Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression: The Black Panther Party (Cambridge Studies in Contentious Politics)

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Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression This book examines generated information by the media regarding the interaction between the Black Panther Party and government agents in the Bay Area of California (1967–73). Christian Davenport argues that the geographic locale and political orientation of the newspaper influences how specific details are reported, including who starts and ends the conflict, who the Black Panthers target (government or nongovernment actors), and which part of the government responds (the police or court). Specifically, proximate and government-oriented sources provide one assessment of events, whereas proximate and dissidentoriented sources have another; both, however, converge on specific aspects of the conflict. The methodological implications of the study are clear; Davenport’s findings prove that to understand contentious events it is crucial to understand who collects and distributes the information about who reportedly does what to whom and why. Christian Davenport is a Professor of Peace Studies and Political Science at the Kroc Institute, University of Notre Dame, as well as Director of two projects: the Radical Information Project (RIP) and Stop Our States (SOS). He is the author of State Repression and the Promise of Democratic Peace (Cambridge, 2007), co-editor of Repression and Mobilization (2004), and editor of Paths to State Repression: Human Rights Violations and Contentious Politics (2000). His articles have appeared in journals including the American Political Science Review, the American Journal of Political Science, the Journal of Politics, the Journal of Conflict Resolution, Mobilization, Political Research Quarterly, Comparative Political Studies, and the Monthly Review. See www.christiandavenport.com.

Cambridge Studies in Contentious Politics Editors Mark Beissinger Princeton University Jack A. Goldstone George Mason University Michael Hanagan Vassar College Doug McAdam Stanford University Suzanne Staggenborg University of Pittsburgh Sidney Tarrow Cornell University Charles Tilly (d. 2008) Columbia University Elisabeth J. Wood Yale University Deborah Yashar Princeton University Ronald Aminzade et al., Silence and Voice in the Study of Contentious Politics Javier Auyero, Routine Politics and Violence in Argentina: The Gray Zone of State Power Clifford Bob, The Marketing of Rebellion: Insurgents, Media, and International Activism Charles Brockett, Political Movements and Violence in Central America Gerald F. Davis, Doug McAdam, W. Richard Scott, and Mayer N. Zald, Social Movements and Organization Theory Jack A. Goldstone, editor, States, Parties, and Social Movements Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics of Contention Sharon Nepstad, War Resistance and the Plowshares Movement Kevin J. O’Brien and Lianjiang Li, Rightful Resistance in Rural China Silvia Pedraza, Political Disaffection in Cuba’s Revolution and Exodus Sidney Tarrow, The New Transnational Activism Ralph Thaxton, Jr., Catastrophe and Contention in Rural China: Mao’s Great Leap Forward Famine and the Origins of Righteous Resistance in Da Fo Village Charles Tilly, Contention and Democracy in Europe, 1650–2000 Charles Tilly, Contentious Performances Charles Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence Stuart A. Wright, Patriots, Politics, and the Oklahoma City Bombing Deborah Yashar, Contesting Citizenship in Latin America: The Rise of Indigenous Movements and the Postliberal Challenge

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression THE BLACK PANTHER PARTY

CHRISTIAN DAVENPORT The Kroc Institute, University of Notre Dame

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Dubai, Tokyo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521766005 © Christian Davenport 2010 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2009 ISBN-13

978-0-511-65853-2

eBook (NetLibrary)

ISBN-13

978-0-521-76600-5

Hardback

ISBN-13

978-0-521-75970-0

Paperback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To/For/Against/Because of Charles (“Chuck”) Tilly Friend, Mentor, Antagonist, Supporter, and Inspiration

Let us be on guard against the dangerous and old conceptual fiction that posited a “pure, will-less, painless, timeless knowing subject”; let us guard against the snares of such contradictory concepts as “pure reason,” “absolute spirituality,” “knowledge in itself ”: these always demand that we should think of an eye that is completely unthinkable, an eye turned in no particular direction, in which the active and interpreting forces through which alone seeing becomes seeing something, are supposed to be lacking; these always demand of the eye an absurdity and a nonsense. There is only a perspective seeing, only a perspective “knowing”; and the more affects we allow to speak about one thing, the more eyes, different eyes, we can use to observe one thing, the more complete will our “concept” of this thing . . . be. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Genealogy of Morals (1969) (emphasis in original)

Contents

Figures and Tables Preface and Acknowledgments INTRODUCTION

page x xi 1

Part I. Conceptualization 1 2 3

OBJECTIVITY AND SUBJECTIVITY IN EVENT CATALOGS

25

THE RASHOMON EFFECT, OBSERVATION, AND DATA GENERATION

52

UNDERSTANDING STATE REPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR

74

Part II. Cases 4 5 6

THE BLACK PANTHER PARTY VS. THE UNITED STATES, 1967–1973: BACKGROUND

93

AN EVENT CATALOG OF DISSENT AND REPRESSION: THE BPP IN THE BAY AREA

107

A MOSAIC OF COERCION: FIVE CASES OF ANTI-PANTHER REPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR

127

Part III. Conclusion 7

CONFLICT, EVENTS, AND CATALOGS

179

Appendix: The Black Panther–U.S. Government Event Catalog

193

Bibliography

201

Index

231 ix

Figures and Tables

Figures

1. 2. 3. 4 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Explaining Perspectives on State Repression Perspectives in the Black Panther Party Case Comprehensive Event Coverage Realistic Event Coverage The Narrative Structure of Contentious Politics The Informants for Contentious Information Contextualizing Informants Covering Conflict between the Black Panthers and the U.S. Government Onset and Termination of Conflict, across Newspapers

page 12 16 28 30 57 62 70 128 131

Tables

1. 2. 3. 4.

x

Court Activity in Five Newspapers Police Activity in Five Newspapers Dissident Activity in Five Newspapers Shootings in Five Newspapers

134 136 138 139

Preface and Acknowledgments

Geoffrey Hawthorn once stated (1991: xi) that “possibilities haunt the human sciences.” Although the phrase refers to counterfactuals, it has stuck with me because at the time I came across it, I was just beginning to investigate a rather complex research problem. In 1994, when I started what would become this project, I was interested in understanding why and how repressive behavior was directed against the Black Panther Party (BPP) in Oakland, California, between the years 1967 (the first full year of their existence) and 1973 (the ending for the first and most well-known cohort of members). Simply put, I was interested in understanding why and how the Bay Area Panthers were harassed, beaten up, wiretapped, arrested, shot, and tried by authorities throughout the United States. Although opinion on this matter remains bitterly divided to this day, systematic investigation of the topic is not to be found. As for an explanation for the organization’s demise, there is plenty of blame to go around. Some, for example, point to the BPP themselves for the repression directed against them because of their rampant criminality, violence, and radicalism. Others place the blame squarely on the shoulders of political authorities because of their pervasive racism and the extensive use of violence against African American social movements, in particular, as well as against blacks in general. Still others blame both the Panthers and the police for what took place, noting that the combination of the two created and perpetuated a situation that led to political repression. To address the question of interest, I followed a research strategy that Charles Tilly (2002) referred to as “event cataloging” and collected information from five newspapers both in and outside the Bay Area regarding exactly who did what to whom during the relevant period. From start to finish, it took about a year and a half to complete the coding of the xi

Preface and Acknowledgments

information, after which I plotted the data on state repressive behavior of the BPP. Looking at the figures, it was immediately apparent that the listings of events provided in the newspapers were different from one another. The catalogs did not show redundant illustrations of the same event-sequence as the conventional perspective would lead one to expect (i.e., numerous versions of the same series of repressive events over time). Quite to the contrary, each of the graphs identified a unique set of actions, which varied in magnitude, in the timing of peaks and valleys, and in the time when the repression ended. In certain respects, the characterizations were so different that it was not obvious that one was looking at the same time, place, and actors. In response to this situation, I believe I followed the appropriate procedures. First, I made sure that the correct commands had been entered into the program used to generate the graphs and that the correct variables had been selected. Second, after ensuring that these conditions had been met and observing the same results, I disbelieved the findings and assumed, given the varying accounts that had been recorded, that something was wrong with either the coding procedure or the coders themselves. Accordingly, I hired and trained a new group of assistants (in several different institutions throughout the United States), large amounts of data were recoded, and extensive reliability tests were conducted. After attending to these issues over the course of another six months, I was astonished to find that not much had changed. I had to make a choice about what to do next. Thinking about the subject for a while, I decided to change assistants (for a third time), check and recode my data, and spend another year collecting information. Following this activity and discovering the same pattern, I concluded that the data were “correct” and that each of the newspapers revealed distinct event-sequences of state repression. In other words, I accepted that each paper revealed different things about the authority’s behavior directed against the Panthers and that, therefore, in a very important way, sources mattered. The key for me was to figure out exactly what to do with this information and to identify the implications of my discovery. I had undertaken the study of U.S. repression against the Panthers in the first place because I wanted to know what had happened and why. When I began my research effort, however, it had not occurred to me that these questions would be answered in plural form; conventional events-based research led me to expect a singular response to such an inquiry. As time progressed, I began to think more about these issues, moving beyond the Black Panther case to repression of another Black nationalist xii

Preface and Acknowledgments

organization – the Republic of New Africa in Detroit, between 1968 and 1973 (1999b; 2005). Later, I considered Guatemalan state terror from 1960 to 1996 (Davenport and Ball 2002), and Rwandan state violence in 1994 (Davenport and Stam 2003). Most recently, I have begun to examine source variation in the context of state and societal repression of the untouchables (Dalits) in Gujarat, India, from 1985 to the present. These efforts led me to think still further about what other individuals interested in conflict (but also other topics) did with varying accounts of what transpired. Contemplating the sheer volume of event cataloging in the field of conflict studies, I assumed that there must be hundreds of decisions being made all the time about what to do with contradictory event-sequences. What were these decisions and how were people making them? Equally important, what impact did these decisions have on our understanding of state repression and conflict/contentious politics? These questions began to preoccupy my time, though answers were not immediately forthcoming. It is in this context that I came to Rashomon and to the current book. By saying this, I mean two things. First, I saw the Akira Kurosowa film Rashomon at some small theater on the Lower East Side of Manhattan (always lucky is the wandering New Yorker). Essentially, Rashomon is a story about a series of events retold by five different people (a woodcutter, a priest, a bandit, a wife, and a husband – through a medium). Within the event-sequence of each account, three individuals meet, a woman and a man have sex (the wife and the bandit), and another man (the husband) dies. This is basically where consensus ends, for one is never really sure what they are seeing/hearing or why (e.g., the bandit may have raped the wife, he may have seduced her, or she him; the husband may have been killed in a duel, or he may have committed suicide). The film was important not only because of what it inspired within me but also because it reminded me of an obscure phrase – the “Rashomon Effect,” which appeared in the beginning of James Scott’s seminal book Weapons of the Weak (1985: xviii). This recollection prompted me to reread Scott, and although he merely mentioned the phrase in passing, its use compelled me to think yet further about how alternative accounts might be explained and about how they might illuminate our understanding of what takes place when governments and dissidents square off. Second, I began reading outside of my area of expertise (conflict/ contentious politics in political science and sociology), into the fields of communication (i.e., media studies and research on newspapers) and historiography (i.e., debates concerning postcolonial and postmodern history). xiii

Preface and Acknowledgments

This reading in other fields led me to realize how my own thinking about event catalogs/cataloging (and that of others) had been constrained by the work done in my specific domain of interest. I came away opened to other views about what was going on when data were compiled and analyzed. After another year of reading within these diverse areas, I was overcome by a sense that the realm of what was deemed relevant was infinite. I concluded that one needed to add to Hawthorn’s original comment that “possibilities haunt the human sciences” the observation that the “human sciences need not pursue all specters indefinitely, but only for a certain amount of time – lest the phantoms take over.” Within this book, I believe that I have pursued the most important ghouls, finding a way with which we can live with them and from which we can learn. Here, I wish to apologize for dragging everyone along with me on my attempt to navigate through the Rashomon Effect. I would also like to thank them for coming along for at least part of the way. Many have supported me along this journey by lending an ear, hounding me to weather the storm, or providing me with a valuable insight, drink, couch, ride, and/or swift kick – not necessarily in that order. I especially wish to thank Charles Tilly, Mark Lichbach, and Cambridge University Press (the series editors and Lewis Bateman) for their continued and tireless efforts. The members of the D.C. Area Workshop on Contentious Politics at the University of Maryland (especially Jillian Schwedler and Marc Howard) and those of the Workshop on Contentious Politics at Columbia University (especially Vince Boudreau and Kelly Moore) were also particularly supportive. I wish to thank the members of the Contentious Politics summer workshop at the Center for Advanced Study for the Behavioral Sciences in 2000 (especially David Cunningham and Doug McAdam and [again] Charles Tilly) and in 2008–9, Will Moore, Allan Stam, Ron Francisco, Padraic Kenney, Claudia Dahlerus, Diana Mutz, John McCarthy, Ruud Koopmans, James Scott, Marika Litras, Carol Mueller, Ted Gurr, members of the Laboratory in Comparative Ethnic Processes (LICEP, especially Kanchan Chandra, James Fearon, and David Laitin), and the numerous research assistants who were essential for the completion of this effort (particularly Stephanie Savage, David Leonard, Julia Johnston, Ranya Guma, Siomara Santos, and Jessica Flaggs). Further, I would like to thank three dear friends: John Sparagana, Katie Kahn, and Darren Davis (Meos). It was not always clear where I was going with Rashomon or where it was taking me, but by clarifying, enraging, suggesting, editing, and challenging me, all of these individuals brought me to a greater understanding of what we do as people interested in comprehending xiv

Preface and Acknowledgments

human events and why we do it in the first place. A final thanks goes to Ilene Cohen (my copy editor) whose marvelous interventions always clarified what was intended and to Julia Petrakis (my indexer) whose artistry makes the searching/perusing of the book that much easier. Only I should be held accountable for the pages you are about to read. While conducting this research, I benefited from three grants from the National Science Foundation (SBR-9617900 and SBR-9819274 and SES0321518). One cannot do research without such support and thus I wish to especially thank Frank Scioli, Marrianne Stewart, and James Granato as well as the anonymous reviewers who favorably evaluated my proposals. I wish to thank the Harry and Frank Guggenheim Foundation for rejecting my initial proposal and prompting me to change it and seek funds elsewhere. Additionally, I received support from the University of Houston, the University of Colorado, and the University of Maryland, my three places of employment during this research. Of course, when I received the support noted above, I did not yet envision the Rashomon Effect, nor did I understand the profound influence it would have on my work. Thus what was actually funded was over time somewhat undermined and altered. Nevertheless, these individuals and the institutions noted above were supportive of my efforts to address important questions and conduct original data collection and analysis; for this, I thank them. I hope they do not mind where Rashomon took me. As with any archival project, several libraries (special collections) and librarians from around the country proved to be invaluable: the University of Houston, the University of Colorado at Boulder, Michigan State University, Stanford University, and the University of California at Berkeley. I thank all of them for putting up with my questions/requests, opening their doors, and providing me with an environment within which I could search as well as find. Finally, as I completed this work, I came to understand what a toll books place on the relationships of those around the author. When you are writing, people in your immediate environment must live with a shadow-like remembrance of the person you once were. Incessant discussion of perspectives is one thing, but when this is combined with the half-living, I suppose that this can be almost too much for most to bear. For tolerating phantoms and bizarre moving objects at all hours of the day, I wish to thank Juliet “Ndidi” Seignious and Nejla Yatkin. Without the two of you and the peace that you provide, I could not have completed this or any other work. Stanford, California, 2009 xv

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

Introduction

On the morning of October 28, 1967, at about 4:30 A.M., Officer John Frey pulled over Huey P. Newton and Gene McKinney for questioning at the intersection of Seventh and Willow in West Oakland, California. At the time, Newton was cofounder and leader of the Black Panther Party for SelfDefense (hereafter the BPP) – an African American organization that was challenging diverse actors as well as political and economic conditions in the Bay Area1 ; Mckinney was an associate of Newton’s with unclear connections to the Panthers; and Frey was a white rookie officer with the Oakland Police Department who was well known for his hostility to blacks and, in fact, was about to be transferred to another precinct because of numerous citizen complaints about his racism. In line with standard procedure, upon stopping Newton and McKinney, Frey immediately called the dispatch for backup and several minutes later Officer Herbert Heanes arrived. In many respects, this traffic stop was typical of the BPP–authority interaction. For about a year up to that point, the Panthers and various local, state, and federal authorities had been engaged in a low-level tit-for-tat conflict. The former employed armed monitoring of the police, engaged in mass protest, gave fiery speeches about repression and social struggle, conducted political-education classes, and distributed communist literature; the latter employed physical and verbal harassment as well as raids 1

This includes the following counties: Alameda, Contra Cosa, Marin, Napa, San Francisco, San Mateo, Santa Clara, Solano, and Sonoma. Because of the high degree of fluidity and coordination within the Panther organization as well as police behavior, I also consider Panther as well as government activity throughout California. Within the latter group, actors had to have some direct connection with the Bay-area chapter (e.g., be selected by one of the members in this area, be frequently visited by a member or have a consistent relationship with them). Non-Bay-Area events were minimal in the event catalog.

1

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

and arrests for diverse offenses (e.g., loitering, illegal use of a loudspeaker, and robbery). In other respects, however, the interaction was very different from those that had taken place previously. This particular exchange ended with both Frey and Newton being shot – with the police officer dying at the scene and the black nationalist leader lying on the ground, bleeding, later to be taken to nearby Kaiser Hospital on Howe Street, where he was handcuffed to his bed and attended to. Exactly what took place next varied according to whom one consulted. Within the Black Panther newspaper (the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service, or BPINS), the shooting was followed the next day (October 29) with an arrest of several other Panther members; on October 30, Newton was arrested (while in the hospital recovering), and, on October 31, he was charged with murder as the BPP legal defense team filed a motion to postpone all legal activities directed against their comrade. According to the moderate black newspaper, the Sun Reporter, the BPP–police interaction went no further than the shooting, at least not immediately. According to this source, Frey and Newton were shot and that is where it ended, not to be mentioned again for several weeks. According to the white, radical newspaper, the Berkeley Barb, the shooting was immediately followed by Newton’s arrest and, concurrently with this event, the Panthers held a press conference at which they denounced the police activity and declared the innocence of the black activist. Several days later (on October 31), the Barb reported that several other BPP members were arrested, presumably as a continuation of the campaign to identify as well as demobilize the Panther organization. According to the white, conservative newspaper, the Oakland Tribune, the day after the shooting (October 29), numerous members of the BPP were arrested (not including Newton). On October 30, there was a funeral for Officer Frey and the following day a warrant was issued for the arrest of the Black Panther leader, who was subsequently arrested and charged with murder. The shooting would not be mentioned again for some time in the Tribune, but when it was (at the trial of the slain officer), it was mentioned almost daily for several weeks. The type of variation in accounts identified above is not unique in the area of conflict studies/contentious politics.2 Indeed, in many ways, it defines it. 2

2

This includes several authors: Sorokin 1937; Eckstein 1965; Gurr 1970; 1993; Hibbs 1973; Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly 1975; McAdam 1982; Taylor and Jodice 1983; Scott 1985; Tilly 1986; Olzak 1992; Khawaja 1993; White 1993; Poe and Tate 1994; Davenport 1995a; Koopmans 1995; Francisco 1996a; McCarthy et al. 1996a; McAdam et al. 1996; 2001; Rummel 1997; Moore 1998; Sambanis 2004).

Introduction

In trying to find out about and understand any instance of conflict or any series of contentious interactions between two actors – at least one of which involves the state – it is generally the case that interested parties encounter widely varying accounts of exactly who did what to whom, with events seeming to vary by the source. In academic literature, this is referred to as “the Rashomon Effect,” after the Akira Kurosowa film Rashomon3 (e.g., Condran and Bode 1982; Scott 1985; Mazur 1998; Hama 1999; Roth and Metha 2002; Kacowicz 2005).4 Seldom acknowledged, the Rashomon Effect is crucial for social science research, as well as for popular understanding of sociopolitical phenomena because it prompts us to ask very difficult, yet fundamental questions. For example, why is there more than one account of events and what is the full range of accounts that could be encountered when one attempts to investigate conflict? What source(s) should one use in trying to understand what happened during an episode of contention? Perhaps most important – and this is the focus of this study – what explains the variation across accounts and how does such knowledge contribute to understanding conflictual activity? This is important. Unless these questions are answered, we are left with different versions of what took place, no clear strategy for sorting them out, and serious doubt regarding our ability to observe as well as understand what occurs around us. The present book is motivated by such issues. Differing from conventional wisdom, my contention is that it is necessary to examine the variation in accounts of conflict behavior when we investigate contentious activity. There are two reasons for this. First, examining the Rashomon Effect provides insight into data generation. Unless we understand the range of alternative accounts that can be produced, our efforts at compiling data will be poorly understood (e.g., Foucault 1979; 3

Made in 1950, the film is described quite simply: [s]et during the chaos of 12th-century Japan, a woodcutter, a priest, and a commoner wait out a thunderstorm in the shadow of a ruined gate. To pass the time the woodcutter and priest tell the commoner of a recent investigation in which they both took part. They tell the tale of a samurai and his wife who were attacked by the infamous bandit Tajomaru while traveling. The husband is killed and the wife and bandit have sex. However, during the investigation the specifics of the attack are called into question as those involved relate conflicting versions of the events. The film cuts back and forth between the gate and the various versions accounting for the attack ( Johnson 1998).

4

As to what actually happened, one is never quite sure; invariably this is the point, however, to get one to question reality itself and to engage the perspectives of the viewers of reality. I am thus not addressing situations where sources are purposefully attempting to mislead the reader.

3

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

Said 1993; King, Keohane, and Verba 1994; Lustick 1996; Oliver and Maney 2000). Second, the Rashomon Effect provides deeper insight into conflict itself. Exclusively using certain sources in a way that ignores source variation, we have been unable to examine the robustness of our theories about contentious politics, and we have been hindered in our ability to develop new insights (for important exceptions, see Scott 1985; Goodman 1994; Kelley 1994; Brass 1997). After first reviewing developments in the relevant area of inquiry over the last forty years, each of these issues will be discussed.

Event Cataloging and the Birth of Conflict Studies The problem of the Rashomon Effect finds its origins in the early “conflict” or “internal war” studies of the late 1960s and early 1970s.5 At that time a group of American and European academics, including some of the most prominent scholars in social science of the period, such as Karl Deutsch, Harry Eckstein, Ted Gurr, Samuel Huntington, Rudolph Rummel, Bruce Russett, and Charles Tilly (see Zimmerman 1980 for a thorough review), set out to understand how and why citizens engaged in dissident action (e.g., protest, sit-ins, strikes, terrorism, guerrilla warfare, civil war, and revolution) and, to a lesser extent, how and why governments engaged in repressive behavior against those within their territorial jurisdiction (e.g., mass arrests and political bans). These researchers focused on seven specific characteristics: onset, intensity (the frequency of occurrence), magnitude (scope), lethality (the degree of violence), tactical variety (the repertoire of activities employed), duration, and termination. Interest in this phenomenon was not limited to the academy. The topic was clearly important to a large audience whose lives, property, and ideas were directly threatened by the relevant behavior. During the period in question, much of the “Third,” or “underdeveloped,” World was engulfed in anticolonial and/or rebellious struggles to modify or undermine specific political-economic relations. In response to this, the relevant authorities (inside the country and frequently with assistance from outside) engaged in counterinsurgent efforts to establish or maintain these same conditions. Simultaneously, in the United States and parts of the West, the “developed” 5

4

In 1937, Sorokin conducts perhaps the first analysis in this tradition, but there were no others for quite some time.

Introduction

world, numerous protests were undertaken by ethnic groups (especially blacks), students, women, and peace movements. In response to this behavior, the relevant authorities once again responded coercively – albeit with less violence. Here, they engaged in policing to control the challengers and given the openness with which these activities were undertaken as well as the relative freedom of the media to cover them, these would become some of the most well-publicized repressive activities of any period. It was clearly a contentious moment in history, and around the world people were trying to understand what was taking place. Representing the state of the art at the time, most of the researchers engaged in conflict studies identified above relied upon newspapers for information about exactly who did what to whom – constructing what Charles Tilly (2001)6 refers to as “event catalogs” (listings of discrete activities that identify actors, actions, locales, times, and to the extent possible objectives as well as outcomes).7 Falling under the broader category of content or textual analysis, these catalogs had been employed within this area since the early to mid-1930s (e.g., Sorokin 1937; Lasswell and Blumenstock 1939),8 but it was during the 1960s and 1970s that one saw a dramatic rise in the use of this technique. Following these data-collection efforts, a tremendous amount of information was developed about political conflict. Moreover, analyses of relevant data provided a tremendous amount of insight into why this behavior varied across time and space (see Zimmerman 1980; Jodice, Taylor, and Deutsch 1980; Lichbach 1992; 1995; Merritt, Muncaster, and Zinnes 1993). Event catalogs have always been straightforward in design. To construct them, researchers developed explicit coding rules that defined the behavior of interest as well as specific characteristics that were identified during the 6

7

8

Tilly’s innovation in the development of event catalogs is particularly noteworthy. Indeed, as Olzak (1989: 129) notes in her examination of event analysis, “Charles Tilly and associates remain the leaders in providing methods and techniques for collecting information on events of political and contentious actions.” An “event” is a discrete occurrence that is bound by time (it occurs within a specific and relatively brief period), space (it occurs within a specific space), and actors (it involves the same actors for the duration of the occurrence). While numerous individuals have been critical of an event-focused analysis of sociopolitical life (e.g., Fernand Braudel ([1980] 1969), who preferred an analysis of the deep, underlying “currents” of history), there is a long tradition within the social sciences that relies on the identification and analysis of this information (e.g., see Bloch 1953; Tarrow 1998). Lists of events had been used even earlier than this (e.g., Finer 1997; Desrosieres 1998).

5

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coding process (e.g., action type, actors, place, time, objectives, and outcomes). Following this, a source was selected and read by researchers to extract information (e.g., Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly 1975; Taylor and Jodice 1983; Koopmans 1995; Francisco 2000); later, these tasks would be completed by computers (e.g., Schrodt and Gerner 1994; Bond and Bond 1995; Franzosi 2001). After the catalog (the list) of events was completed and entered into a spreadsheet, the data were ready to be examined with whatever procedure one wanted to employ (e.g., graphs, statistics, or narrative descriptions). In many respects, this approach to data collection and analysis made sense. Event catalogs put information into a format that could be easily compiled, stored, sorted, and examined in a variety of ways. At the time, the approach was coming to be widely applied throughout the social sciences from a diverse range of topics (e.g., conflict, public as well as elite opinion, negotiations, and treaties). Given the questions posed by the group of conflict researchers and the available technology, the source selection made sense as well. Newspapers were generally believed to be continuous in their coverage of conflict, easily accessible, fairly attentive to the different countries of the world, and relatively reliable (Rucht and Neidhardt 1998: 18).9 This reflected a larger turn to the news media by those associated with the behavioral movement. While most in conflict studies have employed the approach identified here (continuing to the present day), there are important limitations with 9

6

Although the earliest known daily news paper/sheet was the Acta Diurna (Daily Events) in ancient Rome (circa 59 B.C.), I am referring to the mass printed penny presses of the early 1800s, which through numerous technological innovations (e.g., continuous rolls of inexpensive paper and a steam-powered press) made these products available to a wide audience. Mass production is important to my argument because within this context, the newspaper generally seeks a large, more diverse audience; it provides a significant amount of coverage with regard to different types of events; and it wields a great impact on society. Prior to the use of newspapers, researchers considered numerous sources: government reports, police records, hospital records, and for some ancient conflicts tablets/stones. These tended to be more focused on certain types of behavior, less consistent over time (frequently because of our capacity to unearth them), and clearly tied to the functions of specific organization whose identification itself was intricately connected to what they did (e.g., the police). Additionally, observers tended to be directly tied to the state. When mass produced newspapers became available, however, and when the connection to political authority varied from “mouthpiece” to “challenger,” researchers were afforded a great opportunity to investigate a wide diversity of sociopolitical events; the last thirty years clearly bears witness to this pattern.

Introduction

this strategy. Over the last forty years, these issues have been the subject of much attention.10 The most significant critique of this work is that newspapers identify only a fraction of the events that exist in the “real world” and that these fractions are generally treated as wholes.11 Specifically, research discloses that source material normally focuses on events that are large, violent, proximate, and bizarre. Numerous reasons are advanced to explain this coverage. First, there are “threshold” effects, where only events above a certain level of significance are identified because of the large market to which this would appeal and the decreased costs that are involved with finding relevant actions (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983: 179; McCarthy et al. 1996a). Second, there are “fatigue” effects, whereby only events that are short-term in duration receive attention in an effort to establish as well as maintain consistent readership and again to hold costs down (e.g., Gerner and Schrodt 1996; Moeller 1999). Third, there are “newshole” effects, whereby coverage is determined by the amount of available space within the pages of a newspaper (e.g., Stempel 1964; Lacy and Bernstein 1988; Honig, Walters, and Templin 1991). Regardless of the specific reason highlighted, the outcome is the same: small, nonviolent, distant, and commonplace events are generally ignored and efforts to identify conflict emergence, intensity, magnitude, variety, duration, and termination (in different places as well as at different times) are all likely compromised by source selectivity. Unwilling to accept these limitations, researchers have attempted to address these deficiencies in numerous ways. For example, some use only sources that are proximate to the events in question.12 Some use only sources that are not subject to the specific problems identified earlier. For instance, Rude (1964), Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly (1975), McCarthy et al. (1996a), Oliver and Myers (1999), Oliver and Maney (2000), and Maney and Oliver (2001) 10

11 12

For example, McClelland and Hoggard (1969); Smith (1969; 1971); McClelland and Young (1971); Burrowes and Spector (1971); Azar et al. (1972); Burrowes (1974); Hoggard (1974); Dangzer (1975); Snyder and Kelly (1977); Lichbach (1984); Valencia-Weber and Weber (1986); Olzak (1989); Brysk (1994); Hocke (1998); McCarthy et al. (1996a); Poe et al. (1999); Oliver and Myers (1999); Oliver and Maney (2000); Wooley (2000); Maney and Oliver (2001); Davenport and Ball (2002); Earl et al. (2004); Ortiz et al. (2005). Of course, it is not likely the case that any source or collection of sources will ever provide such information, but this is simply the reality that social scientists confront. For example, White (1993); McCarthy et al. (1996b); Mueller (1997); Beissinger (1998); Hocke (1998); Sommer and Scarritt (1999); Khawaja (1993); Oliver and Myers (1999); Oliver and Maney (2000); Maney and Oliver (2001); Snow, Soule, and Cress (2005).

7

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

use police records to generate event catalogs, while Schrodt and Gerner (1994), Bond and Bond (1995), and Francisco (1996a) use news wires. Finally, some use a large variety of sources simultaneously to develop event catalogs, including sources such as newspapers, police as well as government reports, NGO records, and personal histories, allowing them to be as comprehensive as possible (e.g., Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly 1975; Horn and Tilly 1986; Davis, Leeds, and Moore 1998; Oliver and Myers 1999; Oliver and Maney 2000).13 Each of these strategies has its strengths. All provide some leverage for understanding what has been missed within traditional newspapergenerated event catalogs that rely on a single source. With regard to the proximate approach (using only local sources), it is clear that closer information-providers are likely more interested in smaller, commonplace activities, more knowledgeable about topics, and more aware of a wider variety of contacts (informants) from which to get information about what has occurred. With regard to the nontraditional, specialized approach (using specific information-providers), it is clear that interest and focus are crucial for overcoming many of the reasons events are ignored. Finally, with reference to the encompassing approach (when multiple sources are used at once), if one type of source missed an event, it is possible that another might catch it, improving the overall quality of the catalog. While moving us in the right direction, however, these efforts have not moved us far enough to understand what is going on in the BPP–authority interaction discussed at the beginning of this chapter; nor does it tell us what to do with the Rashomon Effect more generally. For example, the first approach provides only part of the story – the spatial component. Here, it is suggested that event catalogs emerging from sources closer to events would differ from those emerging from more distant sources. However, the sources are typically all the same (e.g., mainstream/commercial newspapers), and there is no discussion about whether different types of

13

8

Sources such as memoirs and biographies are not employed by these researchers for: (1) these are generally kept by only selective individuals (particularly elites) and thus much about a particular groups interaction with another group would be missed, and (2) these generally do not discuss as many collective activities as those sources that are created for a wide distribution. Given the collective orientation of newspapers (sales) and police records (understanding of mass dissent), it is believed that they cover a larger number of events, relevant to a larger number of people. At some point, I expect that someone will attempt to generate event catalogs from the Internet, but conflict/contentious politics scholars have not yet adopted this practice.

Introduction

sources, equally proximate to relevant events, would cover events in a similar manner.14 The second approach also provides part of the story – the interest component. Here, we would expect that sources directly focused on the behavior of interest would provide more detailed information when compared with sources that were more diffusely focused, but the silences of this work are again left unexamined. For example, police records might be great at identifying dissident activities but not very good at identifying what authorities do to those who challenge them (e.g., McCarthy et al. 1996).15 Finally, the third approach homogenizes all information, ignoring similarities and differences across the distinct sources consulted. Adopting this approach, we would have no understanding about what is covered or why. Although accepting that diverse accounts exist when one considers the cataloging of conflict events, all three approaches are unable to take the next step and explain why Rashomon exists, how distinct accounts are connected to one another in a system of observation/reporting, and what the variation can reveal to us about conflict itself. This problem is addressed in the next section.

Explaining the Rashomon Effect How can one begin to understand the source-variation issue? To date, there have been few efforts to understand systems of observation/reporting across observers/reports within the context of a conflict situation (e.g., Scott 1985; Brass 1997; Goodman 1994; Roy 1994; Wolfsfeld 1997; Mazur 1998). Although this work has emerged in multiple disciplines (history, sociology, and political science), it is limited because it is exclusively qualitative in nature largely prompting quantitative scholars to ignore it. Additionally, researchers from the event cataloging tradition, the audience most likely to benefit from its consideration, have never addressed it.16 There are 14

15

16

In many respects, an important exception here is the work of Oliver and Myers (1999), Oliver and Maney (2000), and Maney and Oliver (2001), but even this study was limited by the ideological orientation of the sources involved – mainstream commercial presses that well represented the type of newspapers that were available in the United States during the time period under consideration. There may also be some limitations regarding the type of events that are covered by wires. As designed, newspapers still need to select events and thus even though the overall volume might be higher, it is likely the case that the same events might receive coverage – a different version of the Spilerman problem. Oliver and Myers (1999) provide perhaps one of the most thorough quantitative investigations of observation systems; nevertheless, Madison, Wisconsin, during the time period

9

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

numerous reasons, however, for drawing upon the previously identified research and connecting it to work on contentious politics. First, while both areas of research are interested in documenting events from a variety of sources, the literature regarding systems of event observation/recording is not interested in generating a uniform and comprehensive account of what occurred. Rather, it is interested in identifying and explaining several versions of what occurred at the same time. This renders it particularly sensitive to the Rashomon Effect. Second, while conventional research focuses on newspapers, the other work also employs different sources. In addition, the less traditional efforts have attempted to place distinct versions into a system of observation/recording, arguing that diversity in accounts largely reflects the social, political, and economic structure within which conflictual interactions and observations/recordings take place. Not only does this account for what is covered within any one source but it also accounts for what is covered within a variety of sources – directly addressing the variation issue. Third, the less-traditional work directs one to reflect upon what it means to create and distribute information about repression and dissent within newspapers, human rights documents, police and government reports, and individual memories. Most in the event cataloging tradition suggest that creation and distribution reflect the “importance” and “newsworthiness” of the events in question – a somewhat domestic “realist” orientation. This approach does not, however, consider why specific events are important to sources or to what ends such information is put. In the context of the mass media, for example, profit provides part of the answer, but even here there is generally more to the explanation (e.g., Gans 1979; Schudson 1978; 1989). I maintain that to understand why events are covered in different sources, one must move away from the orientation that is normally employed to highlight the communicative aspects of state repression and dissent. Within the communicative view of conflict/contentious politics, it is acknowledged that authorities respond to dissent in an effort to maintain actual sociopolitical control. But, it is also necessary to acknowledge that the very acts of identification, retention, and distribution of information about state-dissident interactions of a conflictual nature also attempt to promote control (Foucault 1979). When reported, dissent signifies an act between 1993 and 1996 did not experience much political conflict or state repression – especially that deemed particularly violent. Consequently, it does provide an important but very different baseline.

10

Introduction

of deviance, instability, and disorder – a challenge to existing personnel, policies/practices, and institutions. In contrast, reported repression signifies an act of control, stability, and order – a means of upholding existing personnel, policies/practices, and institutions. With this understanding, it makes sense that a realist orientation is generally maintained within event catalogs of contention because this behavior identifies mechanisms of power that have very real effects on citizens, movements, and states. Conflict causes physical as well as psychological harm, and it depletes financial resources, seriously influencing the lives of targeted individuals and organizations. What is generally ignored however is the fact that identifying, retaining, and distributing information about repression and dissent is done not to reflect events as they occur in the real world but rather to create a story about authorities and their interaction with dissidents in the unreal created world – a story about order and disorder intended for distribution to authorities, dissidents, and citizens who may be within or outside the locale in question. These narrative contests are extremely important because they remind us that what is covered is not a comprehensive assessment of what takes place out in the streets and/or countryside and that it was never meant to be. Quite the contrary, what is covered is merely a purposeful sampling of the world for ends distinct from conveying the past (and present) as it was (and is). Additionally, as many scholars of contentious politics remind their readers, most individuals have no direct contact with conflict behavior or the combatants, but stories about contention reach a much larger audience (e.g., Gitlin 1980), thereby further increasing the necessity for understanding what is contained in them. How does one get a fix on these narrative contests? The argument is fairly straightforward. At any one time and place, there exists an array of observers/recorders. These different observers/recorders tell different stories about conflict that has taken place within their relevant jurisdiction, but the variation is not random. First, given the importance of political authorities, the ease with which these actors can be found, and the effort they exert in order to provide observers/recorders with information about their activity, I expect that the coverage of repression will generally be greater than that given to dissent.17 Second, I argue that event coverage is influenced by space (physical proximity) and orientation (political interest), albeit more by 17

Specifically, this applies to overt, less violent behavior not covert or highly violent behavior that the government frequently hides.

11

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

Distant

A

Space D

Authorities

Challengers

B

C

Orientation

Proximate Figure 1. Explaining Perspectives on State Repression

the latter than the former. Thus in quadrant D of Figure 1 (where sources are distant from the specific state-dissident interaction and are explicitly interested in challenges/challengers), sources should cover more dissent relative to repression. The attention given to dissident behavior would not provide quite as much information about dissent, however, as a source that is interested in challenging political authorities and is physically proximate to the dissent/dissidents (quadrant C). In this context, I expect that even more and better coverage would be allocated to challengers/challenges. Similarly, I expect that sources in quadrant A would cover more repressive behavior relative to dissident action, but this would not provide quite as much information about repression as a source that is both interested in authorities and physically proximate to them (quadrant B). This conceptualization influences existing research because it suggests that instead of selecting the “best” sources or combining all sources together, we need to consider an array of information-providers within different parts of the figure and then explain the variation across them. This allows us to understand what is observed/reported within source material, what is not observed/reported as well as why. It also provides us with a better understanding of the data that we can generate and the data we cannot generate with the sources employed within a particular study. To examine this argument, I consider uses of state repression against a dissident organization where distinct sources covering the conflict appear in different parts of the figure. As I am interested in understanding how distinct sources cover the same behavior across time and space, the material emerging from each source is viewed as a distinct case. The period 12

Introduction

of the Black Panther Party–authority interaction provides a rare window of opportunity to explore conflict, information about conflict, and the Rashomon Effect. There are several reasons for this. First, by most accounts, the period under examination here was one of the most sustained periods of high-level contentious activity in American history outside of the civil war. During this time, there were repeated gun battles on the streets, large-scale protests, riots, protest policing, National Guard call-outs, extensive property damage, and enforced curfews. On both sides of the conflict, there were increasingly beleaguered, hostile, and militant factions gaining control over the agencies of conflict (respectively, social movements and policing organizations). Within the African American community, the once democratic and nonviolent orientation gave way to an increasingly radicalized and militant black power orientation bent on destroying the fascist, racist, and capitalistic institutions that controlled black lives, bringing forth revolution. Within the policing community, the once tolerant/facilitative period of the “war on poverty” gave way to a more aggressive and militant approach that was bent on “taking back” the streets and restoring “law and order.” It is the co-evolution and co-emergence of these two sides that makes the relevant period so interesting in American history. Immediately prior to this period (in the late 1950s and early 1960s – during the ascendance of the civil rights movement) there was a completely different scenario for African American state-dissident confrontations. During this time, one would observe largely passive, nonaggressive, and nonmilitant black protestors initially treated in a comparable manner (with passivity and nonaggression). Later, these same actors were treated in a more violent and aggressive way. The shift to black power thus reestablished an equilibrium of contention (matching force with force), and it is within this context that my research is focused. Of course, mine is not the only effort to reexplore this historical period. Indeed, in the last few years there has been something of a wholesale revisitation of scholars moving back to this time (Tyson 1999; Woodard 1999; Cleaver and Katsiaficas 2001; Hill 2004; Jeffries 2006; Joseph 2006a,b). The work emerging in this area has consistently identified several elements. For example, it is now clear that we know very little about the late 1960s and early 1970s because it has not been examined rigorously and the scholarship that does exist is largely focused on select individuals or organizations. Indeed, it is clear that the majority of effort has been made to understand the period of the civil rights movement (1930s and early 13

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

1960s) – the one that was the least radical, extensively involved whites, and was more favorably treated by the U.S. government. Even though there were important differences between the civil rights and black power movements (e.g., the former generally advocating integration while the latter generally advocating separation; the former generally advocating nonviolence while the latter generally advocating armed selfdefense), there was greater interaction and overlap between the two movements in terms of ideas and approaches than commonly believed. For example, regarding the use of armed resistance, it turns out that the conventional division with the former movement being wholeheartedly against certain activities and the latter movement being wholeheartedly in favor of others is untrue. Several civil rights organizations contained elements within them that were armed and engaged in coercive activity – largely “defensive”; this includes two of the more prominent ones, such as the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (e.g., Tyson 1999; Hill 2004). Moreover, several black power organizations contained elements within them that were largely disinterested with coercion, preferring to engage and transform the minds of African Americans and whites (e.g., Woodard 1999). Additionally, it turns out that the impact and legacy of the black power movement was quite extensive throughout different aspects of African American as well as American culture (e.g., language, culture, and political aspirations [Kelley 1994; 2003]). Conventional wisdom has inappropriately maintained that only the civil rights movement was important. Finally, there was a large variety of organizations and ideological orientations contained within the black power movement that differed across several dimensions: (1) revolution vs. reform, (2) integration vs. separation vs. statehood, (3) working with whites vs. not working with whites, (4) allowing women to have a leading role in the movement vs. relegating women to a limited role, (5) acting aboveground vs. acting underground, (6) engaging in nonviolence vs. armed self-resistance/self-defense, and (7) focusing on the political domain vs. the cultural domain vs. the economic domain. This led to some interesting combinations. For example, the Republic of New Africa sought to use existing political processes to facilitate the secession of five states in the Deep South for people of African descent without the assistance of whites in an aboveground organization. The Revolutionary Action Movement sought to destroy the capitalistic system through an all-black semiclandestine and underground movement that would either engage in legal protest or guerrilla warfare and urban rebellion – depending 14

Introduction

upon the particular phase that one was discussing (Ahmad 2006: 260). In contrast, the Panthers (the focus of my research) advocated working aboveground within the existing political system, denouncing efforts to separate, working with whites, and using armed self-defense. There were thus a wide variety of black power organizations, and the BPP merely represented one. Second, the period of interest to this study is important because it takes place during a time after the modern newspaper adopted its current practices but before these practices had become fixed as well as formulaic. For example, the 1960s is an ideal period to examine because it is basically after this period that journalists develop the desire for elite status and are provided with an opportunity to achieve it – at least to some degree. During the period of interest to this study, however, there was some serious debate about such an aspiration, and there were some opportunities for alternative paths (e.g., employment in radical, alternative, and dissident presses). These opportunities were less available later; indeed, the diversity in the type of newspapers decreased over time. The late 1960s and early 1970s thus represents an extremely important period in American journalism and an important environment within which one could conduct an examination of statedissident interactions in newspapers. To investigate the topic of interest, I address repressive responses of local, state, and federal authorities to the Black Panther Party in Oakland, California, between the years 1967 (the first full year of BPP’s existence) and 1973 (the year commonly identified as the end of the organization). To operationalize repression, I principally focus on the activity of the police directed against the civil liberties and personal integrity of Panther members (e.g., arrests and raids), while also paying some attention to the activities of the courts (e.g., trials and grand jury investigations). This reflects not only the concerns of researchers but also those of the BPP,18 of the authorities (who viewed the police as their first defense against the African American dissidents), and of African Americans themselves (who at the time were more concerned with this form of state power than perhaps any other).

18

As Singh (1998: 78) argues the Panthers reasoned that police power exercised within Black sections of the city (against the lumpen) operated in a manner similar to the uses of colonial power that Fanon had described. Policing within Black communities functioned as “a language of pure force” untempered by forms of ideological suasion or meditation in which the consent of the governed was sought out and gained without the use of violence.

15

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

Distant New York Times Authorities

Challengers Sun Reporter Berkeley Barb

Oakland Tribune

Proximate

The Black Panther Newspaper

Figure 2. Perspectives in the Black Panther Party Case

Although numerous organizations followed the interaction between the Panthers and the authorities, in line with conventional research, I use newspapers to identify and analyze relevant behavior. Deviating from existing work, however, I examine event catalogs from five very different presses – the widest variation thus far examined within one study: (1) the New York Times, a white, mainstream/commercial, authority-oriented, and distant press; (2) the Oakland Tribune, a white, mainstream/commercial, authorityoriented, and local press; (3) the Berkeley Barb, a white, countercultural, dissident-friendly, and local press; (4) the Sun Reporter, a black, politically moderate, and relatively neutral local press; and (5) the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service, the newspaper created and distributed by the Oakland chapter of the Black Panthers. Developed from my archival research, the placement of these newspapers on the two dimensions discussed earlier is displayed in Figure 2 (this is discussed later). Examining the event catalogs derived from these sources, I find that while all paid attention to state repression, only sources close to the Panthers highlighted BPP dissident behavior to any reasonable degree. Additionally, only those sources close to the Panthers (Sun Reporter, Berkeley Barb, and the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service) identified behavior that did not directly challenge the agents of the state (such as the police), highlighting protest that targeted nonstate actors (such as businesses and community leaders). In contrast, more authority-oriented sources (the New York Times and Oakland Tribune) tended to focus on dissident action that explicitly confronted state institutions with coercive behavior. Results further 16

Introduction

disclose that not all repressive activity was covered equally well. Specifically, more mainstream, authority-oriented sources reported events involving the courts, while more dissident-oriented sources were more inclined to cover police action.

The Meaning of Rashomon It is of course one thing to identify and account for the variation in reported conflict events across different sources and to assess the importance of this variation for data generation (e.g., why the Oakland Tribune, Sun Reporter, and BPINS covered the events that they did). It is quite another to explain exactly how and why such variation is important for understanding conflict (e.g., how coverage in the Oakland Tribune, Sun Reporter, and BPINS influences our understanding of BPP–authority interactions). While most describe the impact of dissent and prior repressive behavior on contemporaneous values of state repression as being straightforward, there are some that discuss the matter in great detail, revealing a significant amount of complexity in the state’s motivations and activities (e.g., Duvall and Stohl 1988; Jackson et al. 1978; Tilly 1978; 2005; Ziegenhagen 1986; Davenport 1995a; Shellman 2007). This literature is important to consider for it suggests that the overly simplistic manner in which influences are generally conceptualized has hindered our capacity to understand when, how much, and why authorities use repression. One specific challenge to existing research is examined within this book. All Explanations Are Not Created Equal. Research on repressive behavior has consistently advanced and supported the argument that violent dissent as well as lagged repression are among the most important determinants that one could use to account for variation in government coercive activity. Even though they are both mainstays within the literature, the explanations associated with these two variables are distinct. Concerning the first – the “domestic realist” (Stanley 1996) or “threat” (Earl 2003) model – political authorities are believed to respond to behavioral challenges from citizens in order to counter or eliminate relevant behavior and maintain the status quo. Rooted in older discussions about what governments are and how they function, this work expects that citizeninitiated conflict behavior will increase the likelihood and severity of state repressive action and, following, that when the challenge diminishes, coercive behavior will as well (the “nobody-moves-nobody-gets-hurt” thesis). The positive influence is expected in particular when the nature of the 17

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

challenge is violent. Indeed, given the scholarly neglect of nonviolent dissident behavior, the research appears to suggest that violent challenges are the only ones that provoke authorities and the use of coercion. Concerning the second explanation – generally referred to as “bureaucratic inertia” or “Law of the Instrument” (Gurr 1986) – coercive state behavior is attributed to the preexisting institutional preferences/habits of government institutions as well as to repressive agents themselves. As conceived, once the decision to engage in repression is made, organizations are created and relevant behavior is enacted. In this context, acceptance of repression increases among policymakers as well as among coercive agents, and the willingness to change this policy diminishes. Here, while previous repression increases the likelihood of subsequent coercive behavior, lower levels of prior repressive action decrease the likelihood of later activity.19 The relevance of source coverage for these arguments is clear. Adopting the Rashomon perspective, we would expect that diverse sources cover high-profile contentious behavior (e.g., violent dissident activity and violent state behavior) in a similar manner, yielding comparable causal influences on state repression across sources. At the same time, Rashomon would lead us to expect that influences vary by source orientation. For example, within authority-oriented sources, the influence of lagged repression and violent dissent would generally be stronger because these events are covered more consistently. By contrast, dissident-oriented sources would generally be associated with stronger influences for variables that involved challengers, such as violent behavior but also less violent or nonviolent dissident activity. The Rashomon Effect could influence our understanding of existing results because it prompts us to be cognizant of the fact that different theoretical arguments and empirical findings are more likely identified when particular sources are consulted. Furthermore, Rashomon compels us to investigate differences across sources as a way of gauging the robustness of

19

18

In this research, it is not clear exactly how one breaks the cycle, but one could link it to diminishing values of dissent; decreasing behavioral challenges invariably decrease repression as relevant organizations no longer deem it necessary. This, in turn, reduces the likelihood that subsequent repressive behavior would be enacted. Of course, there may be some lag. Similar to the acknowledgment that organizations interested in crime control have a vested interest in creating/cultivating “crime” and therefore their efforts and resources allocations are worthwhile, repressive institutions confront the same situation. Indeed, where bureaucratic inertia exists, one expects a weakened relationship between conflict and repression.

