The (former) Attorney General Named “Peace”

 

Above: Former Attorney General of Guatemala (and 2013 Nobel Peace Prize nominee) Claudia Paz y Paz meets then U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

Yesterday, Attorney General Claudia Paz y Paz was officially eliminated from the shortlist of candidates for appointment to the position of Attorney General of Guatemala. That means that she will no longer lead Guatemala’s Ministerio Publico, which is essentially the backbone of Guatemala’s legal justice system. The Public Ministry, akin to a federal prosecutor’s office but local and national in scope, is in charge of seeking justice by turning criminal cases into convictions through careful investigation, evidence-gathering, and legal argument. Why does the elimination of Paz y Paz as a candidate matter? Because no one has been more effective at solving high-level crimes and getting convictions on everything from femicides to drug trafficking than Paz y Paz and her team (see new post above for statistical evidence).

 

But first a story. In 2013 while I was conducting follow-up interviews with ex-gang members I first met in 2007, I asked *Diego, a local gatekeeper and small business owner from Ciudad Quetzal about the gang situation in that community. Ciudad Quetzal is a satellite town on the outskirts of Guatemala City. Residents of Guatemala City regard Ciudad Quetzal as a dangerous hotspot of gang activity. Extortion of homeowners, small businesses, and buses has been rampant in Ciudad Quetzal for years. Does the extortion continue? I wondered aloud. Diego, a well-educated pharmacist who lives and works in the community told me, “Yes, it continues. But it isn’t really the gangs who are behind it any more.” He explained that although the local youth gangs had developed the practice of extorting their neighbors for the so-called “war tax,” in recent years the extortion has been taken over by outsiders. Specifically, an organized criminal gang with ties to the military now oversees the extortion racket in Ciudad Quetzal, collecting the proceeds from the safety of Chimaltenango, about forty-five minutes away. To be sure, a former gang member is involved in the operation. In fact, this former leader of the local gang cell continues to collect the extortion fees. But, Diego informed me, it is an open secret that the former gang leader works for the shady Chimaltenango outfit. The local youth gangs have been effectively maneuvered out of an “enterprise” they themselves invented and established.

Of course I cannot confirm or otherwise “prove” the validity of my informant’s account, but it wasn’t the first time I’d heard of such a situation. In Guatemala and Honduras especially, there are numerous accounts of organized criminals carrying out major crimes in the guise of the gangs. In the case of extortion in particular I have heard multiple accounts of Guatemalans believing themselves to be extorted by gangs, only to find out later that those behind the extortion were not gang members at all, but members of local or regional units that extort under the guise of the gang. In one case in particular, a close friend told me how her entire family had had to leave their home abruptly and permanently after receiving multiple telephone calls from “la Mara Salvatrucha” asking for thousands of dollars in cash and providing intimate details about all family members and their daily routines. Not until more than a year later – after the family had pooled all of its resources to take out a mortgage on a small home in another part of the city – did the family learn from a very reliable source that the individuals who had tried to extort them were actually neighbors living just a few doors down the same street. Specifically, a mother and her adult son who possessed ties to organized crime had married into a local family that owned a neighborhood tienda (store). The newcomers had used their position at the store as well as their participation in a local prayer group in order to gain intimate details about the residents of that neighborhood. Their extortion calls always led with “Somos la maratrucha” when in fact, they had no connection at all to the gangs. Eventually, my friend told me, the newcomers had encountered problems with enemies from outside the community and had left the community for good – that is when my friend learned about the source of the extortion.

The point here is not that gangs are unfairly maligned, nor am I suggesting that gangs do not continue to engage in extortion. They do. But even when they are involved directly, they rarely if ever act without the help of outsiders whose social position can provide protection from arrest and prosecution. Thus, addressing gang violence effectively requires a lot more than hiring more police or making more arrests of gang members. These strategies will make little if any impact on gang violence. Instead, the legal system will need to invest considerable energy and resources into ferreting out connections between gang members and their local sponsor-protectors, and building cases that put an end to the cooperation that feeds and protects local extortion rackets, gang-led or otherwise. A well-funded and capable Ministerio Publico is absolutely essential to this task.

Guatemala’s Ministerio Public is far from perfect. But it would be difficult to imagine a more impressive track record than that amassed under the leadership of Attorney General Paz y Paz. In a country that has long struggled to carry criminal cases – including the most serious – to conviction, Paz y Paz and her team have managed to increase the conviction numbers from 2,884 in 2008 to 6,188 in 2013 (Paz y Paz took the helm in 2010). Some of her team’s most impressive accomplishments include arresting hitherto “untouchable” drug traffickers such as Horst Walther Overdick (los Zetas) and Juan Alberto López Ortíz (Cartel Sinaloa). Paz y Paz has also gained international acclaim for taking femicide – a serious problem in Guatemala – seriously by creating a join task force for crimes against women and by introducing a single office where abused women can get access to a prosecutor, a forensic specialist, a social worker and a psychologist all in one place. Perhaps the most widely discussed case though, was the trial of former president and military general Efraín Ríos Montt and one of his former associates, for “acts of genocide.” The case, which ended with a conviction of Ríos Montt but not his chief of intelligence, won widespread acclaim from human rights organizations and furious protest from Guatemala’s elite business sector (many of whom had supported the dirty war of Ríos Montt). Several days later, Guatemala’s Constitutional Court overturned the case on the basis of a procedural technicality.

