Tag Archives: criminal stereotype

Ahmed Mohamed and the School-to-Prison Pipeline

Fourteen-year-old Ahmed Mohamed was arrested on Monday after he brought a clock he made at home to school to show his science teacher. After another teacher saw the clock and suspected it was a bomb, he was interrogated for more than an hour by five police officers, then handcuffed and taken to the police station in his home town of Irving, Texas. His arrest sparked outrage against Islamophobia and a supportive social media campaign, #IStandWithAhmed.

Watching a fourteen-year-old kid describe the disappointment of being arrested for his ingenuity rather than rewarded for it is heartbreaking. This event clearly exposes prejudice against brown, Muslim people in the U.S. that is not limited to Irving. Across the U.S., Muslims are the religious group most likely to report experiencing religious discrimination.

But this event exposes another problematic instinct as well: the impulse to resort to law enforcement to solve problems (perceived or real) with kids.

This impulse and the structural changes it has produced has created what is commonly described as the “school-to-prison pipeline,” the funneling of students from schools into the juvenile and adult criminal justice system. The school-to-prison pipeline is built on the notion that (certain) kids in (certain) schools can’t be effectively or safely dealt with by schools, or within classrooms, but must be subject to harsher school-based or criminal justice penalties. The pipeline functions both directly (through law enforcement within schools) and indirectly (through policies that create barriers to school success and contribute to the likelihood of incarceration).

The practice of placing police officers in schools has become increasingly popular in the last twenty years, in part as a response to high profile school shootings. In New York City, the school safety division of the NYPD is larger than Boston’s entire police force. The presence of police officers in schools has led to a dramatic increase in the number of criminal charges brought against students for relatively minor offenses, such as “scuffles, truancy and cursing at teachers.” For example, in Texas alone, 229,000 misdemeanor tickets were issued against students by school-based police officers in 2012. Students typically do not have access to counsel to defend against these tickets, which lead to fines, court fees, and a criminal record, not to mention fostering an adversarial environment in school that alienates kids from their education and vice versa.

These charges are being brought against students of color at an alarmingly disproportionate rate. African Americans comprise 13.2% of the American population, for example, but make up 31% of school-related arrests. And a full 97% of tickets issued in schools are “discretionary” offenses, meaning that schools have the choice to handle them without involving the criminal justice system. While it’s difficult to say just how biased the application of this discretion is, one useful point of comparison are the offenses punished most commonly by race. One 2002 study found that Black students were most likely to be punished for “being disrespectful and threatening, loitering, and excessive noise” while white students were most often punished for the less subjective offenses of “smoking, leaving school without permission, vandalism, and obscene language.”

In addition to variances in the treatment of individual students, the structural and cultural differences between schools themselves is also illustrative. In New York City, for example, 48% of Black children and 38% of Hispanic children go through metal detectors every day to get into school, while only 14% of white children must do the same. Black and Hispanic children are therefore set up to be criminalized at a much higher rate, a situation that mirrors the disparate police presence in minority neighborhoods.

On top of the growing reliance on the criminal justice system, school-based punishment has gotten harsher – and more racially imbalanced – as well. Rates of suspension and expulsion for Black and Latino children are growing steadily, while the rates for white students are declining slightly. Although suspension and expulsion don’t have the direct relationship with the prison system that the literal policing of school students has, the results of these harsh punishments are perhaps more damaging in the long term. Research shows that students who have been suspended are three times more likely to drop out by the 10th grade than students who have never been suspended. And dropping out triples the likelihood that a person will be incarcerated later in life.

By treating students like problems that teachers and administrators can’t solve, schools alienate their kids and create barriers to their successful completion of school – and ultimately to their avoiding the prison system as adults. In the same way that as a nation we have relied increasingly on punishment and warehousing to avoid social problems rather than finding ways to prevent crime, schools too often resort to severe punishment and law enforcement rather than getting to the root of misbehavior. And just as our racially biased policing, prosecution, and sentencing have led to massive disparities in incarceration rates by race, the same biases shape the culture within schools with different racial compositions and the responses to students of different races.

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The Dangerous Class

Not long ago I was meeting with a young man at Riker’s, New York City’s infamous island of jails, when an alarm started sounding. “That sounds like my block” he told me, intrigued, as a number of correctional officers (“COs”) started flooding into the corridor outside our glassed-in meeting room. To my surprise, without saying a word to either of us (or the other man whose lawyer had just left and who was sitting nearby in the same enclosure), a CO came over and locked us in. Then I watched as five, ten, twenty COs suited up in what looked like a cross between football pads and hazmat suits. They drew long wooden clubs out of a bin next to their gear cubbies, and several of them clipped massive spray cans to their belts. “Pepper spray?” I asked my client. “Worse,” he responded. “This is way worse than pepper spray. It’s made for bears.”

