There’s a moment of police harassment in the pilot of ABC’s cop drama The Rookie, which premiered in fall 2018, that’s so tangential to the plot you could easily miss it.
Three Mexican gardeners honk at the cruiser of an abrasive training officer, who then berates the gardeners as a “test” of his rookie trainee on her first day. The three mostly mute Mexican men are accessories to this characterization of the tough-guy officer and his flustered trainee, as the effect of the harassment on their lives goes unexplored – until a third season episode from earlier this year, in which the trainee asks the officer to imagine how the gardeners felt about the “terrorizing” encounter that, for them, was not a test. His admission that he “used” the gardeners is a startling example of on-air revision: a main character acknowledging a personal failure that is also the show’s failure to consider that the minority characters – in real life, the policed – were used to positively characterize its police officers.
It’s also the work of cultural consultants, experts on diversity and inclusion who advise TV producers and writers’ rooms on how to more responsibly and accurately portray law enforcement on television. Following last summer’s nationwide protests against anti-black police brutality, broadcast networks have increasingly turned to consultants to address the disconnect between the reality of racist policing and the lionized, mostly race-blind law enforcement seen on such popular shows as Law & Order, NCIS, Blue Bloods and Chicago PD. Before the protests, “the barrier was just getting people to recognize the urgency of changing these narratives,” said Kristen Marston, culture and entertainment advocacy director for Color of Change, who helped advise The Rookie’s third season. “The uprisings opened up the door.”
Outside help in TV writers’ rooms is not new: crime shows have, since the beginning of serialized TV, collaborated with ex-law enforcement advisers or police departments to depict seemingly realistic, unfailingly heroic policing; post-#MeToo movement, film and television productions turned en masse to intimacy coordinators to safely choreograph sex scenes. Cultural consultants such as Marston could become a new standard on crime shows – one tool to address how some of the most popular shows on television work as PR for a criminal justice system that is not the generally color-blind, fair, dramatic and effective one seen on screen.
Hollywood has long been one of the most influential forces in how Americans think about law enforcement, particularly for white people who are, as a group, less likely to have a harmful interaction with police. From Dragnet to Dirty Harry, NYPD Blue to Law & Order and its many spinoffs, film and television overwhelmingly present law enforcement as heroic, or at least acting with good intentions. Nowhere is this perspective – “cop-aganda” in which police are always the protagonists – more entrenched than in network procedurals. These shows, in which a stable roster of characters resolve a case within a single episode, have for the past decade composed anywhere from a fifth to over a fourth of all scripted network programming; NBC has an entire night devoted just to the Law & Order creator Dick Wolf’s trifecta of Chicago first responder shows (PD, Med and Fire); six of the top 10 most watched scripted broadcast shows in 2020 were crime procedurals.
These shows about a system which disproportionately targets people of color are overwhelmingly produced and written by white people. The landmark 2020 Color of Change study Normalizing Injustice, which examined broadcast crime series airing in 2018-2019, found that 86% of writers across 19 series were white, and five series had entirely white writers’ rooms. Despite depicting a criminal justice system that over-polices black Americans – black people are three times more likely to be killed by police than white people, and black and Latino people comprise 56% of incarcerated Americans (compared to 32% of the population at large) – all series except CBS’s Swat had 15% or less black writers, and nine series had none at all.
As in many industries, Hollywood responded to intense public pressure for change last summer with some immediate, once unthinkable actions. Paramount shelved the popular show Cops, the longest-running reality series in TV history, which for 33 years used questionably sourced footage of real arrests to valorize misconduct as a necessary policing measure and exaggerate the prevalence of violent crime. A day later, A&E cancelled a similar series, LivePD. CBS struck a groundbreaking deal with a police reform group founded by the executive of Obama’s taskforce on 21st-century policing, 21CP Solutions, to advise portrayals of police on its shows. The network also pledged 25% of its development budget to black, Indigenous and people of color (bipoc) creators, and promised its writers’ rooms would be, at minimum, 40% bipoc for the 2021-2022 season.
Showrunners and writers also went public with their personal intentions to embrace change. The cast of the NBC comedy Brooklyn Nine-Nine donated $100,000 to the National Bail Fund. Donnie Wahlberg, star of CBS’s Blue Bloods, one of the more conservative cop procedurals on air, teased a “more mindful” upcoming season. Law & Order SVU’s executive producer and showrunner, Warren Leight, also pledged to re-examine the influence of the hero-cop narrative. “This has to be a moment where people make themselves uncomfortable, where people in power have to make themselves uncomfortable,” he told the Hollywood Reporter’s TV’s Top 5 podcast in June last year.
