Out of Sight : Crime, Youth and Exclusion in Modern Britain [1st ed] 9781843926474, 1843926474, 1843921960, 9781843921967

Table of contents :
Content: Cover --
Title --
Copyright --
Contents --
List of illustrations --
Acknowledgements --
Introduction --
Masking poverty --
Twenty-four seven society --
Outline --
Chapter 1 A mugger's paradise --
The unusual suspects --
Working poor --
Growing up in a poor community --
Through the looking glass --
Being poor in an affluent society --
Nova's local service economy --
Ordinary world --
Crime as status --
Welfare and workfare --
Poverty, culture and crime --
Too much too young --
Social exclusion --
Stitched up: exclusion at school --
Compulsory youth training --
Working in a service economy. Chapter 6 Community --
Living with poverty --
Stigmatising poor people --
Changing times --
Thinking about society --
Fatal strategies --
People power --
Township community --
They think you're bad --
War on community --
The last frontier --
Staying alive --
Chapter 7 Society --
A doll's house --
Heroes and villains --
Imagining crime --
Search and destroy --
Consumer protection --
Faith in the city --
The golden years --
Law and order --
Back to basics --
Intel: crime in an information society --
Being human --
Bibliography --
Index. Room 101 --
Crime and consumption --
Chapter 2 Nova --
The Project --
Uncle Sean --
Born and bred --
Spirit of a community --
The rule of the street --
Linden's --
Nova: it's me --
it's who I am --
Survival of the fittest --
Elements of a culture --
Orpheus --
Going under --
Work and leisure --
Working in Nova --
A bit of business --
Like a big tree --
Chapter 3 Work --
Life or death --
Children under a shadow --
Just thievin' --
Racism --
Gender and crime --
Youthful aspirations --
Shit Street --
Chapter 4 Respect --
Gangsters --
Drugs and crime --
Poverty and drug use --
Inside out. Social exclusion in action --
Achieving respect --
Floetry --
Exclusion through style --
Hip Hop culture --
Watching communities --
Risk and defeat --
Maintaining respect --
The enemy within --
Feeling for one another --
Faith in the future --
Chapter 5 Education --
Problem youth --
Ghetto heaven --
Do-gooders --
A new initiative --
Learning to labour --
Escape attempts --
You got no hopes: working on workfare --
Urban regeneration --
The workfare carousel --
Been here before: repackaging the Project --
Behind the scenes --
Making history --
The Breakfast Club --
Demonising community.

Citation preview

Crime, youth and exclusion in modern Britain

m

-m

PUBLISHING

ROBERT McAULEY

O u t of Sight

O u t of Sight C r i m e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e r n B rita in

R o b e r t M c A u le y

WILLAN PUBLISHING

P u b l is h e d b y

W illan Publishing Culm cott House Mill Street, Uffculm e C u llom pton, Devon EX15 3A T , UK Tel: + 4 4 ( 0 ) 1 8 8 4 840337 Fax: + 4 4 ( 0 ) 1 8 8 4 840251 e-mail: i n f o willanpublishing.co.u k website: w w w .w illan publishing.co.uk Published sim ultaneously in the USA and C an ada by W illan Publishing c / o ISBS, 920 N E 58th Ave, Suite 300 Portland, O regon 97213-3786, USA Tel: + 0 0 1 ( 0 ) 5 0 3 287 3093 Fax: + 0 0 1 ( 0 ) 5 0 3 280 8832 e-mail: i n f o ^ : isbs.com website: w w w .isbs.com

© R ob ert M cA u ley 2007 The rights of Robert M cA uley to be identified as the author of this book have been asserted by him in accordance with the C opyright, D esigns and Patents Act of 1988. All rights reserved; no part of this publication m ay be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system , or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, m echanical, photocopying, recording or otherw ise w ithout the prior written permission of the Publishers or a licence permitting copying in the UK issued by the C o py rig ht Licensing A gency Ltd, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W 1P 9HE. First published 2007 ISBN 10 1-84392-196-0 ISBN 13 978-1-84392-196-7 British Library Catalo guing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Project m anaged by Deer Park Productio ns, Tavistock, Devon Typeset by TW Typesetting, P lym outh, Devon Printed and bound by TJ International Ltd, T recerus Industrial Estate, Padstow , Cornw all

Contents

List o f illustrations A cknow ledgem ents Introduction Masking poverty Twenty-four seven society Outline

viii ix 1 2 4 5

1 A m ugger's paradise The unusual suspects Working poor Growing up in a poor community Through the looking glass Being poor in an affluent society N ova's local service econom y Ordinary world Crime as status Welfare and workfare Poverty, culture and crime Too much too young Social exclusion Stitched up: exclusion at school Compulsory youth training Working in a service economy Room 101 Crime and consumption

8 8 9 10 11 13 15 16 18 19 20 22 23 24 25 26 27 29

2 Nova The Project Uncle Sean Born and bred Spirit of a com munity The rule o f the street Linden's Nova: it's me; it's who I am Survival of the fittest

31 32 34 35 37 41 42 45 45

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and e xclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

E lem ents of a culture O rp h e u s G oing under W o r k and leisure W ork in g in N o v a A bit o f business L ike a big tree

47 49 55 56 57 58 59

3 W ork Life or death Children under a sh a d ow Just thievin' Racism G e n d er and crim e Y outhful aspirations Shit Street

61 61 63 71 72 74 76 82

4 R e sp e c t G angsters Drugs and crim e Poverty and drug use Inside out Social exclusion in action A chieving rcspect Floetry Exclusion th rough style Hip H op culture W atching c o m m u n ities Risk and defeat M aintainin g re spect The enem y within Feeling for one another Faith in the future

86 86 87 88 92 93 94 96 97 100 101 103 105 108 112 113

5 E d u cation P roblem youth Ghetto heaven D o-gooders A new initiative Learning to labour E scape attem pts You g ot no hopes: w o rking on w orkfare U rban regeneratio n The w o rk fare carousel

114 114 117 118 119 121 124 126 127 129

vi

C o n te n ts

Been here before: repackaging the Project Behind the scenes Making history The Breakfast Club Demonising com munity

131 132 133 134 136

6 C o m m u nity Living with poverty Stigmatising poor people Changing times Thinking about society Fatal strategies People power Township com munity They think you're bad War on com munity The last frontier Staying alive

138 138 140 141 142 143 146 149 151 154 155 157

7 Society A doll's house Heroes and villains Imagining crime Search and destroy Consum er protection Faith in the city The golden years Law and order Back to basics Intel: crime in an information society Being human

158 158 161 163 164 165 166 169 170 172 174 177

Bibliography Index

179 194

List of illustrations

M ap of N ov a and G e m ini Park R e sp o n d en t groups 'The Four Tim es O f Day - N o o n '. W illiam H ogarth (1738). Hood M u seu m of Art, D artm o uth College, H anover, NJ

3 38

173

A c kn o w led g em e n ts

First, respect to the you ng m en and w o m e n w h o took part in this study, plus the staff at the Project, G a tew a y s, and the N ova Centre. T he world is theirs. T h an k s to my supervisor D r Janet Foster for her thoughts, ideas, su p p ort and tolerance. T ha nk s also to the C a m b rid g e sisters of mercy: B elinda B roo k es-G o rd on, Nina Cope, A m an d a M atravers and Alison W akefield. D r Loraine G elsthorpe, Professor David D ow nes, Dr Ben Bow ling, Dr G raham Steventon and Dr Allison Liebling all helped me through the writing process, as did all the staff at W arw ick Sports, 'specially Greg. I am also indebted to M au reen at the Institute and Julie Pow ley, David T h o m a s and D r Padfield at Tit Hall. T h a n k s also to the E cono m ic and Social Research Council, Trinity Hall and the Univ ersity of C a m brid g e, Institute of C rim in olog y for their assistance and guidance. Finally to Brian Willan, and everyone at W illan Publishing, I thank you.

For Dad, Maria, and Janet

Introd uctio n

N ov a is a housing estate on the edge of Ford: a big city in the north of E ngland. C o m pared with other areas of Ford, N o v a 's residents face greate r hardships, u n e m p lo y m e n t is d isproportionately high, as are crime, ill health and mortality (O D P M , 2004). Local people are also disad vantag ed in education; in a survey cond u ctcd just befo re m y ow n fieldwork only 1 per cent of a rand om sa m p le of 300 residents had a further or higher education qualification. O ut o f Sight: crim e, youth and exclusion in m odern Britain is a b ou t you ng peop le's experiences of living in N ova, and with the stigm a s u rrou nding this poor com m unity . During tw elve m o nths of interview s and participant observations with a group of 33 you ng adults living in N ov a, 1 recorded local perceptions of the estate across Ford. Nova gained d ispro portio nate attention in the local m ed ia, and reports usually focused on crime, inclu ding burglary, drug distribution and vandalism . D uring the early m o nths of my fieldwork, one fam ily began to a p pear re gularly on the front cover of the Ford E vening Nezvs. T he Q u in n s had been the first council tenants to receive an exclusion order, fo llow ing com plaints about the fam ily's eld est sons A n drew and M ichael. Several n eighbou rs had written to Ford City Council and the local press claim ed the two brothers were 'terrorising the neig h b o u rh o o d '. W hen the Ford E ven in g N ew s picked up on the story, council officials gained a High C ourt order preventing both m en from going within a mile of the estate. As the you ng m en were rem ov ed from their m o ther's hom e, the event triggered a debate in the local press about 'youth crim e' in N ova. R eaders of the F ord E ven in g N ew s m entioned worklessness, p o or parenting and welfare d ep end ency as reasons for N o v a 's reputation as a problem estate. T ru ancy, gang m e m b ersh ip and drug abuse w ere also cited as factors in w hat m any believed to be a 'tend ency ' tow ards crim e a m o n g N o v a 's you ng adult populatio n. It is true that alm ost half of N o v a 's population are y ou ng people, living alone or as fam ilies in properties ow ned and rented by Ford City Council. Y ou n g people I met and introduce later also describe how crime

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

is a 'pattern' in N ova. O utsid e of N ov a, how ever, it seem ed that few people w ere willing to understand the cause and direction of that pattern. Instead, as you ng people them selv es told m e, outsiders sim ply 'assum ed the worst' a bout all of N o v a 's youth. L istening to y ou ng p eople's accounts of persistent exclusion, in e m p lo y m e n t, training and at school, stigm atising residents of this poor co m m u n ity had beco m e inte rw o ve n into the culture of the city. M a n y you ng people I met in N ov a described exclusion as 'the life', and the term seem ed to define how y ou ng people grew up as objects of suspicio n in the eyes of Ford's affluent majority. O v e r the forthcom ing chapters, you ng people describe N o v a 's history of e xclusion, running parallel with the urban regeneration of Ford during the 1980s. All of the 33 y ou ng people w h o took part in this study w ere children at that time and described being d em onised in school and then in local labour m arkets for being m e m b ers of a poor com m u nity. T hat began w h en N ova, a new estate originally built to hou se industrial w orkers, experienced mass u n e m p lo y m e n t during the 19 80-1 recession.

M a s k in g p o v e r t y Like m an y industrial cities, Ford surviv ed de-industrialisation by re­ build in g its form er m anu factu ring districts into retail and science parks. In N ova, regeneration resulted in G e m in i Park, an a ssortm ent of retail ou tlets and hi-tech industries (see Picture 1, p. 3). G em ini Park, how ever, has done little for the people of Nova: u n e m p lo y m e n t and crim e remain high while household incom es, and the estate's built e nvironm ent, deteriorate. It seem s the only lasting ach iev em en t has been the polarisa­ tion of N ov a from the rest of Ford and the ghettoisation of y ou ng er residents w ithin the estate. During my fieldwork, one of N o v a 's public am enities, an e m p lo y m e n t advice and activity project for you ng residents, was forced to close. Local youth agencies felt that allow ing you ng adults to socialise at the Project was 'u nconstructive'. I describe the closure of the Project, w h ere I m et m ost of the you ng people w ho took part in this study. T he closure seem ed to re present the sy m bolic exclusion y ou ng people describe in this study. Even though the Project enabled young people to search for work and skills as a co m m u n ity , youth agencies felt that young people had to be tackled on an individual level. Y o u n g people describe the successive failure of sim ilar initiatives b ecause of the w ay N o v a 's y ou ng adults w ere perceived as inherently bad. In my accou nt of the closure of the Project, I argue that initiatives designed to target 'socially exclud ed' youth can easily b eco m e a m a sq u e rad e of crime; objectifying young people living in a poor co m m u n ity to justify a co n s u m e r lifestyle. Alison Y o u n g (1996: 15) describes how 'Seeing the O th e r is a form of 2

In tro d u c tio n

GEMINI PARK

Picture 1

M a p of N o v a a n d G e m i n i P a r k

self-reproduction. In looking at or for the other (the criminal), w e represent ou rselves to ourselves.' This process often characterises young p eople's accounts of exclusion in this study. O ut o f Sight describes how 'the life' of a poor c o m m u n ity is objectified in a co n s u m e r society, and how thinking about crim e prolo ngs the exclusion of already poor com m unities. N o v a 's you ng adults also describe how realities of poverty are hidd en by the re putation silently im posed on N ova, w h ereby a c o m m u n ity with a strong w o rk ethic is looked up on as m e m b er s of an underclass. Will H u tton (1995: 719) highlights how Britain is now a '3 0 - 3 0 - 4 0 ' society: 40 per cent are 'the privileged' in jobs that provide full holiday and pension rights, 30 per cent are w o rk ing in insecure jobs, while the rem aining 30 per cent of the w orking population are un em p lo y ed . Out o f S ight describes how the new social d ivisions created during Britain's urban regeneratio n w ere hidden through a m a sq u e rad e of crim e played out during the 1980s and 1990s. In addition, the co n s u m e r society that 3

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

d eveloped during that period has redefined policy on e m p lo y m e n t and crim e to help justify a co n s u m e r lifestyle. N o v a 's e co n o m ic exclusion is sustained by workfare, a policy initiative devised during the 1980s to help those com m u n ities w orst affected by d e-in dustrialisation. W ork fare policies w ere often im p lem ented in tan­ dem with urban regeneration initiatives like G e m ini Park, w h ereb y fo rm er m anu factu ring workers w ere encou rag ed at job centres to take jobs in new service industries. M an y of the you ng people I m et preferred 'w ork in g for yourself' to avoid w h a t was co m m o n ly perceiv ed as slave labour. T he tragedy w as that 'w ork ing for yourself', even when individ uals w ere successful, only com p o u n d e d the stigma associated with y ou ng people living in Nova.

T w e n t y - f o u r seven s o ciety M y aim in O ut o f Sight is to show how these realities rem ain hidden by a society driven by consu m ption. The increasing expense of further and higher education has m e a n t that people living in poverty and with no financial assets can easily b eco m e trapped in a 'no pay, low pay ' cycle of tem porary jobs (see G id d ens, 2000). W hile w o rkfare is principally just, living in N ova and being consigned to w o rk in G e m in i Park resulted in w h at w as effectively a slave m o de of production. Y ou n g adults describe N o v a 's w o rk fare m e rry -g o-ro u n d , involving years and for som e people d ecad es of cyclical e m p lo y m e n t and u n em p lo y m en t. Y ou ng people's accounts of the w o rk fare m erry-go-round also underline how a co n ­ s u m er lifestyle now defines to day 's w ork ethic. H igher education qualification and private pensio n schem es have both been promoted over the past 25 years as access to a co n s u m e r lifestyle. In C h ap te r 1, I show how a co n s u m e r lifestyle is a private existence, constitu ted through a circadian cycle of desire and satisfaction. A society in which lifestyle is valorised over the life of a co m m u n ity is one reason w hy the body time of the co n s u m e r society stands as such a contrast to the social time you ng people represent in these pages. All of the you ng people I m et surviv ed by believing in a collective w o rk ethic, creating a c o m m u n ity w here you ng people earned respect am o n g them selv es. T he tragedy was that you ng people faced exclusion b ecau se m ainstream British culture is now defined by con su m p tion , the antithesis to the work ethic that bound N ov a as a com m unity . Jock Y ou n g (1999) refers to an increasingly exclusive society, and you ng people's accounts of exclusion in this study often stem m ed from a need to exclude. C h apter 1 describes how exclusivity is defined in a c o n su m e r society through the consu m p tion of crime. Living in poverty is to day seen through television and c o m p u te r screens as entertainm ent, such is the nature of the m ed iu m . In a co n s u m e r society such as ours, 4

In tro d u c tio n

poverty is also the negative or e xcre m e n t in a cycle of seductio n and satisfaction that defines the co n s u m e r lifestyle. This cycle is sustained through c o m m u n ica tio n s, the crosshairs of the c o n su m e r society: through them images of co m m u n ity b eco m e objects of hatred and desire to justify a society in w hich consu m ption is an end in itself. The m a sq u e rad e of crim e is defined by the 'w ar on terror', a w a r in which the hu m a n face of one co m m u n ity has been crim inalised to secure our freedom to consu m e. E co n o m ic crim e is subject to the sa m e process: the realities of living in poverty and surviving together described by young people here is now an im age, for m ost people, of gangs and anti-social behaviour.

O u tlin e O ut o f Sight b egins by describing how thinking about crim e becam e interw o ven into Britain's c o n s u m e r society. Y ou n g people then describe in their ow n w o rd s the conseq uences of that process: a chaotic and violent social world ov ersh a d o w ed by crime, drug abuse and d es p e r­ ation. T he key to u n d ersta nd ing the often-inexplicable process of ghettoisation that you ng people describe in this study is the closure of the Project. This is w h y the event is the fo undation of this study. I spent a year with a group of 30 young adults aged b etw een 18 and 30 in N ova, gradually getting to k now people and listening to individual experiences of exclusion. This process began in N o v a 's m ain shop p ing precinct at the Project, a drop-in centre w h ere you ng people w ent each w e e k d a y to look for a w ay off the w orkfare carousel. C h ap te r 2 describes the Project and its im portance for the y o u n g adults I met. In interview s I cond u cted with you ng adults at the Project just befo re it closed, each person describes a place free from suspicio n and discrim ination. In C h ap te r 2, 1 also describe going to the Project, w h ere I listened to you ng adults talk about searching for a better job, and a n orm al life free from the stigma of crime. Exclusion, at school and in N o v a 's local e con om y , m eant that m any you ng people had g row n up im prisoned within the area; the majority of you ng adults 1 met had not been outside of Ford apart from school day trips. For m any, the only holiday y o u n g people had been on w as while at school, and then usually for just a day. W ork ers at the Project would do anything they could to provide a b reak aw ay from N ov a , even for just a few hours. C h a p te r 2 ends by describing the effect the closure of the Project had on you ng adults. C h ap te r 3 describes the Precinct, a close netw ork of streets around N o v a 's m ain shop p ing arcade. C o nd itions are very po or in the Precinct and you ng people are m ost concentrated there. C h apter 3 is an account of how you ng people survive the poverty and terrible living conditions that characterise the area, and explores the relations b etw een w ork and 5

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

crim e in 'the life' of the Precinct. Y ou ng adults I m et at the Project describe living in the Precinct in their ow n w o rd s, and of copin g with debt, cold and hu nger, w h eth er people are in work or u n em p lo y ed . The Precinct is described as a private prison, a place w h ere a sense of confinem ent and d esperation multiplied after the closure of the Project. T he econom ic realities of being excluded also b eca m e worse: the Project had closed at the start of w inter and young people describe trying to surviv e on a m inim um w age or state benefits. It was d uring those winter m o n th s that I gained an insight into the culture of c o m m u n ity young people shared to m aintain a sense of hope and self-respect. C h apter 4 fo cuses on the m ean in g of 'the life' for you ng people, how individuals maintained respect living 'the life', and how' living as a co m m u n ity resulted in continuing exclusion. If anything, 'the life' was the decision to live and work on your own terms. Y ou n g people describe m aintainin g re spect 'w ork in ' for yourself' and 'findin' an e arner'; a culture built around constant innovation you ng people lead to surviv e the death associated with tem p o rary jobs, benefits poverty and debt. 'The life' enabled you ng adults to m aintain hope in the future, w o rking free from the w o rkfare m erry-go-round that characterised G e m ini Park. W ithou t the representative social space that was the Project, 'the life' m e a n t being exposed to co n s u m e r society, as an enem y within it. Even though y ou ng people w ere hard w o rk ing and resourceful, living in N ova m eant being denied financial services b ecause of the stigma that surrou nded the estate. Y ou ng people describe the im portance of respect and self-respect as protection against the c o n s u m e r society. C h ap te r 4 conclu des by depicting w h at happened w'hen young people w ere un able to m aintain self-respect and lost hope in the face of exclusion. This chapter covers the w inter m onths of my fieldwork, the m ost harrow ing time w h en I saw you ng people trying to m aintain self-respect. Co ntinually eroding you ng p eople's self-confidence w ere the stigma of crime and the im possibility of gaining skills and qualifica­ tions that could secure a p e rm a n e n t job. T h a t sense of exposure only underlined the im portance of the Project as a social space interw oven into the public life of the estate. The closure of the Project w as felt throughout N ova, even a m ong residents w ho rarely w ent there. A s the Project closed, I met older residents w ho w ere a ttem pting to build a new social space, one that could address an experience c o m m o n to all residents: educational d isadvantage. R ecessio n and exclusion had not only broken the c o n n e c­ tion b etw een school and w ork for y ou ng people. W h e n the factories around N ova closed at the start of the 1980s, older residents w h o worked in Ford's m anu factu ring industries w ere left with skills that w ere no longer required. C h ap te r 5 charts the battle to build a new Project. Residents involved in that process and y o u n g people w h o used the Project describe the difficulties of trying to gain skills and qualifications 6

In tro d u c tio n

while trying to surviv e in a low -paid, insecure labour market. I also show how outside agencies translated the realities of G e m ini Park's w orkfare m erry -go-round as apathy on the part of residents them selves to acquire new skills. W h at followed on the ground w as a struggle b etw ee n local residents and outside agencies to create w h at eventually beca m e G atew ay s: a local education and em ploy m e n t-train in g centre. C o m m u n ity gro u p s w ere able to m ake G a te w ay s a facility that re p re sen ­ ted the p ro blem s faced in N o v a 's local e conom y. C h ap te r 6 describes how residents were given that p o w er fo llow ing a change in policy and society. G a te w a y s ' success was aided by the election of the L abo ur g o v ern m e n t in 1997, a m o m en t w h en people generally started to believe in society. In N ova, that op tim ism resulted in the build in g of a new shopp ing arcade, after years o f trying to persuad e b usin esses back into N ova. T hen, one year into the new m illenniu m , that feeling of optim ism and opportunity vanished fo llow ­ ing the attacks on 11 S e p te m b e r 2001. C h ap te r 6 ends by identifying how, fo llow ing the 'w ar on terror', the idea of co m m u n ity once again becam e d em onised as a threat to society. At the heart of you ng p eople's experiences of exclusion w ere the im ages of crim e imposed on their poor com m u n ity . C h a p te r 7 is a retrospective on you ng peop le's history of exclusion; how the realities of p overty described by you ng people in N ov a have been steadily eclipsed by im ages of crime, in the new s, on television and in video gam es. The chapter sh o w s how crime has b eco m e an inexplicable and necessary threat in the c o n su m e r society. I describe how com m u n ication technolo­ gies, inclu ding the consu m ption of television and the press, convert you ng p eople's experiences of living in poverty into an entertainm ent based around crime.

7

C h a p te r I

A mugger’s paradise

This study begins by identifying the context for you ng people's experiences of exclusion: Britain's co n s u m e r society. 1 show how a c o n su m e r lifestyle gains its definition thinking about crime. I also pinpoint how co m m u n ication s - television, personal com puters and m obile technologies - screen out poverty by allow in g con su m e rs to im agine po or people as criminal. But first I w ant to describe the physical set on which the m a sq u e rad e of crim e is played out. This chapter charts the physical creation of Britain's c o n su m e r society, specifically the re d ev elo p m en t of cities into them e parks organised around the pursuit of a c o n su m e r lifestyle. The d om in a n t explanation as to w h y crime persists is that Britain's cities contain c o m m u n ities w'here people, inclu ding families, are intoler­ ant of work. The idea of an underclass has no bearing on people's experiences of poverty, nor is it intended as an explanation for crime. Instead, this is the m a sq u era d e of crim e in a co n s u m e r society. It is con su m e d by people in a landscape w h ere everything appears available, inclu ding work.

T h e u nu su al suspects Even though crim e has been a reality of the industrial city for three centuries, thinking about crim e is e m bed d ed in the c o n su m e r society. C r im e 's fu nction in defining a consu m er lifestyle links back to the transition from a m a nu factu ring to service eco n o m y in m any cities (see A. Y ou ng , 1996; Lea, 2002). For m a n y people this m eant an end to earning m o n ey through produ ction and a m o ve to a w o rking life organised around m ak ing m o n ey from other people; through services provided to others either locally or in other parts of the globe. Because 8

A m u g g er’s paradise

m a n y people chose to operate this w ay in ord er to live a con su m e r lifestyle, the result is that other people ap p ea r as objects: characters in a theme park. Since the start of the 1980s, c o n s u m e r industries have rem ad e cities, apply in g one standardised landscape. G e m ini Park is one piece of that, a series of geom etrically organised ornam enta l sheds built in the 1980s along Ford's border. T h ro u g h o u t this study, you ng adults describe 'the life' of poverty people are forced to lead in N ov a because of the natu re of w o rk in the local eco n o m y and the perception consu m ers in Ford have about people living in council estates. As a con su m e r society, Ford is a m icrocosm of the world we now live in, divided b etw ee n individual lifestyles and co m m u n ities forced to surviv e in poverty. E very one I spoke to in N ov a described exclusion as a dialectic experience, of segregation within and from school as a result of the stigma s u rrou nding the children of N ova. After being expelled or discouraged from staying on, y ou ng people described being confined to G e m in i Park by w o rk fare policies designed to get you ng people into work. Later, y o u n g people describe the difficulties of trying to gain skills and qualifications while being forced to w o rk unsocial hours and for m in im u m w ages. The circle of exclusion was com pleted when young people tried to w ork together outside of N o v a 's local service e conom y ; w o rk ing together, all b eca m e d em onised as a gang.

W o rk in g poor T he significance of exclusion in the c o n su m e r society stems from the chang ing natu re of w o rk over the past 30 years and its effect on people's perception of society. W hen one looks at con tem p ora ry culture, people with a degree of affluence do not aspire to live as part of a com m unity . T he co n s u m e r society is defined by w h at Jam eso n (1998) describes as a perpetual present: each day organised around a circadian cycle or body time of seductio n and con su m p tion (see A d am , 1995). The result is a society m ad e up of im ages or objects, instead of social relations, outside of w hich are po or com m u n ities such as Nova. In Britain today, poverty is the antithesis to a co n s u m e r lifestyle becau se w ork, for m any people, no longer has a social m eaning. In N ova, people still believe in work b ecau se for the past 30 years poverty has stalked the estate. In the fo llow ing chapters, you ng people describe searching for m o n ey to buy food and pay for utilities and g ro w ing up in fam ilies facing the exact sa m e hardships. Because labour has always been the only w ay to survive poverty, the continu ance of poverty and exclusion explains why a w ork ethic re m ains so im portant in Nova. W ork is the foundation for the co m m u n ity you ng people describe in the com ing chapters, of 'earning' to gain respect and self-respect within their 9

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

com m u nity. Linden, m y m ain sponso r in N ov a w h o m I introduce in C h apter 2, described the im portance of work for every one living in w hat rem ains a very poor com m u nity: 'See, every one I k now is un em ployed but there's one group of people that are un em p lo yed that just do nothin'. Sit around all day, fuckin' in front of the telly. And th ere's lads that I know that get up and go to w ork.' For alm ost all of the 30 y ou ng people I met, 'w ork ing is a value in its own right, a noble and ennobling activity' (B au m an, 1998: 5). Yet the realities of w ork in N o v a 's local service e conom y are te m porary jobs and incom es that only create poverty. Y o u n g people explained how e m ­ ployers in Ford have a negative attitude to people from N ov a, an attitude that stem s from the belief that N ova exists as a culture of crime. This study conclu des with an exam ination of the idea that poor com m unities are inherently criminal. M y concern here is how Ford was gradually divided b etw een an affluent co n s u m e r society and poor com m unities. Residents I spoke to w ho were born before the 1970s described how F ord's culture used to be socially progressive. A n d y , a youth w orker w ho 1 introduce in C h ap te r 2, described 'a b uzz around the place' w h en Ford itself was at the centre of the post-w ar boom . Y ou n g people I m et in N ova were children at that time, and grew up when N o v a 's local e con om y collapsed. After the recession, m any described how N ov a's social fabric disintegrated u n d er the w eight of mass un em p lo y m en t: also, how within Ford, residents w ere gradually perceived as a collective danger. For m any young people 1 spoke to that process began at school during the 1980s, w h en Nova began to experien ce m ass un em p lo y m en t. M a n y of the you ng adults I spoke to described being stigmatised at school for belong ing to a c o m m u n ity responsible for its ow n dow nfall. Jim m y , w h o I introduce in C h ap te r 2, described his ow n experience at Greaves, N o v a 's fe eder seco nd ary school, 'see at Greaves, it w as like two sides of a fence. T ho se w ho w e n t to the school w ere either from G reaves Park or N ova. But the kids from G reaves Park w ere m id dle class. See if you lived in N ova, the te achers looked dow n on you; they never gave you a chance. After the third year, I stopped goin'.' G rea ves Park is a residential area n eig hb ou ring Nova.

G r o w i n g up in a p o o r c o m m u n i t y N early all the yo u n g adults in N ova talking about gro w ing up described a feeling of belonging to N ova. Yet, this was the 1980s, w h en class was felt to be at odds with a burg eoning free m arket society. A n th on y G id d e n s (1991: 197) identifies how , to surviv e de-in dustrialisation, econom ies began to require societies of individuals: 'M arket-governed freedom of individual choice b eco m es an enveloping fram ew ork of individual self-expression.' People living in areas w orst affected by 10

A m u g g er’s paradise

de-in dustrialisation, such as social housing estates, w ere unable to be part of the co n s u m e r society. Instead, as you ng people describe later, being part of a co m m u n ity was the only way to survive. This is w h y , in the co n s u m e r society, life appears split b etw een a consu m er lifestyle and po or com m unities. N ov a w as built on a belief in com m u nity . M an y of N o v a 's first residents had m igrated to Ford, often with nothing but a suitcase, so p eople had to get on to surviv e. Steve, a close friend of Jim m y w ho I also introduce in C h a p te r 2, told m e how his parents, like m any of the young adults I know in N ova, migrated to Ford. Steve: Yeah, I grew7 up there. M e m u m and dad are from Ireland and they m o ved here, to N ova. Th a t's it, I was born in Ford. RM: Nova was the first area they cam e to? Steve: Th at's it; they never lived an y w h ere else after that. In N ov a , culture continues to be defined by a collective belief that people can ov erc o m e poverty, and, listening to residents of all ages, that feeling also characterised Ford up until the 1980s. Ford's b u rgeoning m a n u fa c ­ turing e con om y was the reason why m any people c am e to the city. The fact that people had migrated to the city, often from other countries, m e a n t that being part of a c o m m u n ity was vital. People and fam ilies from Ireland, the Carib bean, P oland, the Asian subcontinent, Eire, Scotland , W ales and other areas of England all m o ved to N o v a during the post-w ar b oom in the 1950s. Like the formation of a constellation, N ova w as created by people with one overriding desire, for a better life in Ford. Then at the end of the 1970s, w h en m ost of Ford's factories closed, the city's peripheral social housing estates, of w hich N ov a is the largest, experienced e con om ic collapse. As the public life of estates such as N ov a becam e eclipsed by poverty, u n em p lo y m en t, crim e and v iol­ ence, it seemed as though the rest of Ford retreated into a private culture of consu m ption.

T h r o u g h t h e lo o k in g glass G ro w in g up d uring the 1970s, the idea of society seemed to d ecline in parallel with the disintegration of Fordism (see Gellner, 1983). Recession had real con se q u e n ces on society: as the cost of living rose and produ ction levels slu m ped , un em p lo y m en t, especially long-term u n e m ­ ploy m ent, rose sharply. In m any areas inclu ding Ford, the problem s stem m ed from an over-concentration of m a n u factu ring industries. W hen m a nu factu ring collapsed in Britain at the end of the 1970s, it was inevitable that heavily industrial cities such as Ford would experience the b runt of recession.

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

In the first three years of the 1980s, the region lost 319,000 jobs, or 14.3 per cent, again the highest loss com pared with any other region in the area. By February 1983, there w ere 46 un em plo y ed adults for every vacant job in the region - a higher n u m b e r than in any other region. In April 1983, Ford City C ouncil estim ated 39,000 people w ere claim ing u n em p lo y m en t benefit, a rate of 16 per cent, w hich w as higher than the rates in several areas with D ev e lop m en t Area status, such as M erthy r Tydfil, North T ynesid e and D unferm line. By the time of the next recession in 1 9 8 9 -9 1 , Ford's E cono m ic D ev e lo p m en t U n it predicted a net loss of 7,000 jobs b etw een 1991 and 1993. O nce again, m any of these jobs w ent from w hat rem ained of the city's m anu fa ctu ring base. After 1991, m ost m ajor m anu factu ring firms in Ford m ad e further red und ancies. In A u gust 1991, a large vehicle production factory anno unced 1,490 red u nd a ncies while F ord's last rem aining colliery closed. As with the recession of the late 1970s, s u b seq u ent slu m p s had a disproportionate effect on already econom ically depriv ed regio ns such as Ford. Alongside other regio ns w h ere m anu fa ctu ring sustained w h ole com m u nities, such as the north of England and parts of W ales, levels of poverty and u n e m p lo y m e n t here rem ained d isproportionately high. W orst affected were social hou sing d ev elop m en ts such as N ova that had been p u rp o s e ­ ly built to supply factories with labou r (see Pow er, 1993, 1997; Morris, 1995). U n em p lo y m en t has alw ays been a feature of industrialisation: the problem in Britain is that w e live in a society that grew accu stom ed to consu m ption during the 1960s. This was w hy the global e c o n o m ic crisis of the 1970s had such a profound effect on British society along with other affluent societies of the post-w ar period. To prevent social disintegration, fo rm er industrial econ om ie s across Europe and North A m erica had to sustain c o n su m e r dem and even though g oo ds that had characterised the p ost-w ar b oom - from cars to d om estic appliances w ere now too costly to produce. M any succeeded by transform ing cities into a co m m o d ity through the creation of retail parks and shopping malls, m ainly to try to attract tourism and b usiness investm ent. As a result the urban landscape of m a n y cities w as redraw n. The production of goo ds sold in cities now occurred in other parts of the w orld, though concept design and service industries rem ained . A s you ng people describe in the fo llow ing chapters, w h at follow ed was the steady d isap p ea ra nce of w orking-class culture from now post-industrial cities such as Ford. The city's transition to a post-Fordist e con om y m eant that factory jobs w ere replaced by w h at you ng people I m et refer to later as 'shit w ork'. In m a n y form er industrial areas such as Ford, labour d em and divides b etw een highly skilled specialist industries, such as finance and te le co m ­ m unications. Usually to m aintain these industries there has also been a proliferation of 'bad jobs' (see Sassen, 1997). Lash and Urry (1994: 12-30 ) 12

A m u g g er’s paradise

describe the creation of 'core' industries in their study on the creation of Britain's post-industrial econom y : This inform ation-satu rated , service-rich, com m u n ication s-la d en core represents a m ajor shift from the older ord e r's central cluster of Fordist industries. It is in this new core, and not in the restructured older m a nu factu ring sectors, that the m ost significant processes of flexible specialisation, localisation, and globalisation are d eveloping. A long sid e the d ev elop m en t of this core has been a g row th in hotel and catering trade, office w ork, leisure time and entertainm ent, service trades and c om m e rce, cleaning and m aintenance. These ancillary sectors are characterised by jobs that are labour intensive and require few qualifica­ tions, are badly paid and offer no ca reer prospects (Benassi, K azepov and M igione, 1997). T h e y also characterised N o v a 's local e con om y ; for exam ple, in a stud y carried out by Ford City C ouncil in 1992, researchers interview ed 300 local residents, 73 of w h om w ere em ployed. T he nature of the jobs held by the 73 (33 m e n and 40 w o m e n ) gives a picture of e m p lo y m e n t opportunities in the area and the skills necessary for these jobs. Firstly, com pared with other areas of Ford, Nova residents were un der-represented in m anagerial and professional occu pations and ov er-represented in service occu pations such as care assistance and kitchen and bar staff. A lthough alm ost as high a proportio n of w o m e n w orked as m en, the survey found that m an y of these jobs w ere part-time and poorly paid, such as cleaning, school meals assistance and care assistance. R esp ond ents w ere also asked how long they had worked in their present occupation. O n e in eight w orkers had been in their current occu pation for less than a year.

B ein g p o o r in an a f f lu e n t s o ciety C h a n g es in the nature of w o rk in Ford have led to a radical shift in the natu re of w o rk and poverty. From a city w h ere the bulk of the w orking population w as em ploy ed in m anu factu ring, de-industrialisation m eant that m a n y people had to specialise, often through providing services to others. O thers were lucky, w orking in so-called 'core' industries such as teaching, local gov ern a n ce and adm inistratio n (see K u m ar, 1984). This is one reason why Ford appears such div ided city, carved up into sites of con su m p tion , residential districts and socially excluded com m unities. H ow ever, the div ision now appears to be essential to the city econom y: creating labour m arkets w h ere jobs prevent people from breaking even. This is how the y ou ng people I m et define poverty, a condition I experienced m yself when I w orked for three m o nths in N o v a 's local e conom y. I3

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

G e m in i Park, a retail park built during the 1980s on the edge of Ford, characterises the w o rk fare m erry-go-round you ng people describe in the follow ing chapters. This op en-air shop p ing mall w as intended to regenerate N o v a 's local e conom y after the recession of 19 80 -1 . At the centre of G e m ini Park is a ring road: on the left, a collection of an o n y m o u s office buildings practically invisible next to the g a u d y retail park on the right. Even though the area itself looks com pletely familiar, the social divisions that operate there are as bad as those described by Frederic Engels (1845), Charles Booth (18 8 9 -9 1 ) and G eorg e O rwell (1937) in their accounts of poverty during the industrial period. Because of the w a y G e m in i Park is organised, as a world of con su m p tion , the e xtrem es of poverty and wealth are invisible. People I m et from N ova w ho w ork in G e m in i Park lived in poverty b ecause no one could earn enough m o n ey to live. H ow e v e r, because G em ini Park's service industries literally dress people as characters, no one sees this. T he retail side of G e m ini Park is open 24 hours, though con su m e rs rarely see the system required to m ake that possible. During m y fieldwork, I w orked at A n d e rson 's, a large s u p e rm a rk et on the perim eter of Nova. A n d e rs o n 's form s part of N o v a 's local labour market. There I, like everyone else, was required to w ear an outfit that, in its design, gave the im pression that I was a service provider: black tie, white shirt, black trousers, shoes and a nam etag. E veryone had to appear im peccably dressed with just two outfits, so you contin ually had to w ash one while w earing the other. This w as just one of n u m e ro u s hardships people endured w o rk ing in A n d e rs o n 's that together resulted in incom es less than state benefits. D ep end ing on p eople's age, e m p lo y e es earned approxim ately £3 to £4 an hour. I earned just over £400 a m onth and after rent and utilities found it difficult to find m o n ey for food. That was only after w o rk ing at A n d e rs o n 's for three m onths. Y ou ng people described w o rk ing in these industries after leaving school at 16, often because teachers assum ed young people I m et w ere either lazy or incapable. All that re m ained was G e m ini Park, which typifies Britain's urban regeneratio n, an edge city m ad e up of large multinational retail stores and an o n y m o u s hi-tech industries. M o st financial b usinesses are call centres or ad m inistration facilities for leading high-street banks. The jobs available in both sectors are radically different. In G e m in i Park, the m ajority of w o rk available in superstores is very low-paid and often tem porary. Jo bs usually involved w orking as checkou t operators or m aintaining stock supplies for cu stom ers. T he financial service in d u s ­ tries usually em ploy people with form s of kn ow le d g e denied to N o v a 's residents: p ro g ra m m in g skills and software production. M an y of the people w ho w o rk in this sector w ere grad uates and cam e from other parts of Ford or from outside the city itself. H o w e v e r, these glaring inequalities are invisible b ecau se of the w ay the world within G em ini Park is designed (see Picture 1, p. 3). 14

A m u g g er’s paradise

N o v a ’s local s ervice e c o n o m y G em ini Park is an urban red ev elop m en t aim ed at a co n s u m e r society: a cu ltural enterprise s y m p to m a tic of the M cD o n ald isation of Britain's post-industrial cities during the 1980s. Based on the success of the restaurant chain, M cD o nald isation b ec a m e a blu eprint for urban re g e n ­ eration in North Am erica and Europe. In the case of Ford, it seem ed that local areas with high rates of u n em p lo y m en t w ere identified. Then the local landscape was re-created to look rural, in an attem pt to eradicate any sign of Ford 's industrial past. C o m pleted in 1985, G em ini Park has help ed beautify Ford 's southern edge, covering over the derelict lan d ­ scape and literally obliterating N ova itself from the horizon. O nce shopp ers began to flock in on a w eek ly basis, G e m in i Park then becam e N o v a 's local e co n o m y , albeit a cosm etic one. The problem in Ford is that m ost people are living on average incom es leaving com p a n ie s to chase d em and. To ensure everything available is not only afford able but also ab und ant, e m p loy ees are paid m in im u m w ag es and with little prospect of pro m otion or increased rem uneration. Seen in a historical context, M cD o nald isa tion is m ore than just urban regeneratio n. G e org e Ritzer (2004) describes how the shift tow ard s a m ass c o n su m e r society has had a profou nd effect on the lives of affluent people. Ritzer (2004: 2) describes how , 'M cD o n a ld isa tio n affects not only the restaurant business, but also education, the criminal justice system , health care, travel, leisure, dieting, politics, the family, religion and virtually every other aspect of society'. B ecause the goal is to enable people to c o n su m e habitually once society is structured by the rules of M cD o nald isation , it starts to c o n su m e itself. To appreciate how poverty is con su m e d in retail parks, w e need to understand how time is constructed. C o n s u m e r time involves looking, selectin g and pu rchasin g in places that look alike no m atter w h ere they are. M o reover, w h en one looks at the average co n s u m e r lifestyle, the laws of M cD o na ld isa tion potentially d eterm ine every aspect of existence. First, our existence, like M c D o n a ld 's , is efficient: 'co n su m e rs are hungry and need to be full' and the co m p a n y achieves that in the fastest possible way. Second is w h at Ritzer (2004) describes as 'calculability' w here everything - time, m o ney , p rodu ct - coheres to strict m easurem ents. Third is predictability: every M c D o n a ld 's p rodu ct tastes the sam e and every M cD o n a ld 's w o rk er looks the sam e in a w o rld w id e operation consisting of 30,000 ou tlets in 119 countries. Finally is the control: of w orkers, food, drinks, light, air. In a co n s u m e r society, people define their lives as reflection of them selves, w hich is w h y the c o n su m e r side of G e m ini Park w as built to fu nction as a scrapb ook of images: a village clock tower, m o ck rustic architecture and hanging baskets filled with flow ers that never fade. This

15

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

is w h y within G e m in i Park nothing seem s real: none of its buildin gs arose ov er time or in h arm ony with the local environ m en t, as N o v a's public am enities have. G em ini Park took over a year to construct, designed as a pastiche of rural A m erica. As a retail park, no one appears to share that fantasy, or attem pts to build a c o m m u n ity around con su m p tion ; instead, every one walks oblivious of one another. At five o'clock and at w e e k en d s m any of the people e m ployed in G e m in i P ark's b usiness district go to the Cotton Club. T he place itself echoes the rest of G e m ini Park, w hat Baudrillard (1988: 1 4 3 -4 ) describes as a digital space involving 'the m eticulou s reduplication of the real'. Inside you are in Old O rleans: red and white striped table cloths, free shots of Bourbon, and Dixieland Jazz. The Cotton Club has an extended bar and closes early in the m orning. M an y of the young professionals who worked in G e m ini Park were reg ular cu stom ers and would spend m ost w eek en d s there. I w ent to the Cotton Club, and m o st of the you ng affluent clientele dressed in w hat seem ed like a costly replica of the dress code you ng people in N ov a lived by: sportsw ear, trainers, caps and w oollen hats. D uring the early m onths of m y fieldwork, Jason and Chris, w ho 1 introduce in C h apter 2, had obtained application form s from the Cotton C lub and asked if I would act as a referee. W o rk in g in the Cotton Club, alongside w o rking in A n d e rson 's, m eans w o rk ing in poverty while potentially being su b su m ed in a dialectical process. Ju d ging by the w ay people dressed at the Cotton Club, cu stom ers appeared to be seduced by im ages of socially excluded you ng people. In C h a p te r 4 , 1 argue that such m anifestations of c o n su m e r culture help mask the m aster relationship the Cotton C lu b 's clientele have with the people of N ova. Y et this was only m ad e possible by the creation of G e m ini Park, a theatrical set w here the m asq u e ra d e of crim e is played out. W ork ers at the Cotton Club w ere dressed in identical outfits designed to blend into the Old O rleans feel and a tm o sp here of the restaurant. Like other retail ou tlets in the area, con su m e rs could escape from the society and poverty surrou nding G e m ini Park, sim ply by travelling into it (see Picture 1, p. 3).

O r d in a ry w orld G oin g to the Cotton Club felt like being part of a degenerate culture, possibly the effect of the consum er-orientated urban regeneration initiat­ ive generally. As retail parks sm oothed aw ay recently dem olished factories to sustain con su m p tion , con su m e rs them selv es began to use crim e as a w a y of m aking sense of the c o n su m e r lifestyle that characterised the 1980s. This is w h y young people in this study do not talk about crim e as a part of their lives. As m e m b ers of a com m u n ity , you ng people experien ce the world through N ova, instead of an individual world of possessions. 16

A m u g g er’s paradise

This c o n su m e r society seem s antithetical to the world of c o m m u n ity that young people described, and the design o f areas like G em ini Park set the stage for those divisions. C h a n g es in urban space such as the creation of retail parks and s hopp ing malls allow con su m e rs to inhabit an unreal w orld, and to believe that people living in poverty are a threat. T he belief is constitu ted through m edia technologies such as the Internet, televisions, telephones and cars, w hich give consu m ers m astery over society. C h apter 4 describes how hu m a n existence b eco m es an entertain­ m e n t when seen through these form s of com m u nication technology. Im ages, by their natu re, are objects even w h en they depict people. Yet, paradoxically, these technologies allow c o n su m e rs to be m o re socially connected than ever before. H ow ever, as a society, each con su m e r exists alone since all w e are able to perceiv e are fragm ented images. These im ages include the people we love, inclu ding our families. B ecause all these people ap pear as im ag es, no one is real to consu m ers. P eople seem real b ecau se, as in D isneyland, we can place ourselves into the fantasy world. C o m m u n ica tio n technologies give us m astery over everything we see and hear, though only in a preconditioned c o n su m e r environm ent. Like the corporations that m ake up G em ini Park, Disneyland and Disney itself is an industry that profits from m a k in g us feel good, and m aking us feel good requires a vast empire. D isney's stores are spread throug ho ut the d eveloped world while its factories in d eveloping countries m ak e g oo ds for a fraction of their retail price. Yet, in Disneyland as in G em ini Park, the hu m a n face of poverty created by the co m p an y is m asked. The m asq u e ra d e society we now live in is m a d e of im ag es; a con su m e r im agining a world that feels real even though w h at w e are feeling is individual, predicated by our ow n desires. Even ente ring D isney stores typifies the c o n su m e r society; even entering as m e m b ers of a group, reality d isappears becau se w e all b eco m e lost in a private fantasy. Even though each character is univ ersally re cognisable, re cognition takes place in the m in d 's eye and at different speeds. In the case of the gangster, b ecau se each person constructs their ow n fantasy in different ways, not only does time b eco m e distant, it is im possible to distinguish w h ere w e are in a world with no 'peculiarities of place' (Byers, 1998: 247). This is why, as I show in C h apter 4, com m u n ities of young people living in poor urban areas have b eco m e globally re cognisable as delinquent. Ford, like m any other cities, resem bles D isneyland, w here m o st of the populatio n exists in a private fantasy that spills out into the city itself. W h y w e feel so uncertain in these places is b ecau se everything and every one co m e at a price. Belonging to a co m m u n ity , living there, and being with other people, we are subject to hu m an natu re, the pain of rejection, failure, getting things w rong. By contrast, a c o n su m e r lifestyle only creates a world of individuals: 'O ne listens to reggae, w atches a western, eats M c D o n ald s 17

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

food for lunch and local cuisin e for dinner, w ears Paris perfu m e in T o k y o and retro clothes in H ong K ong; k now led g e is a m atter for TV g am e s' (Lyotard, 1985: 76). Lyotard (1985) describes a society of individuals cau gh t in a crystal maze, of cars, planes, malls and leisure centres. The con su m e r society, how ever, is not a society b u t a m a s q u e r­ ade involving collections of silent characters to pro du ce a world w here poverty appears as a culture of crime. N o r is the c o n su m e r society progressive. In the fo llow ing chapters, you ng people describe how the c o n su m e r society around N ova is d ep en d e n t on people living in poverty and under the stigma of crime. This dialectical process may explain why you ng people's experiences of poverty seem ed so intractable.

C r i m e as status D uring Britain's industrial period, cities w ere places of production and w ork, visually very different from the landscapes of pleasure and con su m p tion w e see today. W orking-class people m anu factu red goods, while the city itself was organised by a bourgeoisie, resulting in a productive, albeit un eq ual, relationship. M arx (1 8 1 8 -8 3 ) and Engels (1845) described how the city's w o rk ing class generated wealth w orking in factories ow ned and run by a b u rgeoning m id dle class. C reating its ow n exclusive territories within the city m eant those with w ealth could m aintain a m iddle-class lifestyle. B oundaries existed - usually legal - to prevent w o rking-class people from getting in. In the 'G reat T o w n s ' chapter of The C ondition o f the W orking C lass in E n glan d, Engels (1845) was one of the first sociologists to identify how people from different social b ac k g ro u n d s had to co-exist. In his accou nt of M anch ester, Engels (1845: 85) described 'an instinctive and tacit agre em en t' b etw een different classes, as the social found ation for this industrial city. Listening to you ng peop le's accounts of exclusion in N ova, F ord's city culture was constituted th rough stigm atising poor com m unities. Given the a n ta g o n ­ istic relatio nship b etw een N ov a and G e m in i Park, that change had its roots in the urban regeneration of Ford into a c o n su m e r society. To survive de-industrialisation m any of Britain's cities beca m e cultural enterprises, profiting from the sale of g oo ds m ad e in other parts of the world. This had a profound effect on class relatio ns within form er industrial cities such as Ford. From w h at had been an agre em en t b etw een Ford's m iddle classes, status gradually b ec am e personalised. Firstly was the g row th of higher education, w h ich gradually becam e currency in the consu m ption of a c o n su m e r lifestyle. The use of com m u n ication technologies then replaced social capital as the m e c h a n ­ ism through which people achieved statu s (see B ou rd ieu, 1984: 77). T od a y in m an y so-called 'core' industries, w o rk ing relatio nships only take place in the canteen, if there is one (Lash and Urry, 1994). On a more 18

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fu n d am e n tal level, people generally beca m e less concerned with the social significance of w ork, m o re on w h at w as available within the b u rg eoning world of leisure. D riving the post-in dustrial e con om y was con su m p tion , and to sustain co n s u m e r d em and cities w ere re-created into playgrounds. C h an g es in the urban e nvironm ent also reflected how the sight of poverty could potentially affect sales. O ne c o nseq u ence of the serious social p ro blem s that arose during the recession of 1980-1 was an increasing anxiety a b ou t crim e and an urban underclass that m any b elieved to be em erging at that time (see Auletta, 1982; M u rray , 1990). To ensure c o n su m e r spending at a time w h en m a n y cities were d isintegrating, initiatives such as G em ini Park w ere built, in such a w ay that poverty and industrial decline becam e un noticeable (see Foster, 1999). O v e r the past 30 years, the public places of cities have been gradually paved over to a p pear as one (see Ch arley , 1995). Based on my research in N ov a and su b seq u e n t studies I have cond u cted, the 'p riv atisation' of cities has also radically affected the w ays in which people from different econom ic b a ck grou n d s experien ce one another (D ixon, Levine, and M cA u ley , 2004; see W akefield, 2004).

W e l f a r e and w o r k f a r e M a n y y ou ng adults in N ov a described being excluded as a social as m u ch as an e con om ic experience, of being perceiv ed as an object of suspicio n, particularly in sem i-pub lic places such as Ford city centre and G em ini Park. In C h apter 3, y o u n g people describe being perceiv ed as anti-social for congregating together, also as an e con om ic threat to retail businesses th rough 'hanging a ro u n d '. The d ang er that surrou nded N o v a 's young adults seem ed to suggest that, in a c o n su m e r society, people are only respected th rough being able to participate as active consu m ers. For J. K. Galbraith (1992) the idea that com m u n ities of po or people constitu te cultures of crime is 'deeply fu nctional' in a con su m e r society. In T he C ulture o f C on ten tm en t, Galbraith (1992) describes how the im age of poor com m u n ities as criminal gives an affluent society purpose. For G albraith (1992: 1 8 -2 6 ), the culture of con ten tm e n t can be defined by fo ur d eterm inants. First is 'the affirmation that those w ho co m p o s e it are receiving their just deserts'. Second , 'short-run public action . . . is alw ays preferred to protectiv e long term action'. Third , 'the state is seen as a burd en'. Finally, 'w e are tolerant of great differences in incom e'. Using a term that beca m e a prototype to 'the ga n g ', Galbraith (1992: 31) argues that the 'urban un derclass' created by the transition to a global econom y: 'is integrally part of a larger e con om ic process and, m o re im portantly, it serves the living standard and the com fort of the m o re favoured m ajority'. Low -paid jobs with short-term contracts are necessary to 19

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

sustain Ford 's e co n o m y as m a n y com pa nies leave once they have found a cheaper source of labour (see Sassen, 1997; Benassi, K azepov and M igione, 1997). Alternatively, as in the case of retail facilities, com panies them selv es were taken over by larger multinationals that then o u tso u r­ ced labour from other areas. People I m et in N ova, you ng and old, described how the estate becam e enslaved once G e m in i Park was built. During the 1980s, local people w ere expected to work there for a m in im u m w age or face the w ithd raw al of state benefits, even when em p loy ers refused residents secure jobs. M a n y of the you ng people I m et chose to live and surviv e together and subsequently becam e stigmatised as a culture of crim e by youth ag encies. T he result is w h a t 1 describe as the w o rk fare m erry-g o-ro und , a seem ing ly endless cycle of te m porary e m p lo y m e n t and un em p lo y m en t. As a policy im plem ented during the 1980s, w o rkfare m e an s that welfare recip ients w ork, 'be prepared for w o rk', or have benefits w ithd raw n altogether. B ecause u n e m p lo y m e n t in N ov a ran b etw een 40 and 80 per cent of the adult population at the start of the 1980s, the policy affected every w o rking adult, w h eth er em ploy ed or not (Corbett, 2003: 113). In C h apter 7, I argue that econom ic and social policies designed to target you ng people living in deprived urban areas are based on a principle of evil. Their im plem entation , as the next chapter identifies, usually resulted in y o u n g people being seen as d epraved and sub seq uently being treated inhum anely . In C h apter 2, young people describe w orking in G e m in i Park as a deg rading experience: trying to survive on £100 per w eek while being stigmatised for w o rking in m enial jo bs by custom ers and em ployers. Often it seemed y o u n g people w ere defined in those terms to justify and sustain F ord's c o n su m e r culture. Like the c o n s u m p ­ tion of goods, this w as a circadian process beginning with a desire for you ng people living in areas such as N ova to fail. Then, when individuals lose hope, and fall prey to crim e and drug abuse, I believe that m any people free from the realities of poverty and exclusion gain a sen se of satisfaction.