He told me that he’s been nearby when it’s been sprayed before, and even just being close is terrible. “I coughed so hard blood came up,” he said. Hearing this description, and watching guard after guard show up to get in gear, I wonder how much of the extreme level of security we’re seeing can be attributed to real risk faced by officers. Certainly there is some risk – anyone incarcerated at Riker’s will tell you it’s a dangerous place for prisoners – but to send in twenty or more guards, with clubs and bear spray, I would think they ought to have a good reason. So I looked for some numbers.

In a ten-year period between 1999 – 2007, 113 COs were killed on the job. In a smaller timeframe, from 2001 – 2007, 356 prisoners were victims of homicide (and, side note, 1,386 prisoners committed suicide). By comparison, from 1999 – 2007, 1,529 police officers in the U.S. were killed, and, just to throw in another dangerous job, 335 coal miners died at work. Deaths are, obviously, just one piece of the puzzle, but it’s also an important marker of how dangerous a job really is. And although any number of deaths is too many, 113 in ten years sounds relatively low to me. Note that there are about 470,000 people currently employed as correctional officers in the U.S. today, so over ten years a generous estimate would be that 0.003% of COs are killed per year.

So what’s with the riot gear, the clubs, the bear spray? What’s with the regular complaints of egregious violence at Riker’s and elsewhere?

It’s my view – and I’m not alone here – that this comes from the idea that prisoners are part of a “dangerous class” who, regardless of the offense that landed them in prison and regardless of their conduct while incarcerated are perceived as violent animals who are liable to strike out in any way possible at any time. And it’s easy to see the connection between the level of security and surveillance in prisons and jails to the treatment of people who are perceived as part of this “dangerous class” on the outside. For example, black men between the ages of 15-19 are 21 times more likely to be killed by police than their white counterparts are, and the average sentence for murder grew 238% in the 80’s and 90’s. These are all manifestations of an idea of dangerous, bad people whose sentence and even whose offense are secondary to a general inhumanity.

The really low rate of death among correctional officers is probably due in part to the extremely high level of security employed, but it comes at the price of a widespread dismissal of the humanity of the people who are incarcerated (literally using products designed to keep vicious animals at bay). This is not the product of individual failings among COs, nor is the policing statistic a reflection of individual assholes in police departments, nor is the sentencing statistic a product of bad prosecutors personally bent on creating more punitive systems. These are symptoms of a fundamental shift in the way that we understand people involved with the criminal justice system, and more generally people of color and poor people in our society. This is the new face of prejudice that Michelle Alexander was describing in her blockbuster critique of our criminal justice system, The New Jim Crow. It’s what protesters in Ferguson, New York City, Madison, Charlottesville, etc. are calling out when they insist that #blacklivesmatter. It’s the message that Right on Crime and other conservatives are reinforcing when they call for justice only for non-violent, low-level offenders and fail to call our system into question more broadly. And, in my humble opinion, it’s why we need to fundamentally rethink not only how prisons operate, but also whether we should have them at all.

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Whites Accept Racially Disparate Imprisonment

One of the defining features of the U.S. prison population is how disproportionately black and brown it is. The more the word gets out about that, the better, right? Wouldn’t you think people would be outraged?

Turns out, a study by two Stanford researchers suggests the opposite. What researchers Rebecca Hetey and Jennifer Eberhardt found when they introduced information about racial disparities in prisons was that whites were, in general, more afraid of crime and more supportive of highly punitive responses to crime than when they were unaware of the difference.

My guess as to the reason for this horrifying outcome is that we’ve been trained to view people of color as dangerous, and also as fundamentally different (“other,” as they say). See my post in a couple of days for more on the “dangerous class.”

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Ferguson: Police State

Ferguson has been getting a lot of attention lately, and for good reason. Much has appropriately been made of the ridiculously racist emails the DOJ investigation turned up, as well as the preferential treatment meted out to friends and family while those who lacked connections were slapped with harsh sanctions and huge fines, ironically financing the very system that was sucking them dry.

But the story that the DOJ report tells is not only one of an egregiously racist system. It is also a story of an alarming scope of policing. I’ve never been a proponent of “small government,” but the sheer volume of outstanding charges, well described in this Huff Post Blog post, tells a dystopian story of an entire town under the thumb of a police force and prosecutor’s office – 16,000 of Ferguson’s 21,000 residents have outstanding charges against them; there were nearly 33,000 different warrants in 2013. Had the timing been different, the movement less well-organized, the inciting event less powerful, this kind of approach to “law and order” wouldn’t have come to light in Ferguson. In fact, even now it’s hardly receiving honorable mention as the media divides into two predictable camps and argues about whether the Ferguson PD is really all that racist, or whether they’re just indiscriminately terrible.

