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Institutional humanism and the animalization of criminalized refugee youth in Canada Francis, Jenny 2016

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 INSTITUTIONAL HUMANISM AND THE ANIMALIZATION OF CRIMINALIZED REFUGEE YOUTH IN CANADA  by  Jenny Francis   A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in  THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Geography)   THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)    October 2016 © Jenny Francis 2016 ii  Abstract  Drawing on interviews with youth and youth professionals, this dissertation explores institutional humanism in the lives of the young people who took part in the study by focusing on the operationalization of humanist categories and exclusions in criminal justice, immigration, social welfare, and education policies. Examining the role of policy in the production of precarity, I argue that humanism is smuggled into institutional practice through racism, sexism, classism, ageism, and ableism, which, as expressions of being less than human, depend on the separation of the human (culture) from the non-human (nature) at the core of humanist thought. By creating conditions within which certain bodies are dehumanized and others are humanized, policies perform particular figurations of the human and sub/non-human; via these processes law and policy maintain race, class, gender, and species hierarchies. To make this argument, I analyse four performances that establish the separation of criminalized refugee youth from the human category: the erasure of personal histories, denial of human rights, production of disposability, and subjection to violence. These conditions are prompted by existing narratives that construct criminals, Muslims, Black people, youth, and refugees as less than human (closer to nature). Institutional policies and practices both reinforce and are sustained by discourses of humanity and animality that produce precarity as part of the “anthropological machine” that determines whose body and knowledge matters and who may be subjected to violence and denied rights and protections. These ontological and epistemological questions underscore the fragility of the human conceived as a separate and superior species. Focusing on species also offers a new way to consider how power and identity are inscribed in the lives of refugees and criminalized persons in Canada. Since addressing injustice at a deep level requires consideration of how human/nature dualisms underwrite violence, dispossession, and injustice, my aim is not the extension of liberal humanism to excluded Others, but a transformation of humanism.       iii  Preface  This dissertation is an original intellectual product of the author, Jenny Francis. The fieldwork reported in Chapters 5-8 was covered by UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board (BREB) Certificate number H13-01728.                         iv  Table of Contents  Abstract ..................................................................................................................................... ii Preface...................................................................................................................................... iii Table of Contents ..................................................................................................................... iv List of Tables ........................................................................................................................... vi List of Acronyms .................................................................................................................... vii Acknowledgements .................................................................................................................. ix  Chapter 1. Introduction ............................................................................................................. 1 1.1 Beginnings .................................................................................................................... 1 1.2 Research Question and Approach ................................................................................. 2 1.3 Key Arguments and Contributions ............................................................................... 5 1.4 Chapter Outline ........................................................................................................... 12  Part 1: Context and Approach ................................................................................................ 16  Chapter 2. Liberal Humanism ................................................................................................. 16 2.1 Introduction ................................................................................................................. 16 2.2 Humanism and Posthumanism .................................................................................... 17 2.4 Humanism’s Historical Development ......................................................................... 31 2.5 Categories of Humanist Identity ................................................................................. 39 2.6 Conclusion .................................................................................................................. 48  Chapter 3. The Institutional Field ........................................................................................... 49 3.1 Introduction ................................................................................................................. 49 3.2 The Canadian Immigration System ............................................................................ 49 3.2.1 Overview ........................................................................................................ 49 3.2.2 Settlement Challenges .................................................................................... 51 3.3 The Canadian Criminal Justice System ...................................................................... 60 3.3.1 Overview ........................................................................................................ 60 3.3.2 Conceptualizing Criminal Justice .................................................................. 66 3.3.3 Crimmigration ................................................................................................ 72 3.4 Conclusion .................................................................................................................. 74  Chapter 4. Methodology: Policy, Performance, Posthumanism ............................................. 76 4.1 Introduction and Rationale .......................................................................................... 76 4.2 Data Collection ........................................................................................................... 79 4.3 Description of Research Participants .......................................................................... 86 4.4 Analysis....................................................................................................................... 90 4.5 Study Limitations ........................................................................................................ 94 4.6 Conclusion .................................................................................................................. 99  Part 2: Four Performances ................................................................................................... 100  Chapter 5. Personal Stories Erased ....................................................................................... 100 v  5.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................... 100 5.2 The (Ir)Relevance of Refugeehood ........................................................................... 103 5.3 Who Can Speak? ....................................................................................................... 112 5.4 Who Will Listen? ...................................................................................................... 119 5.5 Conclusion ................................................................................................................ 129  Chapter 6. Denied Human Rights ......................................................................................... 131 6.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................... 131 6.2. The Right to be Aware of One’s Rights................................................................... 135 6.3 Legal Rights .............................................................................................................. 136 6.4 Social Rights ............................................................................................................. 143 6.5 Conclusion ................................................................................................................ 154  Chapter 7. Discourse of Disposability .................................................................................. 156 7.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................... 156 7.2 Expulsion from Schools and Labour Market ............................................................ 158 7.3 Stuck in the Revolving Door..................................................................................... 171 7.4 Stigma and Exclusion ............................................................................................... 179 7.5 Deportability ............................................................................................................. 182 7.6 Disinvestment in Youth ............................................................................................ 184 7.7 Conclusion ................................................................................................................ 188  Chapter 8. Subjection to Violence ........................................................................................ 190 8.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................... 190 8.2 Police Brutality ......................................................................................................... 192 8.3 Correctional Violence ............................................................................................... 200 8.4 Family Violence ........................................................................................................ 205 8.5 Conclusion ................................................................................................................ 206  Part 3: Concluding Thoughts................................................................................................ 209  Chapter 9. Conclusion ........................................................................................................... 209 9.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................... 209 9.2 Summary of Arguments and Thematic Linkages ..................................................... 209 9.3 Contributions and Future Directions ......................................................................... 221 9.4 Final Reflections ....................................................................................................... 222  Bibliography ......................................................................................................................... 224 Appendices ............................................................................................................................ 255 Appendix A: Resettlement Assistance Program Benefits ............................................... 255 Appendix B: BC Youth Custody/Community Admissions (Ethnicity) .......................... 256 Appendix C: BC Youth Custody/Community Admissions (PR Status) ......................... 257 Appendix D: Sample Probation Order (Youth) .............................................................. 259 Appendix E: Sample Probation Order (Adult)................................................................ 260 Appendix F: Interview Schedule – Refugee Youth ........................................................ 261 Appendix G: Interview Schedule – Professional Stakeholders ...................................... 262 vi  List of Tables  Table 1. Study Sample: Youth Demographic Summary ............................................. 88 Table 2. Study Sample: Professional Stakeholders by Agency Category .................. 89                           vii  List of Acronyms  AA   Alcoholics Anonymous ADHD   Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder ATIP   Access to Information and Privacy BC   British Columbia BREB   Behavioural Research Ethics Board BYCC   Burnaby Youth Custody Centre  CBC   Canadian Broadcasting Corporation CBSA   Canadian Border Services Association CCR   Canadian Council for Refugees CRF    Charter of Rights and Freedoms  CHRA   Canadian Human Rights Act    CSC   Correctional Services of Canada  DCC   Downtown Community Court DNA   Deoxyribonucleic Acid DO   Dangerous Offender DTES   Downtown Eastside ELL   English Language Learner FOI   Freedom of Information GAR   Government Assisted Refugee ICESCR   International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights  ID   Identity Document IPO   Institutional Probation Officer IQ   Intelligence Quotient IRB   Immigration and Refugee Board IRCC   Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada IRPA   Immigration and Refugee Protection Act ISSofBC  Immigrant Services Society of British Columbia ISSP   Intensive Support and Supervision Program  LCR   Landed in Canada Refugee MCFD   Ministry of Children and Family Development MSD   Ministry of Social Development NA   Narcotics Anonymous NEET   Not in Employment or in Education or Training NGO   Non-Governmental Organization NHS   National Household Survey NIMBY  Not In My Back Yard OCI    Office of the Correctional Investigator  OIC    Office of the Information Commissioner  PO   Probation Officer PR   Permanent Resident PSR   Pre-Sentence Report PTSD   Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder PWD   Person With a Disability (MSD designation) RAP   Resettlement Assistance Program viii  RCMP   Royal Canadian Mounted Police RCY   Representative for Children and Youth REM   Rapid Eye Movement SES    Socio-Economic Status SLO   School Liaison Officer  SRO   Single Room Occupancy SWIS   Settlement Worker in Schools  TCI    Therapeutic Crisis Intervention TR   Temporary Resident TV   Television UBC   University of British Columbia UK   United Kingdom UN   United Nations UNHCR  United Nations High Commission for Refugees US   United States VPD   Vancouver Police Department YCJA    Youth Criminal Justice Act                              ix  Acknowledgements  During my doctoral program I have been fortunate to benefit from the support and guidance of three incredible committee members. Wendy Chan is always available and has been a consistent source of thoughtful and practical advice for which I am extremely thankful. I am grateful to Juanita Sundberg for opening my eyes to the possibility that academic work can be “more than human,” thereby changing the course of my life. Finally, Dan Hiebert has supervised me for almost 10 years and I cannot imagine a more supportive or considerate supervisor. He has continually pushed me to think about the world in new ways while providing generous support and numerous opportunities to grow and learn at every stage. I think he might be surprised to realise the profound impact his example has had on my personal and professional development.  I am deeply grateful to Miu-Chung Yan and Yvonne Brown for many years of support, guidance, and invaluable advice both before and during my PhD program.  Thanks also to the members of my Community Research Advisory Committee who helped me get the study off the ground and made themselves available to provide advice and support for several years: Firouzeh Peyvandi, Marc Larrivee, Troy Stasiuk, Steve Anderson, Peter Edelmann, Jas Gill, Mambo Masinda, and Amran Toyo.  The following people were also of great assistance during the research process: Caitlin Turner, Cole Bennett, and Ann Alexander from PLEA; staff at Burnaby Youth Custody Centre, Surrey Pre-trial Centre, and Downtown Community Court; Kathy Sherrell from Immigrant Services Society of BC; and Jas Gill and staff at the John Howard Society of the Lower Mainland.   This study would not have been possible without the generous participation of the 55 people who agreed to be interviewed. I am grateful for their participation and deeply honoured that they shared their stories with me.   My doctoral program received financial assistance from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SHRCC), UBC Department of Geography, Langara College, Liu Institute for Global Studies, UBC Faculty of Graduate Studies, and the Canadian Bar Association of BC.   A big thank you to an amazing group of current and former UBC students, especially Elanna Nolan, Erin Osterburg, Sarah Przedpelska, Shambhavi Srivastava, Rosemary Collard, Pablo Mendez, Max Ritts, Veronica Fynn, and May Farrales.  Finally, friends and family provided invaluable support, especially Tara Cooper, Nil Alt, Lazare Hounnake, Amanda Muir, Ali Senyama, Susan Kitchener, Vicky Baker, Jeannie Kerr, and Rehema Nahimana. My little ones, Bonnie, Lacey, Simsim, Spikey, and Chip inspire me every day to be the best human I can. My sister in law, Nguyen, brother Aaron, and nephews Max and Nana nourish me in so many ways. And finally, thank you to my mom, Donna Francis, for never giving up on me and for helping me become the person that I am today.1  Chapter 1. Introduction  “That the ‘human’ has a history is well known to those who are routinely and violently excluded from its ideological terrain...Just who counts as human, and why is a contentious debate within humanist discourse, a discourse mired in imperial histories of expansion, scientific experimentation, and industrial revolution. The human may, in fact, be one of our most elastic fictions” (Fuss 1996, 1-2).  “The discursive tie between the colonized, the enslaved, the non-citizen, and the animal—all reduced to type, all Others to rational man, and all essential to his bright constitution—is at the heart of racism and flourishes, lethally, in the entrails of humanism...Species reeks of race and sex” (Haraway 2008, 18).  “It is impossible to analyze and to discuss notions of race, past and present, without also engaging with the deployment of the animal as a category and concept” (Salih 2007a, 99).   1.1 Beginnings In 2010 I was working at an immigrant serving agency in Metro Vancouver assisting the clients that others in the agency felt were too unstable to work with. Among the many heart wrenching stories I heard, one young man’s account particularly touched me. “James” came to Canada aged 17 from Sudan after spending 10 years in a refugee camp. Soon after arrival he became involved in criminal activity and served a number of prison sentences. By the time he came to my office, James had been in Canada for seven years without ever having had a job or stable housing, he was frequently homeless, had no identity documents, suffered from undiagnosed mental health concerns, many of his relationships were marked by violence, and he was functionally illiterate. While working with James, I was struck by the realization that despite years of continuous contact with both settlement services and the criminal justice system, including a 14 month stint in prison in Saskatchewan, James had not received the supports he needed to build a stable life. Sadly, I met a number of young men in similar circumstances. The question that confronted me while working with James is the question that initially animated my doctoral research. That is, with all the resources available in Canada, how is it possible that refugee youth who arrive to Canada dreaming of a bright future find themselves in such troubled circumstances as young adults?   2  1.2 Research Question and Approach It seems to me these young men were experiencing extreme difficulties adjusting to their new life in Canada in part because of how they were understood and treated within Canadian society. In light of their troubled interactions with police, schools, and social service agencies, I wanted to investigate the role of policy in the production of stigma and precarity. Butler (2009b) explains that precarity is linked with the performance of norms (defined in terms of gender, age, race, class, and so forth) because those who do not conform to dominant norms are at greater risk of precarity. Building on these ideas, she argues further that it is on the basis of who counts as a human subject that performativity becomes linked with precarity (Butler 2009b). Butler argues that “performativity has everything to do with ‘who’ can become produced as a recognizable subject, a subject…whose life is worth sheltering and whose life, when lost, would be worthy of mourning” (Butler 2009a, xii-xiii). I wondered why there was no mourning for James’s lost potential. Was he not a human being? What does it mean to be a human subject?  In order to shed light on the production of precarity and to explore whether young people like James count as human subjects when they are racialized, criminalized, and marked as dependent, this dissertation focuses a critical lens on the criminal justice, education, immigration, and social welfare systems as sites of policy making that impact the lived experience of marginalization for the criminalized refugee youth who took part in this study. The overlap of criminal justice and immigration poses a vital but insufficiently explored area of knowledge. With few exceptions (Kwok 2009; Rossiter & Rossiter 2009b), previous academic inquiry into young refugees’ experiences has centered on education (Anisef et al 2010; Greenberg 2013; Gunderson et al 2012; Hersi 2005; Jacquet et al 2008), employment (Lauer et al 2012; Wilkinson 2008; Wilkenson et al 2013; Yan et al 2012), or other settlement issues (Dlamini et al 2010; Edge et al 2014; Ngo 2009; Shakya et al 2010; Wilson et al 2010; Yan et al 2009). Meanwhile, the study of the convergence of criminal justice and immigration systems focuses almost exclusively on asylum (Barnes 2009; Bosworth 2012; Miller 2005; Silverman 2014; Stumpf 2006). I address this lacuna in the literature by examining the intersection of these systems in the lives of criminalized refugee youth through a three pronged theoretical approach that includes a posthumanist non-3  speciesist position (see Chapter 2), a theory of performativity (see Chapter 4), and institutional policy and processes (see Chapter 3).  Speciesism1 is the view that one’s own species is superior to all others. Speciesism is specified in anthropocentrism: the idea that humans are the superior species. Humanism is a broader term that describes a range of anthropocentric discourses grounded in the supposition that humans are separate from and superior to all other beings (i.e. to nature/animality), and therefore deserving of special respect; humanism is essentially speciesist and anthropocentric. Conversely, posthumanism is a philosophical and methodological approach that problematizes the humanist thesis of human uniqueness and superiority (Anderson 2006; Sundberg 2013). From the humanist viewpoint, the category of non-human nature comprises objects, including non-human animals, plants, and inanimate objects. While humans are viewed as independent agential subjects, non-human entities are deemed to lack agency, spirit, culture, and the faculty of mind (thought) that define subjecthood. Further, while members of the human category embody intrinsic value, non-humans have value only insofar as they are useful for humans and therefore may be legitimately exploited, harmed or killed. In Butler’s (2009a) terms, their lost lives are not grievable. Another important feature of humanism concerns the definition of the universal human as uniquely rational and autonomous (i.e. exercising independent individual free will). However, since historically not all humans have enjoyed these “universal” qualities (e.g. women, children, persons with disability, criminals), they become “subhuman.” Subhumans (nominally human beings who are deemed to lack essential human traits) and non-human entities are seen to lack rationality, independence, and autonomy (they are instead subject to primitive “natural” forces such as instinct or passion) (Anderson 2006; Deckha 2010; Wynter 2003). Wolfe (2003) suggests that the discourse of speciesism/humanism sits at the theoretical and methodological intersection of figure (connoting language and systems of representation) and institution (entailing specific approaches and material practices); to query the institution of speciesism/humanism is to pay attention to the inequitable material effects of anthropocentric discourse not only on non-human life forms but also on different groups                                                       1 Richard Ryder coined the term “speciesism” in 1970 to draw attention to the similarity between species prejudice and racism, sexism, classism, and other -isms that express prejudice based on morally irrelevant difference (Ryder 1971). 4  of humans. As Haraway indicates in the opening quote, the logics of race, sex, culture, and class interweave with species to create bodies that may or may not be legitimately subjected to violence and oppression. The White, able-bodied, heterosexual, male adult from a middle-class background epitomises the rational (human) norm, which in turn enables the production of a hierarchy of race, gender, class, age, and species in terms of supposed rational capacity, and a reading of the domination of the inferior by the superior as natural and even democratic. Liberal humanism denies rationality not only to animals, but also to women, children, people of non-European origin, non-human animals, criminals, savages, and others taken to be lacking in a basic trait of subjectivity and therefore adjudged less than human (Anderson 2006; Haraway 1989). Building on these ideas, the perception of Others (e.g. criminals, refugees, Muslims, children) as less rational or akin to animals (i.e. closer to nature) justifies harsh treatment because that is how humans treat non-human animals (Deckha 2010; Patterson 2002).  The youth who took part in this study exemplify the ways in which Others may be treated: they were contained in cages, denied access to human rights (Chapter 6), rendered disposable (Chapter 7), and frequently subjected to violence at the hands of law enforcement and correctional authorities (Chapter 8). The story of Hussein Jilaow, who arrived to Canada as a teenager and subsequently accumulated 13 criminal convictions, further illustrates the violence with which certain bodies may be treated. He was deported in 2007, aged 26, to Somalia, where he was killed soon after arrival (MacDonald 2007; McIntyre & Giroday 2007). Although the youth I spoke with had not been deported, I find that their lives are constructed as disposable in other ways, including through their removal from society by incarceration, loss of Permanent Residence status, homelessness, poverty, expulsion from school, illiteracy, and dependence on social assistance. Scholarship has demonstrated that Western science, politics, theology, law, and philosophy are thoroughly beholden to the humanist worldview (Agamben 2004; Anderson 2006; Calarco 2008; Haraway 1989) (see Chapter 2). Deeply entrenched cultural narratives affect individual lives in part through institutional policies and roles that filter cultural frameworks (Haraway 1989). The notion of the ideal human as rational, White, middle-class, adult, innocent, peaceful, deserving, civilized, Christian, autonomous, and able-bodied has roots in colonialism, Orientalism, and slavery. In Canada, these qualities signify and contain 5  the figure of an ideal human citizen subject (Thobani 2007). Conversely, the youth I spoke with were of Black, West Asian or Arab origin, Muslim, young, poor, violent, culpable, and several had disabilities. Their experiences offer important evidence that has not previously been explored of the ways in which humanist categories and exclusions are reproduced through institutional policies. Given this, the two-part question my research sought to answer is: What can the lived experiences of criminalized refugee youth in Metro Vancouver reveal about the ways in which the human and sub/non-human figures are operationalized in Canadian institutions and policies and, correspondingly, what can an exploration of institutionalized humanism in criminal justice policy and discourse reveal about the experiences of criminalized refugee youth?   1.3 Key Arguments and Contributions There are a number of directions from which to explore how a broad cultural narrative, humanism, is operationalized within institutional policies. By “operationalize” I mean both ‘to put into operation or use,’ and ‘to define a phenomenon that is not directly measurable, although its existence may be perceived through other phenomena.’ I adduce and define the operation of humanism in institutional policies that affect the young people I spoke with through the erasure of young people’s stories, in the denial of human rights, in their construal as disposable, and in their subjection to violence. In my analysis, I focus on dehumanization, the process of denying recognition of the human status of a being that is phenotypically human. The denial of rights, personal history, value, and protection dehumanizes the criminalized refugee youth who participated in this study by excluding them from the set of “bodies that matter” (Butler 1990) and denying them the rights and protections that accrue to humans. The concepts of objectification and animalization are closely related to dehumanization. Because only humans are subjects, while Others are objects, then to dehumanize is to objectify. Animalization is a specific form of dehumanization which Olsen defines as “the equation of the marginalized human with a negatively conceived of animal” (2014, 8). All of these processes affect the youth I spoke with. Dehumanization produces the sub- or nonhuman figure. The subhuman and the non-human are not identical; although the humanist separation of nature and culture is supposed to be definitive, the place of liminal humans is uncertain. In the epigraph, Fuss (1996) draws 6  attention to this conceptual elasticity. Deckha (2008) suggests that the subhuman is an “animalized human,” superior to animals but lacking key features of human subjectivity. In my analysis, this is the ambiguous category into which the youth I spoke with are subsumed as a policy outcome. Critical scholars have shown how racialized people (Eze 1999; Mawani & Sealy 2010; Said 1979; Smith 2012; Thobani 2007), children (Alvi 2012; Cornell 2016; Kaplan 1996; Kincaid 1998; Naffine 2011; Naffine 2012), poor people (LaGrange et al 1999; Olsen 2014; Stoler 1995; Scott 2000), criminals and refugees (Canton 2010; Mawani & Sealy 2010; Olsen 2014; Thobani 2007), and persons with disability (Mitchell & Snyder 2003) are dehumanized through social, political, and legal processes that construct them as savage, irrational, excessively emotional and sexualized, and lacking in self-restraint. Consequently, my focus on criminalized refugee youth enables an examination of the experiences of a group of people who endure profound dehumanization on many levels (race, class, age, criminality, refugeehood, and so on) in diverse institutional contexts.  