Safe Streets, William Barr

 

Safe Streets

Wm Barr

WSJ 102722

 

The violent crime surge was preventable. It was caused by progressive politicians reverting to the same reckless revolving-door policies that during the 1960s and ’70s produced the greatest tsunami of violent crime in American history. We reversed that earlier crime wave with the tough anticrime measures adopted during the Reagan-Bush era. We can stop this one as well.

Studies have repeatedly shown that most predatory crime is committed by a small, hard-core group of habitual offenders. They are a tiny fraction of the population—I estimate roughly 1%—but are responsible for between half and two-thirds of predatory violent crime. Each of these offenders can be expected to commit scores, even hundreds, of crimes a year, frequently while on bail, probation or parole. The only time they aren’t committing crimes is when they’re in prison. For this group, the likelihood of reoffending usually doesn’t recede until they reach their late 30s.

The only way to reduce violent crime appreciably is to keep this cohort off the streets. We know with certainty that for each of these criminals held in prison, there are hundreds of people who aren’t being victimized. This “incapacitation” strategy requires laws, like those in the federal system, that allow judges to detain repeat offenders before trial when they pose a danger to the community, and that impose tough sentences on repeat violent offenders.

History shows this strategy works. Before 1960, violent crime in the U.S. was modest and stable. In the early ’60s, however, liberal reformers pushed to turn state justice systems into revolving doors, with violent offenders quickly released on parole or probation. Predictably, violent crime exploded, going from 160 crimes per 100,000 population in 1960 to 758 per 100,000 in 1991.

In the 1980s, the Reagan administration and several large states started locking up violent offenders, and the nation’s prison population rose from about 300,000 to almost 700,000. This radically flattened the rate of violent crime, which rose only 11% during the ’80s. By 1991, when I first became attorney general, the revolving door was in overdrive in many states. Nationally, murderers served less than six years on average; the average time served for rape was three years. In Texas, offenders typically served only 15% of their sentences. Five of 8 felons released from prison were arrested for new crimes within three years.

The George H.W. Bush administration initiated the doubling of federal prison capacity, pushed states to do likewise, and launched a broad movement to toughen up state justice systems. It also greatly expanded joint federal, state and local task forces to target the worst violent criminals for stiff sentences under federal gun, gang and drug-trafficking laws.

The results of these policies were stunning. By 1992, as more violent offenders were incarcerated, the trajectory of violent crime started falling for the first time in decades. Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush continued these policies, and from 1991 to 2013, the total prison population in the U.S. doubled—from roughly 800,000 to 1.6 million. At the same time, violent crime plummeted, dropping for 23 years. By 2014 it had been cut in half—to a level not seen since 1970—and homicides of black victims were down by about 5,000 a year.

Nevertheless, progressives complained: Why were we imprisoning record numbers when crime was receding? They missed the point. Crime was dropping precisely because we were keeping violent criminals in prison. Progressives call this “mass incarceration,” but their rhetoric is deceptive. It implies people are being locked up indiscriminately. On the contrary, incapacitation is a precision strategy. It targets and uses prison space primarily for violent criminals who pose the greatest threat to public safety.

Unfortunately, 23 years of successful crime reduction came to an end with the resurgence of progressive policies in the Obama administration, which saw a return to the revolving door and the demonization of police. Incarceration rates started falling again, and by 2014 crime rates were headed back up. This reversal was temporarily halted by the Trump administration, which succeeded in driving violent crime down until the summer of 2020. It started to climb in the wake of the Covid pandemic and the Black Lives Matter riots. It continues to rise without any end in sight.

Progressives have no solution. As in the ’60s, they call for more social spending to address the supposed “root causes” of violent crime. But even if we knew how to address the root causes effectively, which we don’t, implementing the solution would take decades. People are entitled to protection now. Even the best-designed social programs have no chance of success in neighborhoods strangled by violence and fear. Law and order is a prerequisite for social progress.

Progressives say we can’t afford to keep violent predators in prison. On the contrary, we can’t afford not to. A 1992 Justice Department report, “The Case for More Incarceration,” showed that the cost of keeping a chronic violent criminal in prison is small compared with the costs of letting him roam the streets.

In other contexts, we spend huge amounts to reduce the risk of premature death or injury to members of the public, including billions on highway safety or environmental quality. If we started using the same cost-benefit analysis for law enforcement, we would be spending many times more than we do today on police and corrections.

The very purpose of government is to secure a peaceful society—making life safe for law-abiding citizens by protecting them from violent predators. Progressive politicians are doing the opposite, blighting the lives of the law-abiding with their warped solicitude for the criminal few. We can stop the swelling crime wave only by rejecting these politicians and their destructive policies. It is time for a return to sanity.

Mr. Barr is a distinguished fellow at the Hudson Institute. He served as U.S. attorney general, 1991-93 and 2019-20.

