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Negotiating demands : the politics of skid row policing in Edinburgh, San Francisco and Vancouver Huey, Laura 2005

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NEGOTIATING D E M A N D S : THE POLITICS OF SKID ROW POLICING IN EDINBURGH, S A N FRANCISCO A N D V A N C O U V E R by L A U R A H U E Y B.A. (hons), Simon Fraser University, 1999 M.A. , the University of British Columbia, 2001 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE F A C U L T Y OF G R A D U A T E STUDIES (Sociology) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH C O L U M B I A May 2005 © Laura Huey, 2005 Abstract This thesis analyzes the influence of local political and moral economies on police practices within marginalized communities. Field research of policing in the skid row districts of Edinburgh, San Francisco and Vancouver provides comparative data on policing demands, strategies, styles and practices in three distinct civic contexts. While there is a combination of exclusionary, coercive-inclusionary and inclusionary policing in all three jurisdictions, there is a different emphasis in each jurisdiction deriving from structural features of their respective civic political regimes. Operating within a regime of ordoliberalism, the police in Edinburgh primarily function as knowledge workers who network with a range of other community agencies to accomplish order and provide inclusionary services on skid row. In contrast, the police in San Francisco operate within a neo-liberal regime that mandates a coercive approach to skid row problems with exclusionary consequences for inhabitants. Vancouver blends both forms of liberalism in a more conflicted political environment, resulting in a 'middle-way' regime of peacekeeping that utilizes an unique mix of inclusionary and exclusionary programs and practises on skid row. In all three cities the police are shown to be 'demand negotiators', addressing conflicting sets of demands that reflect the structural conditions in which they operate. How police meet demands - through incident and context-specific uses of law enforcement, peacekeeping, social work and knowledge work - is shown to be a consequence of the political and moral economies in which they operate. In offering a new conceptualization of police as demand negotiators, the thesis not only advances knowledge of police organization and decision making-processes, but also refines our understanding of how processes of inclusion and exclusion occur in different liberal regimes. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract i i Table of Contents i i i List of Tables vi List of Illustrations vii Preface viii Acknowledgements ix INTRODUCTION: Shooting Up on Adam Smith's Grave 1 PART I: M O R A L DELINQUENTS A N D THEIR CONTROL IN CIVIC SPACE CHAPTER I Inclusion, Exclusion and the Policing of the Skids 10 1.1 Re-thinking the Exclusive Society thesis 13 1.2 Political economies as'Ideal Types' 21 1.3 Skid row and its control 29 1.4 Conclusion 48 CHAPTER II Observing the Invisible: Studying Skid Row 50 2.1 Research Methods 52 2.2 Researching Communities That Do Not Exist 63 2.3 Conclusion 67 PART II: THE C O W G A T E / G R A S S M A R K E T (EDINBURGH) CHAPTER III Alkies, Smack heads and Ordos: Skid row under Ordoliberalism 69 3.1 Edinburgh's skid row: the Cowgate and Grassmarket 69 3.2 The politics of Edinburgh's skid row 82 3.3 The larger political context: Edinburgh as Ordo 86 3.4 Conclusion 9S" CHAPTER TV Community policing as knowledge work 97 4.1 The Lothian and Borders Police 98 4.2 Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket (the organizational perspective) 101 4.3 Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket (the frontline perspective) 112 4.4 Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket (the street perspective) 123 4.5 Effecting social change 130 4.6 Conclusion 134 PART III: THE TENDERLOIN (SAN FRANCISCO) CHAPTER V Junkies, Drunks, and the American Dream: Neo-liberal skid row 136 5.1 San Francisco's skid row: the Tenderloin 136 5.2 The politics of San Francisco's skid row 145 5.3 The larger political context: San Francisco as neo-liberal city (US style) .151 5.4 Conclusion 158 CHAPTER V I Enforcing the Law with Broken Windows 160 6.1 The San Francisco Police Department 161 6.2 Policing the Tenderloin (the organizational perspective) 162 6.3 Policing the Tenderloin (the frontline perspective) 178 6.4 Policing the Tenderloin (the street perspective) 192 6.5 Effecting social change 198 6.6 Conclusion 201 PART IV: THE DOWNTOWN EASTSIDE (VANCOUVER) CHAPTER VII Crazies, Crack addicts, and the 'middle way' 203 7.1 Vancouver's skid row: the Downtown Eastside 203 7.2 The politics of Vancouver's skid row 211 7.3 The larger political context: Vancouver as a middle way 218 7.4 Conclusion 227 iv CHAPTER VIII Peacekeeping through Saturation 229 8.1 The Vancouver Police Department 230 8.2 Policing the DTES (the organizational perspective) 231 8.3 Policing the DTES (the frontline perspective) 245 8.4 Policing the DTES (the street perspective) 258 8.5 Effecting social change 263 8.6 Conclusion 270 PART V: POLICING AS POLITICS CHAPTER IX Policing as the art of negotiating demands 272 9.1 Institutional resources: budgets and force strength 274 9.2 The institutional environment: working through homelessness and addiction 281 9.3 Policing: Politics by another name 294 9.4 Conclusion 310 CHAPTER X Conclusions 312 10.1 Degrees of inclusion-exclusion: moral economy in the city 313 10.2 Institutional environments and policing frameworks 320 10.3 Policing frameworks on the street 331 10.4 Contributions 338 Bibliography 341 v List of Tables Table 2.1 Interviews 53 Table 9.1 Amount spent on policing services per resident (2003-4) 274 Table 9.2 Ratio of sworn police officers per 1,000 population 274 Table 9.3 Income assistance rates per recipient (2003) 283 Table 9.4 Ratio of homeless per 1,000 population 283 Table 9.5 Ratio of shelter beds per 100 homeless population 285 Table 9.6 Ratio of residential detox/addiction treatment beds per 1,000 population ... 288 vi List of Illustrations Illustration 2.1 'Nell the homeless cat'. Streets of San Francisco, 2002 50 Illustration 3.1 Edinburgh Old Town 70 Illustration 3.2 Grassmarket memorial 71 Illustration 3.3 View of Cowgate 72 Illustration 3.4 Family vault at Greyfriar's Kirkyard used as a 'skipper' 79 Illustration 3.5 Hunter's Square 80 Illustration 5.1 Tenderloin Police District, San Francisco 137 Illustration 5.2. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003 138 Illustration 5.3. Boeddekker Park. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003 140 Illustration 5.4. Children's playground. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003 141 Illustration 5.5. Driving the message home. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003 155 Illustration 6.1 SFPD Police Service Report 1970 187 Illustration 6.2 SFPD community policing report 1994 190 Illustration 7.1 Map of the DTES, 2003 204 Illustration 7.2. Listerine, a street cocktail. Streets of the DTES, 2002 206 Illustration 7.3 Addict's message, written in chalk. Streets of the DTES, 2003 211 Illustration 7.4 Tent City (Victory Square protest), Streets of the DTES, 2003 215 vii Dedicated to the memory of Michael George Huey (December 1, 1969 - August 12, 2003) Kevin David Denney-Huey (August 1, 1991 - August 15, 2002) Acknowledgments This project would not have been possible without a lot of help and support. First, I would like to thank Richard Ericson who supported this project from the beginning, and who has been a kind and thoughtful mentor over the past six years. Thomas Kemple helped me work through my frustrations on this project, and provided good humour and wise counsel. Simon Verdun-Jones has always been a source of support, and his many kindnesses throughout the years have always been greatly appreciated. Aaron Doyle generously served as an unofficial mentor. Kelsi Pradine served as a research assistant, spending long hours organizing my newspaper archives. I would also like to thank Mark and Debra Pradine for years of love and support. And finally, love and thanks to my husband Sandy McPherson. ix Introduct ion: Shooting U p on A d a m Smith ' s Grave The Canongate Kirk in Edinburgh is a beautiful old church: a classical Georgian design of grey stone, columns and lovely red doors, nestled behind a paved stone entrance and majestic elms. The Kirk keeps celebrated company, as it sits between Edinburgh Castle at one end of the City's celebrated Royal Mile and the famous Holyrood Palace, once home to the rather unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. Surrounding this beautiful grey church is its Kirkyard, the present home of many of the City's former illustrious citizens. Within family crypts and behind upright stones, most weathered over centuries and some carved with skulls and other ghoulish reminders of their occupants' fate and the visitor's future, lie city officials, famous poets, war heroes and other celebrated residents. One of these graves contains no less a figure of modern history than Adam Smith, the famed economist and father of classical liberal theory. It is Smith that gave us the powerful metaphor of the 'invisible hand' silently guiding the workings of economies and thus of societies. It is to Smith and his belief in the positive power of unfettered capital that many present day economists and political leaders have turned, launching a sea-change in the structure of modern economics within the past thirty-odd years under the banner of nep-liberalism. Critics charge that these changes have resulted in massive accumulations of capital by some, economic instability and uncertainty for more, and loss of realized or potential hopes for far too many others. The results of this transformation have been nothing less than the creation of a devastating and perhaps un-crossable chasm between the haves and the have-nots. Further, it is Smith (1986 [1776]: 338) who argued that a primary purpose of government ought to be the preservation of this inequality - to "maintain the rich in possession of their 1 wealth against the violence and rapacity of the poor" - on the grounds that the economy provides for those who are willing to work. Everyone else is simply social detritus: the idle, the drunk, the undisciplined, the vagrant and the criminal. Thus, it is with some irony that I note that Smith's current residence is also now a home of sorts to some of the City's indigent. At night the Kirkyard becomes a refuge and shooting gallery for addicts within the local street population, who spill over from the nearby skids: the Cowgate and Grassmarket. Their presence is clearly marked by orange needle caps, the tops of syringes used for injecting heroin, which litter the graves of Smith and other founding fathers. That such a beautiful and historic spot should house, even temporarily, members of the City's addict population might seem odd to some observers. Most cities across Europe, Canada and the United States, to varying degrees, seek to contain their 'problem populations' within highly segregated urban neighbourhoods, set apart from such beautiful public spaces and the people who utilize them. Attempts by the urban poor to move freely outside of their zones of containment are often met with harsh resistance from a larger society, which frequently prefers that 'social junk' (Spitzer 1975) remain out of sight. Cities now work to ensure that 'non-productive' elements remain socially and physically isolated through, amongst other tactics, the use of regressive housing policies, 'quality of life' bylaws, the concentration of poverty-related services and aggressive policing - all practices that Smith would likely have approved of. Such segregated neighbourhoods are heavily imbued with moral associations. The term ghetto, which refers to a racially and ethnically based segregated space, calls to mind stereotypical depictions of drug-dealing black gangsters, indiscriminately wielding 2 weapons as they seduce kids into violence and addiction. Interestingly, images of the ghetto invoke the perception that the site is inherently criminogenic in that it is embedded within an urban subculture that serves to reproduce criminality. Skid row districts, another form of urban containment that houses the poor, similarly invoke a host of morally-freighted images: from bloated old alcoholics whiling away the ends of their days in seedy barrooms, to scrawny addicts with needles hanging out of their arms and to diseased and wasted prostitutes standing forlornly in-dingy alleyways. However, unlike the ghetto, which is said to create its miscreants, skid row is a place where the morally lax that are produced elsewhere in society end up. The skids are "the bottom of a downward path of social mobility" (Miller 1982: 2). I use the term skid row to invoke a particular unique reality. Skid rows have historically been home to an overwhelmingly white male population comprised of what Marx might term a surplus labour pool. Today, they are either predominantly white neighbourhoods or, as a consequence of immigration, ethnically diverse, and there are few if any jobs available for the people here. But what the skid rows of yesterday and today do share is that each stands as a living exemplar of decay - both moral and physical. Skid row is a permanent community that holds both transient and long-term residents, many, i f not most of whom are afflicted by problems that either cause or are caused by persistent poverty: addiction, mental illness, victimization through violence, physical or sexual exploitation, rampant disease, physical waste from lack of nutrition and/or medical and self care, impermanent shelter and/or substandard housing, lack of economic opportunities, a decrepit physical environment and, for many, a concomitant 3 sense of hopelessness and despair. As a space, it embodies ultimate forms of social, political, economic, moral and physical exclusion. For sociologists and other social scientists, skid row has long been a place of immense interest because it provides a living laboratory for the study of social exclusion. Its social location - at the very margins of society - tells us not only about society's ideals with respect to culturally defined goals and norms, but also about how those within the 'mainstream of society' view and act towards those who do not measure up to cultural standards. For this reason, in attempting to understand some of the strands of exclusivity that run within contemporary society, I looked to skid row and the treatment of its denizens as an appropriate starting point. In order for excluded urban spaces such as skid row districts to exist, they have to be governed through policies and practices carried out by agents empowered to use exceptional powers and resources: local knowledge, physical force, surveillance, inter-institutional knowledge, resource networks and so on. The public police as an institution is unique in both holding exceptional powers and, as part of a larger constellation of private and public regulatory institutions, having access to a wide range of resources. For these reasons the public police have long been viewed as a principal agency of exclusion. It is too simple, however, to only see skid row in terms of exclusion and the police role as supportive of exclusion in these sites. It has also been the case, both historically and in the present era, that demands have been made of the police that fall outside the scope of simple area containment and/or law enforcement. These demands frequently arise from public expectations concerning the role of the police to provide assistance to those in need. Thus, the police often serve as a frontline response for situations requiring 4 emergency shelter, detoxification, hospitalization and so on. Also arising from these expectations are sets of demands placed upon the police by groups within and outside of skid rows to abandon enforcement of containment-oriented policies. In some cities, groups go further and call for police to actively participate in movements on the row that hold the possibility of increased inclusivity. In the pages that follow I examine the political economy of contemporary policing by focusing on how demands ranging from total exclusion to total inclusion shape the nature of policing in skid row districts and how these demands further translate into policing styles and strategies. To this end, this work addresses one specific question: to what extent do structural conditions (i.e. political, social and economic supports or constraints) lead to the willingness of public police to initiate or engage in inclusionary or exclusionary policing practices within skid row communities? The observations I intend to offer in the pages that follow centre on three claims. First, contrary to recent work in the exclusivity literature that suggests that Western societies are becoming uniformly more exclusionary as a consequence of a supposed rise in the American form of neo-liberalism (Young 1999), I argue that exclusion and inclusion are twin strategies for reproducing group solidarities that operate in culturally specific ways. We can find aspects of both inclusion and exclusion across a variety of contemporary Western societies - ranging from neo-liberal to Keynesian - and, more importantly, we can find these constants being played out in policies, programs and practices of those who operate within the most excluded of sites: skid row districts. It is through this analysis that we come to see the influence of Adam Smith and the ways in which his views on economics, politics and most importantly morality, have come to 5 shape contemporary economic forms, whether in support of aspects of his ideas (U.S. neo-liberalism and Ordoliberalism) or in opposition (Keynesian welfare economics). Second, the political economy of crime shapes demands upon the policing institution. These demands range from increased exclusion to increased inclusion of marginalized groups, including skid row inhabitants. Demands are placed upon the institution as a whole and translate into administrative policies and frontline practices. One of the functions of the police, as a political institution, is to mediate these demands. Thus, we come to a new conception of the policing function on skid row: the police as 'demand negotiators'. This conceptualization of the police - as 'demand negotiators' -offers an unique advantage over other models of policing in that it draws careful attention to the political economy of policing and the ways in which local policing policies and practices are shaped in response to public demands. Third, contrary to Bittner's (1967) characterization of the police on skid row as unreflexive, the police as political actors are reflexive about both the nature of the roles they assume and the demands that they face from different segments of the public, demands that are often competing and contradictory, ranging across a continuum of exclusivity-inclusivity. When police officers talk about their work on skid row and how they negotiate demands, aside from recognizing the political nature of their work, they also use terms that fall within and across multiple policing frameworks: law enforcement, peacekeeping, social work and knowledge work. The police are revealed, at all levels of the institution, as political actors who broker the demands of various constituencies within the context of political economies. 6 This study is supported by research from a comparative analysis of policing within three skid row districts. Sites in Vancouver (the Downtown Eastside), San Francisco (the Tenderloin) and Edinburgh (Cowgate/Grassmarket) were selected because of key similarities and differences with respect to policing styles and to the larger political landscape within which each institution is situated. These similarities and differences are fleshed out in the chapters that follow through analysis of my own empirical work in relation to each city's policing programs and practices - observations, interview data - as well as through analysis of other data sources collected for the purpose of siting each institution within a civic political framework. I emphasize the word civic specifically: although there is discussion within the pages that follow of larger political and economic shifts that have variously influenced each city's politics and in turn their respective police forces, I do not draw direct links between the macro-level theories discussed and the everyday world of frontline policing. Rather, my focus is the ways in which civic level politics (both from within and outside the institutions of governance) influence and shape the police institution and its response to service-related demands. To the extent that civic politics are forged within larger political discourses, it is relevant to address some of those discourses. The first two chapters are intended to provide an overview of the theoretical and methodological components of the study. In the first chapter I discuss the theoretical context of this work through an exploration of the links between exclusion and inclusion, the moral economies of neo-liberal and welfarist systems and the policing of skid row. In the second chapter I discuss the research methods employed, as well as some of the 7 difficulties encountered in performing research and analysis of one of the most marginalized forms of community. Chapters Three through Eight function as paired chapters, with the first chapter in each pair serving as an introduction to the space studied and the chapter immediately following providing detailed analysis of the policing of that site. For example, the third chapter describes Edinburgh's Cowgate and Grassmarket, situating this site historically, socially and politically. Chapter Four describes the policing of Edinburgh's Cowgate and Grassmarket, examining the policing of this area in depth from the perspectives of police management, the frontline officer and the community policed. Chapter Five explores the geography, history and politics of San Francisco's Tenderloin area, whereas Chapter Six details the policing styles and strategies present within this community. The focus of the seventh chapter is Vancouver's Downtown Eastside; an analysis of the policing of this site follows in Chapter Eight. The purpose of Chapters Nine and Ten is to discuss the politics of policing that mould and direct practices and programs 'on the ground' in skid row. Therefore, these chapters represent a shift away from the core focus of much of the study - the empirical analysis of frontline policing - to attend to the nature of civic politics in each city that shapes the work of their respective police departments. In Chapter Nine, I examine some of the observations and other data discussed in previous chapters, and introduce some new economic and statistical data for the purpose of systematically comparing the environments in which each of the three policing agencies operate, including the political and economic supports and constraints each face. This comparison not only permits a broader analysis of each of the sites, but more importantly it allows me to delve more 8 deeply into my contention that skid row policing is political and that the politics of the institution - its relative inclusiveness and/or exclusiveness - are largely dependent on political forces both within and external to the institution. The political process, I argue, casts police as 'demand negotiators' who are challenged to respond to varying sets of inclusionary-exclusionary demands within the framework of a civic system that limits the institution's choice of responses. Chapter Ten offers a comprehensive summary of the study's findings, situating these findings within larger political and economic shifts. 9 Chapter I: Inclusion, exclusion and the pol ic ing of the skids Beggar in Edinburgh: It happened to me last week, a [man] he kicked my hat... It's really annoying when people kick your hat. Interviewer: What's the reason for it? Beggar: Because they can. They think we're alcoholics. Street youth in Vancouver: Or i f somebody offers you money for sex and stuff and he won't leave you alone, i f a couple people that we know - more street kids - they'd be like 'what the hell are you doing?' Second youth: Somebody just tried to do that. Tried to pay us twenty bucks. First youth: Yeah. Twenty bucks. To have 'love' with him. Second youth: Two animals. Interviewer: Are people coming down here and trying to take advantage? First youth: Yeah, totally. Just because we are ... [sentence left unfinished]. As the two preceding interview excerpts illustrate, exclusion and the stigmatization that is carried with it, are part of the daily reality of many people. These are individuals who routinely experience verbal harassment, as well as mental, sexual and physical threats and violence. This abuse is directed at them from members of the so-called mainstream society who cling to the privilege of their social inclusion while abasing those not similarly placed. In the first example, a street beggar in Edinburgh describes a routine experience: having his begging hat - the symbol of his exclusion -10 kicked [degraded] by members of the public. In the second example, taken from an interview I conducted with three teenaged girls panhandling on the streets of Vancouver, they are describing a form of degradation they had experienced at the hands of two men visiting the area, who sought to exploit their vulnerability for sexual gain. Within the past few years, social exclusion, never completely out of vogue amongst social scientists, has re-emerged as a central concern within a body of work that attempts to cast exclusion as a deliberate by-product of a shift from welfarism to neo-liberalism within Western societies (i.e. Young 1999; Bauman 1997). Much of this literature is theoretically oriented and is not rooted in empirical research and description. Thus, we have little understanding of the scope and nature of how exclusion is experienced on the ground. Further, inclusion merits little attention, although exclusion can and does generate resistance; as was noted by the young female beggars above, they actively resist attempts by those outside their social network to exploit their situation. Further, those moments of resistance are often supported by the larger community of excluded youth who, in protecting their vulnerable members, demand that those in the larger society treat them respectfully. Resistance against what Ruddick (2002) terms the 'social death' suffered by the excluded can also spur larger political activity, including the formation of resistance-oriented groups, the development of social networks to foster community activism aimed at engendering inclusion, the laying of legal claims based on citizenship rights and the creation of media campaigns and public protests to provoke public sympathy and garner support (see also Allen 2000). A further problem with analyses of 'the new exclusionary society' arises as a consequence of the treatment of forms of neoliberal governance and policy: all too often 11 'neoliberalisms' are presented as almost an unitary, unstoppable, monolithic force rather than as a permeable phenomenon embodying differences and degrees. Cultural, political and historical variations between countries are glossed over in order to preserve accounts that depict a 'West' whose members are seen as increasingly cold, calculating and selfish. For example, Bauman (2000), following Giddens (1994), claims that economic and social 'precarization' produced by Western neo-liberal economic policies has led to a weakening of human bonds and a widespread view of the world and its inhabitants as 'disposable objects'. This coldness is said to be particularly manifest in social policies and practices that further exclude those on the margins of society. The present study represents an attempt at fleshing out aspects of how both exclusivity and inclusivity are expressed in contemporary societies. In the following pages, I look at a primary means by which the state governs on society's margins: through the public policing of skid row districts. This work rests on the belief that the treatment of skid row inhabitants reflects the values, cultural aspirations and fears of the larger society, which articulate the style of policing that is exhibited there. I am not alone in this view, as Herbert (2001a: 445) explains: "The police are the most visible and symbolically potent form of governance in the modern city." Yet, with the exception of Bittner's seminal study (1967), the role of the public police on skid row - a site where this institution perhaps most perfectly represents the 'thin blue' line - has remained largely unexplored. This deficit is remedied in the present work through an exploration of skid row policing within three very different urban contexts representing unique political and cultural configurations. 12 In order to provide some context for this study, in the sections below I explore aspects of the literatures on exclusivity, neo-liberal and welfare systems and skid row policing. M y purpose is to begin the process of linking the production of exclusionary, inclusionary and coercively inclusive demands to different socio-political-economic configurations at the civic level. Further, I link these demands to the workings of an unique institution - the public police - which I depict as being tasked with responding to these demands. Re-thinking the Exclusive Society thesis Much has been written on the perceived increase in exclusivity in Western cultures as a consequence of the rise of U.S.-style neo-liberal policies (i.e. Bauman 1997, 1999; Jordan 1996; Gray 1999). However, I am particularly interested in a recent thesis offered by Jock Young in The Exclusive Society (1999) because it encapsulates many of the problems that we find within contemporary thinking on the connections between neo-liberalism and exclusiveness (as manifest through criminal justice policies). Young begins his thesis by contrasting the neo-liberal political mood today to the period following the Second World War. The post-war period is said to be a time of heightened social inclusion as evidenced by an emergent focus on rights discourse, increases in the social safety net and the beginnings of rehabilitative efforts directed at reforming 'deviants' from the norm. Young makes much of these social goals, arguing that they signal a desire on the part of Western societies to treat marginalized 'others' as potential citizens who are simply misguided individuals needing help to return to the fold: "the deviant 'other' is ... subject to the goal of assimilation and inclusion. The discourses both penal and therapeutic are, therefore, of integration" (ibid: 6). 13 Young then sketches out the transition from this post-war welfare liberalism to neo-liberalism. The increasing shift towards neo-liberalism within Western societies is said to be evident in a collection of social policies aimed at dismantling the welfare state (Young ibid.). Other effects of neo-liberalism include heightened market insecurity due to deregulation and the re-creation of individuals as responsible, reflexive risk-takers and risk-managers for a wide range of risks from personal health to local crime prevention. Each of these activities is said to result in a heightened insecurity among individuals as they begin to realize their precarious social and economic positions within the new order. According to Young, relative deprivation has become not merely a look upward to see one's place relative to a desired target group, but also a look downward to reassure one's self that there are people below. The realization that economic gaps between the middle and lower classes are no longer as significant as the former would hope is seen as a driving force behind increased intolerance of the chronically poor (ibid; see also Jordan 1996). This intolerance is said to be manifest in the shift away from viewing outsiders as 'deviants' from the norm who can be 'restored' to society through rehabilitation; now they are cast as dangerous parasites that benefit at the expense of 'honest folk' through crime and weak public policies (see, for example, Murray 1999). These beliefs are reflected in an increasing array of forms of social protection aimed at excluding the potential risks that the newly dangerous outsiders represent. Protection ranges from prison mega-complexes, to gated communities, private security, surveillance cameras and other physical and spatial barriers. 14 Young's thesis - that Western societies are shifting away from a Keynesian welfarism towards neo-liberalism and thus becoming increasingly exclusive - is founded upon two faulty premises. First, as O'Malley and Palmer (1996: 141) note, Keynesianism "never was ensconced firmly and evenly throughout the social domain". The U.S. stands as an excellent example: while various post-war governments in the U.S. flirted with aspects of Keynesian economic thought1, intervention into the economy was, for the most part, limited to the establishment of regulatory controls (Yergin and Stanislaw 2002). Similarly, inclusivity was neither universal, nor the dominant social value in the West2. Indeed, the continuing existence of skid rows offers a different historical reality from that which Young paints. Rights discourse, rehabilitation, post-war economic boom and other indicators of the 'golden age' had little impact upon these sites. In his study of New York's Bowery district, Giamo offers the following relevant observation: From the 1940s on, skid row responded by becoming less a direct consequence of capricious labor market forces wrought by an unregulated system of industrialization. Yet the homeless were still prevalent on the Bowery and in other skid rows throughout the country, lending substance to an abiding state of disenfranchisement in the midst of national prosperity ... Though the extent of homelessness had diminished, the intensity of its condition had not (1989: 28-9). ' For example, excepting the Nixon regime, U.S. governments tended to avoid the creation of public corporations and wage and price controls (Yergin and Stanislaw 2002). 2 One of the manifestations of inclusivity in the U.S. that supporters of the 'golden age hypothesis' point to is Johnson's War on Poverty, which attempted to bring African-Americans into the formal economy through affirmative action programs and other inclusionary policies. However, as Weir (1996) details extensively, the War on Poverty was ultimately a failure, in part, because of white resistance (white Americans tended to view Johnson's policies as conferring benefits based solely on race - that is, as conferring benefits that they would not be entitled to). The result was a backlash that saw many affirmative action programs rolled-back during the Reagan era (ibid). I note this because one of the potential supports for the 'golden age hypothesis' is actually an excellent example of how inclusivity and exclusivity are parallel and overlapping phenomena. 