Entering Lakewood Church

Phillip Luke Sinitiere, author of Salvation with a Smile: Joel Osteen, Lakewood Church, and American Christianity, will be a featured guest blogger on From the Square leading up to his book’s publication in October! The posts will unveil certain aspects of the project and provide selected snapshots of the making of the book, including his research and the writing process. To kick off the series, below is the opening vignette from the book’s introduction. (Check out his other post on the book’s cover over at Baldblogger!)

9780814723883_FCI am in the upscale business complex of Greenway Plaza, near downtown Houston. After parking my car, I follow the signs directing me to Lakewood Church. Emerging from the dimly lit confines of a parking garage, I join hundreds of people surging to the church’s entrance. In an energetic multiethnic mix, I walk alongside individuals, some of whom are black, others white, still others Latino/a or Asian. Some are talking with one another, while others are silent. Some walk with heads down as if in prayer. I see men wearing their Sunday best, along with women adorned in stunning white and pink hats; others come in jeans, T-shirts, and shorts. I hear the sharp strike of high heels and the flop of sandals. Some carry Bibles as they purposefully walk toward the church. I see Bibles that appear worn and creased, the result of a sustained engagement. I also observe congregants clutching Hope for Today Bible, a resource designed with notes and commentary by Lakewood’s pastors Joel and Victoria Osteen.

Shortly, at Joel’s invitation in the worship service to “lift up your Bibles and say it like you mean it,” congregants will thrust their Bibles into the air and make Lakewood’s famous “This is my Bible” confession. A mantra started by Joel’s father and Lakewood’s founder, John Osteen, in the 1980s, the statement highlights the church’s evangelical fidelity to the Bible and firm conviction about its spiritual power. I also observe a large group of people rolling into the church, some wheeling themselves while others proceed in electric wheelchairs. The leader of this group also ushers in other disabled persons, some with visual impairments, others with Down’s syndrome. Lakewood’s doors open for a diverse array of people.

As I enter the building with the throngs of men, women, and children who pour in for the service, a volunteer with a nametag greets me with a warm smile and “Welcome, God bless you.” I take the bulletin she hands me. I start ascending the stairs into Lakewood Church. Knowing that Lakewood is America’s largest megachurch, welcoming  over 40,000 members and other attendees each week, I feel as if I am in an important place. It pulsates with energy. I also notice symbols of the church’s history on display. I pause halfway up the steps as I encounter a life-size bronze display of Lakewood’s founding couple, John and Dodie Osteen, honoring Lakewood’s fiftieth anniversary. The couple meets visitors with smiles and a Bible held in the air. The base of the bronze statue is in the shape of a heart, symbolic of Lakewood’s old motto, “Oasis of Love.” While John never preached at the Compaq Center, a converted sports arena that became Lakewood’s home in 2005, six years after his death, his likeness, along with that of Dodie, greets visitors as they enter the church he founded. At Lakewood, the past intermingles with the present, while the future is a source of perpetual anticipation.

As I continue to walk up the stairs, to my left people enter and exit the well-stocked bookstore. On the television screen that sits in the middle of a display that contains Joel and Victoria’s teachings I look over to see and hear Joel encouraging a positive mindset in the midst of difficult circumstances. In the bookstore, I browse the most recent books by contemporary Christian teachers such as Joyce Meyer, John MacArthur, Joseph Prince, and John Piper, and a substantial variety of study Bibles and study aids such as theological encyclopedias and Greek dictionaries. The bookstore contains a children’s section and several rows with a variety of Spanish-language resources. I also notice that it sells framed paintings of the Christian artist Thomas Kinkade as well as spiritually themed items like T-shirts, key chains, or bookmarks that can also be found at Christian chain retail stores such as Family Christian, Lifeway, and Mardel. Just outside of the bookstore, families head quickly to register kids for Lakewood’s expansive children’s programs. Other people mill about like tourists, many of them visiting Lakewood for the first time, clearly pausing to take it all in. Things are buzzing at Lakewood Church, but also proceed in an orderly fashion. I notice people with official Lakewood nametags, energetic volunteers with clipboards and walkie-talkies who help the massive operation to run smoothly. Not shy, one volunteer inquires if I am interested in trying out for Lakewood’s choir. Responding to her facial expression and her excitement to recruit volunteers, I return the smile—and politely decline. “God bless you,” the recruiter replies as I continue walking.

I proceed to the worship center, and with many others, I anticipate my entrance into the 16,000-seat sanctuary. There is a palpable sense of expectation, a feeling already cultivated by Joel’s popular television message of self-improvement and salvation on television and published in a handful of New York Times bestsellers. Looking up, I see the ceiling arranged with large square white sheeting to produce a cloud effect, simultaneously reflecting blues, reds, greens, and purples from multicolored spotlights. I begin to get an inkling of the church’s massive size, an architectural expression of Lakewood’s signature place in American Christianity.

I find a seat, and settle into place on the second level on the far left side of the auditorium. Lights bathe the stage in a glittery display as members of Lakewood’s choir, wearing blue robes, find their place in the two choir lofts. The band, arranged on a retractable stage, warms up in front of a massive, bronze globe, an iconic symbol of Lakewood’s historic commitment to missionary endeavors. Announcements for religious education classes and church events along with advertisements for resources available in Lakewood’s bookstore flash across the three large screens that hang above the stage. I notice individuals  in front of the stage and they appear to have security escorts: the Osteen family and other church leaders proceed to their seats. It is nearly time for the service to begin.

