There are many ways to address prostitution through the criminal justice apparatus, and one of them involves targeting the clients. Some jurisdictions hold john schools, to varying degrees of success. And some leave notices on cars parked in areas of high-prostitution trafficking, or send them to clients' homes.
Recently, online john-shaming is the way to go. The Chron reports:
Bay Area johns have a new worry: finding their mug shots and charges posted online for all to see.
It's a cyber scarlet letter with a punch, as 11 men found out in Richmond after they encountered undercover officers who posed as prostitutes Thursday afternoon while wearing hidden microphones along busy 23rd Street.
The officers snapped the men's mug shots while booking them in the field, then posted the photos Friday to the police force's Facebook page.
. . .
"It's a way of using the embarrassment card," said police Lt. Kevin Wiley, who helped create Oakland's website. "It can attack an individual's reputation. They are engaging in crimes that are beneath the surface, off the radar, a dirty little secret, (and) we expose that secret.
"It's not an innocent act," Wiley said. "No more of that good-old-boy mind-set."
The Oakland website, inspired by a similar program in Fresno, states that individuals are presumed innocent until proven guilty. The plan is to update it with new photos of alleged johns and pimps about every two weeks.
What do you think about john-shaming as a prostitution-combating technique?
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Friday, August 15, 2014
Book Review: Rise of the Warrior Cop
Of all the frightening and heartwrenching reports about the situation in Ferguson, I found this one particularly poignant. It's a series of Twitter quips from army veterans comparing the equipments and tactics used by the police in Ferguson to their experiences in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. Here's just one example:
These army veterans are stunned to see military vehicles, weapons, and tactics used in a domestic situation against civilian population. But these horrific incidents are simply exposing something that has been going on for several decades: the increasing militarization of the police force. This was a good enough reason to finally get to read Radley Balko's new book Rise of the Warrior Cop (2013), which provides history and context to this phenomenon.
Balko starts his narrative with ancient Rome, where freedoms (and an early type of policing) was put in place specifically to prevent the army from overtaking the government. He then places much of what we know as Fourth Amendment protections against search and seizure in historical context, explaining why in Medieval and Early Modern Britain (and, as a result, in its colonies) many of these protections--namely, provisions against quartering and the castle doctrine--were important to prevent bloodshed. Until the mid-19th century, troops were seldom used in the context of internal domestic conflicts, but the conflict over slavery changed this restraint and led to full-blown war. After the war, troops in Southern states, stationed there to prevent retaliation (and technically an occupying force of sorts) presented yet another challenge to the Third Amendment. Despite the emergence of police forces (as a new phenomenon), occasionally troops were sent to quell civil riots, such as in the context of school desegregation. While, in the 1960s, the National Guard played a role in such situations, there was common public distaste for the use of military forces in a domestic contest. However, as this happened, the police transformed itself through military education, tactics, and technologies, into a quasi-military force. Some of the 4th Amendment litigation in the1960s--mainly in the area of warrantless searches, knock-and-announce, and the like, revolved around the use of quasi-military techniques in policing.
The 1960s were periods of rising violent crime rates and notable violent incidents (such as the Whitman shootings and labor protests) that raised the question whether the police was appropriately equipped to deal with them. These incidents led to the the rise of police innovator Daryl Gates, who created the first paramilitary police units: SWAT teams against the resistance of more traditional policing experts. The initial units trained in secret. They would later receive more legitimation with further developments: the backlash against Johnson's taskforce on crime (The Challenge of Crime in a Free Society), race riots following MLK Jr.'s murder, and, of course, Richard Nixon's presidential victory, which was based on a platform of crimefighting and police empowering.
The Nixon administration targeted primarily drug crime and started using SWAT teams and break-in techniques that did not include knocking and announcing. These paramilitary technologies were used to combat, among others, the Black Panthers, who not only were on the receiving end, but also organized themselves in a quasi-military fashion. The Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act reformed not only street tactics, but also surveillance methods, making wiretapping easier and more popular. The Nixon administration invested in treatment and reform, too, and saw some decline in crime attributable to those, but deliberately repressed reports on that angle, because that would undermine the efforts to allow for more repressive crime control.
The 1970s saw more professionalization in paramilitary policing. The commander would storm in front of the men, as in military units, and the units would hide out of sight, which was deemed to be more effective in conflict dispersal than presence on the scene. Anti-drug policing techniques found their way to state legislatures following an all-out PR campaign on crime and drugs.
The introduction of the Reagan-era War on Drugs in the 1980s intensified the use of these military techniques. In particular, that decade saw the introduction of armored carriers, as well as the emergence of national databases and interjurisdictional collaboration. But not only did these technologies not eradicate drug trafficking, they led to an increasing culture of alienation of the police force from its community. People were less and less inclined to collaborate with the police, report, and testify about crime. At the same time, police officers became more and more reified in law, so that lawsuits against them were increasingly difficult and any violence against them unjustifiable and worse than against non-police victims. This alienation made the police force in the community even more akin to a foreign occupying force operating among the enemy.
