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STUDIES OF THE AMERICAS
Citizenship
on the Margins
State Power, Security and Precariousness
in 21st-Century Jamaica
Yonique Campbell
Studies of the Americas
Series Editor
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Institute of the Americas
University College London
London, UK
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Yonique Campbell
Citizenship
on the Margins
State Power, Security and Precariousness
in 21st-Century Jamaica
Yonique Campbell
Department of Government
University of the West Indies
Kingston, Jamaica
Studies of the Americas

ISBN 978-3-030-27620-1 ISBN 978-3-030-27621-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27621-8
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
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Foreword
It is almost sixty years since I began my doctoral fieldwork on Kingston,

the capital of Jamaica. Since then I have published three books deal-
ing with the history and geography of social inequality, race and pov-
erty in Kingston, and it is a real pleasure to write the foreword to this
monograph by my former graduate student, Yonique Campbell. Her
book bears the title Citizenship on the Margins: State Power, Security
and Precariousness in Latin America and the Caribbean—Jamaica’s
Garrisons. My own urban fieldwork started early in 1961 while Jamaica
was in the last stage of decolonization. In September of that year Jamaica
rejected its role as the major component in the West Indies Federation;
in a referendum it pulled out of the Caribbean multi-island colony; and
in 1962 Jamaica became independent of Britain as a sovereign state.
Jamaican colonial subjects of the British crown thereafter became citizens
of Jamaica, and the entire population was, in theory, incorporated into
the state’s political and legal systems on the basis of universal adult suf-
frage and social equality, irrespective of class, creed, race or colour.
However, citizenship as expressed by de jure incorporation, has not
been universally achieved since 1962 in the garrison communities, espe-
cially in Kingston. Here the vast majority of the electorate, who compose
the five political constituencies in West Kingston, vote for a single party,
achieving majorities of over 90%. Insecurity and violence are the norms
in these neighbourhoods, and alternative ways of seeking citizenship de
facto have been pursued among their urban, lower-class residents. While
the Kingston upper and middle class largely live by North American
v
vi FOREWORD
standards and values, downtown lower-class youths have been social-

ized into a get-rich-quick mentality (get-dead-quick reality), given that
they lack the education and supports (family and community) to achieve
material well-being by socially acceptable avenues. Hence the preoccupa-
tion with hard drugs, the emergence of local gang leaders or dons, and
the transformation of many downtown districts in Kingston into nihil-
istic, no-go areas of which the garrison communities are outstanding
exemplars.
This marginalized proletariat has become increasingly dominated by
dons who offer their own version of citizenship. Gang leaders dispense
a range of benefits to their followers, provided they accept a Faustian
pact which involves support for, and identification with, the don. This
requires voting for the don’s political candidate at election time, turn-
ing a blind eye to drug trafficking as required by his gang, and accept-
ing an alternative type of don-approved informal citizenship outside the
law as conceived by the Jamaican state and the police. These alternative
states-within-a-state form a continuous band following the waterfront on
either side of the Spanish Town Road, encompass all five garrisons, and
are markedly secular and materialistic.
Yonique’s ‘Turl Head’ community, adjacent to May Pen in
Clarendon, is also a garrison, while her suburban ‘Market Heights’ rep-
resents a middle-class neighbourhood in Kingston that has sufficient
resources to privatize much of its dependence on the state for security.
Propelled by material needs into the arms of the dons, the urban poor
find that the offer of citizenship comes at a price. It is citizenship de
facto, outside the citizenship de jure enjoyed by the average Jamaican,
which conforms to the state-approved legislation prescribed by decolo-
nization and subsequently amended by the national legislature. De jure
citizenship incorporates the upper and middle classes, black, brown (and
white), together with the non-garrison, but largely black lower-class fol-
lowers of the Pentecostal, Seventh Day Adventist and Church of God
religions. Differentially incorporated—because they draw their variant
of citizenship from the bond between don and follower—the lower-class
black residents without religious faith have come to occupy a distinctive
space in the geography of West Kingston, where they endure a life of
material deprivation environed by the ghetto and, above all, by the gar-
rison communities, of which the outstanding case is undoubtedly Tivoli
Gardens.
FOREWORD vii
Yonique uses her three communities—an urban garrison (Tivoli

Gardens), a small-town garrison (May Pen) and a middle-class Kingston sub-
urb to investigate the links between class, security and citizenship in Jamaica.
By interviewing representatives of the policy elite and non-governmental
institutions she is able to interrogate policy and institutional approaches to
security at the national level, and to evaluate whose citizenship rights are
important and non-negotiable (middle- and lower-class Kingstonians) and
whose are not (inhabitants of the Kingston garrisons). The marginal role of
the police in Tivoli Gardens is underlined, while respect, violence and polit-
ical identity are shown as characteristic of each of the garrisons explored
in the book. While the police see themselves as guarantors of civil society
for the middle class and privileged part of the lower class, the garrisons
are essentially beyond the law. As the class structure of Kingston is clearly
depicted in its spatial structure, so too is the spatial separation of those with
civil rights de jure uptown and de facto downtown.
Field research in Kingston is not for the faint-hearted, and Yonique
has shown determination and bravery in interviewing in the city, much
of which is made impenetrable either because of violence and lack of
security in the ghetto, or because middle-class neighbourhoods, though
superficially accessible, have homes that are locked and barred. Bold also,
has been her contextualization of her Jamaican materials with reference
to violence and insecurity in Latin America and the Caribbean. Yonique’s
key perception is that don-endorsed security in the Jamaican garrisons
implies that civil rights are forfeit where police treat residents as unde-
serving of equality with other citizens. And it carries a universal message:
governments in Latin America and the Caribbean—and elsewhere—must
embark on policies of incorporation wherever communities are suffering
from the systematic denial of the protection of the law.
Colin Clarke
Emeritus Professor of Geography
Oxford University and
Emeritus Fellow of Jesus College
Oxford, UK
Acknowledgements
Along the way, I have amassed quite a few debts which in justice should
be acknowledged here. This book began as a DPhil thesis, written under
the supervision of Colin Clarke and Patricia Daley at Oxford University.
Their helpful criticism and careful scrutiny of my work played a large part
in any value this book may have. Colin generously provided intellectual
support and invaluable comments at every stage of the writing process.
At UWI, I am grateful to Anthony Harriott for the many stimulating
conversations about security and violence in the region. My students at
UWI and members of The Society for Future Policy Leaders have been
powerful sources of inspiration. For their role in my early intellectual
development, I am especially grateful to Stephen Vasciannie and Edwin
Jones.
The initial doctoral research on which this book is based was funded
by the Commonwealth Scholarship Commission. Jesus College also pro-
vided funding for a field research trip to Jamaica and further financial
support for completing the project. I would like to acknowledge a recent
award I received through the Canada-CARICOM Faculty Leadership
Programme, which allowed me to spend 5 months at Concordia
University, where I completed the manuscript. I remain deeply indebted
to these institutions for their support. I am also indebted to Tina Hilgers
who invited me to Concordia.
For taking time to share their knowledge and points of view with me,
I am grateful to members of various governmental and non-governmental
organizations in Jamaica. I am grateful to the staff at Palgrave whose work
ix
x ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
has made this book possible. I am deeply indebted to members of the

communities I studied, who so willingly offered their time and stories.
There is no end to the list (in no particular order) of those whose
love and emotional support kept me going through various stages of the
writing process and numerous existential crises: Elizabeth Lewis, Arjette
Karemaker, Roxanne Stephenson, Nadiya Figueroa, Alecia Johns, Jacinth
Byles, Tameka Lee, Kemilee Mclymont, Jonathan Buchanan, Michael
Waul, Se-shauna Wheatle, Lecia Wishart, Kerry-Ann Arthurs, Nicole
Sierra, Halfdan Lynge-Mangueira, Kathy Meilleur, Kerry-Ann Crawford,
Omar Hawthorne, Tracy-Ann Johnson-Myers and too many academic
friends and colleagues to count. The book is dedicated to Calvin, Andre
and Kristian Campbell. Without their unconditional love, I would not
have embarked on this journey.
Prologue
My research on security and citizenship began more than a decade ago.

My quest for a deeper understanding of the security problem took me
into two ‘garrison’ communities, into the offices of politicians, police
and military chiefs and into the homes and lives of people living on
the margins of society. I had previously spent two years working in the
security sector in Jamaica. That experience had raised endless questions
in my mind about why, with millions of dollars spent, new institutions
established, and endless consultancies and ‘reform’, the Jamaican state
had failed to solve one of the most significant twenty-first century policy
problems. Thousands of lives had been lost on the battlefield and many
more were prepared to die. ‘Some of us have to die for others to live’,
as one interviewee told me, captured the stark reality of life and death.
This narrative, more than two decades ago, had likely inspired the title of
Laura Gunst book, ‘Born Fi’ Dead’ (1995), an ethnographic account of
Jamaica’s international gangs.
The year 2010, when my fieldwork began, represented a significant
historical moment in Jamaica, and provides insights into the tumultu-
ous dynamic between the state and people occupying securitized spaces.
Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke became a fugitive and was extradited to the
United States to face charges. The Jamaican state had failed to provide
both citizenship and security to people living in Tivoli Gardens and
through earnings from organized crime, the drug trade, and his strong
ties to the state, Coke had become the de facto state, providing social
welfare, sending children to school, establishing and enforcing rules
xi
xii PROLOGUE
and laws. Citizenship rights and security had effectively been localized
in spaces like Tivoli that were differentially incorporated into the society
following independence. Coke had managed to secure a social contract
in Tivoli Gardens—citizens agreed to submit to the authority of their
don, which invariably includes surrendering some of their rights and
freedoms. Coke had governed Tivoli Gardens through a parallel govern-
ance order that had close ties to the state and a tacit but fragile territorial
agreement. Life without Coke and this localized order were inconceiv-
able for people living in Tivoli Gardens. The deliberate attack on the
state by members of Tivoli Gardens, to prevent his extradition, and the
response from the state coalesced in urban warfare, one that reverberated
throughout Kingston and elsewhere. This was not just a national event—
the international repercussions and underpinnings were evident. The US’
war on drugs had brought the national, the international and local into
an uncomfortably close proximity. On the positive side, a policy window
was also created for rethinking the relationship between the community
and the state, the politics-crime nexus and the community’s relationship
with the so-called society, more generally.
In the aftermath of the Tivoli ‘operation’ or ‘incursion’, I met and
interviewed approximately 40 community members. For them the don’s
extradition and the ‘incursion’ was a nightmare’—they no longer had
guaranteed security and they suddenly felt vulnerable to various threats
including rape, police abuse and threats to their personal safety. But,
for the US, this was another victory for the ‘war on drugs’, and for the
Jamaican armed forces, it represented a significant step toward the rein-
statement of state power. They had taken back control of a space that
politicians had willingly ceded to criminal actors in their bid to embed
state control and win electoral support. Two things were clear from the
conversations: people did not feel that they were a part of Jamaican soci-
ety (they were not full citizens) and they had no guarantee of protection
from the state (their security was now threatened); citizenship rights are
not guaranteed to those living on the margins of Jamaican society. They
are negotiated. During the battle between the security forces and those
who felt they had a responsibility to protect their don and territory at
all cost, many people engaged in negotiations with police and soldiers
about various rights, including the right to life. Some were successful
in their bid and others were not. On the battlefield, the police and sol-
diers, rather than the don, became sole arbiters of justice. By protecting
PROLOGUE xiii
the dons and legitimizing their authority, those living on the margins,
in securitized spaces, had forfeited their citizenship rights. According to
this logic, the police were justified in utilizing force and repressive mech-
anism. At the same time, neighbourhood watches in middle-class com-
munities were ready to ‘take back their community’, with private security
emerging as a part of a self-governance approach to security among the
middle class.
Since Kingston’s garrisons had dominated most studies on secu-
rity and violence, I decided it was also important to grasp the realities
of other, non-urban securitized spaces in Jamaica. This community pro-
vided further insights into garrison processes and the subnational factors
that both legitimized and challenged the local ordering of securitized
spaces. Violence and insecurity had become a part of everyday, and citi-
zenship rights and the right to security, were not guaranteed by the state.
Rights were mediated by dons and localized understandings about the
rules of the game. People complained about how easily their rights were
violated and how insecure life on the margins had become. Although
residents felt shut out of the formal systems of politics and democracy,
politicians still won elections by sizeable majorities. Politicians worked
through interlocutors who had power and influence in the community
and were afforded further social influence through control over com-
munity projects and their ability to distribute goods and intervene in
disputes.
While Jamaica was experiencing a security crisis and violations of cit-
izenship rights in the interest of national security, in May 2010, other
events were unfolding on the security landscape in Latin America.
In May 2010 Central and South American migrants were killed in
Northeast Mexico by the Los Zetas drug gangs, violating their right
to life. Escaping violence insecurity, and precarious circumstances in
impoverished spaces in Latin America has been at the heart of the
attempts by migrant to cross the US border. Three years before the
killings in Northeast Mexico, Brazil’s ‘Pan Massacre’ invasion into
the favela resulted in deaths and civil rights abuses; and in 2008, two
years before I started my fieldwork in Jamaica, Columbia launched a mil-
itary operation into Ecuador and extradited 14 ‘paramilitary warlords’ to
the US. During the same period, the Brazilian state initiated the Police
Pacification Units (UPP) in Santa Marta, one of the many favelas in Rio
de Janeiro. As a policing tool, the UPP was developed to address lethal
xiv PROLOGUE
violence, high crime rates and gang control in the favelas. While the
Police Pacification Programme in Brazil seems to provide an ‘alternative’
to the dominant technique of government, the Jamaican case shows that
another security technique is becoming popular: states of emergency or
the state of exception.
In January 2018, nearly a decade after warfare between Tivoli Gardens
and the state, Jamaican Prime Minister Andrew Holness, in response
to shifting patterns of violence in the tourist city of Montego Bay,
announced a state of emergency. Citizenship rights were to be suspended
in the interest of national security. By utilizing a constitutional provision
and the Emergency Powers Act 1938, the state has sought to formalize
and legitimize an old state practice. Suppressive law enforcement meth-
ods had always been central to security strategies in Jamaica, and in Latin
America more broadly. The use, and normalization, of states of emer-
gencies and zones of special operations, as official state policy, to address
national security threats and to police garrisons have, however, pro-
duced new implications for citizenship rights and insecurity. Since 2018,
a total of six states of emergency have been declared in various p arishes
and sections of Jamaica. The state also passed new legislation, in the
form of the Law Reform (Zones of Special Operations) (Special Security
and Development Measures) (ZOSO), Act 2017, which gives the state
expansive powers and the wherewithal to detain suspects and suspend
citizenship rights. Although ZOSO makes provision for social interven-
tion measures, this is treated as an appendage to the dominant security
approach. By drawing attention to the narratives and voices of those on
the margins, I am anticipating that this book will, like others before it, act
as a counterpoise to dominant security approaches and discourses (which
this book also examines) in Latin America and the Caribbean.
Contents
1 Security, State Power and Citizenship:

The Latin America and Caribbean Context 1
2 Security and Citizenship 29
3 The Jamaican Context 55
4 Suspension of Rights, Security Operations

and Dons: Opting Out of State Citizenship? 71
5 Middle-Class Security: Market Heights 87
6 Precarious Experiences of Security and Citizenship

in Turl Head 99
7 Policy Responses and Security Discourses Among

State Actors and Civil Society Groups 117
8 Conclusion 129
References 137
Index 163
xv
List of Figures
Fig. 1.1 Total Homicides per region for the period 2000–2016 11
Fig. 1.2 Total Robberies per region for the period 2003–2016 12
xvii
List of Tables
Table 1.1 Total Homicide per Caribbean country

for the period 2000–2016 13
Table 1.2 Total Homicide per Latin American country
for the period 2000–2016 14
xix
CHAPTER 1
Security, State Power and Citizenship: The

Latin America and Caribbean Context
Introduction
People living on the margins of cities in Jamaica, Brazil, Mexico, Columbia,
El Salvador, among others, are central to discourses and practices of secu-
rity, violence and citizenship (Arias and Goldstein 2010; Caldeira 2000;
Gray 2004; Hilgers and McDonald 2017; Holston 2008). The impact of
national security policies and practices on the quality of citizenship—under-
stood broadly as political, social and civil rights (Marshall 1950) and a
practice whereby people constitute themselves as political subjects in order
to claim these rights (Insin and Neilson 2008)—is, in fact, a controversial
and widely debated topic in Latin America and the Caribbean. The secu-
rity practices of the state, and its structuring power, reinforce and produce
notions of who is a citizen and who is not and are critical to the ways in
which citizenship is framed and enacted in marginalized spaces. Citizenship
on the Margins argues that attention must be paid to the intersection of
these issues because of the way in which insecurity, violence and the invo-
cation of national security are transforming state power and raising new
concerns over citizenship rights.
This question of the connection between security and citizenship is par-
ticularly pertinent in the current period where neoliberal globalization and
an increasing emphasis on the security of the state, coupled with its inability
to address violence and insecurity, have made citizenship more precarious
for those living on the margins of society. While the constitutions in the
region provide for citizenship in the juridical sense, class discrimination,
© The Author(s) 2020 1

Y. Campbell, Citizenship on the Margins, Studies of the Americas,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27621-8_1
2 Y. CAMPBELL
produced by structural inequalities and the stratification of society, through

production or consumption processes and racial hierarchies, has created dif-
ferentiated and unequal citizenship (Campbell and Clarke 2017; Holston
2009; Thomas 2011). Those targeted by legal and extralegal security prac-
tices of the state are normally seen as ‘non-citizens’ who pose a threat to
the security and well-being of the state and the ‘good citizen’.
Further interrogation of the relationship between citizenship and secu-
rity provides a means of considering new complications and consequences.
Citizenship on the Margins examines these issues and the conditions under
which local actors have emerged to challenge state legitimacy while pro-
viding their own version of citizenship. Criminal actors, ‘violent non-state
actors’, ‘dons’ and ‘drug lords’ who control local spaces, by providing
security and their own form of de facto citizenship, have arguably destabi-
lized and redefined notions of citizenship. This form of citizenship, which
takes up the challenge of state neglect, is problematic not only because of
the pernicious way in which the threat of violence is used but because it
is intrinsically detrimental to those who would (re)claim the freedom to
challenge it.
Increased militarization of public safety (Zaverucha 2000), transnational
policing (Bowling 2010), securitization (Buzan and Waever 1998), extra-
judicial killings, mass surveillance and the use of emergency powers all
testify to a deepening of state power and a repositioning of citizenship
rights in Latin America and the Caribbean. As violence intensifies and as
states in Latin America find new, or rely on old, techniques to deepen state
power, citizenship rights are being treated as secondary to safeguarding the
security of the state. Security practices and laws which purport to address
threatssuch as transnational organized crime and gang violence have raised
questions about rights and the extent to which countries in the region are
willing to make decisions that compromise citizenship rights but also the
quality of citizenship, in the substantive sense.
Higher incidences of violence, gangs, guns and involvement in orga-
nized crime give states in Latin America and the Caribbean an increased
ability to violate rights, victimize their citizens, criminalize urban poverty
and marginality and to argue that the state must act with urgency to
safeguard the security of the state and the security of its ‘law-abiding
citizens’. The region is not exceptional in this sense. To invoke Agam-
ben, the state of exception has become the ‘dominant paradigm of
government’ in contemporary politics. As long as ‘the global civil war’
1 SECURITY, STATE POWER AND CITIZENSHIP: THE LATIN AMERICA … 3
remains ‘unstoppable’, the state of exception can be justified as a tech-

nique of government (Agamben 2005: 2). On this account, the book is a
useful point of comparison not just for countries in Latin America and the
Caribbean or the global South but for countries outside the region that
have prioritized national security over almost all functions of government
since the September 11 terrorist attacks on New York.
Whose rights are affected when national security laws and policies are
enacted? How do states in Latin America and the Caribbean justify curtail-
ing rights to satisfy the goals of national security? How do policy elites and
people occupying different positions of power construct the amorphous
relationship between rights and security? How and with whom do citizens
negotiate their rights? How do everyday citizens resist or cope with prob-
lematic forms of state authority? Why do countries in Latin America and
the Caribbean deploy security policies and techniques which have negative
effects on the quality of both citizenship and democracy? In order to answer
these questions, it is, of course, important to understand how power works
and circulates in different spaces where the state seeks to exercise control.
If power works through and combines ‘the deployment of force and the
establishment of truth’, as asserted by Foucault (1977: 184), then it is
important to examine this process as well as the social and political order
that undergirds it.
Citizenship on the Margins critically explores the impact of national secu-
rity and state power on citizenship rights and experiences. Using cross-
country data and examples from Latin America and the Caribbean and
drawing on fieldwork conducted in Jamaica—where high levels of vio-
lence, in(security) and transnational organized crime are transforming state
power—the book argues that higher levels of security threats, as con-
structed by the state, pose challenges for the successful enjoyment of citi-
zenship rights. This construction and the responses often result in increased
violation of, or lack of respect for, the rights of the urban poor. ‘Non-
citizens’ who are constituted as threats to the security and well-being of
the state, and who often lack access to basic public services and the privi-
leges enjoyed by the middle and upper classes, must negotiate their rights.
They must navigate the vicissitudes of formal and informal authority and the
power of security actors who act as arbiters of rights. The book challenges
the view that measures taken by the state to address national security are
always responses to objective threats and argues that threats are also con-
structed by different actors in society. While there is a dominant security
4 Y. CAMPBELL
discourse which focuses on state security, individuals at the local level artic-
ulate their own narratives which reflect particular lived-experiences and the
socio-political context. The book also examines state and popular societal
discourses which claim that national security threats are most effectively
resolved through unorthodox or exceptional measures.
The book further argues that as state power is deployed to address vio-
lence and national security threats, there is a corresponding increase in
the tension between national security and citizenship rights and between
security actors and everyday citizens. In addition to making citizenship on
the margins more precarious, this has produced numerous effects on lived-
experiences, state legitimacy and the outcomes of security policies. Fur-
thermore, as the tension between national security and citizenship rights
increases, there is a centrality of the local as a site where citizenship is
(re)defined, mediated, interpreted, performed and given meaning. The
nature of state security and the hostile composition of the social order
have been integral to this localization of citizenship and the legitimiza-
tion of violence outside of the state apparatus. Authors, including Arias
(2017), Sives and Figueroa (2002), Gray (2004), Jaffe (2012) have shown
that armed actors and dons carry out local governance roles in a number
of countries in Latin America and the Caribbean. Some of these actors are
usually enmeshed in clientelist and collaborative relationships with the state
and political parties (Clarke 2006; Stone 1983; Hilgers 2012).
The book anchors the study in the experiences of Latin America and
the Caribbean, generally, and Jamaica, specifically, for three main reasons.
Firstly, many of these states, including Brazil, El Salvador, Mexico and
Columbia, have failed to address common issues of (in)security, violence,
marginalization and violation of rights (Arias and Goldstein 2010; Hilgers
and McDonald 2017; Idler 2019). Secondly, these unresolved problems
predispose the region to experiencing higher levels of direct confronta-
tion between security actors and individuals in securitized spaces. Thirdly,
in(security) and national security practices have raised critical questions
about respect for, and enjoyment of, citizenship rights. This has made polic-
ing and its punitive and extralegal character (and the need for reform) the
focus of a number of writers, who conduct research in the region (Dammert
and Malone 3003; Frühling 2012; Harriott 2000; Müller 2012).
The intersection of citizenship rights and security is a feature of Latin
American and Caribbean cities for many reasons: the homicide rates are
high, structural violence is prevalent; there is an inordinately high level of
abuse and police impunity; organized criminal networks and gangs exercise
control over sections of the urban poor (ensuring security for some and
insecurity for others) who have been securitized; fear is pervasive, and the
Weberian state which in theory should have a legitimate monopoly on the
use of force has failed to provide security, an important public good. These
and other factors, which I discuss in this and subsequent chapters, have
shaped the relationship between citizenship and security in significant ways.
This relationship is embedded in processes of state formation, the power
of dominant practices and discourses, the political history of Latin America
and the Caribbean and the systems of domination and subjugation that are
ingrained in the predominant approaches to both security and citizenship.
The book argues that in the face of an ever-increasing concern with the
way in which national security is affecting citizenship, attention must be
paid to the complexities of the situation.
To foreground the study, the book presents a critical analysis of the way
in which both security and citizenship have been treated, theoretically, in
various studies that privilege the state and experiences of citizenship in
the West. It highlights the centrality of the state in security discourses and
examines how certain security measures and a pervasive sense of in(security)
have rendered de facto and liberal notions of citizenship rights elusive for
the urban poor. The book explores how citizenship rights and discourses
of who is a citizen and who is not are embedded in historical, economical
and socio-cultural conditions and shaped by responses to the threat of
state security and insecurity. Holston (2008), Koning and Kruijt (2007),
Goldstein (2012), Thomas (2011), and Gray (2010), for example, have
examined questions of citizenship and violence in the Latin American and
Caribbean context. A number of books have focused on the European
context, migration and the war on terror as well. Gillaume and Husyman’s
(2013) book, ‘Security and Citizenship: The Constitution of Political Being ’,
concentrates on how political being is constituted in relation to securitizing
practices with particular emphasis on terrorism and migration. In ‘At the
Edges of Citizenship: Security and the Constitution of Non-citizen Subjects ’
Hepworth (2015) examines forms of non-citizenship, exclusion from the
political community and how they relate to specific security policies in Italy.
Noxolo and Husyman’s (2009) book ‘Community, Citizenship and the War
on Terror’ focuses on how the war on terror has shaped the meanings
given to community and citizenship. This project looks more broadly at
the intersection of security and citizenship, and their correlates, at the state
and local levels through the lens of Latin America and the Caribbean and
Jamaica in particular.
6 Y. CAMPBELL
By combining both theoretical and empirical analyses, the book aims