The interracial duo of singers Cindy Cruse Ratcliff and Israel Houghton begin the service by leading nearly 16,000 people in musical expressions of adoration toward God and the spiritual meaning of life in Christ. People clap in rhythm with the drums, and sing along as lyrics flash across the large screens. I also notice worshiping bodies sway with the music. The emotional temper of the music produces what appear to be moments of tender introspection; I see people with arms raised and eyes closed, and some with tears streaming. Later, prayer partners meet and pray with those in need. People cry and hug, finding individual spiritual solace among the thousands present in America’s largest congregation.

The service proceeds with an encouraging testimony from Victoria, a period of prayer and tithing, and a twenty-five-minute message from Joel. An altar call with a simple recitation, asking Jesus to reign as Lord of one’s life, starts to draw the morning service to a close. In a final moment of affirmation, Joel asks people to clap if they are better now than when they came in.

Employing positive confession, a historic neopentecostal practice of making verbal affirmations of spiritual significance—and much like his father John did at Lakewood—Joel makes several declarations. Each declaration becomes more intense as Osteen’s voice rises and he bounces tiptoed  as if to push his positive proclamations into every square inch of the auditorium:

“I declare . . . God is breathing on your life, he’s breathing on your dreams, he’s breathing on your finances. . . . God will multiply your talent, multiply your resources, multiply your strength. . . . If you’ll be confident in what God has given you, then I believe and declare you will overcome every obstacle, defeat every enemy, and you will become everything God’s created you to be . . . if you believe it, give the Lord a shout of praise!”

Joel ends the service in prayer, sending intense petitions upward with his face lifted, eyes tightly closed, hands raised, and his body moving as he speaks. He asks God to make the day’s message real in everyday life.

“Lord, draw them by your Spirit, let them feel your love as they’ve never felt it before,” he prays . “A new beginning . . . a fresh new start . . . the road to victory . . . comes from a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”

Now that we’ve entered Lakewood Church, you can find the rest of the story here.

Phillip Luke Sinitiere is Professor of History at the College of Biblical Studies, a multiethnic school located in Houston’s Mahatma Gandhi District. A scholar of American religious history and African American Studies, he is the author or editor of several books including Holy Mavericks: Evangelical Innovators and the Spiritual Marketplace.

Artist as ethnographer: Jason Whitesel on Books Combined

—Jason Whitesel

[This article was originally posted on Books Combined, a collaborative blog launched by our friends at Combined Academic Publishers.]

Growing up, I found the human body an abundant source of artistic inspiration. Painting and drawing was a significant part of my life from grade school on into my early years of graduate school. I did mostly figure drawing and self-portraits  – my favorite artist at the time was Egon Schiele. Certainly my emotional state pulsated through my artwork: yet it was not the inner world of my imagination that I sought to express, but always direct observation of the world around me.

Later, ethnographic research appealed to me for the same reason: it engaged me in direct observation. When I think about the books that first lit my intellectual fire and subsequently shaped my career, they were all ethnographies. I was introduced to ethnography and the sociology of everyday life when I was an undergraduate. For me, they’re a natural fit with the perspective I take in my artwork. Conducting ethnographic research allows me to pay attention to the rich details of things we usually take for granted and help the reader visualize the community/culture I am studying by painting a vivid, “thick description” of it.

Of course, I am not the only one to think of ethnography in terms of artwork. In an undergraduate class on sociological fieldwork, I learned from Writing Ethnographic Fieldnotes (1995) by Robert Emerson et al. that fieldworkers, struck by a vivid sensory impression, sketch the social scene, depicting it like a still life, providing detailed imagery from the field. Likewise, when writing my recent book, I consulted John Van Maanen’s Tales of the Field: On Writing Ethnography (1988) in which he speaks of confessional tales of ethnographers being similar to self-portraits, where one tries to show the biases and character flaws the fieldworker brings to the ethnographic table.

Among the ethnographies that I cherish is Marcia Millman’s Such a Pretty Face: Being Fat in America (1980), a social psychologically oriented comparative ethnography of three groups: the National Association to Aid Fat Americans (NAAFA) – now it reads “to Advance Fat Acceptance”; Overeaters Anonymous; and a summer diet camp. The book takes off with the idea that fat is a feminist issue.  It contains autobiographic stories collected through in-depth interviews and thoughtful observations in each of the three organizations, their meetings, pamphlets, and booklets. When I first encountered this book, little did I know that approximately ten years later I would embark on a research project to expand upon this classic, by engaging gay men’s perspectives as they worry about their weight in meaning-laden ways.

Carol Brooks Gardner’s Passing By: Gender and Public Harassment (1995) is another ethnography that had a significant impact on my life. Anytime I have to sit down and start writing up my own work, I pull out the book and thumb through it, feeling certain that inspiration will seep in by osmosis. Gardner, who has been my mentor, studied under Erving Goffman, a professor of Anthropology and Sociology at U Penn. In 1979, in his book Gender Advertisements, Goffman used a micro-sociological approach to decode gender displays in advertising. Gardner applies and extends his concepts to explore unwanted public attention women receive from men on the street and in semi-public places like a department store. Through 506 interviews and five years of public observation in a Midwestern city in the U.S., she documents the various indignities women and other situationally disadvantaged groups are made to suffer and how such experiences erode these groups’ trust in public civility, and wear away at their psyche, constraining the way women engage with and enjoy public places or contributing to their fear thereof.

I can trace my intellectual pedigree to Goffman not only through Carol Gardner, but also through folklorist Amy Shuman, another significant mentor of mine who was also one of Goffman’s students. In graduate school, I took “Folklore Field Methods” and a seminar on “The Rhetoric of Ethnography” with Shuman, who introduced me to Goffman’s ideas about narrative. At the time she was preparing her own book Other People’s Stories: Entitlement Claims and the Critique of Empathy (2010). Through Shuman’s eyes, I began to see Goffman’s work in a different way; it was about how people create themselves through narrative. I came to understand that Goffman was not just interested in the public performance of identity where the self emerges as a series of façades, but also in the ways narrative opens up an avenue for one to make sense of one’s self, no matter how untenable one’s position may be.

