Review: Evicted

Yes, another housing book. This time, Matthew Desmond’s Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City. Not only did the book come recommended by one of my former law professors, but also, strangely, a former love interest. But I digress…

Desmond, a Harvard professor and winner of a MacArthur Genius grant, demonstrates the toll eviction takes on families by following several evicted Milwaukee residents. His subjects come from various backgrounds and demographic categories – both black and white, gay and straight, disabled and able-bodied. Their common features? Poverty and eviction.

Interestingly, and part of what makes the book so unique, is that Desmond is honest with his narrative. Clearly, Desmond has an agenda, as outlined in the book’s epilogue.  While one may believe someone pushing a universal housing voucher program and expanded public legal aid programming would want the victims of eviction to sound sympathetic, Desmond exposes that one renter spent all of her food stamps on lobster tails and king crab, on which she gorged herself one night. Another renter left her children unattended, and the youngest died in a fire

Although I cannot say that I liked any of the people featured in Desmond’s book, I could relate to them. Desmond does a good job of showing that the featured renters are simply people,  with flaws and gifts that could be shared if circumstances permitted. In the same vein, Desmond also shares stories of two landlords, neither horrible villains nor sacrificing heroes.

Indeed, it is these complex relationships between tenant and landlord that cause the book to stand out. Certainly, Desmond gives the reader well-researched statistics and history regarding eviction in American cities, both past and present, but these statistics can be gleaned easily from the many housing papers and books available.What readers did not previously have access to was a candid glimpse into how eviction comes to be, how it affects both landlords and tenants, and its effects on the greater community.

Because I did enjoy the book, I would be remiss if I did not point out my disappointment that, on multiple occasions, Desmond refers to people with disabilities as “invalids.” For all the care he takes in representing other minorities fairly, using a word like invalid is seriously bizarre. Perhaps the Milwaukee winter froze the thesaurus inside his head???

Review: Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

I have resisted my penchant for All Things Morbid for some time, but couldn’t manage to force myself not to read Caitlin Doughty‘s Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory.  It seemed fitting literary romp for the gal whose Make-A-Wish was to go to Salem, Massachusetts for Halloween. In fact, one of my favorite books of all time is Mary Roach’s Stiff.

Doughty’s book began wonderfully – full of wit, and eyes-wide-open. We learn why she chose mortuary work, and get to learn fun facts and figures about the funeral industry. Some subjects, like stillborn infants, are written about with grace and intrigue, which I can respect as an incredibly difficult juxtaposition to manage, let alone pull off with Doughty’s finesse.

Yet, my beef is in book’s perception of human dignity, not significantly discussed until the end of the book. Part reference book and part memoir, the reader learns about how certain bodies caused the author to reflect on her own life, love, and mortality. Discussing a particularly poignant exchange, Doughty remembers a “wheelchair-bound” widow that she believes “should have been the first to go.” In addition to these stereotypical conclusions, she also infantilizes the widow; after receiving his wife’s cremains, the widow “just thanked me in his thin voice, and cradled the brown box in his lap like a child.” Why should someone that uses a wheelchair die before his able-bodied wife? Why is he any less vital than any other grieving spouse?

It’s not that Doughty has ill-intentions toward the disabled widow; in fact, when he is brought to the crematory not long after, Doughty weeps for the loss of love – deep, beautiful love – that he and his former wife had. Their love is something that Doughty appears to envy. Why not, then, respect other aspects of his life?

It wasn’t until reading this book that I began to realize the deep roots of ableism in American society. I had always written the time off as liberal mumbo jumbo. But when the author began to talk about dignity, linking it with death, I grew alarmed. Doughty even references a piece by Atul Gawande (who also writes beautifully about mortality), and questions whether grandma and grandpa should be enabled to try and cheat death through medical intervention. Why not, then, the poor widow in a wheelchair?

Indeed, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes got me thinking. Just probably not in the way the author intended.