to make a contribution to studies on security and citizenship. The study
examines how policy elites and everyday citizens frame discourses or nar-
ratives about the intersection of citizenship rights and security and how
security practices of the state affect people’s ability to successfully possess
their citizenship rights. Consequently, the book bridges the gap between
studies that focus either exclusively on the state or on narratives of every-
day citizens. The book draws on available data from Latin America and the
Caribbean and utilizes interviews conducted in different spaces, including
Tivoli Gardens, Jamaica, one of the most instructive subnational spaces
for understanding the dynamics between citizenship and national security.
Tivoli Gardens has experienced the suspension of rights in the interest of
national security and the localization of rights through dons who utilize
their immense influence over local spaces to negotiate and collude with
state actors and to redefine articulations of citizenships. Research in this
‘garrison community’ is conducted at a very specific moment (following
the extradition of the dominant community figure or ‘don’, ‘Dudus’) and
provides a useful snapshot of the community in transition and a useful anal-
ysis of the way in which national security threats and securitization affect
citizenship rights. Finally, by situating citizenship outside of the state, and
widening the scope of its application, the study advances some nuanced
propositions about how people resist or cope with violation of rights and
in(security). People constitute themselves as citizens not merely through
practices that make claims on the state, but also through practices that make
claims on communities and local spaces. Rights are mediated and experi-
enced in subnational spaces as much as they are experienced in national
spaces.
Death and Hegemony: Colonialism,

Authoritarianism and Cold War Politics
The relationship between security and citizenship in Latin America and
the Caribbean is particularly challenging because of the complexities sur-
rounding the social and political order, which evolved out of a complex set
of social and political processes. The history of the region is fraught with
racial and social conflict and defined by exclusionary policies and practices.
Taken together, these help to explain the punitive, sometimes inhumane,
tendencies that have been constitutive of security and policing approaches
in Latin America and the Caribbean. The region is diverse and historical
experiences in Latin America have been in certain respects different from

that of the Caribbean. Still, they ‘share a number of characteristics typical of
developing countries: a history of colonialism as appendages of the Western
European powers; exploitation through the agency of large landed estates;
and the subordination and direction of non-white populations through
forced labour’ (Clarke 2019: 5). They also share similar experiences with
repressive security practices; taken together, these allow for some general-
izations. Under slavery and colonialism, citizenship was limited to whites
and to those who wield economic power through the ownership of prop-
erty. This exploitative system relied on violence to maintain the status quo,
quell resistance and secure mercantile ambitions. Violence and citizenship
have, therefore, always been inextricably intertwined and pertinent to the
politics of the colonial subject (Fanon 1963; Simatei 2005; Schmidt 2013).
The legacy of slavery and colonialism has ensured that in its aftermath secu-
rity practices continue to be colonial in ways that are detrimental to the sta-
tus of equal citizenship. State violence is still being used a tool to discipline
and control the masses, secure elite interests (Hermann 2014) and pre-
vent demands for equal citizenship. Moreover, the lives of people in Latin
America and the Caribbean, and the global south more generally, continue
to be affected by the hegemonic practices of the West (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh
and Daley 2018; Harvey 2003; Mamdani 1996; Rodney 1972; Said 1978).
Postcolonial theorists such as Franz Fanon (1986) were apt to point out
the way in which discourses of race produce specific subjectivities through
their impact on definitions of the self and notions of desirability. Fanon saw
violence as a way of countering the experiences of violence inflicted during
colonialism.
Instead of rejecting state violence, punitive security regimes, and unequal
citizenship, the elite winners of the insurrectionary movements that swept
across the region, starting as early as 1804 in the case of Haiti, 1810 in
Mexico and 1822 in Brazil and as late as 1938 in the case of Jamaica,
embraced these debilitating forces, reinforcing the system of race and class
inequalities. State formation included a privileging of different cultural and
racial groups and the age-old problem of domination and subjugation. As
shown by Quijano (2000), even in Chile and Uruguay, social movements
influenced political reforms and a ‘more-or-less effective’ citizenship for the
whites, and to some extent the ‘mestizos’, but not for the Indians. Quijano
argues that in the context of Latin America:
8 Y. CAMPBELL
the condition of homogenization of the population could only have been

achieved through a radical and global process of democratization of the soci-
ety and the state. And such democratization must imply, first of all, a process
of decolonization of the social, cultural and political relations between races
or more precisely between ‘European’ and ‘non-European’ groups and ele-
ments of social existence. But precisely that power is still built upon a colonial
axis. So nation-building and especial nation-state building has been intended
and worked against the majority of the population: ‘Indians’, ‘Blacks’ and
‘Mestizos’. The coloniality of power still is, in most of Latin America, dom-
inant against democracy, citizenship, nation and nation-state. (2000: 228)
By looking at citizenship regimes, ‘which defines who has political mem-

bership, which rights they possess and how interest intermediation with the
state is structured’ (2005: 7), Yashar shows how state institutions in Latin
America have historically privileged some identities and interests over oth-
ers. She looks at how the state and its citizenship regime, which politicized
and challenged autonomous groups led to contestation over citizenship in
Latin America. I am more interested in examining how the security insti-
tutions established by the state at various historical moments have led to
contestations over citizenship. Political instability, authoritarianism, civil
wars, the war on drugs and high levels of violence are central to the analy-
sis of how Latin American security regimes have affected citizenship. The
use of security institutions to control counterrevolutionary movements all
impacted on the production of violence and the violation of rights (Costa
2006; Davis 2010). The authoritarian regimes that held power in Latin
America prioritized the state machinery, the maintenance of power and the
security of the state. This, of course, had consequences.
During the Cold War, military dictators engaged in national security
policies that included torture, disappearances, suppression of civil soci-
ety and other atrocities (Cardenas 2011). Democracy and neoliberalism,
presided over by the US and its security agencies, came at a very high price
for Latin America. The doctrine of national security was heightened dur-
ing the Cold War and used by international and national actors to justify
human rights abuses. With the approval or involvement of the US, Latin
American countries such as Brazil, Argentina, Columbia and Paraguay sup-
pressed leftist armed guerrilla movements, carried out executions, forced
disappearances and engaged in spying (Brysk 1994). Operation Candour,
or the so-called Dirty War, the Civil Wars in Central America, Chile under
Augusto Pinochet; La Violencia in Columbia and the Brazilian death squads
all provide evidence of the way in which national security has historically
affected citizenship and respect for human rights in the region (Feitlowitz
1998; Huggins 2000). The extensive abuse of citizenship rights through
death squads, repression of political dissidents, killings en masse, and securi-
tization of domestic stability encapsulates the national security praxis of the
region during the Cold War. Because Latin America was a key player in the
development of citizenship rights and the establishment of the American
Declaration of the Rights, Cardenas (2011) argues ‘that images of mili-
tary coups, disappearances, death squads, and bloody civil wars’ is ‘vastly
incomplete and misleading’. Security institutions in Latin America face a
constantly evolving landscape. It is clear, however, that the establishment
of democracy through institution building and electoral processes does not
guarantee that security actors and state organizations will act in a demo-
cratic manner or that state violence will end. In fact, higher levels of vio-
lence, police abuse and impunity coincided with the onset of democracy
and the establishment of civilian police forces in countries such as Brazil
(Holston 2008).
Despite marked differences in their political histories, Latin American
and Caribbean countries have ended up with somewhat similar security
norms and practices (Campbell 2018). The Commonwealth Caribbean,
for the most part, did not experience authoritarianism and political insta-
bility never became a prominent feature of most of the countries in the
Caribbean. However, Haiti, Dominican Republic and Cuba, in the Greater
Antilles, have long histories of authoritarianism. State formation in the
Commonwealth Caribbean relied on the adoption of a democratic, com-
petitive two-party political system under the Westminster Whitehall model
(Smith 1961; Girvan 2015; Sutton 2013). The two-party political system
which was used to consolidate democracy through electoral competition
culminated in state-sponsored violence and ethnic conflict. Similar to Latin
America, the Cold War affected security interventions and practices in the
Caribbean; national security was used to justify the use of violence as a
means of preventing communism spreading to Caribbean countries that
had close ties to socialist regimes, such as Cuba under Fidel Castro and
Venezuela under Hugo Chavez. In the specific case of Jamaica, the vio-
lence of the 1980s reflected a clash between the right-wing Jamaica Labour
party led by Edward Seaga and the left-wing Peoples National Party led by
Michael ‘Joshua’ Manley (Payne 1988). The political parties militarized
and armed their supporters to defend their respective ideologies. Like the
right-wing parties in Latin America, the Jamaica Labour Party saw its role
as one of protecting the state from threats presented by communism during
10 Y. CAMPBELL
the Cold War. Under a national security doctrine, most Caribbean coun-
tries supported the US’s intervention in Grenada in 1983 and Panama in
1989. Invasion of a sovereign country, despite the reasons, always carries
the potential for human rights abuses and destabilization. To some extent,
this potential for foreign interference in matters of security is always present
in the region. The act of intervening, whether through the ‘war on drugs’
or through neoliberal conditionalities and policy transfer, involves a certain
level of anxiety and an ever-present risk of abuse for those in close prox-
imity to the ‘target’. Those who have the privilege of dual citizenship or
multiple visas, the global desirables, always have the advantage of fleeing.
Violence, Crime and Fear

Since the end of the Cold War, ‘the security agenda has focused on the
defence of democracy and the promotion of a liberal democratic reform…’
(Hurrell 1998: 530). ‘Non-citizens’ and the use of violence by non-state
actors have been constructed as a threat to democracy and this liberal demo-
cratic ideal. Violence is often seen as an indication of a democratic failure or
weakness instead of an intrinsic feature of democracy in the region (Arias
and Goldstein 2010). Although democracy has prevailed in the Caribbean
and despite the democratization of Latin America in the 1980s and 1990s
and the designation as a zone of peace, national security practices still have
far-reaching consequences for citizenship rights. States in the region still
pit national security against citizenship rights for many reasons. One of the
driving forces behind the troubling relationship between security and citi-
zenship is the high levels of violence in Latin America and the Caribbean.
This violence and the need to ‘govern security’ is transforming state power.
Even in the absence of violence perpetuated by military dictatorships, Latin
America and the Caribbean is known as one of the most violent regions
in the world. In 2016, over 162,000 persons were killed (United Nations
Office on Drugs and Crime 2019). South and Central America accounted
for over 158,000 homicides while the Caribbean accounted for over 4000
(see Figs. 1.1 and 1.2). The rates are also shown in Tables 1.1 and 1.2. While
a mere 8% of the world’s population live in Latin America, it is responsi-
ble for 33% of global violence; the victims and perpetrators of violence are
usually young males between the ages of 15–29.
Violence in the region has been associated with class-formation and the
structural history of colonialism (Clarke 2000; Thomas 2011), inequality
(Hoelscher 2015), rapid urbanization (Clarke 2000), clientelism (Hilgers
1,58,092
1,80,000
1,49,859
1,50,335
1,46,658
1,35,130
1,29,694
1,60,000
1,36,471
1,33,563
1,28,813
1,26,070
1,20,731
1,24,488
1,22,176
1,25,574
1,17,812
1,17,506
1,40,000
1,16,920
1,20,000
Number Of Homicides
1,00,000
80,000
60,000
40,000
6,709
6,972
5,361
6,922
6,908
3,049
6,202
6,709
5,723
6,225
4,383
4,723
3,916
5,505
4,199
4,789
3,689
20,000
-
2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016
Years
Homicide Caribbean Homicide LaƟn America
Fig. 1.1 Total Homicides per region for the period 2000–2016
2012; Schmidt 1974; Sives 2010; Stone 1980), access to firearm and the
drug-for-guns trade; ‘the cry for respect’ (Campbell and Clarke 2017; Levy
1996); inefficiencies in the criminal justice system and organized crime
(Denyer Willis 2014; Harriott 2008). Violence has also been constituted
as disembodied and set apart for the social milieu. Indeed, violence and the
response to it must necessarily be read against a socio-political background
in which conditions in the socio-historical environment have a pervasive,
structuring influence. Gangs, which are responsible for a high percent-
age of the violence generated in the region, emerged in response to issues
stretching from the post-conflict environment defined by insecurity and
heightened precarity among demobilized combatants (in the case of Cen-
tral America, for example) (Bruneau et al. 2011) to the internecine La Vio-
lencia in the case of Columbia (Karl 2017) and state-supported violence to
win elections in Jamaica. Failure to acknowledge the discrepancy between
this socio-historical reality and contemporary strategies has influenced the
12 Y. CAMPBELL
2500000
2266557 2267213
2138889 2209952 2145855
2155793
1953946
2000000
1762090
Number Of Robberies
1500000
1152675 1199191
1125712
1038334
1000000
753658
500000
96366 100143
4236 5271 8138 8187 11251 10126 9116 9714 7905 18334 17978 13277
0
2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016
Years
Robberies Caribbean Robberies LA
Fig. 1.2 Total Robberies per region for the period 2003–2016
deployment of security strategies which aim to, in one go, resist, control and
arrest the problem. Policies that seek to control gangs and respond to high
homicide rates have produced repressive strategies and discourses which
pit national security against citizenship rights. These strategies present the
ongoing risk of collapsing the distance between the margins and abyss of
citizenship.
High homicide rates produce high levels of fear and public demands for
common sense, populist solutions (Wacquant 2009). The Latinobarometro
(2018), which uses interviews across 18 countries, revealed that more than
40% of citizens in Latin America are afraid of becoming the victim of a
crime. This fear shapes the way people negotiate security and manoeuvre
in public spaces. It is common, for example, to disregard certain regula-
tions in the interest of personal security: running the stop light at a certain
time is considered acceptable in some countries. It is an indication of fear,
but also shows awareness of the security environment. Fear and the lack of
faith in the state’s ability to address violence have also influenced the prolif-
eration of gated communities and expansive investment in private security.
In addition to being influenced by high homicide rates, fear has also been
influenced by people’s political, economic and social insecurities, which
Table 1.1 Total Homicide per Caribbean country for the period 2000–2016
Country Total number of victims of Total victims of intentional