As an artist and an ethnographer, I found these books, above all others, to have helped me build bridges between my creative and scholarly ways of seeing the world.

Jason A. Whitesel is a Women’s and Gender Studies Department faculty member at Pace University. His research focuses on gay men’s rigid body image ideal and the resulting intragroup strife among them. His recent book, Fat Gay Men: Girth, Mirth, and the Politics of Stigma (NYU Press, 2014) describes events at Girth & Mirth club gatherings and examines how big gay men use campy-queer behavior to reconfigure and reclaim their sullied images and identities.

The racial injustices of mass deportation

—Tanya Maria Golash-Boza

[This article was originally published on CounterPunch.] 

Comprehensive immigration reform, it seems, is no longer on the political agenda. It is incumbent upon us (by us I mean people committed to immigrant rights and racial justice) to put it back on the agenda. And, the focus of that agenda should be the repeal of the 1996 laws: IIRIRA and AEDPA.

Between 2009 and 2013, I carried out a research project that involved interviewing 147 deportees in four countries. One of the deportees I met, who I will call Ryan, was living outside of Kingston, Jamaica in the house of a distant relative. I will share his story with you, as it is emblematic of many of the problems with immigration law enforcement in the United States and points to the need for reform of the 1996 laws.

Ryan moved to Brooklyn, New York, with his mother, when he was six years old. There, he finished high school and enrolled in college. Things were going well for Ryan until he made one mistake that would change his life.

When Ryan was about 20 years old, he received a phone call from a friend, who asked Ryan for a ride home. As they were driving home, they came across a police checkpoint. It turned out Ryan’s friend was carrying cocaine. Ryan and his friend were found guilty of drug possession and Ryan was sentenced to 18 months in boot camp. When Ryan was released, his fiancé, his daughter, and his mother came to pick him up from boot camp.

However, Ryan was not permitted to go home with his family. Ryan was a legal permanent resident of the United States. And, he had been convicted of possession of narcotics, and thus faced mandatory deportation to Jamaica. From one day to the next, Ryan’s life fell apart.

Ryan was deported due to changes in deportation law passed in 1996 that made deportation mandatory for certain crimes. Since the implementation of these laws in 1997, over five million people have been deported from the United States.

The current period is exceptional insofar as there has never previously been a time when so many people were deported from the United States.

Five million people since 1997. That’s a huge number. It’s over twice the sum total of all deportations prior to 1997. The details of these numbers are often the subject of debate. However, no matter how you slice it, we are in a moment of mass deportation and the effects of this policy are felt in communities across this country and throughout Latin America.

A recent Pew survey revealed that over a quarter of Latinos know someone who has been deported or detained in the past year. This means the effects of deportation are reverberating far beyond these five million individual deportations.

Last year, over 100,000 people who were living in the United States were apprehended by immigration law enforcement agents and deported to their countries of birth. That is three times as many interior removals as there were in 2003. An interior removal refers to someone like Ryan who was living in the United States prior to being deported.

Over the past decade, over 200,000 people who had lived in the United States for more than ten years have been removed from this country. That amounts to the city of Rochester, New York, being depleted of its population over the course of 10 years. Or perhaps more accurately, imagine every father in San Francisco being removed from the country.

Last year, about 100,000 parents of U.S. citizen children were removed from the United States. That’s ten times as many as the sum total of all parents of U.S. citizens removed between 1997 and 2006.

Not only is mass deportation on the rise, it also targets specific populations. About 90% of deportees have been men, and nearly all (97%) are from the Americas, even though about half of all non-citizens are women and only 60 percent of non-citizens are from the Americas.

Mass deportation happens often with minimal due process. In 2009, 231 immigration judges heard more than 300,000 cases – an average of over 1,200 per judge. Dana L. Marks, an immigration judge in San Francisco explained that asylum hearings often feel “like holding death penalty cases in traffic court.”

Immigration court is a bit like traffic court. It is an administrative court without the due process protections of criminal courts. In immigration proceedings, you have no right to legal representation. You can be detained without bond. You can be deported without a full hearing. Ryan, for example, never got to tell a judge that he had come to the United States when he was six, that he qualified for and had applied for citizenship, that he was a college student, that his daughter had just been born, or even that he had no family or friends in Jamaica.

The 1996 laws took away most of judge’s discretionary power in aggravated felony cases. Those convicted now face mandatory and automatic deportation, no matter the extenuating circumstances. Even legal permanent residents like Ryan who have lived in the United States for decades, and have extensive family ties in this country, are subject to deportation for relatively minor crimes they may have committed years ago.

How do we make sense of this? Why is the United States deporting more people than ever before? Why are black and Latino men targeted? And, why are deportation laws so draconian?

In my forthcoming book, Deported: Immigrant Policing, Disposable Labor, and Global Capitalism (NYU Press 2015), I argue that mass deportation is best understood as an instance of racialized state repression, a practice that has a long history in this country.

The racialized and gendered nature of immigration law enforcement – specifically the targeting of black and Latino men – should be unsurprising to anyone familiar with the history of state repression in the United States. The enslavement of African Americans, the internment of the Japanese, and the mass deportation of Mexicans in the 1930s were all official state practices that targeted specific ethnic or racial groups.

In today’s political climate of colorblind racism, it is unacceptable to have a policy that explicitly targets one group. However, it is legal and acceptable to have a policy that – in its implementation – produces disparate outcomes. Insofar as deportation laws are colorblind in their language, it is legally permissible that they are discriminatory in practice.

It is thus well beyond time to change the course of history. We can start by repealing the 1996 laws.