Personally, I do not believe that the Ríos Montt case is the crown jewel of the Paz y Paz MP administration. It was impressive indeed, and even historic, that a former head of state would be compelled to stand trial within his own country for atrocious crimes, including massacres of whole villages, that took place under his watch and likely with his assent. But there were some weaknesses in the trial and in the design of the case brought by the Public Ministry in its prosecution that, I think, could have been avoided.

And yet, if a robust, evidence-based approach to solving major crimes is essential to developing public trust in the justice system, one can only lament the early dismissal of Paz y Paz and the refusal by the Postulation Commission to reappoint her on the basis of her acclaimed record as a litigator and an administrator. Indeed, according to Stephen Dudley, in his recently-released report Guatemala: The War of Paz y Paz the Attorney General has succeeded largely by creating systems within the Public Ministry that collaborate on the collection and organization of forensic evidence and by strengthening and resourcing these groups so that they can do their jobs effectively. “The emphasis on analysis says a lot about the way Paz y Paz approaches battling criminal groups,” Dudley writes. “To her, individual cases matter, of course, but fighting crime is about seeing patterns and being able to draw the larger picture.”

It is at least possible that a new Attorney General could carry forward some of the momentum achieved by Paz y Paz and her team – including a homicide rate that has been declining since 2009. But it is just as likely that the jockeying and leveraging that has gone into influencing the outcome of the selection committee will ultimately taint the outcome. Here’s hoping for the former outcome.

Efraín Ríos Montt: A Guatemalan Rorschach Test

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Interfaith Radio: Struggling with the Legacy of Ríos Montt

Drugs, gangs, and organized crime are probably the most common contributors to violence in Guatemala today (violence which has actually been in modest decline for several years now). But once upon a time in the not too distant past, almost all of the violence in that country was political in nature, the result of a massive internal war between leftist guerrillas and a ruthless national army. No name is more famous — or notorious — in discussions of that violence than that of Efraín Ríos Montt, a military general who was promoted by the military to a triumvirate of authority in 1982 and soon afterward, became the de facto president of the nation. In fact, if we took away the “urban” in the sub-title of this blog, such that it read “A Sociologist’s Blog about Religion and Violence in Central America,” many readers would expect to find frequent posts about Ríos Montt, his legacy, his trial, and the on-going debate over that deeply freighted term, “genocide.” Recently I was invited to be a guest in the recording of a radio program about this topic for the syndicated NPR show called “Interfaith Voices.” The entire episode is devoted to discussing the topic of Ríos Montt and his impact upon religion and politics in Guatemala. Although I am really a scholar of current politics, violence, and religion, and not exactly a scholar of that period of Guatemala´s history, I was privileged to share the mic with Virginia Garrard-Burnett, who is probably the senior scholar who has done more research on Ríos Montt than anyone else, certainly in this country. I thought the program turned out nicely, and provides a very interesting 30 minutes of reflection, even though this is a topic that has already received a good deal of attention, especially in the wake of Ríos Montt´s conviction for genocide last year, and the subsequent overturning of that conviction a week later. These are very “live” issues for the Guatemalan public even today. I will leave for another time my thoughts about the trial itself and, specifically, the decision by the prosecution to seek the genocide conviction. For now, I am simply posting the radio show. If you are already very familiar with the story, and interested in the particular discussion of the impact of Ríos Montt on Guatemalan religion, you may want to skip ahead to the 11-minute marker. (But don´t go too far or you’ll miss a very RARE interview with former mega-church pastor Harold Caballeros.)

One of the points I try to make in the interview is that Guatemala continues to be deeply divided over how to interpret the legacy of Ríos Montt and, in the process, how to treat this man, now in his mid-eighties, lionized and vilified by millions. By calling Ríos Montt and his legacy a “Rorschach test” I am not implying that there is no definitive answer to the question of whether Ríos caused harm (great harm) or not. He did. Rather, I’m emphasizing that Guatemalans “remember” very different things when they talk about him, and indeed when they talk about the violence of the 1980s in general. More reason to support (and read) the excellent work of historians like Garrard-Burnett.

Religious NGO’s and Justice: A Unique Approach in Honduras

About a month ago the New York Times printed a story by Nicholas Phillips, a free-lance journalist who has been doing research on Central American gangs recently. He sent me the link to this story but I was so busy I forgot to post it at the time. The article profiles a very interesting program spearheaded by theAsociación para una Sociedad más Justa, which is an organization supported by Christian Reformed churches and individuals, especially in the Grand Rapids, Michigan area. Kurt Alan Ver Beek is a sociologist on faculty at Calvin College who, in addition to teaching and conducting research on development in Honduras, helps provide leadership to ASJ in Honduras. In the article, he points out:

“We often blame the police, but what’s underreported in all this is that these cases also require witnesses to be brave. Fear on the part of witnesses is just as big of a problem as corruption in the system. And both create a vicious circle.”