intentional homicide homicide per 100,000
population
Anguilla 27 205
Antigua and Barbuda 105 115
Aruba 56 56
Bahamas 1445 408
Barbados 416 150
British Virgin Islands 10 45
Cayman Islands 51 99
Cuba 10,188 90
Curaçao 203 156
Dominica 89 126
Dominican Republic 31,802 331
Grenada 166 160
Guadeloupe 170 38
Haiti 4206 42
Jamaica 21,864 786
Martinique 112 28
Montserrat 4 82
Puerto Rico 13,857 371
Saint Kitts and Nevis 199 397
Saint Lucia 559 334
Saint Vincent and the 338 310
Grenadines
Trinidad and Tobago 5571 422
Turks and Caicos Islands 14 48
United States Virgin 532 497
Islands
Total 91,984 5296
accompanied democratization in Latin America, as shown in the case of

Chile, Argentina and Brazil (Dammert and Malone 2003, 2016). The fear
of being robbed is also high among the middle class. The graph below
shows the total figures for robbery in the region between 2003 and 2016.
Most importantly perhaps is the troubling reality that the fear of crime
also encourages and is permissive of punitive security policies which have
implications for democracy. People are willing to support any type of
regime that holds the greatest promise for solving the problem of violence
(Cruz 2000) and are also responding with their own forms of vigilante or
14 Y. CAMPBELL
Table 1.2 Total Homicide per Latin American country for the period 2000–2016
Country Total number of victims of Total victims of intentional

intentional homicide homicide per 100,000 population
Belize 1685 541

Costa Rica 6867 154
El Salvador 65,395 1068
Guatemala 84,648 602
Honduras 80,784 1016
Mexico 280,906 241
Nicaragua 10,843 195
Panama 7259 204
Bermuda 68 107
Argentina 8669 20
Bolivia 10,338 103
Brazil 821,526 426
Chile 7472 44
Colombia 313,216 712
Ecuador 33,675 236
French Guiana 235 112
Guyana 2328 309
Paraguay 14,087 240
Peru 12,356 40
Suriname 529 108
Uruguay 3850 114
Venezuela 190,669 679
Total 1,957,405 7271
‘self-help’ justice (Blake 2013; Goldstein 2012). Caldeira argues that in

the case of Brazil, where the consolidation of democracy was accompanied
by an increase in crime and violence, fear of crime was used to legitimize
exclusion, urban segregation and questionable techniques of injustice:
An increasing number of residents of Sao Paulo are opting for types of private
security and even private justice (through either vigilantism or extra-legal
police actors) that are mostly unregulated and often explicitly illegal. Fre-
quently these privatized services infringe on and even validate the rights of
citizens. Yet these violations are tolerated by a population that often consid-
ers some citizenship rights unimportant and even reprehensible as evidenced
in the attack on human rights’. (2000: 3)
Risk and Social Exclusion

Closely aligned to the problem of fear of crime, and the punitive approaches
to justice that it produces, is the idea of the ‘risk society’ and the way in
which discourses of risk are deployed by the state to manage insecurity
(Giddens 1999; Beck 1992). Engaging with theories of neoliberal gov-
ernmentality and political economy, Zeiderman (2016) shows how both
the state and residents in Bogotadraw upon discourses of risk and vulner-
ability to advance their own agendas. As a technique of government, risk
allows state officials to intervene in ‘high risk’ informal settlements. This
kind of biopower ‘deals with the population as a political problem, as a
problem that is at once scientific and political, as a biological problem and
as power’s problem’ (Foucault 2003: 245). The Zones of Special Oper-
ation and the use of states of emergencies in Jamaica operate according
to a similar logic. By designating an entire community high risk, the state
is able to justify the need to suspend constitutional rights in the interest
of national security. In the specific case of zones of special operation, citi-
zens are incentivized to reproduce the language of the state and to accept
the designation that defines entire communities as high risk. The commu-
nities that are so designated, should according to the law, benefit from
social intervention programmes that promise social benefits for individu-
als in securitized spaces. For the state to implement this law, residents are
expected to show that they meet the criteria for intervention. That is to
say, they are expected to present themselves as ‘non-citizens’. The same
could be said of the favelas where the Police Pacification Units in Brazil
are deployed. The problem here is that the language and practice of ‘paci-
fication’ and ‘social intervention’ allow the state to better monitor and
exercise control over marginal spaces without expanding the full franchise
of citizenship. These approaches which require communities to be pacified
or intervened in give the state more legitimacy to pursue a state-centric,
punitive approach to security risks and threats. Duffield (2007) sees this
security/development nexus as an opportunity for developed countries to
act on the lives of ‘non-insured populations’ in developing countries. His
view is that this nexus is being created around core biopolitical functions
in the interest of global security.
This relationship between security and citizenship has also evolved
alongside class discrimination, socio-economic marginalization, neoliberal-
ism and police abuse in cities such as Mexico City, Rio de Janiero, Medellin,
Managua and Caracas (Koonings and Kruijt 2007). They argue that this has
16 Y. CAMPBELL
resulted in fractured forms of citizenship and intensified class segregation.

On one hand, there is the problem of security actors violating or subject-
ing de jure rights to negotiation. On the other hand, there is the problem
of systemic discrimination, exclusion, stigmatization and criminalization
that make it increasingly difficult for those living on the margins to enjoy
the entitlements of citizenship through traditional channels. Security is a
core consideration in how public spaces are designed and experienced. By
mapping exclusion at different scales, from the home to the nation-state,
Sibley (2003) argues convincingly that space and the built environment
have been used as social control mechanism. Architecture and the priva-
tization of public space have become powerful symbols of hegemony and
control, and as such the design of space as pointed out by Sibley is a pro-
cess built on inclusion and exclusion. By representing the urban poor as
deviants and ‘dangerous others’, constant policing by the state and private
security companies as well as exclusion through architectural design and
privatization of public spaces become viable solutions (Kohn 2004; Lewis
and Kedron 2011).
Exclusion ‘refers to the dynamic process of being shut out, fully or par-
tially, from any of the social, economic, political or cultural systems which
determine the social integration of a person in society’ (Walker and Walker
1997: 8). Drawing on the work of Abrams, Hogg, Marques and Mendes
(2005), exclusion can take place at many different levels. At the societal
level, there is ‘consensual exclusion of particular sets of people within a
society’ (2005: 18). At the institutional level, there are certain criteria
which form the basis of selection for inclusion by various institutions in
the society. At the intergroup level, boundaries are drawn through estab-
lished differences from other groups, and at the level of the intragroup,
exclusion sets standards by which membership is legitimated. There is also
intrapersonal exclusion, which is about one’s emotional and cognitive state
of being (which can either enable or prevent a person from considering
opportunities for inclusion in the first place). The various levels of exclu-
sion, as pointed out by the authors, are not mutually exclusive but are
very much related. Exclusion at the interpersonal level can, for example, be
affected by the broader societal, institutional, and even abstract forms of
exclusion. These various forms of exclusion have increasingly been utilized,
to different degrees perhaps, as important frames of reference in societies
that experience various forms of insecurities, including physical and struc-
tural violence. It is important to locate the intersection between exclusion
and individual security focused at any of these levels.
The fact that wanting to belong is a natural human characteristic (Dewall

2013) means that groups will react to their exclusion either by forming new
groups which display exclusionary tendencies, or that challenge the systems
of exclusion, experienced as oppressive mechanisms. Exclusion can, there-
fore, become a boundary-forming exercise carried out by those who wish
to exclude, but also by the excluded. The inclusiveness which citizenship
ostensibly incorporates has become questionable in the light of excluded
populations, often denied the right to act as bearers of rights to whom
certain privileges and entitlements are due (Dahrendorf 1988) By sending
out certain symbols, making choices between competing ideas for framing
public policy and creating various mechanisms of social control, the state
actively intervenes in the day-to-day dynamics of exclusion.
Neoliberalism and modernity have also affected the way in which security
policies are enacted and the impact they have on citizenship and feelings of
inclusion or exclusion. To the extent that neoliberalism encourages security
practices which seek to control resistance to unpopular economic policies, it
is also implicated in the problem of precarious citizenship. The relationship
between neoliberalism, class and violence (Auyero 2000; Goldstein 2005;
Portes and Hoffman 2003) is evident in Latin America where scholars have
argued that responses to unpopular economic policies provide an impetus
for the state to tighten its control and surveillance over the marginalized.
Neoliberal policies create structural violence (Galtung 1985) which leads to
resistance, insecurity and ‘radical expressions of violence’ (Sanchez 2006)
which is targeted through suppressive security practices.The war on drugs
in Mexico has also been seen as a distraction from the inequalities that have
worsened under Mexico’s commitment to neoliberalism (Watt and Zepeda
2012).
Transnational Organized Crime: Dehumanizing,

