During class last week, we circled back and spoke about Vargas’ piece about the Latin Kings and Goffman’s account of the 6^th Street Boys. My expert question revolved around the ways in which both of these gangs use surrounding resources in their given spaces to positively affect their groups. For the Latin Kings, it may include lighting a resident’s house on fire in order to enforce the code of silence. For the 6^th Street Boys, it may include calling themselves in to the police in order to escape the death threats out on the streets because a year in jail may seem like a much better deal. For both, with this social control, they had complete power over their communities.

The Kings choose strategies for securing resident cooperation based on the resources residents bring to the gang (Vargas, 136). The more the Latin Kings can scare their surrounding residents and stir up distrust between these residents and the police, the more dominance they have over their streets. Vargas says, “the code of silence is much more complex than most scholars and policymakers think. In addition to a lack of resources constraining police, street gangs actively undermine police-resident relations by capitalizing on police mistakes and fostering mistrust among residents” (Vargas, 146).

In class we connected these instances of social control to Robert Sampson’s theory about collective efficacy and how the Latin Kings and the 6^th Street Boys could be possible examples. These two gangs have the ability to control the residents’ behaviors surrounding them so that they can continue their illegal activities without the threat of the police getting calls. Therefore, this sense of social organization within the two groups, and the powerful scare tactic, creates this so-called “support” from outsiders that ultimately fosters this control.

We also spoke about how these two gangs represent forms of resistance identities since they are both going against typical systems in society, specifically the police system. As explained in class, because there is the feeling that the police are considered a “white space”, this act of rebellion serves as a way for these gangs to fight a system that they feel is oppressing them. For the 6th Street Boys, however, they instead may use the police in a positive manner for their gang when necessary, also going against the typical system.

In Vargas’ piece towards the end, it mentions the police’s point of view in the Chicago community where the Latin Kings’ “code of silence” is prevalent. My original question concludes with asking if there are any paths we can take to come up with solutions to rebuild the trust between residents and police. Vargas touches on the fact that the police have scarcity of resources and too high of caseloads at a time, making it difficult to respond to all calls. On the other hand, the roles of the campaigns and basketball league were mentioned in class, questioning whether or not they are productive in reducing violence in the communities. I am left wondering what the right path really is and how to start, considering all of these circumstances. Should we be focusing more on creating strong, trusting relationships within the community or reinforcing the police system as a whole? Both?

In chapter five of Wounded City: Violent Turf Wars in a Chicago Barrio, Robert Vargas discusses the concept of the “code of silence.” He explains that, “the code drives a wedge between police and residents” (121), such that residents refrain from calling the police in return for gang protection. My expert question focused on the role of social programs in relation to gang protection. More specifically, I wanted to hear what the class thought about the role of the basketball league in strengthening community values within the Latin Kings community. My question generated a lot of discussion about the concept of legitimacy. Certainly, social programs such as the basketball league compel eastside residents of Chicago to associate with the Latin Kings as a means for maintaining safety. In the case of the burning of Israel Palacios’ house, once it was discovered that he was the director of the program that runs a Latin King’s son’s basketball league, gang members were told not to mess with him again. This raised the question of legitimacy amongst my classmates. Would this man still be protected even if his kids left the basketball league? How long can Israel’s role within the basketball league keep him safe? If Israel were to quit his job, would he be back on, per say, the Latin King’s “bad side?” Or is his involvement in the basketball league, and therefore his connection to one of the Latin Kings’ sons, for any period of time enough to garner their trust for a lifetime? Indeed, the class agreed that trust is one of the most important values that is cultivated through these social programs. But can that trust be maintained when things start to change? It might not be the best option for eastside residents to associate themselves with the Latin Kings, but is it the safest? Clearly my question raised a lot of lingering questions. It seemed that the class agreed that eastside residents of Chicago do not have control over their own physical safety, even if they are connected to the Latin King’s community through social programs such as the basketball league.

During class I also elaborated on the last part of my question regarding if this approach (exploiting relationship-building efforts for the control of crime) could be counterproductive. I connected my question to the discussion we had in a previous class about social integration and social control. We discussed how too much or too little integration can shape our everyday decisions. Though we did not discuss it much, I am interested in hearing more about whether people think that strong, interpersonal ties that individuals might develop through being a part of a social program can actually impede efforts to establish social control in a society that has this code of silence? I am wondering if by strengthening relationships and values among community members, this would actually increase the tolerance for violence because more relationships between groups will be formed, and if this could potentially escalate levels of crime in the long run? I think this idea merits further consideration, especially in a place like eastside Chicago where residents feel as though they cannot cooperate with the police.