The conceptual mechanisms through which dehumanization is effected comprise the categories of intra-human identity and oppression, including race, class, gender, age, and ability. At a fundamental level, as I show in Chapter 2, these categories are expressions of being less than human and it is not possible to comprehend dehumanization or animalization without examining what it is that dehumanized beings are denied, namely, humanity (Anderson 2006; Deckha 2010; Salih 2007a). Therefore, posthumanist scholars such as Salih (2007a) in the quote above urge that analysing the categories of intra-human oppression requires consideration of species (also Deckha 2006; Anderson 2006). Building on these ideas, in “The Subhuman as a Cultural Agent of Violence” Deckha (2010) suggests that the human/subhuman dynamic sustains violence against certain categories of human who are put into the subhuman category by virtue of their race, class, age, gender, or other socially constructed difference (such as criminality). Specifically, she argues that the “animal” and the “subhuman” work as conceptual vehicles to justify violence or, as she puts it, the subhuman is a “violence producing category” (Deckha 2010). In other words, “subhuman” is a discursive classification that beings may be placed in to normalize and justify abuses and violations against them. Following from this, as a consequence of their raced, classed, aged, criminalized, and refugee identities, the youth I spoke with become aligned with an 7  animalized/subhuman figure that may be denied personhood and human rights, rendered disposable, and subjected to violence, including caging, beating, and chaining (methods commonly used on non-human animals). Through these means they are denied autonomy, independence, and value; stated otherwise, they are denied the attributes that characterize the human figure. Understandings of who is human have historically excluded many individuals currently viewed as human today (Deckha 2008; Fuss 1996; Salih 2007a); for example, Canadian women have only recently achieved personhood. The concept of the human has proven flexible, expanding and contracting in different time periods to include or exclude certain beings within the purview of personhood and extending or retracting access to rights on that basis (Deckha 2008; Fuss 1996). Thus, Anderson argues that “humanity is not an essence, but a shifting mode of being” (2006, 2). However, rather than querying how bodily and behavioural markers become signifiers of humanist hierarchy and inferiority, most studies of dehumanization focus on the “offensive” comparison of disabled people, Muslims, the working classes, or other marginalized groups with animals as an instrumental means of propping up the White Western self (e.g. Mawani & Sealy 2010; Razack 2008; Wynter 2003). Posthumanist scholars caution that such accounts neglect the discursive force of the figure of the human as constructed in classical and Christian humanism against nature that inspires raced, classed, and gendered social arrangements, and also take for granted the degraded status of the “animal,” thereby leaving intact the anthropocentric foundations of humanist oppressions (e.g. Anderson 2006; Deckha 2006; Ko 2015a; Sundberg 2013). This study addresses that gap by examining the lived experiences of criminalized refugee youth at the intersection of four institutional logics (criminal justice, immigration, education, and social welfare). Based on data gathered from diverse sources, including 55 interviews with youth and professionals who work with them, I show how the refugee youth who took part in this study are subjected to violence, denied human rights, see their personal histories erased, and are constituted as criminalized and disposable. I focus on these four aspects of dehumanization because they arose clearly from the interview data and also exemplify the ways in which other-than-human bodies are treated. Specifically, the youth I spoke with were put in cages, prohibited from obtaining citizenship, separated from mainstream institutions such as schools and the labour market, prevented from obtaining 8  citizenship, stigmatized, rendered homeless and dependent on income assistance, denied the ability to make decisions about their life, subjected to violence, their personal histories of refugeehood and trauma were rendered irrelevant, and they were permanently labeled as dangerous and undeserving. I argue that these conditions are the result of policy choices made within the context of institutionalized “state humanism,” by which I mean institutional or structural humanism that arises out of political and social structures and institutions rather than solely as the result of individual intent. Policies, as textual and discursive mechanisms that allocate value and reify particular class, gender, and racial interests, are based on narratives that perform capitalism, patriarchy, anthropocentrism, and colonialism (Atwood and Lopez 2014; Prunty 1985; Weaver-Hightower 2008). Policy narratives connect the lived experiences of the young people I spoke with to the liberal humanist cultural frame that provides the focus of my theoretical argument. Specific policies that I examine include: the criminalization of schoolyard violence, school suspension/expulsion, rules that restrict access to Record Suspensions, the funding of settlement and youth services including counselling, the availability of rehabilitative programming, policies around the breaching of court orders, colour- and immigration status-blindness, discrimination on the basis of a criminal record, extensive use of segregation and force in prison, the disproportionate criminalization of poor and racialized people, the focus on offense over offender characteristics, and immigration rules around family separation, citizenship acquisition, deportation, and loss of PR status. I focus on these policies in order to shed light on the operationalization of humanism in material-discursive practices that affect the young criminalised refugees I spoke with. The construction of policy problems involves judgments about what is problematic and what is normal, what constitutes knowledge, who can speak, and who is responsible (Colebatch 2012; Rose & Miller 1992; Zittoun & Demongeot 2009). The voices of the marginalized, such as the criminalized refugee youth who took part in this study, are rarely heard in policy discussions. The silencing of young people and the rejection of their personal histories is dehumanizing because this is the way that nonhumans are treated (i.e. as having no voice or relevant knowledge). I bring together ideas about humanity and animality, institutional policy, performativity, and precarity through a focus on the roles played by the figures of the 9  “human” and the “animal” in liberal humanism to suggest that policy discourse and practice perform particular figurations of the human through their effects in the lives of the criminalized refugee youth who participated in this study. Specifically, I argue that policies related to criminal justice, immigration, education, and social welfare regulate inclusion in the human community by specifying who may be subject to violence and denied human rights, and by determining whose lives, bodies, and opinions matter. The humanist separation of humanity (culture) from animality (nature) is operationalized in policies based on persistent narratives with roots in slavery, colonialism, and Orientalism that construct the criminalized Black/Muslim refugee youth I spoke with as closer to nature and perform the human and nonhuman figures that sustain dehumanizing discourses and practices. In short, institutional policies and practices both reinforce and are nourished by anthropocentric humanist discourses about humanity and animality that produce the oppression and marginalization my research participants experience.  When I say that policies perform the human and sub- or non-human figures, I mean they enact those figures as an effect of the policies in question. Performativity means that statements and representations produce rather than merely reflect reality. To suggest that criminal justice policy and processing is performative is to assert that criminal justice models and tools are not, as conventionally understood, inert reflections of an external world. Rather, these tools and models actively bring the world into being by producing racialized, gendered, classed, and animalized identities within the dominant cultural discourse. In part, this occurs through the disproportionate criminalization of poor and racialized people (see Chapter 3). Thus, criminological categories are discursive products of the social structures that produce the criminal behaviours and individuals to which they refer, while, at the same time, the categories influence how state agents (i.e. police, corrections) interpret behaviour (Balluci 2012, 205). The notion of criminals and racialized Others as bestial, savage, irrational, and lacking in self-control promotes their containment in cages and the use of violence against them; in turn, caging and violence are dehumanizing because they entail a rejection of the right to be treated as a human (i.e. to be treated as a white, middle-class, able-bodied, male). In other words, the criminal as beast, and the figure of the irrational and violent, young, jobless, Black male, are products of the criminal justice system rather than entities that exist prior to or outside of it. As Butler (1990) insists,  10  There is no subject who is ‘free’ to stand outside [social] norms or to negotiate them at a distance; on the contrary, the subject is retroactively produced by these norms in their repetition, precisely as their effect…Performativity cannot be understood outside of a process of iterability, a regularized and constrained repetition of norms. And this repetition is not performed by a subject; this repetition is what enables a subject (95).  The institutional iteration of dehumanizing criminal justice and related policies reproduce the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with in the terms of a subhuman/animalized figure that may be denied human rights and subjected to violence and exploitation. By such means, the division between humans and Others is continually redrawn—iteratively performed—within and by the bureaucratic systems that frame the experiences of the young refugees who took part in this study.  Arguing that the institutional policies and practices I describe dehumanize the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with is likely uncontroversial. What differentiates this dissertation from most work on racism, immigrant settlement or criminal justice is the extension of my analysis beyond the functional construction of self and Other to a deeper investigation of dehumanization in terms of the profound role played by the figure of the human in policy discourse and outcomes. The solutions that conventional analyses of dehumanization propose tend to center around recognizing the common humanity of denigrated groups and extending to them the “universal” human rights that members of the dominant classes enjoy (e.g. Wynter 2003; Razack 2008). However, Deckha (2010) suggests an expanded humanism that “really” applies to all human beings perpetuates the subhuman as a violence producing category; therefore, she insists on the importance of undermining the human/nature binary itself. Following from this, my aspiration is not for excluded people to gain admittance to the humanist category of “Man” (as a rational, autonomous individual unmarked by race, class or gender) but to put the category itself into question; rather than arguing for an extension of liberal humanism that would recognize the criminalized youth I spoke with as human, my aim is a transformation of humanism.   Personal Statement My views on the processes I describe are shaped by my personal commitment to non-anthropocentrism. More specifically, the youth who are the subjects of my analysis experience intense forms of exclusion and marginalization and my desire is to undermine that 11  dynamic by exposing the processes that create and sustain marginalization. I do this by revealing the ways in which the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with are dehumanized through the effects of institutional policies and I trace these processes to a particular figuration of the human to which they cannot conform. The question for me is not whether criminalized refugee youth “actually” engaged in behaviour that violates the Criminal Code, or even why they may have done so; indeed, all except one admitted as much and explained the circumstances. The focus of my interest and analysis is on criminalization and dehumanization, on whose actions are criminalized, and the effects of criminalization on lived experience.  My aim is not to design an ideal society but to uncover what lies behind existing processes in order to analyse the theoretical foundations of material practices that enforce oppression. Power is socially constructed and exceptionally malleable, and therefore justifiable by any number of logical devices. I cannot predict what forms social relations might take if people did not consider themselves superior to and separate from all other beings as in the Western tradition, but posing such questions is nevertheless a valuable exercise. The puzzled looks one encounters when opening up the question of the human reveal how deeply most scholars remain speciesist and humanist (Wolfe 2003). An interrogation of taken-for-granted discourses is needed at a historical point in which violence and oppression maybe used with impunity against bodies deemed less-than- or non-human. Focusing on species also offers a new way to think about the ways in which power and identity are inscribed in the lives of refugees and criminalized persons in Canada and therefore this dissertation makes a unique contribution to scholarship on immigration, criminal justice, and posthumanism. I want to believe that a more just society is possible: one where race, gender, class, age, ability, and species do not separate populations such that some may be legitimately subjected to violence, poverty, torture, maiming, fear, and death while others enjoy wealth, safety, privilege, and health. Admittedly, it is difficult to imagine that world,2 but that does not mean we must accept current arrangements.                                                        2 Drawing on Stone’s earlier work, Naffine (2012) suggests discarding the notion of a natural (“human”) bearer of rights and considering the sort of society we want, then working backwards from there to imagine a better world, which could include rights for non-human animals, rivers, and trees. 12  1.4 Chapter Outline Two contextual chapters follow this introduction. The first provides the conceptual scaffolding for the analysis that follows by reviewing the literature on liberal humanist species-thinking. This is followed in Chapter 3 with contextual background pertaining to immigration and criminal justice processes and patterns. Chapter 4 is a methodological section that outlines how I carried out the research, who I spoke with and what I hoped to learn, and the limitations of the study. Chapters 5-8 present my research findings. Organised around the themes of the value of personal histories, access to human rights, disposability, and violence, these chapters describe and analyse the institutional policies and processes that function to remove the youth I spoke with from the human ontology.  Chapter 5 shows how the category of subhuman prevents recognition of “personal histories” that define human being. This concern takes on greater significance given that the walls of the prison create a closed environment such that those on the outside rarely hear the stories of those inside. I focus on three key means by which the stories of the young people I spoke with are erased and marginalized. First I examine the rejection of their refugee status as a meaningful consideration in institutional processes. Dismissing refugee status also implies ignoring the trauma that is an integral aspect of my research participants’ refugee experience; these processes are related to the criminal justice system’s focus on offence over offender characteristics, a practice which promotes criminalization and punishment rather than understanding and support. Next, I turn to the lack of opportunities for young refugees to talk about or work through their experiences and the accompanying unrealistic expectations of youth in social service programs. Finally, I look at what happens when authoritative adults reject young people’s explanations for their behaviour. I argue that these processes objectify the young people I spoke with as the less-than-human “dangerous Muslim/Black male” or the “criminal alien.” These findings raise the question of whose knowledge matters and by what means some knowledges are disqualified from consideration. In the liberal humanist framework, only humans count; Others become aligned with the peripheral subhuman figure. The negation of young people’s stories is one way in which criminal justice policies operationalize the human/non-human boundary through the dehumanization of the youth I spoke with. 13  The erasure of personal narratives parallels the denial of human rights. This is the focus of Chapter 6, which reveals some of the ways in which the “human rights” (as defined in national and international legislation) of the criminalized youth I spoke with are violated. Within the boundaries of legal personhood, the term “human rights” signifies that all humans are entitled to basic assurances based on their common humanity; embodying the species identity “human” provides the rationale for receiving respect and rights (Deckha 2006). However, the organizing logic of human rights is essentially exclusionary; despite its universal pretentions, the liberal human rights project hangs on the figure of the classic liberal actor—an image of a rational, individualized, innocent, and autonomous “human” self—that relies on Othering and rejecting those who do not conform to the ideal (Deckha 2006). I focus on the denial of the following rights: to be aware of and able to access one’s rights; to trial in a reasonable time; to interpretation in criminal justice processes; to legal counsel; to non-discrimination on the basis of a criminal record; to not be racially profiled; to live with one’s family; and to housing. The key point is that denying human rights is a form of dehumanization that enforces species division. Human rights do not apply to non-humans because the category of “animal” (defined as property) prohibits the extension of personhood; based on the non-human status of the animal bodies to which they are likened, the criminalized refugee youth who took part in this study may legitimately be denied such rights. As long as the organizing logic of human rights discourse is exclusionary, liberalism will encourage ranking among humans. This is why analysis needs to go beyond the simple extension of human rights to scrutinize the institution of personhood. Chapter 7 picks up the thread to argue that, partly as an outcome of the denial of human rights and the negation of their personal histories, the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with are produced as disposable: disposability emerges as the cumulative outcome of their intersecting race, class, ability, age, religion, refugee, and criminal identities that combine to position them at the outer limits of humanity. I show how this occurs through: the expulsion of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with from school and their rejection by the labour market which create the structural conditions for poverty, dependence on welfare and vulnerability to homelessness; the “revolving door” of the criminal justice system; the removal of permanent residence status and deportability; and the overall disinvestment in programs for young people. Through such means, the criminal justice system defined my 14  research participants as dangerous, and then stigmatised and excluded them. The homelessness, incarceration, illiteracy, and poverty experienced by the youth I spoke with are dehumanizing because the ideal human is free, independent, middle-class, and educated. Conversely, refugee delinquents are removable and dispensable because, according to humanist logic, the category of subhuman implies disposability. Criminals, refugees, people with disabilities, and racialized minorities may be discounted precisely because of the widespread societal disregard for the non-human beings with whom they are associated. I argue that institutional policies that create disposability perform the separation of my research participants from the deserving category of human, and reinforce the contempt for animalized bodies that sustains humanism. Next, Chapter 8 applies Deckha’s (2010) work on the subhuman as a violence-producing category to the experiences of my young research participants to show the ways in which criminalized refugee youth are dehumanized through their subjection to physical and psychological violence from police, correctional staff, and family members. As their stories demonstrate, incarceration is a form of violence and prison is saturated with violence from intake to release. Frequent stops and searches by police are also violent events. These overlapping violent acts provoke a violent response in youth, creating a cycle of violent action/reaction that includes violence among peers. To treat with violence is to brutalize, to bestialize, to animalize. To brutalize is to turn an entity into a brute, in other words into a non-human figure (Seshadri 2012). Thus, the violence experienced by the young people I spoke with serves to dehumanize them. Violence is an expression of the carceral system and of the “politics of caging” (Morin 2015) that ultimately begets more violence, yet the debate over punishment is frequently posed in terms of necessity, with violence against Others seen as necessary for the civilized state to preserve itself and its citizens (Razack 2008). The construction of criminals as “beasts” implies that they are instinct-driven, lacking in rationality, uncivilized, dangerous, and inherently vicious (Olsen 2014). On the same logic, the criminalized youth I spoke with are construed as requiring and deserving of violent treatment. Simultaneously, violence is also dehumanizing due to its function in separating certain individuals from the rational, peaceful, innocent, and civilized ideal human perceived as deserving of protection. However, instead of countering dehumanization with humanization, we need to minimize the human/non-human boundary because as long as it 15  remains in place, it will be available for use by some humans against other groups of humans who, by virtue of being categorized as sub/non-human, become vulnerable to exploitation and violence (Deckha 2010; Patterson 2002). Finally, Chapter 9 summarizes my findings and analysis and reviews the study’s broader theoretical and practical implications. I conclude this introduction with a plea from Patience, a settlement worker who expressed to me her feelings about the study and what could be achieved by sharing young people’s stories with a wider audience, “This project that you are doing is a big thing because there is a huge pain in the hearts of these youth—it will really help to understand what the youth are going through.”                     16  Part 1: Context and Approach  Chapter 2. Liberal Humanism  “One thing in any case is certain: man is neither the oldest nor the most constant problem that has been posed for human knowledge. Taking a relatively short chronological sample within a restricted geographical area—European culture since the sixteenth century—one can be certain that man is a recent invention within it...And that appearance…was the effect of a change in the fundamental arrangements of knowledge…If those arrangements were to disappear as they appeared…one can certainly wager that man would be erased” (Foucault 1970).  “It is not simply that liberalism creates Others who then get plugged into a discourse of subhumanity and superhumanity. Rather, the humanist foundations of liberalism ensure that the liberal paradigmatic actor must always differentiate itself from the non-human, for the ‘good’ life articulated within liberal theories is a vision of human life that depends on the non-human for its claims to unique value. The sub-human is critical to the foundations of humanist and liberal theories, making their recuperation an implausible task” (Deckha 2010, 45).  “Each form of oppression is part of a single complex, interrelated, self-perpetuating system. The whole thing rests on a world view that says we must constantly strive to be better than someone else. Competition assumes that we are separate beings—separate from each other, from other species, from the earth. If we believe we are separate then we are able to believe we can hurt another being and not suffer ourselves…As long as we who are fighting oppression continue to play the game of competition with one another, all forms of oppression will continue to exist. No one oppression can be ended without all ending” (Bishop 2002, 19).   2.1 Introduction This chapter sets out the conceptual context that frames the analytical and empirical findings put forth in Chapters 5-8. Here I describe liberal humanism, the broad cultural narrative I argue underlies the experiences of my research participants through the performance of a particular figuration of the human as rational, atomized, and autonomous. Below, I show that, although this figure is posited as universal, it actually corresponds to the white, male, middle-class, able-bodied, adult. The non-conformity of the youth who took part in this study with these dominant norms puts them at risk of precarity, which creates vulnerability to criminalization, marginalization, and further dehumanization. In these ways, 17  criminalization produces the dehumanized figure that the criminal justice system purportedly describes, namely, the dangerous young Black male requiring violence and containment. I elaborate on these processes in subsequent chapters. Here, I focus on the central features of the human figure that underpins the dehumanization of the young criminalized refugees I spoke with.  After outlining the relevant features of liberal humanism, I differentiate it from the posthumanist standpoint that I take in my analysis. I then use a posthumanist perspective to draw out some of the links between liberal humanism, law, personhood, and criminal justice. Next I provide an overview of the historical development of the human figure as imagined in humanist discourse. I reveal the shifting and undefined nature of the human/non-human binary in order to show how humanism came to be the dominant framework in Western society, to underscore the fragility of the human figure defined as separate from and superior to nature, and to ground historically the performative relation of policy with the human/nature binary. These historical connections are important because performances are historically embedded as “citational chains” (Pratt 2009, 527) that connect past and present. Further, if we are to move forward into a posthumanist world, we have to understand where we have come from. Finally, I connect humanism’s historical trajectory to the categories of humanist identity to highlight the intimate connections among species, race, sex, age, ability, refugeehood, and class that shape the experiences of my young research participants.   2.2 Humanism and Posthumanism Humanism is a broad term that describes a range of anthropocentric discourses grounded in the supposition that humans are separate from and superior to nature/animality.3 Anthropocentrism refers to the notion that humans are the superior species; it is a form of speciesism (the belief that one’s own species is superior to all others). In the humanist                                                       3 The focus of my analysis is Western philosophical traditions. Other cultures may conceive the world in different terms than those proposed by Western humanism’s separation of humans from nature and understandings of subjectivity that follow from that separation. For example, despite important differences among Indigenous belief systems, a tradition shared by native peoples in the Americas involves the idea that humans, animals, plants, and even “inanimate” objects possess a common essence that includes agency and subjectivity; consequently, relations between humans and non-human nature are social relations. In this view, cultivated plants may be seen as relatives of the women who tend them, hunters may approach game animals as affines, and shamans may relate to animals and plants as associates or enemies (Viveiros De Castro 2004).   18  perspective, humans are independent subjects uniquely endowed with agency, spirit, culture, and thought, qualities which non-human objects (inanimate objects, plants, and non-human animals) are deemed to lack. While humans are perceived to have intrinsic value, non-human beings may be legitimately exploited, harmed or put to death. Another key feature of humanism concerns the definition of the universal human as rational, independent, and autonomous. However, not all humans are deemed to possess these “universal” qualities. For example, women, children, persons with disability, criminals, and others who experience periods of dependence, or who are judged to be deficient in rationality, find themselves submerged in the category of the sub- or non-human. The subhuman category includes beings that are nominally human, but lack or are seen to lack one or more of the essential features of humanity, including the refugee youth who took part in this study.  Posthumanist legal scholar Maneesha Deckha (2008) captures these ideas in a typology of humans and Others derived from Wolfe’s earlier scholarship on humanist species-thinking. Although the fundamental humanist division is between human and non-human, Deckha’s matrix reveals some nuances because the subhuman figure blurs distinctions between humans and non-humans. In her typology, “animalized animals” are those that that we kill, eat, enslave, torture, and mutilate. Above them sit “humanized animals” which share certain “human” features or with whom some humans form close bonds. Next, “animalized humans” are superior to all animals but different from full humans. Criminals, refugees, persons with disabilities, Africans, and Muslims are examples of animalized humans. The criminalized refugee youth I spoke with reside in this ambiguous subhuman category. Although they fall within the human range, their treatment is influenced by their proximity to animals. As the historiography below indicates, it has not always been clear whether subhumans mark the end of one category (animality) or the beginning of the other (humanity). Finally, “humanized humans” are exemplified by White, middle-class, able-bodied men (Deckha 2008). The human and animal figures signify opposing moral statuses in that the closer one is to the White male human, the more one matters (Ko 2015b; Salih 2007a). Although non-human animals (and plants) are disproportionately negatively affected, we all have a stake in the institution of humanism/anthropocentrism/speciesism because it also impacts relations among humans.  19  Broadly speaking, posthumanism is a non-anthropocentric philosophical and methodological approach that problematizes the thesis of human uniqueness and superiority and questions the strict separation of the human (culture) from the animal (nature). Simonsen (2013) distinguishes among three strands of posthumanist work: (1) posthumanism as deconstructive responsibility that focuses on the figure of the human and how it is established as an identity differentiated from other categories of being; (2) posthumanism as ontology, including cyborg ontology, and different ontologies dealing with the making of humans and non-humans as relational effects of anonymous forces; and (3) posthumanism as non-anthropocentrism that claims the social world is not only human and admits non-human actors into the social/political realm. More generally, Sundberg (2011) uses the term posthumanist to refer to a diverse body of work that seeks to move beyond the nature-culture divide through a relational approach that does not treat the human as an ontologically given or privileged actor, but instead views human and non-human as mutually constituted through social relations. My use of posthumanism corresponds to the first description provided by Simonsen, and also fits easily within Sundberg’s definition.  I apply a posthumanist lens to the experiences of the youth I spoke with in order to understand the effects of particular policies on their lives. I argue that that the overall effect of these policies is to dehumanize the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with, by which I mean they are denied the attributes of being a human defined in humanist terms as rational, independent, autonomous, and civilized. Animalization is a similar process that equates marginalized humans with the negative image of the animal (Olsen 2014). Dehumanization and animalization produce the subhuman (“animalized human”) and non-human figures as the Other of the ideal human.4 Later in this chapter I show how a particular human figure became universalized as an outcome of a historical process characterized by profound changeability in the human and animal categories. As a consequence of this instability, Salih (2007a), following Agamben, suggests that homo sapien is a device (“machine”) for producing recognition of the human; in other words, the problem is not determining what a human is in objective terms, but                                                       4 The categories lack absolute analytical precision partly due to the newness of the field of study and partially as a result of the inevitable messiness that results when interrogating problematic binary constructions such as nature/culture that have been so profoundly influential in every aspect of Western society. This dissertation represents a preliminary attempt to explore these complex discursive categories in an original empirical context.  20  understanding who is recognized subjectively as a human being. The machine does not uncover a uniquely human trait that achieves a neat break with animality because no such trait exists (Salih 2007a). The discursive concept of “animality” homogenizes radically different forms of life; the human figure defined in opposition to diverse animality has proved extremely plastic, expanding and contracting in different time periods to include or exclude certain beings within the purview of personhood and extending or retracting access to rights on that basis (Deckha 2008). Deciding what constitutes the human and the animal is not a neutral scientific or ontological matter; the stakes are political and ethical because the division opens up the possibility for the exploitation of all those defined as not fully human, including many humans and all non-humans (Calarco 2008).  The modern anthropological machine animalizes certain humans by characterizing Others as having animalistic traits despite being human-like; thus, the human is not a biologically fixed organism but a “field of dialectical tensions” (Agamben 2004, 12). Accordingly, my research does not ask whether the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with are human, but whether and how they are recognized as such, or not. Agamben (2004) suggests that the process of distinguishing between human and non-human animals is constitutive of humanity; this study is situated within this framework in that I argue that the policies which function to place the youth who participated in this study into the category of “animalized human” perform the human and sub/non-human figures. Institutional practices and policies operationalize the humanist figure of Man5 and demarcate the human from the non-human by placing the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with into the latter category. The ideal human and his Others are ranked on a scale that simultaneously tracks a colour and species descent because the White, able-bodied, male adult from a middle class background epitomises the rational (human) norm. With respect to race, Ko (2015a) unequivocally states, “‘White’ is not just the superior race; it is also the superior mode of being. Residing at the top of the racial hierarchy is the White human, where species and race coincide to create the master being. Resting at the bottom as the abject opposite of the human, of Whiteness, is the (necessarily) nebulous notion of ‘the animal.’” This construction in turn enables the production of a hierarchy of race, gender, class, age, and species in terms                                                       5 “Man represents the western configuration of the human as synonymous with the heteromasculine, White, propertied, and liberal subject that renders all those who do not conform to these characteristics as exploitable nonhumans, literal legal no-bodies” (Weheliye 2014, 135). 21  of supposed rational capacity. Liberal humanism denies rationality not only to animals, but also to women, children, people of non-European origin, non-human animals, criminals, savages, and others taken to be lacking in a basic trait of subjectivity and therefore considered less than human (Anderson 2006; Haraway 1989). Grear (2015) points out that while rationality is conceptualized in disembodied terms, to be recognized as rational has historically required the identification of maleness; the disembodiment of reason therefore rests upon the privileging of male physiology. This process is also racialized: Black, Muslim, and Indigenous men historically have not been recognized as the paradigmatic rational knower (Grear 2015). The attachment of rationality to White male bodies is masked by the liberal discourse of objectivity, neutrality, formal equality and universalism. The presumed disembodiment of rationality and its associated subject/object relations assume a set of “feminized” Others, including the criminalized refugee youth who took part in this study, that serve as objects to the knowing masculine gaze of Man. These Others signify the irrational embodiment attendant on non-rational, objectifiable nature and animality (Deckha 2010; Grear 2015).  