Over-zealous policing: it’s the incentives

I’m pretty sure I’ve written before on the scourge of democracy that is civil forfeiture– apparently not enough— (police have huge incentives to make drug arrests and legally seize the property of the alleged offenders).  Here’s a great post from Jordan Weissman on how police, like those in Ferguson, are given incentives to harass and nickel-and-dime their citizens to death to pay for their budget.  Bad incentives= bad outcomes:

When you split a metro area into dozens of tiny local governments (St. Louis County, to be clear, doesn’t include the actual city of St. Louis, which spun off from it in the 19th century), they tend to duplicate each others’ services, which is of course extremely expensive. But raising taxes so that each tiny borough can afford its own police and fire department is a nonstarter, since wealthy residents can always just move one town over. End result: You have police departments that self-fund by handing out tickets. And thanks to the delightful racial dynamics of U.S. law enforcement, black residents are disproportionately stopped and accosted, even though police in Ferguson are less likely to find contraband when they search black drivers than when they search whites.

Michael Brown wasn’t being pulled over for speeding when he was shot. But we’re talking about the broader issues that poison the relationship between a community and the cops who are, theoretically, paid to protect them.

In a way, you can think of it as a small-bore version of the problem with civil forfeiture laws, which allow state and federal governments to confiscate property allegedly involved in crimes and which are often accused of encouraging “for-profit policing.” The same way the Justice Department puts the heat on its lawyers to increase forfeiture claims in drug cases—because that’s where they can skim money—local police have every incentive to crank up their traffic stops.

If you want good policing, you need to give the police incentive to be good.  All too often the incentives for police are not to protect and to serve, but to arrest and make cash.

Photo of the day

In honor of the Pokemon World Championship this weekend (I know this because my son has been watching the livestream).  Via USA Today:

Pikachu characters from the Nintendo video game Pokemon parade at the Landmark Plaza shopping mall on Aug. 14 in Yokohama, Japan.

Pikachu characters from the Nintendo video game Pokemon parade at the Landmark Plaza shopping mall on Aug. 14 in Yokohama, Japan.  Yoshikazu Tsuno, AFP/Getty Images

Why professors matter

Loved this excerpt from a new book in Slate about how and why college professors really matter.  And I can’t say that I meet this description all the time, but it certainly sounds like what I am striving for:

The purpose of a seminar is to enable your professor to model and shape the mental skills she’s trying to instill. She conducts a discussion about the material, but she doesn’t simply let you talk. She keeps the conversation focused. She challenges asser­tions, poses follow-up questions, forces students to elaborate their one-word answers or clarify their vague ones. She draws out the timid and humbles (gently) the self-assured. She welcomes and en­courages, but she also guides and pushes. She isn’t there to “answer questions,” at least not for the most part; she’s there to ask them.

Some of those questions should be ones she doesn’t know the answer to herself. Discussion in a seminar should be collaborative and open-ended, alive with serendipity and the energy of immi­nent discovery—a model, too, of how to think together

I myself became a decent teacher only when I started to relinquish some control over the classroom—stopped worrying so much about “getting my points across” and recognized that those moments of disorder that would sometimes occur, those spontaneous outbreaks of intelligence, were the most interesting parts of the class, for both my students and myself. We were going somewhere new, and we were going there together…

My years in the classroom, as well as my conversations with young people about their college experience, have convinced me there are two things, above all, that students want from their pro­fessors. Not, as people commonly believe, to entertain them in class and hand out easy A’s. That’s what they retreat to, once they see that nothing better is on offer. What they really want is that their teach­ers challenge them and that they care about them. They don’t want fun and games; they want the real thing.

I’ll admit, I probably do try a little too hard on that entertain front (and I’m no easy A; easy B, maybe, but not easy A).  That said, I do think that most of my students do realize that I genuinely do care about them as individuals.  What actually is distressing is how often students express to me how rare it is for them to think that their professors really care about them and their success.  We have got to be a lot more about just transferring information, or we are really little more than over-priced books.  What it really is about, is mentorship:

What they want, in other words, is mentorship…

Lewis speaks of professors in their formal roles as academic advisors, but regardless of whose office they’re supposed to go to, students gravitate toward teachers with whom they have forged a connection. Learning is an emotional experience, and mentorship is rooted in the intimacy of intellectual exchange…

For all the skill that teaching involves, you ultimately only have a single tool: your entire life as you have lived it up until the moment you walk into class. “The teacher, that professional amateur,” said the critic Leslie Fiedler, “teaches not so much his subject as himself.” He provides a model, he went on, “of one in whom what seemed dead, mere print on the page, becomes living, a way of life.” I developed a rule of thumb in graduate school. If a professor didn’t mention something personal at least a single time—a reference to a child, an anecdote about a colleague—then it was a pretty good bet that I had nothing to learn from him. It’s not that I needed my teachers to be confessional; I just needed them to bepresent. “Mortimer Adler had much to tell us about Aristotle’s Ethics,” Saul Bellow wrote about the University of Chicago eminence, “but I had only to look at him to see that he had nothing useful to offer on the conduct of life.”

Students want you to be honest, not least about yourself. They want you to beyourself. You need to step outside the role a bit, regard it with a little irony, if only to acknowledge the dissonance between the institution and the spirit.

Got that part covered.  If anything, I am honest about myself to a fault.  At least good to know that this is the right direction, though.

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