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State-Sanctioned Violence
Interpersonal Violence Series SERIES EDITORS Claire Renzetti, Ph.D. Jeffrey L. Edleson, Ph.D. Parenting by Men Who Batter: New Directions for Assessment and Intervention Edited by Jeffrey L. Edleson and Oliver J. Williams Coercive Control: How Men Entrap Women in Personal Life Evan Stark Childhood Victimization: Violence, Crime, and Abuse in the Lives of Young People David Finkelhor Restorative Justice and Violence Against Women Edited by James Ptacek Familicidal Hearts: The Emotional Styles of 211 Killers Neil Websdale Violence in Context: Current Evidence on Risk, Protection, and Prevention Edited by Todd I. Herrenkohl, Eugene Aisenberg, James Herbert Williams, and Jeffrey M. Jenson Poverty, Battered Women, and Work in U.S. Public Policy Lisa D. Brush Child Victims and Restorative Justice: A Needs-Rights Model Tali Gal Battered Women’s Protective Strategies Sherry Hamby Men Who Batter Nancy Nason-Clark and Barbara Fisher-Townsend When Men Murder Women R. Emerson Dobash and Russell P. Dobash Comparative Perspectives on Gender Violence: Lessons From Efforts Worldwide Edited by Rashmi Goel and Leigh Goodmark Religion and Intimate Partner Violence: Understanding the Challenges and Proposing Solutions Nancy Nason-Clark, Barbara Fisher-Townsend, Catherine Holtmann, and Stephen McMullin Violence Against Women in the 21st Century: Transnational Perspectives of Empowerment and Subjugation Edited by Kristen Zaleski, Annalisa Enrile, Eugenia Weiss, and Xiying Wang State-Sanctioned Violence: Advancing a Social Work and Social Justice Agenda Melvin Delgado
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State-Sanctioned Violence Advancing a Social Work and Social Justice Agenda
M E LV I N D E L G A D O , P H . D . PR OF ESSOR OF SOC IAL WORK B OSTON UNI V E R SI TY SC H OOL OF SOC IAL WORK BOST ON , MASSAC H U SET T S NE W YOR K: OXF ORD U N IVERSIT Y PRESS
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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Delgado, Melvin, author. Title: State-sanctioned violence : advancing a social work and social justice agenda / Melvin Delgado, Ph.D., Professor of Social Work, Boston University School of Social Work , Boston, Massachusetts. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2020. | Series: Interpersonal violence | Includes index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019040684 (print) | LCCN 2019040685 (ebook) | ISBN 9780190058463 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190058487 (epub) | ISBN 9780190058470 (updf) | ISBN 9780190058494 (online) Subjects: LCSH: Political violence—United States. | Social service—United States. | Social justice—United States. Classification: LCC HN90 .V5 D46 2020 (print) | LCC HN90 .V5 (ebook) | DDC 303.60973—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019040684 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019040685 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America
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CONTENTS
Preface ix Section 1. Conceptual and Philosophical Foundation 1. Setting the Groundwork 3 Introduction 3 Why a State-Sanctioned Violence Paradigm? 11 State-Sanctioned Violence Defined 16 Violence 17 Defining State-Sanctioned (Sponsored) Acts of Violence 20 State-Sanctioned Violence 25 Justice for All or Only if You Are White? 30 Odds Against Urban Communities of Color 32 Social Work Education, Practice, and Social Justice 33 Demography as Destiny 34 Current Demographic Profile 36 Projected Demographic Profile 38 Book Goals 40 Book Outline 40 Conclusion 40 2. State-Sanctioned Violence Definition, Parameters, and Conceptual Foundation 42 Introduction 42 Conceptual Foundation for State-Sanctioned Violence 44 History and State-Sanctioned Violence 48 State-Sanctioned Violence as a Concept, Construct, or Paradigm: Semantics? 49 State-Sanctioned Violence as Genocide? 50 State-Sanctioned Violence and Labels 53 State-Sanctioned Violence, Actors, and Collaborators 56 Surveillance and the State 59 The Power or Illusion of Statistics 61 Universities, the Military–Industrial Complex, and State-Sponsored Violence Universities 62
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State-Sponsored Violence and Religion 64 Why a State Focus on Urban Youth of Color? 66 Social Justice Deserts and State-Sanctioned Violence 69 Capitalism and State-Sponsored Violence 69 Conclusion 70 3. State-Sanctioned Violence: Intersectional and Intracategorical Perspectives 72 Introduction 72 Intersectionality Defined 73 Intersectionality or State-Sponsored Violence: An Either/or? 74 Intracategorical Lens 75 Physical Features and State-Sponsored Violence 76 Conclusion 78 Section 2. Urban Manifestations of State-Sanctioned Violence 4. Unauthorized Immigration 81 Introduction 81 Context Setting on a Complex Issue 82 Foreign Policy and the Military: What Goes Around, Comes Around 85 State Violence and the Military 86 Caravan as an Invading Army? 88 The Sanctity of Families or Brown Children in Cages? 89 Narrowing Citizenship of Brown People 90 Belonging and a Sense of Community 91 Is Sanctuary Ever Possible? 92 State Rights and the Unauthorized: Did Someone Say Rights? 95 El Paso: A 2018–2019 Case Illustration 95 The Morphing of Mass Incarceration 96 Conclusion 97 5. Education and State-Sanctioned Violence 99 Introduction 99 Public Education and Labels 100 Public Education as a Factory: Educational–Industrial Complex 102 Teachers as Role Models or Enforcers? 103 Privatizing and Businesses 104 Zero Tolerance or Just Zero Tolerance of Students of Color 105 Pipeline to Incarceration 107 Pipeline to the Military 108 School-to-Prison Pipeline 109 Destroying a Dream: Violence by Any Other Name 110 Public School Minority-Majority 111 Conclusion 112 6. Health: Slow and Invisible State Violence 113 Introduction 113 Gun Violence as a Public Health Matter: State Indifference 114
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Environment and Health 117 State Tolerance of Health Inequities 118 Flint, Michigan: Environment Meets Health 119 Toxic Waste Sites and Slow State Violence 121 Fast Food, Obesity, and State-Sanctioned Violence 122 Health and Mass Incarceration 123 Housing Segregation, Incarceration, and Community Health 125 Health and the Environment 126 Conclusion 127 7. Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice 128 Introduction 128 Mass Incarceration: A Note 129 Military Veterans and Correctional Service 130 Bail and State-Sanctioned Violence 130 Physical and Nonphysical Police Intimidation 132 The Incarcerated as Cheap and Expendable Labor 133 Punishment Post Incarceration Release 134 The State and the Right to Vote: Disenfranchisement and Voter Suppression 135 Segregation and Mass Incarceration 136 Intergenerational Mass Incarceration 137 Law Enforcement and State-Sponsored Violence 137 Gun Violence as a National Public Health Crisis 139 Youth and State Violence 140 Other Forms of Police Violence 142 Police Killings of Unarmed People of Color 145 Police Nonfatal Violence: Women and Children of Color 148 True Reform of the Criminal Justice System? 149 Conclusion 150 8. Military–Industrial Empire 151 Introduction 151 The Military–Industrial Empire: Tentacles and State Violence 152 U.S. Foreign Policy as Foreign and Domestic Violence 154 The Military Enlistee: Youth of Color 155 Military Veterans and Correctional Service 155 Military-to-Prison Pipeline 156 Conclusion 162 Section 3. Social Work Practice 9. Social Work Research, Education, and Practice 165 Introduction 165 Education 167 Research 169 Practice 169 Conclusion 171
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Epilogue 173 Introduction 173 Exceptions That Prove the Rule 176 Who Can Enter the Country and Who Can Become a Citizen? 177 Freedom of Speech and a Hate Agenda 178 Reclaiming Public Space 179 The 2018 Congressional Elections and Beyond: A Confession? 179 Social Work and Social Justice: Which Road Will We Take? 180 Democracy as an Ideal Is Under Attack 181 What Does the Future Hold? A Wall by Any Other Name Is Still More Than a Wall 182 Conclusion 184 References 185 Index 243
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PREFACE
A book on a controversial topic such as U.S. state-sanctioned violence questions many of the basic assumptions we hold true. I had a pretty good idea of how this book would unfold, and I am the first to acknowledge that writing a book often entails many detours and stops along the way, with some expected and others not. That is simply part of a journey authors undertake. The importance of violence is well attested to by Oxford University Press devoting a book series on interpersonal violence. However, state-sanctioned violence in the United States is not, for example. The saying “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable” comes to mind in writing this book because it holds personal meaning for me that goes beyond being a social worker and a person of color (Latinx). This book reinforced my privileges and incredible odds that have existed throughout my life to make me a negative statistic of state- sponsored violence, and that is sobering. The basic premise and interconnectedness of the themes in this book were reinforced and expanded in the course of writing. Bonilla-Silva (2019, p. 14) states, “We are living, once again, in strange racial times,” and yes, indeed, we are. My hope is that readers appreciate the numerous threads between themes, some of which have not gotten close attention by the general public and scholars. Harris and Hodge (2017), for example, adeptly interconnect environmental, food, and school-to-pipeline social injustices among urban youth of color, illustrating how oppressions converge. Future scholarship will connect even more dots to create the mosaic that constitutes state- sanctioned violence. I was relieved to see the extent of scholarship on the topics addressed in this book. Bringing to together this literature, public reports, and the experiences from those currently dealing with state-sponsored violence allowed for a consistent narrative to unfold. Writing a book is always a process of discovery. There is a body of scholarship to buttress the central arguments of this book, but no such literature addressing the structural interconnectedness of the types of state-sanctioned violence for social work. The sociopolitical, interactional consequences of place, time, people, and events sets a social-political context that is understood by social workers and makes our mission distinctive because of this grounding. Viewing state-sanctioned violence, including its laws and policies, within this prism allows us to develop a vision or charge that can unite us, as well as a deeper commitment to working with oppressed groups in seeking social justice. Social work is practiced within this context. My former dean (Hubie Jones) sat me down when I started teaching at Boston University School of
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Social Work and told me that the “isms” do not stop at our doors. They, however, get manifested in subtle ways, but the severity of the consequences remain the same. That conversation almost 40 years ago remains salient today. Why share this? Social work is not exempt from having a role in state-sanctioned violence. We only delve into the profession’s history and evolution to appreciate how we have reinforced a state-sanctioned violence agenda, wittingly or unwittingly (Kim, 2017; Reisch & Andrews, 2014; Specht & Courtney, 1995). The availability of federal funds for conducting research enabling the state to carry out an oppression agenda, for example, is increasingly being sought and is influencing our scholarship. Social work must be vigilant of how we support state violence. Practice is never apolitical; it either supports a state-sanctioned violence narrative or resists it with counternarratives.
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SECTION 1
Conceptual and Philosophical Foundation
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his section consists of three chapters and establishes a conceptual and philosophical foundation on a subject with deep historical and conceptual roots in this and other nations, across the world. Although this section is short by conventional standards, the goals are no less ambitious as the ones associated with longer sections, and it sets the stage for Section 2 and a variety of social issues with deep roots in state-sanctioned violent acts targeting urban communities of color. The introductory chapter provides the requisite roadmap for this book’s unfolding, including key definitions, with a section on demographic trends highlighting how the nation is browning, the relationship between intersectionality and state-sanctioned violence, and the threat that these demographic changes bring to a country that was founded on White supremacy and continues to embrace these values and beliefs. The second chapter builds upon the first and introduces social workers to a variety of ways of thinking about state-sanctioned violence in this country and its manifestations in urban communities of color. Finally, the third chapter focuses on intersectionality, including intracategorical, as a means of grounding this powerful concept/paradigm, and how an embrace of state- sanctioned violence increases the utility of these lenses in helping us develop an assessment of how state-sanctioned violence unfolds in the lives of urban residents of color.
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Setting the Groundwork
INT R OD U CTION
Social work’s quest takes on greater significance at this critical time in the nation’s history, responding to a society that has persisted in marginalizing groups because of the color of their skin, sexual identities, and abilities, and they are increasingly being segregated. This book illustrates (conceptually, case examples, and statistically) how state-sanctioned violence is a modern-day manifestation with deep historical roots of government serving as a principal contributor to the persistence and reproduction of racism, as it has since the founding of the nation, illustrating how state power has carried out a violence agenda targeting communities of color for centuries. A U.S. state-sanctioned violence book touches on so many aspects of daily life and social-political-economic-cultural arenas in this country, finding social workers playing a peripheral or central role, as the case may be, in addressing its consequences across multiple generations and historical periods. Further, our mission started and evolved from urban practice, making this entity particularly pronounced in our history when embracing a social justice stance. Structural violence permeates all facets of our society and represents an important element in the work that helping professions address on a daily basis (Webb, 2019). The term structural violence can easily conjure up images that are striking and highly emotional in tone, illustrating the challenge that activists face in bringing this worldview to the forefront in social justice campaigns because of how well it is embedded in this nation’s DNA. The general public may easily accept that government is ineffectual in dealing with various forms of violence. Taking the next step and accepting the State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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instrumental role of government in purposefully carrying out campaigns of violence is extremely difficult to achieve, and I am aware of this conceptual and political leap. We cannot discuss social justice without attention to violence’s various manifestations, in the home, our communities, and our institutions. Helping professions and social scientists have sought social justice–informed concepts and paradigms shaping research, services, and social change interventions focused on marginalized groups in this country. Discussion of state-sanctioned violence elicits intense reactions of totalitarian governments, in far-off places where the citizens of a country are under constant watch, are subject to arrest without due process, and if arrested, simply disappear, or are being killed in the streets as a warning to others (Ross, 2000). In essence, these are Kafka-like states with deadly consequences to body, mind, and soul. Democracies are not exempt from state violence. In fact, state-sanctioned violence in democracies can be traced to the birth of democracy in ancient Athens, and it has continued being part of democracies to varying extents since (Trundle, 2018). Slavery existed in Athens during its golden age as part of an extensive state-sanctioned violence agenda, although the typical person in the street would never associate enslavement with the birth of democracy (Lloyd, 1988). Fast and visible violence, too, was perpetrated upon the enslaved as a daily occurrence (Hunt, 2016). Myths can be very powerful in the case of Athens’s enslavement of people (Michaels, 1996), and in our country, too, such as the Supreme Court’s historically favoring enslavement (Finkelman, 2018). It is fair to argue that historical myth invariably favors state-sponsored violence (Buonamano, 2017), shaping current-day thinking. Although the end of the enslavement period can be looked at as a milestone in this nation’s evolution as a democracy, this practice evolved in a different form (Blackmon, 2009). A discovery of a massive graveyard of African Americans in post–Civil War Texas and New York City, or a second system of slavery, raises social justice questions about the role of the state in this period of U.S. history that is often celebrated in schoolbooks, in how it fostered enslavement (New York Times editorial, 2018a): Those states imposed what the Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Douglas Blackmon rightly describes as “slavery by another name”—sweeping Negroes into custody for petty offenses like vagrancy, then turning them over to plantation owners and others who sometimes notified the local sheriff in advance of how much labor they needed. This practice, which persisted in various forms up to World War II, stripped African-Americans of the ability to accumulate wealth while holding them captive in dangerous, disease-ridden environs that killed many of them outright. The Sugar Land site offers present-day Americans a look at this shameful period from an unusual vantage point . . . Scientists have found debilitating injuries reminiscent of New York’s African Burial Ground—including bone infections, healed breaks, bones distorted by heavy labor and muscles torn away from the skeleton. With close study, scientists should be able to discern what foods the inmates consumed and the diseases they suffered, providing a fuller portrait of the hell the state visited upon its black prison inmates in particular. (p. A20) Violation of these rights rested on the active participation of Texas and New York law enforcement/criminal justice systems, showing the close relationship between economics, politics, rights, and social injustice that persists today. Viewing enslavement
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from a dichotomy stance fails to take into account an existence of being unfree, a state between enslavement and freedom, which was evident in Boston (Hardesty, 2018). Democracy and the ideals it is predicated upon are not guaranteed, and this form of government can slip into quasi-authoritarianism, as evidenced by the election of President Trump and his admiration of totalitarian regimes and dictators (Albert & Woodward, 2018; Mickey, Levitisky, & Way, 2017). That United States’ exceptionalism extends to being free of state violence can easily be challenged, although not without soul-searching into how this violence is allowed to transpire, and the ways it gets manifested on a daily basis in the lives people throughout the nation, particularly its urban centers (Harris & Lieberman, 2015). Although this book focuses on the United States, state-sanctioned violence is not unique here (Killingsworth, Sussex, & Pakulski, 2018). However, it has had to take a distinctive approach and evolution toward its execution of power because of the ideals this nation was built upon being essential to its survival and belief systems. This approach takes on visible and invisible qualities, challenging those seeking to address injustice in connecting these acts. No act or law can right the ship on the ideals of this great experiment in democracy. It requires a shift in paradigms, which is always arduous but essential in bringing about true social change and one that necessitates participation, and social work can play an instrumental role in this quest (Truell, 2018, p. 757): The social work role in building community participation in the democratic process is only one of the social challenges we face, albeit, an issue at the heart of all challenges. Between now and 2020 all social workers, the people that social workers provide services for, and likeminded other professional groupings are invited to join the discussion in evidencing/promoting how the social work profession can fulfil its potential and journey towards sustainability and social justice. Democracies are supposed to be diametrically opposed to totalitarian governments, with citizens feeling safe, valued, empowered, and not fearing their government (Wahl, 2018). Democracies are not founded to oppress groups. Yet, as articulated by Malcom X (Front Page Challenge, 1965) over 50 years ago, this premise must still be questioned for people of color, such as African Americans/Blacks: “We believe that our problem is not a violation of civil rights but a violation of human rights. Not only are we denied the right to be a citizen in the United States, we are denied the right to be a human being.” A state-sponsored violence view provides a portal to analyze and address violence generated or supported by the state, allowing us to connect laws, policies, cultural beliefs and actors, both willing and unsuspecting (Cruz, 2014). This stance, at least here, requires serious thought and conversations, including debates. Casting of people of color as “not human,” “breeders”, “takers,” “killers,” “other” or “less than,” or “illegal,” to list several labels, makes acts of government-sponsored violence, and even their deaths, more easily carried out against them, almost as a natural occurrence of daily life. Labeling them “distrustful,” “lazy,” “violence prone,” or “hedon istic,” too, serves similar goals. Unfortunately, untimely death is an integral part of the lives of millions of people of color living in this nation (Beverly, 2017), but this final life stage is considered inconsequential by the dominant class (Rankine, 2015, p. 5):
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We live in a country where Americans assimilate corpses in their daily comings and goings. Dead blacks are a part of normal life here. Dying in ship hulls, tossed into the Atlantic, hanging from trees, beaten, shot in churches, gunned down by the police or warehoused in prisons: Historically, there is no quotidian without the enslaved, chained or dead black body to gaze upon or to hear about or to position a self against. When blacks become overwhelmed by our culture’s disorder and protest (ultimately to our own detriment, because protest gives the police justification to militarize, as they did in Ferguson), the wrongheaded question that is asked is, What kind of savages are we? Rather than, what kind of country do we live in? The public mourning and righteous indignation these tragedies generate involving state-sanctioned violence brings therapeutic benefits and unify communities socially and politically, allowing for collective grieving and efforts to right a social injustice (Skitolsky, 2018). Creating community memorialization artifacts acknowledging state collective trauma is increasingly being done in symbolizing resistance to violence (Rubinstein et al., 2018). When collective reactions evolve into full-scale urban disturbances (riots), tension and frustrations find an outlet with potential destructive outcomes, and the state finds itself having to quell these disturbances and even bring in the National Guard to supplement local law enforcement. These communities are casted as lawless and looters, focusing the discourse on economic rather than political crime by the state. Blaming the victim is a strong narrative that must be countered for communities to both heal and challenge the prevailing order. These disturbances can be conceptualized as resistance and political mobilization targeting the state (Salehyan & Stewart, 2017). In late spring, 2019, for example, North Memphis witnessed a major community violent clash (25 police officers hurt) resulting from the shooting of a 20-year-old African American who supposedly resisted arrest (Brandon Webber) (Fausset & Blinder, 2019). It can be argued that the United States, and democracy as a form of government, is undergoing a period of testing under the current presidential administration that has raised fundamental questions about the future of those who are marginalized, with race and racism ostensibly ascending in significance, shaping the ultimate question of who rightfully belongs in this country. The emergence of a conservative, if not radical (alt-right), view of the country, including rights taken away, and who has the right to be here and have due process, as in the case of those who are unauthorized seeking asylum, makes state-sanctioned violence highly salient (Liptak, 2018b; Sacchetti, 2018), including the role of politics in deliberating what constitutes asylum (Tazreiter, 2017). The denial of asylum to migrant survivors of domestic violence specifically targets women and children (Powell & Moncino, 2018, p. 3): The new asylum policy hits women and children—the most common survivors of domestic abuse—particularly hard. The amicus brief [30 states and the District of Columbia] noted that 30% of all 2016 asylum grantees came from El Salvador, Honduras or Guatemala, where gender-based violence is a looming threat. El Salvador and Honduras have the two highest rates of female homicides worldwide. Guatemala is close behind with the seventh highest rate. In 2017, over nine women were killed per week in El Salvador.
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This gendered view adds a layer or nuance to this action. Critics of the Trump presidential administration may quickly point to this “toxic” environment, or state-sanctioned violence, as commencing on January, 2017, and his inauguration as president (Harris, 2019). However, the buildup has spanned centuries and found particular fruition in the current day, as personified in the current president. President Trump’s propensity to criticize African American athletics and elected leaders, including mentioning their “low intelligence,” can rightly be called out as racist. Rep. Maxine Waters and Lebron James are examples of this tendency. Blessett (2017, p. 193) issues a sobering analysis of the principles guiding the founding of our nation: The majority of Black people in the United States are well aware of the hypocrisy of democracy. At the country’s founding, when the Declaration of Independence deemed “all men are created equal,” Black men, women, and children were still enslaved, indigenous populations were experiencing genocide, and poor White people, especially women, were not legally recognized as citizens. Actually, the “real” citizens of U.S. society were landowning White males. Herein lies the juxtaposition of U.S. rhetoric versus its reality. The practices of “othering” people of color, women, the differently abled, and people with fluid sexual identities, among “others” were legalized practices and reinforced through discourse, public institutions, and public opinion since the founding of the United States. Although this book focuses on people of color in the nation’s urban areas, it is important to also pay attention to Native Americans in the historical review of state-sanctioned violence’s evolution and their current state of being having deep roots. Ostler’s (2019) Surviving Genocide: Native Nations and the United States From the American Revolution to Bleeding Kansas provides a detailed and highly readable account of this attempt at genocide with a focus on the eastern part of the country and the 1750 to 1860s period. The attempted state-sanctioned genocide of Native Americans is well understood historically and is deeply rooted in the sociopolitical history of this nation, helping us understand the long-reach of history and the challenges they face today (Akbar, 2017; Goetz, 2019; Grande, 2015; John, 2018; Madley, 2016; Smith, 2015). Their history is tragic, but we must not lose sight of their resilience, while acknowledging the past. Their resiliency is legendary, and there is much that other people of color can learn from them. Our ability to learn from all people will not only help ensure our survival but also our resiliency to fight against overwhelming odds. Although people of color bring different cultural backgrounds and circumstances on their arrival in this country, with the exception of Native Americans, finding commonality is essential in creating a systematic and coordinated response to state oppression based on race. The increased trend toward biraciality has tremendous potential to bridge divides between groups. Although state-sanctioned violence has gained in prominence during this presidential administration, its origins can be traced to the founding of the nation, and its evolution has ranged from low visibility to high-profile acts, such as police killings of unarmed people of color (Karkazis, Mamo, & Edu (2016, p. 26): From the time of trans-Atlantic slavery and the emergence of Western colonialism, racism has placed black people outside the category of the fully human. That
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foundational racialized episteme at the heart of Western modernity means that even today the claim that “Black Lives Matter” remains a charged and urgent political and moral cry . . . ” The American Revolutionary War was violent (military necessity), and it carried over to the founding of the nation (Moots & Hamilton, 2018). Cazenave (2018) argues that these actions are purposeful, pervasive, disproportionately impacting this group, and vigilante killings, or a modern-day version of racial control and political violence and just as lethal as during the bleakest periods of our history, but juxtaposed to today. Readers may wonder if White, non-Latinix police officers have good reasons to fear African American/Black suspects because of their heightened concerns of being killed by them, helping to explain their propensity to shoot unarmed Blacks. Fear of safety is a theme often heard when an unarmed person of color is killed by a police officer. This, however, is not to minimize risk of harm due to guns, or that this work is not stressful (Bierie, Detar, & Craun, 2016). The politics of a police officer killed in the line of duty translates into more state repressive reactions, using the rationale of a public threat that killing police officers constitutes, with urban communities of color experiencing the brunt of these reactionary policies and acts (Turner, 2018). The tendency to shoot to kill is disturbing and bears further attention if urban communities of color are to eschew state-sponsored violence. The extent to which these officers are likely to have military backgrounds, too, needs further attention, as addressed in Chapter 8. However, this concern is not supported by statistics. A review of statistics indicates that the number of police officers killed in the line of duty has witnessed a significant decline from the turbulent 1970s. In 1973, 140 officers were killed; in 2013, it declined to 27 killed in felonious incidents, or over an 80% drop (Lee, 2015, p. 6): More white offenders than black offenders killed police between 1980 and 2013. Police officers were killed in ambush attacks by just as many black offenders as white offenders in the past three decades. There are no simple conclusions or trends that can be gleaned from the database alone, but it provides context that based on the raw numbers, officers are no more likely to be killed by black offenders than white offenders. It is common to hear that there is a war on the police, with one direct response being the emergence of the Blue Lives Matter, Too movement, although not as popular as its Black counterpart (Clayton, 2018, p. 474): People engage in activism because of some perceived societal problem. In the case of the civil rights movement, it was de jure segregation. In the case of the Black Lives Matter Movement, it is police brutality. Simply by saying “Black Lives Matter” does not mean that all lives do not matter. Black Lives Matter activists will tell anyone they are not against the police. They realize the difficult role the police have in maintaining order in their society. However, they are against bad policing practices—practices that shoot African Americans first and ask questions later. Some White people, however, have countered with the phrase “All Lives Matter.”
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A counterargument is that there is a war on the police and it is making everyone unsafe, or what has been called in the past a “war on crime” (Mac Donald, 2017). There are scholars, such as Francis (2018), advocating for studying the relationship between Black social movements, such Black Lives Matter, Too, and state-sanctioned violence, to develop a deeper and more nuanced understanding of political and constitutional issues. Proponents of this stance have argued that the Ferguson effect caused a backlash toward police officers with their number of deaths increasing, but this is not supported by research (Maguire, Nix, & Campbell, 2017). The Ferguson effect has also been used to explain police exercising greater caution in using lethal force to prevent demonstrations and political backlash (Gross & Mann, 2017). Concerns about being killed on the job, although serious, have been greatly over exaggerated to warrant dramatic increases in police shootings and killing of unarmed suspects of color, with these concerns often playing a prominent role in how media report these encounters. Further marginalization necessitates the state devictimizing the victims of police violence, such as “they deserved to be killed” or “any person in our situation would have been compelled to act in a similar manner.” Turner, Giacopassi, and Vandiver (2006, p. 186) trace the origins of state-sanctioned violence and African Americans to the pre–Civil War period: [T]he literature clearly establishes that a legally sanctioned law enforcement system existed in America before the Civil War for the express purpose of controlling the slave population and protecting the interests of slave owners. The similarities between the slave patrols and modern American policing are too salient to dismiss or ignore. Hence, the slave patrol should be considered a forerunner of modern American law enforcement. Their emancipation set the foundation for health disparities in the present day, highlighting why it has been so arduous to reduce or eliminate them. Understanding this origin and evolution is essential in grasping how state violence is conceptualized today and the degree to which it is highly visible or invisible in form. Violence against African Americans is not a modern-day phenomenon, its history can be traced over 400 years, and this state violence has undermined or eroded Blacks having confidence that the American justice system will be fair (Clarke, 2018). Tillotson (2011) illustrates how the epoch during which Jim Crow reigned supreme, and its most visible form, has evolved and taken a less obvious ideological attack on the institutions meant to meet the needs of this community. Clayton (2018, p. 449) notes that Jim Crow’s reach can be experienced today: “The legacy of slavery and Jim Crow laws has left a residue of systemic racism in the United States that has devalued the lives of African Americans.” Gates (2019), too, draws important parallels between the Jim Crow era and today. State-sanctioned violence replaced the discipline and violence once exercised by the owners of those who were formerly enslaved and is a continuation of violence to today’s manifestations. The current crisis in the African American community, and in other communities of color, has deep roots (Hayes, 2018, p. 1): Trying to understand and explain the current crisis of urban black communities is as difficult and complicated as are the complexities of the actual problems themselves . . . Yet, as the new social order developed, the condition of urban African
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Americans, especially black males, worsened. Urban black citizens were caught in a cauldron of socioeconomic crisis. They faced declining educational performance, increasing violence, eliciting drug use, and decreasing employment. Alexander’s (2012) makes a compelling case that the system of Jim Crow (institutional racism) never really died but, rather, evolved and took on a new form through mass incarceration and the law enforcement, becoming our modern-day version of a caste-like institutional system. Mass incarceration of people of color is intrinsically linked to the past (Scott, 2017; Schoenfeld, 2018). We cannot separate out history from current-day events, needing the historical foundation to appreciate how state- sanctioned violence has evolved over time. These efforts do not take on the obvious images one would have with a police killing of an unarmed person of color being captured and shared across the nation and internationally. This foundation serves to project into the future as this nation increasingly becomes of color. Ward (2015) specifically addresses the politicization of violence and state- sanctioned racial acts: State organized race crime does not typically involve spectacular violence represented by lynching or police shootings, the many thousands of such victims notwithstanding. More characteristic is subtler personal or structural violence contributing to dis-accumulation, collective under-development, and generational disadvantage. While the parading Klan in full regalia and flaming crosses is most symbolic of Klan terror, city charters, camouflaged cab fleets, and quiet links with state officials and agencies warrant greater concern and attention. (p. 84) The invisibility of these actions makes it difficult to address because of the amount of research that is required, and lack of necessary news coverage, to bring national attention to bear. Structural, institutional, or systemic violence, and I would add state, often operate in the “veil of secrecy” (Vahabzadeh, 2019). State indifference (omission to act) is equated with state willingness to tolerate or encourage violence and is highly visible or subtle in nature. Allowing an act of violence to transpire is equal to carrying out that act. In other words, inaction is a form of action. Once the state refuses to intervene in preventing or punishing an act of violence, it condones it, and one can rightfully label and blame it for allowing this act to unfold. The public nature of lynching introduced a sport and spectacle dimension to this horrid act ( James, 1996). Smångs (2017), part of a new cadre of scholars interested in lynching in the U.S. South, concluded that there are two basic categories for this act of violence: (1) “public lynching” involved large crowds and additional acts of violence (savage brutality), perpetrated upon the dead person, and a form of collective intergroup violence; and (2) “private lynching” that was hidden, smaller, and involved gathering of family of the deceased person and a form of interpersonal intergroup violence. In late 2018, a bill was passed, mostly symbolically, which explicitly made lynching a federal crime (Zaveri, 2018). There were an estimated 4,700 people, the vast majority being African American, lynched between 1882 and 1968. Lynching, as a method of violence, has often been silently sanctioned by the state, although rightly associated
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with African Americans but certainly not limited to them. Carrigan and Webb (2013) chronicle how Mexicans, too, have been subject to this law. There has been a historical neglect of these lynchings (Romero, 2019b). Lynching can be defined very narrowly. However, broadening this form of mob violence to include burning alive, shootings, decapitation, and public executions, state-sanctioned or otherwise, represents an extralegal form of violence transpiring within a public arena. Police shootings of unarmed Black and Brown people has been referred to as current-day version of a lynching, including a public spectacle dimension, providing a disturbing visual rendering of public squares and spectacles of a horrendous period in American history (Giroux, 2015b; Robertson, 2018; Wilkerson, 2014). Unlike in the past when these public displays of state-sanctioned violence transpired in public places with space that allowed unimpeded viewing, these shootings transpire where the community lives, and unless captured by a visual recording device, public viewing will not transpire. Urban communities of color are subject to being policed to death. Equity Justice Initiative Director Stevenson discusses this perspective (Gambino, 2015, p. 14): The lynching era created a narrative of racial difference, a presumption of guilt, a presumption of dangerousness that got assigned to African Americans in particular—and that’s the same presumption of guilt that burdens young kids living in urban areas who are sometimes menaced, threatened, or shot and killed by law enforcement officers. The parallels of that era with today are strikingly similar, but with guns used to murder rather than a rope. The death of a child is unimaginable for a parent, but when this death is due to a homicide, it brings an added dimension to the grieving process because it should have been avoidable (Martin, 2016). When this death is the result of a state agent, as in police killings of unarmed youth, and the events leading to the death are contested, with his or her character tarnished in the process, it complicates family grieving. It also spills over to social networks and community institutions, both formal and informal. The general public knows how the victim died but not how he or she lived, adding further sorrow to these tragic events. Most importantly, these deaths also remind the broader community of color of what could happen to them if they resist the police. W HY A STATE - S ANCTIONE D V IOLE NC E PA R A D I GM?
A book on U.S. social justice and marginalized groups can take many different approaches or paradigms, depending upon how it is focused or conceptualized. Consequently, a selection of a guiding paradigm is a critical step in dictating how an analysis will unfold, the key concepts that are part of the analysis, and the corresponding strategies. The conceptualization that is represented through a paradigm brings a language, labels, and a set of key concepts. The paradigm social workers select shapes analysis and corresponding intervention strategies. Why a state-sanctioned violence paradigm as a focus for this book? The Merriam- Webster Dictionary’s definition of paradigm provides a worldview that helps explain this social issue or phenomenon: “a philosophical and theoretical framework of a
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scientific school or discipline within which theories, laws, and generalizations and the experiments performed in support of them are formulated.” Paradigms have tremendous power in shaping our worldview of major events and our surroundings, including our intervention responses. Why not a title of Police State-Sanctioned Violence for this book? Garbado (2017, p. 127) poses a series of questions that, if answered, can easily justify a state-sanctioned violence police focus: Why are African Americans so often the victims of police violence? Why are police officers so rarely prosecuted for the acts of violence they commit? And why, when officers are prosecuted, do judges and juries seldom hold them accountable? These are just some of the questions that people across the United States continue to ask in what we might call “post-Ferguson America.” Well, such a title would be too narrow and simplistic, and would not capture the seriousness and pervasiveness of what is happening in this country, although still of great significance. State-Sanctioned Violence is far broader in scope, a more realistic assessment of the problem we face as a nation, and the insidious and multifaceted nature of how this violence gets manifested. This stance makes the task of writing this book much more difficult, but no less important. A state-sanctioned violence stance introduces social workers to a perspective that can guide us in navigating difficult and contentious times as we carry out our historic social justice mission. Scholars advancing a state-sanctioned violence paradigm, such as Gouda and Rigterink (2017), emphasize the long-term consequences of those who were enslaved through violent crime and identify three primary channels in the relationship between enslavement and violent crime: (1) the creation of inequality; (2) the prevalence of a culture of violence; and (3) ethnic fractionalization/segregation, which is considered the most significant mediator. These consequences are further enhanced when they live in segregated and highly surveilled neighborhoods. One does not have to be a geographer to understand the close relationship between property (residence), race, class, and the carceral state (Bonds, 2019). There are immediate consequences on those most directly impacted by these actions. The long-term consequences of state violence are also collective and intergenerational (Delgado, 2019), leading to social justice–informed trauma theory capturing these manifestations: (1) transgenerational or collective trauma (Bar-On, 1999, 2001; Kajioka, 2017; Reimann & Konig, 2017; Saul, 2013), (2) cultural trauma/historical trauma (Danzer et al., 2016; Durham & Webb, 2014; Estrada, 2009; Eyerman, 2001, 2004; Henderson, 2017; Mohatt et al., 2014; Schouler-Ocak, 2015; Sotero, 2006; Vitale, 2016; Walls & Whitbeck, 2012), and (3) persistent enslavement systemic trauma (Gone, 2013; Washington, 2016). These collective and integrational views of trauma do not fall within the conventional Eurocentric trauma perspective in the United States, raising questions about how trauma, and it manifestations, are viewed when discussing urban people of color. Their place concentration intensifies suffering over multiple generations. Even when state-sanctioned violence is exercised in a manner that is less visible or covert, it is still violent and needing to be recognized as such, as argued by Foucault (Chomsky & Foucault, 2006, p. 41):
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It seems to me that the real political task in a society such as ours is to criticize the workings of institutions, which appear to be both neutral and independent; to criticize them in such a manner that the political violence which has always exercised itself obscurely through them will be unmasked, so that one can fight against them. Labeling violence as state sponsored serves to make us pause and engage in deep reflection, if not shock us into responding. This response will lead to critical dialogue (praxis), essential in the journey to bring social and structure changes (Stovall, 2016). Even engaging in debate about whether or not state excessive violence exists and is highly coordinated is a step in the right direction for addressing its consequences because it forces us to keep this subject alive, and it is only a question of a short period of time before there is another incident that garners national attention, such as a police killings of people of color or some news story identifying a blatant state discriminatory policy or act. Debate leads to discussion and possible action. Action is not possible or efficient when it transpires without the foundation laid by serious discourse. State-sponsored violence in its most raw and obvious forms is still deadly, whether it is slow or rapid in killing, as in the case of police shootings, where they act as judge, jury, and executioner (McClanahan & Brisman, 2016). However, when slow in acting, it becomes less obvious and thus more difficult to connect the dots when compared with more obvious forms of quickly acting violence. It then becomes more difficult to address because it does not create the sense of urgency that is a key ingredient in generating indignation and corresponding actions. State-sponsored violence, when fueled by racism, structurally permeates the entire existence of people of color residing in the nation’s urban centers, as in the case of African Americans (Rankine, 2015, p. 11): Anti-black racism is in the culture. It’s in our laws, in our advertisements, in our friendships, in our segregated cities, in our schools, in our Congress, in our scientific experiments, in our language, on the Internet, in our bodies no matter our race, in our communities and, perhaps most devastatingly, in our justice system. The unarmed, slain black bodies in public spaces turn grief into our everyday feeling that something is wrong everywhere and all the time, even if locally things appear normal. Having coffee, walking the dog, reading the paper, taking the elevator to the office, dropping the kids off at school: All of this good life is surrounded by the ambient feeling that at any given moment, a black person is being killed in the street or in his home by the armed hatred of a fellow American. The Black Lives Matter movement can be read as an attempt to keep mourning an open dynamic in our culture because black lives exist in a state of precariousness. Mourning then bears both the vulnerability inherent in black lives and the instability regarding a future for those lives. Rankine’s sobering assessment of the state of race relations has only gotten worse over the past several years, building upon a long legacy of oppression in this country, highlighting its long historical reach. The “speed” of crime or violence, in other words, how quickly it unfolds, brings an often overlooked dimension called “slow violence”, in which victimization is “attritional, dispersed, and hidden,” and can be a conceptualization that applies to
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state-sponsored violence, too (Ward, 2015). A state campaign goal of collective debasement is one way to capture a conscious attempt to undermine the social, political, and economic well-being of a community, and referred to by Rothbart (2019) as “existential (symbolic) violence.” This form of campaign can easily fall within a slow and invisible form of violence when conducted in a subtle manner. Grinding out an existence takes a tremendous toll on human beings. When an entire neighborhood is engaged in this grind, it is an insidious form of slow violence (Ahmann, 2018). The concept of chronic urban trauma captures slow violence, and in this case, housing dispossession but not limited to this arena (Pain, 2019). State-sponsored environmental violence, for example, has been referred to as slow violence because it is best understood against a historical legacy of how state decisions have altered the pathways of those living in urban centers of the country, and the multifaceted ways that state violence gets operationalized on a daily basis through environmental policies and the failure to enforce current policies (Kuc & 2018). Slow violence has also been referred to as “unseen suffering” (Skotnicki, 2019). The consequences of these actions generally take an extended period of time to unfold. Their immediate and long-term consequences devastate marginalized urban communities in visible, invisible, fast, and slow ways. Fast violence, as in the case of explosions and toxic spills, are easier to identify, record, and investigate, particularly with the help of public media to capture highly graphic scenes that tell a strong narrative of people’s lives lost or disrupted because of where they live. However, when it is slow acting, falling into the slow violence category, it makes it arduous to detect until there are outward health manifestations, with corresponding social and economic manifestations for current and future generations. These slow manifestations do not lend themselves to graphic images and are arduous to create public indignation. This does not make them any less dangerous. Environmental racism is a form of slow violence (“delayed destruction, occurring additionally across space and time, and often out of sight”) because of the toll it takes (Nixon, 2011, p. 11). Environmental racism and state-sanctioned violence can also be manifested in other ways, still reflecting a slow form of violence, such as high asthma rates and illnesses related to hazardous facility exposure and waste, to give but two of multiple examples with particular relevance for urban residents of color (Taylor, 2014; Wright, 2018; Zimring, 2017). The state denying the basic right of realizing one’s potential must be viewed as criminal, and a slow form of violence defying conventional thinking on crime or violence (Tunnell, 2017). Social workers may come across the term “slow journalism,” which can refer to the speed of various media sources (Le Masurier, 2015). Slow violence is not limited to speed in getting information out. Slow journalism, too, can capture the general reluctance of conventional media sources covering state-sanctioned acts of violence (Cox, 2018). Speed does kill; slow speed, too, can kill, but it just takes longer! Media, it bears noting, can be a source of underreporting or crafting this violence in mutated form, as well as being a target of violence when questioning state violence (Pickard, 2019). Labels describing the marginalized assume an important role in shaping public discourse, opinions, political representation, and policies and laws making it easier for state government to exercise and abuse this power. Labels encapsulate values and intents (implicit and explicit), necessitating understanding their origins and
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consequences, introducing the social construction of labels such as “innocent,” “suffering,” “deserving”, or “victims,” for example (Stanley, 2014; Walklate, 2011). Smith (2011) discusses how language and labels can be used to substantiate the exercise of actions to harm and subjugate people because of some characteristic that is deemed as undesirable. President Trump using language, such as “breeders,” “dogs,” “low I.Q., “animals,” “rapists,” and “MS-13,” illustrates how language is used to dehumanize groups of people who are “undesirable” and worthy of being criminalized and sanctioned by the state. Further, the concept of dehumanization is inseparable from a construct of violence (Bustamante, Jashnani, & Stoudt, 2019). Men of color, more so than those who are big in stature, make ideal police shooting victims because of general public perceptions of them as lawlessly inclined, menacing, dangerous, and not deserving of the benefit of doubt and support. Physical body image, addressed later on, too, enters into the decision-making process of whether or not to use excessive force, which may not necessarily entail using a gun. Being big and Black becomes a more likely target for fatal police encounters (Eligon, 2018a). When labels criminalize it makes it easier for the state to punish. Labeling those who are unauthorized as illegals, for example, speaks to this process, facilitating the state perpetrating violence and violating rights, even when they are citizens (Chacón & Davis, 2018; Delgado, 2018). Making victims unworthy is an essential element in criminalizing them, and in the case of the unauthorized, they can be as young as 2 years old, because age is certainly not a factor (Yee & Jordan, 2018). Labeling a young African American/Black male a predator, thug, or gangster, too, makes it easier to demonize, criminalize, and exercise state violence on him (Diversi, 2016; Smiley & Fakunle, 2016). Labels are not the exclusive domain of the state or only applied to individuals and groups; they can also be applied to geographical areas and readily used by residents and those outside of the community to refer to these areas in positive or derogatory terms. The introduction of a “death squad” label (Sluka, 2010) has not seen saliency in describing police departments with long histories of engaging in the killings of unarmed civilians, causing us to pause and think about how this deadly concept applies, or does not apply, in communities with excessive rates of police brutality and killings. Urban communities can be conceptualized in various ways for state violence to occur, and labeling them as violent or deadly is one way of substantiating police killings of unarmed residents. Labeling communities as “expendable” and “crime infested” makes a prime market for the gun industry, which is part of the broader military industrial complex, and may seem harsh, but it does crystalize why excessive gun availability, with corresponding murder rates, police brutality, and other forms of violence coexist, and why capital disinvestment is natural and so prevalent (Monzó, McLaren, & Rodriguez, 2017). Efforts to cast police officers as treatment providers to better police–community relations, including walking community beats (Wood et al., 2014), are complicated within communities of color with histories of contested police–community relations. Efforts to improve police–community relations, as in Baltimore, have even involved minimizing prosecution of marijuana laws, which hit particularly hard on African Americans, although not without controversies (Dewan, 2019). Social work will face challenges in maintaining and expanding a social justice agenda and our historical constituencies when efforts are made to enlist them to work with the police in delivering services. To what extent does this newfound relationship
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compromise our practice in these communities? Our code of ethics has made clear the role of social justice in shaping our mission, with our formal education reinforcing this worldview. However, how will this political shift that is occurring across the nation, particularly in certain sections of the country, be more in line with this shift and influence the profession to bend toward the political right? The profession has not existed in a political vacuum that systematically targets people of color regardless of their ages. State-sanctioned violence has been facilitated by how government at all levels have fostered housing segregation, as concluded by Rothstein’s work (2017), which provides meticulously detailed research on this critical subject, including a chapter specifically devoted to how state-sanctioned violence was integral to how this segregation process unfolded in this history. Welsh (2018) traces the history and manifestation of U.S. racially restrictive covenants, which facilitated discrimination against people of color, to illustrate how they currently operate today to perpetuate segregation. The year 2018 marked the fifth anniversary of the Fair Housing Act, and much progress still needs to be made to achieve its goals (Lipsitz, 2017). Segregation is violence that can be implicit or explicit depending on the political viewpoint taken (Loyd & Bonds, 2018; Scott, 2018). Segregation effectively translates into a lifetime of diminished capabilities (Freixas & Abbott, 2019). Severely restricting mobility through housing segregation, including racially restrictive covenants, and governmental institutions, including the institution of advanced surveillance techniques, facilitate the exercise of state-sanctioned violence under the guise of protecting the general public (Lind & Marchand, 2016). Biehler et al. (2018) discuss the far-reaching implications of disinvestment in urban housing and infrastructure in West Baltimore, documenting how an ecological legacy of mosquito infestation and other social and environmental hazards left abandoned buildings, vacant lots, and sanitation problems, resulting in an explosion of invasive Aedes albopictus mosquitoes, which transmit disease and interfere with learning and outdoor activities, for example. This is form of environmental racism and has educational, health, and social implications that rarely get attention. Mosquito infestation is dangerous and severely limits outdoor activities during the summer.
S TAT E-S A NCT IONE D V IOLE NCE DE FINE D
Any definition of state-sanctioned violence necessitates this act being deconstructed along two dimensions: (1) violence and (2) state-sanctioned acts. These dimensions will be viewed from a variety of theoretical perspectives to capture nuanced and often overlooked dimensions. When they come together regarding urban communities of color and youth/young adults, for example, this creates a deadly environment for targeted groups, severely influencing their futures. The conceptual basis of state- sanctioned violence will be addressed in Chapter 2. Stanley (2014, p. 58) issues a challenge that must be heeded regarding crimes or violence perpetrated by the state: “In responding to state crimes, it is also necessary to move beyond analyses that the offending is individualized, to a more nuanced account that considers the role of institutional practices as well as structural relations of power in violence to them.” The institutionalization of state violence brings visible and invisible aspects needing exposure and critique, challenging for anyone or any profession
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seeking to address the roots of this violence, particularly when their employment is conditioned on government funding. Violence The topic of violence is one heavily laden with multiple health, social, political, and psychological meanings; complexity of emotions; and symbolism (Bernstein, 2018). It is more so when the government is introduced, and it is very familiar to social workers. We may view violence from an obvious physical outcome. That is natural because it is easy to describe and count bodily wounds or fatalities, drawing upon statistics capturing this phenomenon, with death as the ultimate consequence. However, violence can also be manifested in less obvious and easily documented or enumerated ways; the destruction of a dream or hope, compromised health, economic disenfranchisement, and not being unable to control one’s destiny are but several examples, which can be equally consequential. Both physical and nonphysical manifestations involve the use and abuse of power. State violence is predicated on the use of power to shape desired behaviors and outcomes. Young’s (2004) five faces of oppression (violence, exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, and cultural imperialism) have found high reactivity among scholars interested in oppression, and with heightened applicability to urban centers (Iveson, Fincher, & Gleeson, 2018). Social workers may rightly argue that there are many more faces of violence. Our Encyclopedia of Social Work (2008) introduces social workers to how violence is caused by a multiplicity of factors and manifests itself from episodic to systemic, and in the latter case, assumes structural levels in society and varying degrees of consciousness. I have collapsed these and other mechanisms of oppression under the category of violence. Conceptually, readers may take issue with this categorization. However, the focus of this book is on state-sanctioned acts of violence with a wide variety of manifestations. State-sanctioned violence, for example, can assume premature, slow/ fast, or social death (Ben-Moshe, 2018). State violence cannot be fully understood through a narrow focus on physical violence (Bruce-Jones, 2016). Social workers are keenly aware that it is critical that we expand our view of violence beyond a narrow focus on physical components that show obvious visible manifestations, although one can certainly understand why this is the case, and why it is so easy to assess the damage. However, as in the case of slow violence, the consequences of violence may be quite as deadly but take a long time to manifest itself in physical symptoms, or even death. If we broaden state-sanctioned violence to include other forms of violence, the full weight and consequences of the state can be better understood and addressed through resistance and social activism. Social workers are versed in the myriad ways that violence gets perpetrated, as well as the immediate and long-term damage it causes individuals, families, and communities. A state-sponsored violence paradigm adds a dimension to the field of violence that, at the same time, is distinctive but similar in many regards. This statement is not meant to cloud an important field of practice and study. Rather, it is intended broaden our understanding of how violence occupies a multifaceted position in our society, and how social justice cannot be served with a narrow view of its causes and myriad manifestations.
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Henricks and Seamster (2017, p. 169), for example, address mechanisms of the racial tax state (relationship between taxation and structural racism), a topic rarely addressed in the social work scholarly literature but having significant implications for communities of color, discussing what appears to be innocuous bureaucratic procedure: “. . . structured by and reproduces racial inequality. Far from a neutral and even-keeled practice, taxation is a political tool imbued with stereotypes, values, and emotions to carry out and justify acts of taking.” Violence, regardless of the speed its manifestation (slow or fast), and source, takes a tremendous toll on all those who are victims (Cowan et al., 2018, p. 13): “No nation, community, or individual escapes the touch of violence. It fills the news, entertains us, consumes our wealth, drags down the quality of our lives, and plagues us with sorrow and suffering.” The consequences of violence radiate from individual victims, families, and throughout a community and society, and can be measured in dollars and lost productivity. Nevertheless, that is such a narrow basis to measure ramifications. Violence resulting in fear, hurt, lost opportunities, and injustice are part of the human existence for many across our nation. However, it occupies a central and particularly prominent role in the lives of those who are marginalized and victims of violence in democracies. Why democracies? Well, these systems are premised on equal opportunities, rights, and justice. Thus, state context cannot, and should not, be separated from government. The World Health Organization’s definition of violence illustrates how it is viewed and manifested, with intended and unintended consequences (Krug et. al., 2002, p. 5): “The intentional use of physical force or power, threatened or actual, against oneself, another person, or against a group or community, that either results in or has a high like-hood of resulting in injury, death, psychological harm, maldevelopment or deprivation.” This definition is all encompassing. However, it places an emphasis on structural violence, which is commonly referred to as the most lethal form (Lee, 2019). Violence, if we follow the central core argument of this definition, can fall into one of three major groupings (Krug, 2002): (1) self-destructive (suicidal or self-abusive), (2) interpersonal (family/partner or community), or (3) collective (social, political, and economic). The classification of these categories and sources is not mutually exclusive and can exist in various combinations and permutations, and varying strengths, too, complicating obtaining a clearer picture in the national state of affairs. Further, there is a heated controversy between poststructuralist and critical theory in the critiquing of violence (Hanssen, 2014). Violence is mercurial and takes many different shapes depending upon the social contextual lens one uses (B. C. Han, 2018, p. 3): There are things that don’t disappear. Violence is one of them. Modernity is not distinguished by an aversion to violence. Violence is simply protean. It varies its outward form according to the social constellation at hand. Today it is shifting from the visible to the invisible, from the real to the viral, from the physical to the psychological, from the negative to the positive, withdrawing into subcutaneous, subcommunicative, capillary and neural space, creating the false impression that it has disappeared. It becomes completely invisible at the moment it merges with its opposite, that is freedom.
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A review of the literature on violence will quickly overwhelm any social worker, attesting to its importance in the work that we do, and pervasiveness. However, generally six manifestations stand out: (1) physical, (2) sexual, (3) emotional, (4) psychological, (5) spiritual, and (6) cultural. I would add economic violence to this list. Social workers may not be familiar with the concept of economic violence. Economic violence is caused by the state systematic restriction and denial of monetary resources and opportunities, which result in physical, mental, and spiritual consequences that destroy the potential of meeting people’s needs. Obviously, violent acts in which the police shoot an unarmed person are most likely to have male and African-American/Black victims, and be visually captured, which makes this act easier to debate and react against, allowing for a broader discussion across social demographic groups and regions of the country. When these acts are not visually captured or do not have eyewitnesses, and are subject to police accounts, a different narrative will, in all likelihood, emerge, making the shooting justifiable. The legal system, as manifested among district attorneys and judges, for instance, is highly reliant on the police, and there is an increased likelihood that it will take the word of the officer because to do otherwise places various dimensions of the system at odds with each other, even though they are very dependent upon each other. The closing of ranks, in other words. Acts of violence that are slow and insidious, such as fostering food deserts or providing poor quality healthcare based, not on the presenting illness, but on someone’s race or ethnic background, and in the privacy of a medical office, too, has long-term consequences. They may eventually lead to a premature death, which is, too, violence, but does not lend itself to public outrage, with suffering done in closed quarters involving the victim, family, and social network. Another dimension is worth noting. Namely, a state-sanctioned violence standpoint will find that when a White, non-Latinix, kills an African-American/Black man, the perpetrator will often not face legal ramifications, with only one in six of these types of crimes facing criminal sanctions, and with killings of Black males by Whites being more than eight times as likely be categorized as justifiable (Lathrop & Flagg, 2017). “Stand your ground” has a different meaning depending upon the color of the perpetrator and victim, as the Trayvon Martin murder illustrated. If the perpetrator is White, non-Latinx, it grants the right to protect oneself, and he or she will get the benefit of the doubt in a court of law. If the perpetrator is Black or Brown, and the victim is White, non-Latinx, the odds change dramatically, and the act will not get the benefit of the doubt, undermining our faith in a system of laws (Roman, 2013). As of late 2017, there were two groups of stand-your-ground rights law states: (1) At least 24 states allow no duty to retreat from an attacker in any place in which one is lawfully present (Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nevada, New Hampshire, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah and West Virginia.); and (2) At least nine of those states include language stating one may “stand his or her ground”: Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania and South Carolina. The 11-year period since initially enacted (1994–2005) witnessed only two states with these laws. However, there was a dramatic increase between 2005 and 2016 when 24 states passed these laws (Siegel et al., 2017).
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Zimmerman’s call to the police framed Trayvon Martin as suspicious and dangerous because he was out of place, allowing Zimmerman to act on his fears, even though instructed to remain in his vehicle (Torres, Cannito‐Coville, & Rodriguez, 2017). Hancock (2012, p. 7) makes an important conclusion on Zimmerman’s actions: “Zimmerman’s police-like actions—suspicion without behavioral evidence— mirror perversions of democratic attention by government officials that is likewise consistent with police policies in other jurisdictions.” This militia type of response is not limited to Florida, finding relevance in other states and regional parts of the country. State power, such as standing your ground, has now been shared with the population at large, increasing the potential of victimizing people of color who are “in the wrong place and time” (Gruber, 2013, p. 964): Today, it is nearly impossible to talk about Trayvon Martin’s killing without discussing the desirability of stand-your-ground laws. However, when the story first appeared on the national stage, the conversation was not primarily about the overly lenient nature of Florida's self-defense law. It was a multi-faceted dialogue about neighborhood warriors, racial profiling, and especially the racially discriminatory nature of police and prosecutorial discretion. In 2018, on a different twist, Florida’s Supreme Court ruled that police officers can avail themselves of the state’s stand-your-ground law, making it even more difficult to prosecute them in disputed shootings. This ruling is widely considered to be a landmark by facilitating a self-defense argument. In 2017, two Miami police officers used this defense in their court argument pertaining to the physical assault of a man in a wheelchair (Robles, 2018). This ruling is considered a “get out of jail free card,” further fueling potential police abuse of powers. This book takes an expansive (or some critics will argue, universal) view of violence that transcends obvious acts to include ones that are generally invisible, which are referred to as slow violence but no less consequential or deadly, through how this nation sanctions poor public education, healthcare, toxic environment, criminal justice, law enforcement, and immigration to this country, to list several things. These arenas are not exhaustive but meant to convey the scope and depth of how state- sanctioned violence gets manifested in this country. There is a common threat that can be conceptualized as state-sanctioned acts that are violent. A fast death or slow death share the same ultimate end, bringing a small consolation to the deceased and their loved ones, while still undermining basic rights.