Negotiating and Going to War with Gangs
Transnational organized crime is central to this global security architecture
in which different criminal actors are targeted through similar discursive
and strategic patterns. Gangs and ‘drug kingpins’ in South and Central
America and the Caribbean have been at the forefront of the war on drugs
and transnational policing strategies that utilize both covert and overt con-
trol strategies. The meaning encapsulated in the ‘war on drugs’ and the ‘war
on terror’ is designed to conjure up an emergency and the need, therefore,
to move these issues into ‘high politics’ where the normal rules of politics
18 Y. CAMPBELL
do not apply (Buzan and Waever 1998). Coercive and exceptional measures
are normalized, preparing the target and the community for the possibility
of ‘collateral damage’. The use of mass surveillance as one of the primary
tools used in the war on drugs raises important questions about the right
to privacy, procedural fairness and racial equality (Rudovsky 1994). It also
points to the complications that attend transnational policing and intelli-
gence sharing, which take place across national borders and is, therefore,
beyond the sovereign’s control. These transnational and clandestine prac-
tices mute democratic accountability and set the tone for similar national
practices and policies.
In 2010, there were accusations from the then leader of the Jamaica
Labour Party and Prime Minister, Bruce Golding, that the way in which
wiretapped evidence, used to secure the extradition of drug kingpin,
Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke to the US, was obtained amounted to a breach
of Coke’s constitutional rights. It was later revealed that the US had secured
two secret memorandums with the Jamaican government which allowed
them to bypass legal constraints. Additionally, the methods used to ‘cap-
ture’ gang members and ‘drug lords’ often have implications for citizen-
ship rights. In Jamaica, the use of the army to quell protests, respond to
attacks and ensure the extradition of drug ‘kingpin’ Christopher Dudus
Coke resulted in the death of over 70 persons and violation of human
rights. For many in the society, at least initially, national security was a jus-
tifiable reason for the abrogation of the right to life. But for people living
in Tivoli Gardens, the extradition of Coke led to numerous anxieties about
protection and security. People do not just rely on drug lords for guaran-
teeing personal security but for instituting predictable rules of citizenship
and for negotiating with the state and the police on their behalf.
Within the national context, it is common for gangs to be described
as ‘animals’ and non-humans. Through a dehumanizing or ‘animalizing’
discourse, the state is able to deploy a more extensive use of coercive pow-
ers, which as Hume (2007) shows in the case of El Salvador undercut
citizenship rights. Columbia and Mexico, for example, have employed the
rhetoric of killing drug traffickers and militias. ‘A good criminal is a dead
criminal’ was a slogan oft repeated by Jair Bolsonaro, Brazils president on
his campaign trail in 2018. Evidently, national governments take a hard-line
approach to gangs and drugs when it suits their political interest or when
international pressure is applied, but they also employ peripheral strate-
gies which have consequences for citizenship. These include negotiating
and cooperating with armed groups and contracting out security. By fail-
ing to provide security, the state actively participates in the production of
privatized security, provided by a range of actors including private com-
panies and armed actors. In a neoliberal paradigm, where governments
are increasingly incapable of providing public goods, alternative security
arrangements have become the norm. Contracting out security to armed
groups encourages urban segregation, excludes people from entitlements
through the state and encourages alienation from the state. In this regard,
marginalized spaces in Latin America and the Caribbean, pose a particular
difficulty for state legitimacy, making it difficult to reassert authority in
moments when the state wishes to assume control, for whatever reasons.
Negotiation is usually a last resort after all other strategies have been
exhausted. The 1996 peace agreement between the Guatemalan govern-
ment and the guerrillas put an end to the civil war which began in 1962
and resulted in numerous deaths. In the case of Columbia, the 2016 peace
treaty between the Columbian government and the Revolutionary Armed
Forces of Columbia (FARC) is expected to address the decades-long prob-
lem of violence, guerrilla warfare and displacement. This would have pos-
itive effects on citizenship but without the necessary social and economic
institutions to fill the vacuum, other paramilitary groups can easily assume
control of territories previously occupied by the FARC. This would mean
a failure to incorporate people living on the margins into formal processes
of citizenship. Without this, people will continue to rely on the FARC for
protection and the provision of social services (Idler 2019).
Policing
It is impossible to discuss security practices and policies and the way in
which they affect citizenship on the margins without examining the action
of police and policing doctrines and institutions in Latin America and the
Caribbean. Police forces are often implicated in the dark side of democracy
—they use excess force, carry out extrajudicial killings, violate due
process, conduct searches without warrants, carry out abuses in the penal
system, engage in corruption and develop legitimating narratives to win
public support. The action of the police is usually influenced by several fac-
tors: the dominant security paradigm that frame the roles and functions
of policing, their colonial and authoritarian orientation, political forces
and measures of accountability, or the lack thereof (Bowling 2010; Loader
2018). The mano dura or zero-tolerance approach to policing in Latin
20 Y. CAMPBELL
America (Cruz 2012; Glebbeek 2001; Hume 2007) reflects an approach to

policing borne out of the dictatorships that were common in Latin America.
Mano dura style policing is antithetical to democratic policing and policing
by consent. It is no surprise therefore that allegations of the use of excess
force, police impunity, extrajudicial killings and lack of accountability and
transparency are common in Latin America and the Caribbean.
Across most of Latin America civilian police forces were only created
in the 1990s. This was certainly the case for El Salvador and Guatemala.
And although the police force in most Caribbean countries have long been
under democratic control, undemocratic tendencies are apparent (Harriot
2001; Mars 2007; Wallace 2011). They were created with specific purposes
in mind, usually to control and discipline the masses through the use of
force, and despite legal provisions, such as the Constabulary Force Act
1935 in the case of Jamaica, and efforts to ‘professionalize’ and ‘reform’
police organizations, this original propensity to use force has not been
displaced. The police are expected to use force within ‘reasonable limits’
towards lawful objectives, but there is still no common understanding or
agreement on how to define the use of force. Studies have shown that fac-
tors such as police agency (Wilson 1968), the socio-political environment,
and a person’s socio-economic status will affect the police’s willingness to
use force (Terrill 2001); citizens with a lower socio-economic status and
who are poor are more likely to suffer at the hands of the police. Efforts at
reforming the police force have included ‘hotspot’ policing, intelligence-
led and problem-oriented policing, but the most popular so far has been
community policing. These alternatives emerged in the light of criticisms
that the crime control or crime attack model of policing usually resulted in
citizen disaffection (Reisig 2004). Community policing, which emerged in
its modern iteration in the late 1970s and early 1980s and was later trans-
ferred to Latin America and the Caribbean, promotes the idea of improving
police-citizen relationship through working more closely with communities
to address crime. According to Bayley and Shearing
Its philosophy is straightforward: the police cannot successfully prevent

or investigate crime without the willing participation of the public, there-
fore police should transform communities from being passive consumers of
police protection to active co-producers of public safety. Community policing
changes the orientation of the police and represents a sharp break with the
past. Community policing transforms police from being an emergency squad
in the fight against crime to becoming primary diagnosticians and treatment

coordinators. (1996: 588)
If communities become co-producers of safety, then this suggests that com-

munity policing should be more compatible with respect for citizenship
and should lead to reductions in police abuse and victimization. Most
studies on community policing have focussed on the impacts on crime
reduction and the fear of crime but not necessarily on police abuse.
Improvements in legitimacy, citizen perception and police satisfaction (Jill
et al. 2014) suggest that community policing should also reduce abuse.
Some of the problems encountered with community policing in Latin
America and the Caribbean include lack of police training and awareness of
community policing programmes (Beato 2004); insufficient personnel as
seen in the case of Bogota (Chinchilla 2004) and implementation deficits.
Additionally, there have been criticisms that citizen participation does not
meaningfully influence police activity and the actions designed to address
public safety (Frühling 2007). In the case of Mexico, community polic-
ing has been confounded by corruption, clientelism and misuse of police
resources (Müller 2010).
The Police Pacifying Units operating in Brazil’s favelas have received
much attention and while it was initially hailed as a success, it has been
regarded more cynically by others. The implementation of the UPP, led
by the Military Police, was expected to reduce lethal violence and allow
the Brazilian state to reclaim its authority in the favelas. Ricotta (2017) has
shown in her study of Santa Maria, the first favelain Rio where the UPP
was implemented, that the notion of the favela as the ‘internal enemy’ is
still common among the armed forces and defines the relationship between
favelas and the armed forces. This atmosphere of mistrust presents obvious
challenges for the successful implementation of UPPs. Ricotta’s study also
reveals citizens’ concerns with the potential for police abuse and reprisals.
Despite the use of UPPs, lethal violence by the state increased between
2012 and 2016 (Rio de Janeiro Public Security Institute). In 2013, it was
revealed that Amarildo de Souza, a bricklayer from Rocinha, the largest
favela in Brazil, located in Rio de Janeiro, was tortured to death by a UPP
officer. Freeman (2012) sees the pacification of selected favelas in Rio ‘as a
strategy of capital accumulation. According to Freeman the ‘citizens of Rio
are being dispossessed of the political process of deciding security, transport
and urban planning policy in general. And they are being dispossessed
through the privatization of a large section of the city in the port area.
22 Y. CAMPBELL
Favela communities, although they are relieved of the insidious influence of

drug gangs, are also dispossessed of a certain autonomy, self-determination
and democracy in running community affairs’ (2012: 222).
Localizing Citizenship
Owing to the nature of dominant security approaches and the marginaliza-
tion of more human-centred approaches, the local has come to occupy a
more central place in the performance, negotiation and mediation of citi-
zenship. While the community has always been critical to the embodiment
and performance of citizenship, the security regimes in Latin America and
Caribbean have made the localization of citizenship more pronounced in
the lives of marginalized citizens who feel shut out of the formal process of
citizenship (Campbell and Clarke 2017). The denial of or failure to provide
security or its discriminate provision across different spaces within the same
territory, constitutes a denial of citizenship. In this way, the community
has become a critical site for the enactment and realization of citizenship.
The local practices that inform the social order of marginalized spaces are
decidedly in conflict with, and contest, the state’s legal-rational institutions,
calling its legitimacy and the veracity of the Rosseauian social contract into
question. In spaces where criminal groups provide social services and secu-
rity, resolve conflict and establish ‘jungle justice’ mechanisms, citizenship
through the state is often replaced with local security systems and gover-
nance actors who rely on de facto authority. By studying micro-level polit-
ical regimes in Medellin, Kingston and Rio de Janeiro, Arias (2017) shows
how the local governance roles of armed actors affect politics and crime
control policies and lead to different forms of governance. He argues that
factors including levels of consolidation, integration among armed actors,
weak or strong ties to the state, determine the types of armed level regimes
that emerged in the neighbourhoods that inform his study. The ability of
armed actors to influence crime control and governance, I would argue, is
also directly related to their role in mediating citizenship rights at the local
level. This provides armed groups with the support they need to embed
and legitimize their authority and strengthen their bargaining power with
the state.
Illustratively, donmanship is a key feature of garrisons in Jamaica: the
de facto legitimacy of a local don, a community leader, who controls how
violence, security and criminality are ordered within the sphere of his geo-
graphical and political domain, is derived and authorized by his local follow-
ers. Donmanship has provided a localized system of citizenship for many
individuals within the garrisons, but, by their very nature, the garrisons are
exploitative entities that reproduce patterns of domination and subjuga-
tion. In contrast to what obtains in the garrisons, Jamaica’s middle class
derives formal citizenship through the institutions of the state and by virtue
of class position, education and place of residence. Consequently, while the
middle class has also become disenchanted with governance processes and
suffers from a growing problem of insecurity, its ‘good citizens’ remain
fairly passive, preferring to seek refuge in civil society organizations and
private security. Citizens on the margin, though, have shown an inclination
towards decentring the state. In the more organized garrisons, dons define
and rank rights determine how and in what manner they are to be enjoyed
and establish rules and enforcement policies. The local also provides a space
where people establish a sense of belonging and a local identity. It is also
the context in which people seek and command a respect and make sense
of the world. People’s worldview is to a large extent determined by expe-
riences in the local space where citizenship is practiced. While dons and
armed groups also deprive people of their citizenship rights which, along
with other factors, generate ‘low intensity citizenship (O’Donell 1993), in
some cases there is a tacit approval where citizens agree to give up some
of their rights for security (Jaffe 2012), reconfiguring citizenship in the
process. Blake’s (2013) study of Jamaican dons provide insights into their
role in local governance, justice and social control processes. Through vio-
lent practices such mob justice and lynching, Goldstein (2012) through
his study of Bolivia also reveals the way in which justice and security have
been managed and dispensed by communities. These practices result from a
complex set of issues including the lack of protection by the law and peren-
nial class discrimination and marginalization. The ineffectiveness of security
policies and practices of the state are always implicated in the reasons for
and the complexities that surround the localization of citizenship. Whereas
at the national level democratic citizenship is defined by the rule of law and
rights imbued in the constitution, citizenship at the local level rejects the
rule of the law and the values of middle-class respectability most closely
associated with the social requirements for citizenship. These arguments
are further explored and illuminated in the empirical chapters.
24 Y. CAMPBELL
Methods and Field Sites

