. While not all street styles exhibit noteworthy connections to music, most do, and their musical sources reflect and contribute to their respective music scene and style reference group. Rap and Hip-Hop music, for example, began in predominantly Black urban neighborhoods with street styles of low-slung pants, oversized jackets, name brand sneakers or Timberland boots, and large T-shirts. These early Hip-Hop street styles reflected the racial tensions in the United States for African Americans, where youth were attempting to claim their place in society. Their exaggerated silhouettes (visual outlines of the un/dressed body) created with oversized clothing and accessories consumed more physical space than the marginalized body underneath. Moreover, Hip-Hop fans are familiar with the early rivalries between the East Coast (New York City, New York) and West Coast (Los Angeles, California), where each coast had distinct styles reflected in their choices of brands, hues, and accessories. In Japan, however, Hip-Hop street styles are frequently combined with other subcultural and cultural dress, which decreases visual recognition. One of the most significant nodes of influence inspiring urban styles happens at the intersections of dress and music. These are the spaces where individuals create unique styles worn in urban environments reflecting the tempo and timbre of their music scenes. Accordingly, I explore social, cultural, and political implications within the conspicuous displays of street styles, especially their media representations. In addition, I examine the ways individuals use sartorial practices to negotiate and construct identities through the use of dress. I draw on examples from Grunge, Heavy Metal, Hip-Hop, Lolitas, Punk, Swing, and Zef from locations around the world including North America, Europe, Japan, and South Africa. 310

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Urban street styles background Urban street culture defies a simple explanation because street culture varies from day to day, from city to city, from person to person with influencers ranging from music to architecture to sports to trash in the street. Ross (2018) suggests that there are five major intersectional components that contribute to and perpetuate contemporary urban street culture: (1) street capital, (2) street crime, (3) competing cultural influences, (4) mass media and cultural industries, and (5) social media. While street culture and styles predate social media, the current influence and mimetic potential is paramount. In Ross’ model, these Western urban culture and street styles are intrinsically connected with teenagers and their consumption, but in recent years street styles have been consciously conflated with adults and high fashion. Extrapolating from Ross’ model, the components of urban street culture exist without hierarchical preference and often impact each other. This is not to suggest that acknowledging the influencers defines street practices, such as street styles; instead, Ross’ model offers a locus to launch research of street styles. While traditional Western clothing and fashion systems have general guidelines with specific realms of influencers, styles emerge from urban scenes with unclear inspirations and influences. Grayer Moore, an art and dress historian, suggests that street styles are not “static or homogeneous” nor “monolithic, organized, or finite” (2017, pp. 3–4). Similar to Ross with distinctions, social anthropologist Woodward defines street styles as “the intersection of several domains: the high street, fashion magazines, and the background, relationships, and preferences of the consumer and social milieu” (2009, p. 85). Woodward further acknowledges the ways high fashion contributes to some street styles, especially those that are documented in blogs and fashion magazines (2009, pp. 83–84). Distinct from Woodward’s study, I focus on subcultural street styles inspired by music scenes but not necessarily street fashion or high street fashions/styles seen in fashion districts. Street styles are not a recent phenomenon. As fashion journalist Young expertly notes, in 1930s Germany, the young people known as Swingjugend (Swing Kids) were seeking out jazz music venues and American dress styles that reflected the jazz music scene (2016, pp. 6–7). These Swingjugend wore fashions distinctive from their parent culture and even their peers. Young men’s dress resembled Zoot Suits (oversized long suit jackets with baggy pants and vest); they wore thigh- or knee-length suitcoats made frequently with plaids, stripes, and check designs, high-shine shoes and ankle boots, and scarves around their necks (Young, 2016, pp.  6–7). To extend their silhouettes and reinforce their masculinity, these young men frequently brandished a stylish umbrella or cane, as well as replacing one of their shirt buttons with one made of reflective materials, such as gems and metal. The young women wore their hair either unfettered or in ponytail/s, and adorned their visage with copious amounts of lipstick, rouge, and eye makeup (Young, 2016, pp. 6–7). Not only establishing the visual identity of the Swing Kids subculture, their dress also allowed for flamboyant dance movements. The Swing Kids’ alternative dress represented the free-thinking ideology of the subculture and, especially on the urban streets of Berlin, opposition to the mainstream Nazi agenda. For this reason, persons wearing the Swing Kids street styles were profiled by the police and arrested as enemies of the state. A misconception about street styles is that they only occur in Western societies, but in actuality this alternative dress exists around the world. From Dandies in the Congo to Colombianos in Mexico to Zefs in South Africa, street styles around the world are similarly stimulated but each reflect their cultural specifics and even geographical region. In Japan, for example, street styles have become infamous in the last decade by publications such as FRUiTS (Aoki, 2001) and Fresh FRUiTS (Aoki, 2005). Most noteworthy is the Lolita street style introduced to global audiences within Japanese-style magazines and music videos, such as the Rich Girl video by Gwen Stefani featuring the Harajuku Girls, as well as performances of Japanese music bands X Japan and Malic Mizer, who dressed as Lolitas on stage (Winge, 2017). While Lolitas can be seen worldwide today, their subcultural street style remains similar to the originating Japanese Lolita, which began in the Harajuku neighborhood, a district in Tokyo, Japan. The members of the Lolita subculture 311

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dress in ways that resemble Victorian-era porcelain children’s dolls combined with Japanese aesthetics and tropes visually communicating hyper-cute characteristics known as kawaii (Winge, 2008). The Lolita subculture assumed the name “Lolita” because the Japanese subculture has some misinterpretations and selective readings concerning the novel by the same name – Lolita (Nabokov, 1955). The subculture focused on descriptions of the young girl in the novel without the context of the story. The Lolita street style is hyper-feminine, commonly donning flamboyant and ornate dresses to conceal and disguise the adult body beneath in order to convincingly portray illusionary childlike appearances (Winge, 2008). Regardless of their inspiration or location, street styles are referential to their surrounding environments and stimuli. Although spawning from the same impetus, street styles may differ depending on the city streets and culture in which they manifest. Still, for a specific street style to be recognizable, the participants must understand the shared guidelines for the overall appearance and visual aesthetics (Winge, 2017).

Street style and subcultures Street styles are closely connected to subcultures, whether the group is ephemeral or enduring for decades. The sighting of new street styles is often the first sign of a subculture’s emergence. Street styles, however, may endure longer than their associated subcultures because these styles are commonly inspiration for fashion designers and/or are co-opted into the mainstream fashion system. As such, the street styles lose their intricacies and distinctiveness but maintain certain aspects of the overall aesthetics, allowing the consumer to purchase the cache of the street style without “buying” the ideology of the subculture. In the 1970s, Hebdige surmised that young people created their distinctive street style using a subcultural bricolage (1979, pp. 18, 102–104), which is still accurate today. Individuals who create street styles are innovators, and often subculture members as well who are establishing the identity of the subculture through dress and visual presence in specific spaces. Fashionistas and change agents also create and don street styles; however, their “street” styles are often a combination of current or past fashions (demonstrating their knowledge of sartorial practices) and components from their worlds instead of necessarily representing an individual group’s ideology. Both scholarly research and the mass media associate subcultures with street styles. Accordingly, even when accepted as the understood or known appearance for a group of individuals with a shared ideology, subcultural dress is still considered street styles. In this way, subcultures have intimate and sociopolitical connections to street styles.

Mediated street styles The connections between subcultures and street styles reflect the media’s impact on defining subcultures. Cohen (1972) introduced the construct of subcultures as being defined by the media, wherein the media captures images of the street styles (i.e., subculture members), assigns a name and identity characteristics, and then disseminates the visuals to the public. Mass media, such as magazines, television, and the Internet, shows unwavering interest in subcultures and street styles because the dynamic visual impact of street styles is undeniable. While street styles predate social media, since the introductions of Myspace and Facebook and recently more visual social media such as Snapchat and Instagram, street styles are valuable visual currency that rapidly draws an audience. One of the most effective means of disseminating street styles has been television, and MTV (the Music Television channel), the most influential and significant form of this mass media from the past, not only recognized street styles, but also assisted in inspiring them. When MTV was introduced to cable television in August 1981, audiences experienced music in a novel and powerful way. Prior to MTV, musicians were only visible to the public on stage during a concert, or else photographed for an interview for a magazine or TV special or variety show.

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MTV’s music videos introduced viewers nationwide (and later worldwide) to the visual elements of the musicians, related surroundings, and even storylines, which were then emulated in fashions initially created by fans and eventually by corporations for mass consumption. Fans of specific genres of music could mimic the dress of individual musicians or bands seen in music videos. In the 1980s, MTV introduced their audience to music not available in the more traditional venues for securing music information (i.e., magazines, radio, etc.). MTV’s innovative 120 Minutes series (1986–2000; 2001–2003), for example, played alternative music videos and featured obscure but influential musicians. In this way, alternative music fans were able to see how to dress and act in similar ways to their favorite musicians. Subsequently, alternative music street styles were frequently DIY designed and created ensembles as these alternative fashions were not readily commercially available. Furthermore, MTV’s Headbangers Ball series (1987–1995) introduced fans to aggressive heavy metal rock music with styles commonly including long hair, black clothing, and concert T-shirts. The Heavy Metal aesthetic relies on black clothing, long hair, and band merchandise. Heavy metal music yielded several subgenres and subcultures, such as Hair or Hardcore, with associated dress that reflected these subcultural affiliations. Hair Heavy Metal bands, such as Poison and Autograph, teased their long hair into large manes framing their faces, which were painted with high gloss lipsticks, rouges, eyeliners, and eye shadows, but wore colorful skintight Spandex clothing. Hardcore Heavy Metal bands, such as Slayer and Anthrax, tended to wear mostly all-black clothing, dark jeans or leather pants, and a kutte (sleeveless denim vest covered in pins, patches, and/or graffiti) worn over a concert T-shirt. Accordingly, Heavy Metal fans were primarily able to purchase the clothing necessary to create accurate street styles inspired by this music scene. While leather pants/jacket and black jeans were limited in availability beyond larger urban areas during the 1980s, and concert T-shirts were once only purchasable at concerts or bootleg merchandisers (i.e., vendor selling non-licensed merchandise that may not be of quality), the remaining items could be purchased affordably at large chain stores and shopping malls, and together the ensemble was quickly recognized as a subcultural street style when worn in public.

Music scenes and street styles MTV, the popular cable television music station, and music videos contributed significantly to street styles. In addition to television, the Internet further allows musicians to share their music and dress with fans. This instantaneous access to celebrities and their lifestyles encourages fans to personally know or relate to a given musician. Most street styles proliferate from the intersections between dress and music scenes. Ross’s “Dynamic Process Model of Urban Street Culture” offers clues as to how music serves as an influencer for street culture and styles (2018). His influencers offer the opportunity to understand how many street styles burgeon from individuals with passionate connections to specific styles of music. These connections lead to visual representations of the music within street styles to the point the music and the dress are so entangled that they emerge as both a music scene and a subculture. Within new or revived music scenes, people (usually youth) in urban areas manifest the musical notes/ tones and associated messages and ideologies into styles distinct from contemporary fashion trends. Since both music and fashion reflect cultural, political, and social movements, street styles emerging from music scenes have the power to reinforce and strengthen said movements. An example of this reflexive construction is Grunge. In the 1990s, the Grunge music scene emerged in Seattle, Washington, and quickly spread along the West Coast and eventually around the world. Grunge music introduced Punk’s aggressive guitars and drums within Blues/Rock melodies but with gut-wrenchingly honest lyrics. The dress stylings of Kurt Cobain from the band Nirvana and Courtney Love from the band Hole became the standard for Grunge street style and included distressed plaid shirts, T-shirts, and jeans for both men and women, reflecting the blue-collar

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Figure 26.1 The Heavy Metal street style incorporates black clothing, long hair, and concert T-shirts, as well as an instrument when appropriate.

working-class dress. Additionally, women and persons identifying as women were challenging normative female dress expectations by pairing masculine items with feminine dress, such as wearing combat boots with a babydoll dress (i.e., youthful high-waist dress with a hem above the knees). The juxtaposition between the feminine dress and the masculine plaid working class shirt visually conveyed the Grunge ideology, but the Grunge street style varied depending on geography, resources, and influencers. 314

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The significance of the Grunge street style was three-fold. First, Grunge demonstrated its connections with Punk ideology and music, which were evident in their chosen (working class) dress of plaid and distressed materials, as well as drawing inspiration from Punk dystopian music tropes. Second, the subculture’s street style presented an innovative combination of subcultural elements with new sociopolitical messages embedded in alternative dress. Third, and most importantly, Grunge dress established the visual identity of this new social, cultural, and political movement, which also reflected the associated music scene and the ideology.

Street styles as fashion Street styles and subcultural dress are not commonly recognized as “fashion” or part of the Western fashion canon because these types of non-canon dress are more commonly labeled as “alternative” or “antifashion.” Flügel, from Psychology of clothes (1930), informs this discussion of fashion/anti-fashion as while fashion is modern and subject to change, anti-fashion is stationary and does not (seem) to participate in a known fashion system (p.  140). Polhemus and Proctor noted that “anti-fashion refers to all styles of adornment which fall outside of the organized system or systems of fashion change” (1978, p. 16, see also Polhemus, 1994). The label “anti-fashion” is a common descriptor for dress that diverges from the Western fashion system in adaptation, adoption, efficiency, and/or interpretation, and further challenges its Eurocentric bias (Winge, 2012). Inherent within globalization, distinct features and characteristics of cultures and ethnicities cyclically blend together, emerge distinct, and re-blend; the meanings and implications of what constitutes “fashion” needs to adjust in order to more accurately reflect the ways styles and fashion happen around the world. Furthermore, the term “anti-fashion” has contemporary connections with sartorial practices suggesting intentional opposition to contemporary mainstream Western fashions, resulting from its association with subcultural dress. Consequently, the label of “anti-fashion” is problematic because of associated outdated assumptions and binary perspectives about dress and appearance practiced only within Western fashion systems that relegate street styles to “anti-fashion.”

Marketing street styles Although wearers of street styles are expressing their creativity and innovation in dress in subcultural scenes, there is a business and financial side for this alternative dress. Marketing and forecasting firms/groups observe street styles for possible trends and innovative but beneficial elements to be consumed within the more traditional fashion system. These observations take place while walking along actual city streets, which limit which street styles are recognized and incorporated into fashion. The Internet and more importantly social media made viewing street styles more accessible. Subsequently, street styles emerge around the world within remote areas and not only urban environments. In this way, the Internet not only disseminates the styles but also provides access to global social movements, music scenes, and retail sources that may inspire and contribute to street styles. The proliferation of street styles appears to have risen in recent years; however, accessibility on the Internet beyond the urban streets causes this assumption. Social media and blogs contributed significantly to the discovery and prominence of street styles in two primary ways. First, unlike the random strangers walking by uncaring observers on urban streets, social media provides a space for street styles to also be presented to an eager audience. Negative responses are inherent in this dissemination process, but there are also positive reinforcements that do not commonly happen in street-level interactions. Second, from this new diverse audience, street styles are inspiring mimicry beyond subculture followings of the past, which are further disseminated via social media. The Western fashion system benefits significantly from street styles both in the ways it gives inspiration and distinction to mainstream styles. Mainstream fashions are inspired and influenced by street styles, 315

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which is primarily accomplished by sending trendspotters into the street and on the Internet. Western high-end fashion designers commonly draw on street styles inspired by music scenes. For example, North American fashion designer Anna Sui is informed by the 1960s Hippie subculture’s street styles for her bohemian fashion collections (Steele & Solero, 2000). The Hippie subculture was well known for its connections to the related music scene, where images of street styles from subcultural events such as Woodstock were disseminated and still circulate, establishing the stereotypical Hippie aesthetics and styles. Sui exploited those musical connections to the Hippie styles, which has led to some of her most successful fashion shows. Also, European designers John Galliano and Alexander McQueen were inspired by the Goth street styles for several couture fashion collections shown on global fashion runways (Steele & Park, 2008). The Goth music and subculture scene is thriving around the world, but Galliano’s and McQueen’s designs interpreted the Gothic scenes and dress into fashions that reflected the aesthetic without the ideology. And, the most noteworthy co-opting of street styles is North American fashion designer Tommy Hilfiger, who copied dress elements from the emerging Hip-Hop and Rap subcultures of New York City’s African American youth. Hilfiger was especially drawn to their nascent street styles as inspiration for his sportswear fashion collections in the late 1980s and 1990s, which he then sold back to these subcultures (Hilfiger, 1997). As previously mentioned, MTV also contributed to ushering in new brands and marketing that could capitalize on the newfound intersections of music and dress. The band merchandise carried at Hot Topic retail store chains was difficult to secure outside of urban centers. Hot Topic’s first foray into being a street style influencer and provider was band concert T-shirts. Many street styles include band T-shirts, but securing one away from the purview of a live concert was challenging before retailers carried them. Bootleg or non-licensed band concert T-shirts could be purchased from itinerant sellers or in an independent music retailer, which were used in street styles but usually lacked quality (i.e., misspelled band name, flimsy fabric, low quality prints, etc.). Hot Topic sells street styles by promoting music scenes that are visually dynamic and appealing to subculture members. In most cases, street styles visually represent a rejection of mainstream fashions and values, as well as the Western fashion system. Accordingly, the wearer interprets the rejection as adding value to the style and thereby gaining agency. Conversely, if specific street styles are judged as fashionable, the dress is consumed and marketed to the mainstream, losing its subcultural cache. In this way, street styles become fashion capital when purchased and worn within the established Western fashion system.

Undressing street styles The visual culture of urban streets includes everything in view, from the stately architecture to the discarded trash, but cannot be examined in isolation from its urban environment and sociopolitical structures. The visual and material culture of street styles intertwines with prompts from the zeitgeist, popular culture, and the city’s culture, as well as additional influencers previously mentioned. As these prompts and influencers evolve and change, street styles reflect the vitality of lifestyles. For example, the street styles of the Punk subculture in London differed from those of New York City. While both shared common dress guidelines, such as distressed pants and jackets, blue collar clothing (plaid shirts, T-shirts, jeans, etc.), there were geographic distinctions in dress. The availability and adoptability of certain dress items varied depending on geography, manufacturing, resources, and retail structures. Dr. Martens’ boots, for example, were limited in their availability in the United States in the last 1970s and early 1980s. These boots were essential dress for the UK Punk subculture, but Dr. Martens’ boots started out as work boots for factory workers (Roach, 2003). Still, Dr. Martens’ boots are closely associated with the Punk subcultural street styles around the world, which reflects their original association with, as well as rejection and subversion of, the working-class values and dress. 316

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Figure 26.2  North American Punk street style commonly includes black boots, plaids, and body modifications.

The gaze at street level The relationship between consumer (being both the viewer and the wearer) and street styles establishes the dress’ cultural value. The concept of the “gaze,” introduced by Lacan, reflects both the activities of viewing and/or being viewed (1978, p. 105). Lacan asserted that viewing oneself in the mirror and being viewed by 317

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others establishes self-differentiation and identification (1978, p. 105). Similarly, Sartre argued that “gaze” is the activity that assists in defining and redefining the self and its presentation (1956). Following Lacan’s and Sartre’s discussions, the gaze functions to reinforce the individual identity being projected by wearing and displaying a given street style. This gaze further suggests that once dress and styles are displayed and viewed, the individual loses autonomy of one’s appearance, style, and associated identity. Some viewers may even choose to assume portions or all of the street styles previously observed. In this way, the gaze is a crucial component of the dissemination and encouragement for new street styles. Lacan further suggested that individuals imagine being viewed by others (1978, p. 105), which informs the ways street styles are presented and displayed both in person and online. These aforementioned types of presentations involve the individual anticipating being viewed and then displaying a specific style for others to visually consume. Furthermore, the wearer has anticipation of reactions, such as rejection or acceptance. Stone identified this behavior as Program and Review (1962), where individuals “program” or style their dress, becoming more inclined to repeat a style if reinforced by peer acceptance. The reactions to rejection from the mainstream, whether assumed or explicit, encourage the continuation of subcultures and street styles. In direct contrast to reinforcement/rejection from peer groups regarding dressing styles and aesthetics (Stone, 1962), the public evaluations of street styles are without preference for the person. The public display of innovative aesthetics and styles reveals the conspicuous consumption of their influencers and surroundings (Veblen, 1994/1899). Street styles serve as evidence of the wearer’s conspicuous consumption of elements in the zeitgeist and popular culture influences. This is due in part to the ways the dress visually represents the amounts of money, time, and effort spent to purchase or create the specific style. The display of their styles drawn from the urban environment further demonstrates their rejection of the mainstream dress norms. In addition, Sartre claimed that through use of the “gaze” the individual recognizes the self as the object (1956, p. 110). Correspondingly with distinction, Laura Mulvey purported the “male gaze” projects his fantasies onto the woman, as she becomes the object when being viewed (1989, p. 19). In this way, within the male gaze, the woman becomes the object when the subject of the heterosexual male gaze, rendering her powerless and objectified. In contrast to Mulvey, bell hooks argues that women are not necessarily passive when the subject of the gaze because they mitigate and confront the male gaze with “oppositional gaze” where women demonstrate “resistance and agency” (1992, p. 121). This is particularly problematic when considering women’s appearances as interpreted when wearing street styles. Pierre Bourdieu offers that women are viewed as symbolic objects whose being (esse) is a being-perceived (percipi) and has the effect of keeping them in a permanent state of bodily insecurity, or more precisely of symbolic dependence. They exist first through and for the gaze of others, that is, as welcoming, attractive and available objects. (2001, p. 66) Accordingly, women in the urban environments dressed in street styles are likely to attract additional gaze beyond the dress or styles used.

Street styling coding Dress and sartorial practices “may be used to make sense of the world and the things and people in it, that they are communicative phenomena . . . the structured system of meanings, a culture enables individuals to construct an identity by means of communication” (Barnard, 2002, p. 32). Accordingly, urban street styles are encoded with sociopolitical visual messages reflecting the ideology and (desired) identity of the wearer. In the same ways that dress contributes to the construction of identity, street styles provide a visual framework from which to design an outward identity. 318

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The sartorial practice of street styles functions as a means for expressing identity and agency for the wearer. Dress in its many forms is an invaluable indicator for the ways clothing, accessories, and even makeup function as sartorial social phenomenon. Ideally, street styles offer pathways for negotiation and construction of identities. Moreover, Malcolm Barnard suggests dress functions as “social hieroglyphics” (2002, pp. 8–9). Street styles offer new symbolic meanings reflecting influencers and sociopolitical factors, such as music or politics. Accordingly, by dressing in novel and innovative ways, street style wearers are exploring divergent identities and intersectionality reflecting the positionality of the individual and influencers. Furthermore, Stevenson suggests that society commonly uses “semiotic material cultures . . . in order to make social life meaningful, critique practices of domination, and to allow for the recognition of difference under conditions of tolerance and mutual respect” (1997, p. 42). Street styles function as points of sociopolitical intersections, where individuals participate in the construction of society’s social structure/ framework through the use of material culture (i.e., dress) and its public display. Hebdige further argues that subculture members appropriate objects from existing material culture to create their innovative bricolage dress (1979, pp.  18, 102–104). Accordingly, street styles evolve from outside influencers, and the material culture of social urban environments resides primarily in the artifacts of dress. The assemblage of street styles requires a creative and resourceful individual. Even securing specific items of dress demands resourcefulness of the wearer, which includes combing the Internet, shopping second-hand stores, and/or identifying retailers. The actual items of dress tend to be recognizable bricolage clothing and accessories but, when worn together in novel ways, create a new visual identity.

The body The human body is commonly dismissed as not an influencing factor that impacts the material structure and silhouette of the dress. On the other hand, the body plays a significant role in street styles. Clothing drapes on and wraps around the body, accessories emphasize specific body areas, and body modifications are imprinted on the body. Thus, a reciprocal exchange of meaning exists between street styles and the body. The subcultural body utilizes all aspects of dress to visually communicate their identity, subcultural ideology, and rejection of mainstream dress and norms. The Hip-Hop and Rap subcultures, for example, position the body as an intimate portion of the designated street styles. The body is prominently featured despite the predominance of oversized clothing in the early music scene that continues today, (e.g., the male body featured with low-slung pants revealing underwear-clad buttocks). Certain body types lend themselves to specific sartorial practices and identities. As a result, some street styles exclude specific body types by virtue of the chosen dress and preferred styling, while other alternative dress actively includes diversity in size, shape, and color. Accordingly, emerging from street styles, specific body types become popular or favored for visually representing alternative and/or subcultural lifestyles within street styles. Lolitas disguise an adult body beneath childlike dresses, which diminishes and deconstructs the cultural understanding of feminine maturity. In this way, women and men with smaller frames and diminutive breasts are ideal to achieve the Japanese Lolita aesthetic. In recent years, however, Western representations of Lolitas have become curvier and more sexualized than the original street style. Moreover, the body is gestural and performative in its nature of movement. The ways the human body is structured and moves contribute to the overall visual messages of the dress. Since dress embodies modes of self-expression, the body is the frame on which street styles are displayed and carry visual messages of symbolic interactions. Heavy Metal street styles personify masculinity and sexuality, which capitalizes on rugged physical bodies that reflect similar aesthetics as well as long hair exemplifying potent power and aggression, which is reflected in its musical themes. 319

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Street styles in popular culture In addition to fashion designers being inspired or co-opting aspects of street styles into their designs and collections, street styles also contribute to popular culture in a number of ways. Movies and televisions series, for example, utilize these stylized appearances to establish a non-mainstream or alternative identity. Additionally, numerous online and print magazines dedicate portions of content to featuring images of actual persons photographed walking city streets. The ubiquitous presence of social media platforms offers individuals venues to display their street styles. Individuals post their street styles to Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube, where “friends,” “followers,” “subscribers,” and others view these new styles as well as leave comments/feedback. The resulting feedback loop and dissemination of styles is immediate, which creates continual introductions to new styles and recycling of previous fashions. Subsequently, these styles are disseminated beyond their urban neighborhoods and social groups, which in turn impacts and is impacted by worldwide influences. Street styles are continually under scrutiny by the media, fashion industry, and public, while at the same time being celebrated as “eye-candy” and attention-grabbing that results in magazine sales and mouse clicks. In fact, the search for “street styles” in the fashion district by fashion bloggers and media in the hopes of finding the next new fashion trend is raising questions of authenticity for subcultural street styles.