Defining State-Sanctioned (Sponsored) Acts of Violence At the core of a democracy are commonly held expectations of the state (government): that it protect its residents, both citizens and noncitizens alike; and that if the law is violated, a fair and legal process would ensue to apprehend and punish the perpetrator(s), if found guilty. This social contract is based upon an explicit assumption that no one is above the law, regardless of background. This premise is widely embraced. The United States, as often said, is a nation of laws.
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These rights exist in some quarters and not others, and the reasons for this cannot go unexplored or unchallenged (Kleinig, 2014). Hill (2016, p. XiX) addresses this point: The role of government, however, is to offer forms of protection that enhance our lives and shield our bodies from foreseeable and preventable dangers. Unfortunately, for many citizens—particularly those marked as poor, Black, Brown, immigrant, queer, or trans—State power has only increased their vulnerability, making their lives more rather than less unsafe. It calls into question a “government by the people and for the people.” State power in this instance is violence directed at punishing marginalized groups, and counter to its stated purpose. Gilmore (2007, p. 38) defines state-sanctioned racism, reinforcing the definition of state-sanctioned violence used in this book: “Racism, specifically in the state- sanctioned or extralegal production and exploitation of group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death.” We can argue that death is but one outcome, with other life-altering consequences resulting from state-sanctioned racism that severely limit the maximization of one’s potential, and can go under the radar causing devastating outcomes. A variety of concepts have emerged to capture the brutality of the police toward people of color through state-sponsored racialized violence, and one can argue that the nature of the act defies having one concept capture its complexity, emotionality, and consequences. Public safety, as practiced in this country, has been labeled as carceral safety, which is far from the typical social good expected and viewed by dominant groups (McDowell, 2019). The term carceral, regardless of what follows, is never good, and odds are it involves people of color, too, although it is not limited to them (Camp, 2016). Scholars have pulled back the veil covering our deeply ingrained belief systems and unsettled our views about the United States, helping to separate fantasies from reality. Scheurich (2017, pp. 1053–1054) is one: What I am going to say here may make some people uncomfortable, especially (heads up) white people. Because of White privilege and the sociocultural dominance of Whiteness, most white people avoid and ignore how destructive our country has always been and continues to be. We have learned, to some degree, to believe the dominant mythologies that we have been taught over and over. These dominant mythologies are quite powerful, representing the pillars our democracy have been built upon, which when challenged, have seismic repercussions for social relations in this country. Bracey (2015) advances a critical race theory (CRT) of the state, built on contestation, which consists of six central tenets: (1) racialization of the state, (2) state as White institutional space, (3) instrumentalism, (4) interest-convergence, (5) fluid boundaries, and (6) permanent racist orientation. Bracey (2015, p. 555) notes: “The state is inherently racial because every state action has racial consequences and because the state itself is structured to accomplish racial goals. In other words, the state both shapes and is shaped by racial conflict.” The state, in this instance, is stacked against a
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group of people because of the color of their skin and has systematically developed racially biased structures that oppress these communities. Reclaiming spaces of contestation can also be found in academia and scholarly publications, referred to as epist emic violence (Park, Bhuyan, & Wahab, 2019). Our nation was founded on violence, which will be consistently addressed throughout this book, and the defense of democratic values is perpetuated based on myths to justify the ongoing use of violence. The freedoms imbedded in our Constitution and Bill of Rights are not applicable to all residents in this country (a form of violence), going back to the birth of the United States. Further, obtaining rights has necessitated using force, as evidenced by the campaigns for the right to vote for women and the formerly enslaved. In 2017, the Charlottesville, Virginia, demonstrations and counterdemonstrations on Confederate monuments revealed that the practice of White supremacy is very much alive and well, and coming out of hiding to take a prominent place in the national consciousness, with the support of President Trump (Spencer, 2018; Taylor, 2018). Jacobson (2018, p. 5) spotlights how state-sanctioned violence has enlisted right-wing violence in carrying out such an agenda: We have a president who not only has overlooked and excused violence, but who has actively called for it. A president who employs domestic abusers and nominates men credibly accused of sexual assault to the Supreme Court. A president who proclaims his “love” for brutal dictators such as Kim Jong Un, and who refuses to hold “allies” accountable for the cold-blooded murder abroad of journalists who are not only working for U.S. outlets but are permanent U.S. residents. This is not just about Trump, however. The GOP has been effectively subtweeting calls to violence for many years now. It has looked the other way and asked “Who, us?” when called upon to address the violent rhetoric of supporters like Rush Limbaugh, Alex Jones, Sean Hannity, and Bill O’Reilly. It’s been obvious for years that right-wing violence is on the rise. Public perceptions of this rally were not uniform, with differences on the responsibility for the violence and showing fractures in how the nation was divided on this issue (Forneret, 2019). This degree of hatred stunned a national and international audience. For African American/Blacks living in areas where White supremacy is practiced openly, this is no surprise (Segrest, 2017), with the repercussions still being felt there one year later (Stockman, 2018a). Nationally, it raised profound questions on the presence of White supremacy and how it becomes so public (Berlet & Lyons, 2018). In 2016, there were 892 active extremist groups in the United States, with an estimated 6,000 far-right groups in the country since 1990 (Suttmoeller, Chermak, & Freilich, 2018). Belew’s (2018) Bring the War Home: The White Power Movement and Paramilitary America provides what is arguably the first comprehensive review of the White power movement in the United States, illustrating its evolving nature and why it remains a potent force in this country. This book provides a much needed nuanced historical perspective on a movement that consists of a wide variety of groups, some of which subscribe to White racist principles, setting a foundation for today’s White paramilitary groups with military training carrying out a violence agenda. Ironically, these
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groups hate the federal government but still carry out a violence agenda that shares much in common with it. The Confederate monuments are physical artifacts, often prominently placed, with the intent to “honor sedition, rebellion, treason, and white supremacy” (Brundage, 2018, p. 325) and remind people of color of this nation’s horrendous history (Buffington, 2019; Eligon, 2018b; Savage, 2018; Sinclair-Chapman, 2018). These monuments celebrate a false history, ignoring the violence perpetrated, with this history well summarized by New Orleans’s Mayor Landrieu (McWilliams, 2018, p. 13): “these statues are not just stone and metal. They are not just innocent remembrances of a benign history. These monuments purposefully celebrate a fictional, sanitized Confederacy; ignoring the death, ignoring the enslavement, and the terror that it actually stood for.” A counternarrative is essential to correct this history by grounding these statues within the historical period and their true sociopolitical purposes, which is to advance a racist agenda and view of history in this country. State and public resistance to taking down these monuments is psychic violence to the self-esteem and legacies of African Americans and other people of color (Brundage, 2018; Schragger, 2018). At the opposite end, markers to the brutality of racism can be attacked. Burch (2019a) and Shastri (2019) discuss the quest to counter defacing of markers on lynching, such as that of 14-year-old Emmett Till, lynched in 1955, erected in 2007 to mark the spot where his body was recovered, and the importance of these markers from a historical standpoint. Blee et al. (2017, p. 257) address the White supremacy as a social movement in the contemporary USA: Organized white supremacism in the contemporary U.S. is a complex social movement composed of a variety of racist and anti-Semitic groups and unaffiliated activists with a common belief in white racial superiority and a desire to preserve white racial privileges . . . Unlike in much of Europe, the far-right in the U.S. rarely has electoral aspirations or connections to political parties. (Donald Trump’s 2016 support from racists in the “alt-right” is an exception.) Over the last several decades, the spread of the pseudo-religious doctrine known as “Christian Identity” has furthered legitimized violence in the racist movement by depicting nonwhites as less human than whites and Jews as literal descendants of the devil. Merging religion and state-sponsored violence is not a new phenomenon in the United Statets and will be discussed in Chapter 2. Enhancing community resistance to unchecked police brutality can result in constraining police acts of violence, as well as reducing community violence (intracommunal violence), which has gained currency cross the nation’s major cities (Ristroph, 2017). Again, resistance can be conceptualized as nonviolent and violent. The former can incite violent state reactions because of the important symbolic role that the police represent, further escalating tensions, including feeding into a narrative that the state must protect the innocent from “mob” actions of lawlessness. Ward’s (2015, p. 300) essay on state-sponsored violence specifically focused on race, including that which is slow violence and why it is fostered, noting the role and influence of multiple ways of carrying out this violence agenda:
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State organized race crime involves multiple interactive forms, including: state actors and institutions committing or abetting racial violence . . . ; conceptualization and regulation of race-related violence or other harm, civilly and criminally . . . ; and the criminalization of racially defined groups . . . This essay focuses on the first—the racial violence of state actors and institutions—and a less spectacular but profound form of “slow violence” therein . . . Yet these forms of state organized race crime are ultimately intertwined social and historical relationships, bound together as cycles of under-regulated racial violence, and rationalized in part by the criminalization of race. State-sanctioned violence against undervalued groups, as a consequence, takes on many different manifestations, with some being well masked and made that much more difficult to identify and successfully address. Social workers are familiar with the following terms: “driving while Black,” “golfing while Black,” “talking on the telephone in a hotel lobby while Black,” “moving while Black,” “doing your job while Black,” “worshipping while Black,” “walking while Black,” “gardening while Black,” “relaxing at home while Black,” “babysitting while Black,” “playing music too loud while Black,” “barbecuing while Black,” “elected official canvassing while Black,” “waiting while Black,” “eating while Black,” “waiting at Starbucks while Black,” “buying a belt at Nordstrom while Black,” “napping at Yale while Black,” “shopping in the mall while Black,” and “selling loose cigarettes while Black,” to list several, which is a sad commentary on race relations in this country, and in many of these cases, the power of the state to act violently. Driving while Black, for example, is a common phrase that harbors deep social and political meaning because it takes an everyday task and allows the state to commit economic and criminal violence in the name of law and order (Baumgartner, Epp, & Shoub, 2018). A prosaic traffic stop has the potential to escalate into a deadly encounter, to add insult to injury, as in the case of Sandra Bland in Austin, Texas (Montgomery, 2019). The criminalization of just being Black and Brown means that virtually every person of color can see themselves being confronted by the police for just simply living. Everyday actions make national news for good reasons and take on great significance for Brown and Black people. They send the message that you do not belong and can be subject to arrest or worse, for simply being. To be Brown or Black means being open to harassment, arrests, and even death by White, non-Latinxs, in law enforcement or other realms, as in the case of Trayvon Martin, killed by a citizen vigilante. Media accounts of Trayvon Martin’s murder reflect a highly racialized lens undermining the social injustice of this killing (Fabregat & Beck, 2019). The saliency of the concept of “mothering while Black” helps us understand and appreciate the circle of victims expanding from those who are Black/Brown outward, radiating throughout a community (Rodriguez, 2016). All of these interactions can be framed as unfortunate; they can also be framed as hate crimes, acts of violence, and traumatic, with the state, through its law enforcement authority, carrying out the function of criminalizing everyday actions because of the color of the skin of the “perpetrator.”
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State-Sanctioned Violence State-sanctioned violence can be defined as (Medical Library, 2017): “Acts of violence committed by an official state, military or sponsored by a sovereign government outside of the context of a declared war, which target civilians or show a disregard for civilian life in attacking targets—either people or facilities.” This definition stresses how civilians are targeted, which, in the case of this book, are of color and residing in distinct geographical areas. Chapter 2 provides an in-depth conceptualization and operationalization of state-sanctioned violence, including conceptual and methodological challenges impeding a comprehensive understanding. The term full weight of the state is usually associated with justice in response to a horrendous crime or a civil rights injustice, but there is a dimension that has arguably not received needed attention: Namely, when the purpose is to subjugate or crush a group, under what conditions does this sanctioned violence achieve its stated, or unstated, goals of bringing about submission (Herreros, 2006)? Recent policy shifts in the U.S. Department of Justice illustrate how state-sanctioned violence can unfold in the implementation of changes in policies pertaining to national priorities, and how they target people of color with significant ramifications for them and their community (Benner, 2018): Since its founding six decades ago, the Justice Department’s civil rights division has used the Constitution and federal law to expand protections of African- Americans, gays, lesbians and transgender people, immigrants and other minorities—efforts that have extended the government’s reach from polling stations to police stations. But under Attorney General Jeff Sessions, the focus has shifted to people of faith, police officers and local government officials who maintain they have been trampled by the federal government. The department has supported state voting laws that could wind up removing thousands of people from voter rolls. And it has pulled back on robust oversight of police departments found to have violated the rights of citizens in their jurisdictions. (p. A13) Deevolution of civil rights policies, including voter suppression (Anderson, 2018), will continue under the present presidential administration, further bringing the force of state violence to bear on this country’s urban communities of color, with current and long-term deleterious consequences (Wines, 2018b). Defining this group, with obvious and underlying elements and premises, is essential in crafting coordinated social justice responses. One common element in this process is focusing on geographical (place) dimensions introducing what ostensibly appear as disparate groups sharing physical place and space, including the consequences of state-sponsored violence. Such a geographical focus concretizes an analysis, as well as the ever-essential conceptualization of social interventions. The geographical concentration of marginalized groups, which has been fostered by historical racial segregation supported by the state, harkens back to the birth of European ghettos. Urban communities bring this element to bear. This geopolitical space is laden with actual and symbolic meaning, as well as the potential for bringing together disparate groups in search of social justice for their communities, and the nation as a whole. Creating coalitions of different groups of people of color, although potentially
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powerful, is always very challenging to accomplish (Sexton, 2010). Creating coalitions that extend beyond people of color to include other oppressed groups, too, although rewarding, too, will pose challenges. James’s (1996) argument has withstood the test of time in advancing the central stance of state violence and the importance of conceptualizing the role of group histories in shaping violence’s manifestation, and the need for coalitions to tackle state tentacles in creating the conditions that cause oppression, preventing us from bringing together groups that have historically viewed their plight from their own group’s perspective despite sharing much in common. An inward-looking perspective interferes with coalition building, which is essential in dealing with the power of state acts of violence. The state is a site of contestation rather than being a benign, allied, misguided, or neutral force (Pulido, 2017). Is the state an enemy of the people? If the answer is yes, then actions must take this into account, requiring a radical shift of thought, which is unsettling because it challenges the basic benign notion of a democratic state. The site of this contestation, for our purpose, is the United States, and depending upon where one lives, various, if not all, forms of government. State-sanctioned violence is usually associated with nondemocratic regimes, such as dictatorships. Applying this concept to a democracy, and in this case the “world’s leading democracy,” is bound to raise eyebrows. That is the intent of this book because when the state-sanctioned acts of violence target groups, it dramatizes the prodigious odds against them. The field is not just unleveled, playing on it is simply hazardous to health and lives. Vargas Amparo Alves (2010) uses “geography of death” to present a multifaceted view of how state violence intersects with geography, entailing a consideration of three factors: (1) actual violent acts, (2) their symbolic dimensions, and (3) the historical and structural conditions within which violence emerges and thrives. In the case of this book, urban centers represent this geographic dimension. The physical consequences and symbolic dimensions of state acts of violence target people of color, with symbolism taking on significant importance. The historical and structural conditions span centuries in the case of Native Americans and African Americans, with Latinxs and Asians sharing a shorter history, and arguably, not quite as violent, but still consequential from a violence standpoint. Labeling state-sponsored violence as such serves to criminalize and blame the victims for their conditions. The process of defining or labeling a victim of state crime is not only complex, but it is much determined by who has the power to define and label, highlighting why the state is so powerful in carrying out a violence campaign, and often with impunity (Rothe & Kauzlarich, 2014a): We noted that the process of labeling is complex: from self-labeling to external labels that are applied informally by audiences, researchers, the media, politicians, and institutions of social control. Each of these has an impact on whether an individual is recognized as a victim and/or able to receive any recourse to their victimization. With state crime victims, these issues are especially significant. Consider that in cases of state crimes of omission or the broader category of social harm (e.g., institutional classism and racism) victims may not even recognize they have been victimized. Further, given the resources of a state, discourse can change the public view of a victim to one of a criminal. (p. 9)
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Sadly, being a victim without recognizing this status is indicative of the power of the state to set conditions that cause this tragic state of affairs. This brings a new dimension to the concept of blaming the victim because the victim does not question this status. Social workers certainly appreciate the challenge that this situation presents in seeking social change. One must accept aggrieved status, which can then be turned to anger, and then action, before seeking social justice. The indignation surrounding this recognition often involves a deliberative process (critical praxis) to understand why this injustice has occurred. Marginalized communities have a much easier time of recognizing the various subtle and ostensible manifestations of state-sponsored violence, particularly when activist voices are not only heard but also respected, and there is a historical legacy to draw upon. African American Ella Baker (African American activist) stated it quite well when she said: “In order to see where we are going, we not only must remember where we have been, but we must understand where we have been” (Ella Bater, Undated). Living in highly dense and racially segregated communities makes narrative sharing of state abuses that much easier to accomplish, because social networks, too, are geographically bound, including those that are intergenerational. Victim horror stories of state violence rarely exist in isolation from other horror stories. Narrative sharing is facilitated when communication is culturally based, relying on oral traditions. Victim blaming can occur when the information is disseminated by the popular media on the victim and police shooter, either reinforcing stereotypes or providing a counternarrative that is social justice in form, highlighting how language as manifested in labels shapes public attitudes (Dukes & Gaither, 2017). It is easier for a nation to blame the victim than to do a painful introspection of what is it that we as a nation are doing to create and punish perpetrators. State-sponsored violence cannot transpire without the active or passive support of the public media. Media images of victims and confrontations wield great influence in shaping public opinions (Stone, 2015). A federal inquiry into Eric Garner’s death stalled after almost 4 years, and the NYPD has started disciplinary proceedings against the officers involved in his killings (Mueller, 2018; Weiser & Goodman, 2018). I cannot help but think that this Justice Department’s reluctance may represent a deemphasis on investigating police departments and the killings of civilians by law enforcement, particularly those of color (Benner, 2019). If so, this will prove very troubling for future police use of lethal force, further creating a climate of fear, harking back to this nation’s history when African Americans were expendable, when there was not even a semblance of justice for people of color. A state-sanctioned violence paradigm does not ignore the concept of intersectional or intracategorical approaches and the importance of social identities; it takes this concept and illustrates the multiple ways that violence, or harm, can be perpetrated upon groups of people sharing the same physical space, as in urban communities, making the exercise of state power that much easier to accomplish. This does not mean that state-sanctioned violence does not occur in the suburbs or rural America. The level of intensity would not be the same because of the sheer density of people of color in urban communities, and the concentration of police and media sources. LGBTQ youth of color, for instance, are particularly vulnerable to state-sanctioned violence at the hands of law enforcement and juvenile justice (Mountz, 2016), showing how an intersectionality lens operates within a urban-centered, state-sanctioned
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violence paradigm targeting them, resulting in greater vulnerability to violence on multiple counts. Giroux (2017c, p. 868) argues that there is a need for a “more unified notion of the political in order to overcome the splintering nature of single issue movements.” This stance facilitates the use of a state-sanctioned violence view that draws upon an intersectionality concept, and has the potential to unify communities, providers, as well as academics from different disciplines. This requires language and concepts that enjoy wide appeal across professions and academic disciplines, no small accomplishment, but essential. There is a very good reason why semantics matter and are not the exclusive domain of academics; communities, too, need terms that capture their state of being and more easily give voice to their frustrations, fears, and hopes. Kerrison, Cobbina, and Bender (2018), too, call for a broadening of what a state violence paradigm’s parameters can encompass and how understanding underlying causes is critical in fueling this stance, raising the seriousness of this perspective in undermining the ideals that this country professes to encompass: We propose that criminal justice reform discourse begin with an interrogation of how police are incentivized to target Black civilians and how fallout from larger arms of the destabilizing state (unaffordable housing, underfunded education, food insecurity, environmental injustice, suffocating debt, etc.) is implicated in creating the market conditions for state-sponsored violence. A commitment to designing lasting criminal justice reform requires an overhaul of the many structural domains whose quotidian operations undermine Black life. As such, we challenge state entities and the people who must demand more of them, to continue fighting for a thicker, fuller, richer freedom—a reality that is not yet here but is surely possible. (pp. 14–15) Searching for a “more perfect union” starts with an understanding of the problem facing significant segments of this nation, with challenging the forces being framed as American rather than anti-American. We, as a nation, cannot solve a problem when we do not agree a problem exists, and social workers are well cognizant of how framing an issue or problem dictates what follows as a solution. State-sponsored violence creates a climate of despair, fear, and paranoia, and seeks to destroy community hopes and dreams for a better future, as well as burdens the targeted group and generation (Khan, 2017; Rothe & Kauzlarich, 2014a). Targeted groups rarely experience one form of oppression and often encompass multiple forms, bringing intersectionality into the discussion. Being able to unify groups is essential in mounting a concerted and substantive social change effort because the similarities far outweigh their differences. All of these groups face the same adversary—the power of the state to punish and inflict violence, including the constant threat of doing so. Having a state-sanctioned violence stance front and center heightens the injustices associated with racism and other oppressions by placing government as a prime instigator of inequity, and its deadly consequences for people of color in the United States, along a wide sphere that extends beyond police and criminal justice no less. Stating that an action with deadly consequences has the “blessings” of the government has such a powerful effect on both the general public and helping professionals, and it best captures the sentiments of those living in constant danger because of their view that government is against them.
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Although state-sanctioned violence has often focused on males of color, women, too, are subject to various dimensions of violence, particularly that which is slow in manifestation (Beall, 2018; Willingham, 2018), and so are people with disabilities, for instance (Kim, 2017). When these and other factors come together, it enhances the meaning of intersectionality and helps us understand the immense forces at work in marginalizing groups (Annamma, Ferri, & Connor, 2018; Collins, 2017). Conceptualizing deaths of unarmed people of color at the hands of the police (“repressive enforcement structure”), for example, as a local matter, with local solutions, deemphasizes a national phenomenon and a far more devastating state of affairs, and the role of state government to local borders. When viewed from a national perspective, it raises profound social-political issues and questions for the country and why, and how, this situation can exist across an entire nation and still be allowed to do so without a major national outroar and condemnation. Not surprisingly, there are significant racial differences in how police shootings are viewed and interpreted, for instance. Blacks view these shootings as a sign of a deeper problem involving the police and their communities; White, non-Latinix view these killings as isolated incidents and subject to local circumstances (Peston, 2016). Other disturbing narratives have not gotten national attention, such as the crisis at the border, and they are important to uplift in order to obtain a more comprehensive understanding of how state-sponsored violence can impact communities of color across the nation. According to the FBI, between 2001 and 2016, White supremacists killed 34 police officers compared with 10 by left-wing groups, and this includes the 5 police officers killed in Dallas in 2016. Further, “White supremacists have infiltrated law enforcement organizations around the country. That’s right: white supremacists want to kill cops, and white supremacists want to be cops” (Sollenberger, 2017). The close relationship between Klan members and local police is understood from a historical view because it was not unusual to find them wearing both uniforms at the same time. There is a present-day dimension to this situation that is quite disturbing (Winter, 2018). A violation of a human rights stance allows these acts to be viewed from a national standpoint, raising questions that strike at the heart of a systematic state-sanctioned violence stance, opening up this issue to international critique and potential actions (Hansford & Jagannath, 2015). Ho (2007) argued that bringing a human rights perspective on structural violence, which can also be applied to state violence, facilitates addressing violence across disciplines and internationally, bringing new and increased levels of understanding and potential for collaboration. Government-sponsored violent acts do occur at the local level, sharing tremendous similarities and eventual outcomes across the entire nation, with the likelihood of police officer exoneration, essentially condoning their actions, and compromising the safety and well-being of the communities that they patrol, being the norm rather than the exception. When we can connect the dots of these incidents and outcomes from sea to shining sea, it is not local. The saying “act locally, think nationally” comes to mind for highlighting this interconnection. Efforts at the national level have been undertaken to address state-sanctioned violence on urban communities of color. Inwood, Alderman, and Barron (2016) addressed the structural violence through U.S. reconciliation commissions seeking to address social justice, and in this case, involving Greensboro, North Carolina, and Detroit, Michigan. These commissions attempt to achieve many justice goals.
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However, they create a new historical narrative to counteract lies and injustices, essential in understanding the present and helping communities become alert to what the future potential holds if we are not careful (Inwood, 2012). As the saying goes, “history may not repeat itself but it sure rhymes.” We cannot understand and respond to the present without understanding and appreciating the past. Destroying a people’s history is a form of invisible and slow violence, and a deeply disturbing act when state initiated or condoned (Moss & Jackson, 2017). J U ST ICE F OR ALL OR ONLY IF Y OU ARE WH I T E ?
Soss and Weaver (2017, p. 568) argue that state social-cultural practices focus on “race- class subjugated communities” through the use of “coercion, containment, repression, surveillance, regulation, predation, discipline, and violence,” identifying the multifaceted approaches used depending upon local circumstances. Public efforts stand out in any analysis of state-sanctioned violence because of the potential to expand the circle to include broader representation on these issues, and ownership of solutions. Criminal justice and state-sanctioned violence require viewing from a multifaceted stance. Not unexpectedly, there has been an emphasis on law enforcement and incarceration and how they have dramatically impacted urban communities color (Miller, 2014). Viewing this topic from a justice perspective on unsolved crime, particularly murder, brings an important aspect from a community stance that historically has not been discussed but is a critical topic in urban communities of color (Violence Policy Center, 2018, p. 1): According to the FBI SHR data, in 2015 there were 7,014 black homicide victims in the United States. The homicide rate among black victims in the United States was 18.68 per 100,000. For that year, the overall national homicide rate was 4.62 per 100,000. For whites, the national homicide rate was 2.67 per 100,000. Guns, not surprisingly, were responsible for 86% of all Black victims (5,756 out of 6,716). Is justice carried out to punish those who have committed the more egregious crime of taking someone’s life? This topic has gained the national attention as major newspapers published stories on the racial characteristics of unsolved murders (Lowery, Kelly, & Rich, 2018). Solving and punishing crime such as murder is a key factor in instilling trust in the criminal justice system for communities bearing the brunt of this violence. It bears noting that the relationship between homicide covictims and investigating detectives is seriously understudied (Reed et al., 2019). A state’s failure to bring criminals to justice can be viewed as a deliberate attempt to exercise neglect of these communities because this failure can be interpreted as not caring, and in the case of communities of color, racism with severe consequences. Benign neglect is anything but benign and is a less visible form of state violence. The following Boston narrative puts a human face to feelings on an unsolved murder (Lowery, Kelly, & Rich, 2018, pp. 1–4): Nearly a year after Aice Jackman was gunned down in the street, his mother and 5-year-old brother walked into a Dunkin’ Donuts, where the boy spotted a pit
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bull puppy and dashed over to pet it. Kaiesha Skinner’s gaze followed her young son and then settled on the man holding the leash. Their eyes met. She froze: It was the same man who she believes killed Jackman. She grabbed her youngest son’s hand, yanking him away from the man and back to their car. “We all know who shot my son,” Skinner said later. “They just haven’t arrested him.” This example illustrates the multigenerational consequences of an unsolved murder at a community level, and it can be replicated countless times across the nation. Between 2008 and 2018, based on 52 of the nation’s largest cities, there were approximately 26,000 murders, with 18,600 (71.5%) involving victims who were African American/Black (Lowery, Kelly, & Rich, 2018). How does this statistic compare with White, non-Latinxs? There is a dramatic difference with arrests of 63% when victims were White. African Americans constitute 25% of the population in these cities but accounted for 68% of murder victims. Where are Latinxs in this picture? Making cross-city comparisons is arduous because of how statistics are gathered for this group. However, Houston is an exception. There Latinxs had the distinction of having the widest disparity between murders and arrests, surpassing the rate of African Americans/Blacks. The percentage decreased to under half (47%) when victims were Black. Four cities (Baltimore, Chicago, Detroit, and Philadelphia) were responsible for over 7,300 of the Black murders, or 39% of all Black murders without an arrest, forcing us to question what it is it about these four cities that makes them so prone to these acts of violence. Unfortunately, Boston leads all major U.S. cities in the gap between White, non-Latinx, and Black murder arrest records, with the majority of victims being Black. Since 2007, that city had 90% of arrests when the victim was White, non-Latinx, but only 42%, when the victim was Black. There were only five cities in the nation where there was no disparity between the racial background of murderers and arrests—Birmingham, Alabama; Durham, North Carolina; Fort Worth, Texas; and Wichita, Kansas. These exceptions reinforce a disturbing national picture of how one aspect of law enforcement unfolds in the nation’s cities, with the central message being quite clear if the color of your skin is anything but White! Are Black and Brown lives not important for justice in their communities? Police overpolicing brings an added and disturbing layer to analysis of why is there such a wide disparity between race arrest records. When the murder involves a Black perpetrator and a White victim, there is an urgency in solving the crime and bringing the perpetrator to trial, which is often highly publicized to send a message to the broader community that crime will not be tolerated. State-sanctioned violence can have highly visible manifestations, as well as less visible ones. Indifference, unfortunately, is probably more consequential in the lives of people of color than the highly visible forms. Not solving the murders of Black and Brown victims falls into the latter category. Mayors and district attorneys are not innocent, so I do not want to give the impression that that this failure rate falls squarely on the shoulders of the police. They are the most visible symbol of state violence, allowing innocent victims to become symbols of a law enforcement and criminal justice system that has priorities with racial overtones, if not outright goals. Social workers understand “high-profile” murders because of the time, energy, and attention devoted to solving them, and how the publicity generated when solved gives
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the public a sense of safety. However, the concept of high-profile murder simply does not exist in urban communities of color. The missing White girl syndrome comes to mind. When this happens, the world stops until she is found. There is no comparable missing Black girl syndrome because these girls are expendable and do not generate the same level of publicity, public indignation, or outcry. For example, in March, 2017, over a 24-hour period there were 20 missing Black and Latina girls in Washington, DC, and their absence went without a public outcry by the media (Lindsey, 2019).
O D DS AGA INS T URBAN COMMUNITIE S O F C OL O R
The subject of odds, strangely, is familiar to social workers. Familiarity is not with odds in favor, but rather odds against for those embracing social justice as a guiding light. We have every right to ask if the odds are so great against people of color, why they keep fighting back. The answer strikes at the heart of resistance and social justice. I have devoted most of my academic career to identifying and supporting urban community assets because no community, regardless of low formal resources and acts of state violence against them, are not absent of indigenous resources (Delgado & Humm-Delgado, 2013). I have no difficulty in understanding why these communities are consistently resisting and even succeeding against impossible odds. Imagine the outcome if odds were tilted even more slightly in their favor? This resistance can be conceptualized as resiliency, a concept that historically been applied to individuals and trauma and can also find saliency in a broader context, such as urban communities of color and resistance. Resistance, after all, was the precursor to the American Revolution! We are versed with the concept of resiliency, generally applied to individuals but also equally applicable to organizations and communities. Bonds (2018, p. 1287), however, cautions against the use of the concept when applying it to urban communities that are underresourced and under siege by police departments: Like multiculturalism, the language of resilience is grounded within the ideology of colorblindness, identifying systemic inequalities in deracialized, depoliticized terms. Resilience thinking conceals the political and racial nature of social systems, obscuring the role of previous policies, institutions, and authorities in siphoning resources from poor neighborhoods of color in order to build resilience elsewhere. As such, communities that have borne the brunt of the violence of urban policy—of urban renewal and racialized zoning, of disinvestment, serv ice reductions, infrastructure declines, of racially extractive city budgets—must now envision and build their communities as resilient and adaptive. Wealthy, white neighborhoods and suburban areas, the primary beneficiaries of the capital flows and state subsidies that nurture resilience, remain the unproblematized standard of resilient urban futures. Bonds’s perspective on resilient urban communities challenges us to rethink how this popular concept is used in our analysis and interventions beyond a specific focus on individuals and families.
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S OCIA L W ORK E DUCATION, PRACTIC E , A N D S OCIA L JUS TICE
Social justice is not limited to state regimes that openly punish groups within their societies. Miller (1999, p. ix) raises a provocative question and goes about answering it in a manner that we can relate to as social workers: Social justice is an idea that is central to the politics of contemporary democracy. Not everybody is for it. Some believe that the pursuit of social justice is a snare and a delusion and that we should be guided by other ideals—personal freedom, for instance . . . I do not share this skepticism about social justice. I think that a clear meaning can be given to the idea, and I do not think that the pursuit of social justice is politically misguided. Embracing social justice as a value and goal is an essential part of our social work identity and mission. Social justice definitions evolve over time (Hudson et al., 2017, p. 444): Definitions of social justice shift over time; scholars have neither a broad, consensus definition for this complex idea, nor a common vision for the practice of justice-promoting social work . . . Nonetheless, trends in conceptualizations of social justice in social work include ideas of distributive justice . . . ; structural social justice perspectives (which consider the social construction of systems of power and oppression); and view structural change as a means to eliminate inequality and oppression; . . . and social work-specific views of social justice (guided by compliance with the National Association of Social Workers Code of Ethics’ intention to eradicate “discrimination, oppression, and poverty and other forms of social injustice”). Watts and Hodgson (2019) note that social injustices accompany many different spheres and address how social work as a profession can make a contribution to social justice in these spheres. Our profession’s code of ethics addresses social justice based on our values emphasizing participatory democracy and empowerment (Beckett, Maynard, & Jordan, 2017), with the more options the better, allowing us to take into account local circumstances and the institutions that employ us. Teaching on social justice, regardless of discipline, entails creating a safe classroom climate that is conducive to talking about difficult subjects (Adams, 2016; Adams & Bell, 2016). Cultivating greater self- awareness of oppression is a multistage process (Berila, 2015), and also entails creating a similar climate within communities, regarding having difficult conversations and undertaking similar types of actions. Cooper (2014, p. 5) raises a critical epistemological question about how we perceive our environment, in this case whether state-sanctioned violence exists, and whether those belonging to the dominant class can acknowledge its presence: There is a real disconnect between what white people know and what black people know in this country. Philosophers and political theorists understand these as questions of “epistemology,” wherein they consider how social conditions
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shape our particular standpoint, and ability to apprehend the things that are supposed to be apparent to us. “How do we know what we know?” is one way we might ask the question. Social work education must break down these barriers to ensure meaningful and lasting contributions to eliminating social oppression. Kamali (2016), calls on the profession to expand its scope of practice “since the discipline needs new theoretical perspectives to be able to meet the new challenges raised by recent global transformations and neoliberal globalisation.” Broadening our social justice mission requires a conceptual foundation and tools to examine how oppression gets manifested at all levels of society. Such a step will expand our options of how to combat state-sponsored violence. It will put a spotlight on our profession for state- sanctioned retribution and corresponding violence. Mass uprootment of people is no longer associated with Europe and far-off places of the globe. These uprootments are occurring in our part of the world, too, with the Global South’s displacements being manifested at our southern border. Do we honestly believe that this is episodic? These displacements are destined to continue and will accelerate demographic changes in this country, causing adverse state reactions that will place immigration, in its various forms, as an election issue for the immediate, if not distant, future. D EMOGR A P HY AS DE STINY
Demographics and state-sanctioned violence? Demographics are critical in advancing a narrative of state-sponsored violence that is as old as the nation itself. Namely, how do we prevent the nation from being taken over by foreigners, and that includes, ironically enough, Native Americans, the first inhabitants of this nation? The answer to this question strikes at the heart of a critical element of the state-sanctioned violence rationale for this book. “Hordes of people of color” overpopulating this country is a powerful motivator for the state intervention. Ironically, there is a consensus that this country is in desperate need of workers because of a declining workforce due to an increasing aging population and a decline in birth rates, the lowest since 1937, which was the height of the Great Depression (Irwin & Badger, 2019; C. K. Johnson, 2019). The rate of birth decline (the proceeding four consecutive years) was most pronounced among Asian Americans, Native Americans, and Alaska Natives (3%), followed by African American/Blacks (2%), and White, Non-Latinxs (1%) (Stack, 2019b). When a nation’s racial and ethnic composition changes, whether it is projected or is currently rapidly doing so, it causes tremendous shock waves that can reverberate throughout the country. That is what is happening in the United States and is projected to continue in the next several decades, bringing forth soul-searching as to what it means to be an American. Campbell and Vogel (2019) studied population dynamics with a focus on race and mass incarceration and concluded that states with older White and younger Black populations had an increased probability of having a punitive brand of politics and corresponding penal policy, feeding into mass incarceration. Social workers must do soul-searching to discover what these shifting demographics
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mean to them personally and professionally, calling for a dialogue for the profession and nation on what it means to have a demographically changing country. In 2015, the United States had the world’s second-largest Spanish-speaking country, with 41 million native speakers and 12 million bilinguals, behind Mexico and ahead of Colombia and Spain (Sanchez-Diez, 2015). If projected demographic increases continue until 2050, the United States will become the world’s largest Spanish-speaking country, with an estimated 30% of the nation having it as one of our languages, and a significant step closer to making this country bilingual (English and Spanish), bringing a major transformation to the national culture and identity. Social identity abuse is a form of violence, be it subtle and slow, or visible and fast, adding a dimension to marginalization that will alter self-esteem, with far-reaching ramifications. Efforts to target groups to stop growing and return to the “glory days” of the past, and eschewing an inclusive future, rest at the center of the maelstrom that we find ourselves in today, which means that we as a country are at crossroads that, if not properly handled, can set back progress for at least another generation. Nevertheless, demographics march forward with ebbs and flows, but with a steady move forward, nevertheless. For instance, neighborhoods that historically have been all White, non- Latinix, have shown a decline over the past 20 years as the country has increasingly browned (Badger, Bui, & Gebeloff, 2019). Current and projected demographics are largely fueling fears for why state- sanctioned violence is essential in maintaining White numerical domination, and its cultural way of life, including militarizing the border and increasing the apprehension and deportation of Brown people, even when unauthorized border crossings have only recently reflected a steady increase after a significant decline over the past decade ( J. A. Del Real, 2018). The average person may be confused by the uproar that a Supreme Court nominee engenders, worthy of special attention during presidential elections. A nation of laws places Supreme Court judges at the helm in deciding what is legal or illegal. However, one can argue that the battle for the Supreme Court is motivated by many different sociopolitical factors, including the shifting demographics that are occurring and projected to occur in the near future (one generation), and a means of maintaining the power by those who are White, non-Latinx, to exercise state control and sanctions over a nation that is Browning to go along with its graying. The power of the Supreme Court to shape laws on equal rights, voter rights, affirm ative action, reproductive rights, affordable care, marriage equality, civil liberties, campaign financing, and other issues is of great concern to marginalized people, particularly those of color. The Supreme Court has always held an esteemed position in the nation’s lore, although the latest nominee (Kavanaugh) has tarnished the Court; some critics say that it made the Court highly politicized. The Court has always been highly politicized. Fortunately, a conservative-leaning Supreme Court decided against adding a question on citizenship as part of the U.S. census (Williams, 2019c). Nevertheless, the publicity surrounding this issue is still expected to result in an undercount of unauthorized residents for fear of participating in the census taking (Del Real, 2019c; Liptar, 2019). A resulting undercount will translate into a reduction in federal aid and political representation and power. This reluctance will have particular significance in congressional districts in California, Florida, and Texas (Wines, 2019a).
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It is tempting to pay considerable attention to demographics and why there is a focus on people of color, particularly those residing in the nation’s cities, by devoting multiple chapters to this subject. I will devote a major section of this chapter to ground readers on why state-sanctioned violence has had a disproportionate impact on people of color, and more so on youth. Social workers interested in further pursuing this topic will have ample opportunity to do so in other sections of this book, as demographics are introduced to buttress key points. In 2017, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, the country experienced the slowest growth in population since 1937, when it was in the midst of the Great Depression (Tavernise, 2018c). Demographic growth is often pointed to as a key measure of a nation’s economic health; when death rates outnumber births, it raises concerns, immediately and long-term. There are, however, exceptions as in the case of Florida, and more specifically Tampa and Orlando, being among the nation’s fastest growing cities because of in migration, largely fueled by those born outside of the continental U.S.A. (Schneider, 2019). Refugees, in turn, have been considered a lifeline for upstate New York cities because of their work and funding that they bring from the government because of their status (Goldmaum, 2019). The current demographic profile of African Americans/Blacks, Asians, and Latinx, including mixed-race Americans, is cause for alarm for a significant segment of the nation, because they are growing numerically and are relatively young when compared with White, non-Latinx. The projected increases are even more alarming, drawing the attention of the state and its extensive violence apparatus, to curtail their political influence. The politicization of this demographic projection raises concerns about a broad social-political backlash with unforeseen immediate and long-term consequences (Tavernise, 2018b). The demographic profile of people of color is largely responsible for the anger fueling state-sanctioned violence, and unfortunately, it will only get worse as the realization that this nation’s people of color will ascend in representation, threatening the socioeconomic-political status quo. The following statistics must be casted against this backdrop to appreciate how this looming future influences present- day reality. C U R R ENT D EMO GRAPHIC PROFILE
U.S. demographics are unlike those of any other nation on earth, and this brings forth its share of potential rewards and challenges, some anticipated, and others totally unanticipated. The great experiment has a strong demographic element that cannot be ignored in any discussion of its political and social dimensions. Capturing a current- day demographic picture is impossible, almost as easy as catching a cloud. The nation’s demographic profile can be viewed from a variety of viewpoints to obtain a more nuanced understanding of the social-cultural-economic-political ramifications. For example, capturing the stories of how families and communities have changed over time brings a rich dimension to staid numbers, and places faces with these numbers, and shows how communities have changed over time. Interestingly, 2018 census estimates have immigration playing an important role in boosting sagging demographic growth in the country, with rural areas being a prime benefactor of
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this growth (Kolko, 2019). An ethnographic dimension, in turn, brings a quantitative dimension to a demographic profile, offering a more complete picture. Four dimensions will be discussed, emphasizing age, race, ethnicity, and urban location. Readers can take these categories into greater depth, including adding language competencies, formal educational levels, and family size, to list several important aspects. Even though the nation is changing, these manifestations are unfolding differently based on geographical locale (Parker et al., 2018). Vociferous concerns about the nation’s demographic composition is not new and is as old as the nation itself. Social media has certainly introduced a new and powerful dimension in the spread of news about the demographically changing nation, and more so from a generational standpoint, with the spread of hatred and racialized concerns no longer restricted to newspapers and television news programs. Social media has allowed immigration to be weaponized to spew hatred and misinformation instantaneously, and very targeted to specific audiences. Chang (2019, p. 23) provides an excellent summary of why the foreign-born population has gotten its share of attention, and why it is perceived to be a threat to the country in some political circles: In 2017, the U.S. foreign-born population was estimated to be 44.5 million, comprising 13.7% of the total U.S. population (325 million) and the highest share since 1910. Of the foreign-born population, 22.5 million are not U.S. citizens with 1.9 million being less than 18 years of age. As of 2014, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security estimated that there were roughly 12.1 million undocu mented immigrants living in the U.S, mainly in California, Texas, Florida, New York, New Jersey, and Illinois. Immigration brings an added dimension to the nation’s demographic shifts, with the foreign-born population reaching heights not seen in over a century (1910), with Asians representing 41%, followed by Latin Americans with 39% (Taverness, 2018a). An important distinction from past trends is immigrants from China and India accounting for 2.6 million compared with 1.2 million from Latin America. Incidentally, the newly arriving foreign-born are heavily college educated (45%) and highly skilled. Religion does not escape the influence of demographics, as in the case of the Catholic Church, with the ascendency of a Latinx pope, and Latinxs representing 39% of the world’s Catholics (Bruce, 2018). Catholics of color are the majority of the Church’s members (Africa and the Middle East account for 17%), making this religion a majority-minority religion, which has generally been overlooked in any discussion in nonreligious circles, including the high percentage of Latinxs who consider themselves Catholic. Garcia (2017), in a rare discussion of Latinx demographics and military advertising, showed how the focus has changed from enlisting in the military as an honorable sacrifice for the country to emphasizing the benefits to be derived from enlisting. Thus, the military becomes a viable option for those who are not able or willing to pursue higher education in the immediate future, but with little attention to the threat that it brings for life and limb for those called to active duty in war zones. Latinxs, because of their young age, will constitute a larger percentage of the U.S. military.
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Geographically, in 2017, more than half (8 of 15) of the largest population gains were located in the South, with Texas having 3 of the top 5 cities and 7 of the top 15, illustrating an important demographic trend on how the future composition of the country will be transformed in regions of the country not used to rapid demographic changes (U.S. Census Bureau, 2018). More specifically, these urban changes are largely fueled by people of color/immigrants, which, in large part, are responsible for a pervasive antiurban sentiment in many sectors of the country, helping fuel a state-sanctioned violence agenda that is specifically targeted at urban centers. The war on drugs and crime evolved into a war on cities and is such an example (Brown, 2017; Fornili, 2018). Communities of color are invariably physically and socially isolated and racially segregated in a nation that is increasingly interconnected, which is essential to achieving the American dream. This segregation brings alienation and insularity with profound ramifications, including whether or not the current generation can dream about a brighter future, and one that is inclusive. This is ironic because cities are highly densely concentrated areas, interconnected across the country and world, and offering the best chances for youth to achieve their dreams. Cities play influential roles in a nation’s well-being and expose residents to new customs, cultures, people, and skill sets, which are increasingly essential in being grounded in a world that is changing because of new developments and uprootment of people across national boundaries and hemispheres. A cosmopolitan worldview enriches lives and a nation in the process. This multidimensional benefit is unavailable to those segregated in housing and the systems they encounter, and being left behind by a rapidly changing nation and world. P R OJECTED DE MOGRAPHIC PROFILE
Predicting the future is fraught with dangers, and projecting demographics into the future is no exception. Demographic projection is not an exact science and very much at the mercy of three factors—(1) birth rates, (2) death rates, and (3) ecological factors. Ecological factors take into account how disasters and major economic upheavals such as the Great Recession of 2008 (reduction in births due to uncertainty about the future). The interplay of these forces shapes the future composition of a community, state, or country now, and in the future. Immigration is best understood against concerns on racial/ethnic composition, and the role of state-sanctioned violence in shaping how it influences each of these crucial factors. Framing this nation’s future composition from the viewpoint of what will happen to White, non-Latinxs highlights the social and political manifestations of these projections (The Economist, 2015, p. 5): More broadly, it is white decline that makes today’s demographic revolution so remarkable. America has twice before witnessed European migration waves that were proportionately even larger when measured against the population at the time: once in the 19th century and again at the start of the 20th century. Those new Americans came to be seen as respectable, over time, as they assimilated towards a majority culture rooted in what were explicitly called Anglo-Protestant
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ideals: self-reliance, rugged individualism, thrift and hard work. Yet now that white majority is on course to become a minority. Who has a right to call themselves American has profound social, economic, cultural, and political meaning and consequences. Everyone has their own visual image of what an American is and the visible and invisible characteristics that make them one. The racial/ethnic composition of this nation in 2040 has gained greater currency in national discourse. Those who embrace this future have one view; those who fear this future see a nation that no longer has White, non-Latinx Americans in the majority because the nation is Browning. These projections have caused a great deal of consternation among White, non-Latinx Americans, including a visceral response to having an African American/Black President for two terms. This nation is not Browning evenly, with some parts at an accelerated pace, and others clinging to the past and resisting overtly or covertly. To say we are living in troubling times seems trite but quite revealing. Describing the solidification and celebration of the Republican Party’s emergence as the “White Nationalist Christian Party,” as symbolized by President Trump’s rhetoric and policies, may be a harsh statement, but it captures an existence shared by countless numbers of us who see the strengthening of state-sanctioned violence as policy and practice. The President of the United States wields prodigious influence over shaping how national narratives unfold, and that includes who is the “enemy of the state” (Schildkraut & Dohman, 2019, p. 157): In the United States, social problems or other conflicts often are defined by claims makers, or those individuals who have the power to identify a particular issue and convince the public of the validity of their concern . . . With the power of identifying what issues or conflicts are most important, the President also acquires the ability to shape how these events are interpreted and responded to. Although enemy of the state generally refers to the press, it can be extended to immigrants and people of color. Cultural fears generated by demographic changes can be considered primal fears, reaching the deepest centers of our feelings, and eliciting irrational reactions concerning the future of the country for White, non-Latinx people. These fears are immune to rational discourse and facts because they face deep-seated narratives threatening social identities, dangerous when carried out through state violence and harmful to these victims and the ideals this country was founded upon. A nation composed of many groups can only be united in purpose by its ideals. At the heart of U.S. culture wars is the need to protect “White” culture from the threats of a dramatically changing demographic (Michalowski & Hardy, 2014, p. 92): “The desire to protect white culture is an outgrowth of the practice of racialized citizenship that has been a fundamental part of U.S. society since its beginnings. Reflecting already established ideas about race and citizenship . . . ” The slow, but steady and predictable, coloring of the nation is at the heart of this openly hostile stance, and a continuation of a basic belief that was part of the founding of the nation that people of color are inferior.
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B O O K GOA L S
Victimhood politics are alive and well with President Trump articulating how males (White), but not explicitly stating so, are grieved, calling for addressing these injustices. However, protest is as American as apple or cherry pie, and it led to the birth of this nation. I hope to tell a story of injustices that is gaining traction in academic and activist circles, but still far from a household way of looking at injustices. A state- sanctioned violence lens is a harsh way of telling this story but it captures the attention of many. This book addresses five goals: (1) provide a conceptual foundation on state- sanctioned violence and its manifestation in urban communities of color, particularly its youth; (2) critique how this perspective holds relevance for the social work profession; (3) examine how state-sanctioned violence gets manifested; (4) identify cross-cutting themes; and (5) project into the near future potential developments. These goals are interrelated. Readers will pause and debate the assertions made, but, buttressed by countless other academics, at the end of reading this book will be confronted with these questions: Is there such a thing as state-sponsored violence? If so, how systematic and coordinated is it? What is the likelihood of it achieving its goals of oppression? Finally, what role am I (we) playing in fighting or fostering this state of being? Are we part of the problem or part of the solution? B O O K OUT L INE
This book consists of 10 chapters and three sections: (1) Section 1: Conceptual and Philosophical Foundation (three chapters), (2) Section 2: Urban Manifestations of State-Sanctioned Violence (five chapters), and (3) Section 3: Social Work Practice (two chapters, including an epilogue). C O N CL US ION
Although state-sanctioned violence can be a catchy term for many social workers, its consequences are devastating: When we cannot turn to government for justice, then who can we turn to? That question strikes at the heart of why we must consider a state- sanctioned violence paradigm in addressing marginalized groups. Understanding how these groups share common threat themes is critical in crafting interventions. We have an important role in confronting state-sanctioned violence. The immensity of the task means that there are no small roles to play. For some of us, our role is to lobby our representatives or run for public office; others will join coalitions and activist organizations. Still others will research and write. Will our goal of social justice be solved in a short period? I wish I could say yes. It has taken a long time to get here, and it will take a long time to find justice. Regardless of our time sense, the journey begins with the first step to label the phenomenon of state-sponsored violence in all of its manifestations. We have a propensity to associate fractured states with foreign lands far from our shores (Warren, 2018). However, as it is becoming clearer to this author, we are in a
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fractured country and one that has been fracturing over an extended period of time, waiting for a major earthquake to occur that will change this country in profound ways. It is fitting to end this chapter by quoting Malcom X (1962; Zack, 2016, p. 356): As long as he is black and a member of the Negro community, the white public thinks that the white policeman is justified in going in there and trampling on that man’s civil rights and that man’s human rights. Once the police have convinced the white public that the so-called Negro community is a criminal element, they can go in and question, brutalize, murder unarmed, innocent Negroes and the white public is gullible enough to back them up. This quote, from over 65 years ago, is still applicable today. State-sanctioned violence is the continued evolution of Malcom X’s criminal engagement by government. Chapter 2 addresses the conceptual basis for this violence.
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State-Sanctioned Violence Definition, Parameters, and Conceptual Foundation
I N T R OD U CTION
Chapter 1 provided an introduction and broad parameter of this book’s unfolding, including presenting key concepts that will be expanded upon in this chapter, and why this book is highlighting the state in carrying out sanctioned violence targeting particular groups, who by their very existence threaten the republic. The previous chapter hopefully captured the imagination of social workers for exploring how state violence gets manifested among urban people of color. Applying a state-sanctioned violence paradigm to social problems, and particular groups and communities in this country, will elicit intense reactions because such a stance threatens the basic foundation and social fabric of the nation. It challenges how we have been taught in school about the ideals this nation was founded upon, and the virtues of a democracy (Stone-Mediatore, 2019, p. 1): We Americans have perfected the art of being both sanctimonious and deliberately indifferent to the plight of others. For many Americans, state-organised violence is a problem for other countries but not our own. America is imagined to be ruled by law, which is viewed as a counterforce to violence and brutality. These beliefs became part of our DNA, speaking to how ingrained they are in our personal worldviews, including conceptualization of social justice. Fighting state-sanctioned violence is predicated upon a vision based on clarity and commitment and is contagious because it resonates with the operative reality facing people of color and other marginalized groups in our country. Some of us may State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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wholeheartedly embrace this paradigm and act upon it. Others may simply reject it as too radical or simply unworkable. Still others may socially navigate their way through this paradigm and act on its basic premises and focus on one particular problem or issue manifestation. I do not expect unanimity to be the end result but hope for a better appreciation or understanding about the connectedness of these major social issues, and that the state allows us to act on one without losing sight of the others. Any effort at defining the state cannot ignore the role of power (Lyubashits et al., 2018, p. 141): In the last two centuries, a universal definition of a “state” has become widespread in theoretical and legal literature. According to the generally accepted definition, a state is not so much a people exercising political power in a given territory, and not so much a political organization of society, but the organization of this power, i.e., in the strict sense of the word, a state apparatus. The modern state, in turn, can be viewed through the ownership of and struggles with violence, and the United States is no exception (Brennan, 2016, p. 240): “Governments do not merely advise us to follow their rules, hoping that we’ll comply out of the goodness of our hearts. They enforce their laws and rules with violence, or threats of violence.” State effort intensification translates into greater resistance, requiring greater use of visible violence, often manifested through the police-military state (Kurtz & Smithey, 2018). I am fond of saying that when the tanks come out, the resistance to state violence is winning. The state would rather exercise invisible and slow violence to control those resisting its abuse of power. States seeking to outlaw resistance (and I would add repressive actions to minimize it, too) will only have the opposite reaction (Saul, 2017). The fiscal costs of exercising visible state-sanctioned violence are higher than when groups accept this violence as a necessity for the public good (Holcombe, 2019, p. 1): The state must expend resources to credibly threaten the use of force, and the actual use of force is more costly than just exercising the threat. A population that views itself as prey to a predatory state will resist the state’s demands and will not produce much that the state can appropriate. The predatory state will be more successful if it can convince its citizens that the state’s activities are in the public interest, which will enhance voluntary compliance with the state’s mandates and lessen the need for the state to invest resources in overt coercion. Violence establishes and maintains nation-states (Fenton, 2017). A nation willing to exercise violence and sacrifice segments of its population is one resting on a very precarious foundation (Albright & Woodward, 2018, p. 242): We all value the right to push against boundaries and go boldly where none has preceded us; however, that is not all we value. Especially when we are afraid, angry, or confused, we may be tempted to give away bits of our freedom—or, less painfully, somebody else’s freedom—in the quest for direction and order. “Sunlight is the best disinfectant” (Louis Brandeis) comes to mind.