Introduction

our arguments. The threshold below which repression will not be applied is also worthy of investigation. For example, within authority-oriented sources, repression responds to previous repression and violent dissent (a relatively high-level threat), whereas in dissident-oriented sources, repression responds not only to violent dissent but also to nonviolent behavior (a much lower-level threat). Using the exploration of BPP–U.S. authority interactions, I find that the evidence is generally in line with these expectations. Results disclose that all sources identified the activities of authorities, whereas only some paid attention to dissidents. This leads to distinct perspectives on statechallenger confrontations. For example, within mainstream/authorityoriented sources, the BPP is depicted as (1) engaged in few instances of dissent, (2) engaged for brief periods of time, and (3) largely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of government activities directed against them (especially those enacted by courts). In contrast, sources more sympathetic to the black power organization generally identified (1) a higher degree of contentiousness with both dissidents and political authorities engaging in relevant behavior, (2) with greater frequency, and (3) for longer periods of time. As expected, across newspapers, the findings concerning lagged repression were the most consistent in their positive influence on state repression: repressive behavior was most likely to take place when it had been applied earlier. Results disclose further that shootings between the BPP and authorities – the most violent form of interaction – were consistent in their positive influence on police activity. Again, as expected, the findings concerning the impact of dissident behavior differed somewhat across sources. For example, in all event catalogs, conventional aspects of dissent (e.g., demonstrations) both preceded and followed repression, but with large gaps between them. In mainstream sources, conventional aspects of dissent were reported to be in response to repressive behavior itself. For example, there would be a rally held for someone who was arrested or a demonstration to show support for someone appearing in court that day. Revealing an interesting dynamic, this essentially “reactive” dissident behavior increased subsequent repression even further. In sources closer to the BPP (black and radical sources), however, the causal dynamic was different. Within these event catalogs, one clearly sees that nonviolent behavior directed against nonstate actors prompted repressive activity, which in turn prompted more conventional dissident behavior. This reveals that repression was responsive to BPP actions not typically identified by traditional event catalog research or covered within 19

Media Bias, Perspective, and State Repression

mainstream newspapers. It also reveals that the largest and hence most visible activities undertaken by the Panthers were prompted by the authorities themselves. These findings are important for they compel us to acknowledge that both the BPP and government agents played a role in prompting state repression, albeit in different ways. These findings are also important because they force those interested in the topic to think about how different theories receive support from different sources. For instance, before 1969 both the threat and the bureaucratic inertia arguments generally find support. Some newspapers support the threat argument earlier (the Berkeley Barb) whereas others support bureaucratic inertia earlier (Oakland Tribune); additionally, some newspapers reveal that authorities were responsive to nonviolent dissident activities (the Black Panther Party Intercommunal News Service), whereas others did not really support this relationship at all (The New York Times). After 1969 (when there was a shift away from armed, violent, and confrontational activity by the BPP), however, only the argument concerning bureaucratic inertia was supported consistently across event catalogs. Some support was also derived for the threat argument, but this is specific to the newspapers closer to the BPP and for behavior that was generally not associated with traditional operationalizations of dissent. For example, within the Berkeley Barb and the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service, the Panthers were not quite done challenging authorities, and in this context state repression could still be thought of as still responding to challengers. The uniformity of the earlier period is missing in the latter part of the catalog. Focusing on a diverse array of sources, therefore, we are provided with information that dramatically transforms the understanding of repression – an understanding that would have been ignored had we relied only upon conventional sources or had we homogenized all available information into one event catalog, approaches generally applied in the literature.

Outline To address the issues outlined here, in Chapter 1 I turn to the shift that has taken place within the social science literature concerning the use of sources in event cataloging. Whereas initially events were held sacred and objective sources were used to provide information about what had occurred, later sources emerged as something subjective in orientation and just as worthy of examination as the events being analyzed. 20

Introduction

Chapter 2 provides the theoretical framework for understanding what I call “systems of observation/reporting” – the complex relationship between protagonists in a conflict situation and observers/recorders of the events in question. Most importantly, the chapter seeks to account for the Rashomon Effect, that is, the variance we see across source accounts. Chapter 3 explains the substantive implications of perspective for conflict studies. Specifically, it focuses on state repression – the use of coercive tactics against citizens identified as “enemies of the state” for the explicit purpose of controlling their beliefs and/or activities. Here, I detail exactly what we know about repressive behavior, how existing event cataloging research supports this work, and how Rashomon challenges popular understanding. Chapter 4 outlines the historical background of the BPP–authority interaction between 1967 and 1973. Specifically, I detail how the Black Panthers came into being and adopted the particular approach to activism that they did. Additionally, I address where the government’s approach to the social movement came from, highlighting the general approach to protest policing and countermovement activity applied at the time. In Chapter 5, the data-collection effort concerning the BPP–U.S. government conflict is discussed. Here, I move through each of the sources – identifying its geographic location, political orientation, and relevant editorial practices. Investigating the hypotheses developed earlier, within Chapter 6, I explore how the Rashomon Effect manifests itself in the BPP–authority conflict as well as how it influences our understanding of state repression within the state–dissident interaction. This involves a detailed discussion of the patterns identified within and across each of the sources with regard to how they discussed the origins, dynamics and termination of the conflict. I conclude (Chapter 7) with a review of my argument as well as a discussion of which aspects were supported by the examination. I then outline exactly how we can improve existing practices of source selection, data generation, and empirical analysis of repressive behavior.

21

PART I

Conceptualization

1 Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

There is a great advantage in the way traditional content analysis has used newspapers in its studies of newspaper or communication content, propaganda, and public opinion . . . that what newspapers say is what you are really interested in. That is your reality. But if you are using newspapers as a source of socio-historical data, as a way to get to reality, as a mirror of that reality, then what the papers say is more crucial than we have been willing to face up to. Otherwise, we might as well face up to one thing. Let’s change our titles to read: “Mobilization and Counter-Mobilization Processes: From the ‘Red Years’ (1919–20) to the ‘Black Years’ (1921–22) in Italy according to Il Lavoro,” “Democracy and Disorder according to Il Corriere della Sera.” Roberto Franzosi From Words to Numbers: Narrative, Data and Social Science (2001) (emphasis in original)

In Pitirim Sorokin’s path-breaking Social and Cultural Dynamics: Fluctuation of Social Relationships, War and Revolution (1937), one will not find a single reference to the sources that were used to generate the data analyzed in the book, at least, not in the text itself.1 Those wanting information about how data were compiled for the twenty-five hundred years of interest to the study would have to consult the appendix (1937: 578–620). There, 1

Sorokin comes closest to providing this information when he says: [t]he material of this study includes most of the recorded internal disturbances of importance, from the relatively small disorders to the biggest revolutions, which have taken place in the life history of Greece, Rome, France, Germany (Central Europe), England, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands, Byzantium, Poland, Lithuania, and Russia. The very fact of its mention in the annals of history is considered a sign of importance of an internal disturbance. Quite insignificant disorders which do not affect the life of the country in any appreciable way usually pass by without leaving traces in the records of history. (1937: 385)

25

Conceptualization

one would find a detailed listing of the historical monographs employed within the data-collection effort, as well as the relevant page numbers from which information was obtained. As to how the monographs collected the information they provided and how other researchers at the time viewed these sources, there are no answers in Social and Cultural Dynamics (not in the text nor in the appendix). Regarding these questions, one simply has to accept that Sorokin did a good job or track down on one’s own all of the research materials that he used to conduct his analysis, conducting one’s own analysis. By the mid-to-late 1960s and the early 1970s, at the founding of modern, quantitative conflict studies, things changed a great deal. Event catalogers of this period were more likely to explicitly identify the sources they used to create data within the text of the written work. Additionally, it was quite common to find an assessment of the quality of the consulted material as well as some discussion of how others viewed the relevant sources. Regardless of these differences, the basic orientation of the latter research was the same as that put forward by Sorokin: the information about sources was secondary in importance to the events themselves. At the end of the millennium, the practices established earlier had essentially remained the same. Deviating from this work, however, a small number of scholars began to pose serious challenges to the objectivity of sources perspective. Specifically, they expressed doubt about whether one could simply extract information from historical material without paying attention to the sources themselves. Moreover, information providers that had previously been given secondary importance were now beginning to receive as much attention as the events they covered. This change has had important implications for social science. Indeed, it has prompted declarations of the “death” of history, sociology, and political science and heralded the birth of new fields of study, associations, journals, and book series. In many respects, it has been a brand new age for those seeking to identify and analyze conflict. As is so often the case, only a few saw the change coming and even fewer attempted to use it within their analyses to understand why as well as how dissidents and authorities go at each other. Although small in number, however, the changes put forward by this group were as extensive as they were profound. In this chapter, I describe these two very different perspectives on event cataloging and data generation, highlighting the diverse levels of importance given to sources within them. In the next chapter, I use this distinction 26

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

to develop an explanation for the Rashomon Effect, accounting for the variation in what we see when multiple sources are consulted for information about conflict/contentious politics.

Incomplete Vision and the Perils of Reporting Bias: The Early, Conventional View From the beginning of conflict studies up to the last ten years or so, the event has been paramount, and little attention has been given to the source of information about the events in question. Invoking Franzosi’s comment, within this work, there are no titles that reflect the importance of sources like Social and Cultural Dynamics in the Encyclopedia Britannica, no Why Men Rebel in the New York Times, no Nationalist Mobilization and the Collapse of the Soviet State in Pravda, and no Dynamics of Contention in Newsweek. Indeed, it is telling that one cannot find references to a source within the title of any major book in this area of research. Perhaps one can be found in an article, but this will likely be identified only within an obscure journal, nothing central to the field. The reason for this practice is clear: event catalogers generally view sources as simply the means to an end, a window through which they can look upon events in the past. Ignoring the window frame here makes sense. Essentially, the conventional view maintains that things happen, they get recorded in sources, and when interested individuals consult these artifacts to find out something about the world (e.g., when conflict occurred, how many individuals were involved, or when relevant behavior ended), they are provided with information about the phenomena of interest. Although emerging from the explicitly scientific method of content analysis, which had grown slowly in use from the 1930s up through the 1960s (Franzosi 2001: 39–40), the objectives of these research efforts were clearly historical in nature. By design, event catalogers seek to identify a uniform, complete chronology of all events over a particular time and place or at least enough of them to get a “general sense” of what had transpired. As stated by Novick (1988: 50): [t]he assumptions on which [the historical tradition rests include] a commitment to the reality of the past, and to truth as correspondence to that reality; a sharp separation between the knower and known, between fact and value, and above all, between history and fiction. For them, the past was contained within the sources.

27

Conceptualization “E” TYPE OF EVENTS OVERTIME 100

PRESS OBSERVER (PO)

MAGNITUDE

0 TIME

Figure 3. Comprehensive Event Coverage

Although fundamentally reliant upon the truth of the matter, source material was never really expected to be identical to what occurred. Becker (1931: 112) is clear on this in stating that [n]o doubt throughout all past time there actually occurred a series of events which, whether we know what it was or not, constitutes history in some ultimate sense. Nevertheless, much of the greater part of these events we can know nothing about, not even that they occurred; many of them we can know only imperfectly; and even the few events that we think we know for sure we can never be absolutely certain of, since we can never revive them, never observe or test them directly. The event itself once occurred, but as an actual event it has disappeared; so that in dealing with it the only objective reality we can observe or test is some material trace which the event has left – usually a written document. With these traces of vanished events, these documents, we must be content since they are all we have; from them we infer what the event was, we affirm that it is a fact that the event was so and so.2

Following from this, a strong version of the conventional eventcataloging tradition maintains that sources identify most events – at all times, places, and magnitudes within the relevant domain (displayed in Figure 3). In this best of all possible worlds, an ideal situation is provided for those interested in identifying and investigating human actions; here, things occur and in their coverage they are comprehensively identified for 2

Hamlin (1979: 405–6) is clear on this: “[h]istory is not the past, any more than biology is life, or physics, matter. History is the distillation of evidence surviving from the past. Where there is no evidence, there is no history.”

28

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

later analysis. Within the field of contentious politics, there have been many that have maintained such a position.3 This approach is not without its critics. As more individuals consulted sources in an effort to create event catalogs, they repeatedly discovered the inadequacies of the scenario described earlier. Although this did not cause the majority of researchers to critically challenge the objectives of event cataloging, it did cause them to question some of the results. Specifically, there were three problems. First, it was relatively clear that not all events were covered in sources, especially in the newspapers that were generally relied upon for this research (e.g., Tuchman 1978). At any moment in time, there was a variety of different events, all competing with one another for attention, implicitly and sometimes explicitly for placement in the same source. This is displayed in Figure 4, where we see that if one were interested in conflict events, different press observers in the same or different newspapers identify different events of different magnitudes and at different times. Second, those responsible for the content of sources (i.e., editors) do not generally allow those generating content (i.e., journalists) full reign over what appears in the final product.4 Thus, even if events were identified, there is no direct correspondence between observation and placement in the distributed material (e.g., De Sola-Pool and Shulman 1959; Fisher and Lowenstein 1972; Bagdikian 1972; Gans 1979; Taylor and Jodice 1983; Gaunt 1990; Hocke 1998).5 Indeed, it is possible that non-conflict events receive coverage (also displayed in Figure 4). Third, not all events covered within newspapers are covered equally well (the top panel concerning conflict events within Figure 4). There are different explanations for this variation. For example, some events might be neglected by certain sources because they were too low in severity, “threshold” effects (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983: 179; McCarthy et al. 1996a); because they went on for too long, “fatigue” effects (e.g., Gerner 3

4 5

For example, see Rummel (1963); McClelland and Hoggard (1969); Tanter (1966); Dangzer (1975); McAdam (1982); Taylor and Jodice (1983); Tarrow (1989); Henderson (1991); Olzak and West (1995); Davis, Leeds, and Moore (1998); Moore and Lindstrom (1998); McAdam and Su (2002). The position is advocated much earlier by White (1950). This is not necessarily explicit competition as people “play” to the media (with their choice of actions, targets, and such) but is more often implicitly revealed, as it is understood that there is only a finite amount of space involved with which to report events.

29

Conceptualization Conflict Events Press Observer 1

100

Press Observer 4 Press Observer 2

MAGNITUDE

Press Observer 3 Press Observer 5

0 TIME

Type A Non-Conflict Events 100 Press Observer 4 Press Observer 1 MAGNITUDE

Press Observer 3

Press Observer 5 0 TIME

Type B Non-Conflict Events 100

Press Observer 1 MAGNITUDE

Press Observer 3

Press Observer 5 0 TIME

Figure 4. Realistic Event Coverage

and Schrodt 1996; Moeller 1999); or because reporting on these items would require too much space, “newshole” effects (e.g., Stempel 1964; Lacy and Bernstein 1988; Honig, Walters, and Templin 1991). After this research emerged, it became clear that whether or not some event or series of events would be covered in a source was not just a function of what was 30

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

taking place out in the real world but was also a function of other forces as well.6 Of course, the minute that this more “realistic” model is acknowledged, one is confronted with an important question: in the pursuit of an accurate listing of conflict events, what does one do with the different sources and accounts identified in Figure 4 (i.e., press observers/recorders 1–5)? The answer to this question varies within the existing literature.

Bias Is the Problem According to the conventional perspective, the depiction of conflict events is subject to “bias”7 because there is generally an incomplete representation of conflict behavior reported in sources (i.e., different information providers highlight different aspects as well as magnitudes of the unattainable “true” event sequence, and when consulted a complete as well as comprehensive listing of conflict behavior will not be identified). One can discuss bias in this context by taking into account exactly how much of the overall event sequence is covered by the different sources (Wooley 2000).8 Within Figure 4, for example, it is reasonable to conclude that observer 4 is “biased” in their coverage of conflict because (1) during the earlier period it misses activities that did not exceed a certain threshold, and (2) in the latter period it did not pay attention to anything at all. One who relied upon observer 3 would again confront bias, as this source missed events occurring in the later period as well as those that exceeded a certain number (even during the time period for which it did cover the subject). Additionally, one who relied upon observer 1 would observe contention over a decent amount of time but again would miss those events that occurred below a certain threshold. In

6

7

8

I am not discussing such problems as inconsistently coding information out of sources (i.e., reliability). Rather, I am paying explicit attention to those efforts that are coded reliably but still are subject to coverage problems such as those listed above (i.e., validity). There are two types of bias normally identified (Ortiz et al. 2005: 398): (1) “selection” (i.e., what events are in/out of a source), and (2) “description” (i.e., how events are reported). My effort explores the influence of these two, but most attention has been directed toward the former. This is similar to the phrase attributed to Von Ranke where history is merely an effort to study the past “as it was” or as it “actually happened.” The labels here are numerous (e.g., “copy theory,” “correspondence theory” – Duffy 1994: 148). Other historically oriented researchers have advocated this position as well (e.g., Blundevill 1574; Camden 1586; Sidney [1595] 1948; Charleton 1692; Durkheim [1895] 1938; Bloch 1953; Bury 1957; Collingwood [1946] 1961; Carr 1964; Winks 1968; Plumb 1969; Von Ranke 1973).

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Conceptualization

this example (as with the others), the observer’s and hence the researcher’s observation of the phenomenon under examination is incomplete.9 How does one confront this problem? In an effort to get an understanding of what is taking place, some researchers try to understand the variation in coverage. In this work, the most common explanations for the difference between reality that was and reality that was covered involves three factors: (1) organizational capacity to identify events (e.g., the number of news reporters employed and the size of the operating budget for travel), (2) intrinsic news characteristics (e.g., the number as well as importance of participants and the degree of violence), and (3) spatial distance (i.e., how far is the event in question from someone affiliated with the news organization).10 With regard to capacity, it is maintained that sources vary in their coverage of events because there is an uneven distribution of resources across reporting agencies. Those organizations with more resources are simply better able to cover more events and in greater depth, whereas those with fewer resources are unable to cover as many events and in less detail. With regard to news characteristics, it is maintained that sources vary in their coverage because of the occurrences themselves and because of the sources’ perceptions about what their audience wants to read. Here, some events (e.g., those that are violent and large) are believed to be more “newsworthy” than others.11 As a result, coverage would reflect this concern in the 9

10 11

It is important to note that the conception of “bias” found within this view assumes that the unreported parts of the sequence are known by someone, which according to the example is incorrect – there are parts of the sequence that are not observed/reported. This assumption is extremely problematic. In the area of political repression, it is largely understood that the only actors that know or can approximate the full event sequence are the political authorities themselves and/or god; neither of which has largely assisted researchers with the data collection process. It is thus acknowledged and accepted that gaps exist within reporting and that those who know are not going to tell. Research also identifies that the sheer number of similar events has an influence as well (Myers and Caniglia 2004). Descriptions of the relevant factors can be somewhat exhaustive. For example, Gaunt (1990: 129, 131) notes that there are four general headings: managerial influence, professional values, intrinsic news characteristics and “exogenous” factors. It is argued that the actual [news] selection process is guided by professional and personal values . . . but that these values are constrained by a number of managerial influences, and defined by the intrinsic characteristics of the news items they are selecting. Furthermore, intrinsic news characteristics may also be a factor in those decisions that determine managerial influences. Finally, the entire news selection process is shaped by the twin “exogenous” factors of competition and ownership – and their joint alter ego profit. (emphasis in original)

32

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

effort to command the attention of their audience. With regard to distance, it is maintained that sources vary in their coverage of events because there is uneven access to occurrences across different information providers as gauged by the physical distance of the source from the events taking place. Proximate sources have better access to information about what has transpired and hence their coverage would generally be superior, and distant sources have less effective information and, consequently, their coverage would be poorer.12 Alternatively, acknowledging that not all sources are created equal, researchers try to develop appropriate resolutions to the perceived problem of varying accounts. On this point, responses vary. One answer concerns deferring to sources with the “best” reputation for event coverage; in the United States, this frequently involves The New York Times – the historical go-to source for those most interested in media content (e.g., McAdam 1982; McAdam and Su 2002). Reputable sources are generally well endowed financially, have been around for a while, employ large numbers of people, are widely used by others, and have close connections with governing officials. In many respects, the selection makes sense. Resources are essential for overcoming many of the limitations identified earlier. A large staff assists in covering a large number of stories and producing/distributing the final product in a timely manner. Additionally, since governments have always been one of the main actors involved with the collection of information about society, thereby defraying the cost of acquisition (Salmon 1923; 1976), an association with this actor could prove

Although not disagreeing with the basic content of this model, some would disagree with the manner in which the different model components are described. For example, the separation of the different elements into distinct categories is severely challenged by Schudson (1995) who seems to favor a news-generation model that is much more fluid in nature. As he states (1995, 14): [t]he news . . . is produced by people who operate, often unwittingly, within a cultural system, a reservoir of stored cultural meanings and patterns of discourse. It is organized by conventions of sourcing – who is a legitimate source or speaker or conveyor of information to a journalist. It lives by unspoken preconceptions about the audience – less a matter of who the audience actually may be than a projection by journalists of their own social worlds.

12

In this context, one would be hard pressed to separate “exogenous” factors (such as news characteristics or managerial influences) from “endogenous” factors (such as professional values). Indeed, from Schudson’s view they would all tend to fuse together. One would think that this could be overcome in an age with faxes, cell phones, satellite connections, and so forth, but this is not the case because resources are not generally employed in a manner that facilitates coverage of distant events. Local news sells.

33

Conceptualization

to be important for an organization interested in compiling as well as distributing information.13 Another group of researchers suggest that different information providers should be evaluated competitively to identify the “best” source (e.g., Doran, Pendley, and Antunes 1973; Hazelwood and West 1974; Jackman and Boyd 1979; Gerner and Schrodt 1996; Huxtable and Pevehouse 1996; Mueller 1997; White 1993; Sommer and Scarritt 1999). According to this view, reputation is rendered operationalizable and researchers seek some form of measurement validity or “concurrent validation” for derived event sequences. This is achieved by examining patterns across different sources14 and trying to assess which of them reports the most events or which 13

14

There are several points worth making here. First, as many have identified, the history of the state’s involvement in knowledge production is quite long (e.g., Finer 1997; Scott 1998; Desrosieres 1998; Seltzer and Anderson 2001; Djankov et al. 2002; Starr 2004). Given the complexity apparent within everyday life and the difficulties involved with trying to observe diverse phenomena, any actor that held a wealth of resources to engage in data collection would have a comparative advantage over all other actors in the relevant territorial domain, lacking access and resources. Consequently, such interest and endowment afforded states the “best view in the house” (Shapin 1994: 32), generally possessing the best capability to monitor what took place within their jurisdiction. Second, especially after the French revolution, a certain amount of legitimacy was given to governments who were concerned with their populations (e.g., their conditions and problems). This concern led directly to a significant increase in monitoring and the recording of events and simultaneously a certain amount of acceptance that this was the right thing to be done by these people. In an effort to gauge the degree of association between the indicators employed, earlier scholars usually investigated the correlations between diverse measurements of the same phenomenon – i.e., conflict taking place over the same time and place (e.g., Azar et al. 1972; Doran et al. 1973; Hazelwood and West 1974). The use of factor analytic techniques was used because scholars attempted to identify exactly how well different event counts “loaded” on particular factors, across newspapers. Such information served as an important basis for comparison as it allowed one to compare factor scores and identify which variables were related, which direction they fell on the factor, and how highly they were associated. These methods tended to reduce the issue of similarity/difference in historical accounts to one or a series of numbers that conveyed a sense of “commonness” or difference. As Hazelwood and West (1974, 319) mention: [p]articularly strong objections to much of the study of source coverage have come from those who are primarily concerned with pattern delineation (generally identified by factor analysis) instead of specific event sequences (generally identified by regression). For example, some argue that the central question for research focusing on pattern delineation is the continuity and consistency of those patterns rather than on the frequency and magnitude of the events reported in various sources. Accordingly, emphasis in pattern delineation studies tends to be placed on the structure of the patterns isolated rather than on the absolute numbers of events coded. Studies of source coverage in the world’s elite press . . . as well as at least one comparison of a Western and a non-Western elite press source . . . suggest that some common event reporting patterns exist even when different sources yield varying event frequencies.

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Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

most neatly fits with alternative conceptualizations of the event sequence(s) under analysis (e.g., comparing a newspaper account with anecdotal evidence or the recollection of “experts”).15 Other researchers suggest that a few sources should be used at the same time to address the incompleteness problem (e.g., Rummel 1963; Azar et al. 1972; White 1995; Moore and Lindstrom 1998). The logic underlying this strategy is rather straightforward. Since any one source is an incomplete and potentially biased record of events (in the sense illustrated earlier), it is only logical to try to avoid this problem by utilizing several information providers simultaneously, while making sure not to use too many, such that the cost would be significantly increased.16 It is hoped that by combining information derived from different sources, others would cancel out the biases existing within any one of them.17 Relevant to the previous strategy, another group of researchers advocates using a large number of sources collectively to assemble the most comprehensive event sequence possible (e.g., Rummel 1997; Beissinger 1998; Davis, Leeds, and Moore 1998; Francisco 2000). In this case, source material is compiled from as many actors as one is able to find and event catalogs from all information providers are placed into formats within which systematic investigation of trends and causal relations can be conducted.18 The basic logic of the approach is similar to that discussed earlier, but the concern with cost is less consequential. In perhaps the most innovative approach, still others suggest viewing the topic as a missing-data problem.19 Here, it is suggested that rather than 15 16

17

18

19

It may be that training in validity assessment is similar in nature to belief in objectivity (Schudson 1997: 159). Of course, it is essential to make sure that sources are indeed different from one another. Spilerman (1970) and Lichbach (1984) note that many newspapers are reliant upon the same sources for information and thus they end up telling you the same things. One is left somewhat unclear, however, about exactly what sources should be left on the “short-list” and how one derives such a list. Such an approach led some individuals to investigate exactly how many sources were sufficient, that is, after how many newspapers did research no longer benefit (e.g., Jackman and Boyd 1979). This comes close to paraphrased comment that Braudel once made that read something like “history is the sum of all possible histories, a collection of skills and points of skills and points of view, of yesterday, today and tomorrow.” For example, McClelland and Hoggard (1969); Smith (1969; 1971); McClelland and Young (1971); Burrowes and Spector (1971); Azar et al. (1972); Burrowes (1974); Hoggard (1974); Dangzer (1975); Snyder and Kelly (1977); Lichbach (1984); Valencia-Weber and Weber (1986); Brysk (1994); Hocke (1998); McCarthy et al. (1996a); Poe et al. (2001); Oliver and Myers (1999); Ortiz et al. (2005).

35

Conceptualization

trying to identify which source has the most events or assuming that increasing the number of sources resolves the problem, individuals should engage in a form of “bias assessment” by which they attempt to figure out what is and what is not covered when particular sources are relied upon. These efforts are different from the competitive-evaluation approach identified earlier, for invariably researchers are not interested in selecting one information provider. Rather, they are interested in comparing across them.20 Within this case, the research maintains that approximations of the true but unknowable event sequence (i.e., all conflict events that exist in the real world during a particular time and place) are underrepresented and that the key lies in understanding deficiencies as much as possible. This approach has led to some informative research as individuals explicitly grapple with

20

These more advanced examinations of similarities/differences conduct their analyses with regression analysis. In this case, researchers investigate the impact of different variables that are normally used to explain the behavior of interest on different newspaper accounts of protest (e.g., McCarthy et al. 1996a; Oliver and Myers 1999), repression (Davenport and Litras 2001), and the overall magnitude of contention (e.g., White 1993). These results are then used to make judgments about the similarity or difference of newspapers in their coverage of contentious politics. For example, in a study conducted by White (1993), regression was used “to compare counts of political violence deaths from The New York Times Index (NYTI) with a comparable count from Agenda” (a collection of events from newspapers from Northern Ireland, the Republic of Ireland, Great Britain, as well as reports put forth by different governments) – where each source was used as a dependent variable. Drawing on some of the existing literature, different explanatory factors were incorporated into the estimated model to predict deaths across measures; including regime repressiveness, regime repressiveness squared, the existence of a truce between the British army and the Irish Republican Army, and unemployment (as a surrogate indicator for economic development/deprivation). What is important to identify here is that this approach assumes, but does not explicitly state, that if the results from the different equations reveal the same statistically significant variables (each with comparable causal impacts on the two death-count measures), then the NYTI and Agenda event sequences are considered to be revealing the same underlying sequence (i.e., the same account of events). That is, if the results are similar, then the sources used to collect them are deemed similar as well. Finding just this type of result, White feels justified in concluding that (t)he statistical inferences produced by a general measure of political violence using counts of total deaths from The New York Times Index are basically identical to the statistical inferences produced by a comparable measure from the Agenda database. If such measures are the primary concern of a researcher, using standard, newspaper-based, sources to measure political violence is not problematic. (White 1993: 583) Right after this White identifies that additional research is necessary to improve upon his analysis, but regardless of this qualifying statement the claim of commonness has been made and substantiated by the author (at least to a degree).

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Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

trying to figure out what is missing when different sources are used to understand contentious politics. While a strength in certain respects, this strategy also represents a weakness. While providing some of the most useful information about the subject of interest, the work is hindered to the extent that it seems content with merely identifying that similarities/differences exist across sources and that the efforts at data collection ignoring these assessments are na¨ıve or, at worst, a waste of time (e.g., Brockett 1992). For example, Snyder and Kelly (1977) compare reports about riots in The New York Times to forty-three local newspapers around the United States between 1965 and 1969 (the latter believed to represent a more complete as well as reliable information provider). They find that the intensity of conflict (size, violence and duration) increases the likelihood that coverage would take place but that the location of a wire service in the relevant city had no impact. In another analysis, McCarthy et al. (1996a) compare reports about protest behavior that were published in different news sources – two newspapers as well as three television programs (portrayed as distinct information providers about protest events), against police reports (portrayed as a more complete as well as reliable information provider about protest). From the empirical investigation, newspapers and television programs were found to report protest events only under certain circumstances such as when the amount of dissent was extremely large, violent, or bizarre or when many people were involved (McCarthy et al. 1996a: 480, 487, 491).21 When these factors were not present, the likelihood of event coverage was low. By contrast, police records were not subject to these censoring issues. Now, one could conclude from the latter work that: (1) police records provide “better” catalogs for dissent in that they identify more events,22 (2) this source should be used by scholars interested in examining this phenomenon, and (3) if only the news media were used (at least in the case examined here), empirical results would be invalid. McCarthy et al. (1996a), 21

22

Some differ from this approach advocating that proportions rather than event counts be compared across sources. As Doran, Pendley, and Antunes (1973: 176) state, “the magnitude of . . . disparity (between sources) may not be crucial, provided that the same approximate distribution of events holds throughout the database and for every level of analysis or combination of variables.” It should be noted that they do not provide a complete listing (again this is not likely to ever be the case) but a more comprehensive catalog.

37

Conceptualization

however, do not make this argument. Instead, their interest appears to lie exclusively with comparing “police records of demonstrations in Washington, D.C., in 1982 and 1991 with media coverage of the events in the New York Times, the Washington Post, and on three national television networks” (McCarthy et al. 1996a: 478). This position is not unique to this work. Most individuals within this research area adopt such an approach.23 In many ways, the research on bias has advanced the study of event catalogs, for it at least acknowledges source variation and attempts to explain it. At the same time, however, all observers are still taking note of the same characteristics and trying to choose one source or combine information derived from several of them at once in order to extract a catalog of events. From this vantage, the basic theme of Rashomon is that different sources do not provide distinct versions of events; rather, they vary in their ability to record and report what has occurred. An investigation of the Rashomon Effect is further hindered here because of the limited comparisons that are made. For example, most researchers select the “best” source approach, either ignoring comparisons entirely or considering a small number of alternatives. Those studies employing a few sources together in their event catalogs generally select sources that are similar in terms of their orientation toward news and contentious politics (e.g., mainstream/commercial newspapers). This situation is remedied somewhat when event catalogs employ a larger number of sources, encompassing a wider variety of types (still heavily reliant upon mainstream/commercial newspapers), but these investigations do not explore source variation, preferring to collapse all information into one uniform chronology.24 In the next section, I consider work that explicitly makes the argument that distinct information providers should be used because they cover different types and/or aspects of events. It is maintained here that researchers maximize the differences between consulted sources in order to better understand what is covered and why. 23

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While a strength in certain respects, this strategy also represents a weakness because, while providing some of the most useful information about the subject of interest, this work is hindered to the extent that it seems content with merely identifying that similarities/differences exist across sources and that the efforts at data collection ignoring these assessments are naive or, at worst, a waste of time (e.g., Brockett 1992). Even in these efforts there is still a limited degree of diversity among the sources (i.e., they are similar to one another in their orientation toward the protagonists of contentious activity).

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

Partial Vision and the Promise of Perspective: The Later, Contested Period Largely emerging in the last twenty years – specifically in the humanities – has been a growing sense that the old event-cataloging tradition has missed something. The new thinking (which I refer to as the contested perspective)25 maintains that catalogs of the same activity vary not because observation of events is uneven across observers but, rather, because different types and/or aspects of events are observed/recorded by sources for a specific purpose.26 The difference between approaches is significant. In contested research, it is not bias but perspective that must be understood as one attempts to investigate source variation. In this view,27 there is an acknowledgment that what one sees in consulted information and later in event catalogs has less 25

26

27

For example, Said (1993); Guha (1982); Wolf (1982); Scott (1985); Hirschman (1987); Vaillancourt (1987); Nelson and Grossberg (1988); O’Hanlon (1988); Kruger and Mariani (1989); Anderson (1995); Chakrabarty (1992); Doherty, Graham, and Malek (1992); Rosenau (1992); Cooper (1994); Duffy (1994); Goodman (1994); Kelley (1994); Ashscroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin (1995); Currie (1995); Pandey (1995); Trouillot (1995); Lustick (1996); Mazur (1998); Roth and Mehta (2002); Kacowicz (2005). As Duffy (1994: 156) would maintain, while “event research privileges a particular world view” (or slightly variant versions), the contested approach privileges all views simultaneously – especially those of the oppressed. One can find strands of this thinking within many areas of research and under a variety of labels. For example, attempting to describe the “new historicism,” Kruger and Mariani (1989: x) suggest that [i]t is cross-disciplinary: its most productive tools of analysis are originating in feminist literary-critical studies and in their re-readings of psychoanalytic texts; in poststructural, sociolinguistic examinations of ideology construction and its operation through political, cultural, and social; out of cultural studies from the perspective of race and experiences of exclusion; and out of a recognition of the power of the image, its centrality in ideological formations and its usefulness in analyzing change and reformation. Rosenau (1992: 13) suggests an even broader origin for this work when she states that “postmodernism” appropriates, transforms, and transcends French structuralism, romanticism, phenomenology, nihilism, populism, existentialism, hermeneutics, Western Marxism, Critical Theory, and anarchism. Horkheimer and Adorno (1972), similar to Graham, Doherty, and Malek (1992), take an even broader sweep arguing that all that I describe emerges out of a larger critique of Enlightenment and modernist thinking. Regardless of its beginnings, by the turn of the century, the ideas that sought to place an investigation of subjectivity on equal footing with objectivity (which advocated that our sources be analyzed as much as events and which advanced a position that mainstream as well as official sources should be replaced with those that were marginalized and ignored) could be found throughout the social sciences (e.g., Fox-Genovese and Lasch-Quinn 1999).

39

Conceptualization

to do with some objective reality “out there” than it has to do with some subjective impulse to “see” and “report” that exists within an observer. Here, observation is not objective and, as a result, a uniform chronology of events within and across catalogs is not possible. In fact, this work goes one step further in suggesting that it is not desirable either, arguing that what should be pursued are nonuniform chronologies. These represent the different points of emphasis within sources and in particular the stories of those that have historically been neglected by more mainstream observers/recorders of events. To do this, individuals are (again) guided to sift through multiple sources such as newspapers, but they are also guided to NGO reports, and government records. Additionally, they are also led to other, less formal, less institutionalized forms of communication such as oral histories and autobiographies. The view of sources and data collection discussed here is crucial because the most important contribution of the contested perspective is its position that information is not something neutral, merely responding to that which presents itself (i.e., makes itself known to some observer/recorder). Instead, information is identified, distributed, and used for a reason. As Dixon and Mullenbach (1998: 1) state quite clearly: events are not inherently noteworthy, nor are they naturally bounded from the continuous ebb and flow of ordinary . . . life. [Rather] [s]ignificance is conferred on events, their outlines and highlights refracted through the same perceptual lens that renders the background a common gray. (emphasis added)

With this, we reach the conclusion that multiple accounts of events are found when one consults different sources because of what diverse observers bring to the table in the process of identifying and recording. The difference between the conventional and contested perspectives can be observed in yet a different way. Returning to Figure 4, it is clear that if one adopted the view discussed here, what was considered “reporting bias” earlier would not be deemed problematic because the differences in the accounts would be exactly what one would expect to find. Additionally, they would be considered worth knowing (e.g., Lustick 1996: 613). Adopting this view, the problem of avoiding reporting bias is reconfigured to one of avoiding “perspectival” bias, where only sources from certain positions would be relied on (e.g., that that were mainstream, dominant, and elite oriented). Here, “bias” would not come from ignoring a particular observer/recorder that is considered to be the “best” at event identification. Instead, bias would come from ignoring what each observer 40

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

(especially those that had been typically marginalized) had to say regarding what events took place.28 Interestingly, it is here that the two approaches seem comparable. Where conventionally oriented researchers focus on selecting the most comprehensive and official source, contested researchers focus on selecting the most underrepresented. Each thus highlights different actors from a wide variety of observers, but both discuss the same factors in observation/recording. For instance, in both, observers use resources to document what takes place, with some attention being given to organizational interests as well as to the relationship between the reporting agency, the events in question, and existing authorities (the conventional pays more attention to resources than the other factors, while the contested reverses this prioritization). The fundamental difference resides in the actors/observers and what each does with the information after it has been collected. Almost as immediately as one begins to perceive a similarity between the perspectives, however, he or she is reminded of exactly how different they are. For example, with the growth of the contested perspective – the conception of “facts” objectively coming to people from nowhere or, equally plausible, from everywhere – has been significantly challenged. In fact, more and more attention is given to the sources of information, the “agents of legibility” as Scott (1998) would call them, and the structure within which they exist – the matrix of relations between dissidents, political authorities, and the observers/recorders. 28

Shapin’s (1994) discussion is particularly relevant to this discussion for he reminds us that much of what we consider information is merely derivative of who and what we decide to trust and use as a source, something directly linked to the position and status of the observer. As Shapin (1994: 38) suggests: [t]o trust is to join with others and to show estimation of their worth; to distrust is to disrupt cooperative relations and to dishonor. To trust people is to perform a moral act, proceeding on the basis of what we know about people, their makeup and probable actions with respect to our decisions. Insofar as knowledge comes to us via other people’s relations, taking in that knowledge, rejecting it, or holding judgment in abeyance involves knowledge of who these people are. (emphasis in original) In direct contradiction to this, conventional research seems to conclude that “objectivity (is) . . . the characteristic attitude of those who could freely come and go, belong to and disengage from a society and its system of knowledge: it is a particular structure composed of distance and nearness, indifference and involvement” (Shapin 1994: 40). Within this view, there are no influencing factors on the observation by anything outside of the events in question. Indeed, as Shapin (1994: 40) argues the “objective individual is bound by no commandments which could prejudice his perception, understanding, and evaluation of the given” – this assumption is heralded as one of the conventional traditions greatest strengths.

41

Conceptualization

Scholars of the news media have been particularly attentive to this. Schudson (1978: 160), for one, reminds us that objective reporting (what I associate with the conventional approach) “reproduced a vision of social reality, which refused to examine the basic structures of power and privilege. It was not just incomplete, as critics in the thirties had contended, it was distorted.” In direct contrast, arguments associated with the contested approach seem to take as part of their quest a systematic identification of power and privilege as they influence what occurs as well as what is observed/reported. Accordingly, the contested perspective compels one to consider not just what some event-sequence reveals, as seen from the perspective of some omniscient, all-encompassing observer/recorder of human behavior (depicted in Figure 3). On the contrary, it compels one to ascertain exactly which protagonists and observers existed at the time of the relevant events, how the different actors were related, and what the different observers had to say about what was occurring – while acknowledging that this varies significantly with proximity, interest, privilege, and power. Again, exactly how one conveys information about events, observation, and context with and through sources tends to vary across scholars.29 Confounding this further, unlike the previous area of research, within the tradition of the contested approach, there really is no distinct methodological literature about how problems should be detected and the way in which sources are (or should be) used. Despite this lack of transparency, an approach to studying events and sources can be found within this work. In a sense, the strategy lies embedded in the analyses themselves. For instance, within contested research, sources are not used to provide some overarching narrative of what has happened, but they are used to reveal the complex web of competing narratives that exists within a situation, highlighting the positions, actions, and beliefs of the actors in as rich detail as possible.30 As designed, much of the contested tradition is concerned with no more than countering a “dominant” view of events and putting forth another 29

30

42

My interest here is not with exhaustively identifying all instances where sources were used in ways differing from the conventional approach. Rather, I am interested in identifying a general body of work that is relevant to understanding what those interested with events were doing with their research material (data). Interestingly, regardless of these objectives (as revealed later), the literature is never fully able to remove itself from the conventional perspective; there are certain elements of both that exist if one looks closely enough.

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

perspective, for example, that of ethnic minorities (e.g., Kelley 1994), gays and lesbians (Duberman, Vicinus, and Chauncey 1989), workers (Thompson 1966), oral traditions (e.g., Dunaway and Baum 1996; Perks and Thomson 1988), or the so-called Third World or subaltern (e.g., Guha 1982; Scott 1985).31 Directly relevant to this research is the point that any event sequence (catalog or account) that exists is invariably juxtaposed against another. When researchers identify, codify, and assemble the events of interest to them, they are always confronted with the selection of certain sources out of an array of those available. Thus one author conscientiously decides to use events compiled from one source, eschewing another; at the same time, another author decides to use events compiled from some other source, eschewing others; and so on.32 Perhaps the biggest difference between contestants and conventionalists is that the former are more explicit about the process of exclusion and the implications of such activity, not only for the generation of event catalogs but also for how this alters our understanding of events and reinforces existing power relationships. Although moving in an important direction, this work proves to be of limited assistance in addressing the Rashomon Effect. Within the contested view, although the selected source is changed, there are still sources of information that are ignored; in this case, the dominant or mainstream sources, rather than the marginalized or subaltern ones, are neglected. I am not suggesting that this is not reasonable and/or worthwhile. After all, official and colonial sources have had their opportunity to influence (if not control) discussion and understanding about sociopolitical events for quite some time. That the postcolonial or subaltern sources should “have their day” is clearly applicable, and there is much that can be learned from such an enterprise. At the same time, however, if one is trying to understand the problem of the Rashomon Effect outlined earlier, then this is not appropriate for it still neglects accounts. A few research efforts affiliated with the contested approach have come close to investigating a broad mosaic of sources during a contentious interaction between states and their challengers. Within these investigations, the 31

32

Of course, intersections exist between these different works. Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies has explored the subject of women’s oral history directly within several volumes. Moreover, there has been some interesting work conducted on the subject of everyday, life experiences of Third World women (e.g., Johnson and Bernstein 1982; Navarro 1989). There is never a comparison made across sources so that one could ascertain the “best” source, for in this perspective there would be no such thing. Each source is important, as it “gives voice” to a particular community.

43

Conceptualization

sources vary considerably: some rely on the news media (e.g., Carmichael 1993; Goodman 1994; Linenthal and Englehardt 1996; Mazur 1998), some rely on oral history (e.g., Scott 1985; Roy 1994; Brass 1997), some use archival documents (e.g., Foucault 1979), some use novels (e.g., Said 1993), and some utilize everything from participant observation to lyrics from hiphop recordings (e.g., Kelley 1994). Regardless of the sources employed, all of this work is important for the current research because it attempts to grapple with understanding events from a wide variety of perspectives. At the same time, this research presents some of the greatest difficulties for the present work because the authors themselves really do not address how they select and use their sources. As a way of identifying a methodological technique, therefore, I engage one piece in detail, attempting to reveal exactly what the advocates of this approach do when they study topics.

Difference Is the Key In a book by James Goodman (1994) entitled, The Stories of Scottsboro, the contested approach is observed quite clearly.33 Within this work, the author consults a diverse array of sources that were available after the supposed rape of two white women by nine African American males in northern

33

Initially, I thought of using Michel Foucault’s (1979) I, Pierre Rivi`ere, Having Slaughtered My Mother, My Sister and My Brother for this section but felt that it would be easier for the audience to follow and more appropriate for the study to utilize an American case that involved contentious politics and the U.S. news media. Foucault’s (1979: x) work is clearly relevant to Rashomon for it addresses a “dossier,” that is to say, a case, an affair, an event that provided the intersection of discourses that differed in origin, form, organization, and function – the discourses of the cantonal judge, the prosecutor, the presiding judge of the assize court, the Minister of Justice; those too of the county general practicioner and of Esquirol; and those of the villagers, with their mayor and parish priest; and, last but not least, that of the murderer himself. As stated: [a]ll (of these discourses/informant testimonies) speak, or appear to be speaking, of one and the same thing; at any rate, the burden of all these discourses is the occurrence of June 3 (the day of the murders). But in their totality and their variety they form neither a composite work nor an exemplary text, but rather a strange contest, a confrontation, a power relation, a battle among discourses and through discourses. And yet, it cannot simply be described as a single battle; for several separate combats were being fought out at the same time and intersected each other. This is clearly relevant to the topic.

44

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

Alabama, on March 25, 1931.34 Sources for this research include memoirs, private correspondence, legal transcripts, and (most prominently as well as most relevant to this analysis) newspapers. Not only were multiple sources available for studying the Scottsboro case, but there were different accounts derived from multiple actors: for example, police officers in the South, various courts in both the North and the South, the NAACP (the national office as well as regional and local branches), the International Labor Defense principally in the North but also the South, protesters throughout the United States and abroad, and numerous reporters and editors throughout the country. Goodman’s research uses diverse sources to illustrate different aspects of what occurred (i.e., they provide different accounts of the events from distinct observers/recorders). Clearly placing himself within the contested tradition, he (1994, xii) begins: What follows is a history of the court case and controversy, a narrative history in which I move, chapter by chapter, from one point of view to another, until I have recounted the events on that freight train [where the women were supposedly raped], at the depot in Paint Rock [where a posse had apprehended the nine AfricanAmericans], outside the Scottsboro jail [where the accused were initially held], in and around the Scottsboro courthouse, and all over the country in subsequent years from the perspectives of a wide range of participants and observers. I answer the question “What happened?” with a story about the conflict between people with different ideas about what happened and different ideas about the causes and meaning of what happened – a story about the conflict between people with different stories of Scottsboro.

How is this done? The text provides numerous examples. For example, Goodman observes that initially few newspapers covered the rape and the legal activity surrounding the case, but coverage was significant in communist newspapers, which immediately rallied to the defense 34

Initially, one might question the relevance of this type of research to a study of contentious political relations (given the topic of criminal behavior – rape), but to ask the question is to disregard the events involved, the context, and the consequences. Indeed, the quickest response would probably be that “you haven’t been to Alabama, have you?” This case involved not only rape (the act and the accusation) but mob violence, threats of lynching, racism, censorship, police brutality, economic oppression, protests, speeches, rallies, and letter-writing campaigns undertaken by social movements, Advocacy groups, and everyday private citizens – simply, the case is very much about contentious politics. Additionally, as the film Rashomon concerns a supposed rape, this case is fitting in another manner as well. Historically, there has been extensive reliance upon eyewitness testimony and the confrontation of diverse perspectives within rape cases.

45

Conceptualization

of the “Scottsboro Boys” (Goodman 1994: 28) – identifying that court treatment of the youth was a clear instance of “race prejudice” and “capitalist exploitation” (Goodman 1994: especially 26–7, 35). This made sense because communists believed that the reporting case was especially important as this allowed them to show African Americans in particular and the rest of the U.S. population in general the importance of resisting injustice. In other words, coverage of the legal battle was contentious politics in and of itself because it showed that the existing political-economic system could and, indeed, should be challenged. After the first trial (March 30, 1931), when the accused were found guilty, the situation was reported with greater frequency across different sources/different perspectives. Coverage increased even more dramatically both during and following the second trial, as individuals expressed either their outrage or support for what had transpired. As Goodman (1994: 148) notes: [u]nlike the first trials, which few paid attention to until after they were over, this one had been followed as it happened. Unlike reports critical of the original verdicts, broadcast most often and most vociferously in African-American and Communist Party newspapers, the reliability of which was not taken for granted by most people, the reports of the Decatur trial were written by widely respected [white, mainstream] journalists – Tom Cassidy of the Daily News, Raymond Daniel of the New York Times, and staff writers for the United Press and the Associated Press – all of whom had been right in the courtroom.

This created something of a self-reinforcing dynamic. Goodman continues: [p]eople who had cried out about the trial before cried louder. . . . Newspapers all over the country covered the melee that ensued when part of the throng that met [the Scottsboro Boys’ lawyer] Leibowitz’s train in New York tried to march back to Harlem without a permit for a parade. (Goodman 1994: 149)

In response to mass protests that took place around the country, coverage increased still further. Commensurate with the expectations of the contested position and the Rashomon Effect, significant differences could be found across sources in their discussions of the Scottsboro case. Communist papers covered intricate details about court motions, rulings, appeals, lynch mobs, and protests occurring around the country; Southern white papers covered rulings and discussions about the “Boys’” prior activities and (ever so infrequently) information about protest behavior taken on their behalf – unless of course it was taking place in the South, in which case it was ignored; Southern black 46

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

papers covered information about the trials, but steered clear of discussions about lynch mobs, perceived injustice, and white racism; and, finally, Northern white newspapers covered many aspects of the court activity, but avoided any protests they associated with communists. Newspapers varied as well in their retelling of the events that led up to the trial (Goodman 1994: 259–62), of the willingness to discuss the background of the supposed rape victims (Goodman 1994: 188), of the general assessments of court behavior (Goodman 1994: 205, as opposed to 208), of the assessments of protesters (Goodman 1994: 201), of an alleged “escape attempt” where one of the Boys was shot and a sheriff came away with a cut (Goodman 1994: 263–4), and even of the age of the accused (Goodman 1994: 267). Regardless of the contested nature of the research effort, the conventional approach was not completely absent from Goodman’s research. For example, one can read the Chronology provided at the end of the book as the ultimate conventional assessment of the subject. Here, the author attempts to distill the commonly agreed-upon event sequence down to its barest elements: the trial dates, the convictions, the paroles, and the deaths. Creatively and persuasively, Goodman also conveys a certain degree of commonality in event sequences by overlapping the story lines presented in the different chapters. For example, on page 259, from the Boys’ perspective, he discusses an interaction between several of the Scottsboro prisoners and their police escorts: Handcuffed together in one car were Clarence Norris, Roy Wright, and Ozie Powell. Sheriff Sandlin drove, and Deputy Sheriff Blalock sat beside him in the front seat. Twenty miles outside of Decatur, one of the sheriffs said something about Lebowitz that the boys didn’t like. . . . A few minutes into it Powell “sassed” the deputy, and Blalock reached back and smacked him in the head. Powell pretended to take it without complaint, but with his free hand he pulled a knife out of his pants. . . . A few minutes later, Powell reached forward and slashed Blalock’s throat. . . . Sandlin turned and shot him in the head.