Authenticity and post-authenticity Accordingly, the authenticity of these styles is questioned as street styles are dissected for their originality according to the viewer’s experiences with sartorial practices and subcultures. I deconstruct the example of Die Antwoord and its performances, visual style, and its members as depicted on stage and in music videos, in an attempt to understand the contentious authenticity of perceived global identity(ies) in popular culture. The Zef street style, which originated in South Africa with the band Die Antwoord, is derived from South African urban settings. Zef street styles, however, have additional influences that come from contemporary globalization (i.e., fast fashion – fast production, low quality, disposable; ethnic dress; and the Internet). Yolandi Visser, Ninja, and DJ Hi-Tek are the members of Die Antwoord (Afrikaans meaning “the answer”). The band self-identifies their genre of music as “rap-rave,” but similar to the complexities of their songs, Die Antwoord defies a simple hyphenated label. Ninja and Yolandi stated in interviews and on social media posts their identification with and embodiment of Punk ideals and aesthetics. They sing/ speak in Afrikaans, Xhosa, and/or English languages; frequently, the lyrics are delivered in more than one language within a single song punctuated with profanity and aggressive, driving beats. Their provocative and antagonistic music performances and videos are greeted by both cult-like fans and censuring critics. Die Antwoord claims their music and appearances represent the Zef style (and subculture), which glorifies lower-class modalities within conflated hyper-idealized Western constructs of gender and sexuality. Die Antwoord is highly criticized for being “fake” or not genuine, and by extension the Zef street style has also come under scrutiny. The Zef street style, however, reflects the diversity and innovation of its global inspirations. Similar to the ways Zef music combines English and Afrikaner languages for the lyrics, the street styles combine past subcultural street styles (Punk hairstyles), ethnic dress (kimono), and contemporary fast fashion (Joe Boxer brand garments). Zef style being disseminated primarily via the Internet, particularly social media, has led to its “post-authenticity” label. The label of “post-authenticity” is an attempt to describe a new entity that falls outside of current criteria for understanding genuineness. The inability to evaluate the aspects of the world using past measures complicates the assessing of the authenticity of street styles. Subsequently, the “post-authenticity” label is given to many contemporary sub/cultural movements and dress. Correspondingly, there is an assumption that subcultures and street styles lack criteria for establishing authenticity and are thus deemed fake or worthless. 320

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Today, Hip-Hop street styles still vary from coast to coast in North America and in recent years, locations such as Atlanta, Georgia, have burgeoning Hip-Hop street styles and music scenes closely connected to AfroPunk and AfroFuturism. Hip-Hop, however, also has a presence in other parts of the world. In Japan, street styles reflecting the Hip-Hop aesthetic are evident but frequently lack tangible connections to the originating subculture and related music. In this way, Japanese versions of Hip-Hop street styles lack authenticity if evaluated by its original incarnations in the United States. Contemporary subcultures, such as Seapunk and Normcore, face additional scrutiny because of their use of social media and the Internet, which further removes their street styles from being recognized as authentic (Winge, 2018). Currently, assessing street styles as “post-authentic” tends to diminish the influence it has in the world, which leads to street styles being misunderstood as superficial without meaning. In this case, the label of “post-authenticity” does not necessarily encourage a better understanding of street styles or their subcultural ties to resistance of the mainstream. As images of street styles are circulated via social media and interpreted by anyone with an Internet connection, assumptions of universal human experiences related to sartorial practices are inevitable. Street styles visually challenge the boundaries of normative and mainstream dress while also offering genuine expressions of individuality and even extend beyond the individual with connections to the wearer’s reference group (subculture) and ideology.

Conclusion Music scenes commonly stimulate the emergence of associated street styles, which evolve to incorporate the new stimuli and data over time. In this way, street styles become visual representations of these music scenes. Furthermore, these assemblages of clothing, body modifications, and accessories dress the body in codes decipherable by viewers through nonverbal communication cues embedded in the street styles. In this way, street styles hold a significant place within popular culture as indicators of establishing subcultural identity/ies and even future fashion trends, where the authenticity of these street styles is grounded in the music scenes they represent. While subcultural and high-fashion street styles share many similarities as sartorial practices and representations that imprint individuals with specific influencers and urban surroundings, these individual styles also stand distinct from one another in four significant ways. First, subcultural street styles are sartorial expressions, carefully crafted and displayed as conspicuous consumption in order to visually communicate resistance against the expectations of the mainstream. Second, subcultural influences, such as music scenes, are vital to the aesthetics and overall visual messages of the street style. Third, the feedback loops for subculture members when in the public gaze, often evaluated in the fashion media, serve to negotiate and construct identity. Fourth, subcultural street styles further visually communicate dress codes for subcultural identity and related music scenes. Subcultural street styles, in these ways, mark the urban environment with innovative sartorial representations that can be read as visual communication of identity and positionality of the individual and influencers.

References Aoki, S. (2001). FRUiTS. London: Phaidon Press. Aoki, S. (2005). FRESH FRUiTS. London: Phaidon Press. Barnard, M. (2002). Fashion as communication (2nd Ed.). London and New York, NY: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (2001). Masculine domination (R. Nice, trans.). Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Cohen, S. (1972). Folk devils and moral panics. London: MacGibbon and Kee. Flügel, J. (1930). The psychology of clothes. London: Hogarth Press. Hebdige, D. (1979). Subculture: The meaning of style. London: Routledge. Hilfiger, T. (1997). All American. New York, NY: Universe Publishing. 321

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hooks, b. (1992). Black looks: Race and representation. New York, NY: South End Press. Lacan, J. (1978). Four fundamental concepts in psychoanalysis (J.-A. Miller, ed., A. Sheridan, trans.). New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Moore, J. G. (2017). Street style in America: An exploration. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood. MTV. (1986–2000; 2001–2003). 120 minutes. TV series. New York. MTV. (1987–1995). Headbangers ball. TV series. New York. Mulvey, L. (1989). Visual and other pleasures: Theories of representation and difference. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Nabokov, V. (1955). Lolita. New York, NY: Vintage International. Polhemus, T. (1994). Streetstyle: From sidewalk to catwalk. London: Thames & Hudson. Polhemus, T., & Proctor, L. (1978). Fashion and anti-fashion. London: Thames & Hudson. Roach, M. (2003). Dr. Martens: The story of an icon. London: Anova Books. Ross, J. I. (2018). Reframing urban street culture: Toward a dynamic and heuristic model. City, Culture and Society, 15(1), 7–13. Sartre, J. (1956). The look. In Being and nothingness. New York, NY: Philosophical Library. Steele, V., & Park, J. (2008). Gothic: Dark glamour. New York, NY: Yale University, Fashion Institute of Technology. Steele, V., & Solero, I. (2000). Fifty years of fashion: New look to now. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Stevenson, N. (1997). Globalization, national cultures and cultural citizenship. Sociological Quarterly, 38(1), 41–66. Stone, G. (1962). Appearances and the self. In A. M. Rose (Ed.), Human behavior and the social processes: An interactionist approach (pp. 86–166). New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin. Svendsen, L. (2006). Fashion: A philosophy (J. Irons, trans.). London: Reaktion Books Limited. Veblen, T. (1994/1899). The theory of the leisure class: An economic study of institutions. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Winge, T. M. (2008). Undressing and dressing Loli: A search for the identity of the Japanese Lolita. Mechademia: An Annual Forum for Anime, Manga and Fan Arts, 3(1), 47–63. Winge, T. M. (2012). Body style. Oxford: Berg. Winge, T. M. (2017). Tokyo subcultural street styles: Japanese street style as a uniform. East Asian Journal of Popular Culture, 3(1), 7–21. Winge, T. M. (2018). Do androids dream of electric sheep dressed in street fashions? Investigating virtually constructed fashion subcultures. In S. Hollan & K. Spracklen (Eds.), Subcultures, bodies and spaces: Essays on alternativity & marginalisation (pp. 13–26). Bingley: Emerald Publishing. Woodward, S. (2009). The myth of street style. Fashion Theory, 13(1), 83–101. Young, C. (2016). Style tribes: The fashion of subcultures. London: Frances Lincoln Limited.

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27 Reinventing luxury in the streets An assemblage view of the relationship between luxury brands and street culture Hélène de Burgh-Woodman

Introduction The scholarly attention paid to street culture frequently highlights the multifaceted nature of this enduring global phenomenon, while interpreting its more (g)local iterations. From the archetypal American street where street identities are enacted through a range of cultural registers to Japanese subcultures of Bosozoku (Winge, 2017), street culture is necessarily a difficult world to encapsulate, let alone define (Ross, 2018). Typically characterised through such lenses as urban dwelling, subcultural participation, criminality and gang activity, sometimes disadvantage and class distinction or resistance to authoritarian structures, the dynamics of street culture are complex and speak to a spectrum of human experience. To this end, we should be cautious as to whose experience of street culture we refer to when using this term. However, one constant strain that appears globally is an aesthetic sensibility, often performed through material goods (such as attire, accessories etc.) (Moore, 2017), art (Riggle, 2010; Molnár, 2018), reinvention of public spaces (Visconti, Sherry, Borghini, & Anderson, 2010) and a specific, codified appearance that aligns individuals with their street community (Baxter & Marina, 2008). Ranging from the specifically ‘gangsta’ aesthetic (the dynamics of which will be discussed further) through to more diverse expressions, the consumption and bodily enactment of a street aesthetic has remained a constant feature of this heterogeneous community. By contrast with the divergent fluxes and flows of street culture, research into the highly curated, gentile world of luxury continually emphasises its exclusive, historically embedded pedigree as a beacon of refined tastes, symbolic dominance and distinction (Assouly, 2005; Kapferer & Bastien, 2009; Dion & Arnould, 2011). Refracted through such as concepts as magic (Dion & Arnould, 2011), rarity (Kapferer, 2012) and art institutions akin to museums (Joy, Wang, Chan, Sherry, & Cui, 2014), the parameters that demarcate the luxury world are seen, at least by marketing commentators, as clarified and absolute. Luxury is the impermeable world in which the wealthy indulge and to which the middle-classes aspire. Despite claims to the ‘democratisation’ of luxury, the narrative of an unabashed, class-based sense of auratic elitism upon which brand credibility rests remains the essential ingredient for the survival of luxury houses. So, how is it then that these seemingly disparate worlds of street and luxury continue to seek resonance in one another, finding themselves enmeshed in a paradoxically symbiotic relationship of shared aesthetics, expressions and histories? As luxury brand mentions become the staple of rap, street artists design for major brands, hip-hop artists sit front row at Paris Fashion Week and street personalities work in collaboration with, or appear in advertising for, luxury houses, it is clear that these two 323

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worlds have drawn ever closer over recent decades. What is the material and expressive nature of this relationship and what value does it generate for certain street cultures and luxury houses? This complicated relationship between these two ‘worlds’ is a rich site to consider questions of how identities are constructed from apparently contesting influences, how these respective influences shape practices or symbolic usages for communities and individuals and how convergent/divergent rapports give rise to new expressions. Responding to these questions, this conceptual chapter draws upon Deleuzian assemblage thinking to interpret the culturally entwined relationship between street culture and luxury brands as a way of exploring street culture’s ability to navigate and utilise (seemingly) unexpected sources of cultural capital. Meanwhile, there is also the inverse question of how the uptake of luxury in street cultures impacts the rarefied luxury narrative. The traditional status of street culture as ‘gritty’, urban and diverse, and luxury as elite, removed and highly territorialised has long shifted where street culture consumers as arbiters of taste have impacted on the repositioning of luxury in terms of design, marketing and consumption. In doing so, reinventive expressions of luxury and new arenas for cultural participation among street consumers have emerged. The purpose of this chapter is to trace this emergence through the lens of assemblage thinking, arguing that the relationship between street and luxury can be usefully conceptualised as a complicated series of dynamic flows, multiplicities and deterritorialisations that impact both street and luxury to give rise to particular articulations of identity and marketplace participation.

Assemblages The concept of ‘the assemblage’ has received considerable attention across a range of disciplines. This interactive approach to multiple components working together to form a bounded, identifiable entity has proven useful for interpreting a range of marketplace experiences such as consumer communities (Thomas, Price, & Schau, 2013; Scaraboto & Fischer, 2016) and brand identities (Lury, 2009; Entwistle & Slater, 2012, 2013; Parmentier & Fischer, 2015; Rokka & Canniford, 2016). Equally, assemblage theory has been used to understand social and urban studies (Brenner, Madden, & Wachsmuth, 2011; MacFarlane, 2011; Acuto & Curtis, 2014; Simandan, 2018), geography and archaeology (Dittner, 2014; Burnham, Ma, & Zhang, 2016; Hamilakis, 2017) and youth studies (Woodman & Bennett, 2015; Handyside & Ringrose, 2017; McGimpsey, 2017). The term ‘assemblage’ was initiated by Deleuze and Guattari (1980) in Mille Plateaux as part of a broad philosophy of seeing social, political and cultural flows in a constant state of formation and reformation or, as Wise (2005) suggests, a contingent “becoming that brings elements together” (p. 91) for a duration and in a bounded way. As Wise (2005) points out, assemblages are not merely a random collage of interacting components but rather “territories. Territories are more than just spaces: they have a stake, a claim, they express” (p. 92). In other words, assemblages are active amalgams, or alloys, to borrow from Rokka and Canniford (2016), that bring specific components together in order to act or express. Equally, assemblages are not solely composed of human capacities but take account of non-human or object-based components (Hoffman & Novak, 2018). Taking the disparate threads presented in Mille Plateaux, De Landa (2006) subsequently unified the theory as one concerned with “agentic systems of diverse components that interact with one another in ways that can either stabilize or destabilize an assemblage’s identity” (p. 12). While De Landa’s development of an assemblage theory has been influential in tracing specific environments (such as De Landa’s own investigations into the natural environment (2015)), Deleuze and Guattari’s core contribution of assemblage thinking as a way of seeing interactions, flows and reformations of social forces forms the basis of our critique. However, in echoing Buchanan’s (2015) critique of De Landa’s formulation, it is important to remain alert to the fact that assemblages are not merely ‘part-whole’ relations or cumulative arrangements. Rather, they are relations grounded in flows of power wherein the concept of assemblage constitutes a mode of social analysis. 324

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In order to focus on how assemblage thinking might enable us to rethink the dynamic interplay between the luxury and street worlds, we should first define the parameters and attributes of an assemblage. When asked what the main contribution of Mille Plateaux (1987 [1980]) was, Deleuze and Guattari commented that it was the idea of the assemblage (1987[1977]). He defined the assemblage as a multiplicity which is made up of many heterogeneous terms and which establishes liaisons, relations between them across ages, sexes and reigns – different natures. us, the assemblage’s only unity is that of co-functioning: it is a symbiosis, a ‘sympathy’. It is never filiations which are important, but alliances, allows; these are not successions, lines of descent, but contagions, epidemics, the wind. (Deleuze & Parnet, 1987/1977, p. 69) In this commentary, Deleuze draws our attention to the notion that although assemblages are territorialised into a tangible entity, they are not fixed or even necessarily enduring (as they are only co-functioning alliances). Equally, the internal components are symbiotic, not mutually reliant. This acknowledgement is key to understanding the street/luxury assemblage as one grounded in symbiosis rather than dependency. Müller’s (2016) taxonomy of the assemblage as (a) relational, (b) productive, (c) heterogeneous, (d) deterritorialising and reterritorialising and (e) desired foregrounds Nail’s (2017) identification of assemblages as (a) conditional, (b) concrete and (c) agentic. That is, assemblages are contingent upon the internal and external conditions that bring elements together, they act through material and expressive capacities and have an agent through which they act. Taken together, both Nail and Müller direct attention to the bounded, tangible nature of assemblages but also their capacity to change or deterritorialise. Nail (2017) captures four potential deterritorialisations: (1) “relative negative” processes that change an assemblage in order to maintain and reproduce an established assemblage; (2) “relative positive” processes that do not reproduce an established assemblage, but do not yet contribute to or create a new assemblage – they are ambiguous; (3) “absolute negative” processes that do not support any assemblage, but undermine them all; and (4) “absolute positive” processes that do not reproduce an established assemblage, but instead create a new one. (p. 34) Thus, deterritorialisation has the potential to either energise or destroy the assemblage, which may lead to either decimation (absolute negative) or reformation of a new assemblage that becomes a reterritorialisation. As Buchanan (2015) suggests, deterritorialisation does not occur incrementally. Instead, the intervention of different components disrupts the extant assemblage relatively swiftly, forcing it into a state of reterritorialising or decline. As the subsequent discussion will illustrate, it is in this constant process of de-and reterritorialisation undertaken by assemblages that the relationship between street culture and luxury markets may be located.

Street culture The term ‘street culture’ has been used to refer to a number of different environments, communities and practices around the world. While it is complex to capture all of the strains as they unfold across different contexts, the purpose of this review is to situate the elements of street culture that form the basis of the street/luxury assemblage. Originating in the United States, the term typically points to a set of practices or attitudes underpinned by a resistance to mainstream authority structures enacted in urban milieux (Decker & Weerman, 2005; Stapleton & Terrio, 2012), concomitant criminality or violence (Ilan, 2015), potential formation of, or participation in, gangs (Venkatesh, 2008) and an unfolding of the effects of disenfranchisement or poverty (Jacobs & Wright, 1999; Baxter & Marina, 2008). While most global 325

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communities have some form of street culture, the model for practice remains an essentially American one as aesthetic, artistic and material referents remain dominated by American cultural cues. For this reason, the street/luxury assemblage as it is subsequently interpreted here is primarily informed by American street culture. Enframed within specific contexts of urbanity (Stapleton & Terrio, 2012; Fox, 2015), street culture both defines, and is defined by, expression through actions, art, modes of appearance and consumption practices. Although the use of the term has now extended to more gentile cultural practices, such as the referencing of alternative or ‘out of commercial market’ activities such as fashion bloggers who situate outside of the intended marketing discourse established by commercial firms, the strict sense of the term continues to reference specifically urban communities whose identities are defined by relatively clear practices, symbolisms and behaviours enacted on the street. Underpinned by class, race and marginalisation complexities, the term necessarily refers to a particular experience of life in the city. Ross’s (2018) definition of street culture is instructive in shaping a perspective on the dynamics that drive these particular communities. Drawing from Anderson (1999/2013), Bourgois (2003) and Ilan (2015), he outlines street culture as The beliefs, disposition, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers. (p. 8) While much has been made of the criminal or gang aspects and the violence that accompanies them, Ross’s definition offers a nuanced account that directs our attention to the specific practices, rituals and aesthetics that also inform and animate street cultures. Such practices include the development of particular modes of appearance or fashions (Baxter & Marina, 2008), street art such as graffiti (Visconti et al., 2010; Awad, Wagoner, & Glaveanu, 2017), embodied activities such as parkour (Kidder, 2012; Stapleton & Terrio, 2012), music such as hip-hop and rap (Podoshen, Andrzejewski, & Hunt, 2014; Branwell, 2015) and conspicuous consumption – often associated with the emblematic figure of the ‘gangsta’ (Watts, 1997). This conspicuously, though not exclusively, American gangsta figure, whose contemporary iteration in the commercial context has evolved into what Holmes Smith (2003) has termed the hip-hop mogul, is perhaps one of the most visible and empowered tropes to emerge from street culture. Drawing on the grassroots reality of the gangsta, Holmes Smith (2003) defines the hip-hop mogul as someone who “bears the stamp of American tradition, since the figure is typically male entrepreneurial, and prestigious” (p. 69). But he is also “typically young, typically Africa-American, and typically tethered either literally or symbolically to America’s disenfranchised inner cities” (p. 69). Born of street culture, the hip-hop mogul as (either real or perceived) ex-gangsta figure has successfully penetrated mainstream American culture, appearing as a music artist, celebrity, marketeer, powerbroker and style influencer (Hunter, 2011). This ironic figure draws upon a backdrop of disenfranchisement, poverty, criminality and gang association to legitimate his status as authentic and successful, signalling the possibility of upward social mobility, wealth and power attainment for those still living in the urban milieu via the escape hatch of music. The hip-hop mogul has elevated hip-hop, R&B and rap out of the streets and into mainstream global music markets with most countries developing their own local styles. Equally, according to the 2018 Nielson Report, rap and R&B music sales constituted the largest sales volume in its home country, the USA, with 31% market share, overtaking Pop for the first time. The gangsta, come hip-hop mogul, is significant in understanding the culture and currency of street life. Emerging from poverty or the lower-classes, the gangsta’s credibility resides in the ability to navigate and dominate street life, utilising street smarts, hyper-masculinity, community embeddedness (often through gangs) and violence to survive and inspire music, fashion and art. This will to wealth and power is expressed through the conspicuous consumption of luxury goods (Baksh-Mohammed & Callison, 2014; Podoshen et al., 2014) and alignment with luxury brands (Skinner, 2003). If the gangsta is a 326

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symbol of street mastery then the hip-hop mogul is the commercial realisation of its embodied power – or to recast in assemblage terms, if the gangsta is a material component then the hip-hop mogul is its expressive counterpart. However, this symbolic and actual figure is caught between the traditional discourse of black empowerment and the market forces of capitalist conspicuousness (Holmes Smith, 2003; Hunter, 2011). Seen as something of a sell-out to the social equity aspirations of black rights movements, the modern escapee from the streets as the voice of marginalised street dwellers assumes this voice through the display of conspicuous consumption. Preaching not messages of social justice and equity but rather demonstrations of social mobility through luxury consumption, the expressive dynamic of the hip-hop mogul has had tangible impact on the shaping of social identity and the definition of opportunity. Less concerned with advocating for educational opportunity, civil rights and self-realisation through liberation from violence, criminality and poverty, the expressive hip-hop mogul speaks for, and to, the streets through conspicuous consumption. In one sense, the connection with the street as a site of disenfranchisement must be maintained since, as Holmes Smith (2003) points out, this ‘authentic’ connection is vital for the hip-hop mogul’s brand credibility. But, on the other, the streets are disdained by this newly successful figure of who seeks to climb the social ladder. This figure, at once distant but emblematic, sets the stage for a keen focus on conspicuous consumption as the marker of distinction and social inclusion (Lamont & Molnár, 2001), even if it remains a sign often void of meaningful social opportunity. The study of consumption patterns among different demographics confirms how conspicuous consumption of luxury goods in particular is perceived as a marker of social inclusion among traditionally marginalised groups. Charles, Hurst, and Roussanov (2009) found that American Latinos and African-Americans spent 30% more on visibly high-value goods than white Americans, Mazzocco, Rucker, Galinksy, and Anderson (2012) found that self-identified lower-class African-Americans had particular affinity for status-oriented goods and Podoshen et al. (2014) found that the attainment of high-value, conspicuous goods was prioritised for African-Americans as a sign of social distinction. Equally, Jacobs and Wright (1999) found that the obtainment of luxury goods as social markers worked as significant motivators for crime among certain street culture participants, noting that “what set these offenders apart from ‘normal citizens’ was their willingness to spend large amounts of cash on luxury items to the detriment of more pressing financial concerns” (p. 156). So, while the hip-hop mogul may represent a social aspiration through luxury consumption, it is nonetheless an aspiration to which street culture members are willing to apply themselves in their material lives to the detriment of other, potentially more affirming, consumption behaviours. It is this nexus between the aspirations of street culture participants, their symbolic stewards and luxury that forms the street/luxury assemblage.