P o v e r t y , c u lt u r e and c r i m e O scar L ew is's (1976) w ork is central to the idea that a culture of crime b egins in a co m m u n ity w h ere poverty and u n e m p lo y m e n t are high. L ew is's (1976) 'culture of po verty' thesis is that w h en com m u n ities experience u n em p lo y m en t, families d evelop crim inal tendencies. This culture of crim e then b eco m es self-perpetuating over time: 'by the time slum children are aged six or seven they have usually absorbed the basic values and attitu des of their subcultu re and are not psychologically geared to take full a d vantag e of the chang ing cond itions or increased opportunities that m ay occur in their lifetime' (Lewis, 1968: 110). 20

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In a co n s u m e r society, L ew is's (1976) thesis clearly has a logical circularity: in a world of plenty, poverty is a matter of individual or fam ily responsibility. T he empirical basis of L ew is 's (1976) work cam e from his fieldwork in the urban slu m s of M exico and Puerto Rico. His thesis, how ever, can be traced back to the Ch icag o School o f urban sociology and the w o rk of Robert Park (1925), in w hich natural areas generate their ow n culture, w h ich then b eco m es self-perpetuating over time. Yet, while Park (1925), like m a n y w o rk ing within the Chicago School, em phasised the influence of wider factors including racism and other form s of discrim ination, L ew is (1976) focused on the lifestyles of people living in poor urban areas. Unlike the Ch icag o School, w h o were w o rk ing in the m id dle of the d ep ression, Lew is (1976) w as conducting his research on poor com m u n ities at a time w hen N orth A m erica was at the centre of a post-w a r b oom . By this point Am erica, and Europe soon after, had b eco m e w h at Debord (1967) described as the 'society of the spectacle', a world w h ere everything and everyone had been reduced to a com m od ity (see Barthes, 1972). W hen one looks at the moral panic s u rrou nding M o ds and R ockers in Britain during the early 1960s, it seem ed D eb o rd 's (1967) society of the spectacle was beginning to define m o dern British culture. Th at is, within a b u rgeoning c o n su m e r society im ages of dev iance w ere starting to function as m ass entertainm ent. L ew is's (1976) culture of crim e thesis is so effective because, within the context of a c o n su m e r society, consu m ers can objectify poverty. As I h a v e already suggested, a con su m e r lifestyle, w h at is principally a degenerate existence, can only m a k e sense contrasted with im ages of c o m m u n ity or collective action. The value of im ages of poverty is that they have w h at Baudrillard (1988) describes as a destiny, becau se the im ages are em pty, or signify a lack of value, people can seduce them selves into believing they are real. W hen the con su m e r society w as in crisis at the start of the 1980s, L ew is's (1976) 'culture of poverty' thesis becam e the fo undation for extensive social policy through Europe and Am erica (G reenstein, 1991), particularly in policy on housing. John Lea (2002: 86) describes how the culture of poverty thesis w as im plem ented in social policy after the Second W orld W ar: 'Relo catio n to new housing estates w ould break d o w n the old c o m m u n ity norm s th rough new form s of living space in flats based on the n u clear fam ily rather than collective c om m u n ity .' Lea (2002: 87) also identifies how the culture of crim e thesis influenced criminal justice policy: 'A ppro priate therapeutic regim es to assist the process of "g r o w in g out of crim e '' could be im aginatively devised.' C rim e and M odern ity (2002) identifies the effect the culture of poverty thesis had on crim inolog y at a time when m o dernity itself was in crisis. As British society b eca m e a m ass co n s u m e r society, econom ic crime, even though rates w ere dim inishing, was b eco m in g integrated into c o n su m e r culture: the m ost graphic instance being the Great Train 21

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

Robbery (see Read, 1978). Like Lew is's (1976) work on poverty, m ainstream crim inological research on young people and crime, from the late 1950s until the present, has to be seen in the context of the affluent society. For instance, with the majority of his sam ple in full-time em p loy m e n t, M ays (1954, q uoted in Roberts, 1987: 91) found that 'w ork was primarily a means of acquiring m o n ey to purchase the pleasures and e njo ym en ts of the city'. For P arker (1974: 69), secure e m p lo y m e n t also enabled an easy transition into adulthood as jo bs were 'easy com e, easy go'. Like 'the lads', Parker's (1974: 67) 'B oys' would b ec o m e adults through full-time work: 'They felt the role of adult w as not far away; once they had a job and plenty of money to spend they could assu m e conspicu ous con su m p tion habits that would put the seal on their ad ulthoo d .' R eading research on youth crim e during the p ost-w ar b oom , studies seem to have pinpointed a tension betw een the proliferation of a consu m er lifestyle and the transition from school to work. The difference b etw een now and the post-w a r boom is that for y ou ng people living in c o m m u n ities ravaged by de-in dustrialisation, there is no transition from school to w ork. D uring the post-w ar boom w h en Britain fulfilled G albraith's (1985) definition of The A ffluent S ociety, the collective transition from youth to adulthood was starting to disintegrate into a culture w here consu m p tion was an end in itself. In his e thnog raphic stud y on you ng people's transition from school to w ork, D ow n es (1966: 236) identified a sense of fatalism am o n g w o rking-class adolescents: W hat has been achieved . . . is an opting-out of the joint m iddleand skilled w orking-class value-system w h ereby work is extolled as a central life-issue, and w h ereb y the male a dolescent of sem iand unskilled origin is enjoined either to 'better him self' or 'accept his station in life'. To insulate them selv es against the harsh im plications of this creed, the adolescent in a 'd ea d -en d ' job, in a 'd ead' ne igh b ou rh oo d , extricates him self from the belief in w o rk as of any im portance beyond the sim ple provisions of incom e, and deflects w hat aspirations he has left into areas of w hat have been term ed 'n o n -w ork ' (rather than leisure). In The D elin qu ent Solu tion , D ow n es (1966: 134) identified a grow ing frustration with 'traditional' w o rk in g -m e n 's pu bs and clubs and 'official' m iddle-class sponsored youth clubs predicated on a 'd elinq uent s u b ­ culture pu sh ing the legitimate values of “ te enage c u ltu re " to their logical conclusion'.

T o o m u ch to o young Research on youth crim e through m u ch of the post-w ar period is characterised by an objectifying, distancing approach. C o m p a re d with 22

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the social u p heav als experienced during the 1930s, at time w h en researchers them selv es seemed to be m u ch m o re involved in the social world of the city, by the late 1950s 'y outh' and crim e were beginning to be categorised as anti-social (see Park and Burgess, 1925; Polsky, 1971). M y a rg u m e n t is that this context of a mass co n s u m e r society greatly affected researchers on you ng people and crime. At the heart of the post-w ar boom it m u st have seem ed transparently obviou s w h y young p eople b ec am e engaged in crime, b ecau se y ou ng people them selves did not have a sufficient work ethic. W h a t w as less obvious was the way in which consu m erism w as beginning to erode the im portance of w o rk for an increasingly contented affluent society. Sadly, w h en one looks at policies directed at anti-social behav iour, the idea of a culture or subculture of crime rem ains even when that world of full e m p lo y m e n t has disappeared . W h a t also rem ains left out of the 'culture of crime' thesis is an a ck n o w le d g e m e n t that thinking ab ou t crime, alongsid e crim inology itself, are now elem ents in a co n s u m e r lifestyle. A ccord ing to you ng people I met in N ova, crim e is a m atter of survival. W orkfare and the chaos it im poses resulted in a b rea k d o w n in traditional family form ations and trans-generational u n em p lo y m en t. Yet, throug ho ut the 1980s, policy, influenced by the culture of crim e thesis, literally pre tended that w o rk still had value in k eeping you ng people out of crime. T he conflict w as m anifest in the constant repackaging of the Y ou th Training S c h e m e s (YTS) (see W illiam so n, 1997: 124). T he w orkfare policy w as im p lem ented in force fo llow ing the w ithd ra w a l of benefits for 1 6 -1 7 year olds in 1988. By 1992, the British Youth Council (1992) estimated that 30,0 00 y ou ng adults each year still refused to participate in the Y T S (see Craine, 1997).

S ocial exclusion O ne of the reasons why the cultural explanation of crim e appears logical is that it provides us with an objective explanation of the subjective experience of w orking for poverty. T od ay in crim inological research you ng people and crim e are explained through the im agery of the 'gang'. In Youth C risis: G row in g Up in the H ig h -R isk S ociety, N anette Davis (1999: 265) describes how the gang is the cause of poverty experienced by you ng people in deprived urban areas: G a n g pro blem s arise in A m erica n c o m m u n ities becau se of entre n ­ ched poverty and few or no legitimate opportunities. They flourish in areas of high residential m obility and striking urban decay. 'U nd erclass' youth, those who are m ost e conom ically and socially d ivided, are m o st likely to be attracted into gangs at an early age . . . The gang p h e n o m en o n reflects w eak com m u n ity , neighb ou rhoo d , 23

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

and fam ily structure, w h erein you ng people seek identity and social conn ections am o n g street peers that m ay involve full-time criminal lifestyles. Implicit in D avis's (1999) a ccou nt is that the gang destroys the work ethic available to you ng people at school, as d oes belonging to a poor n eig hb ou rhoo d . T h o u g h again, the concept of gangs echoes Lewis' (1976) thesis, in that it provides a cultural explanation to w h at in Nova were deep-seated structural factors e m bed d ed in Britain's urban regeneratio n. T he situation y o u n g people describe in N ova is that work creates poverty becau se residents generally w ere classified as a ship m ent of cheap labour during the 1980s. In addition, policy continues to remain influenced by cu ltural explanations such as 'gangs', and listening to you ng p eople's accounts in N ova, their application only seem ed to sustain exclusion. W hy policy is im portant is that it gives our fears about y o u n g people and crim e credibility. Y ou n g people in N ov a described how the culture of crim e thesis was applied the m o m e n t you started school, often b ecause people living in N ova belong to a po or com m u nity. In 1992, Ford Council conducted a survey assessin g the educational qualifica­ tions of N o v a 's w o rkin g populatio n. O f a rand om sam ple of 273 residents, 28 per cent had no fo rmal qualifications and a third of 1 6 -1 9 year olds sam pled w ere w ithout fo rmal qualifications. T he survey also show s how people in N o v a continue to be disad vantaged in school and e m p lo y m e n t training. O v e r half of all hou seh old s on an estate of 3,500 w ere in re ceip t of state benefits. O nly 40 per cent of hou seh old s had a car com pared with 67 per cent nationally, while 43 per cent of hou seh old s w ere w itho ut a telephone (com pared with 13 per cent nationally).

Stitched up: exclu s ion a t school For all the you ng adults I spoke to, both prim ary and seco nd ary school w ere perceiv ed as the root of each person's experien ce of social exclusion. M a n y you ng adults I interview ed had left at or before the age of 16, or w ere required to leave. M a n y of the you ng adults I m et in Nova felt they had been unable to gain or even aspire to qualifications because of a lack of un derstand ing and e n c o u ra g em en t from teachers. Prim ary and seco nd ary school teachers w ere often outsiders, and w ere perceived by m ost interview ees as having a limited conception of w h at it w a s like g ro w ing up on the estate. It seemed that w hile m an y failed to appreciate that the jobs available in N o v a 's local e co n o m y only sustained poverty, others sim ply labelled children as delinquent. Listening to y ou ng p eople's accou nts of exclusion, the process of exclusion each child was 24

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subject to at school seem ed to operate at a m ore psychological level, com pared with the social class div isions described by Engels (1845). The likelihood of being po or during the industrial period was predicated on w hich family you w ere born into, or who you becam e. This w as a trans-generational process w h ere b y the availability of work gave everyone living in the industrial city the op portu nity to earn a living for them selv es and their families (see T h o m p s o n , 1968). I described ab ove how the c o n su m e r society could only be preserved through the re-creation of cities into c o n s u m e r cultures. T he fact that F ord's poor c o m m u n ities were singled out in this process, the likelihood of experiencing exclusion in childhood and ad olescence related directly to people's area of residence. This w as one of the most detrim ental con se q u e n ces of de-industrialisation in the city, w h ereb y u n em p lo y m en t affected g enerations of people in c o m m u n ities pu rpose designed to supply industry with labour. In addition, the optio ns available to people g ro w ing up in such areas d uring de-industrialisation w ere limited even further if urban regeneration involved 'private property' d ev elopm en ts such as G e m in i Park (see Foster, 1999).

C o m p u l s o r y y o u t h tr a in in g All but two of the 30 you ng adults I spok e to described how they were faced with tw o options on leavin g school, training sch e m es or service industry jobs in G e m in i Park. B ecause training sch e m es and service industry jobs only paid m in im u m w ages, all of the you ng people 1 met said they had to remain living in N ov a, while u n dertak ing w hat m any described as 'shit w ork'. M a n y you ng people referred to the situation as a Catch 22: after the w ithd raw al of benefits for 1 6 -1 8 year olds in 1986, you ng adults not 'p articipating' in post-16 education w ere com pelled to take up a training p ro g ra m m e (see Carlen, 1996; Pearce and Hillman, 1998). As a result, very few y ou ng people have the op portu nity to obtain solid skills. A m o n g the 30 you ng adults, only one, H annah , successfully com pleted a vocational course as a dental technician after leaving school. M a n y other you ng adults I spoke to described how local em ploy ers used trainees as a cheap source of labour. Slim , a 17-year-old man I introduce in C h ap te r 2, described the work available to you ng people from N ova:

M echanic, leisure centre, factory w ork, fixin' bikes, dry cleaners in town, packin' crisps, bricklayin'. I either got sacked or laid off. 1 was happy doin' them but it was just the m o n ey , £35 a week. Y ou 've paid y ou r m u m a tenner (£10) and then y o u 'v e gotta get a bus pass goin' to w ork and then y o u 'v e got a b ou t £2 left to y ou rself at the end of it. 25

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In N ov a, and in other social housing areas along Ford 's periphery, c o n su m e r d ev elop m en ts seem to thrive on po or c o m m u n ities as a cheap, reusable labou r supply. O n e m ust also ack n o w le d g e that areas such as G em ini Park supply a g ro w ing d em and for w h a t appears to be largely superflu ous goods. As w e d em and infinite choice, this system can only operate by enslaving millions of people to poorly paid work. That occurs in the d ev eloping world, w h ere global corporations exploit local p o p u ­ lations to m ak e the goo ds that fill retail outlets. M a n y d eveloping countries are exploited as clothing m anu factu rers by m any of the w orld's leading sp ortsw ear com panies: U N IC E F (2005) recently estim ated that 210 million children aged b etw ee n five and 15 are in full-time e m p lo y ­ ment. In so-called d eveloped countries, m an y post-industrial cities now' function as service providers to these com panies. Like N ova, social hou sing areas built to supply industry with labou r now suffer high levels of un em p lo y m en t. In addition, areas them selves are in close proximity to sites of consu m p tion such as G em ini Park. Ford is now an ou tpost of this global netw ork; distributing goods m ad e in the d eveloped world and providing services that ensure com m od itie s circulate. Alongside children in the d eveloping world, people in areas such as N ov a are paid w hat is legally required and with no pro spect of professional d e v e lo p ­ ment. C o m b in e d with w orkfare, the effect of the redesign of cities into c o n su m e r zones is that e m p lo y m e n t appears plentiful. A ccord ing to figures from the Office for N ational Statistics, u n em p lo y m en t fell by 7,000 b etw een Ju ne and A u g u st 2005 to 1.42 million. This leaves the n u m b e r of people in w ork at a record high of 28.76 million, the highest total since records b eg an in 1971 (M ado uro s, 2005). So w hy, w h en labour m arkets are experien cing a gap in applicants, do certain areas continue to suffer social p roblem s such as u n em p lo y m en t, crim e and v ictim isa­ tion? It can only be that people them selves are inherently criminal. The value of crim e in the c o n su m e r society has to do with its instantaneity: consu m ers, th rough the m edia, can believe po or people are the cause of crim e in the blink of an eye. The conclu ding chapter of this study identifies how im agining crim e has been m ad e easier and m ore exciting with technology. I also show how in today's m edia-saturated c o n su m e r society, the screen has b eco m e an invisible b o u n d a ry betw een affluence and poverty.

W o r k i n g in a service e c o n o m y Ford's public places now form a crystal m aze of con su m p tion , and that world was m a d e possible through the m ass produ ction and c o n s u m p ­ tion of televisions, personal com puters and m obile phones. The result is a personal world of co m m u n ica tio n technologies, through which tho u­ 26

A m u g g er’s paradise

sands of people now exist. As com m od itie s in a world of com m od ities, these d evices allow people to live as a seductio n b etw een individual desires and the world before them. L istening to you ng peop le's accounts of exclusion, the transition to a private world of inform ation seem s to have speeded up the process of exclusion itself. As y o u n g people describe later, outsiders to the area 'im m e d ia te ly assu m e the worst' w h en confronted with a group of y ou ng residents. C o m m u n ica tio n s today give people m astery over the visual world. T he nature of c o n su m e r culture suggests that m any people choose to use that p o w er to create a m asq u e rad e of crime, instead of e ngaging with other people susceptible to it. This is why, as I describe in the follow ing chapter, very few studies are produced involving researchers' co n v e rsa­ tions with people living in poverty. A ca d e m ics seem to prefer to be seduced by the im age of the gang as an explanation for crime, instead of recording peop le's experiences of poverty. W ork in g within higher education, I speak to m any people em ployed as ancillary staff, who describe living in desperate situations. At the sa m e time, people I work with pontificate about the need for social change w hile re m ainin g oblivious to people around them. The situation young people describe in the fo llow ing chapters highlights how the co n s u m e r society is s im ulta­ neously blind to poverty and seduced by crime.

R o o m 101 Living a c o n su m e r lifestyle requires w ealth, w hich global financial institutions are now happy to provide people with, so long as individ ­ uals prove them selv es to be secure investm ents. That m eans being com m itted to oneself, and having the freedom to invest in oneself. O w n e rsh ip of property is the m ain m ethod th rough w hich people achieve entry: signing a m o rtg ag e a g reem ent, w e b eco m e literally locked into ou r ow n existence. Like W inston Sm ith in G e org e O rw e ll's (1949) N ineteen E ighty-F ou r, w e are forced to confront our worst fear in room 101. T h o u g h ours is a room w e have created for ourselves. W e use com m u n ication technologies initially designed to sustain the global eco n o m y - even in the event of nuclear w ar - as a m ethod of entertaining ourselves. As e ntertainm ent is all that rem ains in an affluent society such as ours, w e b eco m e porn og rap h ers of our own existence, using im ages to create w allp a p er com m unities. Im ages have alw ays been the m ed iu m through w hich w e sustain a visual perception of the w'orld. Looking, 'w e believe that w e see this reality befo re us as a solid structure in which every individual elem ent has its assigned place, and in w hich its relation to all other parts is exactly determ ined . The fu nd am ental character of all reality lies in this definite relatio nship.' B erk eley 's (1709) theory on how we perceive the 27

O u t o f Sight: crim e , youth and exclusion in m o d e rn Britain

world remains precise, though today many people circumvent the intolerable through technology. Even though we still interact socially, technology makes everything into our own image. In purchasing technology, we gain mastery over our own perception. So, over time, using technology to experience the world means realities that cannot be mastered, such as human decay, are slowly pushed off the map of people's experience. Inhabiting a city without communication technologies or today's saturated skyline meant that people living in poverty were part of everyone's life. In his research for The Condition o f the W orking Class in England, Engels (1845: 120) met and listened to people living with poverty, including Reverend Cham pney, a preacher in London's East End. Reverend C ham pney described the poverty endured by people living in the area because of unemployment: At the gates of all the London docks hu ndreds of the poor appear every morning in the winter before daybreak, in the hope of getting a day's work. They await the opening of the gates; and when the youngest and strongest and best known have been engaged, hundreds cast dow n by disappointed hope, go back to their wretched homes. In the context of today's affluent society, Engels' (1845) account seems arcane; not only in the squalor endured but also in the sheer multitudes of people made poor by the industrial revolution. How ever, during the first four months of my fieldwork, I witnessed the same scenes of desperation and poverty each day at the Project. Now people can escape these realities of poverty in retail parks, where every aspect of sensory perception is controlled, or simply by changing channel. W e believe that such extremes of poverty are restricted to cities in the developing world. Not only are we separated from the present, but also from one another. In seeing images of crime without experienc­ ing people's experiences of poverty, the relationship between both is broken; all we are left with are thieves and young single mothers. Seen alongside the transition to a consumer society that is all we see, as these are the characters we fear the most. Why most people fear crime relates to the way in which many of us work for ourselves to pursue a consumer lifestyle. In addition, those fears are justified through the way policy replicates crime, as a threat to avoid. In Chapter 7 , 1 argue that policy on crime operates as a system of care for consumers, thereby sustaining this cycle of fear and suspicion. Trying to gain an understanding of poverty and crime by consuming (and destroying) images only degrades our knowledge and people's experiences. To begin with, images of poverty displayed on screens and monitors are by definition objective. Added to that, media technologies 28

A m u g g er’s paradise

are designed to achiev e the m ost sophisticated representation possible. This is achieved through the speed at which im ages can be produced and received. Paul Virilio (1989) uses the analogy of m o dern warfare to describe how this occurs. The speed at w hich one arm y can survey the terrain greatly enables their ability to capture land from 'the e nem y'. The sam e rule applies to re presentations of poverty and exclusion. Engels (1845) spent two years investigating the conditions he describes, co n d i­ tions that can now be im agined in an instant. Rosalind Cow ard (1994) identifies how poverty w as stylised in the m edia fo llow ing the urban d isturbances of the early 1990s: 'T he 1990s im age of the council estate, with its gangs of alienated you ths, a b and o ned m o thers and violent hom es, drug dealing and d rinking and violent crime, is an update of an earlier vision of the dark side of Britain's social landscape. T od ay 's c o m m e n ta to rs speak in truly Dickensian term s.' The im ag es Cow ard (1994) describes are objects, not people's subjective experien ce of living with poverty and its consequences. Even though C o w ard (1994) is criticising stylised representations of poverty, the passage rem ains a seductive explanation for crime. In a society driven by con su m p tion , con su m in g the im age of the council estate enou gh times, this cartoon strip gradually defines peop le's attitu des about the causes of poverty and crime.

C r i m e and c o n s u m p t i o n Im agining crim e enables us to remain con su m e rs w itho ut having to reflect on the poverty consu m p tion creates. If one surveys c ontem p ora ry cu lture, especially television, crime has achieved value status: a superfi­ cial negative to justify positive consu m ption. W riting on the rise of con su m e rism , Lash and Urry (1994: 61) describe how , 'w hole areas of lifestyle and c o n su m e r choices are freed up and individuals are forced to d ecide, to take risks, to b ea r responsibilities, to be enterprisin g con su m e rs'. To ad op t a co n s u m e r lifestyle, and for that to be effective, having principles can only limit the art of our ow n seductio n. And b ecause policy is subject to the co n s u m e r society, social ethics, such as recent debates on respect, have to a p pear as entities alone, no longer aspects of hu m an subjectivity. In N ov a, my research with you ng people reflected a co m m u n ity that every one was subject to; if you ng people did not w ork, as a co m m u n ity , individuals would perish. W hen one considers debates on anti-social beh a v io u r and yob culture, m orality is a c o m m o d ity alongside every other com m od ity , to be consu m ed at election time. T he co n s u m e r society is governed by w hat Lash and Urry (1994: 61) refer to as 'reflexive a ccu m u la tio n ': people accu m ulate habitually to the point w h ere we can no longer distinguish people from objects. This is the process w h ereby you ng people in groups 29

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

b eco m e gangs; y outh policy is not sim ply g o v ern m e n ta l but an interac­ tion b etw een con su m e rs and state. W ith the creation of a m ass con su m e r society at the start of the 1960s, social policy on you ng people was gradually packaged to cater to c o n su m e r d em a nd . The process was perfected during the 1980s in Britain and the United States through the conception of an 'u nd erclass', which was p ro g ra m m e d into the co n ­ s u m er society; m u ch like a virus (see B lackm an, 1997; Alexand er, 2001). R obbie, w h o I introduce in C h ap te r 3, described being subject to suspicion the m o m e n t he started attended prim ary school: But a lot of people out around 'ere, y 'k n o w the m u m s and d ads and everythin', they said they sh o u ld n 't hang around with me. D on't hang around with him he'll get you in to trouble. But it really w ere n 't that, y 'k n o w w hat I m ean it was b ecau se I was bored; I never had anythin' to do. And the old bill like, all the time they were just alw ays hav in' a go. From an early age they knew me, from a very early age. I first got into trouble with the police w h en I was a bout ten, ten, or eleven. M a n y c o m m u n ity workers I spok e to in Nova told me that failing to listen to you ng people's experiences of exclusion and crim e was the main reason w h y the relatio nship b etw een both was so poorly un derstood . In a paper on the inability of researchers to understand the experience people face living in socially excluded com m u nities, Janet Foster (2002) applies the term 'people pieces'. Foster (2002) identifies how the failure of research reflects the fact that little research is conducted in areas suffering from poverty and exclusion. As a concept, 'people pieces' is sy m bolic of the im portance of sticking together. All of the you ng people I m et saw their life and identity em be d d ed in N ova, reflecting how' everyone is subject to a co m m u n ity and a society: w e all are. Yet, listening to you ng peop le's accounts o f being excluded from the world outside of N ova, each p e rso n 's experience reflects how exclud ing poor com m u n ities has b eco m e part of British culture.

30

C h a p te r 2

Nova

N ov a is a p atch w ork of 4,000 council houses, low-rise flats and m u nicipal squares, built in the early 1950s, like m any of Britain's social housing estates, to a cco m m o d a te labour for the post-w a r recovery (Pow er, 1993, 1997). The function of the estate explains why firstgeneratio n residents w ere m igrants. For m any people, visitors and residents, N o v a 's entrance is a big traffic junction off Ford's primary southern exit road. On the left is a line of eig hteenth-centu ry mining cottages: not preserved like so m e living m u seu m but lived-in and dilapidated. T he eight cottages, originally ten, w ere built around a colliery settlement, long since disappeared. Directly opposite are one of N o v a 's three tak eaw ay s - F ry d a y 's - and a post o ffice /o ff licence. At a distance, the junction resem bles the beginning and end of an industrial revolution. T he cottages and the tak eaw ay also m ark the entrance of M ain R oad, N o v a 's m ain route into and out of the estate. W inding along and d ow n past residential houses, Main Road then starts to b eco m e populated by social housing constructions - houses, low-rise flats and m u nicipal buildin gs. W ith their sand stone colouring and cornered shapes, every structure is in line with the undu lating landscape. O nly w h en you get to know people do you see how N o v a 's design and cohesion lies hidd en behind cars too expensive to fix, cru m bling plaster and barricaded properties beyond repair. At the centre of the road is a large prim ary school, visible behind big iron railings. After Nova P rim ary is another set of traffic lights, another tak eaw ay, and The Ced ars, one of two public houses on the estate. If you continue d ow n the road, N ova ends at a third traffic junction. On the horizon beyond is G e m in i Park, tw inklin g u n d er tall clustered lights. N o v a 's central traffic junction is a crossroads and Main Road is cut in tw o by Phoenix A venue. T u rnin g right and going north takes you into the m o re sparsely populated N ova Heights. South at the junction leads 31

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

d o w n into the Precinct, N o v a 's co m m u n ity centre. Taking either d irec­ tion puts you on Phoenix Road and w h en I started m y fieldwork, Phoenix R o ad 's southern route w ent straight into N o v a 's original s h op p in g arcade. The arcade resem bled an ocean liner, its stern m oored against a big grassy island. Standing in front of the island w as T he Hand M aid en - kn ow n inform ally as 'the Pub' - directly behind her, the N ova C entre, N o v a 's m ain c o m m u n ity centre. Then there was the m ain arcade, spread out before both like an auditorium . If you stood in the P u b 's car park, you stood before the Precinct's façade: a row of shops broken by tw o gaps w h ere shops could have been in their place, tw o corridors, lined with railings, and behind them m ostly b arricaded shops. All that rem ains d o w n these two alleys are the Precinct's floral arran g em ents, set out in large circular basins situated in differing sizes betw een the shops. There was a time, older N ova residents said, when the Precinct was a safe and p o pular place to m eet and shop. Until the end of the 1970s, there was even a cafeteria. D uring the recession of the early 1980s, how ever, the Precinct quickly b eca m e derelict and a b ando ned . W alking around the arcades you could see that the Precinct's original d esign was intended to provide a c o m m u n a l focal point on the estate with its p a v em e n t a m ph itheatres and floral terraces. L ooking b ack, how ever, it see m s that N o v a 's m o dernist planners failed to envisage the collapse of Ford's m anu factu ring e conom y. The Precinct's main arcade had been intended as a space w h ere people could interact as a c om m u n ity . Then cam e the 1980s, and N ov a disappeared un d er the brave new world of G e m in i Park. W h at had been intended as the regeneration of the local e con om y resulted in the steady desertion of local b usin esses from a co m m u n ity felt to be unprofitable. Shop holders w h o did stay w ere often core businesses like the bakers and new sagents, but they found it im possible to com pete against the multinationals w ho had m oved in d o w n the road. The Precin ct had been scheduled for d em olition at the start of my fieldwork, yet four shops rem ained , an off-licence, a post office, a chem ist and a m ini-m arket. The only other build ings still functioning were a tiny m u nicipal library and the Project, a drop-in centre. Both w ere almost invisible at the far end of the Precinct, at a distance from the shops.

T h e P ro je c t W hen I started my fieldwork, I soon discovered that having s o m e w h ere to go in N ova, to meet friends and talk, is central to surviving poverty and exclusion. For N o v a 's young people, that place was the Project, a converted shop at the end of the arcade, w h ere T m et m an y of the young people w ho took part in this study. In this chapter, I introduce those I m et and describe the im portance of the Project as a haven from 32

Nova

exclusion. It also describes the closure of the Project and its effect on you ng peop le's every d ay lives. W h e n it was open, limited funds m e an t that the Project was free from the corporate identity that defines m any youth centres: the freedom allow ed you ng adults to m ake the Project their own. The Project itself was m uch sm aller than the N ova Centre, m a d e up of two room s and a toilet. T he Project's walls had m ellow ed through sunlight and nicotine, except the back wall covered in a colourful m ural painted by young people. The mural depicted a day in the life of the Project, a couple playing cards, and the cards swirling into an arc around the people. Beneath the couple, an older m an reads a n e w sp ap e r and a group of you ng m en and w o m e n play pool. The first time I w e n t there, the mural w as like a reflection o f the day itself. At the centre of the m ain room was a you ng A frican-Caribbean m an circling the table in brilliant white R eeb ok Heritage trainers, dispensing balls effortlessly. E very one else sat and w atched , along with A n d y, his op ponent, seem ing ly resigned to defeat. The only furniture was a collection of plastic school chairs and w o od e n tables. T he tables w ere littered with the d ay's papers, and decorated with graffiti, cigarette burns and coffee rings. M any of the you ng people I m et at the Project had jobs and others w e n t there to look for work: the w orkfare m erry-go-round on which everyone I met w as stuck. At the time, the Project w as the only local resource w h ere there w as no distinction b etw een staff and you ng people. Because every one w h o w orked at the Project a ck now led ged the p ro b ­ lems all residents had to face, no external pressure w as applied to the m ostly you ng m en and w o m e n w h o w ent there. H ow e v e r, am o n g external youth agencies at that time there seemed to be a shared belief that allow ing you ng people the freedom to socialise unsupervised at the Project w as unconstructive. A s a result, the centre had been scheduled for closure before I started m y fieldwork. Later I d escribe that sad process, w h en the Project was d em olished along with the old arcade, leaving a hole in N o v a's public life. A n y on e w h o used the facility was assured that they could go there, chat, have a s m o k e or a cup of tea, or just retreat from the hurricane of pressures b low in g outside the door. At that time, projects aim ed at you ng people living in N ov a w ere often designed to pro du ce objective results: a percentage gaining a qualifica­ tion, w ork p la cem en t or job. T he im portance of the Project was as a place w here you ng people in N ova could go and surviv e as one. Later I describe how outside agencies tried to im pose a new, fu nd am entally different Project, one that sou ght to engage with y ou n g people by isolating individuals. O ne of the Project staff identified how that strategy alw ays failed b ecau se professionals were unwilling to appreciate the significance of c o m m u n ity as a d efence against exclusion.

33

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

U n c l e Sean T he Project opened at 9 a.m. every w e e k d ay as an advice centre for local residents. P eople in need of advice had to m ake an appo intm en t. At noon, the build in g b eca m e a drop-in centre offering subsidised cu ps of tea and coffee, free local and national ne w sp ap e rs and a ga m e of pool or table tennis. As I discovered d uring my initial m eetings with staff, most of the people w h o w ent there w ere you ng adults aged b etw ee n 16 and 30, com ing in during time off w ork. A free phone and free local papers also m ad e the Project a good place to look for a job or usually just a b etter one. Y ou ng m en and w o m e n would chat about vacancies, lessenin g the inevitable introspection that looking for w o rk entails. The Project m anag ers w ere E dd y and Sean. Sean practically ran the Project as E dd y w as constantly hassled by paperw ork. Eddy w as approaching re tirem ent, a small p lum p m an w h o, despite his enthusiasm for young people, was gro w ing w eary of the external pressures. Even though you ng people w h o cam e to the Project w ere saddened at the prospect of its closure, m any felt Eddy deserved the break. Sean in contrast was a rock for m a n y y ou ng people in N ov a , big, tall, with a positive attitude. Sean worked for years as a children's w o rk er at the N ov a Centre, w hich is w h y alm ost every you ng person w ho attended the Project know s him. N ext, w ere the co-w orkers: M ath ew , a tall slim A frican-Caribbean m an, straight out of university like m yself, and divided betw een optim ism and frustration; finally, there was A n d y , Cau casian, quite short and thinning on top, w ho was stud y ing at Ford Univ ersity for a M asters degree, and kept fit through the other p ro g ra m m e s he ran for y ou ng people. O n m y first day A n d y was playin g pool with A n toine, w ho was off w ork for a w eek, along with Chris, A n toine's best m ate, a slim, well-dressed Caucasian man app roaching 20 leaning against the wall. At the w in d ow , sitting on a chair tilted against the glass w as M artin, a you ng, g oo d-lo ok in g A frican-C arib bean man aged 22. M artin w a s one of the people 1 b ecam e closest to and his experien ces and insight helped shape this study. In the back room Tracy and C atherine, both in their m id -20s, each of m ed iu m height, sat talking while Eden, C ath erin e 's five-year-old d a u g h ­ ter, and Tra cy 's seven-year-old son D ane burst around the room with energy. As I walked into the b ack room Sean turned around from the sink and smiled hello. I soon discovered that alm ost all the you ng men and w o m e n w h o com e into the Project had know n Sean when they had attended the activity groups he organised at N ov a Centre. Y ou ng people also grew close to Sean passin g the Project each afternoon on their way h o m e from school. T he roads linking the Precinct, w h ere m an y of the you ng people I got to know lived, with N o v a 's three prim ary schools, all seem ed to conn ect directly in front of the Project w'indow. Every

34

N ova

weekday at 3 p.m., the street outside the Project became filled with a tricolour of tiny children and parents. Sean always seemed to be there for people: everyone knew where he lived and had his phone number. The depth of knowledge Sean had about what young people face growing up in Nova was reflected in the respect everyone I met gave him. The only time I saw Sean look disconsolate was when I asked him what would happen when the Project closed. He told me the Project's funding agency was trying to find another backer for a new facility, though his face showed little sign of optimism. In retrospect, it seems the Project's popularity among young people was its downfall. Not defined by a strategy or targets meant that the Project, as a service, appeared on paper as if it was not providing one. This was the main reason why, after 15 years, it had to close. Yet the young adults who went there did so because it allowed them time and space to step off the workfare merry-go-round, if only for a few hours. Sean explained how over those years the Project became part of young people's lives, while schemes organised by outside agencies came and went. Previous initiatives had been unpopular through the way youth workers sought to impose restrictions on young residents. The result, through the 1980s and 1990s, was a spiral of short-lived projects where young people were coerced into programmes simply to produce results. The effect was that young people themselves felt that, in the eyes of outsiders, they were regarded as a local problem. For Sean, the result of this lack of co-ordination was that many children in Nova grew into adolescence with a negative perception of youth and community workers. As Sean said one afternoon, 'one minute they are accom m odating young people, the next they're telling them what to do'. During my afternoons at the Project, Sean also identified more deep-seated factors, including Ford's economic decline and the effect that had had on the resources available for deprived areas. Provision for young people in Nova had been transferred from local government to an amalgam of private and semi-private agencies.

Born and bred Working as an assistant in a children's playgroup at N ova's main com munity centre, Sean had an insight into the relationship young people had with their families, and described the effect exclusion had on children's lives. Sean explained the pervasive realities of living in a com munity associated with crime: separation, domestic violence, parents who experienced mental or physical health problems, drug dependency and imprisonment. Sean described how, in families scarred by these problems, young people grew up angry and the anger was often expressed at school. When that happened the barriers young people 35

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

already faced echoed into ad ulthood . N o v a 's you ng adults are incredibly strong and only a few of those I got to know b eca m e totally alienated or lost hope inside. Sean said the majority of you ng people were strongly motiv ated by a sense of family. O f course, so m e y o u n g adults I got to know had y o u n g child ren them selves, w h ich Sean suggested gave y ou ng adults s o m e o n e to love w ho also loved them back. H ow e ve r, m any you ng adults I met were also unlo ved as child ren, at hom e, at school or s o m e tim e s at both. O n e afternoon at the Project, Pele, tall, Caucasian and blessed with a devilish smile, explained how teachers at his second ary school insisted that his m o ther taught him. This was after Pele had already b een placed in 'the Unit', a separate build in g at G reaves S e con d ary School for pupils w h o w ere regarded as problem atic: Pele: Yeah. At G reaves, they used to have a little class w here you d id n 't get allowed out at b reak times. They used to put m e in there, write out loads o f lines and that (laughs). They called it the 'the Unit'. T h e y also used to get me m u m d o w n to school, she used to teach me. They put me in a separate classroom and she used to teach m e and then she'd go back to w ork again and the next day she'd com e back d ow n again. She had the afternoon off to teach m e again. RM: Y ou r m o ther w as n 't a te acher in a school? Pele: No, she'd just com e d ow n to keep m e out of trouble. RM: Did she teach you? Pele: N o, I just used to sit in a library and that w h ere it was quiet. I just used to read and do me h o m ew o rk and she used to tell me w h a t to do. The teachers w ould tell her w h at needed to be done and she'd just say do this, do that. Then as soon as she w ent, I'd be off again. For m any young people, frustrations stem m ed from experien ces at seco nd ary school, and m any adults described their an g e r at not being able to continu e into fu rther education. For Pele, that anger spilled into ad ulthood . I noticed that Pele, w h o w ent to the Project every day, s ud d en ly stopped attendin g. I asked him why: RM: I saw you in The Project just when I started going in there but then you disappeared . W he re did you go? Pele: Oh yeah, well it's a long story. See I'd gone out on the lash [drinking] one w eek end . I was fuckin steam in ' I'm tellin' ya. A n y w ay , it was S atu rd ay night and w e w ere trying to get a taxi hom e. A n y w a y , yeah w e got a m ini cab and me and me mates. And then he [cab driver] stop ped , Asian bloke he was, and says w e 'v e gotta get out 'c a u se w ere causin' too m u ch trouble. Yeah, so that's w h en I got into a fight with 'im and I hit him. Then after 36

N ova

that I went on the run for a few months. Then after about a year, the old bill caught me and I got sent dow n for three months; that was in the Young Offender Institution. Through my observations at the Project and then listening to Sean, I began to understand why young men and women were filled with rage and frustration. Pele and other young people, particularly young boys, described being treated differently, often inhumanely, by teachers. Research reveals how growing up in a socially excluded com munity can be a barrier to further opportunity. Gorard et al. (2002) identified how the choice of schools available to parents and children living in poor areas could also be a barrier to educational achievem ent. Describing the effect of school selection, Gorard et al. (2002: 370) note, 'In effect, social segregation between schools is increasing, leading some disadvantaged schools into a “ spiral of d ecline", and creating a clear system of winners and losers.' Local geographies such as wards show broad and deep divisions of participation chances: the 20 per cent of young people living in the most advantaged areas are five to six times more likely to enter higher education than the 20 per cent of young people living in the least advantaged areas. Maps of local participation rates reveal that many of the region's cities and towns are highly polarised. In one neighbourhood, almost no one goes to university, while in others 70 per cent of young people will enter higher education (Gorard et al., 2002: 370). Spending time writh young adults each day at the Project, I began to understand the emotional impact of exclusion; also the ways in which young people were able to survive through friendship.

S p irit o f a c o m m u n i t y Adults often criticise young people for their irresponsibility or reckless­ ness. My own belief is that young people's sense of danger is a method of establishing who they are. In her study of crime and com munity in a deprived urban area, Janet Foster (1990) describes the transition from childhood to adulthood among the young people she interviewed. The form the transition took was from the 'public to the private' (Foster, 1990: 137). Foster identifies how young people left school, found work and developed relationships: 'The intermediate years, ow ing to preoccupa­ tions with relationships, the assumption of adult status, and the new opportunities afforded by work, were characterised by a gradual shift away from the public sphere.' Nova was no different: Slim, for example, described the workfare merry-go-round many young people were trapped on; 'most of the jobs are shit; and all I'm getting off the dole is £70 a fortnight. I mean that's gone the first and second day you get it.' Jay explained where the money went: 37

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

See no one's really got an edu cation in N ova. A lot of people with families. Y o u 'v e got your ow n place and y o u 'v e got to pay rent which is say £40 and then y o u 'v e got to pay council tax, your water, y ou r gas, y ou r electric. And then if y o u 'v e got kids y o u 'v e got to get the food and keep them clothed and w h at not else. Jay identified the econom ic realities of the w orkfare m erry-go-round : long hours, m in im u m w age, and few prospects for prom otion. G oing to the Project was a w ay of o v ercom ing these uncertainties as a com m u nity. W as s erm an et al. (1998: 201) describe the im portance of places like the Project, 'B ecause place attachm ent reflects a history of hu m an interaction, it is shaped by the changing u n d ersta nd ing people have of that interaction, and it is subject to retrospective revision in w ays that are not alw ays obviou s to those w h o experience it.' Despite its limited resources, the Project provided free sources of recreation and the m eans to search for a 'decent job'. Sean, with Eddy, A n d y and M athew , all did w hat they could for the you ng people w ho cam e in. O ne day Oily, who I m et and introduce below , cam e into the Project with a job application form. Oily needed a re ference and Sean and E dd y were able to help. It w as also in the Project w h ere Sean introduced m e to m any of the you ng adults I interview ed. Below is a diagram of the three com m u n ities of you ng people I met by going to the Project. Jason (18), white, tall, slim and alw ays sm artly dressed, cam e in to see his friends, Slim (18), and Oily (21). Slim and Oily were m uch shorter and looked m ore y outhful than Jason, with his p ro m in en t good-lookin g

Picture 2

38

Respondent groups

Nova

features. Both w ere Cau casian: Slim , m ed iu m height and build, and Oily, short and stocky. All three w ere w orking for an e m p lo y m e n t agency. M a n y of the you ng people I subsequently m et were registered with several agencies. Even though w o rk w as usually only for a few days at a time, agencies required y ou ng people to start im m ediately. The work itself w as usually within Ford's service industries: restaurants, su p e r­ m arket, or distrib ution w arehouse. Being on call was one reason why Jason, Slim and Oily are alw ays sm a rt in their appearance. All alw ays w ore crisp clean shirts with short sleeves during that hot s u m m er, with sm art shoes, trousers or jeans. Even though the clothes you ng people w e a r cost very little, looking good was a statem ent of self-respect. Oily, Slim and Jason w ere very close friends th rough gro w ing up together and attendin g the sa m e prim ary and seco nd ary schools. A lm ost all the you ng adults I m et went to Greaves. W hen friends had attended the sa m e prim ary school, friendships were inevitably m uch stronger. G oing to N ov a prim ary school and G re a ve s second ary was one reason w h y Jason, Slim and O ily w ere so close. Pele (17) and Ricky (18) were friends of Oily, Jason and Slim. Both w ere the sam e age as Jason and Slim. Pele, tall, white, and slightly heavier than Jason, w ent to St M ary's, N o v a 's only Catholic prim ary school. O ily, w h o also boxed and played football at the N ova social club, also w ent to St M ary's. Oily then w ent to Hillcrest Second ary , a fe eder school for N o v a 's n eighbou ring resid en­ tial estate. These differences set Pele and Ricky slightly apart from the other friends. All of the boys, how ever, w ere usually together at the Project. Jason, Slim , Pele and Ricky w ere sin gle at that time, and w ent to the Project b ecau se it provided an op portu nity to m eet you ng w om en w ho w ent there. Single you ng adults, w h eth er in w o rk or not, usually seem ed to have m o re unstructured time and the Project gave a unity to the day. Slim and Oily both had partners. Vivian w as Pele's girlfriend, C a u casian, and the sam e height as Slim. I never met O lly 's girlfriend, though I saw Teresa and him to gether with their you ng son in the arcade occasionally. Catherine (17) and Tracy (19) w ere both d im inu tiv e C au casian w o m en and each had a y o u n g son. T he Project provided a break from David, w ho was T racy 's son, and Brad, C atherine's. 1 met both you ng boys on m y first day at the Project. As I continued to go I quickly found how both could easily m o nopo lise m y time with their b ound less energy. G oing to the Project each afternoon, I began to w o n d er why the young w o m e n w h o w ent there seem ed to be m ore m ature com pared with the men. H av ing children m a y have been w h y C atherine and Tracy appeared less concerned about w h at others thought about them. O verall, the young m en I got to k now in Nova seem ed to act as if they had m ore to prove. This was especially true of you ng Caucasian m en, which I explore in C h a p te r 5. Chris (18), slight fram ed, Caucasian and good looking, and A ntoine (17), A frican-C arib bean, tall and stocky, w ere all 39

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

regulars at the Project. Both loved playing pool, and played together even though A ntoine usually defeated any com petitor. Sean and Andy also had difficulty extractin g both from the table to allow others to play. Caitlin (19) and Jay (28) were the final two of the tw elve you ng adults I interview ed at the Project. Caitlin is C au casian, m ed iu m height although she looked taller for being so slim. C o m p a re d with most of the you ng adults w ho w ent to the Project, Caitlin was m ore inclusiv e than the rest. Jason, Slim , Oily, Slim , Pele and Ricky all formed a close-knit group. C atherine and Tracy were inseparable, as w ere Chris and Antoine. Caitlin, how ever, was h appy in an y o n e's com pany . Jason, Slim, Oily, Pele and Ricky all agreed to be interview ed at the Project. I was unable to cond u ct interview s with C atherine, Tracy, Chris, A n toine or Caitlin b ecause they all d isappeared when the Project closed. The Project's closure had a d etrim ental im pact on the unity and stability of the you ng adults' social w orlds generally. Even for you ng adults who w ere w o rk ing at the time, m ost of the jobs in and around N ova involved unsocial hours. This m eant that the Project was the only place to go. Bus journ eys to Ford city centre on a regular basis w ere beyond the m eans of m o st of the young adults I met, w orking or not. T he last m e m b e r of the group I got to know at the Project was Jay, tall, Caucasian and slim. Jay w as a decad e older than the rest of the g roup and was close friends with Huey. H uey, Cau casian, tall though a lot heavier than Jay, worked in a local hotel. Huey worked nights and the Project allow ed a relaxing time off. A w eek before the Project closed, Sean, M a th ew and 1 drove Jason, Slim , Oily, Pele, Ricky, Chris, A ntoine, Huey and Jay to a local park just outside Nova for a g am e of football. T he g am e spelled the end of a beautiful su m m e r and an invaluable resource for y o u n g adults in Nova. After the Project's closure, you ng people w ere bereft of an in te rm e d i­ ate safe space: so m e w h e re to go on a w e e k d ay and not feel pressured to spend m o ney . T he N ova Centre, the estate's principal co m m u n ity centre, was only open to the public for three hours in the m o rnin g , a time when m a n y you ng people w ere searching for w ork. W h e n I was with you ng people b etw ee n nine and m id day , the hours involved w aiting in job agencies for nonexistent jobs, w o rk ing on training schem es, or q ueuing to sign on. It would be too easy to suggest that all that w as required was another Project. Yet the Project's shared sense of com m u n ity , which bathed each person who entered, had taken years to captu re. The magic of the Project w as no m y sterious process, k n ow n only to people w h o live in N ova. It w as sim ply a m atter of giving y ou ng adults time, so everyone could w e av e the Project into history. Friendship also m ad e the Project a place to go, as did the concern and e m p a th y Sean and other workers have for you ng people. T he historian Eric H o b sb aw m (1997) describes the im portance of these elem ents in history: 'ideally each generation copies and repro du ces its pred ecessor . . .'. Even though M ath ew and 40

Nova

A n d y did not live in N ov a at that time, both w ere respected. In listening to you ng people, all four m en also m a d e the Project an interm ediary b etw een a hostile, m istrustful outside world and the volatile public and private culture of N ov a itself. Despite the criticisms levelled at the Project by outside agencies, the initiative w as not a com fort zone but a process. Friendship w as the culture of the Project and it allow ed young people to step off the w orkfare m erry-g o-round and feel at ease. W hen the Project closed at the end of the su m m er, friendship rem ained though the culture that filled the void could only be described as a helter-skelter of crime and drugs.

The rule o f the street By O ctober, the Project had been re duced to ru bble and y ou ng adults w ere forced to spend time in and around the place w h ere they lived. For y o u n g e r people, w h o had often just left hom e, that is 'the Pre' (the Precinct). Intractable poverty and a transient populatio n in the Precinct also m eant that it experienced high rates of victimisation. A similar picture, w h ere a culture of violence d om inated the public life of a com m u n ity , can be found in Bourgois' (1996) ethnographic study of East Harlem in N ew York. As in N ova, a small minority, engaged primarily in the use and supply of crack-cocaine, controlled certain areas. B ourgois (1996: 34) refers to a 'culture of terror' at w ork in East Harlem within w hich the 'threat' of violence can engulf and enslave an already vulnerable co m m u n ity and result in a profound ideological d y n a m ic that necessitates a distrust of o n e 's neighbour. Being burgled in the Precinct could never be reported b ecau se of the culture of violence that sustained it. People w h o did report being a victim of crim e w ere often subject to further victimisation. W a rre n , w ho I met after the Project closed and introduce later, lived in the Precinct. He said, 'People would like com e ro und askin' for Rizla (cigarette papers) or som e th in ' and w h en you opened the d oor they'd case up you r house'. W hen I spoke with Martin about living in the Precinct, he told m e how an internal system of control had evolved to p revent burglaries proliferating:

If any on e fucks you over, steals your video. You can 't com e into a lad's yard (flat) and steal his stuff, his video, his tapes. A n y w a y , if so m e o n e does that you get it sorted. O ne guy did som ething a couple of w eek s ago and got thrown off one of those flats dow n there; you know those three-storey ones. He was hurt, though he d id n 't go to the hospital. If it was any on e else, they would have been injured b ut he took it. He was sore for a few days; he b rok e a few ribs. 41

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

Despite the dangers, crim es com m itted by residents on other residents persisted for reasons Jay described: 'm ore people are stealin' off each other. I m ean usually it's just for a drink or sum m it. T h a t's all they want, just a drink.' The volatility of the public and private culture of the Precinct was also reflected in the incidents of violence I witnessed b etw een men and w o m e n involved in relatio nships. O ne afternoon I was chatting with one y ou ng m a n I had m et at the Project in N o v a 's main arcade. L inden, w h o I introduce b elow , invited Christine, a tall and sm artly dressed you ng Caucasian w o m an , to com e over. Linden asked C hristine how things w h ere g oing and she explained she had just had an arg u m e n t with her boyfriend. Christine then lifted her hair to reveal a deep cu rved scar above her eye, covered in stitches. During the arg u m ent, Christine said that her boyfriend had hit her with a broken b eer bottle. Talking to Jason, Slim and Oily about living in the Precinct, w h ere all three did at that time, all told me they w ere reluctant to spend a lot of time there during the day. There w ere a high proportio n of y oung people usually living alone in the Precinct and an equally high proportion of outsiders. That, com bined with the m ultiple p roblem s you ng adults had to face, m a d e the Precinct a very chaotic world. Population turnover there w as also very high. M any you ng adults I spoke to, so m e of w hom lived in the Precinct, blam ed the haphazard mix of people, usually you ng people from other parts of Ford, for m aking it an uncertain place. Jay described how you ng people w h o m oved in w ere targeted: 'Y 'k n o w , they m o ve in and they'll get targeted, they d o n 't k now anyone. But b asically, no one's got anythin' in Nova. But they'll m ooch [steal or deceive] them any w a y just to see. If they ain't got a telly or video they'll just rob the w ashing m achine or som ethin'.' After the Project, m any you ng adults w ere forced to occupy that space, one w h ere the susceptibility of being a victim of crim e or drug use was m uch higher, as I describe in C h a p te r 4. E very one I m et through going to the Project seem ed to d isappear once it closed. It w as only through m eeting a y o u n g m an w h o lived in the area that I w as able to appreciate the hardships residents faced.

L inden’s After the closure of the Project, I spent m ost of my time with Lin den (26) and Liam (27); Linden is a well-built A frican-C arib bean you ng man. Liam is C au casian, and nearly as tall as Linden, though less m uscular. T h ro u g h his kindh earted ness, Lin den opened the door to the social world he and his friends shared, and to the im portance of 'the life' in m aintainin g re spect (see W h y te , 1945). L ind en's world also revealed the d angers faced by you ng people trying to surviv e exclusion on their ow n. 42

Nova

A b o v e all, L ind en's world personified surviv al, and m an y residents regarded Linden as a 'top lad'. T he term itself had little to do with g ender, just a referent for s o m e o n e well respected in and around Nova. N either was being 'a top lad' related to violence or crime. Y o u n g e r and older residents respected Linden becau se of his strength, good hu m o u r and com passion. Linden told me after the Project; 'Y eah see me, I know the top ones. I k now the ones right d ow n the bottom. I d o n 't look at them any different really. I d o n 't look at them and think " y o u 'r e nothin' you are; I'm w anna the fu ckin' la d s ": I'm not like that.' Being accepted into L ind en's world happened w hen he got a job at an engineering co m p a n y on the other side of Ford. The job itself was characteristic of workfare: if Linden declined the job, w'orking on a night shift six m iles from N ov a, his benefit pa y m e n ts would be stopped. To clock on at 6 p.m., Lin den would have to leave his flat at 5 p.m., leaving at least an hour for the tw o buses. After finishing at 6 a.m ., Linden then had to w ait at least an hou r until the first bus into Ford city centre at 7 a.m., and then catch another into N ova. Receiving just above the m in im u m w ag e, after travel and living costs, Linden would barely break even. W hen Lin den told m e about the job, I offered to take him to and from work for as long as I could. After three weeks, Lin den was d ism issed, after com plaining to the night m a n ag e r a bout the lack of heating. O ne could understand how m any y ou ng people, inclu ding Linden, tried to rem ain self-em ployed: Liam was the m ost successful in gaining regular inform al w ork, m aking a living as a painter and d eco rator for people in N ova. Y ou n g people w ho w e n t to the Project w ere often s elf-em p lo y ed , usually after w o rk ing in G em ini Park: it seem ed like a good place to build social capital. During the Project's last w eek, I asked both how they felt about the closure. Liam said, 'it's shit really, there's now h e re else to go'. In the w eeks and m o nths after the Project's closure, I spent m ost of my days in or around L ind en's flat: Liam and L ind en's other close friends lived nearby. Lin den w as very genial and his ow n flat was a meeting point for his friends chiefly b ecause of its size; an architectural quirk as m ost flats in the Precinct consisted of box room s. Being invited into Lind en's, I met L ind en's partner, H a nna h , nearly six years younger. H an n a h , C au ca sia n and beautiful, w as in her late teens and worked at the m edical centre in the Arcade. This m e a n t we only usually m et at night. The rest of L in d e n 's friends tried to stay free of the w orkfare m e rry -g o-ro und , 'w ork ing for yourself'. Th at m eant all w ere restricted to N ov a for m ost of the day and night. O nly one of L ind en's friends at that time, Jim m y , had a car, though he had difficulties keeping it running. After the closure of the Project, the pub on the edge of the Arcade b eca m e the only alternative to being stuck indoors. As that s u m m e r cam e to a close, Lin den (26), Cliff (27), Liam (27), M artin (22), Steve (27), 43

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

R obbie (29), L ean der (18), Jim m y (28), Ton y (28), Benita (20) and M o n tan a (21) would sit outside in the car park listening to the ju kebox. On those s u m m e r days, L ind en's circle echoed W h y te 's (1945) a ccou nt of the street corner society. As N o v a 's skies b eca m e cold or overcast, the group w ould go inside, m o n ey permitting. Lin den becam e an ideal sponsor, providing me with his pho ne n u m b e r and saying I could phone or com e around. M o st of L ind en's friends w ere in their m id-20s and grew up together in N ova. Cliff, M artin and Tony w ere AfricanCaribbean. Cliff and M artin are both tall and stocky, as was Ton y, though he w as m ore slender. Steve, Liam and Jim m y looked practically identical, m ed iu m -b uilt, slim and C au casian, while Robbie is the smallest of the group, quite slight and Cau casian. A p p eara n ce was incredibly im portant for all the young adults I met, a w ay of d efying the negative s tereotypes of ou tsiders. Lin den and his friends dress in a Hip H op style. In C h a p te r 4, I illustrate the im portance of Hip H op and R & B for men and w o m en. L eander, Benita, Ellie, H an n a h and M o nta na, all Cau casian, w ere slightly you ng er than the m en in the group. M o n tan a and Benita grew up together in another area of Ford and b onded at another school. W hen M o ntana w as in prison, Benita told m e 'w e used to keep in touch, I used to write and go and see her', even though the prison itself was on the other side of the country. Benita was taller than M o ntana though both w o m e n , each Cau casian, looked sim ilar in the clothes they w ore; long leath er overcoats, stylish boots, polo neck sw eaters with a gold necklace. H a n n ah and M o n ta n a w ere just over five feet tall and Leander as tall as Benita, app roaching six foot. Ellie w as the tallest and the strongest. Like Benita and M o n ta n a, all four w ere incredibly sm a rt and highly innovative in the clothes they wore. Benita and M o ntana shared clothes and jew ellery, and liked to look similar, w hile H annah , Ellie and Leander all expressed their ow n individual style. After being introduced to L ind en's friends, I tried to be with all as m u ch as I could for as long as I could while trying to avoid being a nuisance. In the fo llow ing chapters, I describe the social world Linden and his friends created for one another, and the am b ig u o u s feelings m a n y had about the co n s u m e r society that glistens on N o v a 's horizon. At the end of Learn in g to L abou r, Paul Willis (1977: 194) concludes: 'At best, daily life, like art is revolu tio nary. At worst, it is a prison house. At worst, reflection, like criticism, is reactionary. At best it creates plans for e s c a p e / L ind en's friends m a d e w hat m u st have been a daily prison hou se a revolu tion. The closure of the Project, if it could have been otherw ise, was a chance entry into L ind en's world. T he closure also m e a n t m any of the other you ng adults 1 m et beca m e m u ch harder to find. H ow deeply the closure of the Project affected every one I will never know.