Review: Smarter Faster Better

I recently decided to take a break from heavier academic reading and indulge in one of my favorite genres: pop science. The bright orange cover of Charles Duhigg’s Smarter Faster Better: The Secrets of Being Productive in Life and Business caught my eye on the iBooks shelf, ironically destroying my own productivity as its lessons drew me in.

Duhigg devotes one chapter to each piece of the productivity puzzle, concluding with an appendix of quick tips for applying these lessons to one’s life day-to-day routine.  At first glance, the keys to productivity – motivation, teamwork, goal-setting, the management of others, decision-making, innovation, and data absorption – may appear obvious and overbroad. After all, how does one force creativity out of themselves? Well, Duhigg tells you how in Chapter 7, using Disney’s Frozen and the Broadway hit West Side Story to explain the innovative process.

My favorite part of the book was the chapter on goals, in which Duhigg cleverly melds anecdotes about the Yom Kippur War and General Electric to describe a phenomenon known as “cognitive closure.” For years, ex-love interests have complained about my need to always label relationships and know exactly where I stand within them. Of course,  this penchant for decisiveness carries over into other aspects of my life, pulling me away from the indecisive and willy-nilly. Finally, I’m able to put a label on my certain brand of neurosis: cognitive closure. Duhigg explains that approximately 20% of the population similarly craves finality  and conclusion. While this characteristic is helpful in many situations, it can also be detrimental when one refuses to consider other possibilities or change their mind in the face of impending alternate truths.

Less interesting was the chapter on data absorption, which uses the example of inter-city Cincinnati schools to show that hands-on data manipulation better enables people to understand the data available. While the chapter’s conclusions are doubtlessly sound,  they are also incredibly intuitive. This created a bit of an anticlimactic ending.

Nevertheless, anyone with a few hours to kill will be entertained by Duhigg’s latest book – and perhaps have the necessary toolkit moving forward to avoid wasted, motivation-less chunks of time.

Review: Telethons

As soon as I heard the late history professor and disability rights advocate Paul K. Longmore was writing a book about telethons, I got excited. As someone with spinal muscular activity, the annual Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon on Labor Day was a big deal. When I was younger, I was excited to be on my local TV broadcast, telling stories about MDA camp and friends with neuromuscular disorders. In my mid-teen years, I began to hate what the Telethon stood for – pity, exploitation, and fearmongering. Longmore’s book, Telethons: Spectacle, Disability, and the Business of Charity summed up all my feelings and introduced me to some new revelations.

Longmore’s impeccable research focuses on four major American telethons: the United Cerebral Palsy Association (UCP), the Arthritis Foundation, the National Easter Seals Society, and the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA). The UCP was the first charity to begin a multi-hour fundraising program for disabled beneficiaries in 1950. However,  the MDA created the “modern” telethon, reaching 100 million viewers at its pinnacle.

Of course, telethons are now generally viewed as relics. Their decline began in the 1980s, when more of the television audience demanded regular overnight programming. Moreover, the Federal Communications Commission under the Reagan administration deregulated the requirement that local television stations provide community service programming. As such, stations began requiring that the charities sponsoring telethons pay akin to what stations were losing in preemptions and other revenue. Longmore states that the price was sometimes more than $250,000 per hour! (No wonder the MDA recently decided to terminate its telethon programming.)

Interestingly, the decision to nix the telethon drew great criticism from not only some beneficiaries, but also many donors. Longmore writes that telethons “democratized giving.”

No longer relying mainly on a social elite’s sense of noblesse oblige, it mobilized mass publics and sought to instill in them the habit of giving. In reaching the public through the mass media, charity fundraising reflected and reinforced the interpersonal disconnectedness of modern life as it widened the social distance between givers and receivers.

Indeed, Longmore documents the specific role that each participant played – sometimes gleefully, sometimes unwittingly.

