Assembling the warp: introduction

We are a collective of eight women geographers that strives to create community among women geographers from diverse latitudes. We began this project in September 2014, rooting ourselves in the march on Mexico City after the forced disappearance of the 43 students of Ayotzinapa. GeoBrujas, Community of Women Geographers, arises as a political necessity against the violent context of the state, the extreme violence against women in Mexico, and the lack of spaces for women geographers within and outside of academia. We align with the creation of other geographies through political and social relationships.

Our impulse and continuous work are the development of a community stemming from self-generated, radical, and alternative geographies that do not adhere to the rhythms of hegemonic systems or the hierarchical relations within any field or level. Our aim is to integrate the rhythms of each compañera (comrade) to collectively amplify our perspectives.

As a collective, GeoBrujas positions ourselves alongside other collaborative networks which centre projects, organizations, movements, and people looking towards autonomy as a common horizon, those that include selfcritique between that which is personal as well as political. We perform this collective labour to construct ‘geografias otras’ among all of us and for all of us with our activism and our academic, political, and personal work in our day-to-day activities.

Among us, we use diverse methodological perspectives and foci to create critical cartographies, counter-cartographies, and mapping from a multileveled analysis. We use tools based in the arts, therapeutic techniques, popular education, social cartography, participatory systems of geographic information, and other foci. We share common concerns, interests, and learning processes through workshops and talks. Through this, we continue working towards learning about self-care, the strengthening of and the emotional health of our territorio-cuerpo-tierra (territory-body-earth) in different contexts of dispossession.

The body, as the first level of our work, has regained recent importance in militant activism and academic investigation. In this sense, our work emphasizes mapping the body as territory and as feminist cartography, though this mapping is not over-generalized across communities. The foci and the experiences of each integrant are distinct, thus enriching and challenging us to amplify each individual standpoint impacting the multiple geographies and perspectives that cross our bodies.

Introduction

This chapter draws on a case study of the Reclaiming Social Work (RSW) model in England. We trace its links to the social work training provider, Frontline, and the government-funded centre for Evidence Based Practice (EBP), the What Works Centre for Children's Social Care (WWCCSC), to illustrate issues around the emergence of a ‘social work complex’ of close alliances between influential individuals and organisations in the spheres of knowledge production, knowledge utilisation, policy making and practice in children's services. The ‘social work complex’ is an adaptation of the term the ‘military-industry complex’ used by US President Dwight Eisenhower in his farewell presidential address of January 1961. Eisenhower took the opportunity to warn of the dangers of the overly close links that had developed between his nation's military and the defence industry which profited from supplying it. He identified the need to ‘guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industry complex’ and the possibility of ‘misplaced power’ arising from the complex, alongside the risks it posed to liberties, peace and democracy.

We draw on the concept here as metaphor. We do not suggest the stakes in children's services in England are equivalent to those Eisenhower outlined, but use the metaphor to highlight ways in which we believe the close alliances which do exist within children's services in England today exert a distortive influence on children's services policy and practice which the MacAlister Review has further entrenched (see also Purcell, 2020; Interdependence of Independence, 2021; Hanley, 2022). The close alliances of which we speak have developed alongside the greater involvement of a layer of organisations involved in children's services provision outside of local government and public universities, including newer charities, social enterprises, private companies and large financial corporations. Within this mixed provision, accountability for policy and practice decisions in children's services has in our view become opaque.

Since our argument critiques the inadequate scrutiny of, and reflection on, positions, relationships and interests within children's services, we also summarise some of our own. Both of us have for a number of years maintained a publicly critical approach to policy developments within social work in the UK, and in particular the encroachment of neoliberalism on children's services provision.

