Big Love and banning veils: On the (unintended?) consequences of criminalizing "(im)morality"

I recently decided to try Amazon Prime's instant video service and got into watching the HBO show, Big Love, a drama (at times a soap opera) featuring a polygamist Mormon family struggling to make their way in Utah's more mainstream, non-fundamentalist Mormon community. The show itself is interesting, and it has been both widely lauded and widely criticized. As one who is fairly uneducated in the specifics of Mormonism but who doesn't prescribe at all to any particular religious system, I found the portrayals of the religion itself to be fairly neutral. They did not come across to the uninitiated as any stranger or more extreme than any other religious believes, nor did their portrayal seem attributable to any deeper agenda. I was also able to think critically about the underlying or exacerbating contexts that shape the stereotypes as well as the experiences of the shows highly stigmatized focal group, members of the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saimts (FLDS). 

What I found especially interesting were the social implications not of polygamy/plural marriage itself, not of the Mormon exclusion of the group that has re-defined itself as FLDS, but of the ways that the criminalization of polygamy may contribute to and perpetuate the very demonized aspects of these groups that were so prevalent in the show - incest, child sexual abuse, and a mafia-like mentality of control and dominance - and may in turn foster further criminality and place at increased risk those who are most vulnerable to begin with.

As a drugs researcher, I constantly think about the social impact of the criminalization of drugs in particular and morality in general. The perpetuation of stigma, the fear of arrest and incarceration, these things contribute to drug users' isolation from full participation in mainstream society (unless, of course, they are able to pass to a certain extent, which is another issue). In essence, criminalization pushes people into survival strategies that rely heavily upon insular communities in which social norms are not to be questioned and that foster the engagement of these communities and community members in illegal, often violent, activities. Furthermore, this isolation and involvement in an array of criminal activity positions communities and their members in close proximity to established criminal networks.

Fortunately, when it comes to drug use, there seems to be a growing conversation about the consequences of criminalization and the possibilities of legalization (though this latter part is largely limited to marijuana and perhaps my impression of a "movement" may simply be the result of a biased twitter feed). But I wonder if some of the lessons learned from the drug war vs. drug legalization debate may in fact be applied toward other legal prescriptions of individual morality.

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Anthropologists have long studied marriage and kinship patterns across cultures. In fact, these findings - that marriage norms (including who may be married to whom and how many people may enter into a marriage) differ considerably the world over and throughout history - have been at the core of anthropological challenges to the conservative claim that marriage is "between one man and one woman." And on this, the anthropologists are absolutely right. It is simply absurd to reify such a moral standard in ways that refuse to acknowledge the realities of the world in which we live - a world in which there is no single set standard for the ways (or reasons) that people commit to one another.

So what I have long thought about, not having a personal moral issue with polygamy itself, and what the show Big Love has really highlighted for me, is whether when we criminalize one behavior socially deemed "immoral" (typically victimless) are we actually putting people at increased risk and in fact cultivating an entire community of individuals whose daily lives are in turn based on and accepting of other, more dangerous or harmful behaviors (such as violence, rape, and child sexual abuse) in large part because of their isolation from (and consequent mistrust of) the mainstream society from which the very core of their lives - their primary relationships - must be kept secret.

For example, with several examples and multiple characters, Big Love highlights the many challenges faced by a career person torn between living openly in his/her marriages and maintaining not only respect of potential clients but also potential investors, employers, and even banking resources. To admit to living in a plural marriage was to limit one's opportunities in the mainstream business world; as such, engagement with other socially and economically marginalized groups (Native American tribes) or in fringe (certainly by mainstream Mormon standards) economies (gambling) was portrayed as one of few viable alternatives. These struggles were positioned beside the lives of those on the compound, where all were "out" but considerable violence and corruption were rampant and embeddedness in criminal networks was the norm. The show doesn't come out and argue that criminalization of polygamy may actually underlie many of the problem(s) we have seen over the years on these compounds, but it certainly sets the attentive audience up to ask the questions.

