Wednesday, 14 November 2012

Politicizing the police

by Bill Dixon


Voters in 41 police force areas outside London go to the polls tomorrow, Thursday 15th November, to elect police and crime commissioners (PCCs). It remains to be seen how many will take the trouble to venture out in mid-November to cast their votes for people they may well not have heard of standing for a position that few know very much about. Campaigning by candidates has been desultory and what we know about them and their plans for local policing is limited for most practical purposes to short statements on a Home Office-funded website.

Most of these statements have a dreary sameness about them with candidates eager to tap into public concerns about ‘anti-social behaviour’ by promising – swingeing cuts in police budgets notwithstanding - a more visible police presence on the streets. The more macho characters – it almost goes without saying that the overwhelming majority (157 out of 192 or 82%) are indeed men – throw in references to ‘zero tolerance’, while others promise to keep local police stations open, oppose privatization and cut red tape.

More interesting than any of this is the trouble that candidates have taken to distance themselves from politics and politicians. Independent candidates have been particularly keen to strike a pose as ordinary, everyday folk beholden to no-one but their constituents and themselves. Like so many pinnochios they are very, very proud to have no strings. But so too are some of the would-be commissioners with party political affiliations. They may have webbed feet, feathers and a tendency to quack; but ducks they definitely are not.

With the expenses saga still fresh in the minds of many voters – not to mention the odd politician preferring bush tucker in Queensland with Ant and Dec to trooping through the division lobbies at Westminster with David Cameron - it’s scarcely surprising that so many aspiring PCCs, proud of their local roots and anxious to connect with an increasingly cynical electorate, are keen to dissociate themselves from the dirty business of professional politics and the shady goings-on of out-of-touch metropolitan elites.

But keeping politics out of policing isn’t that simple. Even the words ‘politics’ and ‘police’ have a common ancestry and a history of entanglement in the business of government going back to one of the founding fathers of modern policing, the eighteenth century magistrate and writer, Patrick Colquhoun. Nor is contemporary policing the kind of consensual activity so many PCCs would have us believe it to be. As the eminent American theorist, Egon Bittner, observed many years ago, policing is about the use of non-negotiable coercive force. It is unavoidably adversarial. That force may be exercised by the police on our behalf. But we must never forget that it is used against our fellow citizens and may, one day, be used against us too. The good time being had by all after a family wedding may be nothing more than a horrible racket to the neighbours; our harmless fun their anti-social behaviour.

This capacity to use coercive force is a precious commodity. It is only right that those who use it for ‘us’ and against ‘them’ are called to account; whether we like it or not - and whether we like the people who do it or not - we live in a society where calling public servants to account for what they do is the stuff of democratic politics and elected politicians. And, whether they like it or not, the PCCs who emerge from these elections will be politicians. The sooner they accept that is what they are, stop posturing as men (and a few women) of the people, and get on with the demanding jobs they’ve been given the better.

Saturday, 3 November 2012

Iain Duncan Smith and the ‘choices’ of welfare

by Emma Head

Last week, Iain Duncan Smith (IDS), Secretary of State for Work and Pensions gave a speech where he made a case for ‘cultural change’ in government and society concerning the role of the welfare state. IDS’s view of the British welfare state is that it leads individuals and families into long-term ‘dependence’ on benefits and discourages individuals from moving into paid work: ‘instead of supporting people in difficulty, the system all too often compounds that difficulty’. From this political position, the welfare state does not meet its founding aim of providing a temporary safety net, but traps the individual in a net they cannot escape from, and discourages them from wanting to strive for a life off benefits. The media coverage of this speech was interesting as it focused mainly on one aspect - the issue of family size for welfare recipients. In this speech IDS had asked, ‘should families [on benefits] expect never ending amounts of money for every child… when working households must make tough choices about what they can afford?’ In an interview  IDS suggested that those with large families should have their benefits capped and suggested that this cap could be applied once a family living on benefits had two children. This time the question IDS posed was ‘can there not be a limit to the fact you need to cut your cloth in accordance with what capabilities and finances you have?’

This idea of a two child family for those on benefits was widely reported and generated lots of online discussion. More than 1000 comments were made on this story on both the BBC and Mail Online sites. IDS was tapping into a theme that Conservative politicians have rehearsed before, most notably by Jeremy Hunt on Newsnight. IDS also seems to be tapping into ambivalent social attitudes towards larger families and a deeper discontent with the ‘choices’ that those on welfare are perceived to have.