Luxury marketplace culture By contrast with the multifaceted and ‘gritty’ nature of street culture, the world of luxury has traditionally been understood as a highly curated, somewhat homogeneous, bastion of exclusivity. The scholarly, or even marketplace, definition of ‘luxury’ is frequently contested with some directing attention to the symbolic or auratic elements of goods, brands and services that denote a life of refinement, elegance, affluence and quality (Reddy & Terblanche, 2005) or goods and brands that highlight some element of exclusivity or scarcity (Kapferer, 2001; Beverland, 2003). Others direct attention to the superior technical or product quality dimensions of luxury products (Hanna, 2004). While distinctions might be drawn between the symbolic or actual value of luxury goods and services (and the prestige brands that drive them), the ‘world of luxury’ is permeated with connotations of wealth, status and high cultural capital that shape an enviable lifestyle of privilege and taste (Ordabayeva & Chandon, 2011; Kastinakis & Balanbanis, 2012). Kapferer (2012) further suggests that the attainment of a luxury lifestyle has historically defined social stratas (and continues to do so in certain countries), underpinned by a business model marked by artificial withholding of product so as to create ‘abundant rarity’, justifiably high prices and total control over the 327

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entire supply chain through to the retail space. Auratic retail experiences designed to either affirm elite consumer status, intimidate those who enjoy only a peripheral relationship with luxury (Dion & Borraz, 2017) or overwhelm consumers with the museum-like aesthetic of the artistic retail space (Joy et al., 2014) work to continually define social class and stoke the fires of desirability for those who aspire to live a luxury-filled lifestyle. The close alignment between luxury brands and creative communities such as artists, celebrities, fashion media and the all-important artistic directors who become celebrity visionaries in their own right (such as Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs, Karl Lagerfeld.) (Dion & Arnould, 2011) consolidated through creative ventures such as auxiliary physical museum sites (the Fondation Louis Vuitton, the Dior Museum at Dior’s Normandy Summerhouse), short films in collaboration with noted film directors (David Lynch for Dior, Wes Anderson for Prada, Baz Luhrmann for Chanel), glossy coffee table books, touring exhibitions and so on further enhance the prestige, or ‘magic’ as Dion and Arnould (2011) suggest, of the luxury brands themselves, elevating them above the purview of the common or mainstream marketplace. Although the essence of luxury may remain deliberately ephemeral (Berthon, Pitt, Parent, & Berthon, 2009), the social stratification it endeavours to leverage through intimidating retail spaces (Dion & Borraz, 2017) and curated brand messaging to remain prestigious rests on some material characteristics. Just as Kapferer (2012) points to the end-to-management of quality assurance, stock availability and delayed consumer gratification, Brun and Castelli’s (2013) review of the luxury literature points to premium quality throughout the supply chain, a heritage of craftsmanship, exclusivity through scarce materials and limited editions, emotional appeal, global reputation, distinctive design and styling, country of origin effect (for instance, Italian leather craftsmanship), physical markers of uniqueness, superior technical performance and lifestyle aspiration as the key focus points for luxury success in the marketplace. Collectively, these attributes define both the products and story with which consumers engage. However, the long-held positioning of luxury as a world outside of the world of mainstream markets is challenged by the realities of a democratisation of luxury (Granot, Russell, & Brashear-Alejandro, 2013), with consumers focused on status recognition, self-expression and co-creational involvement (Silverstein & Fiske, 2003) and the participation of traditionally excluded demographics such as African-Americans ((Lamont & Molnar, 2001). On the one hand, luxury brands must seek to maintain their elite status, since this is clearly their allure and the justification for significantly elevated prices. On the other, the need to participate in an increasingly competitive marketplace with more choice available to a more diverse pool of consumers places luxury brands in the difficult position of having to extend their appeal to consumers beyond the traditional demographic and adapt their business models. As the 2018 Bain and Co/Altagamma Worldwide Luxury Monitor Report confirms, by 2025 subcultures will heavily influence luxury consumption patterns, Gen Z and Y consumers who favour transparency and self-expression over brand heritage stories will largely account for market growth (100% of growth in 2018) and online purchasing channels that render elaborate (and costly) retail spaces essentially symbolic will define the luxury terrain. Thus, luxury houses are continually faced with the need to reinvent their offerings while maintaining credibility and brand significance. It is in this relatively recent epoch of significant marketplace and cultural development that the street/luxury assemblage potentially forms as each finds its own necessary expressive and material components in the milieu of the other.

The components of the street/luxury assemblage The cross-pollination between street and luxury has been commentated by a range of media and scholarly observers (Spiegler, 1996; Morris & White, 2003; Skinner, 2003). However, the relationship has often been cast as recent, disruptive and unintended by luxury houses. For instance, in speaking of visual imagery for luxury French Champagne brands, Rokka and Canniford (2016) suggest that the mention

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of brands like Cristal in song lyrics and visual use in videos are “often at odds with the idealized and emblematic visual champagne brand identities and their projected lifestyles” (p. 1804). Yet, an analysis of the components of the street/luxury assemblage suggests that they share an enduring, symbiotic and consciously constructed synergy that challenges several of the research findings to date. In revisiting the questions posed earlier regarding how these seemingly disparate worlds of street and luxury continue to seek much resonance in one another and what their relationship is, the following illustration of the assemblage components starts to answer some of these queries. The Table 27.1 highlights the material and expressive sub-components of street and luxury and identities the main components that constitute the assemblage as a synergy.

Table 27.1 Material and expressive subcomponents of luxury and street. Physical/Material

Expressive

Component Synergy

Luxury

• • • • • • • • • •

Material • Urban • Object-driven • Global • Community-based Expressive • Niche • Auratic • Symbolic • Artistic • Conspicuous • Class-sensitive • Narrational • Self-expressive • Embodied

Street

• • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Urban Market and lifestyle-based Retail – spatial Online Object-driven Delineated in space Global Participant as consumer Brand communities Embodied

Urban Market and culture-based Street-spatial Online – social media Object and human-driven Dispersed through space Global Participant as member Real communities or gangs • Embodied

Niche Auratic Symbolic Refined Homogeneous Artistic Glamorous Conspicuous Avant-garde Risk-adverse Aspirational Narrational Self-expressive Class-elite White European heritage Classical Enduring Niche Auratic Symbolic Gritty Diverse Artistic Quotidien Conspicuous Edgy or criminal Risk-appetite Realistic Narrational Self-expressive Class-lower Non-white, non-European heritage • Contemporary • Evolving

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Material components Most significantly, street and luxury components share common being, or existence, in urban space. While luxury houses build their retail monuments in the prestigious parts of the city and street culture often unfolds in the lower socioeconomic areas, they are nonetheless both bound to the same temporal and spatial rhythms of the city for their survival. By contrast with the striated space of the (urban) state (Deleuze & Guattari, 1980) in which sedentary, or immobilising, forces constrain, this assemblage forms in smooth space, a space of affects, more than one of properties. It is haptic rather than optical perception. Whereas in striated forms organize a matter, in the smooth materials signal forces and serve as symptoms for them. It is an intensive rather than extensive space, one of distances, not of measures and properties. (p. 479) The conceptual coupling of striated (static) and smooth (open, fluid) space underpins the street/luxury assemblage as one that flows in space; while luxury houses are stationary, their material activities and expressive flows are not; street culture unfolds nomadically through space as participants move through their urban milieu. Equally, the assemblage is not spatially constrained by local boundaries since the smooth space extends out across territories and cultures i.e. global. This shared sense of space is smooth, fluid and rhizomic in the Deleuzian sense of having “no beginning or end; it is always in the middle, between things, interbeing, intermezzo” (1980, p.  25). Both street and luxury ‘crop up’ in cities, rhizomically emerging out of the ground (retail spaces) or spilling through streets “spreading towards available spaces or trickling downwards towards new spaces through fissures and gaps, eroding what is in its way” (Heckman, 2002). The assemblage is also object-driven. Mobile objects and humans inhabit this smooth space in which the street/luxury assemblage operates. Objects move about; symbolically marked with logos, class-signifiers, signs of status and presence, objects and humans nomadically flow through urban space, springing up only to disappear without trace. Luxury objects move, coming and going, often carried by street culture nomads who carry their material objects through divergent lines of flight. Gucci shirts end up on the floors of urban dwellings, a Vuitton bag conveys chocolate, mobile phones or any other bricolage through the streets, a Chanel necklace punctuates a fleeting moment of admiration as its wearer crosses paths with other street dwellers. (Luxury) objects are always in motion, flying away from their originating space (the store) to take on new lines of flight, new significations and new space. This is made possible by global street culture; the streets, with their nomadic community of messengers, create these regenerative paths. This material flow, territorialised within the urban milieu, is essential for the survival of luxury and street culture alike since dissemination of objects in space territorialises the presence of the brand and the material/expressive needs of its messenger.

Expressive components The expressive components of the assemblage are more complicated than its material components. If material components are captured in tangible space, objects and humans, the expressive components speak to more entangled, ephemeral multiplicities and flows, driven by deterritorialising creative, socio-cultural and embodied impulses. First, both street and luxury are niche, in that street culture has a bounded (or territorialised) history, narrative and expression of struggle, sometimes violence and resistance to authority structures. Conversely, luxury is territorialised in an expressive heritage of privilege, wealth and upholding of traditional conventions – thus forming assemblages within an assemblage. These dichotomous expressions clash but they do so on the same symbolic territory of class, aesthetics and social mobility. Although occupying opposite ends of the spectrum, they nonetheless work through the same expressive capacities or tropes. 330

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If we return to Holmes Smith’s figure of the hip-hop mogul, he enters the assemblage as an embodiment of street sensibilities, aesthetics and capacities grounded in the trope of class – that is, he emerges as an expressive component. His climb through social worlds occurs via the artistic agency of music, enabling him to enact a line of flight, an eruptive spillage into the terrain of luxury as a world of high-class distinction and cultural capital. As we have also shown, the mogul triggers a cascade effect for less enabled street culture participants who follow his path through conspicuous consumption even though it may not lead to the same social ascent. For most street dwellers, this is an essentially expressive journey born of aesthetic and self-realisation mobilisations that, in turn deterritorialises the bounded confines of luxury. If the mogul represents a line of flight, a becoming, it is becoming through class contestation via the interstices of markets (luxury), social status and symbolic command. But luxury, in turn, reterritorialises as a new assemblage – the street/luxury assemblage – galvanising around the new aesthetic, consumption and social capacities that the introduction of street makes possible. Expressive components are renewed, reenergised and so embark on their own lines of flight. The 2001 collaboration between Richard Sprouse and Vuitton to produce the street-referencing ‘Graffiti bag’, the Versace collaboration with hip-hopper 2 Chainz, the 2018 appointment of Illinois-born, African-American designer Virgil Abloh, a self-described streetwear designer, as the men’s artistic director for Vuitton, the appearance of rapper ASAP Rocky in Dior ads, the use of street artists in Gucci collections and the stylistic turn towards street by Givenchy and Balmain exemplify a commercial benefit but, for the assemblage, embody generative expressive capacities that catalyse new cultural and aesthetic becomings. This is not to say that class-sensibility ceases to exist but rather it activates the deterritorialisation of both street and luxury towards one another. The spillage across class hierarchies becomes the catalyst for new synergies and unexpected flows. Luxury and street, then, continue to work outside of the mainstream. In this sense, the assemblage maintains the niche aura of both components, reterritorialising each other’s outsider position. On the one hand, this introduces a tension into the assemblage since some of the expressive components of street such as criminality and conspicuous consumption challenge luxury as a signifier of tasteful refinement. On the other, this once-removed risk introduced into the assemblage enables luxury to express an element of daring and contemporaneity through the presence of street. Thus, the symbiotic flow between luxury and street components intensifies the assemblage’s expressive capacities by capturing each other’s auratic qualities. Luxury can refract edginess and conspicuousness through street and street culture can consolidate its cultural and aesthetic legitimacy through the aura of luxury. This symbiosis is expressed through narrative. While luxury and street tell quite different stories – one of heritage and craftsmanship, the other of resistance and struggle – these narratives converge to re-form one another. Former Fendi CEO Michael Burke captures this re-formation in identifying streetwear designer now artistic director Virgil Abloh’s creative ability to “create a metaphor and a new vocabulary to describe something as old-school as Fendi” (Friedman & Paton, 2018). This articulation of metaphor and vocabulary as the foundation of new synergies, new lines of flight, captures the essential narrative expressed through the assemblage.

Conclusion The purpose of this chapter is to use the assemblage lens to understand the dynamic flows, interplays and multiplicities that shape the enduring encounter between the ostensibly disparate worlds of street and luxury. However, as the assemblage reveals, this apparent disparity is not quite as clear-cut, nor as unexpected, as one might assume given that both street and luxury assemblage components share common terrains, histories and perspectives. Perhaps the most illuminating aspect of the street/luxury assemblage is the mutual performance and leveraging of class within a paradoxical milieu of social ascent and quasi-inclusion. Both components seek to exploit class hierarchies in order to ground a particular narrative or history of their origins. In the case of street, the class-informed narrative of disenfranchisement and dissent from mainstream authority gives rise 331

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to conspicuous consumption as a form of upward social mobility but also a politically charged ostentation that declares defiance and co-opting/reappropriating of traditional signifiers. For luxury, the alignment with street culture and its visible ambassadors simultaneously stratifies through its pedigree as a luxury label but also fetishises through the imbrication of street referents and symbolisms in order to generate progressive, relevant capacities. Both components of the assemblage share in the desire to symbolise aspiration, wealth and status but do so via mutual becoming, borrowing from each other’s capital and aesthetics. Thus, the assemblage reveals a dynamic flow of environmental (urban or city-based), artistic, attitudinal and class multiplicities that continually deterritorialise traditional components but also reterritorialise into new collective stories. The assemblage view challenges the classical view of luxury as it is typically positioned as a demarcated space in its own right and contests the view of street culture as a self-referential underworld. In acknowledging this, we are required to revisit our assumptions about how we interpret both components and how they influence the flows of social space. As one world spills forth to the other, we should reinterpret where we see the influence of street culture made manifest and re-evaluate the traditionally static view of luxury as two components woven into complex cultural fabrics and dynamic social hierarchies.

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28 Language and street culture in the big city Eivind Nessa Torgersen

Introduction Language has several purposes. One of the most important is its ability to refer to a unique cultural and linguistic identity and promote group belonging. That being said, various social factors have an effect on language use. The connection between language and street culture in linguistic research is very much associated with research on the language of groups of young male black speakers in the United States who speak African American Vernacular English (AAVE). Early sociolinguistic work in the United States by William Labov in New York and Philadelphia also specifically refers to street culture. Labov’s description of AAVE (1972a, p. xiii) states that its “relatively uniform grammar [is] found in its most consistent form in the speech of the black youth from 8 to 19 years who participate fully in the street culture of the inner cities”. Labov thus argues that there is a very close association between participation in street culture and the language of this group of young speakers. AAVE has also been referred to as ‘black street speech’ by Baugh (1983). In this chapter we will look at the purported influence of ‘black street speech’ on youth language elsewhere. What might be the linguistic outcome of participating in the street culture of the inner city?

Youth language in linguistic research The data presented in this chapter has been taken from sociolinguistic and ethnographic investigations of adolescents’ language use and language practices. Researchers often state that they are not (just) interested in the study of language, but also of culture. If you let informants know that you are investigating language, speakers will become very aware and may change the way they speak. Labov (1972a, p. 208) states that the analyst is interested in a way of speaking which is adopted in preadolescent years and how you speak when you are monitoring your own speech the least. This way of speaking is used and maintained in the adolescent peer group and is considered a special property of the group of speakers (Labov, 1972b, p. 257; Milroy, 1987, p. 58). Investigation of youth language has a central place in modern linguistic research. The type of linguistic research discussed in this chapter is part of sociolinguistics, which is concerned with examining effects of different social factors on language use. These include factors such as age, gender, level of education, ethnicity, friendship network, multilingualism and religion. This chapter will mainly look at speakers’ ethnicity 335

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and friendship network and their interactions’ effect on language. It is limited to the language of young people. This is due to the availability of recent research on language and street culture: existing relevant linguistic research of speakers enmeshed in street culture has typically included young speakers. Indeed, there is very little language variation research looking at older speakers specifically (Pichler, Wagner, & Hesson, 2018). Speaker age is often associated with social expectations for language use such as in the proportion of standard and non-standard language forms. Use of standard language forms is often associated with having a high level of education and being an adult. This is known as carrying overt prestige, which means that the forms are part of established language norms, described in grammar books and taught in schools. Conversely, non-standard forms have an expectation that the forms are ‘stigmatised’ and have ‘low prestige’. But non-standard forms may at the same time carry covert prestige (Trudgill, 1974): “prestige that is somehow endorsed below the surface of public discourse, but which leaves their ‘overt’ stigmatisation untouched” (Coupland, 2007, p. 43). Coupland argues that this is problematic because these evaluations are linked to speaker prototypes and not the linguistic forms themselves. People may also evaluate the same forms differently. Young speakers evaluate language forms differently from older speakers and youth language may of course also include non-standard forms. Language use can also be seen in light of social theory. If we assume that the language practices by some groups are in opposition to those of other groups who represent an assumed elite, established power structures, people with high status, a dominant culture and middle-class speakers, we can refer to Bourdieu’s theory (1991) of cultural capital: the value of different linguistic ‘markets’. Consider the latter as adults, ethnic-majority standard language speakers and the former young speakers who represent a subculture associated with street culture, low-status and minority-ethnic speakers. Here we are particularly interested in the language elements of speakers who are part of a subculture, who are ethnic-minority speakers, and non-standard language speakers who often are in opposition to the standard language of adults (Mallinson, 2009).

Young speakers and linguistic innovation Teenagers use language, often most noticeably words, which are different from those of their caregiver generation and they are considered being at “the focal point for linguistic innovation and change” (Tagliamonte, 2016, p. 3). Their crucial role in this process is recognised in a theoretical model of language change where teenagers have notably higher frequencies of different linguistic forms compared to their caregivers. When this difference has become stable, it results in language change (Labov, 2001). Part of this process is also linguistic innovation when teenagers do not just use forms of different frequencies, but also use entirely new forms that have not been described and documented previously. At the end of the adolescent years, teenagers’ linguistic system becomes more stable and the process of incrementation ends and they may keep this use of linguistic forms for the rest of their lives. Young people are therefore considered drivers of language change (Tagliamonte, 2016). They are frequent and competent users of new forms of electronic communication and social media. They are known for a high level of mobility and have frequent contact with other speakers. The adolescent years are also a period where there is rapid development and innovations in the speakers’ use of language. On one hand, there is often increased use of more standard-like and prestige language forms as speakers get older (Milroy, 1987) because of an increased awareness of the use of different language forms in particular contexts and awareness of registers (Coupland, 2007). On the other hand, teenagers use more slang and innovative linguistic forms than other age groups (Tagliamonte, 2016). Tagliamonte (2016, p. 30) also points out that teenagers are extremists in terms of language use and have high frequencies of certain words. They may overuse words that they will use less when they get older. Macaulay (2005) investigated language use among teenagers in Glasgow and found that working-class 336

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adolescent speakers use more taboo words than adolescent middle-class speakers. Conversely, young female speakers have higher degrees of verbal challenging, such as teasing each other, while young working-class male speakers have more use of address terms and references to violence. Lawson (2013) discusses such references to violence and masculinity, such as being a ‘hard man’ or a tough guy in stories told by Glasgow male speakers. Lawson argues that speakers use language to build and maintain an impression or distance themselves from being a ‘hard man’ in interactions with other speakers. Language use is therefore an important strategy in building or maintaining a specific persona. Linguists sample speakers in groups according to particular demographic characteristics. These groups of speakers can in turn be part of a homogeneous speech community with shared linguistic norms where all speakers take part in change process of the type described previously (Labov, 1966). However, not all speech communities can be considered homogeneous and that has implications for change processes. In multicultural speech communities, the change processes are much more complex due to a high level of migration and many speakers with different ethnic backgrounds. The higher number of available linguistic features, with different origins, has been referred to as a feature pool (Mufwene, 2001) from which speakers can select language forms and use them in different contexts depending on their linguistic identity, the conversational setting and the interlocutors. In London, researchers have used the notion of a feature pool to explain the development of Multicultural London English (MLE), which is a language variety used by mainly adolescent speakers of different backgrounds from inner-city areas (Cheshire, Kerswill, Fox, & Torgersen, 2011). Some of the speakers of MLE have additionally been described as linguistic innovators (Cheshire, Kerswill, Fox, & Torgersen, 2008) based on their high frequency use of innovative language forms not previously documented in the area. In this chapter we will look at the language of young speakers from London, but also speakers from other cities with a high level of immigration such as Manchester, Oslo and Copenhagen. We will see that cultural issues, including music, are linked to ‘black street speech’. One of the findings of studies that have looked at language in multicultural cities is that migration and language contact lead to linguistic innovation. Who are the linguistic innovators?

The role of the friendship network in linguistic innovation The linguistic innovator in the big city is typically an adolescent male aged around 16 who is a member of a dense multicultural friendship network (Cheshire et al., 2008; Fox & Torgersen, 2018). The probable reason is that male speakers have more friends of different backgrounds. However, Cheshire et al. (2008) identified linguistic innovators who were both males and females. The innovators’ particular ethnicity is usually of less importance. The most important factor is coming from the inner-city areas and having an ethnically diverse group of friends. The inner city of London has a long history of migration. There are high levels of ethnic diversity and language contact and it has been argued that this is the reason for the innovative linguistic forms that are observed there (Cheshire et al., 2011). It was found that male nonAnglo speakers (who are the speakers with short settlement history in the area) and Anglo speakers (white British speakers with longer settlement history in the area) in dense multicultural friendship networks had the highest proportion of the innovative features (Cheshire et  al., 2008; Torgersen, Gabrielatos, Hoffmann, & Fox, 2011). There is an awareness of language associated with speakers of other (i.e. ‘non-Anglo’) ethnicities who are not from there. An Anglo speaker from outside of London said this about his friend Kieran and how listening to music and your friends influence the way you talk: Derek: Definitely I mean Kieran who was in here earlier. Kieran who’s has always been from round these areas and this area does not have the accent that he speaks. But because he likes Drum and Bass and Garage and all that, so do a lot of black people. And because he’s joined that cult and joined the people involved in it, he has he’s created somewhat of a black accent. Erm I don’t think he knows he’s 337

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doing it anymore, but every now and again it sort of slips out and he sort of speaks like ‘dat’ and it’s you know, it’s it is strange it does happen erm It is unusual that there are comments on pronunciation as speakers are rarely aware of how they talk in terms of accent. Here, Derek says that Kieran “talks like dat”, (i.e. with a stop consonant /d/ and not a fricative consonant /ð/ which also is found in AAVE, known as TH-stopping) and refers to it as a “black accent”. There are also sometimes comments by the London speakers about the use of vocabulary and how they talk as ‘slang’, and how the way you talk often is linked to having a specific interest in music and hanging around with a particular group of friends, as we will see next. Not only do social networks influence teenagers’ dress and music interests, but also their language. In a multicultural friendship group speakers’ ethnicity may have an influence on the choice of linguistic forms, and speakers of other ethnicities in the network may then use these forms too (Fought, 2006). Hewitt (1986) referred to it as crossing when speakers who are in a close friendship network during interaction use language forms that otherwise are only used by someone of another ethnicity. It can be said that people in these circumstances are borrowing someone else’s linguistic identity and are allowed by their friends to code-switch (switch between languages and mix words from different languages) when in other situations the speaker will not code-switch. Bucholtz (1999) investigated a narrative by a young white male American speaker. He affiliated with young black American speakers’ cultural identity, and it is interpreted as a display of a form of linguistic masculinity associated with them. The forms he used are also found in hip-hop music and in AAVE. The speaker uses AAVE discursive strategies to construct a ‘black’ identity, but also an urban youth identity in general. In a similar vein, Cutler (1999) investigated the speech of a white male speaker, Mike, from New York. He used some speech sounds associated with AAVE but failed to use grammatical forms used by the black male speakers he wanted to sound like. Mike was attempting to sound like an African American rather than a speaker of his own ethnic background, European American. Mike was not a ‘true’ member of the other group. He wanted to speak like those with whom he identified, but was unable to because he was not really part of the group. Mike identified with the group in terms of clothing and interest in music, but he did not have any black friends. He was not part of a friendship group and had not used this way of speaking in interaction. Much of his knowledge about AAVE speech came from movies and listening to rap music. There was a desire to project a particular identity that is associated with toughness, cool urbaneness and the big city. This research shows the importance of the friendship group in language use: just imitating may not be entirely successful in achieving speaking like those you look up to. Interaction with other speakers is needed. Still, parts of your linguistic identity are linked to people you look up to. But what level of language awareness and knowledge is needed in acquiring a linguistic variety?