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We must pay attention to institutional structure and its supports and manifestations, such as racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism, classism, and violence, to list several. Structural violence stands out for further analysis because of its popularity and how it best captures the central thrust of this book on state-sanctioned violence. This state violence, sometimes referred to as intrastate conflict, when addressing its impact on the human spirit, expands the terrain and its usual consequences or violence markers. Social workers have an instrumental role to exercise in confronting state-sanctioned violence. The immensity of the task means that there are no small roles to play in this struggle for social justice. Will our goal of social justice be solved in a short period? I wish I could say yes. It has taken considerable time to get here, and it might well take a long time to find justice. Regardless, a journey begins with the first step, and that is to label the phenomenon of state-sponsored violence in all of its manifestations. The Chinese proverb comes to mind: “The beginning of wisdom is calling things by their right names.” A brief historical review is needed. John Gaitung’s scholarship in the late 1960s introduced a structural concept (Sossenheimer et al., 2018) to capture a tumultuous period in American history. The work by Farmer (1996; Farmer et al., 2004, 2006) is generally credited for its saliency, opening the door for those in helping professions to take this concept and apply it to research, practice, and scholarship focused on marginalized groups. There are a variety of perspectives on state-sponsored violence in this chapter, including a conceptual foundation to build upon the one provided in Chapter 1. Not surprising, there are a number of approaches put forth by academics addressing state- sanctioned violence. Sarat and Culbert (2009), for example, classify state violence as falling into war, capital punishment, and letting die. The letting die is conceptually more difficult to quantify because the state can take an active (visible) or inactive (invisible) stance. This classification is too broad. State violence is often well hidden, making it very effective. This invisibility makes it difficult to research, an essential step in developing interventions or countermeasures. I like using a water metaphor in conceptualizing state-sanctioned violence. Water can be a liquid, solid (ice), or a gas. In these different consistencies it can be highly visible, as in liquid and ice; it can also be invisible, but still present, in the form of gas. It is foolhardy to look at state violence from just one perspective to fully appreciate its reach and impact. It is tempting to delve into writing this book with an entire focus on state-sanctioned acts that are violent and focused on particular groups. However, a broader and more inclusive and nuanced approach is needed. Social workers will not have any difficulty in finding reams of scholarly material on violence, a sad commentary on this subject matter, and more so in our country. This chapter does not provide an exhaustive treatment of this subject but, rather, introduces broad parameters associated with state- sanctioned violence. C O N CEP T U AL FOUNDATION FOR S TAT E-S A NCT IONE D V IOLE NCE
State-sponsored violence scholarship has increased over the past decade, reflecting an expansion of this paradigm across a variety of circumstances and disciplines (Freire &
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Uzonyi, 2018). Johnstone and Lee (2018, p. 234) pose a key question that strikes at the heart of this book: Different forms of state violence are often contested in public discourses (e.g., the media, social policy, and academia), which leads to the question “Is it really present?,” and if so how do we know? By paying attention to these epistemic questions, we explore the politics and implications of different forms of state violence, from the slow violence of racial profiling to the explosive violence of the police use of lethal force. Answering these epistemic and arduous questions shapes our responses to this violence (Coady, 2017). A definition of state-sanctioned violence was introduced in Chapter 1 to immediately provide an overview of what this stance on violence means. This paradigm requires a more substantive treatment of that definition’s conceptual foundation and its manifestation across a variety of spheres, particularly the raising of challenges for social workers embracing such a paradigm, including the tension and controversies that ensue in carrying out practice and scholarship. For some readers, the brief definition in Chapter 1 would suffice; others require a more encompassing definition and in- depth questioning before this form of violence is taken seriously, let alone embraced. This section reaches for the middle ground, which is always dangerous for an author. It is the equivalent of writing a book for social work practitioners and academics. The former wish to get to the bottom line in determining how practice will be changed; the latter seek to comprehend the conceptual foundation and empirical underpinnings shaping a book’s central thrust. Getting both at the same time is an eternal quest. Gabriela Torres (2018, p. 381) highlights how state violence definitions can vary: Some scientists define state violence broadly, ranging from direct political violence and genocide to the redefinition of state violence as the neoliberal exit of the state from the provision of social services and the covert use of new technologies of citizen surveillance . . . For the vast majority of scholars, and sometimes the state in and of itself, is clearly a social problem shaping not only the structures of governance, citizenship, and the quality of life of individuals and communities but also importantly shaping the possibilities for subject formation . . . Green (1990), cited by Bottoms and Tankebe (2017), does a wonderful job of laying out the basic premise, parameters, and power of the state, with such a view on sanctioned violence critical for social workers interested in social justice: All modern states claim authority over their citizens, and that is one thing which distinguishes them from bands of robbers . . . [T]he state’s authority . . . also claims to be supreme . . . It claims to regulate [people’s] most vital interests, and to do so with supremacy over all other mechanisms of social control. Sometimes these grandiose claims are hollow. In a society undergoing upheaval they cannot be made effective and quickly become legal fictions. Even when they are effective they may be unjustified, for legitimacy is not among the existence conditions for a state. However—and here is the real importance of Weber’s celebrated
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argument—a belief in its legitimacy tends to increase its stability and effectiveness. It is therefore a crucial question in what circumstances, if any, such beliefs are justified. (p. 1) Green’s conclusions almost 30 years ago have relevancy today, illustrating the power and pervasiveness of state violence over time and its ability to evolve and take into account new factors and social forces, including why it presents such a persistent challenge for social justice advocates. For this violence to occur and be effective, it must be perceived as legitimate and therefore warranted. Legitimacy is the foundation and glue for the state to operate unchallenged, or even be under suspicion, engaging in a protracted campaign; some would say it is a war against singled-out groups because they are perceived as a threat to society and the status quo. Once legitimacy is identified and challenged, and the veil pulled back on actions, obvious and subtle, they take on a different light, particularly from those oppressed by the state. Friedrichs (2017) addresses the conceptual confusion that can exist in discussing state or government crime, and why it must be clarified to make progress in confronting these violent acts. Jumping straight into state-sanctioned violence without the requisite streams leading to this viewpoint would be irresponsible. This violence doesn’t exist in a vacuum or spring out of nowhere without purpose and systematic support, necessitating patience to move deliberatively across a wide spectrum of subjects to appreciate the broad parameters of this complex topic. When government sanctions violence, the ramifications take on epic proportions when compared with other forms of violence (Blaustein, 2017). Why do I say this? Government must protect us from harm and guarantee, per Thomas Jefferson, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. “America’s promise” of equal opportunity has not historically applied to all segments of society (Davis, 2018): There are various ways in which states relate to their citizens. We call these relationships political regimes. There are communist, socialist, fascist, totalitarian, authoritarian, partially democratic (oligarchic), (military) dictatorships, and monarchies to name a few. The state is the sovereign entity and the political regime is how it relates to the polis. The power of the state to target and effectively decrease the quality of life and political power of specific groups of individuals has been evident throughout history . . . The American state has demonstrated time and time again its capacity and willingness to target and apply violence toward marginalized groups. (pp. 1–2) Targeting groups has a long history with strong indications it will increase in the future as the nation’s racial and ethnic composition changes. These structural barriers have proven difficult to identify and break down, raising questions about this national targeting of the marginalized for violence ( Jung, Vargas, & Bonilla-Silva, 2011). We may be challenged in picturing how state-sanctioned violence occurs on a daily basis, or even during a crisis in our society. If it exists, how is manifested to meet the criteria for it to be recognized as state violence? Examining how the state responded to the 9/11 attacks helps. State efforts to circumvent our Constitution and Bill of Rights, as evidenced by the extraordinary efforts to exercise torture and circumvent
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due process by using black sites, illustrates how state violence can be carried out to circumvent the law (Pugliese, 2013). There are numerous facets to state violence and its importance necessitates taking this perspective. First, the term state-sponsored violence is not one usually found in social work textbooks. Social workers may view this subject from a critical stance because it is so different, and that is welcomed. Venturing into this social justice terrain introduces concepts that can go by other names we are familiar with, while it also means coming across new terms and perspectives. James (1996) reminds us that the state violence enforcement apparatus is extensive, encompassing the FBI, ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement); police; military; National Guard; CIA; Drug Enforcement Administration; and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, to list several. These agencies have expanded in the past 20 years and do not take into account the world’s largest incarceration system. Ponton (2017) studied state-sanctioned violence in Houston during the 1948– 1967 period and showed how the deliberate criminalization of Black and Brown spaces transpired, severely limiting the opportunities of upward mobility for people of color, and compromising their existence during this period. Ponton’s conclusions are certainly not limited to Houston, finding applicability across this nation, with the ethnic and racial characteristics differing, today, but the consequences being constant across time. Can a state engage in violence toward its citizenship? (Sharkansky, 2017). Molina (2018, p. 349) addresses this question: “In a strict sense, the term state crime is almost, but not quite, an oxymoron, a legal absurdity. A crime is, tautologically, a wrongful act only insofar as it is a violation of criminal law that is punishable by a state . . . ” If we act on the premise that the state can sanction violent acts without due process, then what can the state not do if acting in the perceived best interests of the nation and those in power? Molina’s observations are very distressing when taken to extremes, with the nation reverting to a modern-day enslavement period. Individuals can act on their own within any system of government or organization in carrying out a violence agenda. However, state-sponsored violence goes far beyond individual, self-actuated actions and random acts because the systematized nature of the acts are impossible to be carried out by one individual (Tunnell, 2017). Rather, the scope, intensity, and consequences of these acts necessitate a well-coordinated campaign (conscious or unconscious) involving the full force and resources of the state, including nonstate collaborators (surrogate forces, to use another common term), wittingly or unwittingly. Viewing the state through a criminal lens, as defined by Kramer and Michalowski (1990, p. 3), introduces “legal or socially injurious actions that occur when on one or more institutions of political governance pursue a goal in direct cooperation with one or more institutions of economic production and distribution.” Service contracts, for example, can be issued (outsourced) by the state and its contractors and subcontractors who, when their organizations carry out these actions, become the face of this violence or crime being perpetrated, although the state supports these acts. Government’s reach touches all aspects of life at the local level. I prefer state-sanctioned violence or crime as opposed to government-sponsored crime, but others may differ (Friedrichs, 2017). Social workers can elect state or governmental. A state crime designation broadens the reach of violence because it is easily seen as resting in government.
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The great Frederick Douglass (1886, “Southern Barbarism” speech) sums up a state-sponsored violence stance without using these terms: “Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.” State violence cannot be relegated or limited to one sphere to be effective but must permeate an entire society for the full weight of government to be felt, nor can it be limited to a current-day period. H I S T ORY A ND STATE - S ANCTIONE D V IOLE N C E
History is meant to be written by survivors and it is incumbent upon us who have survived to write and correct history for future generations. For many of us, we also bring the lived experience to add historical nuance. History takes on added value when state violence and intimidation assume a powerful socialization role ( Jabonson, 2018, p. 9): Violence and intimidation have always been used by the right wing and the powerful in the United States as a means of maintaining control and supremacy over specific populations. Native populations know this because they were forcibly removed from their land. Black people know this because violence and intimidation have been used as a means of enforcing enslavement, reinforcing discrimination and segregation, intimidating would-be voters, and suppressing the votes of specific communities. Asian immigrants know this because violence was used to enforce Chinese labor in building railroads, and to put Japanese citizens in internment camps during World War II. Women know this because forms of power-driven violence ranging from domestic violence to rape and other forms of sexual assault are not taken seriously. But it is the duty of our government, no matter how often we have failed, to protect and promote the rights of all individuals and to actively counter such violence and extremism. Today the U.S. government, led by the GOP, has become is the actual inciter of violence and extremism. The threat of violence toward people of color has loomed large throughout our history and has continued its evolution to the present day. People of color must have connectivity to the past, with both the pain and joy grounded historically providing an identity and meaning to living in this country. The drive to survive is powerful, and we must never lose sight of how it shapes responses to the immense power of the state, historically and in the present. Erasing the past does not absolve the state from being brought to justice when that is possible. Past atrocities are still atrocities. Reclaiming our past accomplishments and the injustices perpetrated on us is critical for understanding the present and planning for the future. All nation-states go through difficult historical periods, which we fail to adequately address from a social justice perspective. Gross and Terra (2018, p. 51), in response, propose a five-stage framework to help identify and more thoroughly address the periods that help shape a nation’s identity: “1) are central to a nation’s history, 2) contradict accepted histories or values, 3) connect with present problems, 4) involve
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violence enacted by the state or large groups of citizens, and 5) create disequilibria that require changes to historical understandings that may carry a personal or social cost.” Each stage brings challenges and rewards in contextualizing how a nation-state has arrived at present-day sanctioned acts of violence subjugating and punishing groups of people. One does not have to be a historian to appreciate how this nation’s founding was predicated on the marginalization of groups, starting with the three-fifths compromise (the enslaved did not count as full human beings) and women not being allowed to vote. Why is it such a leap to think that the nation’s DNA has magically changed since that period over two hundred years ago? The present is built on the past, setting the stage for the future. As social workers we need to make up our minds about our cherished beliefs of what this country stands for, and to what extent these beliefs influence our worldviews and practice. I also realize that this will be a tortuous process that will cause great anguish and sleepless nights, particularly for those who are of color or have other marginalized social identities but who have managed to “make it” in a toxic society. S TATE-S A NCTIONE D V IOLE NCE AS A C O N C E P T, CONS T R U CT, OR PARADIGM : SE MAN T I C S ?
Why a paradigm versus a concept or construct? The answer may seem best left to academics. After all, does the answer really matter to someone who is targeted by the state, or even killed by the police, or their family? They are still dead regardless of what we call it. I elect the paradigm route because the embrace of a state-sanctioned violence worldview dramatically shifts our fundamental stance on our government and why it has historically targeted groups for violence. A paradigm consists of concepts that are supported by theories and challenges conventional views, and state-sanctioned violence certainly does this because we question fundamental beliefs about our nation. In addition, there is an abundance of theories on how structural racism, in its various manifestations, is operative in the lives of those who are of color (Tourse, Hamilton-Mason, & Wewiorski, 2018). State violence is buttressed by various concepts and theories that come together to form a paradigm that lends itself to a view of social justice that has saliency for social work and other helping professions. Why a paradigm rather than a concept of state-sanctioned violence? A paradigm serves as a template for a worldview and is more encompassing and powerful than a concept. State, sanction, and violence come together to create a unique perspective, enhancing their meaning and power. Readers who are philosophically inclined may take great issue with my explanation. However, by using a paradigm my intent is to view state-sanctioned violence as multidimensional to convey its importance and the ease of viewing it from a multidisciplinary standpoint. Readers can weigh in on the following example illustrating the multifaceted dimensions of state-sponsored violence. State-sanctioned use of literacy tests systematically discriminated against African Americans and can be conceptualized as a form of racial violence (Coates, 2018). African Americans registering to vote encountered physical force by the police (state-sponsored) to stop the exercise of this right. Current-day efforts to curtail voting disproportionately impact people of color (Anderson, 2018).
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Although these efforts no longer involve images of police with dogs dispersing people of color seeking to register, the outcome is the same—their right to vote is stopped. Is this not a violent act without any physical signs of violence? The answer dictates conceptualization of state violence. U.S. voter turnout dynamics is one aspect of police violence escaping serious attention. Does police violence increase the likelihood of voter turnout or suppression? Rodon and Guinjoan (2018), based on a study of Catalonia’s vote for independence (2017) and Spain’s police crackdown, concluded that these actions caused a drop of 15 percentage points in anticipated voter participation, raising important questions with potential implications for the United States, increasing our understanding of the broad implications of police violence on communities of color voting. State-sanctioned violence covers an extensive range of acts, from horrific ones (visible and fast) such as genocide, which is carried out at the highest levels of government with impunity, to less horrific ones carried out by functionaries but requiring the support of higher level officials, and considered minor but still violent (less obvious and slow), such as the compromising of rights and dreams (Friedrichs, 2018). Readers may come across the term soft racism to capture covert acts of race-based violence (Rias, 2019). I refer to this type of violence as slow and invisible. We must widen our scope of what constitutes violence to achieve a comprehensive understanding of the challenges in embracing a social justice agenda.
S TAT E-S A NCT IONE D V IOLE NCE AS GE NOC I D E ?
Is what is happening in communities of color genocidal? It is a question that must be raised and goes far beyond a philosophical or conceptual debate and a focus on visible and fast violence. Genocide is still practiced across the world, with a history as old as humanity, and has not suffered from a lack of scholarly attention, with multiple definitions and descriptions of the scope of this act; yet, it is a concept that is “empirically ubiquitous and politically troublesome” (Baldwin, 2018) and highly contested politically and intellectually (Shaw, 2015). Genocide has been called one of history’s defining moments ( Jones, 2016). Scholars generally focus on understanding the forces and factors that led to genocides, but not enough attention has been paid to antigenocide activism ( Jansen, 2017). Horowitz (2017) discusses state-inspired genocides or mass killings. Staub’s (2016, p. 205) definition of genocide resonates with this book’s approach toward state- sponsored violence: “a government or some group acts to eliminate a whole group of people, whether by directly killing them or creating conditions that lead to their deaths or inability to reproduce.” Politicide, or the eradication of political opposition, is closely tied to genocide (Uzonyi & Asal, 2019) and can be classified as invisible and slow violence. The discussion later on in this chapter and in Chapter 7 on state efforts to disenfranchise voters of color must also be viewed within this discussion on genocide. In the United States, genocide is almost automatically measured against the Holocaust. Introducing genocide will have readers pause because of the intensity of the visual images and emotionality associated with this concept, and the gravity of the subject (Burghardt, 2018, p. 102): “Genocide has been called the ‘crime of crimes,’
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and with good reason, as the actions and belief systems that underlie its manifestation encompass collective violence on a scale virtually all people find inconceivable.” We associate genocide with systematic killing of distinct groups considered threats by the state. Lang’s (2016, p. 28) definition of genocide “entails the intended destruction of a group, differing in this form from the destruction of both individuals and of murder on a large-scale—where this act is directed at individuals rather than members of a collective.” Savage’s (2013) approach on genocide introduces a new concept and model focused on dehumanization called genocidal dehumanization (discursive strategy), part of a state-sanctioned violence paradigm. Defining genocide is never done without debate or controversy ( J. M. Cox, 2017, p. 17): A tension underlies all these debates: Should we define genocide broadly and inclusively, or narrowly and exclusively? The former runs the risk of stripping the term of its power—and, after all, “atrocity,” “war crime,” and “crime against humanity” should be sufficiently strong terms to characterize certain actions that are not necessarily genocidal. On the other hand, the tendency to define genocide too narrowly can generate an unseemly competition for victimhood, driven by a misguided belief that “the suffering of my group will be lost if we talk about too many other groups.” Readers will ultimately have to think about how to define and think about genocide. Genocide is rarely associated with democracies, particularly our own. When applied to the United States there were historical periods when state violence was unashamedly embraced as our manifest destiny, including the use of terms and labels to substantiate violence, as with Native Americans (Pessah, 2014), which could be classified as genocidal by seeking to systematically erase them and their culture. Canada, too has a genocide label applied to their treatment of indigenous people (Woolford & Benvenuto, 2018), sharing commonalities with the United States (Pegoraro, 2015). California has transformed itself into a state that has resisted President Trump’s policies along a variety of dimensions, including providing sanctuary to those who are unauthorized (Delgado, 2018). A historical view of this state provides a sobering view on how genocide, in its various manifestations (fast and slow), was integral to that state’s existence (Farmer, 2017). This legacy does not take away from an appreciation of how far that state has come, but it must not be swept under the rug. A book on U.S. state-sanctioned violence must examine this horrendous concept from a historical standpoint to understand and appreciate its modern-day evolution and manifestation (Horowtiz, 2017). Critics would argue that it is “ancient history” and that this country no longer embraces such a racist stance. Present-day victims would beg to differ. State attempts to erase history and make people forget past crimes is done in the interest of moving on, highlighting how current times are so much better (Triece, 2017). This is a crime against a people and humanity (Thornton, 2016, p. 215): Genocide is a complex topic . . . The initial 400 years of colonialism here may not best be described as genocide; yet, the concept is heuristic examining parts of. Acts of genocide occurred under a variety of headings. The intentional killing of group members is the most glaring example of genocide, and surely the cruelest.
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It is only one type of genocide as defined by the United Nations, however; and conceivably not the most important determinant of group destruction over a long span. Attaching a genocide label requires the reader to pause and think about what a writer is talking about because of the tremendous significance of such a label. It also makes us feel uneasy about what is going on to warrant the use of a label associated with the worst crimes a state can perpetrate on a group, causing us to consider how we think of genocide. I encourage such a pause while recognizing the uneasiness that comes with contemplation. We cannot move forward in a constructive and healing manner until this happens. Genocide is a concept with profound historical, symbolic, and emotional meanings because this act signifies an extreme form of hatred, which is generally fast and deadly violence, eliciting images of mass killings and graves. One must be careful when to use it because we do not want to debate how many individuals must be killed in order to label a state-sponsored crime as genocide. Our understanding of state-sponsored violence must be expansive to include acts that are less visual, less sensational, and slow acting but just as deadly, without the power and righteous indignation that visual images of a genocide and mass acts of violence arouse. Genocide necessitates that two forms of propaganda occur—one focused on building solidary within a group (we versus them) and the other targeting and stigmatizing a group (them) for violence (Anderson, 2017b). Moshman (2001, p. 436) makes a keen observation on a genocide label: “The combination of a prototype-based concept of genocide with the general cognitive tendency to perceive and interpret evidence in such a way as to maintain one’s own views renders one less likely to continue the actions of favored governments as genocidal.” It is possible to have genocide without recognition that it is occurring, with willing and unwilling perpetrators and collaborators assisting, particularly when it is slow in manifestation? Genocide can be systematic, slow, and manifested in a manner defying traditional ways of thinking of this horrid act, including the time span when it transpires. Social workers can argue that if slow, fast, visible, and invisible state acts are genocidal, then no act stands out for particular attention and indignation. This argument is not provocative, but rather intended to suggest that genocide must encompass acts other than the most (fast and visible violence) obvious, such as state-sanctioned violence as conceptualized in this book. Another title, such as Genocide and the United States: Advancing a Social Work Social Justice Agenda, conjures up horrid images associated with this act, as in the case of Nazi Germany and Jews and other “undesirables.” We are not at that point from a fast and mass death perspective. Systematic destructive actions are occurring, with some highly visible and fast acting while others are subtle and slow acting, but bearing the markings of genocide such as labeling (language) groups as not worthy and/or dangerous as addressed in the following section, setting the stage for dehumanization and more extreme state actions. Dehumanization is a critical element in conventional forms of genocide by laying the groundwork (labeling) legitimizing this horrific crime (Luna, 2018). Stressing the importance of dehumanization as one of the initial and critical steps in the state carrying out a genocidal agenda, represented in multiple forms as outlined in this book, alerts us to the coming actions. Social workers may find it easier to accept this
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state-sanctioned perspective. Others may have difficulty embracing a view of state violence that is genocidal in its goals, such as police killings of unarmed victims. The concept of “cumulative dehumanization” captures how this act takes its toll at an individual and collective level, capturing historical and current-day processes that systematically target groups to deny their humanity, which can transpire along four dimensions (Bustamante, Jashnani, & Stoudt, 2019, p. 3): (i) an active condition of becoming, experienced as a temporal and spatial accumulation of dehumanizing moments, structurally imposed on racialized communities under siege; (ii) a wearing down of the racialized and affective body, creating circuits of dispossession for entire communities through time and across space; (iii) a product and (re)producer of the material and ideological modes undergirding racial capitalism; and (iv) a force met with individual and collective resistance. Social workers are well grounded in how dehumanization shapes coercive acts being rationalized, be it by the state or other entities. S TATE-S A NCTIONE D V IOLE NCE AND L A B E L S
We recognize racism when certain words are used with deep historical racial meaning. Those refraining from using these words can still say things that are racist or present a situation as race neutral, but the outcome of the events being described are just as hurtful or deadly (Cooper, 2014). The language of hate has currency. The label of “ex- con” is the latest evolution of state control, adding to other labels further undermining communities of color. Critics of politically correct language argue that we waste time being polite, ignoring the power of language to shape perspectives and discourse, which is a window into values. Spencer and Perlow’s (2018, p. 155) view of language points to its power when used by the state: Language, utilized as a powerful tool in controlling and manipulating individual and collective perception, has been essential in promoting conformity to the existing social order and power relations, and has thus been fundamental to the creation and maintenance of white supremacy. Politically, the State attempts to control language both overtly and covertly, maintaining hegemony through institutions such as the media, schooling, religion, science, and through its cultural machinery. Urban violence is associated with people of color engaging in this behavior toward their own, necessitating the state putting extra resources into maintaining peace. However, urban violence must be defined (Pavoni & Tulumello, 2018), with a definition far more inclusive to include the state, shaping how this label is used. Is police brutality part of this understanding? Are public schools that act as a focal point for criminalizing and funneling students into the criminal justice system included? Are unresponsive institutions in which harm is caused part of that definition?
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Language is weaponized in state violence in a country valuing free speech and is instrumental in carrying out acts detrimental to the functioning of a republic (Matsuda et al., 2018, p. 31): Many foreign lawyers, including those from countries close to the United States in ideology, are perplexed by the uniquely American approach of protecting racist hate organizations. American citizens themselves express frustration when they find that the Klan and the Nazis are free to march in public places, with publicly financed police protection. The relationship between language and labeling is obvious, particularly when the labels conjure images of danger and untrustworthiness and raise questions about First Amendment rights (Liptak, 2018c). Labeling is of such importance that it necessitates being addressed in this chapter because it would be impossible to successfully identify and address state-sanctioned violence without the use of labels in exercising power. In social work, it helps assess and direct resources to meet presenting needs. If careless, they can be used to marginalize and separate the “worthy” from the “unworthy,” which has deep historical roots going back to the colonial period. Its importance is well understood. The label of “innercity,” too, can be analyzed from a sociopolitical-religious context (Ansfield, 2018). Labels helped shape national responses to major issues enjoying wide acceptance, such as the War on Poverty and the war on drugs. This nation loves war metaphors until they take visible tolls with lost lives that cannot be rationalized by the public. Questioning why to label, who to label, what the label id, when to label, who does the labeling, and what happens as the result of the label requires examination of power dynamics and understanding how our nation’s history made it easier for state violence to target groups in the current day. As noted earlier, dehumanization is essential in explaining structural inequalities responsible for crime within African American communities (Owusu-Bempah, 2017, p. 27): “When a group falls outside this universe, offences against them are no longer violations of the normative order. The dehumanized no longer elicit legal protection, compassion, or other moral responses, and as a result, are often the victims of violence.” For dehumanization to be successful it must occur without (or with minimal) political backlash and not be perceived as undemocratic, and it must be viewed as natural, correct, and necessary for a community or nation’s well-being, depending upon how it is framed. Labels help dehumanize and carry out a state-sanctioned violence agenda or campaign. Graham (2018, p. A11) presents an astute and provocative analogy involving two recent national public incidents that seem worlds apart but share much in common: A white man accused of sexual assault is being transformed into a sympathetic figure. Meanwhile, a black man shot to death in his own home by an intruder with a badge is smeared as a possible criminal. In America, even victimhood is a privilege. Brett Kavanaugh and Botham Shem Jean have nothing in common beyond sharing this discordant moment in our fractured national life. These two national narratives, and how labels and context shaped public perceptions, highlight how state-sanctioned justice materializes differently depending upon skin
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color, even when living in the same neighborhood and building. Marriott’s (2006) term blackness and deathliness captures the precarious state of being Black and dying prematurely as part of daily life. Mass murders and genocides (fast violence) make facts that much easier to gather, creating a public outcry, and a legal stance much easier to impose, including development of a historical record for future generations. A broader stance focused on social harms and human rights (slow death) is more difficult to substantiate and prosecute. Having the apparatus of state government finding itself criminally liable may seem a stretch for some readers, unless this determination is made by an international body or court with the power to sanction. Labeling is key in state-sanctioned acts because of its power to shape discourse and analysis, legitimizing or normalizing violent actions, and providing a narrative explanation of what appear as excessive actions by authorities (Linnemann, Wall, & Green, 2014, p. 507): “Police violence is often difficult to recognize as anything but legitimate and necessary because it is a category of understanding produced and guaranteed by the state.” Labels (sanitized) are used in describing official police actions as innocuous, and victims are dehumanized and blamed (Soares, Barbosa, & Matos, 2018). The state is dependent on trust and public support to carry out a sanctioned violence agenda, with or without limited resistance. To provide a counterargument against a state-sanctioned violence agenda, we need a collective voice guided by moral and social justice stances, which is arduous to achieve, but critical, and painted as unpatriotic and subject to a backlash. We should not be surprised by a call to patriotism often accompanying nationalism and its historical symbolism and pride, particularly in Europe (Gabriel, 2018). Protest and calls for change are ostensible manifestations. George Wallace’s 1968 national presidential campaign slogan “America, Love It or Leave It” rings in my mind when patriotism and nationalism are bandied about to cast negatively those with differing visions of what it means to be a part of this country, and how its future should unfold with an inclusive stance that avoids marginalization of certain groups. “Make America Great Again” is code for “Make America White Again.” The social construction of crime and criminalization has a long history and has largely rested on definitions signaling out race, gender, SES (socioeconomic status), and gender identities (Gaynor, 2018). White-collar crime is still crime. More specifically, this form of crime can devastate families and neighborhoods and even result in suicides (a form of violence); one only has to see the devastation caused by the 2008 Great Recession. This crime falls within the purview of the highly formally educated White, non-Latinx, making it easier to consider it a crime with no health consequences, unlike violence and guns. In other words, a victimless crime. Using labels, such as “concern,” “issue,” “problem,” “crisis,” and “epidemic,” in a similar fashion to “local” versus “national,” signifies attempts to allay or cast alarm, as the case may be, on a groups sharing a similar status and laying the foundation for initiatives to “protect” society. Declaring a national crisis (nation’s safety and security) is such an example (Dillon & Sze, 2016, p. 13): “A significant literature has explored the contradictions of ‘security,’ and in particular how discourses and practices of ‘national security,’ ‘homeland security,’ and other contemporary key terms render some people radically insecure.” Police brutality victims are not the only ones escaping criminalizing labels and characterizations, with demonstrators and protestors, too, often described in the same
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manner—“lawless,” “violent,” “rioters,” “degenerate partygoers,” “lynch mob injustice,” “looters,” to list a few. Some groups of protesters chanting incitements to riot are focused on and generalize to all protesters, criminalizing all demonstrators. This labeling can be found in other protests disrupting state marginalizing functions and violence that have taken place, including cities with progressive reputations, such as San Francisco’s response to gentrification (Maharawal, 2017). U.S. protests have increased, with some even taking a violent turn. State violence emanating from public protests and the response of protesters bears development of a deeper understanding. Protest violence is not unusual in democracies, although they are generally associated with authoritarian states. Sullivan (2019) studied Mexico and found higher levels of state legitimacy translating into protests that are less violent. Freedom of speech, through a right to demonstrate, gets a criminalized label, which shifts the focus away from police killings and creates a counternarrative based on racist sentiments. These counternarratives must be identified, deconstructed, and resisted. Failure to do so results in the state being able to not only instigate violence, but also frame it to blame victims and their community. Creating a victim blaming narrative requires the cooperation of the media, and often even members of the victim’s community, wittingly or unwittingly. The state as a criminal actor is an underresearched topic within the field of criminology, although there are promising developments on the state as anchor of social/ criminal actions (Collins, 2014). Viewing the United States as a state criminal actor is an even less researched field. After all, this country is not a rogue nation, but rather a guiding light in a tumultuous and violent world. Stanley (2014) argues that instead of focusing on how we define or label victimization from a legal perspective, we should use the term social harm, expanding the consequences of state violence from a strictly legal standpoint, which focuses on criminality, bringing noncriminal acts and consequences into an analysis, and expanding the life consequences of these acts. This stance avoids fixating on legalistic viewpoints, allowing a more encompassing and humanistic stance. When addressing communities of color, we will not find the state making a scholarly distinction between criminal intent and consequences from noncriminal sources of harm. Introducing social harm facilitates a sociopolitical argument for social change, and one focused on state institutions with missions that ostensibly aid rather than punish.
S TAT E-S A NCT IONE D V IOLE NCE , ACTORS, A N D COL L A B ORATORS
Structural violence and racism are concepts that have saliency in the literature; structural equality and privilege have not. Activists understand how the odds are stacked against certain groups. Some do escape through the cracks. When they become collaborators, knowingly or unknowingly, their actions are consequential because so few actually “make it.” State violence collaborators are often portrayed as betrayers, making their actions that much more hurtful because of their privileged position. The subject of state collaborators within democracies is seriously understudied (Rodríguez- Muñiz, 2017) due to its troubling nature and the avoidance of viewing the state as a perpetrator of violence.
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Interestingly, we often must turn to the international literature in discussing state violence collaborators. When extrajudicial violence and legal authority occur simultaneously, it raises profound and disturbing questions of the state and those in the community being targeted, substantiating this unholy relationship (Gordon, 2019). State-sanctioned violence in democracies requires active collaborators to maximize effectiveness of actions. Nonstate partners have instrumental roles to play in carrying out a violence agenda (Biberman, 2018). As in war involving an occupying force, there are segments of the occupied area that collaborate with the aggressors, either because they share similar beliefs or they stand to gain material and psychological benefits from occupying these positions, either openly or covertly (Kim, 2015). Democracies do not officially encourage formal progovernment militias (groups carrying out sanctioned violence), but they do exist informally (Ahram, 2016). Readers may argue that these militias do not exist in the United States. Historically, the KKK qualified for this designation. Minuteman Militias (Minuteman Civil Defense Corps) at the U.S. southern border, however, also clearly qualify for this designation (Haltinner, 2018; Heyman, 2018). It is not unusual to find former veterans as part of these militias, too, bringing their military training to bear on this cause. Veterans, it is fair to say, can also find refuge as loners in seeking to institute violence and do not have to join groups to carry out a hate agenda. The actions of the United Constitutional Patriots (New Mexico), who claim that they consist primarily of former U.S. veterans and who have undertaken apprehensions of migrants crossing the southern border, also typify the behavior by self- described patriot groups in assisting the U.S. Border Patrol (Hay, 2019, p. 11): The United Constitutional Patriots, who claim to be mainly military veterans, have been patrolling the U.S.-Mexico border near Sunland Park, New Mexico, since late February in search of illegal border crossers. They post near-daily videos showing members dressed in camouflage and armed with semi-automatic rifles holding groups of migrants, many of them Central American families seeking asylum until U.S. Border Patrol agents arrive to arrest them. The small volunteer group says it is helping Border Patrol deal with a surge in undocumented migrants but civil rights organizations like the ACLU say it is a “fascist militia organization” operating outside the law. The FBI did arrest the leader of this militia group on a firearm possession charge by a felon shortly after the news of this organization’s actions drew national attention (Romero, 2019d). The leader of this militia, incidentally, had a checkered past, further undermining the legitimacy of this right-wing militia group (Romero, 2019e). This group has attracted members from across the country, including at least one Latino (Armando Gonzalez, Tulsa, Oklahoma), a former veteran, illustrating the earlier point raised in this book about collaborators (Romero, 2019f). The militarization of militia members is certainly not new. However, its current manifestation reinforces a theme raised in this book that is a threat to our democracy and the legal process. If allowed to operate with impunity, thus with the blessing of the state, their mission will extend beyond the border and expand into other areas of the country. Calling these groups “civil society groups,” which has been used by public officials, misleads the American public on their primary function, which is to violate the law and due process, targeting specific groups.
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State violence is not possible in the United States without representatives from targeted groups cooperating and giving cover or aid to these actions. These collaborators historically and currently play supportive roles that range from active, such as police, prosecutors, judges, guards in prisons, or the military, to less active, but no less important, in carrying out a state violence agenda. This aspect often proves very confusing and troubling for those engaged in social justice pursuits. The case of Marco A. De La Garza, Jr., (born in Mexico), a border agent for 6 years and a Navy veteran, with a deep passion for “going the extra mile” to prevent the unauthorized from entering the United States, comes to mind. This border agent was unauthorized for 6 years and had worked for Customs and Border Patrol (the largest law enforcement agency in the country) in Arizona (Fernandez, 2019c). Scholars have addressed this subject from various standpoints, enhancing our understanding of state-sponsored violence’s nuances. Franklin (2016) raises an important, but highly sensitive, point on the social stigma Black youth experience from the Black middle class, a key political segment, which often gets overlooked: The Movement for Black Lives Matter has attempted to reshape the dialogue around race, class, and the criminal justice system. It has further challenged the respectability narrative that deems the Black poor and youth as “pathological marginalization” of the Black poor who are routinely the targets of social stigma by the Black middle class. Accordingly, the Movement for Black Lives Matter situates marginalized youth, including women and LGBT youth, at the forefront of social activism. (p. 12) Black Lives Matter is a movement with an ideological and highly public political agenda with the potential to expand to bring in interlocking national issues of importance to communities of color, highlighting the role of state violence. Black liberation efforts, however, must include all lives to gain legitimacy within this community (Brewer, 2019). Forman, Jr. (2017) raises a similar point to that made by Franklin, but takes it a step forward and poses the provocative question as to why African Americans are willing to “lock up our own” by Black state actors, such as city council members, mayors, governors, prosecutors, and police officers, legitimizing and carrying out mass incarceration of African Americans. Readers are referred to Wiggins’s (2019) study of Atlanta’s reactions to rising crime rates and privileging the preservation of order at the expense of its African American community. It should be noted that the investigation into the killing of Atlanta’s children has been reopened with a retesting of evidence, a key aspect of the crime concern (Burch, 2019c). Black-on-Black brutality (Black police officer on Black victim) reflects these officers being more aligned with their blue uniform than the color of those they are perpetrating violence upon. This central argument raises critical questions about the assumptions and power of diversity and governance when arguments are made for more diverse representation within the state apparatus, such as efforts at recruiting more police officers of color, which, on the surface, would garner its share of support in progressive circles. This line of argument is not restricted to police departments. Are Mexican Americans seeking employment with the Border Patrol, historically a path toward a more secure financial future in an area of the country with limited upward mobility, patriots willing to step forward and serve their country or
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collaborators willing to further state-sanctioned violence (Ferman & Fernandez, 2019)? I realize that this question is complex and controversial for communities of color. Nevertheless, it must still be raised for social workers and social activists. Carbado and Richardson (2018, p. 126) critiqued Forman, Jr.’s, book, noting how people of color can be biased against their own groups, with social class (high resource versus low resource) being an important divide: At the same time, we should be perfectly clear to note that we are not arguing against efforts to diversify the police. Our point is that it would be a mistake to stop there. As we have explained, there are broader factors, factors that transcend the racial identity of police officers, which explain the exposure of African Americans to police contact and violence. Hiring more police officers of color without structural reform is window dressing and will not achieve its desired end (Sanchez, 2018). Thus, hiring Black and Brown people into institutions that are primarily White, non-Latinx, and racist does not mean that they are no longer racist, because tokenism does not challenge the structure and beliefs of said institutions. We would be foolish or naive to expect otherwise. Trayvon Martin’s murder by Zimmerman was addressed earlier. The acquittal of Zimmerman for Trayvon Martin’s murder is widely credited for the birth of the Black Lives Matter Movement (Duvall & Heckemeyer, 2018). However, Fitzgerald (2014) introduces the concept of White privilege in examining how Zimmerman, a Latino, became an “honorary White” by the press, in the “White–Black” narrative that unfolded in his standing his ground against an unarmed Black teenager, upholding a racialized stance that expands the “army” available to carry out state-sanctioned acts of violence against people of color, which in this case was a form of militia. Further, Zimmerman’s non-Latino name reinforced this White privilege argument (Tourse, Hamilton-Mason, & Wewiorski, 2018). This corps of willing, or unknowing, collaborators cannot be ignored in any analysis, painful as it may be. What makes racism, as in state-sanctioned violence, not recognized as racism (Bonilla-Silva, 2017)? President Trump, for instance, may not view himself as racist, regardless of what he says (“not politically correct”) and his policies that systematically target marginalized groups. Those aiding the state in carrying out racist policies may not see themselves as aiding and abetting or as being collaborators either. However, they have their marching orders to do so and that is their job. S UR VEIL L A NCE AND THE STATE
Surveillance in an integral part of daily life in this country (Awan, Spiller, & Whiting, 2019) and has continuously evolved to now include facial recognition (Bosman & Kovaleski, 2019). Is it possible to exercise state-sponsored violence without an active surveillance program? No! Surveillance, regardless of how it is publically marketed, is a constant threat in communities of color (Byfield, 2019, p. 104): As such, the human rights consequences for the use of this technology in policing, particularly vis-á-vis racialized surveillance, exist in the arena of increased power of the state in its ability to exert control over its entire population and/or
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the specific segments of the population it chooses to target. Against these groups, the state will have increased power over substantive rights, such as the rights to association, movement, Fourth Amendment privacy rights, and the presumption of innocence. The use of this technology can be expected to seriously transform what it means to live in a racial state organized around a carceral system constructed from ideologies of crime, some of which are existential in nature. We understand the role and importance of surveillance in totalitarian regimes. Surveillance within democracies must be carefully navigated by the state and framed accordingly to make it normal and acceptable (Korff, 2019). It must not be lost that George Orwell’s classic novel 1984 had “authoritarianism as a consequence of overarching surveillance in the modern state” (E. Wright, 2018, p. 5). Although surveillance has been framed as public safety, the merging of the state with capitalist corporations is cause for alarm (Silverman, 2017, p. 149): Amidst the profound changes in privacy norms wrought by the advent of digital technologies and cultures, one trend is clear: individuals have been made vastly more transparent, while authorities and corporations have become more opaque. These changes in privacy and surveillance track with growth in the US surveillance state, in the ability of the executive branch to wage undeclared war indefinitely, and in the advent of corporate personhood, which serves as a legal manifestation of a vast expansion of corporate power in all facets of American life. Police body-worn cameras, which can be considered a form of surveillance, attempt to reduce excessive and unwarranted violence by the police and have shown success in achieving this goal (Ariel, Farrar, & Sutherkland, 2015; Hedberg, Katz, & Choate, 2017; Jennings, Lynch, & Fridell, 2015). However, these cameras must not be turned off as a means to hide acts of police violence. Otherwise, they further exacerbate police–community conflict because they become a symbol of abuse (Crow et al., 2017). In Boston, the Police Patrolmen’s Association sought a pay raise for wearing a body camera, which was rejected by the City (The Boston Globe editorial, 2019). Further, there is a contentious debate on whether footage from body cameras is a public record to be shared accordingly (Woods, 2017). Nevertheless, the images of police shootings can galvanize public support for victims (Otterman, 2019). Hypersurveillance places people of color at greater risk for police encounters (Campos-Manzo et al., 2018). Although these communities are technically not prisons, with the state arguing that residents are free to leave, they bring many of the markers of prisons—surveillance, guards, limited mobility, and residents marked or stigmatized, to list four elements. Giroux (2015f) cautions on how easy it has been to allow the state and corporate apparatuses to socialize us into accepting surveillance as an everyday occurrence, to the point where we share our personal data over social media and do so without a second thought. Surveillance is often couched as essential for public safety. In communities of color, it is generally understood as a way for the state to keep tabs on them. When discussing people of color, I am invariably talking about African Americans/ Blacks, Asians, and Latinx people. Muslims, too, are racialized (Kaufman & Niner, 2019) and face the threat of surveillance (Shams, 2018, p. 73):
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The post‐9/11 terror‐panic climate has irrevocably transformed Muslims from a relatively invisible minority in America to hypervisible suspects of terrorism. Although Muslim Americans have long been viewed as suspicious outsiders or an “Other” based on orientalist notions of Islam and the Middle East . . . 9/11 has amplified the fears, hostility, and suspicion toward Muslims as a national security threat. Hypersurveillance, it should be noted, is an international phenomenon with lessons for the United States on its potential consequences for public freedom (Mozur, Kessel, & Chan, 2019). The state’s merging of terrorists and domestic groups of protesters, as in the Black Lives Matter movement, with the use of police drones, raises disturbing issues for our democracy and the power of the state to declare a war on groups (Wall, 2016). Increased drone reliance is rarely questioned from a privacy rights perspective, yet drones are not used in high-resource communities (Enemark, 2014). Rupka and Baggiarini (2018) argue that drones reconfigure state terrorism (violence) because of their “(in)visibility,” controlling the narrative of these acts, which can extend to direct violence on groups. Alimahomed-Wilson and Williams (2016), in turn, address the National Security Agency’s unparalleled reach into daily life under the guise of protecting the nation, adding a different dimension to surveillance, bringing the state squarely into this discussion. To what extent this agency is engaged in surveilling domestic activist groups remains to be determined. T HE POW ER OR ILLUSION OF STATIST I C S
Statistics seem to find their way into a good narrative. However, not all narratives lend themselves to statistics playing a central role in shaping how they unfold and capture the public’s imagination. Academics often use statistics to bring attention to a salient issue with profound social justice implications. We live in a society in which numbers are often used to shed light on the status of our life and the health of society. When addressing state violence, statistics may seem overwhelming, making digesting facts and creating actions arduous. Use of statistics in contrast to relying on a specific event or narrative facilitates community engagement because it takes a very skillful academic to tell a narrative that is compelling and engaging. Blacks under correctional supervision outnumber those in slavery, revealing how state-sanctioned violence has evolved almost 150 years after emancipation. Statistics and the methods used to gather them are fertile ground for intense academic debates. Creswell’s (2013) four critical philosophical research assumptions speak to the sources of many of these debates: (1) ontological (what is the nature of reality?), (2) axiological (how do values influence research?), (3) methodological (what is the language and process of research?), and (4) epistemological (what can be considered knowledge?). These assumptions shape the processes and outcomes we seek to learn more about. Statistics used in this book, too, are not exempt from this debate. Although these debates are fair game, we must not lose sight that these numbers represent human lives,
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and that the central argument for this book must not hang on, or be lost on, one set of numbers because of the broad scope of state-sanctioned violence. One person killed is a tragedy, allowing his or her story to be shared in great detail; hundreds or thousands being killed is a statistic and an event in search of a powerful personalized narrative. The narratives behind numbers defy quantification and objectification, humanizing acts of violence, with profound consequences. Providing statistics on deaths in a given period can be quite powerful. However, using 250-word narratives celebrating the lives of each of these individuals, including pictures, is potentially transformative. Is it critical for marginalized communities targeted for state violence to know the truth behind the facts? How important is it to have a grasp of data to understand why state-sanctioned violence exists, and its extent beyond individual communities? The answers have profound consequences in achieving social justice, and in the process, understanding the magnitude of the challenge, not to mention the future of a democracy that is slated to continue to have its population composition change dramatically in the next generation.
U N I VER S IT IES , THE MILITARY –I NDUSTRIA L C O MP L E X , A N D S TATE-S P ONSORE D V IOLE NCE UNI V E R S I T I E S
The university as a corporate entity compromises our ability to undertake critical work that can undermine financial benefits derived as a corporation (Lumsden & Goode, 2018, p. 244): In the past few decades the traditional liberal and Enlightenment idea of the university as a place of higher learning has been replaced with the modern idea of the university as corporate enterprise. The enterprise university is primarily concerned with maximising profit, return and investment, gaining competitive advantage, and servicing the needs of commerce and industry. The university is politically co-opted for the institutional good that is disguised as the public good. We are familiar with concepts of the criminal–industrial complex or the school- to-prison pipeline, and maybe even the military–industrial complex. Giroux (2015d) coined the term military–prison–education–industrial complex to stress the close relationship between these industries and the role the state plays in fostering these connections. We can add immigration to this list (Trujillo-Pagan, 2014; Delgado, 2018). A continuously expanding list conceptualizes the interrelatedness and extensiveness of the reach of state forces with an active, and sometimes subtle, agenda profiting from creating social conditions marginalizing certain groups. The military has been glamorized in motion pictures (Boggs, 2017; González, 2010), including sporting events such as NFL football (Fischer, 2014; Goodson, 2016) and NASCAR (Conway-Lanz et al., 2018). Merging entertainment with the military has glamorized joining its various branches and created an image that the military is as American as its famous apple pie. Its reach into multiple spheres of society also includes the nation’s institutions of higher learning, and that should not be surprising because of the centrality of universities in a knowledge-based economy.
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The culture of militarism can spread beyond the expanding confines of this form of state-sanctioned violence, illustrating its pernicious reach in our society (Gusterson & Besteman, 2019, p. S4): Although militarism carves its way deep into social structures, it is also shaped and reshaped in the dialectical interaction between ingrained structures on the one hand and human agency and contingency on the other. It is capillary, shape- shifting, always in motion as it constructs threats, enrolls constituencies, colonizes cultural life, and generates new loci of resistance. The military–industrial complex has required a far reach to perpetuate itself and must involve universities (Giroux, 2015c, p. 1): “What is the task of educators at a time when the forces of democracy appear to be in retreat and the emerging ideologies and practices of militarization, corporatism, and political fundamentalism bears down on every aspect of individual and collective experience?” We may argue that it may be the case but social work within these institutions is the exception. Unfortunately, I do not agree. Although Giroux’s book was published in 2007, and reissued in 2015, much has transpired reinforcing this relationship. The academy has the potential to confront state-sponsored violence or facilitate its existence; we only to refer to the low number of people of color as faculty, administrators, and students in these institutions, particularly those that can be considered highly selective in admissions or elite (Hamer & Lang, 2015). The existence of underrepresented groups, when combined with a climate that systematically undermines a social justice agenda, raises questions on what constitute scholarly contributions, essential in promotion and tenure decisions. Structural oppression based on race does not stop at the door of the academy (Hamer & Lang, 2015). Universities are one of the few institutions in which critical dialogue can still transpire and be encouraged, which is essential in fighting against state violence and suppression of free speech (Chatterjee & Maira, 2014). Universities have a special responsibility to undertake critical studies of state-sponsored violence (terrorism) (Al-Kassimi, 2019). Giroux (2015e, p. 110) addresses the special role in advancing this knowledge: Higher education must be widely understood as a democratic public sphere—a space in which education enables students to develop a keen sense of prophetic justice, claim their moral and political agency, utilize critical analytical skills, and cultivate an ethical sensibility through which they learn to respect the rights of others. Whether universities can become an extension of the military–industrial complex is a question, one that is critical if we are to live up to the ideals that are widely embraced. In modern times, the McCarthy era (Red Scare) during the early 1950s was a period that stands out for state efforts to control dissent within the academy, using the power of labeling, although not limited to it, in the search for and rooting out of communists, enemies of the state (Fried, 1991; Schrecker, 1986). Can a version of this hysteria occur today? There is no reason why not in the case of academics of color exposing and addressing how state-sponsored violence gets supported through military grants and contracts, for instance.
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S TAT E-S P ONS ORE D V IOLE NCE AND RE L I G I O N
Denton‐Borhaug (2019, p. 31) poses an important and provocative question with direct applicability to religion and state-sponsored violence: “Is this America? And what role do the church and public theology play in the rhetorical and physical violence spurred by conflicting ideologies in our national imaginary?” Susan Juster’s (2016) book Sacred Violence in Early America grounds us in an analysis of the violence (extermination and the persecution of heresy and blasphemy) perpetrated in the name of religion in the earliest settling of this nation, illustrating the deep historical roots of violence that socially and politically helped shape the country. Where is religion within a state-sanctioned violence stance? We must raise this question. This question creates controversy regardless of how it is asked and answered, with some exceptions. This translates into an absence of conversation or debate that is needed to move a state-sanctioned violence paradigm forward. Burning Black churches, such as in Louisiana over a 10-day period in 2019 (Eligon, Rabalais, & Widmer, 2019; Fausset, 2019b), and killing parishioners (Charleston’s AME [African Methodist Episcopal] church) illustrate how religion is not exempt from targeted racialized violence historically and in the present day (Houdek, 2018). When religion and the state share interests (entanglement), it increases the acceptance of violence as a legitimate vehicle for resolving threats to their existence (Brown, 2019). Religion is a major component in the lives of millions of people, and discussions of state violence cannot overlook its role in fostering or fighting violence. What was done to Native Americans has been referred to as “America’s Original Sin” (Wallis, 2016) and set the foundation for slavery, bringing a moral and religious stance that carried over to today and how the state uses violence against people of color (West, n.d.): People talk about slavery being America’s original sin. That’s not true. The treatment of our indigenous brothers and sisters was our original sin. Slavery was second . . . To tell the truth about the history of this grand experiment in democracy is prophetic fightback. We’re grounded on the dispossession of land of our precious indigenous brothers and sisters and the violation of their bodies. Mind you, there has been a moral and Christian, in this case, response to state violence, so this topic has great saliency to our discussion (Givens, 2018). I do not believe that there is a sufficiently large religious chorus on this immense moral issue, which is probably due to its sensitivity and its potential to cause divisions within and across generations. To what extent is organized religion in U.S. detention centers facilitating or hindering deportations (Cuéllar, 2019, p. 254)?: With the recent rise of unaccompanied children and families migrating to the United States from Central America (2014–2017), new bureaucratic mechanisms have emerged within the State’s approach to migrant apprehension, processing, and care. What has received minimal attention within the professional literature in relation to the newly arrived Central American asylum-seeking migrants is the role of religious care within the U.S. immigrant detention complex.
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Religion’s role in this state-sanctioned act of violence cannot be overlooked, and we must not assume a neutral stance. Such a stance translates into religion as a collaborator of state-sponsored violence. We can argue that state-sanctioned violence can benefit from the support of religion in carrying out its agenda, or religion can be a buffer or counterforce, although admittedly this viewpoint brings its share of contestable issues for activists. Hunger strikes are one of a few mechanisms for the incarcerated, be it in prisons or detention centers, as in the case of those who are unauthorized; these strikes often framed as a threat to the state yet are a form of nonviolent protest against state physical and psychological violence (Pellander & Horsti, 2018). Prison hunger strikes have been conceptualized as a form of “emancipation from, and resistance to, state violence and carceral technique” (Velasquez-Potts, 2019, p. 25). Hunger strikes, in addition, can serve as a focal point to include other actors interested in social justice, such as houses of worship, when the media covers these actions. However, when religion, through its social institutions and leadership, is inseparable from the state, oppression takes consequential outcomes because of the expressive and instrumental roles it can play in providing solace and hope for those who are oppressed, and these are community institutions through which moral justice meets social justice in their lives. We are only to look at our history to understand religion and the state combining to carry out a mission to subjugate people of color in Africa, in Latin America, and Native Americans, to appreciate its devastating role in the name of God (Finley & Gray, 2015; Madley, 2016). Proslavery theology as a justification of violence against the enslaved has been addressed in the scholarly literature (Graber, 2018). Rape of enslaved women was legal for an extended period of time in the nation’s history (Feinstein, 2018). When religion was used to take an antienslavement stance, severe sociopolitical consequences resulted for those leading these efforts (Gordon, 2019). L. T. Brown (2017, p. 7) discusses the Black Lives movement and the Black church, providing a critique from a generational and religious standpoint: Several times over the past three years, the Black Church and the Movement for Black Lives have clashed, revealing a peculiar incongruence. Movement for Black Lives activists, advocates, and agitators are not only pushing to hold police officers and officials in the criminal justice system accountable for deaths of Black victims; they have been pushing the Black Church and Black clergy as well. On August 22, 2014, after the killing of Mike Brown at the hands of Officer Darren Wilson and during the ensuing protests, several high-profile figures showed up to Ferguson, Missouri, to provide support and bear witness to the protests, which erupted with the rallying cry “Hands up, don’t shoot!” But when the Reverend Jesse Jackson -an oft-celebrated Civil Rights leader -arrived in Ferguson, he was yelled at and scorned. A voice punctuated with anguish told him bluntly: We ain’t seen you. When you gon’ stop selling us out, Jesse? We don’t want you here in St. Louis . . . Naw ain’t no “wait a minute, brotha.” . . . This is REAL. We activists out here. We activists out here, brotha. This is real. We don’t want you here. We don’t want you here, brotha. (Quoted in NewsOne Staff 2014). Several months later, Movement for Black Lives activists from Ferguson wanted to be heard at the Justice for All march held in Washington, DC, on December 13, 2014. The National Action Network, the NAACP, and the National Urban
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League organized the march. But although Ferguson activists had been central to the march, Rev. Al Sharpton refused to give the young activists the microphone. Undeterred, activists commandeered the microphone, and Johnetta Elzie was briefly allowed to speak (Savali 2014). However, the aftermath of the event exposed a critical divide between the insurgent Movement for Black Lives and the old-guard element of Civil Rights organizations. (p. 7) These brief encounters cannot be ignored in viewing how religion can be expected to play a role in fighting state-sanctioned violence. Addressing this role within a state violence paradigm requires questioning basic values and premises undergirding religion and how it was manifested historically and currently, and that includes African American/Black and Latinx churches. Such a task may prove more difficult than questioning why the state carries out a violence agenda because religious beliefs and practices are considered sacred (excuse the pun). Religion reconciled the contradictions associated with democracy and a deep and unbinding commitment to slavery (Hazelton, 2010; Klein, 2012) and subjugation of Native Americans (Beneke & Grenda, 2011; Martin & Nicholas, 2010), or a seemingly divine right to exercise or condone violence in the name of the state (nationhood), Christianity, and national progress. Pahl (2010) calls these actions “innocent domination,” but with deadly consequences. Religion is playing an influential role in this nation’s cultural wars, as it has since this nation’s inception (Fraser, 2016). The travel ban on Muslim nations instituted by the current presidential administration is another example of how religion can be used to create suspicion of, and even subjugate, those who subscribe to that faith. This form of scapegoating serves multiple purposes in moving a state violence agenda forward. This interrelationship, to be fair, is beyond the scope of this book. Readers will have to delve more deeply into the role of religion in this nation’s history and how its institutions failed in their missions of salvation and addressing social justice.
W H Y A STATE F OCUS ON URBAN Y OUTH OF C O L OR ?
Why a focus on urban youth of color as a primary, but not exclusive, focus? The Central Park Five is an excellent example starting this section on why these youth face extra challenges because of their age, SES, and race or ethnicity, encapsulating the central thrust of this book’s argument. Recently released records sparked new attention to this case. The case garnered national attention when five adolescents of color were accused and stood trial for the rape of a Central Park jogger in 1989 (Mueller, Weiser, & Greenberg, 2018). Donald Trump even called for their punishment before actual conviction (Greene, 2018, p. 7): “I want to hate these muggers and murderers. They should be forced to suffer, and, when they kill, they should be executed for their crimes.” The Netflix documentary When They See Us brings to life the injustice and the power of the state in singling out youth of color who never had been in trouble with the law, who were interrogated, indicted, convicted, sentenced, and eventually exonerated when their conviction was vacated in 2002 and the city paid them $41 million dollars in 2014 to settle their civil rights lawsuit (Ransom, 2019).