I utilized a mainly qualitative, multi-sited approach. My approach, there-
fore, was to conduct an intensive enquiry aimed at understanding lived-
experiences and the meanings that people occupying different spaces in
society give to their security realities. As far as generating data to address
research questions in a study is concerned, field site selection is an important
step. I chose to study Jamaica, and this book relies on field research carried
out across four sites—two selected communities—(1) an urban garrison,
lower-class community (Tivoli Gardens), (2) a small-town garrison com-
munity (Turl Head, Clarendon), (3) an urban, middle-class community
(Market Heights, Kingston) and among policy elites and policy managers.
The selection of these sites was based, first, on their appropriateness
to the research topic and research questions. Second, there was a need
for diversity of data; and my situated knowledge of Jamaican society, cou-
pled to my own experience in the ‘security sector’ meant that I was able
to select the research sites based on knowledge about how these spaces
were being positioned in discourses of security. There was an attack on the
state by members of Tivoli Gardens in May 2009 over the controversial
request for the extradition of the community don, Chirstopher ‘Dudus’
Coke, that left over 70 members of the community dead. Tivoli Gardens
was, therefore, an extraordinarily important site for exploring contempo-
rary security discourses and practices in Jamaica. Turl Head was chosen
primarily because it offers insights into garrison politics, but also brings a
non-metropolitan dimension to bear on the security dialogue, which is lack-
ing in many academic studies on Jamaica. Clarendon, the parish where Turl
Head is located, also has one of the highest murder rates in the country.
Arguably, local security narratives and practices are embedded in a com-
plex set of interactions between individuals, communities, political forces
and bureaucracies, so that the three sites of analysis along with my elite
interviews aimed at capturing this diversity.
Although I have utilized cross-national datasets to give a fuller picture of
Latin America and the Caribbean, the primary research methods employed
in this study were mainly qualitative in nature. I relied on semi-structured
interviews, focus group discussions, participant observation and document
analysis. A total of 120 semi-structured interviews was administered in
Tivoli Gardens, Turl Head and Market Heights with an additional 35 con-
ducted amongst policy elites, including politicians, civil society, interna-
tional donors and policy managers. I have used pseudonyms to protect the
identity of all research participants.
By travelling to the communities on a daily basis I was fortunate enough
to observe people in their own social setting. I went to football games and
kept up with the activities of NGOs and governmental actors in the com-
munities. It would have been difficult to think through the information
collected without this kind of immersion into the socio-cultural environ-
ment. This also provided opportunities for personal reflections which are
integral because they provide the researcher with new vantage points and
with opportunities to make the ‘strange familiar and the familiar strange’
(Marshall and Rossman 2011). I also relied on focus group discussions.
The quantitative data utilized in the study was drawn from the United
Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) which provides data related
to drug trafficking, crime, criminal justice, drug production and drug use.
Data on many types of criminal offences are provided. These include rob-
bery, kidnapping and homicide data. The data is collected through the
Annual Report Questionnaire which focuses on drugs and the Crime Trend
Survey which focuses on crime and criminal justice, which are submitted by
Member States. UNODC also collect other kinds of data through national
surveys. It is important to bear in mind crime data has its limitations and
relies mainly on police collection and measurement methods.
Book Structure
Chapter 2, entitled Security and Citizenship, introduces key concepts and
uses a critical framework to explore debates which have emerged in studies
on both security and citizenship. Having laid the theoretical and concep-
tual foundation, in Chapter 3, The Jamaican Context, I pick up on central
issues raised in the introduction as a way of illuminating Jamaica’s social
order and its political and economic structures. I bring together debates,
past and present on the political, social and economic order with the aim of
providing a lens for the reader to situate the field sites. In addition to pro-
viding the context for situating the research, this chapter aims to sharpen
the focus on citizenship in Jamaica, preparing the reader for the empirical
chapters. It sets the stage, as well, for discussing the dynamic between cit-
izenship and security, according to spatial, political, and class realities, and
gives the reader important information on constant struggles experienced
26 Y. CAMPBELL
and staged by sections of the lower classes in their attempts to establish a

sense of place in the society.
Chapter 4 entitled Suspension of Rights, Security Operations and Dons:
Opting Out of State Citizenship? examines Tivoli Gardens, the most
emblematic garrison in Jamaica. The absence of the state has created a
vacuum and legitimacy challenges; criminal dons provide their own form
of de facto citizenship to residents who often face hostile encounters with
the police. A number of themes are highlighted, which relate to the way
in which the community has acted as a site of citizenship, simultaneously
rivalling and acting in concert with the state. Respect is of importance
to Tivoli Gardens, a community which has experienced hostile encoun-
ters with the state, and, over time, has become alienated from society.
Chapter 5, entitled Middle-Class Security, explores Market Heights—a
middle-class comparator for Golden Town. I examine how differences
around space, place, and class define security experiences and the relation-
ship each community shares with the state as well as their place in the social
and political order in Jamaica. Various narratives are explored in a bid to
understand the security landscape of the community and practices pursued
to address fear and feelings of insecurity.
Chapter 6, Precarious Experiences of Security and Citizenship in Turl
Head, highlights the security narratives of another lower-class garrison
community, Turl Head. There were similarities between Turl Head and
Tivoli, certainly in terms of issues related political identity, respect, violence
and narratives which centralize ‘being educated to the system’. However,
Turl Head is evidently more impoverished than Tivoli Gardens, with higher
levels of unemployment, and the interviews revealed a pervasive sense of
‘nutten naah gone’: a more embedded reality of hopelessness and precar-
ity. Also, Turl Head does not conform to the traditional and preferred ‘one
order’ system in Tivoli Gardens.
Chapter 7, Policy Responses Among State Actors and Civil Society Groups,
examines security policymaking and draws upon interviews conducted pri-
marily with Jamaican policy elites in various governmental organizations,
as well as with non-governmental institutions. It interrogates policy and
institutional approaches to security in Jamaica and the hegemonic dis-
courses and practices which frame the security agenda with a view to criti-
cally analysing dominant security approaches and the reform agenda. The
chapter examines the way in which security practices and policies reflect and
reproduce notions of whose citizenship is important and non-negotiable

and whose is not.
In attempting to map the way forward, Chapter 8 revisits the main
findings and arguments presented in the study and use them to further
contextualize and argue for greater attention to the interconnectedness
between citizenship and security, both at the theoretical and practical level.
I consider the implications of the study with regards to state legitimacy,
the transformation of state power and the localization of citizenship rights.
I also provide policy-relevant conclusions.
CHAPTER 2
Security and Citizenship
Introduction
In this chapter, I outline and critically assess the relevant literature on secu-
rity and citizenship as a way of exploring the arguments I present in the
remaining sections of this book. Both security and citizenship are con-
tested concepts and their traditional meanings have been challenged by
those who support a more critical, place-based understanding of social and
political phenomena. New approaches to citizenship have attempted to
move beyond the limits of a juridical, legalistic framework that privileges
the nation-state and those whose citizenship is made more readily accessible
through institutions of the state. By using the theoretical framework to lay
the building blocks of the book, I plan to unpack the empirical chapters in
a way that critically interrogates the relevant concepts. The empirical chap-
ters determined, significantly, the theoretical concepts that are explored
here; they suggest a strong correlation between security and citizenship,
making it imperative to examine the ways in which citizenship and security
‘speak’ to each other.
Security
Twenty-first-century discourses on security undoubtedly represent an arena
of conceptual contestation. The core of such contestations revolves around
debates which involve epistemological questions about knowledge creation
and how to theorize various referent objects that compete with the state
© The Author(s) 2020 29

Y. Campbell, Citizenship on the Margins, Studies of the Americas,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27621-8_2
Another random document with
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Fig. 24.— Fig. 25.—Kernel Fig. 26.—Indian Corn.
Sprouting of Indian Corn. Caulicle at c; roots emerging at m; plumule at p.
Indian Corn. Caulicle at b;
Hilum at h; micropyle at cotyledon at a;
d. plumule at p.
In studying corn or other

fruits or seeds, the pupil
should note how the seeds
are arranged, as on the
cob. Count the rows on a
corn cob. Odd or even in
number? Always the same
number? The silk is the
style: find where it was
attached to the kernel. Did
the ear have any
Fig. 27.—Indian Corn. coverings? Explain.
o, plumule; n to p, epicotyl. Describe colours and
markings of kernels of
corn; and of peas, beans, castor bean.
Gymnosperms.—The seeds in the pine cone, not being inclosed
in a seed vessel, readily fall out when the cone dries and the scales
separate. Hence it is difficult to find cones with seeds in them after
autumn has passed (Fig. 29). The cedar is also a gymnosperm.
Remove a scale from a pine cone and draw it and the seeds as
they lie in place on the upper side of the scale. Examine the seed,
preferably with a magnifying glass. Is
there a hilum? The micropyle is at the
bottom or little end of the seed. Toss a
seed upward into the air. Why does it fall
so slowly? Can you explain the peculiar
whirling motion by the shape of the
wing? Repeat the experiment in the
wind. Remove the wing from a seed and
toss it and an uninjured seed into the air
together. What do you infer from these
experiments?
Suggestions.—Few subjects connected with
the study of plant-life are so useful in schoolroom
demonstrations as germination. The pupil should
prepare the soil, plant the seeds, water them, and
care for the plants. 10. Plant seeds in pots or
shallow boxes. The box should not be very wide
or long, and not over four inches deep. Holes
may be bored in the bottom so it will not hold
water. Plant a number of squash, bean, corn,
pine, or other seeds about an inch deep in damp
sand or pine sawdust in this box. The depth of
planting should be two to four times the diameter
of the seeds. Keep the sand or sawdust moist but
not wet. If the class is large, use several boxes,
Fig. 28.—Germination is that the supply of specimens may be ample.
Complete. Cigar boxes and chalk boxes are excellent for
p, top of epicotyl; o, plumule-leaf; m, roots; individual pupils. It is well to begin the planting of
c, lower roots.
seeds at least ten days in advance of the lesson,
and to make four or five different plantings at
intervals. A day or two before the study is taken up, put seeds to soak in moss or
cloth. The pupil then has a series from swollen seeds to complete germination,
and all the steps can be made out. Dry seeds should be had for comparison. If
there is no special room for laboratory, nor duplicate apparatus for every pupil,
each experiment may be assigned to a committee of two pupils to watch in the
schoolroom. 11. Good seeds for study are those detailed in the lesson, and
buckwheat, pumpkin, cotton, morning glory, radish, four o’clock, oats, wheat. It is
best to use familiar seeds of farm and garden. Make drawings and notes of all the
events in the germination. Note the effects of unusual conditions, as planting too
deep and too shallow and different sides up. For hypogeal germination, use the
garden pea, scarlet runner, or Dutch case-knife bean,
acorn, horse-chestnut. Squash seeds are excellent for
germination studies, because the cotyledons become
green and leafy and germination is rapid. Onion is
excellent, except that it germinates too slowly. In order to
study the root development of germinating plantlets, it is
well to provide a deeper box with a glass side against
which the seeds are planted. 12. Observe the germination
of any common seed about the house premises. When
elms, oaks, pines, or maples are abundant, the
germination of their seeds may be studied in lawns and
along fences. 13. When studying germination the pupil
should note the differences in shape and size between
cotyledons and plumule leaves, and between plumule
leaves and the normal leaves (Fig. 30). Make drawings.
14.
Make
the
tests
describ
ed in
the
introduc
tory
experim
Fig. 30.—Muskmelon Seedlings, with the ents
unlike seed-leaves and true leaves. with
bean, Fig. 29.—Cones of
corn, the castor bean, and other seed for starch and Hemlock (above),
proteids. Test flour, oatmeal, rice, sunflower, four o’clock, White Pine, Pitch
various nuts, and any other seeds obtainable. Record Pine.
your results by arranging the seeds in three classes, 1.
Much starch (colour blackish or purple), 2. Little starch
(pale blue or greenish), 3. No starch (brown or yellow). 15. Rate of growth of
seedlings as affected by differences in temperature. Pack soft wet paper to the
depth of an inch in the bottom of four glass bottles or tumblers. Put ten soaked
peas or beans into each. Cover each securely and set them in places having
different temperatures that vary little. (A furnace room, a room with a stove, a room
without stove but reached by sunshine, an unheated room not reached by the
sun). Take the temperatures occasionally with the thermometer to find difference in
temperature. The tumblers in warm places should be covered very tightly to
prevent the germination from being retarded by drying out. Record the number of
seeds which sprout in each tumbler within 1 day, 2 days, 3 days, 4 days, etc. 16. Is
air necessary for the germination and growth of seedlings? Place damp blotting
paper in the bottom of a bottle and fill it three-fourths full of soaked seeds, and
close it tightly with a rubber stopper or oiled cork. Prepare a “check experiment” by
having another bottle with all conditions the same except that it is covered loosely
that air may have access to it, and set the bottles side by side (why keep the
bottles together?). Record results as in the preceding experiment. 17. What is the
nature of the gas given off by germinating seeds? Fill a tin box or large-necked
bottle with dry beans or peas, then add water; note how much they swell. Secure
two fruit jars. Fill one of them a third full of beans and keep them moist. Allow the
other to remain empty. In a day or two insert a lighted splinter or taper into each. In
the empty jar the taper burns: it contains oxygen. In the seed jar the taper goes
out: the air has been replaced by carbon dioxide. The air in the bottle may be
tested for carbon dioxide by removing some of it with a rubber bulb attached to a
glass tube (or a fountain-pen filler) and bubbling it through lime water. 18.
Temperature. Usually there is a perceptible rise in temperature in a mass of
germinating seeds. This rise may be tested with a thermometer. 19. Interior of
seeds. Soak seeds for twenty-four hours and remove the coat. Distinguish the
embryo from the endosperm. Test with iodine. 20. Of what utility is the food in
seeds? Soak some grains of corn overnight and remove the endosperm, being
careful not to injure the fleshy cotyledon. Plant the incomplete and also some
complete grains in moist sawdust and measure their growth at intervals. (Boiling
the sawdust will destroy moulds and bacteria which might interfere with the
experiment.) Peas or beans may be sprouted on damp blotting paper; the
cotyledons of one may be removed, and this with a normal seed equally advanced
in germination may be placed on a perforated cork floating in water in a jar so that
the roots extend into the water. Their growth may be observed for several weeks.
21. Effect of darkness on seeds and seedlings. A box may be placed mouth
downward over a smaller box in which seedlings are growing. The empty box
should rest on half-inch blocks to allow air to reach the seedlings. Note any effects
on the seedlings of this cutting off of the light. Another box of seedlings not so
covered may be used as a check. Lay a plank on green grass and after a week
note the change that takes place beneath it. 22. Seedling of pine. Plant pine
seeds. Notice how they emerge. Do the cotyledons stay in the ground? How many
cotyledons have they? When do the cotyledons get free from the seed-coat? What
is the last part of the cotyledon to become free? Where is the growing point or
plumule? How many leaves appear at once? Does the new pine cone grow on old
wood or on wood formed the same spring with the cone? Can you always find
partly grown cones on pine trees in winter? Are pine cones when mature on two-
year-old wood? How long do cones stay on a tree after the seeds have fallen out?
What is the advantage of the seeds falling before the cones? 23. Home
experiments. If desired, nearly all of the fore-going experiments may be tried at
home. The pupil can thus make the drawings for the notebook at home. A daily
record of measurements of the change in size of the various parts of the seedling
should also be made.
24. Seed-testing.—It is important that one know before
planting whether seeds are good, or able to grow. A
simple seed-tester may be made of two plates, one
inverted over the other (Fig. 31). The lower plate is nearly
filled with clean sand, which is covered with cheese cloth
or blotting paper on which the seeds are placed. Canton
flannel is sometimes used in place of sand and blotting
paper. The seeds are then covered with another blotter or
piece of cloth, and water is applied until the sand and
Fig. 31.—A Home-made papers are saturated. Cover with the second plate. Set
Seed-tester. the plates where they will have about the temperature
that the given seeds would require out of doors, or
perhaps a slightly higher temperature. Place 100 or more grains of clover, corn,
wheat, oats, rye, rice, buckwheat, or other seeds in the tester, and keep record of
the number that sprout. The result will give a percentage measure of the ability of
the seeds to grow. Note whether all the seeds sprout with equal vigour and
rapidity. Most seeds will sprout in a week or less. Usually such a tester must have
fresh sand and paper after each test, for mould fungi are likely to breed in it. If
canton flannel is used, it may be boiled. If possible, the seeds should not touch
one another.
Note to Teacher.—With the study of germination, the pupil will need to begin
dissecting.
For dissecting, one needs a lens for the examination of the smaller parts of
plants and animals. It is best to have the lens mounted on a frame, so that the
pupil has both hands free for pulling the part in pieces. An ordinary pocket lens
may be mounted on a wire in a block as in Fig. A. A cork is slipped on the top of
the wire to avoid injury to the face. The pupil should be provided with two
dissecting needles (Fig. B), made by securing an ordinary needle in a pencil-like
stick. Another convenient arrangement is shown in Fig. C. A small tin dish is used
for the base. Into this a stiff wire standard is soldered. The dish is filled with solder
to make it heavy and firm. Into a cork slipped on the standard, a cross wire is
inserted, holding on the end a jeweller’s glass. The lens can be moved up and
down and sidewise. This outfit can be made for about seventy-five cents. Fig. D
shows a convenient hand-rest or dissecting-stand to be used under this lens. It
may be 16 in. long, 4 in. high, and 4 or 5 in. broad.
Various kinds of dissecting microscopes are on the market, and these are to be
recommended when they can be afforded.
B.—Dissecting C.—Dissecting Glass. D.—Dissecting
Needle Stand.
½ natural size. A.—Improvised
Stand for Lens.
Instructions for the use of the compound microscope, with which