Youth language and slang In 2013, a school in London put up a sign outside of the school with a list of banned words. The banned language consisted of a mixture of words associated with non-standard language, the traditional local language variety, youth language and informal language in general, plus some words that curiously are elements of the standard language. Representatives of the school argued that they banned these words to prepare students for the labour market and mainstream society (Cheshire, Hall, & Adger, 2017). This might have happened because there are often negative reactions to youth language (Drummond, 2017) which includes the use of slang, swear words and code-switching from other languages. Words from other languages are rare in MLE, instead there is use of English words from varieties of English from outside the United Kingdom. This is different from the youth language varieties in Oslo, Copenhagen and Berlin where there is code-switching (Madsen & Svendsen, 2015; Wiese, 2009). The MLE speakers themselves, 338

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however, do not react negatively to how they are speaking but may refer to their language as slang and report an association between street language and slang. Cockney is the traditional London English variety and also the label for a person from London who speaks that way. MLE differs in pronunciation from London Cockney. The interviewer, Sue, asks Alan and Dave about their language use: Sue:

Yeah, so you think of Hackney as being east London [Alan: yeah] yeah and what about er your language, would you say you’re Cockneys? Alan: Nah street [Dave: mhm yeah] Sue: Street? [Alan: yeah just street talk it’s just like] What does that mean? Alan: Slang it’s all sort slang when we talk [Sue: mm] that’s it [Sue: mm] No, not Cockneys heh

Youth language as expression of identity A recurrent theme in research on multicultural and multilingual identities and linguistic practices in urban areas is the connection between language use and the language of hip-hop and rap (Nortier & Svendsen, 2015; Nortier, 2018). Cutler (2007) discusses hip-hop within this context and the close relationship between (English) hip-hop language and AAVE where some phonological and grammatical features are shared. There is also a further development of some grammatical features in hip-hop language as markers of cultural identity, notably the use of habitual BE with noun phrases and linking verb absence, as in ‘He BE the man’ (Cutler, 2015, p. 233) and use of discourse markers that is characteristic of hip-hop language (Cutler, 2015) but different from AAVE such as ‘yo’ and ‘wassup’ (Cutler, 2015, p. 233). Alim (2004) notes the importance of the street and hip-hop language as a way to establish speaker authenticity. Black culture is considered to represent something that is not mainstream, unlike white culture, and that includes the use of AAVE linguistic forms that are regarded as urban and cool (Cutler, 2007). A white speaker can pass as an authentic speaker if they are using AAVE features appropriately (Cutler, 2015) or not if they fail to use some features (Cutler, 1999) or overuse some features (Guy & Cutler, 2011). It has therefore been argued that hip-hop language is a speech style linked to language practices. The term ‘hip-hop nation language’ (Alim, 2004) refers to this speech style used by speakers from many different countries who perform and participate in rap and hip-hop practices. It is used to express a shared cultural identity, including how hip-hop language is perceived to represent a masculine, tough and streetwise identity (Cutler, 2015). Immigrant speakers may also find hip-hop culturally attractive and be drawn to its symbolism and association with street culture and urban coolness. This means that the use of features is closely associated with the cultural aspects and not ‘correct’ use of AAVE linguistic forms. Brunstad, Røyneland, and Opsahl (2010, p. 240) argue that one explanation for its attractiveness lies “in one of the central characteristics of hip hop: that it allows its practitioners to express and mediate both local and global aspects of cultural identity”. In Oslo, we find ethnically mixed hip-hop groups. Their lyrics are characterised by a multiethnolectal speech style that includes code-switching and use of different languages. Brunstad et al. (2010, p. 224) argue that adolescents who grow up in multicultural areas in Oslo have an affiliation to hip-hop culture and that “hip hop [therefore] has a significant influence on the formation of a Norwegian multiethnolectal speech style”. It is also argued that individuals and groups of speakers who affiliate with hip-hop possibly play a significant role in spreading the new way of speaking in Oslo (Opsahl & Røyneland, 2016). In the early years of hip-hop in Norway, American English had a strong influence. Later there was a shift to more use of Norwegian, but with words from other languages used in the community and also a multiethnolectal speech style at several linguistic levels. There is a mix of the multilingual communities in the urban centre. The Eastern parts of Oslo also has a higher immigrant population and the multiethnolectal speech is associated with those areas. There is also a perceived toughness and coolness associated with the eastern parts of Oslo, areas which are more industrial and working class than the traditionally middle-class and prosperous western part of Oslo. 339

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A change from rapping in standard language to rapping in ‘non-standard’ language and a multicultural variety has been observed in Copenhagen. It is perhaps a surprising finding that some local rappers were using standard Danish. A possible reason was that the rappers were in contact with mentors who advocated use of rap as part of achieving progress in education as well as pressure from the local music industry (Stæhr & Madsen, 2015). But later, ‘ghetto language’ or ‘street language’ has been used by successful rappers as there had been in a shift in what was considered cool and accepted by the larger society (Stæhr & Madsen, 2017). Contemporary urban vernaculars are more accepted, which can be compared to the change in the association of ‘Jafaican’ (Kerswill, 2014) and MLE. MLE is now heard on TV and in movies. It may describe language use that is more authentic and it also reflects changes in language ideological beliefs (Stæhr & Madsen, 2017). In Paris, French is used in rap lyrics and there is code-switching into Arabic (Hassa, 2010). Artists from the Banlieue, which are suburbs with high immigrant population, also use verlan in their lyrics. Verlan includes mixing the order of syllables of French and loanwords from other languages and it has a particular prosody (Doran, 2003). Unlike London, there’s not a Paris Multicultural French that can be described (Cheshire  & Gardner-Chloros, 2018): the multicultural variety used in Paris is not specific to the city, nor is it specific to speakers who are in multicultural friendship groups. However, there are innovations in prosody/speech rhythm where speakers who are dominant in conversation use them in performative speech (Fagyal & Torgersen, 2018). We will discuss one local form of rap/hip-hop and language practices in more detail: grime in the UK context and language practices in London.

Language in London and Manchester Studies in London have examined linguistic innovation in inner London and acquisition of MLE. Set out to test the claim that London is the source of innovation in English (Wells, 1982), Cheshire et al. (2008) recorded the speech of working-class teenagers aged 16–19 of Anglo and non-Anglo backgrounds in inner and outer London. While the speech of adolescents in outer London was largely in line with the rest of southeast England, the picture was different in inner London. Adolescents there used some linguistic forms that were different from the rest of the southeast (Cheshire et al., 2008). A probable reason is a large degree of contact in inner London due to immigration and speakers being in more diverse friendship networks (Cheshire et al., 2011). Speakers only rarely associate themselves with Cockney, the traditional London language variety and an identity marker for someone from (inner) London of working-class origin. However, they do identify as Londoners and being English, sometimes together with another ethnic identity. The line between voice and place was investigated by Torgersen (2012) in a listening test with speech samples. Both black speakers from Birmingham and non-Anglo speakers from London were heard as coming from London by listeners from both London and Birmingham. However, Anglo speakers from London who were in Anglo friendship networks were heard as coming from outside of London. This suggests that nonAnglo voices are associated with London which is known as a multicultural city. People’s attitudes to MLE are also influenced by whether you speak it yourself, have frequent contact with MLE speakers and have another first language than English (Kircher & Fox, 2019). Drummond (2018) investigated language use by teenage boys from Manchester. Among the issues he examined was the degree to which there were similarities between youth language in Manchester and London. He found some shared features such as the use of the pragmatic marker ‘you get me’ and some vocabulary items with origin in Jamaican English creole such as ‘bare’ and ‘mandem’. He also found stopping of /θ/ in ‘thing’ to /t/ as in ‘ting’ (Drummond, 2018). TH-stopping is associated with AAVE and also hip-hop speech style (Cutler, 1999, 2003). Drummond reported that ethnicity was not a statistically significant factor in use of TH-stopping but a particular conversational context (tough rap/banter), a ‘stance of toughness’ (2018, p. 190) and involvement in linguistic practices like grime/rap and dance hall music all had an effect on the amount of TH-stopping. Drummond argues that by using TH-stopping a speaker 340

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“is taking a stance in an attempt to (re) align himself as someone involved in grime and all it represents” (p. 191). He argues further that it indexes a street identity for speakers who are involved in grime. ‘Black’ sounding speech may just be the speech of teenagers, as in this extract (Drummond, 2017, p. 648): Lee: Res: Lee: Ryan:

They’ll just say he [Ryan] thinks he wants to be black And so people- but anyone who actually works with young people will say that’s not true But that’s just how he speaks cos of his area Yeah not cos of the colour and that, like so if they hear me speaking and they’re gonna say that I think I’m black, why would I think I’m black? You get me? Lee: [laughs] Ryan: [laughing] You get me Outsiders may associate language use and ethnicity differently from the speakers themselves (Drummond, 2017). While outsiders might associate some linguistic items with a particular ethnicity, the speakers might just associate them with youth language, or slang. Maria who lives in Hackney in inner London is asked if she considers herself a Londoner and a Cockney: Sue: Maria: Sue: Maria:

And you think of yourself as a Londoner do you? Definitely [Sue: mm] definitely Yeah I mean do you think of yourself as being Cockney? Cockney hmmm we didn’t talk about that actually Cockney get out of here go away erm not really Cockney wow would you say I’m Cockney? Would you say I’m Cockney? I was just I don’t know. Erm obviously I live in Hackney and a terrible a terrible accent here it’s just terrible whereas we we use slang words we use yes we almost emphasise on every little thing that comes out like any little new word or whatever everybody’s using it just like “yeah what’s going on” and

Maria is aware of how her speech is different from Cockney: she refers to using slang and having a different vocabulary than the Cockney speakers. Similarly, Dom and Rashid claim that they do not speak Cockney, rather in ‘all different ways’. They may also use other languages than English, and Dom comments on the effect of your friends’ language on how you talk: Sue: Dom: Rashid: Dom: Rashid: Sue: Dom:

And what about the way eh you speak on the street. Would you not say that that was Cockney? No I wouldn’t I speak all different ways Yeah I speak different ways you get me It depends where I am What way do you mean? Like the way I speak. It’s like I get it off the TV or people that I know. Like because it’s it is true when you hang around with someone like things of that person will get stuck to you. And things of you will get stuck to him do you get me like? That’s why and and by the way I speak in Spanish just normal slang from my country

These interviews show that young speakers have a quite flexible attitude towards language use and acknowledge that the way you speak is influenced by friends that you hang around with on the streets and elsewhere. Speakers also have labels to describe different types of people: ‘safe’ which might be the label for those who are part of multicultural friendship group as opposed to the ‘sweet’ which may refer to white Cockney speakers. While both speaker groups are clearly Londoners, ‘sweet’ is associated with older people 341

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from London and white people in general, how they talk and what they do such as going to the pub and the way they dress. The labels are associated with groups of speakers’ cultural identity and the activities they take part in, as well as how you speak. The way you talk is therefore closely associated with who you are: Alex: No it was like. You got sweet which is like the white boys like with collars up like. They don’t wear the clothes we wear like. We got big Air force trainers. They got like low cut Reeboks and all them like [Zack: mm mm] but like they got Reebok Zack: All the sweet mate wearing their Hackett tops and shit Alex: Yeah Hackett tops and all that Sue: Why do you call them sweet? Alex: Cos they say sweet they say Zack: Cos they’re sweet Alex: Like we’ll come up and we’ll say safe [Sue: right] cos we’re safe we come from Hackney but they’re from (local place) [Zack: (local place)] so they’ll go “sweet sweet bruv cool you alright” you know one of them like cockney like Zack: We’re safe like you get me they yeah them Cockney guys Alex: They’re like cockney poshy like Zack: They go to the pub on a Friday Apart from the labels such as ‘slang’, ‘street’, ‘safe’ and ‘sweet’ the speakers themselves do not have a specific label for their way of speaking. Outsiders do, however, and they can often have rather negative forms of labelling. An example is ‘Jafaican’ which sometimes is used by the media (Kerswill, 2014) and refers to a negative social stereotype. However, Kerswill (2014, p. 452) argues that there has been a development over the years away from associating ‘Jafaican’ as something bad and fake. He argues that “the discourse of ‘Jafaican’ as fashionable or ‘cool’ is dependent on a number of others: exoticism, oppositionality through its association with subcultures and youthfulness. It is seen by the media as being freely adopted by people of all classes”. Kerswill (2013) investigated use of particular linguistic forms and whether they may represent a particular linguistic identity in London. He examined the speakers’ use of vocabulary including address terms, a pragmatic marker, slang words, intensifiers, an evaluative term, or a word used to label people, places or language varieties. This included elements from Jamaican English such as ‘blood/blad’ as a pragmatic marker, ‘bruv’ as an address term, ‘olders’ referring to senior gang members or hip-hop crew members and ‘man’ as a pronoun (Cheshire, 2013). These terms were used in inner-city areas by speakers of multicultural background, and they were not used in the outer city. Speakers also allude to conflicts with young people from other local areas, sometimes referred to as the ‘postcode war’ and Paul talks about what happens when young people are coming in from other areas of the city. He also mentions names of rival gangs in the USA as influence and the importance of representing your local area. Paul:

Boy it used to be uh er grow up in Tottenham boy used to used to be actually alright. It used to be alright like used to just be come out every day we’d just meet up and we all used to just ride our BMXes or just like er. I used to love Tottenham really but now as I started getting older it’s like. It’s just a lot of beef I’ll say like beef all this all this erm beefs going on I don’t know if you hear about this [Sue: mm] but it’s a lot of beefs going on all postcode [Sue: yeah] cos I used to go Tanya: Everyone’s ready to rep a let a letter [Paul: yeah man] and a number Paul: Yeah man cos like [Sue: yeah] before I used to be like able to I used to go everywhere. Like I used to go east I used to go south I used to go everywhere on BMX like I used to just ride it there just normal. But now it’s a thing where like you can’t do that no more like sort of thing innit Sue: What is this going on with postcodes? 342

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Paul: Tanya: Paul: Tacito: Paul:

What is is I I think it’s just is I think it’s just er it’s a it’s a Kids people are bored It’s just it’s a it’s a people just catting like copying like the Americans like all this postcodes bandannas It’s like they got something like they got something to protect but they don’t really Like if they see some All this I just think it’s just people just watch too much American stuff like Bloods and Crips and like I think it’s all based on that. People just imitate them too much innit like people just take it onto our roads now and it’s getting worse. My friend got stabbed the other day he’s in hospital like he just got stabbed for being in the wrong area at the wrong time so it’s mad

While there appears to be a shared multicultural linguistic identity in the inner city, there are rivalries between different local areas. This rivalry also comes across in performing music. Adams (2018) argues that knowledge about grime is needed to understand the linguistic elements included in multi-ethnic language varieties in the United Kingdom. Grime has elements from different varieties of English for example address terms to express kinship as we saw in MLE. In this extract, Gary explains what is involved in MCing and ‘spitting’ and taking part in rap battles with other MC crews referred to as ‘clashes’. An important element is representing your local area, or ‘ends’. Gary: Yeah cos we spit, like we MC Sue: Yeah do you? [Gary: yeah] Where? Gary: Just make dubs and all that make tunes and CDs and all that and send them on internet and all that. And then we make sets like sometimes we clash other crews. We clash them they come over we clash them that’s it Sue: Where does that happen? Tell me about that cos I’m interested in that Gary: I don’t I’m not really sure cos we live like, cos a couple of them live in Stepney some of them live where I live, some of one of them lives in south and then sometimes we clash like by ourselves as well like. I will clash someone from another crew if they wanna clash like if they wanna clash me then we’ll clash just battle Sue: So what do you mean? Gary: Just battle like cuss like spit [Sue: yeah] it’s like rap but it’s not rap [Sue: I know] it’s faster it’s like garage grime

Conclusion In this chapter we have discussed the speech of young people in multicultural areas. We have seen that we sometimes can describe a language variety that is identified by the speakers themselves as ‘slang’. In London, this is a variety that has multiple sources including the local dialect and varieties of English from outside the United Kingdom. Outsiders may react negatively to the multicultural variety. One reason is that it also includes elements from varieties of English associated with black speakers such as Jamaican English and AAVE. However, black culture as associated with rap and hip-hop is regarded as a prestige culture in urban areas and language elements from Jamaican English and AAVE might just be considered as unmarked, or as ‘slang’, and associated with something urban and with youth speech in general. To understand language use on the street, we therefore need to investigate the origins of linguistic elements that are used, how and by whom they are used and how they spread in friendship groups.

References Adams, Z. (2018). “I don’t know why man’s calling me family all of a sudden”: Address and reference terms in grime music. Language & Communication, 60, 11–27. 343

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29 Street food and placemaking A cultural review of urban practices Anna Svensdotter, Mirko Guaralda, and Severine Mayere

Introduction Food stimulates hospitability, invites conversation, and engages our senses in a way which can contribute to the definition of identity and characteristics of a place. In the urban context, it is also a formidable activator of streets and city spaces. With an increasingly urban population globally, the significance of urban street food as an alternative to cooking in a private kitchen is becoming increasingly noteworthy (Moe & Shurance, 2018). The recent decade has seen an increase in the popularity of the cultural, social, and economic phenomenon of street food in most urbanised areas, with an estimated 2.5 billion people around the world consuming street food every day (Fellows & Hilmi, 2012; Abrahale, Sousa, Albuquerque, Padrão, & Lunet, 2019). The street food phenomenon is a sustained tradition in many cultural areas. In cities like Hong Kong and Bangkok, street food has long been a signifier for the urban landscape; the many regular vendors have built a reputation on the quality of their street food and tourists travel globally to visit the stall-lined streets (Kraig & Sen, 2013). Similarly, festivals, fairs, and events often have food as the main attraction. From Cape Town to Mexico City and Sydney, street food is increasingly significant as a cultural phenomenon that is changing urban practices through its complex legal, cultural, and social structures and thereby warranting further analysis (Moe & Shurance, 2018). Although street food is a cultural phenomenon observable in any continent, its typologies substantially change from one cultural area to another, from the informal stalls of Asia and Africa to more structured activities in Europe, America, and Australia. While the more structured societies attempt to navigate the added complex legality that comes with the serving of food on the street, other socio-cultural environments in which street food is a well-established part of the urban context attempt to create formalised structures which obstruct the street food phenomena (Augustin, 2018). Established practices of street food are currently under threat due to the gentrification of the street food culture. Gentrifying processes are often aimed at sanitising the cultural praxis of street food. Due to commercial competition faced by traditional vendors from more substantial commercialised food delivery services, this process is also profoundly changing eating patterns in many cities (Basinski, 2014). This chapter reviews urban practices related to street food to begin to map different typologies of street food, their relationship with the built environment, and their strategic value as place activators. Academic sources will be integrated with news media coverage to substantiate how street food contributes to create the image of cities and strengthen their cultural identity. 346

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Defining ‘street food’ The United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization defined ‘street food’ as “ready-to-eat foods and beverages prepared and/or sold by vendors and hawkers especially in streets and other similar places” (Food and Agriculture Organization, 1990), a definition reiterated by the World Health Organization in 1996 (Abrahale et al., 2019). The Cambridge Dictionary defines Street Food as “food that is cooked and sold in public places, usually outdoors, to be eaten immediately” (Dictionary, 2019). Ultimately, the term typically includes three interrelated concepts; (1) social, (2) spatial, and (3) temporal. Where ‘street’ defines a physical place and a subjective experience, and ‘food’ is both a social activity and a tangible object. The inferred concept of ‘time’ by the moment when the action of eating occurs. In this way, the various definitions of street food typically relate to socio-spatial experiences temporarily located in place (Calloni, 2013; Newman & Burnett, 2013). That is, to consider the physical location, the human experience, the food object itself, and the temporal activity. Charting typologies of street food provides a starting point for understanding this cultural phenomenon as an urban activity of historical, cultural, and social significance. Understanding the complexities of formal and informal practices of the street food phenomenon further sheds light on the resilience of this activity within the ever-changing political climate of heterogeneous contemporary global urban environments. As an activity, street food is predominantly an urban phenomenon; it is possible to trace the roots of street food to ancient Egypt and Greece, where it was a commonality for fried fish to be sold in public places (Calaresu & Heuvel, 2016). Pompei’s ‘thermopolia,’ small kitchens built alongside streets, are often considered the ancestors of modern food carts (Beard, 2010). Similarly, street food was thriving in ancient Rome, ancient India, and ancient China, mainly providing the urban poor with access to cheap food (Cardoso, De Cássia, Marras, & Companion, 2014). Traditionally street food catered to the more fragile elements of society; poorer households in ancient cities did not have kitchens, ovens, or other cooking facilities, so urban dwellers had to rely on street food for their sustenance. This phenomenon was also predominant in Aztec cities, where the sale of corn patties, fruits, and nuts were typical on the streets (Calaresu & Heuvel, 2016). Ancestors of well-known meals, such as the Italian pizza or French fries, have their root in street foods. The Ottoman Empire first legalised the selling of food on the streets, which mainly consisted of lamb kebabs and chicken dishes. Street food was at a base of the nutrition for the urban poor in pre-industrial and industrial societies; poor households seldom had ovens or proper cooking facilities in their dwellings (Beard, 2010), so they were often relying on street food vendors for their cooked meals (Calloni, 2013). In New York, street food assumed ethnic connotations as early as before the Civil War, with Irish women selling apples, the so-called ‘Apple Marys,’ or German women selling pretzels (Basinski, 2014). In post-industrial societies, street food has morphed into fast food and junk food. The profound social and cultural roots of this phenomenon have often been renegaded with many cities introducing policies to clean their street of food vendors, banning or limiting the preparation and commerce of food in public spaces (Cohen, 2018). Concerns about hygiene, health, and public décor are topics extensively discussed in the literature (Ekanem & Control, 1998; Khairuzzaman, Chowdhury, Zaman, Al Mamun, & Bari, 2014). The urban environments are full of pollutant agents that can affect food quality. Hence the conditions in which street food is prepared and sold and the risk of contaminations are considerable. Urban environments also host a large population of noxious insects and animals that can often too easily access areas where food is stored. Critique of kerbside food points at the handling and preparation not being in-line with current standards to prevent poisoning and infections (Rane, 2011). Research relating to street food has been an increasingly popular topic within the academic literature in the recent decade, mainly focusing on African and Asian contexts, and typically considering food safety but also availability and consumption patterns (Stutter, 2017). An increasing amount of studies is emerging on the topic from more Western contexts such as the USA and Australia. Research primarily explores issues of contamination of the food itself and the practices 347

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of the vendors handling the food to understand safety practices (Abrahale et al., 2019), rather than the lived experience of the street food as a phenomenon. Street food is an essential component of our urban life, and several cities have built their reputation on their street food appeal. The prestigious Michelin Guide’s recent inclusion of street food vendors and hawkers in Singapore in the latest edition of the guides recognises how this kind of culinary experience can be quite extraordinary and valuable (Henderson, 2017). The appeal of street food in our contemporary society, always searching for unique experiences, is evident in the strategic role this phenomenon is gaining in the tourism industry (Handayani, Seraphin, Korstanje, & Pilato, 2019). Street markets, street festivals, and food carts are becoming common features of many cities and standard placemaking strategies to activate, revitalise, and promote urban areas (Di Matteo & Cavuta, 2016). In the current urban paradigm, the strict top-down approach to planning and urban design, which has often produced sterile public spaces, is mitigated and softened with activities generally thought of as bottom-up initiatives (Guaralda, 2013). This kind of business encourages urban dwellers to take agency and ownership of public spaces. It can also trigger the development of urban hacking strategies aimed at enlivening public spaces, such as graffiti or playful activities such as skateboarding (Rawlinson & Guaralda, 2012). The desire for more vibrant public spaces has fostered a resurgence of interest in street food. Seen as a quick fix to the corporate image of urban environments and often too sterile ambience, food acts as a strategy to attract people in public spaces. This strategy is evident in the proliferation of street parties, street festivals, and events such as Diner en Blanc (Rodreguez, 2018) in many post-industrial cities. Street food is deployed to activate public spaces in ways that are devoid of the original essence of the cultural significance inherent in this phenomenon. A strategy that is morphing the street food phenomenon into a generic culinary experience where different traditions mingle side-by-side with little relevance to the local essence of the community. Contemporary street food, hence, is characterised by a dual occurrence of the original food vending activity firmly located in place and of its commercialised replica (Solomon, 2015).

Street food typologies Perhaps one of the signifiers of street food is its wide variety and ready availability in most urban contexts. Hence, a tool for typological classification of this disparate, often temporary, complex socio-spatial civic activity is useful. Tinker (1987) conducted a comprehensive study on street food, drawing on information from seven different countries. Since then, Tinker (1997, 1999, 2003), along with others, added significantly to the growing body of knowledge that has been produced about street food, covering a variety of relevant sub-topics and scholarly areas. Previous scholarship has documented many of the varieties and categorised them according to things such as food type (Draper, 1996; Fellows & Hilmi, 2012), activity pattern (Cohen, 2018), geographic context (Kraig  & Sen, 2013), vendor demographics (Khairuzzaman et al., 2014), food safety, and availability and consumption (Abrahale et al., 2019). Cardoso (2014) provides a comprehensive study considering the social, cultural, and economic aspects related to street food. More recently, Stutter (2017) considered the phenomenon of street food in regards to social sustainability within a locale. However, typological study of the street food phenomenon is useful for understanding the phenomena more broadly as a spatial phenomenon. Hence, in this section, a preliminary structure for such a framework is suggested (Table 29.1). Three main categories of the street food phenomenon are considered: spatial, social, and temporal. Further, six sub-categories looking at the where, what, who, at what occasion, how often, and when the activity is occurring, are considered. Street food is delivered in a plethora of different ways (Handayani et al., 2019). In some cases, small establishments directly sell food on the street and cooking occurs in a kitchen, even if small and compact. Customers then eat the food standing or using publicly available furniture (Samapundo, Climat, Xhaferi,  & Devlieghere, 2015). At the opposite end, food is prepared and assembled directly in the street. In-between there are temporary kitchens set-up under marquees, carts equipped with cooking facilities, 348

Street food and placemaking Table 29.1 Framework for street food analysis. Spatial

Social

Physical space (Where?)

Tangible object (What?)

Social activity (To who?)

Urban/rural National context Global context

Raw foods Prepared foods Snack foods

Residents Tourists/locals Tourists

Temporal Psychological experience (At what occasion?) Everyday life Special event Place identity

Regularity (How often?)

Time of day (When?)

Predetermined Event-related Opportunistic

Day Day/night Day/night

vans with compact cooking facilities, or even makeshift kitchens organised with tables and camp-stoves at the side of the road (Greenspan, 2018). What unifies these modalities is that food is generally ready to eat or prepared quickly and, typically, there is a predominance for fried or stir-fried food that can be easily organised and assembled. Baked good are generally pre-prepared and reheated. The set-up depends on the urban contextual conditions as well as the accessibility of the site and utilities. The way vendors appropriate the public space influences the overall perception of the public sphere of a city (Kraig & Sen, 2013). The reference of the regular vendors contributes to the overall sense of familiarity and understanding of a locale, where the perception of the street vendors informality is a central factor in the appeal of public space (Svensdotter, 2020). When activities are overly formalised into precincts, like restaurants or coffee shops, the overall ambience of the public space is affected. This effect is evident in the typology of the food court that is grounded in the concept of street food, where food vending is regimented and organised, losing the spontaneity, messiness, and playfulness typical of street food (Mayer & Knox, 2006). Interestingly, in recent urban developments, commercial establishments are trying to replicate this with so-called laneway development and food courts designed around food carts rather than formal stalls. Street food is strongly spatially located; hence, the physical location is significant to understanding the phenomenon. The previous categorisations of street food provide frameworks for understanding the event within several foci. For example, Kraig and Sen (2013) considered geographic context and the globalisation of street food as a way of advertising of local place; Winarno and Allain (1991) and Rane (2011) discuss socioeconomical situatedness of local cultural traditions; related eating habits are explored by Draper (1996) and Ekanem and Control (1998); and Stutter (2017) explores the social life of street food. These previous academic works provide categories to consider in conducting a typological analysis of the socio-spatial situatedness of street food. While these studies all provide useful frameworks within the particularities of their respective foci, these are in themselves types of street food analyses. More knowledge about the recent surge in popularity of street food as a cultural phenomenon in developed regions such as Europe, the US, and Oceania is still required. Regions such as Asia and Africa have a more established cultural narrative of street food (Abrahale et al., 2019). What unites these practices appears to be the relationship between urban density, urban growth, and changing patterns of food consumptions, including street food. The implications of zoning policies and land use regulations on urban areas and urban food systems are well-documented in the literature. Such policies and regulations do not necessarily have to be directly related to food systems to have significant impacts, such as in Cohen’s New York City case. Cohen (2018) categorises street food activities to fit within the pre-established notions of zoning including such categories as; food retailers, restaurants, farms, farmers’ markets, and food processing and distribution facilities. These categories consider the located activity and the food object itself, within a production process, as well as the social purpose of the event. The street food object itself, along with the ingredients and the degree of processing, is highly varied (Draper, 1996; Fellows & Hilmi, 2012). Tregear (2007) categorises the social activities of street food according to the perspectives of the market and the consumer in the construction of a market-based typology of food systems. Similarly, Abrahale (Abrahale et al., 2019) develops categories 349

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based on food safety and availability/consumption and geographical area. Ultimately, Abrahale and Tregear’s categories are more broadly noted as the following: food object (health/contamination), people (vendor/consumer practices), places (stationary/mobile; geographical location; neighbourhood characteristics). Temporal structuring of the street food phenomenon through either regular activity, or variations of the spontaneous pop-up event at predetermined markets, informs the reliability of the street food towards the community. Commercial viability commonly relies on the regularity of the activity to optimise the gain from the event. Similarly, single-unit operators may choose to follow daily rhythms of potential clients and locate themselves conveniently in the path of such movements at predetermined times of the day. This temporality enables or disables the activity to occur within governance structures located in time (Tolgensbakk, 2019). In such cases, the irregularity of the event can allow for a function that would otherwise not be approved. The temporal aspect of the street food phenomenon is related to the socio-cultural practice and acceptance of the event within the localised urban environment and hence should be contextualised within the local cultural traditions.