Most folks tend to think of religious gang intervention programs aseither preventive or restorative in nature, but the ASJ program focuses on justice for victims and, interestingly, does so in cooperation with (hand-picked, trustworthy) members of the police and the courts.

“The investigators are part of an experiment in Nueva Suyapa that shows how the cycle of violence and impunity can be broken when middlemen do the work that the police and prosecutors either cannot or will not, tracking down witnesses, gaining their trust and persuading them to cooperate with the authorities.”

I have grown increasingly convinced that in order to address the problem of gang violence in Central America, judicial reform is absolutely critical. Prosecutors (in Honduras it’s the “investigative police” while in Guatemala it’s the Ministerio Publico) must have both the resources and the political will behind them in order to do their job effectively. After all, when fewer than 10% of murders reach a conviction, as is the case in Guatemala, not only do those who commit murder have the option of continuing in the trade, but victims’ families find it very difficult to opt for taking information to the police rather than simply arranging for “punishment” often through a third party (including the opposing gang). But I typically talk about judicial reform as something that needs to happen at the highest levels through pressure from the UN or international human rights advocates. But ASJ is using a kind of bottom-up approach (although they also advocate for structural reforms in the justice system as well).

It requires a change of perspective in order to imagine a church-sponsored private investigator, but ASJ is doing some groundbreaking work here, I believe. Last summer I met a Pentecostal pastor whose church in a barrio of Tegucigalpa provides an office for an ASJ-sponsored lawyer who takes complaints from community members, including extortion, and follows up on them, often working hard in order to reassure the victim or family that they will be kept safe and that the information will not end up in the wrong hands. It will be interesting to see if the idea catches on. Surely, a lot depends on the success of cases like those of Nueva Suyapa.

Salvadoran Gang Leaders Assess the Truce

Yesterday’s front page story on ElFaro.net is a piece by Sala Negra writers Carlos Martinez and Jose Luis Sanz. And let me say to begin, these guys are really good at what they do. They work hard to get interviews with everyone involved in the Salvadoran gang and crime debate that has so enveloped that nation, especially since the time of the truce (a story they themselves broke). They have discussed the truce with everyone from incarcerated gang leaders to media-savvy (and not so savvy) politicians as well as the priests and pastors who have at times been involved. More importantly, they don’t hesitate to ask their guests the really tough questions. So I was delighted to see that, after a long period of not having access to gang members, the authors once again sat down to discuss the current status of the gang truce first introduced in 2012.

It isn’t necessary (or feasible) to provide a history of the truce here. Elfaro has done a better job than anyone else at chronicling that entirely unexpected, sometimes mystifying series of events during the past two years. Suffice it to say that with the secret blessing of the FMLN administration and the participation of a number of actors, including a Roman Catholic bishop (whose role it would later be argued was largely, though not “merely,” symbolic), a process of negotiation was begun in February 2012 in which some incarcerated gang members were transferred from an overcrowded maximum-security prison to a medium-security prison where face-to-face dialogs were facilitated leading to a “no more killing” pact between the three principal gang organizations. Immediately following the reaching of an “accord,” the homicide rate dropped by about fifty percent. Although there is a great deal of ambiguity surrounding the truce, the fact the murder rate was cut in half — to about 35 murders per 100,000 residents per year — is not really a matter of debate. Although homicides went up modestly in 2013, they are still far less frequent today than they were in 2011, the last full year before the truce, when they stood at 67/100,000.

Today, with just weeks before the next presidential elections, there are signs that the truce may be nearing an end. The FMLN has essentially backed away from the truce but the gang leaders are arguing that a total abandonment, whether by the FMLN or by the ARENA should that party win, will result in a situation that is at least as deadly, if not more so, than the murder rate of 2011. Many Salvadorans hear in such predictions a veiled threat, and they understandably bristle at the thought of gang leaders holding the population hostage by promising a rise in violence if their demands aren’t met. And yet, as the gang leaders interviewed in today’s piece point out, the gangs have rarely asked for more than that their constitutional rights be respected. Prior to the truce, there were many documented abuses of such rights — such as visitation rights for incarcerated gang members, and the removal of military personnel from prison posts, where, it was argued, they were able to compile information about gang members’ families in order to extort them for money or information.

In yesterday’s Elfaro piece, Martinez and Sanz sit down with leaders of the three groups making up the M-18. Two belong to the “Revolutionary” wing of the M-18 and the other belongs to the Sur, or “main” group. Although these are not the top leaders of the gangs, they are the highest ranking members outside the prison. Also, about half-way through the interview, the loquacious Sergio Mijangos, political architect and chief spokesperson for the truce, can’t help himself and joins the conversation from the sidelines. (We can only assume that his presence was required in order to make the interview happen.)

The interview is remarkable for a number of reasons. First, as the journalists themselves admit, the eloquence of the gang (sub-)leaders is arresting. These guys possess amazingly refined political instincts. They know what to say, and what not to say. One gets the impression that they are not dissembling so much as trying to avoid language that could come back to haunt them, even while they try hard to help outsiders understand their organization. At times though, they are painfully honest, admitting the problems and mistakes of members of their own group with surprising frankness.