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Interestingly, but not surprisingly, when asked about his stance on the Central Park Five in a White House interview, Trump would not apologize for his past stance on seeking the death penalty (Petski, 2019, p. 4): “You have people on both sides of that. They admitted their guilt. If you look at Linda Fairstein, and you look at some of the prosecutors, they think that the city should never have settled that case. So we’ll leave it at that.” Giroux (2014, p. 1) discusses why youth are targeted in state violence: There is by now an overwhelming catalogue of evidence revealing the depth and breadth of the state-sponsored assault being waged against young people across the globe, and especially in the United States. What is no longer a hidden order of politics is that American society is at war with its children, and that the use of violence against young people is a disturbing index of a society in the midst of a deep moral and political crisis. Beyond exposing the moral depravity of a nation that fails to protect its youth, the violence used against American youth speaks to nothing less than a perverse death-wish. Urban youth of color are not apolitical. They bring political discourse in their interactions with each other, and we as adults must foster this dialogue, as well as understand it in helping to craft highly participatory approaches toward activism and resistance (Clay, 2019). Urban youth experience great difficulty having their voices heard in the halls of justice and other institutions in their lives (Kerrison, Cobbina, & Bender, 2018). Felker-Kantor specifically addresses the role of the state, through its police, at politicizing the nation’s urban youth and why we must not ignore this critical constituency (2019): The significance of state-police power and political corruption in shaping the politics of resistance, social movements, and youth violence should not be underemphasized. As the state retreated from addressing social and economic problems in marginalized communities, the police reinvested in getting tough. In doing so, the police contributed to gang development and politicized youth movements. State violence was a crucial factor in shaping the fate of social movements, the development of gangs, and youth politics. Following these lessons, urban historians should look to integrate punitive state action into understanding the origins and transformation of youth gangs and social movements. Doing so, as these studies begin to reveal, demonstrates how punitive policy does not make cities safer but more violent and suggests the need to rein in the police power to achieve just and equitable urban spaces. (p. 627) There are parallels between punitive and criminalizing urban policies and the inability of the current presidential administration to stop migrants at the border seeking asylum (addressed in Chapter 4) because those policies, too, have been unsuccessful. Their second-class status compounds their lives because they need the support of adults to protect their rights, further marginalizing and placing them at greater vulnerability to state-sanctioned efforts to control and punish them. Labeling young offenders as incorrigible and hoodlums, and in the past, as superpredators, illustrates how labels make it easier to target, apprehend, punish, and even kill them in the line
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of duty. Efforts to counter state violence take many forms, including social activism, which is highly visible (Aspholm & Mattaini, 2017). Henning (2017, p. 58) addresses the precarious state of Black youth in the nation’s cities and why they make a convenient (readily accessible) target for state-sanctioned violence: Black Boys are policed like no one else, not even black men. Youth in general are more likely than adults to have contact with the police as they play in the streets, congregate in public spaces, hang-out past curfew, drink alcohol, ride around in cars, and talk loudly. Because youth may be arrested for minor crimes, such as curfew violations and being incorrigible with authorities, their contacts are also more likely to be police-initiated and adversarial. African American/Black youth are aware of their precarious state, how every day brings the potential of life and death into their daily routines, and why achieving adulthood is not a given. Urban youth of color are demonized, making it easy to violate their rights, while creating narratives blaming them and protecting society from them (Panic & Benekos, 2017). Police are inescapable in their lives (threat and actual), leading to increased contact, stop and frisk (shaming), and troubled encounters (Brunson & Pegram, 2018). Beres and Griffith (2000, p. 747) addressed the widespread embrace of this stance almost 20 years ago and it is still relevant today: Youth in general, and young minority males in particular, often are demonized by legislators, the media, scholars, and the public at large. These attacks reinforce stereotypes and place a particularly heavy burden on young Black and Latino males. Negative images of youth also may inhibit the adoption of the most effective programs to reduce crime, especially in disadvantaged inner-city neighborhoods? Viewing young minority males as the enemy fosters illegal police conduct. Demonizing labels facilitate state violence, and more so when this group will increase numerically in the future. There are numerous statistics highlighting the vulnerability of youth of color to state-sanctioned violence, indicative of a well-formulated and systematic response to viewing them as a serious threat (Payne, Hitchens, & Chambers, 2017). Hanchard (2015, p. 6) provides a different, but complementary, analysis of youth of color and state violence, introducing a variety of ways it is manifested: Rather than undergo a statistical and quantitative analysis of the number of violent acts committed against black and brown youth in the United States or elsewhere, I focus here instead on the symbolic, historical and conceptual dimensions of the unfortunate phenomena of state sanctioned violence against black communities, black people and black youth. The killing of unarmed black men is part of a larger problem of the legacies of racial regimes in societies where disproportionately high levels of unemployment and incarceration rates, poor education, spatial segregation and capricious doses of state violence, structure
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the conditions of marginality which makes violence against these populations not only plausible, but banal. State-sanctioned killings (extrajudicial) are part of a broader pattern of abuse seeking to subjugate and punish, and signal the futility of resistance. Using physical force to quell disturbances indicates that resistance exists and its threatening nature to the state. S OCIA L JUS TICE DE SE R TS AND S TATE-S A NCTIONE D V IOLE NCE
State violence is best viewed from multifaceted viewpoints, including that of places with an absence of justice (“justice deserts”). Readers are probably familiar with the concepts of food deserts and medical deserts, and one can add justice deserts and educational deserts to this ignominious list, illustrating the power of this image in conveying a vacuum and an overwhelmingly desperate situation. Deserts conjure up images of severe deprivation, eliciting painful feelings of isolation and despair associated with being stranded in a sea of sand, with no oasis in sight. This metaphor engenders deep fears and feelings of despair, raising disturbing questions on basic premises, and shocking our beliefs in how we are fostering this stance. Blessett (2017) highlights the importance of purpose: An unknown future awaits the United States, and only time will tell whether the country will ever live up to its own beliefs about itself. For me, as an academic, scholar, teacher, and social justice advocate, this gross reality has truly been a wakeup call. It has reinvigorated my professional objective and made my engagements with the world even more purposeful. I advocate that people who care about diversity, justice, and equity, engage in conscious and meaningful ways to combat the oppression, marginalization, and violence against non-W hites. Although it appears that such values and perspectives are in the minority, our collective efficacy can educate, empower, and mobilize the people around us to force change at every opportunity. This must be the imperative moving forward. (p. 195) I hope Blessett’s call to arms is reinforced by social work. It does not mean that we embrace it without questioning, however. Questioning is the initial step in the journey of leading an activist life. Are activists enemies of the state? That question answers itself. CA P ITA L ISM AND STATE - S PONSORE D V I O L E N C E
State-sponsored violence and capitalism are not one in the same. There are countless scholars and social work practitioners who would argue that capitalism can be considered the same as putting gasoline on a fire that is burning out of control. Where is capitalism in state-sponsored violence? Capitalism is a form of economic enslavement without the outward signs that we learned about in our history books; it is de
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facto enslavement because it disproportionately impacts people of color and other marginalized groups. Denying the foibles of capitalism, however, has experienced a resurgence (Bichler & Nitzan, 2019). The convergence of major social, economic, and political forces after the Civil War resulted in the South using formerly enslaved laborers to support its agrarian economy, setting the stage for a shift from a slave state to a carceral state (Carlson, 2018). We must not simply equate enslavement with the South. New England’s smallest state, Rhode Island, had that region’s largest number of enslaved people from the colonial to emancipation period, in mills rather than plantations (Clark-Pujara, 2016). We cannot escape this question because its presence is immense, serving as the economic engine for state violence. One does not have to be a capitalist to sponsor or perpetrate group violence. Yet, the impact of systematically pitting one group against another to increase profits and decrease resistance is a form of violence. Further, we can argue that it is impossible to separate militarism from capitalism in the extensive and intricate relationships suppressing anticapitalist movements (Man, Paik, & Pappademos, 2019). The attempted genocide of Native Americans and enslavement of Africans can be discussed from a variety of social and political standpoints, all worthy of attention. Capitalism and the profit motive played a critical role in this form of state violence. Racism is economically profitable and serves important functions in our society (Marable, 2015; Wilson, 1996). Racial capitalism is a concept enjoying increased saliency, as framed in Flint’s water crisis, with race playing a role in the interpretation of this event and whether it is viewed as state violence with economic overtones (Smith, 2017). Local tax revenues fund public education, with communities of color faring poorly in allocation of resources and educational outcomes (Holzman, 2017). State violence can occur under any form of government and also find an outlet to create and reinforce precarity (precarious existence) and coercive labor conditions, such as prison labor and workfare, emboldening employers to force families of color, particularly those who are unauthorized, through these programs, for example (Good, 2018; Tirado, 2019). Taxation policies (invisible), have economic ramifications and are a slow form of state violence. We can ground taxation within capitalism. Capitalism is violent when it devalues people (Tyner, 2016). Those embracing capitalism can see the irony in the increase in fees that smugglers charge because of heightened challenges, placing migrants in further financial jeopardy (Ahmed, 2019a). Capitalism is central in the mass incarceration movement, with private prisons being a good investment (Brown, 2019; Longazel, Berman, & Fleury‐Steiner, 2016). C O N CL US ION
This chapter provides a conceptual foundation for state violence and ventures into areas that we usually only stumble upon in our work as social workers; yet, when placed within a state-sanctioned violence paradigm, they take on new meaning and significance. A journey of discovery has hopefully started, opening up new vistas in our social justice mission and, for many of us, our own journey as we address multiple social problems rooted in state violence with various levels of visibility and speed. This chapter also raises unpleasant and provocative questions as the first step in deriving answers. State violence defies narrow conceptualization and operationalization.
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Its importance requires expanding parameters because its reach is extensive and pervasive. State violence brings analytical (theoretical) and experiential (emotional) dimensions that challenge identifying and addressing actions. Chapter 3 provides an additional conceptual lens. Intersectional and intracategorical approaches enhance understanding of state violence through examples of how violence gets manifested in urban communities of color.
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State-Sanctioned Violence Intersectional and Intracategorical Perspectives
I N T R OD U CTION
This chapter reintroduces intersectionality (Nayak & Robbins, 2018) and introduces an intracategorical approach, a lens many readers may be unfamiliar with but one enhancing the saliency of intersectionality and state-sanctioned violence with a specific focus on cities and people of color. When youth are introduced, the unfairness of these forces takes on greater importance. This chapter’s central goal is not to delve into great detail about these concepts, including historical origins and evolution, which are deeply grounded in feminist theory (Willingham, 2018). The goal is to examine intersectionality (including intracategorical intersectionality) and its relationship to state- sponsored violence, enriching our understanding of a state violence paradigm, and further grounding it conceptually and philosophically within our profession’s social justice mission and values. Social workers examining state-sponsored violence are strongly advised to do so through an intersectional lens to appreciate the pervasiveness of this violence and the challenges before us, allowing us to address it for groups and issues that resonate in our personal and professional lives, and increasing the likelihood of broadening social justice coalitions, bringing together groups sharing common challenges while enjoying unique issues. Intersectionality’s significance, and its versatility as a concept in social justice agendas, requires a special place in this book. Fortunately, we understand and embrace the importance of viewing issues through a multifaceted window that exposes us to the interconnectedness of political, cultural, economic, and social forces, and our preparation attests to this conclusion. State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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Various violence perspectives or paradigms have garnered national and international attention, often crossing disciplines and professions, with intersectionality being one of the latest finding saliency in helping us to analyze the why, and how, of violence in the lives of marginalized groups with multiple social identities (Collins & Bilge, 2016). Intersectionality underscores the production and sustainability of inequities across wide sectors in our society. State-sanctioned violence builds upon the foundation established by intersectionality and introduces a purposeful sociopolitical (structural) agenda that is carried out by various levels of government and the institutions it supports directly and indirectly, to subjugate a group of people because of their beliefs, social identities, physical characteristics, and/or social circumstances. State actions can be visible, or invisible, but just as deadly, and worthy of attention by all those interested in social justice. INT ER S ECTIONALITY DE FINE D
A definition of intersectionality is needed, and there are a plethora of definitions to select from. I personally like the definition of intersectionality by Collins and Bilge (2016) because it connects well with state-sanctioned violence, but readers will be the ultimate judge of how to use this worldview in an analysis of state-sanctioned violence and a corresponding action agenda: Intersectionality is a way of understanding and studying the complexity in the world, in people, and in human experiences. The events and conditions of social and political life and the self can seldom be understood as being shaped by one factor. They are generally shaped by many factors in diverse and mutually influencing ways. When it comes to inequality, people’s lives and the organization of power in a given society are better understood as being shaped not by a single axis of social division, be it race or gender or class, but by many axes that work together and influence each other. Intersectionality as an analytic tool gives people better access to the complexity of the world and of themselves. (p. 2) Intersectionality sets the stage for interventions that specifically seek the sources of these inequities and oppression. Bringing together these sources requires a centralized argument that captures and unifies the attention of the nation, serving as a basis for intersecting questions and strategies. State-sanctioned violence is not limited to race and ethnicity, with such a worldview being simplistic. Other groups face the wrath of the state because they do not conform to the dominant class ideology. Intersectionality brings a frame of analysis to why certain groups in the United States face even greater challenges than others because of their citizenship status, and by the way they look, act, think, and speak. There seems to be no arena of society that is not undergoing a challenge of how best to address the needs and injustices facing people of color, women/mothers, LGBTQ, people with disabilities, newcomers (both “legal” and “illegal”), to list several arenas that often overlap (intersectionality). As it will be developed, a state role in criminalizing a color other than White has been integral to this country’s founding and history,
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illustrating its intractability in shaping race relations (Smiley & Fakunie, 2016), and why it can be categorized as state-sponsored violence, permeating Section 2. The structural institutionalization of racism into the social and political fabric of a government that is ostensibly meant to protect and serve is counter to the democratic principles and justice we have been socialized to embrace, and the reason there was a revolution in this country over two centuries ago. Structural intersectionality has captured how overlapping institutional structures come together because of how different rhetoric on various forms of oppression results in emphasizing, or deemphasizing, the forces and consequences of oppressive actions (Crenshaw, 2018). This translates into a system stacked against people of color, starting with arrests and arraignments and eventual incarceration and release, failing to protect their rights throughout the process. As already stated, this book seeks to focus on urban youth of color, although not limited to them, introducing age as a key dimension of intersectionality, which I would argue is largely overlooked in the literature taking this perspective (Dagkas, 2016; Garnett et al., 2014; Irazábal & Huerta, 2016; Terriquez, Brenes, & Lopez, 2018). Those working with children and youth realize why they are a marginalized group and worthy of being an intersectional and state-sanctioned violence perspective, such as the child welfare system, historically and currently, which is only touched upon in this book but about which readers have an abundance of literature to draw upon (Hill, 2004; Hogan & Siu, 1988; Lawrence-Webb, 2018; Phillips & Pon, 2018). I N T ER S ECTIONALITY OR STATE - S PONSOR E D VI OL ENCE: A N EITHE R/O R?
Why state-sanctioned violence versus intersectionality? It is not an either/or proposition. It is more of a foreground–background stance, with intersectionality supporting our understanding of the nuances that can be associated with state-sanctioned violence. The saying—“what we have here is a problem of state-sanctioned violence” takes on a serious tone, making it easier to rally people to a social justice agenda. This stance does not diminish the significance of intersectionality. Rather, this viewpoint brings an emphasis on analysis from a social science standpoint because of an increasing research and literature base, by expanding our view of those who are targeted, which is critical in any social justice change agenda. Translating this perspective into an accounting requires a more politically charged agenda. Osborne (2015) addresses cities, intersectionality, and kyriarchy (a theory of power that focuses on structures), to increase our understanding of power and oppression (violence), and state-sanctioned violence. I believe no one is in a position to judge whose pain/social oppression is more severe or profound. Personally, my stance is that I would defer to someone else’s pain to win out. Suffice it to say that there is enough pain and suffering to go around. Race and racism (racial justice), however, is the focus of this book; others wishing to address state-sponsored violence on other dimensions, too, are welcome to take that viewpoint and advance a state-sanctioned violence view of that group. Intersectionality has found saliency in the social sciences and helping professions, illustrating the power of social identity and how it is shaped by having multiple jeopardies, compromising well-being, and even life itself. Skin color and unemployment are racialized, further illustrating the racialized state of this country (Landeis, 2017). That the police killings of unarmed people of color is facilitated by their skin color is
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ghastly enough. Expanding this act to include physical dimensions (bodily aesthetics) beyond skin color, to include body size, for instance, introduces a compelling reason to more easily execute state violence. It is fitting to end this section with a quote (Peterson, 2015, p. 7): When I first discovered the concept of intersectionality, it was like a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of breathing smog. Finally, I could stop fumbling for explanations about why I couldn’t separate my blackness from my femaleness, why different kinds of discrimination happened to me. Intersectionality. Microagression. Hegemony. While intimidating, these words helped to create a framework of understanding, the ability to see the larger pattern in individual experiences. They weren’t easy, but once mastered they became the only way to fully understand the society I lived in. New words gave us so much freedom— but these days, even with intersectionality grabbing headlines, I wonder it packs the same punch it once did. State-sanctioned violence packs the punch warranted in moving a social justice agenda forward for social workers with the help of intersectionality. INT R ACATEGORICAL LE NS
Life necessitates relying on multiple lenses to develop a comprehensive and nuanced understanding of the human experience. Simplifying a complex social issue does a disservice to those devoting their lives to addressing its solution. Social workers are cognizant of this complexity and how organizations and communities must respect the diversity of human experience, eschewing simplistic group categorizations that fail to capture the breadth of the lived experience and the influence it wields on our views and responses. Grouping people into categories is human nature and helps us make sense of circumstances, but that propensity counters the stance that we take because two people are never the same, twins excluded. Intersectionality requires that we grasp the multiplicity of factors that shape social identities. These factors are often broad, such as gender, sexual identity, age, religion, physical and intellectual abilities, and socioeconomic class, because they facilitate the unfolding of a narrative. These factors are significant; although important, they are insufficient for an in-depth narrative, calling for further consideration of other factors, referred to as intracategorical, introducing the lived experienced as shaping how these factors unfold (Carastathis, 2014; Slootman, 2018). McCall (2005, pp. 1784–1785) addresses social categories that intersectionality brings, requiring further refinement and understanding of their interaction with each other: The intercategorical approach . . . begins with the observation that there are relationships of inequality among already constituted social groups, as imperfect and ever changing as they are, and takes those relationships as the center of analysis. The main task of the categorical approach is to explicate those relationships, and doing so requires the provisional use of categories.
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The intracategorical approach is premised on understanding how interacting systems of power, including the lived experience, create adverse social conditions. Social dimensions require creating this understanding because people are complex and defy simplistic categorization, calling for an appreciation of intracategorical group variations and eschewing simplification of interactions. Although I emphasize urban and state-sanctioned violence, readers understand the pitfall of such a broad grouping. “Urban” covers a range from a new city consisting of 50,000 residents to one that is hundreds years old and has over 8 million residents, with a distinct history and reputation. The example of Latinx emerges. The interplay of age, gender/sexual identity, English/Spanish language proficiencies, level of acculturation, skin color, family composition, facial features, hair texture, length of residence in a community, and documented status/citizenship, to list several factors, is dynamic and shapes the lived experience (Delgado, 2017). The youth category covers a wide range, with latency and adolescence being this book’s focus. I ask the reader’s indulgence as I, too, use broad categories in simplifying complex narratives.
P H Y SICA L F EATURE S AND STATE - S PONS O R E D V I O L E N C E
Physical appearances bring a nuanced, but essential, element to a state violence paradigm. Social oppression is multidimensional, drawing upon belief systems and identity, with physical appearances and residence combining to facilitate state violence. Eleanor Bumpers (66-year-old Black female) and Eric Garner (43-year-old Black male) are visible examples of how physical appearance wields such an important role in their untimely demises, bringing together intersectional/intracategorical factors and state violence (Harris, 2018). Eric Garner’s case is nationally recognized, having been captured and shared on social media. Eleanor Bumpers’s case introduces a gendered perspective of women as victims of police killings and other forms of brutality (Hitchens, 2017): Bumpers, a heavyset, mentally ill, poor mother and senior citizen, was murdered by the New York Police Department (NYPD) while standing naked in her apartment. Seven white male officers attempted to physically evict Bumpers for unpaid rent by striking down her front door. Armed with gas masks and plastic shields, they shot Bumpers to death while she held a kitchen knife. Garner, a heavyset, physically disabled, poor father was put into a chokehold by NYPD officers while standing in front of a convenience store. Six officers dogpiled on Garner, ignoring his 11 pleas that he could not breathe. Unarmed, Garner was denied oxygen by paramedics and was killed with the bare hands of an officer while handcuffed on the concrete. (pp. 434–435) Intersectional/intracategorical influences and police killings are evident in Bumpers’s and Garner’s deaths, with race receiving the greatest attention, but the influences are not limited to this factor. Other factors, however, introduce nuances of how state violence is targeted and victims dehumanized, including Black women ( Jacobs, 2017, p. 41): “Black women’s interaction with the state, through law enforcement, is marked by violence. Black
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women are murdered by the police. They are assaulted and injured by the police. They are arrested unlawfully by the police; and finally they are tried, convicted and incarcerated for defending themselves against nonpolice violence. State violence against Black women is long-standing, pervasive, persistent, and multilayered, yet few legal actors seem to care about it.” Mills (2017) follows a similar argument with Michael Brown’s (Ferguson, Missouri) murder, and how his physical appearance was an essential element of the media narrative, and in this case involving two Latinx Fox guests, giving “cover” for excessive police force and blaming Brown’s death on himself: Geraldo Rivera describes the encounter as a “six-year veteran with a spotless record is facing a belligerent 6’4’’.” He highlights Brown’s stature, calling him a “big kid” and argues that “efforts by activists to portray the unarmed teen as a choirboy maliciously murdered by a racist cop was misguided, unhelpful and untrue.” As a guest on news programme and morning talk show Fox and Friends, Linda Chavez discusses her op-ed in the tabloid New York Post, in which she argued against viewing Brown as an “unarmed teen.” With Fox and Friends putting the headline screen caption “Media bias: Is ‘unarmed teen’ dangerously misleading” below her, Chiavez remarks: “This mantra of the unarmed black teenager shot by a white cop. You know, that description in and of itself actually colours the way in which we look at this story. We’re talking about a 19-year-old man who is six foot four and weighs almost three hundred pounds, who is videotaped just moments before the confrontation with a police officer strong arming an employee and robbing a convenience store.” (p. 41) I take great issue with Latinx newscasters assuming spokesperson roles (collaborators/apologists) for state-sponsored violence, because they should know better than to be used to promote social injustices. People of color raising concerns about a victim of color gives cover to state agents, because, obviously, violence was not racially motivated because a person of color does not see it that way. Readers have their own experiences in watching news accounts of police murders, and how they were described with extra attention to physical appearances. It becomes virtually impossible to just witness a murder without describing the physical attributes of the victim and justifying the killing in cases in which the victims were of color. Physical labels, such as “Hulk-child” or “man-child,” are integral to a process of deemphasizing the actual act of state-sanctioned violence and the reporting of the killing, and in the process blaming the victim for his or her own demise, and even making the perpetrator the victim or hero himself, when the killings involve children and youth. Vivid descriptions of physical characteristics ground the audience in rationalizing excessive force rather than simply reporting the facts. These descriptions hark back to the enslavement period and the terms “buck” and “boy.” There is never a detailed description of the gun used and the bullet’s entry points, including the amount of blood spilled. The description is one-sided for a good reason. Being overweight, combined with certain phenotypes, such as hair texture, facial features, other body parts, disability (physical and/or cognitive), race, gender, and SES (socioeconomic status), come together with place of residence (“high-crime community”) to create a high tension–filled context for violence to be perpetrated by the state with impunity, allowing safety fears (“I feared for my life”) to justify
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killings, even when officers greatly outnumber and “out-weapon” their victims, as with Bumpers, too. Historically, the Black body has assumed various negative social meanings in our society, with many of these views casting it in highly sexual light or with physical traits considered dangerous (Nunnally, 2018), and worthy of punishment. Joseph- Salisbury and Connelly’s (2018) article titled “ ‘If your hair is relaxed, white people are relaxed. If your hair is nappy, they’re not happy,’ ” addresses how hair texture can single out youth for social control and punishment. Criminalizing the Black body, and Brown bodies, too, is a throwback to the enslavement period, as the site and source of danger, and evidenced in police killings (Dixon, 2018). Cooper (2014) raises a different dimension of physical appearance that still reinforces stereotypical thinking about people of color, and in this case, protesting African-American football players: That is the supreme irony of the police taking offense at the image of five black football players walking out on the field in a poise of surrender-as-protest. As long as those large, strong football players used their brawn to run a ball down the field, to entertain the mostly white spectators at the game, there are no problems. That they might be human beings, with thoughts and feelings, with politics and connections to communities, with sentiments and spirits attuned to injustice, made them seem threatening, disrespectful and unruly. And frankly, ungrateful. For so many black men, it is sports that saved them from a fate akin to Michael Brown’s. They are supposed to demonstrate their gratitude through silence. Black bodies have been used in this country for labor, entertainment and sport. Black player activists caused a jolt for many in attendance or watching it on television. Why not assume an activist stance, since they are literally putting their bodies on the line? Athletics are the bold new world for untapped social activism (Zinn, 2018). Football protests can be viewed as “constructive patriotism” (for protest) or “patriotic patriotism” (counterprotest) (Montez de Oca & Suh, 2019). C O N CL US ION
Intersectionality and the intracategorical approach have prominent places within social work, expanding our understanding of how social oppression and state-sanctioned violence are multifaceted and structural, elucidating how they bring commonalities across groups without ignoring unique dimensions. Intersectionality stresses an interactive lens without sacrificing historically codetermining forces. The intracategorical approach reinforces unique lived experiences that must not be overlooked when using all-encompassing categories. Social workers have an abundance of scholarship informing our view of social justice and our understanding of the challenges that lay before us. The following section brings the intersectional/intracategorical view and state-sanctioned violence to life, including the interconnectors of issues that may seem unrelated, but still the result of state violence.
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SECTION 2
Urban Manifestations of State-Sanctioned Violence
A
ndrasik (2019, p. 1069) captures a basic premise of how this book views state-sanctioned violence: “Rather than facing a totalitarian state regime, US urban communities are situated in a democratic society where the role of oppressor has been decentralised and deeply embedded into multiple public and private institutions and systems.” The state does not have absolute power. It requires partners in carrying out its agenda (Bucar & Kovač, 2019). State-sanctioned violence is embedded in all dimensions of life for people of color and other undervalued groups, and the degree to which this embeddedness exists makes separating state violence acts more arduous to achieve, but still important to do. This section presents rewards and challenges for the profession, introducing new material or reinterpretations that social workers may not have been exposed to in our professional education. Each chapter integrates cross- cutting themes, bringing to the fore state-sanctioned violence, as well as allowing in-depth attention to unique aspects of state acts. Effort is made to have case illustrations from a variety of cities to provide a range and a nuanced perspective to show how state-sanctioned violence gets manifested. Cities will represent different geographical regions, with major cities standing out for attention because of their significance and publicity they generate. Weaving together narratives cutting across chapters was a goal of this book. State-sanctioned violence, slow or fast, and visible or invisible, will be represented in this section, illustrating various manifestations and introducing nuanced views on issues that rarely get attention. This section consists of five chapters: Chapter 4,
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Unauthorized Immigration (El Paso); Chapter 5, Education and State-Sanctioned Violence; Chapter 6, Health (Flint); Chapter 7, Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice (Chicago); and Chapter 8, Military Industrial Empire. These themes shine a spotlight on people of color facing incredible state violence challenges that compromise their well-being in this society.
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4
Unauthorized Immigration
INT R OD U CTION
Although immigration covers a wide sociopolitical spectrum, this chapter’s focus will be on the unauthorized (“illegal”) and how state violence unfolds for them, which generally is focused on Brown people, and increasingly children—there are approximately 23,000 unaccompanied children (Cochrane & Kanno-Youngs, 2019). It is sad witnessing the full-scale assault on this group (those seeking asylum or entering with a desire to return) who originate in countries not held in high esteem by the state, and there are many, stretching across many continents and hemispheres, but with an emphasis on Central America (Shear, Jordan, & Fernandez, 2019). Central American migrants experience structural violence at home and while crossing Mexico, and this continues upon entering the United States(Ahmed, 2019b; Vogt, 2013). Humanitarian capital (persecution and suffering) addresses the type and degree of consequences and has emerged as a concept in helping to assess the likelihood (strong or weak) of asylum seekers gaining legal status (Galli, 2019). “Legal violence,” another term for state-sanctioned violence, can also extend to those who are here legally, resulting in blocked mobility, living with fears of deportation, instability, uncertainty in planning for the future, and even self-blame, making daily existence more challenging (Abrego & Lakhani, 2015). Wrongful deportations only add to the tragedy in communities with large numbers of unauthorized residents (Dickerson, 2019a). Viewing deportations from a gendered standpoint highlights how there is a propensity to deport the men and leave the women in this country, increasing the likelihood of women entering a precarious existence and the undermining of the family State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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structure and support system (Baker & Marchevsky, 2019). Roth (2018), in turn, discourses how liminal legality is a form of legal violence for DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) youth because of how this status simultaneously conveys two different, yet contradictory, messages. Barbero (2019, p. 1), too, raises questions pertaining to legal violence: “[DACA] allowed state actors to re-invigorate notions of US exceptionalism and humanitarianism, while deeming ‘illegality’ an objective fact existing outside of the state’s control.” Social workers are well aware of the mental health symptoms associated with this status, including suicide (Garcini et al., 2016; Goldbaum & Jordan, 2019). A country of laws, hope, and dreams has been transformed into one of lawbreaking, fear, loathing, and despair (New York Times editorial, 2018c), with a profound devaluing of humanity ( Jordan & Del Real, 2019; Li, 2018). How the undocumented have been treated raises eerie similarities to what has happened in various Latin American countries (Zarrugh, 2019): The US state has developed a series of institutions that operate to effectively “disappear” people from public and political life. While discussions of disappearance often focus on a specific type of state violence, several important features of state-enforced disappearance characterize all three of the cases considered here. First, disappearances focus on particular communities on the basis of sociological categories such as gender, age, race and ethnicity, and religion, among others. Second, disappearances foster a sense of uncertainty regarding why someone has been disappeared, and render it difficult to ascertain information about the individual. And lastly, disappearance has protracted and extended effects— psychological, social, economic—on the families and friends of the disappeared person. In the USA, capitalism plays a critical role in the development of institutions that disappear individuals. (p. 1) Hallett (2017), too, draws parallels between U.S. state violence in detaining and deporting the unauthorized to Latin American policies resulting in the disappearance of those considered enemies of the state. These individuals, when returned back to their countries, face deadly state violence that resulted in their leaving in the first place (Nazario, 2019).
C O N TEXT S ETT I NG ON A COMPLE X ISSU E
Where to start on a subject that is consistently in the news and promises to continue to be so in the future? Controlling (policing and militarizing) the nation’s 2,000– mile southern border has required marshaling tremendous resources, including the national guard and military (Urbina & Peña, 2019). Although unauthorized immigration was at a 50-year low before a dramatic and record upsurge, families attempting to enter are doing so in record numbers ( Jordan & Romero, 2019; Ward & Singhvi, 2019). The upsurge in families seeking asylum in the southern border has necessitated that ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) seek housing in other parts of the country for them (Dickerson, 2019b). The change in demographic composition at the border from individuals to families has necessitated a change in policy, which has
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occurred. However, it is not humanitarian but one of perpetrating violence on families rather than individuals, as in the case of Sindy Flores. The story shared by Sindy Flores about the separation of her 18-month-old baby from her (for over 1 month) as she sought asylum at the border illustrates the state’s disdain for these children and their families (Flores, 2019, p. 23): When a social worker put my daughter in my arms on Jan. 30th, she was inconsolable. My whole body shook as I held her and tried to soothe her, telling her that everything would be O.K. She was so sick I had to take her to the doctor the next day. For three weeks she resisted me, fearful, when I tried to hold her. She still cries out for her father at night. The separation of infants and children from parents, including having some die while in custody, calls for the establishment of a war crimes tribunal to bring these criminals to justice (Dickerson, 2019c). The closings of checkpoints in West Texas and New Mexico resulted in a surge in families seeking asylum (Romero, 2019c). This subject is packed with stories of human suffering and deaths, as well as hope for better futures, striking at the heart of what it means to be an immigrant nation (Ferman & Fernandez, 2019; Kanno-Youngs, 2019d; Kanno-Youngs & Averbuch, 2019). This issue’s impact transcends individuals and families, extending to communities and regions of this country, and the sending countries (Chavez-Dueñas et al., 2019). A number of children have died while in custody in immigration facilities. Jakelin Caal Maquin (7-year-old Guatemalan girl), who died due to dehydration while under Border Patrol supervision, made national news. She died in ICE custody while she and her father sought asylum in New Mexico. Homeland Security Nielsen went on Fox News blaming the family and girl for undertaking the journey (Nixon, 2018b). Almost 3 weeks afterwards, the death of an 8-year-old Guatemalan boy (Felipe Gomez Alonso) while in a U.S. detention center ( Jordan, 2018c, 2018d) signaled a disturbing trend. Neglect of migrant children, too, is widespread, as evidenced by how they have been at holding facilities (Attanasio, Burke, & Mendoza, 2019). President Trump blamed Democrats for these deaths (Haberman, 2018). Another child, also from Guatemala, a 16-year-old boy, died in May, 2019 (Kanno-Youngs, 2019a, 2019c). Again in May 2019, a 2-year-old boy Guatemalan boy died at a hospital in El Paso, Texas, a month after being apprehended (Fox San Diego, 2019). Finally, a sixth child (a 10-year-old Guatemalan girl) died while in custody in late 2018, but that death went unreported to the public (Garcia, 2019). Provision of poor health care is well documented, showing disdain for them (Fink & Dickerson, 2019), and an extension of poor health services provided to people of color in general. Historically, we cannot separate immigration from state- sponsored violence because of this government’s prominent and visible role (Davis, 2017). Who rightly belongs in this country and call themselves American is highly charged in today’s political climate, making it impossible to watch television news or read a newspaper and not find a story on immigration and state violence, with these stories reaching within migrant communities, causing great despair (Roche et al., 2018). These stories present their struggles and this nation as no longer being a beacon for the world. Section 2 starts with a chapter on immigration and ends with one on the military, with threads connecting the chapters and how state violence is openly carried out in the
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interests of protecting our nation. These bookends illustrate military state violence. After all, how good is a nation without its military to maintain order? Immigrants have historically been part of the fabric of American society and promise to continue to do so in the immediate future. This is disturbing in some segments of American society. We cannot deport all of those who are unauthorized because of the financial costs and how this action would cause major dislocation of groups and national economic disruptions. The threat of this action looms large because ICE, in military style, is apprehending and deporting those who are unauthorized (Delgado, 2018). Although President Trump has signaled mass arrests of the undocumented, deportations may not necessarily follow; such a move will prove extremely expensive and controversial (Kanno-Youngs & Shear, 2019). The term unaccompanied minor has become part of social work’s lexicon and promises to increase in importance in the next several decades as these youth age (Ataiants, 2018; Jani & Reisch, 2018). Minor children without their parents, caused by state- sanctioned policies, too, promise to continue to challenge helping professions, bringing long-term consequences (Fernandez, 2019f; Zayas, 2015). How and whether the state enforces laws protecting undocumented children from crimes committed by nonstate entities is yet other way that state violence can be perpetrated upon them (Terrio, 2018). Newcomer hope must prevail over fear and despair. In late 2018, arrest and deportation statistics at the Mexican border numbered almost 59,000, reflecting an increase of 11% from 2018 (Nixon, 2018c). This statistic translates into these individuals fleeing a desperate situation, warranting taking other challenges in this journey to here, and even facing potential sexual assaults and death (Fernandez, 2019a, 2019b). It is understandable to associate deportations with the Latinx community. However, other groups, too, face similar challenges and must not be overlooked (Goldbaum, 2019). We are versed with the premise that all are welcome to this country who embrace American values of hard work. However, that is not true and Dreamers (from the DREAM Act: Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act) are the latest example, having done everything expected of productive citizens, yet are insecure and find themselves as a political bargaining chip. Although they have access to public education up to the high school level, for example, access to public higher education can be blocked at the state level, severely limiting advancement in those states (Rodriguez, McDaniel, & Bisio, 2019), an invisible form of state-sanctioned violence. The institutional legal violence experiences of undocumented and DACA students upon entering higher education is a dimension of their existence that rarely gets discussed (Muñoz & Vigil, 2018). An underground economy selling Social Security and Green Cards has flourished, such as in Los Angeles but not limited to that city ( Jordan, 2018b). Low unemployment rates increase demand for unauthorized labor market participation, leading the illicit document industry to increase production and costs. This action reflects the reach of immigration in influencing the economy (jobs for the unauthorized and jobs to detain, apprehend, imprison, and deport), and the underground economy, too. The money they pay into Social Security will never be claimed, and is a windfall for this system. One estimate of undocumented Social Security payments into the Trust Fund and Medicare shows their significant contributions (N. Roberts, 2019, pp. 1–2):
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If all undocumented immigrants were deported today, next year’s Social Security trust funds would have approximately $13 billion less for benefit payouts. It’s a considerable loss of dollars, especially when it’s projected that the Social Security funds will be depleted by 2034. According to New American Economy, undocu mented immigrants contributed $13 billion into the Social Security funds in 2016 and $3 billion to Medicare. We cannot go through a day without a story about migrants and their efforts to enter this country. The lucky ones make it to the border; the unlucky ones can easily end up dead. This subject’s salience touches all aspects of the chapters in this section. Migrants have struck a sensitive nerve in the country, which promises to continue into the near future because the dream that called them to undertake a treacherous journey here persists. Historically, this nation has wrestled with immigration policy, a proxy for race, as it is today and has been in the past, with certain historical periods crystallizing this viewpoint (Sun & Wu, 2018). Das’s (2017, p. 1) assessment is very much on target: “The merger of immigration and criminal law has transformed both systems, amplifying the flaws in each.” These flaws are exacerbated with migrants of color when they are criminalized. Last, immigration raids are part of daily life in Latinx communities across the country. However, on occasion, such as in Allen, Texas (outside of Dallas), in 2019, there is a raid that makes national news because of its scope; the Allen raid had 280 arrests in what is considered the biggest workplace raid since 2008 (Mervosh, 2019). This raid, and those occurring on a daily basis that do not make national news, has 280 stories to tell for those willing and able to listen to them, and all involve some form of trauma as well as dreams. F OR EIGN POLICY AND THE M ILITARY: WH AT G O E S A R OUND, COM E S AROUND
The “crisis at the border” started with a crisis in foreign lands and the result of U.S. actions. Foreign policy generally gets minimal attention in our social work education. Yet, foreign policy is closely tied to domestic policy, bringing profound and far-reaching consequences back home, and not just related to wars either, such as Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan, with the ramifications experienced by returning veterans and their families. Our Central America foreign policy has a direct consequence for a large segment of unauthorized migrants and fed into the crisis confronting this group, including where they live for those entering this country. It is very easy to focus on violence and poverty as key reasons for uprootment. However, displacement can be the result of climate change and how local agriculture is devastated as a result, giving a different perspective on the survival narrative. For example, 28% of Honduras’s economy is based on agriculture (Semple, 2019b). President Trump, for instance, has threatened to cut off foreign aid to El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. In the case of Honduras, this aid has helped farmers address the consequences of climate change on their farms. Not having this aid, in turn, results in abandoning their farms and seeking to uproot to the United States. This foreign policy decision will only exacerbate population displacement.
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Addressing an in-depth examination of the close interrelationships between foreign and domestic policies on state-sponsored violence is beyond the scope of this book. For our purposes, a brief focus on Central America and our support of dictatorships and fight against communists/insurgents in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras, for example, and the birth of sanctuary cities and the militarization of the border with Mexico illustrate this relationship (Delgado, 2018). The U.S. military has a long international reach, historically and in the present day, going beyond actual combat. Readers interested in a more in-depth analysis of how the United States’s imperialism (a term rarely heard today) has shaped the nation and the military are advised to read Immerwahr’s (2019) book How to Hide an Empire. In Central America, training the military shows its influence on state-sponsored violence (NCR Editorial Staff, 2018, p. 3): Longtime observers of Central America will know that since the 1980s, nearly 5,000 officers from Honduras have been trained at the U.S. Army’s Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation, or WHINSEC, formerly known as the School of the Americas. Graduates of this school hold key positions in the Honduran government and security forces and have been implicated in numerous coups, human rights abuses and suppression of democracy. Today, the boogeyman of communism that haunted the region in the 1980s is gone, but the institutions and power centers set up in Honduras decades ago remain entrenched, and now environmental activists and indigenous rights leaders are targeted for threatening the political-economic status quo. Caravan news coverage has only touched upon the violence and the lack of economic opportunities fueling this migration northward. The state’s role in fostering these conditions has been overlooked, giving the impression that local conditions fueled these displacements, overlooking the United States in creating these circumstances. Our country’s support (political, technical, and financial) of death squads in El Salvador (a weak and unpopular government) is another way that our foreign policy has propped up a government that did not have the support of its people (Mason & Krane, 1989). Understanding Central America’s present-day crisis, and the uprootment of people, necessitates a historical and foreign policy standpoint because of how intertwined they are. Frey’s (2019) book Sand and Blood: America’s Stealth War on the Mexico Border provides a detailed and expertly written account of how militarization of the southern border can best be conceptualized as a war with the southern hemisphere, with all of the casualties, prisoners of war, and economic costs associated with a war. Thus, the state’s ability to declare war and how it gets manifested must be broadly conceptualized to go beyond conventional definitions of war. S TAT E VIOL ENCE AND THE M ILITARY
Immigration and Customs Enforcement can be considered a military branch, along with the other branches, creating a military force unequaled in the world (Sanchez, 2018). It is a vital part of a military coalition that “protects” the nation. Their uniforms and weapons make them part of this team. Scholars have connected these different
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branches and who they target as an occupying force rather than a liberating or justice one. This service branch has evolved into an urban fighting force. Correa and Thomas (2018, p. 2) creatively draw a direct line between the militarization of the US–Mexico border, the nation’s post-9/11 War on Terror, and the urban war on drugs, showing “material, symbolic, and affective links between America’s militarization on the southwest border and within its urban core.” Bridging US–Mexico border studies, critical race studies, and critical justice plays out in stark images of the U.S.–Mexico border militarization, spilling over to other parts of the country. This is an example of state-sanctioned violence (Correa & Thomas, 2018; Slack et al., 2016) creating high levels of paranoia and trauma for those entering this country. Resistance to U.S.-sanctioned violence and militarization gets manifested on both sides of the border (Pavey, 2017; Semple, 2019a). Martinez (2018a, 2018b) documents the history of state-sponsored violence (elected officials, local law enforcement, juries, Texas Rangers, U.S. soldiers, and vigilantes) against Mexicans in Texas since the early 1900s and ignoring of their legal rights. State-sanctioned violence against Mexicans and other Central Americans is a continuation of this violent history into the twenty-first century, illustrating the deep roots of this region’s violence toward Latinxs. The collective history generated by those who survive the border crossing highlights state violence (Martinez, 2014, p. 683): “In the face of great odds stacked against examining the lives of the victims, the aftermath, and those left in the wake of the departed, generational memories offer an opportunity to recuperate marginalized histories of state violence in the Americas.” Tent cities can best be viewed as modern-day versions of detention camps used during WWII to house the Japanese, which were prisons rather than part of conventional camp associations. This tent city has expanded and is projected to continue to do so in the immediate future (Fernandez & Dickerson, 2018), with others in the planning stages ( Jordan, 2019a). For example, it is estimated that the federal government will spend approximately $40 million to build and run two new Texas tent cities focused on housing families and children (Fernandez, 2019d). Terror at the southern border is not restricted to ICE official acts, which are numerous, as evidenced in the case of border agent Juan David Ortiz, a 10-year supervisor arrested for murdering four people (women, one of whom was transgendered) and for one case of aggravated kidnapping, near Laredo, Texas (Romero & Fernandez, 2018). There is a saying that one rotten apple should not be used to draw a broad stroke of all in an organization. However, when an organization is entrusted to address the most vulnerable, and we issue a gun as part of this mission, then the expectations of professional behavior gets elevated accordingly. U.S–Mexico border support is a moving guidepost, and we never seem to be able to secure the border even when budgets for ICE have increased dramatically over the past two decades. This military buildup raises alarms when placed alongside the overall military buildup and how Black and Brown people have a propensity to be on the losing end of it. This border is a war zone, but not because governments are at war. Rather, it is because the United States declared armed conflict on those entering the country overland rather than on those flying in and overstaying their visas; in effect, those entering the country overland become prisoners along the way (Slack, Martinez, & Whiteford, 2018). One witnessing the unfolding of border violence and militarization can see this connection in stark terms, including the use of uniforms and advance surveillance
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equipment normally deployed to war zones but is part of border daily life (Slack & Whiteford, 2011). President Trump merged two departments with similar missions (Hayes & Jackson, 2018): “On the eve of Independence Day, President Donald Trump spoke at a ‘Salute to Service’ dinner in West Virginia saluting the military, America’s history—and the work of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.” Criminalizing those crossing the border without authorization is not limited to them, highlighting the broad reach of this issue (Atak & Simeon, 2018). Those aiding and defending them, too, are subject to criminalization. Anyone tainted with this group derives the low prestige associated with them, opening themselves up to the wrath of the state. Those giving shelter and employment, too, face similiar threats and can even be subject to arrest and fines. The analogy of the unauthorized as radioactive gives a visualization of what it means to come into contact with them, and the reach their precarious status has on their immediate community. Immigration status plays a profoundly influential role as a health determinant, too, (Castañeda et al., 2015; Torres et al., 2018), shaping help-seeking patterns, particularly reluctance for fear of being arrested and deported, compromising their well- being (Grodin, Crosby, & Annas, 2019). Addressing immigrant health necessitates disentangling (unpacking) key demographic factors to target and maximize resources (Ayón, 2018), with children standing out for special attention. Migrant injuries sustained in their treacherous journey northward have gone unnoticed, including the Border Patrol’s tactical infrastructure, producing specific patterns of traumatic injury that are deliberate, illustrating state violence ( Jusionyte, 2018). Health policies that specifically exclude immigrants and their children are shameful and represent a total and callous disregard of their well-being by the state (Perreira & Pedroza, 2019). Statistics capture pressing situations and paint a broad overview of a phenomenon, but fail to capture and convey sorrow, pain, and the desperation of those risking health and life. These narratives must convey how state violence is integral to daily life, and this includes both physical and emotional health. C A RAVA N AS AN INVADING ARMY ?
The infamous “Caravan of 2018” highlights how a march of men, women, and children has been labeled an “invading army,” necessitating military deployment to supplement the National Guard currently there, but these migrants do not have the physical appearance of an army, let alone an invading force (Gibbons-Neff, Cooper, & Knife, 2018; Malkin, 2018; Semple & Heisler, 2018). In October 2018, a record 23,121 migrants were detained, an indication that Central Americans have continued attempting this journey (Nixon, 2018a). The media has presented this caravan as families, and prima rily consisting of children, native born, authorized, and unauthorized. Children can be orphaned (parents deported) or die in custody, and are invisible, marginalizing them even further (Knudsen, 2018). State-sponsored violence can become socially acceptable and ostensibly legitimate and that is often an implicit goal (Even-Tzur, 2018). This is facilitated when media reinforces a narrative demonizing victims of police brutality or how a caravan of men, women, and children approaching the U.S.–Mexico border is an invasion force bringing gang members and those infected with contagious diseases (Chokshi, 2018; Nixon, 2018a). The circumstances may change, but the outcomes do not.
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Media can become a target of state-sanctioned activities. Increased government (Customs and Border Protection) tracking and surveillance of journalists and activists near the southern border symbolizes some of the worst fears of state-sanctioned violence and is reminiscent of activities usually found in totalitarian governments (Del Real & Kanno-Young, 2019). A concrete wall is one response to this caravan, costing billions of tax dollars (Febab-Brown, 2018), and goes beyond economics, with social, cultural, and political consequences where it will be erected. State action symbolism, however, cannot be measured in dollars because this issue impacts communities at the border or throughout the country in highly personal ways (Cochrane & Gibbons-Neff, 2019). THE SANCTITY OF FAMILIES OR BROWN CHILDREN IN CAGES?
This section’s title is purposeful because of the contradiction that it highlights with children being separated from their parents and incarcerated in cages, and the pain and turmoil it has caused (Romero et al., 2019). The state, through its family separation policy, has carried out this violence, introducing immigrants to an incarceration pipeline. The border separation policy, or the “throw away Brown children policy,” is racialized when there is a national consensus on how this policy is oppressive and violent toward children (New York Times editorial, 2019b). The federal government estimates that it may take up to 2 years to identify migrant children separated from their families ( Jacobs, 2019). Sadly, the government never had a plan to reunite thousands of separated migrant children from their parents, making these families and children expendable (Soboroff, 2019): On the same day the Trump administration said it would reunite thousands of migrant families it had separated at the border with the help of a “central database,” an official was admitting privately the government only had enough information to reconnect 60 parents with their kids, according to emails obtained by NBC News. Amazon keeps better track of their packages than the state did in tracking these separated children. Mixed-status families, in which one partner is a citizen and the other is unauthorized, brings instability because of the constant threat that the undocumented partner can be deported, breaking up families and their social networks that are in precarious state of being, and in communities constantly being challenged by state-sponsored violence (Castañeda, 2019; Morales, 2017). These relationships introduce (D. Del Real, 2018, p. 549) labels such as “toxic ties,” or “relationships in which a documented person abuses, exploits, or demeans his/her undocumented partners, relatives, or friend.” Unauthorized parents are challenged in carrying out their responsibilities when their rights are compromised. Unauthorized mothers must contend with making and negotiating daily life that places their children in harm’s way, in addition to their own social navigation of this terrain and its violence (Abrego & Schmalzbauer, 2018). The death of Brown families attempting to enter the United States only reinforces how the sanctity of families is viewed, by how we can tolerate their death. The
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heartbreaking photograph of the bodies of a 23-month-old girl and her father who drowned attempting to cross the Rio Grande River symbolized the consequences of seeking a better life in this country and the callousness of policies restricting the seeking of asylum (Zaveri, 2019b). N A RR OW ING CITIZ E NSHIP OF BROWN P E O P L E
It is easy to focus on the saliency of separating children from parents or the deaths of those crossing the deserts or the Rio Grande because of the emotions they elicit (Ahmed & Kohut, 2019; Fernandez, Dickerson, & Romero, 2019). These stories are the tip of the iceberg of state violence on the unauthorized, even for those who are citizens and were born near the southern border. Denying passports to Latinix U.S. citizens in South Texas and Mexico’s border (Vasquez, 2018, pp. 1–2) is a start, or continuation, of a trend toward the state disfranchising people of color: A growing number of Hispanics along the Texas-Mexico border with birth records showing they were born in the United States are being denied American passports, held in immigration detention centers, and entered into deportation proceedings, immigration attorneys and individuals affected told the Washington Post. According to the Post report, the issue stems from a government allegation that from the 1950s through the 1990s, midwives and physicians working along the border issued American birth certificates to babies born in Mexico, which some birth attendants have admitted to in court. Delegitimizing births, although not restricted to Presidenti Trump (Presidents Bush and Obama made similar efforts), strikes at the heart of citizenship (Weingarten, 2018), and parenthood, for that matter, singling out Brown children. President Trump’s declaration to end birthright citizenship, challenging the Fourteenth Amendment, which was passed to grant citizenship rights to the children of the enslaved (Hirschfeld Davis, 2018), is an attempt to further marginalize a group unwelcome in this country and goes against the conventional wisdom of many constitutional scholars (Liptak, 2018a). This proposal has highly partisan political and heavy racial overtones, and it is grounded in this nation’s ignominious past of enslavement ( Jones, 2018). Kim, Sagás, and Cespedes (2018, p. 312) discuss birthright citizenship, comparing undermining this right to “draconian policy measures in order to socially engineer the national body.” There are about 4 million children born in the country to unauthorized parents. Congress has 53 members born to immigrant parents, illustrating the reach of these birthrates through society (Dickerson & Jordan, 2018). Suspending asylum rights is another example of legal rights being compromised ( J. Jordan, 2018; M. Jordan, 2018a; Shear & Sullivan, 2018, 2019), although the Supreme Court found that action unconstitutional (Liptak, 2018d). The lack of qualified interpreters, too, has comprised the rights of asylum seekers (Medina, 2019a). The Supreme Court ( Jennings v. Rodriguez) decided that unauthorized people can be detained indefinitely without bond while awaiting adjudication, further eroding their rights (Crennen-Dunlap, 2018).
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B EL ONGING AND A SE NSE OF COMMU N I T Y
In studying Latinx feelings of belonging in two southwestern states (Arizona & New Mexico), researchers found that the unauthorized look toward the immediate environment to develop a sense of belonging, while those who are U.S. citizens look toward state policies to make this determination, raising important considerations in creating connectedness (Schildkraut et al., 2018). Feelings of belonging are an important aspect of quality of life and well-being, essential in making social, economic, and political progress in the United Statesand creating a sense of community. Feelings of not belonging are a common symptom of disenfranchisement, disempowerment, and alienation, influencing all facets of well-being. Unauthorized people on the job and their living quarters rarely get air time when competing with life and death situations and the images that this struggle convey. The slow violence of economic exploitation weighs heavily upon their dreams and their loved ones, as well as the economic viability of their communities and those left behind in their country of origins, not to mention their physical and emotional health. Creating roots and a sense of belonging becomes an epic challenge when a false premise that a group is violent by nature is sufficient to get the government to act with violence (de Freytas-Tamura, 2018). Language and action follow the labeling process of this group, facilitating state government acts to protect citizens. Noncitizens fall into a different class of people without the same rights and privileges as those with a “rightful” place in society. MS-13 has become part of the labeling process and national discourse through President Trump’s proclamation about the threat they pose, and it is thus worthy of attention in this chapter (Blanchard, 2019): The threat of the MS-13 gang is far smaller in scope and reach than high-profile dialogue suggests, and it is given disproportionate attention in the public discourse considering the levels of crime. Of the 1.2 million violent crime offenses committed in the United States between 2012 and 2017, 345 were committed by members of the MS-13 gang. Although spread throughout cities in the United States and a legitimate concern for the communities which they inhabit, the members of this murderous gang do not demonstrate an ability to disrupt the stability and security of the entire nation and show no sign of expansion. Containing the threat of this violent criminal organization is best left to local authorities with local solutions. (p. 4) Criminalization of a highly diverse group by emphasizing a very small subset of people fits a classic labeling and marginalization process, and in this instance, it involved Brown people. Researchers have not been able to find a direct correlation between the undocumented and crime, and the undocumented may even be responsible for the lowering of overall violent and property crime rates (Flagg, 2019). Ironically, President Trump’s policies at curtailing unauthorized immigration have been counterproductive with his tough-on-crime statements by creating delays in a visa program intended to assist law enforcement in apprehending violent criminals (Kanno-Youngs, 2019b).
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I S S A NCT U ARY E V E R POSSIBLE ?