Until reading Telethons, I was unaware of the benefits corporate sponsors received by issuing donations to telethons. Obviously, their appearance helped generate goodwill for the companies and their management officials. But asking viewers to purchase a product in order for a portion of the purchase price to go to a particular charity boosted corporate revenue immensely. For example, by offering a charitable donation, American Express increased credit card donations by one-third and yielded $17 million! Known as “cause-related marketing,” corporate public relations officials bolstered profit. Need more proof? “Former executives at two of the charities confidentially disclosed that their telethons lasted as long as they did only at the corporate sponsors’ insistence.”

Donors benefited from their ability to engage in “conspicuous contribution.” They could pick up the telephone, throw a few dollars at a problem, and have the whole world know they did a good thing. Whether having their name posted on the Star Board or sharing photos of themselves locked up in a faux fundraising prison, donors enjoyed the gratification of public praise. Longmore also suggests that some donors of a conservative bent may have preferred charity models of healthcare to government-sponsored healthcare, meaning that, by donating, they could keep socialist reforms at bay.

And, certainly, poster children played their part as well. Easter Seals trained local offices that “children raised more money than adults. Donors “sympathized with images of ‘the most weak.'”  (It should be noted that, at least as far as Lewis was concerned, poster children couldn’t be too weak – “he says he doesn’t want to bend over a wheelchair to raise a buck.”)  Couched in the “narrative techniques, character, and plot devices used in sentimental literature and Victorian fiction, [telethons used poster children in] combining three standard sentimental devices: unmerited affliction through illness or accident, the suffering of children, and emotional excess.”

In addition to this basic overview, the book offers far more insight.  Readers will learn about how Lewis enforced patriarchal culture by branding his “Kids,”  how Jerry’s Orphans fought back in an effort to regain stolen dignity, and how the medical model persisted throughout charitable engagement. With my weak SMA-“afflicted” thumbs, I give this book two thumbs up!

Review: The Value of Homelessness

Craig Willse’s The Value of Homelessness: Managing Surplus Life in the United States examines how and why the government and nonprofit sectors rely upon the homeless population. Published in 2015 by University of Minnesota Press, the book is clearly designed for an audience of sociologists and other academics (i.e., not attorneys). Nevertheless, those willing to give the required attention to Willse’s sometimes-effusive explanations of Foucauldian and Marxist philosophies will gain new perspective on the homeless “industry.”

The book begins with an introduction describing Willse’s interest in housing. After graduating from college and having no career goals in the late 1990s, Willse moved to Los Angeles. He took a variety of low-skilled jobs, and eventually found work as a residential supervisor at a transitional living program for gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, and transgender youth. Though he quickly received multiple promotions, he began to question whether the home’s residents lacked housing due to their sexual identities, a question that challenged “the official agency narrative.”[1]

Instead, Willse came to understand housing and homelessness as a manifestation of societal failure:

The systematic nature of housing insecurity is masked by the objectifying work of the term “the homeless.” When we speak of “the homeless,” we mobilize a pathological category that directs attention to an individual, as if living without housing is a personal experience rather than a social phenomenon. Instead, we might talk in terms of “housing deprivation.” This phrase expresses that living without housing is systemically produced and must be understood as the active taking away of shelter, as the social making of house-less lives.[2]

This understanding was based his observations that residents often came from particular socioeconomic and racial backgrounds. Sexual identity, alone, was too simple of an explanation for housing insecurity. His employer failed to recognize the complexity of the situation, and instead focused solely on its social agenda. This ideological schism eventually led Willse to pursue a Ph.D. in Sociology, and he is currently a Cultural Studies assistant professor at George Mason University, where he focuses his research on neoliberalism, biopolitics, urbanism, and activism.

Yet, the housing provider’s response cannot be deemed unexpected nor as a deviation from what may be considered standard thinking in regard to homelessness in the United States. Willse writes that “as a system of insecurity and deprivation, housing manages our lives in such a way as to disaggregate our common experiences, individualize our challenges, and pit us in competitive, hostile fights with one another….”[3] This siloing effect was demonstrated by Willse’s former employer, which served only those homeless individuals with a particular sexual orientation or identity.