Street food and the socio-spatial urban environment The cultural phenomenon and socio-spatial practices of street food have become increasingly popular, morphing into a cultural event that informs the identity development of both cities and city dwellers. Traditionally a phenomenon that is unique to a locale, contemporary street food is often significant as a tourist attraction (Timothy & Wall, 1997; Bhowmik, 2010; Henderson, Yun, Poon, & Biwei, 2012; Stutter, 2017). While relying on the authenticity of local-ness and potential engagement with the local community (Cohen & Avieli, 2004; Sims, 2009; Stutter, 2017), commercialised street food typically takes on an identity disconnected from place and focuses on attracting commerce and tourism. Street food has become a self-referential event aimed to attract people for commercial purposes; the authenticity of the food offered and the close link between food and locale is threatened by an over simplistic interpretation of food as a placemaking agent (Kraig & Sen, 2013; Tsai & Wang, 2017). Street food events, originally grounded in the local culture rhythms, are today often managed following the logic of tourism, and so are losing the original deep meaning of street food as a pillar of local identity and local street culture (Wessel, 2012). Theories of place stress the cultural relevance of day-to-day rhythms in creating the character of a locale (de Certeau & Rendall, 1984; Casey, 2001). The way people fulfil explicit and implicit rituals generates the meaning of a place through the daily interaction with other people and the environment. Food plays a central role in people’s routines; beyond just a need for nourishment, food is a cultural representation of a society. Food intrinsically connects local people, traditions, produce, and the environment and has always played a central role in structuring the identity of a locale (Zardini & Schivelbusch, 2005). Street food in multicultural societies shows, perhaps most clearly, the amalgamation of cultural inputs into the social structure of the community through exemplifying diversity in cultural representation of street foods. Odours, flavours, colours, and textures embed the qualities of a place and the essence of the society that inhabits it. While the phenomenon of street food has long traditions in many cultural areas, the nature and type of this activity are changing along with the changing urban environments. Street food reflects the socio-cultural changes in contemporary society, and also reflects the responding governance adjustments. In more structured city contexts, it attempts to navigate the added complexity of legalities and sanitary restrictions that come with the serving of food on the street (Wessel, 2012; Ehrenfeucht, 2016). Contrarily, many places in which street food is a well-established part of the urban context attempt to create formalised structures which obstruct the street food activities and forcefully move vendors. Many contexts are also making the most of the innovative informal structures of street food trade and constructing a framework for the innovation and often commercialisation of traditional norms (Skinner, Reed, & Harvey, 2018). Traditional conceptions of street food deeply interconnect with the notion of local produce, people, and culture. Contemporary commercialisation of street food has seen this grounding in locale give way to 350

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a recreated conception of the locale as a globalised representation of various ethnicities through food. The appeal of street food is often abused for commercial purposes, in opposition to some of the essential characteristics of this cultural activity. Street food is dislocated, losing connection with its original locale, departed from the street and commercialised in environments explained as not-urban (Solomon, 2015). Food festivals in parks, where different sorts of food carts are invited to gather in specifically assigned areas and for a determined period, link such events to specific community groups and particular subculture events. The creation of an event is a common placemaking strategy to activate a location. More than an original bottom-up activity, street food used in this instance is an orchestrated strategy to attract people in a specific place and at a particular time and purpose, challenging the natural spontaneity of street food consumption. Commercialised interpretation of street food and its appeal is the creation of food precincts, such as Eat Street Markets in Brisbane, Australia, which presents shipping containers assembled to create an artificial village where street food vendors have been selected to provide a culinary experience. Eat Street Markets is organised in an abandoned docks area, away from city streets and the urban core. In this placemaking exercise, a site for future development is activated before the place is constructed. Street food is used to attract city dwellers to this dilapidated area and to create an image in a new high-market neighbourhood before the redevelopment takes place. Other examples of street food gentrification are Changi Airport in Singapore (Groundwater, 2019) or IconSiam in Bangkok (Yee, 2018), where street-like settings are reproduced to sell food items typical of broader geographical areas in controlled and sanitised conditions. IconSiam offers flavours and different styles of Thai cuisine, from the different regions of Thailand, in a diverse environment more similar to a theme park than an original cultural experience. In this case, street food is used as an attractor to support and foster the commercial viability of a private establishment, subsumed in a setting that negates its urban roots and its bottom-up nature. This type of commercialisation is in striking contrast with Suanluang 1 Muslim Market in Bangkok (Senin, 2019). In this community project, local women organised themselves to produce traditional food and sell it on their doorstep; this simple idea has resulted in the development of the largest Halal food market in Thailand, entirely driven and managed by local women, where street food provides economic sustenance to local families. It is useful to recognise the unique attraction of markets such as the Suanluang 1 Muslim Market in Bangkok, which takes place in the laneway of a disadvantaged suburb, and it is at the core of its urban identity. This example is also quite typical in terms of the social constructs of street food. Traditionally supported by women, who needed to find means to provide for their families (Acho-Chi, 2002). The production and commercialisation of food alongside streets and in public spaces was traditionally a female activity; this was providing women with a source of income and a place within often engendered public spaces. The changing socio-spatial structure of the urban population and eating habits is boosting the popularity of street food through regular events. In less structured urban contexts, where street food is a well-established phenomenon, governing bodies attempt to formalise structures, tending to obstruct the bottom-up nature of street food activities (Augustin, 2018) Studies of street food within more regulated contexts such as the USA, Europe, and Australia focus on street food as a pop-up cultural phenomenon in urban areas and the difficulties of such civic activity to fit neatly into the regulated urban environment. Conversely, studies of street food in the often less restricted Asian and African contexts indicate efforts towards tightening up the governance structures as one of the responses to the issues around food safety. Meanwhile, popular and social media show strong relationships between the construction of social identity and popular culture in urban spaces and the event of street food, be it in either highly regulated or less regulated urban environments. With the shift to a majorly urbanised society, urban dwellers increasingly take to the streets for otherwise typically domestic activities such as eating. This trend of increased reliance on street food is also a reflection of changing social patterns, with people having less and less time to prepare their food, and with a change to the provision of spaces within urban dwellings. Statistically, apartment size has been decreasing in the last 50 years; the kitchen is one of the domestic environments that has been majorly affected, observing a shrinkage and an oversimplification 351

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of this space. Traditionally street food catered for the most impoverished of society, those who could not afford a kitchen in their house. Contemporary street food provides for a broader segment of society, which does not have time or space to cook their food. Affordability and generally excellent quality further underpin this trend. In places such as Shanghai, the traditional forms of street food vending are perceived by officials and urban planners as belonging to the past and a profound struggle between informal and formal markets formative of the future city is strikingly evident and cause for conflict. What is clear, is that amongst the many technological advancements of bustling cities such as Shanghai, the significance of identifying cultural phenomenon such as the localised street food activity is pivotal to the future of cities’ vitality and identity formation (Greenspan, 2018).

Street food as place activators The social changes observed in urban eating habits are further enhancing the popularity of street food through the creation of regular events and pop-up markets which quickly become the focus of attention for anyone eager to experience the character of a city. The urban society is trending towards the drastic reduction of meal preparation within the private residence (Vorster, Kruger, & Margetts, 2011; Popkin, Adair, & Ng, 2012;). The opportunistic exchange of convenient, low-cost, assortment of flavours accompanies the experiential excitement of street food (Winarno & Allain, 1991; Fellows & Hilmi, 2012; Xiang, Liu, Hou, & Lin, 2017; Abrahale et al., 2019). Festivals, fairs, and events often have food as the main attraction and usually advertise the local street food. However, there also exists a less photogenic backside to the street food phenomena. Social groups often reliant on the availability of street food such as the homeless have little to gain from its increasing status within street culture phenomenon. From Cape Town to Mexico City and Sydney, street food is increasingly significant as a cultural phenomenon which is changing urban practices through its complex legal, cultural, and social structures and thereby warranting further authorship (Moe & Shurance, 2018). Street food provides an opportunity for improved vibrancy of streetscapes in urban contexts of many developed countries (Newman & Burnett, 2013; Stutter, 2017). Hanser and Hyde (2014) found that food has been a vehicle for socio-cultural activation and public engagement with the streetscapes, for creating or recreating pedestrian areas, for supporting local businesses and micro-entrepreneurs (p. 46). However, they also highlight that this type of activity can generate conflicts and can accelerate the gentrification of working-class and ethnic-based areas of cities. Food can become part of the more extensive process of gentrification (p. 48). The alternative patterns of consumption practised by ‘food adventurers’ can trigger new investments and redevelopment of less affluent neighbourhoods (Hanser & Hyde, 2014, p. 49). In this way, what originated as affordable markets frequented by local communities is gentrified through the influx of consumers from more affluent neighbourhoods, driving up prices for the local community. The search for experiences of the original essence of localised street food becomes a pastime and status symbol for societies’ privileged. Meanwhile, street food in forms practised by charitable groups feeding marginalised populations, such as people experiencing homelessness, are relocated out of sight. The relationship between food and tourism has been the foci of extensive academic studies. So-called ‘gastronomic tourism’ has gained increasing popularity as a tool in the image construction of cities worldwide. The promise of exciting new cultural, gastronomic experiences and social atmosphere enveloped by local culture is a highly advantageous addition to the marketing of a city (Handayani et al., 2019). This kind of gentrification through the event of street food occurs both on the urban and the global scale. At the civic, through more affluent segments of the society venturing to less affluent parts to discover local cuisine, and globally through international tourism to less affluent global locations such as, for example, Oruro, Bolivia. González Santa Cruz, Choque Tito, Pérez-Gálvez, and Medina-Viruel (2019) studied the occurrence of gastronomic tourism in Oruro, finding three different types of travellers engaging in this activity (survivors, enjoyers, and experiencers). The traveller’s satisfaction with the experiences was 352

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strongly linked with the authenticity of the experience as original to the cultural heritage of the local community. Eating is a social and cultural activity, and food tourism is an emerging industry, yet more remains unknown around the intentional branding of localised street food as a signifier of city identity. Tourism studies consider the concept of ‘place food image’ and have thus far identified several variables that relate to the enhancement of a local place food image, for example, Tsai and Wang’s (Tsai & Wang, 2017) study of Tainan, Taiwan. From a tourism perspective, street food becomes part of the journey of discovery of new places (Privitera & Nesci, 2015). Local food products that are available through street vendors can represent a way to promote and emphasise a territory or a region that tourists are seeking to discover. In their study of the role of street food in the urban food system, Privitera and Nesci (2015) find that street food can be a tool to promote and enhance an area’s identity and attractiveness for tourists. They also highlight the importance of the relationships between street vendors and tourists, primarily when the street vendors can engage in a dialogue with tourists about the authenticity of the products they sell and the local traditions.

Conclusion This chapter has reviewed street food practices, providing an overview of street food typologies historically and geographically. It also considered the relationship between street food and the built environment and the strategic value of street food as a place activator. Through the integration of media coverage, it has also informed the discussion with socio-spatial trends and their often-resultant disputes over spatial resources. Street food contributes to building the image of cities and strengthening their cultural identity. Contemporary urban socio-cultural trends are less focused on individual home spaces as the location for all domestic activities; with a continued migration to urban centres, space is becoming scarcer, and living arrangements are becoming increasingly crowded. Urban dwellers are discarding prior notions of necessary home spaces such as kitchens and cooking facilities, replacing these with the convenience of street food prepared by a vendor. As a street culture, street food connects the social, spatial, and temporal environment through a culturally located experience in place and time, an event to be at if you are anyone. While this is positive for the spreading of local knowledge and skills, it poses challenges for the retention of the authentically local. The commercialisation of the highly localised street food phenomenon poses challenges to the pivotal authenticity that is at its essence. Understanding of the allure of street food, beyond the accessibility and typically low pricing of the food, as a place activation tool with strong potential in the construction of a place image marketable to the tourism sector is gaining significant momentum both in real terms and in the literature. Processes of gentrification are related to the pursuit of sellable street food-related place images. These place images reconstruct the street food phenomenon and create an inauthentic copy, void of the original localised social, spatial, and cultural meaning. Further review of street food practices and the street food phenomenon and in what way gentrification undermines the value held by the authentic event, and what the significance is of the potential loss of local identity through commercialisation of street food events would be meaningful. The typological structure presented herein suggests a starting point for more in-depth analysis of the existing variety of street food. Further study of the relationships between these categories could also prove useful. As the global development of the commercialisation of the authentically local is so far appearing profitable and hence readily engaged in with vigour, that further knowledge and understanding is not far away. For normalisation and uniformity of the highly localised and place-based experience of street food would be a loss.

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30 Digital streets, internet banging, and cybercrimes Street culture in a digitized world Robert A. Roks and Jeroen B.A. van den Broek

Introduction Dating back to the early works of the Chicago School, the streets and street corners of the urban environments have been the décor of street life (Park, Burgess, & McKenzie, 1925; Thrasher, 1963). Recently, scholars studying street and gang cultures have illustrated how the digital street has become “as meaningful and consequential as the physical street” (Lauger & Densley, 2018, p. 817). For instance, MacDowall & de Sousa (2018) note how graffiti writers and street artists have incorporated social media into their everyday practice. But for many street-oriented persons, including gang members, the internet and social media platforms, such as Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter, are no longer marginal aspects of street or gang life (Van Hellemont, 2012; Moule, Pyrooz, & Decker, 2014; Pyrooz, Decker, & Moule, 2015; Roks, 2017; Storrod  & Densley, 2017; Lauger  & Densley, 2018; Urbanik  & Haggerty, 2018; Patton, Pyrooz, Decker, Frey, & Leonard, 2019; Stuart, 2019). Storrod and Densley (2017, p. 677), for example, note how “the emergence of smart phones and social media have enabled gangs to exist in a virtual world where face-to-face interactions in geographical and social space are not necessarily required to foster collective identity and collective action.” This chapter focuses on the changing nature of street life and street culture because of the rise of technology. Building on research on ‘the digital street’ (Lane, 2015, 2019), we will explore several topics from traditional urban approaches to street and gang life through the lens of digital approaches to keep pace with the transformation of the social life of the street. Most of the research on the digital street (Lane, 2019) to date is foundational and theoretical, rooted in the US experience (Storrod & Densley, 2017, p. 677), and with a focus on (street) gangs (Stuart, 2019). Although “gangs may embody street culture”, Ross (2018, p. 3) argues that they are not the only groups that utilize street culture. Therefore, instead of equating the study of gangs with street culture, we will look at recent studies of the online activities of gangs and gang members, with a gaze ‘beyond the gang’ (Hallsworth, 2013, p. 142) by foregrounding street culture. In the remainder of this chapter, we will examine the emerging research on the impact of the rise of digital technology on street life. First, we will elaborate on the concept of the digital street and its relevance for the study of street and gang cultures in a digitized world. Second, we address street cultural acts of impression management on social media. Third, we discuss the changing nature and dynamics of (internet) violence. Fourth, we explore the ways technology has changed opportunities for criminal activities on both

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the physical and digital street. Before reflecting on the changing nature of street culture in the digital era in the conclusion, we look at consequences of the rise of technology for policing the digital street.

Digital street life The central importance of the physical streets as a space has been an integral element of the landmark studies of street and gang cultures, dating back to the scholarly attention for the spatial configuration of the urban city by the Chicago School (Park et  al., 1925; Shaw  & McKay, 1942). In disadvantaged neighborhoods in the city, public spaces were, and still are, central to social life. In the absence of spots to congregate and hangout like parks that “may not exist in disadvantaged neighborhoods, streets (paved or otherwise) always will” (Ilan, 2015, p. 9). In his seminal work on gangs, Thrasher (1963, p. 93) notes how these “cracks, crevices, and crannies” of neighborhoods in the inner city become home territories for youngsters who see them “as exclusively their own and will defend valiantly again invaders” (Thrasher, 1963, p. 93). The prefix ‘street’ in street culture, therefore, relates to both physical and symbolic spaces in the urban environment (Ilan, 2015, p. 9). Hallsworth (2013, p. 147) argues that although the streets constitute places and spaces young people are confined to, often as a consequence of small and poor living conditions, the streets are also places of wonder, enchantment, adventure, and in general, “a seductive environment that promises excitement and pleasure, tinged with the risk of danger that makes it much more appealing.” In addition, the importance of space for people’s identities in general has, as Pickering, Kintrea, and Bannister (2012, pp. 946–947) show, been rather well-documented. For example, various studies “attest to the significance of neighborhoods for group formation, identity, meaning-making, and individuals’ behavioral patterns in disadvantaged communities, especially for young men” (Papachristos, Hureau, & Braga, 2013, p. 419). Physical space, as Ferrell argues (1997, p. 32), can be “constructed as a relatively independent zone of identity through symbolic displays, stylized details, and ritualized activities.” Kintrea, Bannister, Pickering, Reid, and Suzuki (2008, p. 49) conclude that “young people feel their estates or inner urban areas are the places that they belong to and, in turn, the places belong to them.” Gangs also tend to venerate their local surroundings (Papachristos et al., 2013, p. 419), for instance by taking their name(s) from street(s) of origin (Ley & Cybriwsky, 1974, p. 495; Katz, 1988, p. 156; Conquergood, 1994; Garot, 2007; Ilan, 2013, p. 6; Ilan, 2015, p. 75). In The Digital Street (2019, p. ix), Lane notes how street life in the past few years has “decoupled from its geographic location to split along the physical street and the digital street.” Lane postulates that the rise of digitally networked technologies, like the social media platforms Facebook and Twitter, has impacted street life. Neighborhood-based risks and opportunities associated with urban poverty are socially mediated through the use of these popular communication technologies and the ways teenagers, adults, and legal authorities handle the design and features of these platforms (Lane, 2019, p. ix). Nowadays, experiences of youngsters get filtered through digital technology, resulting in the co-creation of the street code in physical and digital spaces. In his book, Lane describes how navigating both streets affects, and sometimes alters, the enactment of gender roles, code-switching, and the ways formal and informal control impact the (digital) lives of youngsters. In general, Lane describes the digitization of the ‘code of the street’ (Anderson, 1999) or, the ‘code of the tweet’ (Stuart, 2019).

Street cultural impression management online The notion of the code of the street was introduced by Anderson (1999) in his seminal work on street culture. Within poor inner-city communities, street culture evolved a “set of informal rules governing interpersonal relations, particularly violence” (Anderson, 1999, p. 33). At the heart of the code of the street is respect, described by Anderson (1999, p. 66) as an invaluable form of social capital – or street capital 358

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(Sandberg & Pedersen, 2011) – in areas where other forms of capital are scarce. Anderson (1999, p. 72) explains how the code of the streets “revolves around the presentation of self ” with an emphasis on “the display of a certain predisposition of violence.” Since impression management and the presentation of self are at the fore of the code of the street, Anderson’s work can be interpreted as a street cultural application of the dramaturgical approach put forth by Goffman (1959). Long before the omnipresence of social media, Goffman predicted potential discrepancies between “an individual’s virtual and actual identity” (1963, p. 31). Since online activities comprise of a fair amount of impression management (Hogan, 2010), and ‘web enhanced’ identities tend to deviate from offline persona (Pyrooz et al., 2015), various scholars have integrated elements of Goffman’s dramaturgic framework in their analysis of online street and gang cultures (Van Hellemont, 2012; Storrod & Densley, 2017; Lauger & Densley, 2018; Urbanik & Haggerty, 2018). Most of the campaigns for respect are waged on so-called staging areas: places and spaces in the urban environment where a wide variety of people congregate (Anderson, 1999, p. 77). During these ritualized encounters, (young) people engage in ‘representing’ both “who they are and the ‘world’ or ‘hood’ from which they hail” (Anderson, 1999, p. 77). Lane (2019, p. 163) argues that the digital street, and social media platforms in particular, function as an additional staging area. Representing “where you from” (Garot, 2007) takes shape on the digital street in a similar manner as on the physical street. Traditionally, Anderson notes that “people are likely to assume that a person who comes from a ‘bad’ area is bad” (Anderson, 1999, p. 77). Urbanik and Haggerty (2018, p. 1353) illustrate how residents would brag on social media about Regent Park in Toronto as “the ‘hardest’ (toughest), most impenetrable neighbourhood.” Van Hellemont (2012), in her analysis of Belgian gangs on blogs, found that postal codes would be used by the Belgian gang members to communicate their home territories. Furthermore, she notes how blog authors would celebrate the larger city of Brussels, especially by referring to it as ‘Bronxelles,’ mixing Bruxelles  – the French word for Brussels – with The Bronx, to provide a credible context for Belgium gang life (Van Hellemont, 2012, p. 176). However, the street code revolves around more than building on the reputational features of the local or digital surroundings. In public, Anderson (1999, pp. 72–73) notes how street-oriented people, but also decent residents, must be able to “send the unmistakable, if sometimes subtle, message that one is capable of violence, and possibly mayhem, when the situation requires it, that one can take care of oneself.” Although the nature of this communication is contingent upon the concrete circumstances, Anderson (1999, p. 73) argues that in general physical appearances, mannerisms, and speech play “an important part in how a person is viewed; to be respected, it is vital to have the right look.” Social media platforms enable street-oriented persons to engage in street cultural acts of impression management and reputation building. For instance, Irwin-Rogers, Densley, and Pinkney (2018, pp. 403–404) note how gang members upload images to social media that convey power and status, like digital content that “portray a moneyed lifestyle, characterised by designer clothes, expensive jewellery, and luxury cars.” In their analysis of the social media content of a network of street-oriented youngsters from the Dutch city of Rotterdam, Roks and Van den Broek (2017, pp. 40–41) found, in addition to copious amounts of pictures displaying large quantities of narcotics, a practice dubbed ‘stack phone’: an image of a person holding large amounts of cash money to his ear as replacing a cell phone. The internet, and social media in particular, is increasingly used by gangs and gang members to showcase and promote (their) gang culture (King, Walpole, & Lamon, 2007; Van Hellemont, 2012; Morselli & Décary-Hétu, 2013; Moule et  al., 2014; Roks, 2017; Storrod  & Densley, 2017; Urbanik  & Haggerty, 2018). Morselli and Décary-Hétu (2013, p. 163), for example, describe how the Facebook pages of various gangs contain “pictures of members holding guns, showing their gang colors and hand signs” to display their strength, size, and toughness. In general, social media facilitates the performance of “the aggressive masculinity characteristics of gang members” (Irwin-Rogers, Densley, & Pinkney, 2018, p. 404). In addition, gang members use rap music and videos to ‘broadcast their badness’ (Lauger & Densley, 2018) and to post antagonizing rap or hip-hop music videos online as part of this violent posturing, which could 359

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contribute or have incited serious violence (Johnson & Schell-Busey, 2016; Patton, Eschmann, & Butler, 2013; Irwin-Rogers & Pinkney, 2017; Storrod & Densley, 2017). Lauger and Densley (2018, p. 818) note how YouTube operates as a platform for (gang affiliated) rappers to “perform individual and collective gang identities to a potentially vast audience, promote their capacities for lethal violence, and directly call out other gangs and gang members in the city.” Although there are noteworthy similarities in the street cultural acts of impression management on the physical and digital street, some of the dynamics of campaigns for respect tend to change because of the functionalities of social media platforms. For instance, views, likes, and comments could be seen as the online equivalent of respect, feeding the incessant, round-the-clock posts of (young) people, but also of gang members and street-oriented individuals. Therefore, Irwin-Rogers et al. (2018, p. 405) conclude that “social media incentivizes users to upload whatever content proves to be most popular in the virtual sphere of interconnected social media platforms.” For gang members this often means content that either displays or provokes violence, with the risk that online exaggerations of street and criminal credentials might prompt a hostile or violent response in real life (Urbanik & Haggerty, 2018, p. 1348).