The concept of sanctuary is both a state of mind and a physical place where one feels safe. We cannot go through a day without news of how the federal government scapegoats and perpetrates violence on migrants (documented and undocumented) and refugees (Menjívar & Abrego, 2012). Intense federal efforts enlisting local state enforcement, and resistance to these efforts, illustrates how the state is expanding and becoming highly violent because of what this resistance symbolizes and is attempting to enlist the support of others (Coleman, 2012). Sanctuary resistance has become visible, including how local governments, through the New Sanctuary (religious) and sanctuary city (governmental) movements, are resisting further dehumanizing those who are undocumented (Delgado, 2018), by providing much needed support, and shelter from the government’s ICE actions. Criminalizing this aid, such as Arizona’s No More Deaths, a Unitarian Universalist ministry effort that leaves water containers in the desert to decrease deaths due to dehydration (Kuruvilla, 2018, p. 4), is state violence: In January, hours after No More Deaths released a report about Border Patrol agents destroying water aid stations in the Arizona desert, a volunteer with the group was arrested and charged with harboring two people who were in the country illegally. The activist, Scott Warren, has been accused of giving migrants food and water inside a building in Ajo. No More Deaths says a total of nine of its volunteers currently face misdemeanor charges for offering support to migrants on restricted federal lands. Volunteers face varying charges that include entering a wilderness area without a permit, driving in a wilderness area and abandonment of property. An act of humanitarian service and conscience can be criminalized because these efforts are directed at marginalized groups, even when under the aegis of a religious organization, disregarding ethical and moral legitimacy ( Jordan, 2019f). No good deed goes unpunished, yet resistance persists. The case example of Teresa L. Todd (mother, lawyer, and elected official) is further illustrative of how helping has been criminalized. Teresa was driving in West Texas and stopped by the side of the road to aid three young migrants who hailed her for assistance, and was arrested for transporting “illegal aliens” (Fernandez, 2019e). Dramatizing national sovereignty, as in the case of an “army” or “invasion” attempting to enter our southern border in the spring/summer of 2018 and continuing well into 2019, primarily consisting of young children, resulted in a call to the National Guard to protect our nation, eventually followed by the military, which was an overreaction but quite symbolic of a state-sponsored act of violence and militarism directed at Brown people. According to President Trump, if they made it to the border and casted stones, the military should consider these actions as being fired upon, which, incidentally, served as a justification to shoot rock throwers in Nigeria (Van Sant, 2018). For social workers of my generation (baby boomers), it brings to the fore the Kent State Massacre on May 4, 1970, when the National Guard opened fire on student demonstrators, killing four and injuring nine. The Jackson State University massacre, which occurred 11 days after Kent State, with the police killing two and injuring 12 students, did not receive
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the same level of publicity and outrage. Concerns of the military at the border is also based, in part, on what happened in 1997 when Esequiel Hernandez, Jr., a Texas high school student, was shot and killed by a Marine as he herded his family’s goats when his BB gun was mistaken for a real rifle (Fernandez, 2018). Arrests and deportations are hot-button issues and destined to be on the national scene for the foreseeable future, bringing together racialized criminalization and immigration laws and policies in a draconian manner (Turkewitz, 2019). Camacho (2010), although referring to President Obama’s deportation initiative, but more relevant today, interjects race and state violence in this act “to protect our borders”: . . . that heightened enforcement, including the 287g program, created dangerous opportunities for government agents to suspend basic democratic restraints on state power, often for interests of racial and class antagonism that exceeded the bounds of immigration enforcement—with severe consequences for Latino communities. By mobilizing a social imaginary predicated on the necessity of uprooting the undocumented, federal, state, and local officials committed themselves to the actions of a police state and sanctioned a system of apartheid governance within the boundaries of the United States. (p. 1) Imagery and labeling are powerful forces in shaping public opinion for, and against, those who are unauthorized, illustrating the need for social action (Shear, 2019). White supremacy sentiments are at the root of state laws marginalizing people of color, such as Arizona’s 2010 Senate Bill 1070, which propelled Sheriff Joe Arpaio to national prominence with racist policies on the undocumented, serving as a model for other states (D. J. Delgado, 2018). President Trump’s pardoning of Sheriff Arpaio reinforces how the power of the state can be mobilized to protect those faithfully executing state goals and violent actions (Liptak, Diaz, & Tatum, 2017). These acts are not isolated. Criminalization of the unauthorized cannot be separated from their racial/ ethnic backgrounds, introducing Brown people prominently into the mix with those who are African American/Black, Asian American, and Native American, particularly when they occupy the same place in the nation’s cities. The denying of rights, too, is a continuation of the state acting as it has in the past regarding people of color. Although mass incarceration has focused on native-born people of color, most notably African-American/Latinx, and Native Americans but in lower numbers, it has now involved those who are unauthorized, representing the fastest growing segment of the mass incarceration movement, reflecting a new Latinx dimension to its evolution with the state-sanctioned premises that underlie these efforts remaining the same (Carver, 2018; Feld, 2018). Brown criminalization, as with Latinx mothers (intersectional and intracategorical), has unfolded in ways we generally do not think about because of their perceived threat to the country, and the perceptions of these threats have historically been focused on males, meaning that no one is safe. Romero (2011), for instance, identified four views gaining saliency in casting them as threats to the country’s foundation: (1) They are unable or unwilling to raise loyal U.S. citizens; (2) reproduction is a mechanism to garner resources they are unworthy of; (3) the children of unauthorized mothers take away resources from those who deserve them; and (4) their children will eventually threaten the political power of White citizens. Motherhood, cherished by the political
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right in anti-abortion efforts, is criminalized, and a value cherished in Latinx’s culture is denigrated. Race again has been criminalized, which is a direct result of state-sanctioned violence, and we see that across society, whether we discuss people of color here or those trying to cross over the border (Rendón, Aldana, & Hom, 2018). A racialized and criminalized border facilitates implementing militaristic policies harming those seeking refuge (Lind & Marchand, 2016). Casting this cloud of suspicion extends to those who are citizens or with requisite permission from the state. Those who have died and been accounted for are the tip of an iceberg of the deaths that could have been avoided if the state adopted humane policies toward unauthorized entrance (Michalowski & Hardy, 2014). In spring 2019, one baby drowned and three migrants (two children aged 6 and 7 years and an adult male) were missing in their attempt to cross the Rio Grande at the Texas border, highlighting the dangers in attempting to cross into this country (A. Johnson, 2019, p. 7): A 10-month-old was found dead and three other people are missing after a raft carrying nine people flipped on the Rio Grande . . . a day after the White House asked Congress for billions more in funding to secure the border . . . Migrants often try to cross the river, mostly in poorly constructed rafts with no safety gear, and the water can be deceptively high and fast. The harder it is to enter the country, the higher the number of deaths while crossing the Sonoran Desert and Rio Grande; unless these bodies are retrieved, they die without an official recording of their deaths, and their loves ones are left to wonder about their outcome. Border separation of children from parents has grabbed national attention, illustrating how this policy of deterrence had no intention of reuniting separated families. Some may argue that separating children from their parents is not violent, and may even rationalize that they have a far better future if adopted by parents in this country who really cared about them. Social workers understand the trauma these actions cause. I would argue that it is violent and state sponsored, and one of the most severe actions because separation is done at a vulnerable period in children’s lives when in most desperate need and away from their homes, too (Robbins, 2019). Circumventing the courts created “family jails,” an evolution of state violence from putting children in cages to now including families in cages (Dickerson, 2018). Child separation efforts illustrate how violence can be invisible, although wielding great intensity, with long-term developmental impacts on children and their parents, including international repercussions in the communities and countries where these families originate. Compassion and mercy must never be bound by geographical boundaries or limited to demographic segments of a society. These actions are state-sponsored violence in a form of child abuse and neglect. The short-and long-term social-emotional-physical consequences of breaking up Latinx families is a blatant effort to exercise state violence on Brown families, disregarding due process in their seeking asylum and not losing their children to the state. Current internment camps (prisons) draw on similarities with WWII Japanese American internment efforts, raising questions about how far, or how little, this nation has progressed since that period in American history.
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Ironically, in summer 2019, Fort Bliss (Oklahoma) has been proposed to house 1,400 undocumented children without a parent or legal guardian. Fort Bliss, it bears noting, has a dubious history because it was a detention camp for 700 Japanese Americans during WWII, as well as hundreds of Apaches who surrendered during their conflicts with the federal government; this history reinforces the strong racial overtones of this policy as noted by one protestor (Fenwick, 2019, p. 18): “There are many similarities that resonate through our own experiences. . . Imprisoning children without meeting certain standards of care. We had family separation and indefinite detention. We suffered long-term health and mental health problems long afterward.” Rights were violated then and now, but this time it is being done to a different group of color. S TATE R IGHTS AND THE UNAUTHORI Z E D : D I D S O ME ON E S AY R IGHTS ?
It is critical to end this chapter with attention to human rights in a country priding its self as being governed by laws. Efforts at eroding the rights of the unauthorized is a theme and in the process undermine the Constitution and the rule of law. Putting children in cages, separating them from their parents, providing poor healthcare, ultimately denying them their rights, and having them die while in custody are acts of state violence. What the future holds with this trauma remains to be seen. The antisanctuary movement consists of three major efforts at the federal, state, and local levels, addressing the broad reach of state-sanctioned violence. This movement and federal government efforts to enlist local authorities in turning over the unauthorized are reminiscent of this nation’s Fugitive Slave Law enlisting the support of the North in turning in those escaping enslavement. Those who are unhuman have no rights. The trick is denying human rights while portraying the nation as a protector of these rights. When a threat to public safety and national security is used, the unauthorized do not deserve to be treated as human beings with rights (Phillips, 2018). Florida, a state where over 20% of residents are immigrants, is attempting to pass legislation instituting a ban on sanctuary cities that is based on one passed in Texas (Mazzei, 2019b), and it has used a rationale about safety from those who criminally engaged. Boon-Kuo’s (2017) book Policing Undocumented Migrants: Law, Violence and Responsibility highlights the authoritarian nature and discretionary authority of the state in exercising violence on migrants. Although the book is based in Australia, there are valuable insights and lessons with applicability to the United States and the field of critical migration studies, with each of the four case studies highlighting the multifaceted use of violence: slow and fast, visible and invisible. EL PAS O: A 2018–2 019 CASE ILLUST R AT I O N
The task of focusing on a city where migrants have had a profound impact was difficult. El Paso, Texas, and the “crisis at the border,” sealed the selection (Fernandez & Ferman, 2019; Romero, 2019a). That city has a long tradition of welcoming newcomers from across the border over the last century or so (Davis, 2015; Massey, 2017;
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O’Boyle & Williams, 2017), with protests in 2019 against President Trump’s wall (Stockwell, 2019). The release of hundreds of migrants into the streets has had far- reaching anticipated and unanticipated results (Romero, 2018): The release of dozens of families in a city park on Christmas Day stands in sharp contrast to the past when immigration officials coordinated such moves with a network of shelters that have been assisting refugees for decades. Along with the deaths of two detained migrant children in the last three weeks, the abrupt release has a web of organizations assisting migrants on both sides of the border concerned that more people could fall ill . . . The criticism from immigration advocates comes at a delicate time when shelters around El Paso are struggling to absorb Central American migrants released by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. While the administration has sought to limit asylum-seekers, the dynamics of border crossings have shifted with fewer single men from Mexico making the journey north, replaced by more families from Central America. (p. A15) Camps will have to be established and/or expanded to meet the increase in migrants, with all of the images and challenges, causing disruptions to the community. El Paso’s capacity to handle migrants is revealed by Annunciation House, for example, helping almost 2,300 migrants per week, the highest number in four decades, creating a humanitarian crisis. Social workers understand the ramifications of these numbers on the community hosting them. El Paso’s Catholic Diocese, too, has been taxed to the maximum (Gonzalez, 2018, p. 6): The Catholic Diocese needs volunteers and many items to help the immigrants arriving in El Paso and seeking emergency shelter. Groups are needed to prepare meals (breakfast, lunch and dinner) at home and deliver to the hospitality center. People who want to volunteer can send their name, phone number and times available to [email protected], stating that they want to volunteer at the shelter. This massive influx’s ripple effects will be felt when they start getting dispersed to other communities. T H E MOR P HING OF M ASS INCARCE RATI ON
The United States is a “prison nation” if we draw on critical prison studies and critical race theory (Boodman, 2018), and although men of color receive the greatest amount of attention, women of color, too, are an integral part of this state violence (Harris, 2019). Although the costs (financial and human) of mass incarceration are well recognized, incarceration rates are barely down since 2017 (Brown, 2019; Robertson, 2019). Stone-Mediatore (2019) draws parallels between this country’s reliance on violent social imagery during its colonial period and present-day mass incarceration policies. The unauthorized feed mass incarceration’s evolution by the state’s emphasizing criminalization of minor acts, requiring expanding prisons, often called detention centers (Ewing, Martinez, & Rumbaut, 2015):
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Unfortunately, immigration policy is frequently shaped more by fear and ster eotype than by empirical evidence. As a result, immigrants have the stigma of “criminality” ascribed to them by an ever-evolving assortment of laws and immigration-enforcement mechanisms. Put differently, immigrants are being defined more and more as threats. Whole new classes of “felonies” have been created which apply only to immigrants, deportation has become a punishment for even minor offenses, and policies aimed at trying to end unauthorized immigration have been made more punitive rather than more rational and practical. In short, immigrants themselves are being criminalized. (p. 1) Private prisons are big business and expanding in scope (Shen, 2012), bringing a strong profit motive, furthering mass incarceration through a new supply of inmates (Eisen, 2017; Hallett, 2006; Jay, 2019; Lopez, 2017; Mason, 2012; Saldivar & Price, 2015). Unfortunately, children, too, have their own prisons. Successfully crossing the border does not take away the fear of living in a society, which can mean living in a carceral state far away from the geographical border (Mendoza, 2019): The escalation of fence construction and enforcement along and within U.S. borders represents a critical component of a dynamic carceral system that continues to grow. The construction of new border wall prototypes, the recent emergence of tent cities for detention, and the separation of innocent children from their parents who have been placed in hubs of detention across the United States all suggest that the growth of the border control apparatus is a critical part of a larger, racialized system of human caging and detention. Here, carceral experiences are seen at multiple levels, from the international to the local. (pp. 108–109) The carceral state’s continued expansion beyond narrow confines grounds state violence as a daily presence among the unauthorized and the communities they live in. CONCL U SION
Readers, I am sure, can easily imagine a book titled “State-Sanctioned Violence and the Unauthorized because of the prominence of this subject in the country today. What has happened to migrants seeking refugee status has been referred to as the policy of cruelty, or substituting violence for cruelty. State violence is front and center, which the present presidential administration is proud of, sending a message to Brown communities and the world. Social workers are dealing with immigration issues, particularly in cities where immigrants constitute larger proportions of residents. The forces create unsettling conditions in Central America must not be ignored. A tortured existence is preferable to no existence and a sad commentary on what life has become for countless unauthorized people in this country. Social work’s task is to not only help these individuals socially navigate their lives here but also seek social justice in confronting state violence. Immigration is salient in urban communities, feeding into narratives with histories of state violence, and more so now with a
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presidential administration determined to build a wall and deport millions. The implementation of these policies, including militarizing the southern border, has been disruptive and consequential for the entire nation. Chapter 5 focuses on education and state-sanctioned violence, with many of the issues in this chapter, such as law enforcement and criminal justice, reappearing.
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INT R OD U CTION
The importance of education in a democracy can be measured from multiple perspectives, with those failing representing an opportunity lost with immediate and long- term ramifications. In global and technologically driven economies, education has ascended in significance to a point where a high school diploma is no longer a ticket to the middle class. Public education is a linchpin in the ultimate career success of students, with much expected of a system occupying such a prominent and extended period in their lives, daily and during key developmental phases. Education is appreciated by all segments of society. High formal educational attainment has been well inculcated into us as essential to achieve the American dream. Education, in a knowledge-based economy, is the entry ticket to the middle class, and a significant change from when a high school diploma was sufficient. Conversely, low educational attainment translates into higher mortality rates, with those of color bearing the onus of disparities (Ma et al., 2018), and one of countless disparities resulting from marginalization. Learning is arduous when youth must socially navigate dangerous and stressful terrains at home and in the community (Bennett, 2019; Goodman, 2018). What do educational systems do to address these circumstances? What do they do when the police are part of this problem? How do they address students in foster care because both parents are either in prison, dead, or some combination? How is it tailored to take into account these and other circumstances with root causes in state-sponsored violence? The answers get compounded when education plays a key part of these negative outcomes. State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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Academic degrees open doors to pursue our dreams. We, with the exception of those working directly within schools (Sosa, Alvarez, & Cox, 2016), are accustomed to dealing with these systems as part of interventions but rarely as a specific focus, even though they fulfill influential roles in students’ lives and communities. When youth fail to finish high school, their life options are severely limited, impacting their economic, social, and health outcomes. Although this book focuses on urban youth of color, suburban youth of color, too, face educational challenges (Lewis-McCoy, 2018). Social workers are cognizant of education’s role and importance within communities of color. When focusing on these communities, education is as important as the air that they breathe. But just like the air they breathe, the educational system is severely compromised, stacked against them, lacking in relevance to their lived experiences, and unhealthy. Public education’s failure has many outcomes with different causes. We do a disservice to think of environmental violence, for example, as only impacting communities, without examining their institutions, such as public schools and how environmental forces shape educational performance. Academic performance and absenteeism are often associated with building conditions and neighborhood toxic substance risk (Berman et al., 2018). Less than optimal building structures tell students they are unworthy, adding another dimension to the environment and education. The 2016 presidential election cannot be fully understood without also grounding it within a public education sphere. President Trump provided public school teachers and students with an opportunity to address the feelings and consequences this has for the nation and people of color (Sondel, Baggett, & Dunn, 2018). This chapter covers the usual urban public education and communities of color terrain. However, two pipelines will draw particular attention—school-to-prison and school-to-military— with an extension to include prison, too, highlighting state-sanctioned violence. P U BL IC EDUCATION AND LABE LS
Labels are integral to public education and more so with students who do not fit a norm for future success (Aronson & Boveda, 2017). Labels can highlight those who are “gifted” or “college material,” which are rare in urban public schools. More than likely, the label used in these systems would be “special” or “problematic.” Urban youth of color, however, still manage to overcome the odds against them (Lardier et al., 2019). Negative labels damage and increase the likelihood of students being pushed out of educational systems before graduation. Many different mechanisms exist to accomplish this goal. Proficiency testing, as in Texas, for instance, can be biased against students of color, jeopardizing their academic advancement (Goldstein & Fernandez, 2019). Schnabel (2018) addresses education’s powerful socialization in fostering an embrace or tolerance of state- sponsored violence. This conclusion is disturbing because increased formal education is usually associated with greater tolerance or embrace of differences in our society, which social work clearly supports. If this conclusion bears out with further research, it raises implications for how the highly formally educated public is willing to tolerate acts of state violence, such as police brutality toward people of color.
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I emphasize formal versus informal or experiential education urban youth obtain in the course of socially navigating life and avoiding state-sanctioned violence. Street- smarts have greater significance in their lives than the academic subjects with little direct relevance to their existence. The lived experience (experiential legitimacy), when combined with educational (formal credentials) legitimacy, brings a worldview allowing students from low-resource backgrounds to survive and thrive in society. Genius exists in all communities, and we can argue that it is equally distributed, including low-resource communities of color. However, opportunity to exercise this genius is not equally distributed. This capacity to excel far beyond expectations will find a receptive audience in high-resourced communities, with corresponding courses and after-school activities. Youth in low-resource communities will not be identified for extra resources or get the benefit of the doubt (Levine, 2019). Those who are artistic, for instance, will not have tailored educational opportunities, including supplies and mentorship, to pursue their talents. They may turn to tagging, for example, which can result in run-ins with law enforcement. The use of labels in the nation’s schools is a testament to how this country has slowly and methodologically transformed this institution, making it a linchpin in the criminalization of youth of color (Ahranjani & Solovitch, 2018). The power of labels and criminalization is not limited to the police. Labeling students as high-risk is symbolic violence and a precursor to state actions leading to expulsion and the track to nefarious pipelines (Marsh, 2018, p. 5): Similar to how the U.S. school system innately privileges Whiteness and middle- class values as standard; the practice of labeling has become commonplace. Labeling is deemed an intuitive function of the teaching, learning and discipline processes within schools. In particular, students of color and students living in poverty often face adverse labeling when they do not fit the norms and the confines of school. One may give consideration about the connection of labeling practices as a mechanism of symbolic violence to that of the criminal justice system. Public education must not escape acknowledging the role that racism plays in the lives of students of color if it is to have any form of credibility in their lives (Wilson, 2019). The centrality of educational attainment is a target for state violence, setting the stage for those failing to become part of an underclass, join the military, be incarcerated, or all of the above. Resistance to changing curricula to reflect lived experiences of students of color highlights why education is a linchpin in state violence targeting youth of color, and therefore it has encountered considerable resistance. These efforts are not unique to this country, as seen in Australia (Gerrard, 2018). Youth of color are the present and future of their communities and the nation. These tragedies and lost opportunities translate into American nightmares rather than dreams. The premise that anyone can succeed by applying him-or herself, following the rules, and having the requisite competencies, is a myth for all but a handful. Terms such as failure and crisis are associated with urban public education. Public education, low-resource communities, and students of color are integral to this stance, with students navigating systems with long histories of racism underpinning their function (DuFresne, 2018), avoiding being funneled into military and incarceration systems.
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P U BL IC EDUCATION AS A FA C T ORY: ED U C ATIONAL–I NDUSTRIAL C O MP L E X
An education asset paradigm identifies strengths to build upon, within students, families, and communities. Thinking of urban education students as possessing valuable cultural or human capital that can be enhanced is a foreign concept that has so much potential (Farkas, 2017). Youth of color are “marginalized,” “disregarded,” “disdained,” and “feared” in systems meant to enhance their self-esteem, instill values, and enhance competencies, but are failing them, their families, and communities (Dumas & Ross, 2016). Thinking of urban public schools as factories may seem harsh (Karner, 2017). There are similarities between them—both do not encourage independent thinking, are impersonal, do not prepare for the future, consider workers or students expendable; neither is prestigious to be associated with, both can be hazardous to health, and both have powerful socialization goals, to list a few similarities. Public schools have not only been referred to as factories, but more specifically, “dropout factories,” illustrating the role they have assumed within marginalized communities (Eastman, 2016; Mordechay & Orfield, 2017). A future tied to a factory is precarious. Thinking of schools as factories is one way to view this system as state-sanctioned violence. Public schools are segregated, with political and public support waning for integrated schools, ending decades of progress in this area (Kirk, 2018). Increased segregation is a significant step backward for our democracy, facilitating carrying out state violence. The concept of resegregation has started to find greater frequency in the scholarly literature, reflecting a disturbing national trend (Donnor & Dixson, 2013; Rosiek, 2019). Resegregation of public schools in states in which Republicans have gained control of the legislature, including governorships, was accelerated, feeding into an anti–civil rights agenda of state-sponsored violence at a local level ( Johnson & King, 2019). New York City’s public schools, the nation’s largest, for instance, are racially segregated (Goldstein, 2018; Shapiro, 2019d). The schools in San Francisco, another progressive city, are highly segregated, too (Goldstein, 2019a). Liberal-oriented states such as California, Illinois, and Maryland, too, are increasingly becoming more likely to experience racially segregated schools (Goldstein, 2019b). This educational arena joins other segregated arenas, such as housing, reinforcing geopolitical state violence. An aside, New York City’s most selective public high school (Stuyvesant) had only 7 African American and 22 Latinx students out of 895 positions (Shapiro, 2019a), with similar results in the other seven selective schools. Not surprisingly, there is a call for dramatic changes addressing race and inequality (Shapiro, 2019b; Shapiro & Rebecca Lai, 2019), and corresponding resistance to do so (Shapiro, 2019c). The nation’s public education student composition can be compared with the composition of this nation’s factories because of the race and ethnicity of those who work there. Race cannot be separated from socioeconomic status in this country, where capitalism reigns supreme (Carr, 2016, p. 7): More than 50% of public school students are now low-income. One out of 5 speaks a language other than English at home. And nearly one quarter are foreign-born or have at least one foreign-born parent. Meanwhile, about 80% of
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America’s public school teachers are white—down from 86% 20 years ago—and more than three-quarters are female. T EA CHER S AS ROLE M ODE LS OR E N F O R C E R S ?
Including teachers in state-sponsored violence is not scapegoating them because public education is a system in which they can play important roles as role models, bringing a job dimension that goes beyond subject matter mastery. When they bring life experiences that match their students’, it opens a portal that helps connect them, allowing the transmission of life lessons that transcend the classroom and help students socially navigate life. When they look similar to their students, it enhances their teaching ability (Miller, 2018). Urban teachers can assume activist roles that help instill hope for urban students of color (Ginwright, 2015). They can even create safe spaces where youth can engage with them in constructive dialogue (Weiner & Jerome, 2016). Teachers, however, can become witting or unwitting collaborators in carrying out state violence. The Black Lives Matter movement, for example, can be a source of inspiration to prepare teachers to challenge state violence in education, in an effort to introduce lived experiences into the educational process (Mayorga & Picower, 2018). Preparatory schools are to the upper-middle and upper classes what public education is to the lower classes. The former measure success by the percentage of their graduates entering elite institutions of higher learning; public schools measure their success by attendance and the number that do not drop out. These measures of success represent two different futures and visions for this country. One casted as winners and leaders, and the others as losers, draining our economy and reenforcing stereotypes, and as cannon fodder for various state punishing systems. Discussion of interconnectedness reveals countless permutations and combinations of how they are sacrificed. We must eschew taking a simplistic view of social marginalization (Corburn, 2017, p. 65): “social marginalization is not reducible to single variables, since education, employment, environmental quality, racism, and the affordability and accessibility of other life supporting resources, such as housing, food and social supports, are all multifaceted and interconnected.” Thus, state-sanctioned violence. There are challenges in bringing together resistance movements, however (Brent, Schiavoni, & Alonso-Fradejas, 2015). Education and health probably have much in common in their reach across communities and capacities to influence other arenas in the short-and long-term. Intersectionality broadens our conceptions of how state violence gets manifested across major social justice issues and in the curriculum. Lack of responsiveness has required that after-school programs seek to fill this gap (Delgado, 2015b). A historical journey creates a path into the future. How this history is taught, too, can be a form of violence when a sanitized version of major issues, such as enslavement, is taught (Klęczaj-Siara, 2018). Teaching false history destroys legacies, which are the building blocks of self-esteem and hope, and is a form of violence. The emergence of Black studies and similar programs counter the erasure of people of color’s history (Cammarota, 2017; Joseph, 2013; Rojas, 2007), having students potentially engaging in social protest due to knowledge acquired in these studies (Kelley, 2018).
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Community-engaged leadership in public education and tapping long-held social work values are appealing because they have immediate and long-range potential for addressing state-sanctioned violence (Rodela & Bertrand, 2018; DeMatthews, 2018). Principals, too, can assume leadership or facilitative roles in helping students and communities address violence in their midst (DeMatthews & Brown, 2019). The negative relationship between neighborhood violence, peer effects, and academic achievement is strong, as in Chicago (Burdick-Will, 2018). Addressing violence through a school lens makes sense, but we must not focus on one form of violence and ignore state- sanctioned violence. P R I VATIZING A ND BUSINE SSE S
Privatization has been around for decades and education is its latest evolutionary target. Commercializing public education (Molnar, 2018), or even its “Walmartization” (Martin, 2015), does not help youth of color develop critical or self-efficacy skills. The term educational–industrial complex, similarly to other complexes covered in Section 2, casts this system as failing significant segments and serving narrow neoliberal agendas (Picciano & Spring, 2013, p. 2): ideological, technophile, and for-profit entities that seek to promote their beliefs, ideas, and products, and services in furtherance of their own goals and objectives. This complex is fueled by significant resources and advocacy provided by companies, foundations, and the media that want to shape American education policy to conform to their own ideals and that also stand to profit significantly from its development. The United States is moving toward privatizing a major portion of its public education, and in the process further excluding urban youth of color, diverting valuable tax resources from their communities (Di Leo et al., 2015). Reallocating these resources from “less-deserving” to “more-deserving” segments ensures the likelihood of creating a permanent underclass. Educational reforms, spurred by think tanks and businesses, have systematically undermined education under the guise of making it more accountable and relevant (Saltman, 2015). These efforts used various names, but the underlying rationales remain constant due to a strong movement to privatize public schooling through business ventures, by deregulating schools, and by favoring business while undermining public oversight. These reallocations of funds are compounded when overall school budgets are cut, which disproportionately impacts students of color (Kornbluh, 2019). We can think of education and factories being fed by a profit motive, with the former funneling taxpayer money to corporate entities, and the latter a business. Fabricant and Fine (2015), Tooley (2017), Watkins (2015), and other scholars argue that the nation is in the midst of a struggle (war, if you wish) to save public education against corporate forces seeking to guide students to a marginalized future existence under the guise of preparing for a future, but in reality seeking corporate profits and a self-serving agenda under the guise of advancing social good. There are numerous examples of how corporate educational reform, with Chicago being an excellent example, illustrating how policies such as increased reliance on
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charter schools, voucher programs, and privatization of services has a primary purpose of increasing corporate profits of entities advancing this cause ( Jankov & Caref, 2017). Charter schools are generally predominantly White, allowing the state to invest in them at the expense of public schools (Henry, Jr., & Dixson, 2016). When charter schools are predominantly of color, as in Austin, Texas, conditions are countereducational (Barker, 2019) and dramatically different from their predominantly White, non-Latinx counterparts. ZER O TOL ERANCE OR JUST Z E RO TO L E R A N C E OF S T U D ENTS OF COLOR
Urban youth’s daily routines should never have to incorporate eschewing being criminalized and subject to social control for just living and going to school (Boyd & Clampet-Lundquist, 2019). Zero tolerance policies are largely driven under the guise of maintaining school safety so that learning can transpire in a climate free of fear or harm. Its origins are traced to the 1980s against a backdrop of national concerns about youth and violence (superpredators), and violent crime in general, largely fueled by drugs (Kyere, Joseph, & Wei, 2018). Readers can often associate violence with public schools (Crews, 2016). There is no mistake that we can find law enforcement’s fingerprint on schools as a result of gun violence, which has been traced to the 1980s and increased as a result of the Columbine High School shooting in 1999 (Grant & Fidler, 2019). Zero tolerance is found in all states and virtually all school districts, and the jury is still out on whether it has achieved its lofty goals (Welch & Payne, 2018), but it also disproportionally impacts youth of color (Skiba, 2014, p. 27): “Ironically, zero tolerance policies once promoted as a solution to youth violence have created a school to prison pipeline. Widespread discipline practices of suspension, expulsion, and arrest for school behavior problems are turning kids in conflict into criminal offenders.” Native Americans, too, face racism in school zero-tolerance policies and tracking into remedial programs (Waldman & Green, 2019), although most scholarship focuses on other groups of color. An examination of school-related gun violence will again reveal how youth of color are disproportionately impacted (Everytown Research, 2019a, p. 15). The disproportionate impact of gun violence on Black and Hispanic children and teens extends to schools. Among the 253 incidents of gunfire at K-12 schools between 2013 and 2018, where the racial demographic information of the student body was known, 64% occurred in majority-minority schools. Although Black students represent approximately 15% of the total K-12 school population in America, they constitute 24% of the K-12 student victims of gunfire who were killed or injured on school grounds. In 2018, the Trump administration relaxed school discipline policies implemented during the Obama administration to protect students of color from severe consequences for school infractions, representing the latest state-sanctioned effort to punish and criminalize these youth (Green & Benner, 2018). Creating or doubling down on policies that systematically label youth for punishment or expulsion are operative,
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facilitating the exercise of educational state violence. These policies are harsh, impersonal, and ineffective, but meant for the “public good” (Black, 2018; Hines-Datiri & Carter Andrews, 2017). Highly segregated education systems (apartheid), also referred to as intensely segregated schools, have far-reaching implications for the nation’s urban youth and families, not to mention compromising this country’s position within an increasingly globalized economy. These schools, in turn, have high percentages of students from undocumented families. Parent–teacher conferences, for instance, have a higher chance of not occurring when the parent of the student is undocumented, for fear of being apprehended and deported, compromising their children’s educational experience. African American/Blacks are overrepresented and understudied in school discipline decisions, and the following incident that went viral helps illustrate this point (Annamma et al., 2019): On Monday, October 26, a video of Police Officer Ben Fields entering a classroom and assaulting a young Black girl as she sat quietly at her desk exploded on social media. In the video, Fields, a White male, can be seen grabbing the seated Black girl around her neck, flipping her over in her desk, and dragging her across the floor. Another video of the same incident shows a Black male adult standing idly by and watching the entire incident unfold. Students are seen with their heads down or watching the violence unfold silently. Only one young Black girl, Niya Kenny, stands up to Fields, crying, “What the fuck did she do?” to which Field’s responds, “Hey, I’ll put you in jail next.” Kenny was the second young Black girl arrested at Spring Valley that day. The #AssaultatSpringValleyHigh highlights how schools can be sites of racialized and gendered terror for Black girls. (p. 212) This incident, an obvious form of visible and fast violence, although not deadly, shows that zero tolerance must not be automatically associated with male students of color. In addition, it should raise concerns about how invisible and slow forms of violence get exercised in the name of safety. The policing of public education has evolved and resulted in an expanding school police force ( Javdani, 2019, p. 1): Public concerns regarding school safety, zero-tolerance education policies, and increases in Federal and state funding have contributed to the growth of a workforce of School Police Officers (SPOs), or frontline school safety professionals who are typically placed in one or more schools with the authority to arrest students . . . ” As in the case of this book, the surveillance and potential exercise of state violence within schools is increased. Alternative approaches to these policies that are more humane and based on evidence do exist (Cornell, 2017). Zero tolerance policies are predicated on law and order, and this safety thrust has helped take the nation toward mass incarceration. School sanctions are the strongest factor in students dropping out or being pushed out of school (Peguero & Bracy, 2015).
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One study of school police in Texas (2.5 million students) found that federal grants for police in schools resulted in increasing middle school discipline rates by 6%, with African American students accounting for the largest increases in discipline, and a 2.5% decrease in high school graduation rates, with an accompanying 4% decrease in college enrollment rates (Weisburst, 2019). P IP EL INE T O INCARCE RATION
Metaphors play such a powerful role in conveying complex concepts. The metaphor of a pipeline funneling or pouring youth into prison is well understood by the general public and helping professions (Nelson, 2018): This is especially the case since education reform policies, in the manifestation of state takeover districts, has not disrupted and in many cases, has contributed to and exacerbated the school-to-prison pipeline. Education reform policies, such as state takeover efforts, bastardize Black students, parents, and communities and compound other forms of antiblackness in education policy. Black students, parents, and communities are dehumanized in public schools and school districts, but they are also intentionally and wickedly removed from roles that would allow them to mitigate or prevent their bastardization. (p. 58) State takeover of underperforming public schools, done in “support” of students, often of color, raises issues on fostering a school-to-prison pipeline, and one of several pipelines. Tyner (2017) argues that these schools are meeting their implicit objectives not to educate but to ensure that youth of color fail and be disposed accordingly, becoming a prison pipeline. This argument is provocative, illustrating how this system is carrying out a state-sanctioned agenda under the guise of attempting to educate youth who simply are unwilling or incapable of succeeding. This “impossible” task has been compounded by safety issues necessitating that schools be equipped to manage these students. The nation’s militarization has extended to arming teachers in response to school mass shootings, which, in states such as Florida, with its stand-your-ground law, raises serious conflicts about gun accessibility (Minshew, 2018). This suggestion found both support and condemnation in political circles. One Los Angeles student (Edna Chavez, 17 years old, Manual Arts High) summed up the position in response to a shooting in her school (Minshew, 2018, p. 132): “Arming teachers will not work. More security in our schools does not work. Zero tolerance policies do not work. They make us feel like criminals. We should feel supported and empowered in our schools.” In 2019, Florida passed a gun law that allows teachers to arm themselves in large part a response to the Parkland mass shooting (Trotta, 2019). Teachers as “soldiers in the classroom,” an extension of a militarized or police state, engenders a visual of a teacher “packing” while teaching, further sending chills into communities of color, eroding confidence in schools, and is the latest evolution in making schools militarized zones. Arming teachers is law in Alabama, Colorado, Indiana, Kansas, Ohio, Oklahoma, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, and Utah. Broadening this policy to other states is not such a farfetched idea and opens the door
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for other institutions, such as houses of worship, to hire armed guards, which is now occurring due to killings in houses of worship, increasing the reach of guns into other spheres in our lives. Public education and state-sanctioned violence can be viewed from obvious perspectives, such as armed police and teachers within schools, and more invisible ways, such as constant surveillance, suspensions, and expulsions. The existence of a racial discipline gap exists for youth of color in public schools who disproportionately face exclusionary punishments when they misbehave according to school policies and norms. Exclusionary punishment places them on a trajectory to a marginalized life, and possibly a criminal justice future. P I P EL INE TO THE MILITARY
L. J. Jaffee (2018), building on Furumoto’s (2007, p. 14) scholarship, highlights the close relationship between schools and the military, introducing an overlooked state violence aspect: NCLB [No Child Left Behind] greatly expanded the U.S. military’s access to schools and students. Under NCLB, schools receiving federal funds are required to give military recruiters the same access to students as college recruiters and employers. Section 9528 of the legislation states that “each local educational agency receiving assistance under this Act shall provide military recruiters the same access to secondary school students as is provided generally to post- secondary educational institutions or to prospective employers of those students” (U.S. Department of Education, 2002). Unimpeded recruiter access was of sufficient importance that its underlying premise and goals cannot be ignored in state-sanctioned violence and education. Although public schools are sites for educating for war and militarization, they can also be sites for resistance to unfold ( Johnson, 2018). The No Child Left Behind debate centered on a core curriculum and local control over education. The military pipeline is just as significant as the school-to-prison pipeline, although pipelines do emerge in some cases. It takes youth of color who have finished high school, as in the Air Force and Navy, out of the neighborhood, and they may even be transported to fight in foreign wars. Public education critics argue that one of the primary goals of public education, as its composition increasingly becomes of color, is to feed the military–industrial complex (Ali & Buenavista, 2018), including mass incarceration, and the two are not mutually exclusive. Child soldiers are associated with far-off lands and nations in civil war. They, however, can also be found in the United States as gang-involved youth, for instance (Kerig et al., 2013). Harding and Kershner (2018) raise the provocative point that child soldiers, when viewed within U.S. military recruitment in communities with large numbers of low-income students, immigrants, and youth of color, should be conceptualized as state-sanctioned, recruited child soldiers. There is expanding scholarship drawing attention to the increasingly close role of the military and public education (Nguyen, 2017, p. 55):
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Critical education scholars have carefully analyzed the rise of military charter schools, installation of military equipment in urban schools, adoption of military-style forms of punishment, and school-to-military pipeline. These studies frame the accelerated role of the military in US public schools primarily as school militarization, an important conceptual frame to analyze the remaking of US public education for the production of violence. Critical education studies, in similar fashion to other counterparts, increase the relevance and utility of intersectionality bringing fields together. Privatizing war (military contractors), which has emerged in the U.S. war in Afghanistan, and has generally gone unnoticed, is yet another way that state-sponsored violence can unfold in a manner that reduces public glare (Taylor, 2018). Privatized war is still war; privatized military, too, is still military; privatized victims are still victims. Who will be hired and deployed to dangerous situations? Middle-and upper- middle class Whites are not the ones who will be on the frontlines. Making violence private does not diminish the deadly consequences of state acts. Some may argue that state-sanctioned violence has been taken too far to make it relevant for current-day analysis and action. Witnessing the slow death of a dream is an act of violence, such as in war zones and negative health outcomes. Educational state violence is not limited to African Americans, bringing an intersectional dimension. One has only to study Native American residential schools to comprehend state efforts to undermine their cultural heritage (Bombay, Matheson, & Anisman, 2014). Public education, with rare exceptions, is failing youth of color, and that, sad to say, is the goal of the state violence. S CHOOL -T O -P RISON PIPE LINE
The term school-to-military pipeline is probably new to some readers, but just as noteworthy as its more popular prison counterpart. No chapter on state violence could be complete without attention to the school-to-prison pipeline. This term’s popularity captures the influential role that education plays in state-sanctioned efforts (Covarrubias et al., 2018; Lustick, 2017; Mallet, 2017; Nance, 2015). Although much of the focus on the school-to-prison pipeline has been on African Americans/Blacks and Latinxs, Native Americans, too, are part of this pipeline (Green & Waldman, 2018). This pipeline, however, is not uniquely American (Kilroy, 2018; Sudbury, 2014). The prison–industrial complex, too, is a popular way to characterize the power of this system. Schools have become day prisons, and “inmates” go home at the end of the school day (Kyere, Joseph, & Wei, 2018). This parallel can be taken further by arming teachers and others. Public schools criminalize students of color (Wun, 2018), making arming school personnel a necessity. Schools should not be where dreams go to die; they should be where dreams go to be helped to eventually be realized. This statement is not meant to be provocative but, rather, to highlight the importance of education for these youth, their families, and communities. Increased criminalization of Black girls in school, for instance, shows how it is not only bound to urban streets but also found in institutions (Morris, 2016). Schools have an important and integral role to play
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in substantiating and sustaining state-sanctioned violence controlling groups that are considered to be feared by society. D EST R OYING A DRE AM: V IOLE NCE BY AN Y OT H E R N A ME
Violence does not have to involve a physical weapon. Destroying or criminalizing a dream, hope, or someone’s spirit, too, can be murder, with equivalent consequences of a gun, as in education (Love, 2016), but without the direct physical evidence of a gunshot wound. Although school closings are traumatic, bringing concerns about dislocation of students, closings can be conceptualized as slow state violence (Aggarwal, Mayorga, & Nevel, 2012). Destroying a dream is invisible violence but quite obvious to urban residents who have experienced it over generations (Sojoyner, 2017): So, yeah, all of the Black students know that the school really doesn’t care about us. We never get the benefit of the doubt and the teachers just expect us to fail, period, point blank. Let me give you an example. It is the first day of my Language Arts class, so I walk in looking for a seat in the front row because my mom is always on me about sitting in the front of class. I already know that I probably will have to move because most teachers have assigned seating, but sometimes in our senior [year] classes, we can sit wherever we want. But our teacher has assigned seating and it is not before too long that I look around and notice that all of the Black kids are in the back of the class. After the teacher is done with the seating chart, I raise my hand and tell the teacher that I want to sit in the front row. She responds with something like “those rows are reserved for students who want to learn.” So then I ask her, “Well, you must think that none of the Black kids want to learn?” The class got real quiet and you could just feel all of the eyes looking at her, waiting to see what she was going to say. She did not like that too much, and she threatened to send me to the assistant principal’s office. I am not one to back down, so I respond, “Well, if you send me, you might as well send all of us [Black students], since you don’t want us here anyway.” And I mean instantly, she told me to get out and go to the assistant principal’s office. Now, you may think this is a wild story or there is something off with this teacher, but let me tell you this has been happening every year with all sorts of teachers. (p. 514) The undercurrents of a dream being unrealized can often predict the course of events that may not show any overt signs in the present, but that have an end result that is violent. What happens when youth realize that education is not viable and may ultimately prove harmful, particularly in schools with extensive histories of poor outcomes and funneling them into the criminal justice system? Words cannot describe the moment that this realization sets in for youth and their parents. Hayes (2018, p. 1) argues why youth of color are increasingly being targeted for state violence, reacting and resisting through social protest, and losing trust in institutions, such as public education: That is, a strong argument can be made that an increasing proportion of urban impoverished blacks, particularly black youth, no longer believe in the American dream, the goodness of whites, and the positive value of human
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existence. Prevented and discouraged from obtaining the specialized knowledge, high technological skills, and expertise necessary for survival in the ongoing postindustrial-management era, young big city African Americans experience the daily harassment, intimidation, violence, and confinement of the American carceral/police state; they are the targets of media condemnation, religious fanaticism, white fear and hatred, and anti-black racism. Killer kops are terrorizing and murdering urban black young people at will, knowing that they will be exonerated if brought before a bankrupt (in)justice system . . . This is the social reality of twenty-first-century postindustrial-managerial urban America. The American dream was never meant for youth of color, requiring resistance to counter state-sanctioned efforts exercised through the major institutions in their lives for this dream to stand a realistic chance of realization. On a final note, urban schools with sizeable representation of undocumented migrants stand to lose federal resources tied to participation in school programs because of President Trump’s policies, which are scaring families from participating for fear of facing deportation (Green, 2019). These students have tremendous needs, and not utilizing all available resources at their disposal further compromises their abilities to succeed.
P UB L IC S CHOOL M INORITY- M AJORITY
In 2014, the nation had the majority of its public school students being of color (Carr, 2016, p. 3): If you want to know what America will look like in a generation, look at its classrooms right now. In 2014, children of color became the new majority in America’s public schools. Over the last 20 years, the number of Hispanic public schoolchildren has more than doubled, and the number of Asians has swelled by 56%. The number of black students and American Indians grew far more modestly—but the number of white students fell by about 15%. This milestone has consequences for school systems and communities (Mordechay & Orfield, 2017). The term majority-minority has rarely been applied to public schools. That will change when the narrative of how demographics are transforming the nation with funds spent on education cut, including paying teachers, gains greater coverage. A fight against public education spending is no mistake when the majority of the students are of color. Latinx racialization places them at the bottom of a racial hierarchy, opening them to subjugation (Cobas, Duany, & Feagin, 2015), and their dysphoria has increased their presence in sectors of the country where they are new (Hamann, Wortham, & Murillo Jr, 2015). Latinxs are a significant reason for this achievement, with current and long-term consequences, which are significant because of their high percentage of public school representation, projected to increase in future years. They represent 1 in 4 public school students, and when discussing educational achievement disparities, bear disproportionate consequences (Gándara & Mordechay, 2017). If formal
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education is decreasingly a ticket to the middle class, what can instill future hope? Maybe serving in the military is an option for those who are not “college material”? C O N CL US ION
Education’s importance is due to its role in shaping futures but is now a pipeline not to college, but to the military and/or prison. The state’s enforcement arm is massive, touching virtually all aspects of community life, including increasing its school presence. Intersectional/intracategorical views enhance our understanding of the challenges in navigating the reach of the state, including a higher risk of incarceration. Our nation cannot continue to poorly educate or imprison a large portion of its population and not pay a major price. Chapter 6 introduces health and state-sanctioned violence, and what can arguably be the second most consequential arena in the lives of youth, behind education.
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Health Slow and Invisible State Violence
INT R OD U CTION
Associating state-sanctioned violence with health is not a far stretch in seeing how broadly its consequences unfold in cities and among people of color across the lifespan, including the institutions serving them. It is not a leap to think of health rights as civil rights (Loyd, 2014), or to think of state violence in a similar fashion. Migrants who are hospitalized, for example, as they await their applications for asylum face state violence of a different kind because by most standard accounts, they are treated as felons, regardless of gender or health condition, and even in childbirth (Fine, 2019). Simply stated, state violence permeates the entire lives of unauthorized migrants, and even when in what are typically considered to be safe havens, such as hospitals. Social workers understand how race and health unfold and why a state violence stance helps provide a more comprehensive understanding of how they unfold in the lives of people of color and the reasons for health disparities. The disproportionate rates of abortions in the Black community (27.1 per 100,000 compared with 10.0 for White, non-Latinas), for example, is in large part the result of the social forces at work that target this community (Eligon, 2019b). Fearing for the future is a consequence of state-sanctioned violence. It is arduous to do justice to this chapter because of the abundance of statistics and scholarly material on this subject, which attests to its importance, with the further introduction of health and those who are incarcerated seeking to obtain asylum in this country. “Shelters,” for example, as in total institutions, are breeding grounds for illnesses, with children bearing the onus (Fernandez, Dickerson, & Villegas, 2019), as addressed earlier in this book. State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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A human capital concept is often used in the literature and discussions on the importance of education. Health is a vital part of human capital because of how it influences career choices and employment (Green & Haines, 2015). Investing in children and adolescent health is an investment in the future of their community and nation (Patton, 2016; Schickedanz, Dreyer, & Halfon, 2015). However, when this concept is applied to people of color, it highlights the total disregard for them as community and national assets (Delgado & Humm-Delgado, 2013). We can appreciate how structural racism and intersectional theory are congruent from a conceptual and values standpoint, with applicability to a range of social issues, such as immigrant health, highlighting day-to-day interactions with racism, along with place and policies impacting outcomes (Viruell-Fuentes, Miranda, & Abdulrahim, 2012). The gist of the matter is that U.S. disease burden is not shared equally across the lifespan (Koh & Parekh, 2018), and that is to be expected in discussing state- sanctioned violence. Homicides in the United States disproportionately impact youth of color (Fowler et al., 2018, p. 5): Homicide was the 17th leading cause of death overall in the United States and disproportionately affected young persons. It was the third leading cause of death for persons aged 15–34 years, the fourth leading cause of death for children aged 1–9 years, and the fifth leading cause of death for persons aged 10– 14 years. Homicide disproportionately affected young black males; it was the leading cause of death among non-Hispanic black males aged 15–34 years. State violence further exacerbates their health. Social workers understand social ecology, increasing our reach across multiple sectors of a community and in often unsuspecting ways. This chapter, as readers can surmise based on this introduction, will touch on various aspects of health and state violence, including dimensions generally not discussed or closely associated, such as how slow and invisible violence gets manifested in urban communities of color. G U N VIOL ENCE AS A PUBLIC HE ALTH M ATT ER : S TATE INDIFFE RE NCE
Public health practice can encompass many different dimensions of life in this country, as addressed in the introduction to this chapter, and it is important to touch upon this subject prior to viewing the role of public health in gun violence, with it taking a prominent place among providers and being classified as a major national public health issue (Dzau & Leshner, 2018). A public health stance on a different issue, for example, countering violent extremism when specifically narrowing this view to that from a Muslim stance and not a White supremacy standpoint, does a disservice to this issue (Aggarwal, 2019). The nation has become numb to mass shootings and even more so to shootings that do not qualify in this category of violence (Fleegler, 2019). A nation such as ours may tolerate high rates of gun-related deaths when it involves adults. One hundred residents of this country are killed on a daily basis by guns (Everytown Research,
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2019a). However, why do we tolerate children dying from these types of deaths (McQuiller, 2019)? United States children bear the tremendous onus of premature deaths (McCrea et al., 2019). In 2016, they accounted for over 12,000 deaths, or 60%, being due to injury-related causes. Vehicle injuries were the most frequent source of death with 4,074, with gun injuries following closely with 3,143 deaths, or 15% of the total deaths among children (LaMontte, 2018). In 2018, there were 29 deaths and 454 injuries in school-related shootings (Cai & Patel, 2019). Mass gun violence is part of the national scene and psyche. Individual-focused gun violence, murder or suicide, only makes local news. It is estimated that more people have died in the United States due to guns since 1970 (1.45 million) than in all of this nation’s wars combined (Kristof, 2019; Wintemute, 2015). A 20- year review of pediatric gunshot wounds in low-resource communities revealed an essential lack of change, calling attention to their public health implications (Bayouth et al., 2019). Wounds resulting from assault weapons take on combat wounds’ proportions, which conveys a very different view of what is meant by gunshot wounds. The question of whether children are safer from gun violence in the streets or in the home says so much about the question of guns in this country, with guns occupying the third leading cause of death among those aged 1–17, behind car accidents and illnesses (Levy et al., 2019; McBride, 2018). Gun access is a national problem, but it takes on epidemic aspects when viewed through a race prism (Violence Policy Center, 2018, p. 3): For black victims of homicide, like all victims of homicide, guns—usually handguns—are far and away the number-one murder tool. Successful efforts to reduce America’s black homicide toll, like America’s homicide toll as a whole, must put a focus on reducing access and exposure to firearms. Gun access is the primary culprit in gun deaths rather than mental health symptoms, countering widely held beliefs and the argument that guns do not kill people, people kill people (DeFoster & Swalve, 2018; Lu & Temple, 2019). Highly restrictive gun access states must contend with states with lax regulations, increasing gun availability within urban communities of color in states with strict access (Olson et al., 2019). Law enforcement as an arm of public health (van Dijk et al., 2019)? At first glance this statement may seem puzzling. However, conceptualizing law enforcement from a public health standpoint makes theoretical sense, but in reality it is the antithesis when viewed from a racialized perspective. Shifting public perceptions of the police from strictly policing to having a public service role encompassing health has tremendous potential for benefiting urban communities. Gun violence also has ramifications that go beyond health and social dimensions, with economic consequences (Irvin-Erickson et al., 2017, p. 1): Our findings demonstrate that sharp and sudden increases (or surges) in gun violence can significantly reduce the growth of new retail and service businesses and slow home value appreciation. Higher neighborhood gun violence can be associated with fewer retail and service business establishments and new
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jobs. Higher gun violence can also be associated with lower home values, credit scores, and homeownership rates. These consequences are slow and invisible. Gun violence is a “preventable disease,” bringing it within a public health fold because the health consequences, not to mention the economics associated with prevention, are associated with victims (Butts et al., 2015; de Zulueta, 2018). Efforts at developing broad-based coalitions on violence are available but have met with limited success, as in Kansas City (Fox & Nova, 2018). When violence is synonymous with urban communities, guns will quickly emerge from two standpoints—resident on resident and police on resident. Viewing this form of state violence as a public health matter brings this view into arenas far beyond law enforcement (Boyd, 2018; Krieger, 2015), opening the door for collaboration across disciplines and professions. Data-driven public health policy decisions, however, are compromised in this arena. National statistics on police killings in the line of duty do exist, but comparable data on police killings of civilians does not; this is in large part the result of resistance in making this data available to the public (Krieger et al., 2015). Taking these deaths out of the realm of law enforcement and criminal justice and introducing a public health dimension brings the potential of health providers across a wide spectrum to develop local coalitions to address this form of state violence, based upon data-gathering systems that are national in scope. Public health implications (social development, mental health, and overall well- being) of police shootings on African American/Black males is one dimension destined to increase in attention in the future (Staggers-Hakim, 2016). Urban residents fearing gun violence must navigate their surroundings from a variety of standpoints, limiting mobility, including limiting use of local facilities for recreation and sport activities, such as parks and playgrounds (Cohen et al., 2016; Flavia et al., 2014; Rader et al., 2015). Police “justifiable homicide,” often a news byline in fatality accounts, is a threat to community health, as with any other deadly disease (Gilbert & Ray, 2016). Gilbert et al. (2018, p. 171) address justifiable homicide by proposing a five-lens framework for increasing our understanding of this phenomenon: “(1) racial biases; (2) racial and gender consciousness; (3) ways to provide more equitable policing practices; (4) the enforcement of legal remedies for those who abuse power; and (5) the prevention of acts of discrimination by holding individuals culpable who informally police Black males.” Police killings must be casted against a broader brutality context encompassing other forms of violence, such as use of Tasers and verbal abuse, impacting the health of victims (Alang et. al., 2017). This threat brings mental health implications that are invisible, and harmful or deadly in instances in which suicides result. This stance on state-sanctioned violence by law enforcement is not new. The American Public Health Association took this stance over 20 years ago ( Jee-Lyn García & Sharif, 2015). Obasogie and Newman (2017, p. 279), too, address police shootings as a public health matter: “There is a broad range of empirical arguments made that support the conclusion that police violence connects to public health. Existing literature has argued that the physical and mental impacts of police violence should lead us to regard it as a public health issue.”
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Gun violence takes on major public health implications. Why is this violence state sanctioned? A nation refusing to address gun availability qualifies this violence as state sanctioned, with expected pushback expected on this stance (Sadat & George, 2019). The following feelings of an 8-year-old Baltimore boy cast gun violence as a public health concern (Bylander, 2015, p. 1265): On a cold March day, Baltimore’s new health commissioner, Leana Wen, spoke with a group of young people at a community forum during a listening tour of the city. Wen remembers that one of the children, an eight-year-old boy, didn’t seem particularly interested in the material she was presenting. “I don’t need to hear all this stuff about heart disease and STDs,” Wen recalls him saying. His two brothers died before age sixteen, the boy said. Why should he care about disease and long-term health issues when he didn’t see himself living much longer? That eight-year-old boy’s fears could be the fears of any child born into a community characterized by greater exposure to violence, fewer opportunities, and ultimately worse health than other communities—even those located mere blocks away. They could be the fears of the parents of those children, who live with the stress and insecurity of not knowing whether their child is safe in his own neighborhood. And increasingly they could be the fears of communities whose members feel that their children are not safe even in the hands of the police force that is tasked with protecting them. No child should be worried about gun violence, be it by a resident or the police, influencing child development in these violent contexts and their future outlooks, including chances for success in our society. This public health threat goes beyond community violence exposure, such as police gun violence. Increasing the likelihood of being safe from police shootings necessitates navigating city areas where the chances of encounters are high. Being in one’s home is no guarantee against police shootings if one is of color, as in the case of Bothan Shem Jean, a Dallas resident killed by his police officer neighbor who mistook her apartment for his, thinking he was an intruder (Fernandez & Martinez, 2018). ENVIR ONMENT AND HE ALTH
We have a propensity to categorize socioecological conditions to make it easier to carry out research, appropriate scholarship, and develop subsequent interventions. This tendency makes it arduous to connect various conditions because funding sources are highly specialized. Environment and health come together in a multiplicity of ways, including access to parks for people of color (Rigolon, Browning, & Jennings, 2018). A sedentary lifestyle has extensive health implications across the lifespan, increasing the likelihood of illnesses to occur, including obesity with its multifaceted consequences. There is a call for more rigorous studies on the relationship between urban green space and health, with the results having national and international repercussions (Kondo et al., 2018). Health permeates all spheres of life, with its absence severely limiting well-being across one’s lifespan. It also touches multiple dimensions of state-sponsored violence, particularly when segregation concentrates detrimental factors and forces in a distinct
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geographical area, as in Chicago (Booth et al., 2018). Segregation, simply stated, is harmful to health and well-being. An urban community’s most incarcerated zip code will invariably be Black and Brown, regardless of the region of the country, and that illustrates quite vividly how state-sanctioned actions can be viewed as violent and systematic. These same zip codes can be called death zones because they will bear a disproportionate number of deaths due to violence, substance misuse, police shootings of unarmed people of color, high rates of school pushouts, inadequate health care and presence of preventable diseases, poor air and water quality, and I can go on and on. These zip codes are de facto segregation zones. Whittle et al. (2015, p. 159) interconnect food insecurity, chronic illness, and gentrification (San Francisco) as forms of state violence (structural), calling attention to bringing together problems that traditionally are separated for analysis and action: If policy changes are to interrupt this process with success, they must extend beyond food-specific solutions to address issues of low-income housing and state financial support in the modern economy. Only broad structural approaches that employ a nuanced eye for the larger inequities at play can help chronically ill and vulnerable individuals to escape from the serious indignities and negative health consequences of food insecurity in the 21st century. Food deserts are associated with segregation, and poor health behaviors and outcomes.