This past week, we read Kevin Loughran’s paper, “Parks for Profit: The High Line, Growth Machines, and the Uneven Development of Urban Public Spaces,” where he examines the era of neoliberalism, stratified economic and cultural resources that produce a spectrum of unevenly developed public parks. Specifically, he examines the “High Line,” a one and a half mile long elevated linear park on the West side of Manhattan, which was formerly a viaduct section for the New York Central Railroad. Loughran argues that this transformation “structure[d] the [privileged] leisure and consumption practices of a new urban middle class and anchor[ed] the continued super-gentrification of the surrounding communities” (57). In this post, I want to consider how the idea that cities are machines for economic growth contributes to gentrification and the privileged leisure and consumption practices of the urban space.

John Logan and Harvey Molotch portray the city as a growth machine, where it is built, maintained, and shaped by groups of people (i.e. pro-growth elites) who stand to benefit from the growth. However, because elites try to maximize profit, their projects often contribute to the gentrification of space in the city. For example, in neighborhoods like “Manhattan’s Lower East Side, community gardens that once served to ‘take land out of the market economy and decommodify it’ now function as symbols of ‘authentic’ urban communities” (51). This development was a result of the new urban middle class’ demand for housing in the city. To elites, this was purely an economic decision in which they realized that through developing the neighborhood, property value and marginal profit per home would increase. Furthermore, elites’ commodification of urban space also shows how “parks catering to poor communities and immigrants are underfunded, [and] forgotten unless they can serve ‘growth’ schemes” (50). While parks in high-income areas are readily maintained and regulated, parks in low-income areas represent a disinvestment of effort and interest to raise social welfare because profit-maximizing economics does not consider morality. I believe these “growth schemes” also lead specifically to privileged leisure and consumption practices in gentrified spaces.

Elites of the city are not the only individuals contributing to the gentrification of urban space. Businesses, who also prioritize profit maximization, take advantage of newly gentrified neighborhoods and urban space. In the reading, Loughran describes how the High Line displays “billboards for luxury brands – Veuve Clicquot, Armani, and Hennessey” (59). Economically, this is a strategic placement of advertisements for these companies. Socially, this is a representation of how the privileged leisure practices of those who walk the high line allow businesses to marginalize low-income individuals. The “iconic ghetto” illustrates the reason for this increasing marginalization of urban spaces. Although the “iconic ghetto” is an analyzation of the perception of blacks to whites, I believe it can also contribute to understanding this example. The overwhelming whiteness of places and spaces (i.e. the High Line) reinforces a normative sensibility where people of color are absent, not expected, and marginalized when present. The billboards, along with the shops and amenities of the High Line, are specifically targeted to the middle-class white individual, who are the most common visitors of the High Line.

Gentrification in urban spaces is due to elites striving for profit maximization and growth in the city. Consequently, this leads to middle-class individuals moving into spaces like the Lower East Side of Manhattan. These individuals have preferences, interests, and values which are targeted by higher end brands like Armani, Starbucks, and Rolex. Therefore, luxury brands are able to target not only the individuals but space where they occupy. However, this leads to the marginalization of low-income people who do not share the same privileged preferences.

-David R.  

In our class discussion of The Changs Next to the Diazes, several people mentioned Karen Lacy’s piece on the strategic assimilation of suburban middle-class blacks. Lacy argues that in these middle-class black communities there is “a belief that the construction of an authentic black racial identity is incomplete in the absence of meaningful interactions with other blacks” (Lacy 183). Despite this desire for interactions with other blacks, the community still maintains a preference to “interact with certain kinds of blacks” and “they actively exclude others” (Lacy 183-184).The separation of which types of blacks are acceptable and which are not illustrates the way middle-class blacks separate themselves from the lower-class blacks. The middle-class blacks also attempt to “align themselves with their white counterparts” (Lacy 184). I believe that this alliance is what separates the middle-class blacks from the Asians and Mexicans of San Gabriel Valley.