More broadly, housing insecurity also separates the homeless from the housed. The separation is explicitly visible; some people live in structures and others live on the streets. More insidious aspects of the separation between those with homes and those without can also be extracted when comparing respective health outcomes of each population. Indeed, lack of housing can even result in death. In addition to “bumbashing” and existing in closer proximity to other sources of physical violence, HIV infection among New York City’s shelter population is 16 times the rate infection among the overall population.[4]

Willse attributes these social conditions to the function of biopower, as exercised through the neoliberal ideology of the United States. Biopower was defined by Michael Foucault as “what brought life and its mechanisms into the explicit realm of calculations and made knowledge-power an agent of transformation of human life.”[5] Such life is politicized through two poles: anatomopolitics, which refers to the individual as he relates within space, and biopolitics, which refers to population-based regulation.[6] These poles are applied through technological tools, designed to expand life.

Importantly, biopower operates on the principle that “not all life is deemed worthy of investment. Rather, some life, or some parts of a population, is considered a drain on the life of the overall population.”[7] Therefore, a political regime will employ its technology to manage the “unworthy” forms of life.[8] This process was deemed “state racism” by Foucault, and can be viewed as “internal racism of permanent purification.”[9]

Expounding upon the work of other social theorists, Willse explains that state racism has been incorporated into United States property law since colonial times. Early in the nation’s history, black people were treated as property, and white people were property-owners. This privilege catapulted white people forward, solidifying their political power which, in turn, allowed them to amass increasingly more capital. Those without these advantages – people who are black, Hispanic, and Native American – became essentially “surplus,” a “permanent redundancy.”[10] Without a metaphorical place in society, many also were without a literal place to call home.

Although the codification of white privilege begets state racism, Willse argues, the state is not alone in subjugating the homeless.

A diverse range of non-state and quasi-private institutions, including nonprofit homeless social service agencies, do the work of state racism, making the cuts of investment and abandonment. But considering the evolution of welfare policy and administration will demonstrate how, insofar as the state takes on projects of distribution related to economic growth, state offices and policies have been key mechanisms for instantiating technologies of state racism across the social.[11]

The last three chapters of the book detail this neoliberal paradigm, in which welfare “programs serve the economy directly as part of the economy….”[12]

Whereas prior governance models lacked the means to support “surplus” individuals and would forsake them, the neoliberal paradigm wields “technologies [to] reconfigure biopolitical governance… Illness and waste, and populations organized as such, become fertile sites for economic investment, as they multiply opportunities for developing and extending governance mechanisms, making the economic life of governance possible.”[13] In the United States, homelessness continues to exist, despite a plethora of resources that could be applied to rectify the problem. It is in the interest of government and nonprofits that populations like “the homeless” exist, so the status quo is maintained and managed rather upended.

Willse describes that the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) did not significantly attempt to manage homelessness until the Stewart B. McKinney Assistance Act was passed 1987.[14] The Act established an Interagency Council on Homelessness, as well as provided funding for new homelessness programs. In 2009, the Homeless Emergency Assistance and Rapid Transition to Housing Act reauthorized the McKinney Act. In 2013, Congress authorized nearly $2 billion for HUD to address the Act’s objectives, reinforcing a system of “metagovernance.”[15] That is, by “setting parameters and facilitating transactions among state, municipal, and private entities,” HUD “creates the conditions of path dependency that partly determine what HUD is able to enact.”[16] Homelessness becomes an expected component of contemporary society, accepted as an inevitability.

