Written in the wake of the 2020 Black Lives Matter Protests, Maher makes a compelling case for police abolition. It served as an excellent introduction to the subject: dense with historical and factual context, highly readable, with a justified pathos about the past and present brutality of policing as an institution. The first four chapters detail the abolitionist case, with a key historical undercurrent drawn from WEB Dubois ‘Black Reconstruction’, which describes how land-owners employed “poor whites” as slave patrols, which morphed into the contemporary American police force. Dubois also writes that after the abolition of slavery, the petty privileges bestowed upon the poor white man, which “fed his vanity by associating him with the masters” (e.g. symbolic superiority, leniency in the courts relative to black people etc.) led him to identify as white rather than poor, disarming any possibility of solidarity. This is the key geneaological thrust of Maher’s book.
The following abolitionist case that Maher sets out is compelling, asking us to question who or what (i.e. capital) police really ‘protect’, and describing how many of the nominally ‘protective’ functions of the police are really compensation for a lack of adequately funded public infrastructure. For instance, dismantling access to mental health services means that police, who are not trained mental health workers, but “trained violence-workers” as Maher calls them, are commonly called in mental health crises, despite the fact that individuals with untreated mental illnesses are sixteen times more likely to be killed by the police relative to the population. This resonated with me personally: having worked on an overnight suicide hotline as a counsellor for a while, it bothered me the organisation's final point of escalation (in the case of an imminent suicide-in-progress) was to send police to the caller’s house. This was despite the fact that many such callers had previously been victimised by the police, and explicitly asked for anyone else other than the police to come. Another key example is sexual violence, noting that only around 1% of rapes lead to prosecution. Maher also highlights the absurdity of calling the police to intervene in these sorts of issues, given that they have some of the highest rates of sexual and domestic violence of any profession. Further, police contracts are rarely terminated, and weapons not often confiscated after such incidents. In both the cases of sexual or intimate partner violence and mental health crises, the police are by some measures the worst people to call, and there should surely be another service that addresses these issues. Yet nonetheless, police convince us they’re indispensable, despite very little relationship between numbers of police and crime rates. Maher cites one particularly compelling example of when the NYPD went on strike in 2014, to protest against Mayor Di Blasio’s complaint that they did not indict the officer that murdered Eric Garner. Attempting to show their own necessity through the strike, NYPD ended up demonstrating the opposite, with crime rates falling from 3-6% across the city during the strikes.
Maher also takes a negative view of police organising generally, noting that workers who oppress and crush worker solidarity are not ‘workers’ as such. “To suggest that there is a place for them in the labour movement”, Maher writes “is to embrace workers that routinely kill and brutalise their own union affiliates”. Further, their ‘unions’ are predominately ‘fraternal orders’ (the parallel with the culture to US college fraternities appears almost intentional here) and ‘police associations’ who receive millions from corporations, including real estate agencies hoping to gentrify areas by increasing police presence, thereby forcing out the original residents that the police most keenly victimise and oppress.
Maher also argues compellingly against the possibility of police reform, giving various examples of ‘reforms’ that resulted in increased police power and violence. For example, Clinton’s notorious ‘broken windows policing’, which encourages discriminatory behaviour and racial targeting, was initially introduced as an attempt at police reform. The neck restraint that killed George Floyd was a similar case, allegedly designed to be used as a ‘non-lethal’ alternative to other forms of chokeholds. Body cameras also don’t work, as they can be turned on and off and the footage can be edited to tell a story that favours the officer’s perspective in cases of brutality (e.g. depicting a victim of police violence as threatening, even when they were running away). The philosophy underlying reforms like these, are that more rules will mean less violence, but as Maher notes, the police break the rules all the time. If they do break the rules, there’s normally no one to turn to, given that police watchdogs, such as The Australian State of Victoria’s 'IBAC' are toothless, underfunded, and generally pass cases back to be examined by the police anyway (as was my experience when dealing with them).
The last few chapters describe some practical suggestions, such as disaffiliation of police ‘unions’ from the labour movement and an end of qualified immunity. Maher also describes a number of grassroots community coalitions that supplant police in tasks they are not fit for, such as Mothers/Men against Senseless Killing (MASK), Communities against Rape and Abuse (CARA), and Crisis Assistance Helping out on the Streets (CAHOOTS). This is all compelling, however the fundamental message of Maher's text ends up being an anticapitalist one: police are both a symptom and a perpetuating factor of our contemporary bind; they exist to ‘manage’ the inequalities of racial capitalism rather than addressing their root cause. Hence, abolishing the police, Maher argues, requires abolishing capitalism.
This I ultimately agree with, and though I would expect this from a book published by Verso (which I read for precisely this kind of thing), I nonetheless feel that this aspect of the text ultimately limits its discursive power. Namely, leftists will likely already agree with this conclusion, whereas I worry that liberals who would otherwise be open to questioning the legitimacy of the police, will dismiss the excellent arguments and evidence that Maher raises, based on the book’s conclusion as such. This is not helped by the fact that the text sometimes reads like a political manifesto, and that the more imminently realisable and practical solutions (e.g. disaffiliation of police from the labour movement; end to qualified immunity etc.), are interspersed with loftier claims such as abolishing national borders and ending capitalism. These aspects of the text prevent me from recommending it or lending it to my colleagues, for instance, who although left-leaning may be turned off by these more radical sentiments (and in turn realised that I may be more red-under-the-bed, or ‘watermelon’, than previously thought). In other words, I loved this book, but wish that it were slightly more accessible to someone not already comfortable with anticapitalist positions, as I think it would otherwise be a great resource to signpost people to for understanding what is really meant by the need to 'defund' or even abolish the police.