Building on these ideas, the perception of Others (e.g. criminals, refugees, Muslims) as less rational or akin to animals (i.e. closer to nature) justifies their harsh treatment because that is how humans treat non-human animals. Speciesism has been fundamental to the development of Western subjectivity, which relies on the sacrifice of animals and animal-like beings to make possible a “symbolic economy” that includes the “non-criminal putting to death” of other humans by marking them as animal (Wolfe 2003, 6). Because the discourse of speciesism is so firmly institutionalized, while the concept of the human is so malleable, the discourse can be used to mark any social Other, as I argue it marks the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with. Thus, the logics of race, sex, culture, class, and species interweave to create the basis for legitimate violence and oppression. For example, Kochi (2009) shows how the legal mechanisms for determining what constitutes legitimate violence rely on judgements about the value of different life forms, which is in turn an extension of the valuation of the human above the non-human. He argues that divisions which follow from the human/animal life value distinction include Hellenes and barbarians, Europeans and Orientals, Whites and Blacks, civilized and uncivilized, Nazis and Jews, Israelis and Arabs, 22  and colonizers and the colonized (Kochi 2009). To his list, I add criminal and innocent, and refugee and citizen.  Patterson (2002) takes an analogous approach in Eternal Treblinka: Our Treatment of Animals and the Holocaust, in which he demonstrates that the roots of the Nazi genocide and eugenics programs lay in the enslavement, selective breeding, and slaughter (especially in its industrialized forms) of non-human animals. He suggests, “Our victimization of animals has served as the model and foundation for our victimization of each other…First, humans exploit and slaughter animals; then, they treat other people like animals and do the same to them” (109). For example, in slave societies the same methods used to control non-human animals (e.g. castration, branding, whipping, chaining, ear cropping, hobbling) were used to control enslaved humans (Patterson 2002). Similarly, in the contemporary criminal justice system caging, chaining, beating, electrocution,6 and limiting diet, all practices used on animals, are commonly used on human prisoners. At the same time, the supposed divide between “humans” and “animals” provides a standard by which to judge certain people; if the essential human is defined by characteristics such as reason, language, manners, religion, and culture then it follows that any entity that is deemed to lack those qualities (such as my young research participants) is “subhuman.” Thus, hierarchical thinking built on the enslavement/domestication of animals justifies and encourages the oppression of people regarded as “animal like” (Patterson 2002). In these contexts, posthumanist scholars argue that the inferior status accorded non-human life naturalizes and provides the foundation for exclusionary beliefs and practices concerning sex, race, age, class, and ability (Sundberg 2013a). By virtue of their raced, classed, gendered, aged, ableised, criminalized, and refugee identities, the youth I spoke with may be denied personhood, autonomy, and human rights, rendered disposable, and subjected to violence. Deckha (2010) illustrates these ideas in “The Subhuman as a Cultural Agent of Violence,” in which she suggests that the ideal, rational, autonomous actor requires an Other against which to define himself. She argues that the “animal” and the “subhuman” work as conceptual vehicles to justify violence; the animalized (sub)human is a “violence producing category” into which entities may be placed in order to legitimate the use of violence against them. Deckha’s analysis suggests that the discursive removal of certain groups from the                                                  6 i.e. by Taser 23  human ontology based on claims that they are irrational, hold barbaric values, have inferior belief systems, behave like animals, and so on, justifies violence perpetrated against these groups which would not otherwise be acceptable (Deckha 2010). For example, Patterson (2002) shows that by describing Jewish people as “vermin” and “pigs” the Nazi regime convinced the German public of the necessity of their extermination. Refugees are also contained in “concentration” camps and similarly dehumanized as parasites, scum, floods, and waves (Canton 2010; Cohen & Deng 1998). According to Patterson (2002), the Nazi’s use of animal terms to dehumanize those in the camps combined with the degraded conditions in which they were kept to create a positive feedback loop that made treating the prisoners like animals even easier, since they supposedly looked and smelled like animals. I identify a similar cycle in my analysis: due to persistent narratives that construct Africans, Muslims, children, people with disabilities, refugees, and criminals as subhuman, my young research participants experience precarity and criminalization, which produces further marginalization, desperation, violence, and re-criminalization. These conditions in turn create the violent and angry young dark-skinned men that the criminal justice system claims to manage.  Deckha (2010) argues that in contemporary times, Others are those whose perceived lifestyles threaten the liberal order, such as the criminal, the Muslim, and the refugee—in other words, the very categories at play in my analysis. She focuses on the war on terror, forced labour, and the laws of war to argue that camps such as the one at Guantanamo Bay are not merely techniques of ensuring security, but a way of arranging who is and who is not part of the human community (Deckha 2010). In a similar manner, Razack suggests that camps such as those in Iraq and Afghanistan, which tend to contain racialized individuals construed as criminal, terrorist or migrant threats, represent an “ominous, permanent arrangement of who is and who is not a part of the human community” (2008, 176). 7 I apply these ideas to the Canadian criminal justice system (and related bureaucracies in education, welfare, and immigration) to reveal the ways in which the intersections of particular institutional policies and practices dehumanize the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with,                                                       7 To illustrate these points, Razack quotes an interview in an American newspaper in which a resident stated, “To the country boys here, if you’re a different nationality, a different race, you’re sub-human. That’s the way that girls like Lynndie England [the American soldier pictured leading a naked Iraqi detainee with a dog collar and leash] are raised. Tormenting Iraqis, in her mind, would be no different from shooting a turkey. Every season here you’re hunting something. Over there they’re hunting Iraqis” (Razack 2008, 77).  24  while also reinscribing an imagined species division. While Razack’s antiracist work is conducted within the limits of humanism, I follow Deckha (2006; 2008; 2010) to analyse the plasticity of the border between the human and the animal that provides the ground and justification for racial discrimination “as an instrument of power that engenders the abject experience of animalization” (Seshadri 2012, 12).  Central to practices of dehumanization and animalization is the valuation of reason over emotion, culture over nature, and man over woman (Deckha 2006). One of the most ingrained legacies of Enlightenment thought is hierarchical dualistic thinking. Examples of foundational binaries that continue to shape conceptions of humans and Others include male/female, rational/irrational, human/animal, nature/culture, adult/child, mind/body, mental/manual, and civilized/barbaric. In dualistic thinking, the rational, the cultural, and the masculine prevail over the morally and mentally compromised, emotional, instinctual, and feminized Other, with propertied, White, European males positioned as the ideal model of being. Within each contrasting set of dualistic concepts, virtually everything on the superior side represents forms of reason (mind); correspondingly, almost everything on the underside signifies forms of nature (matter) (Plumwood 1993). In other words, ejection from the master category of reason conceptually links different categories of oppression and informs unequal contemporary social arrangements by ratifying a specific framing of the human, along with the violent repercussions for those considered to exist outside that category and marked as nature (Plumwood 1994; Sundberg 2011), including the criminalized refugee youth who participated in this study. The concern is not only the ways in which either/or binarisms conceal diversity but that the terms are arranged hierarchically and have ethical consequences for the lived experience of oppression and privilege, as my analysis shows.  Scholars of coloniality often use the concept of dehumanization to explain the treatment of racialized minorities, criminals, aliens, persons with disabilities, and other marginalized figures. The assumption tends to be that any comparison with non-human animals is offensive because of the negative status of the animal. However, that negative status, as well as the superior status of the human, is rarely questioned. At the same time, the existence of a White self defined in relation to a denigrated, darker Other is assumed rather than problematized (Anderson 2006). Analyses of dehumanization also tend to center on instrumentality with respect to the preservation of White privilege and identity. For example, 25  Gilmore (2007) argues that dehumanization is a necessary factor in the acceptance that millions of people should spend part of their lives in cages. In her insightful analysis, racism is the means through which dehumanization is normalized while, at the same time, dehumanization produces racial categories. However, by failing to explicate the mechanisms that make dehumanizing discourses so potent, such accounts neglect how a particular human figure provides the foundation for racism, sexism, and classism, which are therefore under-explored. Moreover, most critiques assume a fixed human figure into which excluded groups should be enfolded; the problem is that the figure is flexibly defined, so there will always be an opportunity to exclude certain groups, hence the necessity of interrogating the figure itself. While cultural critics have revealed the social constructedness of sexual, gender, and racial difference, they have been uncritical or supportive of the primacy of the human subject inherent in socio-biological narratives (e.g. Weheliye 2014; Wynter 2003). In other words, most identity-based political movements are anthropocentric.  In these contexts, some scholars argue that the critical target of progressive movements should be anthropocentrism (Calarco 2008; Deckha 2010; Sundberg 2013; Wolfe 2003). Overcoming anthropocentrism does not entail the rejection of specific location and the achievement of a race/class/gender/species-blind view from nowhere (Plumwood 1996). Acknowledging coherence among systems of domination also does not imply that each form of oppression must sink its identity into a massive undifferentiated movement (Plumwood 1994). In other words, the struggle to disable anthropocentrism is not to identify the “ground zero” of discrimination, but to ask that each form develop sensitivity to others at the level of practice and theory through an assertion of particular locations or identities and their explicit acceptance as important. Following from this, liberal theory cannot produce substantive equality because it dismisses the particularities of situated, living, corporeal beings that are fundamental to the achievement of justice (Grear 2015; Haraway 1988). In my analysis, these particularities include refugee status, culture, age, recent arrival to Canada, and other aspects of the personal histories of the youth I spoke with (see Chapter 5). Deckha (2008) acknowledges the resistance among some scholars and activists to embrace non-anthropocentrism based on the fear that including non-human beings in social justice movements will dilute the hard-won rights of minorities. However, ignoring the human/culture division that lies at the heart of racism, sexism, classism, ageism, and ableism 26  paves the way for future marginalization because it leaves the human/non-human binary in place and reproduces the “institution of speciesism” (Wolfe 2003, 2). Further, as Bishop (2002) cautions in the opening quote, viewing the struggle for social justice as a competition is unhelpful due to the interwoven nature of forms of oppression. Writing about the “race-culture-gender-species system,” Deckha (2006) argues that much of the institutional racism, sexism, homophobia, ageism, and so forth that intersectionality theories address stems from imperial discourses, including social Darwinist views about the value of different cultures, races, and human beings. Understanding the ways in which species and notions of animality shape conceptions of culture, gender, and race underscores the need for intersectionality theory to incorporate species difference (Anderson 2006; Deckha 2006; Ko 2015b; Salih 2007a).  Instead, dehumanizing discourses tend to provoke the counter-claim that “humanness” should be extended to all condemned peoples (e.g. Razack 2008; Scott 2000; Weheliye 2014; Wynter 2003). However, Ko and Ko (2015) argue that humanization is not simply the act of asserting that one is homo sapien, but the assertion of one’s resemblance to “humans,” in other words, to White people because the human is a conceptual way to mark European Whiteness as the ideal way of being homo sapien. The implication is that Others do not behave or look or believe properly, where “properly” is defined in Eurocentric terms. Stated otherwise, like my young research participants, they deviate from standardized forms of middle-class Whiteness, including adherence to a respectable religion and appropriate ways of carrying oneself. Other forms of being become exotic, primitive, irrational or animalistic. Following from this, attempts to humanize excluded Others by claiming that they “are human too” upholds the supposed superiority of Whiteness and will not overcome animalization because most people will not conform to what White Western middle-class males deem the proper way to live, look, behave, believe, know, celebrate and so on.8 Further, arguing that certain beings should not be excluded from the universal maintains the universal while expanding the dominating class (Deckha 2008; Plumwood 1994). Conversely, if the universals (e.g. White, man, human, citizen) are broken down, then so is                                                       8 This does not mean that all White men are deliberately and consciously animalizing others in order to prop up their own privilege or entrench a definition of the human that advantages themselves. The point is that there are raced, classed, and gendered institutionalized systems in place that privilege White skin and patterns of behaviour and disadvantage others. 27  everything that is compared to them in a negative way (e.g. Black, woman, animal, alien). Therefore, I do not argue that the young refugees I spoke with “are human” and should be respected on that basis, but instead call for a re-visioning of the human figure and the human/non-human binary it is based on.  2.3 Law, Personhood, and Criminalization  The above ideas can aid in understanding processes of criminalization, the role of which is to label and target the activities of groups that authorities deem to require control (Chan & Mirchandani 2002, 15). The terrain of criminal identification, despite its neutral scientific pretensions, is a fraught ethical and political arena in which justice is defined primarily as the systematic identification of crime and criminals. Pavlich (2006) suggests that the idea of a savage criminal type with unrestrained passions reflects the historical image of the Other against which Man’s ethically infused identity is defined. As Deckha (2010) suggests in the epigraph, the paradigmatic liberal actor, defined as the ideal human (rational, civilized, self-contained, and autonomous) fundamentally relies on the non-human (as irrational, instinctual, and primitive) for its assertion of value. In this sense, the criminal’s savage identity depends on a notion of the human as a being whose essence is defined in alterity with internal nature (characterized as passion, emotion, instinct) and external nature (the non-human world). Nature and reason are central to the modern construction of the universal subject as rational, competitive, autonomous, able-bodied, and self-interested; rationality, together with a notion of individual free will based on the conceit that individuals choose what they think, produces the autonomous liberal subject (Brown 2006, 152). The core of liberal thought is the belief in the rights and freedoms of the individual; in this perspective, legal subjects are separate autonomous beings who must be held accountable for their behaviours. The concept of rationality “naturally” restricts the extension of liberal equality (Goldberg 1993) and justifies harsh treatment for those defined as criminal because the risky dangerous Other is conceived of as being less rational (closer to nature) and therefore deserving of treatment otherwise reserved for “animals.”  Naffine (2011) explains that although the law is alleged to be impartial in its interests and composition, in practice it assumes that the human is an objective and fixed category of 28  being whose characteristics correspond to the White, male, adult, able-bodied individual. The law thereby excludes Others from the privileges of genuine personality and, therefore, of human rights, as I show in Chapter 6. Legal scholarship assumes that there actually exists a paradigmatic person (the rational, autonomous, individual adult) whose legal characteristics do not require analysis, and that there also exists a series of “limit cases” whose situation requires special study (e.g. foetuses, babies, the very elderly/infirm) (Naffine 2011). Weheliye (2014) suggests that Black, Indigenous, colonized, insane, poor, disabled, and incarcerated bodies also serve as limit cases. In this view, the human is perceived as discontinuous with the rest of nature as a species that is distinct and unique in its nature and value (Naffine 2011). Further, the human tends to be treated as an irreducible category that transcends place and time rather than as a legal construct whose content depends on decisions made by law-makers who serve particular cultural and political ends and answer to the interests of the powerful. It is the powerful who ultimately decide, according to their understanding of who and what matters, whether abstract rights should attach to an entity, thereby bringing a legal person to life; it is a political decision to personify rather than a function of the (supposed) nature of the entity (Naffine 2012).9  In his examination of the political economy of personhood, Mills (2011) points to “the reality that, historically and still currently, most humans were not and are not socially recognized persons” (2). For example, anyone experiencing a period of dependency (e.g. refugees, criminalised people, children, adults with impaired mental functioning, the elderly, many women, and people receiving social assistance) are not authentic persons because they cannot participate in a moral and political community of equals (Naffine 2011; Nussbaum 2006). Crucially, the attribution of personhood determines access to human rights. Naffine (2011) argues that by granting legal rights and duties, law establishes certain beings as legal persons, right holders, and duty bearers; conversely, by denying legal rights and duties, law “un-persons.”  In other words, the law can dehumanize. Criminalized people are commonly denied rights that others enjoy and this is accepted because of their dehumanized or animalized status. In her tracing of the persistent image of criminals as “beasts” from the 16th century                                                       9 Weheliye (2014) illustrates the idea the law adjudicates who may possess a body (habeus corpus) and, therefore, full humanity, through the Dred Scott case in which it was found that “Negroes” were not persons because their ancestors had been brought from Africa and sold as slaves. 29  until today, Olsen (2014) uses the concept of animalization to underline how describing a perpetrator as “savage” or as a “beast” suggests they are instinct-driven, bestial, and inherently vicious. Through such processes, prejudices about criminals being less than fully human have been validated and their harsh treatment before the law justified. As a consequence of the analogy between criminals and animals, methods of control such as caging, beating, chaining, and limiting diet have been generalized from use on animals to use on animalized humans (Olsen 2014). I find that in addition to these violent techniques, the youth I spoke with were also treated like animals through the erasure of their personal histories (Chapter 5), the denial of human rights (Chapter 6), and their treatment as disposable (Chapter 7). Coupling animality with crime contributed to the post-Darwinian foundations of Lombrosian criminal anthropology. According to Lombroso, a well-known 19th century criminologist, it could be proven empirically that certain atavistic and degenerate criminals resembled vicious animals and savage, primitive people. For example, Lombroso stated, “Many of the characteristics found in savages and among the coloured races are also to be found in habitual delinquents” (Chan & Chunn 2014, 5). Rather than being amenable to rehabilitation, criminals were perceived as incorrigible since signs of animality suggested that crime was innate in certain types of people just as deviance was thought to be in animals. The concept of the criminal was thus constructed in literature and law as a category of subhuman existence that could be treated viciously (Olsen 2014).  The animalistic, Lombrosian “born criminal,” though scientifically disproven, continues to influence popular representations of criminals today (Chan & Chunn 2014; Olsen 2014). Mawani & Sealy (2010) argue that colonial knowledges of racial inferiority underpin the disproportionate incarceration of First Nations and African Canadians; the idea that these groups have “natural” propensities toward crime has been discounted through empirical research, yet contemporary crime control narratives continue to connect racial identity with criminality and justice statistics support this claim (see Chapter 3). In a time of decreasing crime rates, the persistent fear of victimization by a racial Other reflects the fear of Black masculinity that has been an aspect of North American life since the colonial period (Mawani & Sealy 2010). Moreover, media headlines such as “Hunted Beast: Rapist Sought after Attack” and images from Abu Ghraib Prison of an American soldier leading a naked 30  Iraqi man on a leash demonstrate that the Western equation of criminals with non-human animals and the treatment of prisoners as beasts are not behaviors only of the past (Olsen 2014).  The dehumanizing and objectifying language of dirt and contamination in reference to crime and criminals is common in the media and in popular debate, with epithets such as scum, dirt, vermin, and filth commonly used to vilify offenders. Similarly, crime is likened to a beast, disease, pathology or virus (Canton 2010). Welfare recipients and criminals are parasites. Dehumanizing metaphors are also frequently enrolled to dehumanize refugees conceived as aliens, parasites, floods or waves. Canton (2010) points out that these figures of speech and thinking exercise powerful and subtle influence on the way that people perceive, understand, and respond to immigration or criminal justice debates. Thibodeau and Borodistky (2011) found that, depending on the metaphor presented to them, people thought differently about crime and favoured different solutions. The tendency to regard the offender or the refugee as different—as Other—neutralises compassion (Haidt 2012, 235). For example, the familiar metaphor of “war against crime” urges a view of offenders and, by association, their families and associates, as enemies to be conquered by force. The “war on terror” constructs Muslims in similar ways. In war, enemies are often likened to beasts, brutes, or animals; through these processes, the enemy (the criminal, the alien) becomes a legitimate target of violence undeserving of empathy or compassion (Kochi 2009; Canton 2010). As Deckha (2010) argues, racialization on its own is not enough; Others, whether criminals, refugees or enemy combatants, must also be dehumanized for the public to accept what is done to them. These constructions reify species divisions through the implication that normative humans, unlike the animalized humans who took part in this study, do not engage in “beastly” crimes (Olsen 2014).  Next, to clarify how the above ideas have come to dominate contemporary Western society and institutions, I show how the human figure has developed historically in such a way as to permit the rejection of criminals, refugees, and racialized Others from the human category.  31  2.4 Humanism’s Historical Development This section briefly traces the development of humanism and the ways in which humanist discourses have altered and accommodated to shifts in thought over time. I draw primarily on the historiographical work of Anderson, Wynter, Salih, Agamben, and Haraway, whose scholarship collectively shows that the question of whether and to what extent the human is separate from and superior to nature has absorbed Western scholars, theologians, politicians, scientists, and philosophers for millennia. As Agamben suggests, “In our culture, the decisive political conflict which governs every other conflict is that between the animality and the humanity of man [sic]” (2004, 80). In his analysis, the question of the animal was not merely one among many that was debated by scientists, theologians, philosophers, zoologists, and politicians, but the fundamental question that guided all other inquiries in ethics, politics, jurisprudence, science, theology, and philosophy, and which still confounds resolution.  Given the complexity of humanism’s historical development it is not possible to encapsulate it here in a way that would do justice to the intricacies of the processes involved, which stretch from Aristotle and the Torah, through Linnaeus and the European Enlightenment, to the present day. Moreover, although humanism’s foundational dichotomies are crucial to my analysis, my purpose in this dissertation is to offer a critique of humanism based on the empirical work undertaken during my doctoral research rather than to provide a philosophical exposition. Therefore, I offer here only a brief précis beginning in the 16th century.  16th to 19th Century Kay Anderson (2000; 2006; 2012) and Sylvia Wynter (1984; 2003) focus on the period 1600-1850 to demonstrate how, over time, the natural order was secularized (even though many people continue to believe that it was divinely created) and came to be seen as more complicated than a simple chain. For example, Linnaeus’s “system of nature” offered a methodology for categorizing every form of life based on an idea of species (and race) fixity. While Linnaeus’s schema posited a place for humans within nature, his influential system included a hierarchy among homo sapiens that described civilized Europeans as being governed by “laws” and primitive Africans by “caprice” (Eze 1999, 13). Hegelian philosophy 32  also defined Africans as an inferior subspecies “without history.” Hegel argued that Africans lived in “barbarism and savagery in a land which has not furnished them with any integral ingredient of culture…The Negro is an example of an animal man in all his savagery and lawlessness” (quoted in Eze 1999, 127-8). Like Orientalism, which made “Orientals” out to be backwards, barbaric, and ahistorical, Africanism provided a means of dominating and representing Africa such that Africans and Orientals are perceived as primitive and less-than-human, lacking in history or culture. In the contemporary era, Canadian visible minority census categories continue this work, being comprised of national/political groupings (e.g. Korean) for all categories except “Black” and “Arab.” These flattening categories reinscribe the notion of a people without history.10 In Chapter 5, I suggest that the construction of Africans and “Orientals” as ahistorical underwrites the erasure of the personal and cultural histories of the youth I spoke with. Focusing on the discursive production of social groups in terms of base drives, proximity to nature, lack of civilized manners, sensuality, and infantilism, Anderson (2006) uncovers the ways in which rational capacity, correlated with skin colour, came to be seen as the crucial difference between racial groups (Anderson 2006). Her analysis shows that during the European Enlightenment, the argument for human distinction became elaborated as a stadial movement out of nature, with the capacity to “improve upon nature” through the application of European methods of agriculture imagined as the basis for a hierarchy among innate races. Imperialism furnished the means through which conceptions of what counted as human could be applied systematically as forms of classification; those who had transcended nature were civilized while those who had not were savages. Thus, racial hierarchy was the mechanism by which White Europeans in the colonial period placed groups outside of the legal and moral category of the human (Anderson 2006; Ko 2015b; Smith 2012). Savages (e.g. Indigenous Americans, Australians, and Africans) who did not engage in European cultivation techniques were deemed backwards and placed between civilized (finished) “man” and the rest of brute nature (Anderson 2006; Salih 2007a). This idea remains important today in the category of “animalized human” which I argue includes the refugee                                                       10 Ruddick (1996) notes that while most White Canadians would likely not dream of lumping Belgians, Poles, Norwegians, French, Czechs, and Italians into one category and considering them somehow linked to crime committed by a member of one of these, many readily lump Americans, Bermudans, Jamaicans, Ethiopians, Rwandans, Australians, Samoans, and South Africans into a Black category. 33  youth I spoke with. Through such discourses, propertied European males retained their claim to specialness and humanness, distancing themselves from their bestial origins by inserting “inferior” cultural and gendered Others as liminal humans between themselves and animals. The ascent toward civilization was simultaneously an ascent toward humanness in which Othered humans were animalized such that the construction of race contained within it assumptions about species difference; in other words, racial discourse is inherently a discourse on the human (Anderson 2006; Deckha 2008).  Like Linnaeus, Darwin also controversially proposed that humans were part of, rather than separate from nature. Building on his theory of evolution, the 19th century idea was that evolution no longer operated on physical “man” (who was already at the pinnacle of evolution), implying that racial types were relatively fixed. Racial diversity came to be understood as having been achieved so long ago that racial permutations had become permanent (Anderson 2006; Anderson 2012). At the same time, reason became both the defining feature of humanity and also a capacity; therefore it was possible for it to be not quite fully developed among some groups (Anderson 2012). Scholars began to hypothesize that savagery was in all humans but some groups had overcome barbarism through the application of particular forms of reason, while others still embodied it. Although the cause of differential development was debated, colder climates were seen as presenting greater demands thereby leading to enhanced development and more power over nature, and accelerating the process of becoming fully human. Racism and the human conceived as a movement out of nature were mutually constitutive. Through these processes, the faculty of mind, located in the head, came to be understood as the crucial agent of culture (Anderson 2012). Scientists sought to prove the thesis of human exceptionality in physical or material terms by demonstrating that the brain (rather than a mysterious mind/soul as in earlier explanations) was the seat of reason which provided the defining feature of humanity. However, some groups were seen to be arrested in the early stages, more tied to physicality (i.e. to body/nature), and having a less developed brain and intellect (Anderson 2006; Anderson 2012). These perceptions persist, for example in the recent claim by a DNA scientist that Africans are less intelligent than Westerners (Milmo 2007), and in The Bell Curve, which linked race, intelligence, poverty, and criminality (Herrnstein & Murray 1996). 34  Because of the importance of mental development in evolutionary theorizations of the human, measuring the intellect of different groups grew, in Anderson’s (2006) words, increasingly obsessive. Specifically, craniology became a centrally important science that also greatly influenced criminology (Anderson 2006). For example, the influential 19th century criminologist, Lombroso, ostensibly proved that criminals’ skulls resembled those of savages (Chan & Chunn 2014). Craniology allowed diverse modes of being to be categorized and ranked scientifically as craniologists and physical anthropologists correlated “known” levels of development with variations in skull size and shape as part of a larger struggle to establish both scientific racism and a notion of human life as somehow separate and superior to all other life forms (Anderson 2006). Unsettling the discourses of humanity, animality, culture, and savagery therefore furthers understandings of racism’s profound durability.  Salih (2007a) also examines the production of the “human” and the “animal” in the era of slavery. In an attempt to understand why “science” is so invested in proving the existence of a static boundary between humans and other creatures, she focuses on the discursive functions served by the orangutan in the works of Long and Buffon. Salih (2007a) argues that this effort, which has origins in Judeo-Christian religion and Cartesian dualism, has led to a continuous manipulation of the human/nature boundary to suit the politics of the day. According to Long, God had diversified the human species on the basis of intelligence. Based on this understanding, Long assembled a hierarchy with “apes” at the bottom, followed by “Negroes,” and from there the ascension continued through increasingly lighter complexions until the pinnacle of human perfection was reached in Whiteness and Europeanness. However, Long proposed that orangutans were human and that Negroes were also members of the same human subspecies. Insisting that Negroes and Whites were different subspecies, Long argued that Negroes were immoral, did not practice cultivation, produced no worthwhile art, and behaved in generally barbaric ways. Long also provided evidence of what he claimed were sexual encounters between apes and African women (Salih 2007a). Salih also describes Buffon’s alternative approach. Since primatology could identify no physiological evidence of human superiority, Buffon argued that an internal principle of thought distinguished humans from all other beings; only humans could think because God had uniquely conferred mind, thought, and speech on humans and these faculties were most developed among Europeans (Salih 2007a).   