Internet banging Within street culture, violence is considered a key criminal behaviour (Ilan, 2015, p. 95). Anderson’s (1999) analysis of the code of the street illustrates that campaigning for respect goes beyond the mere presentation of a violent self. In fact, the physical performance of violence on the street is detrimental for street-oriented people’s identities, but also an important means to deter future assaults (Anderson, 1999, pp. 76–79). The rise of social media has, in addition to impacting the dynamics of street cultural impression management, also impacted actual violence, both online and offline. A case study of a South Side Chicago gang member’s Twitter communication by Patton, Lane, Leonard, Macbeth, and Smith Lee (2017, p. 1012) indicates that common gang violence mechanisms like intergroup conflict, reciprocity, and status-seeking no longer (just) unfold on the physical streets but also online. These networked publics – referring to the ways (young) people’s peer worlds are embedded in social media (boyd, 2014, pp. 11–14) – have several different characteristics than traditional physical public spaces. Four affordances in particular tend to shape the mediated environments created by social media: digital content is more persistent, visible to a larger audience, easily spreadable, and searchable. Online violent displays, therefore, have the potential to reach a large audience of friends, rivals, and outsiders, and thereby potentially impacting real-world violent outcomes. A growing body of literature examines the relationship between social media and violence (for an overview see Peterson & Densley, 2017; Irwin-Rogers et al., 2018). Cyber-violence, one of Wall’s (2001) cybercrime typologies, refers to the ways individuals can cause harm in real or virtual environments (Holt & Bossler, 2014, p. 30). The street cultural acts of cyber-violence have been colloquially coined ‘cyberbanging’ (Haut, 2014) or ‘internet banging’ (Patton et al., 2013). Studies have documented how gang members use social media to challenge rival groups to violent confrontations but also to harass and threaten others (Deuchar & Holligan, 2010; Pyrooz et al., 2015; Patton, Eschmann, Elsaesser, & Bocanegra, 2016; Patton et al., 2017). Because “cyber violence can lead to similar levels of fear and distress as real-world violence” (Peterson & Densley, 2017, p. 194), social media appears to be an effective tool for street-oriented people. Although Stuart (2019, p. 3) notes that social media might provide new opportunities for de-escalating or avoiding offline violence, many studies indicate that social media serves as a vector, trigger, or catalyst for real-life violence (Patton et al., 2014; Lauger & Densley, 2018; Moule, Decker, & Pyrooz, 2017; IrwinRogers et al., 2018; Urbanik & Haggerty, 2018). Some of the functionalities of social media facilitate traditional street cultural practices. Since posts on social media do not automatically include locations, individual users can decide whether and how they want to share information about their whereabouts. With the act of “spatial referencing,” Patton et  al. (2017, p.  1011) note how “gang-involved youth often referenced their location in home territory as a 360

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boast and/or challenge to rivals,” but “they also stated opponents’ geographic locations and disdain for those areas.” Furthermore, symbolic acts like “incursion into rival territory” (Moule et al., 2017, p. 53) have an online equivalent in “spatial referencing.” On blogs, Van Hellemont found “momentary captures of real life events” (Van Hellemont, 2012, p. 177), as youth uploaded pictures of themselves with the name sign of subway stations that were claimed by rival crews (Van Hellemont, 2012, pp. 175–176). Similarly, Patton et al. (2016, p. 594) note how “with social media platforms, youth can to [sic] enter into rival gang territory and disrespect rivals’ gang symbols without being witnessed – but still advertise this action as a threat” (Patton et al., 2016, p. 594). Nowadays, gang members can also post pictures on social media (pretending) to be hanging out on rival turf, including either real geotags or referencing fake locations. However, some aspects of internet banging move beyond merely challenging rivals on social media. For instance, Johnson and Schell-Busey (2016, p. 73) illustrate that for gang members, rap music and social media functions as “a new bottle for old messages”: it is used to exchange threats with rival gangs, often resulting in increasingly violent back-and-forth retaliations. During threats of violence, or proactive acts of violence (Patton et al., 2017, p. 1007), gang members tend to reference the use of firearms to demonstrate a certain willingness to defend oneself or the group at all costs against outside attacks (Patton et al., 2017, p. 1008). However, gang members also utilize thoughtfully used emojis to imply a threat: “a gun pointed at an angry face, which could be interpreted as a murder; and a car and a bag of money, which may also suggest how and why this murder will occur” (Patton et al., 2017, p. 1008). Parallel to the street cultural acts of impression management online, some elements of internet banging remains analogous to violent acts on the physical streets (Haut, 2014; Lane, 2015), but there are some consequential differences. Social media platforms might provide ways to threaten or challenge rivals “without the immediate threat of violent retribution (e.g., shooting, stabbing, physical fighting) present in face-to-face neighborhood challenges” (Patton et al., 2017, p. 1012). Violent acts that do occur on the physical streets, might also end up on the digital street. For instance, Irwin-Rogers et al. (2018, p. 404) describe how videos and photographs of real-life incidents of serious violence are recorded and broadcast online, “often involving additional acts of humiliation, for example, stripping the victim of their clothes or coercing them into denouncing their own gang.” The potential virality of this digital or digitized violent content, where “people can be called out in front of thousands of far-flung audience members” (Urbanik & Haggerty, 2018, p. 1356), increases the rewards for posting, but also “can impose further social pressure on the gang member(s) being victimised or targeted to retaliate” (Irwin-Rogers et al., 2018, p. 406). Consecutive proactive and reactive acts of violence (Patton et al., 2017, p. 1007) lead to “vicious online-offline violence” (Irwin-Rogers et al., 2018, p. 404). However, these changing dynamics between violence on the physical and digital street might not just accelerate the process of conflicts, it can also result in an amplification of violence (Lane, 2019, p. xi).

Street crimes in a digitized world In addition to functioning as a staging area for violent confrontations, scholars have identified a variety of instrumental criminal activities on the streets, ranging from ‘amateur and playful’ to professional, highend and high-value criminal transactions (Ilan, 2015, p. 89). In-depth accounts of street and gang cultures operating within local neighborhoods in the United States (e.g., Bourgois, 1995; Anderson, 1999) and in Europe (e.g., De Jong, 2007; Sandberg & Pedersen, 2011; Densley, 2013; Fraser, 2015; Van Hellemont, 2015; Roks, 2016;) have illustrated that the street economy offers a plethora of criminal opportunities for motivated street-oriented individuals. A central commonality in these studies is the ways community characters shape illegitimate offending opportunities. These difference in access to illegitimate means and success-goals, or a differential opportunity structure, mirror the core findings put forth by Cloward and Ohlin’s (1960). Criminal subcultures tend to manifest in neighborhoods that feature a specific milieu characterized by “close bonds between different age-levels of offenders, and between criminal and conventional 361

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elements. As a consequence of these integrative relationships, a new opportunity structure emerges which provides alternative avenues to success-goals” (Cloward & Ohlin, 1960, p. 171). However, as Ilan (2015, p. 89) notes, without the appropriate street capital, both in its Bourdieusian variants of social capital (Ilan, 2013) and cultural capital (Sandberg & Pedersen, 2011), it “is extremely difficult to engage in economic street crime to any great level of dedication and success.” The lion’s share of the aforementioned studies were conducted before the omnipresence of the internet had transformed many aspects of social life in the urban environment. Technology, as Moule et al. (2014, p. 1419) argue, “is a values-neutral medium” that provides new, and different opportunities “for dangerous, deviant, and criminal behaviour, especially for individuals engaged in street crime.” The internet might also be a venue to expand criminal activities, providing new opportunities for making money (Pyrooz et al., 2015, p. 491). However, in their research on gang and non-gang members in the United States, Pyrooz et al. (2015, p. 492) note that while “the Internet has reached these inner-city populations, access alone is not translating into sophisticated technological know-how” (Pyrooz et al., 2015, p. 492) and that “gangs exploit the Internet to further their collective identity rather than for instrumental means” (Pyrooz et al., 2015, p. 493). Building on this instrumental/expressive dichotomy from the research on gangs Decker and Pyrooz (2013), Storrod and Densley (2017) seek to answer whether the use of social media by gangs in London is expressive, instrumental, or both. The findings from their social media content analysis of UKbased youngsters suggest a convergence of expressive and instrumental online behaviors, illustrating that expressive activities could also achieve instrumental goals, and vice versa (Storrod & Densley, 2017, p. 817). Several studies have illustrated that street-oriented people make use of new and different technological opportunities for making money. For instance, in his ethnography of gangs in London, Densley (2013) describes how the gang members exchanged illegal goods, services, and information via online auction sites, virtual gaming worlds, chatrooms, PayPal accounts, and synchronous conferencing protocols. Similarly, research on street-oriented youngsters in the Netherlands (Roks, 2016; Roks  & Van den Broek, 2017) and the UK (Storrod & Densley, 2017) documents how online communication technologies like BlackBerry Messenger and WhatsApp, and social media sites like Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, are used to sell stolen property or narcotics. Social media seems to especially provide new opportunities for both the purchasing of narcotics and drug dealing. In their recent exploration of the use of social media and encrypted messaging apps to supply and access, Moyle, Childs, Coomber, and Barratt (2019, p. 102) describe how the use of ‘Emojis’ “provide the gateway to access advertisements for sales of a range of substances: a diamond or snowflake for cocaine, a capsule for MDMA, and a needle for heroin.” The findings of Moyle et al. (2019, p. 108) indicate that “apps ranging from encrypted messaging services to social media platforms are fast becoming a viable option for accessing drugs.” In addition, there are also some examples of more advanced use of technology in economic street crimes. Densley (2013, p.  99), for instance, signals that gang members use “basic stenography to hide information within image and audio files and applications that allow users to send private messages that, like the film Mission Impossible, literally self-destruct in seconds.” More recently, Storrod and Densley (2017) describe how real-time data were integrated into aspects of gangs’ instrumental activities. Their research indicates an extreme form of ‘remote mothering’ online with gang members tracking the whereabouts of younger gang members “at all times via locations tags, GPS tracking, pictures and video calling,” amongst other things to monitor their drug dealing (Storrod & Densley, 2017, p. 688). These studies illustrate how technological advancements are utilized, or could be used to facilitate and enhance already existing street economic crimes. Pyrooz et al. (2015, p. 492) state that neither the gang members nor their non-gang peers in their research had “the technological competency to engage in complex forms of cybercrime.” However, research in the burgeoning field of cybercrime indicates that not all street-oriented individuals or gang members need highly advanced technological skills to engage in these cybercrimes. A case study on phishing – the act of digitally stealing user credentials of online bank accounts – in Amsterdam highlights the importance of social ties, rather than sophisticated technological 362

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skills. Leukfeldt (2014) illustrates how the streets of Amsterdam functioned as an offender convergence setting in this phishing case. The people involved in the execution of this criminal activity, the members of the criminal group, facilitators such as bank employees and postal workers, and money mules, knew each other from the streets, schools, sport clubs, or through social ties. Potential money mules were recruited using the chat function on mobile phones with messages asking whether “they wanted to make fast money” (Leukfeldt, 2014, p. 242). The detailed account of the modus operandi of this phishing case illustrates new, viable street economic opportunities in certain parts of Amsterdam, for instance in recruiting money mules or supplying ATM cards and pin numbers in exchange for money. Although elements of the modus operandi of phishing might be characterized as rather complex and technical, and in need of specialized cybercriminals, other parts of this criminal activity could and are being executed by street-oriented individuals (Roks & Van den Broek, 2017). Future research should, as Moule et al. (2014, p. 1419) state, therefore examine the implications of the internet for both street and cybercrime alike.

Policing the digital street? The code of the street and its subsequent self-reliance in resolving personal conflicts has long epitomized the difficult, often hostile relationship between street-oriented individuals and the police in the United States (Anderson, 1999), and to a lesser extent also in Europe (Brookman, Bennett, Hochstetler, & Copes, 2011). Various studies showcase a broad-based mistrust towards the police by noting that the streets of many poor urban neighborhoods in the United States seem to be structurally avoided by law enforcement officials (Sullivan, 1989; Sànchez-Jankowski, 1991; Conquergood, 1994; Bourgois, 1995; Decker & Van Winkle, 1996). However, the majority of these (ethnographic) studies were conducted before some of the well-known repressive law enforcement measures were implemented in the Unites States. In that respect, as Goffman (2009, p. 341) notes, times have changed rather drastically over the past decades with the war on crime, the war on drugs, but also the “blossoming of federal and state police agencies and bureaus, steeper sentencing laws, and a near unified endorsement of ‘zero-tolerance’ policies from police and civic leaders.” Street-oriented youngsters identified as gang members “face neighborhood roundups, civil injunctions prohibiting public gatherings, even deportation” (Ferrell, 2001, p. 164). In general, the experiences of street youth being “routinely chased, searched, questioned, and arrested by police” (Goffman, 2009, p. 341) are documented in various studies (for an overview see Sharp & Atherton, 2007). Ilan (2015, p. 164) summarizes these developments in the lives of street-oriented people as a transition from being ‘under protected’ to ‘over-policed.’ Increasingly, studies document how the digital street is policed in a similar fashion as the physical streets. In general, law enforcement agencies have become attuned to the wealth of online information shared by street-oriented individuals and gangs (Behrman, 2015). For instance, Joh (2016, p. 24) describes that the use of social media for policing could include searches for threatening words, suspects, and gangs or that, in certain circumstances, police officers might “find information through social media platforms by ‘friending’ suspected criminals and learning information through online posts.” In addition, Behrman (2015, p. 316) notes how law enforcement make use of information on social media platforms “to construct gang databases, chronicling every known and suspected gang member in a community.” Joh (2016, p. 15) notes how these technological advancements have altered surveillance discretion, amongst other things because of lower costs and increased possibilities to identify suspects. In addition, using gang databases that are partly constructed through social media information could facilitate the police in investigating and curbing gangrelated violence (Behrman, 2015, p. 316). However, policing the digital street runs similar risks as the pre-digital studies of street life indicate. In fact, “the digital streets presents a much easier path to surveillance and data collection” (Lane, 2019, p. 124) and technological developments augment the possibilities for profiling and anticipatory policing (Trottier, 2012, p. 422). In a chapter aptly named “Going to jail because of the internet,” Lane (2019, p. 121) 363

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illustrates how “as youth stage their street lives online, police and prosecutors collect, interpret, and edit their content into criminal charges.” Social media offers actors in the criminal justice system new means and opportunities “to capture and control the information of suspects without the public tension of stopping a young black man on the physical street” (Lane, 2019, p. 121). However, the interpretation of the online content of street-oriented individuals is not straightforward nor self-evident. As several sections in this chapter indicate, digital communication is heavily coded and rife with face work and violent presentations of self. Even insiders, as Patton et al. (2016, 2017, 2019) argue, might have a hard time determining whether young people are indeed gang-related or to what extent digital posts are meant to be threatening or violent. In general, questions remain whether law enforcement practitioners are able “to reliably interpret peer-directed communication from a population they may have almost no contact with offline” (Lane, 2019, p. 147).

Conclusion The information age has sparked the novelty debate in the field of criminology, especially in relation to virtual criminality. Grabosky (2001, p. 243) argues that “it has become trite to suggest that the convergence of computing and communications has begun to change the way we live, and the way we commit crime.” However, he warns against “the overgeneralization and hyperbole” that seems to characterize a great deal of the discourse on the digital age. In this chapter, we have provided an overview of the emerging research on the ways that digital technologies impact street life and culture. By zooming in on several themes, we illustrated that traditional street cultural practices still play out online in a similar manner, but that the novelty of the digital streets has altered some of the dynamics on the physical streets, thereby changing facets of traditional street culture. Social media offers a new, additional staging area for street cultural acts of impression management. However, the functionalities of social media platforms magnify already existing chasms between real and idealized presentations of self. Moreover, the dynamics of violence change because street-oriented people have to navigate both the physical and digital streets. The affordances of social media, with large, invisible audiences, combined with the persistence, distribution, and searchability of online content (boyd, 2014), function as both a vector and catalyst for online and offline conflicts (Irwin-Rogers et al., 2018) but may also lead to the amplification of real-life violence (Moule et  al., 2017; Lane, 2019). In addition to the expressive aspects of street life, we noted how technology in general resulted in new opportunities for profit-driven street-oriented people, both online and offline. However, digital street performances and activities are increasingly monitored, collected, and used by law enforcement agencies. Notwithstanding these relevant insights, the existing research has merely scratched the surface of digitization of street culture. Several theoretical and empirical questions remain and will rise as scholars focus their attention on the ways the digital street impacts the lives of street-oriented (young) people. Moving forward, our digital era calls for research methodologies that are able to grasp the realities of street life not just on the physical or digital streets, but simultaneously on the ground, in the feeds, and in the networks (Lane, 2019, pp. 169–187).

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African American Vernacular:  “relatively uniform grammar found in its most consistent form in the speech of black youth from 8 to 19 years who participate fully in the street culture of the inner cities” (Labov, 1972: xiii). Banlieue:  French term for suburbs of a big city. While recognizing that both poor and wealthy people can live in the suburbs, increasingly the term is used in a pejorative manner to describe low-income areas where large apartment blocks exist and many people survive on government assistance and some engage in illegal activities. Barrio:  Term typically given to a poor and/or working-class Spanish-speaking neighborhood in a city or town in the United States. Block Party:  When a street is temporarily closed to vehicular traffic so that residents can participate in some sort of celebration. It may be accompanied by vendors in booths and/or performers on a stage. There may also be activities for children such as an inflatable moon bounce apparatus and/or face painting. Bombing:  The prolific writing of one’s tag. Bombing usually involves saturating a given area with a large number of “tags” and/or “throw-ups” (aka “throwies”) (see this glossary). Often regarded as an important avenue for achieving recognition among other graffiti writers. Broken Windows Theory:  Explanation for crime causation, developed in 1982 by George Kelling and James Q. Wilson, that argued that low levels of neighborhood blight (e.g., broken windows, abandoned or boarded up houses and vehicles, lawns with grass uncut, etc.) including graffiti are magnets for more serious deviancy/crime (e.g., drug sales, robberies, gang activity, etc.). Code of the Street:  Term developed by Elijah Anderson in 1994 to describe how young AfricanAmerican men relate to the street and the people they interact with in this context. Includes a disposition towards respect and violence. Commodification:  The process whereby goods/items, services, ideas, and people become “commodities and/or objects of trade.” Consumerism:  “ideology” and practice that “encourages the acquisition of goods and services in everincreasing amounts.” Consumption:  Term used in economics to refer to using goods and services that have an exchangeable value. Cultural Industry:  Businesses that reflect and shape public opinion and are important in constructing the popular culture of societies (e.g., museums, publishing industry, movies, social media, etc.). Discretion:  Decisions made by criminal justice practitioners to invoke a law/criminal sanction. In the case of police, it includes the decision to stop, question, search, issue a citation, arrest, and to use force against a suspect. Drug economy:  Term which refers to the dominant means by which people support themselves in a particular part of town, region, or country. Some or most people support themselves through the

368

Glossary

cultivation or sale of illegal drugs. This leads to trickle-down effects of being able to support other kinds of businesses. Ethnography:  Qualitative methods that involve systematic observation and interaction (i.e., talking/ listening) with research setting. Film Noir:  “films set in dark urban settings that feature anti-heroes and femme fatales who struggle with violent passions, paranoia, and criminal psychology” (Wicks, this volume). Gang:  An informal group, typically composed of young people who affiliate with each other, establish their own norms and rules for joining the organization, and work together for mutual benefit (e.g., comradery, shared resources, protection etc.). They usually engage in illegalactivity. Gang Fight/War:  A competition between one or more gangs over territory, and/or drugs or other kinds of illegal contraband. Gang Member:  A member of a gang. Also called homeboy or gangster. Gentrification:  The process where poorer parts of a city are transformed into economically viable and safer areas for new, more affluent people to work and live. This is done through the purchase of rundown and/or abandoned buildings, their renovation, and converting lofts or repurposing other kinds of spaces for work or residences. Ghetto:  Term that originates in the 16th century. Originally used to describe urban areas where Jews live. In the United States context, the word is typically used to refer to places where poor AfricanAmericans disproportionately live. Graffiti:  Primarily refers to words, figures, and images that have been written, drawn, and/or painted on, and/or etched into or on surfaces typically without permission of the owner of that property. Hip-Hop:  A youth cultural movement, originating in African American neighborhoods (especially the Bronx) in New York City during the 1970s. It is popularly believed to be characterized by rap music, emceeing/deejaying, dance (especially break dancing), and graffiti. Hobo:  Term used to describe individuals who are typically itinerant migrants, poor, and vagrants. Initially used in the United States in the late 1800s. Hobos would hop on trains in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Mass Media:  A collection of media technologies that reach a large audience via mass communication. Includes a variety of outlets. Media:  Tools used to store and deliver information or data; means of artistic expression. Moral Panic:  Disproportionate punitive action/s taken by the public, politicians and/or mass media against a “deviant” situation or group. Mural:  Large painting on a wall or side of a building, etc. where the artist/s have been given express permission by the owner and/or has been commissioned to do the piece (e.g., Diego Rivera). Often depicting historical and/or religious events, themes, individuals, etc. Neoliberalism:  A political theory of the late 1990s that holds that personal liberty is maximized by limiting government interference in the operation of free markets. News Media:  Elements of the mass media that focus on delivering news to the general public or a target public (i.e., via print media, broadcast news, Internet). Night-Time Economy:  Economic activity that takes place after normal working hours including entertainment, bars, and restaurants. No-Go Area:  Term typically used in European settings to describe parts of town that are dangerous so that visitors risk criminal victimization assault or murder, and/or have high levels of violence and gang activity. Parkour:  Aerobic activity mainly practiced by young people in public places that involves jumping or hopping over obstacles like park benches and retaining walls. Participant Observation:  When the researcher partakes in or observes behavior under investigation to better understand the thoughts and motivations of individuals who engage in a particular activity.

369

Glossary

Public Housing:  Apartment buildings, town houses, or row homes that are owned by the government that are leased out to people who are on government assistance. In the United Kingdom, these properties are usually called estates. Public Order Offenses:  Minor crimes such as gambling, drunk and disorderly, urinating in public, vagrancy, and vandalism. Public Space:  Places open to the general public, where people pass through and/or congregate such as sidewalks, parks, and libraries. Quality of Life Issues/Indicators:  Building upon Kelling and Wilson’s broken windows theory, these issues/indicators are cues in a neighborhood that would indicate that the neighborhood was declining, including the number of abandoned homes, presence of homeless people, and vagrancy. Roma:  A preferred term used for individuals also described as gypsies. These individuals are of IndoAryan background. They have settled throughout Europe and in the United States. They are frequently subjected to racism and persecution. Sex worker:  Term that typically refers to individuals who derive their income from the sale of sex. Skid Row:  Poor part of town where large concentrations of poor, unemployed, often homeless, drug and/or alcohol addicted people live. The term originated in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. Social Media:  Computer-mediated technologies that allow communicators to create, view, and share a variety of different types of information to virtual communities and networks. Street Art:  Stencils, stickers, and artistic/noncommercial posters that are affixed to surfaces where the owner of the property has typically NOT given permission for the individual to place them on it. Can include words, figures, and/or images. Street Capital:  Consists of a unique combination of: race/ethnicity, gender, reputation, and the related processes of street efficiency/literacy/savvy/ smarts/wisdom (Ross, 2018, p. 10). Street Cool:  Style of young people who live in the city. Urban style that shows relationship to pop culture and consumerism. Street Crime:  Crimes connected to the urban lifestyle, against people and property, committed in both public and private places. Street Culture:  “the beliefs, dispositions, ideologies, informal rules, practices, styles, symbols, and values associated with, adopted by, and engaged in by individuals and organizations that spend a disproportionate amount of time on the streets of large urban centers” (Ross, 2018, p. 8). Street Food:  Foods or drinks that are ready to consume and sold to the public. Vendors typically sell the food in public spaces (e.g., sidewalks, from the curb), via portable booths, carts, and/or trucks. Street Literacy:  Conceptual framework that describes the dynamic process of experiential knowledge production and self-construction in a specified context. More specifically, it consists of a series of strategies that urban youth use to negotiate their neighborhoods (Cahill, 2010). Street Vending:  The sale of food and goods in public spaces such as sidewalks, stalls, or trucks. Subculture:  Individuals who are part of a larger culture that define themselves based on shared norms and values that are distinct from the main group. This may also include distinct ways of dress and speech understood by the group. Swing Kids (Swingjugend ):  During the 1930s, a subculture of people aged 14–21 in Germany who loved jazz and swing music opposed to Nationalist Socialist Ideology. Tag:  Quickly written name/moniker of the graffiti artist/writer. Typically, they do not use their real names and use their street/code names instead. Tramp:  Alternative name for a person also referred to as a hobo. More popular connotations have used the word tramp to refer to someone who has loose sexual ethics. Urban Ethnography:  A qualitative research method occurring in an urban context that relies on close observation and descriptive analysis. Often includes systematic, critical, and self-reflective approach to 370

Glossary

gathering and interpreting data. Conducted in an urban environment, thus the use of the modifier “urban.” Vandalism:  “[T]he intentional destruction or damage of public or private property” (Breen, 2013, p. 437). Writer:  One who engages in prolific graffiti production. Also called a “bomber” (see earlier). Zuit Suit:  Men’s suit with pants that were high waisted and wide legged, with jackets that had wide lapels, padded shoulders, and were long. Worn by Latinos, African-Americans, Italian-Americans, and Filipino-Americans during the 1940s.

Acknowledgment Thanks to Sebastian Kurtenbach and Susan A. Phillips for suggestions and comments. The reader should keep in mind that because of regional/geographical differences, these terms and definitions may vary in how they are used and applied.