One thing that all police departments and prosecutors’ offices have in common when they engage in this kind of draconian law enforcement is this: they are acting entirely within the legal bounds of their discretion, and we are virtually powerless to stop them. In this case a social movement, the eyes of sympathetic media, and the influence of the Department of Justice may be enough to rein in Ferguson – at least for now. But as long as we exist in a society riddled with racism and classism, the kind of discretion and power afforded to police officers and prosecutors will permit problems to prosper silently. While we work on communicating the message that #blacklivesmatter, we should also be imposing reasonable limits and meaningful accountability on our police officers and prosecutors so that the kind of police state the DOJ found in Ferguson isn’t permitted to flourish unseen everywhere else.

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To (selectively) serve and protect

18-year-old Ramarley Graham was shot and killed by a police officer on Thursday, after police pursued him into his home. Apparently when he was shot he was in the process of flushing a small amount of marijuana down the toilet.

I bet being a police officer is some scary shit. Your whole profession – especially if you work in high crime areas – revolves around being in (potentially) dangerous situations.

One time I was in a potentially dangerous situation. A friend and I were walking home one evening when three people mugged us, one of whom pointed a gun at us to ensure cooperation. I knew that the chances that that person would shoot me were pretty slim (I sure wasn’t going to put up a struggle), but it occurred to me that there was a really small chance that I might get shot, and frankly that really small chance was utterly terrifying. If I had had a gun and if I had thought it would maybe save my life to use it, it isn’t impossible for me to imagine that I might have.

So – did the police officer think that there was a really small chance that Mr. Graham was looking for a gun he had stashed behind the toilet? Or was he so full of adrenaline that he wasn’t thinking at all?

Police officers are awesome a lot of the time, but it does seem like they’re more likely to be awesome with someone who looks like Nancy Drew than someone who looks like Ramarley Graham.

The shooting of Ramarley Graham was the third time this week that a police officer shot a suspect – in New York City. Which makes me think that although it must be really scary to be police officers, it must also be really scary to be afraid of police officers.

Check out the NYT article for more details here.

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Nancy Drew justice

It would be an understatement to say that I am a Nancy Drew fan. Nancy does so many things well. She can scuba dive and ski, she’s a top-notch golfer, she plays tennis and table tennis with aplomb.

No one can compete with Nancy when it comes to spotting false bottoms in old trunks, cracking codes, analyzing handwriting, and following hunches. Frank and Joe Hardy, eat your hearts out.

I love Nancy Drew, and despite all of my college-graduate-level cynicism and worldliness I still read her books all the time.

But — there are some issues with the way crime and punishment gets approached in Carolyn Keene’s Nancy Drew mysteries. I know, you’re shocked, but hear me out. For one thing, Nancy can almost always identify a bad guy (usually guys, but not always) upon first meeting him/her. Thank goodness judges and jurors never put any stock in superficial, snap judgments of defendants. Har har har.

Also, there are moments in all of the books where Nancy gets away with something exclusively because she’s an upper class white woman who can represent herself quickly and articulately. This left me, as a kid, thinking that law enforcement was generally on my side. For example, from The Haunted Showboat, #35 (Grosset & Dunlop, 1957 pages 18-19):

“Young lady,” he said sternly, “don’t you know what the speed limit here is?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Nancy replied, “but we’re after a thief who stole another car of mine.”

“Another car of yours?” The officer looked skeptical. “What kind of story is this?”

“It’s true!” Bess spoke up earnestly. “Please help us catch the man who stole it.”

“Well, okay. Follow me,” the police officer directed.

Then again, that’s probably a pretty realistic portrayal. Nancy and I are, after all, part of the demographic least likely to be perceived as a threat, least likely to be a victim of property crime or violent crime (except as a victim of domestic violence), and least likely to be arrested, charged, or incarcerated. So either Nancy told it like it is, or we based our criminal justice system on Nancy Drew books, or – like pretty much all examples of crime in the media – it’s a combination of both.

Most significantly, all of Nancy’s stories end with justice being served. The little old lady, young, innocent child, or hardworking business owner get the money and security they deserve; the evil ex-con or devious femme fatale is behind bars for “a long time,” and everyone can go back to chiding Bess about her weight in peace – at least until the next mystery comes along. This is a recurring theme in media portrayals of crime and criminal justice. Too bad it’s not a recurring theme in the actual criminal justice system. But more on that later.

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