44

Nova

N o v a : i t ’s me; i t ’s who I am T he Project was a social world inclusiv e of age, gender, ethnicity and dress: history was m ad e there b ecau se the social world of the Project transcended age: older residents recollected their ow n experiences along with y ou ng adults, creating 'spatial stories' each day involving the life of a co m m u n ity (de C erteau, 1984: 118). Even though I never witnessed you ng people d issociating them selves from older residents, after the Project closed interactions b etw een both groups vanished. A n ne P ow er and K atherine M u m ford (2003: 268) describe how 'C o m m u n ity brings strangers to gether and transforms a frightening sense of uncertainty into a m o re confident feeling to w ards the b igg er world of the neighbourhood and b ey on d '. D uring m y ow n fieldwork, transform ation dep end ed on a place w h ere people could feel socially uninhibited. After the closure of the Project, up until the time of writing over six years after it ended, I have noticed that N o v a 's you ng adult populatio n contained m ore strangers. It is not sim ply that there has been an influx of young adults from other areas; N o v a 's P recinct area has been characterised by a transient you ng adult populatio n for the past 20 years. Instead, the noticeable non-interaction b etw een y o u n g strangers seem ed to reflect the absence of a social space w h ere you ng people can get to k now each another. W h e n the Project closed, you ng people w ere left with c o n su m e r culture. In L ind en's world and the social worlds of other you ng people, a sense of belong ing is sustained th rough culture: how you look, the m usic you listen to, the work you do, the car you drive, the lager you prefer, all b eca m e strategies to define each day becau se that was all that rem ained: culture. T he Project provided its ow n definition, its ow n sense of belonging; walking in the door was reason enou gh to be there. W hen the Project w as open, there w as alw ays hope of a better job b ecau se Sean, Eddy, M ath ew and A n d y fostered that prom ise each day. After its closure, the optio ns of getting a secure job d im inished. Y ou n g people's aspirations and the desire to express them continu ed ; and as I describe in C h apters 3 and 4, after that point c o n su m e r culture took over prim arily to survive against an app roaching winter that turned out to be one of the coldest on record. After the closure, crim e and d rugs becam e strategies to survive being resigned to the Precinct, freezing te m p e ra­ tures, and a C h ristm as in poverty or, w orse, in jail.

S u rv iv a l o f t h e f i t t e s t W hile I drove Linden to and from w ork each day, he told me about his incredible life. Linden, like Liam and som e of the other y ou n g m en and 45

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

w o m e n I met, spent his early childhood years in another part of Ford. Both Linden and L ia m 's parents had divorced and the boys had moved with their m others to N ova. Even though this m u st have been an unsettling experience, L ind en's accou nt of how he adapted to it highlights how social he was. Lin den described how he enjoyed school, especially Greaves, N o v a 's fe eder seco nd ary school. 'It was like the mix of people, the different p e o p le / Lin den explained, 'I never wagged [truanted] it once, not once. I had a bout two or three days off out of the w hole five years. It was m y m u m , see, she was strict, really strict.' Lin den left school at sixteen after w inning a highly sought-after apprenticeship at a local car factory: Yeah, left school at 16. But within a w eek , I had a job. I got a job at W eston. See every year W eston would recru it 12 lads from 12 schools in the city. They 'd send out applicatio n form s and then the head m a ster of each school would select fo ur people and get them to sit an exam . You 'ad to be brain y to get on the shortlist. A n ' I did. Sailed through the exam and got a job there. I w orked there for four years. D uring those jo urneys Linden described his time at W eston w here he also 'w heeled and dealed' (sold goods informally) a m o n g other workers. Inform al econ om ie s are co m m o n in m an y factories; Willis (1977: 54) describes the shop floor culture, 'am on g st wrorkers it is also the basis for extensive bartering, arranging "f o r e ig n e r s " and " f i d d l i n g " ' (see Garfinkel, 1986). Linden told m e how his time at W e sto n 's included selling 'knocked-off' goods such as unlicensed alcohol, tobacco and cannabis. Such activities could have been interpreted as a sign of d isrespect against his e m ployers at W eston's. W ork in Nova w as regarded in relative as op posed to absolu te terms. For you ng adults I spoke to, the experience of exclusion was being denied d ecent jobs and having to suffer exploitation and insecurity in the local service sector. N early all the you ng adults I met, inclu ding L inden, had worked or w ere w o rk ing at that time in exploitative jobs. All y ou ng adults also described being exploited and discrim inated against grow ing up in N ova. As I describe in C h apters 3 and 4, often exploitation was seen as a dialectical process am o n g y ou ng people them selv es. Lin den also echoed the exploitation and preju dices against other African-Caribbean y ou ng men such as M artin and Ton y, as I describe later. L ind en's frustrations w ere also reflected in a general belief, a m o n g everyone I spoke to, that crim e w as inevitable so long as you ng people continued to be excluded. Linden him self said, 'No, there's lads goin' out m o o ch in ' now. N o, it'll ne ve r stop, [pause] it'll never stop.' 'M o o ch in g ' is not a term that refers directly to crim e, b ut d eceiving outsiders. The dictionary definition of the term is similar: 'A d upe, as in a confidence 46

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g am e ' and outsiders w ere often seen as fair g am e for leading a con su m e r lifestyle. I asked Steve about his w o rk experience in G e m in i Park: I did once, I had a job w hen I was 17 w h en I first passed me drivin ' test. I only lasted a m onth. It was drivin ' the delivery pizzas. They'd used to pho ne up 'do ya w ant to m ato'. I said 'I'll give ya fu ckin' to m ato on y ou r pizza'. Used to stick m e fingers up me arse then stick m e hand right in it, in the garlic bread. Then I was in the van one day with m e m ate and he's grabbed the hand brake. It fuckin' span 'ro und and sm ashed into this old lady 's car. B rou g ht the van back, w h eels all shakin' at the front. Bang, the sack, you w rote the car off.

E l e m e n t s o f a c u lt u r e M o o ch in g signified collective enterprise, the eco n o m y of 'the life'. It was also w o rking free from the w o rk fare m e rry-g o-ro und , and enabled you ng people to m aintain self-respect by 'w ork ing for yourself'. M o o c h ­ ing is also a relatio nship with a society that denies y ou ng people a life; free from the objective shad ow of crim e that surrou nd s N ova. In his stud y O u tsiders, H ow ard Becker (1963: 8) describes how d eviance is created by society and that, 'rules tend to be applied m ore to som e people than others'. E xclusion is a rule applied to you ng adults in N ova, particularly in relation to w ork. Being with Lin den for long periods of the day and night, I w as also able to gain an insight into how he and his friends collectively survived exclusion. W hen Linden lost his job on the w orkfare p la cem en t at the eng ineerin g firm, he, like the rest of his friends, had to find w ays to m ake ends meet. W ith the Project, its free phone, new sp ap ers, and all-im portant contacts now gone, you ng people now had only one another to survive. For m o st of the tw elve m o nths I spent with Linden and his friends, apart from a few w eeks at C h ristm as, all were w itho ut p e rm a n e n t work. H av ing to alternate b etw een benefits or tem porary jobs, N o v a 's w orkfare carousel barely allow ed people to cover the cost of utilities such as gas or electricity. As a result Lin den and his friends, like m any of the young adults I met, surviv ed 'd e a l i n " , 'd oin' a bit of b usiness' or 'out on the shift': som e ventures w ere legal, others w ere not, and the general strategy was trying to remain self-em p loyed ; to hold onto 'the life'. C o m p a re d with the irregular tem po rary w o rk and restrictions imposed living on w orkfare, 'm ooch in ' involved even m o re uncertainties and risks. A s a w ay of ordering w h at Jim m y described as the 'fuckin' chaos' of 'the life', m o och e rs had d eveloped term s that seem ed to encapsulate the contradictions of exclusion and poverty in a c o n su m e r society. Linden and his friends worked together 'out on the shift', a phrase that echoes N o v a 's industrial past w h en y ou ng adults' parents would work 47

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the day or night shift at one of the big factories that surrou nded the area. 'O u t on the shift' encom p assed any activity that enables you ng adults to generate ready cash. In short, any form of work other than workfare in which all m onies are processed by the benefits agency. All of L ind en's friends, apart from H a n n ah w h o had a full-time job, w ere unable to obtain bank accounts. M a n y you ng people said how 'com ing from N o v a ' was the main reason w h y banks refused to offer financial services. A tkinson (1998: 7) describes how 'the use by financial institutions of street postcod es for p u rposes of credit rating' results in the e con om ic exclusion of entire areas. M an y you ng people also had debts inclu ding rent arrears, hire purchase ag reem ents, or C o unty Court ju d g m e n ts that w ere often paid for by the benefits agency; extracted from either w ages earned or incom e supp ort paym ents. In this situation, one can appreciate the value of 'w orking for yourself' as a way of earning a disposable incom e. Steve described the debts he was facing at the time, m ainly in the form of unpaid parking fines: RM: H ow m any fines have you had? Steve: Tho usand s. But that was m ostly for one time. O ne time in N ova, the police kept stoppin' us. They stop me, give m e a produ cer, pull off, get in the car park, change 'ro und . Then they'd stop m e again and give me another producer, the other cop per on the other side. So th ere's two in one day. So, I w ent to court and I had about tw elve p ro du cers in the glove box. A nd 'cau se they kept ch a n g in ' around they cou ld n 't get d one for harassm ent, sly b asta rd 's y 'k n o w w h at I m ean. Every time I was goin' to court I w as getting £500 fine, £500 fine for arrestin' me. Every time I was w alk in' out of court, I was cornin' out with big fines. I 'ad about £7000 in fines. RM: H av e you paid them all off? Steve: I haven't. I w ent to court for it and they knocked off £1,111. The screw says cornin' out; he says 'y o u 're better off doin' days' (a regular job). N o w I'v e got a com m ittal, that's either pay up or straight to jail. RM: Does jail w o rry you? Steve: Na, it's not one of the places I'd like to visit. I'd prefer to see Florida. Fuck the prison. A w eekend in a police cell's enou gh for me. D uring the time of m y fieldw ork, 'm o o ch in g ' usually involved som e form of deception or contravention of the law: selling unlicensed cigarettes, alcohol or other drugs. W orking in this w ay was described in those term s, as valid work, w h ereby the effort you ng people put in was reflected in a disposable incom e even though, as I describe later, it can never be invested. The internal logic that w o rk has for yo u n g adults 48

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reflects Becker's (1963: 8) account of how activities come to be defined as legal or illegal, 'A society has many groups each with its own set of rules, and people belong to many groups simultaneously. A person may break the rules of one group by the very act of abiding by the rules of another group. Is he then deviant?' Because local jobs were perceived as superficial, working for yourself was given a strong work ethic. As a result, the end of the working day also had a deep emotional significance, a time to relax and think about tomorrow. W eekends in particular were a time to be worked for, as with any young person not intimidated by the city. Linden and his friends were together as a group though usually only at night, and normally at Linden's flat. These events were referred to as 'the session'; time off work spent getting together and relaxing. In the day the group divided into smaller groups, usually couples. This sounds tactical though its reality was just a reflection of the nature of friendships within the group. Close friendships were reflected in people, including Linden and Liam, living near one another. Equally, many of the young adults who went to the Project spent the day there in the com pany of best mates, who were often childhood friends. Being in couples or a threesome also reflected the ways young adults work. To earn money Linden, his friends and other young adults I met would move from one place to another in cars. That meant people were often confined to groups of two three or four. Yet, returning to the nature of friendships within the group, people will prefer to be with just a best friend as it reduces risks. The importance of cars, as transportation around a big city such as Ford and as a method of access, also restricted me in terms of who I could spend time with during the day.

O rpheus The culture of the session involved music, a nice meal (Linden is an excellent cook), drug use (licit and illicit), television and video games rented from a local video library. Money permitting, people would go out to a club, and then go back to Nova for a session. The ritualistic nature of the session emphasised its importance as a way of bracketing off the world of work (see Giddens, 1991). As I describe in the following chapters, this social world seemed like a helter-skelter compared to the continuities of the Project. In Chapter 4, I show how age and experience were important in protecting young people from the stigma that surrounded Nova, though a clearly defined social space was of far greater significance. After the Project closed, Linden invited me out with his closest friends at that time, Tony and Leander. Tony, six foot, slim and contending with Martin for the best looking man in Nova, was seeing Leander at the time: 18, nearly six feet tall and striking. Tony and 49

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L ean der w ere R om e o and Juliet, d esperately in love even though everyone said they w ere w rong for each other b ecau se of their explosive te m peram ents. It was a S atu rd ay night and everyone had enou gh m o n ey to attend O rpheus. O rp h e u s w as F ord's prim ary d ance club. It opened in 1986 and had been sem inal in British club culture, being one of the first to open an offshore operation on the 'w hite island': ibiza. Like Ford City football team, O rp h e u s d eveloped an arm y of supp orters, you ng workers in the service e con om y for w hom the club was weekend salvation. The club's m a n a g e m e n t style had alw ays bord ered on the illegal, a trad em ark of club culture generally despite the arrival of super-clu bs in the 1990s felt by m a n y clubbers at the time as a sign of com m ercialisation. Yet, after pressure from the local city council and residents living around the club, O rp h e u s was subsum ed into Ford University, which im m ediately installed a zero-tolerance policy on drugs. As the university was obliged to protect a large student b od y, the policy was u n derstand ab le though its applicatio n seem ed to affect every one to the point w h ere being th row n out of O rp h e u s b eca m e a tradition for stu dents and local young people alike. G rad u ally and despite the loyalty O rp h e u s had inspired as a focus for the loved-up su m m e r s of 1988 and 1989, Ford's youth stopped going (see H aslam , 2001). In 2005, O rp h e u s w as closed, seem ing to represent another chapter in the colonisation of Ford's local youth culture. Linden, Ton y and L ean der had intended to go to O rpheus. T he night b egan at Lind en's; just the two of us w ere there: L ean der was at w ork, T on y 'o ut on the shift', and H annah , L ind en's partner, w a s out with her mates. O nce dressed and after berating me for looking shabby, even though I had gone hom e to change for the evenin g, w e set off into the freezing night for the Pub. For a S atu rd ay night, the Pub was em pty: apart from the regulars in the bar, there w ere only five people in the lounge: an older couple I had not seen befo re, Jim m y , Baz and Dizzy. I knew of Baz and Dizzy, successful m o ochers like Jim m y , though this w as my first introduction. Baz, Cau casian, m assive and well dressed, w as d rivin g a BM W coupe at the time; financed by a th en-em erg ing cocaine trade. Prices had fallen in line with a gro w ing d em and a m o n g F ord's new g rad uate market. D riving a relatively new exclusive car, Baz was highly con sp icu ou s in N ova, m ainly since he continued to w e a r sportsw ear and was incredibly big behind the wheel. W h e n Lin den and I joined their circle, Jim m y smiled w hile D izzy, A frican-C arib bean, slim and suave - alw ays w earing a nice suit over a T-shirt - nodded along with Baz. Jim m y was naturally g o o d -h u m o u red , his smile infectious despite his granite features. L ooking up, Jim m y produced a broad smile: 'A lright m ate, h o w 's it going.' T he three of us then sat, while Jim m y continued his a ccou nt of his recent trip to the continent. On his return flight, Jim m y 50

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had started chatting with a fellow passenger. Arriving back, Jim m y told m e that he had helped the person through cu stom s with an item of luggage: a sports bag. On arrival, Jim m y was asked by a cu stom s official to open the bag: inside, a m o n g so m e clothes was a 'nine bar' (nine ounces of cannabis resin). Jim m y explained that the bag w as not his, and was prom ptly released from airport custody: 'I ain't even got a criminal record,' Jim m y said. To this day, I have n ever been quite sure w h eth er Jim m y was pulling my leg. After telling the tale, Jim m y went to the gents for a 'sniff' (line of cocaine). Linden whispered that, ordinarily, it was cu stom ary for people to do a line at the bar. That had stopped after the arrival of w hat turned out to be the P u b 's final proprietor. After my fieldwork, the Pub was closed and d em olished to m ak e w ay for N ov a's new arcade, described later. In its final m onths, fireworks w ere literally being set off in the Pub lounge, largely as a sy m bol of protest at the im positio n of w h at w ere felt to be pointless rules. It was true that outsiders to the area rarely ventured into the Pub. Like the Project, m any you ng people w ho went there felt that the Pub w as representativ e of their ow n experience. In being allow ed into this very exclusive w orld, as a sign of appreciation, I w ent halves on a bag of cocaine with L inden, paying for m o st myself. After Linden procured the cellophan e bag, w e w ent off for a g a m e of pool, to pass the time before T o n y 's arrival. L ean der finished w ork at 11 p.m. and Ton y had agreed to pick her up. W hen the balls w ere ready, Ton y strode in, cam e straight over, and snatched the pool cue from L inden, w ho then w ent off to the toilet. In line with my pool skills at the Project, m y time at the table was short-lived and Ton y then racked up for a g am e with Linden. After organising the balls, Ton y w ent over to an e m p ty table, took a sm all cellophan e bag from his pocket and em ptied the contents of the bag onto the table: an entire gram . After lining up the w hite p o w d er with a beer mat, Ton y took it up both nostrils. A m a zed , I w ent ov er and asked Linden in a w h isp er if he had just snorted am p h eta m in e , staggered that s o m e o n e could withstand or afford so m uch cocaine in one go. Lin den muttered it was coke, that T o n y never snorted 'w hiz'; then shouted over to T on y, 'R echarging your batteries?' Ton y nodded at the joke, rarely smiling. As Lin den and Ton y played, I sat before the p u b 's m assive TV screen, w atching Terry W o g a n ; puzzled why pubs install giant plasm a screens and then leave the sound off. I had already heard from other young people that Lin den and Tony were excellent pool players, and the cue ball was flying all over the table. As they played, Ton y kept glancing at the clock a b ove the bar, and then as the second g a m e ended both w ent to the toilet together. Returning, Ton y cam e over and said that we all had to go with him to pick up L ean d e r up from work. Just as he said this, L ean der walked into the lounge and looked at Ton y with a grin. As they b egan to talk to each other in hushed tones, Lin den and I w ent back to 51

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the table. As w e played, Ton y cam e back and told Linden he w as taking L ean der hom e so she could get chang ed . He advised us to finish our drinks, as he would be back soon. Both then asked if I could drive into Ford; I had parked in front of L ind en's and told Tony I would drive into the car park before he returned. O utsid e the pub, in the neon d arkness, a crowd of you ng lads had gathered. As I approached the door, one of the lads shouted, 'A lright, soft lad.' It was Oily, one of the boys w ho frequented the Project. I grinned in recognition: 'H o w 's it g oin '?' Oily told m e that he was waiting for a cab to take him and 'the m issu s' to O rpheus. Despite the bitter cold, the fo ur boys casually scanned the Precinct. One, an A frican-C aribbean boy I had never met w h o was around 19, speculated with his friend as to w h eth er the landlord would give him a 'sub' (drink on credit). As Lin den chatted aimlessly with the boys, a battered hatchback swerved into the lot, and out cam e Ton y, w h o inform ed both of us that we were leaving. W e had to pick up L ea n d e r w ho w as at hom e getting ready and w e would then go d o w n town. Travelling d o w n the Lewis Road to w ards the city centre, Leander speculated as to w h eth er w e would get in. The time on the dashboard clock flickered 11.56 p.m., and O rp h e u s stopped allow ing people in after midnight. The conversation then halted with the car w h en Tony ordered m e to stop the car; 'there', he said, pointing to a cashpoint: w e w ere now inside Ford 's central business district. P arkin g just befo re a zebra crossing, both he and I got out. At the cash point I stood behind him as he leant over the screen, the reflection of his face sh ow in g an expressio n of intense purpose. As he slid the card into the slot, the screen delivered the m essag e 'P L E A S E E N T E R Y O U R C A R D N U M B E R '. Ton y punched each b utton deliberately. A few seco nd s then passed while the nu m ber was verified. The m enu offering a series of am o unts then flashed onto the screen, causing him to punch the air with his fist. He then hit the key indicating the highest am o u nt, £200. Ton y waited again while the cash m ach in e processed the transaction. T he c o m p u te r refused the transac­ tion, telling Ton y that there was only £95 left in the account. He was then autom atically re turned to the m enu screen. He struck the 'O W N C H O I C E ' button. Ton y then punched in '95' without hesitation. T he card then popped back out of the slot fo llow ed by the steady a ppearance of a wad of £10 notes from the cash dispenser. Tony retrieved the card then the notes, turned round to m e and grinned widely. I then w ent to the cash point, entered my ow n card, and m ad e my ow n withd raw al. W hen I retu rned to the car, T o n y had his head d o w n behind the driver seat having m o re pow der. As I got in the passen ger seat, I noticed a police car approaching in the wing mirror. I w hispered w hat w as approaching though Ton y continu ed , raising his head violently as the squad car halted directly opposite me. Inside w ere two m en; one asked with a smile that w e best m ove on; Ton y then rolled the w in d ow d ow n after 52

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quickly rubbing his nose with the palm of his hand. As the police officer asked us to m o ve on, Ton y smiled politely: 'Sorry I had to get som e cash from the m achine, w e're just goin'.' T he officer d rivin g replied that if he did not m o ve he would be taking out another £40. Driving past univ ersity buildings, w e approached O rp heu s, identifi­ able by a crowd at the entrance. T he club, like m any distinguished dance clubs, resem bled an indeterm inate w arehouse. W e parked in the big m u nicipal car park un d er the flyover then walked hurriedly tow ard s the club with the m inutes m oving aw ay from m idnight. O nce inside and free from the cold, w e all relaxed in the spacious ultraviolet foyer. At the receptio n desk, a m assive chro m e belt buckle, w e each paid the £15 entrance fee, T o n y paying tw ice, for him self and Leander. I noticed all three wince when they heard the price of the event; higher than usual b ecau se Pete Ton g and Sasha w ere headlining DJs. W e then ascended the stairs to the top floor, the ground shaking as we approached the speakers, positioned like upright coffins around the gallery. Each one visibly shook from bass-line th u m ping. A s Ton y and Linden pushed open the d oors to the third floor w e all d isappeared in a cloud of sw eet disco sm oke, then cleared into the gallery room: em pty at the centre to allow the 50 foot drop to the gro und floor. T he third floor of O rp h e u s w as split level, like a circular aud itoriu m : w e all walked along the higher level, the easiest route through the strobe lights and ju m ping bodies to the bar at the back. It looked like p an d e m on iu m . W hile the d ance floor itself w as a relatively liberated space, accessing it or the bar at the other end was like every other club: a m ass of people each lost in their ow n music. E veryone seemed to be d ancing or m o ving to the beat of his or her ow n d rum . Travelling along the narrow aisles s u rrou nding the d ance floor, it was im possible to avoid being elb ow ed in the face, back, or have y ou r toes crushed. N o one seem ed to m ind, though; that is the point of club culture: e m otional abandon. N o w that the univ ersity had taken over, there w as also a strange m ixture of soft and hard faces: u n d ergrad u ates and die-hard m em bers. I also sud d en ly noticed a very distinct cultural g eography, particularly w h en w e finally reached the bar. T h ro u g h the mist I re cognised Steve, his gold teeth glinting as he grinned at T o n y and Linden. Th e n other peripheral m e m b ers of L ind en's circle began to a p pear at the back of the room , standing com posed like staff at an asylum . After several m inutes of greetings, taking the piss and the furtive exchang e of ten pound notes and cellophan e bags, the fo ur of us headed to the bar, w h ere Tony b ought us all a bottle of Bud. W e then re turned to the edge of the pit to w atch the sea of hu m an ity below : as the happy boys and girls tw itched and cavorted, Linden and his friends chatted with one another as if O rp h e u s was an em pty street. But there was continuity: people on the d ance floor and pod iu m s w ere sharing som ething that defines club culture, som ething secret b ut also public in the clothes people wear: 53

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K angol, A d id as and N ik e Air, even though the ages stretch across 30 years. T he only distinction was the stam ina driving the teenagers: I felt tired even though I h ad n 't m o ved. After an hour, I noticed Linden sitting on the base of a circular podium . As he sat with his back to a sea of liquid silhouettes, he held a bottle of B ud w eiser in one hand sw aying slightly. Linden was less inhibited than his friends w h en it ca m e to partying; one night at the Pub, H annah and I had to help carry him hom e. I am not being ju d g em ental; later that night I was in a waltz with consciou sness myself. C o m p a red with his friends Linden was just m ore confident, as if his reputation in N ova acted like a halo. H e had been to the United States: a m an he knew was dying and w anted to see A m erica befo re he died and asked Linden if he would be his guide. Lin den sat for several m inutes as the rest of the party chatted, and then I suggested that we go to the toilet. W e barged through tow ards the two b lack silhouettes standin g frozen above each toilet. The g ent's was like a ghost train; every five seconds a cu bicle d oor would burst open and two or three blu shing m en would scurry out. W e found one, closed the door, and then heard a male voice ask everyone to leave. The cubicle d oor then thundered and I opened it. A 'ninja assassin' stood before us, then sw ep t past to inspect the toilet bow l, noting an upturned pint glass with a sigh of frustration. W e w ere then escorted out. Behind the m a n 's shoulder, I then saw Ton y, sm irking as he was w a sh in g his h and s at the sink: 'w here did you com e fro m ', Linden asked Ton y as we w ere escorted out the gents. W e w ere then on the fire exit stairs alongsid e tw o security guards, a m an and a w o m an. T he female security guard w as very polite, ushering us both dow nstairs. The m ale guard, how ever, seemed to focus on Linden. P eople w ere milling around , Tony p eep ing th rough the fire exit door, w h en the male guard - dressed in a black baseball cap, arm y boots, black co m m a n d o trousers and w h a t looked like b od y a rm o u r told Linden to rem ov e his boots. T he w o m a n , dressed m ore casually, had seem ingly lost interest and d isappeared back into the crowd. I tried to explain that I had been responsible, though the guard continued to insist that Lin den rem ov e his boots, sim ply, it seem ed , to hum iliate him. Linden, like m an y of the older y ou ng m en and w o m e n I m et in N ova, is physically very strong, and the tension w as beginning to build. T he guard then seem ed to regain a sense of hu m anity, m arch ing us d ow n three flights of stairs before ejecting us into the cold early m orning. W e w ent b ack to N ova for a night of d oor knocking around the Precinct (see C h ap te r 5) w hile L ean der and Ton y spent the evening at F ord's m ost exclusive d o w n to w n hotel. The chaos of that night seem ed to un derline the difference b etw een the social space of the Project and the vicarious consu m erism w hich now see m s to define Ford 's city culture. This was the first time I had entered Ford's night-tim e e con om y with Linden and so m e of his friends and for the first time everyone seem ed marginalised in w h at was a very 54

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exclusive space. Yet, like Ford generally, there w as no alternative but to com pete through con su m e r culture. And since the only w ay m any of the you ng people I m et could participate was through crim e that often felt like a zero-sum game. The parad ox w as that crim e and drug use were w ays of neutralising the tensio ns of exclusion that, w h en applied, only m ad e you ng people m ore exposed to attack.

Going under I first m et L ean der w h en she opened the door to L ind en's flat one M o n d a y m orning. At the time, L eander w as then halfw ay th rough an N V Q in Caring at a local nu rsing hom e. By the end of the first w eek in O ctober, how ever, she had been sacked after telling an elderly resident to 'fuck off' when he tried to fondle her. By the m iddle of O ctober Linden, w h o knew practically every dealer in N ova, told me L eander was buying heroin and crack-cocaine on a regular basis. Lin den said at the time that both prevented her from holding a regular job. This was rare am o n g L ind en's friends, w h o w ere relatively in control w h en it cam e to drug use. M o st of the m o n ey Linden and his friends m a d e went into c o n su m e r culture, including drugs, though within the context of 'the (Hip Hop) life', this had a cultural significance (see C h ap te r 4). L eander still had aspirations rooted in Ford's public culture, including fashion and nightlife, th ough, at that time, she w as beco m ing a private drug user. In L ind en's social w orld, people w ere rarely alone. W h e n e v e r I w as at his flat friends would alw ay s arrive with close com panio ns. This was usually for a chat over a sm o k e a n d / o r drink, though very few people drank alcohol in the daytim e. Th ro u g h being part of this day-to-d ay w orld, 1 got to know Steve and Jim m y , Benita and M o ntana . A long with T on y, M artin and Liam , the seven represented L ind en's circle. S o m e ­ times m e m b er s accom panied Linden 'o ut on the shift'. Jim m y , M ontana and Benita all confessed to regular drug use, including heroin a n d / o r crack-cocaine, though their decisio n to go 'out on the shift' was motiv ated by generating cash to go out as op posed to retreat inwards into drug use. D uring my time with Benita and M o nta na, both would go 'out on the shift' together, to fund new clothes, gold jew ellery, m usic (usually Hip H op , Rhythm & Blues and D ance Hall), going to clubs and d ance halls, in addition to illicit drugs. Sim ilarly, on the night I interview ed Jim m y , a family m an, he said that he directed m u ch of his incom e into his hom e and family. Steve, by contrast, had a reputation as a regular at local nightclubs and lap-dancing bars. Liam and Robbie, two w hite males, and Cliff, a tall stocky A frican-Caribbean m an, had all spent time in jail and were no longer involved in activities that m ig ht entail further jail time. Liam described his plans, since leaving prison: 55

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RM: H av e you been tem pted to go back into crime? Liam: O h yeah, everyd ay, particularly by you k now w ho (pointing tow ard s L ind en's flat across the street). Na R ob, that ain't the answ er, 1 just sign on and do a bit of paintin' and d ecoratin' on the side. RM: But d o n 't you get frustrated being on the dole? Liam: Yeah, but it's better than jail. I'm tellin' ya m an, m e not goin' back to no jailhouse. RM: Is there any work in N ova? Liam: Na, not unless y o u 'v e got a skill. That's w h at I'm gonna do now , a course in C N C (co m p u ter assisted) engineerin'.

W o r k and leisure By being able to spend m o re time in N ova, largely through L ind en's friendship, I m anag ed to create a 'w eb of trust' am o n g another separate group of y ou ng adults largely involved in illicit drug s upp ly in and around Ford (see D ouglas, 1976, quoted in Adler 1985: 19). During my fieldwork, I b o u g h t and s om etim es used cannab is with Lin den and his friends. This was a good way of establishing trust within L in d e n 's group, and allow ed me to gain access to m e m b ers of 'the Business' (see Picture 2, p. 38). C an nabis use is also a highly c o m m u n a l activity, contradicting the stereotype of the lone user. H ow ard Becker (1963: 78) describes: 'A person will feel free to use m ariju ana to the d egree that he com es to regard conventional conception s of it as the un inform ed views of outsiders and replaces those conc eption s with the " i n s i d e " view he has acquired th rough his experience with the drug in the co m p a n y of other users.' It was only through know in g Nevil (29) that I w as able to gain the confidence of quite a suspicious group. As m ost of the g roup are involved in selling d rugs or unlicensed alcohol and cigarettes, suspicion is inevitable. This all-m ale group com prised Nevil (29), Kas (25), Francis (25), G reg (25), D a m o n (30), W a rren (21) and D ane (21). The Business was a m o re stable social world com pared with Lin den and his friends, largely th rough the cu stod ianship of D am on , w h ose age and experience put him as a patriarch within the group. D a m o n 's social world does not require as m u ch travelling and usually occurred at night, m aking 'the B usiness' less visible com pared with going 'out on the shift'. A p p roaching 30, D a m on was the m ost successful and popular supplier of cannabis within and bey on d N ov a during the time of m y fieldwork. W hen I m et him, Nevil had just m oved out of N ova and into his ow n h o m e in the suburbs. Then, after several sustained periods in the com p an y of D ane, Nevil and Greg, I w as able to gain access to the rest of the group. All buy and sell unlicensed cigarettes and alcohol, usually obtained from m ainland Europe. Like m o ochers, m e m b ers of the 56

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Business s om etim es have to take jobs; so m e w ould claim benefits and be required to seek w ork while other people would work in 'shit jobs' to p revent suspicio n from social services, the Inland R e venue or the police. Even though I conducted fieldwork for tw elve m onths, I could see that in the longer term , people w h o never had a p e rm a n e n t job, such as H annah , w ere left alternating b etw een w o rk fare and 'going out on the shift'.

W o r k i n g in N o v a Unlike m oochers, those involved in the Business had m o re to lose by op ening their lives to an outsider. This is becau se of the inherent dangers involved in the storage and supply of illicit drugs, unlicensed tobacco and alcohol. For those out on the shift the threat of arrest w as usually a distant prospect. Being 'out on the shift' involved travelling miles, s om etim es hu nd red s of miles, from Ford. For dealers, how ever, being exposed w as a daily, often hourly, prospect. M a n y young people I know w ho w ere involved in the Business are holding significant am o u n ts of unlicensed cigarettes, alcohol or illicit drugs. A steady e con om y m eans m e m b ers of the Business had greater opportunities, even though m o och e rs w ere m u ch m ore innovative (see C h apter 3). T he in d e te rm i­ nate and m o re accelerated social world of m o ochers m a d e it difficult to save any m o n ey that was earned. Even though 'the Business' w as a method of surviving poverty, being able to w ork in N ova m e an s that life is less chaotic, w h a tev er the ventu re. M e m b ers of the Business have m ore time b ecau se they already have a steady enterprise and are not forced to spend each day looking for a new ventu re. Also stepping into the con su m e r society m eans that p eople's sense of respect and self-respect is exposed to the stigma of crime, as Linden and Ton y both described: Tony: N o, well a couple of years ago w e all 'ad B M W s and that. Linden: That was w h en m o o c h in ' first began and people were m ak in' thousands, fuckin' th ousands. M y first job, first time I w ent out on the m o och ; I w ent out for two days. W e w ent to H ornton for two days, I was the driver. I cam e back with £750 in two days. All I did was drive up there, stay in hotels, drink beer, had a w h ale of a time, listen to the stereo and com e back with £750. Tony: Because that's the place it started from. Y 'k n o w w h at I mean, like a couple of years ago from the Pub there's about ten cars leaving every d ay with three or fo ur lads each. £5,000 a day each, book in' into top hotels, y 'k n o w like, livin' it up and that, three or four days at a time. 57

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

By the m id-1990s, how ever, it seem ed the world Linden and T o n y both described was over. Lin den explained w hy m o och in g had b eco m e m ore difficult, 'with cam eras in the shops. Yeah, I'v e seen a couple of lads on C rim e w a tch . And I tho ug ht to myself, I was with you that day.' Tony him self referred to Ford as 'a surveillance city'. Beco m ing m o re visible was possibly another reason w h y 'the life' is so chaotic, as the follow ing chapter describes. T he internal use of C C T V within N o v a seem ed to m ak e you ng adults I m et feel conspicu ous, though residential use may have a com p ara b le effect on you ng people generally (D ixon, Levine and M cA u ley , 2004). D uring my fieldwork, cam eras w ere already in o p e r­ ation within public and residential areas and I noticed people, including myself, conscious of being watched. Being visible is m u ch less im portant for m e m b ers of the Business. The natu re of the B usiness, how ever, did not m ean that it is without risk, just that the risks w ere different.

A bit o f business In selling unlicensed drugs, the risk of contravening crim inal law seem ed to result in a condition of econom ic instantaneity. In short, m e m b er s of the Business appeared to have too m u ch ready cash and taking drugs on a daily basis ensured that all w ere constantly spending. W hen I w as with m e m b ers of the Business, all a ppeared far m o re preoccu pied with b usiness c om pared with m oochers. This alm ost manifests itself in a m in d se t or attitu de sim ilar to w h at could be described as being 'b usin ess-m in d e d '. M o ochers, even though they are entrepreneurial in their general outlook, are also aw are of the need to relax, though for different reasons. M o och in g w as defined by a sense of cultural instan­ taneity b ecau se crim e and drug use w ere s im ultaneously protections against exclusion and strategies for further exclusion. The dialectic was a co nseq u ence of co n s u m e r culture, an arena that m o och e rs w ere forced to live in to survive. In contrast, m e m b ers of the B usiness w ere far less visible: travelling at night and rarely within urban public spaces. Differences in the type of anxieties felt by b usiness m e m b ers and m o o ch e r stem from surveillance. For Lyon (2001) technologies such as C C T V are s im ultaneously protective and punitive. He uses the exam p le of an increasing trend a m o n g parents of installing C C T V cam eras in the h o m e to watch ov er their children. This m eans children are safer though they are also restricted in terms of how freely they can express them selv es - sm earin g paint on walls, for instance. W hen people are being w atched and are aw are they are being w atched , they are inevitably objectified. Seeing -w ith out-being-seen gives people behind the lens of C C T V ca m e ra s control over people. Not k n ow in g the people they are w atching also m eans that people in the street are little m ore than puppets. M o ochers w ere aw are of that, of being 58

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w atched and selected from the crowd because they w ere perceiv ed as d an g erou s subjects. It seem ed that the only w ay m o och e rs w ere able to surviv e the stigma of being constantly watched was through an attitude of defiance (see B la ck m a n , 1997). O n the day I first m et M o n ta n a, she had just b een released from custody. T he day befo re, M o n ta n a had been accused by the m a n a g e r of a clothing store of trying to obtain goo ds by deception. As two security guards followed her out of the shop M o ntana heard one of the g uards call her 'scu m '. W ith this M o ntana turned around and shouted at both guards and they grabbed her. M o ntana then b egan lashing out, striking both guards until they ov erpow ered her. Eventually, M o n tan a was held in the back room . W hile she waited with one of the security guards, she struck out again. 'I fuckin' battered 'im ', she said, 'I just kept sm a ckin ' 'im in the 'ead'.

Like a big tree W hen m e m b ers of the Business arc trading in the illegal, doing so usually involves possessing an illegal com m od ity , m aking them subject to analytic surveillance. The obverse is true with m o ochers, who are culturally ubiquitous through their clothes, attitu de and lifestyle g e n ­ erally. T hese logistical featu res of each group result in the divergent subcultures both live through; m o och e rs perceiv ed they had nothing to lose. W hat started out as a visible enterprise, even w h en m o och e rs w ere not transgressing criminal law (i.e. hanging around in public), resulted in an equally visible culture. Business m e m b ers are m uch less visible, as they have to be. Even though m e m b er s of the B usiness, like m oochers, w ere unable to invest, the benefits of e con om ic instantaneity reflected itself in busin ess m e m b e r s' social relations. A s C h a p te r 3 describes, being unable to invest m o ney , co n s u m e r culture - clothes, m u sic and drug use - beca m e protectiv e a rm o u r against exclusion a m o n g m o ochers. Even though m e m b ers of the Business w ere just as hedonistic as m oochers, their subculture was far less conspicu ous. N o one in the busin ess dressed ostentatiously, as m o ochers often did, even though the clothes m oochers w ore w ere relatively inexpensiv e. Business m em b ers also traded at night, spending the day either asleep, w orking in regular jobs or just relaxing. W h a t m o och in g and the B usiness, as culture econom ies, did share was an invisible tension b etw een individualism and collective responsibility. D escribing the culture of the shift, Steve explained, 'N o va d oesn't have a peckin g order, it was m o re like a big tree'. E very one w as just trying to stay on their ow n branch, trying not to fall off. Steve said: 'it's part of me, it's m y life. I m ean you could be there in the Pub skint, and then b ang s o m e o n e's says " h e r e let's do th is ". Then y o u 'v e got a pocket full of m o ney , just for bein' there y 'k n o w w h at I m ean. Listen it's not w h at you know these d ays it's w ho you k n ow , it's not w h at you k now .' 59

O u t o f Sight: crim e , youth and exclusion in m o d e rn Britain

Caught on the workfare merry-go-round, young people's aspirations seemed to diminish over time. In the days of the Project, young people's hopes and aspirations were kept alive by the support and experience that Sean, Eddy, Mathew and Andy provided. When the Project closed, so did a social world: a place to believe in was replaced by what Jameson (1998) describes as the perpetual present of consumer culture. Culture is a disposable, since by definition it involves consumption. The Business and going out on the shift were constituted through buying, selling and spending, which meant there was nothing left to show for it. The im permanence of both worlds was summed up by Steve's metaphor of everyone placed on the branch of a tree, a perpetual present where it was impossible to accumulate capital. Steve said the 'the life' contained little future. Even though he loathed the thought of a local job, Steve told me, 'Yeah I've got to get a job, some poxy warehouse makin' tea. That's all I'm good at, makin' tea. Do these look like working hands to you (laughs) look at that, soft as a baby's bum they are.' In our discussions Jim m y and Steve identified the merry-go-round on which almost every young person I met was stuck; also how its alternatives were just as limiting. This was 'the life' of exclusion, one with no alternatives. Tony concluded our interview describing living in Nova and living 'the life': 'I know everyone here and I can do business in Nova y'know what I mean'. In the next chapter, young people describe how 'working for yourself' is fundamental for surviving 'the life'. Even though the only guarantee in 'working for yourself' was freedom from the drudgery of workfare, 'the life' Jim m y described was enough to provide young people with a sense of respect.

60

C h a p te r 3

W o rk

Research and debates on social exclusion often portray its victims as d ep en d e n t on society: if the state cannot protect the poor, they will turn to crim e and drug addiction. This chapter show s how you ng adults worked as a c o m m u n ity to com pete within Ford 's co n s u m e r society, and howr crim e and drug use w ere elem ents of both worlds. Y ou ng adults describe w o rk ing within N o v a 's local e co n o m y , and earning less m o n ey than state benefits, to sustain w h at was a superflu ous world of consu m ption. People, y o u n g and old, also described the e con om ic realities of the w orkfare m e rry -g o-ro u n d ; a world of tem po rary e m p lo y m e n t that only drains w hat little m o n ey people are able to m ak e w o rk ing a wreek here and a few days there. This chapter describes how y ou ng people, to avoid 'goin g u n d e r', as Lin den put it, innovate to sustain a history of their ow n. Spending time with young people, I could see how friendships protected against the stigma ou tsiders tried to im pose on Nova. I also gained insight into netw orks of local, usually inform al opportunities that allowed people to hold onto hope and self-respect. O nce young people started to try to live free from the w orkfare carousel, a dialectic process was initiated. O nce you ng people gained a reputation as a w orking co m m u n ity , usually a m o n g benefits agencies and the police, and w ere seen as a g ang through the clothes people wore, exclusion w as enforced even further. In the next chapter, I show how the culture of the gang b eco m es a co m m o d ity in the c o n su m e r society, w h ereb y a c o m m u n ity is assum ed to be a culture of crime, w h at I describe as the m asq u e rad e of crime. This process echoes through y ou ng people's accounts of g ro w ing up in Nova.

Life o r d e a th 'W o rk in g for yourself' was a term m any y o u n g people used in discussions on the alternatives to w orkfare. Y ou n g adults also described 61

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how outsiders and outside agencies w ere hostile to you ng residents associating together in and outside the area. Thro ugh m y ow n partici­ pant observations with you ng people, I saw the stigma surrou nding you ng people as a dialectic process of social exclusion, w h ereb y society created then objectified their subjective experien ces of w ork (Denzin , 1994). In the previous chapter, I described the cu ltural significance of 'the shift' and 'the B usiness'. For m o st you ng people I met, work within N o v a 's local service industries was equated with poverty, and w orking at one su p e rm ark et for three m onths it w as difficult to refute that. Yet, the principle of w orkfare gave the im pression that d ev elop m en ts such as G e m in i Park are a resource for jobs and a career. Becker (1963: 15) describes how 'a person m ay feel that he is being ju dged according to rules that he has no hand in m aking and does not accept, rules forced on him by outsiders'. His statem ent reflects the experience of exclusion m a n y you ng adults described. Y ou n g people at the Project spoke of being excluded from school and w ork b ecause of the associatio n teachers and em p loy ers have about N ov a, its you ng residents, and crime. The only w a y to m aintain self-respect and surviv e that stigma was sum m ed up by Linden: 'See, I'v e ne ve r been d ow n and out, I can alw ays find work. I can a lw ay s m ak e m o n ey .' D am on w as filled with the same self-determ ination, expressed at an evening at the Cotton Club. H e told m e a bout incredible events while occasionally observin g the affluent cu stom ers w ith disdain: 'C a u s e I never 'ad any m o n ey , n ever had any m o n ey for m e or the family. Sitting eatin' baked beans out of tin and I tho ught 'that's it'. Th a t's all it is see, that's w h y every one does it, livin' on the dole or doin' a job and 'avin no m oney, can't go out, ca n 't live like everyone else [D am on pointed his fork at the other affluent people in the room ]. Th at's why I left the last job, by the time I'd paid the bills and b o u g h t food I 'ad nothin' left. It's like I said before; I can earn more m o n ey w orkin' for myself. Even though D am on could m ak e m o ney, sitting in G e m in i Park that night it was as if a screen existed b etw een N o v a and the con su m e r society. C o n s u m e rs look into that glass; im ages of people trying to surviv e poverty b eco m es crime. The d o m in o effect is that you ng people living in poor c o m m u n ities remain excluded, sim ply b ecau se of how they appear. Like Linden, D a m on had tattoos on his forearm s, looked w eathered and tough, and w as a lw ays part of a crowd of sim ilar men and w o m e n . D eep d ow n I could also see that both m en w ere troubled by w hat they had seen and lived through. T ho u g h w h enever I was with m e m b ers of the b usin ess or m o och e rs in places like G e m ini Park, strangers alw ays treated each group with caution and hostility. Becker 62

W o rk

(1963) suggests crime is a consequence of social interaction, a circular process involving people perceived as deviant, and the criminal justice system which then sanctions public perceptions through the law. Therefore, crime only becomes crime once an act has become criminal­ ised through public perception and reaction. Within the context of my fieldwork, the only people who regarded 'w orking for yourself' as unlawful were outsiders. Foster (1990: 165) describes a similar contradic­ tion, and the effect a milieu has on how certain activities are defined: 'these were not criminal “careers", just ordinary people whose everyday world took for granted certain kinds of crime'. Local employers saw young adults in Nova as an expendable short-term labour supply: to be worked for long hours on minimum wages. To avoid 'going under', as Linden described, members of the Business and moochers would opt to work together, usually out of the Pub. I would argue that both represent the English working class: even though both groups were self-employed, they were still subject to a system while maintaining class consciousness in order to survive within it (see Thompson, 1968). Young adults' aspirations arc reflected in the relationships people have with one another. To understand why young people become involved in 'm ooching' and 'the Business' to achieve their aspirations, you have to appreciate how both activities give form and direction to memory. Barbara Misztal (2003) says memory is representations of the past, in ways that make them meaningful in the present.

