Silencing the Streets: From Covid Exceptions to Police Crackdowns

Roxana Pessoa Cavalcanti, Deanna Dadusc, Raph Schlembach and Lambros Fatsis

Previously published by the Centre for Spatial, Environmental and Cultural Politics, University of Brighton

As news of the kidnapping and murder of Sarah Everard by a Metropolitan Police Officer became a headline story, a vigil held in her memory was violently suppressed by the very same police force on Clapham Common in London. Both incidents should shock us, but they should occasion no surprise. The world may have suddenly woken up to the reality of violence against women — as it belatedly grappled with police racism after last summer’s #BLM protests — but institutionalised misogyny and police violence are nothing new.

Rather than representing an exception, these events confirmed once more that police violence is not the result of “bad apples” of “isolated accidents”. Migrant women, Black women, women of colour and those who are non-normatively gendered are subject to  racist policing and patriarchal violence every day. For decades, they have been saying that the police are not the answer to gendered and racist violence, but part of the problem. The strength of this political moment — however delayed — is that many (carceral) feminist groups who still addressed the police as a solution to gendered violence and who called for more security, more police and more prisons can now learn from the demands and struggles of social movements and community groups that call for the abolition of the police and the criminal legal system as a whole.

These new alliances, coalitions and the protests they inspire are powerful, but they are already targeted and pursued as “dangerous” and “threatening” by the state and its law enforcement institutions through the introduction of the UK government’s Policing, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill. Rightly nicknamed the “crackdown bill” by those who oppose it, this 296-page document parades its anti-protest stance with pride — raising concerns over its illiberal, undemocratic and discriminatory nature from leading human rights organisations, charities, campaigners and more than 700 legal scholars who (rightly) fear that that aspects of the current emergency powers included in the Coronavirus Act are here to stay. Introduced as a piece of legislation that gives new protections and powers to the police, this new Bill allows senior police officers and the Home Secretary to restrict protest activity in unprecedented ways, while also criminalising the living circumstances of Gypsy, Roma and Traveller communities.

When Protesting Became a Crime

Under the Policing, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill, the police can now impose conditions on static assemblies, including timings and approved noise levels, even when the protest is held by just a single person. It will now become a crime to fail to follow police restrictions that protesters “ought” to have known and it will become an offence to intentionally or recklessly cause public nuisance as part of a protest, however vague or ill-defined this phrase is. Such authoritarian crackdowns on the right to protest are hardly unexpected and entirely consistent with the government’s “law and order” agenda, whose enmity towards protest has been expressed in public statements that described the most recent wave of the Black Lives Matter protests as ‘dreadful’ and labelled Extinction Rebellion activists as ‘criminals’ who ‘disrupt our free society’. Such inflammatory remarks could be ignored as mere reactionary ramblings, yet they threaten to become law. A recent HM Inspectorate of Constabulary, Fire & Rescue Services (HMICFRS) report, which accompanies and complements the Policing, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill, describes ‘activity that seeks to bring about political or social change but does so in a way that involves unlawful behaviour or criminality’ as ‘aggravated activism’. Adopting a Counter Terrorism Policing definition of activism as a form of domestic extremism, such language signals an era of renewed expansion of surveillance on political and social movements.

The criminalisation of dissent that such new legislation further enables is an assault on everyone’s protest rights. The violent suppression of last weekend’s vigils, however, reminds us that men and women are policed differently, as a national study on anti-fracking protests revealed. Scenes of police officers barging into a crowd of mourners, throwing women to the ground and making arrests — as eyewitnesses report — are of a piece with groping and the pulling of clothing to reveal women’s breasts by police officers. A public inquiry is currently investigating the extent to which secretive undercover policing units permitted police officers to deceive female activists into long-term, intimate relationships. Those women who have found that they had been targeted for such operations after their partners’ sudden departures from their lives have long accused the police of institutional sexism and are seeking redress. The practice of having sexual relationships with women in protest groups was apparently so common that some of the victims have spoken of officers conspiring to rape.