15 While Young is correct in noting that the post-war period saw the beginning of government-sponsored rehabilitation and reform initiatives directed at skid row inhabitants, rehabilitation did not signal a desire on the part of the larger society to openly integrate the row's 'deviants' back into the fold. Quite the reverse is true; this was the beginning of the concentration of social services on skid row, efforts that reinforced skid row's exclusion from the mainstream by attempting to reform the skid-rower within his or her own milieu. If the poor and the addicted needed assistance, they would have to stay on the row to receive it. A headline from a 1953 Vancouver newspaper on the city's skid row district reads: "Salvation Army's 'Harbour Light' Brings New Hope to Outcasts" (Tryon 1953). The use of the term 'outcasts' to describe people on skid row hardly conjures an image of inclusivity. I also find it telling that it is the Salvation Army and not a state agency that is bringing hope to the skid rower. This headline resonates with both historical and contemporary research (see Wiseman 1970; Giamo 1989) in suggesting that the importance of government support of rehabilitation programs in the 'golden age' has been somewhat over-inflated, at least with respect to those inhabiting the extreme margins of society. Certainly in skid row and many other marginalized communities, the voluntary sector has historically been a major, i f not the major provider of rehabilitation programs and social assistance (outside of welfare cheques and food stamps). Organizations such as the Salvation Army and the Catholic Missions established soup kitchens, emergency shelters, half-way homes for parolees, detox centres and longer term residencies for the poor and addicted (Giamo 1989). Thus, when Young cites government funding of social services as an indicator of the inclusive society, what he fails to note is 16 the significant degree to which such services were privately organized and funded. In some cases, private services were substantially more important to the survival of the skid rower than public services, as they were often more readily accessible and generally not subject to 'means testing'. For example, during Britain's 'golden age' of welfare, three types of benefits received by some two million people were subject to 'means testing', even after enactment of the National Insurance Bill (1946) which was supposed to have eliminated the practice (Bauman 1997). Much of Young's analysis of neo-liberalism is taken up with quantifying contemporary forms of exclusivity. For example, he looks to the rise in imprisonment rates across Western nations over the past thirty or so years. Given that the poor generally, Aboriginals, African-Americans and other often excluded groups are traditionally over-represented in incarceration statistics, this is not unjustified. However, another way in which exclusivity is counted is problematic. Young attempts to demonstrate the exclusive society by pointing to what he perceives to be an increasing number of groups being socially stigmatized - such as Welfare recipients, prisoners and single mothers. However, it is not all that clear that these are groups newly perceived as socially dangerous. Certainly, public hysteria around teenage mothers pre-dates the rise of neo-liberalism. Another problem with this particular method of counting is that every individual member of each excluded group is treated as though he or she occupies the same social location. While it is the case that each group identified is stigmatized, and has been historically to greater or lesser extents, they are accorded different treatment based on their overall status and have differential access to opportunities. For instance, where the unwed teenage mother in suburbia may have access to subsidized daycare to 17 attend schooling in her home district, the skid row mother is likely to be battling social services for custody of her children by virtue of the fact of where she lives. To be clear, I do not mean to suggest that aspects of how exclusion is played out have not changed at all over the past thirty years. As Ellickson (1996) notes, whereas in the 1950s and 60s skid rowers had been the focus of institutional regulation by the police, salvation-oriented missions and welfare agencies, they did not draw significant attention from a larger society that preferred that they simply keep to their place3. This is no longer the case for two main reasons. First, the numbers of those on the row have grown significantly as a result of American-style neo-liberal policies. Aside from cutbacks to social spending, increasingly deregulated Western markets have resulted in economic changes leading to unemployment and chronic underemployment (Bauman 1999; Gray 1999; Kaplan 19974). Globalization and harmful trade agreements are clearly implicated in job losses, as is the largely unfettered ability of corporations to de-skill the labour force and to create sub-standard jobs and wages. Further, barriers to the receipt of social services and/or collective insurance benefits, through 'means testing' or residency requirements, have increased tremendously in a number of jurisdictions. Second, physical changes to the urban environment have a profound impact on those on the row. The push to 'reclaim' space through gentrification forces skid rowers out of their home into new A n exception to the lack of general societal attention paid to skid row noted during the 'golden age' of welfarism was in the form of newspaper coverage. One particular pictorial spread illustrates the nature of news coverage of this space: it is a series of pictures of'hobos' drinking homemade alcohol from jars (Young 1951). 4 I think that Robert Kaplan (1997) makes a very good point when he states that crime is often a function of underemployment - or unmet expectations - rather than of unemployment. 18 areas. Similarly, 'densification' in the urban center - a process of luring people into living, working and playing in the city - has increased pedestrian traffic of individuals with income. Densification thus also increases exposure to the skid rower, who can subsidize meager welfare cheques with money made through panhandling and other activities (Ruddick 2002; Wardhaugh 1996). This exposure, coupled with an urban mythology focused on crime and disorder, awakens collective fears concerning the stranger, fears that were supposed to have been contained with the formation of excluded spaces (Davis 1992). Contrary to what Young's 'exclusive society' thesis seems to suggest, the exclusive society remains an inclusive one, albeit this is often expressed in the form of what I term 'coercive inclusion'. For example, rehabilitation of the 'troublesome' has continued to the present; i f anything rehabilitation rhetoric has increased as part of neo-liberal discourse (both American and European variants) that focuses on individual responsibility. To illustrate this point, we only need to look to most Western states' welfare systems. Today, the focus of welfare agencies tends to be on rehabilitating the individual in a way that was not historically the case. Welfare-to-work measures, welfare time limits, the re-designation of the unemployed as 'jobseekers', the redesigning of welfare offices to make them look more like employment centres and the rhetoric centering on welfare as temporary aid rather than as lifestyle, are all indicators of a new resurgent interest in rehabilitation and/or reform of the 'non-contributing' outsider (Rose 1999; Wilson 1996). The inclusive aspect arises from the desire to incorporate 'outsiders' into the mainstream of society as productive, self-governing individuals. The coercive element is expressed through the provision of limited and limiting choices offered to the 19 individual that involve the threat of punitive action. Ultimatums are issued: attend job training or be cut off welfare; attend alcohol treatment or go to jail. Further, to the extent that both coercive inclusion and exclusion generate resistance from within both the mainstream society and along the margins, we also find strands of inclusiveness that are demanded from many sides. These strands can be seen in protests against welfare cuts, demands for improved healthcare access for the poor, calls for institutional reforms of those agencies that are seen as mistreating the poor and a variety of other measures. As I illustrate in later chapters, the degree of popular support for inclusion of the marginalized is, like support for exclusionary and/or coercively inclusive measures, relative to characteristics of each political-economic-cultural environment. Thus far, I have identified at least two significant problems contained within Young's thesis: the misrepresentation of the historical welfare state as an ideal form of inclusive Keynesianism and the lack of attention paid to the continuing existence of inclusion in the present day, albeit often in a coercively inclusive form. A further problem of some significance is Young's conflation of different models of neo-liberalism. There are multiple regimes of power that we classify as neo-liberal despite their often distinct features (Dean 1999). What these regimes share is a central philosophical premise: the belief that the market is the best means of ensuring the health of a democracy. Health, under this articulation of liberal ideals, is a form of collective security that arises through the exercise of rational individual liberty (free choice and healthy competition among equals in the market). The extent to which this liberty is maximized within a given society is contingent upon the model of neo-liberalism discussed. Further, the extent to 20 which there is a punitive drive manifest within a particular social system is dependent on that system's moral-economic foundations (in the 'ideal type'), as well as the historical and cultural forces that give it shape and meaning on the ground. Political economies as 'ideal types' In Chapters Three, Five and Seven, I sketch out some of the historical, social and other background considerations that have given shape to the different political-economic forms present in each of the cities examined. As I argue in these chapters, each city represents some key aspects of what we would term neo-liberal governance. However, while there are similarities in styles of governance between Edinburgh, San Francisco and Vancouver, there are also significant differences that can be attributed in part to the adoption and modification of different political models. In order to clarify the ways in which the schools of neo-liberalism identified with Edinburgh, San Francisco and Vancouver are reproduced, combined and/or deviated from in the daily practices of local governance, the purpose of this section is to briefly introduce the three major economic models relevant to situating the politics of each site: Ordoliberalism, the Chicago School model of neo-liberalism and Keynesian welfarism. Each model is discussed as an 'ideal type', that is as a purely theoretical model apart from its actual empirical manifestations or historical configurations. Further, in keeping with one of my central concerns - the ways in which exclusion and inclusion play out in urban space and through urban politics - we will primarily be looking at these models in terms of the underlying moral-economic imperatives they create, particularly in relation to the treatment of the poor. 21 At this point, I return to Adam Smith gathering dust in his home in the Canongate Kirkyard. I return to Smith because his work gave birth to two different schools of neo-liberal thought, as well as shaping the formation of Keynesianism, i f often only in response to the practice of neo-liberal tenets on the ground. Aside from his The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759), his writings on jurisprudence and his economic work in The Wealth of Nations (1766) - the most influential text for latter day laissez-faire economists - each reveals a moral philosophy rooted in tenets found within both Stoicism and Scottish Calvinism (Clarke 2000). Smith extols the perfect meritocracy, one in which the acquisition of wisdom and virtue are manifested through prudence and diligent work. Under such a system, social stratification is deemed to be necessary to the healthy functioning of society in that it provides a reward system for the virtuous and something for the less than perfectly virtuous to strive for. Essentially, what Smith prescribes is a version of a Calvinist normative system, one that would later be captured by Weber (1991 [1904]) in his conception of the 'protestant ethic' of hard work and its doctrine of predestination and in the related concepts of the deserving and undeserving poor. Some scholars have pointed to Smith's sympathy principle (1786 [1759]) as an example of the possibilities of a compassionate side to classical liberalism and latterly American neo-liberalism (Zweig 1979). In doing so, such writers conveniently ignore two central facts contained within Smith's work: he explicitly privileges the normative social hierarchy over the compassionate treatment of the poor, thus firmly placing individualism over any form of collectivist action, including poor relief; and he affirms the moral binary of 'deserving' and 'undeserving'. The distinction of ranks, the peace and order of society, are, in a great measure, founded upon the respect which we naturally conceive for the 22 [rich and the powerful]. The relief and consolation of human misery depend altogether upon our compassion for the [poor and the wretched]. The peace and order of society, is of more importance than even the relief of the miserable ... nature has wisely judged that the distinction of ranks the peace and order of society, would rest more securely upon the plan and palpable difference of birth and fortune, than upon the invisible and often uncertain difference of wisdom and virtue (Smith 1986 [1759]: 136). For Smith, nature (God) has removed the need for humans to exercise subtle judgments as to each other's relative wisdom and virtue, substituting instead a plain marker: birth and fortune. However, such a plan does permit distinctions to be made based on accidents of fortune: widows, orphans, cripples and the sick may become destitute through no fault of their own. Others, the wastrel, the criminal, the drunkard, the vagabond and generally anyone who fails to ascribe to the virtues of work, enterprise, prudence, sobriety and general piousness, are seen as deserving of their fate and are undeserving of compassion and charity. They serve as little more than exemplars of the consequences of living profligate lives. While the lives of the 'undeserving' poor have some social utility in that they symbolize the pitfalls of waste, this use is offset by the potential danger that each represents to the orderly functioning of the good society. As Buchan (2002: 203) explains of early liberal thought: Criminality was perceived as consisting of forms of conduct that threatened the security of citizens, the health of the economy, and the wealth of civil society; namely property crimes, vagabondage, masterlessness, begging and idleness ... For this reason, one can detect in the work of a range of political thinkers in the early-modern period, a consistent effort to define the nature of government in terms of the management of opinion and conduct in order to create harmonious, peaceful, law-abiding, and productive civil societies. In his work on 'governmentality', Foucault teases out this thread that runs through the work of several early thinkers (Smith, Hume, Locke, Hobbes), as he traces the rise of 23 civil society as a disciplinary society. For Foucault (1991), classical liberalism is inherently linked to processes of rationalization that have as their end the advancement of the various economies (family, community, nation). The liberal state thus serves the public through creating conditions upon which these economies can be maximized: order maintenance. Order maintenance is to be achieved through techniques of self-regulation (Smith's diligent worker) or, conversely, through the identification and segregation of those who cannot or will not conform to the normative order. The moral vision of political economy articulated within classical liberalism is today found within the form of neo-liberalism developed by economists Friedrich von Hayek, Milton Friedman, Gary Becker and others who were based at the University of Chicago following the Second World War. Hayek was trained in classical liberal economics, thus the primary tenets of the Chicago School model can be traced back to Smithian foundations. These tenets were also developed largely out of Hayek's experience of totalitarianism in the 1930s and 40s. His seminal treatise, The Road to Serfdom (1969 [1944]), can be read as an impassioned libertarian response to the planned economies and totalitarian regimes of the period, mainly Nazism and Socialism (Stalinism). For Hayek, the perfect liberal society is a meritocracy in which enterprise, skill, prudence and risk-taking are rewarded: the economic freedom which is the prerequisite of any other freedom cannot be the freedom from economic care which the socialists promise us and which can be obtained only by relieving the individual at the same time of the necessity and of the power of choice; it must be the freedom of our economic activity which, with the right of choice, inevitably also carries the risk and the responsibility of that right (Hayek 1969 [1944]: 100). 24 In the ideal form of the true market economy, a populace is not dependant upon the 'inefficient' state to intervene in the market on its behalf, but is instead individually 'responsibilized' into becoming educated participants who look after their own self-interests (Ericson, Barry and Doyle 2000; O'Malley and Palmer 1996; O'Malley 1992). The relationship between the individual and the state espoused by Chicago School theorists rests on libertarian values clearly rooted in the Puritan ethic, so famously described by Weber. In particular, there is an espousal of the notion of the 'American dream' - the belief that 'work ethic' is the primary determinant of social success. In relation to our central concern here - the treatment of the most marginalized of the urban poor - it is important to note that the corollary of the meritocratic belief in hard work as determinative of social placement has led to the creation of two categories of the poor who are subjected to differential treatment. The first category is that of the morally deserving: those who are physically unable to work are deemed worthy of private (not public) charity. The second category is composed of the morally undeserving: those who are viewed as able to work but demonstrate insufficient work ethic (variously depicted as lazy do-nothings who seek to live off the sweat of others). It is this latter group who are principally associated with skid row, a fact often reflected in society's treatment of skid row denizens. Although aspects of Adam Smith's views on moral economy were to play a major role in the formation of the Chicago School model, some of the inconsistencies and contradictions within his work were to lead other scholars into very different directions. For example, whereas Smith viewed capitalism as a system of 'natural liberty' (1986), he also recognized that it was an imperfect system with the potential to produce socially and 25 economically undesirable effects. In Wealth of Nations (1986 [1776]), Smith describes the monopolistic tendencies of the unfettered market, which operate against the interests of the consumer, produce a decline of the martial spirit, and what Marx (1966 [1844]) would later term the 'alienation' of workers through the growing specialization of labour. The aspect of Smith's views which emphasized morality as a precondition to the successful working of the economy gave rise to a second school of neo-liberalism: the Ordoliberalen. The Ordoliberalen is a German style of liberalism that emerged in the late 1920s out of the writings of intellectuals of the Freiburg School (notable members include Alexander Rustow, Alfred Muller-Armack and Franz Bohm). The Ordoliberals reading Smith, as well as Weber and Marx, sought to reduce some of the irrationalities of capital first identified by Smith while retaining as a central premise a belief in the market as the best means of providing personal freedom and economic well being (see, for example, Rustow 1980; Ropke 1987). In contrast to the laissez-faire economics that The Wealth of Nations influenced elsewhere, it led to the creation of a social market model, in a post-war Germany reeling from the effects of totalitarianism, that recognizes not only the inherent potential for inequality that an unfettered market produces, but the fact that inequality undermines the order good governance is intended to produce. The irrationality of capital is to be compensated for by a different set of ethical principles than those that inform the American model of neo-liberalism: "We also well know that i f we seek a pure free market economy based on competition, it cannot float freely in a social, political and moral vacuum, but must be maintained and protected by a strong social, political and moral framework" (Wilhelm Ropke cited in Yergin and Stanislaw 2002: 16). 26 What we see under the Ordoliberalen model is a very different form of 'moral economy', one that explicitly rejects the extreme individualism promoted within other economic schools: the striking failure of economic liberalism [in the late 19 th century] is to be explained as a problem in the history of religious doctrine. Eighteenth-century deism, which was itself based on a stoic tradition and which stood as godfather to economic liberalism, was permeated with the religious belief that the laws of the market are effluences of divine world reason, and that it would be sinful arrogance to interfere in such a divinely given order with mere human measures. This optimistic, absolutist belief in subtheological rationalism led to what I have termed a 'sociologic blindness' for the political and social conditions under which alone the laws of the market operate beneficently (Rustow 1980: 455). The social market is an attempt at promoting not only economic growth and individual freedom, but moreover the aims of social justice. The latter is to be accomplished through a reduction of class conflicts with the recognition of points of mutual interest, public provision of social security measures, and the establishment of a variety of private, public and private-public partnerships to foster public well-being. In contrast to the planned economies of interventionism, each solution proffered must operate cooperatively with the market. The tempering of individual freedom with cultural norms stressing ethical treatment of others, and increased capital ownership throughout civil society, results in a society that is more likely to embody a broader, more inclusionary set of ethics than what we find under contemporary Puritan-based regimes. In short, the Ordo model is hardly consonant with the image of American exclusionary neo-liberalism. Like the Ordo model, the welfare state similarly sought to compensate for the 'irrationalities' of capital. Its economic prescriptions rest on the work of its principal founder, John Maynard Keynes, who was substantially influenced by the works of Rousseau and Marx. Rousseau, in particular, is to be credited with developing the first 27 significant critique of the 'selfish' individualism of laissez-faire. For Rousseau, egalitarianism - freedom from want and from class exploitation - was the central guarantor of liberty. The proper role of the state is to redistribute wealth to ensure collective happiness. Marx expanded upon these concerns in his analysis of the pernicious effects of the capitalist class system. Marx's writings subsequently spurred the socialist aims of labour groups, which found expression in welfare-oriented laws that offered protections to labourers. Other influences on welfare-oriented economists were Dewey and Hobhouse who argued that self-interest should be harnessed to the public good on the grounds that individuals are products of a social system (see also Simmel 1971 [1903]). The Keynesian welfare state thus represents yet another form of 'moral economy', one that rejects extreme individualism in favour of a more collectivist approach. For welfare-state economists, the laissez-faire of classical liberal economics is objectionable on two primary grounds. First, as Keynes notes in The End of Laissez-Faire (1927), the belief that an unfettered market produces bountiful social benefits is predicated on the erroneous assumption that certain ideal conditions are always present, thus ignoring such fundamental problems as knowledge gaps, the production of monopolies and long adjustment periods. In relation to the central thesis of this work, the unchecked marketplace is also objectionable on humanitarian grounds: the structured inequities produced by the unregulated market worsen social conditions, particularly disadvantaging the most vulnerable segments of society (ibid). The answer provided by Keynes is 'interventionism': to reduce capital's irrationalities through fiscal policies and regulatory measures introduced and overseen by the state. Keynes' prescription is thus the planned 28 economy that scholars working in the Chicago and Ordoliberalen traditions have found so objectionable. Skid row and its control Each of the political economies described above, both in their ideal forms and as hybridized versions on the ground, embodies aspects of exclusion and inclusion, although all too often the latter find expression in the form of coercively inclusive demands. Both sets of demands, ultimately, are intended to regulate the economy through the social and political enforcement of cultural norms aimed at conforming behaviour. Those who are deemed able and potentially willing to conform are subject to coercive inclusion in the form of welfare limits, welfare to work programs, and cultural shaming mechanisms such as those employed against 'welfare queens' and 'deadbeat dads'. Those who are viewed by society as intransigent 'delinquents' are conversely subjected to exclusion in its many forms. Skid row is a form of exclusion written in physical and social space. Despite the long history of 'skid row' as an object of social-scientific inquiry and disciplinary knowledge, a central problem located within the vast array of literature available is the fact that little attention has been paid to defining 'skid row' as an analytical concept. More often it has been invoked as a descriptive term used to identify a slum-like area of an inner city used to house alcoholics and other indigents. To be clear though, skid row is not a slum: whereas the inhabitants of the slum may be poor and disenfranchised like the denizens of the row, the former do not attach the same degree of moral stigma and blame as the latter because the circumstances of the slum dweller may occur through misfortune, but the 'lifestyle' of the skid rower is conceived of as one of 29 choice and thus moral fault. In the present work skid row is conceptualized as a civic space defined through the real or perceived moral delinquency of its residents. To clear up another common misconception, in some parts of the U.S. and Canada where the composition of the local skid row population contains a large number of people of colour, skid row is sometimes mistaken for the ghetto. Like the ghetto, skid row is a social and physical space composed of four constitutive elements: stigma, constraint, spatial confinement and institutional encasement (Wacquant 2002, 2003). It too stands as an exclusionary device used to isolate groups from the dominant society, checking the possibility of association and thus of contamination. However, skid row differs from the ghetto in the composition of its population: whereas the ghetto is an ethnically homogenous space that physically embodies ethnoracial domination, skid row is the physical embodiment of the moral dimensions of the relations of ruling. Rather than serving as a mechanism for the voluntary or involuntary enclosure of distinct ethnic and racial groups (as Wacquant (2003) notes, throughout history ghettos have served as both), historically skid row served as a holding pen for the white male population who made up the surplus labour force for the growing industrial economy. Throughout much of its history it was a racially segregated space where whiteness was preserved through discriminatory policies and practices aimed at keeping people of colour off the row (for a discussion of the racially exclusionary practices on skid row see Blumberg, Shipley and Shandler 1973). Today, skid row is an ethnically heterogeneous space that serves two important functions. On one level, skid row exists as a distinct and often inclusive community for the marginalized poor and other social outcasts. Residents here share a common bond: they 30 are frequently, i f not daily, made aware of their outcast status, being subjected by the larger society to treatment as forms of social detritus. Inclusion is expressed within the community in a variety of ways, including the use of unique social codes and rituals of the street. For example, the word 'six' in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside - meaning 'watch your back' - serves to warn people on the street of the presence of a police officer or other outsider who might represent a potential threat. The dangers of street life sometimes require a different prioritizing of normative values because of the premium placed on personal safety in a frequently chaotic and violent space (the more friends one has within the community, the more support may be available to call upon during critical times). Thus, behaviours and attitudes that would often fail to be understood in other neighbourhoods - such as remaining friends with someone who stole your money the day before - are accepted and understood within skid row society. While much of skid row operates through inclusionary mechanisms, skid row is a community like others in that exclusionary attitudes and behaviours cut across community lines. We see this in the creation of distinct sub-group identities (such as alcoholics, addicts and 'straights'), and even more exclusive networks within sub-groups (such as drug and/or alcohol sharing systems (i.e. 'bottle gangs' or 'needle buddies')). Whereas sharing groups may exclude individuals from participation in their networks for a variety of reasons, larger sub-groups may be at odds due to competition over spaces or resources, as well as over behaviour deemed problematic. For instance, in each of the skid row communities studied, alcoholics and addicts were heard to demand that the 'troublesome' other be moved either elsewhere within the community or outside it. As I note in following chapters, heroin addicts in Vancouver complain about the 'intolerable' 31 behaviour of crack addicts, whereas street drunks in the Cowgate and Grassmarket want heroin addicts pushed out of their neighbourhood. While I have been focusing on the local community thus far, we can also see that on another level skid row principally serves the exclusionary goals of the larger society through its use as a site of containment for the urban poor who, for reasons of mental illness, drug and alcohol addiction and/or other delinquent status are excluded from the formal economy. This is the surplus labour population of yesterday that has come to increasingly constitute the bulk of today's prison population: beggars, addicts, prostitutes, petty thieves, the homeless, and the transgendered and others who escape from decreed gender norms. As Wacquant (2002) depicts the ghetto as an ethnoracial prison outside the gates of the penitentiary, so too we might cast skid row as a dungeon for those whose present 'lifestyle' is deemed morally delinquent and thus dangerous, by the larger society. Skid row is thus properly viewed as the naked manifestation of the exercise of power in society, the power to control and punish through social, political and economic exclusion. This power is exercised through the creation of a group of individuals as a defined community - written in physical and social space - that is at once both criminal and criminalized: a community of moral delinquents that stands at the heart of the law, "or at least in the midst of those mechanisms that transfer the individual imperceptibly from discipline to the law, from deviation to offence" (Foucault 1979: 301). The delinquent community serves society on multiple levels. It provides a means of quarantining problematic social types who might 'infect' members of the larger public with their morally lax lifestyles and/or politically dangerous views. This containment space also provides the 'police' - that is, the larger constellation of institutions that 32 supervise and control the lives of the indigent, the mad and the criminal - with a means of identifying their target population, and renders members of this population subject to easy surveillance and infiltration in order to assess and minimize the risk that they represent to the larger community (Foucault ibid; Rose 1999). Further, such spaces function as living moral exemplars of the pitfalls that befall those who do not embrace the benefits of industry and moral correctness. And, as Foucault suggests, by marginalizing real and/or potential threats to the orderliness of society within excluded spaces, "it is possible to divert [their] self-absorbed delinquency to forms of illegality that are less dangerous: maintained by the pressure of controls on the fringes of society, reduced to precarious conditions of existence, lacking links with the population that would be able to sustain it" (ibid: 278). Punishment of delinquents beyond the limits of legal incarceration is normalized: the power to punish becomes "natural and legitimate", as society's tolerance for the delinquent's 'bad lifestyle' decreases (Foucault 1979: 301). This punitive drive finds expression along two registers: the legal register of justice and the extra-legal register of discipline (ibid). With respect to the present study, the legal register is seen to constitute those laws and registers that increasingly trap and imprison the delinquent skid rower within a vicious circle of penality - for example, anti-urination and defecation bylaws imposed in sites with limited toilet facilities for the poor, or narcotics laws that imprison addicts for failing to rehabilitate themselves in treatment beds that do not exist. The register of discipline constitutes those normalizing institutions that serve to organize and co-govern skid row populations. These institutions support the legal register by attempting to discipline those that are governable, and securing information on the 33 ungovernable that can be fed into and utilized by the legal system. I see Neighbourhood Patrol programs as a particularly illuminating example of the latter register and its work in supporting processes of discipline and exclusion. Neighborhood patrols use their presence as a reminder to 'disorderly elements' that there is a morally correct way of behaving: those that do not embrace the 'moral lifestyle' are subject to surveillance by other residents - their photographs will be taken and information about their personal activities will be passed on to the police. The intention of such law-abiding citizens is not, however, merely to provide support for the legal machinery, but to initiate its workings in order to reform an area's delinquents and, failing that, to punish those who resist rehabilitation. In order to better understand how individuals are 'policed' on skid row, I utilize a multi-dimensional conception of policing that is grounded in a view of policing as a set of processes that ultimately form a broader framework of security/regulation that is organized both by and under the state. The origins of this framework are most clearly articulated by Foucault in Discipline and Punish (1995 [1977]), and in his later studies of 'governmentality' in which he describes the replacement of traditional forms of overt state regulation with sophisticated co-ordinate systems of micro-disciplinary techniques diffused throughout the social body. According to this perspective, the public police are merely one apparatus of social control in a much larger scheme, involving not merely the government as an interested party in the normalization of captive populations, but also incorporating various other normalizing institutions throughout civil society. As Foucault (1994: 195) himself explains, "'police' is not an institution or mechanism functioning 34 within the state but a governmental technology peculiar to the state - domains, techniques, targets where the state intervenes." In relation to the governance of deviant populations, the task of managing what Rose (1999: 262) terms "enduringly problematic persons in the name of community security" requires the knowledge, expertise and powers of the public police, as well as those of social workers, probation officers, education and health experts, and often the resources of private agencies. Thus, a portion of the present study is concerned with the inter-institutional relations that constitute 'policing' - 'policing' as both a broader discipline-oriented framework and, more narrowly, as an institution (the public police). With respect to the latter, this conception incorporates four models of public policing that, as I demonstrate throughout, operate simultaneously on the row: police as law enforcers, peacekeepers, social workers and knowledge workers. Law enforcers In 1967, Egon Bittner published an ethnographic study of the policing of skid row districts by two American police forces. Drawing on work by Banton (1964), he explored two distinct types of police roles and their function on skid row. The first of these is the police as 'law enforcers' - that is, as individuals whose functions are principally oriented towards processing cases through the criminal justice system. Their practice primarily consists of arrests and arrest-related procedures such as information taking, locating witnesses, filing or advising charges, testifying and other activities that expedite criminal justice processing. For many scholars, law enforcement is the primary role that defines the policing function and it is held to be unique to this institution: 35 The policeman shares with others a wide variety of resources that can be used in dealing with a problem. However, these resources exist within the context of those resources (law enforcement and force), which he does not share with others and that are, in effect, unique characteristics of his role (Shearing and Leon 1992: 218-9). The power to invoke the law through a range of sanctions from issuing tickets to effecting an arrest - a form of coercion in and of itself - coupled with the ability to use force in effecting a resolution, is said to define the police institution and separate its practitioners from others who are similarly tasked with dealing with society's problems. As Bittner notes, we implicitly accept and recognize these exceptional powers when we choose to handle a problem by 'calling the cops'. However, as most policing scholars recognize, while these powers are central to the policing function, officers