C h ild re n u n d e r a shadow Young adults could only adapt to exclusion outside of N ova's local economy, as working within it would mean an end to history. In short, young people would lose hope in the idea of com munity itself through becoming slaves to drudgery and misery associated with workfare. Eric Hobsbaw m (1997: 14) argues, 'for the greater part of history we deal with societies and communities for which the past is essentially a pattern for the present'. In the previous chapter, young adults described how at school and in work coming from Nova resulted in being associated as a threat to society. For some young adults I spoke to, being perceived in those terms initially resulted in feeling inferior. Jay describes how he saw himself at school: 'I was quiet at school to a degree. When I was at Greaves I was a bit of a shit 'ead like I didn't smoke or anythin'. I just got me head dow n and got me subjects done. I didn't wag it or nothin.' Yet, that negative self-perception suggested that among his fellow residents, Jay was exposing himself to the stigma associated with Nova. Other young adults reacted in the same way as Linden when he was confronted with exclusion: 63

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He [L inden's teacher] w as callin' out the register one day. W h e n he was callin' out the n am e s he was chew in' a sweet. A n ' I was there chattin' to m y mate. Then he spits out his sw eet into the bin but he misses the bin. Then, b ecau se I d id n 't answ er to my n am e he shouts out to me, 'Linden, com e and pick this up and put it in the bin'. I just turned round and said 'You can fuck off'. He com es ov er to me and says to me 'W hat did you say', thinkin' that I'd say 'N othin ' Sir'. But I just said 'You can fuck right off'. Then he grabbed me to drag m e out. But I just jumped back then sm acked 'im in the m outh. And they suspend ed me for that. But I w as in school the next day. Me m u m w o u ld n 't let me stay at h o m e for w eeks; she had m e back in there the next day. Robbie said: I got chucked out of that school and then they accepted me at N ova Prim ary. But I got chucked out of that school 'cau se I d id n 't like the teacher. See they w ere m ak in ' this thing out of egg boxes, like a dragon or sum m it. Y 'k n o w the w h ole class w as m ak in' this dragon, except me. They w o u ld n 't let m e do it, they m ad e me do som ethin' else, an' I w as dead artistic like. ja s o n described how he reacted to being labelled at school: I was fifteen, just turned fifteen. I w ent in and 'cau se I hardly ever w ent there they said I w e re n 't getting any exa m s so I just left. I went d ow n the Education D ep a rtm e n t to see if I could go to w ork instead of goin' to school and they said 'N o y o u 'v e gotta keep goin' in'. So, I w orked on the sly. M o ntana had been to several schools: I kept gettin' throw n out . . . I got throw n out of juniors [school] for fighting the teachers then w h en I got to G reaves I got throw n out for hitting a teacher with a chair. Y ea h, and the desk. H e was standin' over m e jabbin' m e with his finger. So, I ju m ped up and the desk fell on his feet then I threw the chair at him . A fter that I went to Greaves. Later I describe the structural fo rces w o rk ing against you ng people on leaving school, and how exclusion echoed into the adult lives of Jay, Linden, R ob bie and M o ntana b ecause they w ere unable to leave the estate. G offm an (1963) describes stigma as a way of cop ing with a split betw een how we perceiv e ourselves and a category others im pose upon us. Inside we feel like a hu m an being like any on e else; a person, 64

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therefore, w h o deserves a fair chance and a fair break. Others, in the w ay they treat us, feel differently. Like B ecker's (1963) a ccou nt of the relatio nship betw een insiders and outsiders, for stigma to w ork, the stigm atised person m u st believe that others do not really accept him and are not willing to m ake contact with him on equal grounds. G offm an's (1963) idea of stigma is useful in the w ay it identifies how w e can either reject or assu m e a label. M a n y you ng adults I m et in N ov a described feeling stigmatised for g ro w in g up there. Th a t only occurred when you ng adults them selv es believed how outsiders described them. G r o w ­ ing up, and being to gether with other you ng adults in sim ilar situations in N ova, was a form of collective security against that feeling of stigma. M arshall M cL u h a n 's (1964) distinction b etw een an oral and a written history explains how young people were able to m aintain a sense of history as a co m m u n ity within a society com posed of im ages (see O lalquiga, 1992). As part of the culture of crim e, the history ou tsiders associated with N ov a was a written one, m ad e of co n su m a b le images. Y ou n g adults told me how they w ere perceiv ed as caricatures: as 'no g oo d' or 'a waste of time'. M a n y you ng adults described feeling that no one was listening; that outsiders already had a re ad y -m ad e rep re sen ta ­ tion of y ou ng people from Nova. My a rg u m e n t is that being looked at suspiciously as a m e m b e r of co m m u n ity , and denied opportunities for the sam e reason, defined and sustained you ng people's exclusion in N ova. Linden described w h en he was unable to find work: The dole w ere heavily on m y case. See w h en I w as signin' on there would be four of us that w e n t dow n. There'd be me, m e brother, Liam and Steve. Yeah, w e'd go and sign on and they'd alw ays get me to go first. And w h en I w ent up th ey'd alw ays pull out a form, a restart [interview]. They 'd go and sign on, 'no problem , no problem '. W h e n 1 w ent I got a restart, every week. 1 used to give 'em loads of grief. I m ean, 'w hy m e, why you pickin' on m e'. But it was becau se I 'ad a skill. They knew I 'ad a skill and they tho ug ht 'look, you should be w o rk in ', there's no reason w hy you sh o u ld n 't be w o r k i n ''. T he stigm a Lin den describes seem ed to stem from the principle that you ng people from N ov a are inherently bad or evil (see Baudrillard, 1988). Later Linden describes taking w orkfare jobs and being subject to the sam e principle, of being dism issed b ecau se em p loy e rs felt that he was hostile and oppressed at work for the sa m e reason. The process itself stem m ed from w h at 1 describe as a m a sq u era d e of crim e, w h ereb y outsiders were seduced into treating Linden as different, largely because he was a you ng African-Caribbean man living in a po or com m u nity . C h ap te r 5 describes how even people sy m path etic to the poverty young people faced, such as youth w orkers, would treat individuals as if they 65

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w ere inherently different from other you ng people in Ford. A m o n g the you ng people I m et in N ov a , a handful seem ed to have succu m b ed to the stigma of crime. Robbie was one of a handful of you ng adults 1 m et w ho appeared to be losing hope: his experiences also sh ow ed how being unable to m aintain self-respect left him exposed to further d ang ers from within and outside the c o m m u n ity he had g row n up in. By winter, it seem ed R obbie had fallen victim to the stigm a associated with you ng people from N ova. Even though Robbie still had a good sen se of h u m o u r and fascination with the w orld, like every young person I m et in N ova, unlike L ind en and his friends he was no longer able to participate as a m e m b e r of a com m u nity . T he value of L ind en's com m u n ity , w h ich 1 w itnessed and was part of myself, is a process best su m m ed up by Barbara A dam (1995: 38), one that 'm ak es our lives w orthy of being preserved in m e m o ry and story, w orthy of being kept alive after our d eath'. G id d e n s (1991: 237) describes how 'h u m an beings m ak e their history in cognisance of that history', appropriating time rath er than 'living it'. Being with y o u n g e r adults, I w as able to see how people w ere able to m ak e their ow n history and watch it evolve through friendship. Y o u n g e r adults I knew at the Project continued to live by the school routine although they also seem ed to be trying to d evelop their own. For instance, w h en the Project closed at 5 p.m., Chris, A ntoine, Jason and Slim alw ays seemed d esp o nd ent, though they alw ays m anag ed to ov erc o m e that by devising plans for the night ahead. W e often confuse routine with habit, both blind com pulsions. G id d e n s (1991) describes routine as evidence of a u tonom y . To d evelop ou r ow n routine requires creativity and effort. Y o u n g er adults seem ed m ore deeply affected by the closure of the Project, b ecause all had invested m ore time and energy in it, com pared with older m en and w o m e n such as Liam and Linden. The closure also seem ed to bring back m e m o rie s of exclusion a m o n g y ou ng er m en and w o m e n , so m e of w h o m , such as Slim and Jason, had only recently been expelled. In interview s with you ng er people, directly after the Project closed, all spoke bitterly of being subject to unfair treatm ent. Like Pele, m any you ng people I met at the Project had spent time in the Unit, a special enclosure within G reaves S econd ary School. Being sent to the Unit was also usually a p recu rsor to expulsion: Ton y, Cliff, Jason and Slim had b een sent to the Unit, and then expelled. Oily had been to another s eco nd ary school close to N ova, Hillcrest, w h ere he was sent into a hom e apparently by school, as op posed to his parents. I cond u cted a group interview with Jason, O ily and Slim in a pub in the centre of Ford on the day the Project closed, and as w e spoke it seemed as if the weight of the world was on their should ers. Oily described his ow n experien ce of being passed around at school:

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Oily: I got kicked out of Hillcrest [laughs] in the last year. RM: W hy? Oily: Yeah, I d u n n o w h at 'a pp ened as it goes. I got fu ckin' stitched up, stitched up for. D unn o w h at the crack was, som e fu ckin' teacher dragged m e out the lesson. She said I'd set fire to the w o o d s or som ethin'. I said 'w hat you goin on ab out?' Th at's w hy I m issed my exams. I w as m eant to go back there. They put me in Sefton H ou se and they said to m e the w o rk 's too easy, they ain't got the work there for me. So they said they'd get m e back to Hillcrest. Th a t was it. So I was out of there and I never got a fuckin' letter off 'em. RM: W hat w as Sefton H ou se, like a boys' hom e? Oily: Na, it's a school not like a hom e. It was for kids that fucked about basically. But the work there was too easy, y'k n o w . So they said there's nothin' 'ere for ya and they said they'd get m e back in Hillcrest and I never heard fuck all from 'em. RM: You never got a leaving certificate or anything? Oily: Na, did I fuck. Said they'd sent a letter and that. I w ent back and they said it m ust have got lost. RM: W h a t was Sefton H ou se like? Oily: That was fuckin' shit, y'k n o w like no one wanted to do any of the w o rk and that. It w as fuckin' shite. RM: H ow long did you stay there? Oily: I only stayed there about three weeks. They said like, 'nothin' 'ere for ya'. RM: And w h a t did you do w h en you left there. Did you have any m o n ey to live on? Oily: Na, I 'ad to apply for a hardship allow ance. Had that for about eight w eeks, w ent on the dole w h en I w as 17. RM: H av e you w orked since you left Sefton H ou se? Oily: O nly fu ckin' part time. Like temp jobs and the fu ckin' pa y's been pretty shit. Ellie w as the only y o u n g adult I m et w h o had not been advised to leave school at 16. In the previous chapter, Ellie described how she had been unable to afford studying w ithout w o rk ing full-time. T he contin gent natu re of e m p lo y m e n t was reflected in w hat Willis (1977) describes as 'e lem ents of a culture'. Willis (1977) describes the culture of 'the lads', the y o u n g adults in his study w h o w ent straight from school into m anu al jobs. Willis (1977) describes the lads' social world and also the process through w hich w o rk ing -class culture is formed: 'the system atic self­ preparation of the lads for a certain kind of w o rk '. The problem for y o u n g e r adults in N ova was that m any had been led to believe the same opportunities would be waiting in red ev elop m en ts such as G em ini Park. As I described in C h ap te r 1, this e con om y thrived on te m porary 67

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e m p loy m ent. W h e n you read L earn in g to L abou r, N o v a 's local youth labour m ark et seem ed a world aw ay from certainties available to 'the lads' (Willis, 1977). Ricky told m e a bout leavin g school: Ricky: I stayed until I w as 16 but I d id n 't do any exam s or anythin'. I d id n't go on the last w eek so 1 d id n't get no certificate for leavin'. RM: Did you have a job w h en you left? Ricky: W ell, I did like bits of w ork, just tem po rary like. Then I did this course a few m o n th s ago like to help you with confidence and that in interview s and things like that. Career Choice, th at's w hat it w as called. In contrast to y ou nger adults such as Slim and Jason, older m en and w o m en such as L inden, D a m o n and M o ntana seemed m o re certain about the future. Certainty usually com es with age though only b ecau se m ost p eople's e con om ic circu m stances im pro ve in parallel. The fact that older you ng adults retained faith in them selves and the world reflects the resilience of each individual. In C h apter 5, I describe how leaving N ova to look for a better job often m e a n t being exposed to isolation, and even greater e con om ic and em otional uncertainty. Shortly before the Project closed, Jay, w h o had been on the w o rk fare m erry -go-round for alm ost ten years, told me he was consid ering taking up a four-year course to train as an engineer. Like Linden, Jay had left school to work in a factory: RM: You said you left when you w ere 16. Jay: Yep. RM: And you got a job straight away? Jay: Yeah, me N a n died and wrhen she w as dying she said she'd get m e a job with my uncle. RM: And w hat did your uncle do? Jay: He worked in a forge. He was w o rkin ' on a press and he got m e an office job, w hich was quite strange seein' that I was doin' engin eerin '. RM: And w hat w ere you doing in there? Jay: I was just like office junior, paper w ork, filing, stuff like that. RM: And were you there long? Jay: I got m ad e re d u n d an t, I was there 18 m onths. The forge shut down. RM: H ow m a n y people w ere m a d e redundant? Jay: A couple of hundred. RM: W hat happened w hen you left there? Jay: I left when I was 17. I got red u nd a ncy pay but not m u ch 'cau se I w as only getting £40 a week. RM: W a s it a Y T S (Y outh Training S chem e)? 68

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Jay: No, b ecau se I'v e never been on a YTS. Y TS at the time w as £28 but they started m e on as office junior. T he lad before m e w ent on to b eco m e production m anager. RM: And you think you would have progressed? Jay: Y eah, they would have started another office ju nior and I would have gone into the main offices. RM: But it shut down. Jay: Y eah, they shut it dow n. RM: So w hat did you do after that? Jay: I just dossed around on the dole. You could sign on w hen you left school then, sign on w h en you w ere sixteen. So I started signing on. Jay then reflected back to the time when he was m a d e re d und ant; trying to p inpoint when he b ecam e trapped on the w orkfare merry-go-round of tem po rary jobs and conditional benefits. Like M artin, Jay w as made red u nd a nt in the recession of 19 90 -1 . Looking to the future, Jay, like Liam, told me he w as considering a four-year course in com puternavigated engineerin g: Jay: N o, y o u 'v e gotta be fully skilled. I m ean I did City and Guilds at school in Basic E ngineerin'. I should of w ent on to b ec o m e a pattern m aker, fabricator w elder, sheet metal w o rker or w h atev er if I'd taken a course as soon as I left school. But I didn't. I thought 'I w as w o rkin', I'm getting som e m o n ey ' so I'm h appy with that. But now , it's hard to get on a course for w h a t you w anna do. RM: Are there a lot of jobs in engineering? Jay: There are but y o u 'v e gotta be fully qualified. I m ean if you w an n a be a C N C m achine operator, I m ean y o u 'v e gotta know how to w o rk a m achine through a com p u ter, w h ich they d id n't teach us that at school. N o, m o st of 'e m now is CN C . RM: So y ou 're ab ou t to start on a four-year course? Jay: Y eah, I'v e been d ow n and they said it would take anythin' up to six m o n th s to get on the course. But, they 'v e gotta m a k e sure that I'm gonna get on with the course. I m ean it's fo ur years. Th e y 're gonna put faith in me and I'v e gotta put faith in them. O bv io usly I w an t a job that's gonna pay m e well at the end of the day after four years trainin' I should be earnin' a good wage. I dunno , a couple of hundred pound a w eek and I'll be happy. But, once y ou 're in N ov a it's difficult to get out of that regim e. Y 'k n o w y o u 're like stuck in a rut. D uring the year of my fieldwork, only H a nna h , L in d e n 's partner, and Ellie had full-time jobs. For every one else, you ng m en and w o m en were lucky if jobs lasted for m o re than a m onth: these were 'long-term 69

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tem po rary' as op posed to short-term, w h ich lasted a w eek at best. Then you ng people w ere dism issed, in w h at was alm ost a pattern; individuals were treated with suspicio n from the outset then w orking relations deteriorated further and further. A gain there seem ed to be need to stigmatise and with purpose, m ainly b ecau se you ng adults w ere looked upon as expendable. To cope, it seem ed m any you ng people becam e very realistic about the natu re of the local e co n o m y generally. Jay explained w hat happened after he was m ad e red u nd ant shortly after leavin g school: Jay: In those tw o years. Basically enjo yin' myself. M ainly it was sm ok in ' the draw [cannabis] like with the lads, 'a v in ' sessions and that. I w as livin' with this girl at the time and she was pregnant, after five weeks. So, basically I w as thinkin' 'oh shit'. So I was thinkin' I should do the hon ourable thing so 1 stayed with her for a couple of years. I got a job the day me d aug hter w as born. I stayed there for a couple of months. M e m issus got pregnant again but she had an abortion cause she said she already had a son. So I had to leave me job b ecau se [pause] of the situation we w ere in and the time. So, I was there for like four m onths. RM: W h at w ere you doing? Jay: I was m ak in' C h ristm as crackers. RM: And then, you w ent back on the dole w h en you left there? Jay: Yeah, I w ent back on the dole again. Stayed on the dole for another couple of years. W ent to Tel Vision [electrical d istribu­ tors], stayed there for tw o m onths. Then I got m ad e red u nd a nt from there. Left Tel V isio n. Then I was on the dole for another couple of years. '95 started w o rk in ' at this w aste reproduction place. Stayed there for a bout six w eeks, [pause] dirty job, dirty job. Y ou 'd get all the skip hire places and th ey'd tip it all in. Then w e'd have to like look through it and get everythin' out of it that w as metal. Then w e'd stack it up so it could go into a lorry and then they'd take it to a landfill. RM: W as that the last job you had? Jay: Na, I stayed there for like six or seven weeks. From there, H u e y 's b rother got me a job at his place. So I w ent there as a Hand Flatter [metal press operator]. I w as doin' that. I was like hand flattin' d ow n all day so. I co u ld n 't do it to the target they wanted m e to do it. Basically, they said it had to be bang on [perfect]. T hen, 'c a u se it took so long to get each one bang on th ey'd say w h y ain't you done so m any. So, that was it. You had to be fast at it and y o u 'v e also gotta get it perfect. RM: So they let you go. Jay: Yeah, I w as just there for two weeks. T w o w eeks training period. Then they said 'look, obviously you can't do it. W ou ld you 70

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like to stay behind, m a k e up to w h at it should be but you w o n 't get paid.' An' I said 'yeah, right. No one in N ova would do that. W o rk in ' for an extra two hours and not gettin' paid for it, you 've got no hopes.' So that was the last job I had. In C h apter 5, you ng adults describe how em p loy ers would use dismissal or intim id ation as a w ay m aintainin g a trainee workforce: either young people w ere pressured to leave befo re the end of their course, or they would be sacked to m a k e w ay for another candidate. The fact that Jay could m aintain his faith that local e m ploy ers will not continue to discrim inate once he had com pleted his four-year engineering course reflects the resilience you ng people have in the face of exclusion. Yet, Jay is also a C au casian m an , w hich m eans he was free from the experiences Benita, M o ntana, Ton y, M artin and Lin den have to face (see Ullah, 1987; Foster, 1990; B. C a m pbell, 1993). Later, Linden, Ton y and M artin describe incidents of racial discrim ination, particularly at the h and s of local em p loyers and the crim inal justice system.

Just th ie v in ’ M artin w orked at his uncle's construction firm for 18 m onths until the industry w ent into recession at the end of the 1980s. After being made re d und ant, M a rtin's £180 a w eek pay chequ e was replaced by £27 a week Incom e Sup port; to buy food, utilities and cover the cost of looking for work. D uring ou r interview , M artin told m e that his life befo re u n e m p lo y m e n t w as an exciting if m o m en ta ry time. W ithin the space of a year after M artin w as m ad e red u nd a nt he had drifted into w h at he referred to as 'just t h i e v in '', w hich finally ended in his arrest for armed robbery. At 18 M artin was sentenced to four years in prison. Finally released shortly after his twenty-first birthday, M artin was set apart from the other young form er prisoners I knew in Nova through his d eterm i­ nation never to go back. O f course, none of the you ng adults I knew in N ov a w an ted to go to jail but only M artin seem ed to live a life that could m ak e that aspiration possible. During a series of long in-depth inter­ view s at his flat, M artin described his experiences in prison, its im pact on his life and his perspective on it. He said: For me prison w as a good thing. I read m y first b ook w h en I w as in prison and I hav en't stopped since. T he first b ook took me to foreign countries; y 'k n o w like show ed m e different perspectives. I read The T im es in jail. I never read the new s or financial pages; I cou ld n't tell you the best shares to invest your m o n ey in [laughs]. Instead I used to read the travel pages and b ook review s. They w ere like the books y 'k n o w . N ow I'd like to travel and see different countries, befo re I 71

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read these books I used to think everyone 'ro und the world w ere the sa m e as the people 'ro und 'ere. M artin also described other prisoners: O ne bloke in the cell next d oor was in for fo ur years for m olesting two you ng girls . . . and he'd already served the sa m e term for the sa m e offence. See I was in for ro bbery and they put m e in with this guy right w h o 's interfered with little girls. And all I did was scare one w o m an for 30 seco nd s and she w as even told on the job just to hand over the m o n ey . . . T he justice system is really fucked up if he's seen as the sa m e as me. Like all you ng adults I got to know in N ova, M artin lived at the centre of a w eak system of in terdepend en ce (see Braithw aite, 1989). His family lived on the other side of the city, as did his partner and first son (see Pearson, 1983; Cohen, 1987). D uring the period of my fieldwork M artin persisted in looking for a w o rthw hile job though he w as focused on trying to gain a lease for a clothes shop in the city centre. M artin was also one of the first people to enrol on an accounting course at G a tew ay s, the adult education centre that opened during the latter half of my fieldwork. Yet the problem for m any you ng people was that to remain living in N ova, particularly the Precinct area, m eant being exposed to continuin g exclusion. M artin, like m a n y other you ng people I spoke to, w as also aw are that a life outside of N ova was an even m o re atomised and uncertain world. He explained, 'Y eah, I m ean I w an t to m ove into a nice area, to a house. There's no point going to another area like this, they're all the sam e, Sefton, M oorside. 1 w an t to be able to send m y kids to college. I got a kid, they live in Halford w h ich is just like 'ere. The houses round 'ere are painted in the sam e colour as prison cells.' Jo hn Braithw aite (1989) argues that sham ing offenders is a w ay of integrating individuals back into society, through policies such as com m u n ity -b ased sentences. As I show in C h apter 5, even w h en individuals w ere fortu nate to escape N ova, that often m eant leaving fam ily, friends and com m u nity .

Racism Linden's w o rk ing life within local com p a n ie s and for local em ploy ers involved being unfairly dismissed repeatedly. 1 started at W e sto n 's w h en I w as 16. Left when I was 20, that's four years. I used to have a car in them days and the car was always 72

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playin' up. It w o u ld n 't start in the m o rn in ' and I'd com e in late. I was cornin' in late and I got a written w arnin'. Then I got a final written w arnin'. See the policy there was when you got a final written w arnin' you 'ad to com e in for six m o nths with no lateness. For fo ur m o nths I got in, the car w a s n 't givin' me any trouble. Then, one m o rnin ', m y car w as stolen. So I phoned in and told them me car 'ad been nicked, left them a m essage. Then I phoned the police, notified them it 'ad been stolen. Then I got the bus in and when I got in the supervisor told me to com e into his office. I w ent in and he told m e 'y o u 're sacked '. I said to him 'look m y car was nicked; there w as nothin' else I could do. I phoned in and left a m essage that m y car 'ad been nicked.' Then he said he d id n 't believe m e so I told him to pho ne the police station. H e did and they told him that I'd reported it nicked. But then he still said y ou 're sacked and he said 'I'll have to escort you off the prem ises'. I said to him I wanted to go and clear out me locker but he said 'C o m e on Linden, you know the policy. I have to escort you off the prem ises in case you do anything stupid.' So he led m e out through the factory, everyone lookin' at m e kn ow in ' w h at had happened , and I lost m e temper. I turned 'round and battered 'im. Then, that night, I got hom e and w ent to the Pub. I 'ad a few pints in there and w ent back hom e and they sw ooped on me. Six cars sw o op ed on m e and they arrested me for assault. Then I got a job at S e d g w ick engineerin'. I w orked there for a year. I got on all right with the gaffer; I got on all right with the people there. But then the gaffer asked m e into his office one day. So he hands me the letter and I read it: 'D ear M r Davis, blah, blah, blah. I am afraid, d ue to err lack of w o rk w e are going to have to let you go.' So, I read that and thought fair enou g h, there's no w o rk for me there. So, I w ent hom e. I thought it might have been b ecau se of me but m ay b e I w as just getting' paranoid . T hen, the next day, a m ate I knew there phones up and tells m e they 'v e only gone and started four new blokes. So I w ent to try and get it taken to a tribunal. I w ent to Citizens A d v ice and they put me onto this place d ow n the town. But because I h a d n 't been w o rkin ' there for m o re than two years they reckoned I w o u ld n 't have a chance. I reckon it was b ecause I was black. The other lad I knew there was M ann y . They sacked him fo ur weeks later. H ow they got him w as . . . they told him that there was no overtim e. He w anted to do overtim e but they said no, there's none. So he w ent hom e, sayin' that there was nothin' he could do about it, it w a sn 't 'is fault. So he's gone hom e and then he finds out the next day that his m ate was doin' his job as overtim e, that night. So the next night I p hones up the unit. N o, that's it. I gets m e girlfriend to pho ne up and she asks if m e mate is there; 'is so-and-so there 73

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please'. Then, w h en the lad com es on the phone, I pulls it off her and shouts 'Right, I'm cornin' d ow n there. You cu nts said there was no overtim e.' Then I gets in the car and drives dow n there. And when I gets there all the shutters are d ow n and the police are waitin' for me. I d u nno w h at they thought I w as gonna do, go m ad or som ethin'. But I just said I cam e d ow n to see why they said there was no overtim e. Then I got another [engineering] job. And then I got grief there. F uck in' grief again. W h e n I applied for the job it's said on the form 'D o you have a criminal record'? And I've put 'N o ', no big deal. I get the job. Then on the first day the superv isors sh ow in ' m e w h ere I'll be w o rk in ' and I see this lad I knew at school. Then w h en he left school he beca m e a cop per and he was alw ay s stop pin' m e w h en he w as a copper. He'd stop me and say 'y o u r exhau st is broken; get it fixed or I'll arrest ya to m orrow '. And when he was at school he was a right tearaw ay, I k now 'cau se I used to hang around with 'im. And then he arrested me. A n y w a y , I asked 'im w hy he w a sn 't a cop p er any m ore and he said he got bored with it and left. And then w h at happens, four w eeks later, over the tanoy: 'Could Linden co m e to the office please'. I goes in and the gaffer's standin' there with my applicatio n form. He says you wrote d ow n here that you d o n 't have a criminal record and w e 'v e found out that you 'ave. Y ou k now w ho told 'e m d o n 't ya? I fuckin' hated him.

G e n d e r and c r i m e Benita and M o n tan a described w o rk ing in Ford and each w o m a n 's account reflects how circum scribed the local service eco n o m y was by gender. M o st jobs available w ere w o rk ing as service pro viders. O ther jobs such as car repair outlets often discriminated in favour of men. W o m e n were clearly 'preferred ' in industries such as nu rsing and cleaning. I found no figures to prove this, only w h at I observed. Even though jobs had a greater d egree of stability, they rem ained tem porary. M o n ta n a said: 'I did an N V Q in catering at Ford Univ ersity. I'v e had loads of jobs in catering; I w orked at the M inster H otel for two days, the M arsh Hotel for 13 m onths, and the Hilton for two nights. I worked for M o to 's for tw o m o nths, y 'kn o w the service station. They were only te m porary jobs.' The w orkfare m erry-g o-ro und Benita and M o n ta n a described seemed identical to op portunities available to y ou ng men. Benita was forced to alternate b etw een te m porary work and state benefits, a 'low pay - no pay' cycle of tem po rary e m p lo y m e n t and u n e m p lo y m e n t (Giddens, 2000). This also m e a n t Benita rarely had time and w e held ou r interview in a waiting room at Ford 's main benefits office two days befo re 74

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Ch ristm as. W h e n I arrived, it was raining and through the tinted glass of the big building, I saw Benita. Inside room D, alm ost all of the iron b en ch e s were full; you ng people alone like Benita, couples, and families w aiting for a n u m b e r to be relayed on an L C D screen. As each nu m be r appeared , individuals or couples w ould sit before an advisor. E veryone, staff and clients, looked stressed despite the app roaching holiday. Som e of the tensio n w as eased by the radio; people lost them selves in songs or s o m e tim e s h u m m e d along. I asked Benita how long she had been waiting: Benita: Since eleven. [I had arrived at 3 p.m.] RM: W hat are you trying to get? Benita: A crisis loan. I will get one. RM: For C hristm as? Benita: Yeah. RM: W ill you have to pay it back? Benita: Th a t's w hat they think. RM: D on't you find it fru strating being on the dole, without any m oney? Benita: N o, I can do w h at I want. And I'v e alw ays got m oney. B enita's co m m e n t about alw ays having m oney personified her ow n and M o n ta n a 's self-belief: both w ere very poor though they never ac k n o w l­ edged it in public. In C h ap te r 4, I d escribe the how self-respect and tenacity w ere strategies that kept L ind en's circle of friends together. T h ro u g h o u t that afternoon with Benita, one of the few times I was alone with one person, I felt torn apart by her situation. Staying alive under the shad ow of exclusion is reflected in the way Tony and Linden, M o n tan a and Benita are alw ays together. Despite a slight age gap, both had bond ed at school through co m m o n interests. As Benita explained: 'She lives near me. And w e w ere at the sam e school. M o n ta n a got moved there after bein' expelled from Hillcrest. W e 'd w ag it [truant] together; go d ow n the town and that. O u t at night, sm ok e draw [cannabis] and that. W e both like the sam e things, ragga' m usic [dancehall], going to dancehalls, black m en [laughs].' M o ntana had spent a significant part of her adolescence in foster hom es, Y ou ng Offenders Institutions, and finally prison: M ontana: First time I w as fifteen, I got a caution; second time got a caution. Then I w as put on rem and then probation then I had to do co m m u n ity service then c o m m u n ity service again then they pu t me in a hom e then they sent m e to jail w h en I w as old enough. RM: You d id n't go to jail until you w ere 16? M o nta na: Na, but before that they put m e in a hom e when I'd left Greaves. They put me in this hom e for boys and girls, but they put m e on the boys' wing. B ecause I w as a bit of a tomboy. 75

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A b ou t the future M o n ta n a said, 'I'm goin' to Tenerife in tw o w eek s for Christm as. But after that I'm just gonna stay there and w ork. I'll get a job in the clubs at night, to pay the rent then just sit on the beach all day with a bottle of b ra n d y .' I asked M o n ta n a if she w ould miss Ford and her friends. She replied 'N a'; there's nothin' for m e here. All the girls I knew at school are all stuck with kids. I d o n 't w ant that. N a ', there's nothin' for m e in Ford or N ov a , only my m u m . You alw ays end up on your arse then you have to go out thievin '.' M o ntana su m m ed up N o v a's local e con om y and echoed Jay's a ccou nt of how the responsibilities of parenting seem to cou nt for little on the w orkfare m erry-go-round.

Y o u t h f u l a sp ira tio n s M o ntana was going shop p ing with Benita and I asked if I could go with them. Linden had also w anted to com e along, sim ply as a release from N ova. M o ntana was living with her m o ther at that time. W h e n w e arrive, Linden goes up to the d oor politely knocks then waits. T he d oor opens and M o ntana steps out into the brilliant su n sh in e dressed entirely in black. Linden com p lim e n ts M ontana then escorts her to the waiting car. O nce inside, M o ntana p ho nes Benita on her m obile to arrange w h ere to pick her up. Benita is on a course at the local technical college and asks if w e can meet her there as she finishes at noon for the day. O n the w ay, M o n ta n a hand s me a bootlegged recording of a reggae night at a local club. T he m usic is dancehall. D ancehall is reggae though gets its nam e through the fact that m any records w ere censored and labelled unfit for radio airplay, only the d ancehall. W h e n the tape goes on, M o n ta n a lights a joint and starts getting into the infectious music. After picking up Benita, a backseat party begins, w hile Linden sits shaking his head in the front seat. T he destination w as W ebster, a peaceful rural town. Like two friendly couples, Benita and M ontana w e n t s hopp ing w hile Lin den and I waited in the car. As w e sat chatting a cavalcade of m otorb ik es burble past: then, I see the two girls a p pear in the rear view mirror. M o n tan a and Benita are giggling and clutching each other. O n the w ay hom e, M o ntana and Benita try on eyeliner pencils and blue and orange hair colour spray. At one point M ontana produ ces a pack of silk G-strings and one pair of knickers. After trying the knickers on m y head, she then proceeded to spray blue hairspray over me, 'just to see if it suits you'. M o n tan a and Benita w ent on s hopp ing trips; even tho ugh the goods they obtained w ere ephem eral, the occasions allow ed both to achieve a sense o f excitem ent and self-respect. Katz (1988) arg u es such crim es are motivated by a 'sentim ental m aterialism ' though I would argue the m ixture of m aterial gain and excitem ent achieved in these crimes w as a co nseq u ence of the perpetual present of c o n su m e r culture, a world 76

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within w hich every one is trapped. Just like a co n s u m e r lifestyle, 'the shift', m o oching and 'the session' w ere all opportunities to step into c o n su m e r culture and out of poverty, even for just a day. 'The session' and 'the shift' also regulated time by tu rning the day into a circadian process of w ish-fulfilment. M o och in g usually occurred b etw ee n 9 a.m. and 8 p.m. while sessions usually took place after that, going on until 1 or 2 a.m. Barbara A dam (1995: 38) describes how we use time to transcend the pro spect of death, 'e nd ow ed with it, hu m a n b eings do not merely un derg o their presents, and pasts, they shape and reshape them '. With w hat little resources you ng people have, each person does the sa m e with culture to shape time, confirm ing A d a m 's (1995: 37) statem ent that 'To relate to birth death origin and destiny is an existential condition of hu m a n cultural life.' As with listening to Hip H op m usic, which I explore in the fo llow ing chapter, going out on the shift and the session w ere times and places w h ere you ng people could step into a c o n su m e r lifestyle. 'The shift' involves getting 'suited and b ooted ', as Linden and Ton y described. Linden: They 'd usually be about three of us. W e 'd get dressed up, in suits, get in a car; go to L ond on, pull up on an industrial estate. See, they'd be like a team of us, usually three of us. I'd be the driver. So I'd be the driver and w e'd 'a v e a lad w h o 'd go out for a w alk about. H e'd go into offices. Tony: I m ean if y ou 're suited and booted you get a lot further. See if I'v e got a suit on I'm g onn a' get through two or three people. But if I'v e got a tracksuit on s o m e o n e 's g on n a ' say su m m it straightaw ay, see w h a t I'm sayin'. It's part of the blag. W hen I w as out with Tony, he often drew m oney from other people's accounts and often seem ed to revel in the process itself. In his interview, T on y described his progression into w h at he described as 'the life of crime'. RM: W hat have you d one since you left school? Tony: R obbin' stuff, robbin' from buildin g societies then just w ent up the ladder, chequ e books, credit cards, industrial estates, defraud ing from banks. Fraud m ainly. I'll get up, get in my car and drive to an industrial estate. Just walk around seein' w h at I can take. If you can sell it, I'll take it. RM: Is it not difficult now ? Tony: Y eah, but I'm really clever. Like the locks they'v e got on the d oors now , the coded locks, I can get past all of them. RM: So if you get a card you go straight to the bank? Tony: It all d ep end s. Like if I go out and get a w o m a n 's hand bag and I'v e got a bird with me. If the n u m be r ain't in her hand bag 77

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I'll ph o n e her up, say I'm the bank and eight times out of ten it works. Then, go to the bank get the m o n ey out the cash point and that'll do me. If I get like a b loke's wallet and I can do the signature and there's a drivin' licence I'll go into the bank. If the b loke's signature is too hard and there's no drivin ' licence I'll pho ne 'im up. If he gives me the PIN nu m bers it's sound, if he d oesn't it's a waste but I'll carry on. RM: If y o u 'v e got a b lok e 's drivin ' licence and a chequ e b ook you can clear the a ccou nt out? Tony: Yeah, you go in and get a b alance and that is it. The m ax im u m I'v e ever taken out, £11,000. T hat was from a cheque. I w ent to a b usiness and got the chequ e from 'round the back out the back of the b usiness a ccou nt book. Then I w ent to the front and asked them if they had any jobs. They said no so I asked if the b oss could write m e a com p lim e n ts slip so I could show it to the dole. Then I put his signature on the chequ e and cashed it. 'M ooching ', 'goin g out on the shift' and 'the session' could be interpreted as habitual, and on the surface Martin fulfilled the stereotype of a repeat offender. H ow e v e r, as I describe in the next chapter, M artin, like m any other m o och e rs I met, personified the entrepreneurial spirit of the 1980s. In m any w ays, that spirit still seem ed to define the public culture of the Precinct during my fieldwork. A n other was the sense of social d isinteg­ ration that characterised m a n y of Britain's inner cities during the 1980s (see Carley, 1990). W hen the Project closed, all that w as left was co n s u m e r culture, and it seem s that after that point individuals b eca m e m o re exposed to exclusion. The m ajority of y ou ng people I m et there literally disappeared into the Precinct. People I was able to stay with seem ed m ore susceptible to crime, becau se the interm ediate space the Project provided , betw een public and private culture, was no longer there to brack et both. H erbert G a ns (1999: 5) m ak es the distinction b etw een public and private culture: 'o ne people create and practice at h o m e', another 'closer to a vicarious than to a lived'. L in d e n 's social w orld, centred around his flat, w as like a chorus involving both, yet with no defined time limit. The word 'chorus' derives from chora, a place in ancient Greece w h ere plays and festivals would take place. Plato (1957: 5 0 b -c ), described it as a space 'receiv ing all things, and never in any way takes on any character that is like any other things that enter it: by natu re it is there as a matrix for everything, changed and diversified by the things that enter it'. Yet, constitutin g a social world th rough c o n s u m e r culture m eant that com pared with the concrete certainty that the Project provided, L ind en's w as a m uch m o re fragile place. To borrow another G reek term , the Project was a topos: a landscape or container that was p e rm a n e n t to change. 78

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W hen the Project did close, you ng people 1 m et w ere left in the perpetual presen t Ja m eso n (1998) describes: an every d ay world of disposable culture. At the Project, friendship was given continuity by the walls of the build ing itself. N o one had to have a reason to go there, and th rough that feeling of equ anim ity, you ng people w ere able to m ake an e m otional investm ent, investing and partaking in one an oth er's friend­ ship. Ray Pahl (2000: 14) describes w h y friendship needs a reason: 'Friendship exists largely through an involve m e n t in certain kinds of activities, which g enerates sen tim ents, which in turn e ncou rag e further activities.' The sen tim ent Lin den and Ton y shared seem to drive the culture of 'the shift'. Y et the disposable nature of opportunities in that culture w as reflected in the w a y m oochers, even successful ones such as Jim m y and Baz, w ere unable to break the stigma associated with how they appeared and w here they cam e from. M y belief, which I evidence in C h apter 5, was a deep psychological need on the part of people living outside of N ova to exclud e you ng residents w ho tried to w ork for them selv es. In C h ap te r 1, I described how statu s is no longer defined by social class b o und aries but through the accu m ulation of com m od ities. Jam eson (1998) argu es the c o n su m e r society is a 'perpetual present' because con su m e rs them selv es define their existence according to body time. We m ay think w e are being innovativ e, though the reality is a repetitive cycle of consu m p tion and destruction, of com m od itie s and essentially ou r ow n image. A s a result, w e can never truly belong to a com m u nity , b ecause ou r existence is defined by the pursuit of personal desires. Even though m o och e rs and m e m b e r s of the b usiness w ere entrepreneurs, each person's life was defined by w h at the philosopher H e id e g g er (1927) described as 'b eing in the w orld'. C rim e, Y outh and Exclusion conclu des by show ing how thinking about crim e gradually shaped g o v ern m e n t thinking on you th crime, to justify a culture in w hich consu m ption is an end in itself (Galbraith, 1985). Policy on 'yo u th ' crim e is influenced by the idea of peer associatio ns and the assum p tion that 'negative associatio ns m ak e you ng people s u s ce p ­ tible to crim e' (E lm er and Reicher, 1995: 216). The idea of negative peer associatio ns has clear parallels with policy on anti-social behav iour, w h ereb y unsu pervised groups of young people are seen as a threat. In C h apter 7, I show how labelling b eh a v io u r in such terms often exposes people to further exclusion such as self-abuse. Interestingly, Edw in Sutherland (1949) claim ed that 'w hite-collar' crim inals w ere less likely to be prosecuted, as em p loy ers felt individuals w ould deteriorate p s y ch o ­ logically. I would argue that the affluent resist u n d ersta nd ing the relatio nship betw een crim e and poverty in order to preserve the integrity of a c o n su m e r lifestyle. W riting on the co n s u m e r society, Jam eson (1998: 7) describes 'the m asks and voices stored up in the im aginary m u seu m of a global 79

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culture'. T he m ask s im posed on you ng adults create each person's experience of exclusion. Because the only w ay y ou ng adults are able to surviv e 'goin g un der' was through friendship, the stigma associated with N o v a 's y o u n g adult c o m m u n ity contin ued. Jim m y told me, 'Y eah, 'cau se m y parents w ere poor I had to go out and earn m o ney. I started picture sellin' w h en I w as 13.' The stigm a that surrou nds picture selling in Ford personifies the exclusion of N o v a 's young adults w h en they try to w o rk for them selv es. T he trade b eg an in the early 1980s: fo ur or five people would try to sell re production pictures - from French Im p ressio n ­ ists to m ore c ontem p orary designs - to a gro w ing arm y of hom eo w ners: Steve: Y eah, first term of the fifth year. I got expelled and then I began signing on. Then I went picture sellin'. Yeah, but everyone was at it then. There was like tw elve cars goin' out, people were advertisin' in the fu ckin' paper it was that fu ckin' m ad, that easy. But I w a s n 't any good at it. RM: So w hat did you do instead? Steve: 1 started the life of crime. G oin ' out, doin' fraud, goin' out on the shift. RM: W h a t does 'the shift' mean? Steve: Goin out, robbin' people. R ob bin' people for their plastic (credit cards) then you w ork 'em. At first, before cards and that it w as post office books. But then, w h en we first started getting cards w e used to just hope for the pin n u m bers and the cash just hopin'. If w e never found the n u m be rs w e'd just throw it away. W e d id n 't k now how to w o rk cards and shops and shit like that. All that plastic we threw aw ay, all those gold cards, w e were only after the pin n u m be rs in those days or cash, nuff cash. Linden said crime was 'a pattern in N o v a' b ecau se everyone he knew living there was un em p lo y ed and m an y w orked for them selves in an informal e conom y . C rim e, as Lin den described it, was a subjective experience shared in a w o rking relationship. For the majority of my respond ents, the distinction betw ee n crim e and w ork lay b etw een stealing from your ow n and m aking m o n ey from consu m ers. There was a strong anim osity tow ards those w ho 'stole from their ow n ' as they are perceiv ed as creating victims in an already victimised c om m u n ity . Steve told m e angrily, i t ' s the little ro gues give N ova a bad nam e, the shoplifters and the burglars. Little fuckin' bastards, should b ang them all up. Th e y 'll all take it up the arse.' Yet, other you ng people expressed e m p a th y tow ard s those w h o com m itted burglaries. Jay said that crimes com m itted in N ov a w ere often just to escape the desperation m an y faced (see C h a p te r 5). W hile so m e y ou ng people displayed w h at Katz (1988) describes as 'sentim ental m a terialism ' out on the shift, others were m ore rational; one 80

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m o o ch e r described how , 'W e 'd go out on industrial estates m o o ch in ' and I'd just go into a few b uildin's gettin' com p lim e n ts slips sayin' to them "lo o k , I'm just lookin' for w o r k " . S h ow in ' p ro of that I am lookin'. So I'd get c o m p lim e n ts slips, signed and dated, show them to the dole.' M o o ch e rs w ho told me about g oing out on the shift also described looking for 'legitim ate' jobs at the sam e time, and not just to placate the job centre. O ut on the shift, m o och e rs frequently talk about the opportunities available at certain com panies. Yet, as a participant observer during these conversations, the poverty and exclusion aw aiting young people back in N ov a seem ed a world aw ay from the affluence and prosperity we witnessed out on the shift. C o m p a n ie s w ere often high-tech, situated in purpose-built ou t-of-tow n sites that often ap pear idyllic and affluent. S uccessful m o ochers, such as Jim m y and Baz, w ere d raw n to w hat T a y lor (1999: 52) describes as a 'm ark et society': 'a society in which everything (from c o n s u m e r goods to public g oo ds like health and educational op portu nity) is for sale', a place w h ere 'the idea of con su m p tion is at the centre of everyd ay lived experience'. M any m o och e rs I spoke to described being d ra w n to that w orld. C h ap te r 4 identifies the traum a successful m o ochers experienced in being unable to escape exclusion. Several A m erican studies on u n e m p lo y m e n t at a local level echo the intractable situation you ng people in N ov a faced after the Project (see Sulliv an, 1989; W illiam s, 1989; A n derson, 1990; Padilla, 1992; Bourgois, 1995). In each study, you ng people arc faced with a situation in which, on the one hand, there is a lack of d ecent jobs, and on the other, opportunities in informal m arkets m ultiply though they pro vide none of the securities of regular work. E thno graphic studies such as Sullivan's (1989) are im portant as they identify how you ng people living in e conom ically depriv ed areas have to rely on them selv es and one another. G ettin' P aid (Sullivan, 1989) s h o w s how you ng people have to innovate through culture econom ies such as drug use and supply. This was the sam e in N ova too, w here d rugs w ere a c o m m o d ity and a m eans of m a n ag in g uncertainty. H ow society represents drug use and associates it with crim e reflects the im age con su m e rs have of th em selves. G id d e n s (1991: 181) describes living in to day 's shifting present, w h ere 'Feelings of restlessness, forebod ing and desperation m ay m ingle in individual experien ce with faith in the reliability of certain form s of social and technical fram ew ork'. G idd ens (1990, 1991) also w rites about how we try to bracket uncertainty by d eveloping a protectiv e cocoon. For m any y o u n g people, drug use was an accepted method of protecting against the stigma of crime. Even though use was occasional and rarely p roblem atic, the strategy becam e part of the dialectical process identified in C h a p te r 1. In Rosalind C o w a rd 's (1994) m y th ic landscape of the council estate, d rugs are recurring featu res of w h a t is portrayed as a profane culture. 81

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For J. K. G albraith (1992), stigm atising poor com m u n ities in such w ays help s sustain w h at he describes as a culture of contentm ent, one w h ere consu m ption is an end in itself. Baudrillard (1988: 199) describes how the guilt of the co n s u m e r is displaced into the object of an underclass: i t is not desire that w e cannot escape, but the ironic presence of the object, its indifference, and its indifferent interconnections, its challenge, its se d u c ­ tion, its violation of the s y m b olic order (therefore the subject's u n c o n ­ scious as well, if it had one. In short, it is the principle of evil we cannot e s c a p e / In C h ap te r 1, I described how socially excluded you ng adults are objectified by policy and the media. Baudrillard (1988: 199) goes a step further to suggest that socially excluded you ng people are described as evil, providing us with 'a soul and a face', enabling us to div ert the sh a m e of excess. 'T he life', lived as a co m m u n ity of you ng people, was a defence against the chaos created by the pro spect of a lifetime of exclusion and poverty. Liv ing 'the life' helped sustain the feeling of tran scend en ce that A d am (1995) describes: each day separated b etw een the public culture of 'm o o ch in g ' and 'the shift' and the private culture of 'the session'. H ow ever, as soon as both began to dissolve into one another, such as through the use of drugs in public, users them selves w ere in d ang er of b ec o m in g outcasts within Nova itself.

Shit Street O ver the time I spent at the Project, I sensed a deep feeling of oppression, which seemed to thread through young p eople's experience of grow ing up in N ova. Being excluded from w ork w as clearly a factor in people's sense of frustration, though boredo m fails to encapsulate the stress these you ng m en and w o m e n m ust have felt. W h e n you ng people talked in interview s a bout their experien ces of exclusion, they w ere alw ays articulated with passion and anger. D rug use is a w ay of containing that ang er though practically all of the you ng people I met in N ova described how drugs, legal or illegal, only sustained exclusion. On the rare occasions that young adults in the project sm o k e cannabis, 'sm o k in' d ra w ' is a w ay of neutralising frustrations. Yet, w h en people w ere seen to be sm ok ing regularly, som e th in g Sean w as intolerant of as it put the Project in jeopardy, friends would often intervene, usually by suggesting a g am e of pool or football outside. The closeness of y ou ng p eople's friendships w as one reason w h y , in the fo ur m o nths I spent at the Project, I never witnessed p roblem atic use. A n other w as becau se so few people could afford to m aintain a regular supply o f cannabis or cigarettes: both w ere often m arked out as last resorts. P eople s om etim es did find the m o n ey for a sm ok e th ough, as I describe in the following chapter, drug use, outside of the private culture of 'the session', signified 82

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a loss of self-respect and disrespect tow ard s friends. H u ey , for instance, was help ing Jay 'stay off the draw '. Jay him self told m e how using cannabis all the time was fundam entally destructive. N ig ht com es and m ost lads will think 'right, time for the session'. I mean I'v e done that, I'v e been there, but it gets b orin' after a while. I m ean I'v e done it for ten years. I m ean I've stopped sm ok in ' draw now an' I'v e been sm okin' for ten years. It's hard but I just thought no it's not for m e anym o re. I m ean I've been sm okin ' it everyday, it's just a daily occurrence. People say you d o n 't get addicted to cannabis but you do. Like Jay, m any you ng people described how drug use only seemed to expose people to the chaos Steve spoke of, as Slim testified during a conversation w e had about his experiences in N o v a 's local service industries: Slim: Like they're shit jobs, you d o n 't need any skills. But if you w an t a good job y o u 'v e gotta get trainin' but the trainin' schem es only pay £35 a w eek, you ca n 't live on that. £35 a w eek for two years. And you can't live on that for tw o years, no w ay. You can't live on £35 when y o u 're 18. An every time you go and sign on they try and get you on these courses. Thing is the dole d on't m ake you w anna get w ork, it's like free m oney. But in N ov a you need a fu ckin' job. It's a ghost town now. If y ou 're livin' 'round N ova y o u 'v e gotta be drun k or stoned. If you ain't got a drink or a sm ok e of draw it ain't w o rth cornin' out is it. You either need girls, drink or d rugs or a fuckin' car or sum m it. You d o n 't w anna be goin' out robbin' and that, but you have to. I virtually know every cunt in N ov a and that's w hat they're all up to. If you ain't fuckin' thievin' you ain't no one, they're fu ckin' bored shitless. E ven the y o u n g e r ones, hang in' around the chip shop. That's how I m ad e m oney, sellin' fuckin' draw , anythin' you can get your hand s on. That's w hat I used to do, but then I s m ok e it and then you get y ou rself in debt and then you 'a v e to go out robbin'. 'C au s e you have to get you r m o n ey to pay them off so m e h o w . I used to sell the draw and I was rakin' it in. I used to get £700 and then I'd just go out on the piss for three d ays and I'v e com e back £700 in debt, £1,500 on the session, fu ckin' back in shit street. RM: W hat about going to jail? Slim: Yeah that's w h y I stopped doin' shit. But it's in y ou r face, you see all the m o och e rs with a w ed g e in your pocket. Th at's the only opportunity to get m ak in' m o ney . W h at you earn in a fuckin' m onth you can earn in a night, goin' out on the shift and that. 83

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As Slim described this situation, he did so with an incredible sense of ang er and frustration. It is also im portant to say that he w as not being literal; this was a taped interview , which I had arranged with Slim in advance. Like m any you ng people I interview ed, I could see that Slim was trying to cond ense and contain experiences that had been lived and endured for years and s om etim es decades. Y ou n g people described exclusion as a lifetime o v ersh ado w ed by p overty, crim e and drugs. 'The life' is a delicate web of friendship b etw een y ou ng people that protects against self-destruction. C hristm as in N ov a highlighted that experience and how you ng people m anaged to surviv e through friendships. This period is generally a time w h en consu m erism penetrates alm ost every aspect of life u n d er the guise of a cultural occasion. A desire and pressure to buy presents for family and friends com bined with the w o rk opportunities available m ad e this a tense time for m any you ng people. A m o n g the you ng people I was with at that time, friendship w as the only w a y to surviv e that econom ic and e m otional pressure. Linden phoned sayin g Steve had let him d ow n. In the Pub the day befo re, Lin den had found out that a light-engineering co m p a n y were looking for staff for the C hristm as period. Linden, Liam and Martin wanted to start and needed a lift; Steve, w h o had a car at that time, had agreed to start as well, ensuring a lift for all three. T he fo llow ing day, the day Linden called, Steve called Linden sayin g he could not m ak e it. W aitin g for Linden to get ready in his living room , Liam said how the job provided an op portu nity to 'get a w e d g e for Ch ristm a s'. Lin den cam e in putting on layers of clothing for the cold night that lay ahead. I said I m ight not be able to m ake every night; Lin den had 'got it cov ered ', as the boss of the factory would give them a lift after tonight. Stuffing a big lunch box into his rucksack, w e all got up to leave. The factory was situated on the outskirts of M o w b ra y , a small industrialised town ten m iles north of Ford. As w e travelled further and further along the m o torw ay L inden, Liam and M artin c om m ented on the increasing distance. I w as nervo us about being able to find the factory the follow ing m orning. Finally, at ten m inutes to six, w e arrived at the small engineering plant at the end of a gravel track off a suburban street. I d ropp ed them off to 'cheers Rob, you know w h ere to com e in the m o rn in g '. I assured them I would find the place. Stepping outside of the tiny industrial unit the fo llow ing freezing m o rnin g into the dark, Martin, Lin den and Liam looked pale and physically drained. All piled into the back seat to share heat and I asked how it went. L ind en said there was no heating (the tem peratu re that night w a s —5); M artin added 'w e need a fuckin' radio in there'. Later Liam told m e he was w orking on a lathe that had no guard at the bottom and the leg of his jeans was shredded w h en it cau gh t in the m achinery. Back at N ova, I dropped M artin and Liam at M artin's flat so the tw o could have a sm oke. R unn ing tow ards 84

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the Precinct, Martin whispered into the cold air, 'need a spliff [cannabis joint] to knock me out'. That night characterised the frustrations and inequalities all of the young people I met had experienced while working on N ova's workfare merry-go-round. The desperation created by the lead up to Christmas, a frenzy of consumption generally, was manifest in the fact that all three worked for a week at the firm until it was impossible to make the 40-mile distance to and from Mowbray. Another impossible reality was that all three men were desperate to work. Yet Linden, Martin and Liam all supported one another, and prevented what Linden referred to as 'going under'. In Chapter 4, I show what happened when young people were no longer able to hold onto 'the life'.

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C h a p te r 4

Respect

The previous chapter show ed how you ng people w ere able to survive exclusion through a strategy m any described as 'w ork ing for yourself'. I also show ed how you ng adults retained a culture of co m m u n ity in order to sustain hope in the future. A s I have pointed out throu g ho u t this study, the structural conditions you ng adults had to survive d eterm ined the culture of 'the life'. In this chapter I identify how maintaining self-respect - in the clothes you ng people w ore, their m usic and outlook - was perceiv ed as a culture of crim e a m o n g those living outside Nova. Finally, I describe how y o u n g people coped with the stigm a of crime, and w h at h appened w h en individuals su ccu m b ed to it.

G a n g s te rs The aim of this study is to identify the processes by w hich young p eople's subjective experien ce of poverty and exclusion is perceiv ed as crime. This interactive process involves the m astery of im ages that m ake the c o n su m e r society, central to w hich are im ages of you ng people living in deprived com m unities. This recently occurred in the reproduction of a series of im ages advertising products for the sportsw ear m a nu factu rer Reebok. O ne im age depicted the Hip H op artist 50 C ent (real nam e Curtis Jackson). In one of the ad vertisem ents, a g u n sh ot is heard and 50 C e n t counts slo wly up to nine - the n u m be r of times he was shot outside his g ran d m o th e r's hou se in Q u e e n s N ew Y ork in 2000. Curtis Jackson asks: 'w ho you planning to m assacre next?', referring to 50 C ent's new' albu m , T he M assacre (50 Cent, 2005). 50 Cent then laughs and R eeb ok 's slo gan 'I am w h at I am ' appears. R e eb ok 's cam paign was dropped after com plaints that the ad vert glamorised gang violence. A sim ilar event occurred just after 50 C ent w as shot in 2001: originally signed to 86

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C o lu m b ia R ecords, the label d ropped Jack son w hile he w as still re covering in hospital. In a recent interview (Russell, 2003), 50 C ent said: 'C olum b ia d id n 't understand 50 C ent; to them, people (like me) only get s hot on TV. I was shot three d ays before I was supposed to shoot my first video. T hey freaked out. M ajor labels would prefer to w o rk with "s tu d io g a n g s ta 's " , it's less of a risk.' The outrage that surrou nded the Reebok cam p aig n characterises 'the life' y ou ng people I m et lived to escape the death of workfare. G et Rich or D ie Tryin' (50 C ent, 2003) was the title of the album that launched 50's career and encapsulates the situation faced by m any you ng people I m et in N ova. By using R eeb ok to advertise his ow n album , Jack son was inserting the subjective e xperience of living in a poor c o m m u n ity into a culture with no m eaning. The ph e n o m en al global success of both Ja ck s o n 's m usic and the R eeb ok cam paign clearly represents a contradiction, w h ereby affluent con su m e rs are con su m in g an experience replicated through consu m ption. Y o u n g people in Nova listened to Hip H op m usic that occurred within an entirely different context, as I describe below . Returning to the Reebok cam p a ign, the event sh o w s how , in being seduced by crime, consu m ers are consu m ing society itself. Baudrillard (1994) describes post-industrial society as the 'd esert of the real' w here the only reality is the con su m e rs' own self-im age. In this situation, w h a t is the point in looking good or k eeping fit if our existence has no benefit to others? 50 C e n t's m u sic can only be heard as one person's experience, and the sam e principle applies to un derstand ing you ng peop le's experience of exclusion. Yet Hip H op m u sic's critics continue to isolate im ages from the m usic, just as acad em ics try to explain crime. In both cases, the reflection of people's experience, like an im age reflected in a mirror, b eco m es the object of study. As I show in C h a p te r 7, research on poverty and crim e in Europe and N orth A m erica epitom ises this situation: reflections by aca d em ics unwilling to e nga g e with or listen to people living with exclusion. T he problem is that given the nature of society, an im aginary place for m ost people, research creates the m a n n eq u in s that define peop le's fear a bout crime. Since the end of the 1980s, it seem s that the biggest d em on im aginable is the drug -using criminal.

D ru g s and c r i m e M o st research carried out on the d r u g / c r i m e nexus involves researchers studying the b eh a v io u r of large (institutionalised) g ro ups of people; that usually m eans that individuals them selves b ec o m e classified as drug users. Sutherland and Cressey (1970), for exam ple, noted that in the United States 'felons are over represented in the addict population'. H ow e v e r, Sutherland and C ressey (1970) concluded that a precise definition by w hich drugs are related to crim inal beh a v io u r had not yet 87

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been made. W h e th e r in prison or th rough drug-referral clinics, re­ searchers, once a person has been defined as a user, try to aggregate a coherent pattern b etw een drug use and factors such as an involvem ent in crime, age at the onset of crime, or persistence in com m itting crimes. T herefore, once cases (people) are gathered, researchers try to 'e xplain' the possible relations b etw een crim e and drug use by establishing a direct connection b etw een the two. M y ow n position is that findings based on this ob jectifying approach are often incorporated into policy on crim e becau se they ap p ear as part of B aud rillard 's (1994) 'd esert of the real'. That is, the im age of the drug -using crim inal app ears to be a seductive albeit silent explanation in the eyes of policy-m akers. During the 1980s, several quantitative studies w ere un dertaken within prisons and drug rehabilitation centres in the United States (see Chaiken and Ch aik en, 1990: 1 81-2). A n alysing the findings, the consensus was that drug use induced in com e -p rod u cin g crim e largely b ecau se addicts required m o n ey to buy drugs. This theory w as supported by evidence that m any serio us offenders w ere drug users and had started using d rugs as juveniles. The formula w as that w hile not all users becam e ad dicts, continued drug use for som e frequently led to a nexus of heroin d ep en d e n ce and in com e-g enerating crime. Researchers and po licy ­ m ak ers sub seq uently assum ed a clear causal relation b etw een drug use and criminality, especially for a m inority w ho w ere disproportionately m o re likely to b eco m e involved in drug use. For this m inority their lives supp osed ly followed a sim ple linear trajectory: som e form of drug use in ad olescence, a progression to heroin use, and then an involvem ent in non -violen t in com e -p rod u cin g crim e to finance that habit. This very specific d r u g / c r i m e nexus gained consent despite contrary evidence pointing to casual (non-addict) heroin users w h o w ere not involved in crim e (see C o o m b e r, 1994). During m y ow n discussion with young people, individuals identified how once people w ere 'c au g ht' using drugs, all w ere exposed to further exclusion.