It seems unlikely that this idea of a benefits cap based on family size would become a policy measure. If it did, what impact would it have? As with a number of Coalition government strategies, underlying this plan is an assumption that people make ‘choices’ that are economically rational. The rationale for a benefits cap based on family size, assumes that individuals know and rationally weigh up the financial costs and benefits of children long before conception. If this is the case, then this policy would save money in two ways: by limiting the welfare spend, and by shaping the decisions we make around family size. However, sociologists know that people often do not respond to policy initiatives in ways that follow economic rationality, and certainly not when we get into the territory of sex and reproduction. Research evidence tends to suggest that around 50 per cent of pregnancies are unplanned, so some larger families are by accident rather than by design.  Additionally, larger families make up only a small percentage of families in receipt of welfare and there is no good research evidence to document the claim that families continue to have children as a means to secure welfare payments. In terms of child benefit, an additional child adds an extra £13.40 a week to the household income.

In financial terms then, this kind of benefits cap would not have any significant impact on the government’s welfare budget. So what was the aim of this speech? If we look at the language IDS uses throughout the speech, one aim seems to have to been to continue a current theme of Conservative government to construct a particular image of British society and the welfare state. Here, we get an image of British society divided into two classes. The majority are the responsible taxpayers in 'working households' who live according to their means, who save money where possible and whose choices are curtailed by the reality of their financial situations. Two examples that IDS gives here are the working families who have to limit the number of children they have, and the young adults who remain living with their parents while they save money to buy a flat. This class is presented as in need of protection from those who are dependent on welfare. The minority on welfare are presented as able to exercise ‘choices’ that are out of reach of the majority, they can get ‘never ending amounts of money for every child’ and the young adults of this class move from parental home to their own home ‘without finding a job first’. Of course, this latter point might also apply to the children of the very rich in society, who don’t get a mention here.

This is a problematic, and socially divisive, version of Britain. In IDS’s speech we get the sense that these are two stable groups, however, this is not the case. Most people of working age who are reliant on welfare, will move into paid work at some point in the future. And many in the responsible taxpayer class are only a redundancy letter, relationship break up or illness away from claiming welfare. These two groups are also not so easily separated. Many adults in paid work are dependent on tax credits to supplement their low wages, to fund childcare, or both. Those who live ‘on welfare’ still pay taxes, for example, through VAT on goods and services. It also detracts attention away from the huge differences in material wealth of those in 'working households'.

Perhaps, the most troubling aspect of IDS’s speech is the idea that life on welfare is characterised by ‘choice’ - to have as many children as a family decides, to move into independent housing when adult children want. What gets lost here is the reality of life for those reliant on welfare payments. This reality is more likely to be one of enduring hardship, not endless choice.

Monday, 22 October 2012

Reflections on ‘tough but intelligent’ criminal justice



By Andrew Henley

In David Cameron’s speech on prisons he has insisted that criminals can be punished and rehabilitated at the same time. In calling for what he claims is a “tough but intelligent” approach to criminal justice policy, the Prime Minister (perhaps unwittingly) re-ignites some interesting debates about the social purpose of the prison. Is it a place of punishment or a place or rehabilitation – or both? Can it meaningfully fulfil both purposes, and indeed, should it even attempt to achieve two potentially conflicting objectives simultaneously?

My initial reaction is that Cameron’s speech has merely added to the existing confusions which exist in the public imagination regarding what prisons actually do to those contained within them. They are cast both as facilitating ‘tough sentences’ (for the PM “retribution is not a dirty word”) but also as a site of reformation which will have a “positive impact” on prisoners. Yet neither Cameron, nor any of his recent predecessors or their ministerial appointees, has offered any indication of what the right balance of punishment and rehabilitation actually looks like. Indeed, how are prisoners themselves supposed to make sense of a criminal justice system which seeks to simultaneously inflict ‘pain’ upon them in various forms (by restricting their liberty, imposing various material deprivations on them in the name of ‘security’ and by limiting their contact with family and friends) whilst also attempting to affect in them forms of positive self-change (by addressing offending behaviour, tackling drug or alcohol addictions and teaching new skills). Does not the prisoner’s experience of the punitive elements of incarceration fundamentally undermine its supposedly reformative parallel objectives? And if so, are the more retributive aims of imprisonment either necessary or appropriate?