Tanya Maria Golash-Boza is Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of California, Merced. She is the author of several books, including Immigration Nation (2012) and Race and Racisms (2015). Her forthcoming book, Deported: Policing Immigrants, Disposable Labor and Global Capitalism, will be published by NYU Press in 2015.

Race, ethnicity, and policing

Last year, the killings of unarmed black men by white police officers—the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and the chokehold death of Eric Garner in New York City—sparked massive protests and a politically-charged debate on race, policing, and the use of force that continues across the country today.

Here at NYU Press, we rounded up a few experts on the topic, including co-editors Stephen K. Rice and Michael D. White and contributors Amanda Geller, Matthew Hickman, Robert Kane, William Parkin, and Ronald Weitzer of Race, Ethnicity, and Policing: New and Essential Readings (NYU Press, 2010).

race

Hands up, don’t shoot

One of the responses to the recent police-involved killings of unarmed black men has been a call for police departments to diversify. If police forces were more racially diverse, do you think this would alleviate tensions between police and communities?

MICHAEL WHITE: Racial diversity in a police department is important. The Commission on Accreditation of Law Enforcement Agencies (CALEA) recommends that a police department be representative of the community it serves. On conceptual and perceptual levels, the arguments favoring representativeness are persuasive. Representativeness can demonstrate to a minority community that their police department cares about their needs, interests and well-being. Perception matters a great deal in this regard. The conceptual arguments are equally compelling. Presumably, minority officers will have a better understanding of the cultural norms and beliefs of the residents in a minority neighborhood. Presumably, citizens will feel better about police officers who look and think like them; and who have an understanding of the issues in their community. Presumably, minority officers will be better able to manage difficult encounters with citizens of their own race, because of their more intimate understanding of the background, history and experiences of the people in those minority neighborhoods who may require police service. Though the empirical evidence supporting these perceptual and conceptual arguments is mixed, police departments should be racially and ethnically diverse.

AMANDA GELLER: Diversity among police officers can certainly help improve community relationships on some fronts – resolving linguistic challenges in immigrant communities, for example. To the extent that officers have personal ties to the communities they police, that can also help to establish and reinforce community trust. But diversity alone won’t alleviate tensions if the officers are behaving in ways that the community finds illegitimate. In order to alleviate police-community tensions, community members will need to believe that the police will deal with them in a constitutional way, and treat them with respect.

RONALD WEITZER: Racial diversification of police departments is endorsed by the vast majority of Americans. Some departments have made substantial progress in diversification, but many others are out of sync with the local population.Officers of different racial backgrounds generally behave similarly when they interact with members of the public. They are trained similarly and differ little in performing their duties. But because diversification is popular with the public, it can have intangible, symbolic benefits: helping to build trust and confidence in the police. A police department that reflects the composition of the local population can enhance its reputation and status among residents. A diverse police force can also help to decrease the sense that people are being stopped and questioned solely because of their race. In a majority-black city like Ferguson, where 50 of the 53 officers are white, it is not surprising that African Americans who are stopped might feel like they have been racially profiled.

ROBERT KANE: Diversity is crucial to achieve a well functioning police department. Indeed, as police departments diversify, they tend to become better “behaved” (that is, organizational rates of misconduct decline). To reap the full benefits of diversity, however, police agencies must open all ranks (e.g., detective, supervisory, command, administrative) to minority officers, so that minority officer influence doesn’t just come from the bottom-up, but also from the top-down in the form of policies, practices, and procedures. This shift in organizational culture can only occur if minority officers advance beyond line level ranks.

Amid the multitude of public protests across the country, what do you think is the appropriate role of the media? 

STEPHEN RICE: I’m feeling somewhat optimistic about how well the media’s been drawing on empirical evidence in framing their stories. Sure, there are still a multitude of media outlets that sing the ‘song of sexy’ anecdote, but there are also outlets that attempt to explain crime and criminal justice in serious ways. For example, in recent months, WNYC’s John Hockenberry has invited scholars to speak on a wide range of topics surrounding the issue, including Dennis Rosenbaum on police oversight and accountability, Jon Shane on police organizational culture, varied compelling experts on Ferguson, and George Kelling on broken windows. The next step will be to see how well practitioners such as police leadership work to better integrate empirical evidence into their operations. When corporate America came to realize that evangelizing products and services were key differentiators, they hired CEOs (Chief Evangelist Officers). Why not consider evangelism marketing in police departments by senior-level leaders whose principal task it is to explain how operations are informed by what we know, empirically, about crime and place, community policing, police legitimacy, and competing models of officer engagement?

WILLIAM PARKIN: One can talk about responsible journalism and its role in reporting on and framing the public protests. However, I prefer to put the onus on the public. The media, like most businesses, is driven by the need to supply a product that their audience will consume. It should be of no surprise, then, when media outlets produce sensationalized, polemic pieces that superficially discuss these issues. They present easy-to-understand, black-and-white interpretations of the perspectives of those who support or oppose the viewpoints of the protestors and law enforcement. These stories cater to their typical audience. There are, however, media outlets that provide thoughtful, balanced reporting that attempt to dissect the complicated issues that have brought the country to where it is, in relation to law enforcement, accountability, and the use of force. Instead of discussing the appropriate role of the media, I encourage the public to understand their role and to consume media that attempts to find a solution, not sensationalize the problem.

How would you propose police go about changing their image to that of an effective and legitimate agency of authority?

AMANDA GELLER: Public perceptions of the police are largely shaped by personal experience, and what’s known as “vicarious” experience – the experiences of friends and family, and what people witness in their communities. We also know that this legal socialization is shaped not only by whether people have been stopped by the police (or witness the stops of others in their communities), but also by what happens in these encounters. If people feel like they’ve been treated fairly – that they were stopped for a legitimate reason, treated with respect, given a chance to explain themselves – and if they feel that decisions were made through just procedures, these types of encounters can help to restore a sense of police legitimacy among community members.