This story is retold three pages later (p. 262), this time from the sheriff ’s perspective: Sheriff Sandlin said Andy Wright pulled a knife on him at the same moment Ozie Powell pulled one on Deputy Sheriff Blalock. Sandlin put his foot on the brake, let go of the steering wheel and grabbed Wright, pinning him to the back of the front seat. Then he realized that Powell had slashed Blalock’s throat and was going for his gun. Sandlin threw open his door, turned toward Powell on his way out, drew his gun, and “dropped him.” 47

Conceptualization

Interestingly, each version was utilized by different audiences and served as a rallying cry for, alternatively, the Boys’ vicious treatment or their viciousness. The key for the current research effort is the fact that certain events were held in common, while others were not. Indeed, herein lies one of the most important methodological contributions of the Scottsboro book and the contested approach it represents, for it explores some of the tensions underlying source variation. As discussed by Goodman, different communities were collecting and distributing information in their newspapers according to what they wanted to know and/or what they wanted to tell their audience/constituents. Thus the accounts varied, according to some logic, being tied to where they came from as well as to where they were going. Specifically, the event sequences tended to vary in systematic fashion, according to the newspaper’s geographic location and political orientation. Not surprisingly, communist newspapers highlighted white violence (by police and vigilantes) and injustice (at different levels of the court system) as well as the massive activist campaign that was organized on behalf of the accused. As Goodman (1994, 27) notes: [i]n early 1931, mass protest was the key (to communist success). Since the Sixth World Congress in 1928, the Party had been arguing that capitalism’s end was near. More than a year before the stock market crash of 1929, the Party had predicted that worldwide economic depression would usher in the “third period” of postwar capitalism, ending five years of relative stability that had begun in 1923 with the defeat of the German revolution. Massive unemployment and agitation would prepare the way for the “radicalization of the masses,” and militant workers, taking the offensive, in demonstrations, marches, and strikes, would seize capitalism by the throat and deliver the last blow.

He continues: [w]here the fac¸ade of capitalist justice looked especially thin, Party leaders and organizers leapt at the opportunity to get Americans to look through it. By publicizing the plight of the boys and defending them in court, the Party saw the chance to educate, add to its ranks, and encourage the mass protest necessary not only to free the boys but also to bring about revolution. (1994: 26–7)

The situation thus proved ripe for communists to gain new members and reveal to Americans the efficacy of and the necessity for organized, mass resistance. Similarly, African Americans in the South provided a type of coverage of the Scottsboro case that was tied to their own needs and interests. In 48

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

part, the information provided by these actors was determined by their position (or lack thereof ) relative to Southern whites – one largely denoted by fear, subjugation, and powerlessness.35 In part, the information provided by these actors was determined by their familiarity with everyday forms of resistance (e.g., Scott 1985; Kelley 1994). For example, according to Goodman, one did not see the overt indications of activism (or rage for that matter), within these newspapers that was clearly identifiable within the communist presses. Southern blacks tended to be more judicious, although occasionally they were no less critical. As such, the event sequences reported here tended to be tied to court activity (initially at local and later at federal levels). By contrast, those activities that take place outside of the courts – lynch mobs, the International Labor Defense protests, and so forth – were ignored. In this way, African Americans kept within the parameters defined for them by white Southerners while still providing a venue for discussing the Scottsboro case in a nonthreatening manner.36 Event coverage by whites in the South provided another angle. Given the position of this group, their interest lay in protecting a particular way of life that elevated Anglo Americans, the positive characterization of white “womanhood,” and the evils of Northern influence over Southern affairs. Consequently, the event sequences emerging from these sources highlighted court activity (at all levels), lynch mobs within different areas of the South, letter-writing campaigns directed against Southern officials from Northerners, and contentious events taking place up North. This information simultaneously reinforced (1) the perception of white justice (that blacks would receive what they deserved – a trial in court and a conviction, to be replaced by a lynching if this did not work), (2) the view that the South was under assault from outsiders – just as during Reconstruction, and (3) the perception of Northern instability – that Northerners could not handle “their Negroes” and/or communists. Finally, whites in the North provided yet another view. Given the distance of this group from the South, a general lack of familiarity with the political-cultural situation within the Southern part of the United States,

35 36

See Tolnay and Beck (1995) for good discussion. Both African American writers and readers seemed to develop within this situation. Despite the obvious fear of persecution for addressing controversial subject matter, writers were still able to get information across – often quite innovatively (Goodman 1994: 63–4). Additionally, readers seemed to be able to read between as well as through the lines and see exactly what was being discussed about the white South.

49

Conceptualization

and distinct perceptions of African Americans held by Northerners,37 coverage of events in the North tended to highlight court behavior exclusively (initially at the local level, later at the federal level, and then at both levels). This reflected the ease with which these events could be covered from afar, a point of familiarity because it was expected that Northerners had an idea of how these institutions function and, it emphasized the backwardness of the South in terms of its improper methods of adjudication.38 Moreover, these newspapers paid attention to mass protests surrounding the case but only if they were undertaken by noncommunists. From coverage of such issues, Northern whites could maintain that challenges were being raised by everyday folk against an oppressive system of governance, largely unlinked to the “illegitimate” activities of the Communist Party. Sources thus varied but they all remained “in character” so to speak. This is a theme to which I return later.

Summary In this chapter, I have discussed two very different approaches to the study of conflict: an older, conventional view that emphasizes events as well as objectivity (adopted by the majority of those quantitatively investigating conflict/contentious politics) and a newer contested position that emphasizes sources and subjectivity (adopted by a small number of qualitative researchers of conflict/contentious politics). I discussed these two approaches because before one can address the Rashomon Effect, it is necessary to understand the context within which an awareness of source variation emerged. Invariably, I do not expect the reader to immediately see the relevance of the contested position to the work of conventionalists. For many within the latter community, the methodological differences between the two perspectives are sufficient grounds for ignoring the insights into data generation and conflict behavior provided by the other. Indeed, to conventionalists the research conducted by the contestants is interesting but inconsequential. The relationship between event catalogs and qualitative research is tentative 37

38

50

Grounded in their experiences, the historical association of many Northern whites with abolition and a belief that Southern attitudes were undeveloped as well as a bit savage led them to have a negative view of whites in the South. In fact, the anti-Southern attitude was so intense that upon receiving information from the South, printed within that region’s newspapers, Northerners would frequently rewrite what they received (Goodman 1994: 148).

Objectivity and Subjectivity in Event Catalogs

at best, especially regarding the sources that are generally used by quantitative researchers.39 In the following chapter, I attempt to overcome these differences and opinions about usefulness, revealing how an understanding of event catalogs and conflict can be improved by utilizing the insights of both approaches. Specifically, I outline a quantitative investigation of source coverage informed by the contested tradition. 39

One could also make a case in the other direction, for qualitative researchers rarely, if ever, mention the work of quantitative counterparts.

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2 The Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

[C]onfrontations involving [contentious politics] almost always lead to the construction of interpretations of them by authorities, media, politicians, and political activists. . . . Where, then, can [those] interested in questions of [contentious politics] place [themselves] in relation to these constructions? One possible posture is to seek to expose the falsifications contained in all of them. However, if one starts with the premise that [contention] in which innocent persons are harmed and killed is an evil, such a rhetorical strategy provides a poor vantage point. One must, therefore, take a stand in relation to the whole process of construction and contextualization. Paul Brass, Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence (1997)

In Akira Kurosawa’s film Rashomon1 a woodcutter, a priest, and a commoner take shelter from a torrential thunderstorm. While waiting for the rain to stop, the woodcutter and priest tell the commoner of a recent event involving a samurai, his wife, and a bandit. As the woodcutter and the priest tell their respective tales, the commoner (and audience) learns that at some point the wife and bandit had sex and later the husband was killed. The two explain that during the testimony given to the court about these events, the specifics of the attack were repeatedly called into question as the protagonists related their overlapping but conflicting versions of what took place. This is the heart of the film: the puzzle of the story lies in the diverse accounts of the different actors and in the judgments about guilt/innocence that hang on the credibility of these competing versions of reality. 1

What is Rashomon exactly? This was the largest gate in Kyoto at the time (the ancient capitol of Japan) behind, over, and around the place where the stories in Kurosawa’s film were retold. Lurking in the background, like some all-seeing eye of historical memory, the gate serves as judge, as witness and as shelter for the film.

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Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

For instance, according to the captured bandit (Tajomaru), after meeting in a chance encounter, the Samurai’s wife gives in to his sexual advances. Horrified at her conduct afterward, the wife tells the bandit to kill her husband because she cannot bear to be shamed in his eyes. The wife’s version of what took place differs markedly from Tajomaru’s. In her version, the bandit stalks, cons, and abducts an innocent husband and wife. He later rapes the woman and flees the scene of the horrible crime. Recovering from the attack, the wife frees her husband and asks him to kill her in order to eliminate the shame of what had transpired. Before the husband can act, however, the woman faints and upon awakening finds her husband dead, lying with a dagger in his chest.2 The deceased husband’s version of what occurred is provided through a medium who conjures up his presence before the court. In this account, everything up to the sexual interaction is the same. Differing from the others, after Tajomaru rapes the wife, the thief begs her to marry him. Denying the request, the wife replies that the thief must kill her husband so that she can be free to pursue their relationship – socially and psychologically. Tajomaru, shocked by the unexpected request, turns against the woman and defers to the samurai asking what he, as the rapist but more importantly as a man, should do. Perceiving the two men to be conspiring against her, the wife runs off, and the thief chases after her. Left alone, the disgraced samurai takes his wife’s dagger and commits suicide. With some prodding by the two men at the gate, the woodcutter (who was hidden in the woods and found the husband’s body) delivers a fourth version of the tragic story. In this one, the woodcutter acknowledges the abduction of the couple and rape of the wife, but he claims that after the attack, the woman baited both men into fighting a duel over her. During the ensuing fight, the samurai trips and falls onto the thief’s sword, dying almost instantaneously. Upon witnessing the murder, the wife runs away and the bandit unsuccessfully follows her. Rashomon closes with none of the protagonists (or the audience) any closer to the “truth” and no more certain of objective reality than the subjective as well as distorted versions constructed by the various characters. No one can be confident about what has been seen or heard. In this context, one is never really sure about what they are seeing/hearing. For instance: perhaps the husband really loved his wife, was lost without her and hence felt he must kill himself; perhaps [the wife] really thought to save her husband by a show of affection for the bandit, and thus played the role of faithful wife; perhaps the 2

She admits that it would appear to many that she must have killed her husband.

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Conceptualization woodcutter knows much more, perhaps he too entered the action – mirror within mirrors, each intention bringing forth another, until the triangle fades into the distance. (Richie 1987: 13)

What really happened and why? We never really know, and in fact we stop pondering these and other questions to focus instead on the versions and why they were told. What is clear about Rashomon is the fact that the different accounts are not random in what they convey. Just because sources have somewhat distinct objectives and employ diverse criteria for collecting as well as distributing information does not mean that they focus on completely different things. Richie (1987) points out, for instance, that all of the characters in the Kurosowa film are motivated by one single element – pride, which derived from their station in life. As he states (1987: 11): [e]ach is proud of what [they] did because, as [they] might tell you: “It is just the sort of thing that I would do.” Each thinks of [their] character as being fully formed, of being a thing, like the rape or the dagger is a thing, and . . . of being capable of only a certain number of [consistent] reactions. They are in character because they have defined their own character for themselves and will admit none of the surprising opportunities which must occur when one does not. They “had no choice”; circumstances “forced” their various actions; what each did “could not be helped.” (emphasis in original)

To explain this, Richie (1987: 12) highlights the fact that Rashomon [is essentially] a historical film . . . because this limitation of spirit, this tacit agreement [social in its scope] that one is and cannot become, is a feudalistic precept. (emphasis in original)

Indeed, within this context, individuals are trapped by the sociopolitical structure in which they exist; they act and they tell their stories according to their station in life. The Rashomon Effect thus describes the dual process of allowing for multiple perspectives and using this variation to reveal something about the phenomena under discussion as well as about the context within which events take place. In this light, the Rashomon Effect falls squarely within the contested tradition discussed in the last chapter. With the insights of Rashomon, the key to piecing together the history of the rape and murder or any other conflictual events is to identify the protagonists, discover the underlying structure in which they operate, and probe the type of behavior that different actors would engage in if placed in this situation. In this chapter, I outline such an argument for the observation of state repression and political dissent. 54

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

Stories of Contention One can see that it is difficult to discuss coverage of an “event” in an abstract, general way without specifically identifying the event itself. Addressed earlier, not all occurrences are likely to be discussed or discussed equally well because observation/recording does not function in this manner and it should not be treated as though it does. This having been said, event coverage essentially comes down to two factors: (1) how observing/recording organizations think and write about the topic of interest (e.g., Schudson 1989: 1997), and (2) whom relevant organizations use for information about the event being discussed (e.g., Lippmann [1922] 1997; Molotoch and Lester 1974; Tuchman 1978; Strentz 1989). Both issues are addressed in the next section.

Narrative Conceptions and Conventions How do individuals understand political or state repression and societal dissent? Why do they believe that these events occur? How do the answers to these questions influence the manner in which information about contention is conveyed? Although these questions are extremely important, one finds, in consulting the existing literature, that they are not answered in a straightforward manner. The clearest answers emerge from the research on newspapers and thus most of my discussion is based upon work developed in that context. Putting the case in its most simplistic form, I maintain that understanding and coverage of conflict/contentious politics is generally cast as something of a dynamic interaction between two actors3 : the state and the state’s challengers.4 This is consistent with most scholars relevant to the topic. As discussed by Keen (1999: 81): 3

4

What is the origin of this perspective? Two answers readily come to mind. First, this basically follows a rationalist explanation of conflict that has existed for quite some time, whereby the cost of one contentious action (protest) is altered by the other contentious action (repression), prompting a response on behalf of the former actor to maximize the chances of achieving desired goals (see Lichbach 1995 for review). Second, this view follows a relatively commonsensical approach of how social order is maintained and disturbed (e.g., for decent explanation, see Dallin and Breslauer 1970; Lule 2001: 33, 36). On this point, Schudson (1987: 99) notes: [t]his is what the press handles best: stories that are timely, that have anticipatable end points, and that have end points that figure in simple, binary possibilities – the election or the game will be won or lost, the Dow-Jones will go up or down, the defendant will be judged guilty or not guilty, the criminal is apprehended or at large, the patient survives or dies, the child is missing or has been found, the state or dissidents cause more damage to the other through

55

Conceptualization [a] very common framework . . . portrays [conflict] as a contest between two or more sides. Those operating within this framework, when they are confronted by a [conflagration], are like an outsider arriving at a sporting event whose first question is: ‘Who’s it between?’ Such analysts may be quickly reassured with a set of competing initials (for example, UNITA versus the MPLA), or, better, a set of competing . . . groups (the Serbs versus the Muslims or the Hutus versus the Tutsis).

In this approach, a combatant metaphor5 is applied, whereby the actions of authorities and challengers are reported in opposition to the actions of dissidents and governments, respectively.6 The actions out in the “real” world thus interact with this narrative convention, which becomes the (news) story distributed to the public and later used by researchers in their event catalogs (Figure 5). Adopting this approach, one is provided with an understanding of who and what is involved, but one is also provided with the basic explanation as to why contentious events take place. Here, repression is used by authorities in an effort to establish/secure/extend the control of those in power (i.e., those institutions and individuals that wield influence over society) against those without power (i.e., those who currently lack significant influence over relevant individuals and institutions but who challenge this their behavior). Stories that are more complex than this – the budget, for instance – if they are to be covered well at all, are translated into a binary opposition of this sort: the president is going to get his way or he is going to lose to the Congress. 5

6

One may automatically think of a possible scenario where states sanction some citizens for apparently no reason (perhaps death squad activity directed against a previously peaceful fishing village [i.e., one with no overt manifestations of conflict]). In this situation, one would maintain that there is no “challenge.” I disagree with this position and argue that if a challenge could not be observed, it would be created. News organizations can portray the government’s perception of citizens as being essentially combative. Here, the challenge exists because the state believes that they are threatened. Simply, the narrative convention mandates that opposing actors exist either in actualized (through their behavior) or latent form (as it is perceived by those involved). Sanctions might be applied against individuals not directly engaged within a contentious interaction with the state. I maintain that within the context of a news report this approach would not frequently be taken for the narrative structure of the story maintains that both actors in the repressive situation play a role (however imbalanced that role might be). I would contend that the combatant metaphor (which is based on the underlying reality of a higher frequency of occurrence relative to situations of large-scale violence) accounts for some of the difficulty that the media has with the coverage of genocide; they attempt to apply another news frame that involves state authorities and contentious behavior but one that is very different in nature because of the inherent inequitable distribution of the actions involved. Similar arguments have been made about the genocide in Bosnia (Gutman 1993: xxxi).

56

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

Coverage

Act * Narrative Repression Authorities

Challengers

Dissent Figure 5. The Narrative Structure of Contentious Politics

situation directly). Similarly, protest is used by those outside of power in an effort to establish/secure/extend their influence over those who currently wield it.7 The application of this narrative schema makes sense for several reasons. Within an oppositional framework, repressive and dissident behavior are things that one actor does against another. As most suggest that reporting is largely focused upon specific actors/actions around which stories can be written (i.e., it is actor/action-centric), such an approach is logical.8 Additionally, the use of opposites within the coverage of contentious politics provides one of the clearest ways to convey information about the events in question as well as to understanding what has occurred (e.g., Altheide 1976; Barnouw 1978; Trew 1979; Hartley and Montgomery 1985). This framework determines the way in which stories are told about relevant activity because upon coming to an event, reporters (readers as well 7

8

This only applies to specific forms of protest – that which targets government officials, policies, and institutions. I believe that much of the difficulty with documenting non-stateoriented protest (e.g., identity-based movements) emerges from the narrative convention employed within the news industry. Additionally, this would account for the fact that once these protests target or come physically close to those affiliated with governments (e.g., in Washington, D.C.), they are more likely to obtain coverage. Alternatively, one could consider one action without the other, a single actor or that the behavior emerges in response to some structural characteristic (e.g., the level of economic development or the degree of democracy).

57

Conceptualization

as researchers that use this information) are relieved of the need to exert much energy, resources, or time in deciphering what is going on (e.g., Lule 2001: 33). As designed, reported behavior merely responds to some other reported or assumed behavior. With such a characterization, one does not need to understand the context within which actors exist or within which action takes place.9 Adopting this approach, all are able to “drop” (or, using the language of media studies, “parachute”) into a situation and immediately have some understanding of what is occurring and what needs to be written (e.g., Moeller 1999). Indeed, all one needs to do to get up to speed is identify the type of event taking place,10 apply the labels of “authorities” and “challengers” to the designated actors, and assess which one is “good” (i.e., fighting for justice and freedom or, alternatively, law and order)11 and which is “evil” (i.e., fighting for chaos, anarchy, or greed). With that 9 10

This is probably why Sidney Tarrow refers to specific event counts derived from newspapers as instances of “eventless” history. This is similar to Tuchman’s (1973) argument that the way that an event actually takes place influences the way that it is covered. Specifically, he provides a useful example of the process: [d]iscussing a plane crash, Bucher . . . argues that, faced with a disaster, persons try to locate the point in the process that “caused” the accidents so they may prevent future accidents from happening in the same manner. Bucher’s findings suggest that the way in which an event happens, the classifications used to describe the event, and the work done to prevent a recurrence are related. They prompt the proposal that newsmen do not categorize events-as-news by distinguishing between kinds of subject matter. Rather, they typify events-as-news according to the way these happen and according to the requirements of the organizational structure within which news stories are constructed. (Tuchman 1973: 116)

11

I merely suggest that confronting an instance of contention, news organizations engaged in a similar process. Generally, the authorities would receive the label of the “good” actor, with the challengers receiving the label of the “bad” one (Molotoch 1988: 77–8). In part, this is because the state at any one time is one of the most newsworthy organizations and hence one of the most important organizations within the society for the media. To retain acceptable relations with this actor, I believe that the media is more inclined to be deferent. Now, the assignment of different actors to positions of “good” and “evil” will likely vary by the type of newspaper being considered, but it is clear that some attention to sides will be mentioned. As Barkin (1984: 30) notes: [t]here must be villains and heroes in every paper, and the storylines must conform to the usage of suspense, conflict, the defeat of evil, and the triumph of good that have guided the good sense and artistry of past storytellers and controlled their audience’s ability to respond.

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Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

framework in hand, one is ready to create as well as comprehend stories about political conflict.12 The use of this approach also allows the media to retain a sense of “objectivity” by providing a story format within which (at least at some level) both “sides” of an event can be told. The pursuit of objectivity has long been an explanation for why reporters – especially within the American and Western contexts (e.g., Novick 1988; Schudson 1995; Haskell 1998) – collect information and tell stories in the way that they do. This is important because the narrative element not only provides structure to the way information is conveyed but also provides reinforcement for the reporter’s identity. The implications of this practice are threefold. First, it suggests that news reports reflect not only the underlying reality being discussed but also the narrative conventions that organizations (like newspapers, human rights organizations, and governments) use to convey information about events. It should be clear: I do not maintain that there is some malicious agenda being enacted when this approach is undertaken (e.g., Chomsky 1989; Barsamian 1992). Rather, I suggest that “if the story form . . . chosen is a heroic tale (a format which many news stories take), then there must be a protagonist and an antagonist. It is not political favoritism but simply a formulaic understanding of how the world operates” (Sperry 1976: 137).13 More broadly, Schudson (1995: 55) makes the same point when he states: [n]ews is not fictional, but it is conventional. Conventions help make messages readable. . . . Their function is less to increase or decrease the truth value of the 12

13

As Tuchman (1976: 1066) identifies, very frequently this “reading” of the situation is only done once and by some centralized informant who all news organizations later consult for understanding of what took place (or what “noticed facts”) establish the core around which the court narrative can be told. The orientation discussed here explains part of the difficulty that existing media sources have had cataloging death squads and militia who are frequently associated with states but whose connection is generally unclear. By this argument, it would be unfair as well as inappropriate to criticize event catalogs (databases) such as the World Handbook of Political and Social Indicators or the WHPSI (Taylor and Jodice 1983) for collecting their data on repression with its relationship to protest “in mind” – something that was believed to create bias in the indicator and lead the WHPSI to certain types of behavior and away from others. Indeed, the approach suggested within my research indicates that such data are not biased. Rather, it is merely being deferent to an explicit literary convention used within the newspapers employed by the WHPSI (the New York Times in this case), something that conditions what the WHPSI (or anyone) would be able to find when these stories are consulted.

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Conceptualization message they convey than to shape and narrow the range of what kinds of truths can be told.14

Second, if one is interested in identifying contentious activity, then he or she needs to pay attention to the relative balance between repressive and protest events within source material and not simply pay attention to only one form of contention without noting the other (as is frequently done within statistical analyses of conflict and somewhat less so in qualitative descriptions of event catalogs). As repression and dissent are both embedded within the narrative construct of how contentious politics is generally written/reported and understood, this orientation is crucial.15 Even though exclusive coverage is possible, I believe that this varies across types of sources. For example, consulted material will likely highlight both actions to some extent for narrative effect, allowing both “sides” to speak and facilitating the understanding of events. Within a more specialized reporting agency (e.g., as a nongovernmental human rights organization or a government report of a human rights violation), however, I would expect that coverage would be more myopic in nature – exclusively highlighting only one type of action and actor (e.g., Davenport and Ball 2002).16 Even here, though, I would expect some attention to be directed to other actions, other actors. Third, and last, the juxtaposition of states and repression against dissidents and dissent suggests that particular ways of storytelling emerge from the context surrounding the storyteller. This is similar to the process by which audiences of one group asked to retell the tales developed by another alter them according to their respective cultures (e.g., with 14

15

16

60

The narrative construct of juxtaposition is not used in an infrequent manner. Such practices are sustained as quick reference guides for how to cover these types of events (as well as others) across time and context for all reporters and news agencies (e.g., Tuchman 1973; Bird and Dardenne 1988; Schudson 1989). Wolfsfeld (1997: 69) develops a similar typology arraying the role of the news media in domestic conflict as either “faithful servants” to authorities, “semi-honest brokers” who equally discuss challengers as well as authorities, and “advocates of the underdog” who discuss challengers. Again, the principle difference between Wolfsfeld’s interest and my own are: (1) he is interested in how the media influences political conflicts, and (2) he is interested in how conflict is framed by the media. Additionally, my characterization of the difference in news coverage (incorporating such newspapers as alternative, community, and dissident presses, which Wolfsfeld does not address) allows for exclusive focus on challengers distinct from Wolfsfeld’s characterization that all challengers can do is hope to “chip away” at the media monopoly enjoyed by authorities. These are subject to other narrative constructs that I address in other research (Davenport and Ball 2002).

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

English audiences and Kwakiutl folk tales [Bartlett 1932] or Americans with Eskimo tales [Rice 1980]) or, more relevant to this analysis, how newspapers, human rights NGOs, and governments differ in the way that they tell stories about political violence. Such a topic must be addressed because we must explicitly consider both alternative ways of telling stories and the surroundings/contexts within which diverse story forms emerge if we are to understand what the reported information can convey. In short: [t]he approach to the topic of coverage advocated here directs us to conclude that the [construction] of [stories] does not operate so much through an obvious alteration of an event . . . as much as through the downplay or the insistence on some particular features of an event [over others]. (Livolsi 1971, 264)17

Narrative style thus selects (Barkin 1984). It is “responsible for a sort of ‘selective perception’ of the world which is common to members of a given (group) and which has the effect of imparting a characteristic interpretation to the phenomena under consideration” (Rice 1980: 161–2). Narrative style clarifies. It conveys specific information about actors, and actions, as well as occasionally about motives and aftereffects. Finally, narrative style discourages. As Bird and Dardenne (1988: 342) note: [r]eaders ignore much of a newspaper . . . because the narrative form repels them. The inverted pyramid style (where the lead contains most of the important information and the rest of the article merely fills in some of the details summarized up front) encourages partial reading . . . and it may help ensure that readers forget much of what they do read.18

Conceptions and conventions thus play a major role in creating as well as understanding source content and variability.

The Source and the Subject Knowing the topic of interest and the relevant convention used by sources to cover events is only part of what needs to be understood about the 17 18

Some would disagree with this point (e.g., Hersey 1981 and Chibnall 1981). This likely accounts for one of the major reasons why Rashomon has been neglected – fundamentally, the medium of communication that one must consult to understand what is covered and how diverse perspectives differ is so unattractive that the idea of spending time with it, reading through hundreds if not thousands, is not something that most would consider pleasurable or even worthwhile. Of course, it is possible that the sheer costs involved with such activity and the unclear nature of the payoff would deter some as well. For the time being, we shall ignore the displeasure and move on to further consider how contentious news stories are constructed.

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Conceptualization

5) Witness Nx removed

11) Coverage

10) Witness Nx removed

4) Witness 2x removed

9) Witness 2x removed

Act * Narrative 3) Witness 1x removed

Repression

1) Authorities

8) Witness 1x removed 6) Challengers

Dissent 2) Spokesperson

7) Spokesperson

Figure 6. The Informants for Contentious Information

observation/reporting of contentious politics. As Sigal (1987: 63) tells us, “news is not what journalists or observers think, but what their sources direct them to say.”19 Such a realization leads one to seek out the “who” of the story; in the case of repression and protest, this concerns authorities and challengers, respectively. From whom does one obtain information about conflict? There are several different actors, whom I refer to as “informants,” who provide information to observers/reporters about what has taken place. Informants vary with respect to which “side” of the interaction they have an interest in and access to. These individuals also vary with respect to how far removed they are from the events in question. As depicted in Figure 6, in any one act of conflict/contention (i.e., any instance of repression or protest), there are at least two actors present20 – an authority and a challenger, each of whom can serve as perpetrator/initiator and target/victim of action.21 Each of these actors can also serve as an “informant” about what took place to some observer/reporter (11 in the figure) if they directly choose to talk about what they have seen unofficially (1 and 6 in the figure) or officially in their capacity as a spokesperson for the relevant organization (2 and 7). Moreover, perpetrators and targets/victims can 19 20 21

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This is a point supported by numerous others (Lippmann [1922] 1997; Tuchman 1978; Gans 1979; Brasch and Ulloth 1986). There is presumably some upward limit but not one that is necessary to identify at this time. Much of this has been drawn from anecdotal accounts of human rights investigation (e.g., Rosenberg 1991; Gutman 1993) and extensive reading about how news organizations collect information.

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

turn into indirect informants when they provide information to some other individual, who, in turn, passes on information to an observer/reporter (3 through 5 with regard to authorities and 8 through 10 with regard to dissidents, respectively). Ideally, all informants would be able to communicate valuable and reliable information about what acts were committed, which perpetrators were involved, what happened to different victims, and what specific locales experienced activity. Even after thinking about the situation for a few seconds, however, one would readily acknowledge that the ideal situation is not likely to exist (as the quote by Brass at the beginning of the chapter reminds us). Indeed, each informant probably has different observational advantages. In most circumstances, authorities would have an advantage over challengers in terms of their capacity to understand and convey what took place. Authorities generally have access to extensive resources (relative to citizens), a large apparatus that can assist them in times of need, and specialized operations that are directly involved in the process of documenting and analyzing contentious events (Finer 1997; Desroisieres 1998; Seltzer and Anderson 2001). By contrast, challengers are less well equipped, prepared, and frequently interested in observing, recalling, or conveying information about what occurred. Everyday bystanders are even less equipped and less interested. Other differences in observation exist as well. For example, perpetrators (the initiators of action)22 would have a better understanding of what took place and where, who was present at the event, and so forth. Being the ones initiating the action, they would be more apt to be comprehensive about what occurred (they did after all plan the event, pick the location, allocate resources and personnel, and so forth). By contrast, those who were targeted/victimized are not generally as well positioned to comprehend the events in question, as they were preoccupied with trying to survive.23 Of course, this argument varies across types of behavior. In the case of repression, state authorities can probably answer most of the questions regarding what took place during an event or series of events. Alternatively, victims within a situation of repressive behavior would be quite aware of what happened to them (where and how they took place), but they would 22 23

One could also select/consult those in a position to oversee the events (from some height) or those with the largest number at the relevant occurrence (providing a collective knowledge). There has been some discussion in the literature about the capacity of Holocaust victims to serve as historians, that is, individuals who document past events (Dawidowicz 1981: 129).

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Conceptualization

probably be less able to identify other dimensions of the repressive acts (who the perpetrators were and why they did it). When one alters the behavior of interest from repression to protest, switching the perpetrator and targets accordingly, it is expected that observational advantages also change, albeit not as much as one might think. For example, within dissident-initiated events, it is expected that informants emerging from the challenger’s “side” would be best able to provide information about what they were doing. Unlike the situation with regard to dissident understanding of repressive behavior, however, I would expect that authorities have better awareness of what challengers were engaged in during a dissident event than dissidents have regarding what authorities were engaged in during repressive behavior; this is after all part of their job (e.g., Rude 1964; Goldstein 1978; 1983; Giddens 1989; Donner 1990; McCarthy et al. 1996a).24 Thus far, I have addressed only the content of what can be communicated as a function of the different “sides” within a contentious event (i.e., the left and right sides of the figure). It is also important to identify the informant’s distance from the events in question (i.e., the number of miles from the conflictual act itself ). As in most cases where human behavior is observed/recorded, the idealized situation, in which disclosure is provided from the immediate participants, is rare. State authorities directly involved with repressive activity seldom come forward to “rat out” their associates or themselves (number 1 in Figure 6).25 Additionally, the willingness and capacity of victims of repression to come forward is frequently limited because coercion has either eliminated this possibility entirely (e.g., victims and witnesses were killed) or rendered the possibility quite remote (e.g., victims were too frightened to speak about what happened).26 Protesters (number 6 in Figure 6) might be less able to recall specific events when they have more immediate concerns (e.g., not getting arrested or killed, undertaking the next protest, 24

25

26

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Such informational capacity is clearly revealed within the protest literature where records from police agencies (e.g., Rude 1964; McCarthy et al. 1996a; Hocke 1998) and other government organizations (e.g., Congress and the FBI) were used to catalog dissident events. There have been several interesting examples of this. Churchill and Vander Wall (2002: 272–81) identify a situation where an FBI informant/provocateur was paid to testify before congress and Koehler (1999) identifies numerous instances where the arrest or defection of spies resulted in important information within and about repressive organizations. There have been some important examples of people coming forward (e.g., Solzhenitsyn 1973).

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

or simply paying their rent). Also somewhat infrequent is the presence of observers/reporters at the event(s) in question – especially those on the state’s side – events that may be undertaken specifically because they are hidden from public view. Of course, this happens. The media were present when protesters were attacked at the 1968 U.S. democratic national convention in Chicago, and several members of the media were present for some of the acts of genocide/politicide in Rwanda during the events of 1994. The basic point is that such occurrences of direct access are inconsistent, and it is clear that they are not relied upon exclusively to provide reporting organizations with information about what is taking place.27 Consequently, any assessment of observed/reported behavior must allow for the fact that much of the information about contentious events coming to an organization is from individuals not present at the specific acts in question. For example, it is possible that perpetrators or victims tell some other individual about what happened, and that person, in turn, tells a member of the news media or human rights NGO (number 3 and 8 in the figure, respectively). Alternatively, it may be the case that some representative for the actors involved (e.g., a government official) issues a statement about what happened (relationships 2 and 7, respectively). This latter situation occurs within those contexts in which the perpetrator(s) had exclusive access to the events of interest (either by chance, because of the geographic locale of the act, or because others were deliberately kept from the area in question), or in those contexts in which the initial target/victim had conveyed information to some other actor who, in turn, officially in his or her capacity as a legal representative or human rights advocate communicated the relevant information to a news organization. Finally, there is another manner in which observers/reporters can discover information about contentious events. Specifically, it may be the case that perpetrators and/or victims directly involved with the contentious act communicate what they experienced to someone else, who, in turn, communicates to another person, who, in turn, tells an observer/reporter (4 as well as 9 in Figure 6). Obviously this can be extended several times, resulting in a very large number of stages before information is conveyed 27

The situation is somewhat different for protestors, but the outcome is frequently the same. In this case, individuals engaged in challenging political authority would have to discern what they were engaged in, who was there, and what was accomplished. Unfortunately, most activities are not deemed of interest to an audience and thus they are ignored (at least from those directly at the scene).

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Conceptualization

to observers/reporters and placed in relevant publications (5 and 10 in Figure 6).28 Regardless, it is important to acknowledge these alternative paths.

Understanding Contentious Coverage From Figure 6 one can readily observe that there are a wide variety of informants that observers/reporters can use in creating their stories about contention. Although diversity can be found, however, I believe that the likelihood of both perpetrator-oriented and/or victim-oriented informants being used by reporting organizations varies, as does the willingness and the capacity of the organization to cover different events. This is important because modifying a comment identified earlier, “although stories are not what reporters/observers think but what their sources direct them to say,” it is also important to acknowledge that not all sources are directed to the same informants. Indeed, there are numerous factors that influence the source’s decision to tell particular stories in the first place. The key here is twofold: (1) to understand the conditions under which one type of actor/behavior is selected for coverage over another, and (2) to understand what stories are told when one form of actor/behavior is covered relative to another. I address this in the next section.

Stories of Control, Stories of Struggle Generally, I am interested in identifying the number of events reported within news articles. This is very different from more “standardized” measures of contention derived from human rights records as well as government reports that attempt to assess how “badly” (frequently) human rights have been violated or how extensive dissident mobilization has become measured on some scale and placed into distinct categories. Although the latter relies upon event counts to establish relevant values, these coding efforts shy away from making specific numerical estimates. I maintain that the counting of discrete actions is important because it provides a measure of effort exerted by one actor against another during a specific time and place. In fact, what becomes important about the characterization utilized here is that stories about repression are essentially stories about the amount of 28

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The model is less complex than reality in many respects. For example, I do not consider those situations identified by Strentz (1989: Chapter 1) where reporters serve as intermediaries between sources and where they inform sources about what is going on.

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

effort exerted by authorities against those within their jurisdiction reported by some observer and that stories about dissent are essentially stories about the amount of effort exerted by challengers against those in power reported by some observer. With this information, similar to older conceptions of force, one can make the case that when reported repressive events outnumber reported protest events, authorities are exerting significant amounts of effort to establish/maintain order as they confront some amount of effort to disrupt or modify the existing order. When protest events outnumber repressive events, the situation is reversed. In situations where repressive events equal the number of protest events, it can be concluded that each actor is exerting comparable levels of effort to influence the other.29 This approach is somewhat different from the existing literature, which does not specify what the reported event count actually means. It is clear that a larger number of events represent more of something, although the exact nature of that “something” is unclear. The something cannot be magnitude, for the events could be small (involving only a few individuals) or extremely large (involving hundreds of thousands of individuals). The something cannot be intensity either. Yes, conflicts are more intense (more “heated”) when they occur more frequently, but what is really important is not the degree of heat. Rather, it is the number of times that diverse sociopolitical actors take it upon themselves to mobilize their resources and employ them within a particular time and place (highlighting the meaning of each instance, each occurrence itself ). Such a perspective is important because most sources conflict (especially newspapers) do not chase levels – static conditions; rather, they chase rate changes in levels.30 The efforts of authorities and challengers reported in sources, as well as event catalogs, are significant because they guide individuals in establishing a broader conception of order and disorder. For example, as discussed by Foucault (1979: 48–9), an instance of state repression has a simple juridicopolitical function:

29

30

Spin is generally the focus of most research that concerns media coverage of contentious events: is the effort to establish order or create disorder deemed legitimate? I am not interested in the perceived legitimacy with the actions involved, something that is extremely contentious as one individual’s opinion about what signifies legitimacy/support for a particular action might vary from another’s. Rather, I am interested in the more basic facts of the matter: does an event get reported at all? This is particularly interesting in the field of human rights violations for although the most prominent measures are “standards-based” (e.g., Poe and Tate 1994), the categories used to differentiate between the levels are events.

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Conceptualization [i]t is a ceremony by which a momentarily injured sovereignty is reconstituted. It restores that sovereignty by manifesting it at its most spectacular. The public execution, however hasty and everyday, belongs to a whole series of great rituals in which power is eclipsed and restored (coronation, entry of the king into a conquered city, the submission of rebellious subjects); over and above the crime that has placed the sovereign in contempt, it deploys before all eyes an invincible force. Its aim is not so much to reestablish a balance as to bring into play, as its extreme point, the dissymmetry between the subject who has dared to violate the law and the allpowerful sovereign who displays strength. Although redress of the private injury occasioned by the offence must be proportionate, although the sentence must be equitable, the punishment is carried out in such a way as to give a spectacle not a measure, but of imbalance and excess; in this liturgy of punishment, there must be an emphatic affirmation of power and of its intrinsic superiority. And this superiority is not simply that of right, but that of the physical strength of the sovereign beating down the body of his adversary and mastering it: by breaking the law, the offender has touched the very person of the prince; and it is the prince – or at least those to whom he delegated his force – who seizes upon the body of the condemned man and displays it marked, beaten and broken.

Accordingly, dissident behavior is best viewed as an effort to challenge – to reverse – the perceived imbalance in coercive power and thereby reveal the state’s vulnerability. Contemporary state–dissident interactions thus provide an excellent example of the signification contest identified previously, but one that is somewhat more diffuse in nature than that discussed by Foucault. In the more recent period, contests take place in different locales throughout a nation-state, with a variety of political actors as well as targets being involved. Additionally, and equally as important, they reach a much larger audience via the mass media. Coverage of these activities therefore serves an important objective. Diverse source materials thus yield the following: some observers/recorders attempt to (re)establish the perception of order and legitimacy; other sources similarly attempt to (re)establish the perception of disorder and illegitimacy. Why is it that particular actions and actors are of interest to a particular source? As suggested earlier, I argue that there are two factors involved – political orientation and physical proximity. Political Orientation First, I believe that the process of observing state– dissident interactions is largely dichotomous in nature. Given the immense effort at informant cultivation that must take place and the conflictual nature of interactions between states and dissidents (where an affiliation with one could significantly influence one’s access to the other), I do not expect 68

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sources to have a comparable interest in or ability to tap both “sides” of a conflict. Objectivity in reporting is therefore rarely encountered in actual political confrontations – especially those occurring in the 1960s and 1970s. Additionally, given differences in organizational stability, resources and outreach, I expect that most sources will have greater access to political authorities and fewer connections with dissidents; hence the coverage will likely favor the former. The reasons for this are simple. Political authorities are located in places that can be easily found and accessed: government buildings, military bases, police stations, and courthouses. Moreover, government leaders frequently go out of their way to provide information about establishing and/or reconstructing order through reports, press releases, conferences, public addresses, and so forth. Finally, if one were to invest time cultivating relationships on one side of a state–dissident interaction, it makes sense to select state informants because they are able to provide information not only about the specific government–dissident interaction of interest but about other topics as well (e.g., additional state–dissident interactions, political scandals, taxation, welfare, and war). By contrast, affiliation with dissident organizations is relatively more limited, as they are harder to find/cultivate and not likely to provide observers/reporters with access to many other stories. Existing research tends to support this argument. For example, Ortiz et al. (2005: 401) find that: Leftist newspapers are more likely to cover social movement events (Franzosi 1987; Kriesi et al. 1992), and liberal newspapers are more likely to cover protest events than conservative newspapers (Oliver and Myers 1999). Periodicals may also target certain demographic groups (such as young adults, a particular racial group, or women), which will affect the types of stories that they are likely to cover.

Physical Distance Political orientation is only part of the story. Just because one is generally sympathetic to the relevant cause and knows whom to contact does not mean that he or she automatically has the ability or interest in contacting the participants (or those close to them). Indeed, as with most things, it is generally expected that local knowledge is superior in terms of accessibility and that efforts to comprehend conflict without this recognition are likely to miss a great deal.31 The reasons for this are fairly straightforward. Proximate sources are better able to identify events. Thus, at varying levels of scope and intensity, they are better able to identify 31

See Scott (1998: 316–17).

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Conceptualization

5) Witness Nx removed

10) Witness Nx removed

Distance

4) Witness 2x removed

9) Witness 2x removed

3) Witness 1x removed

8) Witness 1x removed

Repression 1) Authorities 6) Challengers

Orientation

Dissent 2) Spokesperson

7) Spokesperson

Figure 7. Contextualizing Informants

the combatants and to know where to seek out informants, especially those closest to the relevant action. By contrast, distant sources (even those similarly oriented) are less able to navigate the local terrain (physically but also politically and socially). Outsiders are less able to identify events, less able to understand who the combatants are, and less able to know where the best informants can be found. Distant sources may find themselves relying on the ones most readily available but farthest from the events of interest. Consequently, they end up interacting with individuals in major cities, airports, hotels, taxicabs, and bars – the usual sources for those seeking information in faraway places.32 Research has generally supported these arguments about the importance of proximity. Overlaying the model discussing informants with the model concerning these two dimensions, we are left with Figure 7. Employing the schema identified here to develop hypotheses, I put forward two groups: one concerns the nature of the contest between dissidents and authorities as covered by the sources, and the other concerns the importance of this coverage for understanding why contention takes place. 32

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Invariably, I believe one is able to overcome space more easily than orientation through the use of stringers and wire services. It is much more difficult to switch sides in a contentious interaction and cultivate relationships.

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

Regarding the coverage of conflict, I expect that the two dimensions (space and orientation) will directly influence what is covered/reported. For example, distance will influence several characteristics as sources employ their operatives to identify informants and compile information about who did what to whom. These efforts have very real implications for source content. For example: Hypothesis 1: Sources that are physically closer to the conflict will (1) cover events sooner, (2) identify the largest number of events (in absolute and/or relative terms), (3) maintain a more equitable balance between repression and dissent, (4) identify conflict on a consistent basis (with fewer breaks in the action), and (5) identify events for a longer period of time. By contrast, distant sources will (1) identify events later, (2) identify a smaller number, (3) maintain skewed coverage of events in one direction or another, (4) identify events sporadically, and (5) end the coverage sooner. The nature of the contest is influenced by orientation as well. For example, I anticipate that Hypothesis 2: Sources closer to either governments or dissidents are more attentive to conflict behavior, covering events more frequently (in absolute and/or relative terms) and with fewer lapses between discrete occurrences. Differing from this, Hypothesis 3: Sources somewhere between the two orientations are less likely to be attentive, covering fewer events, with greater lapses between them but with greater equity in who/what is covered. Related to this, I expect that authorities and dissidents are most aware of and most interested in communicating information about their own activities. Consequently, Hypothesis 4: Authority-oriented sources cover repressive behavior earlier, in greater amounts relative to dissent but in a less biased manner (favoring one actor over another), consistently, and for longer periods in time. Similarly, Hypothesis 5a: Dissident-oriented sources cover dissent earlier, in greater amounts relative to repression, consistently, and for longer periods in time. Given the nature of the struggle, with governments generally having an advantage, I further anticipate that 71

Conceptualization

Hypothesis 5b: Dissident-oriented sources are not as skewed as government-oriented sources in their coverage of conflict behavior (they more evenly cover dissident and state actions). Justifying repression, it is further expected that each contestant will identify the other actor as drawing “first blood.” As a result, Hypothesis 6: Authority-oriented sources identify dissidents as acting first, whereas dissident-oriented sources identify authorities as acting first. Although challengers are believed to be generally interested in covering repression (in a sense legitimating their struggle as being a threat to authorities and therefore meriting such a response), it is also possible that sources sympathetic to challengers may concern themselves with other issues. This leads to a different expectation where, Hypothesis 7: Dissident-oriented sources highlight their own behavior first, as being followed immediately by repression. The amount of coverage is not the only aspect of observation/reporting that is involved. I also expect the type of dissent and repression to be influenced as well. For example, Hypothesis 8: Authority-oriented sources cover a wider variety of repressive events involving distinct agents of the state and targets of repression whereas dissident-oriented sources identify a smaller repertoire, with fewer agents and fewer targets. Similarly, Hypothesis 9: Dissident-oriented sources cover a wider variety of dissident events involving distinct social-movement agents and targets of dissent, whereas authority-oriented sources identify a smaller repertoire, with fewer agents and fewer targets.

Summary In this chapter, I have attempted to provide an explanation for the Rashomon Effect. I began by discussing the narrative convention that is generally employed by observers/recorders to comprehend repression and dissent as well as the way in which observers/recorders obtain information about relevant actors and the actions associated with them. Within the argument outlined here, variation in source accounts was attributed 72

Rashomon Effect, Observation, and Data Generation

to two factors, which concern the interest in, identification of, and access to information regarding contentious politics: (1) the similarity in political orientation between the observer and the actors involved, and (2) the source’s physical proximity to the events in question. As discussed, more frequent and detailed coverage is expected when an expressed interest in the relevant conflict participant exists and when sources are proximate to events; coverage is poorer when there is less interest in the relevant conflict participant and sources are distant. Given the objectives of observers/recorders and the costs involved in both cultivating sources and obtaining information, I argue that sources are generally not interested in and do not have access to informants on both sides of a contentious interaction; nor is it expected that each side would provide as much information about the other actor’s behavior. In brief, most coverage of contentious politics is narcissistically one-sided in nature. Depending upon which sources are employed, this has serious implications for how one examines and understands repression and dissent. Additionally, these coverage issues directly influence what is found in analyses of the topic. I address the implications of Rashomon in the next chapter.

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3 Understanding State Repressive Behavior

Repression evokes an image of a central political authority using the formal apparatus of the state to put down rebellions, whether overtly or covertly holding the reins and directing the actions being taken in its defense. Repression is (in a sense) what states do. Myra Marx Ferree “Soft Repression: Ridicule, Stigma and Silencing in Gender-based Movements” in Repression and Mobilization (2005)

State repression1 is strangely familiar. Almost all individuals feel that they have at least some understanding of what it is. When asked, most identify a few prominent examples, such as the Jewish Holocaust during the Second World War, the counterinsurgent efforts of the U.S. government against radicals during the 1960s and 1970s (COINTELPRO), the police response to protestors in Chicago outside the Democratic National Convention in 1968, the actions of the Apartheid regime in South Africa as it confronted the African National Congress (ANC) in the 1970s and 1980s, the activities undertaken by Rwandan political authorities against ethnic Tutsi and moderate Hutu in 1994, or the action taken by authorities in Darfur against the Fur, Zaghawa, and Massaleit ethnic groups in the early 2000s. There is of course more to repressive behavior than what can be garnered from popular accounts of these isolated events. For example, there are a large number of empirical analyses of event catalogs that are basically hidden within academic journals and behind inaccessible jargon; these reveal systematic patterns in government activity that hold across time, space, and context. Indeed, forty years of research dedicated to the subject have yielded 1

There are other labels as well: for example, political repression, negative sanctions, protest policing and human rights violation.

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Understanding State Repressive Behavior

a great deal of information about state coercion, though there is also much that we still do not know well at all. I detail in this chapter exactly what we have learned about repressive action from forty years of analyses as well as how Rashomon challenges this work and how we can further improve our understanding.