As a group of Criminologists at the University of Brighton, we are deeply concerned and angered by tactics used to clamp down on the women-led vigil in Victoria Gardens by the local police force. Neither the statement from Sussex Police, nor the silence from Sussex Police and Crime Commissioner Katy Bourne fill us with confidence that lessons will be learned, or decision-makers will be held accountable. It comes as no surprise to us that further protests have been held outside Brighton police station. Many messages and notes left at the temporary memorial to Sarah Everard in Brighton reveal the deep-seated distrust of policing solutions to male violence. “Police don’t protect”, reads one. “You can’t trust the police anymore”, says another. And “more police powers is never the answer”. As many claimed: “We do not want your protection – just stop killing us”.

Policing Protests and the Politics of Disposability

Making sense of these events, urges us to set up before us a broader canvas for a better understanding of policing and violence against women than conventional portraits of the matter allow. It is worth remembering that the protest vigils were met with police violence because they were against police violence. Such attempts to control, limit, silence and dilute dissenting voices is part of a long process of serving, protecting, maintaining and enforcing an unequal social order that is marked by hierarchies of gender, class, sexuality and “race”. What the policing against last weekend’s vigil and the introduction of the crackdown Bill as an extension of police powers and emergency government reveal, is an attempt to dismantle political opposition and social movements. This political logic exposes the State’s hostile relationship to those who are racialised, gendered and classed as subordinate by ensuring that they feel the full force of the law. Such politics of disposability, or what Achille Mbembe calls ‘necropolitics’ encourage us to understand policing, state violence and gender-based violence as interrelated. Defining ‘who matters and who does not, who is disposable and who is not’, as Mbembe notes, reminds us that the social order we are educated and socialised into is racial, as it is gendered and classed. To maintain such an order, an order maintenance institution is required, and the police are happy to oblige. This helps explain why those who are policed and treated with violence; physical, psychological or structural are Black people, those who are non-normatively gendered and those who are classed as a precarious and disposable workforce.

As we grapple with the implications of the current moment and the intersectional thinking that it requires of us, it is imperative to recognise, as the Combahee River Collective Statement compels us to do four decades after its publication, that ‘the liberation of all oppressed peoples necessitates the destruction of the political-economic systems of capitalism and imperialism as well as patriarchy’. Rethinking our current political moment, therefore, requires us to think about capitalism, imperialism and patriarchy as political economic and cultural systems of oppression that share a common language, ethic and purpose. The policing of protests against police violence therefore illustrates what policing is, what it does, who does it do it to, and who does it do it for; urging us to understand policing as an order maintenance institution that serves and protects a social order that is racialised as “white”, gendered as male or divided into heteronormative binaries and classed according to economic status. If we are to understand policing, we also ought to understand state violence. And to understand state violence, we need to understand that state formation itself is violent, depending as it does on an extractive and repressive logic that is imposed and therefore coercive by its very nature. And this extractive and repressive logic is disproportionately exercised on those who are racialised, gendered and classed as subordinate. As the State proceeds by arming itself with extra powers, empowering ourselves with the knowledge that “toxic masculinity kills” and that “police don’t keep us safe” is the first step towards making our demands heard and remaking the world we want to live in by mobilising our energies to create the conditions for the abolition of interlocking systems of oppression.

Originally published by the Centre for Spatial, Environmental and Cultural Politics, University of Brighton

Embedded institutional crime – the case of the Niger Delta

An economic and political elite class uphold an international order in which crime is structurally embedded, causing decades of struggle for local communities forced to confront the Delta’s harsh environmental conditions.

Phoebe Holmes holds a Masters in Global Development from University of Leeds, and is interested in the political economy of natural resource management, indigenous rights and economic crime. She has worked with INGO WaterAid in researching access to water, sanitation and hygiene for marginalised communities across the global South.

The decision of a Dutch court, who recently ordered Shell’s Nigerian subsidiary to compensate local farmers over recurring oil leaks, has been welcomed by many, having even invoked “tears of joy” to some. While the outcome of this hearing is certainly better than its immediate alternative, celebration is premature. The strength of this case largely lies in its potential to kick-start a cumulative prosecution wave that may eventually mean oil conglomerates are meaningfully held to account.

Putting pressure on governments and international bodies to economically sanction harmful activity in the Niger Delta has proven to be insubstantial in the past. Under neoliberal capitalism, harmful activity is legitimised and reproduced through these practices: if community remuneration is to become commonplace in the oil sector, such expenses will merely become a cost-of-business in an organisational balance sheet. Implicit in the existence of such regulation is acceptance of the transactions that occur, reinforcing the ideology that environmental and social wellbeing has a price tag. A reconceptualisation of crime to encompass the actions of an elite class, and a dismantling of neoliberal ideals, is required to open up the possibility of significant change in the region.