P o v e r t y and d r u g use P risoners are stripped of their physical possessions as m u ch as their experience of their ow n world. O utsid e the 'u nnatu ral' setting of prison or drug rehabilitation centres, the problem is not necessarily the p o w er of d rugs them selv es but of exclusion itself (see Polsky, 1971; Adler, 1985). Y o u n g ad ults' shared experien ce of being in N ov a and not being able to get out of it is expressed th rough the Hip H op life. Prison research inevitably isolates hu m an beings from a process specific to living in a poor, socially excluded com m u nity . Drug use has to be seen as part of our being, w h eth er it involves alcohol or tobacco, heroin or crack-cocaine: all are taken to soften the 88

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pain of existence, and if we consume too much we become a danger to others and ourselves. Heidegger (1927) spoke of 'being in the world' to describe how we participate as human beings to survive in the world. Incarcerated within a total institution, we can no longer be human as the prison itself assumes every inmate's concerns and responsibilities. In his study on asylums, Goffman (1968: 18) describes how institutions assume people's responsibilities: 'the handling of many human needs by the bureaucratic organisation of whole blocks of people . . . is the key fact of total institutions'. The concerns we have about others and ourselves underpin our relationship with society generally. Our concerns for others and ourselves are not static but ongoing. Scott Lash (2002: 105) describes how: 'experience is always mediated through a body, a habitus, which is learnt and infused with intersubjectivity and tradition'. Without an ongoing concern for others and ourselves, we are in danger of becoming melancholic. The nature of prison means that people sent there are in far greater danger of suffering from melancholy. Prisoners by definition are stigmatised as wrongdoers, and stigma, as a process identified by Goffman (1968), can result in people acting differently. Goffman (1968: 267) describes the process as becoming recalcitrant: 'W here enthusiasm is expected there will be apathy; where loyalty, there will be disaffection, where attendance, absenteeism; where robustness, some kinds of illness.' The experience of stigma raises questions over the value of prison research on the possible relations between crime and drug use. Being stigmatised was an ongoing experience for young people in Nova. Robbie described how he started using heroin in jail to avoid being given 28 days for proving positive to cannabis use: I went into prison and they'd just introduced the piss test. And I'd only ever smoked fuckin' draw [cannabis]. So, I'd gone in there and I got banged up with this lad. Anyway, I 'ad a bit of draw w'hen they nicked me. But the lad I was in with said, 'you don't wanna' smoke that, they come round to your cell randomly and just take you out and take a piss test'. So he says 'the only way to get round it is that when you take a piss is to put some soap in-between your nail or salt and then flick it in when you're pissin' and then it destroys it'. But I still get done for it anyway; you still get the 28 days anyway because you've tampered with it. So this lad says cannabis stays in the system for 28 days but he says, 'this place is now fuckin' run with smack 'cause if you take smack it only takes three days to get out the system'. So if you have a couple of lines chasin' the dragon three days later it's out of the system so you wouldn't give a fuck if they tested ya'. But, if you smoked a joint you'd be worryin' for 28 days afterwards; thinkin' 'fuckin' 'ell it's still in me fuckin' system'. So I started takin' brown [heroin], y'know the old smack like and that was me I was at it. 89

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Leaving prison, R obbie told m e he tried crack and had had difficulties with both ever since he was released: 'See crack to m e is m ore addictive than w hat b row n is b ecause I prefer crack to brow n. But if I 'a v e the crack I need the brow n to com e d ow n otherw ise I'll be wired all fu ckin' day long. I'v e gotta have it. I say to m y self I d o n 't need it but I do.' Robbie was one you ng adult I met w h o appeared to be losing hope: his experiences also sh ow ed how being unable to m aintain self-respect left him exposed to further d angers from within and outside the com m u n ity he had grown up in. Robbie told m e how his p ro blem s began once he had left school. I stayed 'till I w a s 16. Then I got a job, Y T S straight a w a y at this school of w elding. I spent a w h ole year there then they put m e on pla cem ent with this hire shop. I was 16 then and I b o u g h t m yself a m oped . I w eren't. I w a s n 't b anned then. I got m y self a provisional. I w ent all legal, got all legal. I stuck it out, got m yself a m oped . Then, w h en I was 17 I took me drivin ' test, passed me drivin ' test and it w orked for about a year. Then I boug ht m yself a car then it all started going w rong [laughs]. It all started going w rong when I b ou gh t a car. I b o u g h t a car for three g rand , y'k no w on hire purchase. But in the first year, I tho ught I w as jack the lad. I had a job I had a car, no worries. But I used to go out on the lash and get drun k and all that lot and then 1 used to drive. Then I got caught, an' 1 got banned. But 1 d id n 't take it in that m u ch, y 'k n o w w h en I cam e out of court. They just said right y ou 're banned for a year. So, I just carried on drivin '. A n y w a y , yeah that's it. W hen I was legal, they alw ay s used to stop me. There was this one copper, he used to stop m e with one driver then he had another driver so it would be a different p ro du cer every time, it was alw ays a different copper. So, I tried to do som ething about harassm ent but they said it w as just routine. But they used to stop m e and search m e, and when I was with m e fam ily som etim es. Y 'k n o w , it was e m barrassing. So I started to rebel against that, y 'k n o w w h at I m ean, 'c au se I'm like that. So, I d id n 't start to like the police then, I started to get a bit violent with 'em. I then I got banned but I just carried on d rivin', yeah but I d id n 't think anything of it. Then I was out, about three w eeks after I got banned I borrow ed m e sister's car, it was a GTI [sports model] right [laughs]. So, any w ay , I w ent out on the lash [drinking] in the GTI and they waited for me in the car park. Then I cam e out and then they cam e after me and then w oo, woo. But I thought, I ain't stoppin' so I gave 'em a little chase. T hey chased m e for fuckin' miles, any w ay . A n y w a y , I was cornin' dow n M ain R oad, y 'k n o w w h ere it twists. And I cam e d ow n from the bridge and I just w ent for it. But it was freezin' that night, an' I m ust of hit black ice. 90

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A n y w a y , 1 lost the fucker, the two front w h eels hit the curb, and it shot up in the air and landed on the roof. It fu ckin' all caved in and all the glass shattered. A n y w ay , I'd lost the police, I'd lost 'em but they m u st of seen the lights so I was gonn a do a runner. But, I 'ad a bird in the car and she had a dog as well, and she was scream in ' 'I can't m ove, I can't m o v e ' an I just said 'get out the fu ckin' car; get out the fuckin' car'. A n y w a y , I'm tryin' to drag her out the car and I thought I'll just fu ckin' leave her. I said you better not say a fu ckin' word so I did a ru nner. I'v e gone round to m e sister's, and I'v e tried to explain it to her. A n y w a y , they just burst into m e sister's hou se and I w as out the back, fu ckin' on the toilet. So, they burst in and fu ckin' arrested me. T h e y gave me six m o nths jail and banned m e for three years. RM: Did you stop d rivin g when you got out? Robbie: Y eah, but I still used to go out on the lash then get into fights. See, I'm only little see Rob and when I w as at school everyone used to beat the shit out of me. But then, w h en I left I thought right that's it, 'I ain't gonn a take a n y m o re of this shit' so I fought back. See, w hen s o m e o n e had a go at me all m e past would com e back and I think I 'a in't gonna take w hat I used to take at school, I w as beaten to fuck then and I ain't gonna let this happen'. Yeah. And there w as also me ex-girlfriend as well; I had a bad time with her. I was on this sound eng ineerin ' course and w h e n 1 got back one night I w o ke up that m o rnin ' and got up with her. She was cryin' and that, and w e took her to the hospital and we found out that she'd got a fractured skull. So, she tho ug ht it w as me that d one it 'cau se I got up with her that m ornin '. So, we took her to the hospital and I c ou ld n 't explain it. So an y w ay , they decided to take m y little d aug hter off me, y 'k n o w social services and nick m e for it. So, they took the babby off us 'cau se the doctors said it was a 'non-accidental external inju ry'. So when they'd put her into care I sat d ow n with m e girlfriend and then she tells m e that five days befo re she took her round to her sister's. A n d, w h en she w as there they let her play with her sister's kid and she d ropped her on her head. A n y w ay , Social Services w e re n 't b uyin' that 'c a u se they said they had to go on w hat the doctor said. So any w a y we got this doctor from Sheffield, a bone specialist, and then we took it to appeal and it took about three m o nths to get the case together. But an y w ay , in the m e an tim e all her fam ily w ere bla m in ' me, they kept blam in' m e and it was doin' my fu ckin' head in. A n y w a y it wTas m y e x-w ife's birthday and we w ent out and she w as still dead m iserable and she had a few drinks and she turned round and said 'you fuckin' d one this I know you fuckin done this'. So she kept goin' on and I just fu ckin' sm acked her, I just sm acked her right in the head for 91

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accusin' me. So a n y w a y she got m e done for it and I got fu ckin' locked up for it back in prison. T he point in writing this study w as to allow y o u n g people living in N ova to describe in their ow n w o rd s g ro w ing up w'ith exclusion. As I argue in m y conclusion, to write an account that ju dged actions such as those Robbie described would only contribute to the insid io us categorisations you ng people had been subject to all their lives.

In sid e o u t T he prison process m e a n s that people are inevitably isolated from the world and being able to participate as a social being. Nina C o p e (2000: 184), in her qualitativ e stud y on drug use in a Y ou n g Offenders Institute, identifies this situation: T h e absence of form al structures, such as fam ily stability, school and e m p lo y m e n t, frequently left the inm ates with an ab u n d a n ce of free time so that even outside, they w ere faced with the challenge of m aking an activity out of doing nothing.' D rug U se in Prison is one of the few prison studies w h ere the researcher build s a relatio nship with inm ates, instead of relying on inm ates' records, and identifies a real relationship betwreen the use of institutional p o w er and drug use (see Liebling, 1992). C o p e (2000: 293) describes a culture of d rug use played out in w h at she describes as 'the p o w er g am e': 'inm ates' resistance to staff p o w e r is inevitable and increases as rules b eco m e m ore pervasive and punitive'. The relatio nship C o p e (2000) identifies, betw een offenders primarily from deprived inner-city areas and drug use in prison, related directly to how individuals adapted to specific institu­ tional pressure. Even though 'the life' and 'the p o w e r g a m e ' are specific to two very distinct spheres of action, both reflected how y ou ng people from depriv ed areas remain susceptible to being stigmatised. In addition, to confuse the life of a co m m u n ity with the life of an institution can only result in the sam e abstraction. That is, the point of prison is to m ake people prisoners, a process that begins the m o m e n t an inm ate begins h i s / h e r sentence. T he psychologist G offm an (1967: 26) describes how institu tions such as prisons often force, deliberately or otherw ise, inm ates to act differently through w h at he describes as 'the looping effect': 'An agency that creates a d efensive response on the part o f the inm ate takes this very response as the target of its next attack. The individual finds that his protectiv e response to an assault upon self is collapsed into the situation: he cannot defend him self in the usual w ay by establishing distance betw een the mortifying situation and himself.' It seem ed som e you ng adults were susceptible to using heroin in prison through the process identified by G offm an (1968). R obbie had started taking the drug in prison as a response to being im prisoned and 92

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continued because, unlike other young people I met, he continued to feel stigmatised, even among his friends. British prisons operate a policy whereby inmates, if found to be using illicit drugs, are immediately convicted to serve another 28 days on top of their original sentence (Roberts and Kidd, 1999). Prisons minister Paul Goggins (2005) outlines the reasoning behind the policy: 'reducing the rate of re-offending is one of the core objectives of N O M S (National Offender Management Service). By effectively confronting problematic drug use among offenders, we can also address other aspects of offending behaviour, which will help us to achieve this goal.' Through assuming inmates who use drugs are inherently criminal, the policy is an attempt to objectify young people's subjective experience; the first stage in the looping effect described by Goffman (1968). Martin, who is not a heroin user, described a similar process: 1 used to smoke draw [cannabis resin] before I went in but 'cause they were tryin' to clamp dow n on coke [cocaine] and brown [heroin] 1 had to stop. They were still lookin' for draw when they took the piss test. It's okay if you take coke or brown inside 'cause it only stays in the system for a few days but the draw will stay there for 28 days. You could get rid of it quicker if you drank pints of water, about six pints a day. But then you'd end up 'avin to take a piss all the time. Every time you got caught, they put another 28 days on your sentence. 28 days, that's a month.

Social exclusion in a ctio n The justification for mandatory drug testing reflects how decisions are made on assumptions. How and why the policy is able to repeat those experiences relates to modern principles on which policy is formed. M andatory drug testing seeks to emancipate prisoners without attempt­ ing to understand the reasons why young people take drugs. Being with young adults who used drugs, use reflected the realities of exclusion and the desires that lie behind it. Drug use was exclusion though policy continues to objectify a subjective experience of exclusion; the raw anger and frustration Slim described at the end of the previous chapter. The effect of stereotyping young people in such ways is summed up by Jameson (1998: 52) when he says, 'subjectivity is an objective matter, and it is enough to change the scenery and setting, refurnish the rooms or destroy them in aerial bombardment for a new subject, a new identity, miraculously to appear from the ruins of the old'. Through the classification of drug use and 'drug users', young people who use drugs are stripped of their humanity. This process of classification also seemed to encroach on other aspects of youth culture in Nova, including clothes and music, particularly Hip Hop. 93

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Within m ainstream cu lture, Hip H op , w h at 1 regard as the m usical expressio n of exclusion, continues to be associated with crim e and drugs; particularly gun violence and its relatio nship with the sale and d istribu­ tion of crack-cocain e. All are realities within m any depriv ed areas though w h y they are d isappears under the im ag e w e see of them. For instance, Hip H op is portrayed as a threat through its associations with 'the street', even w h en the street no longer exists as a social entity for m ost people. W h ile I was w orking in A n d e rson 's, it seemed that for most cu stom ers the only streets left were those displayed on television, or in the ne w sp ap e rs sold at the cigarette counter. By con su m in g those im ages, I believe people w ere able to co n su m e their ow n fears about crime. In C h a p te r 7 , 1 argue that this process now shapes policy on youth crime. O ne category in the typolo gy of anti-social beh a v io u r is classified as 'youth nu isa nce' (H o m e Office, 2004: 26) after the British C rim e Survey 2 0 0 2 / 0 3 identified that 25 per cent of the public felt teenagers hang ing around w as the biggest anti-social beh a v io u r problem in their local area (N icholas and W alker, 2004). Hip H op is categorised in sim ilar term s; signifying gangs and gang violence becau se Hip Hop represents a reality consu m ers are trying to escape: an increasingly fragmented society. In response to recent moral panics surrou n d in g Hip H op m usic, the L abo ur M P D iane A bbo tt (2003) said: 'But let's not pretend that ending gun criminality on the streets of H ackney or B irm ingh am is as sim ple as getting people to sing different songs.' D ian e's (2003) critique sum s up a situation in w hich im ages are used as an explanation for the prevalence of crime and drug abuse in certain areas (see Baudrillard, 1988).

A c h ie v in g re s p e c t In the previou s chapter, I show ed how young adults innovate to surviv e being socially excluded. Cu ltures alw ay s d evelop in such situations: surviv al, by definition, is the physical expressio n of a desire to re-create h u m an existence. For every one in L ind en's circle, each person's a spir­ ations w ere encapsulated by the term 'the life'. E very one shared 'the life' in being excluded from securing a financial future, no m atter how small. If they did not, L inden, M artin and every one else would have been free to live a norm al life. Instead, faced with w h at seemed to be an intractable situation, every one w orked as a c o m m u n ity to surviv e. This chapter describes how y ou n g adults w ere able to m aintain a sense of self-respect as m e m b ers of a com m u n ity , and how that c o m m u n ity cam e to be associated with crime. Being with Lin den and his friends was like being in the presence of an avan te garde: a group active in the invention and applicatio n of new techniques. N ot only was every one trying to physically stay alive, 94

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Linden, M artin, M o n ta n a and Benita w ere all trying to realise their ambitions. Lyotard (1993: 245) describes the difficulties involved in that process, 'the possibility of nothing h appening, of w ords, form s, colours or sou nd s not com ing; of this sentence being the last, of bread not com ing daily. This is the m isery that the painter faces with a plastic surface, of the m usician with the acoustic surface, the m isery the thinker faces with a desert of thought.' Martin described the conflict b etw een the sheer d esperation m any people I m et seem ed to face, while trying to hold onto a sense of self-respect in the face of that: round here people only com e up to you w hen they w an t something. M o ney , yeah w h en they w ant m oney. Th at's the main thing on people's m in d s in N ova, m oney. M o ney and sex. All people care a bout round ere is getting their hand s on m o n ey , just to have it in their hands. If you have £1,000 round here, y ou 're regarded as rich. But, £1,000 is nothing, all you could get is a shit car. I w an t a Lexus or a M erc, not just b ecau se they 're flash but b ecau se they 're the best, the best design, the best make. I d o n 't just w an t m o n ey for itself like the people ro und here. M o n ey is just a m e a n s to get w h at you want, to do things that you w ant to do, to go out, to travel. M o st of the people round here hav en 't even been out of N ova and they d o n 't even w an t to go out, their perspective is like that. Innovation and survival w ere reflected and expressed in 'the life'. E veryone w ore sportsw ear, though in highly individualised ways. Even though it w as the only affordable clothing, sp ortsw e a r echoes L ind en's expressio n of 'survival of the fittest'. Unlike the im ag es w e see advertised, sp ortsw ear seem ed to have a subjective m e aning , of having to survive each day. T he clothes you ng people wore, w'hich w ere the only clothes they had, reflect that: trainers and tracksuits, w hich w ere w arm and protectiv e, alm ost im penetrable to attack. It was w inter after the Project closed and m ost young people I was with at that time wore Puffa or ski jackets to keep out the cold. Boys, such as M artin and Linden, w o re jeans and shirts all w o rn in a 'rag ga' style (loose fit). Tattoos w ere also im portant, not as an expression of d eviance but as signs of faith, strength and self-belief. The d esigns often involved gothic lettering or C h inese calligraphy, with characters that reflect aspects of p eople's personality. Also p o pular are n a m e s of partners or relatives in gothic type, and dragons, tigers or other m ythical creatu res s y n o n y m o u s with cou rage and strength. Seen as one, y ou ng people's individuality seem ed to be contained, alm ost like a second skin, and very different from fashion or subcultural style. T he utilitarian aspect of people's appearance was possibly a reflection of the fact that sportsw ear w as the only form of affordable clothing. In Ford at that time there w ere a n u m b e r of discount sportsw ea r stores that offered trainers, tracksuits, 95

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ju m pers, T-shirts and jeans at a very low cost. Y ou ng people w ore big sizes (or ragga style) usually b ecau se these were often the only sizes available.

F lo e try I had alw ays listened to Hip H op ; Lin den and Martin introduced m e to w h at has com e to be know n in the m edia as g angster rap. At first, I was shocked by the lyrical content, though at the sa m e time I could appreciate the m u sic's subjective m eaning in the context of exclusion. Tricia Rose (1994: 36) describes how 'H ip H op artists use style as a form of identity form ation that plays on class distinctions and hierarchies by using com m od itie s to claim the cu ltural terrain'. The contexts in w hich you ng people listened to Hip H op m usic reflected the process Rose (1994) identifies. B ecause no one at that time could afford to buy either com pact discs or a com pact disc player, the only w ay people w ere able to m aintain their passio n for Hip H op m usic w as through bootlegging audio-cassette tapes. I never witnessed the recording process though m o st y ou ng adults had b oxes of tapes with the labels written over re peatedly. T apes lasted until they w ere chew ed up, w h ich happened once in m y ow n car, resulting in som e very harsh language. Linden, M o n tan a and M artin all liked Snoop Dog. M o ntana and M artin b ec am e partners and had a child together partly through a shared passio n for Snoop. Hip H op m u sic also gave a shape to the day. Hip H op was played when people w ere getting ready to go out on the 'shift' or during the 'session'. Hip H op w as also played loud when people w ere getting ready to go out. W hen people w ere chillin ' or relaxing, d ancehall m usic was often preferred, particularly w h en a group decided to have a 'sm o ke' (of cannabis). A m o n g m o och e rs and you ng adults at the Project, the Hip H op life was not seen as exclusive to you ng black m en on the estate. A lm o st all the yo u n g C au casian men and w o m e n I knew w ere accessing both A frican-A m erican and Black British culture on a daily basis. T he R hy thm and Blues and d ancehall style seem ed to be particularly significant for you ng w o m en. M ontana and Benita w ent to d ancehall and R & B events, and alw ay s dressed in an R & B look that seemed p o pular at that time: three-quarter length leath er overcoats, black outfits and jew ellery; epitomised by the late R & B sin ger Aaliyah. In terms of language, m ost you ng m en and w o m e n in L ind en's circle and at the Project incorporated both A frican-C arib bean and AfricanA m erica n terms and references. For instance, in conversations about crim e and im p risonm ent, prison was alw ays referred to as the 'Jailhouse' (prison). O ther A frican-A m erican and A frican-Caribbean terms were also in daily usage in and around the precinct area, 'N uff' (e nough), 'D is' 96

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(disrespect), 'C hill' (relax), and 'Bitches' (w om en). O nly the AfricanC a rib bean m en 1 m et used the N w ord , and the sam e principle was applied to the term 'b itch', which was only used b etw een w o m en. In both instances, each term was used exclusively; in exclud ing y ou ng C au casian m e n or w o m e n , d ep end ing on w h ich w ord w as being used, the effect w as a w ay of affirming ethnic and g end er identities. 'T he life's' articulation th rough language, clothes, and m u sic by young p eople in N ova never appeared to be contrived to create a reaction. H ow e v e r, m any times when I was with L inden, Ton y, M o ntana and Benita outside N ov a, there w as often a visible reaction from other people. Several times, w e w ent to som e of the tow ns and villages s u rrou nding Ford. On one occasion, Linden and I entered a public house w h ere the pred om in a n tly elderly affluent clientele stared at Linden persistently. In a car park one afternoon, Lin den asked two w o m en in a car if they w ere vacating a space. W hen the couple had driven aw ay, Linden told me that they had threatened to pho ne the police unless he m o ved aw ay from their car.

E xclu sio n th ro u g h style W ithin crim inology, how you ng people dress is the focus of subcultural studies (see Jefferson and Hall, 1976; H ebdige, 1979; M cR o bb ie , 2000). T he subcultural studies epoch seem s to have been during the p ost-w ar period; aspects of 'y o uth' leisure, especially m usic and fashion, were identified as part of you ng p eople's rituals of resistance against in eq u al­ ities experienced at school and work. From the late 1950s to the late 1970s, the consensus am o ng subcultural theorists was that subcultures w ere m ost co m m o n in w o rking-class com m unities. D e-industrialisation, as Ta ylor (1999: 76) identifies, has re presented crises for subcultural studies in the w ay it has fragm ented the once easy transition from school to w o rk for w orking-class youth. M y own fieldwork with you ng people in N ov a suggested that subcultural style no longer had m e aning , as there was no identifiable period b etw een child hood and m atu rity. Ford, along with most cities it seem s, no longer w orks as a culture or organism ; instead, the city appears to be con su m in g itself. Satu rd ay night at O rp h e u s show ed how co n s u m e r culture had consu m ed a p red om inantly you ng w orking-class club culture, turning w h at had been a revolutionary un dergro und m o v e m e n t into an indoor shopp ing mall. It w as not that O rp h e u s had been neutered but that Ford itself had d isappeared in the co n s u m e r culture. In recent years, a vast indoor shopp ing arena has been installed in the heart of Ford City centre: containing four corporate n ightclubs. Ford Arena also hou ses a multiplex cinem a, skating rink, b ow lin g alley, and a series of themed Am erican diners. B ecause everything w as built in unison and with a sin gular 97

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purpose, the d a n g er and m usical m a y h e m that characterised the early days of O rp h e u s could never take hold. Instead, b ecau se people who enter the Arena are pressured to ap pear different am o n g one another, the effect is a stylised m asq u e rad e of personalised haircuts, clothes and accessories. Prophetically, Stan C o h e n (1972: 151) describes how 'the te enage culture m akes them (y oung people w ho buy into it) into ineffectual outsid ers'. It seem s that the a ppearance of you ng people living 'the life' posed a threat, becau se y ou ng people them selv es appeared as one through w earing the sam e bra nd s of sportswear. E choing y ou ng people's accounts of exclusion, it see m s that gangs of y ou ng people hanging around represent a threat to the co n s u m e r society generally, sim ply for having no identity in that society. W e arin g cheap m ass-prod uced clothes available in every town and city, you ng adults dressed in sportsw ea r and living in poor urban areas represent a m ena ce to society. Yet, living 'the life' is fu nd am entally different to subcultural style. M o reover, to criticise young people from sim ilar b a ck g rou n d s w earing sportsw ear as anti-social potentially co n ­ d em n s a co m m u n ity with very little choice in how they dress. Even though I have described how y ou ng people I m et in N ova took time in their appearance, this was a lw ay s a reflection of self-respect rather than a reaction to society. This is b ecau se 'the life' belonged to you ng people, w h ereas style is a desire to be seen as an object. Any style is, by definition, a form of individual expression achieved through econom ic freedom : people try to ap pear subversive in their dress. 'The life' young people described, in contrast, was im m a n e n t or inherent to being excluded. It seem ed the only choice available to y ou n g people w as to rem ain com m itted to N ov a and the public life of the estate. R obbie was one of a handful of people I met w ho had given up on life. It seem ed the only alternative w as through 'the life' of com m u nity . Jim m y described 'the life'; 'I'm a N ov a boy, I was born there; I've lived there for 26 years. W hen I left school I started shopliftin' to m ak e m o n ey ; you could always sell them back in N ova, sm okes, alarms, suits, anything. Then I left hom e w h en I was 16 and m o ved into a flat with m y girlfriend. I'm livin' with her now and the baby.' M y ow n belief is that Lin den and his friends re presented such a threat becau se all w ere com m itted to staying alive. This is the social logic of crim e in the co n s u m e r society; to w ork in econom ies such as G em ini Park was perceiv ed as a fatal step a m o n g all of the you ng people I met. Yet people w h o define their lives spending time in these places d epend on the separation b etw een poverty and crime. In C h ap te r 1, I described how w o rking in G e m in i Park people are individualised and m ad e a n o n y m o u s through the themed costu m es workers are required to wear. I also argued that im ag es of crim e give a c o n su m e r lifestyle m eaning. T he m asq u e rad e of crim e m ay also explain w h y im ages of c o m m u n ity 98

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are often defined through an association with death and blood, as in the m yth of the 'g ang ster rapper'. The pejo rative term cam e about during concerns a m o n g largely white m iddle-class parents over the nature of Hip H op lyrics and the 'value' artists had as role m o dels for y o u n g people. Parent pressure on policy resulted in the introductio n by the RIAA of its black and w hite univ ersal parental w arning sticker, 'Explicit Lyrics - Parental W a rning '. Tricia Rose (1994: 1) encapsulates how the subjectivity Hip H op articulates b eca m e the object of attraction and anger for m ainstream society in the United States: On one hand, m usic and cultural critics . . . defend rap's ghetto stories as real-life reflections that should draw attention to the b urning p ro blem s of racism and e con om ic oppression. On the other, new s m e d ia's attention on rap seem s fixated on instances of violence at rap concerts . . . gangsta rap's lurid fantasies of cop killing and female d is m e m b erm e n t, and black nationalist rapp ers' suggestio n that w hite people are the d ev il's disciples. Tricia Rose (1994) identifies how the outrage s urrou nding Hip H op is an attem pt to objectify people living in poverty. Yet, the attem p t always seem s to fail, resulting in d em o n o lo g y instead of sim ulatio n. Hip Hop began as a reaction to the d isproportionate levels of u n e m p lo y m e n t and poverty experienced by black people within A m eric a's urban centres fo llow ing the econom ic crisis of the late 1970s. Hip H op 's roots also go d eeper, within African Am erican history itself. M u sically, Hip Hop rem ains div erse, with influences ranging from re ggae, gospel and jazz to disco and rock and roll. C o m m e n tin g on Hip H o p 's m usical diversity, Paul Gilroy (1993: 33) contends, 'The m usical c o m p o n e n ts of Hip Hop are a hybrid form nurtured by the social relations of the Sou th Bronx w h ere Jam aican sound system culture was transplante d during the 1970s and put dow n new ro ots'. Hip Hop, and R hythm and Blues, and the history of both, reflect the dialectics of exclusion experienced by y ou ng people in N ov a w h o grew up during de-industrialisation. Hip H o p 's history is a m usical ch ronology of de-industrialisation and its im pact on w orking-class you ng people. Early Hip H op was idealistic, and felt by m any in its b eg innings as a political project. Sam p ling the work of Black -A m erican political leaders such as M alcolm X, Martin L uther King and Je sse Jack son identified the inequalities experienced by Black A m erican s during the 1980s and w orked to give a sense of hope. By the 1990s, how ever, the persistence of the realities of exclusion experienced by Black A m ericans cam e to be reflected lyrically in the work of artists such as Snoop D oggy D og and the W u Tang Clan. The label of 'g angster rappers' has tarred both and they w ere the m ost p o pular m usicians for m ost of the you ng people I met. A d d ressing Hip 99

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H o p 's critics, Gilroy (1993: 85) contends, 'It is im portant to e m phasise that all three strands within Hip H op - p ed ag og y , affirmation and play - contribute to a folk-cultural constellation w h ere neither the political com p a ss of w eary leftism nor the shiny navigational instrum ents of p rem atu re black in aesthetics have so far offered very m u ch that is useful'.

H ip H o p c u ltu re Hip H o p 's continued resonance for you ng people living in depriv ed urban areas only underlines how the dialectics of exclusion continue. T he significance of Hip H op m usic within N ov a is that its lyrics seem ed to echo the feeling of surviv al L ind en and his friends lived by. Hip Hop describes a subjective desire to surviv e, hence 'the life', a term that echoes through artists' lyrics. Living the life is sim ultaneously a cultural expression of econom ic exclusion and a survival strategy for it. Yet, w itho ut a representative social space such as the Project, 'the life' on its ow n cannot defend young people from b eco m in g the hollow caricatures of gangs, gangsters and gangster rappers. O utsid ers were afraid to enter the Project b ecause it w as w h at L efebvre (1974) describes as a re p re sen ­ tative social space. Like other popular you th centres I have been to, the Project worked b ecause it had been m ad e by and for you ng people. O nce that b rick -and-cem ent skin w as literally d em olished, you ng people could be isolated and sep arated, as if they w ere a virus. W h e n the Project was closed, people w ho w ent there seem ed to be exposed to their ow n insecurities as m uch as the suspicions of outsiders. For so m e people w h at followed was a dialectical process that usually began with confrontations with external agencies. W he th e r social servi­ ces, the benefits agency or the police, eve ry on e I spoke to seem ed to have regular encou nters with all three. After the Project, som e people such as Robbie w ere less able to cope with these interactions. For R obbie, w h at followed was a process of confrontation, reaction, then self-harm, resulting in a helter-skelter of crim e and drug abuse. W h e n I interviewed Robbie he said that he had just sold his video for a bag of brow n and w h en the interview ended he asked m e if I wanted to buy som e heroin. 'T he life' w as being excluded by outsiders and at the sam e time surviv in g the feeling of stigma outsiders try to im p ose for living the life of a com m u n ity . This cu ltural praxis underlined that all you ng people had after the Project was c o n su m e r culture. Like society as a whole, you ng people w ere trapped, oscillating b etw een practical needs and future-orientated aspirations. The difference was that you ng people had to practise that in a form outsiders perceived to be a gang. In the re m aining chapters, I show how y ou n g people achieved a resolution to the perpetual present of con su m p tion through education, 100

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in the form of an adult education centre: G atew ay s. G a te w ay s was created th rough social capital; residents got together and convin ced local com p an ie s and agencies to believe in Nova at a time when society itself was m odernising. C h a p te r 6 describes how the feeling of social renewal reflected in the 1997 general election provided the found ation for G atew ay s. I also show how it then d isappeared after 11 S e p te m b e r 2001, after w hich point poor c o m m u n ities once again b ec a m e a threat to consu m ers. Even though you ng people I m et can learn skills at G ate w ay s, the stigma that surrou nds N ova appears to remain. Y ou ng people continue to live 'the life', as I show in C h a p te r 6, reflecting a wish to be part of society, and living 'the life' m eans that you ng people continue to be excluded. The p o w e r of 'the life' is that it reflects a society with only one overriding concern, consu m ption. C o n su m p tio n in N ova and outside it d em a n d s production and individualism in an excluded co m m u n ity can only be achieved through 'the surviv al of the fittest'. W hen a minority of you ng people I m et began to co n su m e for individual reasons, individ ­ uals them selv es becam e susceptible to being stigmatised and d isrespect­ ed a m o n g their fellow you ng adults. To un derstand the fragility of you ng peop le's supp ort ne tw o rk s and the im portance of rejecting people w ho represented a d a n g er to the com m u n ity , one has to place y ou ng p eople's experien ce of exclusion within the context of the con su m e r society.

W a tc h in g c o m m u n itie s Social theorists suggest that people are b eco m in g m o re individualised by the transition to a global co n s u m e r society (B au m an, 2000). For people with wealth, self-identity is no longer built as a social relatio nship; given the natu re of c o n su m e r culture it seem s peop le's identities are co n ­ stituted through individual consu m ption. T he inevitable result for people w ho live a co n s u m e r lifestyle is the 'perpetual present' that Ja m e s o n (1998) identifies. C o n s u m e r culture also suggests a society of individuals in stasis: people feel m o re uncertain than ever befo re at a point w h en individuals generally enjo y greater wealth. For Y ou n g (1999), this sense of general uncertainty is reflected in a m o v e 'from a world w hose a ccent was on assim ilation and incorporation to one which sep arates and excludes'. G ro w in g uncertainties a b ou t crime also seem to be reflected in the w ay private security defines the borders of the c o n su m e r society (see W akefield, 2004). The continu ou s presence of C C T V in public places such as G e m ini Park also reflects how living a c o n su m e r lifestyle m ak e s it far m ore difficult to trust others. To cope, individuals and groups also appear increasingly com pelled to create their ow n exclusive co m m u n e s , w hat

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M ike Davis (1990) describes as 'gated com m u n ities'. For Bottoms and W iles (1995: 1.20), s o m e tim e s these m anifest them selves as 'bubbles' of technical control such as spaces or cities of surveillance in which space is controlled by b usiness in order to reassure potential cu stom ers. W hile cities have, since the Industrial R evolution, been m a d e up of areas that generated different degrees of risk, late m odernity has ensured that b usinesses and d ev elopers have sou ght to create 'security b ub bles', w o m e n -o n ly hotels, patrolled car parks and privately policed shopping arcades. Inevitably, such b ubbles use exclusion to d em arca te betw een desirable and undesirable, who to trust and w h o not to trust (Davis, 1990). Bottom s and W iles (1995) identify the im portance of w ealth in being able to create the social capital to secure m em b ership . C ontaining those insecurities th rough better hom e protection also requires capital, m ak ing consu m p tion a risk and security a privilege. The cu m ulative effect of these trends has been the creation of w h at Y ou n g (1999) describes as an exclusive society, a world w h ere forms of social support such as insurance, health care and pensions are inclusiv e to wealth (see Jessop, 1994). Excluded from these private securities, you ng people I m et had to live as a c om m u n ity . Y ou ng adults I spoke to felt that the world beyond the estate was a far m o re hostile place in the w a y everything in it had been given a m o netary value. Exclusion for every y ou ng person I met stem m ed from the fact that residents generally, even financially s u cce ss­ ful entrepreneurs such as Jim m y , w ere un able to obtain a m ortgage. S o m e older residents I spoke to had tried to buy their hom es. H ow ever, m o rtg ag e pro viders w ere unwilling to provide services to any resid ent as they claim ed that construction of h o m es in N ov a was som eho w insecure. In C h ap te r 7, 1 describe how hom e ow nership beca m e the foundation of the co n s u m e r society that arose during the 1980s in Britain. W riting on the new social divisions created by de-industrialisation, Nick Buck (1992) suggests that those m ost likely to remain outside the mainstream occu pational system in Britain are local authority tenants. B uck (1992: 19) argues, 'this is a stronger predictor than either social class or the level of education'. W hat struck m e m ost about listening to you ng people was the level of friendship men and w o m en shared. In addition, how difficult it was for you ng people to maintain the lifeblood of trust in a world of dim inishing supports and proliferating pressures, internal and external. Residents, you ng and old, still trusted one another, as Jay described, but trust was predicated by exclusion: See N o v a 's like a little com m u nity . It's like a little village. Y 'k n o w like you hear things goin' aro und , w ho to trust who not to trust. Y 'k n o w like you know w ho the grasses are and things. You d on't 102

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w an t grasses livin' in N ov a, y 'k n o w e v e ry o n e 's doin' their ow n thing and w h atev er and you just d o n 't w an t that. You can, you can still trust people but. I m ean I'v e never been burgled yet. It's probably b ecau se I k now everyone. Y 'k n o w w h o 's a burglar and w h o 's not a burglar. O bv io usly , if you got burgled you 'd go to them first. I've never been burgled yet, m e m u m 's never been burgled yet. M a y b e it's b ecause w e 'v e lived d o w n there for so long. Jay describes how you ng people form protective com m u n ities that provide m e m b er s with a feeling of em otional security. F or Jay there is continuity b etw een the public world of the street and the private. This study ends by describing how that connection b etw een a public and private culture was sustained each day within social spaces such as the Project and the N ov a Centre. W h e n the Project closed, family still provided the connection for Jay, b etw een the private culture of hom e and public culture of the Precinct. H ow e ve r, Jay was lucky in that m any other y ou n g adults do not have social supp ort bey on d their ow n generation. This w as w h y the closure of the Project had such a d etrim ental effect on m any you ng people. For alm ost tw elve years, it had been a frontline b etw een a public and private culture of the Precinct. M any young people describe how , living in the Precinct, both cultures w ere as violent as each other. W hen Sean pulled d ow n the Project's steel shutters for the final time, all that rem ained w ere the bare b oxroom flats that line N o v a 's southern edge.

Risk and d e fe a t E veryone shared the experience of exclusion, b u t b ecau se no one had the resources to provide long-term support, people w ere forced to survive alone. This w as w h a t Linden m eant w h en he described how it w as 'the survival of the fittest in N ov a'. W ithou t the m eans to buy supp ort such as insurance, pensions and investm ents, you ng people had to rely on them selves for protection within N ova. It seemed that a sense of e m otional and financial security could only be sustained by taking greate r and greater risks outside the estate. Liam told me about the external risks: Well after bein' in there [prison] for 17 m o n th s I d ecided that I w e re n 't cornin' back. So, w h en I got out, I got a job. But the fu ckin' old bill w ere on m e case. See I 'ad this job. Well, when I got out I got d one for drink drivin '. And then, see I needed m e car to get to work, b u t then the old bill stopped m e again an I never 'ad any insurance. So after that I lost me licence and me job. 103

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W hen risks w ent w rong , p eople's hope in the future w as inevitably eroded, though m aintaining self-respect rem ained a prerequisite to 'the life'; w hat M artin described as 'the code of the street'. Survival and self-respect w ere processes that underlined how the threat of violence and fear of crime w ere qualitativ ely worse for people living in a socially excluded com m u nity . Definitions of violence alw ays seem vague, though m any, such as Fou cault's (1977), stress its physicality; p o w er is achieved by physically h arm ing others. O utsid e po or ghettoised com m unities, violence for m o st people is a distant pro spect as they are protected by rules that prohib it it. Martin described how you ng people in N ov a lived according to the rule of the street, and w hat h appened to people who broke it. Jay also described how the threat of being robbed was ever present in a co m m u n ity cru m bling u n d e r the pressure of exclusion: 'Just as long as they can get m o n ey really y 'k n o w for a drink or a sm ok e or w h a tev er or so they can go out'. Linden describes how people were labelled in being unable to cope with exclusion, often as addicts or ju nkies. Martin, Ton y , M o n ta n a and Benita shared the sam e ethos Linden describes: 'See, every one I know is un em p lo yed but there's one g roup of people that are u n em p lo yed that just do nothin'. Sit around all day, in front of the telly. And there's lads that I know that get up and just go out to find som ethin' to m ake som e m o ney .' All of L in d e n 's friends were able to live by this ethos and ad here to the rule of the street. O thers w ere not, as Linden pointed out: 'Y eah see me, 1 know the top ones. I know the ones right d o w n the b ottom .' W hen I asked him about people who could no longer go on, Linden told m e about the m o to rw a y flyover near the estate. 'The Arch' is a place that has b eco m e p o pular over the years for people in N ova w h o decide to take their ow n lives. O ther people lost hope by b eco m in g dissolute; w h en they did, individuals w ere quickly perceived as a d an g er to everyone. Robbie had retreated; as his heroin and crack use becam e a daily p reoccu pation, his friendships d im inished . At the end of m y fieldwork, R obbie was no longer part of L ind en's scene and b ec a m e increasingly reclusive; on nu m e rou s occasions in the final m o nths of my research, I tried R ob bie's door. Som etim e s I could hear w h ispers though all the cu rtain s re m ained d raw n and no one ever replied. For extroverted entrepreneurs of L ind en's world, d ep en d e n cy was a sign that people were unreliable. T o n y 's relationship with R ob bie at that time also show ed how losing self-respect had resulted in Robbie b eco m in g an enem y within the c o m m u n ity of y ou ng people I spent time with after the closure of the Project. Ton y told m e how one day, he had spotted L eander standing outside a s u p e rm ark et in another part of Ford. After pulling up, he approached her just as Robbie and another boy cam e ru nning out of the store. Realising L ean d e r was b eing used as a look-out, Ton y punched Robbie, sending him to the floor. Ton y told m e that as Robbie fell to the p av em ent, his jacket fell open and packets of sw eets cam e falling out. 104

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Seen as being unable to cope with heroin and crack-cocaine, Robbie beca m e stigmatised by friends as an addict. Before he d isappeared from 'the scene', R ob bie often looked dishevelled com pared with m an y other you ng people. O n e a spect of the Hip H op style was that it m ad e you ng people look stylish, even though the clothes w o rn w ere inexpensive, and that required self-respect. A n other aspect of the Hip H op life was m aintainin g co m p o su re even w h en drugs or alcohol w ere being co n ­ sum ed. Rarely did I see any on e d run k or intoxicated as it inevitably exposed individuals to the threat of attack. Also, Lin den and all his friends regarded injecting heroin as im m oral. Lin den told me that som e of R ob bie's friends had been k n o w n to 'dig' or inject. T he group, w h o I was never able to get to know , w ere regarded as too d ang erou s to associate with. Lin den described how R ob bie's friends w ere often being apprehend ed in sup e rm a rk ets for shoplifting. Identifying one of R ob bie's friends one afternoon, a stocky you ng Caucasian man nicknam ed M ash, Linden told me he was w anted for stabbing a security guard. W h y this group was seen as d ang erou s is becau se they are seen as having no respect for one another or the c o m m u n ity as a whole. M u ch to Linden's concern, L ean der m oved in with Robbie after losing her job at the nursing hom e and the only way he and Ton y could protect her was by threatening Robbie with violence.

M a in ta in in g re s p e c t V iolence w h en it occurred in that year was devastating, as an event and in the w ay a m e m o ry of it eroded the self-respect of its victims and perpetrato rs. As Bourgois (1997) identified in his ow n study in East Harlem and H obbs (1995) in Bad B u sin ess, in a free-m arket e conom y , violence is the only w ay to ensure trust. V iolence as a m echa nism for sustaining trust results in 'd ow n sid e ' social capital; even though friend­ ships are motivated by em p athy , an u n d ersta nd ing you ng people share is that those friendships can only be sustained th rough fear. The term 'd ow n sid e ' social capital was coined by Rubio (1997) in his w o rk on crim e and drug cartels in which individuals living in socially excluded com m u n ities are enslaved through the jobs and security that o rg a n isa­ tions provide. As Slim identified in his accou nt of the time he had tried to m a k e m o n ey 'sellin' d ra w ', suppliers organised the b usiness leaving w orkers to w o rk or face the conseq uences. Even then, you ng people had no g uarantees on was being boug ht and sold; once people stepped into w h at w as a sellers' m ark et m aintaining individual integrity w as as im portant as the quality of goods. Pete, a friend of D am on , w hom I never m et, had been deceived in a b usiness deal, sold a lum p of chew ing gum instead of w h a t he tho ug ht was nine ou nces of cannabis resin and lost £600 in the process. 105

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Y ou ng p eople's accounts of the d a nger of going into business in N ov a seemed to suggest an attrition b etw een the enterprise culture of the 1980s and being forced to survive de-industrialisation as a c o m m u n ity (see Foster, 1999). In being part of w hat appeared to be an enterprisin g gang, you ng people becam e sucked into a cycle of exclusion. Y ou n g (1999: 13) describes the dialectics of exclusion as a 'pyrrhic process', 'involving both w id er society and, crucially, the actors them selv es which traps them in, at best, a series of dead-end jobs and at worst, an underclass of idleness and desperation'. Steve describes that trap: 'N o, all the jobs for lads like me in this city are shit. Y o u 're just shovelling shit all w eek for nothing, for shit w ag es.' I asked Jim m y: 'But aren't you poor on the dole as w ell?' Jim m y replied: 'I'm not. Y 's ee for me w h en y ou 're on the dole everythin' is free, free rent, free prescriptions, free food for m y kid. That gives m e free time to m ak e m o ney . T he dole gives you free time to earn m o n ey and there's no one tellin' you w h at to do.' Jim m y and Lin den w ere able to survive exclusion th rough w h at could be described as a collective enterprise culture, though becau se individ ­ uals w ere denied financial services, peop le's anxieties and frustrations only seem ed to get bigger as they b ec am e financially successful. This was why 'going out on the shift' was such a perpetual present b ecau se all that you ng adults could achieve was m o re rapid consu m ption. As the realities of exclusion persisted in N ova, w h en you ng people returned each day all that rem ained was an im m ed ia te culture, of clothes and cars. Steve's life during my fieldwork personified w h at seem ed like a p sychological and e con om ic civil war. Every time w e met, he appeared m o re successful and m ore frustrated. Jim m y 's frustration is that he is highly innovative and earns m o n ey though he can never m o v e fo rward. Like m a n y 'm oochers', Jim m y can only contain his fru strations through an im m e d ia te ly d isposable culture. E ventu ally Jim m y 's aspirations, realisable in any other situation, spilled out: 'I w ent to loads of raves, b etw een '89 and '91. I used to take loads of E's, loads. I go partners on this rave club in Hilton. I did the DJin' and he paid for the lights and stuff. Then I lost it one w eek end and I had to go into the " p s y c h " [psychiatric ward]. After that, all the lads started callin' me schizo.' Despite being financially successful, 'top m o och e rs' live in rented a ccom m od a tion : Jim m y lived in a council flat with his wife and child. This m e an t 'm ooch e rs', like the poorer y ou ng people I m et in the Project, rarely w ent outside N ova. All that seemed to remain w as the session. I asked young people I k now w ho take d rugs why they chose to do so. Even though he w as not a habitual user Ton y told m e that he cou ld n't breathe w ithout drugs, reflecting how close the relatio nship is b etw een drug use and aspiration. Entrepreneurship, even when successful, alw ays seemed like the pyrrhic process Y ou n g (1999) describes, involving a handfu l of m o n e y ­ m akers in a c o m m u n ity desperate to earn m o n ey and respect. Linden 10 6

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described friends w h o had m an a ge d to access the c o n su m e r society though w ho w ere also to forced, like Baz and Jim m y , to remain living in Nova: A lot of the lads I know , fo ur particular lads I know , that 'a v e never worked in their life. T h e y 're all m y age, they'v e all b o u g h t their ow n house, they'v e all got nice cars. O n e 's got fuckin' Calibra [Vauxhall sports car]. O n e 's got a fuckin' Jag [Jaguar], k now w h at I m ean, 26 never w o rk ed ; and this is all from m o ochin'. F uckin' tho usand s you can m ake, thousands. If y o u 'v e got the front; if y o u 'v e got the balls. In retrospect, the most successful entrepreneurs w ere the m ost visible and the m ost vu ln erab le to risk. As individuals built a reputation for being successful entrepreneurs, so p eople's identity as a m e m b e r of a co m m u n ity dissolved. The result was that 'top m o och e rs' appeared be cau gh t in a psychological threshold b etw een c o n s u m e r society and poor com m u nity. Shortly after Linden said this, one of the you ng men vanished from N ova after fatally shooting another m an in an argum ent. In their work on juvenile d elinqu ency, Matza and Sy kes (1957: 667) identified techniques of neutralisatio n; b eg inning as reactions to society though end ing as interactive processes: 'by learning to view him self as m o re acted upon than acting, the d elinqu ent prepares the w a y for d eviance from the d om in an t norm ative system w ithout the necessity of a frontal assault'. Matza and Sykes' (1957) theory was validated by the fact that non e of the you ng people I got to k now acted out violence on outsiders just for being affluent. M atza and Sy k es' (1957: 667) techniques w ere also being adopted in the w ay no one within L in d e n 's circle had chosen, or was draw n , to the nihilistic path taken by Robbie. Linden explained 'If you w an na m ak e som e good m o n ey get in and out, do it quick time'. Yet exclusion and poverty rem ained: you ng adults I m et w ere forced into a situation w h ere 'findin' an e arner', constantly having to generate an incom e, w as a daily reality. In addition, opportunities available with the local labour e co n o m y only left people living in subsistence poverty within a c o m m u n ity w h ere no one w as able to provide anyon e else with financial support. T he result was an almost continu ou s tension b etw een d issolution and respect that could only be neutralised by being part of an excluded com m unity . W ork in g at A n d e rso n 's on a m inim um w age ensures you had less m o n ey than if you w ere u n em plo y ed . Lin den and m any of his friends had given up on jobs in local s u perm ark ets and other retail stores b ecause they offered no future. Being un em plo y ed w as seen as no different, as Linden explained: 'See I get bored of d ossin', I can't doss for fuckin' ever. I like to work. Y 'k n o w , just m eet new people and that, new faces.' For m an y of the you ng people I b ecam e close to - L inden, Ton y, M o ntana, M artin, Liam , Robbie, Lean der, Ellie, Jim m y , Steve and 107

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H a n n ah - discrim ination and exploitation in the local e co n o m y w ere experiences all did not w an t to repeat. Even though 'the life' could be d an g erou s and is chaotic, eve ry on e was able to m aintain a sense of self-respect. N o v a 's local labour m arket does little to provide a w ay out of exclusion and often erodes identities constitu ted within the c o m m u ­ nity itself. The techniques Matza and Sykes (1957) identified seem ed to be personified in 'the session', a social space that enabled people to displace the anxiety of being continually exposed to exclusion. 'The session' also seem ed to be the only way to neutralise the possibility of violence. Even so-called public form s of protection such as C C T V are financially expensive: like Ford, m any cities are now in the b usiness of selling security (W akefield, 2004). Violence w as a greater d a ng er for every one in N ova b ecau se not only did the entire co m m u n ity represent a threat to the c o n su m e r society, the arsenal of technologies used to m aintain con su m e r safety was all directed at residents. T he result was that violence becam e invisible, often occurring outside the scope of cam eras that operated in the Precinct day and night. W orse w as the w ay in w h ich the m ost fragile residents of the Precinct w ere placed in even greater d a n g er through the way technologies were directed at those thought to pose the greatest threat. Even though that may have been justified, as in the case o f Geoff, w ho I introduce in the next chapter, the counter-intuitive result of devices such as C C T V m ay explain w h y the Precinct w as such a violent and un predictable place. Going back to Jay 's d escription of how people protected one another physically and emotionally, the m ost d angerou s people in N ova w ere, tragically, those w h o had lost hope. L ean der and R obbie had succu m b ed to the stigma associated with N o v a's youth; b ec o m in g the threat Ford's con su m e rs seem ed to d em and in the w ay both seem ed un deterred by the threat of arrest. As Jim m y pointed out, that m e an t 'bringing it on top for everyone else'.

T h e e n e m y w ith in T he day I interview ed T o n y at L in d e n 's house, Linden and I went to see Leander. A few days befo re, L ean d e r's father had told her to leave and she was now staying at R obbie's. L ind en had offered to ac co m m o d ate L ean d er, though after one night she moved into Robbie's. After that point Lin den began to suspect that L ean der had started using heroin regularly. W h e n w e arrived, I beeped the horn. As Linden got out of the car, R obbie cam e to the w in d ow . Linden shou ted, 'w h ere's Leander?' Like a m im e artist, R obbie shru gged . As Robbie raised his hands, L ea n d e r walked out of the front d oor at the side of the maisonette, forcing Linden to shout 'y o u 're fuckin lyin' to m e'. Red-faced Robbie vanished. 108

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W hen L eander arrived at the car, she clenched both her fists and ju m ped up and dow n: 'I'm really hyper.' Lin den scowled and asked her if she had been sm ok in g 'H ' (heroin). L ea n d er shouted 'N o ', indignant. She then asked both of us if we could take her to w o rk and avoid having to m ake two bus journeys. A greein g, L ean der then asked if w e could take her and Robbie to the shop first for som e w ashing pow der. She then shouted up to R obbie and he cam e d ow n the steps, his face still flushed. Both then got in the backseat. As we drove d o w n to the Precinct, L ean der and Linden began to argue. Linden: 'Y ou told m e that you would be round at ten.' Leander: 'Fuck off L inden, I cam e round at nine, and you w ere still in bed.' This continu ed as I parked outside the shop then stopped as L ean der w ent off for w ash in g pow d er. W hen every one was back in the car and we were heading off to the nursing hom e, Linden asked L ean der if she could lend him £30, k now in g that she would be paid today. She agreed, telling him to be outside the nursing h o m e at 4 p.m. At the time, Linden was u n em p lo y ed , w hich m eant L eander would have to wait a w eek befo re Lin den would be able to pay back the £30. T w o d ays later, I was at L ind en's flat with H annah. It had been snow ing all m o rn in g and Nova was now covered in a thick blanket of w hite pow d er. I sat at the w ind ow ledge w atching huge flakes fall. Linden seem ed stressed, pacing around picking big clum ps of H an n a h 's hair off the carpet. H annah also seemed pensive, standin g in front of the gas fire while w atching Jerry S p ring er on the TV , focused on trying to stay warm . I asked Linden w h y he w as tidying up; he replied he was waiting for L ean der and her father, Frank, to com e round. L ean der had phoned befo re I arrived, insisting on getting her £30 back. I asked Linden if he w as bothered. 'A m I fuck', he replied. As he said this, I noticed L eander and her father trudging through the snow . Despite the harsh w ind, Frank was w alking with purpose. Frank is a m an of m ed iu m height, though broad shouldered with big hands, m ak ing him look tall. L ean der was tiptoeing in his footprints, using her fath er's broad b ack as a shield against the drivin g snow . Both arrived at the stairs leading to L ind en's door. I then listened to two sets of footsteps clim b the stairs, one heavy, the other light. Frank battered the door. Linden, w h o w as in the kitchen trying to a p p e ar busy, w alked into the hall and snapped open the door. As he did Frank shou ted, 'A re you gonna give her this m o n ey back or w hat?': Linden: I'm gonna give it her. Frank: W hen? Linden: W hen I can afford it. Frank then walked into the hallw ay and glanced into the front room. T h o u g h I was the only person there, my presence seem ed to have a 109

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d isarm ing effect. H a n n a h had already vanished into the back bedroom . A controlled calm entered F rank's voice as he said 'look Linden just give her the m o n ey before tonight'. Saying this Frank gently kicked Lin den re peatedly in the shin. I then heard L ean d e r shout from outside in a loud voice, 'H e spent it all on crack'. With this L ean der's father turned and said, 'D o n 't go givin' out money to him then'. T hey then both w alked back d o w n the stairs. Frank got into a white van, which seem ed to ap pear from now here, while L ean der trudged back in the direction she cam e, her arm s crossed against the blizzard. Possessio n of crack-cocaine, even though Linden had none, can incur a jail sen tence. L ean der had d one s om ething that day I had never witnessed before: place a friend in jeop ard y by shouting claim s in public. Incidents that day led to a b reak in a friendship that had lasted since childhood. W h e n L ean der's parents split up, Linden told m e how he was a lw a y s there for her. The day also show ed how w itho ut friendship there was little else to protect people; I never saw Linden and L eander together again after that point. Several m o nths later L eander received a custodial sentence after C C T V footage of her was printed in the local paper. The incident with L ea n d e r's father clearly unnerved Linden; when both left, he 'w ent on the session'. Earlier that m orning Lin den had been offered a d ecent job, one that could have freed him from poverty, earning £18,000 a year as a skilled engineer. If Linden had a car or the firm could have provided transport, he could have worked tow ards a m ortg ag e, possibly start a family. In ou r interview , I had asked w h at he felt about settling dow n: RM: Do you see y ou rself with a house, wife, two kids? Linden: H ou se, two kids [pause]. O oh, I dunno. M a y b e I'll be swayed that w ay in the end. On that snow y D e ce m b e r m o rnin g , faced with a job, a million miles aw ay , and a m an d em a n d in g £30 with violence in his face, that prospect m ust have seem ed distant. W hen he re turned to the front room , L ind en looked at m e and declared that L ean d e r was barred from his flat. I looked at H annah , who was now back in the front room , giving another nervo us smile. Linden then asked me if I could take him d ow n to wn, to 'see a bout that job'; m ay b e he was reconsidering the job offer; m ay b e he w an ted to just get out of the flat; I know I did. W e cam e closer to the cluster of high-rise offices that m a k e up Ford's central b usin ess district, then pulled up outside the e m p lo y m e n t agency door. As soon as I switched off the engine Linden turned to m e and said, 'F uck it Rob, I'm gonna b lank it.' Lin den then got out of the car and w ent

R espect

over to a pho ne box at the foot of an office block. W hen he returned seco nd s later, he said that he had just ordered so m e 'rock' (crackcocaine). H e asked m e to drive him back to N ova. Back at L in d e n 's flat, a red Alfa R om eo waited at the foot of the stairs with its engine still ru nning. Linden got out, ran over, and ju m ped into the p assen g er seat, got back out and ran up his flat. As he did I follow ed, both of us running to get out of the cold. Inside, in the living room , Linden had a sm oke. H e had turned the electric fire on b ut nothing else. Linden told m e to lock the front door, explaining 'I d o n 't w ant H annah bargin' in again'. As soon as he had exhaled the sm ok e, L ind en relaxed for the first time that m o rnin g . After chatting for a few m inutes, Linden set to w o rk preparing another pipe. W hen the rock was finished, I left sayin g I w ould call him tom orrow. Lin den said that he would probably m ake another order in a few m inutes and 'h ave a session'. O rd inarily this would have been the b eg inning of another of L ind en's roller-coaster days, though by noon that day I could not take any more. During sessions, with Linden and friends, I had a sm oke w h e n offered, though only if people present felt it w as polite. T he fu nction of drug use as a private culture was that it enabled you ng people to control, either em otionally or literally, the spectre of violence which stalked the Precinct at that time. I also w o n d ere d w h eth er society and its con su m e rs w ere any different. The distinction b etw een Linden and stigmatised users was he w as fully aw are of the difference b etw een re creatio nal drug use and abuse. So w ere m any of the y ou ng adults I met: people w ould rarely be seen d rinking in public or in possession of alcohol, or even cigarettes. N ot only did con su m in g in such w ays signal a lack of self-respect, private con su m p tion was to allay the pain of poverty and exclusion. W hen fath er and d aug hter left, 1 asked Linden if Frank had a reputatio n; Linden said he w as 'c onnected '. There did not seem to be a hierarchy of any sort, only m e m b ers of the co m m u n ity w ho had a reputation 'for sorting things out'. O ne s unn y afternoon at the Project, Sean explained that if an individual was robbed by a fellow resident: 'you either go up the Pub an' see so m e people or get a baseball bat'. The tragedy of living in a stigmatised co m m u n ity was that m any young people described how resorting to violence was often necessary. S o m e ­ times people had to react in ord er to avoid falling prey to a hand fu l of individuals, described below , w ho appeared to m ak e a living out of intim idating residents of the Precinct area. O thers such as Pele testified how people just explod ed under the pressure of poverty and intolerance, either that or withered a w a y into defeat. Reynolds (1986) describes sim ilar conflicts on the O m e g a estate in O xford, w h ere y ou n g er fam ilies were concentrated in the w orst housing. Being placed at the bottom of the housing ladder also seemed to com p ou n d the conflicts experienced in the Precinct area in the w ay too

O u t o f Sight: c rim e , y o u th and exclusion in m o d e rn B ritain

m a n y you ng people w ere concentrated together then left alone to survive.