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about State Repression and Were Prepared to Ask For most individuals, the definition of repressive behavior is pretty straightforward. Essentially, it is a mechanism of state influence (i.e., a “power attempt”) that involves force or the threat of force used in an effort to (1) counter and/or eliminate domestic challenges, (2) create specific political-economic arrangements, and (3) sustain domestic order as well as political-economic arrangements once they have been established (Davenport 2007b). The general category includes a wide variety of activity: electronic surveillance, the use of agents provocateurs, physical harassment, mass arrest, political banning, torture, targeted assassination, and genocide.2 From just glancing at modern history, it is clear that government coercion is not inconsequential to human affairs. As conceived, it lies at the core of what a state is, and it is a major part of the definition of a state (Weber 1946); it is one of the principal means used to create this form of political organization (Tilly 1990); it is one of the main strategies used by those in power to maintain control after it has been formed (Walter 1969; Dallin and Breslauer 1970; Davenport 1995a; Stanley 1996); and it is a crucial factor in determining the quality of life as well as whether there will be any life at all for those subject to its power. Indeed, researchers, theorists, activists, and ordinary citizens may debate the significance of repression, but few deny it a role as one of the most important phenomena in modern political existence. Of course, not all researchers are of one mind in their understanding of the topic. Some emphasize certain aspects over others. For example, Dallin and Breslauer (1970) highlight the creative dimension of repressive behavior, whereas Tilly (1978; 2005) and Ziegenhagen (1986) stress conflict management. Some focus on beliefs as being important for the classification of 2

There has recently been some effort to extend the definition in particular directions. For example, Earl (2003) suggests that relevant work should include activities such as “channeling” behavior (e.g., influencing tax breaks given to dissident organizations), and Ferree (2005) suggests that studies of repression should include “soft” techniques such as shaming and stigmatization. These modifications have not yet been widely adopted.

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Conceptualization

domestic challenges (Goldstein 1978), while others focus on diverse behavioral characteristics (Hibbs 1973; Khawaja 1993; White 1993; Davenport 1995; 2007a; Earl and Soule 2006; Soule and Davenport 2009). Some focus on state action that is violent in nature (e.g., Poe and Tate 1994; Gibney and Dalton 1996), while others focus on occurrences that are nonviolent or less violent (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983; Ferree 2005). Some focus on a broad variety of state actors (e.g., Davenport 1995a; Moore 2000), and some focus on a specific subset of actors like the police (e.g., Earl and Soule 2006). Some focus on activities that are overt in nature (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983; Poe and Tate 1994; Cingranelli and Richards 1999; 2009; Soule and Davenport 2009), while others focus on covert behavior (e.g., Cunningham 2004; Davenport 2005). Some focus on activities that are directed against collectivities (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983; Poe and Tate 1994), while others are more attentive to actions directed against individuals (e.g., Davenport 2005) or to behavior directed against both simultaneously (e.g., Ball et al. 1999; Francisco 2000). Regardless of these differences, however, the same elements are consistently identified. In the last ten or fifteen years, repression has come to receive greater attention. Compared with the sheer volume of work dedicated to other forms of political conflict (e.g., dissent [McAdam et al. 1996] and civil [e.g., Sambanis 2004] and interstate war [Huth and Allee 2003]), however, the amount of attention focused on repression is quite limited. Part of the reason for this is that the most prominent theories of state behavior either ignore repression entirely (McCamant 1981) or dismiss it as being episodic in nature and therefore not worthy of attention (e.g., Huntington 1968; Wrong 1979).3 Not all accept this view. Some researchers argue that repressive behavior could be applied by governments on a more or less continuous basis, but they maintain that this behavior is applied only in specific political-economic contexts (e.g., within autocracies Rummel 1997; Linz 2000).4 Still other researchers accept that repression can be found within almost any political-economic context, at almost any time (e.g., Taylor and Jodice 1983; Poe and Tate 1994; Davenport 1995a; 1999a; Zanger 2000).5 As for why governments use coercion, accounts vary. Although most research in the quantitative literature focuses on an eclectic combination 3 4 5

Eckstein (1980) refers to this as a “contingent” view of conflict behavior. When in a particular phase (i.e., a level or type of social, economic, or political development), repression is applied; when out of this phase, however, repression would not be expected. Eckstein (1980) refers to these latter two perspectives as an “inherent” view of conflict behavior.

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Understanding State Repressive Behavior

of independent variables linked through either diverse path dependent/ structural-functionalist explanations (e.g., Dallin and Breslauer 1970; Hibbs 1973; Poe and Tate 1994; Davenport 1995a) or equally vague decision calculi that lump them together (e.g., Walter 1969; Gartner and Regan 1996; Davenport 1999a), I focus on two clearly defined and operational explanations. One concerns behavioral challenges put forward within the relevant territorial domain; the other concerns the repressive apparatus and its effort to maintain morale, access to resources, and the fulfillment of organizational objectives. Each is discussed below.

Protection and Domestic Realism The first explanation for repressive action – arguably the oldest and the core of any theory – centers on the fact that coercive behavior is used by political authorities in an effort to establish and keep order within a nation-state (e.g., Kautilya 4 [1997]; Hobbes [1651] 1950; Eckstein 1965; Walter 1969; Wrong 1979; Davenport 2007a). The argument itself is quite simple. When challenges arise (e.g., strikes, demonstrations, guerrilla warfare, terrorism, and civil war), repression is applied in an effort to hinder and/or eliminate the capacity to challenge government authorities by altering the challenger’s recruitment, resource acquisition, communication, morale, and perceived probability of success. Additionally, repressive behavior is used to inform challengers, the general population, and foreign actors that such behavior will not be tolerated. Largely implicit is the belief that state responses are generally proportional to the behavioral challenge put forward. Political conflict that is small, nonviolent, and infrequent is thus met with state repression that is small in scale, nonviolent, and infrequent; challenges that are large in scale, violent, and frequent, however, are met with commensurate repressive behavior. When challenges are not present, repression is not expected.6 Here, in what Stanley (1996: 17) refers to as an “opposition/reaction model,”7 realist assumptions from international relations are applied directly to the domestic setting. As he explains (1996: 17): To the extent that states face internal threats, they depend upon force to deter their enemies. If their enemies are not deterred, states use force to conquer them. In this process . . . states are acting rationally to protect themselves. 6 7

Snyder (1976) identifies that this is somewhat na¨ıve noting that authorities might proactively use repression before challengers emerge. Earl (2003) refers to this as the “threat model.”

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Conceptualization

This view is important because of its characterization of the state and its behavior. Political authorities do not broadly survey a wide variety of factors (the eclectic combination of political-economic characteristics identified earlier) to determine whether or not these will compel authorities to use repression. Rather, in this work, governments respond to illegitimate and/or illegal8 challenges posed by those who are unwilling to work “within” the existing system.9 As such, the basic premise of this research is clear: states do not repress their citizens without just cause. Rather, governments utilize their coercive power to counter/eliminate challenges: (1) to the personnel, policies, practices and institutions that govern the society in question, and (2) to the lives and property of those within the relevant territorial jurisdiction. By most accounts, the decision to use repressive behavior is not undertaken lightly. As Pye (1966: 167) notes: 8

Conceptually, Franks (1989) tells us that “threatening” dissident behavior is that which is deemed both “illegal” (not viewed favorably by law or by political authorities) and “illegitimate” (not viewed favorably by the mass population). Although he argues that political authorities accept dissent as a part of normal political life, he also acknowledges that “there are limits in all states to what those in power consider to be acceptable dissent” (Franks 1989: 6). As such, [t]hose in authority accept and tolerate legal-legitimate dissent but would not accept illegal-illegitimate dissent. The other two (combinations) are contentious. From a liberaldemocratic viewpoint, a goal of government and society should be to include as much as possible in the legal-legitimate category. . . . In countries that are not liberal democracies, while the grounds for legitimate dissent are often greater, those accepted by the state as legal are even more restricted. (Franks 1989: 6–7)

9

Practically, we know that violent dissent is the easiest form of behavioral challenge to label as both illegitimate and illegal. Most do not accept the validity of nonstate political actors going around destroying property or killing citizens and political leaders. How do authorities view the rest of the dissident’s repertoire? On this point, existing research is somewhat unclear. This last point is actually one of the reasons why individuals started paying attention to other political-economic characteristics in the first place. Acknowledging that what is deemed illegitimate and illegal varies and the authority’s desire to wait for actual behavioral challenges, researchers began to explore the conditions under which political leaders maintained strict conceptions of acceptable behavior and when they were more likely to initiate repression before behavioral challenges were made. For example, autocracies are generally believed to be responsive to political dissent (actual as well as potential) with totalitarian systems being the most responsive – applying repression in a manner that seeks to eliminate the very possibility of resistance (Walter 1969; Dallin and Breslauer 1970; Rummel 1997; Linz 2000; Davenport 2007b). Similarly, countries with large populations or high levels of poverty are believed to be especially attentive to behavioral challenges for if these got underway, it is expected that they would quickly grow within the dissatisfied population.

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Understanding State Repressive Behavior [t]he initial decisions of a government confronted with the threat of internal war are usually the most fateful and longlasting of any it will be called upon to make. . . . These decisions tend to have a binding effect, which to an extreme degree gives structure and form to the entire ensuing conflict. In a sense, the first acts of the government establish the crucial parameters of the conflict, because they generally define the issues at stake, the presumed character of the struggle, and the legitimate basis for any eventual termination (of the hostilities).10

Regardless of the difficulty of such a decision, it is also clear that this type of response is presumed to be widespread across political systems and cultures. Indeed, if authorities did not adequately counter behavioral challenges, it is expected that constituents would have the right and responsibility to remove their leaders for failing to adequately protect them (Hobbes [1651] 1950). As for the investigations of this hypothesis that behavioral challenges increase repressive behavior, all quantitative analyses in the last forty years have identified that the former increases the likelihood and severity of the latter (Davenport 2007b). Unfortunately, there is little to no support for the proportional argument because researchers rarely consider the differing influence of violent and of nonviolent – or less violent – challenges. In fact, existing work typically focuses on high-profile, violent dissident behavior, in large part because it is believed to be the most important. Without also considering the low-profile activities of dissidents and state repression of this activity, however, we end up with only part of the picture and not necessarily the most interesting part. This is because most dissidents cannot sustain high-profile, violent activity for more than a brief period of time, whereas nonviolent behavior is more readily sustained – especially within a democracy, which is the context of concern in this book. As a result, it is crucial to disaggregate behavioral challenges because it may be the case that authorities respond to all forms of dissent equally in their efforts to counter or eliminate behavioral threats. This provides a completely different view of state repression than that traditionally applied, for it shows a higher degree of concern for diverse forms of citizen activity. Considering this research, four hypotheses appear worthy of consideration. The first two directly follow from prior work, attempting to gauge the robustness of the threat hypothesis across different forms of dissident behavior: 10

It is important to note the composition of Pye’s argument: governments are “confronted” with a threat, and they are contemplating their “first acts.” These are clearly reactive in orientation.

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Conceptualization

Hypothesis 10a: Violent dissent increases repression. Hypothesis 10b: Lagged violent dissent increases repression. Hypothesis 11a: Nonviolent dissent increases repression. While identified separately, it is also possible that there is some lagged influence. For example, if a group becomes known as violent, then one could expect that repressive behavior would be directed against them – regardless of what they actually do (i.e., whether they use violent of nonviolent dissent). Although it is possible that the tactics are switched (e.g., when a previously nonviolent group becomes violent) and media sources underreport the switch, I do not believe that such an influence would persist for very long. Such issues are clearly relevant for the Panthers because very quickly they became labeled as a “violent” organization. For some, this has become the only salient characteristic worthy of discussion (e.g., Pearson 1994; Horowitz 1998). This is not something only recognized by individuals with little connection or questionable connections with the BPP. The leaders of the Panther organization acknowledged this themselves when they decided to highlight/emphasize their cultural/“survival” programs and downplay their more aggressive political programs like the monitoring of the police. Accordingly, I consider two other hypotheses: Hypothesis 11b: Lagged nonviolent dissent increases repression. The next two hypotheses differ significantly from existing research in that they have not been considered previously: Hypothesis 12: Authorities are more likely to respond to dissent with repression when behavioral challenges target the agents of repression explicitly. Hypothesis 13: Authorities are more likely to respond to dissent with repression when behavioral challenges do not target repressive agents. These hypotheses highlight a distinction that is well known to individuals who study social movements (e.g., Gamson 1975; Soule and Davenport 2009), but that has largely been ignored by repression scholars. When engaging in behavioral challenges, dissidents can direct their activities specifically against government institutions that engage in repression, or they can focus on some other target, one that is not connected to the 80

Understanding State Repressive Behavior

state’s coercive power (using the very same technique as others). The former is enacted to explicitly threaten, counter, change, and/or weaken the state’s monopolization of repressive action – one of the core aspects of government authority; the latter is enacted to threaten, counter, change, and/or weaken other actors. The differences are captured well by the distinction between “old” and “new” social movements. The former (generally dated between the mid1930s to the 1970s) directly attempted to alter fundamental power relationships in the nation-state: who wielded political, economic, and coercive power as well as who was targeted by these actors for benefits and sanctions. This led to a high degree of conflict within the United States and Western Europe because if the challengers had won, then existing authorities as well as the political-economic elites affiliated with them would have lost a tremendous amount. By contrast, “new” social movements (i.e., those generally that arose after the 1970s in Western countries) are not interested in targeting, challenging, or transforming political-economic power. Rather, they are interested in gaining some measure of symbolic acknowledgment and/or acceptance for their cause within the existing political-economic order.11 Following from this, if one were to evaluate different movements with regard to how the state would treat them, one would conclude that the old social movements would be far more threatening to political authorities and more likely to be repressed than would the less threatening, newer social movements. Competitively, dissident behavior that directly targets the agents of repression (e.g., a protest in front of a police station, court, or military base) is even more likely to be targeted for repressive action than are those that do not challenge repressive agents (e.g., a logging company or coffee shop). Indeed, this difference in treatment might be a primary reason for the dramatic shift in the demands made by the two movements; that is, dissidents changed objectives in an effort to reduce the costs of collective action. Now, to the degree that different types of challenges are repressed at comparable levels, this tells us a great deal about state coercion. For 11

Others highlight different factors that account for the varying treatment of social movements – even those applying the same strategy. For example, some highlight the vulnerability of the social movement itself (Earl and Soule 2006), noting that the weaker/less stable the mobilizing institution and/or more marginalized the population of interest, the higher the likelihood that they would be repressed. In contrast, strong/stable organizations and centralized populations are less likely to be sanctioned.

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Conceptualization

example, if violent and nonviolent protests directed against government agents as well as non–government agents, are treated differently, with violent behavior against government agents receiving greater amounts of repression, then the existing characterization of the coercive process has been supported. If, however, these diverse forms of dissent and targets result in similar types and levels of repressive action, then this suggests that authorities are sensitive to all types of challenges and, additionally, that the proportional argument underlying existing research is inappropriate as there is no sense of meeting force with equivalent force. Indeed, equality in coercive responsiveness will compel us to explore whether something else is affecting the behavior of political leaders (e.g., the content of the claim being made). Such a concern is clearly relevant to the interaction between the Black Panthers and the U.S. government as the former engaged in a wide variety of activity. For example, the Panthers monitored the police while carrying weapons, and they engaged in numerous street battles with coercive agents. At the same time, the BPP also led protest demonstrations and boycotts, circulated petitions, fed children, ran educational facilities, conducted tests for sickle cell anemia, and held press conferences. The impact of these diverse actions on repression is not at all clear. Some suggest that all were targeted, some suggest that only the most violent were treated in a coercive manner, and some appear to take no position whatsoever. Detecting similarities/differences would thus tell us a great deal about what happened as well as about how different observers/reporters perceived the interaction between the state and the dissidents. Not only did the Panthers engage in different activities, but they also targeted diverse actors. Perhaps the most controversial and best known targets were authorities (e.g., politicians at the state assembly in Sacramento and police on the streets of Oakland). But, again, there were other targets as well (e.g., supermarkets, liquor stores, newspapers, and businesspeople throughout California). The influence of target selection on repressive behavior would be very informative about what took place and what takes place more generally when dissidents challenge different aspects of the status quo. Conceived in this manner, it is argued that dissidents engage in diverse forms of behavior that challenge the political economy in specific ways – differentiated by the degree of violence employed and the target against which challenges are made. As such, this argument is similar to the work of Gamson (1975) and others who, when addressing a range of dissidents, argue that there will likely be some range of responses from the government. Specifically, organizations high in violence and government targeting are 82

Understanding State Repressive Behavior

likely to be repressed greater than nonviolent organizations that target nongovernment actors. These are of course not the only characteristics of dissident organizations that are considered by authorities but they largely structure the government’s response. This is especially the case in the BPP–authority interaction where race figures prominently (discussed further in the next chapter). Again, such an observation is consistent with the work of others. For example, Cunningham (2004) finds that both black and white “hate” organizations advocating violence engaged in some activity consistent with this rhetoric but the response of the authorities was different – based on the race of the opponent. In the case of countering white hate organizations (the Ku Klux Klan, or KKK), the FBI felt sympathetic so they attempted to infiltrate and direct the organization in a nonviolent direction. In the case of black hate organizations (the Black Panthers), however, the FBI felt no sympathy and attempted to infiltrate, disrupt, and destroy the relevant organizations – entirely. Similarly, Davenport and Soule (2009) find that for diverse reasons African American protestors are perceived to be more threatening to public order than other Americans, and they are more likely to be sanctioned with some form of social control, resulting in what we call “Protesting While Black” (PWB) similar to “Driving While Black” (DWB). This is very different from the treatment of nonblacks.

The Law of the Instrument Related to the last point, a second explanation for repression focuses not on the behavioral challenge put forward by dissidents but rather on the agents who are directly responsible for implementing repressive behavior. The latter is important for three reasons. First, repressive organizations (e.g., the police or counterinsurgent units of the military) are the ones directly responsible for identifying behavioral threats, and they are the ones that actually respond. Consequently, these institutions are the government agencies most closely connected to the behavior of interest; indeed, repression is a primary function of these organizations. This is important and consistent with recent work on the topic. For example, Earl and Soule (2006) note that even though behavioral challenges are important, these activities are filtered through repressive agents. Specifically, those responsible for policing dissident events perceive behavioral challenges as they attempt to limit perceptions of societal “loss of control” and retain their legitimate monopoly on the means of coercion. 83

Conceptualization

Additionally, in another study by Earl and Soule (2005), it is argued that while government officials are interested in identifying, monitoring, and countering general “diffuse” threats to the political-economic system, the police are interested in identifying, monitoring, and countering specific “situational” threats to themselves and those directly proximate to protesters on the street (e.g., pedestrians, counter-demonstrators, and shopkeepers). Here, threats still matter but they do so through relevant political actors. The involvement of the repressive organization creates not a detached agency and membership but – given the highly emotional nature of statedissident confrontations as well as the type of training and socialization that characterize these institutions – it creates an extremely charged attachment to the objectives pursued by the organization as well as to the other members themselves. This is important, for most argue that in the throes of a heated confrontation, these institutions would be the most inclined to continue or escalate coercive behavior. It is also the case that the momentum within the organizations of repression influences other actors as well. For example, as Gurr (1986a: 160) states: [o]nce [specialized agencies of state coercion] are in operation, elites are likely to calculate that the relative costs of relying on coercion are lower. . . . These strategic considerations tend to be reinforced by habituation; in other words, the development of elite norms that coercive control is not only necessary but also desirable. Moreover, a bureaucratic “law of the instrument” may prevail: The professional ethos of agencies of control centers on the use of coercion to restrain challenges to state authority. Their directors may therefore recommend violent “solutions” to suspected opposition, or use their position to initiate them, as a means of justifying the agencies’ continued existence (thus providing a benefit to the agents as well as to those who rely upon them).12

Second, the agents of coercion derive benefits because of their capacity to wield repression in the form of material rewards, social status, and political influence. Exactly what agents derive and how they behave is thus critical for understanding what happens on the ground. Indeed, we would anticipate that repressive agents actively lobby for coercion-related policies, requesting training, weapons, funds for research and development, access to other organizational resources, and influence over the decision to employ or continue relevant behavior. Third, focusing on the agents of repression is important for this leads us to argue that coercive behavior is ended only when something (e.g., a 12

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Viewed at a broader level of social control this argument is consistent with Lasswell’s discussion of the “Garrison State” and Garland’s discussion of crime control.

Understanding State Repressive Behavior

regime change, scandal, or shift in public opinion) or someone (e.g., a political leader) disrupts the strength/presence of the repressive apparatus in society.13 Without transforming this characteristic of the system, nothing will be changed and relevant behavior will persist. To date, research has been largely supportive of the points identified here. When one considers the impact of previous repressive behavior and/or the influence of a well-positioned/resourced coercive apparatus within the nation-state, the likelihood of subsequent coercive action is increased (e.g., Poe and Tate 1994; Davenport 1995b, 1996b; Cunningham 2004; Earl and Soule 2006). Unfortunately, however, most research in the area does not pay attention to the role of repressive agents – especially those that do not carry firearms like the court. The last issue is especially important for it may be the case that certain agents of repression are more responsive to dissent than others (e.g., those that are given greater discretion and focus on streetlevel exchanges such as the police, as opposed to courts and legislatures). Alternatively, it may be the case that certain repressive practices preclude the necessity for subsequent action because they set in motion a chain of events that requires future repressive activity (e.g., an arrest that leads to a court sentence and imprisonment). To shed some light on these dynamics, I explore four hypotheses specifically tailored to address techniques relevant to state–dissident confrontations in the BPP case. Again, the first two follow existing work, attempting to gauge the robustness of the “Law of the Instrument” argument across different types of agents. Accordingly, I argue that Hypothesis14: Previous police action relevant to repressing a social movement begets subsequent police activity. Hypothesis 15: Previous court action relevant to repressing a social movement begets subsequent court activity. The next two hypotheses differ from existing work in that they have not been considered: Hypothesis 16: Previous police action begets subsequent court activity. Hypothesis 17: Previous court action begets subsequent police activity. 13

Such a position is clearly observable in discussions about large-scale state repression like genocide where it is presumed by most observers that these events are only ended when repressive agents are physically stopped through military intervention. This position is also maintained by others focused on less violent repressive action.

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The latter two highlight distinctions that are familiar to individuals studying social movements but also to those who are familiar with repressive tactics applied in the United States. The first moves the Law of the Instrument argument away from one that is essentially emotional and instrumental in nature to one that is more administrative and procedural. In this case, one form of repressive behavior is prompted by another form because specific routines must be followed. For example, when someone is arrested in a democracy, that person is generally charged and brought to court for judgment as well as punishment. The use of police action such as arrest thus increases subsequent court action like trials. Of course, this need not be the case. The police could arrest someone and later release him or her, something commonly referenced in the Panther case as harassment. The influence of court activity on police behavior is something different. In this context, it is not standard procedure for the police to follow the courts unless it involves acting on a warrant that has been issued or testifying in court about action they undertook in investigating the case and apprehending the accused. Indeed, in most respects, these two agents of repression are purposefully kept separate from one another. After the police arrest an individual and provide evidence to the court, their relationship is over. At the same time, it is possible that the police take a cue from the court in identifying a particular group as being “dangerous” and worthy of additional attention. In this context, a ruling or judgment in the courtroom could prompt police officers to respond to dissidents in a more aggressive manner. Again, the relevance of these issues to the Panther case is obvious. The battles between the BPP and the police have always been prominently featured in discussions about the organization and its relationship with the U.S. government, but the Panthers also spent a great deal of time in different courts (e.g., grand juries). While it has been argued that there was a tremendous amount of coordination between diverse agents of repression regarding how best to handle the BPP threat, very little is known about how true this was and exactly what took place. Investigation on this topic would thus be worthwhile.

Coverage and Comprehending Contention In reflecting on what an event catalog of repression and dissent would reveal when examining the preceding relationships, the Rashomon Effect becomes important because it provides an explanation for the variation 86

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we would likely encounter. For example, in the last chapter, I suggested that coverage of contentious behavior was uneven across types of conflict. Specifically, it was expected that activity undertaken by important sociopolitical actors (e.g., state authorities) and high-profile, violent behavior would be covered consistently because of their perceived importance to an audience and the ease with which these activities could be identified across informants. At the same time, activity undertaken by relatively less important sociopolitical actors (e.g., social movements) and lower-profile, nonviolent behavior would receive less consistent attention across informants and therefore across sources and catalogs. With regard to the latter behavior, it was expected that the closer the observer/recorder was to the relevant actor/action, both spatially and in terms of political orientation, the higher the likelihood that it would be identified. By contrast, the farther the observer/recorder was from the relevant actor/action, the lower the likelihood that relevant behavior would be identified. The importance of this coverage pattern to a discussion of how behavioral challenges and the repressive apparatus influences state coercion is clear. One who relied on a source closer to authorities would consistently identify repressive behavior but would simultaneously tend to underestimate dissent – especially nonviolent action. By contrast, one who relied upon a source closer to dissidents would tend to underestimate repression but would consistently highlight the behavior of dissidents. This influences our understanding of why coercion is used by governments for one would expect authority-oriented sources to identify more repressive activity relative to challengers and thereby identify a well-functioning state as well as a weak societal challenge. These catalogs would identify the Law of the Instrument as the driving force behind state repression. By contrast, dissident-oriented sources would tend to identify a more contentious (and equitable) battle between challengers and authorities and thereby identify a more vulnerable authority and a more competitive societal challenge. Consequently, these catalogs would be associated with domestic realism. In addition to this, it is likely that both sources would attribute repressive behavior to high-profile dissident activity, for this is precisely what they would be inclined to cover. This would lead to highlighting a certain aspect of political order and domestic realism. At the same time, it is only the dissident-oriented source that would likely find an influence of lower-profile dissident activity, expanding the conception of what is deemed threatening and extending the realist argument over a wider range of activities. 87

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As a result of event coverage, therefore, I expect that how one understands repression is conditioned by perspective. Clearly, the inferences derived from the distinct sources are not random. Rather, in line with Kurosawa’s logic behind Rashomon, they reflect the position occupied by the source relative to the combatants involved in the contentious interaction and the existing political economy. For example, acknowledging different capabilities in accessing information, I expect that Hypothesis 18: Physically distant sources generally support explanations involving authorities (i.e., the Law of the Instrument). Governments and their activities are the easiest to access relative to dissidents and dissent. In the context of urban conflicts, they also tend to engage in visible activities, thus facilitating identification. In contrast, I expect that Hypothesis 19: Physically proximate sources generally support arguments highlighting both authorities and dissidents. The implications regarding orientation are similarly straightforward. For example, Hypothesis 20: State-oriented sources should highlight dissent when the onset of repression is considered (i.e., behavioral threat) but then highlight authorities when continuation and magnitude of repressive behavior are being discussed (i.e., bureaucratic inertia). This communicates that challengers “started it” and that authorities responded with overwhelming coercive power, a position similar to that described by Foucault. Coverage of this type suggests that activism and resistance are futile as well as illegitimate. In contrast, Hypothesis 21: Dissident-oriented sources should highlight authorities initially and then focus on dissidents. This communicates that authorities “started it” and that challengers responded with overwhelming or at least consistent levels of activism. Such coverage is intended to show that citizens can not only challenge the status quo but also possibly defeat it. As identified earlier, dissidents may be self-sustaining in their narrative accounts of contention. Here, 88

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Hypothesis 22: Dissident-oriented sources highlight dissident activities, thereby focusing the explanation of the state’s actions on challenges (i.e., behavioral threat). Here, those taking on the state begin dissident activity to address a particular need, and they continue to engage in relevant behavior essentially without government interference. This position is likely adopted by a source interested in the demands of the Panthers but not in their contentious relationship with the U.S. government. The relative balance of coverage is not the only aspect of reporting that is deemed important. The range of activities identified by sources is also relevant. For example, the type of repression and dissent covered is useful in evaluating explanations for state repression because Hypothesis 23: Highlighting a smaller range of dissident activities, authority-oriented sources suggest that the behavioral threats prompting state repression is fewer in number. By contrast, Hypothesis 24: Highlighting a larger range of challenging behavior, dissident-oriented sources increase the range of repression-worthy targets and the perceived sensitivity of the state. These differences are not simple artifacts of data collection; rather, they convey important information about why different actors believe conflict exists. For example, authority-oriented sources highlight dissident activities they are aware of and thus focus on those that are largest in scale and those that target government explicitly. This legitimates the repressive effort by making it appear as if state behavior is merely directed against the most dangerous types of challenge and those that are least likely to generate resistance from ordinary citizens if repressed. Indeed, when dissent of this type takes place, repression seems like an almost natural response (“of course authorities would sanction those that directly confront them”). Having greater access to and interest in dissent, however, dissident-oriented sources not only highlight activities that are large scale, violent, and state focused but also identify events that are smaller, nonviolent, and not aimed at the state. This complicates the repressive effort as well as the legitimacy of such behavior, for both the obviously dangerous and the less obviously threatening dissident activities are targeted for state sanction. In this context, the response to dissent seems less natural, less straightforward; indeed, in cases 89

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when repression is employed against less threatening dissident behavior, repression seems unnatural, illegitimate, and illegal.

Summary Within this chapter, I provided an overview of the academic literature concerning repressive behavior and identified how investigations of the topic using event catalogs have at once advanced and hindered our ability to understand what takes place. How is the Rashomon Effect relevant and what does it tell us about state repression? Within this framework, it is clear that not all observers/recorders are equally responsive to different types of dissent and coercive action. Some forms are more consistently covered in sources than others. For example, it is expected that repressive behavior is generally important to everyone, diverse forms are more easily identifiable (e.g., restrictions on civil liberties as well as violations of personal integrity) and are more frequently covered in distributed information, and causal influences concerning this behavior will be fairly stable across sources. Additionally, it is expected that violent dissent is threatening to political authorities and domestic order as well as relatively easy to identify. As a result, these types of contentious behavior will be found more consistently in sources, and causal influences concerning this behavior will be more stable across them. By contrast, nonstate, nonviolent behavior is less likely to be covered and causal inferences concerning it will be fairly unstable. The investigation of these claims is undertaken in Chapter 5. In the next chapter, I provide the background for the interaction between the Black Panthers and the U.S. government, as well as the information about how the database was created.

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PART II

Cases

4 The Black Panther Party vs. the United States, 1967–1973 BACKGROUND

The original vision of the Black Panther Party was to serve the needs of the oppressed people in our communities and defend them against their oppressors. When the Party was initiated we knew that these goals would raise the consciousness of the people and motivate them to move more firmly for their total liberation. We also recognized that we live in a country which has become one of the most repressive governments in the world; repressive in communities all over the world. We did not expect such a repressive government to stand idly by while the Black Panther Party went forward to the goal of serving the people. We expected repression. The Black Panther Party – Dr. Huey P. Newton Foundation (2008)

The U.S. government’s response to the Oakland/California wing of the Black Panther Party is a very complex one that is difficult to comprehend. Essentially, events took place throughout the Bay Area and throughout California related to the Bay Area chapter: in the streets, in community centers, at the state capitol, at courthouses, in police stations, in parks, and in front of supermarkets. These activities involved thousands of people, with some more visible than others. Because of this situation, there has never really been a rigorous investigation of repression directed against the BPP nor of the behavior of the Panthers themselves directed against authorities and other political-economic elites ( Jones 1998). My objective in this chapter is to begin to overcome this limitation. Specifically, I discuss the origins of the Bay Area Black Panthers, as well as their objectives and tactics. I then discuss the government’s general approach to repression directed against the BPP. Two categories of coercive behavior are considered: (1) protest policing (i.e., questioning, arrests, and raids) at public events but also in private locales such as homes, 93

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meeting places, driving, and on a street corner,1 and (2) court activity (i.e., trials, rulings, and grand juries). Following this, I discuss the newspapers used to create the event catalogs of BPP and anti-BPP activity. In the next chapter, these are used to understand how the political orientation of consulted sources and to a lesser extent spatial distance influenced what was reported. I then use these catalogs to examine how event coverage impacts our comprehension of state repressive behavior.

The Black Panther Party and “Fighting the Man” In many ways, understanding the BPP is like trying to hit a moving target. Some aspects of the organization are clear as day, whereas others appear, like clouds, shifting repeatedly. As conventionally told, the beginning of the Panthers is simple. In 1965, Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale (the cofounders of the organization as well as the theoretical and tactical driving forces throughout its history) met at Merritt College, where they had been student activists in the Afro-American Association and the Soul Students Advisory Council (Pickney 1976: 98). Leaving college, the two conducted research about the problems afflicting blacks in Oakland and the surrounding counties, discussing and later developing numerous resolutions to what they discovered (e.g., armed self-defense and social service delivery). In October 1966, Newton and Seale formally joined with other African Americans throughout the Bay Area and later in California as well as different parts of the United States to form the Black Panthers. First and foremost, the primary focus of this group was the end of police brutality and economic inequality. In addition to these objectives, the organization also espoused an interest in establishing black control over diverse aspects of African American life (e.g., education, housing, and health care), achieving exemption from military service, and obtaining just treatment throughout American society. The organization later began to open chapters throughout the country – most notably for the purposes of this research, California. The reality of the Panthers was more complex than conventional wisdom suggests. For example, neither Newton nor Seale were as unfamiliar with activism as commonly believed. Both had been affiliated with the Revolutionary Action Movement (RAM) – a Maoist organization devoted to overthrowing the capitalist system – although they left the organization prior to creating the BPP (as early as 1965). RAM was notable for its twelve-point 1

Traditional protest policing literature is exclusively focused on public events.

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program, which included a call for rifle clubs and an underground vanguard. The Bay Area BPP adopted the first two approaches (i.e., the twelve-point program and rifle clubs). Additionally, RAM started the first Black Panther Party chapter in New York. Newton and Seale were therefore not the youthful entrepreneurs of urban radicalism they were commonly portrayed to be; rather, they had cut their activist “teeth” on a foundation established by Robert F. Williams, Malcolm X, and Max Stanford – black radical theorists and practitioners who together founded RAM and inaugurated a new vision of African American political engagement. The paths followed were not identical. Indeed, the difference between the Panther organizations on the different coasts was significant. For example, the New York/East Coast chapter did not engage in public, high-profile activity. Instead, they fashioned a black struggle that would move underground in isolation from other organizations, prior to overtly challenging the U.S. government. This would be done until the movement could command enough personnel and resources to bring about social change. The Bay Area/West Coast Panthers were very different on this score. For them, the struggle was to be waged in full view of America and the world, building alliances along the way with other diverse oppressed people. In addition, the struggle was not to be fought underground, and it would not be fought in isolation. In fact, the West Coast Panthers adopted strategies that were extremely brash and attention getting. The logic in this approach was clear: only by overt confrontation would the black power movement capture the imagination of African Americans, getting them to join these organizations and begin to repair the psychological damage that they suffered within the black community. An overt confrontational approach sent a clear message to whites as well: “Don’t fuck with us.” With this in mind, the Bay Area Panthers openly carried weapons, collectively monitored interactions between police and African Americans, and boycotted high-profile political-economic adversaries. Less visible but directly related to addressing the needs of African Americans, the BPP also ran educational facilities, distributed food, and created a newspaper – the Black Panther Intercommunal Newservice. Although it is the case that the previously identified activities constituted the BPP’s full repertoire of action, it would be incorrect to suggest that all were applied equally at all times. A number of differences have been identified in the literature. For example, from the BPP’s origins until the time that Newton was released in 1970, the organization was highly combative and confrontational. After Newton came out of prison, however, party leadership made a conscious effort to 95

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decrease aggressive political engagement and to increase community service (e.g., conducting tests for sickle cell anemia, which disproportionately affected African Americans, and expanding free breakfast programs). These changes were made to explicitly alter the popular image of the BPP as well as to reduce the amount of repression directed against the organization.2 As to what the Panthers believed and what they were trying to create, we find greater complexity. While many viewed the BPP, with its advocacy of armed self-defense, fiery rhetoric, discussion of progressive cultural programs, and revolution (at home and abroad), as representing something of a distinct change in African American activism from what had preceded it, there is actually quite a bit of support for the fact that they were just part of a larger trajectory within black contentious activity and political thought dating back to the early 1900s. Indeed, the simplistic caricature frequently used to describe the BPP grossly misrepresents the reality of the situation. Part of the difficulty with understanding the BPP’s objectives is a lack of understanding about black nationalism in general. As discussed by Marable (1991: 55), the ideas of nationalism include the rejection of racial integration; a desire to develop all Black socio-economic institutions; an affinity for the cultural and political heritage of Black Africa; a commitment to create all-Black political structures to fight against white racism; a deep reluctance to participate in coalitions which involved a white majority; the advocacy of armed self-defense of the Black community; and in religion and culture, an ethos and spirituality which consciously rejected the imposition of white western dogmas.

Accordingly, the fundamental principles of the Panthers were varied and complex. The situation was further complicated by the fact that the BPP did not wholeheartedly adopt all aspects of this belief system simultaneously.3 For example, in the beginning the BPP advocated armed self-defense and in certain respects this defined the organization as well as 2

3

The toll of these activities by 1970 was significant. Indeed, in the January 4 issue of the BPINS, they had a long, detailed article called “Review of Panther Growth and Harassment,” which identifies precisely what activities were targeted against Panther leadership as well as grassroots members. This article identifies a wide range of charges (from concealed weapons, possession of marijuana and/or explosives, assault, robbery, assaulting an officer, conspiracy to commit arson, attempted murder to murder) and a large amount of bail (from $75 for Dexter Woods in San Francisco for violating a curfew to $30,000 for Geronimo Pratt in Los Angeles for conspiracy to commit murder). This is similar to the situation for individual African Americans (e.g., Marable 1991; Davis and Brown 2002).

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its relationship with authorities (e.g., Umoja 2001). Viewing police as an occupying “army,” Panther members attempted to simultaneously inspire/ empower African Americans, intimidate police officers, and shock the media. No incident better captured this than the events at the state capitol in Sacramento, California, on May 2, 1967, when approximately thirty armed Panthers inadvertently “invaded” the senate floor and read a statement protesting the Mulford Act, which attempted to limit private ownership of firearms.4 Countering hostile police activity, however, was only one of the BPP concerns (even if it was a crucial component and in many ways a defining element). Frequently emphasizing race in its discussion of social, economic, and political issues (especially in the early days) the Panthers also focused on the “problems, grievances and demands of the dispossessed Black population” (Hayes and Kiene 1998: 162). Further highlighting their distinction from the traditional civil rights movement, which tended to focus exclusively on middle- and working-class individuals and on reforming the existing political economy, the BPP was also largely concerned with the poor, the “lumpen-proletariat” (Booker 1998),5 and with influencing those parts of the political economy directly relevant to these African Americans. By most accounts, the problems that the BPP focused upon were not new. As Crowe (2000: 228) states quite clearly: “The racial unrest of the late 1960s (in the Bay Area and throughout California) was produced by the decades-old conflicts over fair employment, decent housing, segregated schools, and police brutality.6 Here, everything began plainly enough. In an effort to escape the horrific political and economic situation in the South, as well as to address the immense labor shortage in the industrial sector during World War II, African Americans moved to the Bay Area in particular and California in general at historically unprecedented levels.7 This activity was facilitated through Executive Order 8802 (on June 25 1941), which outlawed racial 4 5 6

7

This was something deemed particularly important for blacks in general and the BPP in particular (e.g., Seale [1968] 1991: Chapter 3). Many argue that the BPP was primarily composed of this group, but as Jones and Jeffries (1998: 44–5) state, this was not the case. Of course, African Americans were not uniformly excluded from the “good life” in the Bay Area nor consistently treated in a hostile manner; there was some variation in engagement and success – albeit ending in a generally negative fashion by the 1960s and 1970s. This was attributed to Executive Order 8802 because “[f ]or the first time since Reconstruction the federal government promised fair and nondiscriminatory treatment of minorities in federal employment and housing” (McBroome 1993: 108).

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discrimination, by any wartime industry receiving federal contracts; this order was issued by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The impact on demographic patterns was significant as well as immediate. For example, between 1940 and 1945, the black population of San Francisco, Oakland, and Richmond – three of the most populous locales in the Bay Area – increased by 665.8, 341.1, and 5,003 percent, respectively (Broussard 1993: 134).8 Following the war, migration continued at a reduced pace (McBroome 1993: 129). In many respects, the end of World War II (in conjunction with the political and economic changes that were occurring during the Cold War) dramatically altered the gains that African Americans had made earlier. Whereas World War II gave blacks an opening for employment, a means to travel to California in general and the Bay Area in particular as well as a socioeconomic support system once they arrived, victory, peace, and the Cold War took away from blacks what had been extended – eliminating the wartime industries, the extension of various social services, and the desire to accommodate the “outsiders.” Now, to be accurate, it was less that the economy was taken away than that it was transformed in a manner minimally hospitable to the burgeoning African American community. The outcome, however, was still the same. Between 1948 and 1960, there was a shift in the Bay Area away from manufacturing and wholesale toward retail, finance, insurance, real estate, transportation, utilities, tourism, and high-tech industries – areas in which the African American presence was limited because of historical restrictions in unions, education, and training.9 The physical isolation of these industries (outside of the area where blacks resided) was another problem barring African American entry (e.g., Farley et al. 2000). This change 8

Conducting an analysis of census tracts, Tauber and Tauber (1966: 67) find that: San Francisco has had a stable system of census tracts for several decades. . . . In 1940, San Francisco’s population included 603,000 whites, 5,000 Negroes, and 27,000 persons of other races (18,000 Chinese, 5,000 Japanese, 3,000 Filipinos). By 1960, the distribution had changed: 604,000 whites, 74,000 Negroes, and 62,000 persons of other races (36,000 Chinese, 9,000 Japanese, 12,000 Filipinos). . . . During this period, the other races were dispersing residentially, becoming less segregated from whites (something that they were not doing earlier), and, in the process, more segregated from Negroes. Negroes remained at about the same level of segregation from whites in all years.

9

While labor increased 250 percent between 1950 and 1980, 20 percent was found within the high-tech industry (Hossfeld 1995: 405) – a dramatic change from the manufacturing orientation of the wartime economy and the period immediately afterward.

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occurred slowly because defense allocations from the government were still being pumped into the Bay Area, but it was immediately apparent that the postwar environment outlays were different. For instance, there was less interest in ships (an industry in which the African American presence was significant) than in planes and missiles (which traditionally employed fewer blacks) (Cornford 1995: 19).10 The implications of this shift were important. As African Americans were concentrated in the most undervalued industries within the new economy and as they lacked seniority unions (because of their late and restricted entry), they quickly found themselves being laid off in large numbers in the 1950s and 1960s (e.g., Broussard 1993, 210) while at the same time being blocked by numerous discriminatory practices from moving into other areas (McBroome 1993: Chapter 5). Additionally, as blacks were concentrated in the most undervalued and underdeveloped real estate (lacking investment, services, and adequate space), they found themselves in a deplorable housing situation and with few options – again, in large part due to the wide assortment of discriminatory practices found throughout the Bay Area (e.g., Rorabaugh 1989: 54–5; McBroome 1993: 144–5). The Panthers’ focus on poverty, poor services, and police brutality (discussed later) thus made the organization directly relevant to the most important issues confronting the majority of the African American population in the Bay Area. This focus also places the Panthers broadly within the Black Nationalist camp. Although fitting with the traditional nationalist program in certain ways, however, the BPP simultaneously represented a major divergence. For example, the Panthers were hesitant about calling for a black “nation” – a major point adopted by several Black Nationalists. Indeed, Newton, the main BPP theoretician, suggested that until the oppressive state of America was wiped out, there would be no freedom for those with or without states (Newton 1972: 98). The BPP thus did not completely disagree with the nationalist objective but rather questioned the timing of when the action relevant for achieving it should be implemented. The Panthers also disdained those who believed that African American salvation lay in adopting African culture and/or moving back to the continent – another point advocated by several black nationalists. Indeed, the Panthers were quite American and Western in their objectives, as well as in many of the means used to achieve them. 10

In the minds of decision makers, the Cold War was not going to be fought at sea but rather in the sky.

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These were not the only differences. Further distancing themselves from other black nationalists, the BPP decided relatively early on that coalitions would be formed with white liberals, radicals, and any other groups that sought to bring about political-economic change. This approach made sense for several reasons: (1) it drew upon a long tradition of black political thought/activism, and (2) most of the existing African American organizations adopted similar strategies (e.g., McAdam 1982; McBroome 1993: 153–4; Marable 1991: 119–23; Jones 1998). Equally important, this approach drew upon a long history of black– white coalitions in the Bay Area. In fact, the relationship with whites is an important but neglected aspect of Panther history. For example, Rorabaugh (1989: 76), argued that the more traditional black nationalist position, advocated elsewhere in the United States during the 1960s, would never have had a chance in the Bay Area because of the peculiar relationship that had existed there between blacks, on the one hand, and white liberals as well as radicals on the other. As he states: The strength of the liberal coalition and of biracial community ventures in [the Bay] made it difficult for Blacks to articulate a position of Black Power. Power in [the Bay] was destined to be shared through a coalition rather than through any claim to exclusive use of power. Yet the Black need to escape the suffocation of white benevolence was just as great in [the Bay] as in the rest of Black America. . . . The result was that Black extremism in [the Bay] took a peculiar form. At one and the same time, Black militants had to articulate a sense of Black autonomy that resonated with the Black Power rhetoric of Stokely Carmichael while acceding to the pattern of biracial cooperation that had become a hallmark of [the Bay] politics since 1961. The movement would have to be both autonomous and nonracist.11 11

The existence of relatively active liberal as well as radical whites was also something distinct in the Bay Area. For example, despite the political climate present at the time, [t]he Left . . . continued to occupy a curious and unique place in the Bay Area. During the 1950s, when the national communist party decided to go underground, party leaders in California remained visible. While national membership dropped by two-thirds, California membership fell only one-third. During the 1960s the national party became stodgy, but California communists . . . showed an increasing willingness to make alliances. In most of the country the communist-backed W. E. B. Dubois clubs competed with Students for a Democratic Society, the major national organization for noncommunist liberal or leftist college students. But in the Bay Area, where SDS was weak, the Dubois clubs cooperated with SDS as well as other leftist groups. (Rorabaugh 1989: 88) Whites were also quite active during the relevant period. College students in the Free Speech Movement challenged the Regents and the universities, members of the New Left challenged universities but also various other political and economic organizations, hippies challenged seemingly everyone in the Hippie/Countercultural Movement and all began to

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The Panthers represented an attempt to balance these diverse positions. Although forcefully articulated, the Panthers’ political orientation was far from fixed (e.g., Seale [1968] 1991; Edwards 1974; Hayes and Kiene 1998). Many aspects of the BPP ideological framework remained stable over time; however, several of them changed and did so dramatically. Early on, during the Panthers’ “revolutionary nationalist” period,12 the BPP accepted that blacks were too few in number to take over and transform the existing political economy by themselves and that they therefore had to adopt a more class-oriented strategy advocating “a people’s revolution with the end goal being the people in power” (Hayes and Kiene 1998: 164). Here socialistic transformation of the existing state was sought with the assistance of all who wished to engage in the effort – a position consistent with an understanding of Bay Area coalition building and efforts at social change across diverse communities throughout California. Around 1970 (during the “revolutionary internationalist” period), the BPP came to accept that the United States was not simply a nation-state but a global “empire” and that all efforts directed against this empire would need to be widely supported: not only among poor and radicalized people within the United States but also among others abroad. This awareness led to relations with the South Vietnamese People’s Liberation forces as well as with organizations in China and North Korea (Hayes and Kiene 1998: 170). Later in 1970, during a third phase, the BPP entered a period of “revolutionary intercommunalism.” Here, the organization further emphasized international connections between oppressed people and the establishment of global socialism. After 1971 (until 1973, when my investigation ends), the Panthers underwent yet another shift in ideology and strategy, focusing on “survival” programs (such as health clinics) and domestic politics (such as housing discrimination and health care). During this period, there was less discussion about global revolution and challenging authority, and there was a greater effort made to survive as an organization and as a community. By this time, the BPP had accepted the rules of the game and they attempted to work without confrontation within the confines of the existing political economy.

12

join to protest Vietnam. Indeed, in many ways, the white Bay Area community was at war with itself. Identifying the timing of the different periods is difficult to achieve. My discussion represents merely an effort to discuss them briefly so that one can understand the evolution/changes that took place.

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The Authority’s Response In contrast to the varied as well as changing behavior and rhetoric of the BPP, the authority’s response to the Panthers was relatively stable over time. In defense of existing organizational structures, priorities, and practices, officials throughout the Bay Area and California sought to counter and/or eliminate the BPP. The reasons for this were straightforward: [t]he Panthers represented everything that conservative, white American elites feared the most. Not only were they Black, but they espoused the need for a Marxist revolution, frequently brandished guns, and loudly proclaimed the right to use violence to defend themselves against attack in language that, to most Americans, was frightening and violated all the rules of polite middle class behavior. (Goldstein 1978: 523)

Accordingly, the tactics applied against the Panthers were clear as well. Reflecting an approach that was adopted throughout the United States at the time, the “escalated force” style of protest policing employed by the government revolved around five standard practices: r “First Amendment rights were either ignored or disregarded as mere cover for demonstrators” (McPhail, Schweingruber, and McCarthy 1998: 51); r “ . . . only familiar and ‘comfortable’ forms of political protest were tolerated, those police described as ‘peaceful rallies’ and ‘polite picketing’”(McPhail, Schweingruber, and McCarthy 1998: 52); r “Communication between police and demonstrators was minimal” (McPhail, Schweingruber, and McCarthy 1998: 52); r “ . . . arrests quickly followed any violation of the law and sometimes occurred where no law had been broken. Arrests were forceful and were used strategically by police to target and remove ‘agitators’” (McPhail, Schweingruber, and McCarthy 1998: 53); and r The approach “was characterized by the use of force as a standard way of dealing with demonstrators” (McPhail, Schweingruber, and McCarthy 1998: 53). In the case of the BPP, these activities generally involved two types of government agents: the police and the courts. Complexity arises as to precisely how these agents were used against the Panthers. Although a few aspects of the authority’s response are well known (popularized in newspapers, magazines, feature films, documentaries, autobiographies, academic books, and journal articles), what is not commonly acknowledged is that 102

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the approach to confronting the Black Panthers did not arise in the 1960s and 1970s. Similar to the factors accounting for the emergence of the BPP, the origin of the repressive strategy also dated back to the early 1940s, when blacks migrated to the Bay Area and California seeking employment as well as a better life, while whites attempted to protect themselves and their interests. Confronted with the huge influx of African Americans, by most accounts, Bay Area whites responded with a certain degree of animosity – and employed diverse sociopolitical sanctions against them. From the beginning of the in-migration, blacks brought to the fore an important distinction between “natives” (whites), who had roots and rights within the Bay Area, and “outsiders” (blacks and other nonwhites [e.g., Asians and Latinos]), who were considered to be guests in the area and who were expected to leave after they had completed their “work.” Similar to the case of the Turkish guest workers in Germany following World War II, when the migrants did not leave (and, in fact, continued to come), the attitude and behavior of the white majority changed. For the conservatives and those wishing to protect the Anglo American way of life, the situation provided justification for treating African Americans in a hostile manner. In this context, even many liberals found it hard to work and achieve anything for (and with) African Americans. Thus in the area of housing segregation, McBroome (1993: 91) notes that, during this time, San Francisco and the East Bay . . . experienced [what is commonly referred to as] the “Chicago effect” which Allan Spear noted in his urban study of Black Chicago . . . when the Black population is small, the white population does not fear it; but, when numbers increased, conflict occurs. . . . As more African-Americans came to the Bay Area after 1941 patterns of residential segregation increased with the use of occupancy clauses in deeds and leases that restricted residential minorities to certain areas of Oakland and the East Bay. This “Chicago effect” continued to deny equal opportunity in housing to African-Americans long after the war had ended.