The intricate ecosystem of the Niger Delta is home to countless species of flora and fauna, and is fundamental to the culture, identity and livelihoods of the local Ogoni people. Their way of life has been agonised over the decades, with many communities displaced from ancestral territories, left to survive on land and waters degraded beyond rejuvenation and surrounded by conflict and unrest. Repeated spills have been the source of years of tension between transnational corporations and local communities, a struggle marked by extreme power asymmetries and inexorable ideological incompatibilities.

Today, corporate and institutional actors hold distinguished yet interconnected roles that ultimately complement one another to uphold an international economic order in which crime is embedded. In post-independence Nigeria, unequal power relations and a subordination of the poor majority’s needs to that of capital accumulation were enhanced through globalisation and neoliberalism, aiding corrupt practices and shaping the neo-colonial climate. Internationally, we see that capitalism in its most unsparing form has laid fertile ground for the proliferation of economic crime. However, it must also be understood that to see the dominant economic system per se as the problem is a simplification: we must delve further into the roles of particular powerful actors that represent, enforce and drive the reproduction of neoliberal capitalism.

In considering the above, the corporate actor is perhaps the most obviously befitting – many engaging extensively in lobbying – insulating themselves by having input into regulatory frameworks or working to remove regulation altogether (a painless task in today’s intensely pro-market climate). In Nigeria, oil syndicates consistently act above the law, employing aggressive attempts to block protective legislation for communities. Exact figures of oil spills in the region vary, but it can be safely understood that recent decades have seen millions of barrels of oil illegally leaked into the natural systems of the Niger Delta. Shell Petroleum’s own records depict an annual company average of 221 spills in its area of operation since 1989 – of course, the true figure is likely to be far higher.

Despite these admittances, Shell maintain that sabotage by local vandalists is the primary cause of spillages. While the recent result of the 13-year dispute between the multimillion-dollar oil conglomerate and four local farmers goes some way to shifting mainstream narratives of who is to blame, surface wins are simply not enough to generate sustainable change. Shell and their counterparts must overtly accept responsibility for horrors that occur as a result of their quests for profit, and such acknowledgements need be paired with actionable plans of regeneration. This is the very least that should be done to begin rectifying the unquantifiable level of social and ecological harm that has occurred across the past several decades.

Despite publically declaring their commitment to open and honest accounting, Shell and British Petroleum (BP) have lobbied extensively against this, having successfully overturned rules relating to compliance with revenue spending transparency in the industry. The well-reported execution of Ken SaroWiwa goes to show the brutal reality of the power that these economic actors have in suppressing opposition. What is more shocking, though, is the audacity of criminal corporate players in framing themselves as community saviours, human rights crusaders, or pioneers in sustainability.

Political actors too play a fundamental role in the realisation of economic crime in the Delta and beyond, with an estimated $500bn+ in oil revenues having been looted by Nigerian political leaders since independence, who use their power and access to public office for social, economic, or political private gain. Nigeria has become an infamous example of this, with the creation of a class of politically elite so-called “godfathers” who dictate from the head of substantial patronage networks. At the most fundamental level, the state and the ruling capitalist class collectively harness their institutional power to reproduce social relations and uphold the status quo. In Nigeria, governmental elites engage in the suppression of tribal communities, colluding with oil companies and the military, united by a desire of incessant capitalist expansion and personal riches.

Harms produced, then, are not due to erroneous conduct of either party, but rather central to their very essence and purpose, driven by a search for profit and growth. By virtue of neoliberal logic, the far-away degradation of the Niger Delta’s immense ecosystem can be signed off as an inevitable by-product of profit and accumulation by Shell’s directors in the West. Local governments and international organisations are indivisible from corporates in these interactions, since they actively maintain the global economic order through the elevation of neoliberal ideology, market creation, and portraying corporate prosperity as serving the national interest.

Powerful actors’ ability to influence or dictate regulation is paramount to the proliferation of economic crime – many have commented on the “revolving door” between regulator and regulated. Yet, this regulator/regulated dichotomy overlooks the crucial fact that regulatory bodies essentially exist to serve the same purposes as states and corporations: the conflict-free reproduction of a capitalist world order. The majority of international regulatory treaties are formed in rooms dominated by voices representing the interests of the Global North, perpetuating unequal power dynamics and leading to political practices increasingly recognised as environmentally racist. In this sense, the law often acts as the ultimate protector of capital accumulation, and a fundamental driver of criminal societal harm.