This chapter explores the origins of technology and the war–state relationship. Although I recognize that each of these domains has a long history, the starting point of this chapter focuses on the transition from the late medieval world into the early modern period of European history and then extends into the late 18th century. The selection of this timeframe is dictated, in part, by the existing literature on this subject, which sees this as a definitive period in the relationship between these three domains. Thus, there is a consensus that war played an instrumental role in the creation of all forms of states throughout history, both within and outside of Europe (Tilly, 1992, 10–14; Tin-Bor Hui, 2005; Fukuyama, 2011, 86–112). However, this resulted in the creation of a range of types of states. As Tilly observed, the term state is frequently applied to various polities, including city states, empires and even theocracies. Thus, he defines states in general as ‘a distinct organization that controls the principal concentrated means of coercion within a well-defined territory, and in some respects exercises priority over all other organizations operating within the same territory’ (1992, 2). However, as I have explained, the principal interest of this study is in what he defines as national states. This is different from its predecessors because ‘a national state or modern state then extends the territory in question to multiple continuous regions, and maintains a relatively centralized, differentiated, and autonomous structure of its own’ (1992, 131). This conforms closely with Max Weber's definition of the state: ‘is a human community that claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory’ (Gerth and Mills, 1946, 77).

In the case of the modern state, the connection between war and the state was complicated by the intervention of a new variable in the form of technology. In broad terms, it is claimed that technological and organizational innovation in early modern European warfare, both on land and at sea, precipitated a military revolution which, in turn, created a political revolution represented by the emergence of the modern state (McNeill, 1982; Downing, 1992; Roberts, 1995; Knox and Murray, 2001). This has been the dominant narrative in discussions about early modern war and state formation in Europe.

Introduction

The neighborhood effects conceptual framework

This chapter argues that place matters in understanding why crimes occur in some neighborhoods more than others. Many years ago, urban researchers at the University of Chicago examined the correlation between characteristics of neighborhoods and delinquency (Burgess, 1916; Shaw, 1929b). This chapter examines crime incidents as the unequal exposure of certain neighborhoods to crimes based on neighborhood socioeconomic characteristics and on the theoretical concept of “neighborhood effects” advanced by Black sociologist William J. Wilson, who was a professor at the University of Chicago. He linked crime incidents to certain neighborhoods that experienced concentrated poverty (Wilson, 1987). According to him, crimes are directly related to neighborhood characteristics where residents in concentrated poverty reside (Kim, LaGrange, and Willis, 2013). He defined concentrated poverty as neighborhoods (census tracts) where 40 percent or more of the residents residing there were poor. Wilson (1987) also found that a high percentage of the Black population of Chicago compared to the white population was restricted to residence in such concentrated poverty neighborhoods. Wilson's ideas can be traced back to classic ecological theories that indicated that neighborhoods with high poverty close to commercial and industrial districts exhibited the highest levels of delinquency and criminality (Shaw and McKay, 1942).

Researchers who have studied crimes and neighborhoods in cities have consistently shown that crimes are not randomly distributed, but tend to be concentrated in certain neighborhoods (Johnson, 2010). Poverty and crime are associated and exhibit spatial clustering (Peterson and Krivo, 2010). The pattern of where crimes are concentrated is so common in cities that Wilcox and Eck (2011) have concluded that the same concentration is the pattern for all cities. Weisburd (2015) agrees. Earlier studies have noted that criminal behavior varies according to sex, age, and, most importantly, socioeconomic characteristics. The argument put forward in this chapter is that crimes do not occur evenly in the City of Detroit; they tend to concentrate in neighborhoods with very low socioeconomic characteristics. The ideas expressed here are supported by other researchers who have studied the distribution of crimes in cities. For example, Graif et al (2014) argued that structural conditions like neighborhood poverty contributed to delinquency and crime.

Introduction

Pandemics, such as Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) and COVID-19, can disproportionately impact migrants and racial minorities through increased morbidity and mortality (Pan et al, 2020) and limited consideration of their needs in measures to control disease spread (Tan, 2021). Furthermore, communication initiatives to educate the public about SARS and COVID-19, particularly their origin, spread, and control, can lead to stigmatisation, othering, and exclusion of Asian minorities (Hung, 2004). Although communicating the science associated with these infectious diseases can facilitate transparency and rationalise lockdown measures, they can also harm minority ethnic groups and the broader social fabric when conducted in a culturally insensitive and exclusionary manner.