In San Gabriel Valley, Asian-Americans and Mexican-Americans are the majority and whites are the minority, creating a multicultural identity unique to the area. During class, we briefly discussed the idea of San Gabriel Valley as a heteropolis, although I do not believe this to be true. A heteropolis is a city characterized by high diversity and San Gabriel does not have high diversity as a city. In comparison to other cities in the United States it does, but as its own city, there are only three prevalent ethnicities. In San Gabriel Valley there is a geographic racial divide. Cheng describes San Gabriel as “divided internally north to south, with the north holding larger numbers of wealthier, long-term white residents and the south home to a more heterogeneous mix of working-class to middle-income Asian Americans and Mexican Americans” (Cheng 149-150). In middle-class black neighborhoods, there is an attempt for alignment with the middle-class whites. Lacy suggests that this comes from “the opportunities and constraints that members of the [black] middle-class confront in their suburban communities” (Lacy 184). The black-middle class interacts with the white-middle class in the suburbs, but in San Gabriel there is a clear racial divide. What causes this? Why are some races mixing in some neighborhoods while not in others?

The middle-class blacks “travel back and forth regularly between the black and white worlds. They do not exist exclusively in one of the other” (Lacy 151). There is an ability for middle-class blacks to exist in both black and white spaces. It allows the community to hold onto their culture while simultaneously taking advantage of the opportunities granted in the white spaces. The Mexican-Americans and Asian-Americans in San Gabriel Valley do not this; they do not exist in multicultural spaces. Cheng discusses a “West SGV – developed sense of…Asian American racialized privilege” (Cheng 206). While I do think it valuable to have spaces which are culturally yours, I believe it is a problem when you know no other spaces.

When Asian-Americans and Mexican-Americans leaves San Gabriel, they experience a culture shock. The young adults of color know nothing about being a minority. They enter white spaces and “the trappings of Asian-American racialized privilege, predicated on racial expectations that reinforced white dominance such as the model minority myth, failed when transported to contexts in which whites were clearly dominant” (Chen 206). I think this failure and confusion are evidence of failed socialization in San Gabriel Valley.

Socialization is an invaluable tool all children learn in childhood. The active social interactions with others and the learning of what is acceptable in society cannot be forgotten. San Gabriel is an unique society with a minority of whites, but that is representative of society in the United States. Can one be socialized when they do not know the larger country’s society? I do not believe they can. In San Gabriel this causes identity crises when children leave their cultural spaces and are unable to exist in the white spaces that make up a majority of the United States.

During class, we touched upon Vargas briefly and discussed the Latin kings and their interaction with the police and residents of the community. My question was not originally incorporated within the previous class discussion so I wanted to explore it and go into detail within this blog post. With the idea of “Kings own cops” being spread around throughout the community, is there any benefit in working with the Latin Kings or would that simply garner a form of legitimacy over the police? Is legitimacy viable if the police and the Latin kings base their foundation on the exploitation of the residents? (135-136)

As I formulated the questions, ideas of legitimacy continued to come to the forefront while I was reading the article by Vargas. While the Latin kings had codes they followed when they were in the wrong, they needed to establish their legitimacy. They often had to use fear tactics and exploit the residents so that they wouldn’t call the police, which hindered their activities throughout the neighborhood. Within the perspective of the residents, I found that legitimacy was only applicable towards the police and the Latin kings. Residents are almost in a state of limbo where they have no option or place to trust. If they resorted to letting the gang members roam around, violence or disturbances would continue. If they resorted towards the police, the gang would find out who that individual is and threaten them. It is essentially a catch 22 for the residents within the neighborhood with no escape except moving out.

Within our discussions in class, resistance identities became very interesting towards my thought process. Questions that continue to linger as I read this piece is the constructional makeup of a resistance identity. Gangs can embody many ideologies and provide many avenues for its members to thrive upon. There is definitely an individual resistance identity present but I wonder how this is amplified through gang membership along with its activities. Do these kinships ultimately garner a greater resistance identity with detrimental effects? How does the concept of membership to a gang play a role in that identity? As it definitely contributes to group identity, I feel as though gang membership holds a different weight which is where I see resistance identity intersecting.

What I am trying to additionally construct my thoughts around are the positive and negative effects that gangs may have for a community. Growing up around the talk of gangs and even having friends who associated their selves with gangs placed negative connotations on them. Interestingly enough, I did not feel the same way about the people individually. It became the ideology around what the gang represented that I grew to dislike but not the individual members that I knew and went to school with. They weren’t bad people but rather the association and labeling of their gang is what threw me off.