S TAT E TOL ER A NCE OF HE ALTH INE QUITI E S
Health is a less obvious, but no less consequential and direct, manifestation of state- sanctioned violence, but its consequences are profound. Health inequities are extensive in communities of color (Delgado, 2019; Carroll, 2019). The slogan “United States of Health” is not accurate when there are two nations, one healthy and having access to the best medical care, and the other born with a distinct disadvantage and destined to receive inferior healthcare (Koh & Parekh, 2018), as in the detailed case presentation of a children’s hospital in North Carolina (Gabler, 2019a,b). Doktar (2018, p. 1) points out the paradox of the state as a major source of funding for health and the cause of health inequities: The root causes of health disparities lie in policies and practices that distribute power and resources such as housing, education, employment and health services inequitably. For example, law enforcement agencies—including police and Immigration and Custom Enforcement (ICE) officers—disproportionately target, surveil and perpetrate state violence against communities of color . . . The paradox here is that the government and taxpayers are funding both the state violence that causes these public health problems and the public health attempts to address them. While hundreds of billions of dollars fund unjust state violence practices, public health agencies are directing a fraction of their limited funds to the alleviation of the very health disparities caused by this state violence.
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Bailey et al. (2017) discuss structural racism and genocidal approaches shaping the health of people of color. Health and state violence can be viewed from historical and current-day perspectives. State-sanctioned violence poses the challenge of how far back to go to address this subject in this chapter. I have elected to start with the emancipation to show the long history of this topic and how this nation was ill prepared or unwilling to face the health challenges of African American population. Downs (2012) illustrates how the nation was ill prepared to meet the needs of the formerly enslaved, setting the stage for a lifelong history that persists today with health disparities. Present-day health inequities are built upon past inequities, setting the stage for future inequities. Prison health inequities can be viewed from a variety of perspectives with room for innovation. Semenza and Grosholz (2019), in a unique perspective, examined prison mental and physical health and how co-occurring conditions influence misconduct among the incarcerated, and they found those with co-occuring conditions to be more likely to engage in misconduct actions compared with their healthy counterparts, highlighting the importance of healthcare provision within these total institutions that are heavily of color. Prison misconduct can lead to solitary confinement and sentence extensions. Justice-involved youth face health barriers and are prone to experiencing healthcare inequities; the best strategy to reduce or eliminate these disparities is to prevent them from entering the justice system in the first place (Chisolm, 2017). Health inequities, too, can be found among their older adult counterparts (Delgado & Humm-Delgado, 2009, 2019). It is best to look at health inequities through a life course continuum. Finally, health disparities among immigrant adults and children is, and will continue to be, a major social issue due to their increasing population (Chang, 2019). F L INT, MICHI GAN: E NV IRONME NT M E E T S H E A LT H
State-sanctioned environmental violence can take countless manifestations in which the state is not considered the prime source. Flint, Michigan’s, water poisoning, however, is a rare exception. Lead exposure is an environmental factor that most human service providers and academics are well familiar with, with deep historical concerns for urban dwellers, and one with a disproportionate impact on urban youth of color (Muller, Sampson, & Winter, 2018). The damage caused by lead paint is well recognized, particularly regarding children’s cognitive development. Flint conjures up images of tainted water and residents needing to avoid their own water supply, relying on bottled water for drinking, cooking, and bathing, and thus becomes the poster child for water environmental racism. Flint’s water crisis also resulted in a deadly outbreak of Legionnaires’ disease in 2014 and 2015 with 12 deaths and 87 ill from low chlorine levels in the municipal water system, which has largely gone uncovered in the media (Hersher, 2018). Sadly, five years after the poisoning of Flint’s water there are serious doubts about its safety (Smith, Bosman, & Davey, 2019), illustrating the long reach of state-sponsored violence on daily life in this community. Time Magazine’s article “The poisoning of an American ity” (Sanburn, 2016) captures the consequences of government actions and inactions (violence), why poisoning could have been prevented, and once initial actions were taken, efforts to hide the actions further aggravated a situation that would not have been tolerated in a White,
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non-Latinx highly resourced community. The need for Flint residents to have government issued identification cards to access publicly distributed bottled water is an overlooked aspect of invisible and slow state violence, restricting access for those without these identification cards, and limiting access for those who are unauthorized here (LeBrón et al., 2018). What happened in Flint is state violence perpetrated on residents, of which almost two thirds are of color and almost 40% live below the poverty line (Hill, 2016). It was not unusual to hear about how incompetent elected officials were in addressing this problem and how it was allowed to unfold. Is incompetence a form of state-sponsored violence? I would argue that the answer is yes, with the end result being undeniable. State commission and omission of acts are within the control of the state. Social justice advocates argue that Flint was purposefully allowed to be poisoned, although there is a counternarrative that the exposure of children to high levels of lead and other toxins is not poisoning (Gomez & Dietrich, 2018). How urban youth, as in Flint’s toxic water crisis, conceptualize, interpret, and respond to this event is viewed through a racial lens, leading to the conclusion that these actions are racist and an attempt at state genocide (Muhammad et al., 2018). The developmental consequences of toxic water plays out differently depending upon one’s life cycle position, with infants and the young bearing a disproportionate impact. Compromising water supply and health, and the tolerance of government to this crisis, are state-sanctioned violence (Ranganathan, 2016). On a positive note, Michigan’s chief executive (Dr. Eden Wells) was scheduled to stand trial for involuntary manslaughter and other charges, the second official to do so (after Health and Human Services Director Nick Lyon) for this state environmental injustice (Associated Press, 2018b). Facing criminal consequences is rare, highlighting the power of state violence. However, once again, illustrating the power of the state, all charges against defendants were dropped by prosecutors (Smith, 2019a, p. A19): more than three years after the first charges were filed, the Michigan attorney general’s office, which earlier this year passed from Republican to Democratic hands, abruptly dropped the eight remaining cases. Prosecutors left open the possibility of recharging some of those same people, and perhaps others, too. But in Flint, a city where faith in government was already low and where many residents still refuse to drink the tap water, the news was seen by some as a sign that they had been wronged once again. Those officials that accepted plea agreements were not affected by this decision. Flint will forever be associated with government failure to safeguard residents, yet unhealthy water is not unique to this city. Flint is not the only city in Michigan with compromised water supply and corresponding health concerns. Detroit, which initially had 24 of their public schools shut down drinking fountains due to excessive levels of lead and cooper, eventually had all 106 schools shut down fountains since August 2018, bringing together education and environment ( J. Jordan, 2018; Maslin Nir, 2018). Other cities have compromised water, such as NYC, where children in public housing continue to show high levels of lead, with corresponding health consequences and questions raised about official indifference (Goodman, Baker, & Glanz, 2018; Perre-Sadurni, 2018).
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Pennsylvania, for instance, has 18 cities with high rates of children with lead poisoning (Fountain, Jr., 2015). These cities share similar sociodemographic profiles, with high proportions of low-SES (socioeconomic status) children and children of color; cities such as Allentown, that state’s third largest city, bear the onus of elevated blood lead levels, impeding children’s growth, altering their behavior, impeding their ability to learn, and having long-term cognitive and emotional consequences. Newark, New Jersey, too, is struggling with unsafe water, with many parallels to Flint and with the impending crisis being largely ignored or minimized by government (Leyden, 2018). Cities are not the only communities contending with unsafe water. Armenia, Wisconsin, a rural community, too, is contending with polluted well water too toxic to drink (Healy, 2018), along with countless small towns in California (Del Real, 2019b). Marginalized communities, urban and rural, must contend with environmental state violence. Hill (2016) eloquently describes the state-sponsored violence perpetrated on Flint by casting it against the broader landscape of police killings of unarmed African American/Black victims, which have gotten the bulk of national attention on state violence, and the results of toxic water compromising health: IMAGINE A COMMUNITY FILLED with the people you have met in this book: Michael Brown, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Dorian Johnson, Walter Scott, Paula Cooper, Freddie Gray, Jordan Davis, Trayvon Martin, Ramsey Orta, and Kathryn Johnson. If you could bring them all together and join them in a single space of urban geography, that place would look like Flint. Today’s Flint resembles Eric Gardner’s Staten Island, Michael Brown’s St. Louis, and Freddie Gray’s Baltimore, all of them once great American cities where today too many citizens—W hite and Black—live lives of desperation under the thumb of nameless authorities, held back in the land of opportunity. (p. 163) The harm perpetrated on Flint was violent and state sanctioned, with deleterious long-term consequences, particularly for children, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. This slow violence does not capture national coverage such as videos of police killing unarmed victims, but also has deadly consequences. T OXIC WAS TE SITE S AND SLOW STATE V I O L E N C E
State-sanctioned violence often involves tolerating, through inaction, a range of health issues, such as air pollution, waste transfer stations, lead paint exposure, and toxic waste sites, to list several. Inaction translates into outcomes detrimental to health and well-being. These actions or inactions are slow and invisible violence, and intergenerational in scope. Cities often have a history of having manufacturing plants leaving a legacy of toxic poisoning. When no longer profitable, they simply closed and left behind largely invisible poisons. Residents, in turn, have long histories of ailments that often go unrecognized and untreated, and that if eventually diagnosed and treated, have a poor prognosis. The mention of a toxic waste site elicits reactions causing great anguish because of how poison from these sites permeates all aspects of residents’ lives, and the slow and devastating nature of how it unfolds, making it impossible to separate class from race (Lester, 2018; Vasudevan, 2019). Race is the best predictor of where a toxic waste
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site will be located (Roberts, Pellow, & Mohai, 2018; Sicotte, 2014), facilitating state- sanctioned violence because these areas are frequently segregated. Ironically, environmental justice efforts to have these sites cleaned or made green can result in housing costs increasing, forcing displacements (gentrification) of original residents (Anguelovski, 2016). The mere word gentrification, in turn, creates fear because it, in a similar fashion to toxic waste sites, has displacement consequences— uprootment and the breakdown of relationships and neighborhoods. This act results in living in a neighborhood that is dangerous to health, and when improved, residents are forced out because of housing demand trends. Environmental gentrification captures the dynamics of cleaning up waste sites and increasing property values, forcing resident dislocation (Banzhaf, Ma, & Timmins, 2019). Bayview, San Francisco, historically African American, is discussed here because it is located in one of the nation’s most liberal cities (Dillon & Sze, 2016): A short walk from the site of Mario Woods’s killing in San Francisco is the Hunters Point Naval Shipyard. Jutting out from the southeastern corner of the city, the shipyard is a Superfund site and is today undergoing environmental remediation for a subterranean stew of the toxic byproducts of militarization, including heavy metals, volatile and semi-volatile organic compounds, pesticides, PCBs, petroleum, and asbestos. It is also the site of a former naval radiation laboratory, which operated between 1946-1969 and was connected with nuclear weapons tests at the Marshall Islands and the desert lands of the US southwest. The lab left radioactive waste in buildings and in the ground, including cesium- 137, radium-226, and cobalt-60.20. (p. 16) Toxic waste sites are often not associated with urban cities such as San Francisco (high cost of living) and more often are located in low-resource areas where most residents are of color. Marginalized communities can develop strong group identities through a common struggle, including having proximity to toxic waste sites as in the case of Detroit’s 48217 neighborhood (Berglund, 2018). A common adversary can break down racial and ethnic barriers. This conclusion must not be lost on social workers. FA ST F OOD, OBE SITY, AND S TAT E-S A NCT IONE D V IOLE NCE
Fast food is synonymous with health and youth and is a subject that brings a distinctive U.S. flavor, no pun intended. State unwillingness to tax sugar-sweetened beverages, which disproportionately impact youth, and more specifically those of color, illustrates how public health has taken a back seat to slow and invisible state health violence (Crosbie, Schillinger, & Schmidt, 2019). Another example of health and state-sanctioned violence is how the obesity crisis unfolded in the nation’s urban communities and particularly among youth, and government’s role in fostering this lifelong health condition (Delgado, 2015a). Mollow (2017) takes a state violence stance toward obesity and brings intersectionality into the analysis by calling for the development of “Fat Black Disability Studies,” highlighting
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how Eric Garner’s death was justified along a variety of dimensions beyond race to also include health condition (asthma and heart condition). The nation’s obesity crisis is government-sponsored invisible violence (Delgado, 2013). The federal government has fostered the growth of the fast food industry, as with the Small Business Administration (SBA). The SBA over the 1967–1979 period guaranteed 18,000 franchise loans for McDonalds and Burger Kings across the nation, with many in urban communities of color. In 1996, it went ahead and guaranteed $1 billion in loans to new franchises ( Jou, 2017). Fast food restaurants in food deserts (slow-acting violence) disproportionally impact youth of color, with social and economic ramifications radiating throughout all segments of their community. Food insecurity and food deserts are a form of trauma, with long-lasting physical and emotional implications, and symptoms associated with other forms of trauma, calling for trauma-informed food policy (Dennis, 2017; Hecht et al., 2018). Substance misuse is another example. Syringe decriminalization has a place in any comprehensive initiative to reach HIV/AIDS high-risk groups, with people of color falling into this category. State resistance of these efforts disproportionately falls on communities of color (Cloud et al., 2018), such as the U.S. Justice Department suing a Philadelphia group, stopping establishment of a safe injection site (Goodnough, 2019). These sites may not cause or prevent substance use but they do save lives (Freyer, 2019). State refusal to allow and fund needle exchange programs, a topic of great saliency in communities of color because of the impact of substance misuse, can be viewed from a public health perspective and a state-sanctioned violence stance (McLean, 2011). A national epidemic requires a dare-to-be-brave stance and innovative thinking on a social problem, but we refuse to consider this option. Efforts to medicalize the opiate crisis have more to do with who is caught up in this epidemic— namely, the White, non-Latinx, and middle and upper-middle class (Dollar, 2019). Substance use and misuse (drug addiction) is highly stigmatizing and is increasingly receiving national attention. Those who use/abuse substances are therefore marginalized, making them more vulnerable to violence, including by the police, introducing a dimension of public health that has generally been overlooked in state- sanctioned violence and health, and has great significance in urban communities of color (Park et al., 2019). If police believe that they can engage in violence without consequences, it raises critical issues in creating and implementing harm reduction policies and practices. HEALTH AND M ASS INCARCE RATION
We can draw upon a plethora of statistics on health inequities regarding state- sanctioned violence, mass incarceration, and people of color (Wildeman & Wang, 2017). Slow and invisible violence can find numerous manifestations in the criminal justice system. For example, the health of the incarcerated can be severely compromised by the state allowing violence to occur within the ranks of those imprisoned. The New York Times reported (Benner & Dewan, 2019; New York Times editorial, 2019c) on the nature and extent of violence in Alabama’s prison system that condoned having what many consider the nation’s highest rates of homicide and rape for the incarcerated in the nation. It is also a prison that has a long history of civil rights violations.
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This section, however, focuses on health, mass incarceration, and a variety of situations, including the environment, with an intersectional view bringing together fields not often used in the same sentence. Richards and Peña (2017) address environmental justice and mass incarceration, a field destined to increase in significance, noting that an estimated 7 million acres of open space, wildlife habitat, and farmland are set aside for the federal and state for incarceration purposes. The following concretizes this relationship (Greenfield, 2018, p. 6): Marcus Santos was a healthy man when he arrived at the State Correctional Institution (SCI) Fayette, a maximum-security prison in La Belle, Pennsylvania, in February 2012. But by the third year of his five-to ten-year sentence, Santos feared for his life. He’d developed a host of severe medical problems—skin rashes, partial vision loss, swelling in his throat—and worried whether he’d ever see his 13-year-old son again. Santos, who kept detailed notes of his symptoms and underwent numerous emergency medical treatments over those first few years in jail, was eventually transferred to another facility, where his condition soon improved. Meanwhile, back at SCI Fayette, fellow prisoners were experiencing similar health struggles: not just routine headaches, dizziness, and fatigue but also respiratory illnesses, gastrointestinal tract problems, thyroid disorders, and cancers. It is hard to imagine a group more undervalued than the incarcerated, and this easily translates into not being a high priority for the state to effectively diminish environmental conditions seriously undermining their health. The incarcerated are far removed from home and potential advocates, making their plight even more arduous. Viewing mass incarceration from a geopolitical stance highlights how urban communities lose out and rural communities, where prisons are located, win out in this movement. Small towns with state prisons often gain economically and politically from mass incarceration by providing jobs for residents and increasing their federal revenue sharing based on population (inmates are counted as residents). A racialized view provides a picture of people of color sacrificing lives and resources, and White, non-Latinx, communities gaining economically. Reproductive health is not immune from structural racism and state efforts to control people of color (Hernández & Upton, 2018; Mengesha, 2017). One aspect of state-sponsored violence and women’s health is sterilization, highlighting the interconnectedness of social identity, intersectionality, and experiences (Price, 2011). Infertility among women of color is vastly underresearched (Ceballo, Graham, & Hart, 2015). Why help increase a population group’s presence? This is a form of slow and invisible violence. In addition, there are prodigious disparities in pregnancy-related deaths, which are increasing for African Americans, with White, non-Latinx, women dying at 13 per 100,000, Latinx at a lower rate with 11.4, Native Americans/Alaska Natives with 32.5, and African Americans with 42.5 (Rabin, 2019). Higher rates of overweight and obesity among African American women may be contributing factors. Forced sterilization of incarcerated women, for example, as in California, has long historical roots in the United States (Reilly, 2015), is racialized, and raises serious ethical and legal questions on informed consent when the state wields tremendous power over them (Whatcott, 2018). Sterilization allows the state to exercise violence over
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them, if one were to listen to the stories of these women (Roth & Ainsworth, 2015, pp. 8–50): These stories are troubling for many reasons, not the least of which is the failure of law, medical ethics, and federal policy that ostensibly protect people in prison from such rights violations. California coercively sterilized the largest number of people of any state during the eugenics era; that history led to state regulations that, along with state rules on prison medical care that expressly ban tubal ligation surgery absent state approval, should have prevented these sterilizations from taking place. Sterilization is a racialized state violence act. The topic of medical experimentation and its consequences has drawn historical attention and, as a result, will only be touched upon here, representing an often overlooked aspect of state-sponsored violence. Hornbeum’s (2007) book Sentenced to Science: One Black Man’s Story of Imprisonment in America provides readers with the story of Edward “Butch” Anthony, an African American man’s personal account of being a subject of the Holmesburg medical experiments, adding another infamous chapter to a long line of medical experiments with a disproportionate health impact on people of color (Reverby, 2009). HOUS ING SE GRE GATION, INCARCE RAT I O N , A N D COMMUNIT Y HE ALTH
Housing segregation is associated with poor health and social outcome statistics. The state, particularly regarding public housing, wields tremendous influence in creating this housing, along with schools and other institutions entrusted to educate and serve residents. These developments make it easier to patrol, too. Urban people of color have a lifelong history of experiencing segregation, from housing, to schooling, to the institutions serving them, and finally, with incarceration (Massey & Rugh, 2017). Gentrification is slow violence, bringing another segregation consequence (Kern, 2016). The relationship between housing segregation, when fueled by race and socioeconomic class, incarceration, and community health, is strong and reflected in illnesses and symptoms that can fall into the slow death category, making it difficult to recognize and address (Von Hoffman, 2015): Residents of neighborhoods with high incarceration rates endure disproportionate stress, since these communities face disrupted social and family networks alongside elevated rates of crime and infectious diseases. Only recently have researchers considered how incarceration rate might serve as an ecological variable, rather than just as a something that shapes individual behavior. Urban segregation and violence have many different visible and invisible manifestations, including a direct influence on the health of women of color who are pregnant and their infants (Collins & David, 2019), illustrating the influence of invisible and slow state violence across generations. Use of social ecology places us in a propitious
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position to connect incarceration with diseases and illnesses normally not viewed from an ecological stance, including how they impact the families for the formerly incarcerated. This case puts a face on health issues from environmental racism and incarceration standpoints. The label “America’s own Gulag Archipelago” conjures up an image of a deadly place that only the most criminalized can be sentenced to, from which they can never be expected to come back to their communities. An extended sentence can translate into a debilitating or even deadly sentence. The general public and most scholars, too, do not associate environmental justice with prisons. Building prisons on sites that are environmentally unhealthy, including having sewage and sanitation violations, epitomizes state-sanctioned violence. A 2010 data set of state and federal prisons within 3 miles of a Superfund cleanup site found 539 federal and state prisons, with 134 within 1 mile, according to the National Priorities List (Bernd, Mitra, & Loftus-Farren, 2017). We rarely question Superfund sites within close proximity to urban communities or associate them with prisons. Prisons are toxic sites located next to toxic sites. Prisons can be prime sources of water and air pollution where they are situated, placing nearby communities in a precarious position because they rely very heavily upon them as a source of employment and economic support, much in common with mining in communities and states dependent upon this source for economic support, and placing them in a precarious position to bring attention to this problem. Communities often become very dependent upon prisons as economic engines. H EALTH AND THE E NV IRONM E NT
Davies (2017) analyzes connections between residential segregation, zoning, and environmental hazards exposure, and the health of urban communities of color. The interconnectedness of these subjects highlights a social-ecological stance on state- sanctioned violence. Pellow (2004) discusses how trash removal often gets overlooked in urban social justice yet has tremendous health ramifications, and is an assault on resident self-esteem because the state expects them to live in filth. Trash removal has great significance in urban communities, with environmental health implications for residents, in addition to aesthetic reasons and the symbolism that it conjures. Not only is trash not collected with the same frequency found in well- resourced communities, trash transfer stations (trash inequality) have a high chance of being located in low-resource communities, such as in New York City, with 6% of residents living in three areas handling 75% of that city’s trash (Neuman, 2018). Health cannot be separated from zoning, location of hazardous sites, governmental indifference, and acts undermining these communities (Taylor, 2014). Medical deserts (lack of presence and quality) bring an added aspect to health outcomes that lend themselves to understanding state violence in this realm. Environment and health cannot be separated when discussing virtually any health condition, let alone one with roots in state-sponsored violence. De Maio Ansell (2018) discusses the origin and evolution of structural violence as a research concept with strong applicability to social conditions and issues, including environmental justice. Prisons and jails can be conceptualized as a deadly form of environmental injustice or racism, with consequences stretching from the prisons to the surrounding areas
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and communities. Prison structures are ominous and nothing that is healthy can occur there. Environmental racism and mass incarceration are two sides of the same coin, and both exercise violence on people of color and their communities. CONCL U SION
The influence of state-sanctioned violence on health is not a hard sell. The state plays an active role in creating toxic health conditions. This chapter touched on multiple themes, speaking to the saliency of health in urban communities of color. Health is an arena in which state-sanctioned violence is active and deadly. Generally, health falls into the slow and invisible form of state violence, unless we are talking about the police and their actions. Health, too, can easily find its way into the other manifestations of state violence addressed in this section. When the health of children and youth is focused on, state actions are magnified because their futures have been severely compromised. Health has garnered national attention in the debate on the Affordable Care Act. We will not be hard pressed to find an abundance of material on health and how the state allows compromising the lives of people of color to persist. State violence and law enforcement and criminal justice will be addressed in Chapter 7, a topic that is all encompassing and seemingly an integral part of the social fabric of urban communities of color.
7
Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice
I N T R OD U CTION
It is appropriate to start this chapter on what is arguably the most direct and visible manifestation of state-sanctioned violence and a (GoodReads, https://www. goodreads.com/quotes/7802915-if-a-w hite-man-wants-to-lynch-me-that-s -his) quote by Stokely Carmichael: “If a white man wants to lynch me, that’s his problem. If he’s got the power to lynch me, that’s my problem. Racism is not a question of attitude; it’s a question of power.” This quote spotlights where this power originates and how government fosters violent acts, either directly or indirectly. When power to execute, slow or fast, is abused, shootings by the police become a modern-day version of a lynching. If unchallenged, it bodes poorly for preventing future state actions. Law enforcement and criminal justice are topics that can stand alone as separate chapters, but due to limited space they have been combined. They are two sides of the same coin. Connecting criminal justice and state violence is not difficult from an intellectual and empirical standpoint, with countless scholars, activists, and victims doing this (Gottschalk, 2016). The long-term consequences are prodigious and multifaceted as people of color increase numerically, including their youth population, justifying more extreme state measures. Academics have an arduous time explaining our criminal justice system because the racism that permeates it is so well hidden behind race-neutral laws, polices, and practices (Omori, 2019). Where would the criminal justice be without a steady supply of people of color to fill its institutions? Law enforcement and criminal justice cannot exist without state-sanctioned violence creating a ready supply of inmates. This system goes beyond incarceration, encompassing violence typically overlooked, such State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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as restrictions on access to public housing, employment, and voting, upon release, calling for an expunging of records (Prescott & Starr, 2019). As the saying goes, “if you build them, we will fill them.” Mass incarceration is big business with many depending on it for their livelihoods, with resistance to altering this economic engine, in similar fashion to military base closings. Although social workers may have heard the argument that prisons have become breeding grounds for terrorists, evidence does not support this claim, and a rationale for further fearing the formerly incarcerated increases a demand for police training on counterterrorism, including investment in equipment, singling out the formerly incarcerated of particular racial and religious backgrounds ( Jones, 2014). This chapter addresses topics social workers are well versed in and other subjects that bring a new or more nuanced perspective on state violence and the law. The classification of state violence provided in this book addresses the vast majority of acts of state violence. Death at the hands of the state, for example, is not limited to police encounters. One has only to examine death sentences to see dramatic racial disparities, reinforcing state willingness to exercise violence on people of color because they are expendable (Baumgartner, Grigg, & Mastro, 2015; Glaser, Martin, & Kahn, 2015; Smith, 2015). Death sentences, ironically, can be considered slow death (waiting for the unfolding of appeals can take decades), with an eventual fast and highly visible death when execution does finally occur. MAS S INCARCE RATION: A NOTE
Much has been said about the mass incarceration movement in the United States, and there is an abundance of scholarly material and reports tracing its origins and evolution over the past several decades. Therefore, the subject will only be touched upon in this chapter, although other chapters will address it. The central role of law enforcement in a state-sponsored violence paradigm seems perfectly natural, and more so for us who work with the incarcerated and formerly incarcerated. The incarcerated and formerly incarcerated can be viewed as prisoners and former prisoners of a war that has been carried out by the state. If state-sanctioned violence exists, then why not assign the label of prisoners of war to those punished by the state? The mass incarceration movement has taken hold in the national consciousness, representing a highly visual representation of state-sanctioned violence (Forman, Jr., 2017; Delgado & Humm-Delgado, in press). This movement, probably more so than any other social justice movement, has drawn scholarly attention focused on urban communities of color (Davis, 2017; Hansford & Jagannath, 2015), and all age groups. The various nationally focused wars (war on drugs and War on Crime) have fueled the appetite for incarceration. We must appreciate organized resistance to mass incarceration from within and without, such as strikes by those who are incarcerated, use of lawsuits, prison uprisings, writings by the incarcerated and those supporting their cause, and coalitions of organizations focused on challenging inhumane prison conditions; they are important indicators of resisting state violence (Berger & Losier, 2017). This type of resistance has not gotten the attention it deserves, and it is bound to increase in significance as these acts take hold and receive greater public support.
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M I L ITA RY VETERANS AND CORRE CTIONAL S E R V I C E
Discussion of military veterans and state-sanctioned violence may seem unpatriotic. This connection only seems to strengthen, and that is disturbing. Incarceration is the flip side to this relationship. It is not surprising to find that state penal institutions have recruitment programs targeting military veterans (Trigg, 2018). ICE and the Department of Homeland Security, too, have initiatives hiring veterans in order to expand their representation from a current level of 30%, illustrating the extent of the military’s reach for the marginalized (Immigration and Customs Enforcement, 2018). This expansion coincides with special recruiting efforts by police departments. Am I against hiring veterans? As a former veteran, of course not. They risked their lives and are often scapegoated, and more so when they are of color. Their screening, training, and supervision, and research on performance, takes on greater significance because of their potential to use deadly force in carrying out their daily responsibilities. The groups targeted by these actions are particularly vulnerable from a rights standpoint, introducing a racialized policy that can create greater harm. B A I L AND STAT E- S ANCTIONE D V IOLE NC E
Law and criminal justice experiences have profound impact on worldviews and fairness that carry over to other spheres of life; when they are negative, they shape the perspectives of families and their social networks (Peffley & Mondak, 2017). Discussion of state-sanctioned violence and mass incarceration has generally focused on the obvious manifestations, such as imprisonment. Eventual imprisonment, however, encompasses a multitude of dimensions starting with law enforcement and ending with a prison or jail sentence, and one might add the very present threat of being imprisoned (Baughman, 2017). Imprisonment is the end result of a lengthy process. An inability to pay fines and fees (collateral sanctions) disproportionally impacts low-income people of color and, particularly in the South (beyond this book’s scope), barely mentioned in this section, results in imprisonment (Dukmasova, 2018; Edelman, 2017; Plassmeyer & Sliva, 2018). Court arraignment (decision on whether to release on bail or personal recognizance) creates great anxiety and often has been referred to as period during which a defendant is provided with an opportunity to exercise his or her legal rights, but in the case of those of color, it is an instance for epistemic violence to transpire, yet another form of violence as represented through a public assault on one’s dignity and personhood (Brissette, 2018). There are numerous aspects of the criminal justice system that gets overlooked. Forensic expert testimony, a much overlooked aspect of the legal process, can be tainted in favor of the prosecution through exaggeration of conviction odds (Murphy, 2019), to the detriment of defendants who are often of color and often represented by public defenders without time and needed resources to counter. The nation’s bail system is also often overlooked in discussing the criminal– industrial complex and its pernicious reach into communities of color, further perpetuating a racialized state (Menefee, 2018), with judge’s bail decisions profoundly influenced by racial factors (Arnold, Dobbie, & Yang, 2018). Plea bargaining, not
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surprisingly, too, is highly racialized, reflecting this bias due to the increased likelihood that those of color will receive harsher sentences (Berdejó, 2018; Mizel, 2018). Incarceration for not paying fines and fees is a form of debtors’ prison and is unconstitutional, yet it exists and is racialized ( Jerjian, 2017). Denying bail to migrants seeking asylum, too, is racialized and represents an emerging, new dimension to this subject, although certain to be challenged on constitutional grounds (Shear & Benner, 2019). A historical review of bail’s disproportionate impact on people of color will find the slogan “Jail-No-Bail,” a strategy used during the 1950s civil rights demonstrations because of recognition of bail as a racialized and criminalized method further oppressing these communities (Berger, 2014). Reforming the nation’s bail system is a goal with an immediate impact on communities of color and their early engagement against the mass incarceration movement. The consequences of being unable to meet bail are far reaching and manifested in invisible ways (Steinberg, Kalish, & Ritchin, 2018): Every night, almost half a million people—who have not been convicted of anything—go to sleep in jail cells because they cannot afford to pay cash bail. It is one key driver of mass incarceration, responsible for 99 percent of jail growth in America over the past fifteen years. It is, for those who cannot afford to pay it, the most destructive force in the criminal legal system—ruining lives, destabilizing families, and weakening communities. Moreover, it creates enormous pressure on the person locked in a jail cell to plead guilty to a crime—whether or not she is guilty—so she can return to the safety of her home. Whether a person is in jail, on bail, or at liberty, will determine just about everything that comes after the jail door does, or does not, close. It will influence case outcomes, life outcomes, and the long-term consequences of an arrest. So, the ability to get someone out of jail while his or her case winds its way through an overburdened criminal legal system is critical. (p. 80) Not meeting bail increases state and local tax funds being spent on a problem with easy solutions. Several hundred dollars can mean the difference between going home and awaiting trial or being incarcerated until a trial, which, incidentally, can result in a not guilty verdict. Waiting in jail disrupts their lives, their family, social network, and community (Goff, 2017, p. 825): At any given time in America, approximately 70% of all inmates in state and local jails are pretrial detainees. The large majority of these individuals are charged with nonviolent offenses and remain incarcerated after arrest—before even going to trial—simply because they cannot afford to pay the bail required for their release. Eschewing detention while awaiting a trial is the preferred option because it is the least disruptive for the accused. Bail amounts vary according to the criminal charge. Efforts at introducing innovation into the bail system have resulted in novel ideals, such as New York City’s supervised release program that helps increase the likelihood of making future court dates without undergoing detention (Alcorn, 2019).
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There are many elements that have escaped close attention regarding the criminal justice process and bail. It is impossible to obtain a comprehensive grasp of mass incarceration and people of color without viewing the role of prosecutors in this process. However, prosecutors play an important role (Wright, 2017, p. 88): A slender thread runs from the black community, through the local prosecutor’s office, to the local police. Too often, this cord breaks and policing is untethered from community views. The ties between communities and their prosecutors do matter, however, and there are unexplored methods for strengthening those ties. Part of the answer lies in voter education and mobilization. Readers interested in obtaining greater depth on the role of prosecutors in fostering mass incarceration are advised to read Bazelon’s book (2019b) Charged: The New Movement to Transform American Prosecution and End Mass Incarceration. Prosecutors wield prodigious power in determining the initial criminal charge and bargaining to lesser charges in obtaining a plea agreement, and this book spells out this process and its racialized nature to the detriment of people of color.
P H Y SICA L A ND NONPHY SICAL POLICE I N T I MI D AT I ON
The consequences of police–community encounters can have far-reaching implications that fall into the category of invisible state violence, as in the case of Chicago (Lockhart & Lopez, 2018). Chicago’s financial payments for police misconduct is a perspective rarely thought about in discussing that city’s ultraviolent enforcement (Daniels, 2018, p. 8): Chicago and far larger New York are the two U.S. cities that pay the most to settle complaints about cops. But when you add our habit of using debt to cover the cost—lately, at punishing interest rates due to our pitiful credit rating—there’s little doubt Chicago holds the dubious distinction as the nation’s top spender on police misconduct. It is estimated that between 2010 and 2016 the city financed $486 million of the $936 million in settlements, and this translates into funding not available for services that can aid neighborhoods. A nationwide study of these types of settlements will uncover billions of dollars that could be better spent. The following interchange highlights how a threat of shooting unarmed men of color can easily become a normalized narrative (Gold, 2018, p. A27): A white police officer in Connecticut [Hartford] had stopped a group of men, who were mostly black and Hispanic, on suspicion of trespassing when he issued a fairly threatening warning. “If anybody wants to fight or run, I’m a little trigger- happy, guys,” he told the men in August. “I’m not gonna lie. You know, I get paid a ton of money in overtime if I have to shoot somebody,” he added, “so don’t do anything stupid.”
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This exchange was recorded by one of the men who was stopped (officer was discharged upon review), capturing the far-reaching narrative of police killings of unarmed people. In another exchange, in Springfield, Massachusetts, located 100 miles west of Boston, between police officers and three Latino adolescents was captured on video, illustrating how police can act with impunity, and why communities of color rarely do not respect them (Crimaldi, 2018, p. B1): The case started with the shocking surveillance video showing a Springfield narcotics detective threatening to murder and plant drugs on a teenage boy suspected of participating in the theft of an unmarked SUV outside a pizzeria in 2016 . . . the officer was caught on video bragging that he could kill with impunity. These scenarios can be replicated throughout the nation, feeding into a state violence narrative. Police encounter narratives travel very fast within communities of color, reinforcing well-founded fears of state violence. The police, it is safe to surmise, demand respect and deference in order to feel validated and legitimized, and this engenders feelings harking back to this country’s period of enslavement for African Americans (Chronopoulos, 2018). T HE INCAR CE RATE D AS CHE AP AND EXP END AB L E LABOR
State violence can manifest itself as law and order, helping people of color to feel that the state is addressing their concerns on violence, and contributing to their well- being. Few people may take issue with this stance because of how it is being publicly portrayed. This stance must be critically examined because of the potential of these “opportunities” to cause great harm under the guise of doing good, breaking down a social contract between the state and communities. The subjection of those currently incarcerated is a prime example. Those who are incarcerated literally become property of the penal system housing them, and one cannot help but see the parallels with those who were enslaved as property. A number of rationales have been advanced for using convict labor, including rehabilitation, representing an evolution that started with enslavement, followed by a convict-leasing system, and today’s chain gangs (Whitehouse, 2017). Convict labor is as old as the nation, with roots in the colonial period (Smith, 2014) and historical periods (Old and New South standing out) of relying on this labor (Derbes, 2018; LeFlouria, 2015; Lichtenstein, 1996; Shapiro, 2017). Sliva and Samimi (2018, p. 153), in a rare article by social workers on prison labor, address its history and pervasiveness: Perhaps most significant, prisons provide a captive workforce, and the labor of prisoners is currently used by thousands of U.S. corporations to cut costs and increase profits . . . To no small extent, America was built by prison labor. Within the first years of the New World, enterprising ship merchants and American planters traded some 50,000 British convicts, who were sold into servitude by their native country as an efficient means of punishing–and being rid of—offenders.
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Weighing in on this is affirming for the profession because of our values. In 2018, there was an inmate nationwide strike protesting forced labor for wages that is reminiscent of the country’s enslavement period when economic, political, and social interests converged to create and maintain a system in which inmates became property and were traded as currency (Loomis, 2018). Use of the incarcerated as cheap labor for dangerous work harks back to the nation’s painful period of enslavement (LeBaron, 2018; Morris & Arford, 2018), with their use to fight wildfires in California (late 2018) being a current example of exploitation (Hess, 2018, pp. 2–4): In August, the Mendocino Complex Fire scorched approximately 350,000 acres of northern California and destroyed over 146 homes. At the time, the blaze was the largest fire in the state’s history. Roughly 14,000 firefighters battled the Mendocino fires. Among them were over than 2,000 inmates. According to a local ABC affiliate, roughly 200 inmate firefighters are assisting with the Butte County Camp Fire burning right now. The inmates are part of a volunteer firefighting program run by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR). Inmates are paid $2 a day, and $1 an hour when fighting an active fire. They also earn time off their sentences [two days off for every day are on duty]. These incarcerated participants, including 59 youth offenders, are “volunteers.” Questions can be raised as to whether it possible to volunteer when in a total institution, raising serious concerns about civil rights (Mindock, 2018). Convict labor’s invisibility makes it difficult to identify from human rights or social justice standpoints, but no less significant than a more visible counterpart in state- sanctioned violence. The power and influence of capitalism feeds on the marginalized, and who better than the incarcerated, whose rights are compromised? The incarcerated are expendable and so are those employed in these systems. Misconduct by those running incarceration systems often goes unpunished, with the consequences generally associated with total institutions, including abusing lower level staff who are one level removed from the incarcerated (Williams, 2019a). Although the race and ethnicity of staff were not reported, it would not be surprising to find that they are disproportionally of color, with women bearing the brunt of abuse.
P U N IS HMENT P OST INCARCE RATION RE L E A S E
Punishment continues after serving a sentence. California, for instance, is entertaining a bill that would seal the records of those convicted for misdemeanors or lower level felonies, helping to curbs these consequences (Thomas, 2019b). Punishment, however, is not limited to those who are incarcerated (Wildeman, Goldman, & Turney, 2018). Their families, too, are victims. Latinx children in California, for example, are 2.5 times more likely to have a parent incarcerated than their White, non-Latinx counterparts (Foster et al., 2019), and they are burdened with far-reaching social and economic consequences as a result.
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T HE STATE AND THE RIGHT TO V OTE: DIS ENF R A NCHISE M E NT AND V OTE R S U P P R E S S I O N
When the full weight of the state is used to prevent the exercise of a right such as voting, it is appropriate to include in this chapter. There are few acts that are more associated with a democracy than the right to vote. It is symbolic and shapes how we want the government to carry out its duties. Denying this right is not an act that occurs periodically during local, state, and national elections. The right to vote ensures that we are part of a broader collective body and a connectedness that we may often overlook in its importance. An inability to vote is a form of violence when the state actively seeks to prevent this act. Disenfranchising or suppressing voters takes on greater significance, practically and symbolically, when groups are targeted because of their skin color. Disenfranchising voters limits a community’s ability to influence local and national elections (Murillo, 2017; Wines, 2018a) and is personal and not just political, although the political implications are understood. Not being worthy of voting is understood to mean that you are not equal to someone who can vote. Current efforts can involve some of the following methods (Astor, 2018): (1) requiring a photo identification; (2) restricting availability, such as driver’s license offices in communities of color, to obtain an ID; (3) requiring proof of citizenship; (4) closing polling places in marginalized communities; (5) limiting get-out-the-vote campaigns; (6) purging voter rolls; and (7) disenfranchising felons. A different twist on disenfranchisement and voting is the recent administration effort on the U.S. Census, which is before the Supreme Court. Adding a question on citizenship is yet another state attempt to undermine the political representation of the districts that unauthorized people live in and the allocation of governmental resources based on population size (New York Times, 2019d, 2019f; Wines, 2019b). The unauthorized may not be able to vote, but their presence can be undermined if they refuse to participate in U.S. Census efforts to document the number of residents in a geographical area. In 2013, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned an important provision (Section 5) of the Voting Rights Act, which was instrumental in combating racial discrimination by requiring jurisdictions with histories of discrimination to seek preapproval of changes in voting rules that could affect people of color. Since 2010, 21 states have passed laws making it harder to vote, with the Supreme Court decision spurring most of these efforts (Brennan Center for Justice, 2015). Voter purges are an added and increasingly popular dimension to disenfranchising voters, many of whom are of color (Anderson, 2018; Brater et al., 2018). Voter disenfranchisement and voter depression have a long history in the United States and have witnessed a renewed emphasis. Voter suppression is state-sponsored racism ( Jeffries, 2019) and a form of violence targeting human dignity and an ability to more fully participate in the business of the nation, and its history can be traced back to a White supremacist Jim Crow policy. One has only to look at the most recent congressional election to understand the importance of voter suppression and how this act takes the nation back in history to state efforts targeting newly freed African Americans who had been enslaved (Anderson & Derbin, 2018; Gabriel, 2019). The Russian government, known for state-sponsored violence, sought to suppress the African American/Black vote in the
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2016 Presidential election, adding another layer to how they were targeted (Shane & Frenkel, 2018). Voter disenfranchisement, due to being in prison or having a criminal record, reduces community political power, further pushing it to the edge on social justice matters. Disenfranchisement because of felony convictions can be traced to the Reconstruction era and efforts to maintain political and social power in the post- Civil War South (Holloway, 2013; Pettus, 2013). Before proceeding on this topic, it is important to point out a positive note. Florida’s formerly incarcerated are registering to vote based on a 2018 state-passed referendum (Mazzei, 2019a). Unfortunately, as this book goes out for review and press, a Florida House panel passed a bill, backed by Governor Desantis, that requires that they pay fees and fines in order to have their voting rights restored, representing a serious setback on this effort (Mazzei, 2019c; Zraick, 2019). This fee has been characterized as a poll tax by the Democratic opposition. Demographic changes have gained greater currency in spurring these efforts, raising critical parallels to this period in American history. There are more African Americans under correctional system supervision (awaiting trial, parole, probation, incarcerated) than there were enslaved in 1850 (Swann, 2012). Racism has existed throughout our history, evolving from enslavement and attempts at Native American genocide, to subtle and insidious manifestations today (Miller & Garran, 2017).
S E G R EGATION AND M ASS INCARCE RATI O N
Wacquant (2015) traces state violence targeting African Americans through various historical phases, starting with enslavement, Jim Crow, and present-day ghettos serving to geographically concentrate the descendants of the enslaved. Enslavement was legally regulated and generally went unchallenged because of deference to the state (Wiecek, 2018). Geographical (place) segregation is an essential element in these strategies. Housing segregation can be done in seemingly invisible ways, as in Minneapolis. Single-family zoning is often viewed as a way of helping to foster a sense of neighborhood. Viewing it as a proxy for race and socioeconomic class takes on a more sinister and exclusionary (invisible) meaning. In 2018, Minneapolis became the nation’s first city to end this type of zoning because it is racially discriminatory (Mervosh, 2018a). It remains to be seen whether the rest of the nation follows. Geographical and physical containment facilitates overpolicing and mass incarceration (Owusu-Bempah, 2017, p. 29): The over-policing that criminality (real and perceived) is used to justify, furthers the structural inequalities experienced by Black people by alienating them from mainstream society. It supports the notion that they are inherently crime-prone, and saddles many with . . . a criminal record, thus ensuring further social exclusion and hampering future economic prospects . . . The impact of historical and contemporary racism gets lost in this process.
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INT ER GENERATIONAL MASS INCARCE R AT I ON
An intergenerational dimension to mass incarceration has left an indelible mark on urban communities of color and is a modern-day version of chained enslavement. Readers can understand why criminal justice is so closely associated with state- sanctioned violence. Every effort will made to address different groups—juvenile justice, special groups, those who are undocumented, and women. The financial, social, political, and moral costs to society this pipeline causes is immeasurable now and in the future. Scholars have argued that descendants of people who were enslaved are still enslaved, but enslavement has evolved through housing segregation, mass incarceration, police brutality, surveillance, poor health outcomes, and inadequate education, for instance, all combining to reflect the state’s extensive control of this group (Glaude, Jr., 2017; Goodman, 2018b). Enslavement initially required physical bondage (visible violence), but emancipation required a different system (invisible violence) based on disenfranchisement in multiple spheres (Garza, 2016). The political and economic consequences of incarcerating large groups, too, requires closer attention, causing immense dislocation of community economic, political, cultural, and social capital, not to mention the impact it has on local taxes to support these institutions that are state and locally funded. These taxes can be better spent on enhancing human lives and creating opportunities for self-fulfillment. Finally, health cannot be separated from incarceration (Gaber & Wright, 2016). The health of the incarcerated, as in the case of Black men, necessitates that a social determinant of health be assessed for this group (Nowotny & Kuptsevych‐Timmer, 2018), and other groups of color. Incarceration is an opportunity to have long-neglected health needs met; it can also be an opportunity to obtain various communicable diseases that can be spread to families and communities upon release. Incarceration can also be an opportunity to further instill illness and compromise the health of the incarcerated and of those surrounding them (Delgado & Humm-Delgado, in press). L AW ENF OR CE M E NT AND STATE - S PO N S OR E D V I OL E N C E
This chapter taps a plethora of data on police brutality across the country, which, unfortunately, is a common and widely accepted indicator of the state of affairs on this subject, and multidimensional and complex. Chicago will be a specific focus and used to illustrate state-sanctioned violence against people of color in that city, which has a long history of being home to African American and Latinx people (Fernandez, 2012). I debated between Chicago and Baltimore in selecting a case illustration because both cities have figured very prominently in national discourse on this topic and share deep histories of distrust between their communities and the police. I decided on Chicago because it is this nation’s third largest city, it has garnered a considerable amount of attention in recent years because of President Trump casting it as an example of what is wrong with cities, and it has a long history of state-sanctioned violence by law enforcement. This does not mean that Baltimore will be ignored, because it, too, has suffered from state-sponsored violence. A 2016 Chicago mayoral task force report on the police concurred with “the widely held belief the police have no regard for the sanctity of life when it comes to people
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of color” (Oppel, Jr., & Harmon, 2018, p. 3). This startling conclusion is based upon community perceptions of police racism that there are two justice systems, one for people of color and the other for White, non-Latinx, reinforcing the existence of a state-sanctioned view of justice (Davey, 2019). I am always suspicious of task forces because of their tendency to take the pressure off systems by buying time for political pressure to subside. Why? When asked what is being done about a particular problem, the answer is that we have a task force studying it and will issue recommendations. In 2018, Officer Van Dyke was indicted in the shooting (16 times) of Laquan McDonald, a 17-year-old African American, which was visually captured, stood trial (M. Smith, 2018b, p. A1), and had a profound impact on a city used to tragedies: “Laquan’s death changed Chicago in ways obvious and still to be determined. It laid bare decades of distrust over Chicago police officers’ treatment of black residents and over City Hall’s lack of transparency.” The common defense was an officer afraid for his life (Smith, 2018c, p. A11): “I never would have fired my gun if I did not think my life was in jeopardy or another citizen’s life was.” I guess that explains why the officer shot Laquan 16 times! Concerns about the outcome of this trial were widespread (Smith, 2018d, 2018e). Officer Van Dyke, although charged with first-degree murder, was found guilty of second-degree murder (Smith, Williams, & Davey, 2018), averting what many expected to be major disturbances if found innocent. Sadly, he received a very short sentence, further exacerbating distrust between law enforcement and communities of color (Smith & Bosman, 2019). This verdict marked Chicago’s first officer found guilty of murder in almost 50 years in that city’s history. This “victory” was short lived. Shortly after this verdict, in another case a Chicago police officer shot an unarmed 15-year-old African American teenager in the back of the head in 2012 and was found innocent by the Police Board and allowed to remain on the force (Hauser, 2018), illustrating an intractable crisis in the nation’s third largest city. Chicago’s code of silence was also on trial in Laquan McDonald’s murder, highlighting conspiracy, official misconduct, obstruction of justice, and a cover-up of the circumstances of this shooting, and illustrating how an us-and-them mentality, so essential in state acts of violence, is prevalent and well known within urban communities of color (Davey, 2018). The officers charged with covering up this crime were found innocent (Davey & Bosman, 2019). A lack of trusting police–community relations has a long history in this country, setting a context for present-day relations. Police misconduct, as in the case of killing unarmed African Americans, can suppress community reporting of crimes, as in Milwaukee (Desmond, Papachristos, & Kirk, 2016). Not surprisingly, there is a call for increased police transparency in the use of guns and Tasers, weapons generally overlooked because of an emphasis on guns, but one still causing a great deal of physical pain and harm (Morton, 2018). Calling 911 when not considered warranted by authorities can result in criminalization of the caller, introducing another critical trust barrier (Friedman & Albo, 2017). Hamilton and Foote (2018) studied the torture of African Americans by Chicago’s police to illicit confessions and eventual convictions, introducing a disturbing, yet important dimension to police–community relations and a topic with deep historical roots in this country going back to enslavement. These tortures can be viewed as historical events. Understanding how, and why, they occurred plays a role in helping the African American community do historical meaning-making with implications for
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present-day police actions. It is not water under the bridge but, rather, a narrative integral to Chicago’s history. Police torture can be found in democracies such as ours, which may seem difficulty to fathom ( Jackson, Hall, & Hill, Jr., 2018, p. 6): Our results suggest that one of the most robust findings in the literature must be qualified: some vulnerable groups do not enjoy the protection created by political competition and strong courts of law. If recent episodes of police violence in democracies are aberrant, it is only because police violence does not typically rise to the level seen in these cases, not because such violence is occurring in democracies. One has only to read Jeffreys’s (2018) Chicago’s Cook County Jail accounts to obtain an incarceration perspective on state-sponsored violence’s impact on Chicago. In 2016, Presidential candidate Trump threatened to send the National Guard to Chicago in an effort to quell the outbreak of shootings. This threat, when combined with National Guard deployment to the U.S.–Mexico border, and eventual military deployment, illustrates military might in defense of the state by putting armed military personnel in our streets and at our borders. GUN VIOL ENCE AS A NATIONAL PUBLI C H E A LT H C R I S I S
In 2017, there were 39,773 gunshot deaths in the United States according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, an increase of 1,000 from 2017, and the highest number since 1968, with 60% of the deaths due to suicide, making gun violence a major national public health problem (Mervosh, 2018b). What are the costs of a nation addicted to guns and using them to undertake violent acts? We usually think of the costs associated with gun violence as human or social in nature. The economic costs can be staggering when taking into account medical bills, lost income, law enforcement, and lower property taxes, estimated at over $100 billion (Singletary, 2018). Gun violence exists and reaches epidemic proportions in urban communities of color because it is not only sanctioned by the state, but is also supported through inaction regarding the selling of guns and ammunition. President Trump has said that there is no bias against the CDC undertaking gun violence research, but there still is no funding to undertake this much needed research ( Jaffe, 2018; Rajan et al., 2018). This reluctance to label it an epidemic, with a disproportionate impact on communities of color, is state inaction as a form of lethal action. African American/Black men are 14 times more likely than White, non-Latinxs, to be killed by guns (Gallagher & Hodge, 2018). There is a general acknowledgment as this book goes to print that funding of gun research has increased in the private sector (Sanger-Katz, 2019). We often think that the victim of a gun shooting is the only victim of this act of violence, but their loved ones and their social network left behind are victims, too, illustrating the broad reach of this epidemic (Parsons et al., 2018): The epidemic of gun violence against America’s youth is more than just a disturbing data point. For each bullet red, there are multiple stories of lives changed
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forever. When he was just 6 years old, Missouri State Rep. Bruce Franks Jr. saw his brother shot in front of their neighbor’s home. Nevada activist Mariam El- Haj witnessed the shooting of her mother by her estranged father, who then turned the gun on Mariam. Oregon youth mentor Jes Phillip’s siblings have all had close calls—she has three younger sisters who were present at the Reynolds High School shooting in Troutdale, Oregon, and two bullets landed next to her brother’s bed when they came through her family’s apartment wall during a neighborhood shooting. Nineteen-year-old student Eli Saldana, a member of the Native American community living in Chicago, was shot on his walk home from work. (p. 2) Gun violence’s reach extends to all spheres of youth of color’s lives in high-violence communities, with lasting implications for their development. These deaths forever remain part of their memory, shaping their outlooks and prospects for a healthy life. In early June 2019 Chicago experienced an extremely violent weekend when 52 were shot and 10 individuals lost their lives (Lam, 2019). It is easy to focus on gun violence in some of Chicago’s neighborhoods, such as the South Side, losing sight of other detrimental consequences to residents and how state-sanctioned violence is integral in their lives, with immediate and long-lasting ramifications. Shabazz’s (2015) geography of risk (increased chances of incarceration, catching diseases, and death) when applied to Chicago’s South Side, has saliency when discussing urban youth of color throughout the nation. However, I will focus on police killings of unarmed urban people of color because that stands out as a glaring issue. Viewing a video of a police encounter resulting in a death, either when the victim is running away at a very slow speed, as in a case in South Carolina, or someone saying that they cannot breathe, for example, leaves a vivid and disturbing imprint of the injustice carried out in the name of justice and the state. YO UTH AND STATE V IOLE NCE
It certainly is easy to equate police, killings, abuse and disregard of law, and state- sanctioned violence. Police officers exercise tremendous discretion in conducting their job at this latitude, or what Castro (2017) refers to as “street-level sovereignty.” If racism is an integral part of an officer’s mindset, this will further influence their actions, which can be deadly. A more nuanced view of police-community relationships and how state-sanctioned violence unfolds is in order, particularly regarding youth of color. Law enforcement and the penal justice system are integrally connected with people of color in this nation’s history, and they continue to occupy prominent places in the country’s urban centers because of the shadows they cast on residents of color, particularly when casting current-day killings within a historical context ( Jones, 2017). More specifically, Brown-Wallace (2017, p. 7) addresses urban youth as a target for overpolicing, highlighting intersectionality by introducing youth as a targeted group: Research and tweets show there is a perceived negative relationship between police and the African community. The cause of the negative relationship is the aggressiveness and violence the police displays towards the community. Urban
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youth (teenagers) are usually the targets of police brutality . . . The police are seen as untrustworthy, which leads to lower confidence in the police by the community . . . People in the community will try to find ways to deal with situations in their community before calling the police for support. The actions by the police aggravate the people of the community and make them hostile towards the police. With the hostility, there is a negative relationship built between both the police and the community. It may seem incredulous that a nation enamored of youthfulness has declared a war on them, making state-sanctioned violence a much overlooked reality. Nichols (2018, p. 79), based on a Toronto study of youth of color, although with findings highly applicable to the United States, found that these youth experienced diminished rational fairness in dealings with police, which translated into expectations of “full and equal access to other juridical and administrative public institutions and processes.” This lack of faith in the judicial system can easily translate into a lack of trust in any state system, severely limiting their access to needed services. From their perspective, it translates into developing survival skills and not trusting authorities because they do not have their best interests in mind. The topic of microaggressions is well known by social workers, both in practice and the classroom (Kang & Garran, 2018). Microaggressions can lead youth of color to act out and, because of overpolicing, increase the likelihood of contact with the police and the consequences that often go along with these contacts (De Coster & Thompson, 2017; Sewell et al., 2016). Microaggressions can transpire with the active support of administration and the law. Legal violence is another way of thinking about state-sanctioned violence beyond the death penalty (Muñoz & Vigil, 2018). Casting this nation’s law enforcement departments as central agents in state- sanctioned violence is a sad state of affairs when discussing youth and communities of color. Police carry out violence for the state and undertake what is referred to as “violence work” (Seigel, 2018a, 2018b). The police, as agents of highly racialized state violence, can also be conceptualized as soldiers of death (Karpiak & Garriott, 2018). Friedman (2017) details visible and invisible ways that police violate the rights of groups, including killing them. Viewing this “mission” from an organizational stance allows a better understanding of the forces carrying out this violence (Rivera & Ward, 2017). Space precludes an in-depth accounting of the countless high-profile, deadly police encounters with victims of color in a book seeking to broaden state-sponsored violence beyond law enforcement. Readers will not be at a loss in finding an abundance of excellent books on this subject, which is a sad commentary on the state of affairs on such a painful and significant telling point on our democracy, and more so in the communities where these killings have transpired. Police lethal force disproportionately falls on people of color, with males bearing the brunt (Farbman, 2016; Futterman, Hunt, & Kalven, 2016a; Rubinstein, 2016; Swaine et al., 2015), although not limited to them. Sadly, the concept of a “human target” has increased saliency by highlighting how they are targeted (Rios, 2017b), with these killings taking on the appearance of a blood sport (Giroux, 2017). African American/Blacks have a 2.8 times greater chance than White, non-Latinxs, of dying due to police shootings (DeGue, Fowler, & Calkins, 2016). Further, and just as disturbing, this is not a recent phenomenon, over a 20-year-period (1980–2000),
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police were more likely to shoot Blacks even when race‐based differences in crime were held constant (Scott et al., 2017). This finding is significant because it covers an extended period of time and is national in scope, deemphasizing local circumstances and local-based solutions. In 2014, 69% of Blacks killed by the police were unarmed, although suspected of a violent crime (Violence Policy Center, 2018).