Of course, the restrictions were not limited to housing and extended into other areas. Indeed, the native–outsider distinction is particularly noteworthy in the realm of black–authority relations. Similar to the housing situation, when the African American population was small, there were few interactions between the police, the courts, and the black population. As Asians were generally believed to be more “threatening” at the time (given their sheer numbers), the supervision and control of this community was deemed far more important. Even the attempts at advocacy undertaken by African Americans were largely tolerated by 103

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political authorities and the larger white citizenry. Small in size and following a nonconfrontational and legal strategy in line with what would be popularized by the civil rights movements, these efforts were actually quite successful in many ways. When the black population increased, however, so did white efforts to supervise and control this community through restrictions and force. As stated by Crowe (2000: 86): [b]y the early 1960s, the battle lines between Black residents and white policemen had been drawn throughout the Bay Area. The bonds of trust that had linked, however weakly, private citizens and law enforcement officials in the prewar era were stretched taut. Resentment grew on both sides as African Americans demanded more accountability from police departments and officers resisted any constraints on their authority. The situation deteriorated throughout the decade as the campaign of official violence waged against African Americans from police headquarters continued unabated.

Indeed, according to the available evidence, it seems reasonable to say that in the 1960s the white police force was engaged in a low-level “terroristic” campaign against the politically, economically, physically, and culturally isolated black community (e.g., Johnson 1995: 360). This coercion was directed against not just activists who aggressively sought social change but also against ordinary black citizens. One explanation for the escalation in police violence directed against African Americans advanced by whites at the time was that the police were simply responding to increased levels of crime and violence existing within the black community. It is frequently noted that in the 1940s there was a growth in petty crime and that beginning in the mid-1950s and continuing up until the early 1960s, there was a growth in the number of young, black street gangs within the Bay Area (Crowe 2000: 80–2). This having been said, there does not appear to be any support for the argument that the police were merely countering the widespread violence of black gangs, for the distribution of state-sanctioned violent activity was not limited to the youthful subset of the African American community. Indeed, violent and aggressive behavior was used routinely against seemingly everyone in black neighborhoods – from kids in the street to the elderly in their own front yards, from the poor to the wealthy, during criminal arrests but also during routine interactions with African Americans. This suggests that something else was going on. Alternatively, one could focus on the composition of the police force in an attempt to provide an explanation for government violence. For example, 104

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it has frequently been observed that as blacks were making their way from the South, whites were doing the same and in large numbers (dramatically transforming the culture that had existed beforehand). The locales from which these individuals came included some of the worst in terms of racial violence (e.g., Tolnay and Beck 1995), and there is no reason to believe that these individuals, cloistered within the Bay Area and essentially isolated from one another, would not continue to maintain hostile beliefs and/or interactions. As whites from these locales found their way into law enforcement (an option for Southern whites during and after World War II), the increase in violent police activity makes sense. Of course, dynamics within the police force only provide part of the explanation for state behavior. The support for and willingness to tolerate repressive action by the larger white population was also relevant. Considering this factor also explains violent police action. For example, given the context of the Cold War and the mood in the aftermath of the riots that took place in the mid-to-late 1960s (Feagin and Hahn 1973: 236), it would not be expected that whites would tolerate African American radicalism or militancy. By this time, much of the anti-Red hysteria had calmed but in many respects it had simply become institutionalized as well as integrated into the culture, to be utilized whenever it was deemed necessary. Additionally, it is clear from existing literature that there was a strong business elite that dominated most aspects of political, economic, and cultural life in the Bay. During the Cold War these individuals were particularly attuned to the rhetoric of communism/socialism. The reasons were twofold: (1) such an orientation explicitly challenged their way of doing business, and (2) such an orientation was directly in line with the desires of the U.S. government with whom they had closely collaborated during the war. Any organization that was associated with the challengers’ belief system was therefore one that local elites would wish to eliminate or at least contain. Indeed, such a dark shadow was cast over anything affiliated with radical activity that any organization identified in this realm would be unacceptable to white elites and the mass white public. In this context, repressive agents would feel that they could act without fear of reprisal. I, of course, do not wish to suggest that opinion on these matters was uniform. Clearly, there were dueling opinions among whites within the Bay Area and California. This is something generally missed within conventional discussions of the Panthers. For example, on the one hand, there were whites who generally supported the politics of the left (especially in the Bay Area) – who had engaged in efforts to improve the conditions of labor 105

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and who had joined with blacks earlier in their struggles to improve their lives. For this group, radical African Americans would generally be supported (especially nonviolent actors), and repression of their efforts would be unacceptable. On the other hand, the majority of white citizens (elites and others) did not appear to hold beliefs that were sympathetic to African Americans, and thus they were less inclined to support black dissidents or to take a negative view of political repression directed against them (especially when they engaged in violent behavior).

Summary Within this chapter, I have discussed the origin of the Black Panther Party based in Oakland, as well as the general approach undertaken by U.S. authorities against the group. While trying to establish the general context within which both emerged, I also attempted to address important differences that existed. It was consistently identified that neither the objectives nor behavior of the Panthers or the police were especially unique. Rather, I argued that they generally represent specific responses to broader historical patterns. Such contextualization is largely missed when the Black Panthers and their repression are discussed.

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5 An Event Catalog of Dissent and Repression THE BPP IN THE BAY AREA

Event catalogs have long figured centrally in empirical studies of political struggle. European and American governments began collecting official reports on work stoppages during the later nineteenth century. From that point on, statistically minded analysts began conducting quantitative analyses of industrial conflict based on government data. Not until after World War II, however, did analysts dealing with other forms of struggle start constructing parallel data sets for revolutions, coups d’´etat, international wars, civil wars, and domestic collective violence. Charles Tilly “Event Catalogs as Theories,” Sociological Theory (2008)

Adopting the Rashomon approach, identifying combatants, their strategies, as well as the historical context, provides only part of the story. The other part concerns the observers who recorded and distributed information about the conflict itself – in this case, newspapers. Several of the sources examined in my study are familiar to those in the event catalog tradition (in particular, The New York Times – the benchmark by which most catalogs are assessed). Most presses employed within the current research, however, have never been used in the relevant literature (e.g., local, ethnic, alternative, and radical presses).1 The diversity of the newspapers used here is significant for it provides us with a wide variety of perspectives regarding the interaction between the BPP and the authorities. After first providing an overview of all newspapers available in the Bay Area during the 1960s 1

Although the former has a long history – especially in the United States, it has (with most newspapers in the United States) diminished significantly over time. Compared to ethnic presses and more mainstream commercial presses, the latter’s history is somewhat less stable over time. In fact, many would argue that they existed for only brief periods of time and had their heyday during the 1960s and 1970s.

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and the1970s and specifically those employed within the current research, I discuss the event catalogs generated from this material.

Newspapers in the Bay Area What was the Bay Area print media like between 1967 and 1973 (the period of interest to the current study)? According to a comprehensive survey of newspapers conducted by Rivers and Rubin (1971) in 1968 and 1969,2 it was concluded: the Bay area [was] awash in newspapers. It [was] served by 28 dailies [10 morning, 18 evening – a total daily circulation of 1.6 million], plus 96 weeklies and over a dozen papers that [were] published monthly or two or three times a week, a few of them in exotic languages: Chinese, Portuguese, Spanish and Radical. Since many of these papers appear[ed] [to be quite profitable], one could easily assume that the nearly 5 million Bay Area residents were being informed up to their eyeballs. (Rivers and Rubin 1971: 9–10)

Similar to the pattern found throughout the United States at the time, different newspapers held distinct monopolies over specific geographic areas (i.e., their sales were quite significant within particular communities/markets). As stated in the Rivers and Rubin study: [t]he big five papers . . . set the pattern for a combination that [was] proving popular for owners of newspapers at all circulation levels. The Chronicle and Examiner [had] carved up the San Francisco market. . . . The San Jose Mercury and News [were] both owned by the Ridder family (and were therefore part of a communications empire stretching from St. Paul to Southern California). The Tribune [was] alone in Oakland and the dominant force in most of the East Bay. (Rivers and Rubin 1971: 22)

Of course, as Rivers and Rubin (1971: 9–10) also indicate: news coverage [was] not neatly geographic, with each paper covering its own ground. Nearly every newspaper pushe[d] its circulation range as far as it consider[ed] it financially feasible and then attempt[ed] to cover the news in the circulation area. In many cases, the result [was] thin coverage nearly everywhere. 2

This study collected tremendous amounts of data about the press. Specifically, information was gathered in three ways: First, [Rivers and Rubin] read as many editions of the papers under study as possible, plus many of the weeklies and underground papers as [they] could track down [Emphasis being given to San Francisco, Oakland and San Jose]. Second, [Rivers and Rubin] interviewed executives and reporters of many papers, recognizing that the choice of interviewees greatly shaped [their] perception of the internal workings of each paper. Third, [they used] some quantitative measures such as column inches and story placement to give [their] admittedly subjective judgments a more solid foundation. (Rivers and Rubin 1971: 37)

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In other respects, the Bay Area print media was quite different from what was generally found in the United States. For example, the size of the political “left” in this locale was quite significant during the period of interest, and this meant that there was a particularly large number of alternative and radical newspapers in the area. These papers, along with a thriving series of ethnic presses, provided one of the most diverse media environments in the country. Although all newspapers sought to distribute stories to as many people as possible, there seemed to be a clearly defined division of labor with regard to the type of stories reported. For example, larger, daily, metropolitan newspapers, which attempted to appeal to an extremely large audience, covered “at some length and in some depth not only local, regional and state news, but also news of the world” (Rivers and Rubin 1971: 11). By contrast, weeklies, which were affiliated with a variety of categories (e.g., student, grassroots, and ethnic), tended to concentrate on a smaller audience and focused more exclusively on local events. Some newspapers were not identified by the focus of their news stories, the size of the desired audience, or their frequency of circulation but by the type of information they distributed. For instance, “community”-oriented papers focused on information that was relevant to a particular subset of a population and presented this information in a matter-of-fact, nonconfrontational manner. By contrast, “radical,” “underground,” and “dissident” presses maintained a somewhat broader view of their relevant geographic domain (encompassing local, national, and international political events ignored by other news organizations) while highlighting actors/activities that directly challenged existing authorities – and frequently doing so in a highly aggressive manner.

Developing the BPP–Authority Event Catalogs The data-collection effort used to investigate Panther-related repression undertaken here was drawn from a larger research effort conducted by a team of research assistants and myself between 1997 and 2000 (Davenport 1997).3 Specifically, the research proceeded as follows. To begin, relevant sections of different newspapers from 1967 (starting on January 1) through 1973 (ending on December 31) were read.4 For this 3 4

The difficulties encountered while conducting this research have been discussed in Dahlerus and Davenport (1999). Editorials were not coded, nor sports pages, personal ads, or advertisements.

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exercise, coders identified all events5 that involved the Bay Area BPP and Bay Area affiliated–BPP throughout California6 as well as all events involving police agencies and courts at the local, state, and federal levels that were directed against the relevant Panther organization. In addition to identifying the type of event that took place, coders also noted the date, time, and place (street address and/or county) of the relevant activities, the name(s) and estimated number of the actors involved, and the objectives of the action undertaken and the outcome of relevant behavior (if available).7 Expanding upon existing literature, BPP behavior was classified into eight categories: (1) dissent, (2) statements, (3) criminal activity, (4) legal behavior, (5) electoral behavior, (6) organizational cohesion, (7) organizational change, and (8) miscellaneous collective action. In line with previous research, the variable Dissent – the traditional measure for behavioral challenge – identified BPP demonstrations, rallies, boycotts, and other forms of collective action undertaken by the Black Panther Party directed against political authorities and/or economic elites in the United States.8 In addition to this variable, I compiled information that had not previously 5

6

7

8

As defined commonly in the literature, “events” are defined by three criteria: location, participation, and temporality. Events take place in particular places (i.e., some defined spatial locale), involve particular individuals (i.e., members of a defined community such as common citizens, challengers, and authorities), and last for particular amounts of time (e.g., an hour, a day, or a week; most adopt the convention that where singular events normally take place over the course of a day and when they exceed these parameters additional events are indicated). Given the interconnections between many of the chapters in California, I also paid attention to events in other parts of the state where members who were mentioned in the Bay Area were identified as being involved. This involves explicit recruitment from Bay Area Panthers, extensive contact/interaction through visits, phone, or mail as well as extensive training. Acknowledging the limitation with human coding, I essentially relied upon one well-trained individual to code the various newspapers. While much slower than employing multiple coders and likely subject to some error, the errors would at least be consistent throughout the effort. As a way to gauge the effectiveness of this coding effort, other individuals were hired, trained, and assigned to various randomly selected time periods to code (three months of a newspaper). Correlations ranged between 68 and 87 percent with the normal coder always identifying more events as well as providing greater detail. After retaining a few of these individuals over a longer period of time (allowing them to become more familiar with the coding procedure), correlations increased to between 85 and 91 percent. For activity to be classified here, the BPP had to have an active role in the actual execution of the activity itself. If a few members of the Black Panthers were simply present at a rally for example, then this did not count (they had to explicitly and directly participate in the collective action in some manner). While it might seem important to differentiate between political authorities and economic elites, this distinction is not easily made within the Black Panther case. Frequently, the Panthers directed their actions against “Fascist pigs” and “avaricious businessmen” without distinguishing between them. Even when boycotting an

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been examined within the event catalog literature. 9 For example, I identified Statements made by the Panthers about different issues at press conferences and in press releases (e.g., see Davenport and Eads [2001b] for an early use of these data). Additionally, I considered Criminal Activity undertaken by Panther members (e.g., robberies and hijacking), Legal Behavior (e.g., Panther use of the court system such as filing motions and lawsuits), Electoral Behavior (e.g., activities related to campaigning for elected office like giving speeches, debating other candidates, or holding rallies for electoral objectives), instances of Organizational Cohesion (e.g., meetings, parties, and other events at which members gathered), instances of Organizational Change (e.g., activities such as expulsions and appointments to positions), and Miscellaneous Collective Action (e.g., events such as funerals, conferences and the diverse social programs that the Panthers organized, such as the free breakfast program for children, sickle cell anemia tests, and educational instruction).10 Similar to existing conceptions of state repression, my research effort identified a wide range of activities undertaken by authorities to control and/or eliminate the BPP. These were grouped into two distinct categories.11 Following conventional research,12 I considered Police Behavior such as physical searches, questioning (e.g., asking a Panther member

9 10

11

12

economic establishment, the specific target would not be clear – at least not within the trace evidence revealed in this study. I was guided to this more encompassing measurement scheme from reading the different newspapers and extensive literature on the BPP. Data are currently being collected regarding internal characteristics of the BPP as well as various characteristics about the Bay. Despite neglecting these variables, the analysis is perceived as valid for lagged repression and dissent are two of the most strongly and consistently supported causal determinants within existing research (e.g., Poe and Tate 1994; Davenport 1995a; 1999a; 2007a,b; Moore 1998; 2000. Additionally, many of the variables normally considered within this work are likely invariant over the time period (e.g., economic development, polity characteristics of the Bay Area governing bodies), and, consequently, they are generally ignored within analyses that move below the nation-year as a unit of observation (e.g., Francisco 1996a). Reading the literature on the BPP–authority interaction, I immediately noticed that there was a lot of discussion about covert repressive behavior. Unfortunately, however, these activities were not covered in the Bay Area newspapers – at least not in any consistent manner. The only newspaper that discussed covert activity more than a few times was the Black Panther paper. The division highlighted here is not typically made within the literature. Attention to such issues is rare (Davenport 1999b; 2005). It is worthwhile to make this division, especially in the context of the Rashomon Effect because it is likely that certain actors are more diligently observed than others. For example, McAdam (1982); Taylor and Jodice (1983); Tilly (1986); Francisco (1996a; 2000); McCarthy (1996a); Earl and Soule (2006); Soule and Davenport (2009).

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about his/her activities and whereabouts), harassment (e.g., chastizing a particular individual on a street corner for some activity), detentions (e.g., holding a BPP member in a police car and/or in jail without charge before releasing him/her), arrests, and raids. Following somewhat less traditional research (e.g., Rude 1964; Thompson 1966), I also considered Court Behavior.13 This includes activity such as trial appearances, court rulings regarding the BPP, and the sentencing of Panthers after adjudication had been completed. In addition to these events, I collected information on behavior that involved both the BPP and the authorities – shootings. Generally believed to be one of the most frequent forms of contention in the Panther case and clearly the most controversial, these activities were identified when one or both of these actors used firearms against the other. Why were these activities attributed to both actors? As stated by Goldstein (1978: 527), “[m]any of the . . . of local police–Panther gunfights which occurred . . . are awash in contradictory claims, with the Panthers and the police each charging the other opened fire first or was in some way responsible for initiating violence.” This contradictory claim issue was so problematic for research on the BPP (including the Goldstein study) that in many cases there was no attempt to discern exactly who began the conflagration – only that it took place. For the purposes of my research, this convention is followed. As designed, the catalogs I created clearly improve upon traditional efforts for they offer insight into a wide variety of dissident and government actions at a much lower level aggregation than is typically considered. This design also improves upon many historical analyses of the Panthers and repression directed against them because it examines state–dissident interactions over a relatively long and historically important period of time. In contrast, most researchers tend to focus only on high-profile activities. Consequently, they lack the precision of a day-to-day investigation ( Jones 1998: 10–11).

Sources and Orientation Directly relevant to Rashomon, the most important aspect of this research concerns the variety of newspapers examined for the event catalogs. As 13

Some may believe that during one incident all aspects of police and court activity are reported. This disregards the fact that often a BPP member would be arrested and then released at the station or that a newspaper article may pay attention to the court activity and ignore how the BPP arrived there.

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discussed earlier, although two dimensions are believed to exert an influence on coverage, since most newspapers found ways around the spatial problem by employing “stringers” and wire services,14 I am particularly interested in political orientation – the affinity for or association with a particular source either the authorities or the dissidents. To ascertain this characteristic, I relied primarily upon the newspapers themselves to selfidentify. In addition to this, I relied on historical information about the relevant news organization.15 Each paper is discussed below.

West Coast Conflict for an East Coast Paper – The New York Times The first newspaper considered by this research is the premier source for event catalogs of contentious politics – the New York Times (the NYT ). The extensive literature relevant to this source has consistently identified it as a daily, white,16 mainstream paper with an international circulation. During the period of interest to this study, the NYT was characterized by three traits. First, the Times “solicited that patronage of intelligent Americans, who desire[d] information rather than entertainment, who want[ed] the facts unadorned and who placed first their country and the freedoms which it guarantees” (Shepard 1996: 75). As Halberstam (1979: 296) noted, “[The NYT ] was not by any stretch of the imagination a popular paper.” Rather, it sought to speak to and be useful for “people who have influence – the leaders of government and diplomacy, business tycoons, and other deep thinkers in the universities” (Reston 1991: 209). This approach frequently led to 14

15

16

Within this study, the locale of the newspaper is easy to identify and four out of five were located in the Bay Area. As a result, I do not consider this aspect of Rashomon to be addressed particularly well. Most sources covered contentious behavior in their immediate environment, and as identified earlier, although one would expect a Berkeley newspaper to cover things slightly differently than one in Oakland or San Francisco, the differences should be minimal compared to more distant sources. Relevant to this point, the New York Times was (obviously) not in the Bay Area and this does give us some distance. I did not code what were the largest newspapers in the area: the San Francisco Examiner and San Francisco Chronicle for, within the initial research effort, I attempted to get as proximate to the Panthers as possible. These papers also underwent a strike during the relevant time period. Within the subsequent coding efforts, I did begin to collect this information but the sheer paucity of information did not justify the expense. This was also the case for an alternative newspaper – the Bay Guardian. Longstanding owners of the newspaper were actually of Jewish descent, but they have overtly attempted to downplay this fact within the paper.

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the neglect of more marginalized populations within American society. As a result, there was a certain “type of ethnic reporting in the New York press [which] affected the Irish, the Italians, the blacks, and others considered too status-poor to warrant dignified notice except as individuals who had risen ‘above’ their own people” (Shepard 1996: 300). Although this changes somewhat over time as Irish, Italians, and even some blacks engage in activities that were deemed Times-worthy, it is nevertheless clear that the elite (Anglo)-oriented emphasis of the newspaper continued and that the organization generally recognized socialites and “high” politics (i.e., those activities associated with government and elites) as their primary focus. This pattern of coverage was reinforced by the geographic focus of the NYT. While largely highlighting New York, Washington, D.C., and the “major” cities of the world (e.g., London, Paris, and Berlin), the Times was frequently drawn to other parts of the United States when something “of significance” occurred – such as an especially noteworthy election, scandal, or instance of conflict. The Bay Area Panther–authority interaction clearly fell within these parameters, especially in 1968 after FBI Director Hoover identified the BPP as the “most dangerous” group in the United States. To the Times (and others during the period), the Panthers were seen as being at the forefront of the black power movement, it engaged in highly visible activity and its national headquarters (that for the West Coast faction) was located in the Bay Area.17 Second, the Times was run by a family, the Ochs and Sulzbergers, that espoused a belief in political moderation (Tifft and Jones 1999). The family was also generally “zealous about maintaining a patriotic posture” (Shepard 1996: 209) and frequently supported the U.S. government18 in any way

17 18

As identified earlier, the West Coast chapter eclipsed the East Coast BPP in many ways, commanding the attention of the government as well as most citizens. For example, the editor during the time, Arthur H. Sulzberger (AHS), in the tradition of the founder (Adolph Ochs), was generally identified as being “pro-government,” especially when the government under discussion was that of the United States. During World War II, he declared that his job as publisher was to “fight to keep democracy alive in the country” (Tifft and Jones 1999: 212). The beliefs of AHS and the practice put in motion by his administration is important for our discussion because (in conjunction with the structures of news collection) it led to significant amounts of attention being given to the U.S. government as well as those governments similar to it (i.e., liberal-democratic polities) and those allied with it. Although AHS was especially enamored with particular types of political systems, he was not in favor of all aspects of these governments, only so-called legitimate ones. Specifically, the paper under his administration covered and challenged

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possible, and sought not to embarrass it.19 In keeping with these traits, the newspaper generally covered authorities over other societal actors in terms of frequency and favorability. During the period of interest to this chapter, however, this general practice was modified somewhat because of the interest of the new Times editor. Comparable to most of the family, Arthur (“Punch”) Ochs Sulzberger (who was publisher from 1963 through 1982) was favorably disposed to support the government, but in the mid-to-late 1960s, such a position was not easy to maintain and this publisher – less imbued with a sense of patriotism than his predecessor (Arthur Hays Sulzberger) – was perhaps more receptive to the pervasive countercultural mood of the time. During his tenure, the U.S. government was exposed as a spy in the capture of a U-2 plane in 1962, it was revealed to be engaged in the bombing of civilians in Vietnam in 1966, the American peace movement became more critical of the government (gathering increased support throughout the country as well as from global community), and the activities of the Nixon administration turned a great number of Americans against authority in general. In many respects, the 1960s inaugurated open season on the U.S. government, and, as much of the world was becoming engaged in some form of civil unrest (by students, workers, women, ethnic groups, anticolonialists, and revolutionaries), it appeared that this willingness to challenge authority existed everywhere. Lacking the stronger convictions of an Arthur Hays Sulzberger, the younger, less familiar, less indoctrinated Punch was thus perhaps the perfect individual to usher in a different orientation to the Times, reflecting a new sentiment, one less favorably disposed toward authorities. officially sanctioned segregation in the American South (which were largely ignored by U.S. federal authorities for quite some time), it covered and challenged the abusive methods employed by various Congressional committees, it . . . denounced McCarthyism, it . . . attacked the restrictions of the McCarran Immigration Act; . . . it . . . criticized a security system which concealed the accuser from his victim, and . . . it . . . insisted that the true spirit of American democracy demanded a scrupulous respect for the rights of even the lowliest individual. (Talese 1981: 290)

19

Simultaneously AHS attacked other practices within political systems elsewhere. This leads me to believe that his administration would be essentially interested in the actions of government – East and West. On the bias issue, Max Frankel (one of the top editors during the 1960s and 1970s), admitted on an internal memo to the publisher (Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, “Punch”) that “if anything, as our vigorous critics on the left have contended, we have been more naturally and too easily ‘pro business’ and ‘pro government’ in our many routine and unquestioning reports on how politicians and corporate leaders define themselves and their works” (Diamond 1994: 123).

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Even with the somewhat more open approach, however, it was still likely that the newspaper would be more interested in government. Old habits of news collection die hard. Third, and relevant to the last point, during the 1967–73 period, the Times was engaged in a reconceptualization of what was “newsworthy.” Facing increasing production costs and a new competitor (television), the NYT realized that it had to capitalize on the great strength of the print media – in-depth coverage of events. As a result, the Times reduced the sheer number of activities that it covered and in turn devoted more time, money, and space to the ones it selected (Barnhurst and Mutz 1997). This is relevant to the BPP–authority interaction. I expect that coverage of all activity would be limited, but such activity as was identified would generally emphasize the authorities with some attention being given to the Panthers. There was simply little time and space for anything else.

Everything Is under Control – The Oakland Tribune The second newspaper used in this research is the Oakland Tribune. Published and distributed in Oakland, California, this source was a daily, white, mainstream press run by one of the Bay Area’s wealthiest families, the Knowlands (Rivers and Rubin 1971).20 During the 1967–73 period of interest to this study, former Senator William F. Knowland was in charge of the newspaper, assuming the position of owner, editor, and publisher after his failed 1958 bid for governor on an antiunion, right-to-work platform (e.g., Montgomery and Johnson 1998; Schuparra 1998: xvi). As for the political orientation of the newspaper, it consistently espoused a conservative position, speaking out against fair housing laws, free speech activism, and, essentially, all dissident activities, while consistently speaking in support of economic growth, civic responsibility, and existing political institutions as well as leaders. This orientation generally followed the principles established by the Tribune’s guiding force – Joseph R. Knowland, the owner, publisher, and editor from 1915 to 1966, as well as the father of Senator Knowland. By all accounts, the elder Knowland was a steadfast political conservative and a major player in the development of the Bay Area (assisting with the creation of the Bay Bridge as well as the Oakland port). On more than one occasion, he is quoted as saying that “the Tribune would support the Republican Party all the way” (Gothberg 1968: 495). As the author 20

Interestingly, in 1983 (following a purchase and sale by Gannet Corporation), this paper became the only black-owned metropolitan daily newspaper in the country, lasting until 1992.

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of this piece continued, “[t]here was no equivocation about these matters. These were specific and clear-cut objectives” (Gothberg 1968: 495). In many respects, Senator Knowland, the man and the editor, closely followed in his father’s footsteps (or at least tried to).21 During his life, he was affiliated with and assumed leadership positions within, the California Republican Party; he was elected to the state assembly as well as to the state senate. He also held the distinction of being one of the twenty-two senators who voted against censuring Joseph McCarthy in the 1950s (Montgomery and Johnson 1998). As with his father, his politics appeared to influence his role in publishing. In addition to the pro–status quo orientation of the paper, under his watch it covered a wide variety of government behavior (e.g., legislation, speeches from diverse officials, and so forth were all covered in great detail). To facilitate this, largely consistent with the discussions about mainstream local media (e.g., Kaniss 1991), many of the Tribune’s staff were assigned to report on activities undertaken by the courts and other government agencies throughout the area.22 Such a practice would significantly increase the opportunities to generate news about authority-related behavior, but movement activity would be discussed as well, especially when it threatened existing political-economic (i.e., family) interests. Because of its approach to news coverage, the Tribune became known as a “mouthpiece” of the status quo. Quite unexpectedly, given the countercultural reputation of the Bay Area, such a position was quite lucrative; going by sales and circulation figures, it is clear that a great many valued the information provided in the paper and shared its attitudes (Rivers and Rubin 1971).23 Despite its predominant status among Bay Area papers, the 21 22

His son Joseph W. Knowland would do the same being named Assistant Publisher under his father. It should be clearly understood that this does not mean that coverage of these institutions was particularly good. As one study reports regarding the Bay Area press at the time: [i]n one bay area community that seemed typical, less than 50 percent of the public meetings of government bodies and civic organizations were attended by a reporter from the only daily in town. Some of the others were “covered” by making phone calls to officials and officers after the meetings, or by asking someone who planned to attend to call the paper if anything newsworthy occurred. (Rivers and Rubin 1971: 10)

23

Not all looked upon this ideological orientation favorably. Indeed, the level of hostility shown by the paper to participants in “transgressive” political behavior was well understood by movement participants across the political spectrum as well as by most Bay Area residents. While assisting in marketing and selling the newspaper to the targeted audience, the clarity of this identification also had some drawbacks. The Tribune was frequently targeted for protest activities because of the various positions that were taken by the paper

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perceived financial solvency of the organization, and its monopolization of the Oakland market, however, things were not as stable at the Tribune as one might have thought. Indeed, they were quite rocky. After closing Southern Alameda County and Contra Costa County editions in an effort to cut costs, in 1968 (with San Francisco newspapers on strike), the Tribune was able to increase its circulation. When the newspaper came off the strike, this decreased circulation, which continued to slip over time as the traditional subscription base (white conservatives) moved to the suburbs and the demographic makeup shifted to blacks and latinos. By 1973, Senator Knowland developed a serious gambling problem, fell into debt, divorced his wife, remarried, became an alcoholic, and generally ran the Tribune into bankruptcy (he committed suicide in 1974 and the family was forced to sell the newspaper in 1977). This personal history is important because, given the position of the younger Knowland within the organization, it is possible that these developments might have directly influenced the coverage provided by the Tribune and led to strife within the organization. Alternatively, an apparently more reasonable assumption, may be that since the procedures of news collection and the message of the paper were so clearly established by the elder Knowland, nothing changed at all during the relevant period. Coverage is likely all authority, all the time.

We Shall Overcome . . . Really – The Sun Reporter The third newspaper used in this research is the Sun Reporter. From available information, this paper was a weekly, politically moderate,24 African (Pearson 1994: 70–1) – in a sense, becoming the news that it covered. The newspaper had a particularly poor relationship with the black community. As stated by Rivers and Rubin (1971: 46–7): [a] major reason for the distrust many Oakland Blacks [felt] for the Tribune was the paper’s handling of a Black boycott of white merchants in the ghetto in 1968. Black citizens, disturbed at what they felt was police harassment of Black youth, complained at an open city council meeting, but did not receive what they considered a just hearing. The boycott was designed as an attempt to force the white merchants to pressure city hall over the police harassment issue. The Tribune responded to the boycott with a front-page editorial from the publisher, William F. Knowland, urging white Oakland residents and homeowners in surrounding areas to help break the boycott by shopping in the ghetto stores.

24

Needless to say, this did not help diffuse the situation or ingratiate the Tribune with the African American community. In line with Wolfsfeld (1997: 52–4), “moderate” refers to the perceived reasonableness of the claims made by African Americans in this case and to the mechanisms used to achieve these objectives.

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American newspaper that had served the greater Oakland–San Francisco black population since its founding in 1944.25 Discussing different topics generally consistent with the “black press” (e.g., Wolesley 1972; Simmons 1998),26 this source addressed numerous subjects relevant to daily African American life (e.g., announcements of community activities and statistics related to their condition), it provided information about social struggles and legal efforts related to improving the situation for blacks (e.g., affirmative action), and it discussed various sociopolitical events within other communities that appeared relevant (e.g., conflicts between other ethnic groups and the orientation of rival civil society organizations). Differing from the other newspapers discussed earlier, the content of the Sun Reporter was much easier to assess than identifying its general orientation toward authorities, African American challengers in general, and the Panthers in particular. Although the paper was interested in reporting information concerning black life, it was less concerned with issues of radical politics or with directly challenging/transforming political institutions. Whether or not the Sun Reporter would cover BPP activity and pay attention to the actions of authorities directed against them or whether it would merely focus on the Panthers and ignore the authorities is thus unclear. In large part, this lack of clarity revealed a certain degree of complexity within the Bay Area African American community. For example, Carlton Goodlett and Thomas Fleming (the two most important influences on the paper), although migrating to the Bay Area before the World War II influx, were still very much caught by the migratory ethos that brought many blacks to California (Broussard 1993: Chapter 10).27 As such, Goodlett and Fleming maintained a strong sense that individual effort could overcome political, economic, and cultural difficulties and that people should play by the rules of the game. This opinion was tempered with a strong awareness that numerous restrictions needed to be challenged in an overt but nonaggressive manner. In support of this, it was widely acknowledged that Goodlett engaged in efforts to overcome racial restrictions (e.g., on 25

26

27

This was founded after the Sun, which was published by two African Americans (Dr. Carlton Goodlett and Daniel Collins), merged with the Reporter, a paper owned by a white San Franciscan. Several have argued that the black press was created, in part, to capture this “subaltern” reality of an African American minority and pass this reality along to their constituency (Wolseley 1972; Johnson and Johnson 1979; Suggs 1983). The Sun Reporter would clearly follow in this tradition. Goodlett came to the Bay in the 1930s but left and returned in 1945.

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integration) and other societal difficulties (e.g., vice and crime), but it was also noted that these always took place within the strictures of the existing legal and political system (e.g., Broussard 1993: 213; Crowe 2000: 68, 126). These complexities were an issue within the Bay Area, but they also reflected a larger dilemma for black newspapers and communities. As a result, while focusing on educating children and curbing police brutality would be welcome (Goodlett himself was twice a victim of police brutality), other aspects of the Panthers’ message/activity would not likely be well received (e.g., discussion of revolution or communist/socialist rhetoric and the use of weapons). Although the expected coverage of BPP and authority activity in the Sun Reporter is unclear – at least compared with the other newspapers discussed – I anticipate that it will tend toward more equitable coverage of both authorities and Panthers: invariably this was the position that was safest. The reason for this is clear. Seeger (1983: 65) notes that most “neighborhood publishers were primarily local businessmen, not reformers, and they tended to avoid controversy issues wherever possible.” Being a black newspaper in the Bay Area during the 1960s significantly alters the conception of what controversial means, but the point is still well taken. As he continues: [t]he publisher [in the community newspaper context] must worry about major local controversies which might divide [the] audience, or, more importantly, [the] most significant others, the local notables, primarily business[es] but also politicians. Reader boycotts are much rarer and less devastating than advertising boycotts, so that there is a much greater felt need to avoid giving offense to the small group of advertisers who support each local paper. (Seeger 1983: 66)

Coverage of the Panthers and the repressive action taken against them was clearly controversial by any standard. At the same time, however, given the importance of the BPP to the Bay Area in general and to the African American community in particular, it would have been hard to stay away from them entirely.

The Revolution Will Be Mimeographed – The Berkeley Barb From existing literature and reading the newspaper itself, one readily determines that the Berkeley Barb was a white, alternative press published in Berkeley, California. This newspaper was founded in 1965 and generally controlled by Max Scherr, a long-term Bay Area radical, commonly referred to as the “Hugh Hefner” or “Father” of the underground press. 120

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Clearly identifying its preferred topic and favored sociopolitical actor, the Barb espoused an interest in “the little movements that (diverged) from the mainstream of society” (Peck 1985: 30) – especially those engaged in countercultural attacks on the political, economic, and cultural system. This orientation was reflected in the individuals who worked for the paper, principally hippies, yippies, and those involved in radical politics. Because of the dedication with which staff members performed their duties and the fact that the Barb was one of the first underground presses in the Bay Area (at the heart of labor activity, communism/socialism, student activism, the hippie movement, and black nationalism), the paper quickly became known as one of the premier alternative newspapers in the United States (boasting a readership of ninety thousand in 1968–9). Regarding content, the Barb covered seemingly everything from draft card burning to boycotts to rallies to demonstrations that involved a wide variety of organizations from civil rights to antiwar to the new left to black power to anyone taking any position against the status quo. The Panthers and their activities fit particularly well within the range of topics/actors covered by the paper. Indeed, the BPP was frequently viewed as the “vanguard” party of the time (especially in the Bay Area) – that is, as the radical organization that set the standard for all others. This led to extensive popular interest and media coverage. Now, this is not to suggest that the Barb did not cover activities undertaken by U.S. authorities, especially repressive behavior directed against social movements and protest. That was an important element of its antiestablishment image and message. Rather, this is to suggest that the organization and those interested in it did not generally discuss this aspect of their coverage relative to the information that they provided on antistate behavior. The process of news collection at the Barb is noteworthy because the staff did not investigate and create all of the stories published in the paper. As with the mainstream press (i.e., the New York Times and the Oakland Tribune), the Barb relied upon wire services for many of its stories. This said, the wires utilized by this paper were quite different from those employed by the mainstream. Specifically, two were used: the Liberation News Service, which was frequently employed by the left-wing media, and the Underground Press Syndicate, “a large, loose grouping of alternative periodicals which by agreement had free reprint rights to each other’s published material” (Seeger 1983: 23). Again similar to the mainstream reliance for information upon “official” sources, the Barb relied on a group of Bay Area social change 121

Cases

“organizations” (“radical stringers” if you will). This included a very interesting group not typically thought of as connected to the news industry. For example, as one author writes “[m]ost, although not all, of these organizations were political, a few were hippie, and others were in the process of being redefined from the latter category to the former” (Seeger 1983: 44). These were very different from the sources employed by more mainstream news organizations because “while these regular sources of news may often have had names, addresses, and even telephone numbers, they were not by any means an underground counterpart of the solid bureaucracies on which the above-ground reporter calls for news day after day” (Seeger 1983: 45). Given this situation, there was much more instability and uncertainty with news generation at the Barb, a problem when attempting to put out a weekly product. Despite the interests of the paper and the sources relied upon for information, however, the Barb’s access to dissidents like the Black Panthers was uneven. In May 1969, the newspaper tried to bring together hippies and militants in a joint venture to create a “People’s Park” in a vacant lot near the University of California, Berkeley (e.g., Wolin and Schaar 1970). The particulars of the case are less important than the aftermath. In light of the Barb’s central involvement in the planning as well as execution of the Park and the general success of the event, the paper came under a scrutiny from both the mainstream and the alternative presses, in a sense, becoming the story. During this time, all aspects of the Barb were probed, including its sources of income. This became especially problematic when information about the magnitude of the Barb’s revenue came to light as well as the source – advertisers. The coverage had two aftereffects. First, many in the community and at the newspaper itself began to question the role of advertisers in the creation of the alternative/radical press. For many, the two had distinct interests and the association tainted the newspaper, prompting the latter to “sell out.” Second, when the revenue figures were made public, many of the staffers at the Barb pushed for higher wages and then went on strike. Unable to settle, this group eventually attempted to purchase the paper, and, after this effort failed, many staffers simply left. Although the Barb continued to publish after these events, the internal strife created lingering troubles, which damaged its image as one of the premier alternative newspapers in the Bay Area and in the United States more widely. Indeed, as reported by Seeger (1983), this event so influenced the 122

Event Catalog of Dissent and Repression

popular perception of the paper that individuals engaged in social change were reluctant to interact with the Barb’s staff, with the result that the paper further increased its reliance upon news wires and other alternative newspapers for stories. The People’s Park incident had one additional influence on the Barb. Those who had left the paper created their own newspaper, the Berkeley Tribe. This led to significant problems for Scherr in particular and for the Barb in general because at every turn the Tribe accused the Barb of “selling out” the revolution and going “soft.” This prompted the Barb to “outradicalize” the Tribe by covering even more militant/violent activities and organizations. Such a pattern is important because as Seeger (1983: 43–4) makes clear, it was not that there were more militant activities in the Bay Area during this time. Rather, it was that these types of activities would be more likely covered. The implications here were numerous. First, less militant activities were no longer deemed newsworthy for alternative and radical presses, especially toward the late 1960s and early 1970s. Although there was a large number of countercultural activities (coops, seminars, free-love experiments, sit-“outs,” and so on), these were no longer viewed as challenges and thus were ignored. Again, Scherr, as the Barb’s guiding force, was critical. Convinced that there was a shift in the “movement” toward a more aggressive political engagement, where authorities were directly being challenged and violence was frequently involved, Scherr pursued and published these events consistently. In a sense, to be at the forefront of the movement he concluded that the paper had to cover the most militant organization and activities. Second, lesser militant groups like the hippie’s were less well organized than the militants and thus they were less able to provide information about themselves to reporters and less effective at lobbying for coverage. Consequently, as Seeger (1983: 56) noted, “[t]he Barb and its competition reflected only part of the countercultural community and the values of that section, systematically tending to overcommunicate the organized militant elements and under-communicate the unorganized hippies.” Directly related to this issue, the Panthers were clearly deemed worthy of attention – but only the most contentious parts of the BPP and the authority’s violent response to the organization would likely be of interest. In short, the more contentious the interactions, the better. Interestingly, at the same time, access to the Panthers and their stories was limited because of the Barb’s lost credibility; impressions or visions of the vanguard trumping actual exposure to them. 123

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Live from “the Struggle” – The Black Panther Paper The final newspaper considered by this study, the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service, was published and distributed by the Panthers themselves on a weekly basis in Oakland, California. Beginning systematically in 1967,28 the paper was sent to members as well as nonmembers throughout the United States and abroad. Known for its flamboyant language and confrontational imagery, this source is in many respects less complex than the Berkeley Barb. For example, the BPINS clearly fits within what is generally categorized as the dissident press for the primary objectives of the paper were to establish and maintain Panther identity, recruit new members, deliver information about relevant political events, generate revenue, and convey the organization’s worldview to the wider society. (For more detailed discussion, see Seale [1968] 1991; Abron 1993; Davenport 1998b: 197.) These objectives were far from random. As the BPP explicitly stated: [the BPINS] was created to present factual, reliable information to the People. . . . The News Service is the alternative to the “government approved” [news] presented in the mass media and the product of an effort to present the facts not the stories dictated by the oppressor, but as seen from the other end of a gun. (Black Panther 1970: 17)

They continue elsewhere: [the BPINS] tells the story of our people’s struggle in the streets. . . . It tells the true story of what happens in the concrete inner-city jungles of Babylon when brothers and sisters off the block, workers, and members of the petty bourgeoisie decide to cast aside their petty personal goals and aspirations, and begin to work unselfishly together with a common goal in mind: to serve the people and liberate the colony, by the only means necessary – the GUN. . . . The Black Panther documents step by step the actions taken by, and programs instituted by the Black Panther Party in its unstoppable drive to serve the people; and documents before the whole world the repression and murders committed by Amerikkka’s corrupt monopoly capital in its dastardly attempts to stop this move to institute people’s power. (Foner 1995: 8)

The paper was thus established to simultaneously promote the BPP cause and counter existing authorities. Such an emphasis would be expected to favor coverage of the BPP relative to activity taken by the authorities against them. Indeed, in many ways, the Panthers were the news, and they had privileged access to the individuals 28

The paper ceased publication in 1980.

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directly involved in dissident behavior.29 If source access is one of the main influences on news coverage, then narcissism is surely one of the greatest temptations for a dissident press. At the same time, it is expected that there would be some attention given to the government and its effort to deal with the black power organization, as they provided much of the motivation for the group in the first place (Seale [1968] 1991; Newton 1996). For example, the very first BPINS was produced in order to distribute information about an instance of police brutality against a young black man (Denzil Dowell) and the BPP’s investigation of the case. This situation only expanded after the brunt of government coercive power was turned directly against the BPP.30 Indeed, this becomes one of the main topics discussed in the paper (e.g., Davenport and Eads 2001; Hilliard 2007).

Summary Within this chapter, I discussed the five newspapers from which I develop my event catalogs. As one can readily observe, these represent very distinct approaches to collecting news, distributing it, and serving communities. Specifically, there are news organizations representing the white 29

Unlike the case of the Berkeley Barb, which has not been frequently consulted by those interested in understanding Bay Area contentious activity, several individuals and organizations have utilized the BPINS to understand what was going on within the BPP. For example: Jo Nina Abron . . . [uses the paper to provide] a general historical overview of the inner workings of the production of the paper. Jim Mori utilizes multiple issues of the [BPINS] to trace the Party’s ideological development and fluctuation, and Charles Hopkins analyzes selected issues of the paper to confirm the deradicalization of the organization. Carolyn Calloway focused on group cohesion, and John Courtright used the paper as a tool for investigating the political rhetoric of the BPP. [Finally, the BPINS] was the subject of [numerous] investigations by the . . . House of Representatives Committee on Internal Security in 1970 and 1971. (Davenport 1998b: 193–4)

30

Similar to the Barb, but much more severe in frequency and intensity, the BPINS was also caught within larger dynamics that influenced their coverage of events. Individuals affiliated with the paper (editors, distributors, and suppliers) were continually subject to investigation and arrest, which influenced if and how well they pursued stories, wrote them, and got them out to the public. This was particularly noticeable at the highest levels of the paper when the BPINS went through four editors in the span of one year (1969). Even though the context did not facilitate a reasonable environment for news collection, production, and distribution, amazingly the newspaper did come out at regular intervals between 1968 and 1978. Indeed, from consulting existing literature, it is consistently observed that great efforts were made to ensure that the paper was delivered; before and after this time publication was infrequent.

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mainstream in the Bay (the Oakland Tribune) and New York (the New York Times), white radicals (the Berkeley Barb), black moderates (the Sun Reporter), and the dissident press (the BPINS). These newspapers are expected to cover BPP–authority conflict in very different ways. In the next chapter, I explore the theoretical arguments presented earlier in the context of these five characterizations (cases) of what the authorities did to the BPP and the activities that the Panthers engaged in.

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6 A Mosaic of Coercion FIVE CASES OF ANTI-PANTHER REPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR

[T]he basic issues of public policy presented by the militancy of groups like the Panthers and by the sometimes brutal police treatment of angry and defiant Black people in general can be neither understood nor resolved in an atmosphere of exaggerated charges whether of “genocide” against the Panthers or of “guerrilla warfare” against the police that are repeated, unverified, in the press and in consequence widely believed by the public. Edward Jay Epstein “The Black Panthers and the Police: A Pattern of Genocide?” (1971)

As discussed earlier, there are different ways that event coverage influences our understanding of state repression: (1) it affects the basic information about the political contest in question (i.e., the relative amount of activity undertaken by different actors, the origin and termination dates of conflict, as well as the consistency of event coverage), and (2) it affects the specific understanding one takes away from this information about who did what to whom (in the case of this study, whether repression was more the result of dynamic interactions between dissidents and authorities or dynamics within government institutions themselves). The analysis of five event catalogs regarding state repression of the Black Panther Party provides strong support for my Rashomon argument. As found, the orientation of the source and, to a lesser extent, spatial distance directly influences what is reported within each catalog. This, in turn, influences how we comprehend and explain state repression because the relative importance of authorities and dissidents varies with the different accounts. In short, what one sees and concludes is very much a function of whom one consults. This said, perspective does not account for everything; there are some interesting results that are robust across all sources. 127

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15

47

9

60

6 32

33 10 92

Police in Tribune Dissent in Tribune

Court in Tribune Shootings in Tribune

Court in Times Shootings in Times

Police in Times Dissent in Times

Court in Reporter Shootings in Reporter

Police in Reporter Dissent in Reporter

54

58 72

39

127

406

71 3

10 38

Court in Barb Shootings in Barb

142

Police in Barb Dissent in Barb

Court in BPP Shootings in BPP

Police Action in BPP Dissent in BPP

Figure 8. Covering Conflict between the Black Panthers and the U.S. Government

In this chapter, I examine the events identified in each of the newspapers, discussing what is covered in the different sources. In an effort to better understand how newspapers characterize the relationship between repression and dissent, I then provide more detailed investigations of each event sequence.

Identifying the Dimensions of Rashomon To begin, I take an aggregate view of what is covered.

Frequency Using the catalogs discussed in the last chapter, I identify the type of activities reported in each source and find some important differences between accounts – several that were anticipated but several that were unexpected (Figure 8). For example, the physically distant, authority-oriented New York Times and the physically proximate, authority-oriented Oakland Tribune are somewhat distinct in their coverage of relevant events, but they are much closer 128

Five Cases of Anti-Panther Repressive Behavior

to one another in their coverage than to any of the other newspapers considered in the study. As found, both mainstream sources focused on the courts at comparable rates (i.e., as a percentage of all events identified), which was anticipated. This supports Hypothesis 4 about the importance of political orientation for event coverage. The Tribune, however, covered a greater number of these government activities, totaling 406 out of 528 (76% of all events covered), while the Times paid less attention to this political behavior in absolute numbers with 127 out of 175 (72%). This supports Hypothesis 1 about the importance of physical presence and Hypothesis 2 about the importance of political orientation in increasing event coverage. Interestingly, although the Tribune covers a larger number of total events, the Times devoted more attention to police activity and shootings as a percentage of all activities covered. With regard to police activity, there were thirty-three events in the NYT (20%) compared to sixty in the Tribune (11%). With regard to shootings, there were nine events in the NYT (5%) compared to fifteen events in the Tribune (2%). Providing a different conception of importance, this pattern of coverage makes sense given the salience of such activities to those outside of the Bay Area and California who were both shocked and intrigued by such activities. The only exception to this pattern concerns dissent. With regard to this variable, there were six events identified in the NYT (3%) compared to forty-seven covered in the Tribune (8%). One can attribute the difference between the two mainstream papers to the varying levels of attentiveness and information held by more proximate sources. Accordingly, we would expect that the Tribune would be more attentive to dissident activity, as it is local political leaders and economic elites that would be threatened. Differing from the two mainstream papers, the Sun Reporter – the proximate, moderate, black newspaper – was expected to be more equitable in its coverage of BPP–authority behavior but not as attentive. This argument turns out to be partially supported, as the coverage of police and dissident behavior was relatively comparable at thirty-nine events (22%) and thirty-two events (18%), respectively; these are amounts between the two mainstream sources, but the ratios are more equitable than either, supporting Hypothesis 3. Although the number of shootings identified in this paper is fewer than the others (10%), as a percentage of all events it is far lower than that identified in the more mainstream presses (5%), further revealing a difference between newspapers. This also supports Hypothesis 3. Finally, the sheer amount of attention given to the court (ninety-two events, approximately 53% of reported activity), reveals that this source 129

Cases

offers a largely mainstream and institutional characterization of the state– dissident interaction. Although similar in character, compared to the more mainstream, larger and better-resourced newspapers just identified, however, the absolute number of events was relatively low. In considering the Berkeley Barb – the white, radical press – I found almost exactly what I had expected. In this source, court-related repressive activity and dissent were about equal in the amount of coverage they received (supporting Hypothesis 5b); there are seventy-one court events and seventy-two dissident acts – approximately 37 percent of total events apiece. Interestingly, this source covered the largest amount of dissent within any source. Comparatively less attention was devoted to police activity, with thirtyeight events – approximately 20 percent of all reported behavior. Similar to the Sun Reporter, the Barb identified few shootings between the police and the Panthers (noting only ten – approximately 5%). Deviating from my expectations, the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service was generally concerned with police repression with 142 events out of 258 (at approximately 55% of all reported behavior). This is the largest of any source. Relatively little attention was given to police–BPP shootings (three events or 1%) and comparable amounts of coverage were allocated to court-related sanctions and dissident behavior undertaken by the Panthers (each at approximately 20% of covered material – respectively, fiftyfour and fifty-eight events). This supports Hypothesis 1 about proximity increasing coverage as well as Hypothesis 2 concerning the importance of orientation for increasing attentiveness. Again, coverage is somewhat less skewed (supporting Hypothesis 5b), but this only applies to specific forms of state activity – court repression. There are two points regarding this coverage that are worthy of attention. First, the small number of shootings in the BPINS is largely reflective of the fact that the BPP newspaper focused on a few early violent encounters and discussed them repeatedly after that point. My research did not consider events where the action, actors, place, and time were not identifiable. This procedure reduced the total number of events found in the catalog relative to all events identified in the newspaper.1 Second, while the police were a constant point of contention for the black radical 1

This finding is actually consistent with some prior work. Despite conventional wisdom that there was a large number of shootings between the BPP and the police, the relatively small amount is comparable to the work of Edward Jay Epstein (1971) who has conducted one of the more thorough accounts of the matter. For an interesting discussion, see http://www.edwardjayepstein.com/archived/panthers.htm.