35  Salih (2007a) suggests that the discourse of Western primatology is sexualized and racialized because the definition of the gendered, White, Western self is fixed in relation to a dark, furry, feminized “ape” Other. Thus, she concludes, racism and sexism are forms of speciesism deeply invested in significations of the human and the animal. Racism and sexism create what Anderson (2000) terms the “racialized bestial,” which corresponds to the figure of the dangerous Black/Muslim male that overshadows the experiences of my young research participants. Notably, the debate over how to categorize “humans” and “apes” continues. In 1962, Goodman, an internationally renowned biological anthropologist, suggested that chimpanzees and gorillas should be included in the “human” family hominidae (Grossman & Wildman 2014). More recently, Wildman et al (2003) demonstrated that 99.4% of the functional DNA in humans and chimpanzees is identical. As a result, they suggest that chimpanzees and bonobos should be reclassified into the genus homo along with humans (rather than in pongidae with other “apes”).  Wynter’s (1984; 2003) tracing of the historical development of the human elaborates Anderson’s and Salih’s analyses. She explains that what Foucault refers to as the “invention of man” in the opening quotation references the redefinition of the human by Renaissance humanists on the secular model of a natural organism outside the terms of the theocentric, “sinful by nature” human on whose basis the hegemony of the Church had been justified. This reinvention, which had profound effects on subjectivity, was effected in two movements based on scientific developments that were made possible by colonization. The first shift took place from the Renaissance to the 18th century, and the second from the 19th century until today. According to Wynter (1984; 2003), during the earlier time period humans were redefined from religious subjects of the church to political subjects of the state. Fear of original sin, for which the cure had been godliness and repentance, was replaced with fear of the internal (passion, emotion, instinct) and external state of nature, for which solutions entailed following the orders of the state (Wynter 2003). The liberal political subject is a contemporary trace of the state of nature hypothesis developed by Hobbes, in which self-interested men engaged in a competitive war of all against all until a social contract was achieved by consensus under the auspices of a state through the creation of legal categories, including personhood. The contemporary institution of citizenship connects intimately with 36  suppositions of human rationality in part because of its foundation in the social contract: the civilized state is thought to have arisen via the social contract through the human application of reason to savage nature. Engagement in contractual relations requires rationality (Nussbaum 2006). Following the shift from Religious to Rational/Political Man, difference was charted onto the separation of divinely-created humans and divinely-created animals defined in terms of rationality. While earlier Others had been heretics, infidels, and pagan idolaters, the Others of Rational Man were the savage non-European peoples of Africa and the New World (Wynter 2003).  The second shift was from Political Man to what Wynter (2003) terms “Bio-economic Man.” She suggests that after Darwin insisted that humans are animals, the ruling classes needed to justify their privilege in different terms, leading to a further reconfiguring of difference to selected/dysselected (by evolution), or evolved/unevolved. Wynter reveals the ways in which the negative tropes attached to the 19th century figure of the Negro marked the culmination of a process that began in the 16th century with the Linnaean taxonomy of human population groups that had placed Africans at the bottom. Race was the colonial difference upon which the new human/subhuman distinction was to be grounded as a “law” that ordered which groups had been determined by nature to possess rationality and those classified by nature as people without reason. The former group was made up entirely of Europeans, who were perceived as “natural masters,” while the latter group (primarily Indigenous people and “Negroes”) comprised “natural slaves.” Thus the “ethnoclass” (Western bourgeois) conception of the human based on a notion of selection/dyselection was anchored scientifically on the “objective facts” of climatically determined phenotype. The principle of natural selection (in which one’s selected status could be verified by economic success) was institutionalized in the colour line and enforced by forms of socioeconomic domination that continue to this day (Wynter 2003), including through the criminalization and dehumanization of the young people who took part in this study.  For many people of European origin, the Renaissance “birth of humanism” represents a triumphal coming of age story. However, Wynter (2003) cautions that the other side of the humanist coin is dehumanization because to be not-Man is to be not-quite-human. This is precisely the situation of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with. Wynter argues that the ethnoclass genre of Man, which over-represents itself as the human, functions at all levels of 37  society, including race, class, gender, sexual orientation, ability, as well as in the creation of the criminalized, jobless, poor males and “welfare moms” as the central organizing features of North American society. However, despite the problems she identifies with the concept, Wynter would hang on to an anthropocentric notion of universal humanism that accepts human consciousness as unique; although she seeks to expand the definition of the human to include those who are not-Man,11 she sees the solution to humanist dilemmas in revisions to, rather than rejection of, humanism (Wynter 2003).  20th to 21st Century Donna Haraway (1989) takes up the trail in the 20th century. In Primate Visions she describes developments in physical anthropology that took place as part of the process of establishing human universals in politics, science, and the social sciences. She shows how the construction of “universal man” or, what it means to be generically human, is synonymous with Western scientific men, especially in the United States (US) in the 1950s when the definition of the human was being reconfigured and codified in United Nations (UN) human rights documents after World War II. Her starting point is the idea that evolutionary discourse, including paleoanthropology and primatology, is a form of imaginary history in which the “human” is a social construct rather than a biological given (Haraway 1989). As Anderson (2006) also emphasizes, species divisions depend on the questions asked. Following WWII, the newly formed UN undertook efforts to construct a universal human being as part of an effort to overcome the idea that non-White races were inferior subspecies, following the mass death and devastation that resulted from such thinking during the war. The agenda for physical anthropology in this context was to produce a human figure capable of sustaining the UN humanist discourse codified in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the 1951 UNESCO Statements on Race. Against the dominant scientific racist view that presumed the existence of human subspecies, some scientists sought to demonstrate the unity of humankind as well as its uniqueness relative to other species.                                                       11 Building on Wynter’s analysis, Weheliye (2014) wonders what different modes of being human become available if we do not take the liberal humanist figure of Man as the only form of subjectivity. He argues that accepting suffering as integral to human being, rather than a dehumanizing exception, would open up alternative understandings of humanity. Accordingly, he critiques strains of posthumanism that view the humanist subject Man as the figuration of the human to be overcome without considering other ways of being human. Weheliye would like to demolish Man but retain the “natural” human; I suggest that the two concepts are inseparable. 38  Behaviour, especially defined in terms of “way of life” or culture became a key concept, and “population” replaced race as the central object of scientific study. The new discourse focused on functional, behavioural adaptation to the environment rather than typological traits ranked from primitive to advanced. However, questions about inherited intelligence and of natural cooperation versus competition were fiercely debated; ultimately old ideas about race were adapted and recuperated into new notions of culture and population. Since cultures could be quantitatively ranked from simple to complex, far from transcending religion and politics, science provided a fertile ground for them to thrive in new forms (Haraway 1989). Contemporary scholars continue to try to link race to intelligence (Chan and Chunn 2014). The UN worked with physical anthropologists and social scientists to develop a unified vision of universal humanity via a re-historicization of the human based on an extrapolation of skeleton and muscle shape to culture, thereby providing a scientific basis for the construction of a universal humanism. The idea that through culture “man” makes himself became the basis of the unity of humanity and provided a new foundation for the Western separation of nature from culture. Since behaviour does not fossilize it has to be imaginatively reconstructed. Bipedalism and tool use (“culture”) were seen as enabling the hunting way of life as the crucial universal adaptation that separated humans from other life forms. Thus, “Man the Hunter” became the script for what it meant to be human in the Western sense of unmarked, universal species being (Haraway 1989). Conveniently, through hunting, men became natural providers, natural imperialists (since hunting requires territory), and natural aggressors and competitors. Sex differences in behaviour also evolved “naturally” from the hunting way of life: while hunting demonstrated universal principles, gathering (carried out by women) was defined as a localised practice. Male dominance hierarchy was deemed another key feature of universal humanity, necessary to maintain the social group, the core of which is the nuclear family. During the 1960s this universal vision would be deconstructed by feminists and post-colonial scholars who failed to perceive “universal man the hunter” in their experiences of what it meant to be human (Haraway 1989). This dissertation continues that deconstructive work.  Having traced the historical development of Man, I next show this figure underlies contemporary categories of humanist identity. 39  2.5 Categories of Humanist Identity In this section I highlight how constructions of humanity and animality resonate through criminalization in categories of human identity that both draw salience from and reinforce the human/nature binary. I focus on race, class, gender, age, ability, and refugeehood in order to better understand the experiences of the poor and racialized male refugee youth who took part in this study.   Race Many authors have argued that race remains a critical organizing feature of Canadian society. For example, Chan and Chunn state plainly, “Race matters, and in the context of crime and criminal justice, it matters a lot” (2014, xiv). Specifically, they argue that “laws and policies reflect the subjectivity of the powerful—the White, affluent, adult male. It is his behaviour that forms of the basis of proscriptions and remedies and it is he who those in power imagine when they construct the law” (xv). A review of the tortured descriptions of visible minority categories will dispel any doubt that race is a salient organizing feature of Canadian society. Galabuzi (2006) argues that the process of minority formation is central to the Canadian political economic order and that the term “visible minorities” fixes the identity of racialized groups for all time as the Other in Canadian society. Their interests will always be “special interests,” allowing the majority to feel justified in carrying out acts of oppression, discrimination, and aggression in defense of the interests of the majority, an ideological position that is reinforced by the media and educational institutions that maintain “invalidating myths” about minority groups (31). The creation of racialized minorities builds on the human/-non-human binary; according to Weheliye, racialization “comprises ongoing political relations that require, through constant perpetuation via institutions, discourses and practices, the omission of non-White subjects from the category of the human as it is performed in the modern West” (2014, 3). Chan and Chunn (2014) add that race is the key risk factor in determining dangerousness and criminality in modern Canada and underlies widespread anxiety about Black criminality based on the idea that young Black men are especially prone to crime. These ideas are exacerbated by the war on crime, war on drugs, and war on terror, which target primarily young Black and Arab men; meanwhile, politicians capitalise on middle-class anxieties by promoting tough-on-crime measures aimed at low-40  income populations (Chan and Chunn 2014; Thornhill 2008). As a consequence of these processes, the suspension of rights such as those that I describe in Chapter 6, and the violence that I detail in Chapter 8, appear not as violence, but as the law. Two “strands” of racism are most relevant for the current study: anti-Black racism and Islamophobia/Orientalism. Both have roots firmly anchored in Western humanism’s encoding of Africans and Muslims as bestial, savage, and barbaric (Said 1979). Since most of the youth I spoke to were both African/Black and Muslim, these discourses are critical in defining their experiences in contemporary Canada. Evidence of widespread hatred and fear of Muslims in Canada is overwhelming and there is not space to reproduce it here (e.g. Kazemipur 2014; Gova & Kurd 2008; Helly 2012; Perry & Poynting 2006; Razack 2004). Anti-Muslim media discourse portrays Muslims/Arabs as violent, evil, savage, deceitful, and warlike (Bakht 2006; Daro 2015; Smolash 2009). These ideas underpin the 2011 Herouxville Charter, Parti Quebecois Charter of Quebec Values, and Zero Tolerance for Barbaric Cultural Practices Act which passed into law in 2015, as well as rhetoric from senior politicians. The ban on facial coverings during the citizenship ceremony implies that some cultures are intolerant and “barbaric,” as stated in the Citizenship Guide (CIC 2012, 9).  Chan and Chunn suggest that “as these images become normalized, White subjects seek to distance themselves from the racialized Other, legitimating ideologies and images that mark the Other as inferior, irresponsible, immoral and subhuman” (2014, 19). At the heart of these ideas is a perceived fundamental difference between Muslim and other cultures. Similarly, the existence of widespread anti-Black racism has been amply and repeatedly demonstrated by Canadian scholars and does not require rehearsal here (e.g. Abdi 2005; Bashi 2006; Block & Galabuzi 2011; Creese 2011; Dei 2005; Diene 2004; Galabuzi 2006; Madibbo 2005; Manzo & Bailey 2005; Masinda & Ngene-Kambere 2008; Oxman-Martinez et al 2012; Tanovich 2008).  Species thinking creates racial divisions. As Razack notes, “Racism is the denial of a common bond of humanity between people of European descent and those that are not” (2008, 6). Since racism requires animality in order to make sense, combating racism requires taking seriously the status of the animal as the opposite status of the human; therefore, understanding the racialization of criminal justice processes calls for a study of the human figure that underpins those processes. 41  Class Humanist assumptions about our inner animal, manifested in sensuousness, affect, and instinct, also flourish in theories of class relations. Stoler (1995) shows how discourses of self-mastery defined bourgeois selves in the colonies and were productive of both racial disparity and middle-class identity. Her analysis reveals the contingent nature of the middle-class family developed during the period of scientific colonial expeditions which proposed the ideal European family as a natural and universal social structure in contradistinction to the immoral organization of relations in “primitive” human societies and among non-human animals. Middle-class respectability, especially in the domestic sphere, was closely linked to racial affiliation. Because rationality is viewed as the ability to act contrary to the laws of our own nature, civility, self-control, and discipline aimed at taming/domesticating the savage inside us are productive of racial distinctions, which are in turn affirmed in the ideal patriarchal nuclear family as a key site of culture and civilization (Stoler 1995). The cultivation of bourgeois respectability also betokened a strategy to yoke the labour of the working-classes and of non-White subjects (and non-human animals) via the need for Other bodies to perform domestic services and ensure leisure time. Simultaneously, bourgeois morality was allied strategically with the authority of 19th century liberal states through discourses that revolved around the dangers of internal enemies defined in terms of class, race, and gender (Stoler 1995). An important hypothesis underlying class definition which arose during colonialism, and was developed further by Freud, is the notion that savage peoples, the mentally disordered, some women, children, and the working classes are unable to self-govern (Anderson 2000). According to Freud, in “primitive men…thought passes directly into action” without the intervention of reason (quoted in Brown 2006, 149). Based on these ideas, Gottfredson and Hirschi developed a General Theory of Crime suggesting that ineffective childhood socialization tends to produce an enduring criminal disposition characterized by a lack of self-control that remains stable over the lifetime of the individual (LaGrange et al 1999). Control theories take their philosophical orientation from a notion of humanity as separate from inhuman nature, and autonomy and rationality as the ability to tame the savage inside us. In this perspective, savages, unlike civilised people, are perceived to be subject to nature’s every whim. Thus, criminological control theories are also 42  fundamentally linked to humanist notions of race and class. In contemporary narratives, a large body of literature ostensibly demonstrates that middle- and upper-class children have a higher tendency to defer gratification than those of the lower classes, and that children from working-class or Indigenous backgrounds are more impulsive and physical, less diligent, and more easily excitable. In effect, lower class culture and racialized identity suppose an association with an eroded work ethic, reduced ability to control impulses and, accordingly, an increased propensity to criminality (LaGrange et al 1999).  Poverty is frequently linked to crime as people living in poverty are vastly overrepresented in Canada’s prison population. Pointing to the role of class position in sentencing processes, Comack & Balfour (2004) suggest that the legal system sees wealthier offenders as not only required lesser punishment (given their conformity with the capitalist system), but also deserving of such. At the same time, criminological theories such as Broken Windows Theory and Situational Crime Prevention conflate notions of appropriate spatial behaviour and organized (i.e. safe, law abiding) communities. Each theory suggests where crime can be expected to emerge based on an assumption of the absence of middle-class norms and therefore police tend to target poor neighbourhoods (Herbert & Brown 2006). As a result, wealthier offenders in Canada are rarely sentenced to prison. Thus, for Reiman (2007), the criminal justice system functions not to eliminate crime or achieve justice, but to project an image of the threat of crime as emanating from the poor. The focus on individual crime also acquits the social order of injustice; for example, if present property arrangements are legitimate then it is the violation of such arrangements by those without property that is deviant while, at the same time, poverty is seen as a sign of weak character (Reiman 2007, 171). Simultaneously, corporate crime is rendered invisible, with the result that the typical crime is seen as street crime and the typical criminal is imagined as a poor, young male (Snider 1999, 183).  Moreover, Olsen (2014) argues that intellectuals have long been in the habit of regarding the poor and uneducated as subhuman, beast-like, ignorant, squalid in their living conditions, excessively emotional and sexualized, and lacking the accomplishments supposed to be distinctively human such as literacy, numeracy, manners, and a middle-class sense of time and bodily comportment. Drawing on Wynter’s work, Scott (2000) suggests that the goal of our mode of production is not to meet the needs of all humans, but to secure the well-43  being of those whose identity aligns with the ethnoclass criteria. Bio-economic notions of freedom relegate people of African descent, the poor, the jobless, the homeless, and the underdeveloped to the ranks of not-Man. In Scott’s words, these are “expendable throwaways” (Scott 2000, 195). I return to these ideas in Chapter 7 to explore the role of disposability in the lives of the young people I spoke with.   Ability Since Descartes hypothesized the separation of mind and body, the body has been the abject Other of the modern subject even as it signifies subjecthood. Based on these ideas, the civilizing movement as understood by Europeans during the colonial era embraced a perception of change towards bodily conduct characterized by self-discipline and restraint. Increasingly, the civilized body needed to conceal its rhythms, was highly individualized, and competently managed; thus, the civilized body could be distinguished from the uncivilized by its control over bodily impulses and the extent of emotional suppression, with fear, shame, and disgust playing important disciplinary roles (Ellis 2000). Due to their perceived lack of restraint, “disabled” bodies, along with “fat” people, animals, and racialized peoples, are perceived as vulgar, gross, and out of control. By the same token, stereotypes about “crazy people” function to construct people with adaptive or developmental disabilities as mindless bodies containing rational and sometimes linguistic deficiencies whose opinions and sensibilities need not be consulted.  Focusing on the instrumental function of dehumanization in ableist discourses, Mitchell & Snyder (2003) examine disability and race within scientific management systems developed from the end of the 18th century to the conclusion of WWII. They suggest that eugenicists justified drastic measures for disabled bodies by expunging human attributes in order to turn disabled people into “biologies deprived of sentience” (856) based on the understanding that equality may be legitimately denied to bodies with deficiencies that make them less than fully human. For example, during their eugenics program, the Nazis murdered around 250,000 people with disabilities, yet those deaths are not widely recognised as a crime against humanity. Pointing to the intertwined fate of populations defined in terms of racialization and disability that share an identification as subhuman, the authors conclude that disability is a “master trope for human disqualification” (Mitchell & Snyder 2003, 859).  44  These ideas are amply demonstrated in the lives of people with mental illness in the criminal justice system, which includes several of the young people who participated in this study. Through a discussion of the disproportionate criminalization and deportation of the mentally ill and the false associations between mental illness and violence, Joseph (2014) shows how “technologies of violence owe their inheritance to the Orientalizing, discursive practices and disciplinary hegemony developed during colonization that reproduce the dehumanizing outcomes upon which they were built” (Joseph 2014, 273). Joseph argues that the treatment of racialized minorities diagnosed with mental illness allows for the erasure of subaltern voices. He suggests that the media routinely report incidents involving someone with a mental illness who has committed a crime by presenting the person as violent, aggressive, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. Consequently, as I also show in Chapter 5, the accused’s voice is not heard: like animals, their social, historical, and political contexts are not considered relevant (Joseph 2014). It is worth noting that, while explicitly racist terminology has been excised from Canadian policy, ableist formulations persist through, for example, the “Excessive Demands Clause” in immigration law which is used to prevent the immigration of people with disabilities to Canada based on the idea that they are dependent and burdensome (El-Lahib 2015; El-Lahib & Wehbi 2012; Wong 2011). The inferior status assigned to non-humans in humanist ontologies naturalizes ableist formations because such constructions draw their conceptual strength from the disparagement of non-humans in humanist frameworks. Taking this idea one step further, I suggest that the criminalization and marginalization of people experiencing mental illness performs the dehumanized figure lacking in autonomy and rationality by further animalizing bodies already deemed to be closer to nature and, therefore, inferior to normative humans.  Age Children in the modern era are frequently presumed to be closer to nature, lacking in rationality, driven by instinct and emotion rather than thought, and consequently not fully human (Cornell 2016; Kaplan 1996; Kincaid 1998; Naffine 2012). For example, the idea that children lack rationality is offered as a justification to deny them the ability to vote on laws that affect their lives (yet adults may vote, regardless of their level of political awareness or 45  extent of dependence or comprehension). Corporal punishment may be legally used against children, while the same action taken against an adult would be criminalised as “assault.” Children, criminals, and non-human animals comprise categories of beings with limited rights, against whom violence may be legally and legitimately leveled, due to their animalized natures. Schissel (2002) notes the ways in which the nuclear family has been constituted to aid capitalist production. The state responds to the demands of capital by helping to create and maintain (through medicine, education, and the law) the nuclear family as the legitimate family system in which the discipline necessary to create a productive capitalist society maybe produced and monitored. During the 19th century, the young were created as legal property (not persons) in the context of familial power relations and disciplinary techniques; the family/religion-based model of discipline and punishment was essential to the management of delinquent children and to the production of compliant and productive individuals. This model serves as the template of disciplinary techniques in modern institutions of social control (Schissel 2002). As a consequence, the juvenile justice system is largely reflective of class concerns (Ferdinand 2009) and therefore of humanism.  Fear of youth crime combines in complex ways with negative stereotypes about poor people and neighbourhoods, immigrants, minorities, and youth. For example, ecological theories arising from the Chicago school suggest that minority youths resident in marginalised urban communities are less able to achieve the dominant goals of society and are therefore more likely to turn to crime (Schulenberg 2003; Herbert & Brown 2006; Valier 2003). Chan and Chunn suggest further that criminal, racial, and class identities fuse together in the popular imagination in which young jobless Black males assume the dehumanized role of “folk devil” (2014, 15).  Gender Considerations of normative gender and sexuality also mark what qualifies as the human. The concept of the human harbours a masculine bias (among others) because the male/female and human/nature dualisms intertwine. Accordingly, feminists have devoted attention to the figure of the human in order to elucidate how the figure’s implicit gendering grounds the production of inequality through presumptions about feminine connectedness 46  with nature contraposed with male rationality. Those differences are affirmed in the ideal patriarchal nuclear family, organised in conformity with a notion of purportedly ubiquitous and naturally occurring male dominance, as a key site of culture and civilization (Haraway 1989; Plumwood 1996; Stoler 1995).  The Cartesian mind/body split has adverse implications for women, people of colour, the environment, and non-human animals who have historically been reduced to their bodies. Based on dualistic thinking, Western philosophers developed a vision of “universal” human justice that excluded women and non-elite men from the realm of humanity (Deckha 2006, 66). Not wishing to place women in an entirely different species category, philosophers conceded that women and men shared a common human nature but asserted that women had incomplete development of reason, humanity’s defining trait. Their supposedly inherent rational defect prohibited the extension of liberal human rights to women and other marginalized groups which become feminized by their association with nature (Grear 2015; Plumwood 1994). White men became the exemplars of human nature while White women (if they conformed to prescribed roles) became exemplars merely of women, not humans. In these ways, domination became a legitimate and depoliticized dictate of nature beyond human agency (Deckha 2006, 74).  Identity categories intersect in highly complex ways; as a result, people who enjoy privilege in some circumstances may experience oppression in others. To emphasize the intimate connections among species, race, and gender, Ko (2015a) argues that the “[White male human] comprises a single category” such that there are not three separate categories that create the top level of the humanist hierarchy (White, human, and male), but one. The male youth who took part in this study likely find themselves in positions of strength in some situations, based on their gender. However, when combined with race, age, and class in the context of criminalization, the male gender is perceived as dangerous and violent, with the young, working-class, Black or Arab male epitomizing the deviant, frightening, and dangerous dehumanized Other.   Refugeehood Racism, sexism, and classism also function to bind criminality with immigration. Media are crucial to the linking of immigrants, criminality, and terrorism, and constructing 47  the image of the dangerous Black immigrant male in the public mind (Chunn & Gavigan 2004; James 2002; Miller 2005; Mirchandani & Chan 2007; Roberts 2002; Warde 2013). Thus, following the highly publicised killing of a White woman by a Black man in 2005, the Canadian media drew direct connections between immigrants and violent crime, with one popular columnist stating, “Our culture is not used to this type of savagery” (Wortley 2009, 349). From a posthumanist point of view, the supposed contrast between culture and savagery points to a deeply held societal faith in the separation of humans from nature that is a core feature of penality in the humanist context. Arising from these ideas is the view of immigrants from primitive cultures who are unable to control their savage natures, while White Canadians are distanced from violence by their naturally superior rationality and culture. Dhamoon and Abu Laban (2009) further illuminate how discourses of foreignness, security, racialization, and nation state function through one another in the figure of the dangerous internal foreigner who legally belongs to the state but does not substantively belong within the nation (see also Provine & Doty 2011). Refugees by definition lack the qualities that define the ideal human. As forced migrants they lack autonomy; having left behind home and family they become dependent on others for survival. Conceived as a “mass” or a flow, they lack individuality. At the same time, they are associated with violence, dishonesty, poverty, and criminality. Bauman suggests that refugees are represented in the dominant discourse as “the flotsam and jetsam of the planetary tides of human waste” associated with criminality, terrorism, dependence, parasitism, and adherence to wicked and barbaric habits and creeds (2004, 57). In Wasted Lives he argues,  There is a sort of ‘elective affinity’ between immigrants (that human waste of distant parts of the globe unloaded into ‘our own backyard’) and the least bearable of our own, home-grown fears. Refugees…are the waste of globalization…As the traditional method of human-waste disposal (through the exportation of surplus labour) ceased to be available…social problems are increasingly criminalized…’Human waste’ can no longer be removed to distant waste disposal sites [but] needs to be sealed off in tightly closed containers (58-60).   In line with the arguments I put forth in Chapter 7, Bauman (2004) concludes that the penal system supplies such a container.  48  2.6 Conclusion Darwin’s assertion that humans are simply a part of nature notwithstanding, most people in the West have not accepted the human as another animal, but rather see it as a being that operates on a fundamentally different and higher plane. Dominant assumptions about nature and the non-human run contrary to anti-racist and anti-colonial efforts because the justification for despising certain humans stems from a deep-seated contempt for non-human beings. Despite having been discredited by critical theory, the Western concept of “savagery” as a mode of living that is “closer to nature” is still pertinent today, alongside a persistent innatist concept of racial difference. These ideas are operationalized in institutional policies and practices in the criminal justice and other systems that impact the lives of the youth I spoke with through processes of dehumanization and the performance of a subhuman figure. That the disregard of non-human life is so entrenched in Western culture explains in part the persistence of colonial ideas about sex, race, age, ability, and class. However, even critical scholars who interrogate the exclusions that arise from the humanist delineation of the human figure would, for the most part, retain the human/non-human binary. This dissertation takes a different view, arguing that the critical task at hand is to undermine the human/non-human binary that underwrites much injustice, including that experienced by the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with, detailed in Chapters 5–8. My aim in subsequent chapters is to explore what these insights contribute to understandings of the experiences of young refugees caught up in the Canadian criminal justice system, to investigate what youths’ narratives reveal about dominant conceptions of the human, and to offer a critique of the speciesism that underpins the human/animal distinction. Because the ideas that I outline here need to be interrogated empirically through the lens of lived experience in order to be fully apprehended, I pick up the themes from this chapter again when I present my empirical findings in order to demonstrate the specific ways in which humanist categories and exclusions are reproduced in the lives of criminalized refugees. First, however, I situate the analysis that follows within the institutions and policy frameworks of the Canadian immigration, education, and criminal justice systems that I argue operationalize humanist classifications and assumptions through their dehumanizing performance of the human and animal figures.  