F e e lin g fo r o n e a n o th e r R obbie and L ean d e r's lives at that time show ed how im portant it was to retain self-respect. Respect is often referred to in eth n ograp h ic studies on socially excluded you ng people, though it is often described in objective terms. Respect is described as an aspect of entrepreneurship and con su m p tion , achieved th rough the objects attained through crim e or the distrib ution of illegal drugs. Interpreting respect on the basis of a material culture of crime, in my view, only abstracts from the dream s you ng people described. R esp ect described by you ng people I m e t in N ova and evoked in Hip H op was em bed d ed in feelings of self-respect, and the prom ise of a life free from exclusion. W hen y o u n g people such as L ean der and R obbie could no longer m aintain that, then they becam e stigmatised as addicts. Stigm atising fellow residents, how ever, seem ed to be a co nseq u ence of exclusion: unable to hold onto self-respect, Robbie b eca m e walking testim ony to the intractability of the w orkfare m erry-go-round that nearly all of the y o u n g people I met faced. Despite being able to tackle that situation them selv es, Linden and others inevitably felt anxious at seeing a friend w ho had lost hope. During those dark w inter m onths, I could appreciate w h at Lin den m e a n t w h en he described how living in N ova was the survival of the fittest. D arw in (1859) used the term referring to evolutio n in the natural world yet it could be interpreted as a being em ble m atic of life in a c o n su m e r society. The result of this post-m odern condition on society is entropy, evolutio n's antithesis, and a process that defines the degenerate nature of co n s u m e r culture. Barbara A d am (1995: 83) describes the relation b etw een evolutio n and entropy: species may b eco m e extinct b u t their evolutio n ca n n o t be reversed; entropy is expressive of a s pontaneo us process tow ard s d isorder and a d ecrease in inform ation. Eric H o b s b a w m (1997) argues that society to day is trapped in this cycle, to the point where all of us are in d a n g er of d escend ing into barbarism . H o b s b a w m (1997) describes the grow ing n u m b e r of w hat he refers to as 'disintegral societies' such as Bosnia, Sri Lanka or R w and a , that re-enact the 'h orrors of the ancient slau g hter-ho use' (1997: 334). H o b s b a w m (1997) conclu des that these atrocities persist b ecau se w e have all got used 'to the norm alc y of w h at our - certainly m y - parents would have considered life un d er in hum an conditions'. Y ou ng adults in N ova are in a sim ilar situation, living in an individualistic society w here intolerance seem s to be inextricably linked to consu m ption. The reality Linden and his friends identified was that every one was d esperate to d evelop and w o rk out of poverty; to o v ercom e the stigma

R espect

of crim e and m o dernise their ow n com m u nity. In C h ap te r 1, I argued that outsiders w ere unw illing to see beyond the seductiv e im ages of crim e associated with po or com m u n ities (C ow ard, 1994). For R obbie, d rugs b ec am e a w ay of ob jectifying his own exclusion. As with all the other you ng adults I know , exclusion is uncontrollable. All that you ng adults could do w as m aintain the situation through a sense of selfrespect. Rob bie's life had b eco m e a dialectical process of self-harm and violence at the hands of others. B eco m ing stigmatised as an addict he could no longer m aintain the culture of co m m u n ity that you ng adults created each day to survive. G offm an (1963) describes how that label develops into a destructive relatio nship betw'een people, even those who are friends. G offm an (1963) describes how w e believe a person with a stigma is not quite hu m a n. On this a ssum p tion we exercise varieties of d iscrim ination, through w hich w e effectively, if often unthinkingly, reduce h i s / h e r life chances. R ob bie's life chances w ere gradually d im inishing as he e nd angered his friends searching for a release from the pain of the stigm a he had been subjected to from an early age.

F a ith in th e fu tu r e Cu lture is a reactive m easure to life's uncertainties. In this chapter, I have show n how Hip H o p 's culture of c o m m u n ity enables you ng people to surviv e poverty, and how necessary and easy it is to im agine 'the life' as a threat to the con su m e r society. C o n s u m e r culture appears to be filled with s y m b ols that signify peop le's anticip atio n, or desire to surviv e a solitary life. In my conclu ding chapter, I describe how im ages o f y ou ng people surviving poverty as a c o m m u n ity fulfil that deep psychological need. Given the terrible tragedies young people described gro w ing up with and the difficulties all faced as adults, it m ust have been incredibly difficult to m aintain a sense of hope. Friendship and a culture of self-respect seem ed to be the only w ay you ng people could surviv e exclusion. Surviving, how ever, did not m ean you ng adults w ere able to resolve exclusion. That was only possible with the help and supp ort of other residents of N ova, and C h a p te r 5 describes how that happened .

C h a p te r 5

Education

E very you ng person I m et in N ov a identified how exclusion in education was the cause of poverty, not just for you ng people them selv es but also for the entire com m u nity. In this chapter, young people describe the stigm a of being associated with Nova at school and of being excluded as you ng adults by being seen as an educational failure. I also describe how a lack of opportunities in education com p o u n d e d the poverty exp e ri­ enced by older residents. A part from H a n n a h and Linden, every other you ng person I inter­ viewed had either been discouraged from staying on or expelled befo re they could gain a leavin g certificate. As I described in the introduction, low educational atta inm ent was a serio us problem in N ova w h en I started my fieldwork, and only one of the y o u n g people I subsequently met, Ellie, had been encou raged to take 'A ' levels. W hen the factories around N ov a closed, the skills older residents had brou ght w'ith them to Ford w ere no longer required. Living in a fully m o dern city, only to watch that cru m ble into the po st-m od ern c o n su m e r society that ch a rac­ terises Ford to day, older residents understood the difficulties y ou ng people faced. Like yo u n g people I met, older residents had arrived you ng and with nothing; older residents too had surviv ed to gether by creating social spaces such as the N ov a Centre. O n e could understand w h y older residents would w an t to m aintain the c o m m u n ity they had built, not just to try to retain you ng people b u t also maintain N o v a 's history. Later in this chapter, I describe how residents w ere able to build a new space w h ere people could w ork to w ards a d ecent education.

P ro b le m y o u th Exclusion from secure jobs was a co m m o n experience for m a n y y ou ng people; Sean described how outsiders im plem ented initiatives that only

E ducation

seem ed to com p ou n d the stigm a surrou nding N o v a 's y o u n g e r residents. In those s u m m e r m o nths standing outside the Project, Sean described the factors that had shaped y ou ng p eople's experiences of exclusion, and why a collective sense of alienation had persisted for so long. First, the policies aimed at areas hit by de-industrialisation during the 1980s and 1990s. Second , the conservative ad m inistrations of this period required local authorities such as Ford City C o u ncil to sell social services to private agencies. Third, the labelling of y ou ng p eople's experiences and attitudes, ranging from 'p rob lem ' to 'd elinquent'. Finally, once the problem or potential problem had been identified, private agencies w ould com p ete to m a n a g e y o u n g e r residents (see Pitts and H ope, 1998). T he result w as a series of short-lived initiatives, w h ich failed because people w ho w ere not residents had designed them: as Sean said, 'they h a v en 't got a clue'. Sim ilar p arad oxes characterised the m a n a g e m e n t of other pro blem s in N ova. O ften the c o m m u n ity was cau gh t betw een a b reak d o w n of existing am enities and a 'p lethora' of private a gencies (see W acq u an t, 1996). In terms of the m a n a g e m e n t of social housing in N ova, the m ost vulnerable and excluded (young) adults w ere often located in the areas such as the spaces in and around N o v a's m ain shopping Precinct. Frustration and desperation, em otions m agnified by the d isp ro ­ portionate lack of op portunities faced by you ng people, shaped the public life of the Precinct. The closure of the Project revealed how outside agencies could easily expose you ng people to further hardships. Shu t d o w n for being perceived as u n constru ctive for the you ng people w h o w ent there, the Project's closure created a com pletely new set of problem s: you ng people now had to travel into Ford city centre to search for jobs, either through the central job centre or tem po rary e m p lo y m e n t agencies. Then there was the loss of social supp ort from the Project staff, all of w h o m w ere forced to find other jobs; Sean m o ved out of N o v a and I never saw M a th ew , E dd y or A n dy again. Terry, an outreach w o rker w h o grew up with M athew in another part of Ford, told m e he left the city after the Project closed. The Precinct had a negative associatio n for people in N ov a generally and y ou ng people w h o I talked to w h o lived there described hating the experience. W arren, a m e m b e r of the b usiness w ho lived in the Precinct after his parents div orced, described the a tm o sp here, 'Fu ckin' m usic blarin' out of w ind ow s, cars tearin' around the street, cars that lads have robbed. All arg u m e n ts goin' on in the houses, just fuckin' m ad.' All of the y o u n g people I m et w h o lived or w ho had lived in the Precinct described how' desperate they w ere to leave. Assessing the im pact of high property turnover within 'p rob le m ' estates such as N ov a, Anne P o w e r (1997, 1999) suggests that directing lettings to those m ost in need only exacerbates pro blem s such as crime, co m m u n ity conflict and vandalism . Research conducted by C o ok (1997) in W o lv e rh a m p to n and 115

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H ag an (1994) in the United States also suggests a tend ency a m ong people living in d isad vantaged areas to co m m it violent crimes nearer their h om es than within m o re affluent areas. Evidence from the British C rim e Survey (M irrlees-Black, M a y h e w and Percy, 1996) also highlights the connections b etw een locality, crim e and victimisation, revealing that over half of all property crimes recorded in the survey occurred in just a fifth of com m u n ities in England and W ales. In Ford, crim e is higher in p o orer areas such as N ova. H ow e v e r, research seem s beset by an un w illingn ess to engage with people living in such areas, and the gulf of m isu nd ersta nd ing b e co m es filled with superficial m isconceptions such as 'b roken w in d o w s' w h ere Ja m es W ilson (1985) argues that activities like aggressive begging, d ru n k en n e ss and petty crim e p recipi­ tate neighb ou rhoo d decline. The nature of the crim es com m itted by you ng people in the Precinct reflected the feelings of exclusion and e con om ic frustration you ng people described. Burglary rem ained the m ost co m m o n offence, while rates of violence and dom estic violence w ere also a m o n g the highest in Ford. W ha t struck m e m ost about going to the Precinct was how visible p eople's situations w ere; arg u m e n ts in the street w ere co m m o n . It re m inded m e of participant observations and interview s I had conducted with hom eless people as an u n derg rad u ate. In both cases, it seemed that for people with no stake in society, the only form of self-expression left w as the right to be heard. W arren said, 'you can see how bad it is just by goin' there. It's probably w o rse now than it w as w h en 1 was livin' there.' Like W arren, Jay had lived in the Precinct though he felt it had g row n worse ov er the years: RM: Did you like living in the Precinct? I m ean, did you like it then? Jay: Y eah, I liked it then but not any m o re, it's like Beirut. RM: C rim e w a s n 't as bad there w h en you w ere you nger? Jay: No, m o re people are stealin' off each other now. I m ean usually it's just for a drink or sum m it. That's all they want, just a drink. RM: Are people d oing m ore drink and drugs now than they were then? Jay: Th e n w e w ere m ainly sm ok in ' cannabis. But over the years it's progressed, takin' ecstasy, speed, trips [LSD]. M artin, who lived near the Precinct at that time, was even m o re critical of its residents: 'the people are scavengers; they steal from any on e round there. M o n ey , people around here are obsessed with m o ney , I'v e seen tw o g uy s fight over a packet of fags, fuckin' fightin' over £1.80.' Janet Foster (2000) highlights how ghettoisation can have a devastating im pact on both socially excluded you ng adults and the wider c o m m u ­ nity in which they live. Returning to the North East of England ten years after a study on housing, co m m u n ity and crim e (H ope and Foster, 1992),

E ducation

Foster (2000) highlights how drug use am ong y o u n g adults can wreck any attem pt to regenerate n eig hb ou rhoo d s. Foster (2000: 320) found that a failure in the m a n a g e m e n t in social hou sing allowed the space for a drug -using subcultu re of yo u n g adults to grow and persist. Q u o ting a local police officer, Foster (2000: 321) found, 'the " r a d iu s around the tower b lo c k s " was d om inated by "s tr ee t drug supply, petty crim e (and) a lot of n u is a n c e " . . . H ou sing staff felt u n d er siege, reticent and s o m e tim e s fearful o f encou ntering difficult and potentially volatile tenants.' The p roblem s experienced in the Precinct also related to its design and the sub seq uent ghettoisation of you ng people living there during the 1980s. At the centre of the Precinct w as one long street w h ere most you ng people in N ova w ere forced to surviv e. Even though the young people I m et w ere resilient, each was also vuln erable, and you nger adults such as Jason, A ntoine and Slim w ho w e n t to the Project w ere the m ost vulnerable.

G h e tt o h e a v e n W hen w e returned from O rp heu s, Linden took me out one night 'd oor k n ock in g' to introduce me to y o u n g people and 'o pen your eyes to N ov a'. 'D oo r kn ockin g ' involves k nocking on people's d oors, hoping they will let you in for a chat, and just show s how close people are in N ova. The night itself was freezing and after a glass of vo dk a, w e left L ind en's flat and m a d e for the Precinct. So m e of the accounts I had heard about the street from W a rren and Jay m a d e me apprehensive. Lin den sensed this and advised me to 'b ehave'. W e arrive at a ground -floor flat. T he gantries are dark and em pty in the freezing cold, leavin g loose n e w sp a p e r to swirl inside the concrete porticos s u rrou nding d oorw ays. So m e of the flats are vacant, sealed off with the terrible steel grills. O thers are inviting, with pot plants at the w in d ow s, new d ou ble-glazing, and stone anim als beside doors. Despite the time of night - 3 a.m. - Lin den k nocks confid ently at the d oor of a m o re basic flat. I can hear voices inside, and then the door is opened by a very you ng , slim C au casian w o m a n . 'H ello C h loe', Linden says with a big smile. C h loe cannot help but smile back despite being conscious of a large bruise circling her left eye. C h loe opens the d oor and we both tilt to see w ho is inside. To my a m a z e m e n t Jason, Slim and Pele are all sitting around w h ere a gas fire should have been. All three turn in unison; shout to co m e in, Pele w av in g a path. W e step in. Linden b rand ishes the bottle of vodka; all three cheer even though no one takes up the offer of a sip. The front room is practically em p ty ; a three-piece suite w orn and collapsed, a fitted carpet, and a co m p a ct disc player on the floor in the 117

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corner. T he flat is D a m o n 's ; a h a n d s o m e A frican-C arib bean young man sitting alone in a chair next to the couch that just about holds Pele, Jason and Slim. Ch loe com es in behind us and plops d ow n into the last chair. This leaves Lin den and me to sit on the floor. 'Just in the m iddle of a session', Jason grins infectiously even though there is nothing in the room to allow any form of e ntertainm ent. Linden introduces me to Chloe and D a m o n ; both smile and say hello. Despite the em pty space w here a fireplace once was, the room is not as cold as you would expect. M o ney is too tight for the central heating and that C h ristm as Liam and Martin told me how they spent C h ristm as day in bed. D a m o n , skinnier than the three bigger boys, is w rapped in a duvet. Pele, Jason and Slim are also able to share each other's body tem perature, leaving Ch loe ru bbing her arm s and shivering. Linden later told m e D a m on shares the flat with N orris, w ho was in bed to keep w arm . W e stayed for an hou r laughing and joking, with the bottle re m aining un tou ched . I rarely saw y ou ng people drinking alcohol in the Precinct area. It was only w h en I interview ed Pele, at his m o th e r's flat, with Jason and Slim drinkin g tiny bottles of cheap A lsace lager: the context seem ed to sug g est that outside the private culture of parental space, being seen drinkin g m e a n t being exposed to attack. W hen we left for another door, I asked Linden if he knew w h at had happened to C h loe and he told m e, 'looked like s om eon e hit her'.

Do-gooders Shortly before the Project closed, Stan, a m e m b e r of the N ova Centre com m ittee, and a m e m b e r of an outside a gency cam e in several times to try to assess w h at could be done. At the time, residents b elonging to vario us c o m m u n ity groups w ere putting together a bid to gain funding for G a te w a y s, a new adult education training facility. D uring that process, residents had been liaising with vario us outside agencies and it was d uring those visits I met Stan. A stern, im peccably dressed m an who had lived in N ov a for m o st of his life, Stan, like Ralph, had witnessed the difficulties young people faced. The em p a th y of residents tow ards you ng people w as reflected in the w ay Stan, Ralp h, Sean and E dd y never prescribed a solution. Spe n d in g time with young adults at the Project, all seem ed to be aw are that the exclusion people faced was deeply individual and radically different from each day to the next. T he problem at that time, how ever, was fu nding and, m o re im portantly, who controlled it: Sean described w o rk ing for Ford City C ouncil and gradually being m arginalised as youth services cam e u n d er professional m an a ge m e n t. Sean also explained how the process resulted in a situation in which 'o ne hand d id n 't know w h at the other hand w as d o i n " , w h ereb y one initiative would often negate the ach iev em en ts of another.

Education

Loic W acquant's (1996: 51) research charts the effect of the multi­ agency approach of the 1980s and 1990s in Europe and the United States. Identifying an 'over-penetration of state agencies' in housing estates in Paris, W acquant (1996: 251-4) reveals the consequences of the multi­ agency approach. In La Couneurve, 'the over-representation of state agencies and facilities . . . contributes to further stigmatising the neigh­ bourhood and to increasing the sentiments of isolation and discontent among residents' (Wacquant, 1996: 254). The process W acquant (1996) identifies typified the closure of the Project, its impact on the young men and women, and the subsequent battle among various agencies attempt­ ing to assume responsibility for a new facility.

A n ew in itia tiv e During the final months of the Project, two separate youth agencies began to approach Sean, Eddy and the Project's financial backers. Most of the meetings were held at the Project and at a local nursery, a place where agency members could feel more comfortable. I arrived at the meeting early and through the wrong entrance, let in by a polite dinner woman. Leaving the kitchen, I passed through a large play area littered with toys and picture books and decorated with happy jungle beasts. Then, following the tiny painted footprints on the floor, I turned left into a formal office in which were seated a middle-aged wom an and her younger female secretary and said I had come for the meeting concern­ ing the Project. As no one else was present in the adjoining room in which eight chairs were arranged in a circle, I strolled through a set of patio doors into a large garden. At the far end of the lawn, a man was tending to border plants. The nursery itself was beautiful, down to the efforts of the Ford City Council who clearly hoped to provide an idyllic environment for children and parents. I heard voices back in the conference room and I returned to find a large middle-aged woman, Emily, and two men who rarely spoke and never introduced themselves throughout the meeting. All were dressed in a professional manner and were representatives of Youth Concern, a regional agency with a number of centres aimed specifically at un­ employed young adults. I sat down while the three discussed agency affairs. Sean, Eddy and Mathew then entered along with Sarah and a tall, slim, stylish woman from the Project's funding agency. Before I started going to the Project, a previous meeting had been held at the nursery, at which a series of 'action plans' were formulated. It became clear that members of the agency hoped to transplant a scheme from another area and had little intention of replicating the Project as a youth centre. The new Project would involve group 'activities', the development of

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job and 'inter-personal' skills and incorporate a system of 'mentoring' in which young people would be 'guided' through education, training and eventually work. As a result, this new Project would only be targeted at 16-25 year olds. Sean said he was concerned about the persistent focus on 16-25 year olds. He pointed out that many of the people who came into the Project fell outside this category, such as Tracy, Catherine, Ralph and their respective children. Emily seemed to dismiss these other groups, labelling them as 'long-term unemployed'. She also made clear that when the new Project was relocated it was unlikely that Sean, Mathew or Trevor would be invited to work there. Just before the meeting ended, Emily asked Eddy if she could have a list of the names and addresses of the young people who attended the Project. Eddy had a list of names of people who had an account for teas and coffees supplied at the Project though he never mentioned this at the time and seemed highly reluctant to offer up the list; his expression darkening as the suggestion was made. Pitts and Hope (1997: 43) describe the strategy proposed at the nursery as 'delinquency m anage­ ment'. Sean described how past attempts to regenerate Nova failed because of the way young people were labelled and treated differently from the outset. Even though policies were well-meaning, having to participate in p rogrammes aimed at 'problem youth' only seemed to compound exclusion. Either way, people, especially young people, living in Nova ended up being excluded or feeling stigmatised in job interviews or when trying to apply for financial services (Goffman, 1963). Sean identified how exclusion was a shared feeling among a group of young people who grew up together in Nova. For all of the young people I got to know, the backdrop behind everyone's childhood and adoles­ cence was N ova's urban regeneration during the 1980s. During that time, young people in Nova were subject to the schemes designed by government and private organisations, which often presumed at the outset that Nova's youth were susceptible to crime (see France and Wiles, 1997). During that time local groups set up by residents who knew the difficulties all residents had to face were also subject to the same process. Community organisations set up a money advice centre and provided provisions through the Nova Centre and at some of the estate's primary schools. Without adequate financial support, these initiatives seemed to be swept away whenever the regional econom y faltered. Closure was often because community-based initiatives were never able to secure a permanent purpose-built space or, as in the case of Sean's table tennis club, Sean himself was constantly forced to move from one location to the next through what seemed like a process of everdecreasing social space.

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L e a rn in g to la b o u r In C h apter 1, I described how w o rk had b eco m e m o re flexible and also m o re specialised in areas such as Ford during the 1980s. Secure jo bs in the city began to require professional qualifications, particularly inform ation-technology skills. Research sh o w s that 80 per cent of the 1.7 million new jobs likely to be created in the next decad e will require a professional qualification (W ilson and G reen, 2001). Participation by you ng people in higher edu cation in G reat Britain, as m easured by the A g e Participation Index, has increased significantly ov er the last decade, from 19 per cent in 1 9 9 0 /9 1 to 35 per cent in 2001 / 0 2 (A rcher et al., 2003). In its re cent W hite P aper The Future o f H igher E du cation , the gov ern m e n t stated its intention to increase participation to 50 per cent for those less than 30 years old (DfE S, 2003). W ithou t edu cational qualifications, p eople's prospects are far w o rse now than w h en there w as a more div erse and flexible job market. T he greatest obstacle young people faced was trying to find a job in a world w h ere the only d ecent ones d em anded relevant post-16 qualifications or training. U niversity education is still a privilege. S tu dents from middle-class b ac k g ro u n d s continu e to d om inate in univ ersities while stu dents from poorer areas and families re m ain under-represented. This picture relates to the inequalities created and im posed within schools. Although p articipa­ tion in higher education has risen significantly over the past 20 years, participation a m o n g stu dents from social classes 3 and 4 rem ains at 25 per cent nationally w hile for stu dents from the poorest postcode areas it is only 12 per cent. Equally, non-completion has risen recently to a national average of 16 per cent (Thom as, 2001). Research has identified that so m e schools have a 'p overty of aspirations' for w o rking-class and socially excluded child ren, providing pupils with less e n co u rag em en t com pared with stud ents from affluent areas. Pugsley (1998) found that this process manifested itself th rough the advice given and optio ns m ad e available to pupils. O th e r studies, w h ere stud ents considering higher education were interview ed, have identified how d iscou raging you ng people can lead to a negative perception of university generally. For e xam p le, A rcher and H u tchings (2000) interview ed stu dents from low er socio-econo m ic b a c k ­ grounds who perceived higher education as being dominated by the middle class. M a n y students chose not to go to university as they felt it could be potentially alienating. E vidence also su ggests that so m e universities discriminate during the ad missions process. M udood and Shiner (1994), for e xam p le, found that m any pre-1992 univ ersities w ere less likely to accept applicants from ethnic m inority and low er socio-econo m ic g ro ups, even w h en their qualifications w ere the sa m e as m iddle-class applicants. All the y ou ng adults I spoke to described discrim ination and d isin­ centive at school. M o st w ere required to leave school at 16 becau se they

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w ere perceiv ed to be not good e nou gh by teachers, or that their b eh a v io u r w as deem ed too confrontatio nal. O nly Ellie had been given the op portu nity to stay on, though she had been unable to. For Ellie, the increasing cost of further and higher education was the main barrier to staying on. Ellie w orked in N o v a 's local s u p e rm a rk et at the time, and described that dual pressure: RM: D id n 't you w an t to stay on? Ellie: I w as g onn a, b ut me sister died just before I left and it did me head in a bit. Ellie's d om estic circum stances could only have m ad e trying to study difficult: Ellie: Yeah, I've got two brothers and four sisters. T h e re 's nine of us livin' at hom e now . T w o of m e nieces as well. RM: W h a t's that like? Ellie: A bit hectic, 'c au se four of 'em share a room . And I think I'm about to get kicked out. W anting to leave hom e and get her ow n flat, Ellie explained the financial pressures she faced and the effect they w ould have on her social life. I asked her if she could afford it: '1 w o n 't be able to go out or anythin' y 'k n o w . So I'd rather stay at hom e m ay b e.' Ellie also told m e she had hoped to stay on at school. Staying at hom e, Ellie, like m any y ou ng adults I spoke to, had to w ork full-time. H aving to go out and find work at 16, Ellie w as in a situation shared by the vast m ajority of y o u n g adults I met in N ova: not just a lack of m o n ey but a job that w ould provide a w ay out of a day-to-d ay world of not having e nou gh m o n ey to buy food and clothing. H aving to surviv e each day also m e a n t N o v a's young adults w ere denied a freedom the vast majority of you ng people have. Y ou th is not sim ply a freedom to discover, ind ep end en t from the constrain ts of fam ily. W ha t m an y fail to appreciate in their u n d e rs ta n d ­ ing of y outh is the im portance of a future b eyond it. W riting on the im portance of work for you ng people from a w orking-class com m u nity , W illis (1977: 95) says: 'this establishes a clear continuity betw een disparate situations. W e can see this as a continu ou s base line of experience and response, w hich inform s the w h ole w o rk ing class culture in its long arc of adaptation to hostile conditions.' A n other reason w h y Ellie was unable to stay on at school was that her parents could not afford to look after her once she had turned 16. Unless siblings are in full-time education, child benefits stop at 16 and in an area characterised by low incom es m any families w ere un able to go on supp orting their children w h en they reached that age. M an y of the 122

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you ng people I met, inclu ding Jason, Oily and Slim, had no alternative but to leave hom e after leaving school and m o ve into the Precinct. Lean der encapsulated the d angers that threaten you ng adults who b ec a m e cut off from friends and had to survive alone. Like every other you ng person I met, L ean der w anted to escap e from the stigma s u rrou nding N o v a 's you ng adult populatio n. E xclusion was described by you ng adults as a condition; being surrou nded by affluence and affluent, intolerant people, in G e m in i Park, in Ford city centre, on television, in the ne w s - even passing along the roads that surround N ova, cars so expensive they a ppeared other-w orldly com pared with the situations y ou ng people faced. Y ou n g adults told m e that living in N ov a also m eant being subject to a process of daily exclusion, w h ere b y all that was available were 'shit jobs' becau se w o rk ing within that was how individuals were m ad e to feel. W o rk in g at the nu rsing h o m e and receiving £35 each fortnight, then dismissed by an unfair boss w h o, I suspect, sacked L ean der b ecau se she had self-confidence: w h at seem ed to be the only form of protectio n you ng people had against exclusion. On the day Lin den and 1 picked her up, through the patio d oors of the nursing h o m e w e could see how L ea n d er was gaining a lot of attention from older m ale residents. W h e n L ean der told m e how the man who was sm iling at her later molested her, it was highly probable given the way he w as beh a v in g that afternoon. L od ging a com plaint, L ean der was sacked by her supervisor. Being dism issed also m eant that, without references, getting a sim ilar p lacem ent was practically im possible. An N V Q in nu rsing w ould have allow ed L ea n d er to go into a profession w h ere she could have realised her hopes. Lea n d e r's situation personified the exclusion of y ou ng people living in N ova. L ean der had hopes and d ream s like every other y ou n g adult I met. After being dismissed from the nu rsing hom e, L eander gradually seem ed to lose her self-belief. Linden and others described how you have to try to rem ain com posed or 'you lose it'. Finding it im possible trying to find a p e rm a n e n t job with no re ference, L ean d er was left with N o v a's local carousel service e conom y. Like m any y ou n g adults, 'w ork ing for yourself' was the only w ay to retain hope in the future. Unlike other m o ochers, how ever, L ean der was very you ng, only 19. Linden, M ontana, Steve and Jim m y , all five years older, seem ed to have g ro w n m ore resilient and re sourceful in those years. So too was Lean der, though: cut off from the experien ces Linden and his friends shared, she seemed m ore exposed after being barred from L ind en's flat. W h e n I spoke with Sean about w h eth er m o oching was a durable solution, he told m e that without the op portu nity to invest, entrepreneurship could never d efeat the exclusion surrou nding N o v a 's youth no m atter how innovative and resourceful you ng people were.

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Escape a tt e m p ts Sadly, the local eco n o m y does not provide a w ay out of the stigma s u rrou nding the estate's young adult population. W hen I w as w orking in G e m in i Park, it seem ed that older residents w ere less able to w ork for th em selves. Residents I m e t at the s u p e rm a rk et I worked in for three m o nths of m y fieldwork w ere often in m iddle age and usually had fam ily responsibilities. Th a t is reflected in the fact most of those w orking in N o v a 's local service eco n o m y are people in their late thirties and older. H aving to w ork in split shifts, which often changed each week, also m e an t that people had little time to study. Carol, an adult education w o rk er w h o I m et in Nova at the start of my fieldwork, told me how being excluded from edu cation w as a co m m o n experien ce for m any residents. Even though the d eterm inants behind exclusion from education differed, the susceptibility of people feeling stigm atised through a lack of educational qualifications transcended age. U n em p lo y m en t, u n d e r-e m p lo y m en t, and being denied the qualifications to gain p e rm a n e n t jobs w ere all processes that residents had been subjected to. T he slow collapse of a regio nal m a nu factu ring e con om y resulted in u n em p lo y m en t for w orkers and the stigma of having to claim benefits for one's children. People I met old e nou g h to re m e m b e r the early 1980s described d e-ind u strialisation's im p act on the com m u n ity , and being m a d e to feel different in its afterm ath; you ng people also told m e how the stigma of u n e m p lo y m e n t echoed at school during the 1980s. Carol told m e that older residents felt less confid ent a bout studying com pared with y ou nger people. Y ou n g adults such as Jason and Slim w ere not inhibited by learning but w ere defiant against being m a d e to feel different. Jason, Steve and m any other you ng peop le's experiences of education were characterised by stigm a, as Cliff and Ton y explained. T on y w as unable to get on with teachers at G reaves and described how eventually, 'I 'ad English and m ath s lessons in the library by myself. Technically I stayed there until I was 15 but 1 virtually did nothin .' Tony, Cliff and all of the y ou ng A frican-C aribbean men I spoke to apart from Linden had been put into 'the Unit' at G re a ve s Secondary:

RM: W ere you in the Unit? Tony: Yeah, right. W h e n I w ere n 't doin' lessons. RM: W hat was it, w h at did you do in there? Tony: It's w h ere no one else would have. It was like The Project, it w as a big b lock w h ere you used to play table football. RM: D id n 't they have any teachers in there? Tony: Y eah, they had a supervisor in there, that's about it.

Cliff told me w h en he w as placed in 'the Unit': 124

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Cliff: 1 w ent into the Unit, then 1 got throw n out of the Unit. RM: W hat happened w hen you w ere th row n out of the Unit? Cliff: See, the Unit was the last resort. They put m e in a hom e then. M a n y of the y ou n g people I had m et w ere able to surviv e the stigma of being associated with Nova. Being stigmatised within school only seem ed to m a ke R obbie m o re d eterm ined to do well in his final exams: Robbie: But then, when I left that school 1 went to G reaves and I stuck it out actually. I w as hard ly ever there like but I stayed to the end. I did m usic, I play the d ru m s like, an' I did m y exam in m usic, G C SE , an' 1 did City and Guilds E ngineerin' but I never did the exam but I was too scared. RM: Really? Robbie: Yeah, I w o u ld 'v e done it but I was just too scared of fuckin' failing y 'kn o w w h at I m ean, ev e ryon e passin' and I failed that's w h at I thought. RM: You s h o u ld n 't look at it like that. Robbie: Yeah, I can re m e m b er things but w h en it com es d ow n to w riting it on paper y 'k n o w w hat I m ean I just lose track cause I 'a v e n 't got the concentration. I think I'm dyslexic. I can read and w rite but I d o n 't concentrate that much. Talking with Robbie during our interview , it seem ed that not being able to go on to college had haunted his life ever since. W h e n I met Carol, during the d ev elo p m en t of G atew a ys, and told her I was cond u ctin g a study of local y o u n g peop le's experiences, she suggested I cond u ct research within the local labour market. I applied for a job at A n derson's, a large su p e rm a rk et built several years ago on the edge of Ford and directly next to N ova. A n d e rs o n 's em ploy ed m a n y people from N ov a and w orking there, I could see w h y the jobs it provided only c o m ­ po unded the cond itions re sidents had to face. A n d e rso n 's was divided into sections, fruit and vegetables, fresh m eat and fish, household supplies and other com m od itie s you would expect in a big superm arket. Trainee e m p loy ees had a choice w hich section to work in though all paid the sam e, m arginally above the m in im u m w age, w hich at the time was £3.50 an hour. M o st of the jo bs w ere full-time and often involved unsocial hours. For the three m o nths I worked at A n d e rso n 's, m o st days would start at 5 a.m. and finish at 4 p.m. Several days during the w eek w ould be free, though m ost w eeken d s involved tw elve-ho ur shifts and the sa m e applied to all of the people I started with. Ju d ging by the n u m b e r of people who attended my induction w eek end , A n d e rso n 's m u st have had a high staff turnover. Tw enty people started when I did and over those three m o nths, half left, usually for other jobs. In our interview , Jay, one of the older y o u n g adults I m et at the Project, 125

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described how the jobs A n d e rs o n 's advertised only seem ed to sustain poverty: RM: C o m pared to being on the dole the pay for these jobs. I m ean w as it worth it? Jay: No. If y o u 'v e got a flat, y o u 'v e got to pay rent. RM: The rent really h am m ers your wages? Jay: Yeah, the rent's a big 'N o'. Y 'k n o w like. See no one's really got an edu cation in N ova. A lot of people with families. Y o u 'v e got y our ow n place and y o u 'v e got to pay rent which is say £60 a w eek and then y o u 'v e got to pay council tax, your water, your gas, your electric, food and clothes for the kids, bus fares. M ost of the lads in N ova leave school, get jo bs through the local paper, and then think 'fuck that'. A n d y , an 18-year-old m a n from Hillcrest, N o v a 's n eighbou ring estate, started with m e and left after two m o nths to w o rk in a restaurant. N oel was also 18 and from the other side of Ford and left to w o rk in an electrical store. T he induction group I belonged to w as m ad e up of older m en and w o m e n , usually over 40, and y ou ng adults the sam e age as N oel and A ndy. A lm o st all of the older people obtained jobs as checkout operators while you ng people w ere allocated to d ep artm ents on the s u p e rm ark et floor. A decidin g factor in why N oel and A n dy left was that they w ere both treated terribly by supervisors. They never told me them selves, though the counter w h ere I w orked faced their departm ents. Both w ere constantly verbally abused and intim idated and I was pleased for both w h en they told m e they had found other jobs.

You g o t no hopes: w o rk in g on w o r k fa r e Even though Carol never said it openly, w hen she suggested at the start of m y fieldw ork that I should w o rk at A n d e rs o n 's she knew I would see at first hand how such industries sustain the e con om ic uncertain ties Jay described. Talking about the Project and its value, Carol said that w h en it closed, the only place left to go w as 'the Pub'. M any of the young p eople I met w orked together b ecause service industries within G e m ini Park provided no e co n o m ic future. Carol identified how the Pub acted as an inform al s elf-em p lo y m en t centre, albeit a very d a n gerou s one (see W hy te, 1945). T he Pub w as d em olished with the old s hopp ing arcade during m y fieldwork, though N o v a 's rem aining public house, The Ced ars, continued as an informal e conom y . Steve described the Pub: Steve: Y eah, the Pub was the m ag net, if you go up the Pub and there's nothin' goin on then a lad will com e in and say do ya w an na w ork this. 12 6

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RM: So m eo n e will get them and bring them in and then so m e o n e else will w o rk them? Steve: Y eah, that's it. O r there's people who will go out and nick 'em then w o rk 'e m [obtain goods by deception] them selves b u t I just think that's piggery. RM: And like w h en y ou 're doin' it can you m ak e m o n ey every d ay or is there like good days and bad days? Steve: Yeah course there is. T h e y 're fu ckin' good m o nths and bad m onths. T h e re 's fuckin' right shit m onths. I m ean you can go a m onth w ithout earnin' any m o n ey , it's fuckin' chaos. G em ini Park, along with com panies such as A n d e rso n 's, was intended to provide a stable eco n o m y to enable residents to revitalise Nova follow ing the recession of the early 1980s: big superstores would provide jobs and investm ent from the con su m e rs and ancillary b usin esses who w o uld , in theory, be attracted to m ove into the area. D uring my fieldwork, A n d e rs o n 's was one of the biggest local em p loyers alongsid e a n u m be r of large electrical, D1Y and furniture stores that circled G e m ini Park. G e m ini Park itself w as actu ally split into two areas, one part containing a n o n y m o u s offices, the other a large retail park. Carol had watched these industries rise along Ford 's border. T h r o u g h ­ out the 1980s and early 1990s, N ov a and m a n y other socially deprived urban regio ns w ere subjected to private property based regeneratio n initiatives (see Foster, 1999). S uccessive conservative g ov ern m e n ts in Britain and the United States believed private or corporate projects would 'trickle d o w n ' resources to depriv ed urban com m unities. A m on g residents I spoke to, m a n y believed com p an ie s such as A n d e rso n 's had deliberately exploited an already poor com m unity .

U r b a n re g e n e r a tio n T h ro u g h o u t the 1980s and early 1990s g ov ern m e n ts had been forced to m inim ise social services at a point w h en society itself w as collapsing into the e con om ic fissure globalisation had made. As stated above, g o v e r n ­ m ents, influenced by w hat ca m e to be k n o w n as the 'A m erican M o d e l' of urban regeneration, believed the private d ev elop m en ts would g e n er­ ate profits that would 'trickle d o w n ' into deprived com m unities. D uring the 1980s, in Europe and the United States, a series of urban regeneratio n sch e m es em erg ed such as m u seu m , leisure and sports com plexes, b usiness and retail parks (Fainstein and G ladeston e, 1997). In cities such as L ond on, B irm ingham and M anch ester, initiatives w ere often p u rp o s e ­ ly built on the foundations of dem olished m anu fa ctu ring w orks (see G id d ens, 1990; Lash and Urry 1994; Taylor, Evans and Fraser 1996; Foster, 1999). The 'A m erican m o d el' was clearly realised in Lond on, 127

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w h ere the D ockland s area was transform ed into an affluent area through the construction of a central financial district and luxury a partm en ts (see Foster, 1999). W ithin Britain during the 1980s, the 'A m erican m o d el' of urban regeneration cam e to be replicated in cities such as B irm ingh a m , G la sg o w and M anch ester, though with differential success (see Fainstein and G ladeston e, 1997). Several to w ns and cities local to Ford surviv ed de-industrialisation th rough tourism. O ften, how ever, these areas were p o pular tourist destinations befo re de-industrialisation. Cities such as Y ork, L ancaster and O xford, for instance, were already ad vantaged in being situated in a sem i-rural en v iron m en t (see Lash and Urry, 1994). Ford, how ever, is a big post-in dustrial city. M a n y of the w o rk ers in the city's high-tech industries chose to live far aw a y from areas such as N ova and, as a result, did little in term s of inward investm ent. Bordering N ova, G e m ini Park contains elem ents of the 'A m erican m o d e l', in its design and in the way com p an ie s can lease industrial or retail units. A n other feature of private property-led urban regeneratio n sch e m es was that industries w ere often divided b etw een high-tech and service-led. E m p lo y m e n t opportunities in G em ini Park w ere divided b etw een highly skilled specialist industries and a string of superstores (see Sassen, 1997). Y ou n g people described being restricted to service-sector jobs b ecau se of the negative association local em ployers had a b ou t Nova. A survey carried out by Ford City Council found that only a third of those living in N ov a w ere in full-time e m p lo y m e n t on an estate originally built to hou se m anu factu ring workers. Just over half the m en w ere w o rk ing (53 per cent) while few er than half of w o m e n w ere in w o rk (48 per cent). Overall, 16 per cent w ere u n em p lo y ed , while the study found a further 6 per cent were un em p lo y ed and not registered. In her ow n research on the op portunities that service industries provide c o m m u n ities adversely affected by de-in dustrialisation, Patsy H ealy (1997: 267) describes initiatives such as G e m in i Park as 'job-less gro w th'. Job-less grow th has also been a gro w ing trend over the past two decades, helped by the 'elimination of the h u m a n ' w o rk e r through ad vances in production technology (see K u m ar, 1984). A n oth e r trend in urban red ev elop m en ts has been the w a y their insertion into regional econom ies divides the w o rk ing population b etw een 'core' high-paid jobs and tem porary, m enial, low-paid positions. P eople restricted to serviceindustry jobs often face greater insecurities: M cK n ig h t (2002) found that low-paid work has increased in the last 25 years and the relative earnings of low-paid w orkers have fallen significantly. In addition, low-paid jobs are now m u ch m o re insecure than higher-paid jobs. Tracking individuals over time, M cK n ig h t (1998) found that low-paid w o rk ers are m ore likely to go on to experien ce u n e m p lo y m e n t or periods out of the labour m ark et than higher-paid workers. M an y you ng people described this process of being continu ou sly em ployed in different positions for years and, for older you ng adults, decades. 128

Education

Within private property-led urban regeneration schemes it was felt that employees in high-tech industries would bring wealth that would trickle down to the local community. In addition, service industries that prospered on cheap land rates and low wage costs would feed money back into the community. The difficulties people living in Nova had in attracting a sponsor to redevelop the arcade demonstrated how major retail industries only thought in profit terms (see Foster, 1999). Following the completion of Gemini Park, local services and the local council gained little from the redevelopm ent of the local area or economy. Faced with continuing deprivation, which I describe in the following chapter, N ova's residents had to rely on one another to regenerate the area. Even though that meant changes were reflective of local people's needs, it also meant change was a long, slow, difficult process.

T h e w o rk fa re carousel Janet Foster's (1999) study on the regeneration of Docklands identifies how Canary W harf did little for local people except create a feeling of exclusion and powerlessness. In Gemini Park, Carol describes how initiatives such as Anderson's did little for individual residents or the com munity as a whole. Local residents were unable to appropriate their own space, even though Gemini Park provided local people with a constant source of jobs, because the economy itself was organised by the principle of workfare. Even though com panies such as Anderson's provided incomes less than state benefits, young people I met who never had full-time permanent jobs were required to work there. Every young person I met, with the exception of Hannah, was subject to the workfare initiatives implemented at Ford's local benefit offices. These included frequent and mandatory interviews, work placements and vocational courses designed to eradicate 'dependency' and instil a sense of self-sufficiency. Bob Jessop (1990) describes this process as part of the 'hollowing out' of the welfare state, whereby government is no longer able to fund adequate employm ent training such as the apprenticeship Linden gained at Weston's. In its place was workfare, summed up by John Lea (2002: 98-101): 'The workfare state is aimed at guaranteeing labour flexibility, creating an attractive "business environm ent" through vocational training, removal of restrictions on land use etc. rather than guaranteeing universalistic social rights and involves a shift to vocational training, innovation.' As I described in previous chapters, the re-creation of Nova into a workfare regional econom y resulted in the dialectic of exclusion which young people characterised as 'the life'. Not only were opportunities in the local economy prescribed to m inim um -w age temporary jobs, the stigma surrounding all young people living in Nova resulted in the 129

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destruction of initiatives such as the Project. Also destroyed by w orkfare was the value of work itself as a m eans of enablin g you ng people to live a life free from poverty. N o n e of the you ng people I m et worked at com p an ie s such as A n d e rs o n 's becau se, as I describe b elow , being there only subtracted the faith and hope you ng people had in themselv es. The Project was closed b ecause its success contradicted the a ssum p tion that N o v a 's y outh were inherently lazy, susceptible to crim e and drug abuse. M y ow n experience of the Project was that it allow ed people to appropriate their ow n lives and helped m ak e N ova safer for everyone. G oing to the Project, I saw how you ng people were being given help and support from staff and older residents. T he Project w as also a place w h ere you ng people w ere treated with respect, a process that allowed each person to d evelop their ow n self-respect. T he problem was that both could not be m easured . W h a t followed w as a year-long battle b etw een external agencies such as Youth C oncern and com m u n ity organisations trying to build a centre as representativ e and inclusive as the fo rm er Project. The c om pletion of a new Precinct and G a te w a y s and the eventual appropriation of both into the c o m m u n ity w ere events I never foresaw. This was partly a reflection of my ow n grounded approach (see Glaser and Strauss, 1967); I knew the Project was there as a co m m u n ity project. I re m e m b er it starting as a Job Shop in the m id -1980s w h en I used to tear around the Precinct as a child, looking in the w ind ow and w ond ering w h y m iddle-aged m en and w o m e n w ould sit talking in w h a t looked like an em pty shop. D uring m y fieldwork, the closure of the Project seem ed like a further erosion of N o v a 's social spaces. T he events taking place at the time of m y fieldw ork were alm ost as m uch of a shock to m e as they un do ub tedly w ere for the y o u n g people w ho had invested their hearts and souls in the Project. O ne afternoon at the Project at the end of S eptem ber, a representativ e from Youth Concern cam e in and described how G a te w a y s would provide p ro g ra m m e s and professional guid ance for you ng people who w ere un em p lo y ed or in tem porary work. At the m eeting, Tracy and Catherine, w h o w ere the only you ng people present, looked pessimistic. T h e y had a right to be: up until then Sean had kept a flame of hope alive - that fu nding m ight be obtained to enable every one to relocate to another buildin g. Stan and other people involved with the N ova Centre had also talked of creating an initiative w h ere local people could take their ow n steps to achieve a p erm a nent job. At the time, when the representative cam e in to describe G atew a y s, it seem ed as if yet another local resource had fallen prey to the hostile outside world. After the m eeting, Tracy told me she would not be going because, 'it would be just full of m iddle-class do-g o od ers'. O v e r the s u b seq u ent m o nths, the closure of the Project and the creation of G a te w a ys only seem ed to fulfil ev e ryon e 's worst fears. 130

Education

B een h e re b e fo re : re p a c k a g in g th e P ro je c t M any were suspicious as to whether Gateways would make a difference. When it opened, just as the Project was closing, Gateways had a very professional, business-like atmosphere completely antithetical to the homely, lived-in feel of the Project. Compared with the courses being advertised at Gateways' official opening, at the Project Sean structured each day in relation to the collective mood young people seem to express. Living in Nova himself and running activities for under-16s at the Nova Centre meant that Sean knew many of the problems young people experienced. Sean's strategy was inductive, letting young people look for work and providing advice if asked. He never told people what to do and insisted people who worked at the Project do the same. This was why the organisers' description of the Gateway's 'new' strategy came as such a disappointment to everyone. Tracy said after the meeting, 'it sounds like being back at school'. Som e older young adults such as Martin and Clive, Linden's older brother, enrolled on courses. Most of the young people I met at the Project had endured years of stigma at school through living in Nova, though only older young adults such as Linden, Montana, Martin and Cliff seemed more able to cope with the feelings of negativity generated in that process. There also seemed to be a correlation between continuous interference and the consolidation of young people's sense of community. After years of successive initiatives, many of the older young men and women I met had gradually disengaged simply to defend their own sense of self-identity. During those sum m er months at the Project, Sean explained how the problem was bad jobs, not a lack of them. Another frustration was the way education remained a potential way out of this economy, once Nova had a local initiative where residents could build their own skills portfolio. Throughout Ford, resources for adult education were extreme­ ly good. Time and money are often the greatest barriers to accessing it. Ford's transport system connects the entire city, yet Ford remains a sprawling conurbation and getting from one area to the next requires two buses. Day-saver tickets were purchasable, though journeys would still cost a minimum of £1 per day. Ricky at the Project told me how hard it is to keep up a job, "s p e cia lly without no transport. If I had transport it would be easier to get a job.' Fate has it that most of Ford's adult education facilities remain on the other side of the city. And for residents working in Gemini Park the barriers to education were even greater: people I met at Anderson's who lived in Nova usually worked at night or on split shifts, meaning that no one had a fixed free day every week. W hen the Gateways opened, it only seemed to highlight the gulf betw een a subjective experience of exclusion and its objective classifica­ tion by outsiders. Gateways was originally intended as a conference

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facility to attract busin ess to the area, e choing the trickle-dow n philos­ op hy of the 1980s and 1990s. At a series of events the focus on job opportunities, articulated in a largely external language of busin ess potential and training, only seemed to accentuate you ng adults' feelings of in ad eq uacy and low self-esteem. On the op ening day of G a tew ay s, M athew (a y outh w o rk er at the Project) and I w ere invited to attend by representatives from Youth Concern. W e w ere also asked if we could recru it you ng people from the Project. W e both asked Slim and Jason if they would like to com e along. A p art from Carol and som e m e m b ers of the N ov a Centre com m ittee, m a n y of the people present w ere representative of external ag encies. All fo ur of us, w ho w ere dressed casually, confessed to feeling scruffy am o n g the professional a ssem blage. Jason and S lim 's suspicio ns were com p ou nd ed by the fact that several present were teachers from G reaves s eco nd ary school.

B e h in d th e scenes D uring the final w eeks of the Project, Stan invited m e to sit on the N ova Centre C o m m ittee. There I m et co m m ittee m e m b ers, inclu ding T om , the director of finance: tall, slim and, like Stan, alw ays im peccably dressed. I also met June, the N ova C e n tre's events organiser. Ju ne was y ou ng er than Stan and T om , in her late 40s, and m o re concerned with feeling com fortable in her jogging suit. Finally, there w as Hilda, the chair of the com m ittee. A long with Tom and Stan, Hilda was alw ays formally dressed. E very one I m et at the N ova C entre lived in N ova and m any people had been on the com m ittee since the Centre opened in the early 1950s. Sitting in on com m ittee m eetings w as such a different experience com pared with the liaison process that spelled the final w eeks of the Project. C o m m itte e m eetings seemed to be characterised by a shared subjectivity built around people ju st listening to one another; a world aw ay from the charts and targets spelled out by outside agencies. Talking with Ju ne, Hilda and T om about the closure of the Project, all knew its end would only mean greater difficulties for you ng people throughout N ova. Even though it was never said, m e m b ers also knew that it would be im possible to gain outside supp ort to create a centre that would be representative of w hat you ng people w anted. O ld er residents had w orked with the city council and then the a gencies created by the privatisation of w elfare services during the 1980s. N evertheless, residents groups w ere able to eventually gain ow nership of G atew a ys, through a co nv erg ence of events that no one could have planned or predicted (see C h ap te r 6). N either could I. M y own interpretation of events at that time was coloured by the closure of the Project, and I, like m any you ng people w ho w e n t there, was pessim istic w h en I witnessed the facility open. 132

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G rad u ally the c o m m ittee and other local c o m m u n ity groups w ere able to realise a place w h ere local people would not feel like objects of suspicion just for living in N ova. Tod ay G a te w a y s offers courses that enable local people to break free from the cycle of te m porary low-paid jobs and incom e support. Som e of the you ng people w h o w ent to the Project have com pleted courses there. G a te w a y s does the best it can to offer a safe social space w h ere y ou ng people can be them selves, though the Centre was a lw ay s intended as a training facility. T he sense of peace that filled w h at had originally been an ab ando ned shop seem s to have b een lost, though at the time, several you ng people described a feeling of b oredo m in relation to the Project. Jim m y and Jason, along with som e other you ng people, referred to the facility as 'the Doss Shop '.

M a k in g h is to ry T he transform ation of G a te w a y s into a facility representative of local p eople's experiences w as d o w n to the k no w le d g e and d eterm ination of Carol, w h o I m et at the very start of my fieldwork. Y ou ng, tall, and com pletely dow n to earth, Carol had the sam e intuitive connection with N ov a as m e m b e r s of the com m ittee. G ro w in g up in the area and attending G re ave s second ary school gave Carol a history and experience of N ova. I met C arol w h en G a te w ay s was in the final stages of construction and asked if I could cond u ct part of m y study there. I said I had started going to the Project, and Carol told m e that that would be the best place to get to k now you ng people w ho lived in N ova. Carol said I should b eco m e part of the furniture. At the time, I took the co m m e n t as a m e tapho r for the approach I should take. Looking back, the phrase encapsulates the em be d d ed natu re of N ov a as a com m unity. R ay m on d W illiam s (1980) conceived the idea of a 'structu re of feeling' to describe how individuals organise their lives as a com m unity . W illiam s (1980: 24) w as a lw ay s critical of the w ork of Victorian historians, in the w ay they tried to ro m anticise history as an evolutionary process of w inners and losers. G ro w in g up in a m ining village in W ales, W illiam s' (1989) experience of history was the history of his com m unity : a cyclical feeling of social unity. The Project was a safe place w h ere people could share com m on experiences that transcended age, gender and ethnicity. T w o regulars at the Project w ere Ralp h, approaching 50, and his d au g h ter Mirabell, nearly five. O n e s unn y afternoon M irabell was playing pool standin g on a plastic chair to enable her to see the balls w'hile holding the cue, which was bigger than she was. Technically, no one un d er 16 w as allow ed in the Project though so m e people, usually very close to Sean, were allowed to bring in their children. M irabell had just left nursery and was w aiting to attend prim ary school in S eptem ber. W h e n I arrived that afternoon, 133

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she lifted her head, gave m e a d em onic grin, and d em an d e d that I play. I attempted to do so, though the fact that she could not even conn ect the cue tip with the cue ball ensured that the ga m e was short-lived. As we played, Ralp h was in the b ack room chatting with Sean. Ralph was a short, thin m an with strong forearm s and cropped red hair. Like m any of N o v a 's first generation, Ralph had com e from another country. M any you ng adults I m et had rarely been outside N ov a and during afternoons you ng men and w o m e n listened to Ralph describe his experiences. Ralph testified to the strong oral tradition contained within N o v a 's spirit of com m u n ity , passed from N o v a 's first generatio n to a third, and the Project and the N o v a Centre m a d e that arch possible.