130

4/24/1967

Berkeley Barb

Sun Reporter

9/1/1973

New York Times

5/17/1973

5/2/1967

Oakland Tribune

12/29/1973

11/12/1973 11/30/1973

Black Panther

2/22/1967

Diverse Event Catalogs

Five Cases of Anti-Panther Repressive Behavior

Time Figure 9. Onset and Termination of Conflict, across Newspapers

organization, it makes sense that the Panthers would not give too much attention to shootings because, given the very nature of the activities, they could be potentially implicated in starting many of them. This could reduce the amount of support that the organization received, as individuals were scared off. As a result, they would tend to stay away from such activities.

Onset and Termination I had suggested earlier that coverage of conflict would be influenced by the political orientation and proximity of the sources consulted. Although diverse characteristics were specified, here I consider the beginning and end of the conflict between the Black Panthers and the diverse agents of the U.S. government that confronted them (Figure 9). Considering the event catalogs, my expectations were generally met. Out of the five sources, the BPINS and the Barb (the two sources closest to the BPP) identified the earliest events2 – a rally held by the BPP in Berkeley on February 22, 1967, marking the second anniversary of Malcolm X’s assassination. For these sources, the story of the Panthers and their conflict 2

Interestingly, the Barb identifies the earliest event (a release of a statement by the BPP regarding what they wanted). As this research does not consider statements by the Panthers as an event, I do not begin the catalog at this point. The reason for the earlier event in the Barb is clear. At this point (early 1967), they had a more stable production schedule, and the BPP had not yet consistently produced its own newspaper. This is not achieved until 1968.

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with authorities began with efforts of the African American social movement to celebrate one of their inspirations. These results support Hypothesis 2 about proximity, Hypothesis 5a about dissident sources identifying dissident events first, and Hypothesis 6 about authority-oriented sources highlighting dissident behavior first. Similarly highlighting the BPP as the initiator of the conflict but focusing on a different type of event on April 24, 1967, the Oakland Tribune began its coverage of the conflict by highlighting a protest of the Martinez sheriff’s department. This agent of the state was targeted because the Panthers (along with many others in the African American community) believed that they had not properly investigated the death of a young black male, Denzil Dowell. The story of the BPP’s activities here is most commonly cited as the beginning of the organization. The New York Times and Sun Reporter (the most physically distant and politically neutral newspapers, respectively) identified the same event as the beginning of the political confrontation between the Panthers and the U.S. government. The event itself was clearly one of the most famous and one of the highest profile events of any covered during the period. On May 2, 1967, a group of armed Panthers, in full regalia, entered the California state assembly in Sacramento to voice their opinion about changing a state law regarding the right to bear and carry firearms. As it happened, the BPP wandered onto the assembly floor by mistake, inadvertently confronting the assembly directly.3 These results make sense within my Rashomon framework. It was expected that the more distant source would highlight one of the most notable events as the beginning of the conflict. It also makes sense that the more moderate/neutral source would also be drawn to such an event. The beginning of the BPP–authority interaction is largely grounded in Panther activity; however, the sources told very different stories about the end of the conflict. Again, these results were largely in line with my expectations but with a few exceptions. For example, the most distant state-oriented source (The New York Times) was the first to complete its coverage of the contentious state–dissident conflict. The Times ended its reporting of relevant behavior after Bobby Seale (the BPP cofounder) gave a speech to volunteers at a postelection rally on May 17, 1973. This was done after Seale’s loss to Oakland mayoral incumbent John Reading, who had won in a runoff. Although this is 3

Within both sources, the BPP was intercepted a few blocks from the capitol by city and/or state police, thus beginning the conflictual interaction.

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not your typical form of protest, it does represent a form of legally sanctioned dissident behavior that one would expect a mainstream source to highlight. The report of the event focused on the Panthers, which was not anticipated, and on an activity that largely demonstrated within-system behavior and essentially signaled the end of the BPP behavioral challenge, which was anticipated. For the local mainstream newspaper, the Oakland Tribune coverage ended in similar fashion but approximately six months later (on November 12, 1973). During this event, Huey Newton (the other cofounder of the organization) was on trial in a municipal court in Oakland. The coverage of this event identified a more explicit state sanction being directed against the Panthers and it fits directly with my argument about what mainstream sources highlight. In contrast, Sun Reporter coverage did not end as late as I had anticipated; the last event that could be coded in this source was on September 1, 1973. In many respects, the state–dissident interaction ended very much the way one would expect within a politically moderate source looking to reach a black audience but trying not to offend white authorities. Specifically, they covered the Oakland municipal courts (specifically, the jury’s) failure to reach a decision in a Newton trial. This highlighted the Panthers but did so in a way that focused on political authority and the apparent “illegitimate” persecution of the exonerated social movement leader. Directly in line with expectations, the Berkeley Barb ended coverage very much as it began, focused on dissidents and dissent. On November 30, 1973, this paper identified a picket of Mayfair market on 59th and Telegraph in Oakland because of the perceived racism as well as the brutality of the institution. This suggests that even at the end of the catalog, Panther militancy was very much alive and, equally as important, out on the street/block and in the community. It also identifies that although the black power organization was still engaged with challenging the status quo, it had selected a target less connected with political authorities. This will be discussed more later. Also in line with my expectations, the BPINS covered events until the very end of the catalog – December 29, 1973. Even though repression was the subject of this last story, which is somewhat at odds with my argument, the BPINS clearly maintained its focus on the movement as it highlighted the inadequacy and bias of the criminal justice system. In particular, it focused on BPP member Charles Bursey being denied parole by the California Adult Authority in Vacaville, San Francisco. This story simultaneously communicated information about the fate of a Black Panther member in the U.S. system of justice, and it revealed the inherent unfairness 133

Cases Table 1. Court Activity in Five Newspapers a. Number of Times That Papers Overlap in Coverage of Same Type of Event 5=2 4 = 10 3 = 29 2 = 51 b. Specific Overlaps between Different Newspapers New York Times New York Times Oakland Tribune Sun Reporter Berkeley Barb Black Panther

Oakland Tribune

Sun Reporter

Berkeley Barb

Black Panther

46

22 42

17 32 9

13 22 4 11

of the system in failing to release someone who had served a significant amount of his term.

Events Across Sources Having now discussed some of the basic information about what is contained in each source, I will now discuss some of the basic information about what is contained across them. For this, I identify the general amount of overlap between newspapers by the week. From this exercise, I find that there is significant variation across sources with regard to how well they mirror other newspapers. Across sources, the earlier time period generally displays higher likelihoods of overlap (i.e., there is a higher likelihood that more sources cover similar types of events). Over time, however, the number of distinct newspapers covering similar events decreases. The pairings across time generally reflect well upon the Rashomon argument (Table 1). For example, I find that court events are the most consistently identified across all sources. As found, ninety-two weeks of court activity out of 181 total court actions (50%) are captured by at least two newspapers.4 Among 4

Note that I am not suggesting that the exact same event was identified, just the same type of event.

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these situations, there are few weeks where all five sources identify something as happening in court. Indeed, there are only two weeks when this happens (October 29 to November 4, 1971; and, December 10 to December 16, 1971). Both involved periods during which the Black Panther leader (Huey Newton) was on trial and had convictions dismissed for murder. The number of discrete occurrences increases when four newspapers cover court events during the same week (ten). Interestingly, I find that as the number of sources diminishes, there is a higher likelihood of coverage overlapping. For instance, when we consider three newspapers covering activity involving the court, this happens twenty-nine times in total. Following from this, by far the most common occurrence is when two newspapers cover court events during the same week, this happens fifty-one times in total. Of course, the likelihood of specific newspapers covering court events at the same time is not equal (i.e., certain overlaps in coverage between newspapers are more likely than others). By far the most likely overlap is between The New York Times and Oakland Tribune, which covered relevant events during the same week forty-six times (supporting Hypothesis 4). This similarity makes sense given that these newspapers shared an interest with government institutions. In line with the earlier discussion, the second most likely overlap is coverage between the Tribune and the Sun Reporter (which occurred in 42 repression-weeks). These two sources, while different in racial orientation, share an interest in conventional political behavior. Less likely and in line with my earlier argument are overlaps between the Oakland Tribune and Berkeley Barb, which occurred on thirty-two different weeks. Coverage between the NYT and Sun Reporter as well as between the Tribune and BPINS are somewhat lower in frequency than those combinations just discussed (taking place on twenty-two weeks). Even less frequent are those situations where The New York Times overlaps with the Berkeley Barb and BPINS – respectively, occurring at seventeen and thirteen weeks. This is generally consistent with the argument laid out earlier because these newspapers are relatively far from one another on spatial as well as political dimensions. Interestingly, the least likely overlap for court-related behavior involves the Berkeley Barb and Black Panther with eleven weeks of similar coverage, the Sun Reporter and Berkeley Barb with nine weeks, and the Sun Reporter and Black Panther with four weeks. The BARB–BPINS overlap is somewhat puzzling in that we would anticipate greater similarities between the two 135

Cases Table 2. Police Activity in Five Newspapers a. Number of Times That Papers Overlap in Coverage of Same Type of Event 5=5 4=4 3 = 12 2 = 19 b. Specific Overlaps between Different Newspapers New York Times New York Times Oakland Tribune Sun Reporter Berkeley Barb Black Panther

Oakland Tribune

Sun Reporter

Berkeley Barb

Black Panther

13

8 14

9 13 12

13 18 16 13

most radical newspapers. This said, the type of event under discussion (court behavior) is not something that these newspapers would be inclined to cover. The Reporter-Barb overlap makes sense because there would be little that these sources would have in common relevant to the court – the former would likely find some legitimacy in the institution and thus deem it worthy of coverage but not the latter. Similarly, the third and the least likely overlap involves sources that, despite similar racial orientations, emerge from very distinct political orientations within the black community – the Sun Reporter and Black Panther. In contrast to the relatively well-covered events within the court (with around half appearing in more than one source), police activity (in Table 2) is much less covered across sources with 40 weeks out of 134 being identified (approximately 30%). Among this coverage, there are some weeks where all five sources identify police action: (1) October 23 to October 28, 1967, (2) April 1 to 7, 1968, (3) September 9–15, 1968, (4) April 23 to 29, 1968, and (5) August 12–19, 1969. These similarities make sense. The first three involved shootings (the October 23–28, 1967, event involving the Newton–Frey incident). The fourth involved the raid and arrest of diverse Panthers. The fifth involves the arrest of two prominent BPP leaders – Seale and Hilliard. Continuing the inverse relationship between the number of sources covering events and the number of events identified, there are four weeks where four sources identify police events: April 30–May 6 1967; 136

Five Cases of Anti-Panther Repressive Behavior

February 19–25, 1968; September 9–15, 1968; and December 3–9, 1969. These are some of the more well-known activities of the period: the arrest of Panthers associated with the California state assembly protest (early May 1967), as well as some lesser known events such as the series of arrests directed against BPP members for traffic violations and conspiracy to commit murder (February 24 and 25, 1968). More police-related events are identified when three sources are considered (here there are twelve weeks in total). Again, by far the largest amount of coverage is found with two newspapers identifying relevant events during the same week (with nineteen). Following the preceding results, the likelihood of different sources covering the same type of event is again not identical across pairings – at the same time, the distribution is less varied than that identified when court activity was considered. For example, the most frequent overlap concerns those events identified in the Oakland Tribune and Black Panther. These two newspapers (respectively, the most conservative and most radical) cover similar types of police actions on eighteen separate weeks, supporting Hypothesis 2. Here, politicization of the source fuels comparable attentiveness. The second most frequent overlap concerns the Sun Reporter and the Black Panther. In this case, we find that African American sources are attuned to police persecution of black radicals on sixteen different weeks. The other combinations generally cohere around the same number of weeks: Tribune–Sun Reporter (fourteen), Barb–Black Panther (thirteen), Tribune–Barb (thirteen), NYT–Black Panther (thirteen), NYT–Tribune (thirteen), and Sun Reporter–Barb (twelve). This suggests that there are generally no unique combinations – all newspapers are likely to cover events with at least one other paper at some point in time. That said, two pairings seem somewhat less likely than others: the NYT–Sun Reporter (with eight weeks) and the NYT–Berkeley Barb (with nine weeks). Coverage of dissident behavior is generally quite different from that concerning repressive activity (Table 3). In this case, there are fewer instances of overlap with only 38 weeks out of 114 where more than two sources cover the same type of event. Again, the larger the number of sources, the lower the number of weeks where overlap occurs. Thus there are only two weeks when all five sources identify dissident activity: July 15–21, 1968, and April 30–May 6, 1969. The first week involved one of the largest “Free Huey” rallies outside the Alameda Country courthouse with approximately five thousand attendees. The second week also involved a Free Huey rally of 137

Cases Table 3. Dissident Activity in Five Newspapers a. Number of Times That Papers Overlap in Coverage of Same Type of Event 5=2 4=2 3=7 2 = 27 b. Specific Overlaps between Different Newspapers New York Times New York Times Oakland Tribune Sun Reporter Berkeley Barb Black Panther

Oakland Tribune

Sun Reporter

Berkeley Barb

Black Panther

5

4 9

6 15 9

2 7 5 17

similar size. There are two weeks when four sources identify dissident activity: April 30–May 6, 1967, and November 12–18, 1969. When the number of overlapping newspapers decreases to three, there are seven weeks when similar events are identified, and when the number of overlapping sources is decreased to two, there are twenty-seven weeks. The coverage across the different combinations is again somewhat different. For example, the two newspapers with the greatest frequency in overlapping coverage are the Berkeley Barb and Black Panther (seventeen weeks). As these are the two most radical newspapers this makes sense. In contrast, and again in line with expectations, the least frequent overlap is that between the mainstream New York Times and the Black Panther newspaper (with two weeks). The values between these two extremes are generally consistent with my argument. For example, the second most frequent overlap is the Oakland Tribune and the Berkeley Barb with fifteen weeks of overlapping coverage of dissident events. As these two newspapers are high in their degree of politicization, the similar attentiveness makes sense. The Oakland Tribune and Sun Reporter as well as the Sun Reporter and Barb have nine weeks of overlap. This is the third most frequent overlap but at approximately one-half the value of the next highest. The remaining combinations are generally clustered around six weeks: the Tribune-Black Panther (seven weeks), the NYT–Barb (six weeks), the Sun Reporter–Black Panther (five weeks), the NYT–Tribune (five weeks), and the NYT–Sun Reporter (four weeks). 138

Five Cases of Anti-Panther Repressive Behavior Table 4. Shootings in Five Newspapers a. Number of Times That Papers Overlap in Coverage of Same Type of Event 5=2 4=1 3=3 2=3 b. Specific Overlaps between Different Newspapers New York Times New York Times Oakland Tribune Sun Reporter Berkeley Barb Black Panther

Oakland Tribune

Sun Reporter

Berkeley Barb

Black Panther

7

4 4

6 7 3

2 2 2 2

Finally, we have shootings (Table 4). Coverage of these events displays interesting patterns. For example, only nine weeks out of twenty-six exist where similar types of events were found within more than two sources. Out of this total number, two weeks involve five sources, one week involves four, three weeks involve three, and three weeks involve two. The trend whereby a fewer number of sources yields increased frequency of overlap is again sustained, but barely. As far as the distinct combinations between newspapers that cover shootings during a particular week, there are some findings that are consistent with my expectations. For example, the most frequently covered overlap concerns the New York Times and Oakland Tribune with seven weeks. Mainstream sources were thus drawn to cover the same type of events most frequently of all combinations. In contrast, the least likely overlap concerns the Times and the Black Panther, the Tribune and the Black Panther, and the Sun Reporter and the Black Panther – with two weeks apiece. The first two make sense given the perceived differences between them. But, the third is surprising given the belief that ethnic groups would cover similar events. It turns out that political orientation is far more important. Also somewhat against my expectations is the overlap between the Tribune and Berkeley Barb (with seven weeks) and the Barb and Black Panther (with three weeks). The first is likely explained by the desire, for different reasons, of both papers to highlight contention. The second captures the different interests of the Panther organization and an alternative press in stoking the 139

Cases

fires of rebelliousness: those directly in the struggle attempt to downplay such activity; those who are on the periphery of the struggle but who have a vested interest in such activity being more apt to throw caution to the wind. Again, the overlaps between political extremes are revealing. At the second highest value, the NYT and Barb cover shootings at the same time during six weeks. This reveals that newspapers with different orientations could cover similar events – albeit infrequently. The next highest value (four weeks) involves two overlaps: (1) the Sun Reporter and Times and (2) the Sun Reporter and Tribune. The next combination concerns the Sun Reporter and Barb with three weeks. Here, we find that different newspapers with different orientations are generally less inclined to cover the same type of event. This largely follows the argument discussed earlier. From my discussion in Chapter 2, I anticipated that the overall coverage and timing of events (i.e., onset and termination) would be influenced by source selection. In addition to this, I also expected that there would be differences as well as similarities in how diverse sources would cover the same type of events. While these address what one finds within an event catalog, it does not address the implications of such findings for those who wish to use them to comprehend what happened to the Panthers. I turn to this in the next section.

Identifying the Relevance of Rashomon From the preceding discussion, one is able to discern that similar political orientations clustered in a manner consistent with my earlier discussion. For example, in those sources closely affiliated with authorities – even though the BPP engaged in some activity that threatened political-economic elites – most of the events identified within these sources were attributed to government actors. By contrast, and again in line with my expectations, sources closer to the Panthers revealed a very different type of conflict. These sources depicted the battle between the authorities and the dissidents more equitably, with each side seen to be engaging in contentious behavior at relatively comparable levels. While useful for developing an overview of how the different Bay Area news sources covered the BPP–authority interaction, the preceding discussion does not allow us to explore the explanations commonly used to account for repressive activity because a detailed assessment of the causal sequence was not conducted. To this point, we have just been viewing the 140

Five Cases of Anti-Panther Repressive Behavior

data in an aggregate form with essentially no attention given to temporal patterns. To understand why repression was applied and the role played by dissent as well as prior state coercive behavior, however, we need to alter how we utilize the event catalogs. How should this be done? For approximately forty years, researchers have been investigating the relationship between dissent and repression; I have been engaged in this type of work for about fifteen years. During this time, I (and others) have explored a wide variety of models. In my opinion, all involve some form of sacrifice, and thus, by definition, this research suffers from certain limitations. For example, any attempt to address temporal lags, simultaneity, phase-shifts, nonlinearity, and diverse operationalizations at the same time tends to hinder our ability to address any one of them. This is particularly problematic when examining relationships between repression and dissent because all of these dynamics are potentially relevant. Additionally, most of the literature on the conflict–repression nexus obscures any understanding of the relationship because of the high level of aggregation that is used (the nation-year), as well as the general concern in the literature for the influence of large-scale, political-economic characteristics (e.g., political democracy and economic development or inequality). As a result, the methods selected within this work compel us to miss more dynamic relationships between authorities and dissidents. This problem is compounded because in attempting to understand why and how specific authorities employed repression against specific dissidents, the task is made difficult when the number of distinct authorities and dissidents considered across time and space are lumped together. It is not appropriate to consider the repressive efforts of the U.S. government against the KKK in Mississippi alongside state behavior directed against the civil rights movement in New Jersey or against anti-communist associates in California. At present, however, this is precisely how researchers investigate state–dissident interactions. In an effort to examine the relationship between repression and dissent in a less methodologically straightjacketed manner, I adopt an approach that is at once more capable of dealing with the various issues identified earlier as well as those that are more exploratory in nature. Drawing on the work of others (e.g., Tilly, Tilly, and Tilly 1975; Tilly 1986),5 I describe the 5

This follows from a suggestion by Tilly (2008), who notes that catalogs should frequently be examined in diverse and flexible ways in order to use them in the best possible manner.

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Cases

sequence of reported events across the different sources regarding police behavior directed against the BPP and Panther activity against government authority and economic elites to illustrate how dissent, shootings, and lagged repression influence contemporaneous values of police coercive action. Given that the data were collected by the event, I collapse information to the day and consider two weeks before the coercive event in question through the two weeks after the coercive event; this gives me a rolling window of a month. Collecting information by the event is important because many repressive and dissident activities take place on the same day but at different times and places on the day in question. Viewed in a highly disaggregated manner, one is better able to determine what took place and what different actors were responding to. Related to this, I assume, as does all literature on the conflict–repression nexus, that events prior to other events are inevitably a factor in prompting later activity by one’s opponent. For example, a protest in one time and place that precedes an arrest in the same place is believed to influence/impact the state’s behavior, presumably aimed at controlling the subsequent occurrence of dissident action. Similarly, an arrest in one time and place that precedes another arrest (or trial) at the same place is believed to influence state behavior presumably in an attempt to continue the effort at behavioral control and/or sustain morale within the repressive agents.6 This more qualitative reading of the data is useful for understanding catalogs because it moves us away from simply evaluating when a particular event is covered across sources, and it compels us to investigate the sequence in which events occurred. There are of course some limitations to such an approach. Moving away from point estimation, we are hindered in our ability to specify causal influences in a precise manner. At the same time, attempting to gain a better grasp of the way that variables are influenced by others, there is perhaps no better approach than imposing as few restrictions as possible. The catalogs are provided in the Appendix. Each case (each source) is discussed next.

6

This assumption (standard in the repression literature) becomes crucial because the objectives of certain forms of political repression are not made explicit. For example while arrests of BPP members and court appearances are generally made explicitly, the explanation for harassment and raids are not. Clearly all techniques are part of the state’s campaign to control and/or eliminate the Panther organization.

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The New York Times As expected, coverage of police repression in the Times is relatively straightforward. This is due, in part, to the small number of days with repressive events that were identified in the catalog (twenty-eight). When these data are observed, I find that there are essentially two phases of the BPP–authority conflict that are covered. Interestingly, these two phases are found in most of the newspapers, but they differ in important ways. Within the first phase in the NYT (between May 2, 1967, and January 21, 1969), initially the Panthers engage in a variety of behavioral challenges. In the Times case, this occurs without provocation (supporting Hypothesis 6 that an authority-oriented source would identify dissidents as the initiator of conflict). Repression is then applied in response (supporting Hypotheses 10 and 11 where violent and nonviolent dissent, respectively, leads to subsequent repressive activity). After this initial challenge and response, police repression is largely attributed to two factors: (1) subsequent behavioral challenges and (2) bureaucratic inertia with relevant police action either following other repressive behavior or leading to further government action. The latter finding supports Hypotheses 14 and 18 that previous police repression leads to subsequent action and that prior court repression leads to later police activity. Within the second phase of conflict coverage (in the Times between April 28, 1967, and September 11, 1971), the importance of the BPP behavioral challenge decreases and the importance of bureaucratic inertia increases. Here, political authorities largely hold the explanation for repression. The particularities of the case are significant, for they reveal insight into how exactly the Times covered Panther-related contentious politics. Considering what takes place in the two-week period before repressive behavior manifests itself, the data appear straightforward. Out of the twenty-eight days on which police repression takes place, approximately half involve shootings (four occur before repressive action and eight occur on the same exact day but before relevant government behavior). Revealing a certain degree of temporally concentrated threats, ten of these event-days occur prior to April 28, 1969 (i.e., during phase one). Indeed, the bulk of all coverage in the NYT appears before this date; that is, the majority of events in the catalog are found within this period. Identifying an important difference about what constitutes a threat, out of the twenty-eight days of reported police repression, only four involve 143

Cases

dissent (two before police action and two on the day of but preceding relevant repressive action). Again, temporal differences are identified: three of the four are found in the first phase of the conflict. Contentious behavior involving the BPP and the police thus prompted a coercive response from authorities (Hypotheses 10 [concerning violence] and 11 [concerning nonviolence]) but rarely was this activity responsive to dissident behavior undertaken by the black nationalist organization. By contrast, in eleven out of the twenty-eight repression-days, police activity was identified before the police took action. Again, these events are highly clustered in the first phase of coverage (between November 13, 1968, and January 21, 1969). This suggests that though many police actions followed prior behavior, most police repressive acts occurred as relatively isolated events unrelated to other police action. Comparatively, the court appears to be slightly more important as it establishes the context within which subsequent police behavior occurs. For instance, in thirteen out of the twenty-eight repression-days, court behavior was identified before police behavior – thus partially supporting the cue hypothesis that court action prompts police activity (Hypothesis 17).7 Interestingly, this appears toward both the beginning (between September 30, 1968, and January 2, 1969) and end (between January 13, 1970, and September 11, 1971) of the catalog. In line with the limited coverage of the BPP in the New York Times, Panther responsiveness to repression was also limited. For example, only three days of protest followed police action against the Panthers in the twoweek period following government behavior; two of the three took place within the first phase of coverage. As reported in the NYT, therefore, police repression did not generally prompt a reaction from the BPP. There is a very different story with regard to subsequent repressive action. With reference to this behavior, on ten repression-days, police activity was reported immediately afterward, and on twelve repression-days, court activity was found. After January 21, 1969 (the second phase of conflict coverage), the reported Panther–authority interaction is altered: as a result, how we understand repressive activity of the Panthers is changed in many ways. For example, during this time, there are essentially no BPP events and when police repression occurs there are either: (1) no previous events, (2) no prior events but events on the same day (prompting action), (3) prior police actions, or 7

Revealing the concentrated efforts of this state institution, six take place before January 17, 1969, and four occur between March 13, 1970, and September 11, 1971.

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(4) prior activity undertaken by the court. These diverse possibilities are provided largely in chronological order. Thus, out of the thirteen repression-days of this phase, one involves a shooting prior to police action (September 11, 1971), and three involve shootings on the same day but prior to police activity (June 16, 1969; December 8, 1969; and September 10, 1971). In contrast, nine out of the thirteen days of repression follow either the police (between August 19, 1969, and December 8, 1969), the court (between January 13, 1970, and September 10, 1971), or both (September 11, 1971). This represents a change from the earlier period because within the earlier time most of these activities were taking place at the same time (e.g., there would be court activity as well as dissent like that on November 13, 21, 28, and 30, 1968). What is interesting about this second phase is the significant amount of government follow-up to police activity that takes place – especially between April 28 and December 8, 1969. During the seven repression-days of interest here, all but one involves some form of repressive activity in the following two weeks: three involve police action (August 17 and 19, 1969, and December 3, 1969); five involve court action (April 28 1969; August 17, 19, and 20, 1969; and, December 8, 1969). Comparatively, little Panther activity occurs at this point, again conveying that the BPP was largely nonresponsive. Indeed, there is only one dissident action following repression during this time – on April 28, 1969. There is also only one shooting (on December 3, 1969). This pattern of coverage is important because it reveals a change in the way that police repression is understood. At the beginning of the catalog, the police responded to threatening behavior (protests and shootings involving the Panthers and police) and prior repressive action (the previous behavior of the police and the court). There was also extensive follow-up by the government – subsequent police and court action to continue/finish what had taken place earlier (e.g., serving warrants, harassing Panthers, arresting those suspected/guilty of criminal activity, and holding hearings). By the middle of the catalog (in the second phase), however, NYT coverage references earlier behavioral threats, but they do not identify any contemporaneous activity. Even later in the catalog, no Panther behavior was referenced at all, and what one is left with is a very simple explanation for continued repressive action: bureaucratic inertia (i.e., prior repression). Thus far, this discussion has ignored the importance of specific sequences across the event catalog (i.e., the order with which different events were identified and what that tells us about a conflict). Rather, I have highlighted 145

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general patterns in the catalog over relatively long periods of time. I turn to a sequential analysis next. Observing the data, we see that Times coverage of the BPP–U.S. government interaction began on May 2, 1967, with the state assembly protest and the subsequent arrest8 of twenty-six Panthers four blocks from the capitol. It was reported that a hearing to evaluate the accused quickly followed the arrests. Following this, there was a delay of several months before anything happened but what follows were among the most well-known events of the conflict. For example, the next police action taken against the Panthers reported in the NYT concerned the October 28, 1967, shooting involving Newton and Frey, which was discussed earlier. What followed this event in the Times account, however, is quite telling about the paper as well as its coverage of repression and dissent. In the aftermath of the shooting, Newton was immediately arrested for the murder of Officer Frey (on the same day) and was, weeks later, put on trial for his part in what took place. In a sense, this becomes a basic storyline of the Panthers in the Times – especially in the beginning of the period under investigation: the BPP do something with or without the police being present, and they end up getting arrested and/or going to court for it. In turn, these initial responses lead to additional court and police behavior as the earlier activities are followed up; respectively, six out of six event-days (September 10, November 8, 13, 21, 28, and 30 of 1968) and four out of six event-days (November 8, 13, 21 and 28 of 1968). A separate and eventually more important storyline also emerges, shortly after the first. Here, authorities (i.e., the police and court) are engaged in something against the Panthers and this prompts subsequent police activity. Indeed, between September 10, 1968, and January 2, 1969, all police repression was preceded by prior court action and the majority (four out of the seven event-days) involved prior police activity. By comparison, during this period, only two event-days involved previous shootings (November 11 and 28, 1968) and two involved prior dissident behavior (November 28 and 30, 1968). Similar to the start of the Newton–Frey incident, the shooting on April 7, 1968, began when the Oakland police stopped their cars to approach three parked automobiles on 28th Street in West Oakland. After the initial exchange of gunfire, several BPP members (“Lil” Bobby Hutton,9 Eldridge 8 9

This is denoted by the row itself in the table. He was one of the youngest and earliest members of the organization.

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Cleaver, Warren Wells, and others) ran to a nearby house that was later surrounded by the police. During the subsequent standoff, the Panthers were asked to surrender, tear gas was used, three BPP members emerged, and all were shot – with one dying at the scene (“Lil” Bobby Hutton). Following this event, six blacks were arrested – two Panthers and four others. Not all however were taken to jail. As Cleaver was on parole, after receiving treatment in Vacaville medical facility (sixty miles away so as to avoid “repercussions in the Negro district”), he was immediately sent to San Quentin.10 Coverage of the trials during this period was particularly noteworthy for these were some of the most contentious in Californian and perhaps U.S. history. For example, during one of Newton’s many trials, which started on July 7, 1968, Judge Monroe Friedman attempted to referee the battle between Newton, his lawyer (Charles Garry), and the state, as well as cope with the activities of different individuals in the courtroom. Outside of the legal proceedings (on the steps of the court), in what would come to be known as the “Free Huey campaign,” ever-larger crowds showed up to protest the treatment of the dissident leader and the perceived illegitimacy of the criminal justice system. Indeed, the demonstrations accompanying the trial were likely the most well-known protest activities associated with the BPP (outside of the Sacramento event). Additionally, they were probably the largest as well as most visible throughout the United States and the world.11 It thus makes sense that the Times covered them. Directly in line with Rashomon, the importance of understanding event coverage becomes relevant because it was during this sustained coverage of the court that the NYT gave a byline to an individual reporter (Wallace 10

11

Cleaver was released on June 12, 1968, when Solano County Superior Court Judge Raymond Sherwin stated that the government had produced not enough evidence for an indictment. At the end of the trial (on September 8, 1968), Newton was convicted of voluntary manslaughter. Neither the Panthers nor the police were pleased with the outcome and the Times picked up on this immediately. The BPP quickly moved to start a petition drive in Oakland to allow Newton to post bail (NYT, September 9, 1968), and on Fillmore Street in San Francisco the Panthers gathered en masse to discuss the potential “war” that would be waged if justice were not served, that is, if Newton were not set free (NYT, September 9, 1968). The police – at least some of them – also moved quickly. Upon hearing that Newton was not convicted of murder, the Times identifies that two on-duty policemen, dissatisfied with the outcome, drove by the 4221 Grove Street BPP office in Oakland and opened fire. No one was injured, and the two were promptly arrested, imprisoned, and removed from the force. Regardless of the outcome, the message from the story was clear: the use of state power against the Panthers was acceptable but only within specific boundaries.

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Turner), rather than rely on the wire services (UPI and AP), a clear indication of a newspaper’s commitment to a story. Only after the BPP–authority interaction moved into the stable environment of the courtroom, did the New York Times send its own observer/reporter, who could then provide detailed coverage of the conflict and the participants. The density of prior as well as subsequent court behavior identified during this period is especially noteworthy. Although limited in number, the type of Panther activity of the time is also important. Indeed, what is particularly interesting about the coverage of BPP behavior is that all dissident action identified in the catalog involved Panther responses to prior repressive behavior directed against them (e.g., the harassment of a BPP member, an arrest, or some trial). The implications of this practice are far-reaching. Although Panther dissent was covered in the New York Times – albeit in a limited fashion – the focus was still invariably on authorities. As such, any state coercion that responded to dissent was presented as being against those efforts that had explicitly threatened the government in general and the repressive apparatus in particular (i.e., police and courts). Interestingly, this coverage of the conflict leads to an interesting interpretation. For example, Times coverage of Panther-related conflict actually implicates the U.S. government twice in the repression of the BPP: first, by covering state coercion against the dissident organization and, second, by covering the repression of protest that was a response to the initial application of repressive behavior. Both the dissent directed against existing political institutions and the efforts to defend them highlight a very specific aspect of the BPP–authority interaction. The general discussion in this section so far reveals some important insights into media coverage of contentious politics and the importance of perspective. While there are elements of behavioral challenge worthy of discussion, the Times coverage of and hence explanation for police repression was largely based on bureaucratic inertia (i.e., prior government activity). Police repressive agents may have initiated their repressive behavior because of Panther behavior, but it was authorities following the behavioral challenge that sustained the use of relevant activity. We can make sense of this quite easily. Challengers are pursued and put into and processed in the criminal justice system; this sends a signal to officers on the street to closely monitor and sanction Panthers, which results in even greater numbers of raids, arrests, and subsequent legal proceedings. Repression simply begets more repression. 148

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Such coverage is clearly consistent with Rashomon as it communicates to readers of the Times that this authority-oriented source portrayed the conflict as something that government agents were very much on top of. This account is most favorable to the position of the authorities and supportive of the image that they likely wished to convey to others. Indeed, when reading the paper, there is very little about the Panthers in the NYT coverage of the BPP–authority struggle. After their earlier challenges to the status quo, the Panthers largely are reduced to a bit player in the confrontation. All that is left are the police and the court, finishing what was started earlier.

Oakland Tribune In many respects, the coverage of police repression directed against the Black Panthers in the Tribune was similar to that provided by the Times. Again, we see an early period of behavioral threat and repressive activity (between October 28, 1967, and January 24, 1969). Later (after January 24, 1969), repressive behavior was covered more or less exclusively. At this point, little reference is made to anything done by the Panthers, and almost all coverage is given to authorities. Despite the similarities across the two newspapers, however, coverage was not identical. With fifty-nine events of police repression identified across forty-four days, there were clearly more events reported in the Tribune than in The New York Times. This supports Hypothesis 1 about the importance of proximity for event coverage. The content of the two phases is somewhat altered. For example, during the first phase (between May 2, 1967, and January 24, 1968), after early dissident behavior prompted police repression, subsequent repressive responses were largely focused on violent exchanges between authorities and dissidents (supporting Hypothesis 10). In sixteen out of the first twenty-four repression-days (i.e., the number of days within this period of coverage), shootings were identified either right before (eight) or on the same day but preceding police action (eight). On one repression-day (November 19, 1968), there was both a shooting before as well as on the same day. Dissent is similarly concentrated temporally. Out of the first twenty-four repression-days, sixteen involved dissent: nine immediately precede police action, four occur on the same day, and two take place both before as well as on the same day. Significantly different from the Times is the type of BPP dissident activity that is covered. Recall that in the NYT all dissident 149

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behavior concerned the government (i.e., it was directed against and/or responding to political authorities). In contrast, the Oakland Tribune identified this type of behavior but also nonstate behavior (i.e., those activities that did not focus exclusively on government targets such as supermarkets and local businessmen). Indeed, out of the first twenty-four repressiondays, there are five days of government-oriented dissident action preceding police behavior and five days of non-government-oriented events. Revealing the importance of bureaucratic inertia, attention given to the authorities is directly comparable to that identified with the Times. For example, out of the first twenty-four days of reported police coercive behavior, fifteen followed prior police activity. Equally as important are the events involving the court. Out of the first twenty-four days of police repression, fourteen followed actions undertaken by this government actor. Interestingly, these events are not concentrated temporally but are distributed throughout the earlier period. In addition, four days of court repression took place on the same day as police action (April 12, 1968; August 21, 1968; December 1, 1968; and January 17, 1969). Cues from the court to the police were thus significant in the Tribune (supporting Hypothesis 17). Different from the Times, the Panthers are slightly more responsive to police repression within this source. Following police action, there are nine days of subsequent BPP dissident action. Again, differentiating the Tribune from the Times is the fact that there is also greater variety in the type of Panther activity that is covered. Here, we find that out of the twentyfour repression days, two involve government-oriented behavior, whereas seven involve non-government-oriented activity. While responsive, therefore, the Panthers engaged in behavior not directly linked to their interest with persecution by the government. Albeit important, the BPP backlash after police repression pales in comparison to the activities of the authorities. For example, out of the twentyfour repression-days of the first phase, fifteen led to additional police behavior. Even more important is the court. Here, we find that out of twenty-four repression days, subsequent court action is reported in twenty (this supports Hypothesis 16). The second phase of coverage (after January 24, 1969, to the end of the catalog) partially mirrors that of the Times. Here, police repression is largely responsive to cues from the court. During this period, thirteen out of twenty repression-days (the number of days with reported events in this phase) were preceded by court activity. Over the same time period, seven out of eighteen repression-days were preceded by prior police activity (i.e., 150

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August 19 and 20, 1969; December 1, 3, 8, and 19, 1969; and April 21, 1970), three preceded by prior Panther activity (i.e., July 25, 1969, November 27, 1969, and August 11, 1971) and two with dissent taking place on the same day (August 20, 1969, and July 14, 1971). These are not the only differences. Again, mirroring the Times, BPP rebelliousness is largely absent as seven repression-days were followed by dissident activity: April 28, 1969; August 18, 19, and 20, 1969; April 17 and 21, 1970; and, May 26, 1971. Additionally, there are reported shootings following police action on November 27, 1969, as well as December 1 and 3, 1969. This is important. For all intents and purposes, the Panthers are engaged in little activity, and they are able to mount some response to the coercive behavior of the state but nothing proportional to the number of activities being directed against them. This supports Hypothesis 4 regarding the imbalance expected within an authority-oriented source to repressive action over dissent as well as Hypothesis 23 that an authorityoriented source would diminish coverage of behavioral challenges. As both the Times and the Tribune were state-oriented newspapers, the similarities in coverage identified here are not surprising. The differences between these two sources are therefore important for they tell us a great deal about how newspapers with similar orientation but different physical proximities differ in coverage. To understand this even better, I take an even closer look at Tribune coverage. Similar to NYT reporting, the activities identified in the Tribune reveal a progression from street to court battles but in much greater detail. In the more mainstream newspaper, the first repressive action undertaken by the police was reported on May 2, 1967, in direct response to the assembly incident (discussed earlier). Interestingly and differently from the Times, however, the Tribune identifies that the Panthers had engaged in dissident behavior before that time. This further details the context within which repression takes place and identifies that the authorities were responding to an already established threat to public order. Specifically, between April 24 and 28, it is reported that the BPP and members of the black community protested outside the Martinez courtroom. This event concerned the investigation into a North Richmond police shooting of a young black male, Denzil Dowell. During this activity, the BPP raised many questions about the behavior of the police in particular and police–African American interactions in general. On April 29, the Panthers and diverse members of the black community held a meeting in Northern Richmond, again discussing/criticizing police brutality. 151

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By the time of the Sacramento incident, therefore, the more proximate authority-oriented source had already identified a behavioral threat of some note (supporting Hypothesis 2 about increased attentiveness determined by political orientation as well as Hypothesis 6 that authority-oriented sources attribute the beginning of conflict to challengers). In this newspaper, the Panthers were more significant than had been conveyed by the single event at the capitol discussed in the Times, and the reporters revealed that the BPP had not come out of nowhere. The Tribune newspaper also identified a longer period of state response to the state assembly action, as it identified an arrest related to this case that occurred several weeks later (on May 22 at 881 47th Avenue, Panther Headquarters). The postcapitol repressive response was not isolated. Consistently, I find that there were not only more state–dissident confrontations in the Tribune than the Times but also more extensive state responses as well (supporting Hypothesis 20 regarding the magnitude of the authority’s response to dissent found within an authority-oriented newspaper). For example, after the Newton–Frey shooting on October 28, 1967, the police searched throughout the city for the next few days trying locate Newton’s then unidentified passenger and to collect any information on Newton that might be of some use in prosecuting the case. During this period, police even arrested two Panthers visiting Newton on October 28 at 11 P.M. in Highland Hospital: one for being drunk and another for resisting arrest. While important in itself, the coverage of this event is particularly significant because it revealed that the Tribune journalists were already attentive to and, in this case, stationed at the hospital covering the Newton arrest, ignoring other activities taking place elsewhere. Further different from The New York Times account of the conflict, but largely reflective of the authority-oriented nature of the newspaper and the proximity to relevant events, was the Tribune’s extensive coverage of details regarding the court proceedings. For example, during a Newton arraignment on November 27, 1967, sixty members of the BPP stood in court and raised their fists when the Panther leader entered the room. In response, the presiding judge (Redmond Staats) cleared the courtroom and sent Newton back to his cell – fist raised defiantly on his departure. Something like this also happened on November 16. The brief example reveals part of the process that was involved, the great ritual in which power was eclipsed and then restored as Foucault would argue. As a way to further develop this narrative, extensive coverage was given to rulings made on behalf of the court (e.g., the granting of a continuance on January 10, 1968, 152

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and the denial of dismissal on January 26, 1968). Additionally, coverage was also given to motions filed in Newton’s trial on behalf of the Panthers (e.g., for postponement on January 10,1968; for discussing indictments on January 26, 1968; and, for questioning jury selection on February 6, 1968). For another example, consider the two weeks leading up to the arrests of Panthers on November 19, 1968. On the eighth of November, there was a court case involving some unnamed Panthers in Alameda Superior Court. The same day, Charles Garry (the BPP attorney) attempted to file a motion to get indictments thrown out of court, which was quickly denied.12 On the thirteenth of November (five days before the arrest of interest), there was a traffic stop on Parker Street in Berkeley of numerous Panthers including Reginald Forte. This interaction led to a shootout, which in turn led to these same BPP members being arrested for attempted murder. On the fourteenth, another Panther trial was underway (again of an unnamed member) – this time at the Alameda County Court. On the nineteenth, there was another shooting in San Francisco between Panthers and the police on Seventh Street, once more, involving a traffic stop that became violent. The event results in the arrest of numerous Panthers. This is not where conflict ends. During the two-week period after this event, several others were reported in the Tribune: an arraignment of several Panthers from a March assault charge incurred on the twentieth of November, a trial for some unnamed BPP member on the twenty-fifth (the offense is also not reported), the denial of another Garry motion on the same day (this one involving Newton at the State Court in San Francisco), and a preliminary hearing for Forte and the others regarding their attempted murder change (reported previously). On November 27 (eight days after the arrest of interest), a search was undertaken of numerous Panther homes in the Bay Area as police tried to locate Eldridge Cleaver and on December 1, 1968, BPP member George Murray was arrested in San Francisco for “disturbing the peace.” The first of December also involved two more events: a trial at the Alameda Superior Court and the denial of yet another motion from Garry by Judge Staats. While the intricacies of the court proceedings filled the pages of the Tribune with little attention to actions undertaken by the police, coverage was also given to the Black Panthers’ Free Huey protest campaign that took place outside the court (e.g., on January 10, 1968 [with four hundred people], February 2, 1968 outside the Alameda County Court [with one 12

The trial and the ruling count as two distinct court-related repressive events.

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hundred people], January 10, 1968, at Washington School in Berkeley [with three hundred], January 26, 1968 at Sproul Hall at UC Berkeley [with one hundred] and on February 17, 1968 at the Oakland auditorium [with five thousand]). Coverage was again similar to that of the Times; most dissident activity covered by the newspaper was given to Panther behavior that dealt with state repression taking place earlier or at the same time. Because of this focus, however, one comes away from reading the Tribune with a somewhat narrow understanding of BPP dissent because the coverage suggested that most of the activities concerned repressive action. Of course, to some extent this is in line with what the Panthers said themselves. As discussed earlier (Newton 1996; Singh 1998), a major part of the BPP agenda was concerned with state coercive power and how it was employed against blacks in general as well as the Panthers in particular. This is one of the reasons why they were so threatening to the government: they questioned the state’s monopoly of repression and its freedom to use such behavior as they wished. Now, differing from the Times, non-government-oriented dissident activity was not completely absent from the Tribune. For example, on July 6, 1967, there was coverage of a rally to change the curriculum at Merritt College and on December 1, 1968, there was a rally for BPP Charles Murray to support his employment at San Francisco State College. Such instances, albeit rare, reveal that the Panthers were not exclusively concerned with countering government repression and that they had a wide variety of targets for their political challenge. Following January 1969, there is a rather large shift in coverage. After this time, there is very little that is done by the Panthers, except as a response to what is done to them. Additionally, most of the events covered take place in court. For example, focusing on the two-week period leading to an arrest on June 24, 1969, the dynamics of this period are relatively straightforward. Beginning on the twelfth of June, the Tribune reported that the BPP was in the Alameda Superior Court. The case concerned Forte and the others and continued on the seventeenth. On the same day, the BPP members were found guilty. On the nineteenth, a different trial with Bobby Seale was underway at the U.S. District Court in San Francisco. During this time, Judge Agee denied a motion proposed by the Panthers. Yet another trial was covered on the twenty-third of June at the Alameda Superior Court. This time BPP member Wells and several others were involved. Here, after a motion from the BPP, Judge Cook immediately proceeded to deny it. 154

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In this context, it makes sense that the arrest noted on June 24 was for contempt of court within the U.S. District Court of San Francisco. It also makes sense that on the same day, there were several other court-related activities. For example, in San Francisco there was coverage of a grand jury asking questions of different Panthers. There was coverage of a trial in the U.S. District Court as well as a ruling and denial of motion that prompted the disruption, which led to the arrest noted previously. As if that was not enough, there was also coverage of a trial at the California Superior Court where a BPP writ was denied by the court. Thus not only had the Panther– authority conflict become one largely found in the courts, but it was also one that they were losing rather resoundingly. The preceding example very well captures the dynamics of the post-1969 phase of Tribune coverage. Indeed, the only difference from the events just discussed would be the occasional involvement of the police or the Panthers. For example, on November 27, 1969, there was an arrest of David Hilliard on the 5200 block of Shattuck in Oakland. In the two-week period prior to this event, there was a BPP rally at Defremery Park in West Oakland on November 12 to generally voice grievances about the state of America in general as well as the treatment of the Panthers in particular. On November 15, there was a demonstration led by Hilliard at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Here, the Vietnam War was denounced and President Nixon’s life was threatened. Mayor Joseph Alioto as well as Governor Ronald Reagan subsequently attacked these comments. The comments also resulted in Hilliard’s arrest several weeks later, which was the event discussed earlier.13 Addressing an earlier offense (June 27), on November 19 Bobby Seale was also in Oakland municipal court. In the two-week period following the Hilliard arrest, there were (again) a large number of events. For example, on December 1, the Tribune reported that there was an investigation into loud radio playing, resulting in three arrests and two raids. On December 3, Hilliard was quite busy. On this day, he was indicted in a federal grand jury as well as denied a motion while being arraigned in U.S. District Court. Seemingly once a BPP leader was in the criminal justice system, the Tribune followed them every step of the way. Of course, Hilliard was not alone. On December 5, two other trials 13

In the current context of the “war against terror” and significant restrictions on American civil liberties, it is intriguing that it takes this long for someone who threatens the life of the United States President to be arrested.

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were taking place at the Alameda Superior Court with unnamed Panther members. From the examination of this catalog, it is clear that the coverage of conflict in the Tribune is generally in line with my Rashomon argument. The authorities generally appear to vanquish the Panthers after a battle of declining frequency and severity. Rather than the complete disappearance of the BPP, however (in the pages of the Times), in this case the Panthers largely become enveloped within the jaws of the U.S. criminal justice system. Once more, the account is favorable to the position of authorities – albeit a somewhat more complex story than within the more distant source. Once again, state power is eclipsed but returns triumphant.