typically spend very little of their time in actual law enforcement pursuits. And when police do so, as Wilson (1968: 19) points out, the patrol officer's function is often largely a clerical one: "he asks routine questions, inspects the premises and fills out a form." Traditionally, the average patrol officer spends much more of his or her time on simple order maintenance tasks which do not result in the direct invocation of the law - that is in a ticket, a summons or in an arrest. More recently though we have seen the rise of a policing model that prioritizes law enforcement as a core strategy for dealing with crime and disorder: the 'broken windows' model. This model is based on a hypothesis that suggests that crime can be reduced through surveillance and the reduction of environmental cues that are seen as inherently criminogenic - such as broken windows, graffiti and other signs of urban decay, which are said to signal to would-be offenders that a space is 'undefended' (Wilson and Kelling 1981; Kelling and Coles 1996). The role of the public police under this model is to 36 proactively enforce all laws, but particularly minor offences, which are seen as escalators to more serious offences - that is, to 'repair the broken window' (ibid). As Harcourt (2001) suggests, police practitioners frequently misunderstand the Broken Windows model as a form of order-maintenance policing. However, with its emphasis on law enforcement as the primary means for addressing crime and disorder, Broken Windows cannot be understood as anything but a law enforcement model. Order maintenance, which is described in further detail in the next section, involves the use of police discretion to deal with minor offences. Broken windows replaces that discretion with policies that mandate the aggressive policing of all offences, but particularly lower-level criminal offences and/or municipal infractions (Harcourt ibid). Peacekeepers The second role that Bittner assigns to the police is 'peacekeeping', which is also frequently referred to as 'order maintenance'. This practice encompasses informal extra-legal activities designed to minimize disorder and to reduce tensions that could lead to crimes or disturbances, such as settling personal disputes and/or issuing warnings to those who are or might be doing wrong. According to Bittner, the style of policing in skid row reflects structural demands placed upon the police. Of paramount importance to police decision-making is the fact that such spaces serve to concentrate "certain types of persons" (ibid: 714). The role of the police officer within this community is to contain the space and its inhabitants. The means by which this containment is effected is of minimal interest to the institution; police managers simply assign officers to the district, on a more or less permanent basis, and leave it to officers' individual discretion as to how best to maintain order in the site. 37 The space is seen to lend itself to the use of informal proactive techniques. Police operate under the premise that, given the nature of the population and the potential for trouble that inhabitants represent, allowing simple disputes or offences to go unchecked may lead to an escalation to more serious offences. Thus, informal preventative action rather than reaction becomes the norm. Bittner sets out five types of lesser demands, or 'demand conditions', that are placed upon the police in this district that increase the likelihood of extra-legal measures. These are: 1. the need to supervise licensed premises and the regulation of traffic; 2. situations involving minor offences where discretion can be invoked; 3. situations involving non-criminal matters where police authority can be invoked; 4. crowd control; 5. and, duties with respect to individuals who require special assistance such as youth and the mentally i l l . Bittner notes that in responding to these conditions, police officers utilize three strategies: a "richly particularized knowledge of people and places in the area", discretion and coercion (1967: 707). Knowledge of the site and its inhabitants assists the officer in formulating the best response for reducing the potential for trouble on the row. Decision-making centering on whether to invoke the law or to use discretion is a fundamental aspect of the police role. Such decisions are not based on individual culpability, but instead reflect the need to "solve certain pressing practical problems in keeping the peace" (ibid: 710). As Giffen (1966: 156) suggests, the power of arrest is frequently exercised by police as "the easiest means of keeping down the number of [drunks] in circulation." Drunks are generally arrested in situations where they are creating a public disturbance or posing a danger to themselves or others (Giffen 1966; Blumberg et al. 38 1973; Gammadge, Jorgensen and Jorgenson 1972). The use of coercion is thus often aligned with the need to keep peace; its use is "determined mainly by exigencies of situations and with little regard for possible long range effects on individual persons" (Bittneribid.: 707). Social workers Some of the literature that followed Bittner's skid row study began to draw out more fully implications arising from his observation that the police frequently serve non-law enforcement purposes. A picture of the police as social service providers began to be built up from this and similar work that depicted skid row police officers providing various forms of assistance to the Skid Rower, and/or acting from motives not directly related to law enforcement or peacekeeping. Blumberg et al. (1973) looked at the use of arrest for public intoxication and noted that officers invoked this power in situations where they perceived that the person arrested may have placed him or herself in 'danger'. Examples of 'danger' include the threat of overdose, threat of victimization (being 'rolled') and over-exposure to the elements (ibid). Wallace notes that "Police say they arrest more drunks in the wintertime because they can easily pass out in an alley and freeze to death before anyone finds them" (1965: 95; see also Blumberg et al. 1973; McSheehy 1979). Wiseman (1970: 67) describes the skid row police officer as social worker when she states that one of the functions these officers serve is to provide assistance to inhabitants, "in the manner of the parent who disciplines a child for his own good." The social work model also arose from studies that looked at the reasons why police are mobilized to respond to service calls generally (Skogan 1990). As one of the 39 few state agencies providing public services twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, police are frequently called upon to address non-policing matters. Other scholars note that it is also the authority and resources of this institution that lead members of the public to seek police assistance and advice for a variety of non-criminal matters (Waddington 1993). The social work model was extended in the 1990s with the rise of community policing and problem-oriented policing, two approaches which, theoretically, emphasize the social work aspect of policing through a re-casting of the police role as proactive 'problem solvers' within local communities. This re-casting, as Trajanowicz, Kappeler, Gaines and Bucqueroux (1998: 19) argue, is not antithetical to traditional understandings of the police role, as some critics of community policing have suggested, because "the fact is, social work has always been an important element of police work." As community policing is ostensibly the model under which each of the forces studied is operating, I want to briefly review the principles of this model and two major concerns that arise from its use in the field. Although community policing has been aptly described as "a remarkably amorphous term" (Herbert 2001a: 448), it is generally understood as a set of policies and programs aimed at increasing interaction between the police and community for the purpose of fostering joint ownership of and responsibility for a defined set of community problems arising from local crime and disorder. A wide range of programs operate under this model, including community police stations, neighbourhood foots patrols, local watch groups, police outreach programs, community-police meetings and so on (ibid). Community policing is informed by a democratic ethos: its underlying philosophy is that the police are accountable to the community. The 40 community is no longer the passive recipient of police services or the creators of policing problems, as was often understood under the professional model of policing, but rather an active participant, with the police, in the solution of local problems (Trojanowicz, Kappeler, Gaines and Bucqueroux 1998). Thus, programs are created, such as those noted above, which place the police within the community rather than operating above it. There have been a variety of criticisms directed against the community-policing model. I shall limit myself to looking at two concerns raised within the literature that are most relevant to the present study. The first arises from a set of criticisms that suggests that community policing is more appropriately viewed as a 'rhetorical strategy' used for political purposes rather than as a legitimate mode of policing (Loader 1999; Lyons 1999). This view is based on studies of the model in the field, such as Saunders' (1999) examination of a community policing project in Boston which found that a significant gap existed between the model's promises and its practice (ibid). In the case of the Boston program, the police failed to implement mechanisms for determining community needs or for solving local problems (ibid). The program also failed to address the community's belief that the police lacked public accountability (ibid). These failures lead Saunders to dismiss community policing as little more than a means of reproducing inequities under the guise of egalitarianism (ibid). However, O'Malley and Palmer (1996: 145) note that while there "is little doubt" that the police-public relationship as idealized in the community policing model is "often an illusion at the level of practice", such dismissals neglect the fact that the rhetorical imagery invoked by the community policing model "is powerful". The public is no longer a passive recipient of state services, but rather active consumers of a "market-modeled service" with all of the market-based 41 rights and responsibilities that the consumer-service provider relationship implies (ibid: 145; see also Loader 1999). The second relevant concern arises from the frequent conflation of community policing and 'broken windows' (Herbert 2001a; Kleinig 1993). This conflation is problematic because, whereas community policing stresses the community and the police as equal actors responsible for crime and disorder in a neighbourhood, 'broken windows' stresses the dominant role of the police as facilitators for crime reduction and provides a significantly reduced role for the community (Herbert 2001a). As Herbert explains, under "the broken windows approach, this active role for the citizenry [as envisioned by the community policing model] is eclipsed by the dominant power asserted by the police, primarily through their practices of intimidation and arrest" (ibid: 446). The result has been that cities that employ aggressive policing tactics against minor offenders, notably enforcing 'status offences' against the visibly poor, claim that in enforcing the desires of businesses and some community residents that they are representing 'the community' and are thus engaged in community policing (Kleinig 1993). Often this claim rests on tenuous grounds. Knowledge workers Bittner's work focuses on police decision-making as an informal process framed by local knowledge and the exigencies and context of a given situation. A deserved criticism of this approach has been that it obscured the institutional and structural underpinnings of decision-making. The work of scholars such as Ericson (1982) and Manning (1977) reveals a picture of police work as embedded in institutional rules and communication systems. The police officer 'negotiates order' "variously employing 42 strategies of coercion, manipulation, and negotiation ... with respect to legal rules, administrative rules, and 'recipe' rules of the occupational culture of line officers" (Ericson 1982: 9). In the 1990s, the communications-oriented focus on policing led to another re-conceptualization of the police role, this time as knowledge workers who gather information into formats that can be readily utilized by other institutions to achieve governance (Ericson and Haggerty 1997). The basis for this theoretical insight was twofold: ethnographic data that revealed changes in the volume and style of police information gathering and its uses, and new work arising from the sociology of knowledge. According to Ericson and Haggerty (1997: 41), "policing is not just a matter of repressive, punitive, deterrent measures to control those who are morally wrong. It is also a matter of surveillance, of producing knowledge of populations that is useful for administering them." Thus, whereas Bittner and others have emphasized the police use of force or, alternatively, peacekeeping or problem-oriented measures to resolve situations, Ericson and Haggerty point out the degree to which the police dispose of cases by means of diverting individuals to other institutions. A driving force behind much police information gathering directed at regulating conduct is the insurance industry and the law of contracts. Police have learned that it is more expedient to have property crimes involving theft, fraud or vandalism, dealt with by insurers who can and will invest resources in both proactive enforcement (i.e. through supporting private security programs for particular types of theft and, more commonly, through contracts that require policy holder vigilance) and reactive efforts (fraud detection programs, raising deductibles). While these authors mainly document the off-loading of police 43 responsibilities in relation to upper and middle concerns, this process also has significant impacts on poorer communities. For example, in and around some skid row districts, public police officers actively work with private security, with the latter becoming increasingly responsible for lower level crime prevention and response duties (see Huey, Ericson and Haggerty 2005). Such cooperative networks also serve to enhance the ability of the public police to acquire street level information for their own uses, and to share information with the private sector to increase surveillance of row residents (ibid). Of the four policing models, the knowledge worker conception is the one that is invoked most commonly in discussions of neo-liberal governance and the treatment of crime. This is not altogether surprising given that a central concern within neo-liberal regimes has been risk management, and that police systems frequently serve risk management goals. In relation to skid row, policies of dispersal and containment are frequently effected through the use of 'risk' rationales (see Castel 1991; Ericson and Haggerty 1997). Identified 'risks' to segments within society - the skid rower as criminal, addict and/or mentally i l l - are variously identified, monitored, controlled and contained, in order to minimize or to advert perceived or real dangers that they represent (Ericson and Haggerty 1997). This process largely occurs through technical policing solutions, such as computerized mapping systems, databases, C C T V cameras - each of which generates data in formats that are transferable to other institutions for legal and extra-legal regulatory purposes. The present study utilizes each of the policing models discussed in an attempt to understand the dynamics of policing skid row districts. Focusing on policing within and across each framework is necessary for two important reasons. First, as I demonstrate 44 throughout this study, police work at both management and street levels utilizes these frameworks as strategies in support of their primary mandate: controlling territory. Thus, we need to situate different activities according to the model that provides the most explanatory power. Focusing on police as law enforcers does not adequately account for those times in which they perform what is clearly recognized as social work. Second, a multi-dimensional view of policing is necessary to the task of more fully articulating and understanding the complexities of an occupation that requires both fixed rules and a dynamic approach to a multitude of situations. As I also attempt to demonstrate throughout this work, police officers utilize strategies that can serve multiple purposes simultaneously. This fact alone necessitates a move away from uni-dimensional frameworks. Some readers may question the wisdom of putting together four apparently very different models of policing. I first became aware of how these frameworks function together through reviewing the differences between the Bittner and Ericson and Haggerty conceptions of policing. In doing so, I noted that the seeds of Policing the Risk Society can be seen in Bittner's work, although Bittner left them unexploited. These seeds are found in a brief section in the conclusion of "Policing Skid Row" (1967: 714): Peacekeeping procedure on skid-row consists of three elements. Patrolmen seek to acquire a rich body of concrete knowledge about people by cultivating personal acquaintance with as many residents as possible. They tend to proceed against persons mainly on the basis of perceived risk, rather than on the basis of culpability. And they are more interested in reducing the aggregate total of troubles in the area than in evaluating individual cases according to merit. There are, of course, significant differences between the two perspectives that need to be acknowledged; however, these are largely differences of degree rather than of 45 kind. For example, we can locate a difference in relation to Bittner's 'knowing' and Ericson and Haggerty's conception of knowledge work - that is the scale and techniques of 'knowing' individuals and groups within a territory and the uses that knowing now takes. Bittner's skid row community of 1967 no longer exists and the skid rows of today - the populations of which have grown and changed considerably over the past thirty years - can no longer be managed solely through personal relations between the police and the policed. While much of the policing that occurs on skid row today is about informal regulation, it is also about managing populations utilizing institutionally embedded knowledge networks. Another difference I note between the Bittner and the Ericson and Haggerty models is found in relation to how police process cases. Again, this difference is not as significant as it might appear at first glance. Bittner describes one of the roles police adopt on the row as 'law enforcers' - that is, working to secure convictions. And yet, Ericson and Haggerty depict police as frequently seeking to dispose of cases by off-loading them onto other institutions. However, in the majority of cases, Bittner's police actually do the same thing, although this is not made entirely explicit in his study. As he notes, row officers use informal peacekeeping techniques as a means of extinguishing potential problems. This technique is used to avoid formal processing and has one of two possible consequences: it defers problems for the police to another day or displaces them onto other institutions for corrective action. Finally, Ericson and Haggerty also acknowledge that the police continue to maintain their traditional law enforcement role; officers continue to process cases under their model, just not as frequently as the public might believe. 46 Like other researchers, I note that the seeds of the police as social workers framework can also be located within Bittner's conception of peacekeeping (Toch and Grant 1991). Patrol officers then as now "help people to obtain meals, lodging, employment, that they direct [row denizens] to welfare and health services and that they aid them in various other ways" (Bittner 1967: 709). A police officer in Kentucky who picks up a local alcoholic for transport to the hospital offers the following as his rationale: "I'm taking him to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning ... It's for his own good, otherwise he might get run over by a car" (Decker 2002). Wiseman (1970) asks how it is that the police, with minimal resources, are able to contain the social misfits who make up skid row. In looking at the answers that she provides, we can see again an overlap between the various models. Wiseman suggests that two factors are involved: a well-defined understanding of when and where it is appropriate to apply formal and informal means of coercion, and knowledge of the area which is used to pre-plan deployment of patrols and supporting machinery. At the time of Wiseman's writing, knowledge of the space was used to project when and where crimes would occur in order to ensure sufficient police coverage. This projection was rather roughly done, and the supporting machinery consisted primarily of paddy wagons that were used to pick up 'nuisance' drunks. Today, the local knowledge of the skid row officer is fed into the institution, which similarly calculates out police shift coverage. But the supporting apparatus is incredibly more complex and is increasingly geared towards managing the space through targeting and governing troublesome populations. The police in Wiseman's time did not have GIS systems that could pinpoint, with finer degrees, criminal 'hot' spots by target space or population. If you ask the police today where to 47 find, for example, territory on skid row controlled by drug dealers of a particular race or ethnic type, this information can be supplied on demand and is used to formulate department policies and actions. In some cases, sweeps based on this information are acted on jointly with agents from other institutions, such as Immigration and Corrections (parole or probation services). Thus, while we still have the individual patrol officer walking the beat on the row and gathering local knowledge, the volume and uses for this information have increased dramatically. Conclusion In this chapter I have provided a theoretical context for the study that follows. This was done, firstly, through a critical examination of recent theoretical work that explores the purported movement towards more exclusive societies, which has been explained as a consequence of the rise of neo-liberalism in the West. What this analysis revealed was that exclusion, inclusion and coercive inclusion are social constants. As we saw, even during the 'golden age' of welfarism, exclusion and coercive inclusion were present, manifest through formal and informal policies that relegated individuals to socially, economically and politically isolated communities such as skid row districts. I then addressed the claim that neo-liberal models of governance are inherently exclusive by fleshing out the origins of the two major schools: the Ordoliberalen model and the Chicago School. Further, I looked at the rise of welfarism as a practical response to the vagaries of life under systems of unfettered capitalism. From this analysis, we saw that each political form has an uniquely different moral perspective that influences the development of public policy with respect to the treatment of social and economic 48 inequality. However, again, under each system we find present forms of exclusion, inclusion and coercive inclusion directed at or located within marginal communities. As the focus of the present work is skid row and its policing, I offered an analytical definition of skid row as a social and physical location, before similarly defining my use of the terms 'police' and 'policing'. From this, I moved into a discussion of the four theoretical policing frameworks that inform the present study, and the ways in which these frameworks necessary operate together as a set of responses to the demands that the policing of skid row generate. 49 Chapter II - Observing the Invisible: Researching Skid Row This study was bome out of previous work that I conducted in Gastown, a section of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside (Huey et al. 2005) and from visits to both the Tenderloin and Cowgate/Grassmarket. Although I had been working in and around Vancouver's Downtown Eastside for a year collecting data, the original impetus for the study arose out of a visit to San Francisco. I was ostensibly in San Francisco to attend a conference and, given the beautiful weather and my curiosity about the city, I opted to skip out on several afternoons to get lost in the streets and explore. On one excursion, I met a homeless man who was panhandling with his cat on Powell Street in the downtown core. Illustration 2.1 'Nell the homeless cat' - Streets of San Francisco, 2002 (author's photo) 50 After striking up a conversation with the man about his cat, he began to talk about his experiences with both police and local security agents. What he described for me was a harsh system in which the visibly poor were becoming increasingly subject to an array of punitive social controls in public space. Given my knowledge of policing in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside, I became interested in some of the striking differences I noted between the two systems: the seemingly aggressive paramilitary style of the SFPD in comparison to the more informal style exhibited by the VPD. This led me to question to what extent key similarities and differences in these two policing styles could be attributed to aspects of the larger socio-politico-economic systems of governance framing these organizations. Edinburgh was selected as the third research site following a visit there that left me with an understanding of Scottish politics and culture as uniquely liberal. This initial impression was supported through further study of Scottish politics, as well as through a preliminary research visit conducted in 2002. During this second visit, I had the opportunity to meet and talk with homeless beggars, community service personnel and police officers. In discussions with members of these groups, I came away with the view that the policing system in Edinburgh - while representing a form of neo-liberalism - is socially progressive, particularly in comparison to other jurisdictions (both within and outside of Scotland). For this reason, I saw Edinburgh's style of policing as offering some interesting potential contrasts to the style observed in San Francisco and to a lesser extent that found in Vancouver. Through extensive research of the sites, undertaken before I began fieldwork, I realized that although they do not represent perfectly the ideal types of Ordoliberalism, 51 American neo-liberalism and Keynesianism, that each represents significant aspects of one form or the other. Edinburgh is strikingly Ordoliberalen in its approach to social problems and, as I was to discover later, in its policing approach. While San Francisco retains some aspects of welfarism (largely in the form of social provisions for the poor), it embodies to a significant degree many of the key features of the American style of neo-liberalism. Vancouver represents a third type - a hybrid form of welfarism and American neo-liberalism - as a result of its own unique political configuration. Thus far I have been offering some initial reasons for my selection of each of three sites upon which this study is based. These reasons are expanded upon and supported more fully in Chapters Three, Five and Seven which offer further detailed analyses of the research sites. For the remainder of this chapter, however, I attempt to provide a fuller understanding of the research methods used to inform the present study. Apart from providing detailed description as to how the study was conducted - through interviews, field observation and analysis of textual materials - I also discuss the interview groups selected and some of the major and minor difficulties encountered in attempting to acquire access to interviewees. Further, I describe in some detail significant research problems that I encountered when attempting to gather quantitative data on skid row populations. Research methods Collection of the data used in this study took place between January 2000 and December 2003. Data-gathering methods included interviews, direct observation and document analysis. Interviews were conducted primarily during the period of July to November 2003. Eighty-six interviews were conducted with one hundred and one 52 subjects. Some subjects were identified through a preliminary study of textual materials and were contacted directly. Other interviewees were identified through the use of snowball sampling. Table 2.1: Interviews Subject category Edinburgh San Vancouver Totals by Francisco category Police personnel 8 9 12 29 Community groups/service providers 9 9 12 30 Area residents 14 11 7 32 Local businesses 1 1 2 4 City representatives 2 2 2 6 Totals per city 34 32 35 101 One of the limitations of previous studies of skid row policing has been that field researchers have focused almost exclusively on understanding policing practices from the perspective of frontline police officers. Missing from these accounts is an understanding of the roles that occupational culture arid institutional imperatives play in shaping activities on the frontlines. In Bittner's seminal work he dismisses the importance of both frontline supervisors, who are a direct influence on the officers they supervise and mentor, and police managers who set the institutional agenda and direct policy. This dismissal by Bittner and other researchers is problematic: as Janet Chan (1997; Chan, Devery and Doran 2003) similarly notes, 'police' is not a concept representing a homogenous collection of individuals, but rather a hierarchical institution embodying different mandates and prescriptions at different levels of the organization (see also Reuss-Ianni and Ianni 1983; Punch 1983). To address this deficiency within the literature, the present study utilizes interviews collected from police personnel of varying ranks and positions within each 53 force. These ranks represented both the frontlines (officers and their immediate supervisors) and police managers. Aside from general questions about the selected organization or research site, police managers were asked about departmental policies and practices. In particular, I was keen to know about the politics of policing and the ways in which organizations attempt to broker demands from other institutions and various segments of the population. Managers were also asked about social inclusionary policing practices and at what levels within the organization they believed that the potential for change existed. Frontline officers were also asked about their perceptions of the politics of skid row policing, as well as about the roles that they perform on skid row, constraints and challenges of the jobs and whether they felt that they could make a difference at the local level. Initially, requests for interviews and cooperation with the study's aims were sent to command staff at each of the police forces selected. Each force responded with different degrees of alacrity. In keeping with their emphasis on police accountability and public openness, the Lothian and Borders force (Edinburgh) were unstinting with their support, providing me with access to staff at all levels. In San Francisco, local staff was made available to me; however, requests for access to high-ranking officers were, for the most part, passed down the ranks without explanation. In Vancouver, I received cooperation from senior management, but experienced some minor difficulties in receiving responses to requests. This was found to be due to staffing constraints at the time of the study: the Vancouver portion of the study was conducted during the summer holiday season, when the Department was also experiencing shortages due to the 54 operation of a new saturation policing program in the DTES and the retirement of a number of senior officers. The closed environment and hierarchical structure of the police institution also presents methodological difficulties. For example, one potential problem encountered was as a result of the chain of command: lower ranking officers were sometimes directed by managers to attend interviews. Although useful in terms of data collection, this posed the concern that handpicked officers might give uncritical answers. To avoid this problem, I also contacted a variety of officers directly - at all levels, in patrol and non-patrol departments (including former members of a squad or department). Also missing from many of the earlier accounts of skid row policing are the experiences and perceptions of those policed. This particular group of individuals has much to tell us about skid row life and the role that police play within these communities. To this end, residents were interviewed in order to provide a street-based perspective on skid row policing. Their views offer a crucial lens through which to understand both the effects of practice and policy and the nature of demands concerning the use of police services. Residents that I spoke with were asked general questions about the neighbourhood and their perceptions as to local levels of crime and violence. They were also asked to discuss their feelings and/or experiences with the local police and whether they noted any changes in policing styles over time. In some instances, I asked respondents how they would classify local police with respect to the four roles discussed earlier: law enforcers, peacekeepers, social workers and knowledge workers. One of the major difficulties in studying homeless populations is the question of access. Usual contact measures - letters, phone calls or even emails - do not apply to 55 those without fixed abodes or access to modes of communication that most of us take for granted. Further, life on the street is a hard one, and many of the individuals I encountered were naturally suspicious of an apparently middle-class white woman wanting to speak to them about their views and experiences of police activities. Suspicions were particularly heightened for those whom, as one resident described, 'walk on the other side of life' - that is, engage in illegal activities such as prostitution, using and selling narcotics, stealing or filing fraudulent welfare claims. Vancouver row inhabitants were particularly suspicious. Prior to the research period, the Vancouver Police had initiated a new saturation policing project that had begun with a crackdown on local drug dealers. Therefore a number of residents and some community groups were suspicious when approached. Whereas community groups, particularly those that had been critical of police performance in the past and present, simply failed to respond to interview requests, some local people when approached made it clear that they believed that I might be a 'narc' (police informant). Fortunately, other residents did volunteer their time and I was also able to overcome this problem with the help of a community activist group that facilitated access to some of their members. Similar difficulties in Edinburgh and San Francisco were also smoothed over with the cooperation of community groups. These organizations not only permitted access to their facilities, but also openly endorsed this study, lending my work some credence with the resident populations that they served. The views of service providers have also been largely ignored within the skid row policing literature. Their exclusion is unfortunate given that they are uniquely placed to assist in representing the views of those policed: service providers who work with groups 56 of clients are more likely than individuals to see and understand the nature of patterns over time, thus they can speak to past or emergent trends on the row. Further, to the extent that many of these agencies work with police in providing conditions necessary to survival on skid row, they can also offer insights into policing policies and practices at the institutional level. And, more recently, with the increasing politicization of skid row policing, a phenomenon largely driven by local community associations, locally placed organizations can speak not only of demands generated on behalf of those they serve, but also the dynamics that give rise to demands. Again, I have tried to compensate for this deficiency within the literature by including service providers as a primary source of data. The organizations whose members were interviewed represent a diverse range of services, including legal advice, shelters, food, counseling, advocacy and outreach work. Interviewees were asked about their organization's interactions with local police, their direct experiences of local policing and/or the experiences of their client groups. Of the participant categories described here, service providers and community groups contacted were generally the most willing to be interviewed and/or to facilitate the study's aims. Through discussion, it became clear that most groups