To ensure accountability and transparency, how can police corruption be monitored or prevented?

MATTHEW HICKMAN: There are several levels of monitoring that need to be considered. First, we expect police departments themselves to provide some degree of internal oversight. Over time, there has been a steady trend toward emphasizing external oversight bodies as a compliment to internal review functions. There are many different models of civilian oversight, but all recognize that a greater role of civilians in oversight is fundamentally democratic and seeks to ensure some level of responsiveness to community concerns. Most important is the vigilance of community groups and organizations, such as local chapters of the American Civil Liberties Union. When all else fails, the U.S. Department of Justice has authority to pursue criminal action against officers and civil litigation against police departments that evidence behavior infringing on constitutional rights.

Given the attacks in Paris at Charlie Hebdo and the Hyper Cacher kosher market, some have argued that ethnic and faith-based profiling will rise in Europe and/or the United States. How do you feel we should frame profiling in a broader, global context?

STEPHEN RICE: No matter how strenuously one might feel that differential attention is warranted in neighborhoods or airports, a simple fact remains: profiling is fraught with error (Type 1 error, or false positives), a condition which fundamentally undermines public trust and its willingness to impart authorities with the power to exercise discretion. When one speaks of Muslim Americans—a group estimated at 2.5 million nationwide—perceptions of profiling is very serious business. Judgments people make about the fairness of their experiences condition views regarding the legitimacy of authority, and these views shape compliance with the law. In Europe, future perceived attacks on civil rights under the banner of assimilation (e.g., banning of the hijab) may come to be framed concomitant with a “war on terror,” hence as structured anti-Muslim discrimination. There is a critical relationship between interactions with agents of social control, the emotions that can manifest as a result of these interactions (e.g., anger, rage, humiliation), and an individual’s willingness to accept the legitimacy of authority.

WILLIAM PARKIN: As humans, we are forced to generalize, stereotype and make assumptions about people and places based on limited information. Most of us have few, if any, meaningful interactions on a daily basis with people of different races, ethnicities, cultures or religions. Therefore, when profiling based on race or religion is presented as an option for combating crime or terrorism, it seems like a practical solution to the majority (i.e., those not being profiled). A deeper analysis of the issue, however, leads to questions around whether profiling is a fair application of justice: Does it undermine the legitimacy of the criminal justice system? Could it actually alienate—or increase the risk presented by—these profiled groups? Does it even work? In many ways, it is like looking for a needle in a haystack where, to you, every piece of hay also looks like a needle. Law enforcement would be better served, both from an ethical and practical perspective, by implementing policies that encourage hiring minority candidates and strengthening and increasing positive dialogue with minority communities. Just as law enforcement officers should be judged by their individual behavior, not profiled because of the actions of a few, so should the public that they serve.

Some members of the public feel strongly that stop-question-and-frisk is an appropriate strategy for policing in the United States.  What are your opinions on this approach?  

ROBERT KANE: The original intent of “stop and frisk” was to allow police officers to pat-down the outer clothing of a suspect for weapons. The major problems with using stop-and-frisk as a crime detection strategy are, (1) officers usually don’t find contraband or weapons, and (2) stop-and-frisks are generally concentrated in the parts of town (or city) characterized by racially-concentrated structural disadvantage. Thus, the crime-reduction benefits seem greatly outweighed by the social costs: Mothers, aunts, grandmothers, and sisters grow tired of watching their men and boys being “put against the wall” whenever they leave their dwellings. As a consequence, aggressive stop-and-frisk strategies tend to erode public trust in the police, which ultimately leads to a lack of legitimacy. In the end, police departments would do themselves a lot of good if they simply remembered: A little coercion goes a long way; and in the most disenfranchised communities, too much coercion can backfire.

Do “body cams” worn by police officers offer a solution to ending police misconduct?

MICHAEL WHITE: Police officer body-worn cameras (BWCs) are not a silver bullet. But the technology can serve as an important tool in the larger package of accountability mechanisms that a department can put in place. Relatedly, the technology may serve as a solution to the split-second syndrome. Police-citizen encounters are transactional events, with each participant making decisions and responding to the decisions of the other participant. As a result, use of force by a police officer is the culmination of a series of earlier actions and reactions. However, review of force incidents traditionally ignores earlier stages of an encounter and focuses entirely on the final-frame decision. James Fyfe called this the split-second syndrome, and he argued that this narrow focus excuses unnecessary violence resulting from poor decisions made by officers at earlier stages of the encounter. BWCs represent an opportunity to overcome the split-second syndrome because the technology allows for a full review of all decisions made by the officer during an encounter, from start to finish.

MATTHEW HICKMAN: It’s still too early to tell. Many scholars and practitioners are referring to the Rialto study, which provided some of the first strong evidence about the positive benefits of body cameras, and there are studies going on in other cities, such as Phoenix and Los Angeles. But we need to be patient and wait for the evidence to accumulate from these studies before we start subsidizing the purchase of body cameras and changing policies. Recall what happened with the Minneapolis Domestic Violence Experiment: a lot of media attention and proselytizing about the deterrent effects of arrest, and then we started to see widespread policy changes toward mandatory arrest. Five subsequent replications of the Minneapolis DV experiment in other cities yielded a relatively mixed bag of results, with arrest having varied and weaker effects than in Minneapolis. Subsequent reanalysis has tended to confirm the deterrent effect of arrest. But let’s be careful not to put the cart before the horse with body cameras, and allow the evidence to accumulate. Patience!