To illustrate the importance of sensitive and inclusive pandemic science communication, this chapter draws from accounts of two coronavirus pandemics. Before the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, the world was threatened by SARS in 2003, especially the Canadian city of Toronto. Communication on its origin in China led to racially motivated attacks and discrimination against people who look East or South East Asian and against businesses in Toronto's Chinatowns (Keil and Ali, 2006). These forms of discrimination were also experienced by Australia's Asian minority population during the COVID-19 pandemic (Asian Australian Alliance and Chiu, 2020). However, the management of COVID-19 in Australia also highlighted the disproportionate impact of lockdown policies on racial minority and socio-economically disadvantaged groups, especially with inadequate communication of their implementation (Victorian Ombudsman, 2020) and scientific/epidemiological rationale (Patrick, 2021). These were further aggravated by limited engagement with community members in planning lockdowns (Victorian Ombudsman, 2020).

This chapter draws from academic publications, reports, and news articles on SARS and COVID-19 to illustrate how different forms of communication on and during these pandemics profoundly affected the welfare of racial/ethnic minorities. Lessons from these incidents can be used to develop more inclusive ways of communicating pandemic science and formulating associated policies (Hyland-Wood et al, 2021). Experiences during SARS and COVID-19 can help develop pathways not just for communicating science involving racial minorities but also for relaying scientific information that has a profound impact on them. Going beyond communication on and to, lessons during these pandemics are vital in underscoring the importance of engaging with minorities to develop culturally sensitive communication strategies (Airhihenbuwa et al, 2020).

Introduction

This chapter identifies significant issues connected to race and children's services, explores the gaps in their coverage in the MacAlister Review and advocates for them to be better addressed going forward. After outlining the framework for our approach, we analyse the coverage and omissions on race in the MacAlister Review and illustrate how these omissions are not accidental but arise from an unwillingness to criticise current government policies and practices. We draw on the case of ‘Child Q’ to exemplify concerns about adultification before suggesting ways forward for children's services.

Salient matters concerning race and children's services in England include the over-representation of some groups of racially minoritised children in state care and the criminal justice system; the adultification of racially minoritised children, particularly Black children; harsh professional judgements of, and a lack of support for, Black families; the under-representation of racially minoritised practitioners in senior management positions in children's services; and, the treatment of unaccompanied asylum-seeking children. While there is not space to do justice to all of these here, the underlying themes identified are of relevance to each.

Our analysis is influenced by an intersectional and decolonial approach to critical race theory. Core aspects of our approach are the belief that for many racially minoritised families racism is not an exception but a regular experience, which can go unnoticed by those who are not subject to it (Kolivoski et al, 2014; Delgado and Stefancic, 2017). It also holds that lived experiences of racism are influenced by a range of other social identities a person holds, notably gender and class (Crenshaw, 1989, 1991), but also often less well considered factors such as migration status and experiences of colonialism (Mehrotra, 2010). The experience of any person receiving a social work service will be influenced by a complex and fluid interplay of such social identities (Bernard, 2021) and it is therefore essential to explore linkages between such identities and underlying structural and power inequalities (Valentine, 2007). Third, our approach emphasises the importance of centring the experiences of those subject to racism (Mehrotra, 2010; Delgado and Stefancic, 2017). Finally, we use a decolonial frame to highlight the legacy of colonialism on contemporary expressions of racism, and to seek to move beyond these framings in our understandings (Harms Smith and Rasool, 2020).

A note on terminology.

The case of Brazil is analysed in this chapter as a case of non-reluctance in regional crisis management. The analysis will focus on Brazil's approach to the two most severe crises in the country's extended regional neighbourhood: on Brazil's leadership of the UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH), and on Brazil's approach to the Colombian civil war between the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC, Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia – People's Army) and the Colombian government. As for the other cases analysed in this book, I will address crisis management in a period of political stability. In the case of Brazil, the years of the first presidency of Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva (often just called ‘Lula’) were indeed a period of stability, and one in which Brazil clearly wanted to become engaged in international affairs. President Lula of the leftist Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT, Workers’ Party), a former labour leader who had already run for the presidency of Brazil three times without success, was elected president in the general election of 2002 defeating his rival of the centre-right Brazilian Partido da Social Democracia Brasileira (PSDB, Social Democracy Party) in a landslide in the second round. In the 2006 general election, Lula was re-elected, again after failing to prevail in the first round, but winning a landslide in the second round.