Cameron’s insistence on ‘tough sentences’ is certainly indicative of a strongly-held political belief in punishment – indeed, he was insistent that criminals both “deserve and need” punishment. And yet whilst claiming that he was not going to outbid other politicians on toughness, I managed to count twenty uses of the word ‘tough’, ‘tougher’ or ‘toughen’ in his speech (and four more ‘tough’s for good measure in answer to the first question). In delivering his speech, Cameron certainly sounded, or intended to sound…. tough! Yet, if we are to equate ‘toughness’ with ‘punishment’ and ‘punishment’ with ‘pain delivery’, then how are we to know when we have reached what Michael Ignatieff referred to as 'a just measure of pain’ in our criminal justice interventions?

Sadly, the detailed answers were missing from Cameron’s speech as to how the competing interests of punishment and deterrence (the tough bits) might be balanced against the need to reform and rehabilitate individuals (presumably the ‘intelligent’ bits). One can only assume that the PM sees punishment itself as in some way reformative, since in acknowledging the importance of a much-vaunted ‘rehabilitation revolution’ he described the justice secretary, Chris Grayling’s ‘driving mission’ as being “to see more people properly punished, but fewer offenders returning to the system.” Cameron went on to say: “To achieve that, we’re saying to charities, companies and voluntary organisations – come and help us rehabilitate our prisoners.” One can only assume, therefore, that this proposed outsourcing of the traditionally state-managed criminal justice objectives signals not only the further deterioration (or extinction) of the National Probation Service, but also a leading role for both corporate interests (G4S anyone?) and ‘Big Society’ providers in delivering the punishment/rehabilitation complex.


Andrew Henley is a PhD student and Graduate Teaching Assistant in Criminology.



What is honour?

The Iranian and Kurdish Women’s Rights Organisation (IKWRO) recently published data collated from 39 police forces across England and Wales indicating that at least 2,823 incidents of so called ‘honour’-based violence occurred in the UK in 2010. This term has now come to personify a variety of violent acts that are perpetrated – primarily against women – as a result of deep family and community connections to Izzat or ‘honour’. This collective ‘honour’ is seen to act as social capital – simply put, individual and collective social status – which, like any other asset, must be secured and protected. Subsequently, as ‘honour’ is generally held within the sexuality of women and their reproductive capabilities, violence is often regarded as both a necessary and justified method by which to control the freedom of women. Yet despite the fact that violence in the name of ‘honour’ is neither a new phenomenon nor an exclusively Islamic practice – indeed the practice is thought to predate any written religion – today within the UK it is increasingly being represented as an ethnicised strain of violence against women, perpetrated by Muslims and sanctioned under Islamic law.


Problematically this representation, in conjunction with an increase in immigration and the terrorist attacks of 7/7 and 9/11, has arguably led to a rise of what Edward Said referred to as “cultural othering” of Muslim communities. Indeed, despite the fact that Muslims are not a heterogeneous group, the Muslim man is now typically portrayed as the ‘deviant other’ whilst the Muslim woman is the ‘passive victimological other’ in need of rescuing from her brutal and oppressive culture. Subsequently, whilst the government has recognised the need for action against the practice of ‘honour’ violence, such responses have arguably been created against a monolithic depiction of both the impact of ‘honour’ on Muslim women and of the needs and experiences of those who have been victims of HBV in the UK – something reflected in the distribution of minority ethnic specific women’s services. Subsequently whilst ‘honour’ violence is predominantly managed as a gendered issue within ‘mainstream’ domestic abuse policies which are, to a large degree, ethnically blind, it has also become incorporated into multicultural policies which are essentially gender-blind – an indication of a legal and justice system which struggles to facilitate difference.

Nevertheless, as the result of a wider shift from multiculturalism to civic integration, the UK remains focused on implementing tough criminal justice provisions against such violence – evident in the governments’ recent announcement that forced marriage will become a criminal offence by 2013. Yet it is questionable to what extent imposing Westernised criminological ideals is appropriate for responding to minority group problems. Indeed Dr Aisha Gill from the University of Roehampton suggests that such an approach may conversely act as a barrier for victims seeking help. Consequently by focusing on Muslim communities within a rural context – something largely ignored in previous studies, over the next three years I shall be exploring this complex issue further. By moving away from the traditional victim rhetoric that often dominates studies surrounding ‘honour’ violence, and by positioning Muslim women at the centre of the research, my PhD thesis endeavours not only to explore the meaning of ‘honour’ and its impact on the lives of women (victims and non-victims) from within these communities, but to determine the availability and appropriateness of current provisions in place for responding to such violence, and the viability of alternative responses such as the integration of Sharia Law.



Samantha Walker is a PhD student and Graduate Teaching Assistant in Criminology.