“I always tried to approach from a place of having cops trying to do the right thing,” Alexi Hawley, co-creator and showrunner of The Rookie, told the Guardian of the show’s early seasons. But after 2020, “it felt like being solely aspirational wasn’t good enough any more, that we were showing a version of policing that was alien to many people.”
The murder of George Floyd by the Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin, and the cultural reckoning over systemic racism that followed, pressured Hollywood to grapple with its productions’ responsibility in obfuscating and excusing the real criminal justice system’s harms – calls renewed this week after Chauvin became one of the few officers ever convicted for a fatal shooting in a system that overwhelmingly sees police use of force as justified. Nearly a year later, now that episodes conceived and written post-2020 have aired, the question is: how much is changing?
Television presents a version of the world which, as the Color of Change chief, Rashad Robinson, puts it in the intro for Normalizing Injustice, “license law enforcement to do whatever they think is right to catch the bad guy” and “justify and rationalize the actions of law enforcement and prosecutors no matter how many people get hurt along the way”.
Procedurals offer “a very simplified view of law and order and offending in general”, said Kathleen Donovan, a political scientist whose 2015 study analyzed the effect of police use of force on public perception. Crime is depicted as a static constant, though rates of violent and property crimes have declined sharply since the early 90s. Most TV crimes are violent and solved by the end of the episode, even though property crime is far more common than violent crime and police are far less effective at closing cases.
Shows like Law & Order: SVU, which solve sexual assault cases at triple the national rape case clearance rate of 33.4%, promote “fantasies of hyper-competence”, said Soraya McDonald, a cultural critic at the Undefeated, with “situations where police are always in the right”. Officers such as the longtime SVU anchor Elliot Stabler (Christopher Meloni), whose disciplinary record of multiple lethal shootings is mentioned several times in his return to the series this month after a decade’s absence, “might not necessarily operate by the book, or neglect to give someone their Miranda rights, or will use some sort of subterfuge that is justified because it is neatly wrapped up”. The resolution of “see, we’ve caught the bad guy” almost always outweighs the ethical transgressions – breaking into a house unannounced, use of weapons, witness intimidation, roughing up a suspect, or just macho aggressiveness – deployed as “necessary” for the end.
Years of research have demonstrated how consumption of television news influences one’s perception of, say, the prevalence of local crime. Depictions of justified force and hyper-competency on scripted TV shows can similarly shape how positively people view police. The links are not directly causal, but subliminal, especially as Americans spent, on average, 2.8 hours a day watching TV in 2019. “It’s entirely plausible that people are changing their attitudes or forming perceptions based on what they’re watching repeatedly on TV, even if they tell you, ‘I know it’s not real,’” said Donovan.
Seeming “real” has been the aim since the earliest police procedurals, which began a long tradition of Hollywood productions acting as a mouthpiece for police departments. As Alyssa Rosenberg documented in her exhaustive, seminal 2016 Washington Post series on law enforcement in film and television, one of the first popular police procedurals, Dragnet, which premiered in 1951, worked in full collaboration with the LAPD and its police chief, William Parker, on storylines and logistical help, in exchange for script approval by the police.
The show set a model for how police and Hollywood could work together for mutually beneficial audience entertainment and standardized the use of real-life police consultants on crime shows. Crime staples such as ABC’s NYPD Blue and HBO’s The Wire – the show largely considered to be the most nuanced and challenging depiction of systemic flaws in law enforcement – were both heavily influenced by former police officers. Blue Bloods has a 30-plus year NYPD veteran, James Nuciforo, on retainer as a technical consultant.
Shows that challenged the police narrative were met with department resistance. Glen Mazzara, who co-created FX’s The Shield based on the real LAPD Rampart police corruption scandal, recalled tense conversations between Fox and the LAPD before the show aired in 2002. Presumably worried about the critical nature of the show , whose early prestige anti-hero Vic Mackey (Michael Chiklis) resorts to extrajudicial violence in a flash-bang unit, the LAPD threatened to withdraw standard security support for production, according to Mazzara, and refused to license their name. Characters in The Shield thus never say “LAPD” by name and wear fake badges on the wrong side of their uniforms. “In my opinion LAPD bullied Fox to make concessions to make sure that we would not in any way try to give a dramatization of the LAPD or the Rampart scandal,” he said.
The deference to the perspective of police is one of the mainstays of television made untenable after last year’s uprisings, according to Mazzara, who went on to serve as co-chair of the Writer’s Guild of America Diversity Advisory Group. Procedurals need to have writers who are “from the community who are coming up against cops”, he said. “We can’t just tell everything from the cops’ perspective. You need to show how people are encountering cops, how people are going through the criminal justice system, and how difficult that can be on individuals and families.”
“I don’t believe most showrunners understand the impact of how people see law enforcement,” said Mazzara. “Because for most showrunners in their profession, in which they’re in a cozy relationship with police consultants, they’re probably not engaging [with] law enforcement, and they’re probably not involved in the communities that are being heavily policed.”