FREUD EXPLAINS WOKENESS, A. Hartz, PhD

 

FREUD EXPLAINS WOKENESS

WSJ 080822

 

There sure is a lot of moralism going around. Censorship, condemnation, excommunication, demands for apologies. There are even spontaneous chants of “Shame! Shame! Shame!” directed at the villain of the moment. I recently saw an ad for a psychology workshop that argued outright that people from “privileged” groups should “hurt” and “feel shame.” People are guilt-tripped for using disposable straws, liking a canceled song or speaking “ableist” words.

How did we descend from the libertine culture of the 1960s—“if it feels good, do it”—into a pit of endless shame?

Ask Sigmund Freud. He divided the psyche into three parts: the id (unconscious drives), the ego (the conscious self) and the superego (the site of moral ideals, inhibitions and shame). Freud saw mental health as the result of balance—being aware of feelings as they come and go, but not letting any one part of the psyche become too dominant.

A large amount of mental illness is attributed to an overactive superego. Cycles of harsh self-criticism can induce depression or push people toward drugs or alcohol. Inhibitions around things like cleanliness or public speaking can underlie anxiety disorders. Rigid prohibitions can contribute to sexual dysfunctions and eating disorders. Judgments, righteous anger and control can lead to interpersonal problems.

Some psychoanalysts argue that the superego, in its purest form, is linked to a “death drive,” which seeks to regulate all thoughts and feelings down to zero. This is the suffocating aspect of Nurse Ratched in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Fully internalized, it’s the logic of suicide.

The superego isn’t always ethical. Someone could feel intense shame for having something stuck in his teeth during a date and no guilt at all about cheating on his taxes. The superego is often irrational, though its pronouncements can feel as if they come from on high.

The superego is often linked to father figures. In the Oedipal drama of early childhood, a son supposedly identifies with his father to internalize rules and ideals to live up to. Freud, like Plato, thought the parts of the psyche paralleled strata of society. The ego resembles a society’s leaders, the id is like the masses, and the superego is most like the police or other bodies that enforce rules—bureaucrats, censors, corporate HR. The leaders (the ego) have to manage the selfish desires (id) and the moral idealism (superego) that drive society. They do so by gratifying them somewhat and directing them toward productive goals, but not letting either entity seize control because both tend to be shortsighted.

How does all this fit into the transformation of the 1960s counterculture? In the 1960s, many figures on the left tried to abolish the superego (some consciously, others less deliberately), and this goal seeped into the entire counterculture. It wasn’t only the overthrow of “the patriarchy,” an anti-father ethos, or the shifting of sexual mores, but a deeper attempt to overthrow rules and gratify desire.

Obviously it didn’t work. Selfish desires are too destructive. Children need discipline; societies need laws. New rules emerged—rules that were somehow still opposed to the old rules but attempted to perform the same functions. The result is a patchwork morality that’s harsh in some places, absent in others and ultimately incoherent. If excessive sexuality is causing trauma and exploitation, rather than curtailing sexuality, activists demonize masculinity, deny the differences between the sexes, and eliminate due process.

Hypermorality is now everywhere. “Implicit bias” training attempts to purify the unconscious of forbidden thoughts. There are the extreme inhibitions of safety culture and the use of ostracization to target heretics. Then, there are grandiose moral ideals. Zero carbon. Zero gun crime. Zero pedestrian deaths. Zero tolerance.

There’s also the misattunement of moralization. Criminals get compassion while police are vilified. There’s sometimes more judgment of people who don’t wear a mask than of people who rob stores. Insults directed at white people or men are seen as the epitome of justice and wisdom, while even unconscious bias against other groups is seen as unforgivable.

What happens to a society when the leadership is overpowered by a dysfunctional superego? Unachievable and grandiose ideals lead it astray. Narrow goals that hit moral notes override wise leadership. People lose sight of the big picture, of social cohesion and the need for humility, pragmatism and tolerance.

As the superego bears down too heavily, symptoms can emerge: paranoia, loss of reality, odd behaviors, despair. Eventually, as the over-pressurization of moralism intensifies, the desires of the masses erupt. A monstrous id emerges to topple the monstrous superego. This response is unlikely to be well-organized. More likely it will be impulsive, awkward and strange—a paroxysm of forbidden desires, gratifying but destructive.

The only hope is a new ego that can rein in the dysfunctional superego. This requires leadership that can speak directly about the costs of excessive morality and uneven standards and let people be people, with the diverse desires they have, under fair, pragmatic rules.

Hypermorality is seductive because it seems, well, virtuous. But in practice it dampens spontaneity, joy and ease, and it often has hateful overtones. It can make relationships cold, bitter and formal. It wastes enormous amounts of energy, and it makes society less fun. The id is the source of humor, creativity and inspiration. The superego is stiff and dull.

More to the point, hypermorality often worsens the problems it aims to address. Think of people who constantly criticize themselves for being socially awkward, making themselves more awkward. Or think of someone who tries a severe diet only to become more attached to junk food. Prolonged Covid lockdowns can increase excess deaths, aggressive “antiracism” can aggravate racial tension, and intrusive forms of social coercion, however well-meaning, can provoke hostile reactions.