Local governments and nonprofits must follow HUD regulations and grant terms in order to receive funding. One of the most taxing mandates that accompanies HUD funding is data collection and reporting. By focusing on numbers, and aggregate numbers at that, HUD perpetuates the myth that homeless people are a distinct population. Instead of addressing the respective needs of each homeless individual, the current paradigm ultimately maintains the stereotype that homeless people are either mentally ill or responsible for their circumstances, due to either an unwillingness to work or a history of poor decision-making. Thus, the “problem” is not properly understood as lack of housing, but rather deemed the homeless themselves. Nonprofits then offer their assistance, either conditioning it on the receipt of mental health treatment or full engagement in a continuum of care process whereby homeless people work their way toward short-term housing. These “solutions” fail to address the root of the problem, and the cycle continues.

Willse does explore the Housing First movement as a potential means of improving conditions for the homeless. This movement recognizes that homeless people, by that very designation, are in need of housing. Housing First providers recognize this need, and provide clients with permanent housing, no strings attached. Providers will facilitate mental health and other social services if requested by the client, but clients are not coerced into any treatment nor exposed to programmatic content without explicit consent. Interestingly, once the crisis of finding a home is solved, many individuals have the stability to seek and benefit from such services.[17] Their health improves, but having the home is a prerequisite. Nevertheless, without addressing the structural foundations of homelessness nationally, Housing First offers only a limited remedy.

Readers unfamiliar with the details of homelessness management and advocacy will assuredly benefit from exposure to Willse’s critique of the neoliberal paradigm. Although Willse’s ideas are complex and philosophically-demanding, even non-academics willing to apply themselves should be capable of following his arguments and conclusions. But, unfortunately, increased knowledge of the status quo is the only reward for making it through the book.

Instead of equipping readers with a blueprint for improving conditions for homeless people, the book largely avoids delving into policy reform. Indeed, this criticism has been made by other reviewers.[18] Despite this reviewer having a background in political science, the question of how to shift into a new sociopolitical paradigm is daunting. It would have been nice if Willse offered some ideas on where to begin advocacy to genuinely address homelessness.

Perhaps part of the answer lies in another critique of the book, which is that its ideas derive from a very particular point of view. One reviewer euphemistically writes that the book “certainly fits within social work’s social justice agenda.”[19] At times, Willse’s work did resemble a manifesto and failed to acknowledge successful work that has been accomplished with and on behalf of homeless people. Surely, the current paradigm must offer – or at least permit – some benefits, aside from the purported perpetuation of white privilege. This reviewer would be interested in learning how to leverage them.

In sum, The Value of Homelessness offers an enlightening prospective on homelessness management within the United States. Readers will gain insight not only into homeless communities and activism, but also into how their own tacit acceptance of the neoliberal paradigm may contribute to the existence of homelessness. Yet readers looking for concrete solutions, as opposed to a philosophical challenge, may wish to deny this book a home on their shelf.

[1] Craig Willse, The Value of Homeless: Managing Surplus Life in the United States (2015) (e-book).

[2] Id.

[3] Id.

[4] Id.

[5] Id.

[6] Id.

[7] Id.

[8] Id.

[9] Note that racism does not refer to the racism of contemporary political vocabulary, in which members of a particular race or ethnicity are deemed superior or inferior. Instead, Willse explains that Foucault’s racism refers to the human race broadly.

[10] See Willse, supra note 1.

[11] Id.

[12] Id.

[13] Id.

[14] Id.

[15] Id.

[16] Id.

[17] Id.

[18] Lindsay McCarthy, Society & Space, http://societyandspace.com/reviews/reviews-archive/willse-craig-2015-the-value-of-homelessness-managing-surplus-life-in-the-united-states-reviewed-by-lindsey-mccarthy/ (last accessed: Apr. 1, 2016).

[19] Wayne C. Evens, Book Review,  J. of Soc. Work Values and Ethics, http://jswve.org/download/fall_2015,_volume_12,_no._2/book_reviews/105-106%20Book%20Review%20-%20The%20value%20of%20homelessness-JSWVE-12-2.pdf (2015).