Stephen K. Rice is Associate Professor in the Department of Criminal Justice at Seattle University and co-editor of Race, Ethnicity, and Policing: New and Essential Readings (NYU Press, 2010). Michael D. White is Associate Professor in the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice at Arizona State University. He is co-editor of Race, Ethnicity, and Policing: New and Essential Readings (NYU Press, 2010) and co-author of Jammed Up: Bad Cops, Police Misconduct, and the New York City Police Department (NYU Press, 2012). Amanda Geller is Clinical Associate Professor of Sociology at New York University. Matthew Hickman is Associate Professor of Criminal Justice at Seattle University. Robert Kane is Professor of Criminology and Justice Studies at Drexel University. He is the co-author of Jammed Up: Bad Cops, Police Misconduct, and the New York City Police Department (NYU Press, 2012). William Parkin is Assistant Professor of Criminal Justice at Seattle University. Ronald Weitzer is Professor of Sociology at George Washington University and author of Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business (NYU Press, 2012).

Rebranding safe haven laws

—Laury Oaks

Last week, the Republican-heavy Indiana House of Representatives unanimously passed a bill to enhance its safe haven law and voiced support for a newly marketed baby-saving product: the Safe Haven Baby Box. Indiana firefighter, medic, adoptee, non-profit founder, and pro-life speaker Monica Kelsey is promoting metal, black 2-foot long incubators branded with SafeHavenBabyBoxes.com as a solution to a problem that haunts baby abandonment prevention advocates: Despite safe haven laws passed in every state between 1999 and 2009, newborns continue to be unsafely abandoned.

Advocates of Indiana’s baby boxes are concerned that distressed mothers fail to safely relinquish their newborns because they fear facing a first responder, required by most state’s laws. Sidelining other relevant issues, including coercion, fathers’ rights, and even baby-knapping, the problem is distilled and oversimplified.

Drawing on centuries-old European practices, heated incubators located at an exterior wall of a hospital were installed in 1999 in Hamburg, Germany. Known as baby boxes, flaps, or hatches, this system is sponsored by non-governmental organizations and religious organizations in 11 European countries and in China, Japan, Malaysia, and South Korea. In the US, state governments legislate safe haven sites and non-profit baby abandonment prevention organizations promote their use. The embrace of baby boxes by Indiana politicians is in stark contrast to the United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child’s outspoken opposition to this drop-off mechanism because anonymity denies the child knowledge of its identity.

Media coverage of the Indiana government’s first step to authorize baby boxes focuses primarily on the novelty of this proposed baby-rescue method. The last time an innovative safe haven law was implemented was in Nebraska, the last state to pass a law. No upper age limit was set, resulting in the relinquishment of teenagers — including a teen mother and her infant — by distressed guardians, many of whom traveled to Nebraska as a last resort and exposing a severe lack of adequate social services. How might Indiana’s baby boxes be used in unanticipated ways?

Other dimensions of safe haven advocacy are downplayed when baby boxes are trumpeted as an exciting advance. One is the underlying anti-abortion and pro-adoption views held by vocal safe haven advocates, including Kelsey. Further, the anonymity of the baby box drop-off conceals any understanding of the experiences of women and girls who are faced with a safe haven decision. Unwantedness is not the only or the main factor that leads to relinquishment.

Instead of debating the value of baby boxes, state governments should direct attention to the unequal social and economic support available to women and girls within our society. A reproductive justice analysis pushes us to critically question the safe haven assumption that a good mother relinquishes her newborn anonymously as an act of maternal love. It is our political and social responsibility to reveal and eliminate the social injustices that coerce some women and girls to relinquish the right to raise their newborns or to ever have future contact with them.

Laury Oaks is Associate Professor and Chair of the Department of Feminist Studies and an affiliated faculty member in the Department of Sociology and the Department of Anthropology at the University of California, Santa Barbara. She is the author of Giving Up Baby: Safe Haven Laws, Motherhood, and Reproductive Justice (NYU Press, 2015).

Ayahuasca and the spiritual natives

—Brett Hendrickson 

What do Lindsay Lohan, Sting, and hundreds of Brooklyn hipsters have in common besides their glowing personalities? They all sing the praises of ayahuasca, a hallucinogenic and psychedelic brew that has long been used by indigenous Amazonian groups. Ayahuasca sends its consumers into throes of reverie and feelings of spiritual connectedness. It also causes bouts of vomiting, which users lift up as part of the cathartic experience—the “ayahuasca cleanse.”

North American and European spiritual tourists being treated by a Peruvian shaman.

In its original Amazonian context, ayahuasca use is an integral part of the trances that shamans enter to carry out powerful transactions between waking life and other levels of their reality. The impetus for most of these trance journeys and transactions is healing of one sort or another, whether this be physical recovery from illness or the restoration of ruptured social norms. Shaman specialists take the ayahuasca in order to enter the visionary realm wherein they can do the important work of re-establishing balance, harmony, and health for their patients and communities.

By the mid-twentieth century, anthropologists who studied ayahuasca-using South American tribes were trying the drug for themselves and bringing back stories of its psychedelic properties. Soon, the growing counter-culture was experimenting with ayahuasca and other psychotropic plants common in Central and South America like peyote cactus and psilocybin mushrooms. Adding significantly to these plants’ inherent hallucinogenic properties was the ostensible authenticity and simplicity of indigenous people’s wisdom and spirituality.

The last few years have witnessed a rise in the popularity of ayahuasca use both on ethno-tourist jaunts to Peru, Ecuador, and Brazil, and in spiritual salons dedicated to the drug in the United States. It has become especially trendy among creative types like musicians and writers and also with young urbanites who might self-identify as spiritual seekers. Like-minded people have taken advantage of online social networking to gather with shaman/entrepreneurs who provide not only the ayahuasca but also a guided tour into a commodified form of indigenous spirituality.