some schools may be equipped, cannot be given in a brief space;
the technique requires careful training. Such microscopes are not
needed unless the pupil studies cells and tissues.
CHAPTER VII
THE ROOT—THE FORMS OF ROOTS
The Root System.—The offices of the root are to hold the plant in
place, and to gather food. Not all the food materials, however, are
gathered by the roots.
Fig. 32.—Tap-
root System of Fig. 33.—Tap-root of the Dandelion.
Alfalfa.
The entire mass of roots of any plant is called its root system.
The root system may be annual, biennial or perennial, herbaceous or
woody, deep or shallow, large or small.
Kinds of Roots.—A strong leading central root, which runs
directly downwards, is a tap-root. The tap-root forms an axis from
which the side roots may branch. The side or spreading roots are
usually smaller. Plants that have such a root system are said to be
tap-rooted. Examples are red clover, alfalfa, beet, turnip, radish,
burdock, dandelion, hickory (Figs. 32, 33).
A fibrous root system is one that is composed of many nearly
equal slender branches. The greater number of plants have fibrous
roots. Examples are many common grasses, wheat, oats, corn. The
buttercup in Fig. 34 has a fibrous root system. Many trees have a
strong tap-root when very young, but after a while it ceases to
extend strongly and the side roots develop until finally the tap-root
character disappears.
Shape and Extent of the Root System.—
The depth to which roots extend depends on
the kind of plant, and the nature of the soil. Of
most plants the roots extend far in all directions
and lie comparatively near the surface. The
roots usually radiate from a common point just
beneath the surface of the ground.
The roots grow here and there in search of
food, often extending much farther in all
directions than the spread of the top of the
plant. Roots tend to spread farther in poor soil
than in rich soil, for the same size of plant. The
root has no such definite form as the stem has.
Roots are usually very crooked, because they
are constantly turned aside by obstacles.
Examine roots in stony soil.
Fig. 34.—A Buttercup
The extent of root surface is usually very Plant, with fibrous
large, for the feeding roots are fine and very roots.
numerous. An ordinary plant of Indian corn may
have a total length of root (measured as if the roots were placed end
to end) of several hundred feet.
The fine feeding roots are most abundant in the richest part of the
soil. They are attracted by the food materials. Roots often will
completely surround a bone or other morsel. When roots of trees are
exposed, observe that most of them are horizontal and lie near the
top of the ground. Some roots, as of willows, extend far in search of
water. They often run into wells and drains, and into the margins of
creeks and ponds. Grow plants in a long narrow box, in one end of
which the soil is kept very dry and in the other moist: observe where
the roots grow.
Buttresses.—With the increase
in diameter, the upper roots often
protrude above the ground and
become bracing buttresses.
These buttresses are usually
largest in trees which always have
been exposed to strong winds
(Fig. 35). Because of growth and
thickening, the roots elevate part
of their diameter, and the washing
Fig. 35.—The Bracing Base of a Field away of the soil makes them to
Pine.
appear as if having risen out of
the ground.
Aërial Roots.—Although roots usually grow underground, there
are some that naturally grow above ground. These usually occur on
climbing plants, the roots becoming supports or fulfilling the office of
tendrils. These aërial roots usually turn away from the light, and
therefore enter the crevices and dark places of the wall or tree over
which the plant climbs. The trumpet creeper (Fig. 36), true or English
ivy, and poison ivy climb by means of roots.
In some plants all the roots are aërial; that is, the plant grows
above ground, and the roots gather food from the air. Such plants
usually grow on trees. They are known as epiphytes or air-plants.
The most familiar examples are some of the tropical orchids which
are grown in glass-houses (Fig. 37). Rootlike organs of dodder and
other
parasit
es are
discus
sed in
a
future
chapte
r.
So
me
plants
bear
aërial
roots,
that
may
propa
gate
the Fig. 37.—Aërial Roots of an Orchid.
plant
or
may act as braces. They are often called
prop-roots. The roots of Indian corn are
familiar (Fig. 38). Many ficus trees, as the
banyan of India, send out roots from their
branches; when these roots reach the
ground they take hold and become great
trunks, thus spreading the top of the parent
tree over large areas. The mangrove tree of
the tropics grows along seashores and
sends down roots from the overhanging
branches (and from the fruits) into the
Fig. 36.—Aërial Roots of shallow water, and thereby gradually
Trumpet Creeper or
Tecoma. marches into the sea. The tangled mass
behind catches the drift, and soil is formed.
Adventitious Roots.—Sometimes roots grow
from the stem or other unusual places as the result
of some accident to the plant, being located without
known method or law. They are called
adventitious (chance) roots. Cuttings of the stems
of roses, figs, geraniums, and other plants, when
planted, send out adventitious roots and form new
plants. The ordinary roots, or soil roots, are of
course not classed as adventitious roots. The
adventitious roots arise on occasion, and not as a
normal or regular course in the growth of the plant.
No two roots are alike; that is, they vary among
themselves as stems and leaves do. Each kind of
plant has its own form or habit of root (Fig. 39).
Carefully wash away the soil from the roots of any
Fig. 38.—Indian
two related plants, as oats and wheat, and note the
Corn, showing
the brace roots at differences in size, depth, direction, mode of
oo. branching, number of fibrils, colour, and other
features. The character of the root system often
governs the treatment that the farmer should give the soil in which
the plant or crop grows.
Fig. 39.—Roots of Barley at A and Corn at B.
Carefully trace the differences.
Roots differ not only in their form and habit, but also in colour of
tissue, character of bark or rind, and other features. It is excellent
practice to try to identify different plants by means of their roots. Let
each pupil bring to school two plants with the roots very carefully dug
up, as cotton, corn, potato, bean, wheat, rye, timothy, pumpkin,
clover, sweet pea, raspberry, strawberry, or other common plants.
Root Systems of Weeds.—Some weeds are pestiferous because
they seed abundantly, and others because their underground parts
run deep or far and are persistent. Make out the root systems in the
six worst weeds in your locality.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ROOT.—FUNCTION AND STRUCTURE
The function of roots is twofold,—to provide support or