One doesn’t have to agree with all Freud’s claims to see value in his perspective, but many of his points are shared by others in history. Lao Tzu wrote in the Tao Te Ching, “Try to make people happy and you make them miserable. Try to make people moral and you make them evil.” Societies require a light touch. They need a limited superego attuned to the most important wrongs, one that holistically considers costs and benefits of rules and is gentle enough to let us be human. It’s good advice for individuals too.

Mr. Hartz is a psychologist in private practice in New York City.

Lincoln’s Vision of Democracy by Allen C. Guelzo

 

Lincoln’s Vision of Democracy

 

At Gettysburg, he chose his words carefully—

especially the prepositions, ‘of,’ ‘by’ and ‘for’ the people.

 

By Allen C. Guelzo

Nov. 8, 2022 2:20 pm ET

 

The news of the great battle at Gettysburg came to Abraham Lincoln by fits and starts. But when it was finally confirmed on the morning of July 4, 1863, that Robert E. Lee’s Confederate army had been forced to retreat, the tidings couldn’t have been more welcome. To a crowd of well-wishers who gathered outside the White House, Lincoln exulted that “the cohorts of those who opposed the declaration that all men are created equal” had at that great battle “’turned tail’ and run.”

 

Before month’s end, plans were developing to create a majestic national cemetery in Gettysburg for the more than 3,300 Union dead, with dedication ceremonies to take place on Nov. 19. The featured orator would be the august Edward Everett. But for the actual dedication sentences—a “few, appropriate remarks,” as David Wills described them in his invitation letter—the organizers turned to Lincoln.

 

What they expected was probably perfunctory. But Lincoln gave them something far beyond their expectations. In 272 terse and simple words, the president laid out the story of the American republic in three stages: past (“four score and seven years ago”), present (“now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether this nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can endure”) and future (“we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain”).

The brevity of Lincoln’s remarks also left the Gettysburg Address dark with hidden lights. Why the oddly biblical opening? Why the invocation of 1776 and the Declaration of Independence rather than 1787 and the Constitution? What would have happened if, in the ensuing two years of the Civil War, we had failed the “testing”?

 

The least well-examined words of the address, however, are its expansive triplet: “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” This wasn’t merely a rhetorical flourish. In that triplet, Lincoln lays out the three fundamental elements of democracy. The first is consent—government of the people. “According to our ancient faith,” Lincoln said in his 1854 speech objecting to the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which compromised on slavery, “the just powers of governments are derived from the consent of the governed.” That meant plainly “that no man is good enough to govern another man, without that other’s consent. I say this is the leading principle—the sheet anchor of American republicanism.”

 

A second distinctive feature of democracy is the people’s voice in the affairs of governing—government by the people. It matters little whether that active voice is the direct participation of individuals, as in ancient Athens, or through their representatives, as in the American Constitution. From his earliest moments in politics, Lincoln argued that government by the people—through their laws and through elections, and not by mobs with nooses and shotguns—was the only legitimate expression of democracy. “I do not deny the possibility that the people may err in an election,” he conceded in 1861. “But if they do, the true cure is in the next election.”

 

The third basic element of democracy is a government that serves the interests of the people—government for the people—not those of a monarch, an aristocracy or an angry and contemptuous elite. For that reason, Lincoln wrote, government served to do only those things that need “to be done, but which they cannot, by individual effort, do at all, or do so well, for themselves,” such as roads and bridges, schools and asylums, the enforcement of the laws and the defense of the nation. While government isn’t “charged with the duty of redressing, or preventing, all the wrongs in the world,” he said in 1859, it does have the responsibility to keep from “planting and cultivating too many thorns in the bosom of society.”

 

Lincoln’s address at Gettysburg wasn’t an explosion of rhetorical fireworks. That kind of speaking was reserved for Everett’s 13,000-word oration, teeming with classical allusions to Thucydides and Pericles but without a single sentence anyone could remember afterward. Lincoln’s was an essay on why American democracy had been founded, why it was worth the sacrifice to preserve, and what the country could anticipate if it emerged whole from the conflict. The example of that sacrifice would stimulate “a new birth of freedom,” like the new birth revival preachers had exhorted people to embrace—a revitalization of the original purpose of the American Founding that would, as Lincoln said in 1858, “turn this government back into the channel in which the framers of the Constitution originally placed it.”

 

That new birth is the task that lies before every succeeding generation of Americans. In it, we find our way not only back to Lincoln but to democracy itself. We return to the dignity of a human form that can stand upright before its Creator, with no autocrat or prince casting an intervening shadow, with hands outstretched to nature and its God, and to each other. When we do, the shades of those Lincoln honored at Gettysburg will embrace us, as the sun shines again on government of the people, by the people, for the people.

 

Mr. Guelzo is director of the Initiative on Politics and Statesmanship at Princeton University’s James Madison Program.