The eight years of Lula's first presidency (2003–10) were a period of great stability for Brazil for several reasons. Lula's leftist government promoted a series of social schemes such as the famous Bolsa Família (Family Allowance) and the Fome Zero (Zero Hunger) programme, which contributed to a remarkable drop in poverty levels in the country. Economic growth rose steadily in the early 2000s, reaching 7.5 per cent in 2010 (Kaufman and García-Escribano, 2013). Correspondingly, and most importantly, Lula's government was extremely popular, with approval ratings of 80 per cent of respondents in December 2010, and a remarkable personal approval rate of 87 per cent for the president (Reuters, 2010).

In parallel to social and economic development, the years 2003–10 were also characterized by an entirely new intensity in Brazil's engagement in world politics.

Introduction

Economists often assert that if we wish to raise the standard of social equity, we have no choice but to pay for this by compromising (or sacrificing) the country's ‘economic efficiency’. They make this assertion when they claim that there is a ‘trade-off between equity and efficiency’. Efficiency means avoiding waste, and who would like to waste; but to describe the act of taking social equity seriously as being a waste is bizarre. Indeed, it is not merely bizarre, but as we shall see in this chapter, it is also wrong as far as a rigorous grasp of economic theory is concerned.

A closely related proposition of the ‘equity and efficiency trade-off’ concept is the problematic idea that reduced levels of equity and social justice could be better redressed via money payments. Accordingly, matters such as health and safety negligence on the part of employers, or government policies that prioritise low inflation over full employment, could be equitably redressed with a grant of money. I beg to differ on this matter.

‘Efficiency’ and ‘equity’ in economic theory

So, what is it that economic theory does say about the notion of ‘efficiency’? And what is the actual origin of the odd idea that when social justice concerns are addressed by our governments, we end up compromising ‘economic efficiency’? First, let us see what economic theory does say about the notion of ‘efficiency’.

To begin with, economic theory says that we cannot possibly know the most efficient pattern with which we should use our natural, human and financial resources before having a clear idea about what it is we are trying to achieve. In other words, we must determine our intended purpose before we can know how to best allocate our economic resources among competing claims. This applies to a single person, a household, a large corporation or the nation as a whole. Indeed, common sense itself provides the same advice – know what you are aiming for, and only then you might know the most economical (that is, least wasteful) way to reach your goal. This is precisely what economics describes as the efficient way of doing something, big or small. Note, however, that once our goals change, so does the pattern that describes how our resources should be deployed in a truly efficient manner.

Introduction

On July 18, 2013, Kevyn Orr, the Emergency Manager appointed by Rick Snyder, the Republican Governor of Michigan, made the legal decision to declare the City of Detroit bankrupt. According to Bloomberg News (2013), Orr rushed the $18 billion bankruptcy petition into federal court on July 18 just minutes before a State judge could stop him. The decision by the Emergency Manager made the City of Detroit the largest city in the US to experience bankruptcy.

This chapter examines the historical, economic, social, demographic, racial, and non cooperative relationship between the State of Michigan and the City of Detroit that led to the bankruptcy decision. There is evidence to suggest that the seeds of Detroit's bankruptcy were planted over time by the actions of investors, who reduced their investments in the city and increased investment in the suburbs over a period of 60 years (Darden et al, 1987). These actions resulted in increased unemployment in the city, the outmigration of the white middle class, a decline in property values, an increase in housing abandonment, and a reduction in tax revenue for city services (Gillette, 2014). Instead of financial assistance from the State, Detroit, like other cities in Michigan, was faced with a reduction in revenue sharing (Lavelle, 2014; Sapotichne et al, 2015). Such disinvestment by the private sector and a reduction in revenue sharing by the State made the financial problems of the city very difficult to solve (McFarland and Pagano, 2014).