371

Chronology of the history of street culture 1927, Frederic Milton Thrasher publishes The Gang. 1928, Robert Ezra Park publishes “Human migration and the marginal man,” The American Journal of Sociology, 33(6), 881–893. 1930s, Emergence of modern graffiti in the USA. 1931, The movie The Public Enemy, one of the earliest urban film noirs, is released. 1930s, Swinjugend (swing kids) start appearing in Germany. 1945, Zuit Suit Riots occur in Los Angeles. Late 1940s–early 1950s, the first skateboards are invented. 1943, Street Corner Society, by William Foote Whyte is published. 1955, Delinquent Boys: The Culture of the Gang, by Albert K. Cohen is published. 1960s, In the wake of declining relationships with poor inner-city groups, large American Municipal Police departments create police-community relations departments 1961, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, by Jane Jacobs is published. 1962, Herbert J. Gans publishes The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of Italian-Americans. 1965, Riots erupt in the Watts neighborhood in Los Angeles. When the riots came to a close there were three police officers killed, one firefighter killed, and 34 civilians killed. Total property damage amounted to approximately $44 million dollars Mid 1960s, Go-Go music, a type of music derived from funk, appears in Washington, D.C. 1967, Elliott Lebow publishes Tally’s Corner: A Study of Negro Street Corner Men. 1968, Student protests occur in many big cities in advanced industrialized countries. These include many pitched street battles between youth and municipal police officers. 1969, Stonewall riots take place, pitting members of New York City’s gay community against members of the New York Police Department. 1970s, Global cities such as New York, London, and Toronto see middle-class and upper-class people return to the core, initiating gentrification in poorer parts of these locations. 1973, Lynn Lofland publishes A World of Strangers. 1976, The movie Taxi Driver, directed by Martin Scorsese, is released. It follows the exploits of an alienated cab driver who singlehandedly cleans up a small-time pimp and releases a childhood prostitute. 1978, Elijah Anderson publishes A Place on the Corner. 1979, The movie The Warriors, directed by Walter Hill, is released. It traces the struggle a New York City gang endures when it is falsely accused of the murder of a rival gang leader. 1983, The movie Wild Style, about graffiti, directed by Charlie Ahearn, is released. 1986, The cult classic skateboarding movie, Thrashin, directed by David Winters and starring Josh Brolin, is released. 1990s, Grunge music scene originates in Seattle, Washington. 1992, Elijah Anderson publishes Streetwise: Race, Class, and Change in an Urban Community. 372

History of street culture chronology

1994, The United States Congress passes the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act (i.e., Crime Bill) which provides funding to enable state and local police departments to hire 100,000 community policing officers. 1995, Jeff Ferrell publishes Crimes of Style. 1999, Susan A. Phillips publishes Wallbangin’ Graffiti and Gangs in L.A. 2000, Elijah Anderson publishes Code of the Street. 2005, Stanley “Tookie” Williams, infamous leader of the Crips (an infamous African-American street gang), dies in San Quentin Prison. 2009, Sveinung Sandberg and Willy Pedersen publish Street Capital: Black Cannabis Dealers in a White Welfare State. 2010, The movie Exit Through the Gift Shop, produced by Banksy, is released. 2010, David J. Harding publishes Living the Drama. 2015, Jonathan Ilan publishes Understanding Street Culture: Poverty, Crime, Youth and Cool. 2016, Jeffrey Ian Ross publishes Routledge Handbook of Graffiti and Street Art. 2018, United Nations announces that “Two-thirds of world population will live in cities by 2050.” 2019, Heitmeyer and colleagues publish The Codes of the Street in Risky Neighborhoods.

Acknowledgment Thanks to Sebastian Kurtenbach for additional suggestions.

373

Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate a figure. Page numbers in bold indicate a table. AAVE see African-American Vernacular English Abarca, J. 99 Abbot, Berenice 297, 299 Abdullah Frères 296 Abrahale, K. 349 – 350 Adams, Jay 118 Adams, Robert 304 Adams, Z. 343 African American Vernacular English (AAVE) 189, 335, 338 – 340, 343 Agee, James 300 – 301 Alim, H. 339 Alimov, Roma 118 Allain, A. 349 Allen, Rick 45 All Girl Skate Jam (AGSJ) 121 Altman, Robert 290 Alva, Tony 118 American National Skateboard Championship 120 America’s Safest City 254 – 256 Amin, Ash 127 Amsterdam 99, 102, 142, 362 – 363 Anderson, Elijah xxxii – xxxiv, 3, 13 – 15, 19; code of the street 187 – 189, 205 – 207, 212 – 213, 215, 359 – 360, 372; Place on the Corner 372; ‘street smarts’ 138; Streetwise 372; see also code of the street; Intravia, Jonathan; Kurtenbach, Sebastian Angel, Julie 126 anomie theory 230 Anthony, Carmelo 280 Antwoord, Die 320 Araki, Nobuyoshi 303 Arbus, Diane 303 Armanto, Lizzie 119 Ashby, B. 170, 176, 178 – 179 Ashenmiller, B. 177 assemblage 270 – 271, 319, 321, 323 – 334 assemblage theory 324 assimilation, forced 29 – 30 Atencio, M. 115 – 116, 121 Atget, Eugène 297 374

Atzeni, M. 143 Austin, Alice 299 Autio, Narelle 307 authenticity and post-authenticity 320 – 321 Au, W.T. 45 Austin, Alice 299 Australia 13, 39 – 40, 42 – 44, 49, 163, 194; Arts Law Centre 307; street food 346 – 347; street markets 351; street photographers 308; Trent Park 306; see also Brisbane; Melbourne; Sydney Babbage, Charles 43, 47 Bach in the Subways 41 – 42 Bäckström, Å. 121 Badiou, Alain 126 Baltimore, Maryland 273 – 281 Baltz, Lewis 304 Bangkok, Thailand 346, 351 Banksy (artist) 90, 92, 286, 373 banlieu 2, 340, 368 Bannister, J. 358 Barajas, Armando 116 Barker, A.: “mediated conviviality” 72, 126, 131, 133 Barnard, Malcom 319 Baron, S. 261 barrio 4, 30, 53, 86, 368 Basquiat, Jean-Michel 92, 94 Bass, Michael T. (MP) 42 – 43 Bates, L.W. 45 Baudelaire, Charles 295 Baugh, J. 335 Bauhaus 299 Baumann, Max 308 Bauman, Z. 28 Baumgartner, M. 256 Bayat, Asef 149 Beal, B. 115 – 117, 128, 131 Becher, Bernd and Hilla 304 Behdad, Ali 296 Belgium 11, 359; see also Brussels Behrman, M. 363

Index

Benjamin, Walter 295 Bennett, A. 63 Bennett, T. 233 Berg, M. T. 214 Berlin, Germany 43, 142, 194, 201, 271, 307; photographs of 299; Universum Film-Aktien Gesellschaft studio 286; see also Germany Berlin Wall 305 – 306 Berryman, Ellen 121 Beuys, Joseph 303 bicycle messengers 137 – 145 Bing, Ilse 299, 301 ‘Bird Flu’ 280; see also drugs Bird, S. 42 Birmingham, England 211, 340 Bishop, Peter 149 Bittner, E. 50 BlackBerry Messenger 362 Blacks, Blackness 339 – 341, 343; in the city 252 – 253, 262 – 265; cultural signifiers 115; and masculinity 187 – 191; middle class 256; and skateboard culture 116 – 117; and social media 364; street culture 18 – 19; in the suburbs 256; see also African American Vernacular English; Harlem, New York; hip hop; incarceration, imprisonment Black Entertainment Television (BET) 277 Black Guerrilla Family (gang) 279; see also Baltimore Black KkKlansman (film) 290 Black Lives Matter (UK) 54 Black rights movements 327 Black Star photo agency 299 ‘Black street speech’ 337 – 338 Blade Runner (film) 270, 285, 292 – 293 Blaxploitation films 292 Blitz (London) 299 Bloch, Stefano xxx, 71, 77 – 88 Blondie (band) 94 Bloods (gang) 81, 383, 343 BMX 122, 285, 342 Bologna, Italy 142 bombing (graffiti) 368, 371; see also tag Boone, Kurt 2 bootleggers and bootleg 106, 287, 313, 316 Borden, Iain 72, 114 – 124, 128 Bordwell, David 286 Bourdieu, Pierre xxxiii, 20, 318; cultural capital, theory of 336; habitus 18 – 20, 62, 128, 196, 234 – 235 Bourgois, Philippe 27, 85, 187, 260, 326 Bourke-White, Margaret 299 Bowen, T. 93 Boyd, Colleen 120 Boyd, J. 177 Brandt, Bill 299 Brassaï (Gyula Halász) 297 – 298 Bratton, B. 144 Bratton, W. J. xxxiii Bravo, Manuel Alvarez 299

Brayton, S. 115 – 116 Brazil 116, 226, 236; see also favelas; South America Brenes, Chico 116 Brett, Donna West 270, 295 – 309 Briggs, Daniel 9 – 10, 25 – 37 Brink, R. 122 Brisbane, Australia 194, 200, 351 British/Birmingham School of cultural studies 211 Brizarelli, M. 141 Broadwood, Lucy 39 Brody, Adrian 100 broken windows theory 28, 210, 256; definition 368; British model 55; and graffiti 71, 77, 82 – 85, 87 Brookman, F. 233 Browne, R. 40 Brown, Jackie see Jackie Brown (film) Brown, Michael 54, 291; see also Ferguson, Missouri Brun, A. 328 Brunstad, E. 339 Brussels, Belgium 142, 359 Buchanan, I. 324 – 325 Bucholtz, M. 338 Buffalo, New York see America’s Safest City Burgess, Ernest xxxii Burgh-Woodman, Hélène de 270 – 271, 323 – 334 Burnquist, Bob 116, 119 Burnside, Cara-Beth 121 busking, buskers 10, 38 – 39, 42 – 45, 261 Busking Project, The (website) 39, 43 – 44 Butler, B. 280 Butz, K. 115 Caballero, Steve 116, 119 Cahill, C. 138, 143 Calle, Sophie 307 Campany, David 305 Campos, Ricardo M.O. 10, 59 – 70 Canniford, R. 324, 328 Cant, C. 142 Cape Town, South Africa 346, 352 Carava, Roy de 301 Caravan Sites and Control of Development Act (United Kingdom) 29 Cardoso, R. 348 Carnelos, L. 42 Carr, J. 130 Cartier-Bresson, Henri 270, 297 – 298 Castelli, C. 328 Certeau, Michel de 126 Chan, J. 49 Chaplin, Charlie 286 Charman, S. 49 Chase, John 149 Chastanet, F. 93 chatrooms 362 Chatterton, P. 130 Cheshire, J. 340 375

Index

Chicago, Illinois: African-American neighborhoods 234; food trucks 73, 147, 151 – 155; gangs 81, 360; in Public Enemy (film) 287 Chicago School of Sociology xxxi – xxxii, 1, 219, 229, 357 – 358 China 84, 152, 286, 347 Chinese Kicker Club 114 Chocolate (filmmaker) 116 Choi, Jaz Hee-jeong 74, 194 – 204 Clark, Larry 117 Clay, P. 197 Clayton, C. 281 Clayton, Jack 292 Cloward, R. 214, 220, 361 Coates, Ta-Nehisi 276 Cobain, Kurt 313 cocaine 30, 118 – 119, 362; crack 27, 262 Cockbain, E. 52 “code of the gang” 239, 241 – 245 code of the street 3, 105, 363 – 364; Anderson’s hypothesis 186 – 190, 205 – 207, 220 – 221, 237, 251 – 252, 358 – 360; causes and consequences 219 – 226; cross-cultural perspectives on 229 – 236; as explanatory concept 212 – 213, 262 – 265; in Makeeva (Ukraine) 234 – 235; in Philadelphia 186, 215, 220 – 221, 229, 232 – 233, 262 – 263, 265; in RuhrRegion 234 – 235; see also code-switching; code of the gang; Heitmeyer, W.; masculinity; racial and ethnic discrimination; reputation; respect; victimization; violence “code of the tweet” 358 code-switching 187 – 189, 253, 338 – 340, 358; Anderson’s thesis 226, 230, 243 Cohen, Albert 220, 240, 372 Cohen, N. 349 Cohen, S. 42, 312 Coleman, A.D. 307 Colombianos 311 commodification 196, 368; of space 166, 195, 201 – 202; of street art 97 – 100; and street commerce 160; of street culture 198, 210 – 211, 269, 274, 291 consumption (of food products) 348 – 352 consumption (economic system of) 39, 61 – 64; of Black culture 116; conspicuous 28, 183, 185, 270, 310, 318, 321, 331 – 332; definition 368; luxury 323 – 324, 327 – 328; mass 151, 313; nonconsumption 173; of street culture 326; and urban culture 311; and urban development 99, 200 Control, E. 349 conviviality 72, 126 – 136, 165 – 166, Copes, H. 233 Coppola, Francis Ford 289 – 290, 292 – 293 Corcoran, D. 49 Coupland, N. 336 Crawford, Margaret 149 crime and criminality 225 – 226; chronic 257; graffiti as representation of 85; and masculinity 183 – 188; 376

and skateboarding culture 118; street crime 17, 205 – 268; street culture 323, 325; virtual 364 see also cultural criminology; cybercrime; deviance; gangsta; graffiti Crips 81, 279, 343, 373 Cruikshank, Isaac 39 cultural capital 74, 324, 362 cultural criminology 211 – 212 cultural industry 105, 269, 368 Cutler, C. 338 cyberbanging 357 – 367; definition of term 360 cybercrime 271, 357 – 363 cyberspace 63, 212 cyber-violence 360 D*Face (graffiti artist) 96 – 97 Daichendt, G. James 72, 90 – 103 Daguerre, Louis-Jacques-Mandé 295, 296 dandies 311 Danto, Arthur 101 Davidson, Bruce 307 Davis, Garry Scott (GSD) 115 Deal, Joe 304 Décary-Hétu, D. 359 Decker, S. 362 Degl’Innocenti, Luca 39 De Landa, M. 324 Deleuze, Gilles 126, 270, 324 – 325, 330 delinquency 251; history of 205 – 206; juvenile 77, 130, 212; subcultures of 219 – 220, 238 – 240, 245; in suburbia 249 – 265; violent 213 – 214, 223 – 224 Deliveroo 137 – 138, 141 – 144 DeMille, Cecil B. 286 De Niro, Robert 289 – 290 Densley, J. 357, 359 – 360, 362 Depression see Great Depression deviance 256 – 257; and crime 105, 179, 219; social 240 Dickens, Charles 47 Dierenfeldt, R. 264 diCorcia, Philip-Lorca 304 digital devices 62 – 67, 73, 137 digital environments 45 digital media 66, 84, 143 digital street 261, 271, 357 – 364; see also impression management digital technologies 38, 59, 63, 67; and bike messengers 137 – 138, 141 – 144 Dinces, S. 116 Dirty Ghetto Kids (DGK) 116 disrespect see respect distinction 311, 318, 327; class 323; socio-commercial 25, 32 – 35; see also Bourdieu, Pierre Dordick, G. 14; see also New York City Do the Right Thing (film) 270, 285, 290 – 292 Draper, A. 349 Drissel, D. 116, 128

Index

drug addiction 28, 118, 177, 187, 278 drug dealing 25, 27, 30 – 32, 74, 177, 221; and social media 362; suburban 254 – 256 drug economy 27, 34, 177, 231, 278, 368 drugs (narcotics) 280, 359, 362; see also cocaine; fumadero; heroin drug war 82 Drummond, H. 233 Drummond, R. 340 Dubois, W. xxxiv Duck, Waverly xxxii Duggan, Mark 54 Duran, Robert xxxii Durkheim, Emile xxxi – xxxiii, 250, 265 dystopia 286, 292 – 293, 315 Edison, Thomas Alva 286 Edwards, Elizabeth 296 Ehrenfeucht, Renia 73, 147 – 158 Eggleston, William 303 Eighner, L. 173, 179 – 180 Eikenberry, N. 173, 177 Ekanem, E. 349 Elguera, Eddie 119 English, Ron 90 Erwitt, Elliott 301 Eskildsen, U. 299 Evans, Walker 299 – 300 Export, Valie 303 Fab Five Freddy 94 Facebook xxxi, xxxv, 1, 143; gang use of 271, 357 – 358; street style posted on 312, 320; urban photography 306 Fahd, Cherine 303, 304, 307 Fairey, Shepard 86, 90, 92, 93, 98 Farm Security Administration (FSA) 299 – 300 Farris, L. 95 favelas 116, 235 – 236 Fellers, Sierra 120 Fenton, Roger 296 Ferguson, Missouri 54 Ferguson, J. M. 140 Ferguson, Russell 303 Ferracuti, Franco 220 Ferrell, Jeff xxv, 358; on broken windows ideology 83; cultural criminology 211 – 212; Empire of Scrounge 171; on scrounging 171, 173, 177 film noir 288; definition 369 Fincham, B. 139, 143 Fleisher, Mark S. 206, 259 – 268 Flickr 64, 306 – 307 Florida, R. 151 Flügel, J. 315 Fluxus Movement, Germany 303 Flynn, Karen Coen 206, 259 – 268 Football Supporters Federation 130

Ford, Harrison 292 Foucault, Michel 126 Franck, K. 127 Frank, Robert 302 Frazier, E. 261 Frederick, Tyler J. 9, 13 – 24 freegans 170 – 171, 173 – 175, 177 – 181 Friedlander, Lee 303 Friedman, Glen 122 Fried, Michael 304 – 305 fumadero 30, 32, 33 Gablik, Suzi 93 Galliano, John 316 Gang, The see Thrasher, Frederic gang culture 2, 359; as subculture 4, 239 – 241; and street culture 241 – 246 gang fight/war 369 gang girls 263 gang members 211, 213, 216, 243, 369; and conflict 245; and group opinion 239; non-gang members 362; senior 342; see also peer groups, peer pressure; reputation; respect gangs 279; Belgian 359; and delinquency 238 – 240, 245 – 246; and graffiti 77, 81, 83, 93; rivalries 82, 288, 342; and social media 359 – 363; see also Bloods; Crips; street gangs gangsta 115, 323, 326 – 327; rap music 280 gang violence 79, 81, 83 – 85, 239 – 245, 325 – 327; digital/internet 360 – 361; see also masculinity; violence Gans, Herbert J. 372 Garot, R. 243, 245 Gartlan, Luke 296 Gastman, R. 96 Gates, Daryl 210 Gauguin, Paul 98 gaze, the 59, 317 – 318, 357; managerial 142 – 143; public 321 gentrification 2, 55, 71 – 74, 79 – 80, 149, 150; 1970s 372; definition of 369; representations of 270, 285; of Rome 161; and street art 99; and street food 146, 152, 346, 351 – 353; and street life 194 – 204; and the suburbs 257 Germany 130, 234 – 235, 305; divided 301; East 305, 307; Fluxus 303; photographers 298, 305 – 307; street films 286; West 305 ghetto 4, 27 – 30, 273; aestheticizing of 115; and African American life 53; definition of 369; hyperghetto 25, 28, 34; language 340 “ghetto chick” 243 ghettoization 80, 105; of Belfast 128 gig economy workers 72 – 73, 137 – 138, 141 – 144 Giddens, Anthony 250 Gilchrist, Paul 72, 126 – 136 Gilroy, Paul 127 Giroux, H. 123 Giuliani, Rudy 210 377

Index

Glass, Ruth 194 Glazer, N. 82 Goffman, Erving xxxii, 359, 363 Gohlke, Frank 304 Gold, Ray xxxii Goldstein, H. 54 Gonzales, Mark 119 González Santa Cruz, F. 352 Gottfredson 227 Gowan, T. 14, 19 Grabosky, P. 364 Grabrys, J. 144 Grasmick, H. 223 graffiti 77 – 88; non-gang 80 – 81, 85 – 86; post-graffiti 101 – 103; see also bombing; street art; tag graffiti writer see writer Gray, Freddie 54, 274; see also Baltimore Great Depression 19, 300, 302 grime 340 – 341, 343 Grosso, J. 115 Gross, Steven 118 Grunge 310, 313 – 315, 372 Guaralda, Mirko 74, 194 – 204, 271, 346 – 356 Guattari, Félix 126, 324 – 325 Gunter, A. 52 Gursky, Andreas 305 Gusfield, Joe xxxii Gutmann, John 301 Guy-Blanche, Alice 286 Habenstein, Robert xxxii Habermas, J. 164 habitus see Bourdieu, Pierre Hackett, Paul 118 Hagan, J. 256 Haggerty, K. 359 Hallsworth, S. 26, 261, 358 Hambleton, Richard 94 Hamm, Keith 118 Hanser, A. 352 Harajuku Girls 311 Harcourt, B. 82 Harding, David J. 242 – 243, 372 Hargreaves, J. 52 Haring, Keith 92, 94 Harlem, New York 27 – 28; 1950s 301; Latinx 187 Harmon, Will 132 Harrison-Pepper, S. 42 hashtags 41, 142 Hassan, Omar 116 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène 296 Hawk, Tony 115, 117, 119, 121, 123 Hays Code 288 Hazel, Sue 121 Heavy Metal 310, 313 – 314, 319 Hebdige, Dick 114, 312, 319 Heddings, Neil 118 378

Heilbrun, Françoise 296 Heitmeyer, W. 231, 234 – 235, 373 Hellman, A. 115 Henderson, Jeremy 116 Henson, B. 261 heroin 21, 30, 362 Hewitt, R. 338 Hickey 102 Hilfiger, Tommy 279, 316 Hindley, Charles 39 – 40 Hine, Lewis 299 hip-hop 80, 94, 115 – 117, 122; definition 369; fashion/ street style 310, 316, 319, 321, 323; language 339 – 340, 342 – 343; mogul 326 – 327, 331; music 270, 276, 280 – 281, 338, 359 Hirschi, T. 227 Hirsch, L. 45 hobo 13, 369; see also tramp Hobsbawm, E. 211 Holmboe, Vagh 40 Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam 73, 159 – 169 Hogarth, William 39 Hole (band) 313 Holmboe, Vagn 40 Holmes Smith, C. 326 – 327, 331 Hölsgens, Sander 123 homelessness 9, 11, 13 – 24, 28; 1980s United States 82; and the code of the street 224; and gentrification 199; vs home ownership 50; and revanchism 149; and scavengers 177 – 179; and scrappers 172; and scroungers 173; and street culture 211, 216, 281; and street food 352; and urban renewal 201; and young people 225, 261; see also skid row Homoki, Aaron (“Jaws”) 118 Hong Kong 39, 41 – 42, 292, 304, 346 hooks, bell 116, 318 Hoover, Herbert 210 Ho, R. 45 Horning, Brooke 206, 238 – 248 Horscham District Council 133 Horowitz, Irving xxv Horowitz, R. 241 Hosoi, Christian 116, 118 – 119 Howarth, S. 307 Howell, Ocean 132 Huey, L. 18 Hughes, Albert and Allen 292 Hughes, Everett C. xxxii Hughes, Helen xxxii Humans of New Town (Instagram) 306 Humans of New York (Instagram) 306 Hunns, The (band) 117 Hunt, M. 307 Hurtado, Gary 115 Huston, Nyjah 119 Hyde, Z. 352 hyperghetto see ghetto

Index

identity politics 26 Ilan, Jonathan xxv, 48 – 49; Understanding Street Culture 215 – 216, 260, 326, 362 – 363, 373 Illich, Ivan 127 – 128, 130 impression management 357 – 361, 364 incarceration, imprisonment 118 – 119, 165, 186, 253; of Black men 188, 262, 276; mass 82, 184; see also jails information communication technologies (ICTs) 138 inner city 86, 177, 187, 189 Instagram 1, 44, 64, 65, 271, 275, 306, 312 institutional racism 54 internet crime, internet banging see cyberbanging Intravia, Jonathan 205, 213, 219 – 228 Iraq 84, 307 Irwin-Rogers, K. 359, 361 Italy 42, 86, 129, 166; see also Bologna; Rome; Turin Jackie Brown (film) 292 Jacobs B. A. 186, 213, 327 Jacobs, Jane xxxiii, 196, 372 Jacobs, Marc 328 Jacques, S. 254, 256 jails 81, 210, 274, 276, 280, 363; see also prison Jameson, Fredric 289 Jamme, Huê-Tâm 73, 159 – 169 Japan 39; Bosozoku 323; ethnic Chinese minorities in 86; postwar 301 – 302; street styles 310 – 312, 319 – 321; see also Tokyo Jimerson, J. 242 Joh, E. 363 Johnson, J. 361 Johnson, Philip E. 101 Jones, N. 243 Jones, Rick xxv Jonze, Spike 120 Joseph Burstyn, Inc. v. Wilson 288 Kaliski, John 149 Kapferer, J.-N. 328 Kappeler, Victor xxv Kasai, Lester 116 Katz, J. 185 Kavish, Daniel R. 74, 183 – 193 Keaton, Buster 286, 293 Kelling, George xxxii – xxxiii, 82, 256; see also broken windows theory Kelly, D. 121 Kertész, André 297 Kidder, J. 132 – 133, 138 – 139, 143 King, Geoff 291 King, Martin Luther, Jr. 291, 293 Kintrea, K. 358 Klein, William 301 – 302 Klett, Mark 305 – 306 Kobrin, S. 214 Kornhauser, R. 215 Kozyr, A. 44

Kromo di Ghetto (rapper) 66 Kruse, Michael 249 Kubrin, C. 190 Kurtenbach, Sebastian 206, 213, 229 – 237 Kushner, R. 44 Labov, William 335 Lacan, Jacques 317 – 318 Lady Pink 90 Lane, J. 358 – 360, 363 – 364; Digital Street, The 358 Lange, Dorothea 299 – 300, 300 Larron, Marcellus 39 Lartigue, Jacques-Henri 297 Lauger, Timothy R. 206, 238 – 248 Laurent, J. 120 Lawrence Inquiry report of 1999 54 Lawrence, Stephen 54 Lawrence, Teri 121 Lawson, R. 337 Leavitt, S. 263 Lebow, Elliott 372 Lee, Bruce 292 Lee, Nikki S. 304 Lee, Spike 290 Lees, L. 197, 199 Lefebvre, Henri 42, 115, 126 Lemay, J. 45 Leonard, D. 115 Leonard, P. 360 Lepkoff, Rebecca 299 Leukfeldt, E. 363 Levitt, Helen 299 Lewis, O. 26 Ley, D. 81 Liebow, E. 183 Lieu, Kien 116 Lindgren, Emma 122 Lingyu, Ruan 286 Lloyd, Harold 286 Loaiza, Koki 118 Locke, H.J. 13 Lofland, Lynn 372 Loftus, B. 51 Lolita street style 310 – 312, 319 Lombard, K. 131 London Bicycle Messengers Association (LBMA) 144 London, England: Blitz 299; cabbies 106; gangs 362, 364; gentrification 150, 194, 372; messenger strikes 142; Metropolitan Police 307; Museum of 274; photographs of 302, 308; punk subculture 316; sidewalk cafés 4; skateboarding 117, 120; spoken language 337 – 342; street performers 42 – 43; urban renewal 201; see also Multicultural London English (MLE) London riots of 2011 28 Lorentz, Pare 287 Lorr, M. 122 379