49  Chapter 3. The Institutional Field  “The increasing criminalization of poverty, which has a disproportionate effect on racialized people, is a clear example of how the state deploys ideological constructs, such as the labeling of poor people as dangerous, to legitimize punitive sanctions. Poor, racialized people are not only stigmatized by these policies, they are also branded as the ‘enemy’ for failing to rise about their predicament” (Chan & Chunn 2014, xvii).  “Racism, and in particular anti-black racism, is a part of our community’s psyche. A significant segment of our community holds overtly racist views. A much larger segment subconsciously operates on the basis of negative racial stereotypes. Furthermore, our institutions, including the criminal justice system, reflect and perpetuate those negative stereotypes. These elements combine to infect our society as a whole with the evil of racism. Blacks are among the primary victims of that evil” (Doherty, cited in Tanovich 2008, 655).  “The key point is not that the law is discriminatory and racism can be found in its rulings, rather it is that the Canadian legal system is a regime of racial power” (Thobani 2007, 54).   3.1 Introduction The experiences of the criminalized refugee youth who participated in this study are located at the intersection of two major bureaucratic systems: immigration and criminal justice. To shed light on this systemic interaction, this chapter provides an overview of the criminal justice and immigration institutional policy contexts that ground the study findings and analysis presented in Chapters 5-8. I begin with an outline of the Canadian immigration system and then describe some of the settlement challenges that young refugees experience in their integration with respect to education, employment, and personal well-being. The second section examines relevant aspects of the criminal justice system starting with a review of policies, procedures, definitions, and statistics. I briefly survey criminological theories and models, and then describe relevant issues pertaining to racial profiling, mental health, and “crimmigration.”   3.2 The Canadian Immigration System 3.2.1 Overview Immigration to Canada is divided into three broad streams: economic, family reunification, and humanitarian. All of the young people who took part in this study are humanitarian immigrants (refugees) and therefore I focus on refugees below. A second 50  important division is between Permanent Residents (PR) and Temporary Residents (TR). PRs enjoy most of the benefits of citizenship except that they may not vote in elections and their status can be revoked if they are found to have misrepresented information in an immigration application or, most importantly for the current study, for criminality. Once PR status has been revoked, the person becomes a TR and may be subject to a deportation order (see Crimmigration below).  Sponsored refugees include those sponsored by the federal government (Government Assisted Refugees or GARs) and those sponsored by private groups (Privately Sponsored Refugees or PSRs). PSRs are sponsored by groups of Canadian citizens who have signed an agreement with Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC12), to sponsor and support refugees for at least their first year in Canada. GARs are selected abroad by the Canadian government usually based on referrals from the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR). Among GARs, 60% are under the age of 24; they therefore comprise a much more youthful population than any other category of entry (ISSofBC 2014). Upon arrival in Canada, GARs receive one year of financial support from the federal government. Resettlement Assistance Program (RAP) rates are tied to provincial social assistance rates and inadequate to cover basic living costs (see Appendix A). In addition, the cost of transporting GARs to Canada is borne by individual GARs in the form of an interest-bearing “transportation loan” which is usually $1,500 - 2,000 per person.13 GARs are expected to begin repayment of the loan 30 days after arrival in Canada (ISSofBC 2010a).  A shift in Canadian refugee resettlement policy from selecting those deemed most likely to establish themselves independently in Canada, to those with the most pressing needs, occurred with the implementation of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA) in 2002. However, few changes have been made to how refugees are supported in their integration process, despite the evidence that social programs geared to the mainstream do not adequately address refugee needs, particularly those coming from protracted refugee situations (Francis & Yan 2016; Hyndman 2011; Presse & Thomson 2007).  In contrast to sponsored refugees, asylum seekers arrive directly to Canada and request asylum. Their refugee claim is assessed by the Immigration and Refugee Board                                                       12 Formerly, Citizenship and Immigration (CIC). The name change occurred while the current study was in progress. For consistency, I use IRCC throughout this dissertation.      13 This loan was waived for GARs brought to Canada from Syria in 2016, but still applies to all other GARs. 51  (IRB), an administrative tribunal responsible for hearing asylum seekers and determining whether they should be accepted as refugees. If accepted, refugees are referred to as Landed in Canada Refugees (LCR) and become eligible to apply for PR. Over the past 25 years the number of refugee claims brought to the IRB has varied between 9,000 and 35,000 annually, of which around half have been successful (ISSofBC 2014).  Overall, refugees from all categories make up less than 10% of total immigrants to Canada. Around 1,000 refugee claimants and 800 GARs enter British Columbia (BC) each year. Most refugees who arrive to BC settle in Metro Vancouver which, relative to other large Canadian urban centers, receives the smallest number and proportion of refugees and the largest proportion of economic immigrants (Hiebert et al 2008). Immigration of people from “Africa and the Middle East” (including all of the youth who took part in this study) to BC has been around 3,500 people per year over the past 10 years. This figure includes around 700 refugees, split more or less equally between men and women (IRCC 2016a; 2016b). Almost all refugees, including all of my informants, are members of a visible minority group.14 Out of the approximately one million people in BC who claimed visible minority status in 2011, a total of 28,315 identified as Black (including 13,830 immigrants), 8,635 as Arab (including 6,015 immigrants), and 29,810 claimed West Asian origin (including 25,505 immigrants) (Statistics Canada 2012). Muslims are also a tiny minority in BC; in 2011, a total of 79,310 people claimed Islam as their religion, including 55,875 immigrants (Statistics Canada 2012). Consequently, the refugee youth who took part in this study are minorities among minorities.  3.2.2 Settlement Challenges This section looks at some of the settlement challenges that refugee youth and families experience. Some of these stem directly from the refugee experience itself. For example, GARs have often lived some or all of their lives in refugee camps, arrive from primarily oral societies to an intensely print-based urban environment, and tend to have the                                                       14 The terms “visible minority” and “racialized” are not interchangeable because, while Aboriginal people are racialized, they are not included in the visible minority category, which comprises people who are neither White nor Aboriginal. Thus, “racialized” includes Aboriginal people, while “visible minority” does not. My discussion tends to focus on visible minority categories because those are the categories that apply to the youth I spoke with; however, many of the arguments I make about visible minorities also apply to Aboriginal people. Where I report data from other sources I retain the terminology employed by the original authors.  52  lowest educational attainments among immigrant groups, as well as the lowest capacity in an Official Language. Many arrive from rural areas after years of trauma, conflict, poverty, dislocation, and torture. The result may be several generations of family members who lack literacy and/or numeracy skills (Chuang 2009; Hyndman 2011). Other challenges are related to the integration of refugee youth into Canadian systems, such as the education system, to which I now turn.  Education Schools play an important role in the settlement and integration of refugee youth, but staff struggle to meet the needs of all students in the context of increasing numbers of high-needs pupils at the same time that funding has been cut for English Language Learning (ELL), counselling, extracurricular activities, and creative subjects such as music and art, while class sizes have increased (BCTF 2015; BCTF 2010). Additionally, Canadian placement practices are based on age rather than ability; as a result, young refugees are sometimes placed in grades too high or low for them, which negatively affects the academic performance and psychological well-being of youth who may have already switched education systems at least once since leaving home, or who may have had their education interrupted by flight and several years in a refugee camp (Wilkinson et al 2014). At the same time, the Canadian education system assumes a significant amount of parent involvement, yet immigrant parents are often baffled by the school system and frustrated at being unable to support their children (Reitsma 2001; Chuang 2009).  Refugee youth who immigrate to Canada in their teens with little or no English and limited formal education may experience the following issues: frustration that they cannot meet BC graduation requirements within the expected time, social isolation, lack of knowledge about vocational training, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), low self-esteem, violent nightmares, memories or flashbacks, irritability, hyper-alertness, impaired memory, fear, anger, anxiety, and vulnerability to violence and substance abuse (Edge et al 2014; Ministry of Education 2015). Berns-McGown (2013) found that children dealing with PTSD were frequently streamed into classes for slow learners or children with behavioural problems, which meant that they received neither psychological help nor adequate instruction. Exacerbating these concerns, many refugee youth also struggle to learn English. 53  Students who are required to take non-credit English language classes tend to have poorer academic outcomes and a higher than average dropout rate (Wilkinson et al 2014). Language difficulties can also undermine self-esteem, exacerbate educational differences, increase discrimination, and reduce employment opportunities (Khadka et al 2011; Ngo et al 2005; SPCO 2010).  In these contexts, school officials, settlement workers, and community leaders warn of a crisis among refugee youth who come to Canada as teenagers and leave the school system without achieving basic literacy and numeracy, leaving them with few mechanisms to understand and access opportunities for employment and, therefore, few resources to support themselves economically (ISSofBC 2009). This is precisely the situation for many of the youth who took part in this study. The risk of not obtaining a high school diploma varies with age at arrival, estimated to be about 15% for boys and 11% for girls who came to Canada before nine years of age. It increases every year past this age, reaching up to 25% for those arriving in Canada after the age of 13 (Corak 2011). School performance is among the best predictors of criminalization; literacy levels among the prison population are considerably lower than those of the general population (Ivanova 2011). These issues are discussed further in Chapter 7. In addition to these issues, Galabuzi argues that some racialized youth experience social exclusion in the education system, which is a key institution for socialization because it produces and reproduces racist ideologies, attitudes, and structures of inequality, while curricula alienate racialized students by presenting their reality as inconsequential or invisible (2006, 191). As Mensah (2002, 43) points out,  A student of Canadian history can go right through our school system, university courses, and even graduate school without ever being exposed to the history of Blacks in Canada. Right from early elementary school, Canadian students are taught histories that dwell on an endless glorification of Whites, with few parenthetical references to Blacks and other visible minorities, overstating certain contributions while making others invisible.   In “Ghosts in the Multicultural Machine,” Yvonne Brown, a Canadian scholar of Jamaican origin, relates how multiculturalism and the myth of two founding nations conceal the brutal history of enslavement and colonization so that she feels like a “ghost made flesh, stalking the halls and classrooms of the academy to remind [students and colleagues] about those 54  repressed histories and their embodied presences” (2008, 9). She laments that teachers often ask her whether they should teach about slavery (14). Many Canadians believe that unless there is an intention to be racist, racism does not exist. However, Henry & Tator (2012) insist that racialized people know when they experience racism because it is repetitive and consistent with their past experiences, and non-Whites are commonly harassed and subjected to discriminatory practices in nearly all aspects of Canadian life (Codjoe 2005).15  Scholars have noted the prevalence of racism in Canadian classrooms (e.g. Creese et al 2011; George et al 2011). Many of the Somali youth in Berns-McGown’s (2013) study reported racist encounters with teachers at school that had a negative impact on their sense of self. The relative absence of teachers of colour, combined with educators’ attitudes and low expectations, negatively influence many racialized students, who drop out rather than participate in an alienating experience (Berns-McGown 2013; Galabuzi 2006). Accordingly, Berns-McGown (2013) argues that schools bear a large responsibility for the high dropout rate of Somali boys in particular. Despite these issues, “dropouts” are framed in the press in terms of individual deficiencies and deviance rather than structural features of society or institutional shortcomings of schools (Ellsworth & Stevenson 1994).  Racist incidents at school often take the form of bullying. The BC Ministry of Education admits that schools in BC face “a serious problem with bullying, harassment and intimidation” (2015, 1). Refugee youth in Khanlou et al’s (2009) study pointed out that boys (much more so than girls) are expected to respond with physical violence when bullied. Sometimes perpetrators go unpunished while African students are blamed for being overly sensitive or lacking in credibility (Adjibolosoo & Mensah 1998). If there is no significant response, those involved may believe that the behaviour is acceptable and victims may feel helpless (Ministry of Education 2008b). These issues are pertinent in the context of my findings in Chapters 5 (Erasure of Personal Histories) and 8 (Subjection to Violence).                                                       15 Studies of race relations in Canada trace the roots of current racialized practices to colonialism, the dispossession of Aboriginal peoples, Orientalism, and the trans-Atlantic slave trade (e.g. Abdi 2005; McKittrick 2006; Mensah 2002; Razack 2008; Thobani 2007). Bashi (2004) traces the origins of contemporary anti-Black sentiment in immigration law and policy to the trade in enslaved Africans. McKittrick (2006) argues that violence and the history of slavery in which Black bodies were legally and culturally delineated as property, remain defining features of Black lives in Canada. Mensah notes, “Without a doubt, it is because of the legacy of slavery that Blacks are frequently treated with utter condescension and discriminated against in nearly all spheres of Canadian life...In a nutshell, the racism faced by Blacks today is an extension of the racism of the colonial era” (2002; 39).   55  Employment and Income Assistance Refugee youth, almost all of whom are racialized, are also incorporated into the labour market in ways that reproduce racial inequality. The work they are able to attain is much more likely to be insecure, temporary, and poorly paid (Galabuzi 2006; Lauer et al 2012; Wilkinson 2008). Racialized men are 24% more likely to be unemployed than non-racialized men and earn 75.6 cents for every dollar that non-racialized men earn (Block & Galabuzi 2011). In a comparative study of the labour market experiences of immigrant, refugee, and Canadian-born youth aged 15-24, Wilkinson (2008) found that refugee youth experience the highest rate of unemployment, at nearly 30%. A study of GARs who arrived to BC between 2003 and 2005 found that 1-3 years later, 78% were unemployed, 66% of households had no employed residents, and 75% had no family member with a credit card (ISSofBC 2006). Consequences of under- and unemployment for youth include social exclusion, despair, alienation from families and communities, psychological problems, and increased contact with the criminal justice system (Khadka et al 2011; Yan et al 2012; Gunderson et al 2012). Street-involved and homeless young people, such as those who took part in my study, face additional challenges as few employers are willing to hire an individual without stable housing, previous employment experience or extensive formal education (Karabanow et al 2010; Lauger 2014). Although youth unemployment is high, society places pressure on youth to consume goods they may not be able to afford and there is a general cultural expectation that they are responsible for their own choices (Alvi 2012). This is the context into which refugee youth arrive. In addition to young people who are unemployed, there are others who are “not employed or in education or training” (NEET) (Galarneau et al 2013). The probability of being NEET is significantly higher for people born outside Canada and for youth with less than a high school diploma (Marshall 2012). Furthermore, it is estimated that up to 100,000 young people aged 16-24 years old are homeless in Canada (RCY 2014, 23). Given these figures, Drewes (2011) concludes that there is a small sub-class of young people who have become permanently detached from the school system and labour market (Drewes 2011). My young research participants comprise a subset of this group.  As difficult as it is for refugee youth to find work, finding a job that provides a living wage is even harder. The incomes of members of the African population in Canada are below 56  those of the rest of the population by an average of $9,000 per year. For West Asians, the gap between their earnings and the general population was around $11,000 per year, with 48.7% living in poverty (Block & Galabuzi 2011). Inequalities in incomes among racialized and non-racialized workers are particularly deep among young men aged 16-24 (Galabuzi 2006, 203; Pendakur & Pendakur 2011). Racial segmentation in the labour market leads to differential access to housing and social services, health risks, contact with the criminal justice system, and political participation. In addition to being racialized, several of the participants in my study were persons with disabilities. In 2011, the employment rate of Canadians aged 25-64 with a disability was 49%, compared with 79% for Canadians without a disability (Turcotte 2014).  Given the importance of family for young refugees, it is notable that across Canada poverty rates for racialized families are higher than among non-racialized families. For example, Black families experience a poverty rate of 54%, while for Arab/West Asian families the rate is 32.5%. The corresponding figure for the general population is 16%. The rates for single people, such as my young research participants, were almost double these figures (Pendakur & Pendakur 2011). BC in particular has very high child poverty rates of almost 20%; child poverty is especially high among single-parent families, recent immigrants, people with disabilities, First Nations, and visible minorities (First Call 2012; Schissel 2011). Newcomer youth have a poverty rate of around five times that of the Canadian born (Kunz 2003; Shields et al 2006).  Compared with children in higher income households, children in low-income families experience more health problems, academic troubles, and behavioural issues. The school dropout rate for children living in low-income families is twice as high as for other children and carries lifelong implications for employment, income security, and involvement in the criminal justice system (Ivanova 2011). Relative to other children, those in low-income households consume less nutritious food, have less access to space for doing homework, are less likely to own computers, are more likely to have parents with little education, and greater face class-based discrimination from teachers (ISSofBC 2009; Ivanova 2011; Kilbride & Anisef 2001; Marmot et al 2008). Berns-McGown (2013) found that living in marginalized neighbourhoods carries risks for the criminalization of Somali boys that would not have been present had their parents managed to find jobs and housing in other neighbourhoods.      57  It is commonly assumed that young newcomers can rely on family members for support. However, many refugee parents are also trapped in low-paying service jobs and lack the cultural and social capital needed to support their children’s education and employment (Chuang 2009; ISSofBC 2009; Yan et al 2012). In particular, relatively low numbers and the legacy of past discrimination mean that West Asian and African refugee youth do not enter well-developed social networks. In contrast, people from South and East Asia tend to come to Vancouver as Business, other Economic, or Family Class migrants and, as a result, are more often able to find employment, enter politics, start a business or achieve home ownership, thereby creating a network of landlords, employers, and politicians that can support newcomers (Hiebert et al 2008).  Given the challenges related to employment, access to social assistance becomes important. Social assistance rates are in BC extremely low and have not changed significantly since 2007. The annual rate for a single “employable” person is $7,778 while the corresponding amount for a person with a disability is $11,392 (British Columbia 2016). On top of this, social assistance is difficult to access in BC (Hiebert 2009). In the past, social assistance caseloads comprised mainly single parents, families down on their luck, single persons, and persons with disabilities. While these groups still make up the majority, there have been profound shifts, with young men emerging as a major public policy concern (Stapleton & Bednar 2011).   Personal Well-Being Migrating to a new cultural environment places enormous strain on families as parents and youth confront new parenting styles, dating expectations, and relationships between youth and elders (Chuang 2009; Houle 2011; Hynie et al 2012; UOCS 2008). One coping mechanism is to lead dual lives whereby youth behave in one way at home with their parents and become a “different person” when with their peers (Okeke-Ihejirika & Spitzer 2005). Another strategy is to become homeless. Street-involved youth such as those I spoke with have often experienced dehumanizing experiences in group home and foster care systems, and arrive on the street out of desperation. Once on the street, many youth resort to risky or illegal activities to make money, find shelter and food, and defend themselves against violence and exploitation. These activities further marginalize youth and create 58  additional barriers including addictions, physical and mental illness, and criminal justice involvement (Karabanow et al 2010; RCY 2014).  Family separation and reunification after a long separation are also stressful (Chuang 2009; Salehi 2010; Wilson et al 2010). In Khanlou et al’s (2009) study, young refugees described the process of migration as one involving long periods of separation from family members, sometimes leading to family break-up. Children deeply felt the loss of parents left back home, especially in cases where they had been particularly close to the parent. Khanlou et al (2009) found that some youth turned to substance abuse as a coping mechanism, and in a few cases were in conflict with the law and at risk of deportation. I examine these issues in more detail in Chapter 6. The Ministry of Children and Family Development (MCFD) serves as the provincial government agency responsible for youth in the criminal justice system and also children in care. Under-staffing at MCFD leaves social workers over-burdened and children in care under-protected even by the ministry’s own standards. Children and youth in care are four times more likely to die than other young people in BC (RCY 2015b). Since most children in care are racialized, the RCY (2015a) asserts that these conditions expose the face of institutionalized racism and a system that discounts the value of some children’s lives. Upon turning 19, young people “age out” of ministry programs; at that point they are considered adults and no longer eligible for protection under the Child, Family and Community Service Act. Aging out is another critical issue identified by my respondents as well as in reports from the RCY. The RCY (2014) notes that young people leaving care are less likely to graduate from high school, more likely to have mental health problems, become parents at an early age, experience unemployment, be involved in the criminal justice system, receive social assistance, experience homelessness, and have substance abuse issues. MCFD Practice Standards do not require social workers to observe the living circumstances of a child leaving care (RCY 2014). This analysis resonates with my findings presented in Chapter 7. In addition to these issues, scholars have drawn attention to the difficulties of developing a strong sense of identity when familiar home, family, and community networks and institutions have been lost (Edge et al 2014; Khadka et al 2011; Ngo 2010). Older youth face the additional challenge of entering an environment where most of their peers have already established friendship circles. A lack of effective network hampers young people’s 59  participation in community activities and results in social exclusion, isolation, low self-esteem, depression, stress, confusion about their ethnic identity, and a general sense of feeling unwelcome in Canadian society. In light of these challenges, the literature has indicated significant concern regarding mental health issues (e.g. Correa-Velez et al 2010; Kumsa et al 2013; Salehi 2010; Shakya et al 2010). Some youth find a solution in negative behaviours. Gangs attract youth by offering a sense of belonging, power, and access to material goods that can be enticing for impoverished, isolated, and alienated youth (Chuang 2009; Wortley & Tanner 2008). Persistent racism and discrimination from peers, authority figures, the media, and the general population also threaten the self-esteem of many young newcomers (Kumsa et al 2013). Numerous studies note that anti-Black racism and Islamophobia affect young people in negative ways (Galabuzi 2006; Ibrahim 2003; Manzo & Bailey 2005; Okeke-Ihejirika & Spitzer 2005; UOCS 2008; Warde 2013). Galabuzi argues that young people are routinely subjected to racist images and stereotypes in books, stories, toys, music, and mainstream media. All of these images deepen their perception of racial differences; for non-racialized youth, the images reinforce negative stereotypes about their racialized peers, while for racialized youth, the images influence their self-perception and social development (2006, 191). Again, these issues are evident in my study. Given the challenges faced by refugee youth and their families, social service organisations play an important role in settlement outcomes. However, the objectives of most federal immigrant settlement programs are focused on adults, while provincial education systems have traditionally been assumed to support children and youth; consequently, scholars have identified an overall lack of targeted youth programming. Research from across Canada indicates that immigrant youth, especially those from small and marginalized communities, experience a consistent gap in service provision that contributes to further exclusion (Chua 2011; Chuang 2009; Francis & Yan 2016; Khadka et al 2011; Komeza 2007; Ngo 2009; Rossiter & Rossiter 2009a; Shields et al 2006). The result is a set of unmet needs for immigrant and refugee youth including: family and individual counselling, employment assistance, and basic needs such as food, shelter, and health care. I examine these issues in more detail in Chapters 5 and 7. Many young people need help to make sound decisions in adolescence but unfortunately cannot get help from family members or others 60  they know; Ferdinand (2009) argues that to deny them assistance by abandoning the provision of programs in favour of incarceration is cruel and socially destructive.16  3.3 The Canadian Criminal Justice System 3.3.1 Overview17  The criminal justice system in Canada comprises two sets of related systems based on the age of the accused (adult or youth) and political jurisdiction (federal or provincial). For the purposes of this study, one of the most important divisions is between the youth and adult systems. A related division is between the federal and provincial systems. In BC, youth criminal justice falls under provincial jurisdiction, while adults enter either the provincial or federal system depending on the length of the sentence associated with the crime they are accused of: sentences of less than two years become provincial jurisdiction while sentences of two years or more are a federal responsibility. The relevant federal agency for adults is the Correctional Services of Canada (CSC). Provincial agencies include Provincial Corrections (for adults aged 18 or older) or MCFD (for youth under the age of 18).18 Provincial Corrections operates nine adult facilities and one youth facility, the Burnaby Youth Custody Centre (BYCC). Sentences may include community sanctions (e.g. probation) and/or custodial sentences (imprisonment followed by probation). Probation is a period of time during which one is subject to a number of conditions (for typical youth and adult probation orders, see Appendices D and E). As with bail or parole, a breach of these conditions could result in incarceration.  Most people know that involvement with the justice system entails a criminal record. In fact, any police contact may form part of a criminal record, even where there was no conviction. The Canlaw website states, “Understand this: Police records and files on you will never be erased. Records of every contact with you, every complaint by a neighbour, arrest,                                                       16 Current funding structures affect the ability of settlement agencies, youth organizations, and criminal justice service providers to assist youth by restricting program offerings while increasing staff work load. This is especially problematic for the youth service sector because it undermines the stability and consistency that youth-serving agencies require (Curren et al 2010).      17 The information in this section is drawn from conversations with criminal justice professionals, general information found on Justice BC and Provincial Court websites, and several years of personal experience as a volunteer in the court and custodial systems.       18 MCFD’s youth criminal justice services suffer from the same lack of funding, staffing, and support that cripple the provision of services for children in care (RCY 2015b).  61  charge, acquittal, stay, discharge, diversion and conviction are kept permanently by the police regardless of the outcome.” Another common misunderstanding is that youth records are automatically sealed; however, there are numerous reasons why they may remain open and become adult records. Discrimination (in employment, for example) based on the existence of a criminal record is permitted unless a Record Suspension has been obtained. The minimum waiting periods before eligibility to apply for a Record Suspension begins are five years after completion of sentence for a summary offense and 10 years for an indictable offense. Acceptance is not guaranteed, some offences are excluded from eligibility, a Record Suspension does not imply erasure of the record, and the processing fee recently increased from $50 to $631. On top of this, there is a two year backlog (CHRIO 2014; Parole Board of Canada 2016). In short, Record Suspensions are extremely difficult to obtain.  Criminal Justice Statistics  In BC, approximately 22,500 people are supervised under court orders in the community, while 2,500 are inmates in provincial correctional centres. Approximately 80% of admissions to adult correctional services are male, while the corresponding figure for youth is around 70% (Statistics Canada 2016a; Statistics Canada 2016b; Throness 2014). Around 8,000 young people aged 18-29 are admitted custody each year in BC, and around 10,000 are admitted to community programs (e.g. probation). Among young people under the age of 18, around 1,500 are admitted to custody and approximately 4,500 receive community sentences (Statistics Canada 2016b). Young adults are over-represented in the criminal justice system with youth aged 12-24 accounting for 35% of individuals accused in police reported incidents. In 2013/14, young adults aged 18-35 accounted for 58% of admissions to provincial corrections and 53% of admissions to federal correctional services, while representing only 29% of the Canadian population (Allen & Supperle 2016; Statistics Canada 2015). Additionally, young adults aged 18-24 are charged with crime at the highest rates of any age group (Allen 2016). The criminal offences that young adults are most commonly charged for include theft under $5,000, common assault, cannabis possession, and mischief. Ten percent of incidents in which a youth was charged occurred at school during school hours (Allen 2016; Allen & Superle 2016).  