A recent story in the New York Times describes such a meet-up in Brooklyn that featured a Colombian shaman, cups of ayahuasca, barf buckets, candlelight, chanting, drumming, and a $150 price tag. Others are not content with this kind of dabbling and have taken the plunge to remote South America to learn to have even more authentic experiences and perhaps become shamans themselves. A recent profile of one such individual describes a young Jewish man from Williamsburg who made various trips to the Amazon and the Caribbean where he received a new name from indigenous masters: Turey Tekina (allegedly “Sky Singer” in Quechua). After many spiritual adventures and self-discoveries, he “returned to Brooklyn, and turned his apartment into a temple for [ayahuasca] ceremonies. He has a steady flow of regular and new clients, all who learn of him through word of mouth.”

The history of Anglo-Americans who have dabbled in—or even appropriated—the religious and traditional medicines of indigenous people is long but remarkably constant. In almost every case, the white seekers are looking for healing and wholeness, but almost always in a such a way that critiques the complications and coldness of “Western” life and/or its “institutional religion;” utterly romanticizes indigenous people as simple and pure sources of unadulterated ancient wisdom; and can be easily commodified and thus sold in packages with other alternative medicines or therapies.

The latest craze for ayahuasca’s visions and vomiting is one more item in what sociologist of religion Wade Clark Roof has called America’s “spiritual marketplace.” When this particular trend passes, no doubt another will take its place in this unique form of American religiosity that privileges the sacred wisdom of the natives, as long as we can have it when—and how—we want it.

Brett Hendrickson is Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at Lafayette College (PA). He is the author of Border Medicine: A Transcultural History of Mexican American Curanderismo (NYU Press, 2014).

Feminist ire in all the wrong places

—Suzanna Danuta Walters

[This piece originally appeared at the Chronicle of Higher Education.]

Vaginas keep causing trouble. The latest labial kerfuffle involves none other than the mother of all things “down there,” Eve Ensler’s play The Vagina Monologues. A few weeks ago, a student-theater group at Mount Holyoke College (full disclosure: my alma mater and the current home of my daughter) made a decision to discontinue production of the play and instead to do something more, as they wrote, “inclusive.” This quickly became a media firestorm, with Ensler herself arguing that “The Vagina Monologues never intended to be a play about what it means to be a woman. It is and always has been a play about what it means to have a vagina.”

Had the students simply made a decision to produce other work and not gone out of their way to indict Ensler, one could imagine that this “controversy” would never have emerged in the first place. But the students’ statement referred to the work as “extremely narrow” and “inherently reductionist,” among other dismissive language. (Another disclosure: Ensler is a friend whose work and advocacy I have long admired.)

This is, of course, not the first time that feminists have directed their resentment at other feminists. Indeed, feminism, in both its theoretical and its practical applications, is well known for vicious infighting. As early as 1976, the pioneer activist Jo Freeman wrote about this phenomenon in an incendiary article in Ms. Magazine calling out “trashing” or, as she put it, the “dark side of sisterhood.” And when Ti-Grace Atkinson resigned from the radical feminist group The Feminists in the 60s, she wryly commented that “Sisterhood is powerful. It kills. Mostly sisters.” Internecine battles have long been a staple of most vibrant social movements, particularly those with left-wing aspirations, because they are generally more open to democratic debate.

The instant world of the Internet—Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and the rest—has not only upped the ante but also accelerated the speed at which nominal disagreements get morphed into full-fledged “wars.” Contemporary punditry has weighed in on this, as in “Feminism’s Toxic Twitter Wars,” in The Nation, and “The Incomplete Guide to Feminist Infighting,” in The Atlantic. And our broader media culture amplifies anything it might see as conflictual, so what gets retweeted is often that which is most easily slotted into a for-or-against model that does precious little to deepen the debate. This latest round of trashing comes at a time when (some version of) feminism has an increasingly public and popular face, and when feminist activism—around sexual assault and harassment, reproductive autonomy and sexual freedom—is witnessing a refreshing renaissance. In other words, we are at a critical moment, when the flourishing of feminism—both online and off—has a potential that should not be derailed by an endless circuit of self-destruction and misdirected ire.

This anger seems particularly targeted toward women in the public eye who explicitly define themselves as feminist and who espouse what certainly look like feminist beliefs, whether reproductive autonomy or freedom from sexual harassment. When the actor and UN Women Goodwill Ambassador Emma Watson gave a speech in September, calling for more male involvement in the struggle for gender equality, she fell prey to hyperventilating tirades accusing her of ignoring racial differences, asking men to protect women, and other sins of both omission and commission. Not long after, the anti-street-harassment campaign Hollaback! released a video depicting a day in the life of a woman whose walk though New York elicits endless undesired harassment by a stream of male bystanders. The video went viral, but so did immediate condemnation of it as exclusionary and even racist: The woman was white, and most of the harassers were men of color. Even the apology of the video’s producers did not derail the onslaught.

The wunderkind Lena Dunham was next in what has now become a long line of women—many of them young celebrities—to come under intense scrutiny in the vibrant feminist blogosphere. Dunham is no stranger to eliciting strong emotions; her hit HBO series, Girls, was roundly excoriated for its overly white and upper-class portrayal of a Brooklyn we know to be much more diverse. And her self-abnegating narcissism has rubbed many the wrong way. Her book, Not That Kind of Girl—part memoir, part self-help, part comedy sketch—has further amped up the Dunham wars, as she has now been accused of child sexual abuse in recalling and writing about what appears to be innocent childhood curiosity about the female body. In her book, she remembers looking into her sister’s vagina—when they were both young children—prompting the accusations of abuse and Dunham’s angry response (and that of her sister, who defends her by saying, in part, that “I’m committed to people … determining for themselves what has and has not been harmful”).