Most importantly, the gang leaders are candid about the difficulties they face in trying to reign in the violence of their own members — especially of the youngest members. They openly admit that maintaining “discipline” with regard to the no-killing rule takes enormous time and effort. And, although without saying so in so many words, they allow it to be known that it is with violence that they punish rule-breakers. Essentially, the result of this policy is that when a gang member breaks the no-murder rule, the result will be two homicides rather than one. The journalists press them on this. Are they really claiming to use murder to punish murder and if so, isn’t this a contradiction of their own policy? [A good question to ask the 26 U.S. states that continue to practice capital punishment, I thought.] The leaders reply deftly that they have a variety of means available to them for punishing betrayers of the truce. Thus, they never come out and state their policy of execution for betraying the truce, but neither do they deny it.

What we have here is a fascinating instance of what sociologists call a system of “social control” — but it is neither entirely “legal control” nor merely “informal control.” That is, the gangs have developed mechanisms for exercising social control that follow prescribed (though not necessarily written) rules and punishments. They even allude to the practice of gathering information about a truce violation before making a decision about punishment, much like a court of law. Furthermore, it becomes apparent during the interview that the truce brought new responsibility for the gangs. The sub-leaders argue that many of the street murders that are attributed to the gangs, are not actually conducted by jumped-in gang members. Some are murders committed by high school kids who get drunk and have access to the firearms that are so plentiful in the marginal barrios. (Experience and data tell us that this argument is not fantasy. In Guatemala, the most violent regions of the country are not gang-controlled neighborhoods, and there is good evidence that many of the killings in these places, much like in the streets of Caracas, have to do with personal feuds and vendettas, not merely the drug trade.) However, because even non-gang murders reflect on the gang, the gang leadership must address them, “punishing” in effect even those who are not full-fledged gang members, for violating a truce between the gangs. What we have then is a system in which the gangs are executing justice and promoting crime control in areas where the state’s criminal justice system has practically, if not formally, forfeited that role. This situation might be similar to some immigrant communities in New York City at the turn of the century or in prohibition-era Chicago.

Almost as interesting as this discussion of the gangs’ participation in the execution of justice is the discussion of charging “rent” (extortion) to non-gang members and business owners in gang-controlled neighborhoods. Many Salvadorans are angry that the “truce” has not diminished the practice of extortion, a gang practice that in many ways affects more Salvadorans, and in more direct ways, than the killings between gang members and other barrio youth. The authors ask the gang sub-leaders essentially: “If you can tell gang members not to kill, why don’t you tell them not to extort?” A fair question, to which the Sur sub-leader replies:

For me that would be the correct thing to do. But what kind of answer would I get? At a  minimum [the young homie] is going to ask me if I’ve got a job for him. I’m going to have to tell him, “Hang on a couple of years and the government will have something for you.” He’s going to say to me, “F— you! And what am I supposed to do tomorrow?” These are huge problems. How can it be possible that in two years [since the beginning of the truce] no one has been able to provide the wherewithal to — hell, I don’t know — to say “this is what we’re going to do” in order that the grassroots of our gangs start to feel like if they straighten out, there’s going to be something for them other than just a jail cell. I can hold them back but I’ve also got to offer him something as a person, so that he can start changing from the inside.

This comment struck me as sincere and prescient. The problem of rent-charging (on which the gangs rely for economic survival) is fairly simple and straightforward, though certainly NOT easy to solve. It is always difficult to “create” jobs and match them to the skills, education, and abilities of persons whose socialization has left them outside the formal labor market for most of their lives. There are certainly individuals and organizations working at this task. What’s needed is more political will, and more dedication at every level — the local, the communal, and the national level. Although I am not an expert in the Salvadoran experience nor in the truce per se, the interview left me, again, with the distinct impression that the truce has opened up some space, and bought some time, but that by itself, the truce is far from a “solution.” A lot depends on what happens from here — both in the sense of whether or not the elections bring in a government with the political will to spend sufficiently and wisely on a social problem (urban youth violence with a great deal of gang involvement) that took two decades to evolve and, as a result, will take about as long to effectively address. Meanwhile, individual communities and the religious and civic organizations active in them, can make choices about how they wish to address the violence in their own communities. Because, as we have seen already in the U.S., massive incarceration creates at least as many problems as it “solves.”

Watching (and loving) La Camioneta

Last night I finally watched La Camioneta, a 2012 documentary film about a school bus that travels from Pennsylvania to Guatemala, where it is transformed and outfitted for its second life as a brightly-colored extra-urban bus ferrying mostly indigenous passengers to and from the satellite town of Ciudad Quetzal. Although multiple people had recommended this film to me, it wasn’t until my wife discovered that the film was available for streaming on Netflix that we finally sat down to watch it. Although the film starts a bit slowly, patient viewers will be rewarded with an emotionally moving visual and aural experience that “transports” the audience across two borders and (briefly) back again.