62  Over a 10 year period, almost two-thirds of those who enter the correctional system will return at least once, and a quarter will return at least five times. Among adults, one-third of offences are “administration of justice” offences such as failing to appear in court when required or breaching probation conditions (Throness 2014). Almost one quarter of young adults accused of crime are accused in offences against the administration of justice (Allen & Sapperle 2016). In these contexts, some authors suggest that courts create the conditions for youth to commit administrative offences by imposing large numbers of difficult to follow conditions (Sprott & Myers 2011; Wacquant 2004). The large numbers of people incarcerated for breaching court orders is the major factor underlying the increasing rate of imprisonment in the context of a decreasing crime rate—hence the term “revolving door”19 Through this process, imprisonment becomes a long term assignment from which individuals have little prospect of returning to unsupervised freedom (Garland 2001). Another factor in re-offence is that those who are released often have nowhere to go on release and lack social support, required medications, money, personal identification, a place to live or job prospects (Throness 2014). From 2003 to 2013, the federally incarcerated population grew by 16.5%. All new net growth is the result of increases in Aboriginal and visible minority groups. The Aboriginal incarcerated population increased by 46.4% and visible minorities by 75%, while the proportion of Caucasian offenders decreased by 3% (OCI 2013). As a subgroup, Black inmates are the fastest growing sub-population in federal corrections, accounting for 9.8% of the total prison population while representing just 2.9% of the general population. Just under half of Black inmates are foreign-born (OCI 2013). Justice BC (2012) reports that as of March 2012, there were just under 500 incarcerated visible minority adult offenders of Black, Asian, Hispanic, or “Other” ethnicity. In addition, just over 4,500 are supervised in the community (e.g. on probation) a figure more or less in line with their proportion in the general population. However, those identifying as Black are significantly overrepresented. Based on data I received through an FOI request to MCFD, Black youth are significantly overrepresented in custody admissions and slightly overrepresented in community                                                       19 At 140 per 100,000 population, Canada’s 2011 adult incarceration rate was 1% higher than in 2010 and 5% higher than in2001 (Dauvergne 2012). Speaking about this issue, the Correctional Investigator stated, “The growth in the custody population appears to be policy, not crime driven. After all, crime rates are down while incarceration rates grow” (quoted in Brosnahan 2013). 63  admissions (see Appendix B). With respect to the immigration status of youth admissions over the past five years, a total of at least 214 youth with PR status received custodial sentences and 218 received community sentences (MCFD FOI data 2016) (For more information, see Appendix C). It is important to note that the FOI data I received report a large number of unknowns; as other researchers have noted, data on race and immigration status is not systematically collected (Chan & Chunn 2014; Millar & Owusu-Bempah 2011; Wortley & Tanner 2003; Wortley & Tanner 2005).  Conditions in Jails Conditions in federal and provincial jails pose a number of problems including discrimination, over-use of force and segregation placements, violence, availability of illegal drugs, the lack of educational and rehabilitative programming, overcrowding, racism, and lack of attention to mental illness. According to OCI, all of these indicators are trending in the wrong direction (OCI 2013). In the provincial system, staff reported various reasons for the recent increase in violent incidents including overcrowding, gangs in correctional centres, mental health and addiction-related problems, and what correctional staff termed the “character of the new offender,” a young person who lacks respect for authority and is capable of engaging in irrational acts of serious violence apparently with little awareness or consideration of the consequences (Throness 2014).  On top of these concerns, cost-saving measures implemented in 2012 mean charging more for inmate telephone calls, an increase in room and board deductions, elimination of incentive pay for work in prison industries, cancellation of social events, and the closing of libraries. These changes hardened conditions that were already punitive rather than rehabilitative. Many inmates report that the expense of calling home from prison means that they rarely speak with family members and CSC does not permit the use of calling cards. Restricted contact with family and friends makes reintegration more difficult, particularly for people who face deportation upon completion of their sentence. Further, the termination of contracts with non-Christian prison chaplains is in opposition to the growing proportion of ethno-cultural prisoners (OCI 2013). Similar challenges exist in the provincial system (Throness 2014).  Regarding institutional programs, on a typical day less than 25% of federal offenders 64  inside institutions are enrolled in a correctional program to address identified criminogenic needs, and waiting lists for rehabilitation and anger management programs are lengthy. In 2012, over 70% of offenders were found to have unstable work histories, more than 70% had not completed high school, and more than 60% had no employment-related skill knowledge (Minister of Public Works 2007). Yet the completion rate for educational programs is only 31% and for vocational programs, 60% (OCI 2013). Failure to complete programs often means that access to early release is denied to people who could be supervised in the community. Many leave the correctional system without receiving treatment for the problems that got them into trouble in the first place (OCI 2013). These figures might surprise anybody who assumed that the objectives of incarceration include rehabilitation. Instead, according to Wacquant (2004), an important function of the penal sector is to enable the state to check the upheavals caused by social insecurity and polarization. Rehabilitation is pointless when an unstable economy cannot absorb those who might have reformed, leading to a focus on the utility of deterrence and incapacitation. These conditions have led some scholars to suggest that welfare and penal institutions comprise a single policy regime aimed at the governance of social marginality and the invisibilization of social problems (Beckett & Murakowa 2012; Christie 2000; Comack & Balfour 2004; Wacquant 2010).  With respect to visible minority inmates, OCI (2013) finds that those identifying as Black are consistently over-represented in administrative segregation and disproportionately involved in use-of-force incidents. Black inmates are 1.5 times more likely to be placed in maximum-security institutions where programming and social activities are limited and they are considerably less likely to be employed. Many Black inmates mentioned their concerns being ignored and felt as though they were governed by a “different set of rules” than other inmates. CSC staff confirmed that racial stereotypes are regularly employed by some personnel.20 Black inmates are twice as likely as the overall population to be deemed to have a gang affiliation and Black male inmates felt as though all their words and actions were viewed through a “gang lens” by CSC staff. The label impacts security classifications, work                                                       20 Other examples of discrimination are plentiful. For example, as part of the education program, inmates were required to read aloud excerpts from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which is peppered with racist language. Some Black inmates were so derided by their classmates that they refused to return to the school yet were told by CSC staff, “It is just a book.” Such experiences exacerbate the marginalization, exclusion, and isolation felt by Black prisoners (OCI 2013, 11).  65  assignments, program enrollment, and conditional release eligibility (OCI 2013). It is notable that only 5% of CSC staff is from a visible minority group (Minister of Public Works 2007). On top of these issues, police and corrections staff report that they are encountering increasing numbers of people suffering from mental health disorders they are not qualified to deal with (Thompson 2010). A recent study by Somers et al (2015) identified a subset of offenders with concurrent psychiatric disorders who interact extensively with health, social welfare, and justice sectors yet find themselves increasingly marginalized and continually re-criminalized; James and some of the youth who took part in this study fit into this category. According to the Schizophrenia Society of Ontario, “Having a mental illness and being a person of colour are factors that can increase the likelihood of criminal contact and conviction and subsequently make one a target for removal from Canada” (2010, 7). In 2008, it was conservatively estimated that 56% of the provincial corrections population suffer from a diagnosed mental illness (Throness 2014). However, no systematic effort is made to screen offenders for mental disorders at admission, or to follow up with treatment. Collaboration between Provincial Corrections and the Ministry of Health with regard to prisoner mental health is almost nonexistent (Throness 2014). According to CSC, approximately 80% of offenders arrive with a serious substance abuse concern, while 12% of male and 26% of female offenders are identified as having a very serious mental health issue (Minister of Public Works 2007). Despite this, nearly one-third of CSC’s psychologist staff positions are vacant or under-filled (OCI 2013). In other words, there is little attempt to address the needs of persons experiencing mental illness, which tends to worsen in prison (Somers et al 2015; Chan & Chunn 2014). OCI has also documented a number of other concerns with respect to CSC’s response to mental health issues including over-reliance on use of force, physical restraints, and segregation. The media and other sources contain numerous reports of long term (e.g. longer than one year) solitary confinement for people with mental illness, including for immigrants who have not committed a crime (OCI 2013; Paperny & Cain 2016; RCSC 2014; Silverman 2014).    66  3.3.2 Conceptualizing Criminal Justice Theories and Models Upon hearing the word “crime” many people likely think of an assault or a robbery. In fact, what is commonly called “crime” may not be the most dangerous or anti-social behaviour; the actions of corporations and the well-off are often not criminalized even when they present a serious threat to well-being, whereas the racialized, unemployed, mentally ill, and the poor, who commit crime in the streets, are perceived as dangerous. In the epigraph Chan & Chunn (2014) suggest that poor and racialized people are not only stigmatized as criminals but as the “enemy,” recalling the language of war that dehumanizes targets in order to justify violence against them (Kochi 2009). In fact, there is no direct way to measure crime (Berger & Gregory 2009). Although coverage of crime in the media overwhelmingly focuses on street crime, and “white-collar crime” is usually left out of crime statistics, most studies suggest that there is no relationship between social class and criminal activity and almost every person in Canada has committed some kind of (usually minor) delinquent or criminal act (Sprott & Doob 2008). Arguing that the question of who is charged with a crime is not only an empirical one, but a deeply political one, Chan and Chunn (2014) define criminalization as the process by which particular acts, behaviours, and individuals are selected, denoted as criminal, and differentially policed and punished; groups identified as particularly threatening include youth, refugees, migrants, Black and Muslim men, people with mental illness, and homeless people—in other words, the very categories of people who participated in this study.  Official data only reflect crimes that have come to the attention of the police and where charges have been laid.21 As a result, they reveal more about the activities of enforcement systems than actual crime levels (Grattet et al 2011). For example, the apparent increase in violent youth crime likely reflects a new zero-tolerance attitude by authority figures to behaviours such as fighting at school that were previously subject to informal resolution (Alvi 2012; Sprott & Doob 2009). Thus, in the current study, schoolyard dustups led to criminal charges for several of the young people I spoke with. In the US, this trend is known as the “school-to-prison pipeline” (Kim et al 2010). Given that involvement in the criminal justice system is a function of decisions made by adults, it is important to                                                       21 Victim surveys and self-report data suffer from additional limitations. 67  understand bias in police action and court decision making processes, of which there is significant evidence, as I show below. One result of the widespread fear of youth crime is that young people are delegitimized either as violent sociopaths or as brainless pleasure seekers, a process that Grossberg (2001) describes as a war against youth. An ideology of individual responsibility for well-being accompanies these processes, facilitating the blaming of youth for their own disadvantage, while the contraction of state welfare services means that it is “more efficient” to jail violent youth than rehabilitate them.  Numerous theories attempt to explain the causes of crime and people’s experiences in the criminal justice system. In broad terms, youth offending tends to be conceived of as the symptom of an underlying social, biological or psychological problem, as a symptom of an inadequate crime control system, or as a natural part of growing up. Theories based on these conceptions can be split into consensus/control theories that look for causes within individual offenders, and critical/labelling theories that focus on structural forces. The current study sits solidly in the latter category. For critical theorists, elements of the social structure such as the nuclear family or education system fail to address the needs of marginal people. Critical theories assume that the enforcement of laws is uneven and not based strictly on legal issues, but saturated by raced, gendered, and classed relations. Critical approaches assume that many people who have violated the law were not caught and therefore not stigmatized as criminal; thus what matters most is societal reactions to behaviour (Chan 2005; Doob & Cesaroni 2004; Garland 2001; Henry & Tator 2006; Maynard 2011; Schissel 2002; Wacquant 2010). Conversely, consensus theories focus on the failure of the individual or family to conform to social norms. The classical school of thought concerning criminal behaviour is that crime is committed through the exercise of free will to promote self-interest and that the best way to prevent crime is to punish offenders; the modern perspective on this includes assumptions about the exercise of rational choice in whether and where to commit crime (Shoemaker 2009).22 Building on these ideas, liberal consensus theories assume that middle-                                                      22 On the one hand, criminals are blamed for making choices and punished as rational offenders, on the other they are conceived of as irrational beasts requiring violence and control. Hartman addresses this contradiction in the context of slavery, arguing, “The slave was recognized as a reasoning subject, who possessed intent and rationality, solely in the context of criminal liability…The slave’s will was acknowledged only as it was prohibited or punished” (1996, 540). This historical finding continues to be relevant as the debate over punishment of dehumanized beings is frequently cast in terms of necessity rather than social justice (Comack & Balfour 2004; Razack 2008).  68  class morality and behaviour are natural and universal (Comack & Balfour 2004; Roberts & Mahtani 2010; Wacquant 2004).  Based on these varying understandings of criminal behaviour, criminologists describe two opposing perspectives on the impact of criminal justice processing on young people: from a deterrence standpoint, the more severe the punishment, the smaller the likelihood of further offences. Conversely, labelling theory focuses on the consequences of labeling a person as criminal or delinquent, suggesting that a young person’s self-concept tends to align with the way they are labeled, so that being labeled an offender makes criminal behaviour more likely. This could be because the underlying causes remain, due to acceptance of the label, or due to increased surveillance and likelihood of being stopped by police because one “fits a description” (Maynard 2011). Another concern is that the development of relationships in prison may encourage criminality on the outside. In general, research demonstrates that prison sentences do not reduce reoffending and may actually increase its likelihood (Apel & Sweeten 2010; Corrado et al 2006; Cullen et al 2011; Hipp et al 2010; Kupchick 2006; McGrath & Weatherburn 2012; Mulvey et al 2010; Shoemaker 2009; Weatherburn 2010).  Research reveals a number of serious effects of incarceration on youth. Studies show that custody ranks among the most traumatic lifetime events and for many young people is the first time they have spent apart from family, friends, and home (Alvi 2012; Shoemaker 2009). Moreover, multiple forms of disadvantage and vulnerability are prevalent among incarcerated youth, including mental illness and learning disabilities; the traumatic experience of prison is exacerbated for these youth as well as for those who must live with them. Furthermore, bullying by fellow inmates or officials, use of physical restraints, and placement in isolation are common in prison, yet an “adolescent code” makes it difficult for youth to reveal concerns about their safety, while the “con code” inhibits prisoners from asking for help for fear of being punished by inmates (Doob & Cesaroni 2004). Incarceration also has negative effects on developmental processes because youth are not involved with a stable group of people and do not have responsibility for day-to-day tasks such as cooking and doing laundry. Incarcerated youth are more likely to drop out of school or have interrupted schooling; in conjunction with a criminal record, this can have long term consequences for employment. Another negative implication of incarceration is that 69  underlying issues, such as the lack of programs to assist youth with psychological or material needs, indifferent education systems, inadequate social welfare provision, unemployment, homelessness, patriarchy, poverty, and racism remain unaddressed (Alvi 2012; Doob & Cesaroni 2004; McGrath & Weatherburn 2012; Schissel 2011; Weatherburn 2010). All of these conditions are likely to be exacerbated for refugee youth who have a traumatic past and are also new to Canada, as I discuss in Chapter 7. Depending on the theoretical framework applied, different models of youth justice follow. Ideal juvenile justice models base sentencing outcomes on the characteristics of the offender rather than on the offence and the goals are to rehabilitate rather than punish, denounce or deter. Currently, however, the trend is to impose adult sentences on the most serious offenders (Doob & Cesaroni 2004; Mangat 2014). The Youth Criminal Justice Act (YCJA) passed in 2003 incorporates contradictory policies including accountability, retribution, harsh penalties for the most serious offences, and punishment/deterrence, as well as rights and rehabilitation (Doob & Cesaroni 2004; Sprott & Doob 2009). Denov (2004) investigated the YCJA’s compliance with the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and identified several noncompliance concerns, including: emphasis on punishment, adult sentences for young offenders, regional variation, limitations on children’s right to privacy, and lack of consideration of socioeconomic disadvantage. Her research also points out that the principle of the “best interest of the child” is not included as a guiding principle in the Act’s preamble, whereas “accountability” is mentioned twice. The Quebec Court of Appeal has stated that certain provisions of the YCJA pertaining to adult sentences violate a young person’s rights under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms (CRF). The federal government has neither appealed the ruling nor addressed the issue of adult sentences (Corrado 2010; Corrado et al 2007).  Underpinning the emphasis on young people’s accountability and the extension of due process rights is the presumption that young people are aware they possess specific rights and understand their meaning. However, most studies, including the current one, show that young people also do not understand criminal justice procedures; although they may understand in a literal sense what they are doing, they do not tend to know what a “right” is and often waive their rights without comprehending the implications (Denov 2004; Doob & 70  Cesaroni 2004; Dufresne et al 2003). Refugee youth who struggle with English and literacy are even less likely to have access to Canadian legal resources or information.  Racism and Risk The prevalence of racism in the criminal justice system, particularly against Black and Aboriginal people, has been conclusively established and there is overwhelming evidence that poor and racialized youth are significantly overrepresented at all stages of youth justice processing including detention, arrest, charge, conviction, and incarceration (Alvi 2012; Chan & Chunn 2014; Fitzgerald & Carrington 2011; Galabuzi 2006; Kuehn & Corrado 2011; Maynard 2011). Police draw on racialized categories that are already embedded in society and their interventions enforce social prejudices and inequalities (Forcese 2000; Murdocca 2004). The effects on racialized communities of over-incarceration and constant surveillance through racial profiling are significant. They include physical and psychological harm (in some cases death), isolation, alienation, distrust, impairment of family and social networks, and labour market exclusion (Jiwani 2011; Sprott & Doob 2014; Tator & Henry 2006). Accordingly, Tanovich argues, “In many ways, colonialism, slavery and segregation are now reproduced through the modern day systems of control and incapacitation” (2008, 661). Henry & Tator (2006) reject the suggestion that racism within law enforcement is limited to the actions of a few “bad apples;” coded in such discourse is the liberal colour-blind denial of racism as a set of institutional practices and behaviours that reinforce systemic racist outcomes.  Tanovich (2008) suggests in the epigraph that racialization is also profoundly enmeshed in legal practice, for example, as discussed in Chapter 2, the legal premise of the “objective standard of reasonableness” invites lawyers and judges to fall back on culture, race, class, and gender stereotypes (Comack & Balfour 2004, 99). Hudson (2008) argues that the subjectivity of the “reasonable person” on which modern justice institutions are based is synonymous with the subjectivity of the White, adult, man of property. This figure in turn relies on the humanist supposition of a separation of humans from nature. Thus, while the laws and policies that underpin racialized disadvantage do not employ overtly racist (or humanist) language, they nevertheless create and sustain racist (and humanist) ideologies and structures. In these ways, the law plays a large part in constructing low-income youth as 71  dangerous and in upholding the myth of the young working class Black male as inherently deviant (Chan & Chunn 2014; Mawani & Sealy 2010; Thornhill 2008). As Thobani (2007) indicates in the opening quote, the Canadian legal system is a regime of racial power concealed by the language of fairness, rationality, equal treatment, and neutrality that is frequently deployed to expel racialized bodies from personhood.  Building on these ideas, Henry & Tator (2006) explore the ways in which the Black male body becomes culturally marked as a deviant, dangerous, and undesirable alien Other that threatens the moral and social order. They suggest that in order to be preventative, surveillance must be able to detect the anomalous or the criminal by visible category rather than behaviour; since Whiteness is normalized, it follows that non-Whiteness is abnormal. The White perception that Blacks are dangerously at variance with White-defined social norms leads to an acceptance of racial profiling whereby Blackness becomes a visible emblem of danger (Warde 2013).  These processes are spurred by an actuarial approach to crime and risk aimed at managing aggregates of dangerous populations more economically by quantifying and assessing the risk that offenders pose (Comack & Balfour 2004; O’Malley 2004; Pate 2002; Simon 1988). Canadian judges frequently rely on actuarial risk assessments in sentencing and correctional authorities depend on them to render decisions on institutional placement, security classification, programming availability, and conditional release eligibility and conditions (Hanna-Moffat 2013; Hanna-Moffat et al 2009). Although risk assessments are presented as objective and scientific, instruments are developed using samples of White, male, adult offenders and involve morally laden assessments of an offender’s behaviour and attitude in term of White middle-class heterosexual morality (Hanna-Moffat et al 2009, 402). There is evidence that risk assessment tools discriminate against youth, members of minority groups, and people with disabilities, who are more likely to be categorized as high-risk (Balluci 2008; Hanna-Moffat 2013; Hanna-Moffat et al 2009, 403; Zinger 2004). Risk assessment tools inscribe social inequalities (such as unemployment) as risk, while structural relations are ignored or constructed as individual inadequacies (Hannah-Moffat 2012; Hanna-Moffat et al 2009; Kemshall 2002, 48). Furthermore, risks/needs are defined not as entitlements to resources, but as criminogenic, that is, statistically correlated with recidivism. Consequently, poverty, homelessness, poor health, and depression are low priorities for 72  intervention as, unlike anger, they are not directly linked to offending (Hannah-Moffat & Maurutto 2003).   3.3.3 Crimmigration The discriminatory application of police, judicial, and penal practices to persons of non-European phenotype results in the criminalization of immigrants, produces the phenomenon it is supposed to address, and serves to connect immigration with criminality and illegality so that the racialized male immigrant becomes the predominant figure of fear for criminal justice and immigration authorities (Chan 2005,162; Sayad 2004). For example, Diane Francis argues that Canadian cities with high levels of immigration have higher rates of violent crime. “How many lives,” she asks, “are ruined as a result of violence by outsiders? Pockets picked? Seniors shaken down? Teens hooked on heroin? Women raped? Children unsupported by deadbeat dads? Banks robbed, and companies or governments defrauded?” (2002, 176). Representing Others as prone to violence, and as criminals, outsiders, inassimilable, and undeserving aliens sustains an image of the nation as a peaceful idyll tainted only by the importation of Others’ deviance and can serve as justification for curtailing the rights of those groups (Jiwani 2011; Provine & Doty 2011). Aas (2011) suggests that the discursive coupling of migration and crime generates and maintains the social exclusion of an illegalized global underclass. While the primary distinction is between citizens and non-citizens, there are also gradations of citizenship such that “the citizenship of some groups is irregular or flawed” (Aas 2011, 339). The commission of crime by immigrants has been conceptualized in policy debates as segmented assimilation, a theory which suggests that young immigrants of colour in poor neighbourhoods adopt the delinquent subculture of marginalized native-born youth to cope with their own difficult situation (Portes et al 2005). For example, Canadian studies have shown that some marginalized young immigrants join gangs because they are bullied or assaulted by other youth and disenfranchised by wider society (Asagwara 2005; Rossiter & Rossiter 2009b). These ideas resonate with my findings and I support the authors’ calls for enhanced service provision to immigrant and refugee youth. Segmented assimilation theory takes crime and punishment as given, and has as its goal the reduction of criminal activity among youth. However, critiques of the theory suggest that what differs between Whites and 73  the racialized immigrant youth is not delinquent behaviour but how the larger society reacts to it; specifically, the latter are more likely to be ensnared in the justice system (Stepick & Stepick 2010).  With respect to the intersection of immigration and criminal law in Canada generally, and in the current study in particular, it is important to bear in mind four overlapping processes: the proportion of visible minorities in the criminal justice is going up, criminal sanctions are increasing, grounds for loss of PR status and for deportation are expanding, and rules for citizenship acquisition, which is conditional upon conduct, are tightening. In 1994, the Canadian government implemented the “criminals first” policy of removals and criminality is one of the most frequently used provisions for deporting non-citizens from Canada (CBSA 2010; Pratt 2005, 161). In 2014, the Removal of Serious Foreign Criminals Act further eased the removal of “foreign criminals” who commit “serious”23 crimes in Canada by making all foreign nationals (TRs), and some PRs sentenced to more than six months for a serious crime in Canada ineligible for a Record Suspension, fostering the issuance of removal orders, and revoking Protected Person status as a result of a danger opinion decision (Public Safety Canada 2015). Issuance of a “danger opinion,” whereby an individual is deemed a “danger to the public,” allows the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) to remove individuals deemed a danger to Canada, including refugees (CBSA 2015). Barnes (2009) argues that the Danger to the Public provision is an example of the influence of the logic of criminality leaking into immigration enforcement, a process and outcome which some scholars refer to as “crimmigration.”24 Pratt (2005) finds that the effects of racial profiling are not addressed by deportation legislation. Black male residents who are not Canadian citizens are particularly vulnerable to being designated as dangerous and as such, deported without appeal. Chan (2005) argues that                                                       23 Under IRPA, the standard for “serious criminality” is whether the potential penalty for an offence is 10 years or more, regardless of the sentence imposed. Further, an offence that may be prosecuted either summarily or by way of indictment is deemed to be an indictable offence. Also, a determination of whether a PR has committed an offence (e.g. in the case of an acquittal) is on a balance of probabilities (rather than reasonable doubt, as in criminal cases). On top of this, access to the Immigration Appeal Division to appeal a deportation order is denied (i.e. deportation is automatic) following a term of imprisonment of six months or more.      24 Most of the crimmigration literature focuses on asylum, which some scholars argue has been redefined to connote criminality and deviousness as part of a trend to link immigration to crime and terrorism (e.g. Aliveri 2012; Barker 2012; Bosworth 2012). For example, when asked in an interview about the government’s stance against wearing the niqab during citizenship ceremonies, the Canadian Immigration Minister replied, “[Canadians] don’t want their co-citizens to be terrorists” (Ling 2015).  74  definitions of undesirable immigrants are highly racialized, and thus deportation hearings function as a mechanism of moral regulation for differentiating between deserving and undeserving immigrants. In a system designed to define those who may move freely, and to restrain and expel those who may not, matters of identity and penal power play central parts (Bosworth 2012). According to Chan and Chunn, “Contemporary immigration enforcement is very much a ‘racial project’ that combines overtly race-based hostilities with a set of institutional practices (such as criminalization, confinement, and the denial of basic services) to produce an ‘immigrant other’ that is perceived as threatening” (2014, 146). The convergence of immigration and criminal law combines the harshest elements of each, as the state expels those marked as criminally alien (Miller 2005; Stumpf  2006). Given the underlying humanist foundations of race, citizenship, and national belonging, I suggest that immigration enforcement based on criminality is also a vehicle for dehumanization and part of a performance that produces the (deserving) human and (undeserving) sub-human figures.  Canada deports people daily to parts of the world that it advises its citizens to avoid. For example, a CBC documentary on Canadian deportations to Somalia features several disturbing and terrifying deportation narratives, including instances of CBSA agents dropping young Somali men off at the deserted border between Kenya and Somalia and directing them to walk across on their own because planes will not land in Somalia and it is too dangerous for Canadian officials to enter (CBC 2014). Although not all youth who could be deported from Canada are actually removed, their PR status may be revoked, with negative consequences for almost every aspect of life. Hasselberg (2014) finds that deportability becomes embedded in migrants’ daily existence and stains their lives with chronic anxiety. Other possible immigration effects of a criminal record include denial or withholding of PR status, restrictions on international travel, ineligibility to sponsor family members, and ineligibility for citizenship (Edelman 2013; Pardons Canada 2016).   3.4 Conclusion Humanist systems of inequality are exacerbated by the mark of a criminal record as the criminal justice system defines those who are dangerous, then stigmatizes, dehumanizes, and excludes them. Consequently, the police, courts, and prisons are not only technical apparatuses through which authorities respond to crime, but a mechanism through which the 75  state produces and manages marginality within the broader humanist context. The production of marginalization, which relies on race, class, refugeehood, and so on, inspires the performance of two opposing figures: the animalized criminal alien, and the humanized, innocent, and deserving citizen subject. Before taking up these themes in the context of my empirical discussion, the next chapter describes the youth and professional stakeholders who took part in this study and explains how, in methodological terms, I applied the concepts of dehumanization and performativity to the experiences of the young criminalized refugees I spoke with.                        76  Chapter 4. Methodology: Policy, Performance, Posthumanism  “The challenge [of conducting research] is how to start from a place of entanglement or how to replace epistemologies that enact hierarchy and distance with those that assume interdependency and entanglement in asymmetrical conditions…[Achieving this aim] means questioning the epistemological practices through which knowledge is produced and legitimated…Who counts as a legitimate producer of knowledge and why? How do we position ourselves in relation to the objects of research? …What kind of world would we like to be involved in enacting?” (Sundberg 2015).  “The juridical structures of language and politics constitute the field of power so there is no position outside this field; the task is to formulate within this constituted frame a critique of the categories of identity that contemporary juridical structures engender, naturalise and immobilise” (Butler 1990, 5).  “Those who would sharply separate policy analysis from fundamental social values make a grave mistake” (Cochran 2009, 8).  4.1 Introduction and Rationale Methodology refers to the rationale and philosophical assumptions that underlie research together with the methods used; this chapter describes how I conducted the research and why I did it that way. As Smith emphasizes, “Research is not an innocent or distant academic exercise, but an activity that has something at stake and that occurs in a set of political and social conditions” (2012, 5). One of my objectives in undertaking this study was to learn what subalternized stories can reveal about the material and discursive means through which Canadian society is organized. Following Sundberg (2015) in the quote above, critical analysis pays attention to issues of knowledge and power, especially how particular knowledges and understandings of the world are marginalized while others become accepted as universal truths. As the literature reviewed in Chapter 2 highlighted, in humanist terms, only humans are taken seriously and get to be heard; the closer one is to the “animal,” the less one matters. Butler (2004) advises that one means of achieving hegemonic political understanding is through circumscribing the admissibility of certain knowledge into the public sphere. Although marginalized narratives tend not to form part of policy considerations, young refugee’s stories represent situated embodied knowledge critical to opening up the categories that underpin policy-making and have consequences for how “refugee youth” are positioned in relation to social and material resources (Dyck & McLaren 77  2004). Therefore, privileging the voices of subaltern groups has the potential to affect power relations.  Counter stories complicate understandings of “truth” by challenging normalized Eurocentric assumptions of racial and gender neutrality (Atwood & Lopez 2014). Such are the stories that the criminalised refugee youth who took part in this study shared with me. Understanding how race, class, gender, and other forms of domination play out in young people’s lives requires an exploration of the human and animal figures that provide their conceptual foundation. However, rather than seeking to revise humanism by expanding it to include currently excluded bodies, my objective is expose the core of the humanist narrative and excavate it by taking seriously non-dominant frameworks that we can use to change our perspectives. In other words, as Butler (1990) suggests in the opening quote, my aim is to critique the categories of identity produced through socio-legal institutions (i.e. race, class, gender, age, ability, criminality, refugee, species).  Why Focus on Refugee Youth in the Criminal Justice System?   Critical scholars urge researchers to develop an understanding of the underlying assumptions, motivations, and values informing their research practice. For Sundberg (2015), ethical behaviour obliges us to acknowledge the who, what, when, where, why, and how of our research agenda and social practices. Along the same lines, a youth settlement worker in the current study told me, “In any relationship you have to remove the expectations that are based on selfish needs and desires...and then examine why you want to work with ‘x’ group of people—is that your complex coming into play? Is it because it’s sexy?” With these cautions in mind, I outline below the rationale for undertaking a study of institutional humanism with criminalized refugee youth. Mountz (2010) insists that those who are alienated, expelled or contained, such as incarcerated people and the homeless, are well positioned to tell the story of the state because the view from the political periphery illuminates practices at the centre. I am not aware of previous scholarship involving interviews with refugee youth who are involved in the Canadian criminal justice system. In line with Mountz’s ideas, and to partially address this gap, my research represents a preliminary attempt to understand young refugees’ experiences from a theoretical perspective. I propose that while their numbers may be small in absolute 78  terms, criminalized refugee youth play an essential role in institutional performances grounded in human(culture) / animal(nature) dualisms. The humanity of children, refugees, criminals, persons with disability, and racialized persons, especially Africans and Muslims, has frequently been questioned (e.g. Canton 2010; Cornell 2016; Eze 1999; Kaplan 1996; Kincaid 1998; Mawani & Sealy 2010; Naffine 2011; Naffine 2012; Olsen 2014; Said 1979). Focusing my analysis on criminalized, racialized refugee youth therefore permits me to examine experiences of dehumanization on many levels (race, class, gender, age, ability, criminality, refugeehood). At the same time, the focus on criminalized refugees facilitates study of the intersection of several institutional systems (immigration, criminal justice, education, social welfare) simultaneously, thereby providing a multifaceted view of the operation of “state humanism” in Canadian institutions.  In my analysis I heed Chan and Chunn’s (2014) assertion that it is the state rather than racialized people who need to be confronted about their behaviour. Since young people labour under numerous systems of adult control (e.g. by teachers, parents, social workers, employers, and so forth), it seems unfair and inaccurate to seek explanations for their circumstances in the behaviour of individual youth rather than in the systems into which they have been inserted by authoritative adults. I interviewed youth who were aged at least 18; at that age, young people are emerging from those systems of control. Given that adults had so much power over young people’s lives until then, the situation that youth find themselves in as they “come of age” illuminates adult decision making processes, including the institutional policies that I argue perform humanization and animalization. I did not interview young people under the age of 18 in order to include only adults who are independent of state child protection services, parents, and schools, but still widely considered “youth.” In this context, it is worth noting that I view the age of criminal responsibility as a political question rather than a biological imperative in that there is no major change that inevitably takes place in all young people at the moment that they turn 12 or 19 that would “naturally” call for criminal justice processing of incidents which one day earlier would have been dealt with differently (Alvi 2012; Schissel 2011; Sprott & Doob 2004). Furthermore, it is important to understand the experiences of young refugees because children and young adults make up a large portion of GAR arrivals (see Chapter 3). As newcomers and young people of colour, they are marginalized in the labour market. Youth are also the focus of crime prevention efforts, 79  blamed for most crime, and disproportionately criminalized (Allen 2016; Alvi 2012; Sprott & Doob 2008). These conditions call for explanation.  A number of critical approaches have been taken in the study of marginalization in the lives of immigrant youth. For example, the strain model explains criminal behaviour by suggesting that certain conditions, especially poverty and residence in disadvantaged neighbourhoods, create strain in the integration process that leads young people into crime (e.g. ISSofBC 2010b; Ngo 2010; Rossiter & Rossiter 2009b). However, I sought not to explain criminal behaviour, but criminalization and dehumanization, and the underlying logics of institutions and policies that produce criminalized identities. To achieve this, I apply a posthumanist theory of performativity (described below) to the experiences of criminalized refugee youth in order to investigate the ways in which liberal humanism is operationalized via institutional policies and processes that select bodies deemed animalistic on the basis of their race, class, age, gender, ability, and refugeehood, and treat them accordingly (i.e. as animals). Although some research has investigated the humanist underpinnings of the criminal justice and immigration systems (e.g. Hyndman 1998; Olsen 2014), none has looked specifically at the role played by the figure of the human in dehumanizing processes. It is within these contexts that I attempt to track the production of humanist figures and exclusions in institutional policy performances.  4.2 Data Collection Permissions  In addition to obtaining approval from the BREB (see Preface), this study also received ethics approval from PLEA Community Services Society of BC on December 18, 2013. According to their website, “PLEA delivers comprehensive residential and non-residential services in the community, working with the youth justice, child welfare, addictions, health and community living systems...Our programs adhere to the requirements of the Youth Criminal Justice Act and support the safe rehabilitation of the young people while minimizing the use of custody” (PLEA 2016). Three of the youth I spoke with were referred to me by PLEA.  I submitted an extensive application to Provincial Corrections requesting permission to conduct research with correctional employees, clients, and/or data. The application was 80  denied. While in theory this meant that I could not interview people in custody, or who work for Provincial Corrections, or post my recruitment materials at Provincial Corrections sites (such as probation officers or custody centers), I was able to achieve these objectives in a limited way by obtaining permissions from individual staff members, including to interview offenders in custody (although ultimately none agreed to speak to me). The denial of permission had the effect of restricting my study to “sympathetic” correctional employees who were willing to speak to me in their “free time.” Additionally, it meant that I was not able to recruit young adults through correctional channels. Given that there is no publically available list of potential interviewees, the rejection had the overall effect of inhibiting my recruitment capacity.   Advisory Committee At the outset of the study I formed a community-based advisory committee to guide the research and to ensure that the results would be useful for people working on the ground. The committee comprised representation from: immigrant serving agencies (ISA), law enforcement, corrections, a lawyer specializing in immigration and criminal law, a criminal justice non-governmental organization (NGO), Settlement Workers in Schools (SWIS) program, and a Somali community leader whose son was involved in the criminal justice system. The Advisory Committee met on October 30, 2013 at Immigrant Services Society of BC (ISSofBC). Dan Hiebert, my academic supervisor, also attended the meeting. I provided committee members with the proposed project overview and timelines and we discussed recruitment methods and the plan for interviews and focus groups. Committee members were extremely supportive of the project. We kept in touch over the following two years with members providing advice on questions relevant to their area of expertise. I will present my findings to the committee at the Community Forum in spring 2017 (see below).  Archived Data A literature review of primary and secondary sources provided an overview of the immigration and settlement of refugee youth and families, as well as of criminal justice processes pertaining to refugees and minorities in Canada. In addition to academic material on social inequality, criminal justice, youth, refugee settlement, humanism, animal studies, 81  and policy analysis, other sources included government studies, NGO reports, statistical databases, policy briefs, legislation and regulations, media reports, and IRCC, CSC, and provincial ministerial records obtained through FOI requests. These archived sources provided context and established patterns, deepening my analysis of interview material. One question that frequently arose in interviews was, “Exactly how many refugee youth are in the criminal justice system?”  This is a difficult question to answer for at least two reasons. First, because involvement in the criminal justice system does not tend to be a onetime occurrence; as I demonstrate later, one charge can entail involvement over many years. The second challenge concerns access to statistical data held by CBSA. As the Office of the Information Commissioner (OIC) and others have noted, the FOI and Access to Information and Privacy (ATIP) systems are antiquated and frequently inaccessible (CBC 2013; OIC 2013; OIC 2014; Proctor 2015). Totten & Kelly (2005) reported that gaining access to prisoner records was easier in the provincial versus the federal justice system. Correspondingly, my FOI request to MCFD resulted in the provision of some information, while my repeated requests to CBSA were never processed and after two years I filed a complaint with the Privacy Commissioner (at the time of writing I am awaiting the results of the ongoing investigation). The challenges of accessing statistical data were extreme.   Recruitment of Interviewees Interviewees were located through networks I had developed over several years of community involvement, including connections to local ISAs, criminal justice professionals, and community groups. For example, I volunteered for several years at BYCC and Downtown Community Court (DCC) with the Elizabeth Fry Society, which primarily serves women and girls involved in the criminal justice system. I also volunteered briefly for the John Howard Society, which provides services mainly to men and boys in the justice system. Additionally, I have extensive networks in the immigrant settlement sector developed through previous research, volunteer work, employment, and activism. Access was facilitated through relationships developed through those networks and (as there is no available list from which to select participants) interviewees were selected using a snowball sampling technique incorporating multiple points of entry. Given the limitations of data access, I could not expect my sample to be statistically representative of the refugee youth population in the 82  criminal justice system; therefore, my objective was to interview a broad range of participants to understand the breadth of their experiences, to reveal patterns and identify particular groups whose needs are not adequately met under the current system, and to offer an analysis of how the present situation arose.   For the most part, the contact information of criminal justice employees is not publically available and representatives of most criminal justice agencies, whether NGO or government, became suspicious and defensive when I described my project and requested an interview. It was an intimidating process. I found it particularly difficult to arrange interviews with employees of CSC, CBSA, and Provincial Corrections. However, I was able to speak with several people who had either recently worked for these agencies or who agreed to speak to me without going through formal approval channels (“on their own time”). I tried unsuccessfully for two years to arrange an interview with a CBSA representative. However, I was able to interview a former agent who told me, “A lot of people…are afraid—because of the tyranny. We call it ‘beaten dog syndrome,’ where if you’ve been around for a lot of years, things happen and instead of standing up to fight, you go cower in the corner: ‘I’m not going to fight that because it’s not worth it.’” In other words, CBSA staff members are unwilling to be interviewed for fear that something they say might entail negative consequences for them later. Many interviewees confirmed that the justice system is a closed environment that is difficult for outsiders to access, and research also backs this up (e.g. Totten 2001; Totten & Kelly 2005; Wortley & Tanner 2008). The recruitment of youth proved even more difficult. Most agencies informed me that they do not know whether they have any immigrants or refugees on their case load, and that in any case they treat everybody in the same way and therefore there is no reason for me to speak with them. Even where staff were willing to provide assistance, it is not easy to make or maintain contact with youth who are homeless, in and out of jail, aging out of programs, who do not have a phone, who are living in temporary safe houses, and who are often disconnected from parents. In effect, the young people I spoke with have few ongoing relationships. In addition, the $40 honorarium I offered proved insufficient to overcome the shame and fear that accompany the combination of refugee status and a criminal record. It also became clear as the study progressed that $40 in return for speaking about one’s life to 83  an unknown adult is unattractive if one is making a living by selling drugs (for which the pay is much better).   Interviews I held interviews with 42 professional stakeholders who work with immigrant or refugee youth involved in the criminal justice system, including settlement and youth workers, police and POs, and legal service providers. The semi-structured individual interviews were intended to learn about the challenges young criminalized refugees face and available resources, and to obtain stakeholders’ advice concerning the design of the subsequent interviews with youth. I held individual interviews with professional stakeholders for confidentiality reasons and to simplify scheduling. However, I was open to holding group interviews and there were three of these involving a total of 12 people. I also conducted individual interviews with 12 young men aged 18-30 (and one person who was 39 but who had entered the criminal justice system as a young adult). Once again, I considered that young people might not be willing to share their experiences among a group of people with whom they are not familiar, but I was open to interviewing people together if they wished, and this occurred with Hamdi and Ashraf.  I had hoped to interview parents, but for the most part parents were not closely involved in these young people’s lives. However, I interviewed one father (Nasim), which was very helpful because his son (Issa) was the one youth who did not permit me to record the interview and he spoke little during our time together. Suspecting that his son might not be forthcoming with me, Nasim had intended that I interview him first, but he was exhausted after working a late shift and ended up having a nap instead (I interviewed them in their home), which meant that I interviewed Issa first. I later learned that Nasim thought that I had come to support him against his son, as it were. As a result, Issa may have felt that I was already against him and therefore been reluctant to share incriminating information with me. Interviews lasted from one to three hours (for interview schedules, see Appendices F and G), and were semi-structured, with questions grouped into themes around the challenges that young refugees face in the criminal justice system and in their settlement process generally, the strategies they used to cope with those challenges, and any assistance they received. The interview schedule was not followed precisely, but used as a guide so that 84  throughout the course of the conversation, answers to all of the questions were obtained. Each refugee youth interviewed received a $40 honorarium. I also brought a package of food (e.g. a Subway sandwich and juice) to all of the youth interviews, and this appeared to be gratefully appreciated.   Interviews with youth took place in local parks, at a public library, at participants’ homes, and at agencies where they received services and felt comfortable. Interviews with young people took place in Vancouver apart from Fayyad (Richmond) and Issa (Surrey). The interviews with professional stakeholders occurred at their places of work in Vancouver, Surrey, Burnaby, and Richmond. All the interviews except two (Issa and Pascaline) were audio recorded. In those cases, I took notes by hand during the interview. Interviews were conducted in English with interpretation available for participants who required it (however, nobody requested interpretation). Approximately six months after the first interviews, I attempted to conduct follow-up interviews with the youth I had spoken with. The challenges I faced further underscore the marginalization of these young people. In most cases, youth workers had already lost contact with people they had connected me with a few months earlier; the few youth who had cell phones did not have the same number. My emails received no response. Consequently, apart from three exceptions (Ashraf, Hamdi, and Dani) I was unable to conduct follow up interviews.  Matters of Positionality and Reflexivity  Given the race, class, age, and legal status power differentials that obviously exist between me and the young people I interviewed, the issue of “trust” is a crucial one, especially in the context of the criminal justice system where trust is often lacking. In this regard, having a personal introduction, either from an organization, a trusted case worker, friend or other participant was extremely helpful. Further, during the interview I made my political views known by expressing awareness of my privilege as a White, employed, university-educated, citizen-settler, and by acknowledging my complicity in the perpetuation of exploitative neocolonial relations, including in the production of refugees. Furthermore, I also have a fairly extensive criminal past, I have also struggled with (and overcome) an addiction, and I come from a working-class background; I think that these circumstances contributed to an empathic atmosphere. Still, youth are notoriously difficult for adult 85  researchers to interview (e.g. Kumsa et al 2015; Kwok 2009). The youth I spoke with were mostly polite, friendly, and shy. As one youth worker said about the young men in custody with whom he works, “Some are boys; some are very much men. But they are all really just confused teenagers.”  With few exceptions conversation flowed smoothly and some youth shared extended accounts of their experiences, for which I feel honoured and grateful. Despite the seriousness of the subject matter, many drew on a sharp, witty, and often cynical sense of humour that enabled them to joke about the challenges they faced. For both interviewer and interviewee the interview material elicited a complex mix of emotional reactions including pain, bitterness, pleasure, anger, surprise, laughter, disappointment, and sadness. Some interviews fulfilled a cathartic function. For example, when Fayyad finished speaking, he told me that he had never told anyone about his life like that before and that it felt “amazing” and “refreshing” to “open up” and tell his whole story at once. Several other young people also expressed their gratitude for the chance to tell their story from start to finish because they do not usually get a chance to do so. Totten (2001) discusses the legal, ethical, and clinical dilemmas associated with doing field work with youth gang members who engage in serious violence. As with the young people I spoke to, some of his interviewees had lived on the street, witnessed or perpetrated abuse or neglect, or required suicide intervention. Instead of avoiding this kind of work, Totten insists that researchers must continue to explore these issues and, whenever possible, get training prior to commencing research. With this in mind, I earned a certificate in Therapeutic Crisis Intervention (TCI) through the Elizabeth Fry Society prior to beginning the study. Totten & Kelly (2005) worked with local agencies to provide follow-up support after interviews to participants if needed, and I followed the same procedure (however, no such occasion arose). Sometimes the issue of the truth status of participants’ accounts is raised in analyses of offenders’ narratives (Presser 2009). However, there is no reason to assume that people who have been convicted of breaking the law are more likely than anyone else to lie in an interview. Given that most people (including me) have committed an offence during their lifetime there is no evidence that information provided by “criminals” is less accurate than that provided by other research participants (including police or corrections staff). We tell 86  our stories as we perceive them and memory is inevitably selective. Rajah et al (2014) found that young people’s interpretations of their criminal justice experiences varied as a function of navigating the different strains associated with incarceration, program attendance, and re-entering communities (see also Bullock & Condry 2013 and Ewick & Silbey 1995). Sandberg (2010) also addresses the question of how we know whether research participants are telling the truth and whether it matters. He suggests that doing research with “offenders” is no different from other ethnographic research: the same issues exist of establishing rapport, learning and understanding narrative codes, and balancing outsider and insider roles. With this in mind, I sought not to discover “the truth” but to deconstruct how contemporary forms of governance shape ways of being and belonging.  4.3 Description of Research Participants Youth When professional stakeholders described the demographic profile of young refugees they had worked with who were involved in the criminal justice system, the same African and the Middle Eastern countries came up repeatedly: Somalia, Iraq, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Afghanistan, and Sudan. As indicated in Table 1 below, the youth I interviewed came from similar places. Table 1 also provides information on the age of the young people I spoke with at the time of their arrival to Canada and at the time of the interview, their country of origin, immigration pathway (note that only one youth was a Canadian citizen), housing situation and municipality of residence (not necessarily the same as their parents, given that most resources are located in Vancouver and some had no-goes25 to their parent’s home), source of income, first charge, whether they had completed high school, their religious background and visible minority category, and whether they had served time in custody. All but one of the young people I spoke with admitted to having committed at least some of the offences with which they had been charged.  All of the youth who took part in the study were young men; I did not deliberately exclude young women, but was not able to identify any during recruitment who were also willing to speak to me. The focus on men, however, is not surprising given that around 75%                                                       25 i.e. A no-contact order (“peace bond”) that prohibits contact with their parents, or a condition prohibiting them from going to their home. 87  of people involved with justice systems are male (Statistics Canada 2016a; 2016b). All of the names used in this dissertation are pseudonyms. Most of the young people I spoke with were sponsored refugees (GARs and PSRs) (Table 1) and my original intention had been to restrict interviewees to this category for consistency in analysis. Additionally, sponsored refugees are selected by the Canadian government, which has knowledge of their background and demographic characteristics before they arrive and therefore a greater ability to meet their needs in Canada, since they may be planned for in advance. In contrast, asylum seekers arrive on their own so it is more difficult to predict the needs of those arriving. Also, sponsored refugees have PR status when they arrive (in most cases), whereas asylum seekers must go through an extended legal process involving several changes in legal status. Although including only GARs and PSRs would have permitted a more focused analysis, I ultimately included two LCRs (i.e. people whose refugee claim had been accepted) among my interviewees, including one who was originally sponsored by a refugee family member, then made a successful refugee claim as a PR (for a description of these categories, see Chapter 3). Ultimately, I found that the significance to my analysis of identity categories such as age, race, gender, class, and ability, along with the experience of trauma, forced migration, and criminalization, superseded minor differences in refugee category. 88            Table 1. Study Sample: Youth Demographic Summary Age Country of Origin Immigration Status Type of Residence Place of Residence Source of Income First Charge Grad.  High School Religion Visible Minority Jail Time Inter-view Arrival 24 13 Somalia GAR→PR SROc Vancouver PWDd Assault No Muslim Black Yes 18(15)a 15(12) Somalia GAR→PR With parents Surrey none Robbery No Muslim Black Bailh 39 20 South Sudan GAR→PR Halfway house Vancouver work PSPf Yes Christian Black Yes 28 8 Uganda SRb→PR Shared rental Burnaby SAe Assault No Christian Black Yes 18 18 Tunisia SR→PR Group home Vancouver SA Assault No Muslim Arab Yes 18 8 Iran LCR→TR Safe house Vancouver SA Assault No Atheistg West Asian Bail 18 7 Kenya SR→citizen Group home Vancouver SA Assault No Muslim Arab Bail 24 16 Somalia SR→LCR→PR SRO Vancouver PWD Assault No Muslim Black Yes 21 17 Somalia GAR→PR With mom Surrey SA Assault No Muslim Black Yes 24 13 Sudan/ Kenya PSR→TR Couch surfing Vancouver SA Assault No Muslim Black Yes 29 13 Somalia GAR→PR Couch surfing Richmond SA Theft No Muslim Black Yes 18 8 Afghani-stan GAR→PR With parents Burnaby none Assault No Muslim West Asian Yes  a This young man’s age was three years less than that indicated on his identity documents. I also interviewed his father. b Sponsored by a refugee family member.         c Single Room Occupancy.  d Disability pension (Person With a Disability).     e Social Assistance.  f Possession of Stolen Property. g This young man’s family background is Baha’i.  h Limited time spent in custody due to release on bail89   Table 2 describes the professional stakeholders I interviewed, indicating the type of agency they represented and the number of interviewees in each category. Interviewees (23 women and 19 men) represented a wide range of professions and experience. Law enforcement representatives included both Vancouver Police Department (VPD) and Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) police constables, including Youth Squad, Community Engagement, and Diversity Unit members, a sergeant, a youth diversion worker (who works with youth who have experienced police contact but have not been charged with an offence), and a school liaison officer (SLO). Correctional employees who took part in the study included youth and adult probation officers (PO) from both the federal and provincial systems, as well as from MCFD. I also spoke with a former CBSA agent with experience in law enforcement and deportations. Three lawyers participated in the study: a defense lawyer who specialises in immigration and criminal law, a prison lawyer, and a youth Crown attorney. Three municipal government representatives took part, including a community safety coordinator, a social planner, and a childhood manager. Finally, NGO interviewees were drawn from front line staff as well as middle- and upper-level management, including: settlement workers, settlement managers, front line and managerial social service providers, youth workers (including a social worker and a youth custody worker), an immigrant health care worker, a mental health court support worker, an immigrant court support worker, a SWIS program worker, a manager in an organization that serves people experiencing developmental or adaptive disabilities, and a manager in a criminal justice non-profit organization. Table 2. Study Sample: Professional Stakeholders by Agency Category Agency Category # interviewees Criminal justice non-profit 2 Criminal justice non-profit (youth) 2 SWIS  1 Health, including mental health 3 Immigrant settlement 10 Immigration enforcement 1 Law enforcement 3 Law enforcement (youth) 4 Legal services 3 Municipal government 3 90  Agency Category # interviewees Probation (adult) 2 Probation (youth)  1 Social Services  4 Social Services (youth) 2 Youth Crown Attorney 1 TOTAL 42   4.4 Analysis  Following the interviews, I transcribed the recordings and then coded the data manually by reading the interviews over and over again to identify preliminary themes and concepts, and then recoded until a stable system of categories emerged. The themes I identified formed the chapters, headings, and subheadings of this dissertation. Once I had identified the themes I wanted to focus on, I combed through the interviews again for specific material pertaining to each thematic area. My objective was to situate the empirical data within a conceptual framework. The analytical focus provided by the theoretical concepts that guide my analysis (posthumanism and performativity) is mine, not one that was suggested or necessarily endorsed by my participants. Also, I do not rely on overtly dehumanizing discourse to make my argument; just as institutional racism does not require overtly racist individuals, neither, I propose, does institutional humanism require overtly dehumanizing expressions. Instead I focus on the effects of policies to understand their function in the anthropological machine. In doing so, this dissertation tells a particular story to explain the settlement outcomes of the refugee youth I spoke with. I use material gathered in interviews with youth and professional stakeholders to explore how cultural frameworks are filtered through policy into the lived experiences of the young people I spoke with. However, cultural frames are not self-evident; to study them, we must construct them (Rein & Schon 1993). Although the origins of policies are difficult to trace, policies produce effects that structure our daily lives (Ball 1994). Therefore, to some extent, we can infer the narratives that policies are based on through their effects on people’s lives. I draw on performativity theory to connect these ideas with the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter 2 and the policies and processes I described in Chapter 3. Butler’s early development of performativity theory suggests that reality is not pre-given or static but is continually created through “discursive practice that enacts or produces that which it names” 91  (1990, 13). For Butler, gender is a performance rather than an innate, fixed or ahistorical state; it is the iterative effect of ongoing, embodied, and power-laden performances. In this view, humanist identities, norms, and subjectivities are not stable, natural or inevitable, but rather are continually brought into being through performances that organize and reproduce unequal social power relations. Issues of representation are based on performances that construct what it means to be male, female, Black, White, human, subhuman or non-human. These roles are performed every day. Below I describe how I brought the lens of performativity to my study.  