contacted understood the import of the study and believed that their constituencies would benefit in some fashion from an examination of the subject of skid row policing. Cooperation ranged from agreeing to interviews, to facilitating introduction to other organizations, to providing access to their facilities for the purposes of meeting potential research subjects and/or direct observation. The category of city representatives encompasses both local elected and civic officials. Their inclusion assists in understanding the politics of policing, from police 57 budgets and resources to public demands for police services. In order to protect identities, I do not distinguish between elected and appointed officials who are quoted from within this category. In each of the cities studied, elected officials and city functionaries contacted agreed to interviews and were helpful in suggesting contacts and/or further research avenues. Aside from questions concerning the politics and economics of a given site, members of this category were asked about the provision of local policing services, their interactions with police representatives and the nature of policing demands from different constituencies. I also sought to interview business associations, owners and/or managers that operate within the selected skid row districts. I had hoped to learn more about the nature of demands for police service that local businesses generate. Those that did agree to participate were asked general questions about the crime in their neighbourhood, the quality and level of police services, as well as any direct experiences they had had with the police. Unfortunately, the bulk of businesses and business groups contacted failed to respond to requests for interviews. As those who were contacted through the mail failed to respond either to an initial letter or to follow-up requests, I can only speculate on their reasons. With respect to business associations, previous related research (Huey et al. 2005) suggests that such organizations are often concerned about their participation in social science research because of a lack of control over the final published product. Because many of the associations contacted have taken controversial public stands with respect to homeless and/or policing issues in and around skid row districts - such as publicly supporting reductions in local welfare rates, anti-panhandling initiatives or police crackdowns - concerns can become heightened. With regard to those business 58 owners and managers whom I approached directly, some expressed concerns about answering questions about crime and policing issues because neighbouring businesses were suspected of being involved in illegal activities, a concern particularly noted in Vancouver. In other instances, business representatives advised that they simply did not have the time or the inclination to participate. In short, one of the limitations of the present study is that the views of local businesses are underrepresented. I have attempted to partially overcome this limitation through the collection of published interviews with business agents in local newspapers. The interview format used with all participants was open-focused. By open-focused, I mean that interviews were not conducted using a set of pre-prepared questions, but rather relied upon a set of general concerns that subjects addressed. By keeping the interview style very open and loose, subjects were able to raise issues that had not been previously considered. The nature of the questions necessarily changed from participant to participant in order to capture the beliefs, thoughts and experiences of differently situated subjects more fully. Open-focused interviews also facilitated discussions that were conversation-like and thus permitted a greater degree of flexibility in asking questions. A l l interviews were taped with the subject's consent. A l l subjects were guaranteed confidentiality. To facilitate this ethical requirement, identifying information was removed during the transcription process, and the identified gender of some subjects was modified in the final text. Where quoted, subjects are further identified as belonging to one of the generic categories noted above (i.e. resident, police), or are listed as an 59 unnamed 'subject', 'respondent' or 'individual'. Some exceptions have been made where extra description does not compromise the identity of the subject. To supplement the interview data, I conducted observational research for a period of approximately one month in each of the research sites. Fieldwork was conducted two to three days per week, for two to six hour periods during both day and nighttimes. Efforts were made to capture observations in each of the sites at various points during the day, and on different days of the week. Time spent in the field was roughly equivalent for each of the spaces. Where appropriate, notes and photographs were taken to assist in documenting physical and social characteristics of a particular environment. Some of these photographs have been placed throughout the text; however, I have included no pictures of people. Critics of social science research claim that we all too frequently objectify our research subjects; I am of the view that including the faces of the people I met or observed from afar would be to contribute to that process, as well as representing a violation of individual privacy rights and/or confidentiality agreements. I attended various public and private meetings and other events. In Vancouver, I observed several Police Board and City Council meetings, attended board meetings of selected community groups and made several visits to a homeless encampment in the DTES. Previously I had received two guided police tours of sites within the DTES, including local bars, various street hangouts and a single resident occupancy hotel. These visits informed aspects of the present study. In Edinburgh, I observed a local community development meeting for the City Centre, at which city councilors, police and residents were present. On one occasion I also volunteered at an area mission, handing out food. I also toured the Cowgate/Grassmarket site separately with a senior police official and a 60 local outreach worker. In San Francisco I spent two mornings at a community centre in the Tenderloin talking with volunteers and drop-in clients, attended a lecture at the SFPD's Citizens' Police Academy and observed a planning meeting for a local community event. Attending outreach facilities as observer or as a participant afforded a great deal of observational data about a particular skid row and its inhabitants, as well as a few potential problems for me as a researcher. For example, in contrast to the street where I was variously assumed to be a police officer (Vancouver, on multiple occasions), a lost tourist (San Francisco and Edinburgh), or as a prostitute by male passers-by (San Francisco), in homeless facilities I was sometimes mistaken for an outreach worker (Edinburgh and San Francisco). One aggrieved resident in Edinburgh, upon finding out that I was not a mission worker, demanded that I still comply with his request to turn down a radio that was playing loudly on the ground that I was capable of doing it regardless. It was politely and firmly pointed out to him that he was also capable of asking someone else. I recognized this as a test: previous experience in interviewing both skid row residents, as well as a stint interviewing paroled offenders, had taught me about the subtle plays for dominance deployed by those without real power. Once this individual recognized that he did not intimidate me, he cracked a joke and his demeanour towards me became slightly friendlier, i f still calculating. The first lesson of the street is not to show fear. Primary and secondary documents were gathered and analyzed in order to provide an understanding of some aspects of the social, political, economic and geographical nature of each of the cities' downtown environs. Document sources varied and included 61 both hard copy text and web-based materials: city reports, news articles, community reports and materials of non-governmental organizations and relevant legislation and regulations. During interviews, I was sometimes given copies of police forms and organizational reports that were subsequently used to inform the analysis offered here. News articles were obtained as follows. For stories on Vancouver, searches of the Canadian newsdisc database were performed for the years 1997 to 2003, using the keywords 'police' and 'Downtown Eastside'. These searches yielded articles that supplemented other news stories and commentary that I had been collecting from local papers not found in the database. Relevant news stories on Edinburgh were obtained through searches of the archives of online editions of the Edinburgh Evening News, The Scotsman and Scotland on Sunday from 1999 to 2003. Similarly, news articles were obtained through searching the online archives of the San Francisco Chronicle from 1999 to 2003 and from reading online editions of The San Francisco Examiner. Non-text based supplementary sources were also used. These included the documentaries: 'Picking up the Beat' (Vancouver Police Department 2003); 'Fix: Portrait of an Addicted City' (Canada Wild Productions 2002); 'Through a Blue Lens' (National Film Board of Canada 1999); 'Real Life, Hearts of the City Vol . I' (SFPOA 2000); "Narcotics, Hearts of the City' (SFPOA; 2001). Unfortunately, I was unable to locate any video sources relating to policing in Edinburgh. A final note on method: although I incorporate various subject perspectives throughout the study in order to more fully flesh out the subject matter, my primary concern is the politics of policing and how these politics are expressed in the practices, policies and programs that constitute the daily routines of skid row policing. These 62 primarily consist of those activities that would, in light of "CSI", " N Y P D Blue" and the multitude of other popular cop shows, make for unexciting television viewing: being out on routine foot or car patrol, questioning street people, checking warrants, liaising with community groups, breaking up fights and/or disturbances, responding to calls to move someone along, dealing with the mentally i l l and so forth. There were plenty of sensational cases that I could also have drawn from. In recent years, both San Francisco and Vancouver have seen high-profile instances of abusive police practices and questionable policies that have lead to the death of and/or injury to a skid row resident. However, for two reasons I chose not to include analyses of those cases in this study. First, because the majority of incidents occurred prior to the present study, in some instances pre-dating the research by several years. Second, while sensational cases of suspected or proven police abuse are often both interesting and illustrative of larger problems within an organization, my concern is to document and analyze the daily work of skid row policing. In later chapters I do, however, draw attention to the routine deployment of force and the 'rules' that govern its use, including referencing interviewee allegations of police abuse. Researching communities that do not exist In his study of the production of criminal justice statistics, Kevin Haggerty (2001:38) states that "aggregate forms of knowledge foster a distinctive conception of governance and provide the tools to accomplish governmental agendas." In the case of skid row a resort to examining government statistics reveals the existence of these sites as illegitimate communities. Skid row exists in physical and social space, populated by individuals sharing a common group identity and similar existence. Further, it is also 63 externally defined through the larger society's moral values. However, it is not a community typically recognized by organs of governance. We see this in the fact that as an entity skid row seldom, i f ever, generates community statistics. Rather these sites are instead subsumed by other spaces for the purpose of local governance. We see this in Edinburgh where the Cowgate and Grassmarket that make up the City's historic poor area are divided into two different electoral boundaries for the purpose of local governance. For the people who exist here, sleeping in area shelters, eating in local missions and imbibing in the alleyways and other popular drinking spots that dot the Cowgate and Grassmarket, electoral boundaries have little meaning. The division of Cowgate and Grassmarket does, however, create difficulties in terms of understanding those who live in this space, crossing electoral borders to utilize services in one spot or the other. A similar problem arises in San Francisco which similarly utilizes a ward system. The Tenderloin is conjoined with the Mission District to form Supervisory District 6. While both the Tenderloin and the Mission are neighbouring areas characterized by the prevalence of a harsh poverty, addiction and mental illness, the Mission is not considered as part of the skid row district by either the local community or by the City at large, and thus statistics on the constituency of District 6 do not necessarily tell us much about the number and types of people who live on San Francisco's skid row. In short, because of the ways in which local authorities in both Edinburgh and San Francisco have ordered their populations, we have little direct geographically based demographic data upon which to draw. This problem is compounded further in both of these cities because of the ways in which social problems are defined and treated: 64 problems of homelessness, addiction, mental illness and so on, are defined as city-wide rather than as neighbourhood-specific issues. Thus, in studies produced or data supplied by local and/or state authorities, we typically find approximate counts across the entire city rather than data that can be used to construct a neighbourhood-specific profile. In keeping with this treatment, information about state services is also offered on a citywide rather than neighbourhood basis. Thus, in the sections of this study where I discuss rates of homelessness in Edinburgh or San Francisco, or the number of shelter beds available in each, figures given are citywide estimates. Where possible, I also provide area-specific information. The situation with respect to knowledge of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside stands in stark contrast: there is a wealth of information that has been produced by local authorities on the size and scope of the area and its residents (see, for example, the DTES Community Monitoring Reports 2000, 2001). The difference in available data between the cities lies in two facts. First, unlike Edinburgh and San Francisco, Vancouver does not use a ward system; therefore the city does not operate within boundaries that obscure the existence of local communities. Second, and perhaps more importantly, the City of Vancouver has recognized the Downtown Eastside not only as a community, but also as one that requires an extraordinary degree of state intervention. Thus, it is a site that has been problematized, and the production and use of population and other statistics is intended to assist the state machinery in addressing the social problems identified. For this reason, detailed information about the DTES was readily available for analysis. Even with the intensive surveillance that the DTES has generated as a result of its problematization, its population remains, like those of the Tenderloin and 65 Cowgate/Grassmarket, difficult to count. For one thing, the very nature of skid row, a socially excluded site that offers free services to anonymous faces, renders it an attractive site for transients. Second, skid row districts are typically sites with higher rates of homelessness. Homelessness counts are at best merely fluctuating approximations, affected by a range of factors including researchers' ability to locate individuals sleeping out, the operational definition of the population, changes in seasonal temperatures, and accessibility of services locally and elsewhere, among others. Third, skid row has traditionally functioned as a dumping ground for a number of individuals and groups defined as social problems. Its residents include addicts, prostitutes, the mentally i l l and others who typically exist without the stable permanent features of life that mark the majority's daily existence - a residence, employment, taxes and bills - features that render most of us easily countable by the state. These are also people who represent problems that are often difficult to quantify, the parameters of which we can only guess. In the case of individuals with mental illness, statistics on mental health caseloads within the community were available in Vancouver. Little or no data was available with respect to the prevalence of mental illness within either the target community or in local homeless populations generally in either Edinburgh or San Francisco. In Edinburgh, a mental health outreach worker advised that he was unaware of such statistics being available. The lack of data may be explained, partially, as a result of the fact that individuals with mental illness may not seek treatment and have not come to the attention of authorities through the usual mechanisms (typically, through arrest). Further, in cases where individuals have been diagnosed, the state is unable to force reporting compliance, thus when an individual is identified, subsequent tracking can be difficult. While these 66 are legitimate barriers to quantifying the scope of this particular problem, local agencies do create mental health caseload statistics as part of their general administration duties. However, in both San Francisco and Edinburgh these data were not publicly available. This lacuna may result from the fact that no systematized efforts at data collection and analysis for mental health consumers had been initiated in either City. In short, gaps in knowledge are part of the experience of researching skid row districts and other marginalized spaces. A l l too often little is known of the residents who occupy these sites, their characteristics and their needs. There is also limited knowledge of the level of services provided - as often these services operate on an ad hoc basis outside the public sphere - and about significant and lesser shifts in community demographics that might affect healthcare and other critical forms of service. Conclusion In this chapter I reviewed the research methods used in the present study. This work is primarily informed by interview data from various stakeholders, including the police, community groups, area residents, civic officials and elected representatives. The benefits of interviewing members of each of these groups were discussed, as were some of the interview-related problems encountered. Interview data are supplemented by my own field observations, which are used throughout this text. Document analysis was also critical to informing this study; reports and other materials were gathered and analyzed from a variety of sources, including the public police, city officials and community groups. Newspaper articles on relevant subjects were also systematically collected and analyzed. 67 I also described some of the unique difficulties encountered in investigating skid row and its population. Skid row clearly exists as a physical, historical and social phenomenon. With respect to the latter, it operates both in the imaginary of the larger public as a dumping ground for social refuse, and as a communal space in the daily lived realities of those banished to it. However, in the eyes of the majority of civic power brokers, skid row is at best understood as an outlaw community, one that does not and cannot have legitimate community status. Instead, the problems of skid row are removed from their geographical site: skid rowers become the homeless, a phenomenon treated as temporal, diverse and spatially dispersed, rather than as residents inhabiting a site of endemic poverty and hopelessness. In short, their needs, and in particular the gaps left in servicing those needs, are frequently discounted through the expedient of redefining their specific community into a relatively amorphous concept: homelessness. For the researcher, the skid rower has become something of an enigma, an inhabitant of a community of the invisible dispossessed. This is reflected in a significant lack of available data on the condition of skid row and its people. Although I acknowledge the difficulties that this lacuna creates for drawing more comprehensive views of skid row, I also hope that the present study contributes in some way to filling this void. 68 Chapter III - Alkies, Smack heads and Ordos: Skid row under Ordoliberalism In this chapter and the next, I analyze Edinburgh's political economy as representative of key characteristics of the Ordoliberalen model. The first section outlines the political, historical, geographical and social dimensions of the Cowgate/Grassmarket in order to provide a context for understanding the present study,and the dynamics of inclusion and exclusion that are played out 'on the ground' in this community. To this end, aside from discussing the site's history and geography, I also describe its current inhabitants, attempting, i f only modestly, to illuminate aspects of their world for the reader. Following this, I provide a brief discussion of the politics of Edinburgh's skid row, highlighting the range of inclusionary-exclusionary demands that the site produces. I then explore the larger political environment that gives shape to the production of these demands. Edinburgh's skid row: the Cowgate and Grassmarket The city of Edinburgh is divided into two sections that are referred to as Old Town and New Town. Old Town is the southern part of the city and is the site of many historic landmarks dating to the Middle Ages, including the Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh Castle and the Royal Mile. It is also the site of three streets - West Port, Cowgate and Grassmarket - that join, running west to east. West Port, at the westernmost section of the area, is in the process of being 'gentrified', although it retains many of the characteristic hallmarks of the skid row district: shelters, hostels and other services for the urban poor, a decreasing number of vacant buildings, downmarket pubs promising live girls and pole dances and the unmistakable presence of drunks. 69 © i f " ' " X ^ ® £ \ \ \ I \ , W — ^ v i \ s\ ~ - _ j » ^ ' c o ^ - ' - - \ \ V ' ' (A) iW&f's S^ we. CS Canon^ pcfe Krkys/d Illustration 3.1 Edinburgh Old Town (author's illustration) Traveling east, West Port is joined to Grassmarket. 'The Grass' is remarkable in the fact that is a well-populated road filled with brightly painted restaurants, clothing stores, coffeehouses, clubs and pubs. Mixed in with this pretty landscape, however, is the presence of individuals, shabbily dressed, sleeping on benches next to a car park or drinking cider from a memorial in the area's centre. 70 Illustration 3.2 Grassmarket memorial (foreground) (author's photo) Continuing eastwards, Grassmarket merges into Cowgate, the landscape becoming visibly more bleak and empty, populated largely by vacant and boarded buildings. South Bridge, connecting Old Town to New Town, crosses over Cowgate, giving the atmosphere a particularly subterranean feel. Moving eastward towards Holyrood, Cowgate becomes populated again. However, the street conveys an overall sense of being vacant. This sense is hardly surprising given that the population of the entire Edinburgh area known as 'Old Town', which includes the Cowgate/Grassmarket area, is only some eight thousand residents (Edinburgh Old Town 2003). For the past few decades, many area residents were poor and/or addicted to drugs and alcohol. However, new housing developments in the area that contain a mix of properties have led to both a small population increase and some socio-economic diversification. 71 Illustration 3.3 View of Cowgate (author's photo) The history of the Cowgate/Grassmarket area is some six hundred years old. Cowgate's name derives from its historical use: it was the Cow-gait, or path, through which farm animals were taken from St Cuthbert's Meadows to the St Leonard's pastures. From 1460 until the late 1700s, the area around Cowgate evolved into a wealthy neighbourhood, populated by well-appointed homes for the upper classes (Dick 2003). Grassmarket was a central marketplace within the city that existed from the 1400s to the early 1900s. Grassmarket continued as both a market and as a place of execution. By the mid-1800s, however, both sites had become one large slum housing the city's urban poor, many of whom were Irish immigrants that settled here from the 1830s to 1850s (Daiches 1978). Endemic poverty, crowded tenements, crime5 and disease were rampant, earning It is not a coincidence that twelve to sixteen of the purported victims of the notorious serial killers Burke and Hare lived in Cowgate (Edinburgh Evening News 2002). 72 the site its reputation as one of Europe's worst slums6. Robert Louis Stevenson described the Cowgate of the mid-nineteenth century as follows: In one house, perhaps, two score families gather together; and, perhaps, not one of them is wholly out of the reach of want. The great hotel is given over to discomfort from the foundation to chimney-tops; everywhere a pinching, narrow habit, scanty meals, and an air of sluttishness and dirt.. . social inequality is nowhere more ostentatious than at Edinburgh ... to look over the South Bridge and see the Cowgate below full of crying hawkers, is to view one rank of society from another in the twinkling of an eye (cited in Daiches 1978: 225). The first half of the twentieth century saw the development of council housing as a means of reducing the concentration effect of the slums by dispersing the urban poor to flats in the outer areas of the city (Anderson, Kinsey, Loader and Smith 1994). However, the hostels in Cowgate/Grassmarket remained. Lloyd (2001) states that the area's poor "would drape themselves over clothes lines to catch a wink of sleep in the infamous hostels of Edinburgh's Grassmarket." Other forms of urban redevelopment had an impact on the area. For example, a round of redevelopment on Grassmarket in the last century resulted in several properties being refurbished in a small pocket of the street - including historic taverns, cafes and shops - creating a small but bustling retail and tourist destination. Thus, the one thing that immediately strikes the visitor to the Grassmarket is the mix of money and poverty. Money is represented in the form of the trendy cafes and deluxe tourist accommodations, but poverty is also present: in the hostels, missions and in the outdoor spaces that provide 6 I use the term slum here in keeping with the site's historical use. From Stevenson's description, it appears that while the Cowgate and Grassmarket were infamous as a warehouse for the City's poor, the neighbourhood was not at that time synonymous with moral delinquency. 73 temporary shelter for 'rough sleepers' - the term used in Britain to describe those without shelter. Further, despite advancing gentrification, the 'Grass' continues to not only house many of the City's poor, but also to serve as a principal social venue for street-entrenched individuals from throughout the City. At the turn of the 1900s, attempts at redevelopment, including the opening of the upmarket department store J & R Allan, were intended to bring people into the Cowgate. This store closed in 1976, likely as a consequence of the fact that Cowgate had fallen increasingly into disuse and disrepair (Dick 2002). Cowgate remained largely ignored by the City and developers until a faulty fuse box in one of the elevator shafts in the abandoned J&R Allan building sparked a fire in December 2002 that devastated Cowgate, destroying several historic properties (Davidson and Ferguson 2003). Cowgate remains at present largely under-developed. There are some low-budget student hostels, but the majority of buildings appear, at first glance, to be abandoned or nearly vacant. I say at first glance because several of these apparently discarded buildings house discreet facilities that cater to the area's number one industry: drink tourism. The influx of tourists from other parts of the British Isles, who come to enjoy cheap bachelor and bachelorette parties, lost weekends and other party experiences, are serviced by an over-concentration of liquor license seats within this small neighbourhood, leading to its local renown as Piss Alley 8 . Piss Alley causes significant problems for local residents, 7 Rose (1999) suggests that the term 'rough sleeper' used in Britain is morally freighted, used to indicate someone whose lack of home is the result of personal pathology and/or lifestyle choice. 8 To be accurate, Piss Alley actually extends from the Cowgate up the Grassmarket, which also holds beer gardens, pubs, and hotel bars, to the strip and lap dancing bars at the top of West Port (i.e. the strangely named Western Bar and the Burke and Hare). 74 businesses and police, in the form of large groups of drunken revelers generating noise, vandalism, violence and, prior to the mandatory road closing from ten p.m. to five a.m. each night, incidents of drunken pedestrians being struck by cars. The Cowgate and Grassmarket also house many of the City's urban poor. Although there are a variety of ways in which to view the poor who live in this site, I want to draw two separate distinctions. The first follows from the views of residents of the streets who distinguish amongst themselves between alcoholics ('alkies' or 'street drinkers') and addicts ('smack heads' or 'junkie-bes'). Street drinkers tend to be older males who live in or near the area; however, this group is not exclusively male, I did meet two female street drinkers and service providers offered descriptions of others. Nor were street drinkers uniformly older; one of the female drinkers I met was likely under thirty, as were a couple of the males. Of the older males who make up the majority, many live in the area, sleeping rough, using shelter beds or lodging in permanent residences. A 'wet' hostel in Gilmer's Close caters specifically to the needs of alcoholics, offering beds for active drinkers. The Cowgate and Grassmarket are also home to a number of street-entrenched drug addicts. As is the case with street drinkers, the numbers of addicts to be found in the area are unknown. Some service providers in the Cowgate estimate that there are fewer addicts than street drinkers, suggesting that addicts are more likely to be found in the low-income housing tracts outside the City centre, in places such as Wester Hailes. Others suggest that the number of addicts in the Cowgate/Grassmarket area is relatively higher: one hostel worker estimated that eighty percent of service users at his facility were addicts, with the majority being injection heroin users. 75 Unlike the situation in many North American cities, the bulk of Edinburgh's street addicts use heroin rather than crack cocaine or crystal methamphetamine. As one police source advised, groups associated with crack have attempted to make an inroads into the Edinburgh drug market, but to the extent that heroin remains relatively inexpensive, it is the primary drug of choice on the streets. Drug dealing is a relatively discreet business; in the Cowgate and Grassmarket you have to be part of the street scene or know someone who is, in order to score drugs. As one young addict explained, "it's only the junkies who ken [know] the dealers." Some addicts set up on their own as dealers of small quantities of drugs to people they know as a means of keeping themselves supplied. However, more often than not, addicts work directly for dealers as 'runners', holding money and/or drugs and negotiating sales for the dealers. A significant amount of drug dealing takes place not in the street, but through area shelters and missions. As a local addict explains, "Most of the homeless places [shelters, hostels, missions] you can get hash, smack, you can get anything." This is well known not only within the street community, but also by hostel workers and other service providers, as a hostel worker advised: There's small-time dealers who come around this area. We've had eight that we know about who run for bigger dealers. [The bigger dealers] try and find someone who'll do running for them ... And how we check, we check who was not popular previously and has suddenly become popular. And it's a constant game and dealers change and ... i f somebody's excluded from dealing you'll find that somebody else [is involved]. It's organized. Service providers must remain vigilant against drug sales on their premises. In Britain, service providers who knowingly allow drug activity to take place within their facilities can be charged with an offence - something which several service providers 76 told me caused them significant concern, particularly as a local shelter had been raided by the L & B Narcotics squad a few months previously9. Despite this vigilance, discreet drug dealing on premises that provide services to the street crowd continues and, when caught, dealers and addicts are informally disciplined by agency staff who use the threat of ejection to keep order. The second significant distinction to be made amongst those in Edinburgh's skid row arose during discussions with area service providers who deal with clients who are either 'sheltered' in some fashion - in spaces ranging from temporary to permanent accommodations - or who 'sleep rough'. Individuals that I met represented both groups. Some had housing elsewhere in the city, but come to the Cowgate and Grassmarket to socialize with their friends, to score or sell drugs, to access services or meals or to participate in 'treating' networks, an informal system through which participants take turns pooling and sharing resources such as alcohol, cigarettes, money or drugs. Some locals are 'housed' in beds provided by one of the area missions, such as the Salvation Army or the Cowgate Centre. Under new legislation, Edinburgh City Council is obligated to secure housing for all individuals upon request. As of 2003, there were two hundred and fourty-eight shelter beds available for an estimated population of one hundred and three homeless individuals (Rough Sleepers Initiative 2003; Edinburgh Evening News 2003b). Choice of accommodation depends on what is currently available and the needs of the requestor. 9 A few months prior to my visit, the narcotics squad raided a space that provides a number of services for the homeless and other street-entrenched. This raid was considered unsurprising by both service providers and street people who made it clear to me that the service provider's site had become a well-known spot for buying drugs. 77 Some individuals do not accept Council accommodation, opting instead to 'sleep rough'. While this may be considered a personal 'choice', this choice is framed by the realities of the street. There are people who 'sleep rough' for reasons of personal security; it is commonly known on the street that hostels house individuals who victimize others, particularly the most vulnerable. One elderly street drinker that I met, suffering from cancer, had his money repeatedly stolen from him while staying in a local hostel. The thefts only stopped when a friend began operating as his 'banker'. Others 'sleep rough' out of an unwillingness to pay funds for services. One individual, whom I ' l l call Frank, told me in general conversation that he preferred to sleep rough because a shelter that he had been assigned to by City Council wanted money for meals. What Frank didn't say, but street wisdom suggests, is that Frank didn't want to pay for meals that he could receive for free at various locations10, thus saving his money for alcohol and other things. People who 'sleep rough' find spaces in private and public areas that they see as providing them with some privacy and a measure of safety from both the elements and from humans (particularly from youth and/or drunken revelers who may prey on them when they are asleep). A tour of the historic cemetery in Greyfriar's Kirkyard in Cowgate provides ample evidence of its use as a place to 'skipper' - a site used for sleeping rough. Many of the graves are covered with cans and broken glass; one family vault revealed recent evidence of human defecation. Ordinarily, these pieces of 'material culture' could be equally attributed as the work of local youth; however, on walking through the Kirkyard on several occasions, I could see street drinkers eating on graves, openly 1 0 I note that I saw Frank at a local mission that serves free food to the homeless on multiple occasions. 