Sun Reporter When we move to contentious BPP–authority interactions in the more proximate, moderate, black newspaper, certain elements of the white, mainstream story identified earlier are shared. This said, there are also some important differences that reflect well on the Rashomon argument. For example, similar to the Times, few days with police repression were identified (thirty-five in total); this is consistent with the mainstream. At the same time, the reported events extend for a longer period of time. Additionally, again in line with the mainstream, there are two phases to conflict coverage. Within the first phase (between May 2, 1967, and January 31, 1969), the conflict is quite heated with both political dissent and prior repression playing a role. Within the second phase (from February 25, 1969, to the end of the catalog in April 16, 1973), the level of conflict (i.e., the number of reported contentious events) diminishes. What is different here from the white mainstream is that there is still support for the distinct theoretical explanations. Indeed, for most of the catalog, there is still something of a two-sided battle underway. This supports Hypothesis 3 regarding the less skewed reporting of moderate newspapers and significantly deviating from the route covered in the sources discussed earlier. Similar to both mainstream presses, shootings and dissent were deemed important. Of the first eighteen days of reported police repression (phase one), seven involved shootings (three immediately before coercive action, three on the same day, and one before as well as on the same day). In the first phase, eight involved dissent (five occur immediately before, two on the same day, and one where there was an event both before as well as on the same day). Regarding the type of activity covered, almost all dissident 156

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behavior was government-oriented. Of the two exceptions, one concerned a rally for the slain BPP member Bobby Hutton on March 30, 1968, at Lake Merritt in Oakland.14 The other concerned a strike at San Francisco State in which the Panthers participated because of BPP member George Murray’s suspension from the institution on November 23, 1968. In contrast, out of the first eighteen days of police repression, six involved prior police action and six involved prior court behavior. At least during the first phase of coverage, therefore, the relative balance of importance was comparable across explanations. Slightly different from the Times but similar to the Tribune is the degree of resistance shown by the Panthers. In four out of the first eighteen repression-days identified, the BPP engaged in dissident activity following repressive behavior. Shootings after arrests occurred on two occasions. Again, far more frequent were the actions of political authorities. For example, out of the first eighteen repression-days, seven involved subsequent police activity and ten involved later actions by the court. The numbers here are significant in that approximately two-thirds of the police repression days had no precipitating events. Essentially, in this case it is not clear why repressive events took place. In the second phase of coverage, the basic story changes in important ways to a position less in line with the more conventional newspapers discussed earlier. As in the other sources, the sheer number of events is significantly reduced, especially those that took place prior to arrests. Of the next eighteen repression days (all events in phase two), eight have only one event that is reported prior to the police action in question. No events were reported on the same day as police repression. In the Sun Reporter, there was a relatively equal balance of precipitating factors. For instance, four involved dissident behavior, two involved shooting, and five involved police action. This is dramatically different from what was reported in the more mainstream presses. At the same time, we must acknowledge that the number is relatively small and that police repression in this source is not particularly well accounted for. The period after police repression looks different from the first phase – yet another difference from the white mainstream. In the first phase, although there were dissident events (four) and shootings (two) reported on days with repression, the bulk of events after political repression were 14

This obviously involved the police for they are the ones that shot Hutton, but it was more a time for the community to grieve, get information, and share.

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other repressive events. For example, there were seven repression-days with subsequent police action and eight repression-days with actions undertaken by the court. Within the second phase, however, this changes. During the relevant period, there were three repression-days with subsequent police repression and six with court action. More importantly, there were seven repression-days with subsequent dissident behavior and, again, two shootings. In brief, the Sun coverage suggests that police repression prompted Panther militancy – albeit a relatively small amount. Equally as interesting was the fact that there is greater variation in the type of events covered. As reported, three of the repression-days involved dissident acts that were non-government-related, whereas four were government-related. Moving from the summary investigation offered earlier to a more detailed analysis of the event catalog, one can further understand how the black moderate paper both followed and deviated from the white mainstream. Viewing the catalog, again, the conflict begins with the Sacramento state assembly protest, the arrest of the participants a few blocks from the event, and the subsequent arrests of Newton, James Tucker, and Truman Harris on May 22 at BPP headquarters in Oakland. In this respect, the coverage is similar to the white mainstream – although an important difference concerns the identification of non-BPP leadership caught in the dragnet. Following the police action, revealing a degree of militancy that is not found in the other newspapers, the Sun Reporter also reports that the BPP did not take this repression without resistance. For example, immediately after the May 22 arrest, several Panthers went to the Oakland Hall of Justice to protest the activity taken against their comrades. Clearly, this did not work out as expected. Unlike their colleagues at the state assembly, the police were not caught off guard and the BPP members were arrested on the spot for entering the building with shotguns. Equally as important, the next day this arrest was responded to with a protest as well. These are not isolated instances. In the second week of February 1968, Judge Staats in the Alameda County Court had convened a meeting to set a date for Newton’s upcoming murder trial. Several days later (February 16), there was a rally to raise money for Newton’s defense fund and to “elucidate” the cause of black militancy. Approximately six thousand individuals attended this event: including Bobby Seale, Stokely Carmichael (honorary prime minister of the BPP), H. Rap Brown (honorary officer of the BPP), and James Forman (leader of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee). On February 24 and 25, about ten to twenty Panthers 158

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were arrested on various charges in a predawn raid. The events in both cases involved some of the most high-profile individuals in the Panther organization: Bobby and Artie Seale (Bobby’s wife), Arthur Coltrale, Alprentice “Bunchy” Carter, David Hilliard, and Audrey Hudson. Accordingly, this signaled a major effort to cripple the BPP leadership. On the heels of these activities, the Panthers held a rally outside Berkeley municipal court to address the blatant harassment of BPP members and the attempt to drain the funds from Newton’s defense. This event was attended by about 150 people. Similar to the more mainstream sources, the Sun Reporter covered the Newton–Frey indictment of October 28, 1967, quite thoroughly: the traffic stop, the shootout, the arrests, and the arraignment of Newton by Judge Stafford Buckley are all there. Differing from the other sources, however, coverage continued to be expanded in the Sun Reporter because, in addition to these activities, attention was also given to the harassment of Newton by police officers while in custody at the hospital on October 29 (e.g., his beating while handcuffed and being subject to racist name-calling). On November 13, coverage of these activities continued with the denial of the pretrial motion for postponing the plea so that the other members of Newton’s legal defense team could be present (this is associated with the post-event activity of October 30). Again, coverage reveals that Newton’s arrest and the subsequent legal battle initiated the Free Huey campaign with diverse fundraising efforts (January 6, 1968) and protests accompanying the court proceedings (e.g., later the same week that the fundraising effort took place, February 3, 1968 [which was attended by more than two hundred people] and February 16, 1968, at Oakland auditorium [with six thousand attendees]). Different from the other sources, however, was the coverage of police efforts to thwart these and other BPP efforts undertaken by diverse members of the organization. For example, on January 16, 1968, there was a predawn raid of Eldridge and Kathleen Cleaver’s home (respectively, the Panther’s minister of information and the first female member of the central governing committee), and on February 24, 1968, eight Panthers at BPP headquarters in Oakland were arrested on various charges. Further differing from the Tribune’s account, there was also a report of an arrest on the morning of February 24 of an unidentified BPP member who was charged with resisting arrest. This type of coverage was common in the Sun; at almost every turn, repressive behavior was portrayed as being diffusely targeted against the Panthers – at all levels of the organization. 159

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What is particularly noteworthy about the events of February 24 is that this was the first time we see a Panther member with a byline in a news source (in this case Kathleen Cleaver). In neither of the mainstream sources does one ever see an article written by a BPP member, and rarely were members interviewed or even quoted. This identifies a high degree of interest in the events in question, as well as access and deference to the BPP – exactly what I expected from a black newspaper (even one only moderately interested in radical politics and activism). On November 19, 1968, after eight BPP members were arrested for suspected robbery as well as three counts of assault with intent to commit murder, San Francisco Mayor Joseph Alioto demanded that a grand jury investigate the Black Panthers, and trustees at San Francisco State suspended BPP member George Murray. The BPP quickly called for a strike of the college. This was a significant move because it allowed the Panthers to engage in some form of contentious behavior, but one that did not carry the stigma or provocation associated with behavior that more directly targeted state repressive organizations. Following the shift in coverage after January 1969, there were many aspects of conflict coverage that changed. For example, police repression was generally preceded by a single event instead of a series. On February 28, 1969, George Murray was arrested for violating probation. This event was right after Bobby Seale’s home had been raided, and he had been arrested, suspected in some plot against the government. Although prior police action was the precipitating event reported most frequently in the Sun at the time, there was also some attention given to shootings and dissent as an aftereffect of repressive behavior. For example, after the arrest of Bobby Seale, his wife, and the others on February 25, 1969, and the incarceration of George Murray after violating probation on February 29, 1969, the Panthers once again stepped into action, immediately holding a rally to discuss the diverse problems confronting the BPP in general and the difficulties confronted by the organization with regard to the criminal justice system in particular. Close examination of the Sun is quite important. Indeed, this source more than any other thus far shows the difficulty of simply looking at a dissident event following a repressive event (as currently practiced in the literature) without carefully noting what the challenging event is about and what the repressive event targeted. For example, on April 28, 1969, police shot two gas canisters into BPP headquarters in San Francisco in an effort to locate and arrest Panther member Cleveland Brooks (on some unspecified charge). Although the police did not find Brooks, they took several 160

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members for questioning and then released them, standard practice as reported within the Sun. This event was quickly followed by a demonstration (which eight thousand attended) in support of Newton outside the Federal building at 450 Golden Gate Avenue, San Francisco. What is important about this sequence of events is that the Newton event had been planned well in advance of the search and harassment. It did not “respond” to what the police had done against the BPP on April 28. A similar arrest of Mrs. Charles Bursey for refusing to answer questions in front of a grand jury on September 17, 1970, preceded another prearranged rally on behalf of the “Soledad Brothers” (George Jackson, Fleeta Drumgo, and John Clutchette accused of killing a prison guard) held at Bobby Hutton Memorial Park at 18th and Adeline in Oakland. Again, if one simply noted the sequence of events, it would appear that the Panthers were responding to police activity – indeed, this is how scholars of the Conflict-Repression Nexus have been investigating the topic for the last forty years. Clearly the organization was not responding, however. Why do I only note this issue here? The detection of this disjuncture is almost impossible to identify within more mainstream sources because the connection between subsequent BPP activity and earlier repression was less clear due to a lack of detail provided within these newspapers. These findings are very telling about what the Sun Reporter focused on and how it viewed conflict between the Panthers and the authorities. The disconnect between police and dissident behavior reveals that over time the Panthers had become less responsive to one form of repression (police action, which was far more volatile) but more responsive to another (court action, which was more stable and institutionalized at specific times and places). While conventional in its earlier coverage of the BPP–authority interaction by the end of the period under examination, the black moderate newspaper provided a very distinctive take on what took place. This difference is magnified further in the remaining sources.

Berkeley Barb When we turn to the white, radical press, in some ways coverage of police repression mirrors those patterns found in the other newspapers. This said, in most ways conflict coverage was very different. For example, within this source, there is no precipitating decrease in the number of events over time as in the Times, Tribune, and Sun. Rather, there is a certain degree of stability in coverage. Additionally, there is no dramatic shift in the type of events 161

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that are reported as observed in the white mainstream. Here, again, one sees greater stability. Across the conventional break in time (after January 1969), one can see that there is essentially no difference. For example, prior to 1969, there are seventeen repression-days. Over this period, there are nine days with dissent, prior to police repression. Consistent with earlier characterizations, which emphasized initial BPP behavioral challenges, this supports Hypotheses 10 and 11 where violent as well as nonviolent threats prompt repression but refutes Hypothesis 21 where it was expected that a dissidentoriented source would attribute the beginning of the conflict to authorities. This type of activity differs from the mainstream because in this case four days involve government-oriented activity, whereas five days involve nongovernment-oriented behavior. Further differing from these sources, the Barb only identified one shooting taking place prior to police repression (on October 31, 1967). More conventional was their characterization of previous police and court activity, each of which was reported on six days apiece. On the day of police repression, the message is consistent with all of the sources thus far examined. During this period, the Barb reports that the Panthers were engaged in some contention. Out of the first seventeen repression-days, there were two days with government-oriented dissident activity and four shootings. Less important, there was only one day when courts were active. Also pretty standard in the first phase is the period after police repression. Again, we see that repressive behavior occasionally begets later police repression. Out of the seventeen repression-days, six involve subsequent activity. Even more important, however, nine involve subsequent court action. Significantly differing from the mainstream sources, however, there was a higher degree of BPP militancy identified in the Barb. Here, we find that eleven out of seventeen repression-days involved subsequent dissident behavior. Of this number, eight involved government-oriented behavior and three involved non-government-oriented activity. In this regard, the coverage was quite conventional. Within the second phase, the distribution of events seems more or less comparable to the first phase, which is different from the more mainstream papers. For example, out of thirteen repression-days, seven involved prior dissent: five involved government-related behavior and four involved non-government-related activity. What stands out from this coverage is that even though the type of dissent identified is comparable to the more 162

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mainstream sources, there were a larger number of dissident actions. Over this period, there were also two repression-days with shootings that precede police action. As a consequence, the degree of Panther contentious action seen during the second phase was quite significant, and the BPP did not substantively diminish their militancy. Interestingly, there was a shift in reported government activity, again differing from the mainstream newspapers. Although court activity was still somewhat commonly observed (with five days out of thirteen taking place before police repression), the amount of prior police activity was significantly diminished to two. Within the Barb, we thus find fewer instances where the previous actions of the police prompted later activity. Considering the day of police repression, the distribution of events generally looks like the mainstream and different from the Sun, which reported no events. Specifically, one finds three repression-days with dissent (both government related) and two repression-days with shootings taking place prior to but on the same day as police action. Of the different sources, this was most comparable to the Times. Following repressive behavior, there were also some important similarities with the first phase of coverage but some differences from the other sources. First, Panther militancy was sustained. Out of the thirteen repression-days, seven involved subsequent dissident activity: four government-related and four non-government-related (one day overlapped). Second, there were no shootings reported, differing from the Tribune and the Sun. Third, regarding bureaucratic inertia, I find somewhat less government activity – albeit varying across relevant government institutions. For example, out of the thirteen repression-days, two involved subsequent police activity, but seven involved later court behavior. Considering the catalog in detail, once again I find that repressive coverage began with the Sacramento protest and the state response to this challenge. Similar to the Tribune, the Barb also mentioned dissident behavior prior to the assembly incident: specifically, a Berkeley rally seeking support for the BPP and a call to end police violence against African Americans (May 2, 1967). Differing from the mainstream but similar to the Sun, however, there was no mention of a legal follow-up to the arrest. Instead, attention shifts to Panther activity. Specifically, to another rally in Berkeley addressing the recent arrests, the mistreatment of the BPP, and the need to raise funds in order to support them (May 9, 1967). This very much sets the tone of the Barb coverage: police repression and high degrees of Panther militancy. 163

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There are two points worthy of note here. First, within this source, police action was even more extensive in terms of the diversity of Panthers that are targeted. For example, similar to the Sun Reporter, on February 14, 1968, there was a Barb report of numerous BPP members getting arrested in Oakland (Roland Reynolds, Charles Hearns, Eddie Wright, and others). This comes on the heels of a rather large BPP rally with the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee. A few days after the arrest (on February 26), there were two other arrests in Oakland: one of Seale for an unspecified charge and one of various Panthers for a traffic violation. A week after this, there was yet another arrest of various BPP members – again, with an unspecified charge.15 Coverage of this same period in the Tribune was similar, but the sheer amount of subsequent repressive activity within both the court and police was lower. Second, the relative degree of Panther militancy was greater than in any source covered thus far. For example, in the two-week period after the event identified previously, there were two different protests about what took place: one in Berkeley (on February 26) and one outside of the municipal court in Oakland (on March 4). This was consistent in the beginning of the catalog. Thus, out of the first seven repression-days, four involved dissent before police action, two involved dissent on the same day, and five involved dissent after police repression. The government focus on much of this dissent was also clear, especially in the beginning of the catalog. Of the first five repression-days, most involved government. What is perhaps most important about the Barb’s coverage is the degree to which the two previously identified storylines converge. For example, on April 24, 1969, three thousand people participated in a Free Huey demonstration in front of the Federal building on Golden Gate Avenue. No one was bothered by authorities at this event; however, four days later, on April 28, in front of the BPP office in Fillmore, there was another rally at which a truck broadcast information about an upcoming Newton bail hearing where repression was identified. Initially the police were drawn to the location because of the presence of the loudspeaker, which required a permit. Once on sight, however, the police expanded their efforts to search the local BPP office for an undisclosed purpose – again, standard for the time as reported in this source. After being told that they could not enter without a warrant, a scuffle broke out, and police entered, firing their guns as 15

Over the same two-week period following the arrest, there are six days when courts were engaged in activity.

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well as tear gas. Several Panther members were arrested. Showing a degree of contentiousness missing in the other sources, the Barb reported that in direct response to this activity, BPP members and ordinary citizens from the neighborhood lined the streets in front of the Panther office (in military formation) to prevent additional repression. Although covering almost every aspect of this sequence, the Tribune leaves out the last part of the interaction, an omission that has a major impact on how one understands the relationship between the dissidents and the authorities. Clearly, not all BPP–authority standoffs ended as favorably for the Panthers. For example, on June 15, 1969, the Barb identifies that Panther members and the black community in Sacramento came together at Brotherhood Park (previously known as McClatchy Park) to have a little party. While seemingly not challenging authorities in any direct manner, the event was approached by the police, who moved toward the gathering (in military formation). Individuals in the crowd immediately started throwing bottles at the police who responded with verbal harassment, beatings, and numerous arrests. This led several individuals to flee into the nearby BPP office. Once this happened, the police opened fire on the office and later raided the facility. Although covered in the mainstream media, the illegal parking of vehicles on the lawn noted in the white mainstream was not mentioned here, again shifting – albeit subtly – the understanding of the interaction. Perhaps one of the most unique aspects of conflict coverage in the Berkeley Barb concerned non-government-oriented dissident activity. For example, in an effort to assist the grape worker’s boycott of Safeway but also to obtain support for their free breakfast program (continuing for several weeks), it was reported by the Barb that the Panthers engaged in their own boycott against the Safeway located at 27th and West Street in Oakland on June 13, 1969. Conveniently, this was located across the street from the local BPP office (likely facilitating coverage for the Barb reporters who may have been positioned in or around the Panther chapter). The coverage of this event was comparable to other actions. For example, Bill Boyette’s liquor store in Oakland was similarly targeted on July 10, 1971, for not supporting the breakfast program and it was similar to a later picket of Cal-State Package Store and Tavern Owners Association, which was undertaken because the association would not provide employment to the black community. The coverage of conflict events in the Barb was thus significant not only because it identified a high degree of state responsiveness to dissent but also because it revealed a wider variety of dissident challenges presented by the Panthers. The conventional threat-to-bureaucratic-inertia transition 165

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identified in the other sources was therefore altered in the Barb, which tended to highlight the continued importance of both factors. This is directly in line with Rashomon argument outlined earlier. The importance of my approach is also found within the politics of the Barb itself. Recall that at some point in May 1969, the radical newspaper underwent a major transformation. After extensive infighting following the People’s Park incident and reflecting about the Barb’s financial dealings with advertisers, much of the news staff left to start a rival newspaper, the Berkeley Tribe. Immediately, the Tribe denounced the Barb for “selling out” the revolution and catering to advertisers. In response, Max Scherr (editor of the Barb) decided to “out-radicalize” the Tribe by covering the most radical activities in the area. Did this influence event coverage of the BPP–authority confrontation? Observing the catalog after May 1969, two things are immediately apparent. First, the sheer number of events covered after the defection/argument is significantly lower than at any time before it. This makes sense because it suggests that many individuals and organizations that would have earlier provided information to the Barb, refrained from doing so after they were denounced. There is thus less news coming in to the paper. Second, of the events identified, most involved the behavior of the BPP. Indeed, according to the Barb, this period is identified one of the largest spurts of Panther activity (in relative terms). Understanding sources thus has important implications for our understanding of events. This is even clearer in the next source.

Black Panther Intercommunal News Service To this point, we have seen that the coverage of the conflict between the BPP and diverse U.S. authorities as well as the general explanation about why repression was used against the Black Panthers varied but in consistent ways across event catalogs. These results reveal important differences between distant as well as proximate authority-oriented sources, on the one hand, and more proximate, black-moderate as well as white-radical newspapers, on the other. Another major difference emerges, however, when we consider the newspaper created by the BPP itself. When considering the BPINS catalog, the most obvious difference between this source and the Times, the Tribune, and to some extent the Sun Reporter is that there is no abrupt phase-transition in coverage. Rather, similar to what was revealed in the Barb, there is a sustained tit-for-tat battle 166

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(a contentious back and forth) that is covered with either the authorities or Panthers engaging in the most activity, both before and after police repression. As a consequence, this source provides support for both the bureaucratic inertia and the threat arguments. Clearly, these are not supported at the same magnitude or at the same time. For example, out of ninety-one repression-days, sixty-six involved police events either before or after relevant events (roughly two-thirds) and twenty-four involved activities taken by the court before, during, or after relevant police action. There are seven days where shooting between the Panthers and police is reported, again before, during, and after police repression. Finally, out of the ninety-one repression-days, forty-eight involved Panther activity in some capacity. Differing from the mainstream, twenty-six involved government-related action and twenty-three involved non-government-related activity.16 These represent cumulative totals, however, and thus they are difficult to compare against the other sources where greater attention was given to precisely when the activities took place. When this is done, however, the basic point regarding the importance of police action and Panther militancy is reemphasized. For example, before the police engaged in activity, out of the ninety-one repression-days, fifty-five involved prior police action. No other type of behavior comes remotely close to this. Thus there are thirteen repressiondays on which some court behavior was covered. Out of the ninety-one days of police repression, three involved shootings before relevant government coercive action. Additionally, there are thirteen days with governmentrelated dissident behavior and fourteen with non-government-oriented BPP activity. Coverage of dissent is good relative to the other sources, but coverage of repression is still higher (this supports Hypothesis 5b regarding the fact that dissident presses cover repression quite well). During the days on which police action occurs, there are fewer events (in total). This is something generally comparable across sources. Out of ninety-one repression-days, three involved the court, two involved shootings, six involved government-oriented dissident action, and four involved non-government-related Panther behavior. Police action largely appears to be unrelated to events that take place on the same day. 16

Again, the number does not sum to forty-eight because there are a few days with both government and nongovernment behavior: October 21, 1968; December 22, 1969; and, August 7 and 20, 1970.

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The period after police action reveals a highly volatile situation. For example, as reported, out of ninety-one repression days forty-nine are followed by subsequent police action in the two-week period after these events. In contrast, eleven days involved subsequent court behavior. Regarding the Panthers, there is only one shooting that followed police action. Comparatively, there are more dissident events reported with fifteen governmentoriented and thirteen non-government-related events being identified. Perhaps the most distinctive characteristic of the BPINS coverage of the conflict is the fact that at different points in time, different actors predominate within the catalog. All told, I identify eight shifts in the relative balance of contentious behavior. These are briefly sketched next. Initially, the distinct shifts are rather lengthy. For example, at the beginning of the BPINS catalog (between May 2 and October 28, 1967), there is no clear advantage for either the state or the BPP in the number of events that they engaged in. Between January 15 and June 15, 1968, however, the police dominate the catalog with the larger number of events – shift #1. Even though the number of repressive events is higher, at this point the contest is far from a blowout. There are Panther dissident events before, during, and after police repression. This said, the majority of repressiondays involved some follow-up from the police. Between July 15, 1968, and June 21, 1969 – shift #2 – the balance shifted to the Panthers. During this period, the activity undertaken by the BPP outnumbered the activities of the police and the court, combined. Interestingly, these activities were found before, during, and after police repression; this simultaneously reveals that, according to BPINS, the Panthers largely instigated police repression but also responded to the activities of the police. Between July 13 and November 12, 1969, the balance of reported events moves back in favor of the police – shift #3. Indeed, at this time, there were no Panther or court activities reported. Rather, the BPP just appeared to be under assault, and the explanation for repressive behavior seems to simply concern bureaucratic inertia. The Black Panthers struck back between December 3, 1969, and March 8, 1970, when they again engaged in a large amount of dissent activity relative to police repression – shift #4. Differing from the July 13–November 12, 1969 period, however, this is not an exclusively BPP-dominated period as the police actually engaged in slightly more activity. This renders the period somewhat ambiguous as it represents a time of both state repression and Panther dissent. The next three shifts are much shorter in duration. The timing somewhat overlaps with the second phase of coverage, but the content differs 168

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significantly. For example, from March 31 to May 13, 1970, the police once again engage in a larger number of events relative to the BPP, supporting bureaucratic inertia – shift #5. During this period, this state actor is essentially uncontested and the Panthers reportedly did nothing. Between May 31 and September 9, 1970 – shift #6 – the Panthers covered a greater number of dissident events within their newspaper. These exist before, during, and after repressive action suggesting that, once more, the BPP both provoked, as well as responded to police activity. By September 23, 1970, through February 13, 1971 – shift #7 – the police had once again reestablished behavioral dominance in the pages of the BPINS. Again, there is effectively no dissent. Differing from earlier period, however, there was a greater number of court activities covered, especially after police repression. The catalog ends (between March 6, 1971, and February 24, 1973) with the authorities still behaviorally advantaged in terms of the number of activities reported – shift #8. Interestingly, however, the actor with the largest number of events covered is the court and not the police. Additionally, also differing from the period before it, the Panthers are not completely vanquished. The BPP still engaged in some dissident behavior: two on the same day as police repression (in the middle of the shift) and two following police action (at both the beginning and the end). Viewing the BPINS catalog in a more detailed fashion, we again see that police repression began with the arrests following the Sacramento assembly incident. Similar to the Sun’s coverage, a large number of repressive events are identified. Prior to January 1968 alone, there are five repressiondays. The exact events are somewhat different from those discussed previously. Although the number of arrests associated with Sacramento and the Newton–Frey shooting is the same, on June 2, 1967, it was reported that BPP member Warren Tucker was arrested in Berkeley for fighting, and on July 7, 1967, three BPP members in Los Angeles were arrested for illegal possession of firearms.17 Again, similar to the Sun Reporter, by the time of the Newton–Frey incident in October, it was identified in the Panther paper that the police had already started to sanction the BPP, both at the top and bottom of the organization. What is especially distinct about the first few incidents from the other sources is that although there are many repressive events identified, there are essentially no other activities associated with them; political repression is largely not comprehended as it is not associated with any prior activity. 17

There is no legal or police follow-up reported for these events.

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Distinct from the mainstream newspapers (especially the Tribune), we see no dissident behavior before the relevant events – only on the same day and only once. Distinct from the nonmainstream sources, we also see no dissident behavior after the event and no legal or police follow-up. Part of the reason for this coverage is directly related to the Rashomon argument. The BPINS was not consistently in production until 1968 (e.g., there would be long periods of time that would pass between newspapers).18 After 1969, however, all aspects of the paper were stabilized and coverage became more consistent. This situation of repressive events emerging with nothing preceding them did not persist for long. Entering cycle #1, the institutional influence of repressive agents quickly emerged as a more important explanation for police repression because although the behavioral threat began with two dissident events, the resonance of these events became institutionalized within the practices of the repressive agents. Indeed, of the next eleven repression-days following the Newton–Frey shooting (between January 15 and June 15, 1968) seven involved prior police activity and had nothing to do with the BPP. For example, on February 5, 1968, there was a rally in Oakland, and numerous Panthers were arrested for an undisclosed charge. On February 12, 1968 (seven days later), ten Panthers were arrested in Oakland for surrounding police on one of their community watch patrols – the only one reported in any of the catalogs. Three days after this, BPP Minister of Justice H. Rap Brown was arrested in Richmond for violation of a federal travel ban. On February 24 (a week later), BPP member J. Charley was arrested for resisting arrest and the next day two other arrests were reported: (1) Bobby Seale and others for conspiracy to commit murder and (2) BPP members Hilliard, Hudson, and Coltrale for an undisclosed charge. This sequence reveals that there was a concentrated and consistent police effort put forward to sanction the Panthers, largely outnumbering the BPP’s efforts to engage in any dissident behavior. By the time of the well-known shootout on April 6, 1968, therefore, there was already significant repressive behavior levied against the Panthers. This pattern was very different from the period after it (between July 13, 1968, and June 21. 1969 – shift #2). Similar to the Barb, at this time one sees in the BPINS a tremendous police response to BPP dissent and a heightened 18

For example, there are only four newspapers for all of 1967. During 1968, there were thirteen. This is hardly comparable to the weekly publication that emerged in 1969.

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response of the Panthers to the activity of the police.19 For example, of the twenty-three days of police repression noted during this period, thirteen identify BPP activity prior to state action. During the period, threats were clearly apparent, but interestingly the majority was not directed against political authorities. Specifically, seven identified dissident events taking place before state coercion had nothing to do with repression and repressive agents (November 6 and 15; 1968; December 3 and 17, 1968; March 31, 1969; June 15, 17, and 21 1969). This prompts one to wonder about the logic and legitimacy of the government’s behavior. Drawing upon existing social science literature and mainstream sources, it seems like one thing to sanction a social movement organization that is directly challenging political authorities. It seems like another matter, however, when government sanctions social movement organizations that are not directly attacking them or indirectly targeting others in an effort to attack them as with the case of terrorism, which goes after innocents in a way to provoke/punish some other actor. During this period, we also see a high degree of Panther activism following directly on the heels of police repression. Again, the target of BPP behavior raises some interesting questions. For example, the catalog suggests that a higher degree of Panther activity was not “responsiveness” to authorities – as the correlation would suggest, as the mainstream sources revealed, and as standard statistical research maintains. Indeed, on July 15, following a Free Huey rally at Oakland auditorium (attended by approximately six thousand people), Panther member Dexter Woods was arrested in San Francisco for “interfering with the police.” The next day, another Free Huey rally was held – again at Oakland auditorium. Following another pro-Newton rally in Oakland on September 14, 1968, Eldridge Cleaver was arrested on the Bay Bridge regarding an inquiry into weapons possession and a possible parole violation. Back and forth, the Panthers and authorities appeared to go at one another, and in existing research, this would appear to suggest that either repressive behavior prompted dissent or dissent prompted repression.

19

This makes sense given the fact that at the time the authorities were confronted with statements like the following by Eldridge Cleaver (1968): To all the pigs of the power structure, I say “Fuck you!” . . . To the pig power structure of Babylon: if you brutalize the people, if you murder the people, then the people have the right to kill you. We want to erase your way of life from the planet Earth and create a world in which people can live in peace

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Looking at the catalog closely, however, one finds no response in a direct sense. As found, the Newton rally was planned well in advance of repressive behavior, and these events were held not to protest the arrest of BPP member Woods but to free the already imprisoned Black Panther leader (Newton). What we see therefore is not so much rebelliousness as it is a limited capacity of repression to deter/hinder particular forms of BPP activity from taking place.20 While the back and forth between the Panthers and the police continued in the BPINS, even this pattern was subject to some variation. As mentioned earlier, prior to mid-July 1970, there are more contentious events reported and more distinctive periods of coverage with the police predominating. Out of the five shifts in coverage during the time, three involved the police having more events covered. After July 1970, when Elaine Brown took over editorship of the BPINS, this changed. During the latter period, there were fewer events and greater ambiguity as to who was actually dominating whom in terms of the amount of effort that different actors put forward. Out of the three changes of this period, one involved the police predominating, one involved the BPP, and one is unclear. Rashomon is clearly important for understanding this pattern of coverage as Brown and the Panther leadership was less interested in highlighting the violent aspects of the BPP in the BPINS and more interested in highlighting the efforts of the Panthers to free their imprisoned comrades. This includes events like the July 25 and August 19, 1970, rallies to raise awareness and release the Soledad Brothers (George Jackson, Fleeta Drumgo, and John Clutchette) and other political prisoners. There was a similar protest to support Angela Davis and BPP member Ruchell on March 13, 1971, and a general rally on behalf of all political prisoners was held on April 10, 1971. This coverage further alters our conception of state–dissident conflict for it would appear from the catalog that the relationship between dissent and repression strengthens as a result of the increased BPP activity, following as well as preceding police action. It is actually the opposite case however: BPP government-oriented action is an attempt to stop the collapse of the Panther organization, devastated by the repressive activity directed against 20

Interestingly, this logic does not work the other way. I believe it is reasonable to say that Cleaver was arrested because of the rally. Removing one of the Panther leaders was deemed crucial for crippling the Black Panthers – especially as it would impede one of the organization’s more effective mobilizing strategies. Thus any movement in that direction would further the state’s objectives.

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it. Source variation thus proves to be crucial for understanding what takes place as distinct sources highlight distinct aspects of state–dissident interaction. It is necessary to get further into and not away from events in order to better understand the relationship between governments and dissident organizations.

Summary In this chapter, I have explored how coverage of BPP–authority interactions within diverse newspapers influenced our comprehension of anti-Black Panther state repression. In keeping with Rashomon, it was found that media attention to coercive behavior and dissent was significantly influenced by the political orientation of the source and to some extent by the physical distance of the source from the events in question. As found, all newspapers covered the behavior of government agents, albeit at varying degrees. In contrast, only those closest to dissidents paid attention to diverse forms of BPP activity (e.g., those directed against government as well as those directed against nongovernment targets). Additionally, the mainstream sources identified a similar temporal sequence where dissident activity by the Panthers began the conflict, followed by a period in which police repression predominated. There was slight variation here. In authority-oriented sources, BPP behavior was limited, and authorities quickly overwhelmed it. In more neutral sources, the Panthers engaged in more activity over a longer period of time and authorities never fully vanquished them. In dissident-oriented newspapers, the two-phase characterization broke down or was severely weakened. Within these event catalogs, the conflict between the BPP and authorities was much more volatile with different actors predominating at different times. Additionally, it lasted much longer with different actors engaging in activity to the end of the 1973, when the examination ends. These differences in reporting directly influence the inferences that one draws from the sources as to why repression was applied. For instance, those sources closest to authorities suggest that BPP–state interactions were essentially one-sided. After small amounts of dissent (normally violent activity, directed against repressive agents), the authorities applied significant amounts of repression, which in turn developed its own momentum – further increasing the amount of coercive behavior that was applied. This activity diminished only after the Panthers were effectively crushed. In this case, one accounts for police repression by paying little attention to 173

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behavioral challenges and by focusing largely on the political authorities themselves (e.g., their preferences, norms, and habits). Those sources closest to dissidents revealed interactions that were much more evenly balanced and contentious in nature. Here, members of the BPP as well as state agents engaged in dissent and repression, respectively, and generally at comparable levels with a slight advantage to authorities. In these sources, the BPP engaged in a wider variety of activities: some were violent, large scale, and directed against government institutions/repressive agents, but some were nonviolent, small scale, and directed against nongovernment institutions/repressive agents. Here, one observes contention increasing and decreasing in cyclical fashion over time, leading one to focus on both behavioral challenges and bureaucratic inertia to understand repression. What does this tell us about police repression of the BPP in particular and about repression in general? Across sources, the research tells us that the BPP was initially sanctioned by authorities because the Panthers challenged them behaviorally and later because of the dynamics present within repressive government institutions. What varies across consulted information providers is the concept of what was deemed threatening by political authorities, the importance of different repressive institutions, and the resilience of the Black Panthers in the face of state repression. For example, within authority-oriented sources, higher-profile challenges were deemed “threatening” (violent, large scale, and directed against government agents), courts were extremely important, and the BPP caved quite early. Within dissident-oriented sources, higher- as well as lower-profile challenges were deemed “threatening” (i.e., nonviolent, smaller, and directed against nongovernment actors), the police were generally more important, and the Panthers continued to struggle for quite some time (doing so quite frequently in a less direct and aggressive manner). We thus find a robust explanation for repression where behavioral threats yield over time to bureaucratic inertia, but distinct takes on the transition between the two were largely reflective of (1) where the source sits politically and physically relative to the combatants, as well as (2) what the source looked for and what it generally covered. Which source was “right”? In line with Rashomon, I argue that none of them were – at least when viewed individually. Rather, it is only by triangulating the different perspectives (piecing together the mosaic of coercion) that one can comprehend what took place by identifying the range of possibilities, the variance. For example, no source identified that authorities 174

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initiated the confrontation with the Panthers. This makes sense because there would not be much sense in repressing an organization that did not present a proven behavioral threat, especially in a democratic society where authorities are largely accountable for such activities. Coercion clearly played a role in that a large part of the justification for the Panthers was prior coercive activity directed against African Americans; this is not, however, what I mean by state repression, which is directed against political organizations by those claiming control over a specific territorial unit. Additionally, no source claimed that dissident behavior did not take place at all. The contested nature of how wide a net the authorities cast as well as how much resistance the Panthers put up after repression does vary across sources, and these differences are important for this gets to the substance of politics and struggle as well as to the business of covering contentious politics. This makes sense because invariably the audience for the Oakland Tribune wanted to know what the authorities did when the Panthers engaged in dissent and thus the Tribune set out to tell this story. Here, small-scale, nonviolent, and nongovernment targets were ignored because such activities were not essential to this source’s narrative. Similarly, the readers of the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service and the Berkeley Barb wanted to know what the dissidents did as well as what happened to those who challenged the state; consequently, this is the story that these sources set out to tell. Here, more forms of action and street-level police behavior were deemed important for what the BPINS and the Barb wished to communicate. What does all this mean for those of us who want to investigate conflict with event catalogs? In line with Rashomon, the various sources are tied to the same raw information and draw from the stream of actual events but beyond that the sources create information to highlight the particular narrative of struggle and control that they were interested in. The key to understanding contentious politics lies in understanding how well we have captured distinct perspectives and have then explored how the variation reflects as well as influences our understanding of what has taken place. My study clearly suggests that understanding is very much held hostage by the sources we select. Specific findings will be robust across sources but others will not. Moving across distinct sources is thus deemed crucial for investigating and comprehending conflict. Such an exercise not only informs us about what is contained as well as missed within our data sources but also tells us about what is contained as well as missed within our theories about repression. 175

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For example, government-oriented sources are found to be the least tied to the behavioral threat hypothesis and the most tied to arguments of bureaucratic inertia, revealing that repression largely follows from and leads to other coercive activity. In contrast, dissident-oriented sources are the most closely connected to the behavioral threat hypothesis, revealing that state activity largely follows and leads to dissident behavior. Source selection is thus at the heart of the endeavor to understand. Accordingly, one who selected an authority-oriented source might not understand the importance of state challengers or the variety of activities that these actors engage in, and one who selected a dissident-oriented source might not understand the importance of authorities for repression or the diversity of agents involved. Our ability to understand conflict is in important ways conditioned by our capacity to incorporate the insights provided by Rashomon dealing with the process of data generation. I discuss the process, implications, and problems of such an enterprise in the next chapter.

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Conclusion

7 Conflict, Events, and Catalogs

Once asked why he thought Rashomon had become so popular, both in Japan and abroad, (Kurosowa) answered: “Well, you see . . . it’s about this rape.” Everyone laughed but the answer is not, perhaps, so cynical as it sounds. Rashomon is about an action as few pictures are about anything at all. We can turn the object this way and that, look at it from different angles, and it resembles a number of things but is only one thing – the object that it is. The film is about a rape (and a murder) but, more than this, it is about the reality of these events. Precisely, it is about what five people think this reality consists of. How an incident happens may reflect nothing about the incident itself but it must reflect something about the person involved in the happening and supplying the how. Donald Richie Rashomon, Akira Kurosowa – Director (1987)

What has surprised me about working on the Rashomon Effect and discussing the topic with different people around the world is how readily everyone accepts the point that sources of information vary regarding their coverage of conflict. Most people believe that different sources cover events in distinct ways and that this coverage is undertaken in a nonrandom manner. Where I encounter the greatest resistance, however, concerns the idea that the systematic investigation of source variation should be a topic of interest and that such a consideration would assist interested parties in better comprehending how observers cover/report events and with better understanding why conflict occurs. My research has been dedicated to shedding some much-needed insight into both of these areas. In this chapter, I briefly review how far we have come in this book, outline how far we still need to go, and discuss how we might get there.

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A Review I began the Rashomon Effect with three questions in mind: (1) why do sources consulted for information about repression and dissent vary in their account of what took place, (2) what sources should be used when one is trying to understand relevant events, and (3) how drastically does account variation influence our comprehension of repressive behavior and in what manner? My ideas about how to answer these questions were straightforward. Essentially, after reading a variety of different literature in communication, history, political science and sociology, I argued that sources varied in their coverage of repression and dissent because of two factors: (1) the political orientation of the source (i.e., its sympathy/preference for either authorities or dissidents), and (2) spatial distance between the source and the events in question. Both factors influence the type of actor and actions that are focused on, whom the source consults for information about what took place, and who the audience is for the stories written. For example, it was assumed that political orientation and physical proximity mattered because they influenced the interest as well as ability of the source to identify and cultivate quality informants. It was also assumed that political orientation mattered because it directed the source to collect information in a way that favored either authorities or challengers. As for source selection, I have consistently maintained that researchers should select as wide an assortment as possible in their efforts to collect and analyze information about who did what to whom, so as to maximize the two dimensions identified previously. As each account provides an equally plausible version of what occurred, such a procedure allows researchers to ascertain how different/similar accounts are and in what manner these accounts diverge/converge. The key here is diversity in information providers not just a larger number of them. The consequences of source variation are, well, varied. In certain respects, they are minimal, for example in the coverage of authorities and high-profile contentious activity such as violence and large events, which consistently receive attention. In other respects, the implications are critical, for example, in the coverage of dissidents and lower-profile activities, which receive comparatively less attention. The imbalanced coverage becomes particularly important when we attempt to use information extracted from the different sources to understand why repression is applied – a phenomenon whose explanation is inextricably bound to political 180

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dissent (the threat hypothesis) and previous repressive behavior (the bureaucratic inertia hypothesis). Indeed, if sources interested in government were inclined to cover only high-profile dissident activities and the behavior of authorities, then researchers would conclude that repression is the result of specific behavioral threats from challenges and of previous state activity. If sources interested in dissidents are inclined to cover high-profile as well as low-profile dissident behavior and some state behavior, then researchers would conclude that repression is the result of a wider variety of threats and specific state actions. Investigating five newspaper accounts of police repression directed against the Black Panther Party (based in the Bay Area and throughout California) between 1967 and 1973, I find support for the general argument outlined earlier. Sources generally vary in their coverage of repression and dissent in line with the two dimensions identified, especially political orientation. For example, sources interested in authorities cover the actions of this actor more frequently and in greater detail relative to dissident actors (i.e., across a wider array of targets and at different levels of lethality). Sources more interested in dissidents cover events in the opposite manner, but the difference is less stark. Here, government actors are covered but attention is largely given to the behavior of dissidents; these activities range across a wider array of targets for challengers but across a somewhat smaller array for authorities. Interestingly, when one probes the event catalogs created from the different sources in an effort to understand why repressive activity was undertaken by the police against the BPP, all sources reveal a process whereby repression initially responds to political challenges from the Panthers. Later, coercive activity is more responsive to government behavior undertaken in the past, with only faint reference to the behavioral threat. What differs across consulted newspapers is the exact timing of the transition as well as the totality of the shift. For example, authorityoriented sources generally portray a quick transition, with threat giving way to bureaucratic inertia. In contrast, dissident-oriented sources generally portray a slower, incomplete transition, with the explanation for repression appearing to oscillate between the Panthers and the practices of repressive organizations until the end of the period. When viewing different sources, therefore, one finds adherence to a common understanding of what took place but with distinct variations on this theme that reveal important differences about the events, the antagonists, and the observers/ recorders. 181

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The Way Forward How does the Rashomon Effect influence the investigation of sociopolitical events, and how should conflict researchers modify their practices to accommodate this phenomenon? Accepting the basic argument and the associated approach to research, future work should be altered in several ways. Attempting to address two distinct audiences, I begin with some comments for scholars generally interested in conflict, the media, and event catalogs. I then move to provide some specific comments for more quantitative researchers who are interested in examining large numbers of state– dissident interactions at once.

General Comments For those interested in exploring contentious interactions similar to the research presented in this book (where one state–dissident interaction is considered across a range of sources or where a relatively small number of state–dissident interactions are considered), there are several insights that I believe are useful for them to consider in their efforts, explicitly drawn from the research conducted in this book. First, it is clear that source variation and its exploration should become areas of inquiry in their own right. Researchers need to be guided to identify and account for the variation in source material: no longer should consideration of the sources one consults for information be secondary to discussions of the content of selected sources. As my work has revealed, one cannot comprehend the latter without understanding the former. As Tilly (2001) suggests, data and behavioral generation are inextricably connected to one another. The frequency and type of events are bound up with the sources one uses – how they collect information, whom they consult, how frequently they publish, and the audience to whom they attempt to distribute information. Second, researchers should be guided to have greater sensitivity to the fact that source selection can yield distinct causal accounts because information providers are drawn to different aspects of the relevant story. For example, my analysis of Black Panther repression reveals that one who relied exclusively upon a government-oriented source (perhaps in an effort to explore what those in government and their supporters were highlighting) would come away with a distinct understanding of the repressive behavior directed against the 182

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BPP. Specifically, one would conclude that authorities responded to violent and large-scale behavioral threats directed against state organizations and that, in their response, the Panthers were effectively overwhelmed (state repression far outpaced the amount of dissent). By contrast, one who relied upon a nonstate source (perhaps in an effort to explore what those in social movements and their supporters were highlighting) would arrive at a different characterization of the state’s behavior. Here, they would conclude that government agents reacted to threats of varying lethality, size, and targets, as well as to prior activity undertaken by the authorities themselves. Further, not only was repression responsive to factors just identified, but the Panthers more consistently struck back against both the U.S. government and, increasingly, other targets to advance their cause (e.g., social, economic, and political elites or economic establishments that were expected to service the African American community). The implications of these differences are not trivial. If, through a systematic evaluation of events, the number of reported threatening activities from dissidents is quickly outnumbered by the number of reported repressive events by government, then the willingness of the authorities and the mass audience to generally accept coercion as a response to dissent might be increased. With this causal account, dissident threat is converted to state “opportunity” for the exercise of repressive power and the actions taken on behalf of the status quo are legitimated. Here, the sociopolitical order is threatened and state repression “works” – eliminating the threat. If, however, the number of reported threatening activities is less definitively overwhelmed by reported state coercive action and repression is more or less equal to dissent in frequency, then the willingness of the authorities and mass audience to accept repressive behavior as a response to dissent might be decreased. Here, state coercive response to behavioral challenges and dissident claims/efforts become subject to more questions as well as investigation as individuals are prompted to reach for noncoercive alternatives to resolving societal conflict. Not only does the consideration of multiple sources give insight into why the U.S. government applied repression against the Black Panthers and into how one views the efficacy of state coercive action, but it also influences how we understand why the relevant authorities withdraw their activities, a subject about which we know very little. For example, drawing out the implications of event catalog analyses, it is clear that one who consulted state-oriented sources would conclude that repression ended because 183

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the threat posed by the BPP (dissent directed against police and violent state–dissident interactions) was eliminated. By the end of the period under investigation (1973), the Black Panthers were in and out of court as well as prison, and they were no longer able to effectively challenge authorities. One who consulted dissident-oriented sources, however, would conclude otherwise, that repression ended for different reasons. In these sources, after the initial coercive response to dissent and violent state–dissident interactions, the BPP and authorities went back and forth at each other. The nature of this interaction differs from the earlier dynamic in two ways. First, while much of the state’s activity involved the court, the behavior of the police was still ongoing. Second, the Panthers continued to mount a challenge but increasingly shifted the effort away from one focused exclusively on authorities to one directed against nonstate institutions and actors (e.g., supermarkets that did not support Panther programs). The imbalance between the excessive and aggressive state approach to policing and the presentation of a less confrontational Panther organization may have resulted in a fundamental shift in Bay Area and California public opinion against BPP repression. In turn, this unleashed a fairly widespread campaign to end government coercive action. Even though this explanation extends beyond the information contained in the event catalog that served as the focal point of the analysis presented in the book, it is clear that the consideration of this additional information provides a much more compelling explanation for the cessation of repressive behavior in the Panther case. Confronted with a weakened BPP (i.e., with numerous incarcerated members and those in court draining BPP resources as well as time), a diminished threat to the political system because of the new focus on nonstate targets, decreased support for repressive policies among ordinary citizens, and the growth of overt resistance to coercive state behavior, the authorities withdrew. The identification of account variation is significant because the researcher’s selection of a source and the causal accounts associated with them should be made with full knowledge of other sources and other accounts that are available to researchers (Lustick 1996). This awareness allows those of us interested in examining and understanding conflict to better comprehend the efforts made by researchers to investigate the subject. Additionally, being cognizant of issues like the Rashomon Effect, researchers may be prompted to ask different questions than those normally addressed within the literature. For instance, seeing source variation, one may be led to ask: what is the role that different accounts play in a conflict? 184

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Clearly an account where authorities initially become aware of a behavioral threat and then overwhelm the challengers with repression is useful for authorities and those who support them as they attempt to maintain control over their society. Here, we might expect public opinion in favor of repressive action to increase when such material was read. Similarly, an account where authorities initially become aware of a behavioral threat and then engage in a heated tit-for-tat battle with challengers that persists over time is useful for dissidents and those who support them as they attempt to bring about sociopolitical change. Here, we might expect public opinion of repressive action to be mixed to negative when such material was read. Are actors aware of the dueling accounts as well as their influence (if any) and, if so, how do they try to limit or guide these processes and effects? These merit serious consideration. Indeed, they represent very new domains of research for scholars of conflict and contentious politics (see Koopmans and Statham (1999) for an important exception).