I was prepared for the story of the transformation of a bus. Last year I had a long conversation with a bus driver (during a 3-hour bus ride across the Altiplano) who described to me in great detail the physical transformation undergone by the hundreds of buses brought done to Guatemala every year. Most of them, he said, are overhauled at one of several body shops in Chimaltenango, that armpit of the Panamerican Highway. The bus company owners typically purchase a school bus for about $10,000 at a U.S. auction, put a few thousand dollars into transporting and licensing the bus, and then pump another $25,000 into the physical and mechanical transformation of the unit before putting it to work (typically under the care of the driver who has shown himself the most deserving of a “new” set of wheels). Among the most costly factors involved in such transformations are the elimination of about 10 feet of length — making the bus more amenable to getting around in the narrow streets of Santa Cruz or Chichicastenango — and the replacement of the front hood/cap with a Blue Bird or Harley Davidson hood/cap. This last, very expensive detail, I was told, is simply “pura vanidad” and has no practical payoff other than to make the driver and his ayudante beam the more proudly.

Interestingly however, La Camioneta follows a bus that is transformed by a much smaller outfit than the body shops of Chimaltenango. The film follows a bus that appears to have been purchased by a small-time entrepreneur who immediately sells it (on credit and with only a verbal contract by all appearances) to a young indigenous father from a neighboring rural village who is looking to improve his economic prospects with this very serious investment. Thus, this transformation will not be nearly as substantial nor expensive as that of the typical bus purchased by one of the major bus lines of the Western highlands. In this case the body shop does not slice off the last 20% of the bus, nor do they replace the hood with an expense chromed-out Harley hood. But the pay-off for following this bus rather than a “typical” bus is that we get to see a self-taught artist at work in his make-shift “studio.” The body shop is an open-air outfit on the edge of a corn field and everyone — from the importer, to the painter, to the the buyer are indigenous Mayan young men who have found a way to thrive in a very difficult labor market.

I was surprised and delighted to find that, although the film is ostensibly about buses and the lives of those whose living is tied up with them, the film treats the two major themes of my book with deft and sensitivity. The gangs are a constant concern of bus drivers. We see news footage of the awful bombing of a bus on the San Juan in 2009, and we hear bus drivers speaking worriedly about the dilemmas of their newly dangerous occupation. But we also hear them discussing with an air of matter-of-factness the extortion fees levied by the local gangs. Such matter-of-fact discussions do not diminish the dangers of not paying the gangs — although recently the gangs have reportedly renounced the tactic of killing bus drivers in order to ensure extortion payment — but they do provide hints that in some cases, inhabitants have come to regard the gangs as adolescent neighbors who are more of an annoyance than an insurmountable barrier to conducting business. (I conducted several of my interviews with former gang members in Ciudad Quetzal, the dusty satellite town where much of this documentary is filmed.)

The film also reveals the religious aspect of life in Guatemala and it treats this theme with an equally deft (and ecumenical) touch. In one scene, the purchaser of the bus invites his Pentecostal pastor — accompanied by the pastorawhose Bible and simultaneous prayers exhibit her own spiritual authority — to board the bus and prayerfully invoke God’s blessing on it’s future. In another scene, we see a Catholic priest blessing a parking lot full of decorated buses. And along the way, we see San Cristobal, patron saint of the bus drivers carrying a child on his shoulders. Dodging the opportunity to engage in another round of tired jokes about the irony of the many buses that carry religious symbols and sex symbols side-by-side, the film tries to see the lives of the bus drivers, importers, and body shop artists through the eyes of a curious, but humble outsider.

There is more to say about this gorgeous film. I am tempted to gush about the wisdom of the filmmakers in avoiding the rural versus urban, or the ladino versus indigenous tropes engaged in by too many ideological academics. But instead I can only beseech readers who have not yet seen the film to treat themselves to this film, which is both an outstanding piece of art, and an exceptionally faithful rendering of life in the Guatemala of the 2010s.

Honduras Braces Itself

This Sunday Hondurans will vote in a general election for a new president and congress. There are three main parties vying for position instead of the usual two. The reason for this is a split in the “Liberal” party since the 2009 coup in which the military, backed by Congress and much of Honduras’s middle class and ruling class, ousted then President Manuel Zelaya. Zelaya was hardly a paragon of transparency but the coup was clearly a step backward for the nation and, according to most knowledgeable Hondurans, helped further clear terrain for the drug cartels and organized crime rings to play with a free hand. Eric Olson, who works at the Latin America desk of the Wilson Center in D.C., had a nice column in yesterday’s Miami Herald. If you’re like most Americans, even those few who know something about Central America, you probably know little about Honduras, which now holds the title of the most violent nation in the Western hemisphere — and second only to Afghanistan in the world. Although I will be disappointed if the current “official party” candidate wins, over the longer haul the winner of the elections matters less than some other key issues like campaign finance reform and the establishment of a robust human rights and corruption observation office. There have been some advances in this area, one of which is evident in the Observatorio de la Violencia.

“Man up!”: When Beer Commercials Get Tough

I have been thinking about masculinity and violence a great deal recently, especially after a recent trip to Bogotá, Colombia, where I had the opportunity speak with folks who are addressing (male) youth violence in their communities. Then, last night, Jackson Katz came to campus to speak about male violence against women. That, and an assignment for my social theory students caused me to think about a blog I wrote about masculine norms in beer commercials a couple of years ago. An earlier version of this article first appeared on the This Week in Sociology blog in March 2011.