78 sleeping amongst graves and, on one occasion, with a tent pitched in a family vault. Vaults, in particular, offer the best 'skippering' because they are rarely locked, provide a roof of sorts and, because they are situated at the edges of the cemetery, are less exposed to view. In Greyfriar's I looked for, but did not find, evidence of its use by addicts; Canongate Kirkyard is a place more commonly used by addicts. Illustration 3.4 Family vault at Greyfriar's Kirkyard used as a 'skipper' (author's photo) One site within the City that has been shared by both addicts and alcoholics is Hunter Square, which is in close proximity to Cowgate. The Square is a public space located immediately behind the Royal Mile's historic Tron Kirk. It contains benches that are used variously by tourists and street people and is built up with steps that create an effect similar to a stage - thus I heard officers refer to it in ironic terms as 'the stage'. Local residents refer to the Square as 'the boxing ring' or 'Madison Square Garden' because of the often boisterous behaviour of some of the area residents who socialize there: Then you got a place up the street, it's called Hunter Square. We call it Madison Square garden. It's the biggest thing in Scotland. Every time that the police come there, they don't come in twos and fours, they come in a 79 riot squad. I can assure you of that. You don't like to see the place like that (street drinker). Underneath the square are public toilets that were utilized by heroin users as a site for shooting drugs. In an effort to stop this use, police have recently replaced the white bathroom lights with blue lights that offer poor visibility for addicts looking for a vein to shoot into. Illustration 3..5 Hunter's Square (author's photo) Although the population of Cowgate and Grassmarket tend to distinguish amongst themselves based on their drug of choice, a third group who fits within and across both of these groups is the mentally i l l . It is difficult to estimate their numbers within the Edinburgh street population generally, as no figures appear to exist on this subject. However, a local mental health outreach worker estimates that at least one quarter of the street population is mentally il l and that the number is likely higher amongst the addicts population. The latter estimation represents the fact that here, as elsewhere, a lack of facilities and services for the mentally il l has resulted in people in skid row districts with what is termed a 'dual-diagnosis': mentally i l l and 'self-medicating' with alcohol and non-prescription drugs. 80 Although the common perception in Britain and elsewhere is that street-entrenched individuals, whether in skid row districts or elsewhere, are a, i f not the criminal element, as is all too often the case, street-based residents of the Cowgate and Grassmarket tend to be frequent victims of crime. Their victimization occurs both inter-class and intra-class. Instances of the former often involve intoxicated individuals who have come to Piss Alley for a night on the town, and who decide to physically abuse area residents. A few of the 'beggars' that I spoke with recounted stories of being on the receiving end of threats and physical abuse by drunken louts. As a local service provider explains, Most of the crime [in this neighbourhood] would be related to the clubs and the nightclubs. Especially [on] the weekends ... which then affects our clients, because i f they're trying to beg they quite often get beaten up or robbed by night clubbers, groups of young folk out for a good time, been drinking. 'Well here's somebody, let's have some fun'. You get the good money from folk coming out of nightclubs because they're drunk. So [the beggars] get the money, but you also get the [other clubbers] who become violent and aggressive. Crimes that occur intra-class involve offences ranging from petty thefts, to harassment and intimidation, to serious assaults and murder. Violent offences often involve the use of a knife. One service provider estimated that some four-fifths of his client group carry concealed knives. 'Taxing' is a common problem on the street, particularly for the older alcoholics who tend to be victims. This is a form of extortion, often practiced by younger addicts, that involves intimidating a weaker individual into cashing a welfare cheque - a 'GIRO' - and turning over money in order to avoid physical abuse: If I'm bigger than you and more ruthless than you, I accompany you to the post office with your GIRO and I have a knife, then you'll give me a 81 percentage of your GIRO, and that's very, very common. The level of intimidation and violence is really quite high. Because of the use of harassment and intimidation by the addicts, the alcoholics prefer to remain separate from them. In response to a question on how the police could reduce crime in the area, one former street drinker told me that the best solution would be to "get rid of the smackheads [heroin users]." Given that both groups experience exclusion on a daily basis, it is with some irony that I note that there are exclusionary desires produced within the community itself directed at those that some - the alcoholics - perceive to be 'troublesome' - the addicts. The politics of Edinburgh's skid row The nature of excluded spaces is that they frequently serve as the site for demands that range from the fully exclusionary, to the coercively inclusive, to the completely inclusionary and variations thereof. In this section, I discuss in fuller detail the nature of the demands that are made by, or on behalf of, those who inhabit Edinburgh's skid row. Doing so permits an opportunity to see not only the nature and popularity of certain types of demands, but also to begin to see how the larger political environment shapes these demands. In the first chapter I stated that skid row is a manifestation of exclusion in society. It is typically the product of moral codes, expressed in retrograde zoning regulations, civic ordinances and criminal laws that create the poor, the mentally i l l , the addicted and other unfortunates, as 'deviants' to be socially, politically, geographically and economically isolated from the rest of society. In Edinburgh, there are addicts and derelicts living on skid row, but they are not contained or constrained through public policies. Instead, the site represents the leftovers of a historic home for the poor. This is 82 not to suggest that the site does not produce exclusionary demands; rather, that the demands articulated do not often have a public voice and are seldom, i f ever, expressed in public policies. They are, instead, smaller-scale in nature, involving localized problems and/or incidents in which a resident or merchant calls the police to demand the expulsion of a skid row inhabitant from an area on the grounds that he or she is being a nuisance and/or interfering with business. The preferred solution for all parties - the police, the merchant and the inhabitant - is for the individual to be 'moved along', that is sent packing back to the skids or at least to somewhere else (other than jail). While exclusionary demands are localized and their proponents typically do not seek and/or receive popular support, coercively inclusive demands centred on the control of the Cowgate and Grassmarket population have recently begun to increase and to find support from city councillors and business and resident groups. In 2003, for example, business and resident groups in the City's Old Town became vocal critics of the begging and other behaviours of the local homeless population, demanding that the Edinburgh Council institute proposed local ordinances tackling public drunkenness and anti-social behaviour, on the grounds that the presence of drunken beggars was disrupting business and harming local tourism (Mather 2003). Their demands can be placed within the context of a larger trend in both Scotland and the United Kingdom: councils elsewhere had begun enacting by-laws prohibiting various forms of 'nuisance' behaviour, such as public drinking, public loitering and begging near cash machines and, at the national level, a proposed bill to tackle anti-social behaviour before the Scottish Executive. Although the demands of merchant groups in the Old Town were centred on controlling the behaviour of the local homeless (and excluding the uncontrollable through the use of 83 punitive measures), not all anti-social efforts are aimed exclusively at the homeless. Other individuals and groups associated with 'uncivil' behaviour have also become targets, including youth, certain forms of criminal elements, partiers, people who play their music too loud and so on. One source advised there was even some discussion in Edinburgh about regulating the noise levels of the nighttime ghost tours through the Old Town centre. The civic code of behaviour that the Traders' Association and local resident groups had called upon City Council to enact had in fact been proposed two years earlier but had failed to go anywhere. As a representative of the City explained, "we've been looking at that and ... just when we get to the last stages and we pass it over to the legal department, after years they just shelved it. Too many problems, they just quietly shelved it." With demands for a civic code seemingly on the increase, and with similar codes being discussed and/or passed elsewhere, discussion of a code has been revived; however, as of the time of writing, no civic code has been enacted. After speaking with representatives of the City, as well as police and local homeless agencies, it became clear that, despite the vocal demands of a number of merchants, with support from some Council members, there was no significant appetite for the enactment of a local code. City officials that I spoke with suggested that the problem of public drunkenness associated with the homeless, could easily be responded to through the provision of 'wet hostels', that is private spaces where alcoholics could drink out of the sight of tourists. Police officials interviewed felt that public bans on behaviour were unnecessary - they have the means to address issues with the existing offence of a 'breach of the peace' - and represented retrograde attempts at using the law 84 to deal with complex social issues. Further, both police and city officials agreed that measures to move public drinking or drug use by the homeless away from 'problem areas' - local shops, high school yards and so on - were preferable. Indeed, it seems that not all local merchants supported the crackdown on town drunks proposed by their merchants' association. A business owner that I met from the area expressed sympathy for the area's alcoholics and felt that a more appropriate target for regulation was the drink tourism in the area that leads to vandalism, debris (human and other), noise and other problems. Demands for exclusion or, as in this case, coercive inclusion with the threat of exclusion, often generate inclusionary demands in response from those targeted and/or from the groups that serve them. In response to the merchants' demands, a representative from a major homeless agency issued such a counter-demand in arguing that alcoholism and drug addiction "need to be solved rather than punished" and that "there needs to be adequate support for these people, and a need to understand the problems that homeless people face in order to help them properly" (cited in Mather 2003). Other groups, both publicly and in interviews, expressed similar views. The coercively inclusive demands of those who wanted to have enforceable behaviour codes are not simply met with countering inclusionary demands, resulting in a series of nonproductive exchanges that typically occurs elsewhere. Rather, the Ark Trust, a major provider of services to the area's homeless, and the Old Town Business Association, met in order to find common ground. The result was that the two organizations put together a project involving a series of training workshops for area merchants on issues related to homelessness, as a means of alleviating some of the 85 tensions between groups (Ferguson 2003c). Council agreed to fund the workshops; political and other support for the project came from the police and Council housing staff and social workers who agreed to participate. The workshops, which are also intended to be open to residents, are to include face-to-face meetings between workshop participants and homeless individuals in order to 'break down mistrust and barriers' on both sides, and a survey of area residents' perceptions on crime related to homelessness (ibid). The larger political context: Edinburgh as Ordo Provision for homeless people in Edinburgh is very good. [It] passes the rest of Britain, the rest of Scotland - shelter worker, Edinburgh The demands.produced of and within Edinburgh's skid row are a direct reflection of the city's politics and that of the larger Scottish political and social culture. Although attempts have been made to use coercive inclusionary tactics to regulate the conduct of the row's inhabitants, such attempts have been met with inclusionary demands that have led to significant exchanges between groups, exchanges that emphasize a commitment to social inclusion. Throughout this section, I will discuss in further detail the commitment to social inclusion as part of the larger political context, which distinctly represents some aspects of an Ordoliberalen approach to the economic and social spheres. In order to address problems of social exclusion within Edinburgh, the City's council funded an independent commission chaired by Edinburgh's Lord Provost to identify, study and offer recommendations aimed at fostering social inclusion throughout the city. In June 2000 the Commission delivered the One City report which contained analyses of various identified problems - unemployment, low pay, limited skills, poor housing, poor educational experience, high crime levels, bad health, disability and family breakdown, age, gender and racial discrimination - and a list of eighty-seven 86 recommendations to address these issues. Council accepted the report and developed it into a multi-agency project funded by the City and through grants secured from the Scottish Executive and the European Community. The project centres on recommendations that fall within six themes. These themes include: (1) achieving civil rights and social justice, (2) reducing income inequalities, (3) fostering citizen communication and information and the development of (4) preventative agencies, (5) multi-agency, cross-sector partnerships and (6) resources for inclusion. A working group sponsored by Council - the Edinburgh Partnership Group - supervises the implementation and monitoring of recommendations and reports on successes and challenges that have been encountered in the implementation process. Individual recommendations have been assigned to Council departments with responsibilities in areas covered by the report. Each department is tasked with either implementing a recommendation directly, creating a multi-agency partnership to effect implementation and/or sponsoring public or private agencies in the implementation of the specific recommendation. Since the program was begun in 2000, One City has met with both successes and stumbling blocks. Since many of the recommendations covered by the report, such as those concerning the need to facilitate care of the elderly, are outside the scope of this study, I would like to review some results that have a more direct bearing on the issues and problems encountered by inhabitants of Cowgate/Grassmarket. For example, in 2001, through the Rough Sleepers Initiative, a 'wet hostel' with ten permanent and three temporary flats was funded that can admit practicing addicts with severe addiction problems (One City website 2003). Several steps have also been taken to ensure that 87 those without means can receive public access to government and other information. These steps include Internet facilities which have been installed in all public libraries, service outlets to provide information and advice on housing issues, and a Welfare Rights Service to provide assistance to individuals in securing benefits claims that they are eligible to receive (ibid). Funding has also been provided to community food programs, cafe facilities for homeless and school snack programs (ibid). Some of the tasks associated with the One City recommendations are significantly more ambitious than those implemented thus far. For example, to address income inequality, the report proposes a "wide ranging review of benefits policies with people who depend on them, to ensure that they are effective and consistent with social inclusion policy. This [review] should give consideration to a basic income scheme" (One City ibid). However, neither Edinburgh City Council nor the Scottish Parliament can implement this recommendation, as income support programs remain a function of the United Kingdom government11. At best, Council can lobby the United Kingdom government for changes to income support. I do note, however, that the willingness of Council to offer support for such redistributive schemes and, in many cases to actively 1 1 In 1997, a referendum on devolution from the United Kingdom (central government) model was held in Scotland. The result was an overwhelming majority (74%) voted in favour of the creation of a largely independent Scottish Parliament. In 1999, following passage of the Scotland Act 1998, the Scottish Executive and Parliament came into existence. Under the terms of the devolution, the Scottish Parliament can enact legislation relating to: health and social work; education and training; local government and housing; justice and police; agriculture, forestry and fisheries; the environment; tourism, sport and heritage; and economic development and internal transport (Scotland Office 2002). The United Kingdom, however, retains legislative and policy-making authority with respect to employment, fiscal and monetary policy, taxation, social security, and social benefits and pensions (ibid). These are referred to as 'reserved powers'. 88 lobby and work in support of the aims that underlie such schemes, is indicative of the depth of civic voters' commitment to public welfare in their city. The city's current efforts at dealing with its homeless population are supported by Scotland's Parliamentary Executive. Since 1998, the Executive has developed a variety of initiatives aimed at alleviating the effects of poverty and social exclusion, including establishing a Homelessness Task Force that has made a series of recommendations incorporated into a Homelessness Bi l l , funded a Rough Sleepers' Initiative that has provided £36 million in funding for shelter, health care and other services for the homeless, funded the Empty Homes Initiative which provided £24 million to local councils for use in converting vacant properties into living spaces for the homeless and recently passed the fairly progressive Homelessness Bi l l . I characterize the Act as progressive because, amongst other changes, tests that had formerly denied and delayed assistance and services to the homeless have been removed. Further, the Act also places a mandate upon the various levels of government to provide accommodation and services for all homeless . Whereas Scotland's powers to establish laws and regulations with respect to housing and accommodation have recently devolved, the funding and administration of income support programs remains the province of the United Kingdom government. This has resulted in a situation whereby the homeless and other urban poor in Edinburgh receive accommodation and services from their local council funded by the Scottish Parliament, with income support received separately. Income support in the U.K. is a 1 2 The new Act has clearly had an immediate effect: figures released in 2003 show that the number of homeless households (individuals, families, and groups) put into temporary accommodation by Edinburgh's local council increased by fourty-two percent in 2002 (Mooney 2003). 89 means-tested benefit available to those who fall below a standard fixed income level and who are not eligible for their unemployment benefit (jobseeker's allowance). Aside from government income, qualified recipients also automatically receive free school meals, prescriptions, dental care, eyeglass coverage, housing benefits, council tax benefits and free milk and vitamins for expectant mothers and children under the age of five. Political and social attitudes of those in the United Kingdom have historically been 'left of centre' in contrast to the United States or parts of Europe 1 4 (Paterson, Brown, Curtice, Hinds, McCrone, Park, Sproston and Surridge 2001). This orientation is said to be particularly true of Scotland in relation to the rest of the U.K. : "the finding has generally been that Scotland tends to be more in favour of state action to overcome inequalities of wealth, and more supportive of state provision in key parts of the welfare state such as health and education" (ibid: 121). Paterson et al. (ibid: 124-5) base their support for this contention on data drawn from the Scottish Parliamentary Election Survey (1999), amongst other sources, which suggest that: large majorities [of Scottish voters] believe that the government is responsible for dealing with some of the central social problems that have always been the preoccupation of the welfare state - the effects of i l l -health, retirement, disability, unemployment and old age. There is fairly clear support for more public spending to cope with these matters, even i f that meant taxes rising. 1 3 The U.K. government fixes income support rates annually. 1 4 Using national survey data from both Scotland and England, Paterson et al. (2001: 121) note "that the striking feature of the 1980s and early 1990s was in fact that England remained left of centre even while it was electing the governments of Margaret Thatcher and John Major." 90 Given that Scotland has traditionally been seen as supportive of the welfare state (see also Hearn 2002), it is something of a paradox that, until devolution, Scotland was part of a constitutional union in which successive voter majorities, from 1979 to 1997, elected Conservative governments running on a distinctly American-style neo-liberal political platform. Clearly, it is beyond the scope of this study to neatly resolve this paradox; however, Denver, Mitchell, Pattie and Bochel's study (2000) of various Scottish voter and public opinion surveys and Paterson et al.'s analysis of the Scottish Parliamentary Election Survey of 1999 (ibid), shed some insight. Based on examinations of public opinion surveys on the issue of devolution, Denver et al. state that support for a Scottish Parliament was, for many voters, tied to support for public welfare policies 1 5 (ibid). The authors further suggest that this finding "is not surprising as devolution came to be seen as a way of avoiding or opposing the imposition of'Thatcherite' policies on Scotland" (ibid: 200). They add: The association between the two was confirmed in the referendum. Conservatives and those of a right-wing disposition were least likely to support a Scottish Parliament while those favouring state intervention, identifying with the working class and left-leaning political parties were most likely to do so. In essence, support for a Scottish Parliament went hand in hand with support for more left-inclined policies (ibid). Another indication of the feelings of Scottish voters towards the neo-liberal agenda of the Tory ruling party of the 1980s and early 1990s can be gleaned from Monaghan's (1997: 22) contention that "the Conservative vote in Scotland went into consistent decline 1 5 The authors describe this link as being between support for devolution and "broadly left-of-centre politics" (ibid: 200). The latter term is somewhat vague. In examining further what the authors mean by 'left-of-centre', it would appear that they are discussing support for redistributive policies and programmes, such as the National Health Service, education, and social welfare. Thus, I have chosen to use the term 'welfarist' instead. 91 throughout this decade and their power base was dramatically reduced north of the border; they did not control any regional councils and only a handful of small district councils." Rather than embracing Thatcher's neo-liberalism - a form that approximated the prescriptions of Hayek and the Chicago-school - the majority of voters in Scotland explicitly rejected it in favour of an orientation that encompasses social justice aims, a choice that was repeatedly expressed through a variety of political forums ranging from local council votes to the referendum on devolution (Monaghan 1997; Denver et al. 2000). However, in retracting from the neo-liberal agenda presented, voters did not call for a return to the earlier Keynesian model of government planning1 6. Rather, by demanding the inclusion of social justice aims within a market-based economy, they sought a form of social market economy not entirely dissimilar from the model advocated by the Ordoliberalen. I should also note another important influence on the decision of Scottish citizens to adopt a version of the Ordo model: Scotland's participation within the European Union (EU). E U policy is clearly predicated on some of the major principles of Ordoliberalism. We see this most clearly in the adoption of social inclusion as an E U policy goal and the methods selected for advancing inclusion. The E U supports inclusionary programs through a funding mechanism called the European Structural Funds. Two E U programs are most relevant to this discussion: the European Regional Development Fund (ERDF) and the European Social Fund (ESF). The purpose of the ERDF is to improve economic prosperity and social inclusion by investing in projects to promote diversified 1 6 Following the Second World War, Britain implemented the recommendations of the Beveridge Report, which led to the creation of the first major welfare state. 92 development. The ESF promotes inclusion through funding training, human resources and equal opportunities schemes that promote employment. In short, both programs attempt to address social exclusion as defined in terms of labour market participation. That is, exclusion is seen as tied to market performance and conditions and remedies thus lie in inclusionary markets and market expansion. The mechanism for accomplishing these goals, as mandated by the E U , is private-public partnerships (Scottish Executive 2004). Scotland's allocation from the Structural Funds for the period of 2000 to 2006 is over £950 million (Scottish Executive 2004)). Following from the principles contained within the EU's provisions, inclusionary interventions in Edinburgh take place in cooperation with the market - that is, they are aligned with market needs and dictates and represent the amount of inclusion that it is believed the market can bear. To ensure that market needs are represented, the bulk of inclusionary work is undertaken by private-public partnerships. The participation of the business sector in facilitating socially beneficial work aims to encourage social responsibility towards the public, while reducing the potential for group conflicts to emerge. The policy framework for Scottish economic development is set out in 'The Way Forward' (2000), a report of the Scottish Executive. In this report, we see most clearly the shift from Thatcherite neo-liberalism towards the Ordoliberalen approach. For example, the Scottish Executive describes their policy framework as an attempt at establishing an "overarching vision ... of the kind of society that we would like to see in 5 to 10 years time and the kind of economy in Scotland that would best serve that purpose" (ibid: xii). No longer does the social sphere serve the economy, but rather the emphasis is on the 93 improvement of society and the economy as a tool to further that goal. Further, the framework redefines the roles of the state and the markets in a manner that is characteristic of the Ordo model: "private enterprises [are to] be the key driver of the new economy" (ibid: viii), whereas the government's function is to create public policies that promote both economic equity and efficiency. The government will perform this task through "the provision of legal and regulatory systems that maintain the interests of society without imposing inordinate burdens on enterprises" (ibid: 28-9). Finally, implicit in this document is both a rejection of Keynesianism - "private sector and economic markets are generally better able to make efficient decisions about the conduct of economic activity than the public sector" (ibid: 28) - and a rejection of American neo-liberal ideology - "markets may fail to deliver the allocation of resources and the level of activity that are socially desirable" (ibid: 29). Are the Scottish voters' aims of a social market founded on economic increase and social inclusion to be realized? The result of devolution was a set of high expectations among the voting public concerning the ability of the Scottish Parliament to improve public welfare in Scotland (Denver et al. ibid). These expectations have been met with a growing awareness of the limits of Scotland's Parliamentary powers (Paterson et al. ibid). To the extent that taxation in Scotland remains a United Kingdom power, the ability of the Scottish Parliament to engage in wider redistributive schemes such as increased social benefits, is limited (Denver et al. ibid; Paterson et al. ibid). This limitation, serious as it is, has not however impeded successive Scottish Executives from effecting policies and programs aimed at increasing both public welfare (through both 94 new and traditional redistributive schemes - i.e. the Homeless Bill) and the inclusion of a variety of traditionally marginalized groups. It could be argued though, that the introduction of an Anti-Social Behaviour Bi l l in October 2003 by the Scottish First Minister is hardly an example of social inclusion in that it would lead to the problematization, indeed the criminalization, of certain forms of 'uncivil conduct' (that this conduct has class-based dimensions has certainly not escaped those critics who represent the individuals most likely to be affected by the bill's provisions). In contrast to the Homelessness Act which was popularly supported, various provisions of this Bi l l have met with widespread criticism from a variety of public and private individuals and organizations, including not only homeless advocates such as Shelter Scotland, but also academics, the Association of Chief Police Officers of Scotland, the Law Society of Scotland, the Scottish Police Federation, the Scottish Federation of Housing Associations, the Scottish Children's Reporter Administration and the Scottish Legal Aid Board (Denholm 2004). While some of these organizations have expressed concern about a lack of clarity in some of the Bil l ' s provisions and others have cited concerns about inadequate funding for the increased services that would be required to meet the Bil l ' s goals, in interviews with senior police staff I was repeatedly advised that anti-social behaviour codes, which create new offences and give police enhanced powers, were both unnecessary and socially undesirable. As of this writing, the B i l l has not been enacted. Conclusion In this chapter, I explored Edinburgh's skid row district through an examination of aspects of its geographical, historical and social dimensions. This was followed by a 95 discussion of the politics of the site and the demands made of and by its inhabitants. This discussion revealed that the discourse surrounding the Cowgate and Grassmarket is predominately inclusive. Inclusionary discourse consists of both demands that inhabitants be embraced by the larger society as citizens who need assistance and understanding, as well as coercively inclusive demands that denizens conform to normative codes under the threat of punishment (expulsion to jail). The discussion of the site's politics was followed by an examination of the larger Scottish political and social culture that gives rise to the nature of demands produced within and in response to skid row. This analysis provided a context for understanding the influence of the Ordoliberalen model in shaping a cultural commitment to social inclusion within the City of Edinburgh and in its institutions. 96 Chapter IV - Community Policing as Knowledge Work The primary purpose of this chapter is to explore the conception of police as 'demand negotiators' through an examination of the ways in which the Lothian and Borders (L & B) regional police force in Edinburgh respond to inclusionary and exclusionary demands directed at Edinburgh's skid row residents. I argue throughout that the style of policing used here is reflective of the larger institutional environment: it is one that is largely consonant with elements of the Ordoliberalen political model, significant aspects of which are found within the larger political culture. However, while the L & B model privileges inclusionary work through the use of private-public partnerships, exclusionary attitudes and behaviour towards those on skid row continue to operate on an individual level on the frontlines. I begin this chapter by providing a brief overview of the structure of the Lothian and Borders regional police force. I then offer an institutional analysis of Edinburgh policing, as it relates to the Cowgate and Grassmarket, through an examination of major policing programs and their effects on this neighbourhood. This analysis reveals the ways in which knowledge work is privileged within the institution - within the framework of a community policing model - and how this privileging can be interpreted as a response to demands for increased police service with minimal resource increases. From this, the analysis turns to street level policing and I explore questions relating to how frontline officers in Edinburgh's skid row district understand and perform their roles and functions 'on the street' within the four policing frameworks discussed earlier. Here we see how frontline police officers utilize these frameworks to understand and negotiate the sets of demands that are placed upon them from different local constituencies. Officers' 97 perceptions are compared to those of the residents policed in order to explore key similarities and differences. Finally, through a discussion of police willingness to effect positive social change in the neighbourhood they serve, we see how police officers at all levels of the institution understand themselves as political actors within a larger politicized environment. The Lothian and Borders Police The City of Edinburgh is policed by the Lothian and Borders Police (L & B), a regional force that covers the City of Edinburgh, East Lothian, West Lothian, Midlothian and the Scottish Borders. The force was founded in 1975 from an amalgam of the Edinburgh City Police, the Berwick, Roxburgh and Selkirk Constabulary and the Lothian and Peebles Constabulary. Approximately twenty-six hundred police officers and eleven hundred civilian staff members staff the L & B's six divisions. The force's annual budget for the fiscal year of 2002-3 was approximately £164,000,000, with funding being received jointly from the Scottish Executive (Lothian and Borders Police 2003b). The Scottish Executive funds fifty-one percent of the police budget and the regional Police Board funds forty-nine percent, which is comprised of a support grant from the Executive and local taxes. The City of Edinburgh comprises the L & B's ' A ' Division. In April 2003, this division was reorganized through the implementation of 'Operation Capital', a plan aimed at fostering community policing and increasing resource efficiencies. Prior to the reorganization, Edinburgh had fourteen police stations within three policing divisions: City Centre, West End and Leith. These divisions are now merged into one central division, headed by a Chief Superintendent and headquartered at the St. Leonard's Police 98 Station. The organization's emphasis on community policing is now manifest within the structure of the division itself. Aside from the operation of specialized units, Division A is policed through a combination of relief (patrol response) and sector (community-based) policing strategies, with the number of assigned community-policing positions exceeding that of regular patrol officers by a ratio of sixty to forty percent. Car patrol and immediate response functions are performed by officers on one of four response teams deployed from the Craigmillar, Drylaw, St. Leonard's and Corstorphine stations. The response teams are composed of a minimum of twenty-one patrol cars that are responsible for responding to calls on a citywide basis. These cars handle calls for police attendance for serious offences that are prioritized as call grades one (immediate police response) and two (requiring police attendance in less than one hour). Patrol cars are not specifically assigned to work within the Cowgate and the Grassmarket, but do respond to calls in this neighbourhood, patrolling these and other areas when not responding to calls for service ('down times'). Community policing functions in Edinburgh are performed by community beat officers (CBOs) working within one of six local policing areas (LP As). The six LP As are South (Howdenhall, Morningside, Newington), East (Portobello, Craigmillar), North and Leith (Drylaw, Leith), West (Queensferry, Corstorphine, Edinburgh Airport), Pentlands (Balerno, Oxgangs, Wester Hailes) and Central (Murrayfield, Gayfield, Southside, Tollcross, which covers the Cowgate and Grassmarket). Each LP A contains 'sectors' consisting of 'beats' patrolled by CBOs on foot. The new police beats and sectors are coterminous with electoral ward boundaries in order to provide police, City Councillors and local Members of the Scottish Parliament (MSPs) with one point of 99 contact for constituency-related problems. The Cowgate and Grassmarket are each part of the Central LP A, headquartered at the Gayfield Police Station. Cowgate forms part of the beat assigned to approximately twenty CBOs and five Sergeants, who are assigned to five teams reporting to the Southside Sector Inspector (Central LPA; officers for this L P A are deployed from the Gayfield police station). This beat corresponds directly to the city electoral wards of Southside and Holyrood, representing a geographically large and socio-economically diverse site. Grassmarket is part of the Tollcross Sector, which corresponds to the city electoral wards of Tollcross, Dairy and Fountainbridge. This sector is similarly staffed by a Sector Inspector, who is assigned a roughly equivalent complement of Sergeants1 and CBOs. CBOs in these sites perform routine beat functions, perform community liaison work and respond to grade three (response within four hours) and four (response within a day) calls. Grades five and six do not require a police presence and are handled by the police call centre. The work of the CBOs, which is discussed in further detail in later sections, is supplemented by that of the Community Safety Branch, which is staffed by specialist officers known as Crime Prevention Officers (CPOs). CPOs function as official liaisons between the police and various communities, offering police educational services and working with other agencies and groups on local policing-related community problems. The number of officers formally assigned to a sector, however, does not represent the actual number working in that area. At the time of writing, due to a lack of adequate force resources, Sergeants assigned to one sector were being shared across sectors. Thus, a Sergeant formally assigned to Southside, may have been temporarily re-assigned to Dean or Gayfield. Similarly, while Southside had twenty-one CBOs assigned, one was off for extended health reasons, another had just been re-assigned to a response team, and others were seconded, for varying lengths of time, to other non-beat duties. 