T h e B re a k fa s t C lu b To understand the im portance of the Project, it needs to be seen alongside the other social structures that b ound N o v a 's com m u n ity , and the times they occurred. For m a n y people w ho w ent to the Project, you ng, old and staff m e m b ers, the day began at the Breakfast Club. Like the Project, the tables and chairs were basic, like those in a classroom. B ecause the Breakfast Club w as held in the main hall, it had to be a tem po rary affair. At noon, all the tables and chairs w ere cleared aw ay to m ak e room for other activities. Despite its makeshift a p p e a r­ ance, the Breakfast Club had real social perm anence. The room itself, the size of a theatre aud itoriu m , was alw ays very quiet in the m ornin g. P eople's conversations seemed to ascend into the high ceiling, along with the smell of the boiled milk, hot tea, eggs, baked beans and sausages w arm in g on the griddle. T o w e r s of cu ps and old sw eet jars full of sugar and coffee adorned the shelv es behind the breakfast counter. Residents of all ages went to the Centre for breakfast though the a tm o sp h e re was alw ay s quiet, alm o st respectful. Its alm ost som b re quality possibly reflected the fact that older residents decided how the Centre was run. T he Breakfast Club w as also the N ov a C entre's stalwart facility and reflected how N o v a 's first generatio n prevailed in the general running of m a n y local initiatives on the estate. Lin den him self had worked at the N ov a Centre and his description su m m ed up the eternal struggle b etw een youth and maturity: Y eah, I used to do co m m u n ity service in the N ova Centre, cookin' breakfasts. But I fu cked that up for every one else. I used to have lads com e up from the Pub, givin' out breakfasts for 2p, l p , anythin'. M y supervisor from co m m u n ity service cam e out to check on me. And she com e out one day and said 'look L ind en you'll have to go back to the unit 'c au se your friends are cornin' dow n too often'. I said 'look, I've never ever d one g ard enin', I'm not d iggin' gard ens'. They 134

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said 'O kay, w e 'v e got one other job for ya. But please b ehave.' They put m e d ow n the nursery. And I 'ad to paint the fence, like a white railin' outside it and I 'ad to paint the white railin'. So w hat I used to do is. I used to bring my car d o w n , do a bit of paintin', sit in my car and listen to som e m usic, burn a spliff. Then one day I was sm ok in ' a spliff in m y car and I crashed out. Bang, bang, bang on the w in d ow ; it was the w o m a n from the nursery, 'right, get back to the unit you'. G oing for b reakfast at the Centre every day encapsulated the value of N o v a 's public culture w h en it w as harnessed in initiatives that re p re sen ­ ted residents' needs. That time b etw een 9 a.m. and m id day, contained within the C e n tre's main hall seem ed to define w h a t you ng people referred to as being 'born and b red ' in N ova. Stan, who worked on the co m m ittee at the Nova Centre, told m e he w ent to the Breakfast Club 'to start the day'. Lin den said the Breakfast Club w as a good place to go for 'a feed', an expressio n that only underlined how the next meal was as uncertain as life itself. Sean also said it w ould be a good place to meet people and enjoy the 'great toast'. T he Breakfast Club was inevitably m o re p o pular in the winter m o nths and Linden took m e one cold D ece m b e r m o rnin g after the Project had closed. That day w e had planned to go into Ford city centre. Lin den had phoned an e m p lo y m e n t agency advertising an engineering job at a factory 30 m iles from Ford. Before w e set off, Linden said he w anted to get som e 'b rekky' (breakfast) at the N ova Centre. I had hoped to stay though Linden 'w o u ld n 't be seen dead in there'. Linden said he often w ent there for b reakfast though he rarely stayed. As I describe below , Linden, along with other y ou n g people w ho go to the Breakfast Club, often display an e m b a rrassm en t in going there. Even though Nova is such a strong com m u n ity , b ound through the Project and the N ov a Centre, the pull of youth culture m ea nt that the Breakfast Club was perceived as boring. W e parked directly in front of the build in g. There are usually only one or two cars outside as so few people have cars in N ova. As w e got out, Linden strode in. E veryone know s Lin den and w h en we walked into the m ain hall, three w o m e n serving breakfast behind the cou nter all beam ed when he entered. M iriam , d em u re though strong, in her late 30s, puts both hand s on the counter. 'Y es M r Davis, w h at can I get you ?' Linden grinned at the fo rmality and asked if he could have a full English breakfast cra m m ed into a bun. W e had arrived just befo re the Breakfast Club officially closed: M iriam , Helen, in her 20s and with the appearance o f a s uperm od el, and Vera, nearing 40, slim and small, all agree to m ake an exception. W h ile the breakfast w as cooking, we sat with other cu stom ers finishing b reakfast and chatted in the big auditorium . As we sat, the elders would politely chew their breakfasts while talking. 135

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Y o u n g er fam ily m e m b e r s seem ed m o re relaxed: spoon-feeding or placating little infants. Despite the im provised s urrou nding s, a sense of co m m u n ity permeated the air. Like the Breakfast Club, at the Project older residents provided guid ance and protection for y ou ng people. Unlike the Project, w o m e n m anag ed and ran m ost events and facilities at the N ova Centre. O ne could say these facilities were the m u nicipal parents of N o v a 's young adult population, though only b ecau se y ou ng people them selv es resp ect­ ed the workers at both. In her study of the transform atio n of L o n d o n 's D ock land s, originally a w o rking-class c o m m u n ity in the sou theast of the city, Janet Foster (1999: 22) describes how 'the m atriarchal fam ily structure was central in the creation and m ain ten an ce of kinship and neig hb ou rhoo d netw orks, especially in the first half of the twentieth century'. Studies by G ans (1967), Rex and M o o re (1967) and, m ore recently, R obert Putnam (2000), all point to the im portance of kinship netw o rk s in com m u nity. S om etim es, how ever, there is a te ndency in co m m u n ity studies to ro m anticise w h at can be a cruel and coercive experien ce (see Pahl, 2000). Even though both g enerations in N ov a w ere able to live as a com m u n ity , there w ere still tensions b etw een young people and their elders. Often that stem m ed from the stigma s u r ro u n d ­ ing you ng people outside Nova.

D e m o n is in g c o m m u n ity T h ro u g h o u t C rim e, Youth and E xclu sion , I have argued that m odern British society is a social m ainstream con su m in g itself, including those groups forced to surviv e as c o m m u n ities on its b oundaries. N ova rem ains a co m m u n ity becau se it is structured in relation to the concern people have for one another instead of through consu m ption. People's concern for one another is not inherent to being born and g ro w ing up in N ova, b ut part of being hu m an. Attending G reaves second ary school during the 1980s, C arol saw w h at h appened to N o v a 's co m m u n ity when hu nd red s of residents w ere m ad e un em p lo y ed by de-industrialisation. C arol was m oved to create G a te w a y s as a place for local people through her ow n experiences with the com m u nity. I also feel that writing this study was part of a sim ilar process, though that w as never my intention from the outset. The philosopher H e id e g g er (1927) described hu m an existence as 'being in the w orld': we b eco m e h u m an beings through the concern we feel for one another. Y ou ng people living in N ova personified H e id e g ­ ger's (1927) definition o f being hu m an; every one described their ow n experience as 'born and b red ' and 'part of N ov a'. In addition, that feeling w as inscribed into N o v a 's social spaces, inclu ding the Project, the Nova C entre and eventually G a te w a y s (see C h apter 2). Even in terrible 13 6

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situations such as fam ine and war, people have alw ays m a d e objects with w h at is at hand that reflect their relatio nship with the social world. C u lture is the expressio n of our desire to be in the world, imprinted on it to give us hope in the future. The late p sychologist Irving Goffm an (1967) described the concern w e feel for one another as hu m a n nature. Goffman (1967: 42) identified how as a purely e m otional response, 'h u m a n nature is not a very hu m an thing'. Even tho ug h w e all feel a concern for one another, Goffm an (1967) described how that concern needs a space to be expressed. N ova is a place that contains such spaces, w h ere people faced with daily poverty express a concern for one another. Yet, the Project was forced to close becau se it seem ed to re present an u n k n o w ab le com m u nity . The next chapter identifies the function of stigm atising poor com m u n ities in a co n s u m e r society.

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C h ap ter 6

Com m unity

During the two years after Gateways opened, Carol and representatives of the Assembly - an amalgamation of local community groups - were able to gain managerial control. In contrast to the corporate atmosphere that pervaded the building when it opened, Gateways now reflects people's experience and provides a framework through which people can gain control of their own lives. Gateways is also a place where people can gain skills and training according to their own design and not one imposed by outsider agencies. This chapter describes the change in society that made Gateways possible and why the stigma surrounding the people of Nova remains. In 1997, the Labour Party was elected to government, ending 18 years of Conservative rule, and here I want to describe the gains achieved by people living in Nova during that period. I also describe how the sense of optimism that characterised the end of the twentieth century was swept away by new fears concerning global terrorism. C rim e, Youth and Exclusion ends by show ing how people living in Nova continue to be stigmatised by images superimposed on the area by outsiders. Establish­ ing the similarities between the 'war on terror' and public attitudes concerning 'youth crime', I show how objectifying human subjectivity continues to free us from the concern we used to feel for one another.

Living w ith p o v e rty None of the young people I met in Nova had the opportunity to move away from the streets that made up 'the Precinct'. Despite the success of initiatives such as Gateways and the regeneration of the arcade, the living conditions young people have to endure remain abject. During my fieldwork, Linden identified the changes needed to improve the public 138

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culture of the Precinct: 'Better-quality jobs; fix up the area a bit. 'A v e you seen the state o f the Precinct? It's fu ckin' terrible, that just depresses people even m ore.' M o st you ng people I m e t could only afford s eco nd -hand dilapidated furniture, usually obtained th rough a co-op run by the local council. All y o u n g people could afford was the end-of-theline sp ortsw ear available at local d iscou nt shops and even though m any prided them selv es in their appearance, the d urability of garm ents was usually poor. Poverty also affected p e o p le 's nutrition: fresh fruit and vegetables were too expensive and all you ng people could afford were b iscuits or other cheap processed foods. B ecause the nutritional content of these products is so bad, I noticed at the Project that you ng people would have to eat them all the time. The success of Jam ie O liver's (2005) 'Feed M e Better' school dinners cam paig n highlights how you ng people are saturated by the c o n su m e r society; also, how the con se q u e n ces of poor nutrition go unnoticed. M aintainin g appearance and eating regularly gives the im pression that poverty w as not a reality, even though young people w e ar and eat the b y -produ cts of a c o n su m e r society. In debates on relative deprivation, one arg u m e n t is that people living in poverty should w ork to afford items such as cookers and fridges (see T o w n sen d , 1979). W h y y ou ng people w ere never able to afford these com m od itie s relates directly to the local c o n su m e r e conom y. E m ployers provided incom es that barely allow ed people living in N o v a 's social housing to feed them selves, let alone m aintain a hom e. Therefore, unless you ng adults could afford to pay cash for c o n s u m e r durables, individuals w ere left with second -hand m achines, w hich w ere often d an g erou s and prone to b rea k d o w n . D uring my fieldwork, the nearest laundrette w as over five m iles away: s om etim es I took people w ho could afford to go. The final alternative, w hich 1 witnessed several times, was w a shing clothes in a sink or bath. In terms of food, the cost of fresh m eat and vegetables and the gas and electricity for cooking was often b eyond p e o p le 's m eans. At a c o m m u n ity level, these realities d eterm ined the few retail ou tlets in N ova; the three fast-food outlets were alw ays busy, as was the post office and two new sa ge n ts w ho sold gas, electricity (in cards), sweets, and basics such as bread, butter and milk. Even though G e m in i Park was a relatively short distance aw ay , lack of time and transport w ere practical barriers. In addition, m any people seem ed re lu ctant to enter this exclusive space: som e of the y ou ng people I m et at the Project and through Linden explained that they had been barred from A n d e rso n 's and so m e of the other big retail stores in G e m in i Park. Yet, despite the conditions I w itnessed y o u n g people forced to endure, everyone shared a feeling o f identity and b elonging with N ova. Talking about living in N ova, m any y ou ng people described how 'it's part of me' even though so few have any m aterial possessions. R ob bie's story show s w h at hap p e n s w h en yo u n g people could no longer hold onto N o v a's 139

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public culture of com m u nity. A s D am on rightly identified in his analysis o f 'the life', 'there is no alternative, people would be lying if they said there was'. C h apter 1 described how 'the life' of exclusion grew from the stigm a im posed by F ord's c o n su m e r society. Jim m y described how the infection process b eg an the m o m en t you ng people stepped outside of N ov a at eleven to attend seco nd ary school; R ob bie's story testified how the sed u ctions of c o n s u m e r culture could erode young people's selfrespect. Losin g control of 'the life' not only left you ng people exposed to being objectified by outsid ers, individuals also re presented the death of com m unity .

S tig m a tis in g p o o r p e o p le Y o u n g p eople's strong sense of c o m m u n ity could be interpreted as a solution to exclusion. In line with recent political d ebates on social capital, described in the fo llow ing chapter, you ng people appeared to hold the capacity for innovation and re sourcefulness yet chose to act in purely self-interested ways. For m a n y leading policy-m akers, social capital is a strategy that can enable com m u n ities to d evelop and integrate into the w id er e co n o m ic and social structure (see Putnam , 2000). Success, how ever, only seem s possible a m o n g com m u n ities free from the dialectic of exclusion that you ng people in N ova described (see Fine, 2001; Pahl, 2000). T he d r u g / c r i m e nexus, w h ich con su m e d Robbie and L eander, w as driven by the stigma associated with a po or c o m m u ­ nity. Life rem ains chaotic in Nova b ecau se young people continue to be consigned to the m erry -g o-round of tem po rary insecure jobs that characterise G em ini Park. The im pression w e have of these industries is that they provide a relatively risk-free w o rk ing environm ent. H ow ever, you ng people I spoke to described how w o rk ing within those industries m e an s living in a world of anxiety and poverty, of being paid m inim um w ag es and rarely seeing prom otion. As D am on described , 'T hat's why I left the last job, by the time I'd paid the bills and b o u g h t food I 'ad nothin' left. It's like I said befo re, I can earn m o re m o n ey w o rk in ' for m yself.' A dded to that w ere accounts and my ow n participant o b s erv a ­ tions of the physical abuse and exploitation of you ng people by store m an a g e rs within G em ini Park. E m ployed in those industries or trying to surviv e outside of them, either way y ou ng people from N ova were perceived as m alev olen t to w ard s the rest of society (Baudrillard, 1988). G a te w a y s was only m a d e possible w h en that cycle w as halted by a change in the wTay society - all of us - perceives itself. Society exists as a relatio nship betw een people w ho choose to live subject to the concern each feels for one another. In the next chapter, I describe how the sense of shared subjectivity, w hich characterised industrialisatio n, gradually declined after the Second W orld W ar, when majority populations in 140

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E uro pe and North A m erica beca m e seduced by a co n s u m e r lifestyle. In C h ap te r 1, I described how a co n s u m e r society w as only possible through the creation of a sim ulated landscape; and how com m unication technologies enabled people to play out a co n s u m e r lifestyle within them. T echnolog y creates a distance b etw een ou rselves and the world around us; this is characterised by the current 'w ar on terror', as I illustrate below. Before 2001, how ever, and during and shortly after the year I spent with you ng people living in N ova, there was a grow ing concern that a global c o n su m e r society was steadily destroying people's ability to connect socially with others.

C h a n g in g tim e s T o w a rd s the end of the last m illenniu m , it seemed that people w ho had previously enjoyed a co n s u m e r lifestyle were b eg inning to a ck now led g e how the global co n s u m e r e con om y was end ang ering ev e ry on e 's future. T he 1990s a p pear to have been the w arm e st decad e of the tw entieth century, and 1998 the w a rm e st year. A ccord ing to the United N ations (2005), 'the principal reason for the m o unting th e rm o m e ter is a century and a half of industrialisation: the b urning of ever-greater quantities of oil, gasoline, and coal, the cutting of forests, and certain farm ing m etho d s'. In 1997, the Kyoto A g ree m e n t was signed by d ev eloped and d e v e lo p ­ ing nations across the w orld, legally binding countries to reduce pollution. C o n ce rn s about the pred atory nature of globalisation defined the W orld Trad e O rganisation s u m m it in Seattle. T he s u m m it's main objectives w ere to relax trade laws so that d ev eloping countries could com pete against large m ultinational corporations. Shortly before the su m m it, Stephen Byers (1999), the UK trade secretary, insisted the best w ay to tackle inequality in the world rem ained trade liberalisation: W e believe the best w ay of d oing that is giving those countries access to the m arkets o f the rich industrialised counties. W e're sayin g that essentially all goods com ing from those 49 least d eveloped countries will have access to the E u ro pean Union with no duties being im posed , giving them access to a m ark et of 370 million people - a radical change that will begin to lift those countries out of poverty, m eaning they w o n 't have to resort to child labour. Yet agre em en t betw een participating states was never reached as the su m m it itself was postponed after d em onstration s in Seattle turned to riots. Seattle suffered m o re than $2.5 million in d am ag e and m o re than 500 protesters w ere arrested. Su rrou n d in g the s u m m it both in Seattle and across the world w as a g ro w ing public resentm ent concerning the 141

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relationship between the major industrial nations and global corpor­ ations. Many believed that change would never be possible through the World Trade Organisation and the sum mit became the epicentre for worldwide protests. Thousands of protesters claimed victory as the World Trade Organisation failed to reach an agreement in Seattle. They included environmentalists, anarchists, union members and lobbyists from non-governmental organisations. In the UK, the feeling that the consumer society of the 1980s was socially regressive seemed to precipitate the election of a New Labour government. Central to the new administration's mandate was the principle that everyone should have a stake in society. Drawing on the idea of social capital, Labour's concept of a stakeholder society follows that not only do people have a sense of responsibility to one another but also that working together, society itself can be improved. The idea of a stakeholder society and its influence on urban regeneration policy was the context that made Gateways possible.

T h in k in g a b o u t society The policy, in contrast to the centralised corporate approach of the past, contained a belief that people living in deprived areas were the best placed to resolve the conditions residents have to face. Bringing Britain Together (Social Exclusion Unit, 1998) describes how, in the past, 'Too much has been imposed from above, when experience shows that success depends on communities themselves having the power and taking the responsibility to make things better'. In Nova, Gateways is successful because residents were given the freedom to realise their own needs and aspirations. A more 'joined-up' approach also spelled less of a reliance on private property-led regeneration. City Challenge and the Single Regeneration Budget (SRB) are explicitly developed to allow a 'three-way partnership' between local authorities and representatives from the voluntary, business and public-sector agencies (Colenutt, 1999). C ommunity groups can apply for their own funding and if bids are successful, projects such as Gateways have been able to organise themselves under supervision of a neighbourhood 'supremo' (Social Exclusion Unit, 1998). At Gateways, Carol has realised this vision. W orking there as a volunteer, you could see that the centre is popular with local residents because everyone is given the freedom to choose what they want to learn. Carol became 'supremo' at Gateways though she never tries to impose on people in the way outside agencies used to. The Assembly also now has much more control over Gateways. Like the Nova Centre, Carol and the people who work there have been able to make it their own and Nova's. When Gateways opened, Sean along with many young people 142

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described feeling alienated by its professional corporate atm osphere. T od ay , G a te w a y s is com pletely different: colou r e very w here, banishing the hostile white space that defined the original centre. Carol and her staff of m ainly local you ng and older residents have also been able to buy and install com p u te rs for m an y of the classroom s. T he courses are also reflective of people's needs, as opposed to those of outside agencies. M a n y of the courses are related to work though there are also m any others that allow people to express them selv es. M o st of the supervision is, when possible, on a one-to-one basis. These sa m e principles have been applied to the new arcade, in which local residents have m o re of a say in w hat services are available and also m o re opportunities in w o rking there. The arcade is also m ixed -u se, ranging from public am enities to private busin ess. This m eans there is no pressure to spend: the design of the arcad e is people-friendly, com pared with m any s hopp ing centres, with no gaud y shop fronts hiding public am enities such as the library and m edical centre. Local residents, through the N ov a Centre com m ittee, also set up a netw ork of tw o-w ay radios that allow ed a system of surveillance that still allows people to feel at ease in the arcade. In G e m in i Park and m a n y other private retail parks, private security and surveillance camera operators are often advised to target specific categories of people, especially y ou ng adults. In N o v a 's arcade, y ou ng adults are free from categorical suspicion. Each facility has its ow n space, usually its ow n build in g, and each build in g sits at a different angle from the others. M alls and s hopp ing arcades usually follow a linear design, often for m ax im u m security and to prevent people from congregating. The use of escalators as a method of k eeping people m o ving from store to store is probably the extrem e exam ple. Being com posed in a m o re haphazard w a y and with plenty of spaces b etw een shops, people in N o v a 's new arcade face none of these restrictions. Despite trying to m ak e social spaces different from the them e-park world outside of N ova, G a te w ay s and the new arcade remain subject to the co n s u m e r society. T hat has a lw ays been the case since the start of the 1980s w h en G em ini Park was first built; each initiative created by local residents was squeezed out sim ply because being part of a c o m m u n ity re presented a contradiction to consu m erism .

F a ta l s tra te g ie s W h a t erod es N ov a as a co m m u n ity is the stigma of crime, im posed each day by Ford's co n s u m e r society. In times of e con om ic crisis, as C h apter 1 identified, the people of N ov a and the area itself w ere m arked as different, responsible for them selves, and gradually fenced off from the rest of Ford. For years, the old arcade encapsulated the exclusion of N ova. W h e n u n em p lo y m en t b eca m e an e n d uring reality, one by one 143

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local b usinesses vacated shops becau se people no longer had any m oney. Even though m an y stores w ere e m be d d ed in the life of the com m u nity , as private busin esses, ow ners w ere forced to find a m ore viable market. For N o v a 's residents this m eant that a once lively social centre was drained of m eaning. The old arcade had a hairdresser, a cafeteria, an optician, fish and chip shop and a bakery. These places w ere the contain ers for p eople's every d ay lives. W h e n store holders abandoned the arcade, for local people it was another sign of how N ov a as a co m m u n ity was an e xpend able e con om ic resource. As a result, the old arcade b eca m e an object of you ng people's frustration. Graffiti was an attem pt to reclaim N o v a 's original arcad e and inscribe on it people's feelings of ab a n d o n m e n t that the area itself seem ed to represent. W atching the old arcade being dem olished alongside local residents, I could sense a m ixture of relief and sadness. T h ro u g h o u t the 1980s and 1990s, the arcade b ec am e a daily rem in d er of being excluded. T he arcade was at the centre of N ova, situated like an oasis at the bottom of a deep vale. This m eant you could alw ays see it from m ost parts of the estate. N o w that is a good thing as the new arcade is lively, bustling and ch arm ing in its design. The old arcade looked like a derelict factory, filled with the echoes of N o v a 's e con om ic decline. For alm ost a d ecad e Ford's city council and local residents tried to gain b usin ess supp ort to build a new arcade. In that time, local residents formed g ro ups and associations that re presented the issues that stem from exclusion. Sean w as part of that process, form ing a table tennis club for local young people. Alan, a stocky young man w ho I m et at the Project, was a m e m b er. W h e n e v e r Alan and Sean played together, they would draw crow d s. H ow e ve r, Sean described how he constantly had p ro blem s finding a venu e for the club. The reason w as often the same reason w h y the Project closed. M o n ey was w ith d raw n becau se local initiatives, such as the Project, w ere said to be failing to meet their targets. Even though the Project's m a n a g e m e n t rarely entered N ova, representatives felt that its users were intransigent. Talk ing to re p re sen ­ tatives of initiatives such as Y ou th Co ncern (see C h a p te r 5), few appreciated the value of the Project as a place w h ere you ng people could negotiate w hat seem ed like an intractable experience. Listening to young people, exclusion touched almost every aspect of life, econom ic, e n v iro n ­ mental, social and cultural. Low incom es, debt and u n em p lo y m en t persisted b ecau se local e m p lo y m e n t m ark ets allowed no way out. An o v erbu rd ened city council also m e an t poor hou sing and local amenities. T he Project w as im portant for y ou n g people becau se it w as a space in w hich individuals could unravel these pressures, even w h en they re m ained at the end of each day. M an y you ng people described exclusion as a pyrrhic process. Fam ilies living on low incom es, due to either po or e m p lo y m e n t or u n em p lo y m en t, m e a n t a difficult e n v iro n ­ m ent for y o u n g people to grow up in. Yet, even w h en you ng people 144

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them selves took op portunities to break that cycle, it seem ed that no m atter w h at steps people m ad e they often ended up being erased. As Britain's con su m e r society has g ro w n, poverty has b eco m e p ro ­ gressively m ore concentrated within areas such as the Precinct. C h apter 1 showred how such inner-city areas in industrial cities acted as zones of transition; secure industries provided an e con om ic springboard enablin g m igrant com m u n ities to m o v e into cities and potentially u p w ard s. The Precinct w as a timeless, landless void, resem bling w hat W a cq u a n t (1994: 233) describes as a hyper-ghetto: even when you ng people did have opportunities, taking them placed individuals and their property at risk b ecau se the Precinct was totally d isconnected from the rest of society. W hen I interview ed Oily, w h o lived in the Precinct at that time, he had just co m e back from a w eek at the seaside with his wife and children. T he w eek had been intended as time off for all the family and a break b efore a new job. Oily w as d ue to start on the M o n d a y , though he retu rned on S un day to find his flat b urnt out: Oily: I w as m eant to start one last w eek but 1 cam e back from holiday and m e flat was burnt out. RM: Y eah, I heard a bout that. How did it happen? Oily: Well, I got back then I phoned the police and they said it was an electrical fault. But I said I know it ain't no electrical fault. RM: W ere you insured? Oily: Na. RM: And everything 's burnt? Oily: No, it's just the bedroom that's burnt. E verythin' else has just got sm ok e d am ag e , just fucked. RM: Are you livin' there now? Oily: No, I'm stayin' at a m a te 's house, m e and me missus. RM: W hat the council going to do? Oily: No, it's a housing association. T h e y said it only take a week and a half. Then they cam e 'round and said 'all you need to do is put a new w ind ow in and put the electric on'. A n ' I said 'w h a t the fuck am I gonn a do about all the sm ok e and that?' A nd they said 'O h y ou 'll get a grant and that to do that'. So I said 'if you get so m e o n e to m o ve in any w a y y ou 'll 'ave to do all that an y w a y '. So I'll just get my m issus probation officer out to them. N ig htm are that was, just ca m e back from holiday. R ecalling L ind en's statem ent of how living in N o v a is survival of the fittest, O ily w as able to cope with w h a t happened , though to maintain the safety of his family m eant passing up the op portu nity of a job. For everyone I m et w ho lived in the Precinct, the closure of the Project, shut b ecau se it was perceived as a potential threat, could not have been m ore destructive. W itnessing the conseq uences of the closure, of increasing 145

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crim e and drug abuse, you ng people seem ed to be subject to the same entropic process that was consu m ing the rest of Ford. Barbara Adam (1995: 83) describes entropy as evolutio n in reverse; as 'a s pontaneo us process tow ard s disorder and a decrease in inform ation'. The Precinct was cau gh t in a sim ilar process of constant disintegration. Ford City C o u ncil regularly m ad e physical im p ro v e m en ts such as d ouble-glazing and te lecom m un ication entry system s on the m ain d oors leading into each block of flats. Residents, when finances allow ed, also m ad e their own m odifications to flats to m a k e them com fortable hom es. C onstantly w o rk ing a w a y at both, how ever, w ere the corporate strategies imposed by outside agencies. Sean described how Ford 's y outh services, orig­ inally council d ep artm ents, w ere privatised during the late 1980s. After that point 'd elinquent youth' was sub sum ed into the w orkfare state, a cheap source of labour for N o v a 's new neon coast: G em ini Park (see Z orb au g h , 1929). In Luke S treet, Gill (1977) m aintains that som e council estates b eco m e d elinqu ent areas b ecau se they are at the bottom of the 'hierarchy of desirability': fam ilies and older residents are allocated better-quality housing. The problem in N ov a wras that all of the estate's social housing w as in a state of continu ou s decline. In addition, other hou sing estates in Ford appeared to be subject to the sam e process, as M artin testified in C h a p te r 3.

P e o p le p o w e r T he Project worked b ecau se it allowed people w h o w e n t there a structure of feeling. T he form s that facilitated that structure were fu nd am ental: a cup of tea, coffee, soup and squash at a cost people could afford. O ther services could be supplied such as free ne w sp a p e rs and a free phone. A s I m entioned in the previou s chapter, the Project provided hope. Sean, along with Eddy, M a th ew and A n dy, w ere extended family m e m b ers for m any you ng adults in a c o m m u n ity that felt the world was against them. P eople trusted Sean and A n d y b ecau se, with them , there was no hidd en agenda. O n the official op ening of G a tew ay s, both Sean and A n d y , like the users of the Project, w ere deeply cynical. As I stood outside the buildin g with you ng m en and w o m e n , w atching agency professionals com e and go in expensive cars, everyone seemed to view the occasion as another im posed strategy to resolve N o v a 's problem s. I could understand why som e you ng people w ere reluctant to enter the building at all, after d ecad es of having experiences categorised: crime, u n em p lo y m en t, poor parenting and drug abuse. As I have stated in C h ap te r 5, young people were also realistic, ap p rehensiv e as to w h eth er enrolling on a course would enable them to dispel the stigma associated with N o v a 's y ou ng adults. Again, G ate w a y s continues to be exposed to the pyrrhic process 146

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that Y ou ng (1999) identifies: even though residents are able to achieve new skills, d ev eloping them within a com m u nity -ru n project exposes people to continu in g stigma. S o m e older residents I spoke to have been unable to obtain a m ortgage as b ank s and build ing societies w ere un w illing to provide security for properties in N ova. I heard sim ilar accou nts concerning local insurance firms. N o v a 's local e con om y continues to keep residents trapped in poverty b ecau se it operates on the principle of workfare. Even though the principle of w orkfare creates poverty and desperation for entire com m u nities, its applicatio n gives the im pression that residents have the op portu nity to earn a living. G a te w a y s and the new arcade w ere achieved through the social capital co m m u n ity g ro ups w ere able to build, pulling in support and invest­ m ent from outside com panies and fu nding bodies. That required an ac k n o w le d g m e n t on the part of people living outside N ova that residents are hu m a n beings. In the struggle by poor com m u n ities to m ake such initiatives real, there is often an a ssum p tio n that b usinesses are s uspi­ cious of investing in areas suffering high rates of u n e m p lo y m e n t and crim e (see Fraser, 1997; H ealy, 1997; Dabinett and R a m sd en, 1999). W h a t often goes unnoticed is that urban regeneratio n initiatives often exploit po or areas to the benefit of large multinational industries (see Ritzer, 2004). N o v a 's local e conom y , for instance, seem ed to d eterm ine m any of the hardships faced by residents: the creation of a starkly polarised labour m ark et m eant people living in an area suffering from lowr educational a ttainm ent and high u n e m p lo y m e n t w ere literally forced to w ork in service industries. Tod ay , G a te w a y s enables local people to obtain professional qualifica­ tions, yet that success continues to be dim inished by the w orkfare m erry -g o-ro und . Because the only secure jobs in the region generally are in the third sector, only a m inority have a chance for a job in a council d ep a rtm e n t or sim ilar social service. Linden told m e how V eronica, his only sister, had to leave N ov a , her family and h o m e to get a good job. Linden: Y eah, she left N ova; she w ent to university in Stoke. I'm not sure w h at she w as studying. She w orks there now th ough, for the Council. RM: She d o e sn 't live in Ford. Linden: N o, she lives in Stoke. She m oved out ab ou t tw elve years now. She still com es b ack th ough, for C h ristm as, for my birthday, for m e brother's birthday. She still keeps in touch. Like V eronica, Linden w as m ore fo rtu nate than m an y of the young adults I m et in gaining a m u ch sought-after apprenticeship in his final year at seco n d ary school. Yet Linden continued living in Nova. He had to because, unlike his sister, Linden was unable to gain a mortgage. 147

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Then, as he remained in the community he had grown up in, Linden's apprenticeship was pulled away by racism and the stigma that sur­ rounds Nova. All the young Black men I spoke to described persistent racism and all the women I spoke to spoke of sexism and sexual harassment. Overshadowing the ethnic and gender identities of the young adults I met was the stigma associated with coming from a com munity perceived as having a culture of crime. The only way Veronica could escape all three was through leaving Nova and the family and friends she had grown up with. Outward migration from deprived urban areas is a feature of de-industrialisation: even though leaving means separation from family and community, once people with secure jobs do, areas can sink into further decline. In his influential study The Truly D isadvantaged, William Julius Wilson (1987: 46) described the process happening in Philadelphia, New York, Detroit, Chicago and Los Angeles during the 1970s: 'Although the total population in these five largest cities decreased by 9 per cent between 1970 and 1980, the poverty population increased by 22 per cent.' The increase in poverty was caused by outward migration of people with secure jobs, a group Wilson (1987: 56) describes as a 'social buffer' preventing the dialectic of exclusion from beginning: In a neighborhood with a paucity of regular employed families and the overwhelm ing majority of families having spells of long-term joblessness, people experience social isolation that excludes them from the job network system that permeates other neighborhoods and that is so important in learning about or being recommended for jobs that become available in various parts of the city. This experience seemed com m on among young people I met in Nova. Linden said to me: 'See, everyone 1 know is unem plo yed'. Steve described why: 'all the jobs for lads like me in this city are shit. You're just shovelling shit all week for nothing, for shit wages.' That stigma eclipsed practically all the young people I met. During the twelve months I spent with young people, everyone I met lived by a strong work ethic, though only two people had jobs in which work had a value. Helping as a volunteer at Gateways, I met Andrew. Tall, Caucasian and slim, Andrew was 18 at the time and was working at a local secondary school in Nova, training to be a teaching assistant. At Gateways, Andrew was studying for an NVQ on a Friday morning and Tuesday evening. For the rest of the week he had a placem ent at a secondary school in Nova. Like Hannah, who was able to complete an N VQ to become a dental nurse, Andrew was extremely lucky to get a placement. Jason, Slim, Ricky and many of the other young adults I met who enrolled on NVQs were assigned to a local purpose-built training facility or private firms. Working for local employers on placements, 148

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m a n y y o u n g adults described abuse and exploitation. Jason had s u cce ss­ fully com pleted his first exam , only to be dism issed just as he was preparing for level two: 'I finished me course and all that, N V Q level one. I was goin' on to level tw o and I got sacked .' At training facilities, m a n y you ng adults described being processed with little consideratio n taken about peop le's specific needs. Slim told me: 'But they w ant m e to go on c o m p u te r courses. H ow can I go on a co m p u te r course if I'm dyslexic?' W o rk in g tow ard s an N V Q in the third sector is, it seem s, the only way out of N ova. Yet, training placem ents in health, education and other public service d ep artm ents re m ain scarce.

T ow n s h ip c o m m u n ity W h a t separated A n drew from the rest of the y ou ng people I m e t was that he w as alw ay s alone. T he tragedy of exclusion is that the feeling of b elonging you ng people described was perceiv ed as a culture of crime. Living 'the life' of a c o m m u n ity enabled you ng people to surviv e poverty, and the stigma associated with Nova. Then, w h en e v e r young people w ere seen associating and w orking together aw ay from the w orkfare carousel of G em ini Park, residents from other areas imagined the worst. In W ork, C on su m erism an d the New P oor, B a u m a n (1998: 65) argues that w orkfare deliberately c o m p o u n d s exclusion: 'w hile no longer supplying the m eans to reduce poverty, the w ork ethic m a y yet help to reconcile society to the eternal presence of the poor, and allow society to live, m ore or less quietly and at peace with itself, in their presence'. Service industries, such as those that m a k e up G e m in i Park, now form part of most p eople's leisure time: a fast-food m eal at the w eek end , a g am e at the b ow lin g alley or film at a m ultiplex. All are m ad e possible by a local labour m arket coerced to w o rk for the m in im al rates that corporations that provide these services pay. This m ay explain why m any out-of-tow n retail d ev elop m en ts are built close to areas w here u n em p lo y m en t is high. C o n s u m e rs are also, in my view, facilitated by concepts such as cu ltures of crim e and anti-social beh a v io u r as they free people from having to consid er the con se q u e n ces of a c o n su m e r lifestyle on poor com m unities. Linden and m any others re sponded to that by creating their ow n inform al e con om y , w h at C low ard and O hlin (1961: 96) describe as a differential op portu nity structure, 'seeking higher status within their ow n cu ltural m ilieu'. Living 'the life' enables y ou ng people to maintain self-respect and, u n derstand ab ly, no one wanted to relinquish that. W o rk in g at A n d e rso n 's I s om etim es called in on Linden during lunch breaks. W hen I arrived in m y clip-on tie, straw b oater and nam etag, Linden, Liam , Ton y and Jim m y would all scream with laughter. Yet, for 149

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everyone at L ind en's flat on those afternoons, A n d e rs o n 's and industries like them defined 'the life' m ost of the you ng people I m et w ere forced to lead. Service industries surrou n d in g N ov a offer no op portu nity structure while the few jobs that do continu e to be denied to you ng adults from N ova. Jay told m e one day during m y fieldwork: 'T hat's w h y m ost of the jobs y ou 'll get is by w ord of m outh. They autom atically think y ou 're this, y ou 're that. But w e ain't like that.' W h y em p loy ers are un w illing to em ploy you ng adults from N ova relates to the culture of crime young adults had had inscribed up on them since school. N o v a 's informal ec o n o m y largely involved legitimate form s of self-em p lo ym en t such as painting and d ecorating, plum b ing or electrical w ork, usually within N ov a itself. T he problem was that becau se incom es on the estate were so low and people outside it had a negative association with people from N ova, all that seemed to remain was c o n s u m e r culture. The inevitable result that had on y ou n g p eople's lives w as to further restrict each individ ual's strategic horizon. Being dism issed just before he was about to take his N V Q level two exam , Jason told m e his situation after that: Jason: I'm getting dole now , I only just sorted it out. W ell not dole, a bridge allow ance, £33 a w eek, every tw o weeks. RM: Is that enough? Jason: N ot really, 'cau se I'm used to like w o rk in ' for over £100 a m onth. I'v e ju st been w orkin' at T o rq u e's (e ngineering com pany) for ab ou t two m o n th s b ut then after the shut dow n that's when they laid us off. After that, it's been days here and there. It was industrial cleanin', £4 an hour. O ne afternoon at the Project, I gave Ricky a lift to one of F ord's Job Centres. Ricky had been unable to find work at the time and had been sen t a letter askin g him to attend an interview. D uring the interview, Ricky was told that unless he enrolled on a vocational course he would lose his benefits: 'Y eah, they said I'v e got to go on sch e m es and shit. T h e y w an t m e to go on this one for four w eeks and no extra m oney. 1 ain't happy about that but y o u 'v e gotta do it otherw ise they stop your m oney. But I'll just get another temp job to blag them. I ain't doin' that.' A long with m any you ng people I talked with, Ricky identified how the Ford Job Centres would allocate you ng people onto short courses as a w ay of m a n ag in g figures for claim ants. The strategy reflects how so m an y people are unwilling to w o rk in Ford's service sector, as Ricky testified: 'm ost of the jobs are shit, an' all I'm getting off the dole is £70 a fortnight. I mean that's gone the first and second day you get it.' It see m s that in a c o n su m e r society, all policy can do is m ana ge an e con om y organised by service industries that thrive on job insecurity. 150

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W hen Gatew ays op ened, young people felt that training did not alter the fact that jobs available locally resulted in absolute poverty. Then there was still the likelihood that local em p loy ers would continue to discrim inate becau se of a postcode or area address. E m p loy ers chose to be seduced by the image of Nova as a rough area containing bad people. Jay said, 'people from N ov a ain't like that'. All that re m ained were the service industries that treated you ng people from N o v a as an e xpend able resource.

They th in k yo u ’re bad The econom ist J. K. Galbraith (1992: 1 8 -2 6 ) argues that exclusion is 'deeply fu nctional': The underclass is integrally part of a larger econom ic process and, more im portantly, it serves the living standard and the com fort of the m o re favoured majority. E co n o m ic progress would be far m ore uncertain and certainly far less rapid w ithout it. T he econom ically fortu nate, not excluding those w h o speak with the greatest regret of the existence of this class, are heavily d ep en d e n t upon its presence. For Galbraith (1992) the classic M arxist class schem a of a proletarian m ajority in constant conflict with a b ourgeois m inority fails to account for the new material 'co ntentm ent' of m o d e rn 'm ajo rity' nations and su b seq u ent d im inu tion of older class struggles. S tand ard s of living for such majorities have risen so high com paratively and their life chances a p pear so seductive globally that disaffection is inevitable (see Davis, 1990). Yet, those at the e con om ic and social m arg ins of these societies increasingly ap pear politically w eak. Sean identified this situation, in w hich strategies d esigned to e m p o w e r people econom ically only m ad e resid ents' situations w orse, as in the case of G em ini Park. Then there w ere the imposed strategies Sean d escribed, that resulted in local people feeling stigmatised in the way outsiders would label residents or aspects of p eople's b eh a v io u r as problem atic. If you take a part the actual strategies applied by agencies such as Y ou th C o ncern, it was in the interests of such organisations to sustain exclusion. For Galbraith (1992), this to p-dow n approach characterises the culture of con ten tm e n t that currently defines m o st of the w o rld's leading industrial nations. W hen you consid er the fo ur m ain characteristics of G albraith's (1992: 1 8 -2 6) culture of contentm ent, his thesis defines Britain's co n s u m e r society. First is 'the affirmation that those w h o co m p o s e it are receiving their just deserts'. S econd , 'short-run public action . . . is a lw ay s preferred to protective long term action'. Third, for the relatively affluent majority, 'the state is seen as a b urd en'. Finally, there is a rem arkab le 'tolerance show n by the contented of great differences in incom e'. 151

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The new approach in urban regeneration initiatives reflects c o m m it­ m ent to a long-term solution, one significantly influenced by A n thony G id d e n s' idea of a 'third w ay '. In his critique of m odern welfare, G idd ens (2000) argu es policy could only w o rk if it resolves the perpetual battle b etw ee n 'left-w ing' structural solutions and the idea am o n g conservatives that com m u n ities such as N ov a exist as cultures of crime. For G id d e n s (2000), there has to be an a ck n o w le d g em en t across the political spectrum that the welfare state is no longer sustainable through policy alone. W h a t also needs to be accepted is the way private property-led regeneration m easures often exploited local people. At the heart of 'the third w ay ' was an attem pt to brid ge an increasingly exclusive society and an increasingly exped ient global e conom y. The 'third w ay' ethos of the N ew L a bo u r adm inistration was intended to create a bridge betw een left and right solutions. As a concept, the third w ay is based on the prem ise that, for m e m b ers of a co n s u m e r society, people's sense of self b eco m es a m atter of individualism as opposed to maintaining family or social responsibilities. G id d e n s (1997: 6 6 -7 4 ) argues: 'the possession of w ealth d o e sn 't necessarily m ak e one ha p p y . . . w hy not, therefore, a ttem p t to bring the cond itions of life of rich and po or closer together.' W h a t G id d e n s ' re cent w ork (2000) identifies is how a global c o n su m e r e con om y has created a world of m anu factu red risks. For people living in com m u n ities w h ere local e m p lo y m e n t opportunities are restricted to low-paid service industries, state benefits no longer provide a safety net from poverty. Instead, for m e m b ers of socially excluded com m u nities, welfare b eco m es another risk, one that can easily enslave recip ients b ecau se the job opportunities available locally provide less income. Y o u n g adults I spoke to all described the benefit trap. G idd ens (2000: 113) argues that the welfare state and the natu re of work create the m erry -go-round m any y ou ng people identified: 'som e groups on the edge of poverty are caught in a low -pay, no-pay cycle getting into low-paid jobs does not result in stable e m p lo y m e n t'. The transition to service industries in areas previously reliant on m a n u fa ctu r­ ing often destroyed the e con om ic stability of com m u n ities and families (see T aylor et al., 1996). N ot only w ere m ore secure jobs either nonexistent or m ad e exclusive by the need for specialist skills, w orkfare m eant that in trying to survive through collective enterprise young people were instantly categorised as a gang. To this day N ova rem ains an incredibly strong and close com m u nity. Residents also continue to end ure terrible hardships. T he Index of Multiple D ep rivation (O D P M , 2004) is a m easure used by gov ern m e n t to assess poverty by area. There are seven specific d om ains: incom e deprivation; e m p lo y m e n t dep rivation; health deprivation and disability; education, skills and training dep rivation; barriers to hou sing and services; crim e; living e n v iro n m en t depriv atio n. Nationally, Nova falls within the top 10 per cent, a priority area in which: 152

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• just un d er a third of people are incom e depriv ed • one in five of w o m e n aged 1 8 -5 9 and m en aged 1 8 -6 4 is e m p lo y m e n t depriv ed • just under half of child ren live in families that are incom e depriv ed • just un d er a third of older people are incom e depriv ed. N ov a is also rare in Britain's c o n su m e r society b ecause it is a place based on co m m o n experience. In his b ook Im agin ed C om m u n ities, A n d erson (1983: 36) identifies how N ov a is an idea as m u ch as a g eographical area, one that 'rooted hu m an lives firmly in the vary natu re of things, giving certain m ean in g to the every d ay fatalities of existence (above all death loss and servitude)'. I cannot reprodu ce that sam e experience: not only is my life free from these fatalities, grow ing up within a con su m e r society all I have to re m e m b e r of the past arc sim ulated m edia images. In C h ap te r 1, I described how a c o n s u m e r lifestyle is a private existence com posed of private images: this situation explains why it is easy to objectify the realities of living in poverty. Previous a d m inistrations had failed through the w a y they objectified people experien cing exclusion. T he approach w as typified by the B ack to B asics ag enda of the final C o nservative ad m inistration of 1992, w h ich sou ght to im pose a m oral culture on an already disintegrating society (see Tester, 1997). At the 1993 C o nservative Party C o nference in Blackpool the then H om e Secretary, M ichael H o w ard , argued: All my life in politics I have been utterly convinced that the first duty of g o v ern m e n t is to m aintain law and order . . . You can argue fo rever about the causes of crime. M y approach is based on som e sim ple principles. That children - at hom e and at school - m u st be taught the difference b etw een right and w rong. T h a t criminals - and no one else - m ust be held responsible for their actions (quoted in Y ou ng , 1996: 155). The fact rem ains that successiv e C o nservative a d m inistrations were elected becau se Britain's co n s u m e r society had a stake in ob jectifying their own waste: c o m m u n ities living and w orking in poverty. As Britain's co n s u m e r society proliferated during the 1980s, the idea of a new urban underclass, along with d ebates ab ou t crime, allow ed m any people to avoid thinking about poverty (see Lea and Y ou ng , 1984). By 1997, society w as pre pared to elect a political party with the k now led ge and ability to re verse the destruction. L a bo u r's strategy for n e ig h b o u r­ hood renew al (1998) w as a policy statem ent on the relatio nship betw een society and exclusion: 'o ur goal is sim ple: it is to bridge the gap betw een the poorest n eig hb ou rhoo d s and the rest of Britain. Bridging that gap 153

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will not be easy. It will require im agination, persistence, and c o m m it­ ment. But I believe that it can be done. Indeed, if we are to bring Britain b ack together, it has to be done.' The idea of c o m m u n ity captu red in B rin gin g Britain T ogether continues to define G atew ay s. Yet, after 2001, the realities of living in a socially excluded co m m u n ity continue to be objectified in m oral terms.

W a r on c o m m u n i t y I regularly go to N ov a and now , in 2005, the new arcad e and G ate w ay s both stand as spaces representative of peop le's experience. Both also signify w hat can be d one w h en m e m b er s of society ac k n o w le d g e the e con om ic and social relatio nship all of us have with one another in a c o n su m e r society. T hat spirit of optim ism has draw n back into Nova itself and rem ains contain ed there by a lack of op portunities in the local e conom y . The a tm o sp here of hostility and suspicio n that haunted the area's borders during the 1980s and 1990s has also returned. C ontinuing poverty and a new set of cultural fears both m ean that the dialectic of exclusion you ng people describes remains. T he conclu ding chapter of C rim e, Youth and Exclusion identifies the econom ic inequalities that continue to be created by globalisation; in addition, how poor c o m m u ­ nities continu e to be stigm atised, primarily through com m u nica tion technology, enablin g con su m e rs to screen out their ow n connection to an increasingly exploitative global econom y. I described above how the stigma associated with you ng people from econom ically depriv ed areas began to dissolve in the final years of the tw entieth century. T he result w as that one side of the dialectic of exclusion you ng people identified d im inished . Like a wall, the idea that N o v a w as a criminal co m m u n ity seem ed to cru m ble follow ing the election victory of 1997. For people living in N ov a, w h a t seemed like a rebirth of society in Britain provided the freedom to build initiatives reflective of resid ents' ow n experiences. Then one year into a new m illenniu m , after the destruction of the W orld T rad e C enter on 11 S e p te m b e r 2001, that feeling faded away. The destruction of the W orld T rad e C enter resulted in the deaths of over 3,000 people. The view ing of the destruction of the Tw in Tow ers, as an event, was even m o re destructive as it ushered a w ar on the idea of co m m u n ity itself. W e will never know w h y a group of people chose to hijack two planes and use them to destroy the W orld Trad e C enter b ecause all of its m e m b ers died during the catastrophe: the reality behind the event d isappeared along with both towers and ov er 3,000 m en, w o m en and children. Instead of trying to understand 11 S e p te m ­ ber, nation-states throu g ho u t Europe and North Am erica chose to explain w h at happened through images. In his state of the union address 154

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after 11 Septem ber, G eorg e W. Bush (2002) described Cu ba, Iraq, Iran, Libya, North Korea and Syria as an 'axis of evil'. Four o f the countries identified as part of the axis of evil are Islamic states. The afterm ath of 11 S e p te m be r show s how m u ch w e have com e to hate and fear the notio n of a sense of co m m u n ity (see Levinas, 1994). W hy Islam appears such a threat is b ecause it re presents the global c o m m u n ity that is com pletely antithetical to the co n s u m e r society. Seen territorially, Islamic states are also those m ost exploited by c o n su m e r societies, as they provide the fuel for consu m ption: oil.

T h e last f r o n t i e r 'The life' and Islam re present how destructive c o n su m e r societies are on com m u n ities living in the d eveloped and the d ev eloping world. C onsistently, this study has show n how globalisation objectifies hu m an subjectivity to sustain itself, m ak in g people and com m u n ities e x p e n d ­ able and explicable: cheap labour and a criminal underclass. 'T he life' and Islam are a collective response to exclusion in a co n s u m e r society; defiance against living each day o v ersh ado w ed by a death. As hard as that m u st seem for people with secure jobs, this is w h at living with exclusion means. Som e writers have suggested that globalisation is another phase in em pire, w h ereb y cultures across the world have been slow ly w esternised to facilitate and sustain the global econom y. G lobalisation colonises m o re than just geog rap hic space. T he new global em pires such as Nike, T im e W a rn e r and D isney no longer wage real w ars, steadily con su m in g territories and com m unities. T he final frontier in the con su m e r society seem s to be ou r ow n willingness to im agine other people. During the creation of the R om an and the British E m pires, the last rem aining territories to be colonised w ere deserts, inclu ding the Gobi and the Sahara b ecau se they contained so few natu ral resources and w ere felt to be so inhospitable. This is w h y nom a d ic tribes such as the Tu areg, Bedouin and M a sa i survived, w hile others w ere su b su m ed by W estern nations. All three w ere also warrior tribes, accustom ed to the hostile en v iro n m en t in w hich they lived and acquainted with the terrain, enabling them to cou nter attacks. Eventually, how ever, all lands fell prey to the colonial po w e rs and were one by one translated by cartographers into the m aps w e now use to navigate Africa, Asia and Sou th A m erica. W hen that happened , the en em y was easier to identify and locate. The co n s u m e r society spelled 'the death of the social' because capitalism has been motivated ov er the past 30 years to claim the last territory: hu m an subjectivity. Colonising con su m e rs is m o re a surrender: achieved electronically, chiefly th rough the television and the com puter, 155

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enablin g con su m e rs to w ork and live w hile not belonging. Technolog y also frees people from c o m m u n ity , allow ing individuals to draw from their ow n private well of im ages, w hich explains why people choose to remain disconnected from one another to such an extent. N o w , w h en all w ars have been fought and all lands conq u ered , the only en em y left is ou rselves. W riting on the w a r b etw een coalition forces and Iraq in 1994, Baudrillard (1994) contend s that in the situation I have just described, the G u lf W a r did not take place becau se both forces w ere 'fighting over the corpse of w ar'. W e have reached a sim ilar conclusion with crim e in the so-called d eveloped w orld. All d eveloped states have reached a point of full e m p loy m e n t. Therefore, w h y do crim e and u n em p lo y m en t persist if everyone has the op portu nity to w ork? Globalisation is not an e m pire in the traditional sense but a personal em pire, consisting of ignorant rulers. T he transition to a global econom y gave millions of people the freedom to map their own w orlds. As I tried to suggest in C h ap te r 1, that freedom is solitary since all it provides is ou r ow n electronic well to gaze at our ow n reflection. Everything around us, inclu ding people, b eco m es an im ag e of ou rselves w ithin that well sin ce the celluloid w ater it contains objectifies all it reflects. The w ar on terror has to be seen in those term s, objectifying the com m u n ities displaced and excluded by a global e conom y th rough the ecstasy of co m m unication. A s w e sit w atching C C T V pictures of suicide bom b ers, car hijackings or drun ken street b raw ls with vicarious pleasure, reality dissolves behind the screen. Recently, Linden introduced m e to Chris, a short, strong AfricanCaribbean you ng man in his mid-20s. Chris w o rk s as a b o u n ce r in Ford and, like Linden and his friends, Chris w ants to w o rk for him self recruiting and supp lying security g uards to nightclubs. Self-em ploy ed , Chris identified the d angers all the you ng people I m et faced w orking for th em selves. Chris described how m en too d runk to be adm itted into a club would attack him and how others would deliberately w an t to 'test' Chris. He show ed me the deep scars on his forehead that he had sustained in fights with d run ks at the club he w orked. Chris explained that ow nin g your ow n team of security g uards is practically a necessity as the career lifespan of a b ou n ce r is so short. W orking as a bouncer, Chris described the horror that rages un derneath the society he is hired to police. T he apathy induced by globalisation also shapes policy in sim ilar ways. People m ay feel that politics and politicians operate outside their ow n sphere. Yet the desire people have to dream about crim e instead of aw a k e n to the lives affected by it m anifests itself in policy th rough the dem ocratic process. C u rfew s, electronic tagging and the re -housing of 'p rob lem ' families as enforceable through law allow people to avoid confronting how acquisitive m ainstream society has b ecom e.

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S ta y in g alive Recently, 1 met up with Linden, M artin, Tony, M ontana, H annah and som e of the other young adults I got to know . All are as resilient as ever. W h a t am az es m e m ost of all about the you ng people I m et is how all continue to survive as a co m m u n ity in the face of poverty and exclusion. Linden, Curtis, Liam , Steve, Jim m y , Martin, Ton y, Benita and M o ntana all w o rk for th em selves. All are trying to establish them selves. Liam, w ho was older than his friends, already had a re putation in N ov a as a good decorator. Martin and M o ntana w ere saving up to start their ow n catering busin ess. They also have a you ng daughter. H annah , w ho has sin ce left L inden, also has a y ou n g son and has her ow n stall at a local m ark et in Ford. Liam and Fiona, w h o Liam m et after m y fieldwork, also have a ne w b o rn son and Liam and I marvelled at his size. M o st have also m oved a w a y from the Precinct and Liam and M artin told me they w ere happier to be living further from it. Linden and Tony also have new partners and are still incredibly close friends despite the argum ents. L in d e n 's flat is still the centre of the universe and last time I was there, he, Ton y and Liam w ere red ecorating once again. So m e of the y ou ng er adults w ho I met at the Project rem ain in N ova. Jason is a builder and Oily trains to be a b oxer while playing football at a local social club. L eander, the last time I saw her, looked radiant and seem ed m uch happier. Som e of the m e m b ers of the busin ess, w ho were the oldest of the y ou ng adults I met, have left N ova. M o st have partners and families. T he only b usiness m e m b e r I still see is D am on , w h o lives close to Nova to be near his son. U n em p lo y m en t, debt, intolerance and racism are still daily realities. Living in and belong ing to N ova is som ething nearly all the young adults I met cherish. A m e m b e r of 'the b usin ess', Nevil, a close friend of D am o n , described how , 'w h en ev er you m eet so m e o n e from N ova, even if y o u 'v e never m et them, y ou 'll get on. T h e re 's like som e th in ' b etw een you.' I have tried to show the strength of N o v a 's you ng people; in addition, how the people of N ov a w ere able to o v ercom e w h a t still appears to be a cu ltural and e con om ic deadlock. T he strength of N ov a's people m u st not be seen as a solution to exclusion, just as C h a p te r 7 should not be seen as an end. Y ou n g people's lives, by definition, have just started and N o v a 's troubles continue to stem from the perception that outsiders have of the estate.