While watching the NCAA basketball tournament in recent weeks (along with Rhys Williams and many other sociology departments across the country), I found it difficult to ignore what appears to be an increase in the frequency of commercials ridiculing men who trespass the dominant masculine norms with their clothing and appearance. For example, three separate Miller Light commercials mock men who wear tight jeans, spend too much time on their hair, and tee off from the “ladies tee.” Just as remarkable is a series of Old Spice ads that directly challenge women (not men) to make sure “your man smells like Old Spice and not a lady.” Hyper-masculine commercials are not entirely new, of course. They appear in every Super Bowl and on every Monday Night Football show. But these recent commercials seem to carry a new intensity—as if there were suddenly more at stake. I suggest that such “tough comedy” commercials present us with a form of social control aimed at policing masculinity norms in direct response to a trend toward experimenting with alternative masculinities.

But why pay attention to commercials? After all, aren’t advertisers and the company stockholders they represent simply interested in making money? They get our attention by making us laugh, so why take them seriously? True enough, the company executives who fund the advertisements and pay millions of dollars to have them aired during highly-rated sporting events are interested first and foremost in making money. But whether or not they are misogynists or homophobes (or supportive of progressive causes) is beside the point. The sociological perspective compels us to look beyond the motives of individuals to examine the social impact of institutions like the media. When we do so, we find that patterns of inequality are both revealed and sustained through media—yes, even through beer commercials.

The first commercial to catch my attention was the Miller Light skinny jeans commercial. In it, an attractive female bartender taunts a physically unattractive (but cocky) customer for “borrowing your girlfriend’s pants.” Others join in on the fun, ridiculing him for confusing a women’s fashion trend with men’s fashion. The ad ends when a deep-voiced narrator commands viewers (men, it is presumed) to “Man up! And choose a light beer with more taste!” A couple of details are worth noting here. First, note that the overt message contained in the ad, and in the whole series of commercials, is that beer drinkers should pay more attention to how their beer tastes. Let’s assume for a moment that Miller Light beer actually tastes better than other light beers. (Stay with me, this is purely hypothetical.) Since when are “real men” supposed to care about taste? The creators of the ad must know that they are taking a chance by asking men to buy beer on the basis of gustatory judgment. No wonder the commercials try to (re)cast tasteful discrimination as thoroughly masculine. Second, a quick look at the dress of the actors in the commercial reveals that the attire of everyone in the commercial reinforces the gendered norm—men are supposed to wear loose-fitting clothes while women should choose clothing that makes them attractive to men. The tank tops and tight jeans worn by the women show skin, shape, and size, while the loose jeans and flannels worn by all of the men—excluding the hapless norm violator—conceal the details of body shape and size.

It’s worth pointing out that the “deviant male” in this commercial is not completely deluded. Skinny jeans are in fact a new fashion trend on the rise among men. As early as 2009, the Wall Street Journal published a story on the growth of this new recession-proof market for expensive, tight-fitting men´s jeans. Nor has the fashion trend been confined to urban elites who can afford designer jeans. Just yesterday I happened to be in Sears—hardly at the forefront of the fashion movement—where Levi’s openly promoted its “Skinny Leg Jean” for men. Clearly then, the skinny jeans commercial represents a reaction to a genuine fashion trend. Some men do choose to wear tight jeans, but, we are told, this is unacceptable. Why is it so offensive? Could it be because they are uncomfortable or restrict freedom of movement, or sexually objectify the wearer? No. Skinny jeans are unacceptable, we are told, because they are women’s fashion.

Raewyn Connell’s concept of hegemonic masculinity is helpful here. Connell argues that 1) there are many gender types, both masculine and feminine, and that 2) these gender norms exist not side-by-side but in a hierarchy, at the top of which lies a single, dominant cluster of norms called “hegemonic masculinity.” The term may sound like a mouthful but it is really just another way of describing the “king of the gender hill.” Connell’s work reminds us that in the social world we have inherited, gender and power are inextricably linked. It is not the case that femininities and masculinities represent merely different poles of ideals. No, masculinity, and especially one particular way of being a man—the dominant way of hegemonic masculinity that embraces risk, competition, heterosexual conquest, and the suppression of emotional vulnerability—thrives on the subordination of women and on the marginalization of alternative ways of being a man. One more thing. Hegemonic masculinity is virtually invisible. It is the set of social norms for “proper” male behavior that are so “norm-al” that many of us often forget they even exist. Of course “real men” don’t wear a skirt, or cry in public, or stay with the kids so that mom can work. No one even needs to remind us of the gender rules for men. They seem perfectly natural.