100 Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket: the organizational perspective In multiple interviews with police and other sources, it became clear that Edinburgh's police and populace do not draw sharp distinctions between the Cowgate and Grassmarket and the rest of the city. Further support for this contention can be drawn from the fact that, despite being what I term a skid row district with a sizeable street-based population, the Cowgate and Grassmarket do not receive special police attention. There is no saturation policing occurring, nor are there police programs specific to the area to combat its perceived ills. Rather, policing levels and service are generally the same within this community as they are throughout the city. In the remainder of this section, I discuss the nature of this service and its impacts on both the city as a whole and on the Cowgate and Grassmarket. The new community-policing model implemented by the L & B force is built on two key components of community policing programs generally: community partnering and public consultation (O'Malley and Palmer 1996; Trojanowicz et al. 1998). Community partnering is formalized in policies and programs that fall under the umbrella of what the force terms 'partnership working'. Partnership working serves two major functions for the organization: it fosters resource efficiencies and it feeds demands for institutional knowledge that are produced from within and outside. It has been argued that implicit within community policing programs is a recognition by police managers that resource efficiencies can be gained by 'offloading' responsibility for crime prevention or response through redefining criminal or disorderly behaviour as social problems with causes more appropriately addressed by other institutions (Ericson 1994). In discussing the new model, senior police management 101 acknowledge as a central concern the need to improve resource efficiencies within the organization, particularly at a time of increasing demands and limited resources. Further, they acknowledge that partnership working permits opportunities to 'responsibilize' through sharing or offloading responsibilities onto other agencies (Garland 1996). Partnership working is thus justified in light of both the system capacity limits of the organization and the limits placed on the institution's powers and mandate. The following comment from a senior police manager exemplifies the organization's focus on rationalization, efficiency and responsibility shifting: Over time, particularly in this part of the country, we recognized that there are a lot of other resources and a lot of other expert players in their fields ... We're terrible, one of our weaknesses as an organization is that we get sucked into the vacuum, and we end up doing jobs that we didn't do before, and shouldn't do. We end up doing non-police jobs, things like social care jobs. And we see active partnership working as being a way of making sure that we get the best out of everybody, and others have to take the responsibility. Concern with institutional cost-effectiveness is part of a recent trend within the public sector towards 'public managerialism' (O'Malley and Palmer 1996; Rose 1999; McLaughlin and Murji 2001). Public managerialism is based on the belief that governments can and should be run like private enterprise. Thus, police managers and other public sector heads are expected to implement policies and procedures that emphasize fiscal responsibility, accountability, standardization of processes, performance measures and competitiveness. Whereas in the private sector each of these corporate values supports profit as the bottom line, in the public sector the bottom line is good service, which is defined largely as service that is inexpensively and efficiently provided. L & B management has adopted the 'new public management' approach. This is evident from the words of a high-ranking police official who advised that, "We see the ability to 102 harness energies of different agencies effectively as being a key to success and a key performance indicator." However, as I discuss later, management's concern with 'efficiencies' does not preclude the organization from attempting to further social justice aims. Thus far, I have been focusing on how the new model promotes responsibility-sharing across agency networks. However, 'responsibilization strategies' (Garland 1996) initiated by the L & B also commonly target individuals. A prime example of this is the force's drug education work, where CPOs work with community groups and schools to educate young people on drug use and its effects. This crime prevention activity could be explained as a traditional social work function of the police, however it is justified within the organization in light of its ability to produce resource efficiencies. This justification is found in the words of a CPO in the field: "the more effective we are at working with people in prevention work and safety work, then the less we have to do the enforcement side." Crime prevention creates resource efficiencies through teaching individuals techniques of self-governance. This officer further adds, "it's massively more cost effective from a business perspective to try and approach [the drug issue through crime prevention] rather than from an enforcement angle". What we see in this officer's words is the institutional privileging of knowledge work over law enforcement on the grounds that the latter is ineffective, both in terms of costs and resources. 'Partnership working' and the new community policing model that supports it, has entailed a shift within the working culture of the L & B force. As an occupation that utilizes authority to achieve objectives, the police have come to be seen, and to see themselves, as 'experts' on a much wider variety of issues than the new model permits 103 them. Officers are now encouraged to acknowledge, both openly and privately, that they "don't have all the answers" and that it's "okay to say that we can't do something" (senior officer). As a frontline supervisor explained, a process had to be put into place whereby "the more astute Sergeants [had] to accept this [new attitude] and work with the street level officers to accept this." The process of garnering acceptance of this shift through the ranks is furthered by the willingness of senior police management to publicly adopt the same attitude. As one high-ranking official stated, "We are a law enforcement agency. We do not have the answers to all of society's problems." Acceptance of 'partnership working' has also been made easier by the re-casting of frontline officers' roles. Patrol officers no longer have to assume responsibility for less serious calls, which have traditionally been disparaged as being 'not real police work' (Van Maanen 1978a; Chan et al. 2003). These calls are instead routed at source to community beat officers. And, while the CBOs are now tasked with responding to lower level calls from residents and businesses concerning safety and crime issues, work formerly looked down upon, their role has been reconceived as a 'specialist' position within the organization. They are now 'security experts' who operate within security networks, advising individuals, groups and other agencies, on preventing and responding to crime (Ericson 1994; O'Malley and Palmer 1996; Ericson and Haggerty 1997). With partnership working, CBOs have become 'knowledge brokers' who are tasked with negotiating outcomes with other agencies through the use of the organization's knowledge of security-related issues. This knowledge is built up primarily through the work of both sets of frontline officers - patrol and CBOs/CPOs - who each feed the system through their respective modes of intelligence gathering. The CBO position is 104 seen as particularly useful in this regard by senior management. This was made clear by a senior officer who acknowledged that the organization accepted that the use of CBOs would likely not have a direct effect on reducing area crime rates. However, these positions provide benefits to the organization through knowledge production, as this senior officer explained: "the CBOs ... have the opportunity to get to know their public ... they're speaking to people ... they start getting low level intelligence coming back and it's fed into the system ... the greater picture: overall intelligence for the city." Prior to the reorganization of the Edinburgh divisions, the L & B held extensive public consultations in order to develop a model of policing that would garner widespread support. Again, such efforts are identified with community policing programs in other jurisdictions, which have similarly looked to public input as a means of not only designing systems and programs, but also re-legitimating police service in light of increasing public exposure of system limitations (O'Malley and Palmer 1996; Garland 1996). One significant result of the consultation process in Edinburgh has been the return of the 'beat bobby'. As Shearing and Stenning (1984) have observed, an increasing feature of urban life is the embedding of security and control functions within structures and forms that are represented as fun, friendly, helpful and/or non-coercive, rendering such control consensual. This is no less the case in Edinburgh where the security functions served through the knowledge work of the CBOs are obscured through an institutional representation of these police actors as 'beat bobbies'. The 'beat bobby' is the immensely popular old-style Scottish police officer who walked a designated beat within a community and took ownership of that beat through the cultivation of personal relations 105 with area residents. Residents, community groups and service providers, in a variety of forums ranging from personal interviews, to community meetings and letters to the editor in local newspapers, repeatedly expressed a preference for a community-oriented approach built on the back of the 'beat bobby'. The power of the 'beat bobby' mythology is understood and used by the police to make control of communities a consensual phenomenon; indeed, as a phenomenon that is dictated by the public: "When I joined it was beats ... and we're trying to get back to that because, again, it's trying to meet public demands" (senior officer). What remains only obliquely acknowledged is the extent to which this new form of 'beat bobby', heralded as a symbol of 'community', actually serves extra-local and extra-institutional security purposes. We see these purposes most clearly in the previously cited comments of the senior officer who noted that local intelligence gathered by CBOs is expected to have little direct effect on communities, but would assist in creating a knowledge base for citywide intelligence. Although a good portion of community policing now rests on the frontline work of specialist positions such as the CBOs and CPOs, community policing requires police visibility not only in the street, but also through other mediums (O'Malley and Palmer 1996). To this end, the L & B produces communications for external consumption. Annual newsletters containing information on force clearance rates and police initiatives raise public awareness, while simultaneously attempting to satisfy demand for public accountability. Force-produced fact-sheets on such issues as 'personal safety' and 'pedal cycle security' similarly serve dual purposes: they garner positive public relations for the police, while providing a means by which the police can educate the populace to accept responsibility for crime prevention. 106 Organizational goals of police visibility, public consultation and public accountability are served through police attendance at community meetings. Although significant emphasis is placed on police attendance at community meetings generally, for some positions - CBOs, CPOs and, depending on the nature of the meeting, Inspectors and divisional commanders - such attendance is a mandatory job requirement. During my time in Edinburgh, I attended a Local Community Development (LCD) meeting for the Central City District (which includes Cowgate and the Grassmarket). A L C D meeting is a smaller scale version of a city hall meeting at which councillors, police, city hall workers, community groups and residents of a local area attend to discuss local issues. Representing the police were the Superintendent of Central Edinburgh Division and the Chief Inspector for the City Centre, who were present to field questions directly from the audience of residents. What was interesting to note was the degree of professionalism with which the officers responded to questions from the audience of residents, some of whom were overtly critical or inquired about matters irrelevant to police concerns. The force requires officers who attend public meetings to receive training in working effectively in those situations and this training was apparent in the adept handling of resident queries. Whereas in some cities a police presence is not welcomed by groups that work with extremely marginalized residents, each of the service providers interviewed sought cooperative relations with the police and desired to foster positive interactions between police and their clients. Some service providers actively maintain friendships and/or effective working relationships with police personnel, others make a point of inviting CBOs to come to their facilities for coffee and a chance to meet clients. As a 107 consequence of staffing shortages following the implementation of Operation Capital, shortages that are discussed more fully in Chapter 9, the Cowgate, Grassmarket and other areas of the City, were without a full complement of CBOs on the street during the research period. This fact was lamented by service providers who depicted this gap in service as representing, for their clients, a loss of opportunities for relationship building. For many service providers, 'partnership working' is seen as preferable to the traditional law enforcement approach prevalent in many skid row communities, because it represents a move away from exclusion-oriented policing towards a form that offers the potential for increasing inclusivity. The juxtaposition of these two approaches and service provider's feelings about each, are seen most noticeably in relation to discussion of how calls for police service have been handled during the post-Capital police 'resource crunch'. Service providers noted that altercations on their premises that escalated beyond what could be informally resolved - perhaps involving violence or threats - are designated by police call-takers as priority one or two offences to be responded to by a city-wide patrol team. It is felt by service providers that patrol officers who respond to such calls are only interested in effecting a summary resolution, usually through the medium of arrest. However, the resort to law enforcement (arrest) is seen as a failure of the community-policing model, with its emphasis on greater inclusion. Some service providers were of the belief that summary arrests are indicative of discriminatory attitudes held towards their clients: "[These officers] got no sense of community ... They take them away to Mayfield and Dalkeith [jails]. I don't say it's a form of positive policing." The majority felt that such 108 arrests represent an undesirable form of exclusion-oriented policing that hampers the social work goals of the service provider. In relation to CBOs, service providers were of the view that these officers were much less likely to resort to law enforcement. As one outreach worker stated of the CBOs, "I get the impression that the police to an extent... they don't want to be arresting people i f they can avoid it." Unsurprisingly then, given the belief that law enforcement impedes social work goals, service providers expressed a preference for having calls for service responded to by CBOs rather than by patrol officers. It was felt that social programming would be facilitated by having CBOs accessible, who have not only detailed knowledge of the street milieu but are perceived as being more likely to have an empathetic understanding of street life. To be clear: service providers do not require the police to be social workers themselves, but rather to assist the social work process through providing knowledge of the local population, expertise on security issues and, occasionally, the threat of resort to authority or force (arrest) in effecting social work outcomes with recalcitrant individuals. In short, area service workers favour inclusionary policing that is occasionally coercively inclusive, but only under exceptional circumstances. To the extent that CBOs, as the social worker cited above suggests, do not appear to be actively engaging in exclusionary policing (such as arresting individuals for status offences), the situation suits both institutions. Thus far I have been focusing on the new community model. The discussion has revealed a picture of pragmatic police managers who are concerned with increasing efficiencies, intelligence gathering and legitimating their service in the eyes of the community. This is however only a partial picture of the agency studied, and I must also 109 include some discussion of a recent police management initiative that shows the organization's support for what I term 'pro-social policing' - inclusionary policing that advances the cause of social justice. Marginalized communities typically have fairly low crime reporting rates for a variety of reasons, including a fear of being discriminated against by the criminal justice system and a lack of trust in the police. This is hardly surprising for members of the homeless community, particularly those well entrenched in street life and/or living in skid row communities who are likely to view the police negatively because their contact with this organization has been limited to being treated by its agents either as criminals or potential criminals (Black 1980). And yet, as senior police within the L & B acknowledge, the problem of 'hidden crime' also tends to be higher within marginalized communities. This is certainly the case with the homeless who experience harassment, intimidation and violence from within and outside their communities. And, to the extent that some crimes are committed intra-class in Edinburgh as in other cities, the 'hidden crime' problem is compounded as a result of group codes that prohibit 'grassing' (the Scottish term for reporting offences to the police committed by others in the group). To address victimization experienced by those on the street, the homelessness distance reporting program was initiated in July 2003 following the release of a private report by the Ark Trust. The Ark, a service provider for the homelessness community, explored the issue of barriers to crime reporting by young homeless people, producing a set of recommendations to foster better police-homeless community relations. These recommendations were, in essence, demands for improved police service for this marginalized community. In response, a senior police official began working with local 110 service agencies to set up a distance (or remote) reporting scheme. The program was intended to permit homeless people to anonymously file complaints with service providers who would, in turn, forward complaints to a designated police Inspector. The Inspector, the service provider and the complainants work together to determine how to proceed on a complaint. What I find particularly interesting about this initiative is that it involves actively encouraging people to report to the police - that is to consume police services. Given that a primary focus of the L & B organization appears to be on increasing resource efficiencies through re-allocating social problems to other agencies or through responsibilizing citizens to deal with their own problems, this process of working within marginalized communities to increase reporting of 'hidden' offences seems to be at odds with current management philosophy, and yet it is supported and encouraged within the organization. During the course of interviews with at least two high-ranking officers, when the name of the leading proponent of the distance-repouting program was raised, he was spoken of in positive terms because of his ability to "not take a traditional approach" (senior officer) - that is, to respond positively to the demands of a given community within the existing institutional framework. I see such programs as indicative of the L & B's willingness to mirror itself on the larger political environment in Edinburgh by attempting, in Ordoliberalen fashion, to marry social justice goals with 'enterprise' concerns. I l l Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket: the frontline perspective Interviews were conducted with frontline officers who represented various positions within the organization. These interviews generally began with a fairly broad question: 'what do you do?' One officer explains his work in the following terms: A great deal of our job is patrolling. If you're not involved in inquiries, you're patrolling. On patrol downtime, when you're not going to a job -that's an inquiry or a particular incident - i f you're not going to an incident, you're patrolling. Looking for things happening on the street. That's how we do it. If we're not doing incidents, we're also doing inquiries, follow up inquiries. Another describes his function as follows: We work with numerous agencies and partner agencies with common goals themselves. And there's a lot of sense in going along to meet with them and trying to see what we can do with these agencies. It's difficult to say a certain percentage, but we do attend a fair number of meetings [and are] asked to represent the service. A third explains her perception of 'the job' thus: I'm a community beat officer and my function is to respond to grade three and four calls ... I'm also supposed to be on the beat, walking the beat, meeting with people, and dealing with issues that go on in my beat. And, also, anything else I'm supposed to do [laughs]. Quite often we cover ... ourselves, we cover the high courts, superior court, the court of appeal, prison escorts that are required to go to the Royal Infirmary ... palace details, football details ... you name it, we do it. Q: You're a general dogsbody? [laughs] A: Yeah [laughs]. As this exchange illustrates, a recurring theme in interviews with frontline officers and their supervisors was the frustration lower ranks experience in being 'abstracted' away from duties on the street to attend to tasks that are perceived as being either time-wasting and/or 'not real police work'. In response to a question asking whether beat officers were able to build up police knowledge of local drug activity, an officer 112 complained, " A lot of the time recently you've got abstractions, a lack of resources. You're not on your beat enough. You're not getting allowed to build up a picture because as officers you're doing other things." I also asked officers to what extent they saw themselves and the role they serve on the streets as fitting into one of four frameworks identified: as law enforcement, peacekeepers, social workers and knowledge workers. Officers, both frontline and management, tended to prioritize and emphasize their roles as knowledge workers above the other role categories. One officer stated that she saw herself as "more of the information worker, because everybody's got to work together, to get involved". Another officer who also saw himself primarily in terms of knowledge work, explains how this approach translates on the street: We try and do that [knowledge work]. Some officers more than others. Hopefully now that things have settled down a bit with Operation Capital that we will somehow have time to pop out to Cowgate day centre. 'How are things going? Who's been off the drugs? Who's been harassing?' The prioritizing of knowledge work over other roles by individual officers appears as an obvious product of the working culture of the force, with its emphasis on the importance of 'partnership working'. The reciprocal nature of knowledge work has been explored in the literature within the context of inter-institution partnerships (Ericson and Haggerty 1997); however knowledge sharing at street level is critical to effective police work on skid row (Bittner 1967). An officer reveals how this relationship often works in the Cowgate and Grassmarket: What's been happening is ... a guy and a girl going about trying to rob homeless people, so i f we can get the word out on the street. If you treat them right, you can use them as information as well. We try to find out the 113 word on the street from the homeless, the beggars, from the staff at the Cowgate Centre and the skin clinic [a bathing facility for area residents]. Although a good portion of the knowledge work that occurs on skid row involves little more than routine conversations through which information is gathered and/or shared, the knowledge worker role is significantly more complex as a consequence of the fact that the police institution is organized around formats, rules and technologies that demand standardized knowledge production (Ericson 1994; Ericson and Haggerty 1997). The frontline officer is therefore required to translate the variables of human nature as it exists on skid row into formats that can be processed both for her own knowledge - the basis upon which to make local decisions - and for the decision-making purposes of those linked into the larger system. The most frequently occurring example of how this plays out on the street is the warrant checking process. Both observations and interviews confirm that it is standard procedure for officers to demand identification for the purpose of checking for warrants in situations where it appears that one or more of the individuals they are in contact with may be of the 'criminal element'. Warrants are checked and sometimes individuals searched, regardless of whether an individual is a victim, witness or perpetrator. M y first exposure to this process occurred when witnessing patrol officers attend a domestic dispute call in a public street outside of the Cowgate and Grassmarket. Both the alleged male perpetrator and the female victim were searched and checked for warrants. I subsequently asked a police officer about this process, particularly as it is one that is seen as discriminatory by service providers and some area residents: There's several reasons to what we are doing ... Officer safety is an issue. In a situation that I don't know, I'm going to check out ... is that person wanted on warrants? ... duty, duty to the person, duty to the law. And, another one, has that person committed a crime? Is there a pattern here? 114 Scrutiny of the reasons offered by the officer reveals the mix of local and extra-local decision-making factors that are involved in the warrant-checking process. Local concerns involve officer safety and the need for knowledge to assist in expediting resolution of the instant case. Extra-local factors, which are described by him as 'duty to the law', include the need to provide knowledge and bodies to the larger criminal justice system, of which the police form only one part. The issue of whether the individual checked has committed an act or actions that form a pattern is necessary for both the resolution of the instant case and, depending on the nature of the activities involved, may be information necessary to the police system and to other public and private agencies (insurance companies, social service agencies, private security and so on). The warrant-checking process can thus be seen as a means by which the frontlines satisfy extra-institutional demands for the production of knowledge. While the rationales in support of the warrant checking process are clearly justifiable, it is also apparent that warrant checking is exercised in a discretionary fashion, largely context-specific and can be applied in a discriminatory way, as some service providers suggest. In response to the charge of discriminatory police, one officer states that, "We're not targeting homeless people ... If a homeless person's a victim of an assault in the streets, I don't need to check him out." However, another frontline officer contradicts this statement, "Quite often i f you know [someone's] a beggar, you'll check them out for arrest warrants. They get checked out all the time." Further, street residents that I spoke with advised that police will periodically come through an area -such as Hunter's Square - and do systematic criminal records checks of the residents sitting there. I was curious to know whether such checks are performed as part of a 115 process for pushing residents out of a particular area, but street drinkers that I spoke with advised that police simply come through and "ask your name and your details. Got any warrants out?" Street drinkers who might feel pressure to leave an area, particularly during the City's Fringe Festival, advised that they i f asked to leave they would simply refuse and that police "don't do anything because I've got my civil rights." Thus, we see that law and local mores not only check potentially exclusionary actions, but also permit resistance to such activities. Officers interviewed also acknowledged the importance of their role as law enforcers. As is the case with police forces in other jurisdictions, 'real police work' -police work associated with arrests - is venerated by the organization and rewarded by supervisors (Manning 1978; Chan et al. 2003). This is the case regardless of whether officers are in patrol or in one of the community-based branches. For example, in describing how knowledge gathering through the use of observation, rumour gathering and so on, facilitates the policing of drug activity, a CBO emphasized the importance of making arrests, "At the end of the day, you've got a possible drugs seizure, drugs capture. That always looks good. Senior officer says, 'That's well done.'" However, the ability to effect arrests and 'look good' for management is constrained by the organization's demands for knowledge as expressed through policies and procedures that require information to be passed up the hierarchy. Police officers who are unable to effect an immediate arrest based on their information cannot hoard knowledge without incurring sanctions: "We get information; i f we can't deal with it, it's passed on. It's got to be passed on. It's duty, procedures" (police officer). 