Specific Comments I wish to provide some general suggestions for those interested in conflict regarding what they could and should try to consider in their analyses. I also wish to provide some specific comments for event cataloguers who might view my suggestions as too vague or far afield from what they/we do. First, I advocate triangulating sources so as to get multiple perspectives. This was relatively straightforward in the BPP–authority case in which I was interested, but it is somewhat less clear for analyses of protest and repression in twenty-five countries between 1980 and 2007 compiled from Reuters or a global analysis of mass killing between 1976 and the present from State Department country reports. What should these researchers do? For those employing collections of diverse information providers, ignoring their potentially unique narratives (as in the case of Reuters or LexisNexis event catalogs), they could disaggregate the compiled information by source and conduct searches on the different information providers to assess the influence of physical proximity as well as political orientation. With this done, the researcher could determine several things: (1) exactly how diverse are the consulted sources across the two dimensions, (2) are the accounts similar/different in line with expectations, and (3) what type or aspects of events are likely over/underreported? This type of information would be crucial for the scholar as well as those attempting to evaluate their work. 185

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For those employing one source – ignoring other narratives – my suggestions are somewhat different. After assessing the physical proximity and political orientation of the selected source, some possibilities might include randomly selecting a set of events that can be searched in other sources, from other regions and other orientations, in an attempt to ascertain the biases of the chief source. Or, one might use two different newspapers, search them in the same ways, and then run the same set of quantitative analyses on events in each newspaper and compare the results. For example, is the pattern of findings on the factors influencing the various policing strategies at protest events the same when we look at events covered in The New York Times and the Atlanta Constitution or The New York Times and the Al-Watan from Qatar? Researchers generally agree that local news yields better (i.e., denser) coverage. They now need to consider the fact that not all local news agencies are comparable. Second, I believe that it is necessary to delve more deeply into the news sources themselves and to incorporate this information directly into empirical investigations. For example, one could enter control variables in a traditional regression model for the different editorships at a given paper, or time-varying controls for different editorial regimes within the newspaper in longitudinal analyses. Relevant to this point, it is commonly known that the different editors of The New York Times (Adolph Ochs [1896–1935], Arthur Hays Sulzberger [1935–61], Orvil Dryfoos [1961–3], Arthur Ochs “Punch” Sulzberger [1963–92], and Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, Jr. [1992– present]) ran the organization in very different ways and in diverse contexts, directly impacting how the newspaper reported events. For example, Adolph Ochs and Arthur Hayes Sulzberger were quite deferent to political authorities, whereas “Punch” Sulzberger was more willing to be critical. It would be fairly easy to integrate such information into empirical examinations of New York Times content. Researchers must consider the importance of such factors for their catalogs. Related to this point, researchers might pay attention to the ownership of the media. One study by Djankov et al. (2002), notes that governments and private families own the largest media firms. The implication of this ownership could be crucial for those of us who employ such source material to create catalogs of protest and repression. Measures of ownership type, the political orientation of the owner, the location of the owner relative to the events, and freedom of the media would directly inform our efforts to understand conflict/contentious politics. 186

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A Question of Generalizability While useful for illustrating the importance of the Rashomon Effect for conflict as well as how one goes about studying the topic, it is also important to be aware of and explicit about the generalizability of my findings. To understand this, it is crucial to address exactly what was involved. For example, in order to examine my topic, I needed (1) a state actor (in my case the police and the court) as well as a dissident organization (the Panthers), and (2) a diverse media environment. Consideration of each component provides an understanding of how one should treat my approach and the conclusions I reach. State–Dissident Conflict. The first element for the examination of the Rashomon Effect was a contentious interaction between a government actor and a dissident organization. In many respects, local, state, and federal police as well as court agents in the United States and their activities against the Black Panthers were ideal. Both had clearly articulated objectives. Both identified each other as their opponent and the tactics selected were intended to directly hinder/harm/eliminate the other. At the same time, however, I must acknowledge that it is not easy to generalize from the BPP–authority case. As discussed, both the Panthers and U.S. authorities represented distinct organizations that coevolved over a relatively long period of time. The BPP was a black nationalist organization, but it represented a specific form of black nationalism and social movement organization. Its use of nationalistic, socialistic, intercommunal, and pro-black rhetoric, its denouncement of a separate state, and its self-defense clearly set the BPP within the core of the black nationalist movement. At the same time, its willingness to work with whites, consistent use of the U.S. constitution, and focus on the black poor are some of the factors that set the BPP somewhat apart from others. In addition to this, for the organization to have the full attention of the FBI, state and local police, and almost every level of court in California represents a relatively unique situation. Indeed, this leads me to believe that the type of analysis offered here is best directed against relatively stable and high-profile dissident organizations that explicitly challenge political authorities. For example, drawing upon the factors of concern to Gamson (1975), this includes dissident organizations that employ violence and seek to displace government officials. These organizations likely garner the 187

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attention of political authorities and prompt it to care about how it and the government’s effort against it are portrayed. Equally as important, these dissident organizations are most likely to garner the attention of the news media who are the primary collectors and distributors of information about relevant state–dissident interactions. By these criteria, it would be less feasible to explore interactions between the Revolutionary Action Movement (RAM) – another black nationalist organization of the period, and the U.S. government because the former was a clandestine organization that generally avoided direct confrontation as well as media coverage. A similar argument could be made about other clandestine organizations like the Ku Klux Klan, which also tended to avoid direct confrontations with authorities as well as extensive coverage of members and events. In part, this is because the membership of the KKK included members of the police force and local elite, who wished to avoid detection. In part, this is because the KKK wanted to influence government activity away from accommodating integration, but it was more interested in shifting the African American demand for change than in explicitly going after political authorities. In contrast, I believe that one could evaluate interactions between government agents and “terrorist” organizations because although clandestine, when the latter strike they tend to generate a tremendous amount of attention and from a diverse array of observers. Some care would need to be taken with regard to identifying other activities that these organizations engaged in. This interest should prompt the use of sources other than newspapers. Diverse Source Material. The second element necessary for my examination concerns the existence of a varied media/source environment. Specifically, Rashomon requires diverse observers/reporters who differ in political orientation and physical proximity and who provide information to an audience. In certain respects, this well describes characteristics found within the United States and in other Western, democratic societies but the type of sources that exist in these societies varies over time, and the limitations with these sources are important for the arguments made in the book. As discussed earlier, the period of the BPP–U.S. authority interaction during the 1960s and 1970s was ideal for the study of the Rashomon Effect because at this time there was a wide variety of newspapers in the United States covering a wide variety of geographic locales. Moving into the late 1970s and 1980s, however, dramatic changes took place in the American 188

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news media, as a series of mergers and acquisitions significantly reduced the number and type of presses and wire services.1 What was left was a media marketplace that could best be described as small, mainstream, commercial, and authority oriented. Of course, some other papers that did not fit this description were available at the time, but even they felt the impact of the changes in terms of finances, organization, design, and content. These were not the only transformations relevant to my investigation. Seeking to address the competition of television and to enhance profitability, presses uniformly cut foreign correspondents and news coverage, devoted greater attention to local news and significantly reduced the number of distinct events they covered. Additionally, there were major changes to the rules and practices regarding access to government records and access to different contentious situations involving political authorities (e.g., the events at Waco regarding the Branch Davidians, Gulf Wars I and II, the policing of the anti-WTO protest during the “Battle of Seattle,” and the targets of the terrorist attacks on 9/11). Consequently, by the 1980s, the news industry had experienced some qualitative changes that militated against the exploration of event coverage in general and the Rashomon Effect in particular. Indeed, things have changed so dramatically that, for individuals to examine source variation in a manner similar to that employed in this book, serious reconsideration needs to be given to how newspapers are used. In fact, it may be necessary to think about the need to use completely different information providers entirely. This conclusion about reevaluating sources is reinforced when one attempts to think about studying the Rashomon Effect in other countries, which I began after the Black Panther research. As briefly mentioned earlier, outside of the context of Western, democratic, and relatively economically developed societies, most newspapers are owned by governments or private families partially beholden to them (Djankov et al. 2002). In this situation, there are only authority-oriented sources and thus only one type of perspective is likely to emerge when these information providers are consulted directly or when local stringers attempt to use them for content. If the dynamics identified in the Panther study are correct, such a situation would 1

Even during what I refer to as the ideal period, there were problems. Some dissident organizations might have created newspapers/newsletters, but they could not sustain them over time.

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be extremely problematic for researchers relying upon them because we would simultaneously underestimate the magnitude of the dissident challenge, overestimate state repression and the ability of the state to overwhelm those threatening it with coercion. While consistent with what the political leaders and their supporters would like to convey to those within as well as outside of the relevant territorial domain, it would be useful to gauge the robustness of these phenomena in sources with varied orientations. Indeed, it is useful to alter this situation because protest will begin to look as if it comes from nowhere or alternatively everywhere, which (of course) it doesn’t. This is extremely difficult, however, because dissident organizations do not frequently have the resources for or interest in creating, developing, and sustaining their own media. Moreover, “neutral” sources, which draw upon both dissident and state informants for information, are not believed to exist. It is very difficult to cultivate relationships with organizations that are deemed threatening to existing political institutions for they are outlawed and stigmatized, and association with them might prevent an information provider from developing a relationship with the state. Understanding that the use of newspapers in event cataloging has become increasingly problematic, there are nonetheless two options that can facilitate the examination of the Rashomon Effect in other contexts. On the one hand, researchers can explicitly incorporate into their work discussions about the quality of the media/source environment within which they are working (e.g., what orientations are present, how proximate the sources are to the relevant events, how many stories are generally covered in the source, and how this has changed over time, how much attention is given to different locales from the relevant sources, whether any editorial changes have occurred that influence event coverage, how restricted freedom of the press is, and how independent the media are from the government). This information is extremely useful for those interested in understanding contentious politics, as it can provide some context/controls for understanding what was examined as well as what could be found within relevant source material. For instance, if one controls for the degree of press freedom within a cross-national study of repression (which would effectively allow us to incorporate the likelihood that events would be covered), researchers and readers can have greater confidence in the reported results. Again, we can also control for the overall media attention cycle. That is, we would expect that media attention to BPP events would increase when the media fixate more broadly on the Panthers and related issues. Without considering 190

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these factors, however, it is possible that the derived causal inferences will be misleading. On the other hand, researchers can consider sources that are completely different from those considered by traditional conflict analyses (i.e., the news media). NGO or government records, for example, have been relatively neglected, but they are being increasingly used (e.g., Ron, Ramos, and Rodgers 2005). Of course, in order to employ these sources effectively, one needs to develop an understanding of how they collect and distribute information as compared with how newspapers do it. For example, are these sources subject to spatial limitations or pressures to suppress certain types of content? Another question concerns the accessibility of these materials. Newspapers are interested in expanding their readership as widely as possible and therefore put tremendous effort into marketing and distribution. Are NGO and government actors as effective? Are their background notes and methods for compilation and distribution available to those outside of these organizations? Does it matter that newspapers generate and distribute events for profit whereas NGOs and government actors may be less concerned with such motives? These differences are important for several reasons. For one, the materials created by NGOs and governments are generally designed for a particular audience; these sources generally identify who they are interested in reaching and that, in turn, allows us to more readily affix political orientation. One must, however, be consistently attentive to the fact that challengers might not have access to these sources and that the sources may not have interest in contacting these actors. Additionally, with the reduced commercial interest, NGO and government sources and their content may be less subject to the vagaries of market competition and therefore may persist over time without substantive alteration. At the same time, given the distinct motivations of these sources, researchers should identify exactly why the sources do what they do before relying upon them. It would also be useful to clarify exactly whom sources are writing for and why. Answering these questions might provide additional insights into conflict and event catalogs. Indeed, these might provide the most useful insights into the topic thus far provided. It is of course somewhat daunting to end a book with additional things for scholars to do. My hope, however, is that through my investigation I have shown that the Rashomon Effect is not something distinct from what we do when we examine repression and dissent. Rather, it is my intention to show that the Rashomon Effect is intricately connected with what we do when we 191

Conclusion

examine these topics. In certain respects, I think that scholars have avoided source variation because it was believed that once we went in this direction we would open Pandora’s box, unleashing a million and one versions of what had taken place with no ability to navigate around/through them. I hope that I have shown that (1) there are not a million and one versions of what occurs, (2) different sources simply have their own versions of what took place, and (3) with some care, we can unify the seemingly endless sea of perspectives to get at the essential core of that which has taken place as well as the politics of that core as well as its periphery. Indeed, returning to the Nietzsche quotation with which I opened the book, it may be the case that after one brings together as many “eyes” (sources) as possible on a thing (or event in this case), the act of seeing and recording, although fragmentary and partial, brings all involved a little closer to the event in question, the observers/reporters of these activities and to one another as well. Importantly and somewhat paradoxically, Rashomon unifies as it divides.

192

Appendix THE BLACK PANTHER–U.S. GOVERNMENT EVENT CATALOG

In the following tables, I have employed a somewhat different approach to presenting the data. In an effort to guide the discussion, I focus on the reporting of individual police repressive events and then consider the reporting of other activities two weeks before through two weeks after the event. As a result, each row represents a sliding “window” of event coverage twenty-nine days long. It is possible that if police repressive events occur back to back, then some other activities are counted more than once. Since this establishes the context within which activities are reported and I am not interested in assessing the precise impact of individual explanatory variables, however, I do not believe that this creates a problem. The tables employ the following legend: P = Police Activity C = Court Activity S = BPP–Authority Shooting Dg = Dissident Activity Directed Against Government/Government Agents D∼g = Dissident Activity Not Directed Against Government/Government Agents Note: There are as many entries as there were events on a particular day. For example, if there were four activities undertaken in court on the relevant day, then there will be four “C’s” (i.e., CCCC).

193

Appendix A. Contentious Behavior in The New York Times (by Police Repression Day)

Date 1) May 2, 1967 2) October 28, 1967 3) February 1, 1968 4) April 7, 1968 5) September 10, 1968 6) November 8, 1968 7) November 13, 1968 8) November 21, 1968 9) November 28, 1968 10) November 30, 1968 11) January 2, 1969 12) January 17, 1969 13) January 19, 1969 14) January 20, 1969 15) January 21, 1969 16) April 28, 1969 17) June 16, 1969 18) August 17, 1969 19) August 19, 1969 20) August 20, 1969 21) December 3, 1969 22) December 8, 1969 23) January 13, 1970 24) March 13, 1970 25) October 14, 1970 26) November 23, 1970 27) September 10, 1971 28) September 11, 1971

194

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action

After Police Action

Dg S

CCCCC CC PCCCCC PPCCCCCCSS PCCCCCS Dg PPCCCCC Dg CC

S S CCC S C

S

PPP PP P

Dg S

CCC Dg

PS PP PPP

P PP P C CC C CC CC PCCS

C PPCCCCSS PCCCCC Dg PPCC Dg PCC CC

S

S

PPCCC PCCC CCC PPPS CC

BPP–U.S. Government Event Catalog B. Contentious Behavior in the Oakland Tribune (by Police Repression Day) Date 1) May 2, 1967 2) May 22, 1967 3) October 28, 1967 4) October 29, 1967 5) February 24, 1968 6) February 25, 1968 7) April 6, 1968 8) April 12, 1968 9) June 27, 1968 10) August 21, 1968 11) August 30, 1968 12) September 10, 1968 13) October 30, 1968 14) November 13, 1968 15) November 19, 1968 16) November 27, 1968 17) December 1, 1968 18) December 6, 1968 19) December 10, 1968 20) December 26, 1968 21) January 2, 1969 22) January 6, 1969 23) January 17, 1969 24) January 24, 1969 25) March 25, 1969 26) April 28, 1969 27) June 24, 1969 28) July 25, 1969 29) August 18, 1969 30) August 19, 1969 31) August 20, 1969 32) November 27, 1969 33) December 1, 1969 34) December 3, 1969 35) December 8, 1969 36) December 19, 1969 37) February 11, 1970 38) April 17, 1970 39) April 21, 1970 40) May 26, 1971 41) July 14, 1971 42) August 11, 1971 43) April 27, 1972 44) August 1, 1972

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action After Police Action

Dg D∼g

Dg

C

S

PCC CC PCCCC D∼g CCCC D∼g PPCCCCCC CCC

PPS Dg Dg PP Dg Dg PPSCCCC

S CC

CCCCCCC PCCC Dg Dg Dg PCCC Dg

C S S

PCCCC PPCCCS PPPPCCCCCSS PPPCCCCS PPCCCCCC D∼g PPPCCCC D∼g CCCCCCCC PPPPCCCCCCS PPPPPCCCS P D∼g PPCS D∼g

S S

CCCC CCCCCCC CC Dg CCCCCCCCC PCCCCCCCCCCCC PPCCCCCCCCCCCCC C Dg Dg PC PPPPS PPPPPCCCCCS PPCCCCCCS CCCCCC PS CCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCC D∼g

CC D∼g

S D∼g S D∼g C C S CCCCC CCCC C C Dg S CCC CS C C S CC C CCCCC Dg Dg S

PCS Dg Dg Dg PCCCCS Dg CCCCCC PPCCCCS PPPCCCCCS PPCCCCCC D∼g PPPCCCCC D∼g PPCCCC PCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCC PPC D∼g P D∼g PPCS D∼g PCC

CCCC Dg CCCCC CCCC PPCCCCCCCCCCCC Dg Dg PCCCCCCCCCCC Dg Dg CCCCCCCCCC Dg PPPPPPCCCCCCCCSS PPPCCCCCCCCCS PPCCCCCCCCS PCCCCCC CCCC PCC Dg Dg CCCCCCCC Dg CCCCCCCCCC CCCC

195

Appendix C. Contentious Behavior in the Sun Reporter (by Police Repression Day)

Date 1) May 2, 1967 2) May 22, 1967 3) May 23, 1967 4) October 28, 1967 5) October 29, 1967 6) October 30, 1967 7) January 16, 1968 8) February 24, 1968 9) February 25, 1968 10) March 30, 1968 11) April 3, 1968 12) May 11, 1968 13) September 10, 1968 14) November 7, 1968 15) November 19, 1968 16) December 10, 1968 17) December 13, 1968 18) January 31, 1969 19) February 25, 1969 20) February 28, 1969 21) March 25, 1969 22) April 28, 1969 23) May 17, 1969 24) May 24, 1969 25) June 4, 1969 26) August 19, 1969 27) December 6, 1969 28) February 11, 1970 29) April 14, 1970 30) September 17, 1970 31) October 7, 1970 32) December 3, 1970 33) April 28, 1972 34) December 30, 1972 35) April 16, 1973

196

Before Police Action

PD

Day of, but before, Police Action Dg Dg Dg S

g

PS

SD∼g ∼g

CCC PPCCS CCCCC P C P D∼g P P P S PDS Dg Dg

P Dg Dg

PPCC CC

C Dg CC Dg PP Dg PS D

After Police Action

S S

PC Dg C Dg PS S CC PCC CCCCC D∼g PPC C PCC D∼g CC D∼g S C Dg

CCCC Dg Dg C CC D∼g

BPP–U.S. Government Event Catalog D. Contentious Behavior in the Berkeley Barb (by Police Repression-Day)

Date 1) May 2, 1967 2) October 28, 1967 3) October 31, 1967 4) January 15, 1968 5) February 24, 1968 6) February 26, 1968 7) March 4, 1968 8) April 6, 1968 9) July 8, 1968 10) September 4, 1968 11) September 10, 1968 12) September 28, 1968 13) October 28, 1968 14) November 1, 1968 15) November 19, 1968 16) December 21, 1968 17) January 2, 1969 18) February 14, 1969 19) April 1, 1969 20) April 28, 1969 21) April 30, 1969 22) May 5, 1969 23) May 20, 1969 24) June 15, 1969 25) August 19, 1969 26) December 1, 1969 27) January 18, 1969 28) February 11, 1970 29) October 7, 1970 30) March 5, 1970

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action

After Police Action

Dg

Dg S

Dg Dg P

PPS D∼g P D∼g PPPCCC Dg CCCC Dg D g Dg PCC C D∼g P D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g CCC PC D∼g Dg D∼g PPS Dg Dg D∼g PPPC Dg Dg Dg CCCCC D∼g D∼g

CC Dg S

S

S

Dg PPPCCCCCC Dg Dg PCCCC Dg CCCC Dg CC Dg CCC Dg PCCCS C PP D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g C Dg P CCC SDg D∼g C D∼g

S Dg

S

PCCCC Dg CCCCC C C D∼g D∼g D∼g CC Dg

C Dg CC Dg

Dg Dg

197

Appendix E. Contentious Behavior in the Black Panther Intercommunal News Service (by Police Repression-Day)

Date 1) May 2, 1967 2) May 22, 1967 3) June 2, 1967 4) July 7, 1967 5) October 28, 1967 6) January 15, 1968 7) February 5, 1968 8) February 12, 1968 9) February 15, 1968 10) February 24, 1968 11) February 25, 1968 12) April 3, 1968 13) April 6, 1968 14) April 9, 1968 15) April 12, 1968 16) June 15, 1968 17) July 15, 1968 18) September 14, 1968 19) October 9, 1968 20) October 15, 1968 21) October 21, 1968 22) November 4, 1968 23) November 6, 1968 24) November 15, 1968 25) December 3, 1968 26) December 5, 1968 27) January 17, 1969 28) February 2, 1969 29) February 6, 1969 30) February 10, 1969 31) March 31, 1969 32) April 25, 1969 33) April 28, 1969 34) May 5, 1969 35) May 12, 1969 36) May 31, 1969 37) June 15, 1969 38) June 17, 1969 39) June 21, 1969 40) July 13, 1969

198

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action D

After Police Action

g

P P S

PPC

D∼g PP D∼g PPP D∼g PP D∼g PPP D∼g

PPPP D∼g PPP D∼g PP

P PPPS PPPPS

S

Dg D∼g CCS Dg P Dg PPC Dg P P D∼g PP D∼g D∼g P D∼g D∼g Dg

PC

D∼g

C

P PPPPP Dg Dg Dg PP Dg Dg Dg ∼g

Dg

C

P PP C D∼g

∼g

PPPPS PP P

∼g

D D D P D∼g D∼g D∼g PP D∼g D∼g D∼g

PPPP D∼g D∼g PPP D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g PPC D∼g P D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g D∼g PPPPPP Dg Dg Dg PPP Dg Dg Dg P D∼g D∼g D∼g PP P PPPPPPPP

BPP–U.S. Government Event Catalog E (continued)

Date 41) July 14, 1969 42) July 15, 1969 43) July 16, 1969 44) July 17, 1969 45) July 21, 1969 46) July 22, 1969 47) July 30, 1969 48) August 9, 1969 49) August 19, 1969 50) August 26, 1969 51) September 8, 1969 52) November 12, 1969 53) December 3, 1969 54) December 6, 1969 55) December 8, 1969 56) December 10, 1969 57) December 13, 1969 58) December 22, 1969 59) December 30, 1969 60) March 7, 1970 61) March 8, 1970 62) March 21, 1970 63) March 31, 1970 64) April 2, 1970 65) April 4, 1970 66) April 9, 1970 67) May 13, 1970 68) May 31, 1970 69) July 11, 1970 70) July 25, 1970 71) August 7, 1970 72) August 20, 1970 73) September 9, 1970 74) September 23, 1970 75) September 26, 1970 76) October 1, 1970 77) October 6, 1970 78) October 13, 1970 79) November 4, 1970 80) January 28, 1971

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action

P PP PPP PPPPPPP PPPPPPP PPPPPPPPP PPPPPP P PP P P

PPPPPPP PPPPPP PPPP PPP PP P PP P P

Dg P Dg PP Dg PPPP Dg PPPPP Dg Dg PPPP Dg P CCCC PCCCC PP D∼g P PP PPPC PPPC

P PP Dg Dg PC Dg D∼g PC P PPC PPPC PP

After Police Action

Dg

C

PPPPP Dg PPPP Dg PP Dg P Dg P P Dg D g Dg PP D∼g D∼g PPPC PPPC PPC P

Dg P Dg PP Dg Dg PC PPPC PP PP PCCC CCC D∼g PPPP (continued)

199

Appendix E (continued)

Date 81) February 6, 1971 82) February 13, 1971 83) March 6, 1971 84) April 3, 1971 85) April 10, 1971 86) May 1, 1971 87) December 11, 1971 88) April 1, 1972 89) May 6, 1972 90) August 19, 1972 91) February 24, 1973

200

Before Police Action

Day of, but before, Police Action

P PPPP C P

After Police Action P Dg PP

Dg C CC

C

C Dg D∼g D∼g

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229

Index

Adorno, Theodor, 39n27 Agenda database (event collection). See Event catalogs and cataloging Alioto, Joseph, 155, 160 Asians, 103 Authorities. See also Governments; Police and police activities; Repression efforts to maintain control, 67, 79 hypotheses concerning, 70–2 interactions with the BPP and, 1–2 observation by, 63–4 political authorities, 69 protest movements and, 5, 57 reporting and, 11, 58n11 response to dissent of, 10–11, 17–18, 143 social movements and, 81 Barb. See Berkeley Barb Barkin, S.M., 58n11 Bay Area. See also Black Panther Party for Self-Defense; California; Oakland; San Francisco; individual newspapers African American community in, 119–20 African American population in, 97–8, 103–6 black nationalism and extremism in, 100

black-white coalitions in, 100 discrimination in, 99, 103 employment and industry in, 98–9 gangs and crime in, 104 newspapers in, 108–9, 117n22, 120 political issues in, 116–17 racial unrest in, 97 repressive police strategies in, 102–5, 106 white population in, 100, 103–6 Becker, Carl, 28 Behavioral movements, 6 Berkeley Barb. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials coverage of BPP by, 16, 123, 127–40, 161–7, 170–1, 175 coverage of contentious behavior and police repression by, 197 coverage of shooting and arrest of Huey P. Newton, 2 description and orientation of, 2, 16, 120–3, 130, 135–6, 161, 163, 166 sources of, 121–2 theoretical slant of, 20 Berkeley Tribe, 123, 166 Bias. See Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials Bird, S. Elizabeth, 61 Black Chicago (Spear), 103 231

Index Black Panther. See Black Panther Intercommunal News Service Black Panther Intercommunal News Service (BPINS ). See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials coverage of BPP by, 16, 124–5, 127–40, 166–73, 175 coverage of contentious behavior and police repression by, 198–200 coverage of shooting of Huey P. Newton by, 2 description and orientation of, 16, 20, 95, 124–5, 137 Black Panther Party for Self-Defense (BPP). See also Bay Area; Courts; Dissidents and dissent; Police and police activities; Protests and rallies; Repression; Shootings; individual members; individual newspapers beginnings, chapters, and end of the organization, 15, 94–5, 96–7, 131–4 boycotts by, 165 classification of behavior of, 110–11 coverage of, 16, 19 event catalogs of, 109–25, 131–4, 140–73, 193–200 focus, goals, and agenda of, 1, 15, 93–4, 96–7, 99–101, 106, 154 interactions with the authorities, 1–2, 13, 15n18, 19–20, 82, 93, 102–3, 140–73, 184 onset and termination of conflict events, 131–34 phases/periods of, 101, 143, 149–51, 156–8 political orientation of, 99–101, 187 Rashomon Effect and, 12–13 relationships with whites and, 100 repression against, 82, 96, 181, 182–4 232

social activities of, 82, 93, 95–7, 101 strategies of, 95–6, 101 Black Panther Party for Self-Defense – members. See also Newton, Huey P. Brooks, Cleveland, 160–1 Brown, Elaine (editor, BPINS ), 172 Brown, H. Rap, 158, 170 Carmichael, Stokely, 100, 158 Carter, Alprentice “Bunchy”, 159 Cleaver, Eldridge, 146–7, 153, 159, 171 Cleaver, Kathleen, 159–60 Coltrale, Arthur, 159, 170 Forte, Reginald, 153–4 Harris, Truman, 158 Hearns, Charles, 164 Hilliard, David, 136, 155, 159, 170 Hudson, Audrey, 159, 170 Hutton, “Lil” Bobby, 146–7, 157 Murray, George, 153, 157, 160 Reynolds, Roland, 164 Seale, Artie (Bobby Seale’s wife), 159 Seale, Bobby, 94–5, 132–3, 154, 158–60, 164, 170 Tucker, James, 158 Tucker, Warren, 169 Wells, Warren, 146–7, 154 Woods, Dexter, 171 Wright, Eddie, 164 Black Panther Party, The: Service to the People Programs (Dr. Huey P. Newton Foundation), 93 “Black Panthers and the Police, The: A Pattern of Genocide?” (Epstein), 127 Black power movement, 13–15, 100 Bond, Doug, 7–8 Bond, Joe, 7–8 Boyette, Bill, 165 BPP. See Black Panther Party for Self-Defense Branch Davidians, 189 Brass, Paul, 52, 63

Index Breslauer, George, 75 Brooks, Cleveland (Black Panther), 160–1 Brown, Elaine (editor, BPINS ), 172 Brown, H. Rap (Black Panther), 158, 170 Bureaucratic inertia. See also Law of the Instrument definition and concept of, 18 importance of, 150 newspapers and, 20, 148, 165–7, 180–1 police repression and, 143, 145, 148, 167–8, 174 Bursey, Charles, 133–4 Bursey, Mrs. Charles, 161 California, 97–8, 100n11. See also Bay Area; Oakland; San Francisco; individual newspapers Carmichael, Stokely (Black Panther), 100, 158 Carter, Alprentice “Bunchy” (Black Panther), 159 Cases and case studies, 12. See also individual newspapers Cassidy, Tom (reporter), 46 Charley, J., 170 Chronicle. See San Francisco Chronicle Churchill, Ward, 64n25 Civil rights movement, 13–14 Cleaver, Eldridge (Black Panther), 146–7, 153, 159, 171 Cleaver, Kathleen (Black Panther), 159, 160 Clutchette, John (Soledad Brother), 161, 172 Coding rule, 5–6 Cold War, 98, 105 Coltrale, Arthur (Black Panther), 159, 170 Communist Party, 48, 50. See also Newspapers Conflict and contention. See also Dissidents and dissent; Event

catalogs and cataloging; Repression citizen-initiated conflict behavior, 17–18, 48 coverage and intensity of, 37, 55–6, 70–2, 131–4, 140 effects of, 11 history and stories of, 54–66 hypotheses concerning, 70–2, 132 narrative structure of, 57f observation of, 63–5 onset and termination of BPP conflict, 131–4 political conflict, 77 sanctions and, 56n6 Scottsboro Boys and, 46 stories of contention, 55–66 stories of control and of struggle, 66–71 Conflict studies/contentious politics coverage of, 2–3, 10–11, 36–7, 54–66, 148 event cataloging and, 4–9, 28–9 ownership of media firms and, 186 understanding of, 10–11, 36–7, 175 Content or textual analysis, 5, 25, 27 Contentious politics. See Conflict studies/contentious politics Control, 10–11, 66–71, 79, 142 Courts BPP and, 86, 129–30, 134–5, 144–5, 147–8, 150–6, 158–9, 162, 167–8, 169 hypotheses concerning, 85–6, 129, 130, 143 police activities and, 85–6, 143–5, 167 Crowe, Daniel, 97, 104 Cunningham, David, 83 Dallin, Alexander, 75 Daniel, Raymond (reporter), 46 Dardenne, Robert, 61 Davis, Angela, 172 Democracy, 79 233

Index Deutsch, Karl, 4 Developed and developing nations, 4–5 Dissidents and dissent. See also Black Panther Party for Self-Defense; Conflict studies/contentious politics; Reporting and reporters; Repression; individual newspapers causal dynamics of, 19, 68 contemporary state-dissident interactions, 68 coverage of, 10–12, 67, 129–30, 137–8, 156–7 dissident organizations as informants, 69 focus of, 80–1 hypotheses concerning, 70–2, 80–1, 85–6 legitimate and illegitimate dissent, 78nn8–9, 132–3 responses to, 10–11, 17, 82–3 targets of, 82–3 violent and nonviolent challenges, 17–18, 78n8, 79, 80–3, 89–90 Dixon, William, 40 Djankov, Simeon, 186 Dr. Huey P. Newton Foundation, 93 Dowell, Denzil, 125, 132, 151 Drumgo, Fleeta (Soledad Brother), 161, 172 Dryfoos, Orvil, 186 Duffy, Gavan, 39n26 Earl, Jennifer S., 75n2, 77n2, 83–4 Eckstein, Harry Economic issues, 98–9, 191 Editorial issues effects of different editorial regimes, 186 fatigue effects, 29–30 newshole effects, 30 threshold effects, 29 Epstein, Edward Jay, 127, 130n1 Event catalogs and cataloging. See also Conflict and contention; Conflict 234

studies/contentious politics; Newspapers; Research and research methods; Sources and source materials; individual newspapers bias and, 31–8, 40–2 BPP-government/authority event catalogs, 109–25, 193–200 data collection, classification, and coding of, 109–12 definition and concepts of, 5, 10, 110n5 dissent and repression in, 19–20 early, conventional approach to, 27–38, 40–3, 47, 50 editorial effects on, 186 event coverage, 30f, 31–2, 39–40, 86–90 later, contested approach to, 39–50, 54 methods and approaches of, 5–6, 8–9, 25–7, 50–1, 109–12 perspective and, 39–40, 42–3, 45 police records and, 37 problems in, 29–30, 42 Rashomon Effect and, 10, 54, 86–7 sequences in, 145–8 sources and, 7–9, 16, 20, 26, 38, 40–4, 112–25, 127, 181 Stories of Scottsboro and, 44–50 Events. See also Conflict and contention; Conflict studies/contentious politics; Reporting and reporters coverage of events, 29, 31–2, 55, 58n10, 127 event sequences, 36–7 factor analysis and patterns of, 34–5 reported event counts, 67 Examiner. See San Francisco Examiner Executive Order 8802 (Roosevelt; 1941), 97–8 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 83

Index Ferree, Myra Marx, 74, 75n2 Fleming, Thomas, 119 Forman, James ( leader, SNCC), 158 Forte, Reginald (Black Panther), 153, 154 Foucault, Michel, 44n33, 67–8, 88, 152 Francisco, Ron, 7–8 Frankel, Max, 115n19 Franks, C.E.S., 78n8 Franzosi, Roberto, 25, 27 Free Huey protests and rallies, 137–8, 147, 153–4, 159, 164, 171 Frey, John (Oakland police officer), 1–2, 136, 146, 159, 169–70 Friedman, Monroe ( judge), 147 From Words to Numbers: Narrative, Data and Social Science (Franzosi), 25 Gamson, William, 82, 187 Garry, Charles (BPP attorney), 147, 153 Gaunt, Philip, 32n11 Genocide, 56n6 Gerner, Deborah, 8 Goldstein, Robert, 112 Goodlett, Carlton, 119–20 Goodman, James, 44–50 Governments. See also Authorities; Repression associations with news sources, 33–4 hypotheses concerning, 85–6 media views of, 58n11 provision of information by, 69 records of, 191 repressive actions by, 4, 56–7, 75, 77–9, 81–2 sanctions of citizens by, 56n6 Gulf Wars I and II, 189 Gurr, Ted, 4, 84 Halberstam, David, 113 Harris, Truman (Black Panther), 158 Hate organizations, 83

Hazelwood, Leo, 34n14 Heanes, Herbert (Oakland police officer), 1 Hearns, Charles (Black Panther), 164 Hilliard, David (Black Panther), 136, 155, 159, 170 Hoover, J. Edgar, 114 Horkheimer, Max, 39n27 Hudson, Audrey (Black Panther), 159, 170 Huntington, Samuel, 4 Hutton, “Lil” Bobby (Black Panther), 146–7, 157 Hypotheses. See also Authorities; Conflict and contention; Courts; Dissidents and dissent; Governments; Police and police activities; Proximity; Repression; Social movements; Sources and source materials contention between dissidents and authorities, 70–2, 79, 143 perspective and orientation of sources, 88–9, 130 state-dissident interactions, 85–6, 129–30 violent and nonviolent dissent and repression, 80–1 Hypotheses – specific, 1–9 1. proximity of sources and extent of coverage, 71, 129–30, 149 2. proximity of sources to governments or dissidents, 71, 129–30, 132, 137, 152 3. proximity of sources and equity of coverage, 71, 129, 156 4. authority-oriented sources and coverage of repression, 71, 129, 135, 151 5a. dissident-oriented sources and coverage of dissent, 71, 132 5b. dissident-oriented sources and coverage of conflict behavior, 72, 130, 167 235

Index Hypotheses – specific (cont.) 6. source orientation and identification of action initiators, 72, 132, 143, 152 7. dissident-oriented sources and highlighting of dissent behavior, 72 8. source orientation and range of coverage of repressive events, 72 9. source orientation and range of coverage of dissident events, 72 Hypotheses – specific, 10–13 10a. effect of violent dissent on repression, 80, 143–4, 149, 162 10b. effect of lagged violent dissent on repression, 80, 143–4, 149, 162 11a. effect of nonviolent dissent on repression, 80, 143–4, 162 11b. effect of lagged nonviolent dissent on repression, 80, 143–4, 162 12. response of authorities to behavioral challenges that target agents of repression, 80 13. response of authorities to behavioral challenges that do not target agents of repression, 80 Hypotheses – specific, 14–17 14. effect of previous police action on subsequent police action, 85, 143 15. effect of previous court action on subsequent court action, 85 16. effect of previous police action on subsequent court action, 85, 150 17. effect of previous court action on subsequent police action, 85, 144, 150 Hypotheses – specific, 18–24 18. support of authorities by distant sources, 88, 143 19. support of authorities and dissidents by proximate sources, 88 20. highlighting of dissent and authorities by state-oriented 236

sources when repression is discussed, 88, 152 21. highlighting of authorities and dissidents by dissident-oriented sources, 88, 162 22. focus of dissident-oriented sources on dissident activities, 89 23. highlighting of smaller range of dissident activities by authority-oriented sources, 89, 151 24. highlighting of a larger range of challenges by dissident-oriented sources, 89 Ideology and ideological effects, 9n14 Information and informants. See also Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials contextualizing informants, 70f observers, reporters, and informants, 61–6, 69 about the Scottsboro Boys, 47–9 sources of, 5–8, 16, 41n28 I, Pierre Rivi`ere, Having Slaughtered My Mother, My Sister and My Brother (Foucault), 44n33 Jackson, George (Soledad Brother), 161, 172 Jeffries, Judson, 97n5 Jones, Charles, 97n5 Journalists and journalism, 15. See also Newspapers Keen, David, 55 Kelly, Robin, 37 KKK. See Ku Klux Klan Knowland, Joseph R., 116–17 Knowland, Joseph W., 117n21 Knowland, William F., 116, 118 Koehler, John, 64n25 Kruger, Barbara, 39n27 Ku Klux Klan (KKK), 83, 188 Kurosowa, Akira, xiii, 3, 52, 179

Index Labor issues. See Unions Law of the Instrument, 18, 83–8. See also Bureaucratic inertia Liberation News Service, 121 Malcolm X, 95, 131 Maney, Gregory, 7–8 Marable, Manning, 96 Mariani, Phil, 39n27 Mass media, 68. See also News media Mayfair market (Oakland), 133 McBroome, Delores, 103 McCarthy, John, 7–8, 37–8 McCarthy, Joseph, 117 McKinney, Gene, 1–2 Mercury (San Jose newspaper), 108 Merritt College (Oakland, CA), 94 Mulford Act (CA; 1967), 97 Mullenbach, Mark, 40 Murray, George (Black Panther), 153, 157, 160 Myers, Daniel, 7–8 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 14 Nationalism, 96, 99–101, 187 News. See also Reporting and reporters; individual news outlets; individual newspapers characteristics of, 32–3, 186 generation of, 32n11 local news, 37, 189 narrative conceptions and conventions, 55–61 sources and subjects, 61–6 News (San Jose newspaper), 108 News media. See also Mass media; Reporting and reporters; individual news outlets; individual newspapers changes in, 188–9 dissident organizations and, 190 objective reporting for, 42, 59

narrative conventions of, 55–61 ownership of, 186 portrayal of government’s perception of citizens, 56n5 presence at conflict events, 65 role in domestic conflict of, 60n15 sources and subjects, 61–6 spin in, 67n29 stories of control and of struggle, 66–71 Newspapers. See also Event catalogs and cataloging; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials; individual newspapers alternative presses, 15, 121–3 in the Bay Area, 108–9 BPP bylines in, 160 communist newspapers, 45–6, 48–9 coverage of dissent and repression, 19–20, 55, 190–1 coverage of protest behavior, 37, 46 coverage of the Scottsboro Boys and, 45–8 distribution of, 191 editorial issues, 29–30 event cataloging and, 190 event coverage in, 29–31 literary and narrative conventions of, 55–61 local newspapers, 37, 189 mass production of, 6n9 Northern newspapers, 49–50 orientation of, 112–25 overlap between, 134–40 ownership of, 189 practices of, 15, 109 as sources of information, 5–8, 16, 107, 186 Southern newspapers, 48–9 spacial problems and, 113 stringers and, 113, 121–2, 189 types of, 15, 109 villains and heroes of, 58n11 News wires, 7–8, 37, 113, 121, 147–8 237

Index Newton, Huey P. beginning of the Black Panthers and, 94–5 black nationalism and, 99 Free Huey protests and rallies, 137–8, 147, 153–4, 159, 164, 171 shooting by, arrest and charging of, 1–2, 136, 146, 152, 158–9, 169–70 trials and court appearances of, 133, 135, 147, 152–3 New York Times, The (NYT ). See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials coverage of BPP by, 16, 114, 116, 127–40, 143–52, 154, 156–7, 161, 163, 166 coverage of police repression, 143–9, 194 coverage of protest events by, 38 description and orientation of, 16, 113–16, 128, 132 as event catalog benchmark, 107 founders and editors of, 114–15, 186 geographic focus of, 114 reports about riots in, 37 reputation of, 33, 113–14 theoretical slant of, 20 New York Times Index, The, 36n20 NGOs. See Nongovernmental organizations Nixon, Richard M., 155 Nixon (Richard M.) administration, 115 Nobody-moves-nobody-gets-hurt thesis, 17 Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 191 Novick, Peter, 27 NYT. See New York Times, The Oakland (CA), 98, 103. See also Bay Area; individual newspapers 238

Oakland Tribune. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials African American community and, 117n23 coverage of the BPP by, 2, 16, 127–40, 149–57, 161, 164–6, 170, 175 coverage of contentious behavior and police repression by, 149–56, 195 description and orientation of, 16, 108, 116–18, 128–9, 137, 152 theoretical slant of, 20 Observation, 62–3, 68 Ochs, Adolph, 114–15, 186 Oliver, Pamela, 7–8 Ortiz, David, 69 Panthers. See Black Panther Party for Self-Defense People’s Park (Berkeley, CA), 122–3 Police and police activities. See also Authorities; Bay Area; Repression; Shootings; individual newspapers BPP and, 15n18, 86, 94, 97, 99, 102, 106130–1, 136–7, 143–4, 150–1, 155–8, 159–65, 167–71, 174, 181 court activity and, 85–6, 143, 167 coverage of, 129–30, 136–7 hypotheses concerning, 85–6, 129, 143 Police records and reports, 7–9, 37 Policies and policymaking, 18 Political issues. See also Black Panther Party for Self-Defense; Hypotheses access to political authorities, 189 in the Bay area, 99–101, 109 of the black power movement, 14 event coverage, 11–12, 73, 132, 140 onset of conflict, 131 political conflict, 5, 77 source political orientation, 68–9, 191

Index Protests and rallies. See also Dissidents and dissent; Dowell, Denzil; Free Huey protests and rallies; individual newspapers BPP protests, 132–3, 144, 146–7, 151, 155, 157–8, 160–1, 163–4, 169–70 efforts to disrupt order, 67 observation by protesters, 64–5 Proximity event coverage and, 11–12, 32–3, 69–70, 73, 87–8, 129, 131–2, 151, 173–4, 180 hypotheses concerning, 71, 129, 130, 149 newspapers and, 16f, 49–50 Pye, Lucien, 78–9 RAM. See Revolutionary Action Movement Rashomon (film; Kurosawa), xiii, 3, 38, 52–4, 179 Rashomon Effect. See also Black Panther Party for Self-Defense BPP-U.S. authority interaction and, 174–5, 188 concepts of, 3–4, 18, 54, 175 dimensions of, 128–34 effects of, 18–19, 86–7, 191–2 examples of, 149 explanation of, 9–17, 72–3 generalizability of, 174, 187–92 newspaper coverage and, 149, 156, 173 origins of, xiii relevance of, 140–73 sources and, 43, 46, 173, 179, 188 state authorities and, 90, 149, 156, 187–8 study of, 38, 61n18, 189–91 Reading, John, 132 Reagan, Ronald, 155 Realism, 11, 17–18, 20, 77, 87 Reporting and reporters. See also News media; Newspapers; Rashomon

Effect; Sources and source materials; individual newspapers bias in, 31–8, 42, 59n13 differing accounts in, 3, 11–12, 31–2 of dissent and repression, 11–12, 17, 18–19, 32n9 event coverage and, 29–31 focus of, 57 frequency of event reporting, 128– 31 narrative conceptions and conventions of, 55–61 objectivity and objective reporting, 42, 68–9 reporting bias, 27–38 of the Scottsboro Boys, 45–6 source and subject in, 61–6 source orientation and, 18–19 Repression. See also Bay Area; Black Panther Party for Self-Defense; Conflict studies/contentious politics; Dissidents and dissent; Governments; Police and police activities; individual newspapers authorities’ use of, 56–7, 76–7, 89–90, 148 causal dynamics of, 19, 82–3 coverage of, 129–30 definitions and concepts of, 21, 75–7 domestic realist or threat model of, 17–18, 20, 77, 87 examples of, 74 hypotheses concerning, 70–2, 80–1, 85–6, 143 juridicopolitical function of, 67–8 operationalization of, 15 opposition/reaction model of, 77 repressive agents and organizations, 83–5 research on, 74–7, 141–2 source variation and, 180–1 state repression and the Rashomon Effect, 90 stories about, 66–7 Republic of New Africa, 14 239

Index Research and research methods. See also Conflict studies/contentious politics; Event catalogs and cataloging; Sources and source materials case studies, 12 on conflict/dissent and repression, 17–20, 140–2, 187–90 examination of similarities and differences, 36n20 event cataloging, xi–xiii, 4–9, 36–7 in the late 1960s and early 1970s, 13 qualitative data reading, 141–2 source selection and, 7–8, 12, 182–3, 190 source variation and, 182, 188–92 study of Rashomon Effect, 187–92 Revolutionary Action Movement (RAM), 14–15, 94–5, 188 Reynolds, Roland (Black Panther), 164 Richie, Donald, 54 Richmond (CA), 98 Rivers, William, 108–9 Rorabaugh, W.J., 100 Rosenau, Pauline, 39n27 Rubin, David, 108–9 Rude, George, 7 Rummel, Rudolph, 4 Russett, Bruce, 4 Rwanda, 65 Sacramento (CA), 97 Safeway, 165 San Francisco (CA), 98, 103, 155. See also Bay Area; individual newspapers San Francisco Bay Guardian, 113n15. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials San Francisco Chronicle, 108, 113n15. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials 240

San Francisco Examiner, 108, 113n15. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials San Francisco State University, 157, 160 San Jose Mercury and News, 108 Scherr, Max, 120, 123, 166 Schrodt, Phillip, 7–8 Schudson, Michael, 42, 55n4, 59–60 Scott, James, xiii Scottsboro Boys (AL). See Stories of Scottsboro, The Seale, Artie (Bobby Seale’s wife), 159 Seale, Bobby (Black Panther), 94, 95, 132–3, 154, 158, 159, 160, 164, 170 Seattle (WA), 189 Seeger, Arthur, 120, 122–3 Shapin, Steven, 41n28 Sherwin, Raymond ( judge), 147n10 Shootings. See also Police and police activities reported by the Berkeley Barb, 130, 136, 139–40, 162, 163 reported by the BPINS, 130–1, 136, 139–40, 167, 170 reported by the New York Times, 129, 136, 139–40, 143, 145, 146–7, 163 reported by the Oakland Tribune, 129, 136, 139–40, 153, 163 reported by the Sun Reporter, 129, 136, 139–40, 156, 157, 158, 160, 163 Sigal, Leon, 62 SNCC. See Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee Snyder, David, 37, 77n6 Social and Cultural Dynamics: Fluctuation of Social Relationships, War and Revolution (Sorokin), 25–6 Social movements, 81, 85–6, 131–2, 172. See also Black power movement; Civil rights movement

Index Sociological Theory (Tilly), 107 Soledad Brothers, 161, 172 Sorokin, Pitirim, 4n5, 25–6 Soule, Sarah, 83–4 Sources and source materials. See also Event catalogs and cataloging; Information and informants; Newspapers; News wires; Police records; Proximity; Rashomon Effect; individual newspapers accuracy and completeness of source materials, 28, 34–7, 174–5, 189–90 bias and, 31–2, 35–6, 40–1 capacity of, 3 challenges to objectivity and perspectives of, 26 competitive evaluation of, 34–5 dissent and repression and, 19, 68–70, 183–4, 189–90 early, conventional views of, 27–38 in event catalogs, 7–9, 16, 20, 26, 38, 40–1, 42 hypotheses concerning, 88–9 identification of, 25–6 later, contested views of, 39–50 news characteristics and, 32–3, 37 NGO and government records, 191 overlap between newspapers, 134–40 perspective and orientation of, 39–40, 60, 67, 87–90, 112–25, 174–5, 180–1, 183–4, 189–90, 191 political factors of, 68–9, 180–1 reputations of, 33–4 selection of, 7–9, 38, 180, 182–6 sources and subjects, 61–6 variation in issues of, 9–17, 18–19, 47–8, 87–90, 175–6, 179, 180–1, 184–5 Southern Christian Leadership Conference, 14 Space. See Proximity Spear, Allan, 103 Staats, Redmond ( judge), 152–3, 158

Stanford, Max, 95 Stanley, William, 77 Stories of Scottsboro, The (Goodman), 44–9 Stringers. See Newspapers Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), 158, 164 Sulzberger, Arthur Hays, 114–15, 186 Sulzberger, Arthur Ochs, Jr., 186 Sulzberger, Arthur (“Punch”) Ochs, 115, 186 Sun Reporter. See also Newspapers; Reporting and reporters; Sources and source materials coverage of BPP by, 2, 16, 119, 120, 127–40, 156–61, 163, 166, 169 coverage of contentious behavior and police repression by, 196 description and orientation of, 2, 16, 118–20, 129, 132, 156, 158, 160 Tarrow, Sidney, 58n9 Tauber, Alma, 98n8 Tauber, Karl, 98n8 Television, 37 Terrorism and terrorists, 188–9 Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence (Brass), 52 Third World, 4 Threat model, 17–18, 20, 180–1 Tilly, Charles conflict studies and, 4, 75 event cataloging and, xi, 5, 107, 141n5, 182 source selection and, 7–8, 182 Tilly, Louise, 7–8 Tilly, Richard, 7–8 Times. See New York Times, The Trials. See Courts; Newton, Huey P. Tribune. See Oakland Tribune Trust, 41n28 Tuchman, Gaye, 58n10, 59n12 Tucker, James (Black Panther), 158 Turner, Wallace (reporter), 147–8 241

Index Tucker, Warren (Black Panther), 169

Underground Press Syndicate, 121 Unions, 99 United States, 4–5, 13, 48, 115 Victims, 63–4 Vietnam War, 155 War on poverty, 13 Washington Post, 38 Weapons of the Weak (Scott), xiii Wells, Warren (Black Panther), 146–7, 154 West, Gerald, 34n14

242

White, Robert, 36n20 WHPSI. See World Handbook of Political and Social Indictors Williams, Robert F., 95 Wolfsfeld, Gadi, 60, 118n24 Woods, Dexter (Black Panther), 171 World Handbook of Political and Social Indictors (WHPSI; Taylor and Jodice), 59n13 World Trade Organization (WTO), 189 World War II, 97–9 Wright, Eddie (Black Panther), 164 WTO. See World Trade Organization Ziegenhagen, Eduard, 75