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In essence, the cases of illegal drugs and of plural marriage/polygamy/the FLDS in the United States suggest that when we decide, as a society, to use the legal system to restrict behaviors deemed immoral - not just behaviors that cause harm to others - we may create a system that a) isolates those who engage in these practices (many of whom may be vulnerable on multiple levels) from mainstream society and resources, placing them in increased danger and b) perpetuates underground and illegal economies that facilitate crimes against others, crimes of violence. In addition to drug use, similar arguments have been made with regard to the consequences of criminalizing sex work.

But the other day another policy was upheld, one that is perhaps about a different kind of morality but one that has the potential, it seems, to place those it ostensibly (and perhaps a bit condescendingly) claims to protect (through the preservation of France's moral values and cultural norms) at greater risk. In 2010, France banned the wearing of face-covering Muslim veils, such as the niqab or the burka, in public. French authorities have claimed the ban was put in place in large part to preserve French culture, which seems to be quite concerned with the notion that Muslim men are forcing their wives to wear such veils. Another concern relates more to issues of security and identifiability, though this is less discussed. The ban was recently upheld by a European court, which defended France's right to prioritize its own cultural values over "freedom of religion." (As an anthropologist living in the US during a time when corporations have been given religious imperative over the rights and health of women, I find all of this especially interesting, but that's all beyond the scope of the current post!)

Here's the thing...to some extent, I can actually understand both sides of the argument - the French have decided to prioritize an aspect of their culture that authorities and decision-makers and many citizens believe fosters gender equality in the face of a religion that many believe squelches it. Muslim women who believe wearing such veils are part of their religious expression, their relationship to God, and who are neither pressured nor coerced into wearing it, find such a ban to be a huge infringement upon their rights. It is an emotionally and politically loaded debate and one that is perhaps endlessly fascinating and lacking a straightforward, all-pleasing solution.

But ultimately, I must admit that this isn't my primary concern. My concern is for the few women who are coerced or manipulated or downright forced to wear a full veil, something that would suggest a relationship power differential that places them at increased risk for abuse among other things. Banning the veil places these women, who were likely isolated living in France anyway, at even greater risk than they would have been at previously. They will be further isolated if leaving their home is conditional upon wearing an article of clothing that is banned, leaving them three choices: a) go out in the banned garment and hazard getting caught, b) face the consequences of going out without the banned garment, against their husband's wishes, or c) don't go out. This may not only further limit their opportunities to establish their own relationships with women who have different experiences and perspectives, but perhaps more realistically and problematically could hinder their abilities to fulfill their roles in the family. Will these women's movements, as well as their networks, be further restricted? My concern is that the French have said, in essence: We believe that the niqab and the burka are signs of gender inequality and domestic violence (or risk for it). Therefore, we will pass a policy that will perpetuate the isolation of the women who wear it, whether or not they choose to do so. 

While I certainly argue that these examples point to a need to continually and critically evaluate the potential consequences of new and existing policies, this is by no means an attempt to turn a blind eye to the actual issues associated with many of these examples or to filter everything through rose colored lenses. Rather, is is a contemplation of the complexity of our actions, and of the need to consider how what we do as a society, how we build a legal system, what it looks like, what we choose to put in it and where, all of these things in turn impact not only the real yet often intangible or unimaginable social structure but also the daily experiences of real live human beings...often in ways we didn't anticipate and certainly don't desire. 

Drugs in the Media - What's up with the romance of heroin?