Instead of providing the financial support needed, the Governor used a new, stronger Republican-passed Emergency Manager Law in 2011 to remove the democratically elected African American mayor and city council from power (Pew Charitable Trusts, 2013). The Governor then appointed an Emergency Manager to govern Detroit. The Emergency Manager served on behalf of the Governor, who made the final political decision to declare bankruptcy.

What led to the City of Detroit's bankruptcy?

The cause of Detroit's bankruptcy can best be understood by tracing the city's decline in population and economic status after 1950. The auto industry, which was concentrated in the city, made Detroit a very wealthy city in 1950 (Darden et al, 1987). Detroit has been declining in terms of population and socioeconomic status since 1950 (Darden et al, 1987; Orr, 2013b). The key factors that led to this decline will be given subsequently.

Introduction

We are living in some very strange times. A time when we all share the same values: equality, community, taking care of our most vulnerable and an abhorrence of discrimination. There is consensus, however challenged, that human rights are vital freedoms which all people should enjoy. Nonetheless, an insidious, alarming thing has been happening – as a society, across health, social care, education and across the general public – we have let fear creep in and steal our sense of unity. We have let fear drive us to judgement and division. Our current child protection system is full of fear and in thrall to risk. It begets controversy and adversarialism. From risk assessments to supervised contact, the ‘toxic trio’ (Skinner et al, 2021) to Fabricated and Induced Illness, we struggle to find safety. We flail about in the depths of our fears as we grapple with how to support families and, just as crucially, how to support our social workers. From a parent's perspective, it can feel like social workers charge forth on their noble steeds to rescue princes and princesses from their cold, neglected dragon (parent) guarded towers. Equally, from a parent's perspective, I can see that social workers have a sincere and earnest desperation to make a difference, to help people, and they too feel every bit as terrified of having their actions seen in the most negative light as parents.

It is this fear that is dividing us, and it is precisely where we are going wrong. Research in trends in separation of parents shows that while child protection investigations have tripled there has been no reduction in child deaths (Bilson and Hunter Munro, 2019). Doing more of the same is not creating better outcomes. We need to reflect on our current practices because child protection investigations cause harm, and it is vital that we do not cause harm to prevent the possibility of harm. From all angles, we need to rewrite this child protection narrative. We want a happy-ever-after for our children, and we can co-write the story to succeed in this goal, but we must do it together and we need to prioritise those who are facing the challenges that lead to family crisis at the heart of creating solutions.

Introduction

This chapter is based on my analysis of the social and spatial structure of the Detroit Metropolitan Area (DMA) postbankruptcy. It also examines racial residential segregation through socioeconomic neighborhood characteristics. For the purposes of this chapter, the study area consists of Wayne, Oakland, and Macomb Counties.

Such analysis allows for the measurement of racial residential segregation combined with inequality in neighborhood socioeconomic characteristics related to the racial composition of neighborhoods. To analyze these three counties for the purposes of determining the extent of inequality, I use census tracts from the American Community Survey Five-Year Estimates as spatial units, as they are surrogates for neighborhoods. Most of the analyses are based on data from the 2011–15 and 2016–20 Five-Year Estimates databases. I use the Darden-Kamel Composite Socioeconomic Index (CSI) to analyze Metropolitan Detroit (DMA) by neighborhoods in order to determine the extent of class inequality, and the index of dissimilarity to determine the extent of racial residential segregation and socioeconomic neighborhood inequality by race (Darden et al, 2010). The analysis of the data shows that the inequality gap between neighborhoods increased between the 2011–15 and 2016–20 censuses. This inequality has negatively impacted Black and Hispanic residents more than white residents as Black and Hispanic residents disproportionately reside in neighborhoods with very low and low socioeconomic characteristics. Most whites, on the other hand, reside in neighborhoods with high and very high socioeconomic characteristics. The data and analyses in this chapter answer questions about inequality after bankruptcy. Detroit is not moving toward a more inclusive city racially and socially. Both race and class inequality remain, and more actions need to be taken with policies to reduce the inequality. The implications of the data and analyses are that racial discrimination continues after bankruptcy.