O T H ER F OR MS OF POLICE V IOLE NCE
Police animus toward communities of color gets manifested through practice and also behind the scenes, as in the case of Philadelphia. Philadelphia’s (the nation’s fifth- largest city and the “City of Brotherly Love”) Police Department had to suspend 72 officers because of racist rants, raising deep concerns about police–community relations and deep-seated sentiments (Smith, 2019b). One of the posts stated, “It’s a good day for a chokehold,” typifies the theme in this section. Police violence takes on numerous manifestations, such as stop and frisk (Fradella & White, 2017; Huq, 2016; Tyler, Fagan, & Geller, 2014). These policies and procedures are heavily racially tinged with words bound to elicit a plethora of stories of police violating individual rights, with local departments wielding considerable influence in how this police tactic is employed (White & Fradella, 2016). Stop and frisk is not just about stopping suspicious pedestrians, it is a personal invasion, rarely random, and can lead to violence being perpetrated upon residents (Sewell, 2018). In 2019, New York State, in another example related to state violence targeting people of color, a bill was signed making possession of gravity knives (knives with blades that can be opened quickly with a flick of a wrist) legal; the ban historically had been detrimental to this group and a rationale for arrests and incarceration, even though it is an instrument used in numerous professions (McKinley, 2019). Suspecting or even seeing this type of knife was cause for being stopped and frisked. Stop and frisk can be conceptualized in a variety of perspectives, with all fighting the racial aspects of this act. When viewed as an aggressive law enforcement strategy (violent act) and as one step in a death journey (slow death), at minimum it creates stress, paranoia, and trauma, turning city streets from an asset to a death space (Kwate & Threadcraft, 2017). There is a thin line between stop and frisk and shoot and kill (Carbado, 2017b). Chokeholds, too, are another example of police violence. Chokeholds disproportionately impact people of color and can result in deaths, as in the case of Eric Garner. In New York City, for example, between 2006 and 2010, despite a 20-year ban on this tactic, 63% of all complaints filed were by African Americans and 25% were by Latinxs, illustrating its disproportionate use with people of color (Coyne & Hall-Blanco, 2016). Officer Pantaleo (who applied the chokehold), as this book goes out for review, went to trial with the outcome greatly anticipated to gauge how far New York City has progressed from a social justice standpoint (Southall, 2019). The response of the police commander to being informed that the suspect (Eric Garner) was in all likelihood dead as the result the encounter is quite telling (Winston, 2019, p. A22): “Not a big deal. We were effecting a lawful arrest.” The rogue cop narrative is often used when police kill and harm unarmed victims and are convicted of the crime. However, this is the exception rather than the rule type
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of argument. However, the pervasiveness of these incidents is far too frequent to be casted as isolated. Paranoia is often casted as a personality trait associated with mental illness and has a very negative connotation in our society. Paranoia, when casted within a sociopolitical context, takes on a different and important dimension. It brings self-protection thoughts and behaviors and serves to make it more difficult to develop relationships based upon mutual trust, an essential dimension to well-being and creation of community, making bridges between people from different backgrounds difficult, in addition to distrusting authorities (Mosley et al., 2017). It seems as if they have been at war for such a long time that they simply do not know how peace feels. This statement seems extreme, but it is worth pausing and thinking about its meaning. Being constantly on alert when leaving home until returning takes a prodigious toll on a human being, even when this feeling is shared with others in the community. For those under constant threat, this state of being can be draining and comes at a great personal cost because of a heightened sense of alertness. Paranoia, a coping mechanism in this instance, helps people of color survive but at a tremendous psychological cost to them, their families, and respective communities. An inability not be on guard means that a peaceful state of being, essential for all human beings, is beyond reach, taking a toll on them. Stop-and-frisk encounters raise Fourth Amendment questions and are a form of state-sanctioned contestation because of how they single out people of color (E. J. Miller, 2015, p. 758): The ratcheting effect of contestation requires us to develop ways to de-escalate encounters to promote contestation, so as to use the encounter as a focal point of contact between state and citizen. But a theory of policing for that style of encounter must, I believe, include notions of equal participation and contestation that lead us down the path of civic republicanism. This is racial profiling and is discriminatory and unconstitutional (Reese, 2015). Yet, it is practiced throughout this nation’s inner cities, often going unchallenged and violating the rights of those being stopped. Although troubling, it is too narrow a view on such an important and complex issue. Rogers (2015, p. 211) addresses how police brutality harms mothers and links this violence to reproductive justice, which are topics rarely associated with this act: The traditional framing of public brutality offers little recourse for addressing the harm faced by mothers in the current and historical climate of police brutality, intimidation, and surveillance. This framing requires further examination of the ways mothers of black men navigate their personal and familial relationship with the police, how they combat negative public perceptions ascribed to black men and youth, and how they negotiate the safety of their families. Bringing a mother’s view highlights the inhuman nature of raising a child of color in this society, and how the odds are stacked against him or her. The term making it home resonates in African American urban households because it seeks to reinforce socially navigating contact with police (Malone Gonzalez, 2019), and other neighborhood challenges.
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There are other dimensions of police brutality. Public safety often takes a back seat to the pursuit of a suspect, as in the case of an officer who fired 27 times at a fleeing suspect in The Bronx, New York, wounding innocent bystanders in the process and raising questions about excessive use of force in a densely populated neighborhood, which happens to be low resource and of color, no less (Winston, 2018). Thus, police use of excessive force does not have to be directed at designated victims but can extend far beyond individual targets by a total disregard for bystanders. This reckless behavior will not occur in a White, non-Latinx, and middle-or upper-middle class community. Even incidents that on the surface may appear as mundane, such as a 4-year old being accused of stealing a doll from a Dollar Store, can precipitate a police incident of abuse of power. We often associate state police violence with the phenomenon of targeting individuals of color. However, as witnessed in a Phoenix video, which went viral and was covered by national news programs, it can also target families, including pregnant women and 4-year-olds (Olmstead, 2019; Zaveri & Garcia, 2019). The 2014 murder of Michael Brown (Ferguson, Missouri), an unarmed Black adolescent, is regarded as fueling the birth of the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, or ground zero (Derickson, 2017). What happened in Ferguson had international ramifications (Mislán & Shaban, 2019). Police actions were not limited to physical abuse of African Americans; they also involved less obvious actions, such as large fees and fines levied on minor traffic stops, a key source of city revenue, which is common across the nation (Dahaghi, 2017; Henricks & Harvey, 2017), introducing economic violence to the context leading to the riots following the Michael Brown killing (Ordower, Onesimo Sandoval, & Warren, 2017; Stockman, 2018b; Watson, 2017). Ferguson became the national poster child for the criminalization of poverty by Black’s being incarcerated for their inability to pay traffic fines (Bazelon, 2019a). This gave new meaning to “driving could be hazardous to your health and well-being” if you are Black. The police, in essence, became tax collectors for the state (Wigfall Robinson, 2017). Michael Brown’s killing must be grounded within a climate of oppression, structural racism, and state-sanctioned violence to fully understand the community’s indignation and reactions to his death, with a largely invisible form of violence, such fines and fees, and anger fueling community protest. The Black Lives Matter movement has performed a public and social justice favor by grabbing much-needed national and international attention on the abuse of state power, providing a highly visible vehicle for recruiting members to this cause. This movement has addressed how state-sponsored violence is perpetrated through acts by police forces across the nation disproportionately targeting groups, with social media capturing, disseminating, and connecting activists across the country, including youth (Burton, 2015; Carney, 2016; Thurston, 2018; Williams et al., 2015). The emergence of “Black Twitter” as a digital counterforce in addressing state violence represents but the latest evolution of the use of social media among people of color (Hill, 2018). The deaths of people of color through state violence, now visually captured through recording devices, has been going on in this country the past two centuries (Hill, 2016). These acts being visually captured represent the flip side of living in a surveillance-prone society. These deaths fall within fast and slow categories, with the latter not being any more acceptable. Blessert (2017, p. 191) addresses the All Lives Matter counterargument to Black Lives Matter and the importance of not losing or minimizing the lived experience, and casted it as a form of false memory:
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Any discussion of All Lives Matter is the antithesis of itself. If all lives truly mattered, the social and political discourse dominating society would not consist ently demonize and depict as criminals people and communities of color. State-sanctioned violence, as witnessed by the killings of unarmed Black men, women, and children, would not be justified. The use of force by military personnel to disrupt Native American protesters fighting to protect their history, culture, and, ultimately, their livelihood would be as prominent in the news as the xenophobic messages of political candidates. All Lives Matter is just another attempt to keep people of color in their place, minimizing their lived experiences to effectively retain and hold onto the privileges White supremacy affords Caucasians in the United States. (p. 191). Delegitimizing this movement by broadening the argument to all lives is a false moral equivalent, fails in its attempt, and only reinforces the importance of BLM. Clayton (2018) undertakes a comparative analysis of the BLM and the civil rights movement (CRM), with both sharing the purpose of fostering Black communities’ seeking freedom and equal rights, but with the CRM seeking to be more inclusive than its BLM counterparts, increasing its goal of change beyond police killings and other visible acts of brutality. This shift comes with trade-offs for this movement by framing the issues from a life-and-death perspective. We cannot discuss state-sponsored violence without discussing police brutality, particularly the killing of unarmed people of color (primarily male), and the militarism of the nation’s police force, key themes in this book (Karkazis, Mamo, & Edu, 2016, p. 25): Every time a grand jury or police review board accepts self-defense as a justification for such violence, it ratifies the ideas that blacks represent a threat against which lethal violence is an appropriate measure, and that some institutions have the right to engage in such “legitimate” violence. Racism not only justifies and perpetuates state-sanctioned violence, but makes it possible to see such violence as not violence in the first place . . . These acts are violent from a community perspective and law and order from a state- sanctioned standpoint. P OL ICE K IL LINGS OF UNARM E D PE OP L E O F C OL O R
Police killings have been addressed throughout earlier portions of this book and will also be addressed later on. However, its importance necessitates its own section here. We should note that the forgotten group of color in police shootings is Native Americans (Hansen, 2017, pp. 1–3): Allegations of excessive police use of force against African-Americans have captured the nation's attention in recent years. But there's another group whose stories you're less likely to hear about. Native Americans are killed in police encounters at a higher rate than any other racial or ethnic group, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Yet rarely do these
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deaths gain the national spotlight. This lack of attention has prompted some advocates to start social media campaigns reminiscent of Black Lives Matter. Police killings of unarmed people of color must be grounded within a quantitative context, helping to explain this phenomenon (Black Youth Project, 2018): The current state is: One of out of three Black men will be captured and held in some type of state bondage in their lifetime. Black people make up 32 percent of all people killed by police, despite being on 13 percent of the population. We also make up 39 percent of those killed by police, where the victim is not accused of attacking the officer. Half of all people who died at the hands of police are surviving some type of mental disability. Racial minorities make up 62 percent of all unarmed people killed by the police, and this does not include those who are killed for exercising their right to bear arms. Qualified immunity. That is what it has been titled legally, officially when police are vindicated for the murder or use of excessive force against Black people. However, the immunity is almost never qualified in practice, or really, in law. This disturbing context takes on even greater significance because it targets a generation that will have their potential for happiness compromised, including their health and safety. In 2018, there were 1,166 people killed by the police in this country; in 2017 there were 1,147 killed, of which 25% were African American/Blacks, yet they represented 13% of the nation (Police Violence Map, 2018). Hayes (2017, p. 6) puts forth the argument that the United States has two approaches toward policing, helping our understanding of police killings: “(1) communities of color as subordinate communities or colonies that require ruthless control with police acting as agents of social control; and (2) White, non-Latinx, communities that must be respected and ‘served and protected.’ ” De Soto (2018, p. 194), not surprisingly, arrived at the same conclusion: Do police in the USA truly protect and serve everyone equally? Qualitative and quantitative social science research has improved our ability to answer this question. The answer seems to depend on one’s race. The survey data consist ently show stark contrasts between racial minority citizens and Anglo residents. Minorities frequently believe that the police oppress rather than serve them. The white majority may wonder whether their fellow citizens of color are too sensitive to perceived mistreatment. Law enforcement seems fair to white citizens. The disparity in perception is striking and has been persistent. Special attention must be paid to police killings of unarmed people of color, which are often youth/young adults (Stevens, 2019). The two police officers did not face criminal prosecution in the shooting of an unarmed Stephan Clark, an African American man in his grandmother’s backyard, when a cellphone was mistaken for a gun (Del Real, 2019a). A cellphone was weaponized, giving justification for violence. What this case and countless others illustrate is how daunting it is to prove a federal civil rights violation in cases of these police killings (Stack, 2019a), revealing how the state exercises invisible violence following a highly visible act of violence.
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Viewing police abuse of power has generally been framed from a rogue cop standpoint, and this has limited our understanding of state violence; introducing a structural perspective makes these actions more purposeful and supported by the state (Carbado & Rock, 2016). The tendency to acquit these officers, as in the case of Pittsburgh and other cities cited in this book (Hassan, 2019), reflects the reach of state-sanctioned violence to ensure that rights are violated as a form of policy rather than as a random act. The consequences of a police shooting of an unarmed person are significant from a variety of viewpoints (Fryer, 2018, p. 1): Police use of force—particularly lethal force—is one of the most divisive issues of the twenty-first century. When an officer discharges a weapon, it’s a life changing event. A single bullet—which weighs about .02 pounds and is 10mm long— can end a life, erase a pension, or change the image of those who are sworn to serve and protect. These police shootings can be conceptualized as public executions (Dache-Gerbino et al., 2018). Introducing the state, often represented by the police, makes this killing that much more egregious and threatens the basic social fabric our government is built upon. There is no place safe from police shootings. Shopping malls, for example, are considered attractive for a variety of reasons, one of which is safety. That is not the case when talking about people of color, as in the case of Emantic Bradford, Jr., a Black man who was shot by the police in an Alabama mall over the 2018 Thanksgiving period. Again, the officer who shot Emantic was found to have acted correctly with no charges filed (Fausset, 2019a). It is a mistake to think that communities of color and police killings is a bicoastal phenomenon, with a sprinkling of cities in the rest of the country, such as Chicago, experiencing acts of state violence. What is happening in Phoenix captures that extent of this problem, with over 40 individuals killed by the police in 2018 (Oppel, Jr., 2018, p. A16): “The Phoenix police are usually quick to use force, slow to back down, and make a habit of releasing selective or misleading information about what happened. That is why, the activists say, the police here have shot more civilians this year than officers in any other city of its size, by far. Much is known about the use of police force, taking the mystery out of what can be done to prevent it (Boylstein, 2018). Police killings are no longer an underresearched subject, although we can always use more a nuanced understanding of this state violence. Police can disengage (labeled as depolicing), but this can be detrimental to communities with high violence rates and perceived as a policy of not caring (Oliver, 2019). Social workers may find that certain state acts may readily stand out as sanctioned violence when they are highly visible, such as police killings. Social work academics, I am happy to state, have started to weigh in on extrajudicial police killings, as evidenced by the Journal of Ethnic & Cultural Diversity in Social Work’s special issue (Sacks & Chow, 2018, p. 216):
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Although policing, and its implications, are not typically thought of in the purview of social work practice or scholarship, the relationship between the police and the community has far-reaching consequences for many of the issues in which social workers engage . . . Therefore, we argue that thinking deeply and critically about the relationship between the police and the community should be considered squarely in the domain of social work practice and scholarship. This special issue will hopefully be one of many that follow as different journals heed the call of this state-sanctioned violence issue. The chant “hands up don’t shoot” captures acts of police shooting unarmed people of color. However, the reach of state-sanctioned violence goes far beyond these visible acts, permeating all aspects of the lives of people of color, and often in very subtle and highly interconnected ways. This nation’s coordinated and punishing, and often overlapping, campaigns of violence against marginalized groups unfolds in multiple arenas, covering a wide range of ages (Murch, 2018). It is best to think of a life course concept since no age group escapes the reach of state violence. The concept of systemic humiliation (shaming) because of police encounters introduces this psychological state for targeted groups, with short-and long-term consequences defying easy measurement (Romano & Ragland, 2018). Police killing ramifications can extend beyond the victims and their families. Police killings represent visible and fast violence, but they can also have slow and invisible manifestations, such as damaging the mental health of African Americans in the general population (Bor et al., 2018, p. 308): Our estimates therefore suggest that the population mental health burden from police killings among black Americans is nearly as large as the mental health burden associated with diabetes. This substantial burden is even more striking given that our results might underestimate the true mental health spillover effects of police killings of unarmed black Americans. These conclusions are profound when introducing children into these families’ results. P O L ICE NONFATAL V IOLE NCE : WOM E N A N D C H I L D R E N O F COL OR
We can understand how a focus on police violence can emphasize fatal shootings. However, their use of violence in the name of law and order can find other manifestations, including targeting mothers and their children, too. A first reaction on a news story of police brutality with youth of color will in all likelihood conjure up images of adolescents or young adults. How young does a youth of color have to be qualify? Well, how about a 1-year-old, as in the following case, which also involves a mother! The national news generated by an African American mother clinging to her 1-year- old son at a municipal office (public bureaucracy) in New York City as she attempted to fight off police officers from prying her son from her arms captured how there is no age limit to state-sanctioned violence (Southall & Stewart, 2018). She was there to find out why day care payments were cut off for her son, which she needed to keep her job. The office was so crowded that she could not find a seat and had to sit on the
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floor, which blocked access. The police were called when staff were unable to move her. Blocking access can be conceptualized as a public safety concern; it can also be public protest. Regardless of how it is conceptualized, being Black and having a child were sufficient grounds to utilize state-sanctioned violence against her and her son. A human service agency must have personnel with requisite skills to deescalate explosive situations, yet the brute force of the police was the option that won out. The nation’s child welfare system, too, is experiencing tremendous demand. The increased number of women of color entering the nation’s prison system, for instance, caused an increased number of children entering foster care systems, which is state run and notorious for poor outcomes for youth in their care (Roberts, 2011, p. 1500): “Black mothers are useful to the neoliberal agenda because state regulation of their bodies, already devalued by a long history of reproductive regulation and derogatory stereotypes of maternal irresponsibility, makes excessive policing by foster care and prison seem necessary to protect children and the public from harm. This issue is clearly beyond the boundaries of this book because of limited space. Nevertheless, the child welfare field has a tremendous number of social workers bringing a critical mass to moving a social justice agenda against state-sponsored violence. T R U E R EF ORM OF THE CRIMINAL JUS T I C E S Y S T E M?
Is mass incarceration a train out of control? Federal prison and sentencing reforms received a boost in 2018 with President Trump signing a bill (The First Step Act), although (Owen, 2018, p. 1–3) critics argue that it is too little: The sweeping legislation passed Tuesday proposes easing racial disparities in sentencing, dismantling some of the systemic holdovers from the war on drugs, and implementing programs aimed at reducing recidivism . . . The last major piece of federal legislation on criminal justice reform was the Fair Sentencing Act in 2010, which reduced the sentencing disparity between crack cocaine and powder cocaine from 100:1 to 18:1. Because crack cocaine impacted black neighborhoods so heavily in the 1980s, addressing that disparity was seen as a necessary way to begin rectifying racial imbalance in the criminal justice system. Only problem: The new rules didn’t apply to federal prisoners convicted for crack cocaine offenses prior to 2010. The First Step bill would make those reforms retroactive, meaning that some 2,500 federal inmates could be eligible for release or sentence reductions . . . The First Step bill also looks to ease the penalties under the controversial “three strikes” law, a holdover from the war on drugs that sent anyone with three federal convictions to prison for life—even if those convictions were for nonviolent drug offenses. . . Another reform to reduce recidivism is that federal prisoners have to be housed in facilities within 500 miles from their homes, which makes it easier and less expensive for family members to visit them. . . The bill also offers “time credit” incentives to enroll in and compete rehabilitative or vocational courses, which are also designed to reduce recidivism.
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A cynic would say that it is well titled because it may be the “Last Step Act” in much needed reform. For some, this reform signals hope for a better future. Is the glass half full or half empty? C O N CL US ION
It would have been easy to have focused this entire book on state-sponsored violence and police killings. This blatant act of violence has been well captured by social media. However, as evident in this chapter, the ramifications of state violence and law enforcement and criminal justice are extensive across the nation, within communities and across the age continuum. When state violence is visible and fast, it is easier to grasp. Nevertheless, this form of violence is the tip of an iceberg, with the mass of this beneath the waterline and invisible. Mass incarceration’s various pipelines feeding this system are slow violence and deadly. Readers have numerous books to select from to develop a more nuanced understanding of how state-sponsored violence through the use of incarceration unfolds. The final chapter in this section, Chapter 8, is devoted to the military and its multifaceted, and often invisible, role in state-sanctioned violence on youth and young adults, and it brings social work into an arena relatively new to us, but one that will expand in the near future.
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INT R OD U CTION
Viewing the military as a major state-sanctioned violence mechanism brings challenges, and not because of the absence of scholarly material or varied perspectives to craft an analysis. Rather, the challenge is how to narrow the scope and still do justice to the broadness of this subject. This chapter may well be the first time that readers have been exposed to the military in state-sanctioned violence, particularly when focused on people of color. Historical material gives context to state violence manifestation in the military– industrial complex and veterans, and a natural follow-up to the chapter on law enforcement and criminal justice. People of color in the military can be traced to the Revolutionary War, and have greatly increased, with WWI marking a watershed moment in their enlistment, followed by WWII, the Korean conflict, and the Vietnam War increasing representation (The Conversation, 2017). The Iraq and Afghanistan Wars continued this participation, with increased reliance on recruits of color, having them pay a high price (The Philadelphia Tribune, 2013). As a veteran of color, this subject has personal significance because it is impossible to view my experiences without appreciating the legacy of those who proceeded me, including the sacrifices made that have largely gone unrecorded and unsung. This arena is worthy of more scholarship, and more so from a social work perspective. It may seem odd to include the military alongside subjects typically found within a state-sanctioned violence paradigm focused on cities and youth of color; although the military–industrial complex may have escaped attention in social work education, there are increasing numbers of veterans entering our profession. At first glance, it State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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simply does not fit, but upon closer examination when viewing the military as (1) a prime source for recruiting police officers, (2) providing equipment meant for wars that find their way to the nation’s streets, (3) a system that relies on the young, (4) having a role in foreign conflicts causing population displacements, and (5) increasingly a source for recruits of color, it becomes worthy of attention. It is easy to view the military as its own separate category of state-sponsored violence with minimal interactions with other forms of state violence, due to the enormity of its influence. As in the other chapters, that is far from the truth. Military violence has obvious elements associated with foreign wars and foreign policy decisions. Nevertheless, its tentacles reach deep into the socioeconomic fabric of life in this country, and its impact on communities of color goes beyond just having a disproportionate numbers of residents serving in the armed services or receiving Veterans Administration services. Timely access to these health services, incidentally, takes on prominence (Daley, 2018). A lack of access translates into slow and invisible violence. Social workers must have a profound appreciation of the role of the military in state- sanctioned violence, and why it must find its way into any discussion of state violence and this nation’s people of color. Inwood and Bonds (2016) argue that race and militarism’s relationship is best viewed historically, bringing these subjects together into their argument for the existence of state acts of disenfranchisement and oppression: We argue that understanding contemporary geographies of race and militarism is predicated on understandings of settler colonialism and white supremacy. Settler colonialism is a continuously unfolding project of empire that is enabled by and through specific racial configurations that are tied to geographies of white supremacy. In a U.S. context, settler colonialism begins with the removal of first peoples from the land and the creation of racialized and gendered labor systems that make the land productive for the colonizers. In this context, settler colonialism is an enduring structure—an interrelated political, social, and economic process that continuously unfolds—requiring continued reconfigurations and interventions by the state. (p. 521) This nation’s history can be looked upon as starting the foundation and, one can argue, the marching orders, no pun intended, for current-day policies and actions that are expansive. Militarism is integral to this nation’s historical origins (subjugation of Native Americans), continuing to this day, and in highly overt and covert, but substantial ways. T H E MIL ITARY–I NDUSTRIAL E MPIRE : TE N TA C L E S A N D S TAT E VIOL ENCE
The term military–industrial empire was first used and popularized by President Eisenhower, a former five-star general, in his 1961 national farewell speech, warning the nation about how this industry’s unwarranted influence can permeate government and society. The power of this speech lays in the fact that President Eisenhower understood the military from inside and outside. War is profitable and a form of exercising power, externally and internally, and differentiating between the two is becoming more difficult.
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The military–industrial complex has a ring to it that makes it easy to say, bringing profound meaning and consequences, with the latter having a disproportionate negative impact on certain groups and communities. The military–industrial complex can be defined as (New World Encyclopedia, 2018, p. 10): The combination of the U.S. armed forces, its arms industry, and the associated political and commercial interests that grew rapidly in scale and influence in the wake of World War II and throughout the Cold War to the present. The term, often used pejoratively, refers to the institutionalized collusion among private defense industry, the military services, and the United States government (especially the Department of Defense). Such collusion includes the awarding of no- bid contracts to campaign supporters and the earmarking of disproportionate spending to the military. Many observers worry this alliance is driven by a quest for profits rather than a pursuit of the public good. This complex has existed for a considerable period of time and its influence is extensive today (Giroux, 2013): “The result is that the United States has become a “culture of war” . . . engulfed in fear and violence [and trapped by a military metaphysics in which] homeland security matters far more than social security.” State violence, seemingly without any measure of self-restraint, now flows and regroups effortlessly, contaminating both foreign and domestic policies. The criticism of the military–industrial complex, however, has been relegated to history’s trash can. When in doubt, bring in the military when discussing communities of color, with obvious and more subtle manifestations ( Johnson, 2018): In a militarized society, a solution to any number of social problems is militarized including inner-city crime and violence troubled youth, national security, and even struggling public schools. Military personnel are viewed as wielding the smart weapons of discipline and leadership to right any tilting ship. High- ranking military personnel are sent to negotiate international alliances in place of seasoned diplomats. Video games, children’s toys, films, and television programs glorify the military and martial ideals, and militaristic violence is another form of Friday night entertainment . . . Military recruiters freely roam the halls of public schools argued to be important role models for “at-risk” youth (read working class or poor kids of color). For example, The Troops to Teachers program pushes military personnel through the teacher credentialing process placing these teachers in “high need” schools. Military personnel are placed atop corporations and large organizations regardless of experience or expertise. (p. 66). We can speculate that youth of color will only increase in attractiveness for military recruiters as service decreases in overall attractiveness in the nation. For example, approximately 20,000 Latinxs enroll in the U.S. military annually (Cancio, 2018), disrupting family, social networks, and communities. It would be foolish to view the military and state violence narrowly, such as focusing on those serving in the armed services. The Department of Defense is a jobs program because it employs countless numbers of people, primarily White, non-Latinx, directly through military service, and indirectly, through an active manufacturing weapons program, including shipping them to our allies as foreign aid. The Department of
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Defense (DoD) is the largest U.S. employer, wielding tremendous economic power where it spends funding, and that was true 20 years ago and is still true today (Grimes & Warf, 2017). Further, it will likely continue in the immediate future because turning this ship sharply, to use that metaphor, is not possible. Similar to the prison–industrial complex, the military counterpart is a significant economic force for those communities in which contracts are issued and in which they overrepresent members of the armed forces. Becoming dependent on the DoD, in the case of base closings, brings fear and economic dislocation to communities, highlighting its influence in Congress and intense lobbying associated with preventing base closings. Economic interests of those benefiting from defense spending will unfold throughout all aspects of government, including foreign policies through which countries are given foreign aid with the implicit understanding that these credits be used to purchase military supplies and weapons. The saying that politics makes strange bedfellows and can be said for defense spending. A strong national defense is a strong economic stream for developing and maintaining economic and political vested interests.
U .S . F OR EIGN POLICY AS FORE IGN AND D O M EST IC VIOLE NCE
Separating foreign policy from domestic policy is foolhardy, and more so when it provides the state with an avenue to exercise violence both overseas and at home, with the military–industrialized complex being alive and well. Tighe and Brown (2015, p. 2) discuss how the slogan to “protect and serve has been replaced with defeat and conquer,” with some scholars thinking of today’s law enforcement officers as modern-day Vietnam veterans (Wuchte, 2016). Militarization can be viewed from many perspectives, such as the U.S.–Mexico border, which was a subject of intense public debate during the 2018 congressional elections. Our policy on the border is foreign policy, with domestic policy implications. U.S. foreign policy is usually publicly framed with minimal attention to how it influences groups back home or specific geographical areas of the country, such as cities. Foreign policy is closely tied to domestic policy, and is evident in U.S. Latin American policies, where major displacements have and currently are occurring, with our southern border being the flashpoint with national implications (NCR Editorial Staff, 2018, p. 6): Central America was a flashpoint in the Cold War and in the 1970s and 1980s. Honduras was the staging ground for the U.S.-backed covert war against leftists in the region. Honduras was the de facto U.S. military base for Contras fighting the Sandinistas in Nicaragua. Inside Honduras, U.S.-trained military units— most especially the notorious Battalion 316—carried out a campaign of torture, extrajudicial killing, and state-sponsored terror against Honduran civilians. The precedents for what is happening at our southern border have been decades in the making, with the consequences our foreign policy favoring militarism and imperialism bearing fruit today and in the foreseeable future.
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T HE MIL ITARY E NLISTE E : Y OUTH OF C OL O R
One can easily associate the military with youth. Militarism and racism have become inseparable in this country, with a long tradition to draw upon to reinforce this association ( Jagannath, 2018). Greater reliance on a military force reflecting this nation’s diversity brings challenges to making this system responsive to the needs of recruits of color, and after their discharge (Han, 2017; Rohall, Ender, & Enter, 2017). Suspicion of immigrants in the military, however, has heightened in recent years. The Military Accessions Vital to National Interests (MAVNI) targeted immigrants with valuable language or medical skills, involving almost 11,000 recruits, and ended in 2016 (Philipps, 2018). This disengagement is the other side of the coin on state violence. The attractiveness of gaining citizenship for honorable military service is not limited to Latinxs, with other groups such as Asians, too, seeking this path and facing similar challenges because their citizenship status makes them viewed as potentially treacherous (Rosales, 2017). America’s foreign wars are not fought by all segments of the nation, although it has historically, in all fairness, not been well represented by the economic elite, translating into a small percentage of the nation carrying out the duty of serving their country. Further, few members of Congress have military service in their background, reenforcing how those without this experience are setting policies that impact a narrow segment of the nation, including the last two presidents. Thus, who are these soldiers? Bernard (2017, p. 84) advances an important approach on the military, in this case involving the Vietnam War, followed by the Persian Gulf War, with conflict straining the African American family, and undermining its structure by taking their children: Opportunities to serve in the military had increased along with the opportunity for more death and destruction of the black community. In addition to the disproportionate numbers of black causalities in Vietnam, the trend continued into the Persian Gulf War 1990-1991 where blacks were 17.2% of casualties though blacks were only 12% of the United States population. Consequently, black men continued to lose their positions within their family structures and communities when the war destroyed their lives, and the lives of generations after them. In FY (fiscal year) 2017, the Army fell short of its recruitment goal by 6,500 recruits, with liberal-leaning-city potential recruits and a robust job market creating barriers to achieving its goal (Philipps, 2019a). The DoD, as a result, must undertake a practice of targeting youth and young adults with limited options in today’s workforce. It is not a leap to figure out where branches of service missing their targets will turn to in the future. MIL ITA RY VE TE RANS AND CORRE CTI ON A L S E R V I C E
A central military recruitment mechanism is its potential to provide recruits with transferable skills upon their discharge that can be turned into meaningful employment and careers. However, the training received in certain branches of the military, most notably the Army and Marines, cannot be transferred over to new areas, with the possible exception of entering police forces. U.S. race and militarism was shaped by
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settler colonialism and White supremacy (Bacon, 2019; Inwood & Bonds, 2016) and continues to the present. White supremacists in the military, although considered few in number, bring that military training back home upon discharge to carry out their racist agenda, adding a new dimension to the militarization of this country and state-sponsored violence (Chin, 2017). Although returning veterans joining these groups represent but a very small number, their influence far outweighs their low numbers, particularly when it involves training others in using weapons and military strategies in domestic terrorism. That the military serves as a training ground to better prepare White supremacists for carrying out their hate agenda has not received the publicity it deserves (Philipps, 2019b; Graham, 2019). In 2009, the Department of Homeland Security issued a report titled “Right-wing extremism: Current economic and political climate fueling resurgence in radicalization and recruitment.” This report highlighted right-wing extremists increasing efforts to recruit veterans with knowledge and skill sets with saliency in carrying military missions on home soil. M I L ITA RY-T O-P RISON PIPE LINE
Military service is often associated with positively influencing life’s chances upon discharge. Yet, there is also an underside to this service compromising the life of veterans, such as having an increased risk of substance misuse, mental illness, antisocial behaviors, and even a prison sentence. There is little question that military recruiters will not emphasize these outcomes (Brooke & Gau, 2018). Veterans of color have the unique experience of facing racism prior to, during, and postservice (if they survive), a period that is supposed to be for validating and accessing resources (Carlson et al., 2018). Veterans, particularly those of color, unfortunately, represent a significant share of this nation’s prisoners, bringing a dimension to state-sponsored violence that warrants further attention, and tying the nation’s military and criminal justice systems together in an often unimaginable manner (Davies, 2017; Seamone, 2018). Veterans of color are overrepresented in the nation’s jails and prisons, with almost half of all veterans incarcerated (49.7%) in the nation’s prisons, and well over half (56.1%) of those in jails (Bronson, Carson, & Noonan, 2015). To be overrepresented among this select group raises questions about the role of the military in further grooming people of color for eventual incarceration, completing a birth–prison lifespan. Male veterans of color, it should be emphasized, report worse health than their White, non-Latinx, counterparts, too, making issues related to medical service by the Veterans Administration that much more consequential for them and their communities (Sheehan et al., 2015). This phenomenon is not restricted to the United States, as the case in England and Wales (Davies, 2017, p. 24): We would not be wrong in claiming that the prison population of England and Wales consists of a complex range of individuals; predominantly male and over- represented by those belonging to the working class including those who have latterly become known as the precariat. Within contemporary debates, we have seen concern raised regarding women in prison, the over-representation of prisoners from ethnic minority groups . . .
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The propensity for veterans of color to be imprisoned brings a new dimension of the school–military–prison–industrial complex. The military is a pipeline to prisons, with other new pipelines finding their way in the scholarly literature illustrating state- sanctioned violence. Unfortunately, African Americans/Blacks are no longer more likely than White, non-Latinx, to enlist in the military but have now assumed the unenviable position of facing a higher risk of incarceration than their White counterparts (Han, 2018). In addition, the military to prison pipeline has historically been stronger than the military-to-college pipeline for them, which is a sad commentary. Veterans of color able to benefit from the GI Bill faced challenges unique to them in higher education (Hewitt, 2017), often facing professors with little understanding and appreciation of their lived experiences, within and outside of the military. Hunter (2015) provides a disturbing historical account of how African American veterans did not attain the same higher education access and completion as their White, non- Latinx counterparts, and how racism systematically undermined their efforts, preventing them from realizing their dreams of a higher education, which for many meant being the first of their family to do so. Can anyone ever come back from a war? If of color, the war morphs and just continues back home, as if they never left. The account of Charles Lewis illustrates that Black veterans are not exempt from violence in their own country, with a history dating over 100 years (Equal Justice Institute, 2017, p. 4): In Hickman, Kentucky, a recently-discharged black soldier named Charles Lewis was lynched in uniform in December 1918, just weeks after the end of World War I. Mr. Lewis was standing on the street in his uniform when a white police officer began harassing him and claimed he fit the description of a robbery suspect. When Mr. Lewis insisted that he was a soldier with no reason to rob anyone, the officer accused him of assault and arrested him. The next morning, a mob of white men broke into the jail, seized Mr. Lewis, and hanged him. Death is not the only outcome. The case of 26-year-old Sgt. Jesse Woodard, Jr., who in 1946 was blinded by a beating at the hands of a police chief, stands out because, after being honorably discharged from the army and on his way home he was taken off the bus and arrested (Burch, 2019b; Gergel, 2019). This incident was one of many involving Black veterans wearing their uniforms in the South. Segregation of African American veterans has other manifestations, which did not end with their death (Equal Justice Initiative, 2018, p. 44): “Black veterans were segregated even in death, as communities like Taylor County, Georgia, honored their war dead with separate plaques for white and black service members. An integrated plaque was added in 2007, but Taylor County kept its segregated memorial.” Service does not have the same meaning if veterans were White, non-Latinx (The New York Times editorial, 2018b). People of color cannot prove being worthy of belonging in this country. The divide between first-and second-class citizenship is impenetrable, regardless of acts of bravery and self-sacrifice. Readers may say that this is ancient history and we no longer have lynching. President Trump’s debate with the widow of La David T. Johnson, killed in Niger, Africa, and General Kelley’s lying about the conversation, raises concerns on the role of race in this encounter (Mark & Alcindor, 2017, p. 1):
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President Trump’s condolence call to the widow of a slain soldier exploded into a vicious row that swamped the White House on Wednesday, with the soldier’s grieving mother accusing the president of disrespecting her family and a defiant Mr. Trump complaining that his words had been cynically twisted for political purposes. The back-and-forth made a furious spectacle of what is, at the best of times, one of the most emotionally wrenching contacts between the commander in chief and a bereaved citizen. A Gold Star’s shine varies according to the color of the family’s skin. A Gold Star family in a moment of grief should not be subjected to violence, continuing a long tradition of racism. World War II was fought with a segregated military, and this extended to the Red Cross developing a blood classification system that separated “Negro Blood” from its blood supply (Bristol, Jr., & Stur, 2017), illustrating how having an active military or veteran status is no assurance of being treated with the dignity and respect usually accorded to a veteran status. This act symbolizes what it meant to serve their country, including risking their lives, even though they were treated as second-class citizens. Lawson (2019, p. 177) addresses police militarization and lethal force, concluding that increased militarization will result in an increased association between increased militarization and the number of suspects killed: “If society agrees that increasing the number of people killed by police is undesirable, steps should be taken to reduce the number of suspect deaths either through reducing militarization or, possibly, by reducing the extent to which militarization can affect officer behavior.” It is impossible to separate police militarization without corresponding deadly consequences following this militarization. What good is having this militarization if we cannot use it and demonstrate its power and have it act as a deterrent? Readers may raise community policing as a strategy to improve relations, and even counter militarization. Police militarization (adoption and implementation of many beliefs and values fostered in the military) and community policing are fundamentally contradictory (“iron fist in the velvet glove”), or a paradox or noncohesive strategy (Koslicki & Willits, 2018, p. 152): “little support for the argument that community policing and militarization (as measured through the material dimension) in the United States are cohesive strategies, and may suggest that community policing may, in fact, buffer the continued growth of police militarization.” Improving police–community relations sounds good. Urban communities of color have a difficult time reconciling community policing and the concurrent militarization of the same police force, for good reasons. It is insufficient to rely upon institutional legitimacy to explain police–community distrust. The concept of racial anxiety helps explain the likelihood of violence occurring for both the police, as perpetrators, and people of color reacting from fear of being a victim at the hands of the police (Richardson, 2017). There has even been a direct call for having police departments hire social workers as a means of improving police–community relations (Giwa, 2018). Structural violence and exclusion from society better capture police–communities of color tensions (Bell, 2016). Culver (2018, p. 3) differentiates between traditional militarization and police militarization: The militarization of police in the United States since 9/11 has contributed to a normalization and expectation of violence between police officers and
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members of communities within which they serve, particularly amongst African- Americans. Since the 1980s, academic literature on police militarization in the United States has contributed mostly to a discussion on how police units visually and functionally change to reflect adaptations in the Unites States military, which has helped elucidate various modes of militarization. What has been lacking, however, is a discussion on the effects of normalized police militarization. Gaining an understanding of the effects of the normalization of these modes can provide valuable context into how populations perceive these processes and how individual and group identities are formed and reformed in response. When police militarization is displayed in urban communities, usually after police killings of unarmed people of color, it creates a siege mentality following heightened tensions. Engagement in dialogue with the police in the interests of improving community–police relationships, it should be noted, is a process fraught with pitfalls and paradoxes (Wahl, 2017). Are we living in denial about how police militarization has evolved in this country, and more so in urban communities of color, and its implications for democracy within these communities? Is this growing trend a threat to our democracy and the slow evolution of a police state (Kappeler & Kraska, 2015)? These questions cannot be easily answered by social work, necessitating a deliberative process and forum to be discussed involving communities being targeted and other helping professions coming together. This discussion must transpire regardless of who is hosting this discourse. Police often serve as the face for the nation’s criminal justice system and the rule of law for the majority of people in the country. Their power is well understood because it is meant to be respected, if not feared. Nevertheless, this face, and in this case a uniform, too, can also have the opposite consequences, when the color blue represents the arm of oppression and possible death. Uniforms and the symbols displayed on them are purposeful and intended to engender power and fear, much in similar fashion to Hitler’s SS, as in the case of SWAT (special weapons and tactics). They wear uniforms, carry powerful weapons, and if the situation is considered warranted, can bring their elite forces to bear in the form of SWAT, a symbol or language that is meant to engender terror (Phillips, 2017): Arguably, modern realities of policing, such as responding to active shooter and terrorist incidents, have led to a public expectation that agencies should properly handle these situations. Yet, recent events, such as SWAT responses to civil protests, have resulted in public criticism of police agencies becoming militarized. This argument centers on appearance (black or camouflage clothing), equipment (weapons and vehicles), and an aggressive approach to dealing with protests. SWAT appearances are quite powerful in conveying an image of power and meant to strike fear in the hearts of residents. Spencer and Perlow (2018) added a different meaning to SWAT (Savage White American Terror), emphasizing the importance of language making acts of state violence seem prosaic. In the mid-1980s, 20% of the police departments in the country had a SWAT unit, and by 2000, 90% of departments in cities with a population over 50,000 had such a unit (Coyne & Hall-Blanco, 2016). The war on drugs and War on Terror served as an
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ostensible rationale for the expansion of this paramilitary unit (Coyne & Hall-Blanco, 2016, p. 169): The influx of military equipment into local law enforcement, combined with the adoption of military tactics like those employed by SWAT teams, created an arena in which the liberties and freedoms of U.S. citizens were jeopardized. Those most likely to suffer from these changes were those least likely to have the means to avoid the enhanced coercive power of the state—the poor, politically unconnected, and historically marginalized groups. Normalizing police militarization is an important step forward in state-sanctioned violence (Kappeler & Kraska, 2015, p. 268): “The police capacity to organise and distribute state-sponsored violence as well as the ability to shape institutional appearances while doing so, impacts issues of civil rights, domestic order and the quality of political life in a democracy.” Militarization and glorification of a war culture has achieved an unquestioned level of normalization in the United States (Giroux, 2017c). This culture has continued to this day with requisite policy and funding. Television shows have glamorized the power and bravery of militarized police forces (Lanz, 2016). Anderson (2017a, p. 5) argues that militarization and entertainment started decades ago: Yet long before President Trump, the militarization of the police was being shaped by fantasy and entertainment, with roots in 1960s Los Angeles. In 1965, after a white cop arrested a black man he suspected of drunken driving in a predominantly black neighborhood, the Watts riots resulted. Thousands of National Guard forces and policemen swarmed neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. It resembled the escalating and televised war in Vietnam. The war on drugs was a war on urban communities of color, bringing forth the might of a militarized police force, with SWAT as its elite fighting force (Murch, 2015). Readers are familiar with the visuals associated with police confronting demonstrators, including their tactics and use of military equipment, giving the impression of military battles. September 11, 2001, is a critical date in police militarization’s evolution, marking a shift from community policing to zero tolerance and incorporation of military style equipment and weapons, including military strategies and tactics, and hiring of veterans as soldiers in these efforts (Plowden, 2016; Tibbs, 2016). The federal program 1033 supplied local police departments with surplus military equipment using the rationale of undertaking a war on drugs, converting into a war on crime (Hinton, 2016; Radil, Dezzani, & McAden, 2017). The vet-to-cop pipeline is fostered by police department preferences for hiring veterans over nonveterans (often men over women), which can be traced to the 19th century, showing how ingrained this practice has been in the nation’s history. When cities are increasingly being viewed as hotbeds for domestic terrorism, there is a call for a more direct intervention in these places to be applied to the state- sanctioned violence focused on marginalized youth (Giroux, 2017a). These efforts are not restricted to urban centers, but they are particularly pronounced in these communities because of the concentration of state resources facilitating these actions.
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The U.S.–Mexico border has been called a battlefield necessitating military intervention, including the increased presence of the National Guard to prevent the “invasion” of people who are undocumented, most of whom are very young children (Thomas, 2018), and the deployment of the military, as witnessed in the fall of 2018. Nevertheless, urban centers are often the front line for the manifestation of state- sanctioned violence, with the police playing a significant role in carrying out these acts, with the threat of the National Guard ever present if needed. Joining the military is often a path for urban youth, underpinning society’s militarization and its police force for those serving (Podder, 2017). The military and public education have gotten more intertwined in multiple ways. One has only to reflect on military recruitment in the nation’s public schools to more fully appreciate how far militarization has gone in this country (Hagopian & Barker, 2017). Junior ROTC (reserve officer training corps) targeting schools with high numbers of youth of color has been addressed among scholars, illustrating its reach beyond recruiting front line staff (Pérez, 2015). Christensen (2016) discusses how race inequalities were used by the military to mobilize Black single mothers to encourage their children to enlist, placing a higher onus of military participation on youth of color and their communities. This country has a long tradition traced back to the American revolution of having youth (“boy soldiers”) serve in its military (Cox, 2016). For noncitizen military enlistments in a marginalized group under scrutiny by state government, and generally of color, and it became easier to obtain citizenship because of their vulnerability (Cunha et al., 2014). Citizenship is not restricted to immigrants. African Americans, too, sought fuller citizenship rights through military service dating back to colonial times, but, not unexpectedly, with their hopes dashed (German, 2017). According to the Associated Press, recent events do not guarantee that they will be allowed to complete their military tour of duty and receive citizenship (Associated Press, 2018a, p. 5): To become citizens, the service members need an honorable service designation, which can come after even just a few days at boot camp. But the recently discharged service members have had their basic training delayed, so they can’t be naturalized. Margaret Stock, an Alaska-based immigration attorney and a retired Army Reserve lieutenant colonel who helped create the immigrant recruitment program, said she’s been inundated over the past several days by recruits who have been abruptly discharged. All had signed enlistment contracts and taken an Army oath, Stock said. Many were reservists who had been attending unit drills, receiving pay and undergoing training, while others had been in a “delayed entry” program, she said. “Immigrants have been serving in the Army since 1775,” Stock said. “We wouldn’t have won the revolution without immigrants. And we’re not going to win the global war on terrorism today without immigrants.” There is irony for those seeking citizenship while risking their lives, illustrating its importance and the consequences of this betrayal, including their community and how the state exercises power and control. Citizenship has been weaponized, not because it involves a gun, but because it kills a dream. The number of police officers with military service backgrounds serving in this nation’s police forces is significant, with 19% of all police being veterans, who only represent 6% of the general population (Weichselbaum & Scwartzapfel, 2017, p. 6):
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The majority of veterans return home and reintegrate with few problems, and most police leaders value having them on the force. They bring with them skills and discipline that are regarded as assets. But a Marshall Project investigation indicates that the prevalence of military veterans can also complicate relations between police and the communities they are meant to serve. Does this increase translate into more professional behavior, making them worthy targets for recruiters? Police officers with military backgrounds are 1.4 times more likely to cause a fatality compared with nonveteran counterparts, raising questions about their judgment and temperament (maturity and experience under pressure), undermining a key argument often used in giving them preference (DeGue, Fowler, & Calkins, 2016). We should not overlook how militarization of school police further breaks down barriers between the police and schools (Peake, 2015), and criminalizes public education. C O N CL US ION
State-sanctioned violence is integral to both the military and police functioning in this society. The inclusion of the military in this book on state-sanctioned violence seems quite natural. Yet, there are dimensions of this topic that only reinforce its inclusion in this chapter. Its direct and indirect influence in the carrying out of a state-sanctioned violence agenda has evolved over the past several decades, with the relationship between militarism and the police increasingly felt in the nation’s urban centers. The military, as the reader can no doubt surmise, is all around us, through its physical presence and its influence on police departmental behaviors. It represents a highly visible form of state-sanctioned violence. Chapter 9, which is a part of the final section of this book, focuses on social work and how we can address social justice through research, education, and practice.
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SECTION 3
Social Work Practice
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ocial workers are not in the business of diagnosing or assessing for the sake of doing so, but they are in the business of helping and making social changes guided by a set of values emphasizing social justice. We must discuss what we have, and can do, about state-sanctioned violence. Several themes will arise in this section and illustrate how state violence permeates the major social issues confronting marginalized urban communities. The pervasiveness of an antiurban pathos is closely tied to the high percentage of people of color, particularly youth and young adults, living in the nation’s cities, and concentrates the power of the state to carry out a violence agenda (Conn, 2014; M. Delgado, 2018; Schragger, 2017). Efforts targeting youth, due to their perceived threat and demographic presence today and in the future, will be a theme in increasing our understanding of U.S. state-sponsored violence.
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Social Work Research, Education, and Practice
INT R OD U CTION
Social work seeks to do social good, and this premise guides all aspects of the profession. However, it is also in a position to purposefully undertake social control and social harm. Does it (Miller & Garran, 2017)? Are we state agents (collaborators) when working in systems that systematically undermine communities of color under the guise of service provision and when we do not challenge the status quo? This question is not meant to be provocative but to have us pause and question our level of commitment to social justice. Cherry (2018) postulates that the profession is at a “curious juncture” of marching toward continued professionalism or embracing a critical and antagonistic stance toward social injustice. This is a perennial question. An underlying critical social work current within the profession helps remind us, or keeps us honest, about who we are working for and the reason for our profession’s existence, although unanimity on this statement is elusive, causing inherent tensions that historically have been endemic to our work (Morley, Ablett, & Macfarlane, 2019). Social work’s social justice approach requires that it be addressed across the entire intervention and lifespan spectrum, occupying a central role in our education (Reisch & Garvin, 2016). This broad reach is a blessing and a curse from an educational standpoint. It is a blessing because social justice is integral to our mission and its importance reaches all aspects of social work. It is a curse by requiring that practice have this as a central tenet, ruffling feathers in our work with other professions not sharing this value stance. State-Sanctioned Violence. Melvin Delgado. Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190058463.001.0001
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Broadening our conception of practice and research brings excitement and challenges. For example, we, of course, can actively seek and listen to the stories of residents when they share experiences with police violence. However, artifacts of police violence exist in urban communities of color in murals and other art projects, for instance, if we take the time to find and interpret their content (Epps & Lane-McKinley, 2016). Fortunately, that should not prove too challenging for the profession because of the pushing of conventional boundaries as to what constitutes practice. Respect for human rights is a fundamental core value in creating a society that can be a beacon for the world and welcoming of all people to its shores (Fein, 2015). The world has taken notice, impacting how we are viewed as a nation. President Trump’s policies, for instance, have had national economic implications by influencing travel to this country (Zavattaro & Fay, 2019). The “Trump slump,” for instance, has cost the country’s travel and tourism industry an estimated $4.6 billion, or 40,000 jobs (US Travel Association, 2018). To say that this country’s reputation has been tarnished worldwide would be an understatement. A state violence lens is arguably the latest evolutionary stage in the profession’s embrace of social justice, bringing the potential of enlisting other helping professions in joining us in addressing this violence, and helping us make sense of what is happening in the country and why it is so divided. Social work is in a unique position to move a social justice agenda during this challenging period in our history. We must, however, guard against “good” deeds going astray and causing more harm than good (Ross & Grabosky, 2014, p. 225): Doing good and helping those who appear to need our assistance are widely accepted universal values held by many people, cultures, nations, states, and international bodies. Also important is the sage warning that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, if indeed such actions are paved with good intention. Further victimizing those committing “good” deeds must be eschewed, and this starts with a comprehensive awareness of the challenges before us, by directing us in a noble path. Social work education and practice implications can be profound by forcing us to pay closer attention to how state actions can have a hidden or even highly visible violence component, and our willingness to call out this violence publically. The saying “violence is as American as apple pie” does capture a state in which violence permeates our society, and why not the state (Stanko & Crews, 2019)? Social work can uplift this insidious, and often invisible, violence from institutional racism targeting groups and permeating our education, and is not limited to courses on oppression. The newness of a state-sanctioned violence perspective, I hope, will help center us in seeking social justice and seeing how issues are interconnected, as in the case of this book. Institutional or structural racism is a paradigm that has gained significant saliency, increasing our understanding of how targeted groups are oppressed. Once a goal of oppression is institutionalized, it integrates itself into the very fibers, or DNA, of these systems so that policies rarely get questioned, let alone called out and addressed. Intersectionality has introduced a more nuanced understanding by stressing the presence and interaction of key factors placing particular groups at greater vulnerability, while keeping in mind within-group differences (intracategorical).
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Social activism is not the only way resistance can be manifested. Artistic manifestations (music, acting, poetry, dance, song, art, sculptures, and painters), as done historically, have emerged to express resistance to state-sanctioned violence (Ward, 2018), opening up potential collaboration between social work and artists. Protest against President Trump has manifested itself along a variety of social issues through street demonstrations and online videos, songs, memes, and hashtags (Boone, Secci, & Gallant, 2018). Broadening resistance encourages participation through an embrace of various forms of having social workers at the table of resistance (Graff, 2018), either helping to lead or as members of the groups leading these efforts. Resistance, too, does not have to be nonviolent. Brennan (2019, p. 27), in what is a provocative and controversial book, When All Else Fails: The Ethics of Resistance to State Injustice, argues for active resistance to state violence because we have a right to defend ourselves from government injustice when its agents are following an unjust law: Even today, democratic officials often do things that they have no right to do and that we have no duty to let them do. Many times there are no peaceful means to stop them. My thesis is that we may do to them whatever we may do to each other. It is a moral equivalent of “stand your ground” against state agents of violence. The early phases of the civil rights movement involved violence in fighting back against state violence, setting the stage for the state to take less visible and fast violent acts to counter this quest for social justice. Armed self-defense, as addressed by Charles Cobb, Jr.’s (2014) This Nonviolent Stuff’ll Get You Killed helped set the stage for nonviolence. Akinyele Omowale Umoja’s (2013) We Will Shoot Back, too, chronicles the role of and potential use of violence in the early stages of Mississippi’s civil rights movement, setting the stage for nonviolent acts. Is the social work profession prepared to debate, let alone embrace, such a stance? Social workers are accustomed to being misrepresented and marginalized, and for those heavily involved in social justice change, even dehumanized and criminalized. We derive the status of those we work with. This conclusion will not surprise the reader, historically or today. However, openly embracing a state-sanctioned violence paradigm creates an even bigger bullseye on the profession and the organization’s sponsoring of these social change actions, with universities not being exempt from the glare of this attention, as addressed earlier. ED U CAT ION
Social work is a profession that inherently brings a multitude of choices and perspectives to how we exercise our practice, and the values we embrace wield tremendous power in shaping how these choices are conceptualized and carried out (Hornes, 2018). Our social work ethics and values are the glue, or the foundation, from which we navigate our way through a social and political practice minefield that is increasingly perilous for our well-being and that of the profession (Barsky, 2019). Social work education helps provide a roadmap and tools for us to continue on our journey toward achieving a socially just society in which everyone enjoys equal rights and a chance to maximize his or her potential without visible or invisible structural barriers.