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Society

The idea that w e are living as a degenerate society seem s to contradict m o dern Britain. M o st people live free from poverty and disease, and have the freedom to co m m u n ic ate with one another and d iscov er the world in w ay s un im ag inab le to generations that lived before us. Far m o re people to day arc also able to realise their aspirations and live free from status and class, through the expansion of h igher education. H igher education is now regarded through the d eveloped and d eveloping world as crucial to both national econom ies and individual pro sperity. In its W hite P aper on H ig h er E du cation , the D ep a rtm e n t for E du cation and Skills (2003) explains how 'grad u ates get better jobs and earn m o re than those w itho ut higher education'. Yet, even though higher education grants people access to the con su m e r society, that world only seem s to m ake sense before a b ackd ro p of fear, about crime, terrorism and contagion. N ot only that, con su m e rs m u st also be oblivious to the poverty they create. This is why societies throu g ho u t the d eveloped world are steadily degenerating: in order to live a c o n su m e r lifestyle w e m ust w ork as m asters in a slave e conom y . For our lives to m ak e sense, w e m u st think about crime. C h ap te r 1 identified how people define their lives in a c o n su m e r society and how technologies are used to distinguish betw een good and evil.

A d o l l’s house Using co m m u n ica tio n s in our w o rk ing and daily lives, w e beco m e com m od itie s ourselves, no longer hu m an beings, but m e c h a n is m s that search out and destroy. W e operate like this in ou r w orking and leisure life becau se com m u n ica tion s are com m od ities: com puters, televisions, the Internet are not only the m etho d s with w hich we entertain ourselves; 158

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they are also our tools for w ork. U sing these technologies in w o rk and every d ay life, they b eco m e w e a p o n s to destroy people w ho contravene the co n s u m e r lifestyle. As consu m ers, our perceptions of crim e and poverty personify this process, w h ere w e c o n su m e and destroy crim i­ nals, real or fictitious, to give ou r ow n lives m eaning. T he idea that b eco m in g a victim of crim e is a greater d anger now than in the past is a necessary m y th olo g y in British society. Incidents have risen, though seen in relation to m o dern e con om ic history, crim e has m oved from being a co nseq u ence of industrialisation to a necessity to day; even though the reality of crim e is the sam e as it was d uring industrialisation: the people m ost in d ang er of being victims of crim e are residents living in Britain's poorest urban areas. In their ow n research on crime in depriv ed urban areas, Pitts and H op e (1997: 39) provide indicato rs why social housing estates suffer the highest rates of victimisation: The estates which experienced the greatest changes - and highest crim e rates - saw increasing concentrations of children and teen­ agers, you ng single adults, lone parents and the sin gle elderly. Poor you ng , Black and Asian families constitu ted a significant seg m ent of the population in som e regions. Th e se n e ig h b o u rh o o d s also beca m e the last resort for residents w ho had previously been hom eless, hospitalised or im prisoned, and for refu gees from political p e rsecu ­ tion. And these d em o g ra p h ic trends often coincided in the sam e com m u n ities with a lack of access to p rim ary job m arkets for local youth. A cco rd ing to y o u n g people's experiences of exclusion in N ov a, crime had a dialectical relationship with w ork, principally b ecau se everyone was excluded from a c o n su m e r lifestyle. Even though most people's w o rk ing lives in Ford 's high-tech industries had little social m e aning , the w o rk ing co m m u n ity that redeveloped out of that re lationship was perceived as a threat. This chapter describes the result of this process in which crim e b eco m es a seductive im ag e of com m u n ity , one to w hich we m u st aspire, instead o f recognise. N ot only does the relationship d isconnect the real relationship b etw een crim e and poverty, ou r destiny requires im ages of crim inals rem aining forever in our minds. C o n v e rs e ­ ly, considering poverty as an intrinsic part of ou r co n s u m e r lifestyle, w ithout thinking about crim e this house-of-cards existence would collapse. In his 'G reat T o w n s ' chapter, Engels (1845: 71) described people living in such conditions at the heart of central L ond on, just off O xford Street: H eaps of garbage and ashes lie in all d irections, and the foul liquids em ptied before the d oors gather in stinking pools. H ere live the poorest of the poor, the w orst paid workers with thieves and the 159

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victim s of prostitu tion indiscrim inately hu dd led together, the m a jo r­ ity Irish or of Irish extraction, and those w ho have not yet sunk into the w hirlpool of m oral ruin which surrou nd s them , sin king daily d eeper, losing daily m ore and m o re their p o w er to resist the d em oralising influence of want, filth and evil surrou ndings. Engels' (1845) study describes how living in the industrial city m eant living with the experien ce of poverty. M o st peop le's every d ay lives, with the exception of a small minority, were o v ersh ado w ed by the prospect of poverty. In short, poverty could affect m ost people. As a result, poverty w as u n derstood and a ck n ow le d g ed , and from that public recognition cam e a collective belief that cities should be m odernised . T h a t belief characterised the m o dern city, a place w h ere poverty was seen as surm ou ntable. Even though m any people died from its effects, entire com m u n ities w ere not expected to be con d e m n e d to poverty forever. Poverty w as an evil, as it prevented people from working. To understand the function of poverty to day, w e need to appreciate how the w ork ethic Baum an (1998) describes is no longer realisable for young people living in c o m m u n ities like N ova. On one level, you ng people I m et were the casualties of de-industrialisation: Britain could only adapt to that by re-creating a slave m o d e of produ ction, w h at Lea (2002: 180) describes as 're-m ed iaevalisation'. The irony of globalisation is that Britain's industrialisation would have precipitated a re volution if slavery had rem ained lawful. In 1832 the passing of the Reform Bill narrow ly defused a w o rk ers' revolt and universal suffrage sub seq uently ensured that ordinary people could work and live free from the terrible social cond itions described by Engels (1845) (see T h o m p s o n , 1963). Cities continue to grow though now based on an utterly different d y nam ic; w h at Beck (2000) refers to as the 'Brazilianisatio n of w o rk '. In cities throu gho u t the d eveloped and d ev eloping world, the wages available to people w o rk ing in service and m anu fa ctu ring are controlled to ensure w h ole populations fu nction as slave labour. This slave m ode of produ ction has allow ed m any cities to d evelop into self-contained city-states. Between 1950 and 2000, the urban populations of most European cities increased by an average of 80 to 100 per cent. In the d ev eloping w orld, the gro w th in urban p opulations during the second half of the tw entieth century was far m o re dramatic. In India, for instance, b etw een 1950 and 1981 the n u m b e r of urban dwellers increased by 150 per cent from 61 to 157 million people (H erbert and T h o m a s, 1990). Parallel to the increase in urban populations has been the growth in urban poverty in global cities like Sao Paulo, M exico City, L ond on and N ew York. T he W orld Bank estim ates that there are alm ost a billion poor people in the w orld; and over 750 million live in urban areas without ad eq uate shelter and basic services. A third of people in d eveloping 160

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countries living in cities live in s lu m / s q u a t t e r settlem ents (W orld Bank, 2004). Yet, the Brazilianisation of work requires people w h o belong to that third to remain in poverty. In addition, the people forced to surviv e in such areas re m ain invisible to those w o rk ing in so-called core sectors, usually defined by an expert or acad em ic k now led ge. The Brazilianisa­ tion of work m eans that, in quantitative term s, the average citizen in big cities in the d ev eloping world will die yo u n g e r and p robably die alone, as he or she will be un able to start a family. C o n s u m e rs in the d ev eloping world are faced with im ag es of these realities, yet people continu e to w o rk in pursuit of a co n s u m e r lifestyle. W ithin Ford, this situation was played out each day in local econom ies such as G e m in i Park: a c o n su m e r society w h ere w o rk and poverty com bined to provide a lifestyle for 'core' workers.

H e r o e s and villains T he situation, described in these terms, seem s intractable. It is not. First, w e understand the method - com m u nication technologies - and the control we have over the m ed iu m through w hich we com m u n ica te , images. O nce w e appreciate the p o w er we have over these technologies, w e can start using and distributing them so that every one can represent their ow n experience. The written w ord , m usic and painting are all still central to the creation of culture. W hat is also significant about this period is that new technologies, specifically radio, p ho tog rap hy, and later television, w ere being used for society, m uch like d ev elo p m en ts in industrial and agricultural technology (Giddens, 1990: 77). M o d e rn is a ­ tion led to universal education, and the use of co m m u n icatio n s in schools and colleges as educative tools m eant that history could be written, spoken and pho tograp hed by ordinary people. P hotography, sound and film -recording technologies also m e a n t that m ass populations and entire com m u n ities w ere able to represent their own lives. The M ass O bservation Project show s how c o m m u n ica tion s can work as m e th o d s of representin g real situations. F ou n d ed in 1937 by a group of n on -aca d em ic researchers, artists, stu dents and workers, M ass O b s e r­ vation recorded people's experien ces of the D epression. D uring the 1930s, politicians and press often dism issed the realities of poverty and starvatio n as sy m p to m s of a defected w orking-class culture (see O rw ell, 1937). To identify the realities of u n e m p lo y m e n t and poverty, Mass O bservation conducted a study of W o rk to w n (w hich w as in fact Bolton) involving participant observations over a tw o-year period. T he region itself had shortly befo re that point been a centre for the produ ction of cotton, though the global d epression of the 1930s had resulted in mass u n em p lo y m en t. Initially, interview s with local people and p hotog rap hs w ere intended for a fo ur-volum e study. H ow e v e r, due to a lack of 161

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ad eq uate supp ort from publishers, only one vo lu m e w as published, entitled The Pub an d the P eople (M ass O bservation , 1943). M ass O b s e rv a ­ tion's m ission of recording the lives of ordinary people was sem inal in the tradition of public broad castin g that flourished in Britain after the Second W orld W ar, reaching its epoch in the b road cast of C athy C om e H om e (Loach, 1966). That tradition, how ever, w as gradually being eclipsed by television and film as form s of m ass entertainm ent. The post-w a r boom provided m any people the freedom to choose a co n s u m e r lifestyle or re m ain part of a com m u nity . It was a choice reflected in the battle in British broad castin g, w hich continues, b etw een a desire to broadcast ideas or to m ak e p ro g ra m m e s that could be financially lucrative in appealing to a m ass audience. Sociological studies inclu ding T he H idden P ersu aders (Packard, 1960), and O ne D im en sion al M an (M arcuse, 1964) identified how m o re and m o re people were able to afford a lifestyle prom oted on television, in m agazines or in film. Televisio n in particular was b eco m in g m ass entertainm ent: each night for m illions of people was now organised around p ro g ra m m e schedules. The effect of these chang es wras to m ake e ntertainm ent a daily necessity. In addition, the previou s distinction betw een public and private culture b eca m e blurred through the co n ­ sum ption of cu rrent affairs and soap operas. Television and m agazines b ec a m e im age processors, p ro g ram m in g con su m e rs with destinations containing the most d esirable objects. The result was that people's social identity b eca m e less and less significant. W ith its roots in the p ost-w ar b o o m , the social d isintegration of industrial nations at this time w as, paradoxically, accelerated at the end of the 1970s when the global c o n su m e r e c o n o m y collapsed. C h apter 1 identified how the social world of the city gradually dim inished as sites of con su m p tion arose on the urban periphery during the 1980s. It w as then that the co n s u m e r society was fully realised, a hyper-real world in w hich people and families who had b eco m e financially secure during the post-w ar period could now live private lives. C o m m u n icatio n te chnologies, television, V C R and su d d en ly personal com p u te rs m ad e and m arketed by burg eoning com p a n ie s such as IBM , Acorn, A m strad and A pple, m ad e this possible, enablin g private h o m eo w n e rs to live a privatised existence. Since their receptio n am o n g a m ass audience, the m ed ia have been blam ed for ruining society. Yet critics rarely identify precisely how the evil is transm itted (P utnam , 2000). The reality of w atching television is of a seductio n: im ages interchange b etw een view er and screen. Blam ing p ro g ra m m e m ak ers or the m ed ia only m ak es the m ed iu m m ore seductiv e, especially if particular pro g ram m e s or im ages are deem ed sexually offensive. Hip H op m usic is the con tem p ora ry exa m p le of this process, w h ereby Hip H o p 's critics decry artists for p ro m oting gang and gun violence. As a result, even w h en im ages represent real people forced to surviv e poverty and crime, they subsequently b eco m e entertainm ent. 162

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This is how poverty is interpreted as crime: within a society already starkly divided between rich and poor, watching poverty on our screen becomes the interactive masquerade described in Chapter 1. Because we are unable to interact with the people represented, everything is faces and distant voices; even the realities of poverty become television drama (see Valier, 2004). Ellis Cashmore (1997) describes how a Black culture industry in the United States makes poverty entertainment. As an African American, Cashm ore (1997) is highly critical of popular Black culture, arguing that it reinforces negative stereotypes, even when artists are African Am eri­ can. Taking the example of Hip Hop, Cashm ore (1997: 154) charts its transition from underground street poetry into a global culture industry. That happened through the success of record labels specialising in Hip Hop, especially the Def Jam label created by Russell Simmons. Cashmore (1997) argues that Simmons, African American himself, translated the poetry of Hip Hop into a business: 'Rap music's slogans of despair were raw and contemporary: it brought a bracing political and artistic radicalism, drawing from other genres with contem pt rather than respect. The same music that became the shorthand for the violent implosion of black life was the source of Sim m on's extravagant wealth . . . Sim m on's story is an object lesson in making poverty work for you.' I personally believe Hip Hop is a positive force, in that the musical form rescues young people from the self-destruction of exclusion.

Im a g in in g c r i m e In Chapter 4, I suggest that Hip Hop artists have no alternative but to live 'the life': 50 Cent sums up Hip Hop's stasis between destitution and a consumer society when he says, 'I just speak on my life' (Russell, 2003). The furore surrounding 50 Cent's Reebok campaign shows how many Hip Hop artists parody the commercial aspects of the industry by disrespecting a legitimate consumer lifestyle. For Gilroy (1994), Jackson's position reflects Hip H op's 'double consciousness': living a spectacular consumer lifestyle becomes a way of mocking the consumer society for allowing itself to be seduced into believing images are real. To understand how poverty (evoked in Hip Hop music) comes to be interpreted and represented as crime, we need to identify how con­ sumers search and destroy images in and through the media. What characterised the use of photography, radio and film during the first half of the twentieth century was that they were being used to broadcast ideas. Because broadcasts were intended to inform instead of entertain, watching them occurred in a social time, instead of a body time. Cameras, sound and film-recording equipm ent were being used in education or journalism to broadcast events, not package them. Even 163

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though cinem a w as m ass e ntertainm ent throug ho ut the tw entieth century, films w ere often preceded by ne w s broadcasts. Even though Pathe new s now a p pears arcane, its effect was to m ak e going to the cinem a less of an abstract experience. G o in g to the cinem a w as also often a w eekly event, w h ereas television to day is a daily ritual. W ha t distinguished the use of technologies then and now w as that up until the m id -1960s, both the form and content of co m m u n ication s was social. This m e a n t that inform ation w as subject to a shared language or audience. T od a y all c o m m u n icatio n s function as m etho d s of entertain­ m ent b ecau se the context in w h ich they are used relates solely to consu m ption. To live the co n s u m e r society everything w e view is entertainm ent, even within a w o rking e nvironm ent, b ecau se ou r lives are m anifestations of personal gratification.

S e a rc h and d e s tr o y Even though a co n s u m e r lifestyle has little practical significance, because m ost of the population of this country live one, British culture is now entertainm ent. H aving everything we need to surviv e, consu m ption b eco m es our destiny. As our object world is perceiv ed through technol­ ogy and b ecau se those technologies are now the m ost im portant things in our lives, life only has m eaning by surviv in g other people. As a statem ent that encapsulates the spirit of m odernity, the philosopher Sartre (1947) wrote 'hell is other people'; that people such as fam ily m e m b ers or sim ilar significant others in our live could limit individual freedom . W e now operate in a reverse situation, in w hich w e need other people to survive. Using co m m u n icatio n technologies to operate in this w ay can have dead ly consequences. In her book On V iolen ce, H a n n a h A ren d t (1970: 42) distinguishes p o w e r and violence: 'the extrem e form of p o w e r is All against O ne, the extrem e form of violence is O ne against AH'. T he holocau st was such an extrem e form of violence b ecau se people of Judaic heritage were all m ad e to look the same. H an n a h (1970: 42) concludes, 'A nd this latter is never possible w ithout instrum ents'. Debates on poverty suggest that in a con su m e r society, being un em plo yed is a sign of fecklessness and irresponsibility. So, why do im ages of poverty and its con se q u e n ces create such outrage, potentially resulting in a lifetime of exclusion? It seem s that the only im ages (of poverty) that m otivate people do so b ecau se they have a seductiv e quality. W hile this selective strategy is not deliberate, using technology as e ntertainm ent alw ays occurs as an oscillation betw een desire and satisfaction to the point where, ov er time, our m e m o ry of social problem s b eco m es em otional e xcre m e n t (see Bataille, 1984). This process m ay explain why y ou ng people in N ov a told of being treated like shit and left 164

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with 'shit jobs'. That alw ays seem ed to occur after you ng people described being perceived as criminal: through im ages of crim e (the gang), y ou ng people are literally consu m ed by society and spat out into poverty.

C o n s u m e r p ro tection C h ap te r 1 identified how people d isappear through com m unication technology: they choose im ages, of starving African children or fu n d a ­ mentalist terrorists, b ecause they a p pear interested then forget w h en the p ro g ra m m e has ended. V iew ing the world in this wray d a m ag e s not only ou r ability to m ake the connection b etw een social p ro blem s and people living through them. In C h a p te r 1, I show ed that over time, the fear of crim e con su m e rs generate gradually b eco m es translated into social policy. L ook ing b ack at debates on crim e over the past 30 years, that fear has been so po w erfu l that it affects every political party. Ulrich Beck (1994: 35) distinguishes b etw een rule-directed and rulealtering politics. R ule-directed politics characterise the m o dern period, w h ereb y social policy is directed tow ard s im pro vin g the lives of the majority. In the d eveloped w orld, w e live in societies governed by rule-altering policy. In most cases, policy is created to satisfy consu m ers, and policy on crim e epitom ises this. T he current w ar on terror operates as a gam e; its only objective is to sustain a culture in w h ich consu m ption is an end in itself. Yet, the cause and effect of the w ar - oil - and the thousand s of people killed in securing its supply are an irrelevance in the applicatio n of rule-altering policy. As Beck (1994: 36) describes how con su m e rs define rule-altering politics; 'm any d e m a n d , and actually begin, to turn the rule system itself inside out, w hile it rem ains unclear, to put it figuratively, w h eth er the future g am e will be bridge, ludo or football'. W h e th e r it is a w a r on terror or a w a r on tailors, rule-altering politics enables us to keep d ev eloping nations alongsid e areas in the developed world devastated by de-industrialisation in violent stasis. Then as people tear one another apart to stay alive, w e apply technology to m ak e civil wars a p pear like c o m p u te r games. This is the p ost-m od ern culture of the c o n s u m e r society, w h ere every one appears ready to invade the space of our ow n private existence. W e believe this situation to be personal freedom when in fact, living a ccording to w hat we want, we b eco m e as superflu ous as the c o n s u m e r society. To understand w h y w e live in a society that only m ak es sense through im ages of pain, torture and death, w e first need to distinguish betw een a m o dern c o m m u n ity such as N ova and the po st-m od ern world that characterises m ainstream Britain. T he exclusion of you ng people living in N ova was one in the collage of im ages that seem to define Ford's c o n su m e r society. P ost-m od ern isation best describes the daily process in 165

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w hich that society is produ ced, c onsu m ed , and then produ ced again. At a societal level, the effect is w h a t I describe as a crystal maze: ro am ing individuals looking to objectify and destroy everything and everyone else sim ply to define their ow n isolated existence. Even though the people of N ov a are subject to that process, every one still believes in the m o dernisatio n of their ow n com m u nity . M o dernisation still characterises societies ov ersh a d o w ed by starvation. Even as an ou tsider, one can see how countries such as India, Chin a and Iran are w o rk ing to d evelop a system that allow s families and c o m m u n ities to survive. M odern culture was a process through w hich people could transcend their ow n mortality, a process G id d e n s (1994) describes as the socialisa­ tion of nature. For G id d e n s (1990), m a na g ing and cop ing in w h at rem ains a highly volatile natu ral en v iro n m en t requires trust betw een people, b ecause existing for ourselves, even in such a technologically proficient period, is a life filled with angst and dread. Like it or not, this is the hu m a n condition b ecau se every one of us is consciou s of our ow n mortality. H u m an history, up until recently, has also been characterised by system s formed to enable people to live with the d elicacy of life. M ost have been a union b etw een eco n o m y and psy cholog y ; Catholicism , Protestantism , absolu te m o n arch ies were all unequal relations betw een people w hich worked b ecau se believers had a stake in expressing their o w n beliefs socially, usually through w ork. There have also been slave m o d es of produ ction though all w ere far less successful b ecau se the culture th rough w hich they w ere sustained w as degenerate. W he th e r the m ass c o n su m e r society of today, built and sustained by slave m o d es of production in Asia, Africa and South A m erica, has a future, time will tell. T he point of this conclusion is to identify w h at b ro u g h t us to this situation and how it can be reversed.

F a ith in t h e city W e live such isolated lives to day b ecau se con su m e r culture is defined by angst and dread. N ot only is the co n s u m e r society contin ually trying to m echanise, it also objectifies people who ap p ea r to contradict a con su m e r lifestyle. This is w h y m ost cities are now literally diabolical places, filled with theatres of destruction: walk-thru sim ulated battle zones, outlets selling lethal video gam es, and films that only succeed if they feature the threat of apocalypse. W e convince ourselves, how ever, that people living in poverty have destroyed city centres, w h en the reality is that the city is a hu m an farm. W hat w as significant about life in the m o dern period was that everyone b ecam e subjects within a co m m u n ity in o rder to survive. M o dernity surviv es in the Islam ic w orld, India and C h ina, m ainly b ecau se m odernisation d ep en d s on people w o rk in g together. D oreen 166

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M assey (1994) describes how the m ost ce lebrated spaces of m o d ernism are often urban; Louis W irth (1938: 69) argued that cities developed b ecau se each 'b rou g ht together p eople from the ends of the earth because they are different and thus useful to one another, rather than because they are h o m o g e n e o u s or lik em inded '. E m phasising how city's inhabit­ ants, as m igrants, have a co m m o n destiny, W irth 's (1938) idea of urbanism advocated that by investing in the social life of the city we could transcend our own mortality. O nly in belong ing to a city could people accept how 'w e are exposed to the glaring contrasts betw een s p lend ou r and squalo r, b etw een riches and poverty, intelligence and ignorance, order and chaos' (W irth, 1938: 72). In contrast, once people thought that their ow n lives w ere sovereign, cities would begin to appear fearful places and sub seq uently break d ow n as social entities. The successful interrelationship b etw een urbanism and m o d e rn is a ­ tion can to day be seen in cities throu gho u t the d ev eloping world. H istory is also being written into each city, th rough innovatio ns designed to im pro ve life in cities them selves, instead of technologies designed for a global m arket like those produ ced in Silicon Valley. C h in a 's b u rg eoning car industry, for instance, is not only now a global m ark et but it also provides affordable cars that allow citizens to be m o re mobile. India, Islam ic states and China are un iq ue in the d ev eloping world through being able to retain a strong sense of national identity (G ellner, 1983). In contrast, global cities in the d eveloping world to day resem ble Ford: polarised b etw een an exclusive centre and out-of-tow n facilities, affluent residential suburbs, and to w nship c o m m u n ities forever u n d er their shad ow . A p pad urai (1996) describes these as cities that 'h ardly require a n a m e an ym o re , given that they are barely m o re than stages, holding com panies, sites, and barracks for populations w'ith a d a ngerou sly thin co m m itm e n t to the produ ction of locality' (A ppad urai, 1996: 192). The tragedy is that the proliferation of consu m erism is beginning to infect and im p ed e the d ev elo p m en t of so-called 'third w orld' countries. Like you ng peop le's experiences of exclusion in N ov a, this is a d egenerative process, driven as m u ch by e conom ics as com m unications: using personal co m m u n icatio n s as m etho d s of experiencing the city, as consu m ers, is w h y people generally have such a lack of com m itm ent. Searching for new m arkets, especially tourist, often results in the destruction, not m o dernisatio n, of d ev eloping countries; such is the natu re of reflexive accum ulation. Industrialisation, as an attem pt to socialise nature, is characterised by the reproduction of the w orld 's natu ral and hu m an resources. In short, w e accu m ulate - oil, corn, rice, wood - to live. C o n s u m e r culture is far m o re d ang erou s to the planet and its hu m an population b ecau se there is no end, barrin g the proliferation of superficial needs. The big g est global m arkets involve the production of goods that are not only superfluous 167

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but are also designed to necessitate continu ou s substitution. The only w ay com p a n ie s them selves can m eet c o n su m e r d em and is through the exploitation of po or com m unities. C o n s u m e r societies are dotted throu gho u t h u m a n history, and all were catastrophic. A n cient em pires such R om e, Greece and Egypt w ere form s of c o n su m e r society, w h ere statu s was deriv ed from gold or other precious materials. T he previous chapter show ed how the slave trade and the appropriation of natural resources from Africa, Asia and the Indian s ub continent financed E u ro p e 's period of E nlig h te n m e n t during the 1700s. Slavery w as sw e p t a w a y during the peak of industrialisation and tow ard s its end; em pires gave p o w er back to form er colonies. It was only after another global e con om ic crisis 20 years later that the process began again. To ensure e con om ic stability in the d eveloped world, corporations moved to countries across Africa and South A m erica. As a result, d ev eloping countries in Africa, Asia and South A m erica remain po or and u n d e rd evelo ped . Even though m any fo rm er colonies in these regio ns w ere granted ind e p e n d en ce from the fo rm e r em pires of Britain, France, Belgiu m and G e rm a n y after the Second World War, political subju gation instead becam e econom ic. Loans supplied by developed nations to the d ev eloping world now form part of the global econom y w h ereb y interest pa y m e n ts are now a m ark et co m m o d ity , alongside corn and oil. D riving this global p ro g ra m m e of exploitation is con su m p tion , especially the sale and distribution of com m u n ica tion technologies currently used as m etho d s of personal entertainm ent. Lash and Urry (1994: 1 -1 7 ) describe how the global eco n o m y spins through the consu m ption of these goods:

This faster circulation of objects is the stuff of c o n su m e r capitalism. With an ever-q uicken ing tu rnov er time, objects as well as cultural artefacts b eco m e disposable and dep leted of m eaning. So m e of these objects, such as com puters, television sets, V C R s and hi-fi, produce m any m o re cu ltural artefacts or signs ('signifiers') than people can cope with.

T he reality of reflexive accu m ulation is that people w ho do not have the financial m eans to lead a c o n s u m e r lifestyle b eco m e objects in this m aze of consu m ption. C h apter 1 identified this as a dual process w h ereb y public places b eca m e them e parks during the 1980s, which objectified every one w h o w orked there in m aking people appear like characters. In addition, during that time, m ajority populations began to use television and video as m etho d s o f e ntertainm ent and tools for work. The result was a blurring b etw een people and objects, resulting in the m a sq u e rad e that now characterises the design of m o st cities (see Davis, 1990). 168

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T h e g o ld e n years Affluent societies are often characterised by an entropic, as op posed to evolutionary, m o vem ent: once m ajority populations have everything at their disposal, society itself begins to d egenerate. This w as noticeable during the late 1970s; a sharp rise in sexual offences in Europe and North A m erica alongsid e the d ev elop m en t of a global sex trade. Both reflect how hu m an desire no longer had an objective m eaning, once people w ere no longer ov ersh ad o w ed by hu ng er and poverty and replicating family life was no longer necessary. O ne c o nseq u ence of the p ost-w ar b oom was that m ale heterosexuality b eca m e the m ark et for w hat was one of globalisation's first slave trades. Andrea D w o rkin (2000) describes how p o rnog rap hy in the United States is an $8 billion trade. P orn o g ra ­ phy has been an aspect of m a n y societies, though as D w o rk in (2000: 1 9 -3 9 ) w rites, it 'w as a lw a y s part of a private culture: W hat has changed is the public availability of p o rn o g ra p h y and the n u m be rs of live w om en used in it b ecau se of new technologies . . . Until recently, p o rnog rap hy operated in private, w h ere m o st abuse of w o m e n takes place.' In his essay, 'B arbarism : A U se r's G u id e ', Eric H o b s b a w m (1994b) suggests that hu m an genocide, in Bosnia and R w a n d a, continues because: 'w e have learned to tolerate the intolerable'. W hat concerns me here is the d isap p ea rance of these events once they happen: based on you ng p eople's accounts, poverty in N ova and the tragedies that flowed from its experien ce a ppeared to be subject to the sam e process. My arg u m e n t is that genocide, the logic of exclusion, b eco m es tolerable th rough com m u nica tions. Then such events only have significance in that they define a co n s u m e r lifestyle. It is not that the m ed ia-m ak ers pro du ce co n su m ab le m ovies, but that con su m e rs desire to be e nter­ tained. Guy Debord (1967) described this as the society of spectacle, in which every im age that passes before our eyes is a co m m o d ity , even im ages of genocide. Living in a 'society of spectacle' m ust been seen as part of a general shift from a period in w hich culture was a productive process to one w h ere the exclusion and finally the elim inatio n of hum an b eings is cu stom ary. To a chieve this, society required the a b a n d o n m e n t of tradition, as a process through which people transmitted trust b etw een one another. D ebates about po st-m od ernity often describe a loss of tradition in con tem p orary society tho ug h they often confuse content with form. Tradition is not a collection of values to be believed in - trust, hard w ork, loyalty - but a desire to believe in other people. T hat can only be socially valuable as believing in the destruction or d is ap p e ar­ ance of other people is counter-intuitive to being hu m an (Heidegger, 1927). The creation of a global c o n su m e r e co n o m y has clearly sent hu m an natu re into re verse in that it has m a d e m ajority p opulations reflexive or

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habitual in alm ost everything they do. Tod a y, countries throug ho ut the d eveloped world are characterised by a society of individuals, connected a u ton om ou sly to pursue their ow n desires. Given the natu re of co n t e m ­ porary culture in Britain, and the centrality of crim e within it, c o n s u m p ­ tion appears to have b ec o m e the end of society. L ooking to the future, the only w ay that culture can survive is through the creation of poverty and continu ance of exclusion. As the previou s chapter show ed , s ustain­ ing poverty in the developed and d ev eloping world help s m aintain the global e conom y . Stigm atising co m m u n ities forced to live in poverty also has the dual function of m aking a c o n su m e r lifestyle a p p e ar valuable. To begin with, reflexive accu m ulation is m a d e possible by a global operation. Th a t is, exclusion is not sim ply a m atter of stigm atising poor people within the area in which we live. E very co n s u m e r in every city throug ho ut the world needs som eon e to fear, though our fear of crime see m s like a local concern b ecau se policy m ak es it a p pear so - m ainly b ecau se the state is caught in the sam e bind as con su m e rs themselv es. To give a c o n su m e r society m eaning, policy is forced to m ak e crime (including terrorism) ap pear antithetical to w ork. By supp orting the principle of a c o n su m e r lifestyle, in practice and in policy, consu m ers relinquish their own sense of responsibility tow ards the conseq uences of con su m p tion , inclu ding the events of 11 Se p te m be r 2001. As a result, the state is left having to sustain con su m e r op tim ism , and increasingly does so at w h atev er cost.

L a w and o r d e r T he political crisis of the 1970s often appears like the political process generally, as events beyond the control of ordinary people. The fact is that the recession of the early 1980s w as predicated by the con su m e r society. To ensure the political su p p ort of c o n s u m e r societies, g o v e r n ­ m ents throu gho u t the developed world w ere forced to ab ando n m o d e rn ­ isation. The tragedy of the 'hollow ing out' of welfare institu tions was that the process resulted in the rejection of society a m o n g the very people the strategy had intended to appease (Lash and Urry, 1994: 13). It seem s that by the m id -1980s, con su m e rs still w an ted more: instead of pinpointing consu m p tion as the reason behind the crisis, majority populations sim ply d em anded a quicker and cheaper supply of g oo ds to m ak e an already ban k ru p t existence seem real. To prevent social disintegration, policy had no alternative but to conced e to con su m e r dem and. G o v ern m e n ts had been assisted by the fact that, initially, m any people had been forced to d iseng ag e from the public sphere. Recessio n m eant that m ost p eople's private incom es w ere squeezed and the real social unrest that occurred at the start of the 1980s m ad e m a n y relu ctant to 170

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venture into the public spaces of the city. Instead, m ajority populations stayed at hom e and w atched television, as the post-w a r b oom had ensured m ass ow nership. So they b ecam e the silent m ajority, private h o m eo w n e rs who defined them selv es by im ages of poor com m unities. T he experien ce y ou ng people described, different from past accounts of poverty, is of being excluded from society, and excluded within it. The feeling of exclusivity that defines co n s u m e r culture deriv es from the ow nership of c om m od ities, and the seductio n has been sanctioned by policy for the past 30 years u n d er the ban n er of crime. T h ro u g h o u t the 1980s, in E uro pe and N orth A m erica, g ov ern m e n ts asked people, particularly during elections, to im ag ine crime. Poster ca m p a ig n s fea­ tured w o m e n scared to go out at night and television broad casts show ed how previous ad m inistrations had done nothing to halt crime. Irrespec­ tive of the actu al danger, the effect was to m ake con su m e rs believe that they are valuable. T h a t was achieved by im agining poor people as criminals. T he im ages had no bearing on the realities of living in poverty, described by you ng people in this study. Yet, they were believed because for m ost people life in the post-industrial co n s u m e r society had beco m e a lonely existence. These processes, w h ereb y im agining crim e becam e a way of displacing the feelings of guilt and sh am e associated with a c o n su m e r lifestyle, relate directly to de-industrialisation. After the collapse in the world e con om y in the late 1970s, societies in d eveloping countries gradually b ec am e div ided b etw een private h o m e ­ ow ners and tenants renting properties usually supplied by local au th ori­ ties, and in m any cases in social housing areas built straight after the w ar (see Pow er, 1997; L upton, 2003). Tho se with private assets, including m any g ov e r n m e n t d ep artm ents, w ent u n d e rg ro u n d , leaving the poorest m e m b ers of society to survive in w h at w as left of the public sphere. C o m m u n ic a tio n technologies sealed the surface betw een both in that it allow ed policy to display inverted im ages of poverty experienced by people. The realities of surviving poverty and exclusion described by you ng people w ere intensely social: stories of character, friendship and o v e r­ com ing d esperate situations together. As the previous chapter show ed , translating the untranslatable reality of co m m u n ity with im ages only results in stereotypes and caricatures. D uring the 1980s, in alm ost every post-industrial society the im age of a new urban underclass was devised to m ak e people believe that living a c o n su m e r lifestyle was socially and econom ically valuable. T he concept itself deriv es from an article by A m erica n sociologist Charles M u rray (1990) entitled The E m ergin g British U n derclass, w h ich was published in T he Su n day Tim es M ag azin e in N o v e m b e r 1989. M u rray 's (1990) thesis and the context for its fo rm u la ­ tion encapsulate the reasons why socially exclud ing you ng people is such a necessary part of Britain's c o n su m e r society. N ot only did the idea of a new urban underclass precipitate the rejection of urban centres in 171

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favour of retail parks and malls; its applicatio n also continues to be m anifest in w orkfare: supp lying retail industries with a cheap and young labour supply.

B a c k t o basics T he UK registered the sharpest growth in e con om ic inequality am o n g nations of the European Union in the 1980s (see H utton, 1995). To appease voters, m any g o v ern m e n ts after that point b eca m e com m itted to e con om ic deregulation, while retaining and centralising state power. T h a t left g ov ern m e n ts forced to m ak e the closure of hospitals and schools at a time of m ass u n em p lo y m en t appear logical. Therefore, throug ho ut Europe and North A m erica, political leaders argued that the welfare reform s im plem ented after the Second W orld W a r had spaw ned a 'n e w ' underclass. Speculation about a new urban underclass had been m u rm u rin g for m u ch of the 1980s. It w as M u rray (1990), how ever, w ho gave a circular logic to the idea when he argued that the m o dern welfare state was a harb in g er of social disease. U n e m p lo y m e n t relief, M u rray (1990) argued, cultivated cu ltures of crim e within c o m m u n ities w o rst hit by de­ industrialisatio n, com m u n ities such as N ova. B ecause po licy -m ak ers and acad em ics now feared deprived urban areas, particularly after the media hysteria s urrou nding the 19 80-1 riots, m an y preferred to im agine M u rray 's (1990) thesis w as real. M u rray (1990) him self had based his thesis on a fleeting visit to a depriv ed urban area. F orm ulating his thesis b efo rehand , M u rray (1990) w ent to G lasgow looking for stereotypes that would m ak e his m asq u e ra d e ap pear authentic: the result w as a trav­ e logue on poverty (see Jo hnstone and M o on e y , 2005). M u rra y 's (1990) arg u m e n t was based on the prem ise that industrial societies such as Britain and A m erica were, for m u ch of the p ost-w ar period, organised around a stable nuclear family household. M u rra y's (1990) household was one in which the m an w as the principal wage earner w hile the w o m a n had the m ain responsibility for d om estic life. H aving to provide for the family ensured the transm ission of a work ethic through generations, specifically from fath er to son. H ow the average nuclear family constitu ted this highly fu nctional life is never clear, probably becau se M u rray (1990) never represents p eople's experi­ ences in his research. Instead, w h at M u rray described in his trip to E asterhou se in G lasgow w ere characters. I believe M u rra y 's thesis was accepted becau se m ainstream society, inclu ding m an y policy-m akers, was already inured by a private culture of television, com p u te rs and video. M u rray (1990), m uch like the caricaturist W illiam H ogarth (1738) tw o centuries earlier, had produced tw o im ages that everyone could identify: a sin gle you ng m an and a w o m an , also alone, pu sh ing a pram. 172

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Picture 3

' T h e F o u r T i m e s O f D a y - N o o n ' by W il lia m H o g a r t h

B ecause each is deliberately presented as different and potentially deviant, both im ages fulfil the sam e function of the d ebauched and d run k en caricatures in H og arth 's d ra w ing (see Picture 3, above). In each case view ers w ere able to m ask poverty, subju gation and despair to justify their ow n affluent lifestyle. W hen M u rra y 's (1990) thesis was believed by con su m e rs and p o licy ­ m ak ers alike during the 1980s and 1990s, the underclass gradually b ec a m e hyper-real; an underclass had been created that looked real in an im aginary world. N ot only did the idea of underclass stigmatise 173

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generations of p eople living in social housing areas; to avoid contact with the underclass, cities w ere re designed as spaces built around a fear of society: The city centres explod e anew and are d em olished; unliveable, unbreatheable, they are dep opu lated to m ake room for directional posts (m otorw ay s), veritable b unkers of adm inistration, of police, of information. P opu lations flee or are cast out in disorder tow ards the outskirts where they find them selv es penned in. U rban areas w ere re-created, as Virilio (1998: 3 5 -8 ) identifies, as w as the culture of cities, from a public culture of c o m m u n ity to a private culture of consu m ption. Virilio (1998) also highlights how the state w as forced to invent new d ep artm ents and new terms to cope with p eople's fears. T he result, Virilio (1998: 42) defines as the 'suicidal state': con su m e rs and policy running from the idea of society while at the sam e time trying to co n su m e social problem s: in short, a c o n su m e r society w h ich 'hates the objects it desires'. To understand w h y so m any people fear society, w e need to establish how the co n s u m e r society is organised by policy and how p olicy-m akers interpret society.

In te l: c r i m e in an i n f o r m a t i o n s o ciety W hen social services w ere forced to m ak e job cuts and reduce their b ud gets, social p ro blem s inevitably m ultiplied. A public loss of faith in policy resulted in w h at G id d e n s (1991) describes as 'd istanciation'; public institutions b ecam e disconnected from the world around them, relying instead on electronic com m u n ica tion s. In effect, institutions beca m e w h at Janet Foster (2006) describes as 'silos': u n d erg ro und structures w h ere ballistic missiles can be stored and fired in the event of war. C h ap te r 1 identified how m any industrial cities b ecam e unsustainable w h en m anu factu ring industries closed. I also described the effect de-industrialisation had on the cu ltural g e o g ra p h y of cities, dissolving the borders b etw een w o rking-class c o m m u n ity and suburb. Ford re­ m ains a city, though its divisions w ere m o re p sychological than social. Castells (1989: 4 9 4 -5 ) describes how the inform ational city has replaced the industrial city through 'the separation b etw een fu nctional flows and historically d eterm ined places as tw o disjointed spheres of hu m an experience. P eople live in places, p o w er rules through flow s.' Castells (1989) identifies how invisible com m u n ica tion netw o rk s now' enable people with access to them, to w ork and live as individuals. In societal terms, the effect is that beliefs and values no longer bind people to one another. Instead, as you ng people in N ova testified, everything within the inform ation society is an im age or object m aking people 174

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them selves co m p o n e n ts of the system . C a m p a ig n s are designed and produ ced and then read, m aking people feel assured. How people living in poor urban areas continu e to be seen as a threat reflects how g ov ern m e n ts w ere able to retain state sovereignty after the econom ic crisis. That w as only possible through the su p p ort of majority p o p u la ­ tions w ho, paradoxically, w ere unw illing to care for others. As a result, the state itself beca m e even m o re centralised during the 1980s and 1990s. D uring F ordism , people invested their lives in cities becau se the sy nergy of industry and co-operative society provided ev e ry on e with an op portu nity to w ork, live, and start a family. As a result, people could transcend their ow n mortality. N o w cities are regard ed as d isposable w h en they start to fail; the variables that com p ose them are sim ply im puted s o m e w h ere else. M u ch of the welfare state, referred to to day as the 'third sector', now operates as a s im ilar system ; trust, respect and responsibility b eco m in g variables in an objective system . T h ro u g h o u t this study, y o u n g people described how the realities of exclusion were com p o u n d e d by strategies im posed by outside agencies, w h ose m em b ers failed to understand the realities of being excluded. A b ov e all, young people described having strategies im posed , of 'peop le com ing d ow n on you; telling you w hat to d o', as Sean described. Confined within an institution also m e an s social policy p ro g ram m e rs are restricted to prescribing m easures, even though they are intended as well m eaning. In his b ook T he Birth o f the C lin ic, Foucault (1973: 108) describes how w elfare institutions d eveloped in sev cnteen th-centu ry Europe. Taking the exa m p le of the m edical profession, doctors' capacity to listen and em pathise was dim in ished by the birth of clinical m edicine. T he creation of m ed ical schools during this time had a radical im p a ct on m ed ical perception. Disease, once defined by listening, b eca m e identified th rough its physical sym pto m s. W atching and seeing m e a n t that doctors beca m e disinterested. T he general feeling was that b eco m in g involved em otionally with the patient, the doctor could miss vital visual clues of disease. Th ro u g h the invention and use of light, m edicine beca m e a process of enlightenm ent: 'The eye b eco m es the depository and source of clarity; it has the p o w er to bring a truth to light, as it opens, the eye first opens the tru th' (Foucault 1973: xiii). T he invention of surgery m eant that doctors lost their role as healers, forced to d isengage from the com m u n ities in which they once lived. B ecause of that social dislocation, em pathy b etw een people was replaced by w h at Fou cault describes as a rational disinterested gaze (Foucault 1973: xiii). Foucault (1973: xiii) distinguishes b etw een the real world of c o m m u ­ nity - 'the re sidence of truth in the dark centre of things' - and clinic; a room containing objects saturated with light. V isual perception becam e the method through which surgeon s adopted a disconnection and a dispassionate approach. A n other d ev elo p m en t was a new language, one that ordinary people could not understand. The result was that people 175

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with an illness w ere literally cut out of the conversation, beco m ing objects. Like visual c o m m u n ica tion s today, such as com p u ters, follow ing the birth of the clinic light was used to m ak e objects: 'This new structure is indicative by the m inute but decisiv e changes, w h ereby the question: " w h a t is the matter with y o u ? " w as replaced by the questio n "w h e re does it h u r t ? " ' For Foucault (1973), not having to listen gave doctors p o w e r ov er the patient within the walls of the clinic. T he new language also m e a n t that surgeon s no longer had to enter the dark world of com m unity . In the late twentieth century, com m u n ication technologies fulfilled the sam e function at a time w h en policy-m akers b eco m e institutionally b ou n d ; relying instead on the silent images. W atching and making ju d g em en ts about the best course of action to take are the only options available within the institution. The d ev elop m en t of C C T V technology reflects policy's silent gaze, though it needs to be seen in relation to m ak ing consu m ption ap pear to be both valuable and m eaningful. B etw een 1994 and 1997, the H om e Office m ad e available £38 million to fund 585 C C T V schem es. B etw een 1999 and 2003, they m ad e available a further £170 million for C C T V sch e m es (A rm itage, 2002: 2). Like the language of the clinic, policy was required to invent a new language. In re cent years, terms such as 'u nd erclass' and 'w elfare d ep en d e n c y ' have b een substituted by 'anti-social b eh av io u r' and 'disrespect'. Used in welfare and criminal justice policy, the terms objectify people w h o pose a threat to the c o n su m e r society. In sev en teenth -cen tury Europe, m edicine was able to b eco m e a pow erful institution through the patronage it received from those who prospered from a new global trade in slaves from Africa. W h e n the wealth b ega n to flow from the colonies, E uro peans b eg an to d em and their ow n private system of protection and care. D uring the E nlig hten­ m ent, m ed ical kn ow le d g e, along with local k now led g e, beca m e expert s ystem s, separating the civilised individual from the co m m u n ity that created him. Like the docto rs, law yers and illustrators during the sev en teenth century, policy is forced to objectify people and c o m m u n i­ ties living in poverty to m a ke the co n s u m e r society seem real. Even 'social exclusion' b eco m es an expert system . W riting on how the term is practised, P o w e r and L upton (2002: 240) suggest: 'the word was sim ply a different kind of code, in this case for bringing in the em phasis on personal responsibility and policy agenda of w orkfare . . . At its extrem e this d iscourse co n d e m n s the victims of exclusion for d eserving their ow n fate.' A m o n g experts, people living in socially excluded com m u nities, once labelled, are treated like a c o m p u te r virus: put un d er q uarantine, tracked by electronic tags, or incarcerated. All the time socially excluded com m u n ities a p pear disconnected from the co n s u m e r society. In fact, socially excluded com m u n ities now function as slave labour for co n ­ sum ers. In b etw een are the e m erg ency services, such as the police, trying 176

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to assure those least at risk while trying to save communities being torn apart by poverty and crime.

Being h u m a n To understand people's experiences of poverty we need to establish how we experience the world itself. Understanding globalisation involves not just our experience of the region where we live, as a social entity, but every com munity across the surface of the earth. Overwhelming as that may seem, the first stage in understanding exclusion is identifying with everyone as people. The first thing that happens when we start to do this is that we are suddenly confronted by a question: but what do people look like? That we can never know. The problem is that in understanding any experience, images are our primary method of perception (Berkeley, 1709). Chapter 1 identified how exclusion starts when consumers try to imagine people's experiences of poverty. As consumers living in consumer society, we are potentially condemned to exclude people we cannot understand. The key out of that prison is listening to another person's culture, even if the culture appears to make no sense and even if understanding takes time. My fieldwork in Nova spanned twelve months, and in the first months I was unable to appreciate the social world young people were living around me. Then 1 believe that in actually listening to people's experiences 1 opened m yself to understanding them. Quilts made by African American slaves seem to reflect the same process. On the surface, the images often appear incomprehensible. Quilts historically are authentic, and one consequence of their authentic­ ity is that the image's appearance is inexplicable. Graffiti, on the walls of buildings as opposed to 'works' shown in art galleries or on the media, are reflections of the same process: created out of appropriated materials originally made by the artist. When we try to make such images explicable, they no longer have meaning even for the people who made them. Like African American slaves, young people living in Nova tried to symbolise their experience with the only material resources available. Equally, the Hip Hop life represents realities most people in the developed world never experience, one determined by poverty, subju ga­ tion and exclusion. This is why, for me, 'the life' remains inexplicable, as someone who has not had to grow up in poverty and under daily suspicion. Young people survived the unimaginable experience of absolute poverty through the desire to live through it, even if that was through the most basic clothes and being with one another for as long as possible. Yet, to make our own consumer existence appear real we give Hip Hop our own subjective meaning. I have shown how young 177

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people's desire to survive through 'the life' was objectified into the image of the gang. One argument levelled at young people who dress in sportswear and associate together is that both strategies are intentionally anti-social. This study has described how young people's appearance in Nova was immanent or inherent to being excluded. Young people had no choice in how they appeared in public because only being able to afford cut-price sportswear was a reality of being excluded. Even though they consist of images, the magic of quilts is that they can never be replicated. To begin with, the experience they contain is real. Reality is that which is possible to give an equivalent reproduction. Quilts do that in the way they evolved with the maker as a bricolage; events on quilts often do not appear in a sequential order, as they are drawn from memory. This is how quilts can have an emotional significance for someone born long after they were made. Because quilts and graffiti represent social time, the surfaces of both echo history. Ethnographic studies are similar in that the texts themselves are impossible to read, partly because of the authors' avoidance of literary realism. Imposing an image of a less troubled world, with a beginning, middle and happy ending, would only make people and situations into entertainment. Ethnographic studies that investigate social problems are often harrowing to read, not because they are designed to be but because they represent something unimaginable: human subjectivity. That does not mean ethnographic studies are doomed to fail. On the contrary, recording, or representing - the stories, music, poetry and painting (including graffiti) created by people - is the only way to understand w hat it means to live in poverty.

178

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193

In d e x

A d a m , B 9, 66, 77, 82, 112, 146 Advertising (see Cohen, S.) 86, 135 Affluent society (see Galbraith) 13 -1 9, 22-27 A n derson, B. 154 A nti-social beh av io u r 5, 19, 2 3 - 2 9 , 79, 94, 98, 149, 17 6-17 8 A p pad urai, A. 167 A rendt, H. 164 Bataille, G. 164 Baudrillard 16, 21, 65, 8 2 -8 7 , 88, 94, 140, 156 B au m an 10, 101, 149, 160 Beck, U. 160, 165 Becker, H 47, 56, 62 B lackm an, S. 31, 59 Booth, C. 14 Bourdieu, P. 19 B ourgois, P. 41, 81, 105 Broken w in d o w s thesis 116 Byers, P. 17 C am pbell, B. 71 C aricature 65, 100, 171 Castells, M. 174 C athy C om e H om e 162 Chicago School of urban sociology 21, 148 C low ard , R. and O hlin, L. 149 Club cu lture (versus consu m er culture) 5 0 -5 3 , 97 Co hen, S. 98 Cope, N. 92 Crim e 194

m a sq u e rad e of 2 - 5 , 8, 1 6 -1 8 , 27, 61, 98, 16 3 -1 7 2 as p o rnog rap hy 169 Crim inological research on poverty and exclusion 35-41 and cu lture of poverty thesis 20-21 in a post industrial society 18, 61, 151 D ance Hall 55, 96 Davis, M. 102, 151, 168 Davis, N. 23 D ebord, G. 21, 1 6 5 -1 6 9 D e-industrialisation 1 0 -1 8 , 2 2 -2 5 , 1 0 3-1 15 , 124, 128, 137, 160 -1 65 , 17 1 -1 7 4 D elinquency 107, 120 Disneyland 17 D istanciation 174 D ow nes, D. 22 D r u g / C r i m e nexus 8 7 -8 8 , 140 perverse social capital 105 D w o rk in, A. 196 Education 1, 4, 8 exclusion 2 5 -3 6 higher education 121 ou tward m igration 147 stigma 38, 115 Entrepreneurship 10 6 -1 1 2 the Pub 59 s elf-em p lo ym en t 79-81 Ethnicity 45, 133 E m p lo y m e n t training (see workfare) 2, 24, 69, 90, 129

In d e x

Engels, F. 14, 18, 25-2 9, 159-160 Ethnography 81, 112, 178 Family 36, 62 break-up 72, 91 parenting 72, 91, 107 poverty 61 support 55, 84, 103 Fordism 11, 175 Foster, J. 25, 30, 38, 63, 136 Foucault, M 175-176 Galbraith, J. K. 19, 79-82 , 151 Gans, H. 78 Gender 74, 97 Ghettoisation 2, 5, 116-117 Giddens, A. 10, 66 ro utine/innovation 81 third way 152 Gill, O. 146 Gilroy, P. 99, 163 Glaser and Straus 130 Globalisation 13, 1 2 8 , 1 5 4 - 1 5 6 , 1 7 7 (see Chapter 7) Goffman, E. 64, 8 9-92, 137 Heidegger, M. 79, 89, 136 Hip Hop 44, 55 (see Chapter 4) gangster rap 56 'the life' 96 History 38-45, 166 simulated (television programmes) 65 of social exclusion 61, 99, 133 Hobbs, D. (see entrepreneurship) 105 Hobsbaw m, E. 40, 63, 112, 169 Hogarth, W. 172-173 Hutton, W. 3, 172 Industrial city 8, 18, 25, 145, 160, 174 Innovation (versus consumption) 95, 125 Internet 17, 158 Jackson, Curtis (50 cent) 8 6 -87 , 163 Jameson, F. 9, 59, 79, 93, 101 Jessop, B. 102, 129 K atz, J. 76, 80

Labelling 79, 115, 120 Lacan, J. (Mirror Stage) 87 Lash, S. 89 Lash, S. and Urry, J. 12, 29, 168 Lea, J. 21, 121, 174 Lea, J. and Young, J. 153 Lefebvre, H. 100 Levinas, E. 155 Liebling, A. 92 Lyon, D. 58 Lyotard, J-F 18, 95 Mandatory Drug Testing (MDT) 93 Mass Observation 161-162 Massey, D. 167 Matza, D. and Sykes, G. 107-108 Modernity 21, 102, 164-169 Murray, C. 19, 171 Orwell, G. 14, 161 Park, R. 21 Parker, T. 22 Pornography 169 Poverty 2 -9 , 10 relative deprivation 139 and workfare 25, 76 Power, A. 115 Power, A. and Mumford, R. 45 Prison experiences 44, 55, 71-75, 90 (see Cope, N.) Putnam, R. 136, 140, 142 Quilting tradition 177-178 Racism 21, 72, 99, 148, 157 Reynolds, F. I l l Rhythm and Blues (R & B) 55, 96-99 Ritzer, G. 15, 147 Rose, T. 96-99 Sassen, S. 12, 20 Single Regeneration Budget (SRB) 142 Slave mode of production 15 8 -1 6 9 ,1 7 6 Snoop Doggy Dog 96, 99 Social capital 18, 43, 101-105, 140-147 Social exclusion function of exclusion 23-2 4, 61-62 (see Galbraith) 195

O u t o f S ig h t: c r i m e , y o u t h a n d e x c lu s io n in m o d e r n B r ita in

use of term 190 Sportsw ear discounted 95 e xclusive 16 global industry 26 Style 4 4 - 5 0 , 9 5 - 9 7 Sub cultu re (and modernity) 98 Sullivan, M. 81 Surveillance 5 8 -5 9 C C T V 102, 176 categorical suspicio n 143 Sutherland , E. 79 Sutherland , E. and Cressey, D. 87 Taylor, I. 81, 97 Taylor, I., Evans, K. and Fraser, P. 127, 152 Tester, K. 153 T hinking a bout crime 23, 79, 159 T h o m p s o n , E. P. 25, 63, 160 U nderclass 3, 8, 19, 30, 82, 106, 151-155, 1 71 -1 7 3 Urban regeneration 2, 4, 1 4-25 , 1 2 0-12 8, 1 4 2 -1 5 2 (see chapter 5) Urbanism 167

196

Valier, C. 163 Violence 3 5 -4 3 , 86, 9 4 -1 1 6 , 162 (see Ghettoisation) Virilio, P. 29, 174 V isual perception 18, 26, 166, 177 W acq u ant, L. 1 1 5 -1 1 9 , 145 W ar on terror 5, 7, 138, 141, 156, 165 W hyte, W. F. 42, 126 W illiam s, R. 203 Willis, P. 30, 6 6 -6 8 , 100, 116, 149, 187 W ilson, J. Q. 116 W ilson, W illiam Ju lius 148 W irth, L. 167 Y ou ng , J. 4 Y ou ng , A. (see thinking about crime) 2, 1 01 -1 0 6 Youth 122 policy 30, 120, 130, 159