Explaining the Darden-Kamel Composite Socioeconomic Index

The Darden-Kamel CSI incorporates nine variables:

• 1. Percentage of households below poverty

• 2. Unemployment rate

• 3. Median household income

• 4. Occupational status

• 5. Educational attainment

• 6. Median value of dwelling

• 7. Median rent of dwelling

• 8. Percentage of households that own homes

• 9. Percentage of households with a vehicle available

Definitions of the variables

• 1. Percentage below poverty: the percentage of all families whose income in the past 12 months is below the US poverty level.

Introduction

Philosophers have long been grappling with the root causes of the inequality of power, the patterns with which power is exercised and its impact on the subordinate. Some writers accept the prevailing exercise of power as an essential state of affairs; they also tend to see it in largely benign terms. Others strongly disagree. This debate is rife in the scholarly literature. But in the community at large there is little questioning of the manner in which power is used, whether within the society at large or at the workplace.

Social structures, the power structure at the workplace included, are largely inherited from bygone eras. Yet, the general public accepts the power structure that governs the standard workplace as if it were a quite modern system that is vital to a well-functioning economy. However, as David Montgomery notes in his 1993 book, substantial vestiges of the preindustrial era ‘Master and Servant’ laws remain enshrined within the US legal frameworks that still guide judicial decisions regarding work disputes. Culturally, if not strictly legally, this is likely to be the case in other countries as well.

This is ironic. Particularly so, since many scholars are not at all convinced that the manner in which power structures nowadays operate in most workplaces is paramount to the enterprise's profit bottom line. In the standard workplace, the owners of the capital are those who own the rights over the design of job tasks, selection of technology and the pace of work and much more. In other words, the employing business has the absolute prerogative over the whole gamut of demands that are made on the workers’ body and soul throughout their entire working day, day by day and year by year. But, as Michael Marmot points out in his 2015 book, the sheer hierarchical structure of the workplace has an immeasurable impact on the wellbeing of employees.

Philosophical discourse on the inequality of power

The answers regarding the root causes and the impact of the vast inequality of power are far from presenting a consensus. On the one end of the spectrum, are writers who argue that power is essential to the social good, and that normally it is not abused, but rather, it is dutifully placed at the service of both the society at large and the immediate subordinates.

Introduction

After emerging from bankruptcy on December 11, 2014, Detroit officials were desperate for investments in rehabilitated apartments and condos to provide economic development in the neighborhoods and businesses downtown so as to increase the tax base. The bankruptcy left the city with numerous deteriorating and abandoned buildings, vacant lots, and very cheap land—an investor's dream (Davey and Walsh, 2014a). Meanwhile, the residents who had remained in Detroit through the bankruptcy period had a 40 percent poverty rate and an unemployment rate twice the state average (US Bureau of the Census, 2016). When Republican Governor Rick Snyder announced that governance was returning to the elected city officials on December 14, 2014, Detroit's Mayor and City Council were given the challenge of rebuilding the city by attracting investments in housing (rehabilitated and new apartments and condos) while ensuring that long-term residents would not experience rents so high that they could not afford to remain in their neighborhoods. Two years after bankruptcy, according to the city's building permit data, several building permits had been issued to developers requesting permission to build apartments and condos in certain neighborhoods, provided Detroit city authorities extend to them the highest tax advantages and subsidies in order to invest. Detroit was governed by a white mayor and a nine-member City Council (seven Blacks, one Hispanic, and one white). In 2016, Detroit's population was 683,443, with Blacks comprising 80 percent, non Hispanic whites 10 percent, Hispanics 8 percent, and Asians 1.4 percent (US Bureau of the Census, 2016).

In this stressful time for Detroit, developers—who were overwhelmingly white and male—saw an opportunity to make a big profit and gain the highest tax advantages and subsidies by agreeing to take part in the economic redevelopment of this predominantly Black city. They started to pressure city officials to award high tax advantages and subsidies without affordable housing agreements in exchange, and city residents pressured City Council members not to agree unless guaranteed numbers of affordable housing units formed part of the deals. There was already a lot of very cheap land, as well as many deteriorating and abandoned buildings and vacant lots before the bankruptcy. However, following bankruptcy, the city bottomed out and the Mayor and the City Council were desperate to redevelop the city.