While the presence of these organizations that help mediate and control the violence of gangs are helpful, I questioned the legitimacy of gangs as a whole. If cooperation is desired, is that dealing with urban terrorists? If gangs are given more leeway, will there simply be more violence within the community? As I continue to address and think about these questions throughout the semester, I find it important to not reduce gangs to a group of people that want to hurt a community. There are motives and more to gangs and their memberships that is submerged from the surface that we must engage when discussing this.

In our class discussion on Wednesday we spent a lot of time trying to understand Alice Goffman’s position/role within the 6^th street neighborhood community and how her role may have informed the way in which she presented her findings. While it is clearly valuable to examine Goffman’s relationship with her subjects and it is important to be critical of how the information is being presented, I personally am more interested in spending a bit more time discussing the social relationships in the 6^th street neighborhood. My expert question focused on the conflicting descriptions that are presented regarding the practice of “riding” or not “riding” and what that may mean for a certain relationship between someone on the run and their family or friends. While conflicting arguments are presented, I do not think the conflict stems from Goffman not properly presenting an argument but rather that in the unique social world of the 6^th street neighborhood, the “culture of fear and suspicion” (Goffman, 90) gives way to social interactions that are specific to the people, time, and place.

Being on the run means that one lives in near constant fear of being caught by the police and so therefore the men of 6^th street go to great lengths to avoid any sort of interaction with an authority figure. This extreme avoidance of the law means that if one does choose to turn himself in or to go to an event or place in which he may run into a police officer, that decision is most often a calculated choice. In the section “The Social Life of Criminalized Young People” on page 131, Goffman states, “the giving and taking of legal risk becomes a way that people in the neighborhood of 6^th street define their relationships, honor or dishonor someone, and draw moral distinctions among one another” (Goffman, 131). I am intrigued by this concept/practice and how in a neighborhood such as 6^th street where the police presence is so constant, how the residents begin to adapt and use the police in a way that benefits their personal social lives. In a way, I think that one could argue this use of the police presence to one’s own advantage could be a form of a resistance identity. While it may not be the traditional sense of a resistance identity, because residents (often spouses or family members of men on the run) begin to use calling the cops on the man on the run as a survival tactic I think it does fit in with a larger definition of a resistance identity. Turning someone in who is on the run is often a power play used by a spouse when she feels that she is not receiving the proper respect from her partner. Furthermore, a spouse may turn in her partner when she feels it has become too dangerous for him out on the streets (Goffman, 94). I think these two practices count as resistance identities because they go against the grain of the typical system and show 6^th street residents using something that often oppresses them to their own advantage. Whether or not these practices do fit into the definition of resistance identity, I think Goffman has touched on a very intriguing part of the social world of 6^th street.

Scott Jacques and Richard Wright’s piece, Code of the Suburb, outlines the lives of middle-class drug dealers. While many of these suburban kids used drugs, few of them actually became dealers. It is this transition, from drug user to drug dealer, that Jacques and Wright explore. Their findings present a unique dichotomy between the drug dealers short-term, and long-term goals.

Jacques and Wright present this notion of “coolness” to highlight the middle-class drug dealer’s short-term goals. Irrespective of the consequences, these suburban teenagers only care about becoming cool in the eyes of their peers. It is through this notion of “coolness” that these teenagers disregard the law and the expectations of their parents, and become drug dealers. This made me think of Grace’s expert questions regarding the three dimensions of community that we have defined throughout the semester. I think this notion of “coolness” highlights the socio-structural sense of community. Specifically, the idea of “coolness” makes “invisible” groups “visible.” Before becoming drug dealers, these kids were largely invisible by their peers. They were not seen as cool, but instead were seen as “lame.” Further, the kids who took on the idea of being “lame” were disrespected and ostracized into their own social group comprised of other “lame-os” (Jacques and Wright 6). In order to gain some respect from their peers, and more specifically become “visible”, these kids resorted to selling and using drugs, showing their peers that they acted irrespective of the law and their parent’s rules (7). This contrast between being lame and being cool is correlated with the idea of making invisible groups visible. As drugs allowed them to transition from being lame to being cool, it also allowed for the once “invisible” group of “lame-os” to become “visible.” This representation of “coolness” satisfied their short-term goals and put them higher up on the social ladder.