While moralists at large took the opportunity to deem Dunham an abuser, some feminists, too, jumped on this train, creating the hashtag #dropDunham and calling on Planned Parenthood to disengage from the star, who used her book tour in part as a way to support abortion rights. True, some prominent feminists, such as Roxane Gay and Katha Pollit, have eloquently come to her defense, but the blogosphere was fairly bursting with anti-Dunham fever. Gay, in particular, notes her discomfort with the scene (“I read the passage about Dunham inspecting her younger sister Grace’s vagina when she was seven and her sister was one. I found this disturbing and utterly bizarre”), but then goes on to say that she didn’t take particular note of it and, moreover, questions whether or not the disclosure is what is really animating the angst. Rather, she writes, “there is an undercurrent of rage that seems to have very little to do with the book, its disclosures or ‘the good fight,’ and everything to do with resenting a privileged young white woman succeeding.”

Let me be as clear as I can: This is—of course—not an argument against critical engagement. Criticism and challenge are vital to the health of any social movement, as they recalibrate priorities and assess goals and underlying values. As I write this, I am keenly aware of the ease with which some observers—such as Jonathan Chait in a recent piece for New York magazine—look at this infighting as evidence of PC-mad feminazis run amok. But the politically-correct-or-not framing is tired and illusory, undermining the substantive concerns at the heart of feminist discourse. Indeed, one of the hallmarks of feminist theory and the women’s movement more generally has been its insistence on self-scrutiny in the quest for ever more robust and inclusive analyses. And surely errors, miscues, and worse can be found in these and other examples.

Feminism has long struggled with its own suppositions and assumptions, from unacknowledged white privilege to presumptive heterosexuality to America-centric concerns. Calling these out remains a key ingredient in creating ever more salient and meaningful feminisms. What I am suggesting, however, is that this moment seems to have a skewed heat-to-light ratio.

When criticism becomes rote recitation of overdetermined keywords and loses what might be called an economy of scale, movements end up devouring their own and deflect attention from the larger and more pervasive problems they set out to challenge in the first place. Dunham and the Girls phenomenon might not be the feminist nirvana some hoped for, but she is a celebrity explicitly discussing her support for feminism and displaying an active commitment to (some) of the issues the movement cares about. The same could be said for Watson, Hollaback!, and Beyoncé (another feminist/sex-symbol Rorschach test); it bears noticing that recognizing the continuation of serious gender inequity and violence in a world many have blithely declared “postfeminist” is a position all should applaud. That doesn’t mean that any individual or organization should be above criticism; it does mean, however, that some perspective might be in order. It should matter, for example, that Ensler’s V-Day organization has raised more than $90-million, most of which goes to building feminist institutions like City of Joy, in Congo, or supporting grass-roots feminist organizations the world over.

There are real and potent enemies of women’s freedom out there in the world—those who want to sweep sexual violence under the rug, or do away with reproductive choice, or ignore wage differentials, or constrict sexual and gender freedom, or turn a blind eye to the lopsided gender representation in our halls of government. Perhaps those persistent problems seem too intractable, making the lure of the Twitter pile-on both easier and more satisfying in the face of our vexing inability to solve the larger problems. Easier perhaps to trash a Dunham or a Watson or an Ensler than to unseat an antichoice legislator or put a dent in the rates of sexual assault.

This could be, as they say, a “teachable moment” to parse the difference between, for example, discussions of “inclusion” and concerns about substantive bigotry and hateful representations. Isn’t there a way to stand in solidarity with all kinds of identities and communities without simultaneously declaring something else either “essentialist” or null and void in some way? To insinuate, for example, that The Vagina Monologues is a transphobic play is patently absurd—what precisely would be the evidence for that argument?

No doubt there is plenty of real transphobia out there to struggle against, some of it by the usual suspects and some of it authored by feminist theorists and activists, who should indeed be taken to task. But Ensler’s play is a poor target. And to mistake and conflate issues of inclusion for issues of discrimination is a dangerous and sloppy political error. It’s akin to calling the great epic Angels in America misogynist because it doesn’t include stories of women with AIDS.

Challenging one another and pushing at boundaries should never—must never—mean that we lose an economy of scale and create a topsy-turvy world where allies are enemies and borders are policed in ever narrower ways. When that happens, we let the real bigots off the hook and do a grave disservice to those activists and thinkers whose lives have been dedicated to human flourishing and gender and sexual freedom.

Suzanna Danuta Walters is editor of Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Societyand a professor of sociology at Northeastern University, where she directs the Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. She is the author of The Tolerance Trap: How God, Genes, and Good Intentions are Sabotaging Gay Equality (NYU Press, 2014).

Book giveaway: Plucked

“Most of Earth’s mammals possess luxuriant fur. Only one seeks to remove it. Rebecca Herzig’s delightful history of hair removal in America helps explain why: smooth skin is a cultural imperative.”
The Economist

Plucked is an important work, not least because it is so very readable. What’s more, Herzig is angry, and anger is the first step towards social change. ‘Plucked,’ she writes, ‘is, first and foremost, a call to remember those excluded others: the staggering volumes of sweat and blood and imagination and fear expended to produce a single hairless chin.'”
Times Higher Education 

To celebrate the stellar reviews rolling in for our forthcoming book, Plucked: A History of Hair Removal, we are giving away a free copy to two lucky winners!

In Plucked, historian Rebecca Herzig explores the long history of hair removal around the world, examining how Americans came to perceive body hair as a sign of political extremism, sexual deviance, or mental illness. Moving beyond the experiences of particular patients or clients, Herzig describes the surprising histories of race, science, industry, and medicine behind today’s hair-removing tools.

To enter our book giveaway, simply fill out the form below with your name and preferred e-mail address. We will randomly select our winners on Monday, March 2nd, 2015 at 1:00 pm EST.