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Social work education must play an active, meaningful, and multifaceted role in addressing state-sanctioned violence. This stance, however, is not restricted to the classroom and field placements. It also refers to the role faculty play as scholars and activists. It is simply artificial to separate education from practice (Nordberg et al., 2018): Bound by our professional code of ethics to serve the disadvantaged among us (National Association of Social Workers, 2008), social workers are proud advocates, community organizers, researchers, practitioners, and educators who are professionally attuned to racisms (and other forms of oppression) and the inequities they produce and maintain. We are, ideally, in a position to imbue our practice (clinical, research, and/or andragogy) with anti-oppressive discourses, actions, and interventions. But race in the United States (U.S.) is a challenging topic. (p. 511) Having social work educators assume a more prominent stance not only increases the relevance of our scholarship, but it also increases our acumen in teaching about this to students when we, too, are out in the field moving forward an anti-state-sanctioned agenda. Social work education must embrace a social justice agenda with real meaning, and that includes class content, field placements, and job placements after graduation. I prefer one that explicitly singles out state-sanctioned violence as a central factor in this social justice agenda, permeating all facets of social work education, spotlighting this central issue. This content can be integrated into curricula, and not relegated to a class segment, including human behavior and the social environment, for example (Love, 2016; Tolliver et al., 2016). This section highlights aspects of social work education dependent on various commitment levels. An examination of social justice language in social work doctoral program manuals, for example, reveals through the use of a four-stage continuum (mentioning, theorizing, acting, and integrating) how social justice is imparted, shaping future scholars, which bodes well for the profession’s future (Hudson et al., 2017, p. 453): “Social work PhD programs that pay attention to how social justice is enacted within their own implicit and explicit curricula may model justice-promoting climates and provide learning opportunities that integrate research with the core values of the profession.” Urban sanctuary schools must be supported, including educational projects that increase student learning and serve to counter state violence actions against the unauthorized (Delgado, M., 2018; Liou, Marsh, & Antrop-González, 2017). Social work education can support these efforts through placements and access to university resources in helping to carry out this mission. Similar placements and support can be provided to other organizations dealing with state violence. Obviously, schools near the southern border are in a geographically propitious position to conduct wide-scale projects on immigration. However, virtually all schools of social work throughout the country will encounter the unauthorized to lend assistance. The type and intensity of these efforts will vary according to the presence of these individuals in their midst.
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R ESEAR CH
Research? What role can this activity play in combating state-sanctioned violence, particularly for those of us who consider ourselves social activists? I believe that research will play an extremely important role in helping to connect the dots, so to speak, of various types of oppression. Major research, not funded by government, will need to transpire to shed light on how this violence permeates the lives of marginalized urban residents. Schools of social work can initiate research projects tied to community organizations dealing with state-sanctioned violence. These projects are not dependent upon governmental funding and can provide students and faculty with an opportunity to generate research findings of particular relevance to community organizations fighting against state-sponsored violence, but without the funding or expertise to carry out this type of research. These projects, including field placements, can generate knowledge that influences future generations and meets organizational and community needs. On a different approach, historically it was impossible to compare data sets (official and unofficial) on police shootings, but that has changed (Mapping Police Violence and Supplemental Homicide Reports, https://mappingpoliceviolence.org/), providing a stronger opportunity to develop a more comprehensive understanding of this form of state violence (Gray & Parker, 2019). Social workers must step forward and undertake research on a topic that holds significant relevance in the communities where we practice because of how well we can bring the consumer perspective and how this act of violence significantly alters their lives and that of their communities. On a final note, researching state-sanctioned suppression of freedom, patriotism, and democracy, for instance, requires use of multimethods, but particularly qualitative research, because these narratives capture important insights and nuances into how this form of violence is perceived and responded to by people of color and the systems oppressing them on a daily basis. Denzin (2017) argues that the academy is facing an attack from within when scholarship focuses on state-sanctioned violence, compromising out abilities as educators to move this social justice agenda forward. Fortunately, bringing research and state-sponsored violence together is getting the attention it deserves, and it is only a question of time before social work enters this debate. Grasping the power and influence of the “blue wall” (police power) will require academics to consider reconceptualizing conventional forms of research (Coleman, 2016). Social workers, in similar form to geographers, must exercise greater presence in generating knowledge of police abuse of power. Fortunately, the cadre of social workers venturing into this arena is increasing, but it is far from adequate if we are to influence other helping professions and academic disciplines. P R A CT ICE
This book does not intend to depress the reader. Understanding the immense challenges before us does not mean that a perverse oppressive challenge cannot be vanquished. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth ( Johnstone & Lee, 2018, p. 250):
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Social workers are in a strong position to contribute to and to further this work. As frontline workers we can initiate the creation of a space for constructing shared experiences and strategizing for change by organizing group and community work. We can create an alliance for justice by joining with existing groups and activists . . . to further and support their work. Social work research could contribute to the hermeneutical gap by recording and publishing accounts of the lived experiences of those who have experienced discrimination. Social workers are creative by nature, and this is reflected in our abilities and willingness to venture into new arenas to meet the needs of marginalized groups ( Johnson, 2019). This creativity will serve us well in being responsive to ecological changes and challenges. Fostering practice creativity, however, must be rewarded in the classroom through appropriate readings and assignments. We must not limit the view of state-sanctioned violence from a mezzo or macro intervention standpoint. Micro practice, too, must step up because the majority of us are in this realm of practice, and just focusing on the broader picture relegates interventions to address the state in much too narrow a perspective. State-sanctioned violence trauma must be addressed within the context in which it occurs to increase the likelihood of success (Delgado, 2019). This country’s historical legacy of oppression permeates millions of lives. The psychological consequences of this oppression are multifaceted, necessitating clinical as well as broader focused implications. Exercise of state power is meant to kill the human spirit to resist; recognizing this threat is a start in the quest to vanquish it, but we cannot underestimate the immensity of this challenge. Social work is not on the sidelines of fighting against state-sanctioned violence and its wide ranging manifestations. We are increasingly assuming activist roles combatting the criminal justice system and the consequences of this involvement, for instance (Cox & Augustine, 2018; Toft & Reierson, 2017). We did not enter social work because it was the easy road, seeking prestige, money, and power. We understand how a spirit to soar remains in these communities against incredible odds. That spark must be identified and fostered. Actively engaging in a social justice campaign is immensely energizing and brings hope for a better future. Mckesson (2018) presents an argument and case, involving police killings of unarmed people of color, for why where resistance and activism exist, there is hope, inspiring those of us with extensive activism histories and those new to activism. The slogan “justice for all and not revenge” comes to mind as this book comes to its near conclusion. A social justice stand helps ensure that we do not seek redress at the expense of any group being oppressed. Youth-led localized resistance efforts at fighting racialized crime control, for example, can be supported by social workers and other helping professions (Delgado & Staples, 2008; Goddard & Myers, 2018), broadening the potential of coalitions that are community led but with professional support. The social change efforts led by the Parkland students in Florida typify what is possible when youth take the lead on a major social issue such as gun violence and adults are willing to follow and support when called upon (Delgado, 2020). A cadre of youth taking on the causes covered in this book and others offers hope for the future, as addressed earlier, but also taps indigenous resources, allowing social work to increase our reach into urban communities. Although we can argue that all age groups must take on this challenge, youth are the present and the future for the nation. The issues associated with state-sanctioned violence will require long-term
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commitments, and their effectiveness will be increased, if we as a nation are to realize the ideals that led to the forming of this nation. Lastly, the emergence of Antifa (short for antifascist), a movement consisting of antifascist American activist groups, serves to give fuel to the use of state-sanctioned violence, has started to get saliency in painting the other side as violent—“there are good people on both sides,” as noted by President Trump in reacting to the demonstrations in Charlottesville, Virginia, created a false moral equivalence. Creating an enemy of the state that is violence prone, as in the case of MS-13 and unauthorized Latinx’s, is used to warrant a militarized response. Enlisting an army of activists is exciting, with social workers having the potential to make a significant contribution to fighting state-sanctioned violence. When a nation piles layers of obstacles on people of color, as in this case youth, the message is quite loud and clear that you do not count and are not a part of this nation’s future. Youth are astute at identifying state violence’s subtle and not-so-subtle messages. Not being able to drink from a water fountain may seem minor or annoying. It is the modern-day equivalent of two water fountains side by side, one for White, non- Latinxs, and the other for “Colored,” without a visible sign. The visuals associated with water fountain signs of “White” and “Colored” are imprinted in all of our memories from textbooks and watching news reels, for many of us, making it easier to recognize this injustice. A sign saying “drinking from this fountain is hazardous to your health because you are Black or Brown” is an appropriate response. When we think of urban environmental experts, we usually think of scientists and activists with extensive work histories on this issue. Urban youth, too, can be experts on their surroundings, and can map unequal exposure to neighborhood environmental hazards (Teixeira & Zuberi, 2016). Enlisting youth in fighting environmental, state-sanctioned violence is an investment in the future, helping to prepare them when public education is failing and casting them as instrumental members of their communities. Enhancing urban youth competencies in this arena brings them into a corps of social activists focused on the other forms of state-sanctioned violence covered in this section, illustrating the importance of acting now and being prepared for a long-term campaign that is best served through enlistment of youth who will age out of this age category and enter adulthood better prepared to tackle environmental violence and other forms of violence in their neighborhood (Cermak, 2014; Delgado, 2015b). CONCL U SION
Social workers have marching orders in addressing state-sanctioned violence. The immensity of the task necessitates that we act on the issues that most concern us, and in collaboration with our colleagues. Social justice, regardless of how conceptualized, is not owned by any one profession. This national issue is one that necessitates a national response, with each of us playing roles according to our abilities and embrace of social justice as a goal, be it conceptualized as state-sanctioned violence or otherwise. The epilogue that follows puts an exclamation point on this book, providing me with an opportunity to raise factors and considerations needing to be further spotlighted in this book. Readers will hopefully have their own epilogue and action plan to engage in eradicating state-sanctioned violence at all levels.
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Bobby Kennedy’s “Ripple of Hope,” Cape Town, South Africa, speech in 1966 (GoodReads, https://w ww.goodreads.com/quotes/705426-each-t ime-a-man- stands-up-for-an-ideal-or) captures my view of social justice as an individual and social worker, and is appropriate to start this epilogue with: Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, these ripples will build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance. INT R OD U CTION
This epilogue will highlight concerns that I and countless others have about where our nation is and is going regarding social justice. There is also a measure of hope in identifying the challenges before us, and identifying them is an essential step in addressing them as a profession. Only when there is a coming together of collective imagination with collective consciousness can we make significant progress as a nation and a profession. The nation is in the midst of a major political crisis that has immediate and far- reaching consequences for significant segments of its population (Kowalski, 2019), with consequences that will be felt worldwide and particularly in our own hemisphere. Questioning the legal system, including the legitimacy of judges when they do not agree with a presidential directive, is not your typical law-and-order stance in a democracy, but one more associated with totalitarian regimes. The question of whether or not this country is on the verge of fascism has emerged because of current presidential administration acts (Trumpism) and often open distain for democratic principles, the free press, and the rule of law (Morris, 2019), all key markers of a democracy. As noted by Jacobson (2018): “Fear, lies, and state- sanctioned violence are the fast-acting yeast of fascism.” One has only to pause and look at the current president to understand this on a daily basis. The inability of President Trump to convincingly speak out in condemnation against hate acts committed or planned by White supremacists or nationalists (domestic terrorists) emboldens them, sending a powerful message by embracing a group that
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subscribes to values and beliefs that are counter to a democracy. President Trump is a catalyst for the legitimization of hate groups and domestic terrorism, with the presidency’s bullhorn resonating across the nation because hate groups have a powerful symbol in the White House. This stance serves as a backdrop to state-sanctioned acts of violence. Thinking of mass ICE raids as officially sponsored terrorism (creation of fear and traumatizing), is not hyperbole, because the persistent threat of raids (estimated to involve 2,000 arrests), which was supposed to take place in 10 major cities, many with sanctuary city designations, on June 23, 2019 but was called off, still caused great anguish among the unauthorized and their communities (Shear & Kanno-Youngs, 2019). Critics of this policy (Order of Removal) refer to immigrant courts as kangaroo courts’s deportation orders. Mind you, the Trump Administration does the have the resources to arrest and hold this large a number of families, but this visible threat to raid homes is an attempt to have them self-report and self-deport. Where to for the nation from here? First, we must acknowledge that state- sponsored violence does exist and it targets certain groups, with a long historical reach that continues to this day. This acknowledgment is no small step. Unless we recognize this is a problem, a solution cannot follow. How, and to what degree this violence gets manifested, will vary according to where we live in the country. Further, violence as represented through White supremacy is not restricted to the United States. One has only to see what happened in Christchurch, New Zealand. In 2019, attacks on two of its mosques resulted in 50 deaths and countless injuries, including the issuing of a lengthy manifesto; this highlighted how White supremacy is a far greater threat with international terrorism tentacles, and the United States is playing in this worldwide movement under the current presidential administration (Cage, 2019; Cali & Landon, 2019; Cave & Tarabay, 2019). How will state-sanctioned violence be manifested in the future? Making citizenship more difficult to achieve will gain currency. President Trump’s effort to disqualify “legal” immigrants (those who received some form of governmental assistance) from seeking citizenship is such an attempt at disenfranchisement, which in N.Y.C. can impact 1 million residents, many of them of color (Ribbons, 2018). A proposed rule change by the Trump administration that can bar families with any member in this country who is undocumented from receiving subsidized housing, can result in 2,800 immigrant families losing apartments operated by the New York City Housing Authority alone, for instance (Ferre-Saduri, 2019). There are other sections of the country, such as Los Angeles, where approximately one third of the residents in public housing are mixed-immigration families (Fadulu & Kanno-Youngs, 2019). A Washington Post (Bade & Miroff, 2019) article on the proposed release of unauthorized detainees and deploying (busing) them to sanctuary cities, such as San Francisco’s Speaker of the House Pelosi’s district, as a means of creating chaos and negative publicity in these cities and punishing political foes, is a plan that can be considered a type of plague, or a policy of retribution and indicator of intellectual bankruptcy on state immigration policy: The White House told U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement that the plan was intended to alleviate a shortage of detention space but also served to send a message to Democrats. The attempt at political retribution raised alarm within ICE, with a top official responding that it was rife with budgetary and
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liability concerns, and noting that “there are PR risks as well.” After the White House pressed again in February, ICE’s legal department rejected the idea as inappropriate and rebuffed the administration. Such an effort would qualify as an attractive or generous catch-and-release program in the nation’s history, which is counter to the rhetoric of being harsh on this group. President Trump’s National Rifle Association meeting (“My Sick Idea”) statement of sending migrants to sanctuary cities is illustrative of a desire to punish (state violence) these cities and the distain he has for people who are most vulnerable and Brown. Weaponizing migrants also adds a new dimension to marginalization (Carvajal, 2019). Giroux (2015, p. 129) issued a challenge to those alarmed with the state of affairs, over a decade old but still relevant today: “Finding our way to a more humane future demands a new politics, set of democratic values, and sense of the fragile nature of democracy.” This challenge requires a new and expanding cadre of practitioners and scholars threatening the normalization and weaponizing of hatred. Producing a counternarrative, through professional associations and where we practice and live, including reaching other professionals, introduces a stance that social justice must permeate our entire existence and not be relegated to one segment of our lives, paralleling the lives of those in marginalized communities of color. State violence thrives when there is despair and fear, as in the case of pushing a narrative of crime and the unauthorized, and a sense that the outcome is inevitable. Despair and fear are generally invisible but with tremendous potential to find outlets with very visible and immediate outcomes. Social workers are aware of the ramifications of despair and fear, and the importance of restoring dignity and hope, openly and publicly embracing a social justice mission that includes state violence. Elucidating state violence patterns, such as police shootings of unarmed people, allows the invisible to be visible. Efforts at pulling back the secrecy veil are happening, such as California’s open-records law seeking to reduce police shootings by opening up the investigative records to increase accountability for these killings. This law was passed through Valarie Rivera’s advocacy, whose son was killed when a police officer mistook a water pistol for a real gun (Arango, 2019). These records provide narratives of tragedies that historically eschewed public scrutiny. Not surprisingly, police unions are fighting this law. There is no national database on serious police misconduct, and USA Today has started a campaign to gather data on these officers and found 85,000 who have been investigated (Kelley & Nichols, 2019). State-sanctioned violence has become more visible, making it easier to recognize, and this is an indication that the state is experiencing great difficulty in keeping this violence invisible and slow, as in the case of those who are unauthorized. We can, of course, enter into a discussion or debate as to whether or not detention camps should be called concentration or preconcentration camps. However, regardless of where we fall on this argument, just posing the question speaks volumes as to where we are as a nation. Further, it speaks volumes about the dehumanization process that is enfolding, a critical element in any state-sanctioned violence agenda, whether we are talking about Nazi Germany or Trump America. Squalor and lack of access to basic necessities such as toothpaste, toothbrushes, drinking water, and showers, for instance, convey a stance of dehumanization (Kanno-Youngs, 2019e) The soul-crushing actions of the state make it difficult for the average person in the street to ignore, although communities of color have understood this violence for
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centuries. This epilogue evolved on a daily basis, and readers can understand why. The following sections and issues stand out for me as this book goes out for review and eventual publishing. EX CEPT IONS THAT PROV E THE RULE
The instances where justice prevails, as in police killing unarmed youth of color, stand out and reinforce how state violence, in this case murders, are few and far between. In a rare instance of justice, a Balch Springs, Texas, police officer was convicted and sentenced to 15 years for murdering an unarmed Jordon Edwards, a 15-year-old high school freshman (Karimi & Grinberg, 2018, p. 4): “Dallas County District Attorney Faith Johnson described Oliver as a ‘killer in blue’ who violated his oath to protect citizens. Prosecutors sought a sentence of at least 60 years while the defense argued for 20 years or less.” In another rare instance, Florida had a police officer convicted for a 2015 shooting (Allen, 2019, p. 2): A jury in West Palm Beach, Fla., has convicted a former police officer in the shooting death of a black motorist. It’s the first time in 30 years that an on-duty police officer in Florida has been convicted in a shooting. Corey Jones, a housing inspector and part-time musician, was on his way home from a nightclub in October 2015 when his van broke down on Interstate 95 in Palm Beach Gardens. He was on the side of the road in his SUV when he called for roadside assistance. This conviction made national news because it is a rare occurrence to witness a police officer successfully prosecuted for such a crime. Headlines, such as the New York Times’s “2 Minneapolis Officers Won’t Face Charges in Killing of Black Man” (Smith, 2018a), are the norm rather than the exception when discussing these killings, providing social workers with lens for responding to these injustices. The roots of African American–police tensions and conflicts are steeped deeply in the nation’s cities, and on occasions, there is a conviction of a White police officer who murdered a Black person, as in the case of Baltimore in 1875 (Shufelt, 2017), marking that event monumental in any historical period, setting the stage for how out of the ordinary it is to secure such a conviction. The case of Tamir Rice, however, is the norm. Readers are probably familiar with the death of Cleveland’s Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old shot and killed by a police officer because he mistook a pellet gun for a real gun, with this encounter visually captured. The officer was eventually fired but not charged, and then hired by another jurisdiction in a part-time police officer capacity (Haag, 2018). Leaving one police department, under grievous circumstances, and getting hired by another police department raises profound questions about how state-sanctioned violence is allowed to operate without consequences. Justice will only be served when the outcome of a police killing is determined by evidence produced, and defying the odds is not the prevailing sentiment and prediction hoped for. Finally, a different but less significant perspective. What happens when the crime involves a Black officer and the victim is White, non-Latinx? The rare case in Minneapolis of Officer Noor’s (Somali and Muslim) killing of Ms. Ruszczyle (White,
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non-Latinx) resulted in a rare murder conviction, raised issues of the role that race played in the conviction, as noted by Nekima Levy Armstrong, a civil rights lawyer and activist (Eligon, 2019a, p. A10): “This is an anomaly based on race and affluence of the victim. . . The system treats African-Americans and white people differently, whether they are the victim in a police-involved shooting case or whether they are the police officer. This is absolutely outrageous.” Officer Noor received a 12-year-prison term, raising questions about a double standard when an officer is of color and the victim is White, non-Latinx (Furber & Smith, 2019). W HO CAN ENTE R THE COUNTRY AND WH O C A N B E C O ME A CITIZEN?
The question of who can enter this country and eventually assume citizenship is both a legal and political question. We can, of course, broaden this discourse on revoking citizenship to include African American youth who have faced the struggles for voice and rights normally associated with adulthood in this nation’s history (Breslow, 2019). We cannot, however, separate immigration policies on who can become a citizen from politicization and criminalization (Alvord, Menjívar, & Gómez Cervantes, 2018, p. 412): “At the heart of U.S. immigration lies the distinction between the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ immigrant . . . This distinction is encapsulated in the ‘good citizen’ and ‘criminal differentiation.’ ” Closing the door on both is closely tied to people of color, with demographic trends as the underpinnings of these efforts at compromising legal rights under the Constitution, and serving as the impetus behind these efforts (Aneesh & Wolover, 2017): “Although the state has historically provided valuable benefits to those identified as belonging—citizens—it has simultaneously created another social class, consisting of noncitizens subject to internal immigration control that puts their rights under the constant shadow of the state’s sweeping deportation powers.” Although Aneesh and Wolover (2017) refer to the unauthorized, we could extend the argument to those who legally belong in this country because of birthrights or having achieved citizenship; they, too, are part of a group that is casted as other and not belonging. Deporting millions is a monumental task and extremely expensive, and we cannot financially afford it, in addition to creating structural dislocations with implications across the nation (Cramer, 2018; Delgado, 2018). The Department of Homeland Security, one with a broad mission, has been relegated to fighting Brown people entering the country from the southern borders and better named as the Department of Southern Border Security (Shear, Kanno-Youngs & Haberman, 2019). Slowing down or preventing asylum claims as a strategy specifically targets asylum seekers of color, raising serious constitutional issues, and forcing them to wait outside of the United States and often in unsafe places, compromising their health and dreams (Semple, 2019c). There is no disputing that making it more difficult to enter this country through authorized means will only increase in difficulty ( Jordan, 2019d). However, the revoking of citizenship is a bold step, but one based on current thinking on who deserves to be in this country. The unprecedented backlog of people waiting to become naturalized, with a process that normally takes 10 months, is now 31 months long, and is another dimension to the citizenship question ( Jordan, 2019c).
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These efforts, including voter suppression, dramatically effect voting and political representation. It is misguided to associate limited access to voting places to be limited to red states. New Jersey, too, is having to reconcile policies with its ideals (Corassanti, 2019). Raising the voting age to 21, too, can be a tactic to undermine the tsunami of youth of color who are reaching voting age and counters current efforts to reduce this age to 16 (Astor, 2019). Do I see the revoking of the right of women to vote? No, that is a bridge too far. Controlling women’s right to reproductive health will only get that much more restrictive, and that, too, is a form of state-sanctioned violence. F R E ED OM OF SPE E CH AND A HATE AGE N D A
Readers may be puzzled with the appearance of freedom of speech in an epilogue. I wish to take a different perspective than what may be expected, with President Trump consistent berating freedom of the press and calling it “fake news” or “enemy of the people,” setting off alarms about totalitarian regimes and state news television stations (Albright & Woodward, 2018). Freedom of speech is the bedrock of any democracy, particularly ours. There is even a call for enhanced legal training of police officers on the First Amendment, for example, in the hopes that the rights of people of color are not violated, and of eventually leading to better police–community relations (Linetsky, 2018). This training will not favorably impact police–community relations because hate speech is supported by the state. Hate speech is associated with the political far right, and attempts to protect speech will benefit those at that end of the political spectrum. This leaves marginalized groups facing a greater uphill battle in getting their points across and having their voices heard when not resorting to hate speech. The current political climate fostered by President Trump has ushered in hate speech that would normally be on the fringes, and made it accepted in normal discourse coming from the president. Matsuda et al. (2018) argue that one of the pillars of legal protection of hate speech is the government’s refusal to acknowledge this form of speech and the equivalent, which would be condoning and even encouraging it. This protection creates a climate welcoming hate speech, and if you are the target, the state will not protect you. It is said that our nation is one of laws; racism and other forms of oppression are integral to the state creating a hostile climate and carrying out laws that systematic subjugate undervalued groups. Extreme rhetoric shapes how violence unfolds, is perceived, and is reported by the media, whether it is more subtle or subterranean (dog whistle), or open and extreme (bullhorn), without fear of retribution from law enforcement. Hate speech causes harm. When public silence is associated with state-sponsored violence, it effectively serves to condone or encourage this act, introducing an element that requires further study to fully understand its consequences (Billias & Vermuri, 2017). The 2017 Charlottesville, Virginia, demonstrations led by a coalition of neo-Nazis and other hate groups comes to my mind, and President Trump’s reactions affirming that there were fine people on both sides reinforces how “free speech” can equate to the state—in this instance, the elected leader of the nation, no less—fostering this hateful stance. The message is quite clear—if you think you have a friend in the White House and government, think again, because you do not.
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R ECL A IMING PUBLIC SPACE
Urban residents reclaiming public space is a critical element of well-being that we do not discuss enough. If public space is not safe, or we must live a very circumscribed area, it conveys a strong message about our rights to freely socially navigate. Stories of urban youth rarely leaving their neighborhoods and venturing to other parts of a city are not unusual. One reason for this very narrow existence has to do with lack of public transportation that connects various communities; another is social and psychological—you are not welcome here –police take notice! A narrow geographical life leads to a narrow view of the world and limited chances of evading local, oppressive situations. Privileged students often talk about how educational a foreign trip has been in broadening their view of the world and life, providing them with an appreciation for other cultures, and I can certainly attest to this type of experience. I, however, needed to spend 4 years in the military (U.S. Air Force) to gain this experience in my youth. Imagine living your life in a very narrow geographic confines, restricting your potential to grow emotionally, culturally, socially, and intellectually. Some may argue that in our society no one is physically restricted geographically. That may be generally true. However, when youth of color venture into a predominantly White, non-Latinx, neighborhood, they stand out and are subject to heightened surveillance and possible stops and frisks by the police, and even death as in the case of Treyvon Martin. Freedom to navigate new worlds must not be narrowly viewed from an educational standpoint because it is far more important, and complex from a developmental perspective, as in the case of urban youth of color. Public spaces are also where collective resistance can transpire. These spaces lend themselves to large crowds, facilitate media coverage, and are symbolic, as with the Boston Massacre. The American Revolution took hold when the Boston Massacre occurred on March 5, 1770, when the British troops fired on a demonstration, killing five colonists. The primary purpose of this public demonstration was to convert moderates and liberals into radicals. An alternative view is that this was not a massacre, with the deaths used as propaganda. The British called this event “an incident,” which has striking similarities to how police shootings of unarmed people are often described today. The shooting of five unarmed people is a massacre in my book. One has only to ask their relatives if this was an incident or a massacre. Public spaces translate into areas where public acts can occur. These acts can be celebratory, as in fairs, parades, and festivals (Delgado, 2016); they can also be an opportunity to engage in public resistance, sharing much in common with the 1770 Boston demonstration. A state restricting access to public spaces in the interests of public safety can be conceptualized as state efforts to limit free speech, gatherings, and the exercise of a fundamental principle of a democracy. T HE 20 18 CONGRE SSIONAL E LE CTIO N S A N D B E Y ON D : A CONF ES S ION?
I am sure readers remember the 2016 presidential elections, and for those of us who embrace social justice and a progressive agenda, the heartache and despair that we felt when the final results were announced, which was totally unanticipated (Reisch,
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2019). I vividly recall having to teach a class that Wednesday and the great difficulty of staying focused on the assigned readings, which students could tell by my voice as it crackled and as tears welled in my eyes. The lecture, as planned, never happened. I must confess, I was not a big fan of President Obama because I had high hopes that race and racism would take on a significant aspect of his agenda. I realize that the Great Recession played a prominent part in setting an agenda, and major political capital was expended passing the Affordable Care Act. Nevertheless, getting back to the 2016 presidential election, it marked a major setback for a progressive agenda and social justice. The 2018 congressional elections rekindled a sense of hope, which I believe many social workers felt. The number of people of color and women elected to represent their districts in Washington, DC, are a better representation of the nation we live in, increasing the chances that they bring a vision and potential social change agenda, with much hope and resolve for the future of this democracy, and those seeking refuge here. My sincere hope is that this is a start of a Congress that represents the people of the United States, both literally and figuratively. I have become ever conscious and critical of news on state violence, particularly when “mistakes” are made that severely impact communities of color. These mistakes always seem to occur at the end of the continuum, whereby these communities are victims rather than the beneficiaries. What are the odds that they come out on the short ends? My hope is that this change will curtail the abuse of state-sanctioned violence. Please note the use of the word curtail because it will take more than a change in the House of Representatives and one election to stop state-sanctioned violence. Far great social change at the local level must occur to make this violence unacceptable and stopped. I, as a social worker, always try to find a spark of hope allowing me to get up in the mornings. I am sure readers will understand this point, regardless of the issue or group we embrace in our social justice pursuits. This resolve, I believe, is what makes us select social work as a career that is much more than a job; it is a way of life. S O CIA L W OR K AND SOCIAL JUSTICE : WH I C H R O A D WI L L W E TAK E?
Social work finds itself at a major crossroads, which is not unique to today. We have many different conceptions of social justice to choose from to carry out our mission. Some roads are easier to take than others. A state-sanctioned violence road, for some or even many, may be too difficult a road to take. Some may argue that it is much easier for a professor to take the road least traveled, per Robert Frost. The journey is no less challenging or perilous for us in the academy. Universities are not exempt from the power of the state. In other words, oppression does not stop at the doors of the academy. Those in community agencies and state-run organizations, too, face the challenge of how far can we push a social change agenda questioning the central role of the state among those we serve, and to what extent do we become witting, or unwitting, collaborators in this social justice journey? Each of us has serious soul-searching to do during this era of Trump and what might follow, either further cascading us into a totalitarian state or moving the country toward a realization of the ideals that led to the birth of our democracy. History will be the ultimate judge of our decisions.
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DEMOCR A CY AS AN IDE AL IS UNDE R AT TA C K
Democracies are supposed to protect the populace. Readers can turn to the Environmental Protection Agency under President Trump’s administration to point how this protection is a fallacy. Tian (2019, p. 2) argues that it is best to think of democracy in the United States as a dual state and “deeply antithetical to the dominant, liberal-democratic view of the American government.” The purge of the Homeland Security administration in the spring of 2019 was largely due to President Trump’s anger over the border and his inability to get officials to carry out directives considered to be unlawful, even with offering pardons to those convicted of carrying out unlawful actions (Sullivan & Shear, 2019). A state violence embrace takes this fallacy beyond this presidential administration, particularly on marginalized communities. It is appropriate to continue this discussion with a summary of how President Trump has undermined the ideals of a democracy (López and Pérez (2018, p. 7): The 2016 U.S. presidential election and evolving political climate defined by racial bullying and divisiveness. Since assuming office, the Trump administration has asserted its grip on power, enabling a hostile climate that places money and greed above the sovereignty and human rights of indigenous and historically marginalized people and land. Trump’s list of ideological and nationalist agenda is the ongoing assault on immigrant, Latinx communities. Beginning with Trump’s early executive order on “Enforcing Statutory Prohibitions on Federal Control of Education” (Executive Order No. 13791, 2017) to the current and ongoing threat to end the federal Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program the Administration continues to place the lives of 800,000 young adults and future beneficiaries in limbo as they await the May 2020 trial date for the Texas- led challenge to DACA . . . These ongoing battles are also a cogent reminder of the need for comprehensive, federal immigration policy. (p. 7) Those rights of those who are undocumented under the present presidential administration are in a state of flux, with a decidedly negative set of outcomes (Tipler & Gates, 2019). Obviously, for those embracing social justice goals, it is quite disturbing. Readers may look at how Europe and other parts of the world are retreating from democratic forms of government and the rise of totalitarianism. However, we cannot ignore what is happening in our own background, which has been accelerated since the election of President Trump. Foster (2017) comments on the Trump White House, pointing out the striking parallels that are operative when this administration is compared to fascism: Not only a new administration, but a new ideology has now taken up residence at the White House: neofascism. It resembles in certain ways the classical fascism of Italy and Germany in the 1920s and ’30s, but with historically distinct features specific to the political economy and culture of the United States in the opening decades of the twenty-first century . . . Neofascist discourse and political practice are now evident every day in virulent attacks on the racially oppressed, immigrants, women, LBGTQ people, environmentalists, and workers. These have been accompanied by a sustained campaign to bring the judiciary, governmental
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employees, the military and intelligence agencies, and the press into line with this new ideology and political reality. (p. 1) Some may view this stance as reactionary. The forces pushing this antidemocratic agenda, when viewed as state-sanctioned violence, are more public (emboldened), and it would be foolish to ignore these pressures as individuals and professionals. Social work can foster democratic ideals and in the process of doing so fight against state violence (Truell, 2018, p. 755): Such a simple concept of democracy only asks people to say “yes” or “no” to a political future in which they are not engaged. Instead of interaction, people are subjected to manipulative political arguments that blame other races, communities or nations for their disadvantage and discomfort. The consequence is disengagement, disillusion and alienation from the structures that people need to be involved with. Throughout the world, social workers have been actively championing the building of solidarity between people and facilitating systems that support the voices of all communities. We do not have to create these ideals; we just have to ensure that they are realized, and that is a much easier task. W H AT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD? A WALL B Y A N Y OT H E R N A ME IS ST IL L M ORE THAN A WALL
“The wall” slogan permeated the presidential campaign and the first 2 years of President Trump’s term, and it was the basis for a government shutdown in 2018– 2019, and there is no reason why it will not continue to do so in the remaining years of his presidency (Baker, 2019; The New York Times editorial, 2019a). What does the future hold? Predicting the future is always a gamble. The wall is a metaphor for a racist stance (state-sanctioned violence) of keeping out Brown people and scaring the nation about the future. Nevertheless, there is a “concrete” dimension to this wall, and its popularity is such that there are efforts to privately fund this project near El Paso’s border (Romero, 2019g). Closing the southern border has been a perennial theme even though this act will cause major disruptions along multiple spheres (Haberman, Karni, & Schmitt, 2019), and this threat may well continue for the immediate future. The wall is symbolic since no physical structure can meaningfully prevent unauthorized entry into this country by land. A sizeable proportion of the unauthorized originate from overstaying student or tourist visas, and not the image that President Trump wishes to portray. The consequences of a wall go far beyond the immediate vicinity where it is located on both sides of the border (Deeds & Whiteford, 2017). The wall is not symbolic when applied to prisons for children, be it wired, tent, or otherwise. Those are walls, too. It would not surprise me that those in detention will be forced to engage in free labor to pay their way, following historical patterns, further humiliating and exploiting them and having them serve as a symbol for the nation and state-sanctioned violence (Bales & Mayblin, 2018). The forced resignation of DHS Secretary Nielsen because she was “not tough enough” in addressing asylum seekers at the border signals the continuation, if not
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acceleration, of a campaign of fear and loathing of Brown people (Kanno-Youngs, Habermann, & Shear, 2019). A border humanitarian crisis has been labeled a national security crisis, with those seeking safety and asylum being called terrorists and detained under inhumane conditions in camps that should be labeled prisons (Tackett & Fandos, 2019). Stories of more deaths, sexual exploitation, and the compromising of rights will be part of the norm in the near future; investigations into these acts, too, will be forthcoming, shining sunlight on these issues, although painful to read and see, but essential in exposing how state violence gets perpetrated on a daily basis. The Trump administration did have a plan, which was not implemented, to undertake a massive deportation operation targeting families in some of the nation’s major cities, including those with sanctuary designations (Miroff & Dawsey, 2019, p. 1): In the weeks before they were ousted last month, Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen and top immigration enforcement official Ronald Vitiello challenged a secret White House plan to arrest thousands of parents and children in a blitz operation against migrants in 10 major U.S. cities. According to seven current and former Department of Homeland Security officials, the administration wanted to target the crush of families that had crossed the U.S.-Mexico border after the president’s failed “zero tolerance” prosecution push in early 2018. The ultimate purpose, the officials said, was a show of force to send the message that the United States was going to get tough by swiftly moving to detain and deport recent immigrants—including families with children. The parallels of this aborted plan, which can certainly be resurrected, with the Nazi roundup of Jews and “other undesirables” illustrates how far this nation has gone in potentially carrying out state violence. Current administration efforts to force asylum seekers to wait in Mexico while their cases are adjudicated was initially found to be legally unconstitutional, but that decision was overturned and yet is another example of state efforts to circumvent the law regarding the unauthorized ( Jordan, 2019e; Zaveri, 2019a). The pushing of boundaries is a strategy meant to overwhelm legal advocates and social activists to break their will to achieve social justice. The intersection of place and state has the potential to create a better existence and future; it also has the potential to create a worse existence and breach of rights, with deadly consequences. The demographic drum will continue to beat as the nation moves toward a society that is multiracial and -ethnic, whether it is a steady or fast beat. Democracy, after all, is destiny, not just for the United States but the world, too. A focus on urban centers, as in the case of this book, is a natural place to focus attention because of the concentration of people, history of resistance, social workers, and schools of social work. Although this book targets social workers, I do not see this struggle against state- sanctioned violence as one for social work alone. I sincerely believe that it will take a coalition, with us playing a key role. This effort will ultimately involve and be led by communities. Community residents, social workers and other disciplines/professions will not be at a loss in finding information on the Internet that can help in crafting responses to state-sanctioned violence, such as that manifested in police shootings of unarmed people of color. Campaign Zero (https://www.joincampaignzero.org/) is such an example, providing multiple options in addressing this problem at the local level. These efforts allow participation at various levels according to the interests,
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comfort levels, and abilities of activists. This progress will be slow with victories matched by setbacks. Nevertheless, progress is progress. How quickly will the profession embrace a state-sanctioned violence view of social justice is a key question, and only time will answer it. I believe that this view of social justice will continue to be appealing to a segment of the profession, and one destined to expand as the state takes bolder and more visible forms of violence against people of color and other marginalized groups.
C O N CL US ION
We have finally arrived at the conclusion of a journey that started with the Preface. For some, the journey could not come fast enough; for others, it is just the beginning. That is the beauty and frustration of writing. Writing this book was a journey for me, too, and one shaping future writing projects because the narrative evolves, never coming to a true end, as events unfold, with some anticipated while others are not. Finishing a book is always challenging, particularly one that is so painful to write, not wanting to leave readers in a more somber mood than when they started reading the book. Conversely, I do not want to artificially inject hope and humor because that would be dishonest. We are well versed in picking up on false hope. Finding the middle ground between stark assessments and maintaining hope is my goal. Readers will be the ultimate judges as to whether this goal was accomplished. That conclusion takes time because it necessitates a deliberative process. After all, we are social workers!
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243
INDEX
For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Affordable Care Act, 179–80 Alexander, M., 10 Alimahomed-Wilson, J., 61 All Lives Matter, 8, 144–45 AME church shooting, 64 Amparo Alves, J., 26 Anderson, K., 160 Andrasik, K., 79 Aneesh, A., 177 Annunciation House, 96 Anthony, Edward “Butch,” 125 Antifa, 171 antisanctuary movement, 95 Arpaio, Joe, 93 asylum policy, 6–7, 83, 90, 177 Atlanta, GA crime rates, response to, 58 Baggiarini, B., 61 bail, 130–32 Bailey, Z. D., 119 Baker, Ella, 27 Bayview, San Francisco, 122 Bender, K., 28 Beres, L. S., 68 Bernard, A., 155 Bilge, S., 73 birthright citizenship, 90 Black churches, burning of, 64 Black Lives Matter, 8–9, 13, 58, 59, 61, 65– 66, 103, 144–45 Black-on-Black brutality, 58 blackness, 54–55
Blee, K. M., 23 Blessett, B., 69 Blue Lives Matter, Too, 8 body cameras, 60 Bonds, A., 32 Bonilla-Silva, E., ix Boon-Kuo, L., 95 border separation policy, 89–90, 94 border wall, 182–84 Bracey, G. E., 21–22 Bradford, Emantic Jr., 147 Brennan, J., 167 Brown, L. T., 65 Brown, Michael, 77, 144 Brown, W., 154 Brown-Wallace, C., 140 Bumpers, Eleanor, 76 Burch, A. D., 23 Burger King, 123 California, 51 Campbell, M. C., 34–35 Canada, genocide of indigenous people in, 51 capitalism, state-sanctioned violence and, 69–70 Caravan of 2018, 88–89 carceral safety, 21 Carrigan, W. D., 10–11 Castro, A. F. H., 140 Catalonia, Spain, 50 Cazenave, N. A., 8
244Index
Central Park Five, 66–67 Chang, C. D., 37 Charlottesville, VA demonstrations 2017, 22, 171, 178 charter schools, 104 Chavez, Linda, 77 Cherry, K., 165 Chicago, police brutality in, 137–39 child welfare system, 148–49 chokeholds, 142 Christensen, W. M., 161 citizenship birthright citizenship, 90, 174 military-industrial complex and, 161 question of US Census, 35 unauthorized immigrants, 177–78 Clark, Stephan, 146 Clayton, D. M., 145 Cobbina, J., 28 collaborators in violence, 56–59, 77, 103 Collins, P. H., 73 Columbine High School shooting, 105 community resistance, 23, 25–26, 32, 43, 167, 179 Confederate monuments removal, 22–23 Congressional elections, 2018, 179–80 Connelly, L., 78 convict labor, 133–34 Cooper, B., 33, 78 Creswell, J. W., 61 criminal justice. See also mass incarceration bail, 130–32 death sentences, 129 fines/fees nonpayment, 131 incarcerated as cheap/expendable labor, 133–34 military-to-prison pipeline, 156–62 police brutality, 137–49 police misconduct, 132–33 power relationships in, 128, 159 prosecutors role in, 132 punishment, post-release, 134 racism in, 128–29 reform, 149–50 social workers roles in, 129 veterans in correctional service, 130, 155–56, 161 voting rights, of felons, 135–36 women/children of color, 148–49
youth of color, state focus on, 140–42 critical race theory, 21–22 Culbert, C. L., 44 Customs and Border Patrol, 58, 59 Davies, T., 126 De La Garza, Marco A. Jr., 58 De Soto, W., 146 deathliness, 54–55 dehumanization. See also labels/ stereotypes genocide and, 52–53, 54–55 intersectionality of, 76–77 unauthorized immigrants, 82, 88–89, 92, 182–83 democracy as ideal, attacks on, 181–82 demographics foreign-born population, 37–38 population dynamics, 34–36 profiles, current, 36–38 profiles, projected, 38–39 religion in, 37 demonization of Black youth, 68–69 Denton‐Borhaug, K., 64 Department of Defense, 153–54 Department of Homeland Security, 177 Douglass, F., 48 Downs, J., 119 drones, surveillance, 61 duty to retreat, 19 education destroying a dream, 110–11 discipline policies, 105–6 disparities in, 101 educational-industrial complex, 102–3, 104 gun accessibility in, 107–8, 109–10 gun violence impacts on, 105 history, teaching of, 103 intensely segregated schools, 105–6 intersectionality in, 103 military pipeline, 108–9 overview, 99–100 privatization, 104–5 proficiency testing, bias in, 100 public, labels and, 100–1 relevance to people of color, 101 resegregation, 102
245
Index
school police force, 106 school-to-prison pipeline, 107–8, 109–10 social workers in, 167–68 socialization via, 100 socioeconomic status in, 102–3 students of color as majority, 111–12 teachers’ roles, 103–4, 107–8, 109–10 zero tolerance policies, 105–7 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 152 El Paso, TX 2018-2019, 95–96 enslavement, 4–5, 64, 137 enslavement/violent crime relationships, 12 environmental gentrification, 122 excessive force, by police, 144 Fabricant, M., 104 Farmer, P., 44 fast food, 122–23 Fat Black Disability Studies, 122–23 FBI, 57 federal program 1033, 160 Felker-Kantor, M., 67 Ferguson effect, 9 Ferguson riots, 144 Fine, M., 104 First Step Act, 149 Fitzgerald, K. J., 59 Fleming, P., 118 Flint, MI water poisoning, 119–21 Flores, Sindy, 83 food deserts, 118, 123 Foote, K., 138–39 foreign policy, 85–86, 154 Forman, J. Jr., 58 Fourteenth Amendment, 90 Francis, M. M., 9 Franklin, S., 58 freedom of speech, 178 Friedman, B. D., 141 Friedrichs, D. O., 46 full weight of the state, 25 Gaitung, J., 44 gangs, 67, 108 Garcia, J., 37 Garner, Eric, 27, 76, 122–23 Gates, H. L., 9
245
genocide dehumanization and, 52–53, 54–55 fact gathering and, 55 of indigenous people, in Canada, 51 label of, 52 of Native Americans, 7, 51, 64 propaganda and, 52 state-sanctioned violence as, 50–53 gentrification, 122, 125 Giacopassi, D., 9 Gilmore, R. W., 21 Giroux, H. A., 28, 60, 62, 63, 67, 175 Gonzalez, Armando, 57 Gouda, M., 12 Graham, R., 54 gravity knives, 142 Great Recession, 179–80 Green, L., 45–46 Griffith, T. D., 68 Grosholz, J. M., 119 Gross, M. H., 48–49 Guinjoan, M., 50 gun accessibility, 109–10, 115, 117 gun violence, 105, 114–17, 139–40 Hamilton, A. R., 138–39 Hanchard, M., 68 hands up don’t shoot, 148 Harding, S., 108 Harris, T. T., ix hate agenda, 173–74, 178 Hayes, C., 110 health disparities case study, 119–21 environmental, 14, 117–18, 126–27 fast food, 122–23 gun violence, 114–17, 139–40 housing segregation, 125–26 mass incarceration, 123–25 medical experimentation, 125 obesity, 122–23 overview, 113–14 in prison, 119, 123–25 reproductive health, 124–25, 143 state tolerance of, 118–19 sterilization, forced, 124–25 toxic waste sites, 121–22 unauthorized immigrants, 88
246Index
Henning, K., 68 Henricks, K., 18 Ho, K., 29 Hodge, D. W., ix Hodgson, D., 33 Holmesburg medical experiments, 125 Holocaust, 50–51 homicide statistics, 30, 31, 114, 115 Horneum, A. M., 125 Horowitz, I. L., 50 housing segregation, 16, 125–26, 136 Houston 1948-1967, 47 hunger strikes, 65 Hunter, L. J., 157 illegal immigrants. See unauthorized immigrants Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), 86–88, 174 in-group bias, 58–59 inequality creation as consequence of state violence, 12 inmate labor strike 2018, 134 internment camps, 94–95, 175 intersectionality definition of, 73–74 dehumanization, 76–77 in education, 103 intracategorical, 75–76 physical appearances, 76–78 shootings by police officers, 74–75 in state-sanctioned violence, 27–28, 29, 72–73, 74–75 structural, 73–74 in unauthorized immigrants, 85 Jackman, Aice, 30–31 Jackson State University massacre, 92–93 Jacobson, J., 22 Jaffee, L. J., 108 Jail-No-Bail, 131 James, J., 26, 47 Jean, Botham Shem, 54 Jim Crow laws, 9–10 Johnson, La David T., 157–58 Joseph-Salisbury, R., 78 Juster, S., 64 justice for all and not revenge, 170
Kamali, M., 34 Kavanaugh, Brett, 54 Kelley, Paul X., 157–58 Kennedy, Bobby, 173 Kerrison, E. M., 28 Kershner, S., 108 KKK, 57 Kramer, R. C., 47, 107 labels/stereotypes. See also dehumanization demonization of Black youth, 68–69 people of color, stereotyping, 5–6 physical appearances, 76–78 public education and, 100–1 in state-sanctioned violence, 14–15, 53–56 Lang, B., 51 language as formative power, 14–15, 53–56, 159 law enforcement. See criminal justice; mass incarceration; shootings by police officers; shootings of police officers Lawson, E., 158 Lewis, Charles, 157 lynching, 10–11, 23 Lyon, Nick, 120 majority-minority in schools, 111–12 Malcom X, 5 Mapping Police Violence, 169 Maquin, Jakelin Caal, 83 Marriott, D. S., 54–55 Martin, Trayvon, 19–20, 59 Martinez, M. M., 87 mass incarceration. See also criminal justice building sites, health impacts of, 126 convict labor, 133–34 health disparities, 123–25 intergenerational, 137 resistance to, 129 segregation and, 136 as state-sanctioned violence, 10 unauthorized immigrants, 93, 96–97 veterans of color, 156–62 mass murders, fact gathering and, 55 Matsuda, M. J., 178 McDonald, Laquan, 138 McDonalds, 123
247
Index
Mckesson, D., 170 Mendocino Complex Fire, 134 Mexico, protest violence in, 56 Michalowski, J., 47 microaggressions, 141 Military Accessions Vital to National Interests (MAVNI), 155 military contractors, 109 military-industrial complex characterization, 62–63, 152–54 citizenship and, 161 foreign policy as violence, 154 military-to-prison pipeline, 156–62 school-to-military pipeline, 108–9, 153, 161 social worker’s role in, 152 as state-sanctioned violence, 151–52 veterans in correctional service, 130, 155–56, 161 youth of color in, 155 military pipeline, 108–9 military–prison–education–industrial complex, 62 militia groups as collaborators, 57 Miller, D., 33 Minuteman Militias, 57 Molina, L. F., 47 Mollow, A., 122–23 Moshman, D., 52 MS-13, 91 Muslims, racialization of, 61 Native American genocide, 7, 51, 64 NCLB (No Child Left Behind), 108–9 needle exchange programs, 123 neofascism, 181–82 Newman, Z., 116 Nichols, N., 141 Nielsen, Kirstjen, 182–83 1984 (Orwell), 60 No More Deaths (Arizona), 92 Obama, Barack, 93, 105–6, 179–80 Obasogie, O. K., 116 obesity, 122–23 oppression, five faces of, 17. See also violence culture Order of Removal, 174 Ortiz, Juan David, 87 Osborne, N., 74
247
paranoia, of police, 143 patriotism/nationalism relationships, 55 Pellow, D. N., 126 Peña, D. G., 124 Perlow, O. N., 53, 159 Philadelphia PD case study, 142 police body-worn cameras, 60 police brutality, 137–49 police militarization, 158–61 police misconduct, 132–33 Police Patrolmen’s Association, 60 Ponton, D., 47 power relationships in criminal justice, 128, 159 language as formative power, 14–15, 53–56, 159 in state-sanctioned violence, 35, 43 Supreme Court role, 35 protest violence, 55–56. See also community resistance public education. See education public housing, 125–26 public spaces, reclaiming, 179 Red Cross, 158 religion Christian Identity doctrine, 23 in demographics, 37 state-sanctioned violence and, 64–66 reproductive health, 124–25, 143 Rice, Tamir, 176 Richards, S., 124 Rigterink, A., 12 Rivera, Geraldo, 77 Rodon, T., 50 Rogers, A., 143 Rothbart, D., 13–14 Rothstein, R., 16 Rupka, S., 61 safe injection sites, 123 Samimi, C., 133 sanctuary schools, 168 sanctuary states/cities, 51, 92–95, 174–75 Santos, Marcus, 124 Sarat, A., 44 Savage, R., 51 Scheurich, J. J., 21 Schnabel, L., 100
248Index
school-to-military pipeline, 108–9, 153, 161 school-to-prison pipeline, 107–8, 109–10 school–military–prison–industrial complex, 157 SCI Fayette, 124 Seamster, L., 18 segregation as consequence of state violence, 12 housing, 16, 125–26, 136 mass incarceration and, 136 resegregation, 102 single-family zoning, 136 Semenza, D. C., 119 September 11, 2001 attacks, 46–47 Shastri, V., 23 shootings by police officers convictions of police officers for, 176–77 intersectionality in, 74–75 narrative, normalization of, 132–33 Native Americans, 145–48 public health implications, 116 rogue cop narrative, 142–43, 147 social worker research of, 169 as state-sanctioned violence, 9, 11, 15, 19, 29 statistics, 116, 146 shootings of police officers, 8–9, 29 single-family zoning, 136 Sliva, S. M., 133 Small Business Administration (SBA), 123 Smith, D. L., 15 social justice deserts, 69 social stigma, 58 social workers criminal justice roles, 129 in education, 167–68 human rights, respect for as value, 166 military-industrial complex roles, 152 paradigm shift role, 5, 15–16, 33–34, 42–44, 165–67 practice, 169–71, 180 research projects by, 169 social justice approach, 165 Soss, J., 30 Spencer, Z., 53, 159 stand-your-ground laws, 19–20, 107 Stanley, E., 16–17, 56
state-sanctioned violence actors/collaborators in, 56–59 collective reactions to, 6 conceptual foundation, 44–48 Constitution/Bill of Rights applicability, 22 criminal justice reform, 28, 29–30 criminal sanctions, ethnic heritage in, 19 definitions, 45–46 in democracies, 4–5 effects of, 13–14, 19, 28, 36 enemies of the state, 39 enforcement of, 47 fiscal costs of, 43 founding principles of US, 7 government protection role, 20 history and, 48–49 human rights perspective, 29 justice, disparities in, 30–32 legitimacy of state, 46, 56 local level, 29 manifestations, 24 mass incarceration as (see mass incarceration) mechanisms of, 6–7, 25 motivations, 23–24 origins of, 7–8, 9–11 as paradigm, 11–12, 49–50 politicization of, 10–11 power relationships in, 43 (see power relationships) protection of white culture, 39 ramifications of group targeting, 46–47 recognition of, 12–13, 26–27, 174, 175–76 slow journalism, 14 social justice and, 4, 33–34 state crime, 47–48 structural violence, 3–4 terminology, 16–32 victim blaming, 27 statistics, 61–62 stereotypes. See labels/stereotypes Stone-Mediatore, S., 96 stop and frisk policies, 142, 143 street-level sovereignty, 140 substance misuse, 123 Sullivan, H., 56
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Supplemental Homicide Reports, 169 Supreme Court power relationships role, 35 surveillance by state, 59–61, 87–88 SWAT as symbol of terror, 159–60 syringe decriminalization, 123 systemic humiliation (shaming), 148 Taylor County, GA, 157 Terra, L., 48–49 three-fifths compromise, 49 throw away Brown children policy, 89–90, 94 Tighe, S., 154 Till, Emmett, 23 Tillotson, M., 9 Todd, Teresa L., 92 Tooley, J., 104 Torres, G., 45 toxic waste sites, 121–22 trash removal, 126–27 trauma theory, 12 Troops to Teachers program, 153 Trump, Donald J., 5, 7, 15, 22, 40, 66–67, 83, 85, 87–88, 90, 91, 92–93, 100, 105–6, 137, 139, 149, 157–58, 166, 171, 173–75, 178, 181–84 Trumpism, 173 Turner, K. B., 9 unarmed civilian shootings. See shootings by police officers unauthorized immigrants aides/defenders, criminalization of, 88, 92 asylum policy, 6–7, 83, 90, 177 belonging/community, 91 birthright citizenship, 90, 174 Border Patrol actions against, 58 border separation policy, 89–90, 94 Brown criminalization, 93–94 Caravan of 2018, 88–89 citizenship, 177–78 context, 82–85 deaths of children, 83, 94 dehumanization, 82, 88–89, 92, 182–83 deportations of, 81–82, 84, 93, 177, 183 detention of, case law, 90 Dreamers/DACA, 84
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El Paso case study, 95–96 foreign policy/military, 85–86 government’s role, 83–84 health policies, 88 human rights, 95 ICE, 86–88 internment camps, 94–95, 175 intersectionality in, 85 justification of military force, 92–93, 161 mass incarceration, 93, 96–97 media role in demonizing, 88–89 mixed-status families, 89 population displacement, 85 sanctity of families, 89–90 sanctuary cities, busing to, 174–75 sanctuary states/cities, 51, 92–95 Social Security/Green Cards, 84–85 tent cities, 87 unaccompanied minors, 84 U.S. detention centers, 64–65 US imperialism, 86 voting rights, 135 White supremacy and, 93 United Constitutional Patriots, 57 universities, 62–63 urban communities domestic terrorism in, 160 education in (see education) housing segregation, 125–26 most incarcerated zip codes, 118 police–community relations, 158–60 sanctuary schools, 168 stacking of odds against, 32 trash removal in, 126–27 youth of color, state focus on, 66–69 U.S. detention centers, 64–65. See also internment camps Vandiver, M., 9 Vargas, J. C., 26 veterans of color, incarceration of, 156–62 in correctional service, 130, 155–56, 161 victim blaming, 6 violence culture, 12, 17 Vogel, M., 34–35
250Index
voting rights of African Americans, 49–50 disenfranchisement, 135–36 of felons, 135–36 of unauthorized immigrants, 135 women’s suffrage, 49 voucher programs, 104 Wacquant, L., 136 Wallace, George, 55 war, privatization of, 109 war on drugs, 160 Ward, G., 10, 23 Warren, Scott, 92 water poisoning, 119–21 Watkins, W., 104 Watts, L., 33 Weaver, V., 30 Webb, C., 10–11 Wells, Eden, 120
Welsh, N. H., 16 When They See Us, 66 White privilege, 59 white supremacism, 22–23, 29, 156, 173–74 Whittle, H. J., 118 Wiggins, D., 58 Williams, D., 61 Wolover, D. J., 177 Woodard, Jesse Jr., 157 World War II, 158 Young, I. M., 17 youth of color in military–industrial complex, 155 state focus on, 66–69, 140–42 zero tolerance policies, 105–7 Zimmerman, George, 20, 59
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