Last night, Mike and I went to see my awesome friend Chelsea in a production of Rent. This was great for a number of reasons, some of which hadn't occurred to me until I read the director's note in the program. First, it was great because I adore supporting friends' engagement in this kind of stuff - how can you not want to watch a friend thrive in a context totally separate from the one you typically see them in?! And this one was a special treat because Chelsea is talented. A friend from the barn, we usually see one another in a context of hay, sweat, slobber and dirt; but last night she danced in heels and revealed an enviable singing voice as well as a gift for performance overall. SOOOO much fun to watch! Ok, so in addition to that, this production of Rent was great because it was really well done, and because I will just always love the play, and I will always go home humming "There's only us, there's only this, . . .", and I will always cry because I am enough of a romantic that I will always root for the characters even when I know their fates. I want to mention one last (and unanticipated) awesomeness of this production, and that is the one pointed out by the director: the importance of showing this play in a community theater in Loveland, CO. Yes, it's great that Rent has been adopted by other countries and that it has shown on probably every major stage in the US, but that it can reach (even though it's almost 20 years after it first opened) these smaller sub-rural (is that even a term?) communities is just as important.

But all of this is beside the point because, as much as I love Rent, I apparently cannot quite remove my "I research drug use & addiction and its portrayal in the media" hat even for an evening. So, of course, I came home wondering, would the play's many current and former injection drug users be sympathetic, likable, even relatable if they were meth users?

This question came to me in part because, two summers ago, I spent the majority of my time watching, reading and analyzing popular entertainment media that featured methamphetamine and off-hand, I can't think of a single example of a meth user who was portrayed sympathetically, let alone romantically. Yet, back during my undergrad years in the late 1990s/early 2000s, I went through a phase of watching heroin movies. While heroin is not necessarily glamorized in popular entertainment media (think Requiem for a Dream), my not at all systematic observation suggests that addiction to this drug is often portrayed as something that a general audience can sympathize with if not relate to . . . think about the tragic romanticism of movies like High Art and Gia, for example. Even Basketball Diaries and Permanent Midnight (both of which are based on true-life stories) have characters you root for. Most meth users in popular media are horrible people, far too "folk-devilish" to drive a film in such a way. Rather, the meth users in these media tend to drive stories entirely through their scandalous antics with very little humanity (though there is a scene toward the end of Spun when Brittany Murphy and Jason Schwartzman share a spun out bonding session).

Now, I'm not saying that the romanticized portrayals of heroin addiction in the media are preferable to the portrayal of the scandalous meth addict. Rather, I'm curious what it is about the respective substances and their histories and patterns of use that makes them take on their respective roles in entertainment. Any suggestions? I'd love to hear them!

Part of me wonders - thanks in part to questions asked by many a research participant over the past couple of years - whether it could have something to do with the lack of visible dopesickness experienced by meth, cocaine, crack and other non-opiate drug users. Does the fact that heroin makes people go through well-known physical withdrawals make addiction to it something worthy of sympathy rather than scorn? The women I've interviewed in my own research are predominately meth users and several have told me that they feel judged even by other drug users. While popular entertainment media certainly does portray the heroin addicted person as scandalous at times, they also portray her as struggling with something that would clearly be difficult for anybody.

But romantic? What on earth is romantic about dopesickness? Or the drastic loss of libido experienced by so many long-term drug (especially heroin) addicts? I still just can't quite figure out what it is that makes heroin take this role but it certainly does in Rent. Of the characters we learn anything about, most have HIV and for some of them (Roger and Mimi in particular), it's strongly suggested that they got their disease from injecting heroin. But they are wonderfully drawn characters (especially for a musical) whose addictions (present and past) and daily struggles are still made relatable. And their tragic love story is only strengthened by Roger's barbs about Mimi's continued heroin use.

I think this is an issue I may need to explore academically at some point, systematically. I wonder if my impressions are simply the result of having spent so much time turning a critical lens on meth but not on heroin...all the same, a lay impression is important when thinking about the role of these types of media in constructing the meaning of drugs in our society, leading me to ask for future literature reviews if not studies, how do the meanings of meth and heroin diverge from one another and where do they overlap? And, of course, what do these meanings in context tell us about our society & culture?