The majority of existing efforts to curtail eco-crime essentially (especially solutions pushed by powerful neoliberal winners) seek a “greener capitalism”, aspiring to regulate inherently environmentally damaging practices. These policies, not dissimilar to remediation settlements like the one mentioned at the start of this piece, ultimately become harm-producing, insofar as they legitimise the marketisation of socially damaging practices.  Under these conditions, governance success is measured by a mere reduction, rather than elimination, of harm. Regulatory frameworks in a capitalist system frequently subordinate the needs of the poor majority to the interests of the economically powerful, whose unyielding ability to subject society to criminal harm often goes legally unchallenged. This tendency is blatantly evidenced in Shell’s most recent Sustainability Report, where it is claimed that if avoiding adverse social and environmental outcomes is “not possible”, strategies are employed to minimise impacts.

When it comes to prosecution, the tale endures. Criminal justice systems “are inevitably manned, controlled and operated by, and in the interest of, members of the ruling class who have a vested and entrenched interest in sustaining and even extending corrupt practices” (Osoba, 2007). They are built with an inherent propensity to evade the prosecution of the powerful. There are some exceptions to this general tendency: on occasion, it is necessary for justice systems to engage in symbolic acts to display their functioning. In these instances, regulatory bodies will identify and punish corporate violation, subordinating one entity’s immediate needs to meet the long-term demands of capital en masse, whilst also assisting in the legitimisation of the justice system as a whole (Tombs and Whyte, 2010).

In the Niger Delta, tougher regulations, penalties and sanctions will be inadequate in materialising positive outcomes for local people. This is proven by the extensive amount of regulatory treaties applicable to the region, which have been limited in creating meaningful change for communities. The act of regulating an inherently damaging practice underscores the deep-rooted problem posed by the current politico-economic paradigm. Normative economic reform will simply reinvent the way in which the powerful generate harm. Paradigmatically-complicit attempts to restore the natural systems of the Delta are themselves swimming against a tide of prevailing neoliberal ideologies that will ultimately undermine efforts to “green” the extractive industry.

It remains that institutional actors’ hegemonic position advances the propagation of economic crime. Maintenance of the neoliberal economic order is crime-enabling, since peaceful social reproduction serves vested interests of a powerful minority class, who fail to operate according to society’s wider needs. In Nigeria’s Niger Delta, such conditions have resulted in an enduring struggle by local communities to obtain a fair, comfortable way of life.


Phoebe Holmes


Photographs courtesy of author and Pixabay

Is Nothing Sacred: The Creation of a Criminal Other

How cultural genocide has led to the Australian indigenous population to be viewed as a ‘criminal other’.

Andy Diaper is an independent social researcher. He works with vulnerable and excluded people within the community. His main research interests are groups that are excluded, harmed, and criminalised, including indigenous populations.

On 24th May 2020, two ancient rock shelters in the Juukan Gorge in the Pilbara region of Western Australia were destroyed by blasting. The Anglo-Australian multinational mining corporation Rio Tinto carried out the blasting work.  This was to increase the size of their open-cut iron ore mine named Brockman 4. These shelters were sacred sites to the indigenous population and of great archaeological/spiritual importance. This was the only site in Australia  to show continual human occupation stretching back forty-six thousand years.

Rio Tinto were fully aware of both the historical (they had commissioned an archaeological survey of the site) and the spiritual importance. It was not the only option for the expansion, they had investigated four options: three of which would not have damaged the rock shelters. The reason this option was chosen was it would yield an extra eight million tonnes of high-grade iron ore with a net value of seventy-five million pounds.

The traditional owners of the area the Poutu Kunti Kurrama and Pinikura People (PKKP) only learned of the blasting nine days before the detonation. Lawyers acting on behalf of the PKKP contacted the Federal Indigenous Affairs minister to intervene on heritage grounds. The minister’s office never replied to the lawyers. It should be made clear that Rio Tinto were acting under  section 18 of the Western Australia Aboriginal Heritage Act 1972.

Was this act a singular event? Or a misunderstanding? Rio Tinto has a very poor record in its dealings with the environment and indigenous populations. This event can be viewed as a continuation of the cultural genocide of the indigenous people of Australia.