Performativity Although performativity is not often associated with analyses of the criminal justice system, nor policy analysis generally (Singh et al 2014), I use it to reveal the relationality between discourse and materiality by focusing on how the discursive/material relations between my young research participants and police officers, teachers, POs, and correctional officials stabilize and establish the human/non-human boundary. I argue that the criminal justice, immigration, education, and social welfare practices operative in the lives of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with perform the humanist figures of the human and non-human. To propose that criminal justice policy and processing is performative is to suggest that criminal justice models and tools are not, as conventionally understood, inert reflections of an external world. Rather, criminal justice processes and apparatuses actively bring into being the dehumanized criminal identities they purport to describe and manage. These processes, which include poverty, homelessness, exclusion from education and labour markets, dependence, violence, caging, and silencing, are in turn dehumanizing. During interviews, youth described the challenges they faced in navigating Canadian bureaucratic institutions and the strategies they used to deal with those challenges, which sometimes involved criminalized behaviour. I examined their narratives to learn what they revealed about humanism as the dominant cultural narrative. At the same time, I brought my knowledge of the human figure constructed against nature to the interview data to illuminate young people’s experiences in light of dominant norms. At a basic level, performativity means that something produces a series of (intended or unintended) effects. I looked for words, phrases, situations, and events that recalled notions of rationality, autonomy, 92  independence, individualism, and whiteness, characteristics which define the humanist figure of Man. I also sought out indications of raced, classed, gendered, ableised, and aged discourses and patterns of behaviour. These categories of identity and domination are modes of ordering that perform subject and object positions which in turn constitute subjectivity; these positions are important if we want to understand the performativity of policy narratives.  Butler (2009a) examines the ways in which political orders position marginalized subjects outside dominant frames. She argues that performativity is intimately connected with the production of subjects whose life is worthy of protection and of mourning. These practices are “stitched to questions of what and who gets to count as human” (Stanescu 2012, 3). Therefore, she argues, “The construction of the human is a differential operation that produces the more and the less ‘human,’ the inhuman, the humanly unthinkable. These excluded sites come to bound the ‘human’ as its constitutive outside” (1990, 8). Thus, the human and the non-human are not ontologically given but continually reproduced as figures that serve in subject formation, the allocation of resources, and the creation and justification of social hierarchies and inequalities grounded in species distinction. For example, I argue that the boundary between humans and animals is a line that is continually redrawn—iteratively performed—within and by the bureaucratic systems described in Chapter 3. To say that policy performs the human figure is to say that the human figure is real only insofar as it is performed. The appearance of substance is a performative achievement in which we come to believe and, in that belief, to perform. In this way, performativity rejects the notion of identity as the source of action and instead investigates the construction of identities as they are created by performative behaviors and discourse. Applying to my argument Butler’s (1990) claim that there is no subject that exists prior to gender suggests that, for a Westerner, there is no human or subhuman self preceding the self as defined by liberal humanism. Performativity offers a means of theorizing power through the production of rules and norms because social practices such as incarceration, racial profiling, violence, and disposability cite dominant norms. While social constructionism suggests that knowledge and social institutions are produced by actors within systems rather than existing prior to culture as natural entities, performativity provides the mechanism for the reproduction of dominant norms and identities that are socially constructed. Even ordinary communication and behaviours are performative in that they serve to define identity. Performativity very often 93  means the repetition of oppressive and harmful norms defined by race, class, gender, age, ability, and species that constrain action. The human figure as White, middle-class, able-bodied, and male is continually remade through the repetition of dominant norms that define how bodies may be treated. The treatment of bodies that do not conform to dominant norms produces marginalization and, for the youth I spoke with, also criminalization. Criminalization, which disproportionately affects racialized men, creates criminals. Criminals are perceived as beasts or animals (Olsen 2014). Because they are irrational, animals require harsh treatment (Patterson 2002). Violence begets violence (Morin 2015). The result is the violent, seemingly irrational, dehumanized figure of the dark male youth that is supposedly the focus of racial profiling, risk assessment, and danger determinations. In these ways the criminal justice system creates the very figure it claims to describe; it performs a dehumanized figure exemplified by the young people who took part in this study. In making these claims, I do not suggest that no beneficial policies exist or that individual policy-makers or youth workers are not caring or thoughtful people doing their best in a less than perfect system. I am also not suggesting that there is a plot among policy-makers, law enforcement personnel, or NGO employees to instrumentally brutalize some young people in order to prop up their own race, class, gender or species privilege. Instead, I focus on the systemic workings of what Agamben (2004) called the “anthropological machine,” which grinds out old metaphors and stereotypes as part of a discursive system, rather than simply the product of individual intention. Yet, we cannot stop the machine if we remain unaware of its functioning. The iterative performance of the human and non-human categories sustains the machine. If these categories were no longer performed, they would disappear and the machine would grind to a halt.  At the same time, I do not propose that the young men who took part in this study have never made mistakes. However, my perspective is that when young people come to Canada from violent backgrounds as children (i.e. under adult control) then Canadian systems have an obligation to proactively ensure that those young people receive the supports they need to thrive. If, a few years after arrival, they are carrying a gun and selling drugs, then that is a “failure” of Canadian policy given that the stated aim of immigration and multicultural policy is to promote successful integration into mainstream society. Unquestionably, some young people commit serious violent offences that victimize others. I 94  do not propose that these incidents should be ignored, but that incarceration and punishment without effective opportunities to overcome underlying issues is socially unjust and ultimately reproduces the problems that such practices ostensibly seek to address.  4.5 Study Limitations  The generalizability of my study findings is limited by three broad factors: the terminology I used during recruitment, my sample size and selection methods, and through my focus on theory and structure over agency. I address each of these in turn below.  Recruitment  One difficulty I encountered during recruitment arose from different understandings of the term “youth” in bureaucratic systems. In the immigration policy world with which I am most familiar, “youth” is a general term referring to people aged 13-30. However, in the criminal justice world, youth has a very specific meaning: people under 18. It proved challenging to straddle this definition to look at young people aged 18-30 and may have made recruitment more difficult as some criminal justice professionals were confused by my use of the term.  A similar challenge pertained to my use of the word “refugee.” Although the category of refugee is a useful one, it caused confusion when speaking to people in the criminal justice system who generally understood it to refer to asylum seekers and LCRs, and it was difficult to make clear that I was actually interested in sponsored refugees. For example, even though I carefully differentiated between GARs, PSRs, and LCRs in my proposal to Provincial Corrections, one of the reasons for its rejection turned out to be based on precisely this misunderstanding; the reviewer thought I was referring to LCRs and indicated that there are very few such people in the criminal justice system. Once again, the effect of this confusion was to limit my recruitment ability.  Sample Although I did not speak to as many youth as I had originally hoped, the narratives and experiences that young people shared with me align with what professional stakeholders indicated, as well as with the literatures on criminal justice, youth, and immigration. I feel 95  privileged to have spoken to as many as 12 criminalized refugee youth, given the extent of the marginalization they face. The young people I spoke with are marginalized in research as well as in policy and in society generally; that I was able to interview a relatively small number both confirms and reinforces this claim.  Since I only spoke to racialized young people who have been criminalized, it could appear that the study is open to the critique of “sampling on the dependent variable.” I did not speak with youth who arrived in Canada in similar circumstances (i.e. as refugees, visible minorities, males, etc.) who are not involved in the criminal justice system. Therefore, I cannot explain the precise dynamic that sets things in one direction rather than another for individual youth. Further, lacking statistical data I cannot say how many young refugees are involved in the criminal justice system. Importantly, however, I do not seek to extrapolate from a few individuals or social situations to many; rather I try to move specific incidents and anecdotes to the discursive field that enables certain conditions and constrains others. In other words, I seek to understand the narrative framework behind the policies that affect the situation of the young people I spoke with, rather than all youth, all refugees, or all criminalized people. Consequently, I am not telling the story of all racialized refugee youth, but a story to explain the experiences of the young people who took part in this study. These conditions limit but do not entirely negate the generalizability of my findings, which may be extended to understand the experiences of to all criminalized refugee youth. A related critique could focus on the lack of a “control group.”  For example, a justification provided by BC Corrections for rejecting my proposal included the following: “Individuals who come through the justice system can do so for any number of reasons, therefore to provide an objective review, you would need to recruit a comparison group. Recommendations are not appropriate if not based in an objective data set.” Mertens (2007) discusses some of the methodological challenges associated with culturally complex, low-incidence groups such as the youth I interviewed. She notes that the use of control groups determined by random assignment contradicts the underlying logic of individual circumstances, given the idiosyncratic nature of low-incidence populations due to the small sample size. The uniqueness of the population also creates problems with attempts to replicate findings and it is difficult to demonstrate broad generalizability of results. 96  Consequently, qualitative methods may permit more accurate portrayal of the experiences of complex populations that also exhibit low incidence.  It is also worth noting that the fact that not all racialized refugee youth end up in the criminal justice system does not mean there is not a broad pattern of criminalization of racialized young people (see Chapter 3). While a tiny minority of people benefit from humanist structures, the vast majority experience marginalization. For the racialized refugee youth who took part in this study, this includes criminalization. My review of the literature demonstrates that humanism permeates every aspect of life in the West and is the dominant view shared by most scientists, politicians, theologians, philosophers, and scholars (including most critical theorists) (see Chapter 2). The effects of humanism are most devastating for other-than-human beings, but we are all entangled in the humanist warp and weft that conditions the fabric of society. My literature review also shows that some groups of people are more vulnerable to dehumanization than others. Specifically, racialized people, refugees, criminals, women, the working classes, people with disabilities, and children are conventionally understood to be relatively lacking in rationality and “closer to nature” than White people, men, the middle/upper classes, and the able-bodied. Therefore, while the processes I describe apply to all criminalized refugee youth, they may not be exclusive to criminalized refugee youth; they may apply to African, Muslim, racialized youth, refugees, and criminalized people generally. The young people who took part in my study fall within all of these categories, and so the dehumanizing processes I detail in subsequent chapters are layered. However, my objective is not to claim that all refugee youth experience racialization or criminalization in the same ways. In an earlier study (Francis 2010) I used the metaphor of onion to illustrate the ways in which overlapping challenges exacerbate one another, suggesting that each layer implies additional disadvantage. I believe a similar process operates here. Finally, it is worth noting that maintenance of the dominant narrative extends to the methods deemed appropriate for creating knowledge and determining who may participate in knowledge construction. Critics may dismiss marginalized narratives as unverifiable or lacking in objectivity, but if scholars respond by seeking evidence that meets validity and reliability criteria, they verify the legitimacy of these rules of knowledge formation (Atwood & Lopez 2014). These methodological questions also highlight the ontological and 97  epistemological concerns about who is included in research and whose voices are heard in policy that I raise in this dissertation.  Theory, Structure, Agency Another potential limitation may result from my structural focus on Canadian society and policy; by emphasizing institutional humanism I neglect the agency of young people and their families. Obviously, youth are making decisions about their lives within the contexts I describe. I am not looking at why people commit criminal acts (since that includes almost everybody) but why some people are criminalized and the discursive and material effects of criminalization. My aim is to contextualise the experiences of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with in broader humanist structures and frameworks that dehumanize particular bodies. In short, I am not explaining individual behaviour but the ways in which the humanist foundations of Canadian law and policy disproportionately marginalize particular kinds of bodies. Young people who, by definition, lack life experience often make decisions that get them into trouble with adults. Given this, I believe it is the task of adult-designed systems to create conditions in which youth can make decisions that will not result in lifelong stigma, precarity, and exclusion. It is not that the actions and decisions that youth make do not matter, but that adult society needs to take more responsibility.  Furthermore, while it is true that people sometimes make poor choices, structures significantly constrain choice. This view aligns with posthumanist perspectives which insist that one consequence of seeing humans as part of nature involves an acknowledgement that decisions are not solely the outcome of individual human intention (Sundberg 2011). As Haraway (2008) states with reference to the fact that the human body comprises only around 10% human DNA: we were never alone.26 The liberal standpoint posits a view of humans as atomized individuals making choices based on autonomous free will who must be held accountable for their actions; conversely, the posthumanist perspective perceives humans as nodes in networks of power relations that include all other beings and calls for the acknowledgement of complicity and, in Sundberg’s (2015) terms above, entanglement. My focus on the broader theoretical framework of humanism also means that I do not examine the systems of support that exist. While I offer brief critiques of social service                                                       26 In fact she goes further, asserting that “we” were never human (Haraway 2008). 98  provision in Chapters 7 and 8, I cannot in this dissertation look at the entire range of service provision and programming.27 At the same time, supports are provided within the broader humanist framework and are for the most part aimed at incrementally increasing young people’s access to rights or helping young people navigate the racism and classism they face in society generally. My goal is to understand how a particular human figure is performed rather than to provide guidance on how to offer services to young people within humanist structures. A structural argument highlights that while individuals have some agency for action within structures, an explanation based on individual agency, psychology, or behaviour is insufficient. The task as I see it is to undermine structural challenges rather than to attempt to fix individuals or figure out how some people manage to “get around” racist arrangements in order to help a few others do the same. Identifying “protective factors” that create “resilience” (to racism, sexism, ageism, ableism, and so on) may improve the lives of some people in the short term, but doing so will leave the degraded animalistic figure, as well as the racism, sexism, ageism, ableism, and classism that rely upon it, intact.  Finally, while my focus on advocacy and theory rather than “objectivity” and the provision of immediately practicable recommendations may alienate policy makers, such an analysis is necessary in order to gain a fuller comprehension of the forces at play in the lives of the youth I spoke with. Hier (2007) argues that a lack of attention to epistemology limits the extent to which research is able to document and explain the complexities of race and racism (also gender, class, age, and so forth), thereby potentially restricting the effectiveness of policy development and contributing to the polarization of research findings. He concludes that we require explanations for both why racism persists and in what ways it manifests at particular historical moments. This dissertation incorporates these dual concerns by revealing some of the complex ways in which the material effects of contemporary public policy frameworks are embedded within humanist socio-historical ideological constructions. An understanding of theoretical frameworks is also vital in light of critical policy analyses suggesting that policy decisions tend to be made based on decision makers’ worldviews rather than on research data (e.g. Braun 2000; Colebatch 2012; Ney 2009). As Cochran (2009) suggests in the opening quote, policy making cannot be separated from the production and reproduction of societal values.                                                       27 However, I will focus more closely on support systems in the Community Forum (see below). 99  Dissemination and Future Obligations Smith (2012) reminds researchers that who will listen is at least as important as who is speaking, and that there are diverse ways of disseminating knowledge and ensuring that the research produced reaches the people who helped make it. Collecting people’s stories entails an ethical obligation to ensure that my research reaches a broader audience of people who might use the findings to promote positive change. With this in mind, I presented an outline of this proposal to an audience of settlement practitioners, activists, academics, policy makers, and community members at the Canadian Council for Refugees (CCR) National Consultation in Vancouver on May 30, 2013. I also presented my preliminary findings at the Metropolis National Conference in Vancouver on March 27, 2015.  I am committed to sharing my findings and analysis widely. I will hold a Community Forum in spring 2017 to present my findings to the people who participated in the study and to local NGO and governmental employees. Prior to the Forum, I will provide a written report to the professional stakeholders and their agencies who took part in the study. In addition, dissemination will involve publishing and presenting the study findings to diverse audiences including policy-makers, NGOs, academics, and community groups, in a variety of venues and formats over several years, including as working papers, at conferences and community presentations, in media reports, and in academic journals.  4.6 Conclusion This chapter described my research design and methods, as well as some of the limitations arising from the way I conducted the study. One of my objectives with this project was to bring to light the experiences of people whose stories are not often heard. I take up this theme in more detail in the following chapter, which begins the presentation of my empirical findings through an examination of the ways in which the erasure of personal, familial, and cultural histories of the young people I spoke with produces an animalized subhuman figure via institutional systems grounded in humanist frameworks that define whose knowledge counts.     100  Part 2: Four Performances  Chapter 5. Personal Stories Erased  “There are a lot of youth out there that have no direction. So if Canada could have a program integrating their story—knowing [these] things: where they are from, their background, their story, and what is their focus in life. Yes, they’ve done a good job bringing them out of the refugee camp to here, but it’s not enough.” –Patience  “You know you are from somewhere, even if they don’t know.” –Fayyad  “How is language, as the unique property of the human being, deployed as a modality of animalization, desubjectification, racism, and so on? Simply, it entails technologies that serve to deny and exclude the Other from the use of language and thereby to render this Other into a brute” (Seshadri, 2012; 12).   “Here it isn’t about where you’re from, man, you know, it’s like ‘what are you?’” –Hassan  5.1 Introduction This chapter presents my empirical findings through an exploration of the ways in which the personal, cultural and familial histories of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with are dismissed within bureaucratic institutions, especially those associated with criminal justice and education. In this and the following three chapters, my analysis weaves between the conceptual and the empirical in order to reveal the ways in which humanism as a theoretical paradigm is operationalized in institutional policies and practices that shape the lived experiences of the criminalized refugee youth I spoke with. As Sheshadri (2012) indicates above, silencing is animalizing/dehumanizing. I argue it is also performative of the human and sub/non-human figures because it produces the dehumanized figure of the criminalized refugee youth. I open this section with an overview of how the question of “whose knowledge matters” is resolved within humanist frameworks in favour of those who correspond to the dominant conception of the ideal human based on the humanist presumption that only humans count, while other voices are muted.  Posthumanist scholars have drawn attention to the question of who/what counts as a legitimate matter of social concern, and the ways in which such determinations rely on and sustain the boundary between nature and culture, humanity and animality (e.g. Barad 2003; 101  Butler 2009b; Deckha 2010; Haraway 2008; Sundberg 2013). Examining who is authorized to speak and what institutional sites they speak from can therefore reveal how “objects” of knowledge are formed. Mountz suggests that immigration policies strategically position groups of people in relation to the state through their identification as particular types of subjects. She states, “One’s identity and location are central to this process of classification, constituted through federal immigration policy…Cultural identities are constructed through quotidian practices, influenced by departmental cultures and the larger body politic” (2010, 28). Consequently, it is important to consider the social processes through which identities are enacted by examining the interfaces of discourse and materiality, and of figure and institution. I do this via a posthumanist theory of performativity that shows how the erasure of the personal and cultural histories of the criminalized refugee youth who took part in this study performs a species distinction among humans by denying those youth a fundamental feature of humanity (as understood in humanist discourse), namely a meaningful personal history or voice. This is not to imply that the youth I spoke with have no voice or do not exercise forms of resistance, but rather to underline the mechanisms by which their voices and concerns are discounted by those with decision-making power over their lives. From the outset of the study I was informed that criminal justice agencies do not differentiate between refugees and other people. As the research progressed, I became aware of other ways in which the personal histories and experiences of some refugee youth are dismissed or ignored. In particular, racialization, recent arrival to Canada, language difficulties, trauma, and immigration status, which, to a large extent, define young refugees’ experiences, are deemed irrelevant. Through such means, particular people and forms of knowledge are subalternized while others become the universal against which the rest are measured.  Voice pertains to speech and language, commonly held to be a unique and defining feature of humanity. In HumAnimal: Race, Law, Language, Seshadri (2012) explores dehumanization as the deprivation of speech. She argues that the erasure of speech, which results in muteness/bestiality (bêtise), is created through exclusion from political discourse; silencing is part of a process of dehumanization. Moreover, the assumption and enforcement of silence on the part of the colonized and the less than human is what makes possible the position of the West, and of a particular kind of human, as universal narrator (Said 1979). As discussed in Chapter 2, in the same way that the Orient was Orientalized (Said 1979), Africa 102  was Africanized through a process of representing the Other that marked these regions as timeless and barbaric. From the outset of the colonial venture, Indigenous peoples were assumed to contribute data/nature/physical labour/raw material, while Europeans supplied culture/mind/theory/knowledge, with the former defined as inherently inferior to the latter. Accordingly, discussions of the scientific foundations of Western research rarely mention Indigenous contributions since the logic of the system dictates that to do so would be akin to acknowledging the contribution of a piece of pottery or a stone (Smith 2012, 60). These powerful constructions remain relevant today. For example, Spivak has drawn attention to how the “foreclosure of the native informant” (1999: 5) in European history and philosophy constructs a narrative that positions non-Europeans at the global margins as the people without history. Within the humanist structures she identifies, marginalization is effected via practices of racism, ageism, ableism, and so on. Similarly, Mahtani (2006) argues that the performance of whiteness as normative is maintained through the right of white policy makers and scholars to reject alternative knowledges.  I engage with these ideas in this chapter to argue that the negation of young people’s stories is an extension of the foreclosure that Spivak identifies and also a humanist performance enacted by institutional policies and practices that construct the young people I spoke with as peripheral subhuman figures, or, in Deckha’s (2010) terms, “animalized humans.” The operationalization of humanism entails the enforcement of rules that govern the politics of visibility and invisibility centered on the figure of the “dark criminal alien” that is banished from the human realm. Shoved to the margins of humanity, those defined as less than human become inconsequential, and, as I show in Chapter 7, disposable.  I focus on three key means by which the personal narratives of the young people I spoke with are negated. First I look at the rejection of refugee status as a meaningful consideration in institutional processes, which is part of a larger rejection of structural explanations for inequalities. The dismissal of this important aspect of young refugees’ identity enacts the erasure of their history, culture, and personal story and performs their subhumanity by constructing them as a group of people who lack human characteristics and therefore do not matter. Next, I turn to the lack of opportunities for young refugees to talk about or work through their experiences and the accompanying unrealistic expectations of refugee youth in social service programs that follow; this silencing and denial of speech 103  entails a further devaluation of their experiences. Finally, I examine what happens when teachers, school administrators, social workers, and POs reject young people’s explanations for their behaviour. Since the possession of voice, language, and knowledge that matters are defining features of humanity, the denial of such serves a performative role by producing objectified and dehumanized bodies that lack language, voice, and knowledge.  5.2 The (Ir)Relevance of Refugeehood  The rejection of refugee status as a meaningful consideration in the processes that I describe below is part of a broader denial within liberal humanism of structural explanations for inequalities, based on a conception of the universal human as a free, autonomous, rational actor, unencumbered by race or class, who acts independently as an individual. However, this universal ideal does not align with criminalized refugee youth’s experiences because, as my review of the literature in Chapter 2 showed, the “universal human” is based on a particular account of human subjecthood. Refugeehood entails a lack of autonomy and a level of dependence because refugees are forced to leave behind home and family supports. Refugees who end up in camps are often perceived as a mass, flood, or flow rather than as individuals (e.g. Cohen & Deng 1998). They are frequently pictured living rough, sitting on the ground, and surrounded by flies (Feyisa 2008). Bauman (2004) suggests that they are the “waste product” of globalization. By definition, refugees are always already dehumanized because they lack independence, shelter, autonomy, individuality, sometimes literacy, and are traumatized and racialized; in other words, they do not conform to the parameters of the human figure. While refugees are clearly not helpless, their need for support is undeniable. Yet in Canada they encounter a powerful liberal ideology of individual responsibility for personal welfare that dismisses their past experience. At the same time, ignoring the refugee experiences of the youth I spoke with discounts trauma as an aspect of personal history and reframes behaviours (such as violence) arising from trauma as criminality. Together these processes contribute to the focus on offence rather than offender28 characteristics that currently characterizes criminal justice processing (Corrado et al 2007; Hogeveen 2005), and                                                       28 Focusing on the offence promotes a view that all offences of a certain type should be dealt with in exactly the same manner; this way of thinking underlies mandatory minimum sentencing. Conversely, a focus on the offender takes into consideration personal circumstances and could lead to variable outcomes for individual offenders which could have greater rehabilitative impact. 104  which promotes criminalization and punishment rather than understanding and support. The focus on offence is undergirded theoretically by rational choice individualism, criminological positivism, and a rejection of structural factors such as poverty, racism, and patriarchy as considerations in discussions about the causes of or solutions to youth crime. Criminalization entails further dehumanization due to the association of criminality with savagery and bestiality (Canton 2010; Olsen 2014; Pavlich 2006). Below, I share my findings concerning the specific ways in which the relevance of refugeehood to the experiences of the young people I spoke with is dismissed by law enforcement, courts, and corrections and explain how doing so enacts a subhuman figure by defining whose story matters and who counts.  Law Enforcement While I was recruiting interviewees, representatives of criminal justice organizations frequently informed me that they are unaware whether they have any refugees in their files because they treat everybody the same way and therefore refugee status is irrelevant. For example, Angela, a police worker insisted, “[Police] don’t differentiate between refugee and non-refugee, immigrant, non-immigrant; it’s all the same: you commit the crime, you’re going to get the same treatment.” Chan and Chunn (2014) consider the liberal notion that offenders should be treated identically. They point out that if racism and sexism were really of the past then we would be truly equal and have the same opportunities. However, this conception neglects the importance of the amply documented race, gender, and class differences in criminalization (see Chapter 3) and also takes for granted the atomized individual who acts alone based on free will that posthumanist