anchorage for the plant, and to collect and convey food materials.
The first function is considered in Chapter VII; we may now give
attention in more detail to the second.
The feeding surface of the roots is near
their ends. As the roots become old and
hard, they serve only as channels through
which food passes and as hold-fasts or
supports for the plant. The root hold of a
plant is very strong. Slowly pull upwards on
some plant, and note how firmly it is
anchored in the soil.
Roots have power to choose their food;
that is, they do not absorb all substances
with which they come in contact. They do
not take up great quantities of useless or
harmful materials, even though these
materials may be abundant in the soil; but
Fig. 40.—Wheat growing they may take up a greater quantity of some
under Different Soil of the plant-foods than the plant can use to
Treatments. Soil advantage. Plants respond very quickly to
deficient in nitrogen;
commercial nitrogen liberal feeding,—that is, to the application of
applied to pot 3 (on right). plant-food to the soil (Fig 40). The poorer the
soil, the more marked are the results, as a
rule, of the application of fertilizers. Certain
substances, as common salt, will kill the roots.
Roots absorb Substances only in Solution.—Substances
cannot be taken in solid particles. These materials are in solution in
the soil water, and the roots themselves
also have the power to dissolve the soil
materials to some extent by means of
substances that they excrete. The
materials that come into the plant
through the roots are water and mostly
the mineral substances, as compounds
of potassium, iron, phosphorus, calcium,
magnesium, sulphur, and chlorine. These
mineral substances compose the ash
when the plant is burned. The carbon is
derived from the air through the green
parts. Oxygen is derived from the air and
the soil water.
Nitrogen
enters
through the
Roots.—All
plants must
have Fig. 41.—Nodules on Roots
nitrogen; yet, of Red Clover.
although
about four-fifths of the air is nitrogen,
plants are not able, so far as we know, to
take it in through their leaves. It enters
through the roots in combination with
other elements, chiefly in the form of
nitrates (certain combinations with
Fig. 42.—Nodules on Vetch.
oxygen and a mineral base). The great
family of leguminous plants, however (as
peas, beans, cowpea, clover, alfalfa, vetch), use the nitrogen
contained in the air in the soil. They are able to utilize it through the
agency of nodules on their roots (Figs. 41, 42). These nodules
contain bacteria, which appropriate the free or uncombined nitrogen
and pass it on to the plant. The nitrogen becomes incorporated in the
plant tissue, so that these crops are high in their nitrogen content.
Inasmuch as nitrogen in any form is expensive to purchase in
fertilizers, the use of leguminous crops to plough under is a very
important agricultural practice in preparing the land for other crops.
In order that leguminous crops may acquire atmospheric nitrogen
more freely and thereby thrive better, the land is sometimes sown or
inoculated with the nodule-forming bacteria.
Roots require moisture in
order to serve the plant. The soil
water that is valuable to the plant
is not the free water, but the thin
film of moisture which adheres to
each little particle of soil. The finer
the soil, the greater the number of
particles, and therefore the
greater is the quantity of film
moisture that it can hold. This
moisture surrounding the grains
may not be perceptible, yet the
plant can use it. Root absorptionFig. 43.—Two Kinds of Soil that have
may continue in a soil which been Wet and then Dried. The
seems to be dust dry. Soils that loamy soil above remains loose and
are very hard and “baked” (Fig. capable of growing plants; the clay soil
below has baked and cracked.
43) contain very little moisture or
air,—not so much as similar soils
that are granular or mellow.
Proper Temperature for Root Action.—The root must be warm
in order to perform its functions. Should the soil of fields or
greenhouses be much colder than the air, the plant suffers. When in
a warm atmosphere, or in a dry atmosphere, plants need to absorb
much water from the soil, and the roots must be warm if the root-
hairs are to supply the water as rapidly as it is needed. If the roots
are chilled, the plant may wilt or die.
Roots need Air.—Corn on land that has been flooded
by heavy rains loses its green colour and turns yellow.
Besides diluting plant-food, the water drives the air from
the soil, and this suffocation of the roots is very soon
apparent in the general ill health of the plant. Stirring or
tilling the soil aërates it. Water plants and bog plants have
adapted themselves to their particular conditions. They get
their air either by special surface roots, or from the water
through stems and leaves.
Rootlets.—Roots divide into the thinnest and finest
fibrils: there are roots and there are rootlets. The smallest
rootlets are so slender and delicate that they break offFig. 44.—
even when the plant is very carefully lifted from the soil. Root-
hairs of
The rootlets, or fine divisions, are clothed with the root- the
hairs (Figs. 44, 45, 46). These root-hairs attach to the soil Radish.
particles, and a great amount of soil is thus brought into
actual contact with the plant. These are very delicate prolonged
surface cells of the roots. They are borne for a short distance just
back of the tip of the root.
Rootlet and root-hair differ. The rootlet is a compact cellular
structure. The root-hair is a delicate tubular cell (Fig. 45), within
which is contained living matter (protoplasm); and the protoplasmic
lining membrane of the wall governs the entrance of water and
substances in solution. Being long and tube-like, these root-hairs are
especially adapted for taking in the largest quantity of solutions; and
they are the principal means by which plant-food is absorbed from
the soil, although the surfaces of the rootlets themselves do their
part. Water plants do not produce an abundant system of root-hairs,
and such plants depend largely on their rootlets.
The root-hairs are very small, often invisible. They, with the young
roots, are usually broken off when the plant is pulled up. They are
best seen when seeds are germinated between layers of dark
blotting paper or flannel. On the young roots they will be seen as a
mould-like or gossamer-like covering. Root-hairs soon die: they do
not grow into
roots. New
ones form as
the root
grows.
Osmosis.
—The water
with its
nourishment Fig. 46.—Root-hair, much
goes through enlarged, in contact with
the thin walls the soil particles (s). Air-
of the root- spaces at a; water-films
hairs and on the particles, as at w.
Fig. 45.—Cross-section of Root,
rootlets by
enlarged, showing root-hairs. the process of osmosis. If there are
two liquids of different density on the
inside and outside of an organic
(either vegetable or animal) membrane, the liquids tend to mix
through the membrane. The law of osmosis is that the most rapid
flow is toward the denser solution. The protoplasmic lining of the cell
wall is such a membrane. The soil water being a weaker solution
than the sap in the roots, the flow is into the root. A strong fertilizer
sometimes causes a plant to wither, or “burns it.” Explain.
Structure of Roots.—The root that grows from the lower end of
the caulicle is the first or primary root. Secondary roots branch
from the primary root. Branches of secondary roots are sometimes
called tertiary roots. Do the secondary roots grow from the cortex,
or from the central cylinder of the primary root? Trim or peel the
cortex from a root and its branches and determine whether the
branches still hold to the central cylinder of the main root.
Internal Structure of Roots.—A section of a root shows that it
consists of a central cylinder (see Fig. 45) surrounded by a layer.
This layer is called the cortex. The outer layer of cells in the cortex
is called the epidermis, and some of the cells of the epidermis are
prolonged and form the delicate root-hairs. The cortex resembles the
bark of the stem in its nature. The central cylinder contains many
tube-like canals, or “vessels” that convey water and food (Fig. 45).
Cut a sweet potato across (also a radish and a turnip) and
distinguish the central cylinder, cortex, and epidermis. Notice the
hard cap on the tip of roots. Roots differ from stems in having no real
pith.
Microscopic Structure of Roots.—Near
the end of any young root or shoot the cells
are found to differ from one another more or
less, according to the distance from the
point. This differentiation takes place in the
region just back of the growing point. To
study growing points, use the hypocotyl of
Indian corn which has grown about one-half
inch. Make a longitudinal section. Note these
points (Fig. 47): (a) the tapering root-cap
beyond the growing point; (b) the blunt end
of the root proper and the rectangular shape
of the cells found there; (c) the group of cells
in the middle of the first layers beneath the
root-cap,—this group is the growing point;
Fig. 47.—Growing Point
(d) study the slight differences in the tissues
of Root of Indian Corn.
d, d, cells which will form the a short distance back of the growing point.
epidermis; p, p, cells that will form
bark; e, e, endodermis; pl, cells
There are four regions: the central cylinder,
which will form the axis cylinder; i, made up of several rows of cells in the
initial group of cells, or growing
point proper; c, root-cap. centre (pl); the endodermis, (e) composed
of a single layer on each side which
separates the central cylinder from the bark; the cortex, or inner
bark, (e) of several layers outside the endodermis; and the
epidermis, or outer layer of bark on the outer edges (d). Make a
drawing of the section. If a series of the cross-sections of the
hypocotyl should be made and studied by the pupil beginning near
the growing point and going upward, it would be found that these
four tissues become more distinctly marked, for at the tip the tissues
have not yet assumed their characteristic form. The central cylinder
contains the ducts and vessels which convey the sap.
The Root-cap.—Note the form of the root-cap
shown in the microscopic section drawn in Fig. 47.
Growing cells, and especially those which are
forming tissue by subdividing, are very delicate and
are easily injured. The cells forming the root-cap
are older and tougher and are suited for pushing
aside the soil that the root may penetrate it.
Region of most Rapid Growth.—The roots of a
seedling bean may be marked at equal distances
by waterproof ink or by bits of black thread tied
moderately tight. The seedling is then replanted
and left undisturbed for two days. When it is dug Fig. 48.—The
up, the region of most rapid growth in the root can Marking of the
be determined. Give a reason why a root cannot Stem and Root.
elongate throughout its length,—whether there is
anything to prevent a young root from doing so.
In Fig. 48 is shown a germinating scarlet runner bean with a short
root upon which are marks made with waterproof ink; and the same
root (Fig. 49) is shown after it has grown longer. Which part of it did
not lengthen at all? Which part lengthened slightly? Where is the
region of most rapid growth?
Geotropism.—Roots turn toward the earth, even if the seed is
planted with the micropyle up. This phenomenon is called positive
geotropism. Stems grow away from the earth. This is negative
geotropism.
Suggestions (Chaps. VII and VIII).—25. Tests for food. Examine a number of
roots, including several fleshy roots, for the presence of food material, making the
tests used on seeds. 26. Study of root-hairs. Carefully germinate radish, turnip,
cabbage, or other seed, so that no delicate parts of the root will be injured. For this
purpose, place a few seeds in packing-moss or in the folds of thick cloth or of
blotting paper, being careful to keep them moist and warm. In a few days the seed
has germinated, and the root has grown an inch or two long. Notice that, except at
a distance of about a quarter of an inch behind the tip, the root is covered with
minute hairs (Fig. 44). They are actually hairs;
that is, root-hairs. Touch them and they collapse,
they are so delicate. Dip one of the plants in
water, and when removed the hairs are not to be
seen. The water mats them together along the
root and they are no longer evident. Root-hairs
are usually destroyed when a plant is pulled out
of the soil, be it done ever so carefully. They cling
to the minute particles of soil (Fig. 46). The hairs
show best against a dark background. 27. On
some of the blotting papers, sprinkle sand;
observe how the root-hairs cling to the grains.
Observe how they are flattened when they come
in contact with grains of sand.
28. Root hold of plant. The pupil should also
study the root hold. Let him carefully pull up a
plant. If a plant grows alongside a fence or other
rigid object, he may test the root hold by securing
a string to the plant, letting the string hang over
the fence, and then adding weights to the string.
Will a stake of similar size to the plant and
extending no deeper in the ground have such
firm hold on the soil? What holds the ball of earth
in Fig. 50? 29. Roots exert pressure. Place a
strong bulb of hyacinth or daffodil on firm-packed
earth in a pot; cover the bulb nearly to the top
with loose earth; place in a cool cellar; after some
days or weeks, note that the bulb has been
raised out of the earth by the forming roots. All
Fig. 49.—The Result. roots exert pressure on the soil as they grow.
Explain.
30. Response of roots and stems to the force of gravity, or geotropism. Plant a
fast-growing seedling in a pot so that the plumule extends through the drain hole
and suspend the pot with mouth up (i.e. in the usual position). Or use a pot in
which a plant is already growing, cover with cloth or wire gauze to prevent the soil
from falling, and suspend the pot in an inverted position (Fig. 51). Notice the
behaviour of the stem, and after a few days remove the soil and observe the
position of the root. 31. If a pot is laid on one side, and changed every two days
and laid on its opposite side, the effect on the root and stem will be interesting. 32.
If a fleshy root is planted wrong end up, what is the result? Try it with pieces of
horse-radish root. 33. By planting radishes on a slowly revolving wheel the effect
of gravity may be neutralized. 34. Region of root most sensitive to gravity. Lay on

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Citizenship on the Margins: State

Power, Security and Precariousness in

African Languages and Literatures in the 21st Century

Everyday Resistance: French Activism in the 21st

Feminist Intersectionality: Centering the Margins in

Care Ethics, Democratic Citizenship and the State 1st

Contemporary French Security Policy in Africa: On Ideas

Thatcherism in the 21st Century: The Social and

Muslim Volunteering in the West: Between Islamic Ethos

Water, Crime and Security in the Twenty-First Century

More information about this series at

Studies of the Americas

Cover image: © ETrayne04/Alamy Stock Photo

It is almost sixty years since I began my doctoral fieldwork on Kingston,

standards and values, downtown lower-class youths have been social-

Yonique uses her three communities—an urban garrison (Tivoli

has made this book possible. I am deeply indebted to members of the

My research on security and citizenship began more than a decade ago.

1 Security, State Power and Citizenship:

2 Security and Citizenship 29

3 The Jamaican Context 55

4 Suspension of Rights, Security Operations

5 Middle-Class Security: Market Heights 87

6 Precarious Experiences of Security and Citizenship

7 Policy Responses and Security Discourses Among

Table 1.1 Total Homicide per Caribbean country

Security, State Power and Citizenship: The

© The Author(s) 2020 1

produced by structural inequalities and the stratification of society, through

remains ‘unstoppable’, the state of exception can be justified as a tech-

By combining both theoretical and empirical analyses, the book aims

Death and Hegemony: Colonialism,

experiences in Latin America have been in certain respects different from

the condition of homogenization of the population could only have been

By looking at citizenship regimes, ‘which defines who has political mem-

Violence, Crime and Fear

Homicide Caribbean Homicide LaƟn America

Country Total number of victims of Total victims of intentional

accompanied democratization in Latin America, as shown in the case of

Country Total number of victims of Total victims of intentional

Belize 1685 541

‘self-help’ justice (Blake 2013; Goldstein 2012). Caldeira argues that in

Risk and Social Exclusion

resulted in fractured forms of citizenship and intensified class segregation.

The fact that wanting to belong is a natural human characteristic (Dewall

Transnational Organized Crime: Dehumanizing,

America (Cruz 2012; Glebbeek 2001; Hume 2007) reflects an approach to

Its philosophy is straightforward: the police cannot successfully prevent

in the fight against crime to becoming primary diagnosticians and treatment

If communities become co-producers of safety, then this suggests that com-

Favela communities, although they are relieved of the insidious influence of

Methods and Field Sites

and staged by sections of the lower classes in their attempts to establish a

reproduce notions of whose citizenship is important and non-negotiable

Security and Citizenship

© The Author(s) 2020 29

In studying corn or other

Instructions for the use of the compound microscope, with which

The function of roots is twofold,—to provide support or

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Table 1.1 Total Homicide per Caribbean country