This cultural genocide is not carried out in an overt way. There is no single perpetrator creating death camps, destroying cultural symbols and sites in the name of some form of purity. This could be called the ‘banality of genocide’. That is there is no single perpetrator, no monstrous ‘other’. This is genocide by a thousand cuts, this is not just a simple metaphor. It was borne out of colonialism with its inherent racism and profiteering which has been reproduced by governments over time. With the ever-increasing move to neoliberal politics this has created the space for other actors to exploit the continuing destruction of the indigenous population to meet their own wants. It can be argued that the neoliberal project is harmful to all vulnerable and disempowered populations. Any concentration on the meritocratic path holds an expectation for the individual to improve their position within the social structure. If however, you are denied the means to achieve this, it can only lead to aspirational failure, despair, and frustration. In the case of the indigenous population this is particularly toxic. With the ongoing destruction of their culture, they become a people with no ‘roots’ or ‘culture’ within what is their own country. In effect a diaspora within their own country.

Genocidal acts against the indigenous population began with colonisation: both physical and cultural. They lost all rights to their land when it was declared ‘Terra Nullis’, as this legitimised the seizure of the land. The indigenous population was decimated by diseases brought in by the colonisers, to which they had no natural immunity. Also, there were deliberate acts of slaughter. These state-sanctioned massacres were not just committed in the early years of colonisation but continued up to the late1920’s.

It was not until 1967 that the Australian government recognised the indigenous population as individualised people. However, even with this recognition it has not eliminated the discrimination, inequality and other harms being perpetrated.

Examples of these harms are 3.1 percent of the Australian population is indigenous, however, 19.3 percent live in poverty compared to 12.4 percent of other Australians. Approximately 20 percent living in non-rural areas live in overcrowded accommodation. The combination of poor housing and poverty impacts on health and mortality outcomes which are also poorer and higher than other Australians. Youth suicide between the ages of five and seventeen is five times higher than non-indigenous people. There is an overrepresentation in the Australian Child Protection system of indigenous children. It is argued that this system supports thousands of jobs from various professions. For example, lawyers, social workers, medical professionals and psychologists, these groups benefit financially from ‘indigenous disadvantage’ A causal reason for this overrepresentation is poverty and systemic racism. It has been likened to a second ‘stolen generation’.

 The indigenous population is also heavily overrepresented in the criminal justice system. Indigenous people are 12.5 times more likely to be in prison as opposed to non-indigenous people. Indigenous females are 21.2 times more likely to be in prison than non-indigenous women. This imprisonment rate is also higher than the rate for non-indigenous men. This overrepresentation has been recognised as symptomatic of the historical and current harms to this population. This also applies to the higher death rate in custody.

The harms perpetrated on the indigenous population, colonisation, post-colonial actions, institutional racism, and an increasing turn to neoliberal politics, is a toxic mix. By its nature neoliberal politics opens the ‘space’ for the private sector to run roughshod over the weak and vulnerable. The belief that it is the responsibility of individuals – not the state – to improve lives, becomes a potential breeding ground for the perpetuation and increase of racism in the wider public. The overrepresentation of the indigenous population in the justice and ‘social care’ system and entrenched racism has led to a misrecognition. The indigenous people are viewed as the architects of their own plight. They are viewed as a criminal ‘other’ and not worthy of help and protection.

On January 26th, each year, the Australian nation celebrate ‘Australia Day’. This marks the raising of the union flag in 1788, some two hundred and thirty-three years ago, beginning the colonisation of Australia. For the indigenous population it is not a day of celebration but a day of mourning. A visceral reminder of the divisiveness, harms and abuses perpetrated upon them historically and continuing  in the present. These harms will continue until those in positions of power move away from tokenism and introduce and strengthen equal and human rights and the protection of indigenous lands.

The article will conclude back in the rock shelters at Juukan gorge, more than seven thousand archaeological artifacts were discovered. One of these was a fragment  of a belt made from plaited human hair. After scientific analysis it was found to be four thousand years old. The DNA results revealed that the owner of the hair was a direct descendant of the PKKP indigenous people still inhabiting this region today.


Andy Diaper, Independent Researcher.


Twitter: @andy_diaper  

Author image courtesy of Melissa Diaper.

Cave art image copyright free.