Which brings us back to the guy in spandex jeans. Clearly, he needs a reminder, we are told. We all need some reminders apparently. And so a whole set of commercials has sprung up aimed at pointing out how “obviously ridiculous” men are who fail to grasp the importance of distinguishing their own jeans or deodorant from their female partners’. It’s easy to laugh at these commercials because the men who violate the norms seem so patently foolish, so “deserving” of ridicule. But don’t be fooled. The creators of the commercials are cashing in on more than humor. Underneath the laughter lies real angst from men who sense that the erosion of supposedly “natural” norms of manhood spells trouble for them. If alternative masculinities continue to proliferate, blurring the boundaries between how “real men” and women act, male privilege itself could be in danger. Laughter at violators is therapeutic in the sense that it allows men to feel vindicated in abiding by the norm and policing it. “It’s not just me, that’s really ridiculous.” Laughter and ridicule aimed at men who act, dress, or smell “like a woman” is an attempt to punish defectors—those men unwilling to protect the centuries-old rights embodied in hegemonic masculinity. “Man up!” We are told, or find yourself the butt of jokes from both women and men who truly “know the difference.”  As for me, I’m not sure that at my age I’m particularly interested in switching to skinny jeans, but I think I’m “man enough” to know what a good beer tastes like. I think I’ll pass on the Miller Light.

Fr. Greg Boyle, S.J. — TEDx Talk

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Even though my research on gang exit focuses on ex-gang members in Central America–especially those who convert to evangelical-Pentecostal religious faith–and not in the U.S., I am nevertheless a devoted fan of Father Greg Boyle, a Jesuit priest who founded the Homeboy Industries organization in Los Angeles in the early 1990s. I have enjoyed immensely his 2010 book “Tattoos on the Heart” and I recently came across a TEDx Talk he gave last year in Southern California. Boyle’s words, his style of delivery, and his demeanor make him, in my opinion, one of the most powerful speakers I have seen (and so far, I have only seen him on the screen, not in person). I highly recommend this 20-minute presentation delivered without notes in a pea-green cardigan. Although the organization he has founded is very, VERY different from the evangelical-Pentecostal ministries I visited in Central America (and NYU Press will soon release a new book by sociologist Ed Flores comparing Homeboy Industries with the Pentecostal organization Victory Outreach), Boyle’s diagnosis of the roots of the gang’s attraction (and subsequently, his prescription for reducing gang violence) share similar themes with my own work, especially regarding the topic of shame and respect. My favorite line from his TED Talk comes at the 12-minute mark when describing the obstacles to “feeling one’s worth” as a human being: “Sometimes you have to reach in and dismantle messages of shame and disgrace that get in the way so that the soul can feel its worth.” Quite beautiful but also true. Boyle writes and speaks in a different style and format compared with my sociological book, but I am, in many ways, profoundly humbled and inspired by his words and his stories.

New Three-part (Short) Video Documentary Series

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Part I: The Gangs

Part II: The Researcher

Part III: The Pastor

Bill Gentile, former Newsweek correspondent and current professor of communications at American University, accompanied me for a couple of weeks in January of 2013. He worked together with Esther Gentile to edit and produce a short documentary series called “God and Gangs: Criminal Violence and Religion in Guatemala.” Here is his description of the videos:

In Guatemala and elsewhere in Central America, a wave of criminal violence has replaced the politically-motivated violence of the 1980s and early 90s. With thousands of members, transnational youth gangs such as MS-13 and the 18th Street Gang now pose a significant threat to citizen security and the country’s weak and corrupt institutions. For many of Guatemala’s youth, there seems to be no way out of this vicious cycle of violence. Recent research, however, shows that Evangelical churches, particularly Pentecostals, are engaging in ministries aimed at rescuing and rehabilitating gang members and providing them with a community of support as they reintegrate into Guatemalan society.
This series of three short videos (1. “The Gangs”; 2. “The Researcher”; and 3. “The Pastor”) sketches the context of gang violence in Guatemala and highlights the role of religion as a potential source for both individual and social transformation. The series profiles the work of sociologist Robert Brenneman as he interviews former gang members who have exited the criminal world by converting to Pentecostalism. These videos were produced and directed by American University School of Communication Professor Bill Gentile as part of a project on religious responses to violence carried out by the AU Center for Latin American and Latino Studies (CLALS). For ongoing project developments, see: american.edu/clals/Violence-and-Victims.cfm.

The Truth about San Pedro Sula: Part II

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This cartoon, published in the July 31st issue of el Tiempo, refers to the current wave of liquidación in the Honduran government’s mad dash to sell off land, highways, and drilling rights. It reads:

Bargains! Get them before their gone!

Last week I wrote a post arguing that PBS had unnecessarily sensationalized and miscaracterized the violence in San Pedro Sula in its article “Gangs ‘Do Whatever They Want’ in City Called the Most Dangerous.” I have yet to receive a response to my message sent to the producers of The News Hour.