Index

Los Angeles, California: in Blade Runner 292 – 293; gang culture 116, 240 – 241; graffiti 78 – 80, 81, 85 – 87, 94, 97; Hip-Hop 310; street crime 210; street vending 147 – 149, 151, 154; Sunset Strip 303; Zuit Suit riots 372 Louison, C. 119 “lower class culture” 239; and gangsta credibility 326; and Zef street style 320 lower-income groups 107, 155, 200, 215; and criminal/ delinquent subcultures 219 – 220; and luxury 327, 329, 330; young people 256; see also underclass “ludic” city 129; see also Franck, K. Lumière, August and Louis 286 luxury 33, 324 – 332, 359; ‘democratisation’ of 323 Lyft 74, 111 Lyng, Stephen 132 Lyon, Danny 307 Macauley, R. 49, 336 Macdonald, Andy 116, 119 MacDonald, H. 97 MacDowall, L. 357 MacLuhan, Marshall 65 Macpherson, William (Sir) 54 Madrid, Spain 30 – 32, 34, 40, 43 Maier, Vivian 299 Mailer, N. 91 Majors, R. 190 Malcom X 185, 291 Manning, Peter K. xxxi – xxxvi Man Ray 297 Marville, Charles 297 masculinities 74, 183 – 192 masculinity: alternative 115, 118 – 119; and the code of the street 230, 234, 241; and crime 185 – 187; hypermasculinity 33, 326; linguistic 338 – 339; noncriminal 187 – 188; and social media 359; street 74; street style 311, 319; and toughness 220, 234; and violence 26, 34, 244, 337 Mass Observation Movement 299 Marx, Gary xxv Marx, Karl 250 Mauss, Marcel xxxiii, xxxv Mayere, Severine 271, 346 – 356 McAdoo, Debbie 121 McBride, Lavar 116 McClain, Z. 115 McCray, Darryl 92 McGee, Barry 90 McGee, Patti 120 McIlvenna, Una 39 McKay, H. 214 McLaren, S. 307 – 308 McLuhan, Marshall 100 McNamara, L. 43 McNeeley, S. 223, 234 McQueen, Alexander 316 380

Measor, L. 26 media 3, 10, 59, 66; and crime, constructions of 212; fashion 328; global 191; news 6, 108, 210; mass 28, 138, 141, 144, 211, 269; McLuhan’s views of 100; popular 171, 176; see also digital media; social media media representations 190, 310 – 312 “mediated conviviality” see Barker, A. mediatisation 126 Meiselas, Susan 303 Melbourne, Australia 39, 42 – 44, 201 Méliès, Georges 286 Mendoza-Denton, N. 81, 263 Merton, Robert K. 27, 230 messengers see bike messengers Messerschmidt, J. 184 – 186 Messmer, Arwed 306 metal thieves 171 – 172 Meyerowitz, Joel 299, 303, 308 Mexico 151, 155, 299, 311 Mexico City 346, 352 Miami, Florida 98 middle classes 40; and decency, concepts and standards of 221, 230, 243; and delinquency 220, 256; and freeganism 173; and gentrification 74, 147, 149 – 150, 194 – 201; and masculinity 184; speakers and speech patterns 336 – 337; and skateboarding 115, 119; and the street 251 – 253; and street food 155; and the suburbs 250 – 251 migrants and immigrants 2, 10, 48 – 49; in Australia 194; diaspora 66; neighborhoods 148; in Norway 187, 191, 339; street vendors 148, 154, 160 – 162, 164 – 166; surveillance of 129 – 130 Miller, Billy 116 Miller, E. 185 Miller, Lee 299 Miller, W.B. 240, 261 Minehan, T. 13 Mill, John Stuart 131 Milton, Keenan 116 Missions Héliographiques 295 – 297 Mizer, Malic 311 Mobile Youth Survey (MYS) 233 Model, Lisette 301 Moholy-Nagy, László 299 Monahan, T. 179 Montreal, Canada 121 Moore, Grayer 311 moral panic 79, 129, 369 Moré, V. 180 Moriyama, Daido 301, 301, 303 Morselli, C. 359 motorbikes 52, 73, 160, 162 – 164, 166; and Buster Keaton films 286; road trips 290 motorcycle bandits 211 Moule, R. K. 233, 362 – 364 Mountain, Lance 119 Moyle, L. 362

Index

MTV 94, 312 – 313, 316 Mu, Guan 114 Muir, W. 50 Mullen, Rodney 119 Müller, Frank-Heinrich 308n7 Müller, M. 325 Mullins, Christopher W. 74, 183 – 193 Multicultural London English (MLE) 337, 340 Mulvey, Laura 318 mural 86, 88, 90, 91, 93, 94 – 95, 97; definition 369 muralism 99 Murray, Charles 26, 29 Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles 97 Museum of Modern Art, New York City 303, 306 museums of street art 99 museums of street culture 1, 272 Muybridge, Eadweard 306 Myspace 66, 312 Naterer, A. 234 National Press Photographers Association (NPPA) 307 neoliberalism 25 – 26, 28, 143; definition 369; economic agenda 195, 202; and freedom, rhetoric of 141; and the patriarchy 115; and social status 183; and urban environment/design 74, 196; and the welfare state 30 Netherlands, the 11, 84, 235, 362 Newman, L. L. 149 New York City 2, 14; busking 43; cab drivers 106; Central Park 4; graffiti 80, 85, 91 – 92, 94; police 51; senior citizens 11; skateboarding 117; Transit Authority 43; see also Harlem, New York City; Taxi Driver (film) Nightingale, Carl 28 Nirvana (band) 313 Nixon, Nicholas 304 Noble, G. 129 no-go area 4, 130, 369 Nonaka, I. 106 non-gang see gang members; graffiti Normcore 321 Norway 187, 191, 234, 339; see also Olso Occidentalism 4 O’Connor, P. 120 Oki, Peggy 121 Oldenburg, R. 164 Oliver, W. 188, 190 O’Malley, Martin 279 O’Neal, Ellen 121 Opsahl, T. 339 Orientalism 4 Orpana, S. 115 Osborn, Guy 72, 126 – 136 Oslo, Norway 187, 234 – 235, 271, 337 – 339 Ottawa, Canada 121 Oyola, Ricky 118

P-Rod (skater) 116 Pabst, Georg Wilhelm 286 Pappas, Tas 118 Paris, France 2, 201; Fashion Week 323; ghetto 28; parks 4; street photography 270, 295 – 298, 302; suburbs 126; see also banlieu; verlan Parke, Trent 306, 307 parkour 126 – 135 Park, Robert xxxii Parr, Martin 304 participant observation 162, 369 Patel, A. 41 Patton, D. 360 – 361, 364 Payne, Y.A. 190 Pedersen, Willy 187, 234, 373 peer groups, peer pressure 27, 81, 120, 223 – 224, 230 – 233, 275; mutual dependency 252; mutual observation 188 – 190; prestige, status, and respect 65, 213, 221, 241 – 242, 244 – 245; and social media 360; and shared space 60; and street styles 318; and youth language 335 peer-to-peer platforms 142, 200 Peralta, Stacy 115, 118, 120 – 121, 285 Peters, Duane 117 – 118 Pigeon, Mathilde 121 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 43, 80 – 81, 92, 94, 275; Germantown 231, 235; Labov’s work in 335; “Love Park” 116; street code 186, 215, 220, 229, 232 – 233, 262 – 263, 265 Phillips, Susan A. 71, 77 – 88 phishing 362 – 363 photography see street photography Piazzoni, Francesa 73, 159 – 169 Pickering, J. 358 Picktin, Michelle 121 Piper, Adrian 303 Playing for Change 43, 45 Polhemus, T. 315 police/policing 10, 48 – 56, 110; African-Americans, shootings of 53 – 54; social media, use of 363 – 364; see also violence police–community relations 55 – 56, 372 police discretion 10, 50 – 53, 160, 368 police patrol 10, 34, 48, 52 – 56 police subculture see subculture Popan, Cosmin 72 – 73, 137 – 146 Porter, N. 122 Portugal 42, 64, 66 poverty 17, 19 – 20, 25, 27, 42, 66; in Baltimore 275, 281; and the city 229; ‘culture of ’ 26, 29, 215; criminalization of 180, 325 – 327; racialization of 29; and skateboarding culture 115; spatial concentration of 31, 231 – 232, 249; suburban 257; in street films 286, 289; and street vending 148, 160; and victimization 263 – 264 post-authenticity see authenticity and post-authenticity Powell, C. T. 115, 121, 285; see also Peralta, Stacy 381

Index

presocialization 108 prison industrial complex 31 prison population: norms 274; Scottish 261; United States 82, 233 privacy 43, 165, 307; see also public space Privitera, D. 353 Program and Review behavior 318 prostitution 11, 106, 109, 177; street 194; in film 108, 286, 289; see also sex work; Taxi Driver protest (civil) 59, 307, 372 protest rap 59, 66 public art 2, 97 – 99; see also graffiti; street art Public Enemy (band) 291 Public Enemy, The (film) 270, 285, 287 – 293, 372 public housing 86, 108, 275; definition 370 public space 4, 10, 38; activities and behaviors of 71 – 72; and convivial 126 – 133; digital 360; expanding views of 149; and gentrification 196, 198 – 202; and graffiti 65, 80 – 81, 86, 93; as ‘loose space’ 130; management of 207; police and policing of 50; politics of 39, 42; urban 59 – 63, 349; and private uses of 73, 80, 159 – 167, 201; and social life 358; and street codes 231; and street food 271, 347 – 349, 351 – 352; and street gangs 238, 243; and street vending 147 – 152, 155 – 156, 159 – 167; and women 140; and young people 59 – 67 Public Space Protection Order (United Kingdom) 133 public sphere 73, 79, 164; digital 65; and popular culture 123; and privacy 307; private uses of 159 punk culture/subculture 16, 19, 94; music 119, 286, 310, 313, 315 – 316; and street-skating 121 – 122; street style 317, 320 “punk” (insult) 186 – 187, 244 Pynchon, Thomas xxxiv Pyrooz, D. 362 quality of life issues/indicators 55, 73, 82, 84, 99, 133, 151; definition 370; postmodern 250; suburban 256; see also Broken Windows Theory Quilter, J. 43 Quirouette, M. 18 racial and ethnic discrimination 27, 270, 285; and masculinity 191; and street code 213 – 214, 222, 224, 230, 233, 235 racial profiling and racialization 30, 84 – 86, 109, 264; by the police 52, 55; against the Roma 9, 25, 28, 30 racial segregation 28 – 29, 187 Rane, S. 349 rap battles 343 rap music 190, 276, 279 – 281, 326; as street language 338, 343, 359, 361; “rap-rave” 320; and skateboard culture 116; see also protest rap rational choice models 26 Raybourn, Ben 119 red-light district 11 Reid, Ian 117, 358 382

reputation 85, 93, 138, 140; bad 142; masculine 184, 186, 234; as protection 225; and the street code 221; and street cool 214; and violence 233, 242, 245 respect 15, 81, 85, 132; and disrespect 48, 190, 232 – 233, 244 – 246; garnering 138, 242; mutual 160; see also reputation; street respect Reuss-Ianni, E. 51, 53 revanchism 149; see also Smith, Neil Reynolds, Andrew 119 ride-sharing companies 111; see also Lyft; Uber Ridgeway, Bryan 117 Rice, Tamir 291 Richardson, L. 141 Riggle, N. 96, 101 Rios, Victor xxxii Roberts, John 305 Roberts, Mary 308n1 Rodriguez, Paul 116, 119 Rogowski, Mark (“Gator”) 118 – 119 Rokka, J. 328 Roks, Robert A. 271, 357 – 366 Romano, Italo 119 Roma street culture 10, 25 – 36 Rome, Italy 4, 43, 80, 159 – 169, 200; street food 347 Romotsky, J. 81 Romotsky, S. 81 Rose, Antwon 291 Rosenfeld, R. 213 Rospocher, Massimo 39 Ross, Jeffrey Ian 13 – 17, 72, 83 – 4, 99; Baltimore, case study 273 – 281; street crime 209 – 217; street culture 269 – 272; taxi driving 104 – 11 Rowe, Michael 10, 48 – 58 Rowe, Peter 120 Rowlandson, Thomas 39 Ruscha, Ed 303 – 305 Sanchez-Tranquilino, M. 86 Sandberg, Sveinung 26, 187, 234, 373 Sandby, Paul 39 Sanders, W. 244 San Francisco, California 122, 202, 300, 306 Santos, Willy 116 Saric, Bart 119 Sartre, Jean-Paul 318 scavengers 73, 170 – 181 Schaar, Tom 119 Schacter, R. 87 Scharf, Kenny 92, 94, 95 Schmidt, Michael 304 Schwartzman, Alan 94 Scorsese, Martin 289 – 290, 372 Scott, Clive 297 scrappers 73, 170 – 181 scroungers 73, 170 – 171, 173 – 175, 177 – 181 Seapunk 321 Seattle, Washington 251, 261, 313, 372; see also Grunge

Index

Sébah, Pascal and Jean Pascal 296, 297 Segovia-Krause, Patty 121 segregation see racial segregation Seidenstücker, Friedrich 298 – 299 self, presentation of 226, 318, 359 – 360, 364 Sen, C. 349 senior citizens 11 Seoul, South Korea 123, 194 sex worker 4, 11, 14, 260, 370; see also prostitution Shaft (film) 292 Shaftoe, Henry 127 Shahn, Ben 299 Shapiro, A. 143 Shaw, C. 214 Shaw, George Bernard 40 Sheckler, Ryan 119 Shesgreen, Sean 39 Shore, Stephen 303 – 304, 306 Shuker, Heather 307 Silverman, D. 214 Simons, R. L. 212 – 214 Simpson, P. 42 Singapore 163, 251, 348; Changi Airport 351 Singer, Simon I. 206, 249 – 258 Singh, Raghubir 303 – 304 Singleton, John 292 Siskind, Aaron 299 skateboarding 114 – 124 Skirtboarders 121 Skok, W. 106 Skid Row 13, 370 slang 276, 288, 291; of street scavengers 73, 170; teenagers’ use of 336, 338 – 339, 341 – 343; see also AAVE; code-switching Slater, D. 139 Smith, C. 173, 177 Smith Lee, J. R. 360 Smith, Neil 149, 196 – 197 Snapchat 275, 312, 357 Snow, D.A. 14, 19 snowboarding 117, 121 – 122 snowflake see cocaine social bonds 17, 21 social capital 74, 127, 278; Bourdieu’s understanding of 362; of pimps 185 – 186; and violence 242, 264; see also cultural capital social control 15, 17, 21 social inclusion/exclusion 25, 327 social media xxxv, 15, 28, 59 – 69, 138, 306 – 307 social mobility 29, 34, 332 social performance 242 – 243 social resources 15 social structures/systems 27, 34, 319 social workers 11 Soth, Alex 306 Spencer, Herbert xxxii Spender, Humphrey 299

sociological theory see Chicago School of Sociology South Africa 84, 234 – 235, 308, 310 – 311, 320 South America 236 South Korea see Seoul Spinney, Justin 72 – 73, 137 – 146 Stallabrass, Julian 297 Stam, Robert 286 Stanton, Brandon 306 Steamer, Elissa 121 Stefani, Gwen 311 Steichen, Edward 299 Stevens, C. 40 Stevenson, N. 319 Stevens, Q. 127 Stewart, E. A. 212 – 214 Stickle, Ben 73, 170 – 181 Stieglitz, Alfred 299 Stone, G. 318 Stonewall riots 372 Storrod, M. 357, 362 St. Petersburg, Russia 43 – 44 ‘straight edge’ (in skateboarding) 119 Strain Theory (Merton) 27 Strand, Paul 298, 299 Strauss, Zoe 304 street art 86, 90 – 102; see also graffiti street capital 3, 15 – 17, 19, 26, 235; definition 370; and masculinity 184 – 187; and street culture 138 – 142, 211; street spaces 73; see also social capital Street Capital (Sandburg and Pedersen) 373 street cinema 285 – 294 street cool 86, 115, 190, 211, 214, 278; definition 410; urban 339 – 340 street code see code of the street “street,” concepts and definitions of 25 – 26, 221, 261, 357; see also digital street street-corner life 249 – 253, 256 street cries 39 – 40 street crime 205 – 268; and poverty 17; see also crime and criminality; prostitution Street Cultural Spectrum 215 – 216; see also Ilan, Jonathan street culture 1, 207, 211, 214 – 215; and conviviality 128 – 130; and criminologists 259 – 265; fictional (literary) representations of 269 – 272; in film 285 – 294; and language 335 – 345; and law 130 – 132; and messengers/mobility 137 – 146; museological treatments of 261; online 358 – 360; and popular culture 273 – 281; youth 59 – 68; see also taxi driving; Thrasher, Frederic street film see street cinema street food 147 – 157, 346 – 356, 370; analysis framework 349 street gangs 210, 238 – 246, 279 street knowledge/literacy 106 – 110 street-level bureaucrats 48, 50; see also police street life online see digital street street literacy 138 – 139, 144 StreetMusicMap 43 – 44 383

Index

street performers 38 – 46 street photography 101, 270, 295 – 309 street respect 187, 190, 215, 225 – 226, 235 street scavenging 170 – 181 street smarts 138, 141 street style 310 – 322; luxury 323 – 334; see also Lolita; subculture; Zef street vending 147 – 157, 159 – 168 Streuli, Beat 304 Struth, Thomas 304, 305 Stryker, Roy 299 Stuart, F. 360 Stutter, N. 348 – 350 subculture 3 – 4, 188; of Baltimore 278; Beat 16; bike messenger 138, 140 – 141, 143; Bosozuku 323; criminal 185, 212, 219 – 220, 361; definition of 370; delinquency 256; food 351; gang 238 – 246; Goth 122, 316; gender 183 – 184; graffiti 71, 85, 92, 94 – 96, 99; Grunge 310, 313 – 315, 372; Hair 313; Hardcore 313; Heavy Metal 310, 313 – 314, 319; Hebdige’s views of 319; hip-hop 122, 316, 321; hippie 16, 19, 316; and homelessness 13; and identity 11, 61; influences 19; Lacan’s views of 318; language and linguistic 336, 342; Lolita 310 – 312, 319; and luxury consumption 328; music scene 313; parkour 126; police 49, 51 – 52; punk 13, 122, 313; rap 316; skateboarding 114, 133; street art 90 – 99, 102; street life 71, 185, 187, 304; street scavenger 170; street style 312, 315, 318, 320 – 321; Swing Kids 311, 370; violent 205 – 206, 215, 221, 259; youth 254, 256; see also punk culture/ subculture Subliminal Projects 98 suburbia 249 – 257 Sueyoshi, A. 117 Sui, Anna 316 suite crime 210 Surrealism 297, 299 surveillance 31, 34; employee 142; police 165, 180; social 61; warning 83 surveillance, regimes and technologies of 99, 129, 141 – 142, 144, 307 – 308, 363 Sutherland, E. 13, 23, 214 Suzuki, N. 358 Svensdotter, Anna 271, 346 – 356 Svenson, Arnie 307 Swidler, A. 244 Swindell, Josh 118 Swing Kids 311, 370 Switzerland 42 Szarkowski, John 303 Sydney, Australia 43, 302, 346, 352; Fish Market 39; Humans of Newtown 306, 306 – 307 tag (graffiti) 62, 65, 79, 81 – 82, 84, 86, 91; New York subway 94 Takeuchi, H. 106 Taki 183 (graffiti artist) 92 384

Tampa, Florida 120 Tani, S. 126 Tappas, Ben 118 Tarantino, Quentin 290, 292, 294 Taubin, A. 291 Taxi Driver (film) 105, 270, 285, 288 – 290 taxi driving, 104 – 112 Taylor, Auby 119 Taylor, T. J. 222 – 223 technologies of. . .: memory 67; representation 67; satellites 308; surveillance 307 territories 60 – 62; concepts and theories of 324; home 358 – 359 Tessensohn, Anita 121 thieves see metal thieves Thomas, Jamie 119 Thomas, W. xxxi Thompson, Kristin 286 Thompson, Sheldon 117 Thornhill, Laura 121 Thrasher, Frederic 1, 239 – 240, 245, 261, 358, 372 Thrasher (skateboarding magazine) 115, 117 – 121 Thrift, N. 139 Tinker, I. 348 Tokyo, Japan 40, 80, 302, 304, 308; Harajuku neighborhood 311; Olympics 121 tolerance and intolerance 77, 117, 127, 131, 257, 319, 363 Torgersen, Eivind Nessa 271, 335 – 345 Toronto xxvi – xxvii, 261; cab driving 104, 108 – 110; fashion 150; Jane-Finch “Corridor” 2; Little Jamaica 110; Regent Park 359 TOXICÓMANO 98 traceurs 126, 129 – 130, 133; see also parkour Tracey 168 (graffiti artist) 92 tramp 13, 308, 370 Tregear, A. 349 Trienen, Leaf 121 Tsai, C.-T. 353 Tucker, J. 307 Turin, Italy 129 – 130, 133, 142 Turkey (country) 84 Turner, Laura (Laurie) 120 Twitter 1, 271, 275, 357 – 358, 360, 362 Tylor, E. B. 265 Uber 74, 111 Uber Eats 137 – 138, 141 – 143 Ugolotti, N. de M. 128 – 130 underclass 25 – 26, 29, 235; Baltimore 275; culture of 239; racialized 85; Roma as 34 Unger, Neal 120 United States of America see America’s Safest City; Baltimore; Chicago; Philadelphia; Los Angeles; New York; San Francisco; Tampa Urbanik, M.-M. 261, 359 Uribe, Bárbara Barraza 205, 209 – 218

Index

Valdemingómez, Spain 32 – 33 vandalism 130, 220; graffiti as 79, 81 – 82, 84, 86, 97 van den Broek, Jeroen B.A. 271, 357 – 366 Van Hellemont, E. 361 Verbundnetz Gas Aktiengesellschaft (VNG) 305 verlan 340; see also slang Via 111 victimization 14, 18, 22, 27; and Black communities 262; in cities 209; and disorder 84; resistance to 190; and street code 221, 223 – 226; and street culture 206; and violence 187, 232, 242 – 244, 262 – 265 Vienna, Austria 43 vigilantes, vigilantism 79, 210, 289 Vimeo 64 violence 3 – 4; in Baltimore 276 – 278; against cabbies 105, 108; criminal 212, 219; cyber/digital/internet 357 – 364; and graffiti, association with 93; internet; Katz’s phenomenology of 185; police 48 – 50, 66, 115; and rap music 190, 280; and the Roma 25, 31 – 34; and skateboarding 118 – 119; street /street code13, 18, 185 – 188, 205, 212 – 215, 238, 273; in street films 287 – 293; against street vendors 165; subculture of 219 – 227, 265; and traceurs 129; against women 188, 288; youth 229 – 235, 261 – 265; see also gang violence; masculinity; victimization virtualization 271 Waclawek, A. 80 Wacquant, Loïc xxv, 28, 231, 263 Waddington, P. 49 Wall, Jeff 304 Wang, Y.-C. 353 Ward, F. 303 Warner Brothers 287 Washington, D.C. 4, 43, 275, 278, 372 Watkins, Dwight 276 Watson, Tyriece 280 Watt, Paul 10, 38 – 47 Watts riots, Los Angeles 372 Webb, Gale 121 Weber, Max xxxv, 212, 250 Weegee (Arthur Fellig) 301 Weitzer, Ron xxv, 190 Wellman, William A. 287 Wessel, Henry 304 Westley, William xxxii WhatsApp 142 – 143, 362 Wheatley, Francis 39 Wheaton, B. 129

White, Brandon 119 Whyte, William Foote 1, 149, 198; Street Corner Society 251 – 253, 372 Wicks, James 269, 285 – 294 Wigoder, M. 297 Williams, Lesley 149 Williams, Little Melvin 277 Williams, Niki 122 Williams, Stanley “Tookie” 373 Williams, Stevie 116 Willis, P. 252 Winge, Therèsa M. 270, 310 – 322 Winogrand, Gary 303 Wilson, C. 115 Wilson, James Q. 82, 256; see also broken windows theory Wilson, William Julius 252 Winlow, S. 187 Wise, A. 129 Wolfgang, Marvin 220 Wong, Ki Tak 41 Woodcock, J. 141 Woodward, S. 311 Works Progress Administration (WPA) 299 Wright, B. S. 83 Wright, E. M. 115 Wright, R. 213, 254, 256, 333 Wright, R. T. 186 writer (graffiti) 4, 65, 67, 77, 80; code of conduct 97; exposure of 99; and gangs 93; mark of identity 91 – 92, 94; policing of 83 – 84, 86 – 87; and social media 357; see also bombing; tag X Japan (music band) 311 Yatmo, Y. 150 Yochim, E. 115 – 117 Yokomizo, Shizuka 307 Young, C. 311 Young, J. 28 Young, T. 26 Young Moose (rapper) 280 YouTube 64 – 65, 118, 271, 275, 278, 320, 360 Zahalka, Anne 307 Zdun, S. 187 Zef street style 310 – 311, 320 zuit suit 185, 311, 371 Zukin, Sharon 155, 194

385