116 Another officer, who saw herself in terms of both her law enforcement and knowledge work roles, stated that the attraction of the job is lack of ambiguity: things are "black and white", because "the law's the law ... and I always maintain that". In balancing a variety of demands made of her from varying sources, such as other institutions or local constituencies, this officer could rely on 'the law' as both an interpretive guide to decision-making and as a bulwark upon which to justify decisions. In this fashion, the officer attempts to sidestep the thorny issue of taking personal responsibility for negotiating demands on the row, relying instead on 'the law' as both a justification and as a shield from public criticism. When questioned about her use of police discretion though, this frontline officer also acknowledged a willingness to see policing as involving "a big fuzzy haze, i f you like". Whereas she generally maintained a view of police work as law enforcement -'black and white' - she was willing to allow that some hazier situations exist in which she would be willing to use her discretion. However, these situations were very few and typically involved what are perceived to be low-level infractions or offences (traffic violations by tourists and/or cases involving a small quantity of marijuana). Such a formalized approach to the law enforcement role does not lend itself well to the peacekeeping aspect of the role, which involves informal use of authority and discretion to maintain order (Bittner 1967; Punch 1979). However, there are peacekeeping aspects built into the police function on skid row as a consequence of the demands officers deal with, the limited amount of resources they can bring to bear on a situation and their own personal feelings, which are often expressed in a willingness to exercise authority and/or discretion. The police officer as peacekeeper can be seen in the 117 steps taken by individual officers to negotiate complaints and thus tensions, between residents, tourists, local businesses and street beggars. As one officer explained, "You might see [a homeless person] begging next to a bank or a cash line [automated teller] machine. People are put off. They don't want to use the cash line machine. So we'll have a word with the person and tell them to move on." Although such actions are viewed as discriminatory by many area residents, for the individual officer this is a question of balancing the rights of people to use facilities, against the right of the street person to beg - that is, a question of negotiating conflicting demands. These demands are negotiated through the informal mechanism of asking the beggar to move on or to refrain from some certain behaviours in order to resolve the conflict. For senior officers that I spoke with, resort to such informal modes of regulating behaviour is viewed as preferable to resort to exclusion through legal processes. Social work aspects of the job are not typically valued by L & B officers, nor viewed as a significant part of their street duties. As one officer explained, "[I place] less emphasis on the social work, because there are social workers to do social work." One police action that has traditionally been viewed as social work within the literature is the arresting of intoxicated individuals 'for their own safety' (Blumberg et al. 1973; McSheehy 1979). In Edinburgh, police similarly effect arrests of individuals who are considered 'drunk and incapable'. As a senior officer explains, " A lot of [alcoholics], they drink so much they pass out and then we get involved with them. And they're arrested - in inverted commas - simply because we want them taken off the streets for their own safety." However, a frontline officer who spoke about such arrests makes it 118 clear that he does not view this process as an attempt at providing assistance, but rather as a legal duty that must be performed irrespective of his personal wishes: It's more time consuming than anything. I could do other things. But it's part and parcel, and i f the police won't do it, who will? The buck stops with me, so I've got to do something. It's a dirty job ... If they're quite badly drunk there's new procedures in force that we've got to take them to the hospital rather than the cells. So again time spent taking to the hospital, which is in southern Edinburgh ... it's a time consuming exercise when we're so hard up resources-wise, and there's lots of other things that you could be attending. What this officer does not appear to recognize is that such procedures are part of a larger move towards a harm reduction approach to the treatment of addiction. The cell is replaced with a hospital bed, indicating also the replacement of a punitive, exclusion-oriented treatment of the inebriated (under the guise of 'protection'), with a more inclusionary view of addiction and its consequences as conditions necessitating medical treatment. That such a transition should also work to the advantage of the police in their quest for increasing efficiencies - through shifting the burden of monitoring drunks from police jailors to the medical professions - is hardly surprising. Rather, it is a further example of the unique way in which the L & B utilize other agencies to decrease internal resource inefficiencies while fostering inclusionary aims. In the comment above, the officer refers to the fact that oftentimes police on the street are called upon to do 'dirty work' (Hughes 1963; Von Maanen 1978a). This is an important part of skid row policing and thus deserves some attention. In dealing with the denizens of the Cowgate and Grassmarket, police officers may be required to touch, search, physically arrest and/or transport individuals who are unwashed, wearing filthy clothes, covered in urine, feces or vomit, have open sores or wounds, are carrying used needles ('sharps') and/or are behaving violently or strangely. The police officer's job 119 requires that she and he have physical contact with such people, and this presents not only concerns over 'contamination' from filth and muck, but also from HIV, Hepatitis C, and other infectious diseases: The issues from that arise from lots of people who're smoking and jagging - injecting. So we have to watch out as there's sharps on them. If you're searching them or lifting them into the back, that's another thought process that's going through your mind. You hope you don't get [poked] ... or i f there's scabies or some skin infection ... so it's a dirty hands-on job. We have quite a bad problem with both alcoholics and drug users (police officer). One of the questions that I explored with frontline officers was how they viewed the people they police on skid row. I did not ask this question outright, feeling that I would gain a better sense of officer attitudes through what was revealed to me through discussion of other topics. Their responses to a variety of questions reveal a mix of both inclusionary and exclusionary attitudes amongst frontline officers. For example, while discussing public attitudes towards those from the Cowgate and Grassmarket who earn money through panhandling, a frontline officer advised that, " A lot of police do think [public drunkenness and panhandling] is an eyesore in the City." The following is an excerpt from an interview with a CBO who similarly reveals the negative attitudes with which some frontline officers approach the Cowgate/Grassmarket community. The quote is taken from a portion of an interview during which I was asking an officer about his negotiating of demands on skid row: Q: Some of your time is spent balancing demands because, on the one side, you've got people saying T don't want to see [public drunkenness]' and on the other side, this is a community. So in terms of being a CBO you have to be a resource for [the skid row community] as well. A : Yeah, I have to tolerate them. 120 The use of the word 'tolerate' is indicative of how this officer feels about having to honour claims made by addicts, street drinkers and/or panhandlers, who have the legal right to sit in public spaces and consume beverages, socialize and/or ask for spare change. It is something that he is legally obliged to do, but has negative feelings about because their status and behaviour is offensive to him. Other officers also revealed negative attitudes towards the local street population through stories depicting panhandlers as wealthy imposters or as 'aggressive'. Further, whereas officers told stories about helping non-street entrenched community groups and residents, no similar stories were told of providing assistance to skid row residents. The same approach was taken with L & B police managers who were also not asked any direct questions concerning their own attitudes towards skid row residents in order to avoid eliciting falsely positive responses. I include the results of those interviews in order to contrast views expressed by managers with those of frontline officers and their supervisors. Police managers, while stressing the dysfunctions of the community, expressed views that were significantly less negative towards Cowgate and Grassmarket denizens than their frontline officers. One manager depicted efforts at instituting an anti-panhandling bylaw as attempts at "criminalizing people because of their lifestyle." He further added, There's rarely a week goes by that the papers don't say something about aggressive begging. The discourse is very negative. The reality is that most of the beggars in the city centre -1 can't speak for any other city - sit very quietly in a very broad city ... I would love to meet somebody who makes thirty thousand pounds a year ... I don't think that living on the street and committing crime to stay alive on the streets would be anybody's first lifestyle choice. 121 This manager made it clear that these were his personal views, not to be interpreted as those of the organization. However, other managers also expressed concern over demands that issues associated with homelessness and poverty should be treated as criminal law problems. For example, in discussing the repeal of legislation that formerly provided the police with broad powers to arrest people for public obstruction and begging, one police manager said, "We lost a lot of effective police powers, but we moved on as an organization. I wouldn't like to see that return because that doesn't serve the long-term issues associated with people protecting homeless or beggars." Differences with respect to how street level officers and managers viewed skid row residents reflect different orientations towards 'the job': policing as operating in areas that are 'black and white' or 'shades of grey'. The adoption of one of these perspectives over the other may be best explained as a function of one or more of three variables. The first variable is the officer's individual views and experiences. For instance, one police manager who exhibits both understanding and a compassionate attitude towards marginalized street communities advised that his views have been shaped, in part, by a family connection to alcoholism. Second, as I've discussed previously, the organizational culture in which officers perform their tasks can be influential in shaping attitudes. Certainly, the effects of the L & B's working culture upon individual actors is easily seen with respect to the willingness of frontline officers, CBOs and CPOs, to perceive themselves primarily as knowledge workers. A third significant factor is the officer's level of experience and growth in the job. In speaking with officers of differing levels of experience about aspects of the job, both in Edinburgh and elsewhere, it is evident that officers with greater levels of experience view the world in a 122 significantly more complex fashion (shades of grey) than less experienced officers who seek the routine. An experienced frontline supervisor in Edinburgh, in speaking of his officers, emphasized this point: "Cops are very good with patterns. They like to know 'what's my job?' You tell them, 'Go do that' and they'll do it. And, they'll do it very well. But i f you ask them to see outside the box, that gets a wee bit uncomfortable. They're not too comfortable with that." Policing Cowgate/Grassmarket: the street perspective In order to capture more fully the nature of skid row policing in Edinburgh, self-perceptions of police generally, and in relation to the roles they perform on the street, were contrasted to the views of row denizens and area service providers. Unsurprisingly, given that the bulk of their interactions with police are of the law enforcement variety, residents of the Cowgate and Grassmarket tend to see police largely, i f not solely, as law enforcers. The police in this role are often viewed negatively as authoritarian, arbitrary, discriminating - the opposite of members of an inclusionary institution. One addict who had been arrested on different occasions views the police as enforcing exclusion through the mechanism of the law prohibiting a 'breach of the peace' (a fairly ambiguous offence similar to North American laws prohibiting 'disorderly conduct'). As this addict contends, police "get us for a breach of the peace, even i f you never done one ... just to get you off the street ... just to be pure evil." Others similarly stated that police were arbitrary when asking individuals to 'move along'. However, all residents agreed, including the previously cited addict, that there were good police officers on the street. The following is an excerpted quote from the same interviewee who called the police 'evil ' . 123 Q: Have you come across any [police] that are okay? A : Aye, there are some that are alright. I won't say that here. [Office door opens and an outreach worker walks in] Outreach worker: A l l coppers are bastards [joking]. A: I won't say that... There are a few of them that are alright like. Although residents such as the individual cited above were of the view that there are some exceptional police officers who are 'alright', others expressed the belief that the majority of officers are 'alright', and thus those who aren't were rather the exception to the rule. This view is expressed in the following quote from an interview with a street drinker in Hunter Square: Q: How do the police treat you guys? A : Through the year certainly alright. You get the odd one now and again. Some residents also accept that the police, even when operating within their law enforcement role, serve a necessary function within their community: "Some of the police are alright. Some of them are a bit harder. To me, they've still got a job to do. If you never had the police, it would be a worse place." One aspect of the law enforcement role that has drawn significant attention within the literature is police use of force (Bittner 1990 [1970]; Black 1980). Its importance can be found in the reductionist vision of police as being defined solely in terms of the legally sanctioned ability to use force to achieve state objectives (Bittner 1990). Early ethnographic work emphasized the importance of force in maintaining order on skid row: "violence by the police is common ... it appears to be a major tactic used by officers in banishing homeless men from their patrol districts" (Black 1980: 31). However, Bittner's 124 ethnographic work on skid row also reveals that the use of force is at best an irregular occurrence. Similarly, a subsequent body of research shows that police officers tend, for the most part, to prefer non-physical methods to achieve their ends (see Rubinstein 1978; Punch 1979). Fielding (2002: 152) captures this second position in noting that "in most cases the big stick is locked in a cupboard and the police do not even look toward the cupboard, let alone unlock it." Given these opposing views within the literature, I made a point of asking about and/or listening for stories that reflected the use of force by police. In particular, I listened for examples of routine force in the context of an arrest (i.e. putting someone's hands behind their back in order to handcuff them), and 'extraordinary' force (exceptional or abusive behaviour such as unjustified punching, kicking, or the use of weapons). Stories involving use of police force had to be elicited from respondents through direct questions, rather than emerging independently as a significant or taken-for-granted characteristic of police activity. Stories told by skid row residents typically reflect the view that the degree of force use by police in effecting arrests is largely commensurate with the amount of resistance officers receive. That is, the amount of force employed was viewed as justifiable with respect to the circumstances either experienced or witnessed. In response to a question on whether police used extra force in making an arrest, one street drinker advised, "It depends on what you're doing. A few of them, i f they've got you for a particular reason, and you're struggling they'll shove your hands in back of you to make you go down." This particular action is a standard police procedure, which is used to minimize struggle and potential for injury when handcuffing recalcitrant individuals. 125 Even though some street people dislike the police intensely and admitted that they would go out of their way to antagonize officers, none of those interviewed offered any specific allegations of excessive police force. However, two interviewees who did not cite direct experiences involving physical force, said that they believed that extra force is sometimes employed when arresting women on the street. One interviewee, a male row inhabitant, stated that women sometimes receive scratches and marks during the arrest process. He was of the view that the women may have been subject to what he viewed as extra force during the arrest process because they were "stroppy" (abusive) to the ofiicer(s). The view that some police retaliate in response is also articulated by a female addict from Cowgate who explains that women receive harder treatment from police officers "because we're being nastier than the guys are." I note that the 'stroppy' behaviour of female addicts cited is not simply a reflection of women's greater dislike or disdain for police in Edinburgh, but can be more properly understood as a part of street-based gender strategy - termed 'going butch' in North America - which is commonly utilized by homeless women to enhance their chances of survival (Passaro 1996). None of the service providers interviewed offered any allegations of abuse, concrete or otherwise. Rather the majority felt that stories that they had received from their respective client groups were not credible and that overall the police treated the skid row population better here than in other Scottish cities: "I think that the drug client group get a very good deal from the police ... I think the police here are very good"; "they police the homeless community better than perhaps some other forces, and they've got a lighter touch than some other forces." A senior police officer explains why the police in 126 this neighbourhood generate so few complaints, "If you assaulted that person, I'm not going to back you up." Police in Cowgate and Grassmarket also function as peacekeepers. An excellent example of how this process plays out in the Grassmarket is provided in the following comment from a service provider: A lot of the people who beg will have their own spot, and that's their regular seat. So you'll also get fights arising when somebody's gone away for a cup of tea. They come back and somebody else has moved into their slot because it's a good place ... then you'll get someone who'll report them to the police because they cause problems. [The beggars] can actually use the police to help themselves, to protect their own begging space. In other instances, police work with other local authorities and/or private agencies to come up with informal measures that result in a keeping of the peace. In the examples that I am aware of, such measures involved closing off public or private areas where street drinkers or addicts congregated. In the following quote, a street drinker describes the loss of an area known as the 'drinking tree': Everybody's got their own place where they go, where they do their drinking and all that. Everybody knows that, all we do is drink. The police know that ... We used to sit over here, see over by the bottom there, and there was a bench there and stairs, when it rained you could sit on the stairs and stay covered. The police knew where we was. Never bothered us ... [Some of the street drinkers would] sit arguing against each other. You couldn't control it. [The police] took the seat away and roped off all the area cause there was people complaining. Too much trouble. What is interesting about this individual's comments is the fact that police knew about the site and accepted its use prior to the receipt of public complaints. For the police, the tree served important purposes. First, prior to the complaints, it created a relatively semi-private space where street people could easily be 'contained' away from public gaze, thus minimizing potential conflicts with shopkeepers. Second, this gathering space and its use 127 by particular individuals meant that the police could easily find an individual and/or use the site as a means of gathering local knowledge. Third, tolerance of activity in this space reveals the use of informal techniques by police to respond to demands from some members within the local community who want to curtail noise and disorder within their neighbourhood. These demands are weighed against the rights of area street drinkers to sit in public spaces, visit their friends and consume alcohol. Where row denizens tend to observe police acting out knowledge work is through either requests for information from area residents on local cases or through the warrant checking process. In contrast, service providers are more likely to see police in the knowledge work role through police liaison work and at community meetings - two modes in which row denizens would rarely, i f ever, encounter police. Service providers interviewed depicted police knowledge work not only as an important aspect of policing, but as a desirable one with the potential to facilitate their own social work aims. To the extent that police work with service providers, they facilitate inclusionary and/or coercively inclusive goals centred on assisting and/or rehabilitating the skid rower. At the level of the frontline officer, 'partnership working' typically entails informal, routine meetings with social service agencies to share information regarding service users and to discuss mutual problems and concerns. One service provider, a rarity amongst those who complained of the lack of CBO presence in the community, described receiving regular visits from the police, which she termed "a social call" at which information sharing from both parties occurred: "they tell me stuff that's been going on on the street and I tell them ... It's a good relationship and it works very well." The reciprocal nature of information exchange, particularly in connection with police attempts 128 at fostering good relations with service providers, means that shelter workers and others are more willing to give the police information upon request than they might be in other circumstances: "If there is a very serious crime going on we ... help the police. We keep a record of everyone that comes here, the name, or the name they give us, and we have a very good paper trail of who has been here, and that often is useful to the police .... [but] it's a two way thing with the police." Another service provider similarly stressed reciprocity as the basis of his working relationship with the police, "They come and ask questions. If somebody goes missing ... they'll come to us i f they can't get any help ... I always say to them, 'You help us, I ' l l help you.' As is the case with police officers themselves, both residents and service providers placed the least amount of emphasis on the social work aspects of policing. None of my interviews with these two groups yielded stories or discussions that portrayed the police in this role. Even questions to row inhabitants as to whether police officers ever approached them just to ask them how they are doing tended to yield negative responses. Finally, I also sought to find out from Cowgate/Grassmarket residents and service providers their perceptions on how residents are viewed by the police in order to determine where they perceived policing as falling along the continuum of exclusivity-inclusivity. One street drinker interviewed stated that he believes police view him as "just another drunken homeless person." This perception, he advised, resulted in a situation where he would not seek police assistance from a nearby patrol car when he was being assaulted by a drunken pub-goer when panhandling. This individual's view of the police, and that of other residents who had clearly had negative encounters with the police, 129 stands in stark contrast to the observation of the previously cited service provider who had witnessed panhandlers relying on police for assistance. This suggests that not all area residents view the police favourably and that although some will seek out assistance, this is not an uniform practice. Support for this contention comes in the form of views expressed by other residents who similarly spoke of police seeing them not as citizens, but as 'bums' and 'criminals'. This perception is shared by some, but not all service providers. As a service provider in the former group stated in reference to her homeless clientele: "The guys, as far as the police are concerned, they're junkie-bes or alkies." As noted previously though, other street residents and service providers feel that police are reasonably fair and treat them accordingly - that is, in a relatively, i f not perfectly inclusive fashion. We can see this in previously cited remarks, such as those of the addicts and alcoholics who opined that police are 'alright'. These views were also evident in stories told by area residents of positive police encounters. Effecting social change A key claim of the present thesis is that policing of skid row is a political process and that the police, as political actors, are reflexive about both the roles they play on skid row and the meanings attendant on their actions within these communities. To this end, the majority of interviewees, and all police officers, were asked about how they viewed the politics of policing. Further, police officers were asked about the possibilities of effecting positive social change through the police institution and at what levels of their organization they believed such changes could be effected. In this section I would like to briefly describe the results of these questions in an attempt to lay the groundwork for the further analysis that follows in Chapter Nine. 130 With the emphasis placed on knowledge-working and community-partnering at all levels of the L & B force, it was unsurprising to discover that police managers see their work as political. And, as I've described in sections above, it is clear that police managers within the L & B are pragmatic in relation to understanding the politics of the positions they adopt and the means employed to achieve organizational objectives. Further, all senior officers believed that enormous potential existed for promoting positive social change through the police force and each appeared to be of the view that it was not only possible and a good thing for the police to be engaged in such a process, but that it was imperative in terms of meeting both their mandate and the increasing demands placed on the organization by the general public. This view is based on an acknowledgement that the police often serve as little more than a 'catch all ' for a variety of social problems, the causes of which they can have little direct effect upon. However, through shifts in police culture, an investment in partnership working and in varieties of information exchange, they can have some indirect effect on those causes through agencies better placed to meet social needs. Further, in some instances, deliberate changes in police policies and practices can lead to better conditions for those policed. For example, police management were willing to reconsider traditional law enforcement techniques in favour of pro-social policing initiatives. A harm reduction strategy in relation to alcohol and drug use was developed in conjunction with health and social service providers. As of this writing, discussions have taken place which are likely to lead to police working more closely with service providers in offering injection drug users information on both detox services and alternative methods of ingesting heroin (such as 131 smoking rather than injecting). Police officers would ideally be trained in understanding the dynamics of addiction and on how to provide information and service to users. Police managers interviewed tended to view social change as both a bottom-up and a top-down process within the organization; they believed that the reorganization and its associated culture shift had empowered all ranks to be proactive community problem-solvers at their respective levels. As one manager explained, "we actually encourage our junior officers to take on a problem solving sort of attitude ... we applaud it and encourage it, and try to stimulate it." A frontline supervisor advised, "The beat officers are encouraged to submit initiatives of what they would do [to solve a problem]." The nature of the type of problem a beat officer might solve was described as "a problem of parking in an area or a problem of noisy neighbours". As individual officers cannot resolve all local problems, another manager advised that " i f I was a beat officer and I saw, something that I thought I could fix, I'd go to my Sergeant and then it'd go up." Resort to hierarchical authority occurs because larger scale social problems, particularly those that cross sector boundaries and require inter-agency cooperation, often necessitate the involvement of more senior ranks. For this reason, the majority of police managers, tended to place greatest emphasis on the role of the Sector Inspector, particularly under the new organizational structure, which stresses local police ownership of 'beats' and 'sectors'. However, one manager did acknowledge the influence of 'middle managers' on the lower ranks, "In the police service... well ... [the] Chief Inspector, [the] Superintendent, they can have an enormous influence on the local communities and the way things are done." 132 In an interview with a senior officer, I asked whether he believed that frontline officers understand the political nature of the work they perform. This question arose out of interviews in Vancouver where both a frontline officer and a police manager stated that they felt that officers in the street tended to be myopic about the political environment in which the institution operates. In contrast, the senior officer in Edinburgh felt that such a view was patronizing and that the frontline ranks do understand the politics underlying what they do in the street. In speaking to frontline officers it was clear that they do view their role as political, i f not as one that is particularly empowered within the organization. In response to the question of whether he saw his role as political, an officer sighed and said, "Yes ... I'm a pawn in the big game. And you can quote me on that." His feelings of disempowerment were shared by a co-worker who expressed deep frustration with a system that constrained her ability to 'do the job', while simultaneously failing to curb public demands for service. As I noted earlier, frontline officers interviewed tended to express dissatisfaction with their inability to realize the promise of community policing, which, as an ideal, empowers both the community and the beat officer. Some officers interviewed did, however, cite examples where they felt that they had made a positive change or at least had an opportunity to attempt problem solving rather than simply engaging in reactive policing. Examples include an officer who was working with a local church to reduce problems associated with the use of the church by local addicts, and another who was working with local community groups and giving lectures to school kids. In discussing these situations, it was clear that officers took personal pride in their work within the communities served. However, these examples 133 and others provided by frontline officers, point to a central problem with respect to community policing programs generally: the focus is often on particular types of communities - those that are seen as 'deserving' - rather than on providing service to all communities. It may be a function of the interview process that I just happened to draw , frontline officers who, because of the nature of their community work or from their individual preference, are discriminating about what they see as community, and so such stories and inferred attitudes should not be treated as representative of the whole. However, as I noted earlier in this chapter, there does appear to be a disjuncture with respect to police manager attitudes towards extremely marginalized communities and attitudes of frontline officers. I would thus hazard to suggest that this disjuncture is manifest not only in stories told of community, but on the street. The perceptions of area residents, whose primary contact with the organization is through frontline officers, certainly offers some support for believing that some frontline officers discriminate in their definitions concerning 'community'. Conclusion In this chapter, I explored the policing of Edinburgh's skid row district through an examination of the management style and frontline practices of members of the Lothian & Borders police force. What this examination reveals is an institution that is clearly a product of the larger political environment in which it exists. The system that shapes this institution is one that privileges both the workings of the market and social inclusion. The institutional orientation of the police force mirrors these values through policies and programs that attempt to marry social justice aims with tenets of public managerialism. 134 The result is a community-based policing model that is predicated on a conception of policing as knowledge work. However, while this model is predominately an inclusionary one, marginalization of the homeless continues and the police continue to play a role in this process. For example, both skid row residents and service providers cited the discriminatory attitudes and behaviours of frontline officers (both CBOs and patrol), and discriminatory views were noted within the comments of some officers interviewed who were unable to identify skid row residents with conceptions of 'community' (community as consisting of citizens with the right to make demands and be accorded respect). Thus, despite the apparent intentions of the institution, the inclusionary aspects of this model have not yet fully percolated through all ranks. 135 Chapter V : Junkies, Drunks and the American Dream I have previously described San Francisco as representative in many significant aspects of the American form of neo-liberal governance. Throughout this chapter, I attempt to justify this characterization through an analysis of local politics, and with reference to the ways in which the coercively inclusive/exclusionary nature of these politics articulate in measures directed against the City's poor. I proceed as follows. First, I describe the political, historical, geographical and social dimensions of the research site in order to contextualize its key elements and the demands it produces. I then examine more fully the range of inclusionary-exclusionary demands that San Francisco's skid row district produces. This examination leads to a discussion of the larger political context that shapes political processes within and across the row. San Francisco's skid row: the Tenderloin The language of poverty and homelessness in this city for the last fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years is that people want to be homeless, they're bad drug addicts, they are mentally i l l people ... they just don't want treatment. People are continuously blamed for not being treatable - mental health outreach worker, San Francisco San Francisco's Tenderloin exemplifies a classic American skid row district. It is a patch of decayed and underdeveloped land that sits immediately adjacent to the city's central business district. Geary, Larkin and Market streets form the perimeter of the Tenderloin, creating the space as a triangle containing some thirty-five blocks, bordered not only by an expensive business district to its east, but also by one of the city's priciest residential areas, Nob Hi l l , to the west. Its landscape is a conglomeration of porn palaces, cheap diners, SRO hotels and convenience stores stocked with an abundant supply of 136 alcohol placed on conveniently located shelves. Prostitutes work here, as do panhandlers and drug dealers. Addicts openly puff on crack pipes. Illustration 5.1 Tenderloin Police District, San Francisco (author's illustration). Waters and Hudson (1999) state that the site's name is derived from an historic similarity to a New York neighbourhood where police officers could collect enough bribes in order to afford better cuts of meat for dinner. Today, the Tenderloin is also informally referred to as 'Urinetown'. The most immediate impression one receives of the Tenderloin is not based on optics - ugly buildings and concrete dull the senses, making the area seem blandly grey and unappealing - but rather on the observer's sense of smell. On any given day, a 137 pungent aroma of urine and sometimes fresh or stale feces wafts up from building corners, laneways and curbs. This is the smell of an indescribably harsh poverty. Illustration 5.2. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003. (author's photo). The Tenderloin is not the City's first or only skid row district. According to Blumberg et al. (1978), San Francisco's skid row first developed in 1870-1880 with the establishment of cheap lodging houses and hotels, medium and light industry and saloons, in the area known as South of Market Street (SOMA), immediately adjacent to the current Tenderloin district. These authors also note that "by the 1890s there was also a hobo or homeless-man area along Howard Street centered between Third and Fourth" (ibid: 221). Following the Second World War, still another area of the city - the Haight -developed as a site for homeless drifters: "a visit to the Haight in early 1974 revealed more evidence of the congregation of heavy drinkers than of street people. There are places which could be identified as hangouts for 'winos'" (ibid: 159). 138 Redevelopment in San Francisco throughout the 1970s had three noticeable effects upon the Tenderloin. First, the historical Tenderloin district (its population and businesses) drifted north of the SOMA region to the site's present location next to the Union square retail and business district (Blumberg et al. 1978). Second, redevelopment in residential areas such as the Haight concentrated the city's poor into low-income spaces such as the Tenderloin and areas within SOMA (ibid; Robinson 1995). This concentration effect was further heightened by the loss of low-income housing stock on the current Tenderloin's borders to a variety of gentrification projects (Robinson 1995). As Robinson explains, In the last two decades, the Tenderloin has emerged as one of the few remaining areas in which San Francisco's downtown poor can live. As redevelopment and rising rents have eliminated low-income housing units across the city, the deteriorated Tenderloin has absorbed the displaced. Accordingly, Tenderloin population has grown over 20% in the last 20 . years, becoming 400% more dense than San Francisco as a whole and absorbing the highest concentration of the impoverished, the service dependent, the drug addicted, and the criminal (ibid: 493). This site is currently home to some twenty-four thousand people, most of whom live below the $8240 U.S. per annum that is recognized as the federal poverty line (Gordon 2002). As is the case in other skid row districts in Canada and the U.S., the Tenderloin's population is no longer primarily or solely composed of middle aged or elderly white males; rather, as a consequence of recent waves of immigration to the city, it now represents an ethnically diverse community that includes whites, blacks, Latinos and a substantial number of Southeast Asian families (Zoellner 2000). The influx of immigrant families has also meant an increase in the number of children living here: it is estimated that some thirty-five hundred children live in the neighbourhood (ibid). Aside from impoverished families and halfway homes for parolees, the Tenderloin also houses 139 a sizeable population of the city's homeless and addicted. Service providers have estimated that some ten thousand homeless individuals either reside in or pass through the Tenderloin each day (San Francisco Rescue Mission 2003). Illustration 5.3. Boeddekker Park. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003. (author's photo). Observation of the site brings other ways to describe the 'T .L. ' For example, on a sunny afternoon, the co-existence of a wide variety of humanity becomes the neighbourhood's most striking feature. On a corner of Eddy and Jones sits Boeddeker Park. Older black gentlemen perch on park benches, reading newspapers or chatting amongst themselves. On another bench a flashily dressed black woman sprays herself with vanilla perfume, while another woman walks by loudly muttering to herself. On the other side of the fence, clusters of younger black males 'hang' near the corner, a boombox rapping out a noisy beat. One fact seems painfully apparent sitting in Boeddeker Park: although blacks are only one of the many ethnic groups that make up the Tenderloin, they appear over-represented among the faces of the poor and homeless. This fact appears hardly surprising though, given historic and contemporary racial 140 attitudes towards African-Americans that are manifest at so many levels of American society. I vividly recall an intelligent, dynamic black woman, gainfully employed in the Tenderloin and otherwise appearing to be a responsible, upright citizen, who described for me the experience of being unable to secure rental housing until she sent her Asian partner alone to meet potential landlords. When she inquired about possible rentals, potential vacancies 'mysteriously' disappeared. Her experience was hardly unique; discrimination in housing leaves many blacks in the U.S. in shelters and in the street. On another day and in another street, children giggle and laugh as they draw chalk figures on the sidewalk in front of the place that houses their after-school program. Some of the children are black, but many are Asian - from Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, China, the Philippines and elsewhere. So too are many of the seniors: an elderly Asian woman with a pull cart full of empty cans is but one of the many faces of old age poverty. Illustration 5.4. Children's playground. Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003. (author's photo). 141 Other glimpses yield the sight of a transvestite, male clothes, flowered hair bun and leopard handbag, walking through the T . L . ' with his/her partner. This is hardly an unusual sight; transvestites, the transgendered and gays and lesbians, come to San Francisco looking for personal freedom, and find themselves subject to another form of tyranny: a poverty born of a general lack of decent employment opportunities and affordable housing, and the stigma associated with their new place of residence. Housing is a big issue in the Tenderloin; one that affects almost every person in the community. The most fortunate residents, often seniors and families, live in some form of subsidized housing. Others either live alone or share a room in one of the area's SRO hotels that offer nine foot by six foot rooms that range in price from $600 to $800 per month. The next step down on the housing scale is shelter beds, which are open on a nightly basis and are run by public and private agencies. The final option is sleeping in public spaces. Whereas many of Edinburgh's 'rough sleepers' have the relative 'luxury' of being able to sleep outside in more or less 'sheltered' locations such as covered closes and quiet graveyards, those without legitimate shelter in San Francisco sleep openly on the City's sidewalks. Walking in or near the Tenderloin, one is routinely greeted by the sight of people sleeping in doorways, covered only in cardboard or a rough grey blanket, their possessions tucked by their heads or hands. In the 1970s and 1980s, California was at the forefront of a movement to 'de-institutionalize' its psychiatric patients. The result of this 'progressive' measure to 'return people to their communities' was that, as in other cities, San Francisco's skid row became a dumping ground for the mentally i l l (Scull 1977). As a psychiatric outreach worker explained, "People with drug or alcohol problems, or psychiatric illnesses, generally are 142 kept here [in the Tenderloin] ... the Tenderloin and 6th Street have been the discharge place for folks from the hospital for years and years and years." These individuals, she further noted, are indiscriminately discharged to single room occupancy hotels without adequate support and resources. Thus it is no surprise to discover, as I did, that there seems to be an extraordinarily large number of individuals walking about the Tenderloin and nearby 6 t h street areas in what appear to be varying states of psychosis. Addiction is part of the daily existence for many who live here. Alcoholics can find ready sustenance not only in the neighbourhood's bars, some of which have extended opening hours - Red's is open from 10am to 2am daily - but also in local grocery stores which conveniently stock cans and bottles on their shelves. Drug addicts are also easily serviced; dealers, many of whom come into the neighbourhood from nearby Oakland, work through 'runners' who transact business primarily in public spaces such as around Boeddeker Park. Transactions between dealers and potential customers are handled primarily on the basis of eye contact and greetings that, to the initiated, indicate an understanding of their respective roles, but look like little more than casual greetings to the uninitiated. I had an opportunity to experience a part of the transaction ritual firsthand one evening while walking in the area of O'Farrell and Jones, which is part of the central drug retail market in the neighbourhood. A man walking towards me made direct and prolonged eye contact as he approached. He then said 'Hello', as he continued to walk past. M y reaction to this greeting was to look at him, then shift my eyes away and not respond. If I had been interested in buying his product(s), I would have maintained eye contact and then responded to his opening by following after him 143 and saying something like, 'Hey, baby.' Had I done so, I likely would have been offered crack cocaine, heroin or prescription pills - all drugs of choice here. The streets in and around the upper portion of the 'T .L . ' constitute a low-track prostitution stroll, that is a prostitution area where, because of addiction, disease and/or the effects of chronic homelessness, the women are often in a worse state of physical shape than others and therefore charge less money for services. In the Tenderloin, the stroll does not stand out as it might in other neighbourhoods because it appears against a chaotic background of traffic, drug activity, public drinking (by both neighbourhood residents and visitors), street corner 'hanging out' and a lot of street noise. One evening at the intersection of O'Farrell and Jones, I leaned up against a wall and attempted to watch the street scene. On one corner were two black women, one wearing a leopard print coat and the other dressed in a 'J.Lo'- style velour sweat suit. The. women were young, and although one had an user's appearance - emaciated - they were in relatively good shape in comparison to their counterpart on another corner. This woman, white, haggard looking and wearing 'working clothes', was in an obvious state of drug intoxication as she moved from spot to spot on various corners, dodging traffic and pedestrians. Unfortunately, I was only able to observe from this spot for five or ten minutes before I caught a pitying look directed at me by a man walking to a local restaurant. This look prompted me to realize that my presence could be misinterpreted; given that territories are often treated as private property by prostitutes, I decided to move on before someone came to claim her corner. Although much of the rhetoric around communities like the Tenderloin centres on issues related to disorder, crime is an integral part of the community. And, as is also the 144 case in skid row districts elsewhere, residents of the Tenderloin are as apt to be victims of crime as perpetrators. Much of the violence that occurs in the T.L. - shootings, stabbings and beatings - is related to the open-air drug market. One resident described for me his experience of being chased and beaten by six men in the Tenderloin - notably outside the former Tenderloin Police Station - for what I suspect was payment owed a local dealer. Police also described the commission of strong-arm robberies , where perpetrators use intimidation and fear in an attempt at gaining money for a fix. However, while much of the drug-related violence is intra-class this is not always the case; during the course of my fieldwork an undercover police officer whose identity became known to some of the area's dealers was stabbed. The politics of San Francisco's skid row In discussing the politics of Edinburgh's skid row I previously stated that skid rows are social and geographical spaces formed through moral codes, where exclusion is typically enforced through zoning regulations, civic ordinances and criminal laws that define the skid rower as a 'deviant outsider'. Although I then went on to state that Edinburgh's skid row provides an exception in that the space is 'socially' rather than 'legally' defined, San Francisco's Tenderloin stands as an exemplar of the usual skid row: it is the traditional community of outlaws, outcasts and misfits, restricted and regulated primarily through the legal register of discipline (Foucault 1979). In this section 1 explore not only the nature of exclusionary demands made of those who live here, but also those demands that are coercively inclusive (as I argue throughout, both are 2 Some perpetrators physically restrain victims, by throwing them in a headlock, in order to forcibly remove valuables. 145 prevalent in this community). Further, I discuss the substance and style of inclusionary demands made on behalf of those who live in this community, and the limited impact that these demands have had on reversing the various forms of exclusion and discrimination experienced by residents. Within urban environments, the production of exclusionary demands made with respect to marginalized communities is often the result of desires centred on gentrification. Skid row districts are viewed by developers, retail, hotel and other business interests and often by civic leaders, as 'underdeveloped' sites that, because of their location next to a city's core, represent enormous potential profits through the conversion of vacant buildings and/or low-rent housing stock into tourist accommodations, high-density condos and/or retail. The process of gentrification can be seen in the Tenderloin, most notably in the form of the Hilton Hotel, sited on the easternmost boundary of the neighbourhood, bordering nearby Union Square. The Hilton towers over Boeddeker Park, standing as a constant reminder of past, present and future encroachment upon the neighbourhood. Future plans for the Tenderloin include the Glide Pavilion hotel/apartment complex and a proposed light rail system through the area that one community group member described as something that's "definitely going to change what's happening out there [in the T.L.]." According to this individual, developers who had been eyeing the Tenderloin "got the baby locked down, I think." Gentrification produces exclusion in at least two ways. First, the conversion of existing low income housing stock forces poor people from the neighbourhood as stock shrinks. Second, it generates pressure to 'clean up' an area through the expulsion of 146 'disorderly' elements. In short, tourists and middle class residents typically do not visit restaurants in crack-infested neighbourhoods, nor do they like to pay one hundred and fifty dollars a night in hotel fees to watch the homeless defecate in the streets in front of them. Thus, demands arise that 'something be done' to push the 'disorderly' from neighbourhoods undergoing gentrification. With respect to the Tenderloin, we see exclusionary demands in the form of vocal campaigns urging law and order 'crackdowns' that will remove individuals from the neighbourhood into jails, as well as, more subtly, in the form of pressure applied to local service providers who are seen as attracting the disorderly. Two service providers interviewed advised that a neighbourhood institution that had been helping the poor for several decades had been confronted with demands from area businesses to limit its services because of the crowds of homeless people that it generates. It is not only local business that produces exclusionary demands directed at the Tenderloin's 'disorderly elements', but also other residents from within the community. As I noted previously, racialized tensions exist within the neighbourhood that are based largely on stereotypes associated with drugs and criminality. As Waters and Hudson (1998: 315) report, when the Bay Area Women's and Children's Center attempted to establish a Tenderloin grade school that would benefit Southeast Asian families in the neighbourhood they were successful, but efforts to create a drop-in centre for crack-addicted mothers and their children, largely African-Americans, were met with what these authors describe as "fierce opposition" from Tenderloin resident and community groups on the grounds that the centre would bring more addicts to the neighbourhood. Waters and Hudson suggest that stereotypes about the deserving and undeserving poor 147 combine in this neighbourhood with racialized images to create exclusionary demands that are seen to have an impact not merely on addicts, but on African-Americans who are frequently portrayed as amongst the undeserving. Residents of the Tenderloin are also subject to coercively inclusive demands. Many of these demands are made of the poor generally and not in relation to this neighbourhood specifically, including demanded cuts in public assistance and enforced prohibitions of status offences, such as panhandling, public loitering and 'camping'. These demands find popular support in the form of a series of punitive by-laws that are disproportionately enforced against those on skid row and other nearby marginalized communities. Throughout the City, and indeed within skid row itself, these demands are finding expression on billboards and other advertising paid for by the San Francisco Hotel Council. The content of their message is intended to regulate two sets of inter-related behaviours: the panhandling of the row's residents and other homeless and the giving of money by tourists and other residents. These advertisements suggest that naive do-gooders foster sexually transmitted diseases and addictions through their donations. For example, one advertisement features a man in a park saying, "Today I did Tai Chi, donated some change and helped spread STDs" (Mattier and Ross 2002). Another billboard portrays tourists saying, "Today we rode a cable car, visited Alcatraz and supported a drug habit" (ibid). To supplement their message, the Hotel Council printed cards to be handed to guests in member hotels, urging them to make donations to local charities instead of to panhandlers. A local advocate for the homeless suggests that "The message is real clear. Hate the homeless — they spread drugs, disease and close down businesses" (ibid). These advertisements are read as attempts at forcing individuals - i.e. 148 panhandlers - away from what are viewed as morally deficient lifestyles marked by idleness, waste, indiscriminate sexuality and so on, through targeting facilitating behaviour. Not only do such individuals not contribute to society (i.e. the economy) we are told, but their behaviours have other adverse effects that need to be checked. Oppression breeds resistance whether it is in the form of whispered resentments, posters decrying a particular form of exclusion or as mass political action in support of change. Thus, where we find demands for exclusion or coercive inclusion, we may expect to see those who counter with their own sets of inclusionary demands. We find inclusionary discourse in skid row districts, although socially, politically and economically, such sites are largely isolated from local and other power structures and are often ignored. The Tenderloin is no exception; in many ways it is representative of the battles for inclusion fought and lost by other marginalized communities. As with other skid row communities, demands for inclusion within the Tenderloin are largely centred on the desire for residents to be treated as full citizens, equally worthy of respect and treated with dignity by both the state and other citizens. Such demands include calls for institutional reform, particularly with respect to the police and this institution's treatment of the poor generally, and poor people of colour particularly. There are also demands for the decriminalization of sex work and/or repeals of laws that target behaviours associated with the homeless. Other demands include improved housing, mental health and addiction treatment and income aid. Interestingly, I note that I found no groups that championed harm reduction or wanted the criminal treatment of addiction replaced with a medical model. One representative of a major community coalition that 149 works with addicts was instead incensed by the perceived unwillingness of police to crack down on the local drug market. While many local civic organizations are constituted solely of area residents, others represent a mixture of area residents and professionals (such as social workers, lawyers, ministers, health experts). There are also groups that represent a range of constituencies; others are single-issue groups such as those that advocate on behalf of sex trade workers or the mentally i l l . Many of these groups in the Tenderloin work together in loose coalitions, although, as I discuss later in relation to Vancouver, tensions exist between several of the major and smaller organizations. These tensions are likely the product of not only differences in ideology, and preferred methods of championing inclusionary change, but also of splits over government funding and access to City Hall. At a time of sharply decreased public funding of social and community services, several organizations find it increasingly hard to make ends meet, while others are continuing to receive funding - this causes splits within the community. For example, it was noted by one community service provider that the organization he represents has experienced difficulties in establishing cross-community partnerships with others groups because his organization receives civic funding and the perception is this organization is too closely tied to City Hall and the police. Other groups are similarly viewed as co-opted by City Hall because of their presence on mayoral homelessness commissions, which are sometimes seen as little more than exercises in churning out reports. Among many inclusion-oriented activists, there is a sense that their work is Sisyphean. Few gains are made and, with a divisive political climate in skid row and a larger community that clearly favours coercively inclusive and/or exclusionary measures, 150 each new gain appears to be met with tenfold challenges. As one organization noted of the treatment of the poor on its website: "Since the mid eighties the city of San Francisco has been split on how to respond to the impact of homeless people living on our streets and in our parks. Some merchant and neighborhood groups have pushed for more and more use of law enforcement ... so far, the pro-cop sentiment consistently wins" (Coalition on Homelessness 2003). Unsurprisingly, I found that among the majority of those demanding inclusionary change, many were experiencing feelings of demoralization and burnout. The larger political context: San Francisco as Neo-liberal City (U.S. style) Although homelessness and other social problems have been concentrated in the Tenderloin, they are not contained there. It is estimated that there are between eight and fifteen thousand homeless people, many of whom are mentally i l l and/or addicted, who are visible in a variety of spaces throughout the city (Office of the Controller 2002). The visibility of the urban poor in San Francisco, particularly in light of what are perceived by many residents as generous city welfare programs (Lelchuk 2002), has created significant political pressures translating into coercively inclusive and/or exclusionary demands that 'something be done' about the homeless problem. In response to those voters who feel that income aid payments were too generous and/or were being used to support drug and alcohol intake, in 1994 the City attempted to alter the conditions of its county welfare program (the General Assistance or G A program3) (Lelchuk 2002). Voters approved 3 In order to provide assistance to those that are ineligible for the federal TANF (Temporary Assistance to Needy Families) program - adults without dependent children, including the elderly, the disabled, and those with mental health problems or addictions -counties in California operate programs that are variously known as General Assistance (GA) or General Relief (GR). 151 former Mayor Frank Jordan's plan to guarantee city welfare recipients a room in a residential hotel in exchange for a two hundred and eighty dollar reduction in their three hundred and forty-five dollar monthly cheques (ibid). This plan, had it not fallen through when the City's Board of Supervisors refused to implement it, might have had the desired effect - a reduction of the City's welfare rolls - as individuals either moved into low-paying employment or moved to another jurisdiction (ibid). Jordan also introduced the Matrix program, which promised a multi-pronged approach to reducing homelessness, but became synonymous with abuse of the homeless. The most noticeable effect of the City's Matrix program was a repressive policing style aimed at discouraging the presence of the homeless in public spaces through activities such as confiscating shopping carts, illegal searches and seizures and a series of 'quality of life' by-laws that made sleeping in public parks or urinating in public offences punishable by fines and imprisonment upon failure to pay (Gardner and Lindstrom 1997; Fagan 2002; Lelchuk 2002). As it may be recalled, quality of life regulations are prohibitions against acts of minor disorder that are perceived as threatening to the quality of life in a given community. These are typically offences, such as those outlined above, which are noticeably associated with the urban poor. For this reason, they are termed 'status' offences, meaning that the offence arises from the individual's low socio-economic status. Willie Brown subsequently defeated Jordan in the next Mayoral election; Brown ran, in part, on a platform that challenged the Matrix program. Once elected, Brown publicly ended Matrix, while continuing to privately support aggressive police 152 enforcement of 'quality of life' by-laws4 (Edmondson 2000; Nordberg 2002). We see the effects of Brown's tenure in the number of citations issued for quality-of-life offences: approximately eleven thousand citations were issued in 1994 under then-Mayor Jordan's Matrix program, doubling to nearly twenty-three thousand in 1999 under the Brown regime (Nordberg 2002). However, none of these measures have been enough to stem growing public frustrations: a poll released in 2002 revealed that "San Francisco voters overwhelmingly believe homelessness is the city's No. 1 problem" (Lelchuk 2002). Aside from quality of life issues, which are frequently touted as problems created by the homeless, the 'problem' of homelessness is actually one of public economics. It is not simply that San Franciscans support county welfare recipients through the provisions of the G A program - only about twenty-five hundred people receive G A payments in San Francisco annually (Lelchuk 2003) - but that there are significant costs associated with running a network of civic and nonprofit services to support the homeless and other urban poor each year, costs that, given the visible presence of poverty and addiction throughout the City, seem to provide few returns. Nordberg (2002) reports that in 1999, the City spent fifty-seven million dollars of locally generated funds on homeless services, a figure that rose to eighty-two million dollars in 2002. And, as I document in Chapter Nine, the services provided do not come close to fulfilling the level of demand. Article II of the California Constitution allows California citizens to place an initiative of public interest on a ballot for voter approval, thus bypassing the State 4 A report by the San Francisco's Office of the Controller (2002: 5) acknowledges this fact: "in January 1996, Mayor Willie Brown ended the Matrix program but vowed to continue enforcing the laws it covered" 153 Legislature. In November 2002, San Franciscans were asked to vote on one of two propositions intended to address the homeless issue. Board Supervisor Gavin Newsom's Proposition N or the 'Care Not Cash' plan, called for a significant reduction of G A payments: from three hundred and ninety-five dollars per month to fifty-nine dollars plus food and shelter, with the cash difference - approximately fourteen million dollars in annual savings - being used to create low-income housing and to fund social service programs (Lelchuk 2002; Lelchuk 2003). The proposal was supported by major business associations whose members funded Newsom's ballot campaign and/or took out paid advertising with statements that read: "I don't want to sweep people off my doorstep" or "I want to know why homelessness is a problem after we spent $200 million last year?" (Mattier and Ross 2002). In May 2003, Supervisor Newsom stated that one hundred residential hotel rooms had been set aside under the Care not Cash program (Hampton 2003a). Further, the City had requested that hotel owners supply nine hundred more rooms, budgeted three million dollars for drug treatment programs and one million to provide assistance to mentally i l l individuals to gain Social Security (ibid). However, funding for these programs is contingent on the cash flow to be received through reducing welfare benefits (ibid). In the event that the City is unable to provide the services guaranteed under Proposition N , a G A recipient would receive the original full amount of welfare (between $320 to $395) (Lelchuk 2002). In short, under this proposition, funding for housing and services would come from the pool of money allocated to welfare assistance - that is, from the pockets of welfare recipients - rather than from additional taxes or levies. 154 In contrast, Proposition O or 'Exits from Homelessness', sponsored by Board of Supervisors' President Tom Ammiano, would require the city to develop one thousand low-income housing units and seven hundred addiction treatment beds within two years (ibid). Proposition N received the majority vote, although a later judicial ruling held that welfare limits could only be set by the Board of Supervisors and not by popular vote (Lelchuk 2002; Hampton 2003a). Unsurprisingly, Proposition N was subsequently reintroduced on the agenda of the Board of Supervisors. On July 8 t h, when Supervisor Newsom was on holidays, the Board passed Ammiano's Proposition O instead (Hampton 2003b). Newsom was subsequently elected Mayor in 2004. Illustration 5.5. Driving the message home. Billboard sign reads: "Supervisors: the voters have spoken. 'Care not Cash' by July. Golden Gate Restaurant Association". Streets of the Tenderloin, 2003. (author's photo). San Franciscans, like Californians generally, espouse a typically American-style of neo-liberalism. Through public referenda, Californian voters express their preferences 155 in the form of repeated denials to requests for funding of social programs that might better the conditions of those on the bottom socio-economic rungs. This includes not only poverty-related programs, which have been continually cut back over the past two decades, but also in areas traditionally seen as existing at the core of the welfare state such as education and health care services. Over the past few decades it has become increasingly apparent that Californian voters do not want to support the majority of basic redistributive schemes. It could be argued that lack of support for public spending in California through the 1990s was linked to the recession during the early part of the decade; however, by the mid-1990s, the U.S., and particularly California, were experiencing economic growth (Baldassare 2002). Job creation in California, coupled with spending restraints, was reflected in county and state budgets posting increasing surpluses from 1995. to 20005 (ibid). Despite this boom, there was not a commensurate willingness to sponsor increases in social service spending. Schrag (1998:61) contends that the racialization of welfare programs - including public healthcare services, education and welfare benefits - is a significant factor: "the rise of the new minorities and the decline in services occurred in proportion over precisely the same period (which, of course, is when the services are most needed) and at roughly the same rate." In support of this contention, he notes demographic changes in California's population that have rendered the state increasingly less 'white'. However, while California's population as a whole is becoming ethnically 5 In 2003, however, Californians face an estimated budget deficit of thirty eight billion dollars (Werner 2003). This deficit can be explained, in part, as a consequence of the state's energy crisis, and the need by Californians to purchase large amounts of electricity from other U.S. states and British Columbia. 156 diverse, this change is not reflected in voting patterns, which continue to represent the desires of the overwhelmingly majority of white voters (ibid). In many counties the result has been significantly eroded services, from dilapidated and over-crowded schools to continual cuts in social service spending leading to lack of treatment facilities and shelters (ibid; Gitlin 1995). Underlying these policy choices is a set of beliefs concerning the inability of the public sector to 'efficiently' supply those public goods necessary for the proper functioning of society. This is now seen as the role of the markets and responsibility for any inequities that arise are seen as solely belonging to the disadvantaged individual. Care Not Cash is an excellent example of a public program embodying American neo-liberal ideology: the central tenet of faith underlying this program is that the current welfare system, which is perceived as being 'too generous', reproduces the social problems - poverty, addiction and crime - that it is supposed to ameliorate. If 'generous' payments from an inefficient bureaucracy engender or increase social problems, so the logic goes, the solution must therefore be to reduce these payments, forcing recipients to seek employment in order to better their condition (participation in the market as the preferred solution). These sentiments are echoed in a letter of support for the program offered by a San Francisco 'citizens' group'6, which embraces such neo-liberal ideals: We believe that the Board of Supervisors needs to implement Care Not Cash in a timely fashion, to keep San Francisco from remaining an A T M for the nation's homeless to buy drugs and alcohol. Instead of a hand-out, they need hand up ... Let's put the homeless on the road to self-respect and productivity (San Francisco SOS website 2003). 6 San Francisco SOS is a civic lobby group founded by US Senator Dianne Feinstein, investment banker Warren Hellman, and GAP founder Donald Fisher (Hua 2003). 157 Conclusion In this chapter, I explored San Francisco's skid row district through an examination of its geography, history and social dimensions. This was followed by a discussion of the politics of the site and the demands made of and by, its inhabitants. This analysis revealed that the discourse surrounding the Tenderloin is predominately exclusionary and coercively inclusive. For example, as developers and other business interests seek to utilize space within the Tenderloin to serve middle and upper class clienteles, or to present a tidy atmosphere for tourists in nearby shopping districts, we see the production of exclusionary demands centred on limiting services to the homeless in order to push them out of the neighbourhood. Further, exclusionary demands are also produced amongst residents and often reflect racialized divisions within the neighbourhood that are expressed as moral boundaries. The site also engenders coercively inclusive demands directed at regulating the 'conduct' of the homeless, the mentally i l l , the addicted and other 'deviants'. These demands find expression in billboards and other forms of advertising that warn tourists against giving money to panhandlers: the ultimate purpose of this advertising is to dissuade the homeless, both within the Tenderloin and elsewhere, away from the practice of begging and into conformity with the existing normative code. The Tenderloin also produces inclusionary discourse. As elsewhere, this discourse centres on demands that community residents be provided with social assistance - such as shelter and improved access to services - and that they be treated with dignity and respect by the larger society. In contrast to exclusionary demands, countering demands 158 for inclusion receive significantly less support from the larger community. This fact coupled with limited funding, infighting amongst activist groups and the daily realities of trying to keep organizations functioning, has resulted in feelings of demoralization on the part of a number of service providers. The discussion of the site's politics was followed by an examination of the larger political and social culture in San Francisco that gives rise to the nature of demands produced within and in response to skid row. This analysis provided a context for understanding the influence of the American variant of neo-liberalism on shaping an environment that is at once coercively inclusive, while simultaneously subjecting a significant portion of its population to exclusionary treatment. 159 Chapter VI - Enforcing the Law with Broken Windows In this chapter the role of the police as 'demand negotiators' is explored through an examination of the ways in which the San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) respond to inclusionary and exclusionary demands directed at the Tenderloin's skid row residents. The style of policing in this community is, again, consonant with the larger institutional environment in that it embodies keys elements of the values and philosophies underlying the American variant of neo-liberalism. In particular, the policing of status offences (quality of life by-laws) is work that is at once both coercively inclusive and exclusionary. The following section offers an introduction to the structure of the San Francisco Police Department and its Tenderloin station. Following this, I explore the orientation of the police institution through the views of police managers who discuss the delivery of 'community policing' within the Tenderloin. The SFPD's community policing model is based on the Broken Windows hypothesis and is thus revealed to be one that privileges the law enforcement role over other conceptions of policing. Through analyzing the ways in which frontline officers understand their job and the roles they perform in this neighbourhood, we learn that police view themselves as 'general service providers' who embrace the law enforcement role, but feel that they must perform social work tasks in order to fill the larger social work service gap. The self-perceptions of frontline officers are then contrasted to those of the individuals policed in order to explore alternative views of the policing of San Francisco's skids. Next, through a discussion of police willingness to effect positive social change in the Tenderloin, we see how police officers at all levels of the institution recognize the politicized nature of policing on the skids. 160 The San Francisco Police Department The San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) was founded in 1849 to keep order during the California Gold Rush. Today, the SFPD is a municipal force composed of approximately four hundred civilians and twenty-three hundred police members7. In the fiscal year 2002-03, the force's annual budget was $307,441,724 (Office of the Controller 2003). The SFPD consists of personnel employed in Administration, Major Investigations and Operations. The Operations Department is responsible for patrol and community policing functions and consists of ten policing districts8 within two divisions: Metro and Golden Gate. The Tenderloin community and neighbouring Union Square form the Tenderloin Police district within the Metro Divisions. This district is the result of a SFPD pilot project begun in 1991 called the Tenderloin Taskforce. The project led to the subsequent creation of the City's tenth policing district in October 2000. The station is located in the heart of the Tenderloin, at the intersection of Eddy and Jones. It is operated under the authority of a district Captain, with seventy-six officers assigned. Officers are deployed to beat functions in one of three sectors; patrol primarily consists of car and bike beats and foot patrols (when there are deemed to be sufficient bodies available). The Department operates staggered ten-hour shifts supervised by a Sergeant 7 Section 4.127 of the City of San Francisco's Charter mandates a minimum staffing level of nineteen hundred and seventy