Although I am frustrated with the sensationalism that often surrounds cities like San Pedro, I want to make it clear that all is not well in Honduras—and certainly not in the northern industrial city of San Pedro Sula. Although the province of Cortes, where SPS is located, is surpassed in its homicide rate by the coastal region of Atlántida, SPS still is a rough and chaotic city where violence is all too common. This was made clear to me by a street scene I witnessed on Saturday morning, just a few hours before I left the country. After going out in search of breakfast—my favorite, a breakfast baleada and a fresh fruit smoothie—I was returning to the room where I had been staying at a church compound near the city center when two young men nearly ran me over as they crossed Avenida Junior. The light had just changed and one young man was nearly run over by a car that had started to advance. He made it across, but just barely. Two or three seconds later I was nearly toppled a second time by a young woman who was shouting and gesturing at the running boys. In a moment, I realized what was happening, the woman was screaming for help and shouting “¡Ladrones!” I watched as one of the boys turned a corner at the far end of the block but the young man who had crossed to the other side was not as lucky. A few men had managed to corner him and within seconds a group of pedestrians had managed to grab the boy of perhaps 17 years and hold him while the woman searched his pockets and retrieved what I would learn shortly thereafter was the cell phone that the teen had snatched from her ear as she conversed.

My first response was to breathe a sigh of relief for the woman, who, due to the quick work of those who had heard her, had been able to get back what belonged to her. But my relief quickly turned to concern and then anxiety as the woman began, encouraged by the bystanders, to deliver multiple blows to her assailant. Within moments the boy’s hands were bound behind his back and the blows continued but now some of the bystanders were taking turns. Soon he was on his knees and the woman who’d been robbed took turns with others, kicking him in the face and the torso. By now I was beginning to feel light-headed. I was feeling that strange embodied sensation of realizing that one ought to be doing something—anything but pacing in a small circle on the corner. And yet I felt paralyzed and self-conscious, afraid for my own pellejo should the crowd turn on me. I meekly suggested to another onlooker who stood next to me, “Look, this isn’t the way to handle things. Why doesn’t someone just call the police?”

The young bystander replied in a congenial tone, “Oh, don’t worry, the police are on their way but in the meantime. . .” and if he finished the sentence, I didn’t catch it and it didn’t matter because his point was clear: the kid needs to get what’s coming to him.

Someone else, someone with more courage and someone less skittishly self-aware, might have acted, intervening on behalf of the young boy. Although it is true that he was a “thief” caught in the act, this public beating was both cruel and unjust—a penalty far beyond the proportions of the crime itself, and dangerous to everyone involved. But there I stood, the  dithering gringo sociologist. Fortunately, the intensity of the beating began to subside and some of the bystanders began to go about their way. When I saw the boy stand up—still bound and now bloodied but conscious and walking—I decided that I could continue on may way as well. My room and the safety of the church compound were just steps away and I had been warned by multiple Hondurans that going out was risky. But several moments later, from the window of my upstairs room, I heard shouts again, this time from a auto-body shop across the street. “Let him have it! Attaway lady! Let’er rip!” The “police” had indeed arrived, only it was not actual police officers who had shown up but very young army soldiers dressed in fatigue. They held the boy, standing still so that the woman could get in a few more punches. A new crowd was forming and for the second time traffic was slowing to a stop while the scene unfolded. And then, a few moments later, the woman was on her way and the military pick-up had taken the boy. The shouts settled down and traffic resumed. “Justice” had apparently been served.

I tell this story here in part as a confession. I wish I had more courage in moments like these. But there is another facet of this experience I want to point out. This scene of street theater/justice is indicative of the frustration that exists in Honduran society today. Many Hondurans are so fed up with a corrupt and ineffective justice system that they believe it important to get justice whenever, and wherever one can. And participating in an event like this feels good. Furthermore, it’s easy to imagine that there was a belief among the encouragers—who probably saw this as an opportunity for entertainment—that the victim had a “right” to take out her anger in physical aggression on the victim. That visiting blow after blow on her assailant would somehow make her “whole” again. Indeed, even the soldiers saw it as part of their duty or opportunity to begin the process of “justice” immediately. Theirs was not a duty to participate in a formal, circumscribed role within the legal process of delivering justice, but rather to help “teach the thief a lesson” right here, right now.  Doubtless, the military heightened its reputation in the whole event. The army has been growing in popularity as  one of the major presidential candidates has recently announced his plans to create a new military patrolling police of six thousand strong should he become president. Never mind that soldiers have zero training in gathering and processing intelligence—or for that matter in following legal procedures during an arrest. Never mind that the military spokesman himself brags to the press that soldiers are trained “to act, not to ask questions.” It is this very reticence to follow strict legal procedures that can increase their popularity within an exasperated Honduran populace. It would be easy to condemn this public justice event as the expression of an “uncivilized” and “uneducated” citizenry but we must bear in mind that exasperation can quickly boil over into outrage, and outrage into violence.

Ultimately, if Honduras is to bring down its astronomical homicide rate (already at 84/100,000 in 2011), it must invest in the justice system, not just police officers and certainly not a new corps of military police. A legal system costs money—especially when it has been neglected for so many years. And right now, Honduras is undergoing one of the most serious economic and political crises of its crisis-ridden history. Will the elections be a time of soul-searching and straight talk about economic inequality and underfunded and pilfered state agencies, or simply more of the same macho bandwagoneering? So far, the pre-candidacy race gives very little cause for hope. And the cartoon at the top of this post reveals what’s at stake. Honduras, the banana republic, is once again up for sale to the highest–or maybe just the most well-connected bidder.