There is a stark contrast between their short-term goals of being cool, and their long-term goals of obtaining successful careers and financial success. While these kids did engage in heavy drug consumption, they also knew that this was a temporary phase which would soon be replaced by careers and independence from their parents. However, one thing that we discussed in class was how this short-term phase led to the development of quasi-primary ties, in that these kids were only connected through the consumption of drugs, rather than deep personal connections. From my high school experience, I think this is true of drug dealers today. When I was in high school it was pretty obvious that the drug dealers were their own distinct friend group within the school. Looking back, it is more clear that these groups of kids were not friends through their similarities and interest, but rather through their habits of using and selling drugs. Now that they are much older, many of these drug dealers are no longer friends, as they broke out of their temporary drug phase, and went their separate ways. Conversely, the kids who did not consume drugs and had deeper and more meaningful relationships with their high school peers, are still friends to date. Through this, I think it is evident in both in Jacques and Wright’s, piece and my experiences that quasi-primary ties amongst drug dealers is a common phenomenon.

One thing that I found interesting in Karyn Lacy’s piece, Race- and Blass-Based Identities, was her discussion on strategic assimilation, and the black middle-class’ intentionally limited incorporation into the white mainstream. Further, I thought her idea of racial dualism was very interesting, as it showed the ways in which these middle-class individuals resisted the white mainstream, and instead were able to maintain their strong ties to the black community (Lacy 153). In contrast to the work of Jacques and Wright and the quasi-primary ties therein, I think Lacy’s piece showed a greater sense of community in suburban life by outlining the stronger and more meaningful ties to one’s culture.

Life in Golden Valley felt very familiar. Since I grew up in a small, rural, and isolated town (Presque Isle, Maine) I very much understood the connections between community members and the lack of anonymity. Hunting is a large part of my family and we often spend an entire day without reception just to be out in the woods. The homogeneity and small population create a tight-knit grouping. If something happens, everyone knows about it.

The first thing that came to mind during this reading was conflict theory. I had trouble thinking about the purpose of this community if they are not beneficial or efficient for society and most importantly they tended to be detrimental to themselves. The poverty alleviating strategies were not taken advantage of due to personal pride and the negative social factors which accompany these decisions. The connection to place tied the community members down to this specific town.

The town’s issues all seemed to be rooted in social stigma’s community members were afraid of having placed on them. Men would rather receive federal benefits than work a job which was femininely labeled. Families in this town survived on the hard work of a father figure. Masculinity was measured in the way the man provided for his family. The town suffers from unemployment because of the gender roles the town members continue to hold on to. The expert question I introduced in class involved the idea of social pressures reducing efficiency in Golden Valley. I wonder if there is any way to stimulate the economy with specific gender roles? Should the government be responsible for this even though this town is so isolated? I feel as though tourism could be used here, however, this would take time since the town is off the beaten path. The solution comes down to the importance of happiness or production. Production and efficiency seem to win repeatedly in the United States. If the government were to get involved, they would most likely help these residents relocate to other rural area’s but these areas would have industries for the men or women to work in. Personally, a job fair located in Golden Valley like what happens on a college campus could be beneficial for the community so they could learn about area’s similar in demographics to them and be introduced to new opportunities. Given the small size of Golden Valley, the entire community could relocate to the same area and continue to build their community in a new environment.

Lastly, if the members of Golden Valley moved away to larger areas with more diversity, I believe it could be eye-opening for them because of the new sense of community they would be walking into. In Golden Valley, there are strict social norms due to the homogeneity of the community. They look at life, morals, and value through the same lens because they are so similar to each other. Yet, if they move to another area, this will not be the case. I wonder how they would interact if placed in a new community with much more diversity than they are used to. Would they still form the same bonds? Would parents still be watchdogs for other parents children or would they keep to themselves? This would be a true test of how impactful and environment can be on those inhabiting it.

The contrast between the lives of the drug dealers described in Code of the Suburb and the lives of those observed by Alice Goffman in On the Run is stark. While the difference between suburban and urban settings is certainly nothing new, the existence of an “underground economy” runs through both in a way that reveals meaningful structural factors. Drug dealing, in particular, shows the ways in which the promise of a successful future, policing, and surroundings can shape the nature and attitude of those engaged in the act. The dealers in the suburb can enjoy such benefits as “coolness” among their peers, free drugs, and extra spending money with relatively low risk. For those in the urban setting, however, dealing is a means of survival; an illegal act that perpetuates the vicious cycle of young African-American men “on the run” from the law. While equally illegal in the eyes of the law, drug dealing is defined by the cultural practices of the area.