Balko's book is exceedingly well-written, full of fascinating examples, and pays a lot of attention to detail while not losing the bigger narrative. It bounces back and forth between anecdotes, general trends, police innovations, and legislation. There are a few complementary themes that are missing from his narrative: for example, he leaves his narrative of the National Guard aside, not asking the question whether it's the police that's become more army-like or the military that is increasingly busy in policing missions. His narrative also stays domestic, for the most part, while his argument could be fortified by presenting DEA activities in Mexico as one more example of militarization--crossing borders to fight wars that look like the traditional violent international wars of yesteryear (more on that in our forthcoming review of Ioan Grillo's El Narco). Balko also does not focus on countertrends, such as community policing, that have tried to humanize the police and make it an ally of the community. Nonetheless, the book is an excellent primer to those who want to understand more about why the images from Ferguson are so reminiscent of images from Afghanistan and Iraq. This did not start yesterday, nor is it likely to end without thoroughly rethinking the role of policing and the futility of an all-out war on drugs.
These army veterans are stunned to see military vehicles, weapons, and tactics used in a domestic situation against civilian population. But these horrific incidents are simply exposing something that has been going on for several decades: the increasing militarization of the police force. This was a good enough reason to finally get to read Radley Balko's new book Rise of the Warrior Cop (2013), which provides history and context to this phenomenon.
The 1960s were periods of rising violent crime rates and notable violent incidents (such as the Whitman shootings and labor protests) that raised the question whether the police was appropriately equipped to deal with them. These incidents led to the the rise of police innovator Daryl Gates, who created the first paramilitary police units: SWAT teams against the resistance of more traditional policing experts. The initial units trained in secret. They would later receive more legitimation with further developments: the backlash against Johnson's taskforce on crime (The Challenge of Crime in a Free Society), race riots following MLK Jr.'s murder, and, of course, Richard Nixon's presidential victory, which was based on a platform of crimefighting and police empowering.
The Nixon administration targeted primarily drug crime and started using SWAT teams and break-in techniques that did not include knocking and announcing. These paramilitary technologies were used to combat, among others, the Black Panthers, who not only were on the receiving end, but also organized themselves in a quasi-military fashion. The Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act reformed not only street tactics, but also surveillance methods, making wiretapping easier and more popular. The Nixon administration invested in treatment and reform, too, and saw some decline in crime attributable to those, but deliberately repressed reports on that angle, because that would undermine the efforts to allow for more repressive crime control.
The 1970s saw more professionalization in paramilitary policing. The commander would storm in front of the men, as in military units, and the units would hide out of sight, which was deemed to be more effective in conflict dispersal than presence on the scene. Anti-drug policing techniques found their way to state legislatures following an all-out PR campaign on crime and drugs.
The introduction of the Reagan-era War on Drugs in the 1980s intensified the use of these military techniques. In particular, that decade saw the introduction of armored carriers, as well as the emergence of national databases and interjurisdictional collaboration. But not only did these technologies not eradicate drug trafficking, they led to an increasing culture of alienation of the police force from its community. People were less and less inclined to collaborate with the police, report, and testify about crime. At the same time, police officers became more and more reified in law, so that lawsuits against them were increasingly difficult and any violence against them unjustifiable and worse than against non-police victims. This alienation made the police force in the community even more akin to a foreign occupying force operating among the enemy.
Balko's book is exceedingly well-written, full of fascinating examples, and pays a lot of attention to detail while not losing the bigger narrative. It bounces back and forth between anecdotes, general trends, police innovations, and legislation. There are a few complementary themes that are missing from his narrative: for example, he leaves his narrative of the National Guard aside, not asking the question whether it's the police that's become more army-like or the military that is increasingly busy in policing missions. His narrative also stays domestic, for the most part, while his argument could be fortified by presenting DEA activities in Mexico as one more example of militarization--crossing borders to fight wars that look like the traditional violent international wars of yesteryear (more on that in our forthcoming review of Ioan Grillo's El Narco). Balko also does not focus on countertrends, such as community policing, that have tried to humanize the police and make it an ally of the community. Nonetheless, the book is an excellent primer to those who want to understand more about why the images from Ferguson are so reminiscent of images from Afghanistan and Iraq. This did not start yesterday, nor is it likely to end without thoroughly rethinking the role of policing and the futility of an all-out war on drugs.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Would Cameras on Cops Prevent Police Abuse of Force?
In the aftermath of Michael Brown's killing, I'm seeing several editorials and articles arguing that the solution to the tragedy in Ferguson (and elsewhere in the nation) would be to arm police officers with cameras on their badges, that would document their actions. The Washington Post argues:
A study submitted this month by the District’s Police Complaints Board cited the example of the Rialto, Calif., police department, which measured the use of force by officers wearing cameras against a control group of officers who didn’t wear them. The camera-wearing officers were involved in dramatically fewer incidents involving the use of their batons, pepper spray, stun guns or firearms. Behavioral changes were so striking — both in the officers and in citizens they encountered — that complaints against the cops wearing cameras declined by nearly 90 percent.