In suburbia, lives are often shaped by a general set of shared values that are promoted by every family. This set typically includes going to school everyday, following the rules, displaying good behavior, and so on. Following these values promises to put every child in suburbia on the same general path to success: acceptance to college and a fulfilling career to follow. Seen within this structure, drug dealing can offer a kind of resistance against the system. Jacques and Wright note that occurrences of suburban drug dealing were often a child’s expression of individuality from their parents. Within suburbia, however, even this supposed “risky” act won’t sabotage a proper future.

In the inner city, however, there is rarely an inherent set of values and well-laid path to success. With bleak future prospects and lack of a proper network out of the inner city neighborhoods, the path to survival inevitably leads to the “underground economy.” Once engaged in drug dealing in an urban setting, there is very little chance of escaping according to Goffman in On the Run. In her observations, she notes the cycle of incarceration that defines the lives of those in certain inner city neighborhoods. Once convicted of crimes, young men enter a world defined by mistrust of police, constant evasions, and inevitably more crime to survive due to lack of decent job prospects.

The dichotomy between drug dealing in the suburbs and the inner city sheds light on how the two areas are portrayed, and supports the idea of the “iconic ghetto.” The suburb is often described as quiet and safe haven with little crime. Any vice within the area is kept quiet and out of view. Urban settings are expected to be dangerous, crime-ridden areas and are dealt with as such. The “underground economy” is handled and portrayed harshly. This pre-established reputation only reinforces the cycle—bestowing a label on the residents that is nearly impossible to shake off. Growing up under this label sets the bar low for young men, pushing them into the world of drug dealing. Rather than being a phase as it is in the suburbs, urban drug dealing sets its participants on a path of constant incarceration and life “on the run.”

Alice Goffman’s novel On The Run: Fugitive Life in an American City recounts a six-year ethnographic study that she conducted for Princeton University in an urban community in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In this book, she attempts to make sense of her observations by making claims about the functions of and the reasons behind certain trends, actions, and experiences that she witnessed.

A seemingly obvious limitation of this study, as is the case with many ethnographic studies, is the disconnect between external observers and their subjects. While Goffman spent a lot of time talking to and observing the community that she based the book on, we still must consider how her perceptions and/or expectations as an outsider working in that setting could have impacted her conclusions. Not only is she unfamiliar with the cultural norms of navigating the neighborhood, the readers should be wary of how accurate of a picture she is able to paint as a wealthy white woman representing an elite institution who is studying primarily lower-income black men.

Additionally, I think it is important to reflect on how the actions and/or words of the members of this community might have been impacted by Goffman’s presence. In the Preface, Goffman adds, “the families described here agreed to allow me to take notes for the purpose of one day publishing the material (Goffman, xvi).” While these families most likely did agree to these conditions, having the knowledge that they are subjects of an examination might have consciously or subconsciously influenced these people in ways we cannot quite pin point. The simple reality of Goffman’s presence might have altered the ways in which the community typically functions.

On page 32 Goffman touches on the relationship between the neighborhood and the public resources that surround them, “I did not observe any person with a warrant call the police or voluntarily make use of the courts during the six years of the study. Indeed, these young men seemed to view the authorities only as a threat to their safety.” Reading sections of the book with quotations like this made me question how we can alter the preexisting system to provide these people with access to the institutions that in theory are intended to benefit them. I find it extremely problematic that many of the members of this neighborhood perceive the hospital, prisons, and any interaction with the police as dangerous territories that should be avoided at all costs. We saw a similar trend in the Golden Valley reading, where residents who needed assistance were unwilling to pursue it due to fear of cultural backlash. While the members of Golden Valley feared the negative social outcomes and the people studied by Goffman feared legal trouble, incarceration, and even death, both communities have social and cultural barriers standing between them and valuable sources of aid. If we want to provide all American people with equal access to social mobility and prosperity, we have to start by ensuring that everyone feels comfortable taking advantage of public spaces and resources, which is undoubtedly a difficult feat.

In addition, Goffman claims that this distrust and apprehension that exists with public resources also carries over into the personal lives of the community members studied in On The Run. On Page 37 Goffman comments on young men’s relationships, “He comes to regard those closest to him as potential informants. Like going to the hospital or calling the police, spending time with friends, family, or romantic partners places men at risk.” How might this feeling of uncertainty about the intentions of one’s primary and secondary ties alter the ways in which social relationships are built? How might members of society interact differently because of this? Could this cultural norm lead to different or more solitary lifestyles?