The study, in full, is here, and the recommendations address a variety of concerns: the quality and durability of the equipment, police officers' control over the initiation of recording, privacy concerns and the need to notify citizens of recording, retention of recorded material, and data access and sharing. There's also the question of cost, compared to the reduction in cost from citizen complaints.
San Francisco implemented a program that would dole out 150 $1,000 cameras to plainclothes officers to document search procedures and minimize concerns about lying and hiding evidence. But in April 2014, these were apparently not in use yet. The argument used against them is that the Rialto experiment took place in a city with a very small police force.
There are probably many benefits to documenting police activity via copcams, but I have a fairly serious misgiving. The first is that video footage is often considered, wrongly, to be objective evidence that cannot be misinterpreted. People tend to reify such evidence as presumably incontrovertible. That is not the case. In 2007, the Supreme Court decided a 1983 suit called Scott v. Harris. Harris sued the police department for giving a dangerous car chase that resulted in an accident, from which he emerged paraplegic. This video, shot from the pursuing car, was admitted in evidence:
Justice Scalia, writing for the majority and denying Harris any compensation, saw the video and concluded that "[r]espondent’s version of events is so utterly discredited by the record that no reasonable jury could have believed him."
But is that really so? Dan Kahan, Dave Hoffman and Dave Braman took Scalia's challenge and showed the video to a diverse sample of 1,350 Americans. They found considerable differences in how their subjects perceived the car chase, its dangerousness, and the justification for police action. Moreover, the subjects' perception of the chase was highly correlated with their general worldviews and personal characteristics. Folks on the conservative side of the political map tended to agree with police actions and argue that Harris was driving in a dangerous way; folks on the progressive side tended to side with Harris and regard police's manner of carrying the chase as unnecessary, excessive, and dangerous.
We don't even have to go that far. Oscar Grant's killing on New Year's Eve, 2009, was documented by cellular phones. The presumably incontrovertible evidence of intentional homicide ended in an involuntary manslaughter conviction for Johannes Mehserle. And lapel cameras did not prevent the Albuquerque shooting of Shaine Sherrill.
This is not to say that copcams are a universally bad idea. But it does mean that the documentation of police action would not put an end to assaults and would not unequivocably settle 1983 lawsuits against the police. As with forensic innovations, anyone hoping for a definitive "cure" for police abuses is going to be disappointed.
A study submitted this month by the District’s Police Complaints Board cited the example of the Rialto, Calif., police department, which measured the use of force by officers wearing cameras against a control group of officers who didn’t wear them. The camera-wearing officers were involved in dramatically fewer incidents involving the use of their batons, pepper spray, stun guns or firearms. Behavioral changes were so striking — both in the officers and in citizens they encountered — that complaints against the cops wearing cameras declined by nearly 90 percent.
The study, in full, is here, and the recommendations address a variety of concerns: the quality and durability of the equipment, police officers' control over the initiation of recording, privacy concerns and the need to notify citizens of recording, retention of recorded material, and data access and sharing. There's also the question of cost, compared to the reduction in cost from citizen complaints.
San Francisco implemented a program that would dole out 150 $1,000 cameras to plainclothes officers to document search procedures and minimize concerns about lying and hiding evidence. But in April 2014, these were apparently not in use yet. The argument used against them is that the Rialto experiment took place in a city with a very small police force.
There are probably many benefits to documenting police activity via copcams, but I have a fairly serious misgiving. The first is that video footage is often considered, wrongly, to be objective evidence that cannot be misinterpreted. People tend to reify such evidence as presumably incontrovertible. That is not the case. In 2007, the Supreme Court decided a 1983 suit called Scott v. Harris. Harris sued the police department for giving a dangerous car chase that resulted in an accident, from which he emerged paraplegic. This video, shot from the pursuing car, was admitted in evidence:
Justice Scalia, writing for the majority and denying Harris any compensation, saw the video and concluded that "[r]espondent’s version of events is so utterly discredited by the record that no reasonable jury could have believed him."
But is that really so? Dan Kahan, Dave Hoffman and Dave Braman took Scalia's challenge and showed the video to a diverse sample of 1,350 Americans. They found considerable differences in how their subjects perceived the car chase, its dangerousness, and the justification for police action. Moreover, the subjects' perception of the chase was highly correlated with their general worldviews and personal characteristics. Folks on the conservative side of the political map tended to agree with police actions and argue that Harris was driving in a dangerous way; folks on the progressive side tended to side with Harris and regard police's manner of carrying the chase as unnecessary, excessive, and dangerous.
We don't even have to go that far. Oscar Grant's killing on New Year's Eve, 2009, was documented by cellular phones. The presumably incontrovertible evidence of intentional homicide ended in an involuntary manslaughter conviction for Johannes Mehserle. And lapel cameras did not prevent the Albuquerque shooting of Shaine Sherrill.
This is not to say that copcams are a universally bad idea. But it does mean that the documentation of police action would not put an end to assaults and would not unequivocably settle 1983 lawsuits against the police. As with forensic innovations, anyone hoping for a definitive "cure" for police abuses is going to be disappointed.
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