One of the very few exceptions is Aaron Rahsaan Thomas, co-creator of CBS’s Swat and one of the few black showrunners in Hollywood. “As a showrunner of color and as a writer of color, I do feel an added responsibility that I’m not sure some of my peers feel, which is I’m very aware of the content that I put out and the impact it can have on those who perhaps do not have a voice or do not have a spotlight,” he told the Guardian.
Swat airs on a network whose audience skews older and whiter than America at large; at the start of last season, the age of its average viewer was 63, the oldest of the four broadcast networks. The CBS slot, said Thomas, offers “an opportunity to reach an audience who may, in some cases, very rarely interact with someone who looks or sounds or comes from the background as our main character”, Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson (Shemar Moore), a black former marine raised in south LA.
Thomas is careful to balance discussion of race and policing with the familiar adrenaline of action; the show’s 2017 pilot, for example, depicts protests in Hondo’s home neighborhood over the accidental killing of a black teenage bystander by one of Hondo’s Swat teammates. Hondo espouses a different method of policing than LAPD higher-ups, and urges his team to treat residents like civilians, like “family”; he also thwarts anarchist terrorists with action-cop standards: fast cars, big guns and explosions.
“The goal is never to proselytize with the show,” said Thomas. “The most effective way, a lot of times, to communicate with people is to guise it with the idea of bringing something of substance, entertainment-wise.”
While Swat addresses the reality of police brutality and racism far more directly than its peers – the fourth season premiere splices a teenage Hondo amid the 1992 LA riots with the adult Hondo in a Black Lives Matter march that ends with him kneeling before a mural of George Floyd – it’s still a high-octane action show in a unit defined by militarized weapons. The “most delicate dance”, said Thomas, is presenting the Swat team “as a life-saving unit” with the show’s entertainment action-genre hooks, especially as the protests put the over-militarization of police departments – the tanks, riot gear and military-grade weapons – under greater scrutiny.
As part of a recalibration of that balance, the Swat writing team has been more conscious about depicting gunfire by police in its fourth season, which premiered last November. “Ideally it should be the last resort instead of the first resort,” Thomas said, noting that writers have consciously prioritized uses of non-lethal force in its fourth season. “In the same way that we’re trying to be mindful of the images that we put out culturally and ethically we’re also trying to be aware of the type of violence that we’re perpetuating.”
The Rookie, meanwhile, has incorporated guidance from several cultural consultants into storylines that expand from “bad apple” individual to rotten tree system. Third-season storylines include intergenerational conflicts between black officers over how hard to push for reform; the difficulty, both in administrative hurdles and attitudes, of disciplining an officer who routinely profiles and harasses black residents; unhelpful white savior complexes at a community policing center in a predominantly black, underfunded neighborhood; and the perverse incentive for police to up-charge misdemeanors to felonies in order to induce plea deals.
The show’s central aspiration, in other words, has shifted from depicting police officers doing their work well to police departments handling systemic issues better. “For the first couple months, we were in listening mode and trying to figure out how to do it,” said Hawley. “We really took it on as a challenge to go ‘how many different ways can we talk about what the problem is and still be our show?’”
But not all shows are embracing the directness seen in Swat and The Rookie. Blue Bloods, which Slate called “the perfect white-privilege lullaby” in 2014 for its belief in police color-blindness in a fundamentally fair system, obliquely incorporates last year’s reckoning in its 11th season through pervasive anxiety among the force about bad PR. The character of Regina Thomas (Whoopi Goldberg), a city council speaker calling for police reform, acts as a benevolent foil to its star, the chagrined, ultimately sacrosanct Commissioner Frank Reagan (Tom Selleck); relieving the heat of the moment, for Frank and Blue Bloods, is portrayed as a matter of interpersonal niceties and common middle ground, rather than police reform. The arc of the season isn’t toward racial justice, or department introspection, so much as Frank Reagan’s balance of “the common good” and the show’s utmost value: loyalty to the police family.
Law & Order: SVU has found somewhat of a middle ground, with headline-lifting storylines that gently challenge its officers’ methodology without undermining their fundamental heroism. In its 22nd season premiere, a black internal affairs investigator calls out Detective Olivia Benson’s implicit racial biases after she arrests an innocent black man in an incident ripped directly from the viral video of Amy Cooper, a white woman, falsely accusing a black man of harassment in Central Park last summer. Another episode drops Detective Finn Tutuola, played by Ice-T, in a deposition for his fatal shooting, depicted in a prior season, of a black man who held a knife to his young son’s throat. New supervisors interrogate Stabler’s penchant for vengeance-fueled aggression; “we don’t do it this way any more,” Benson says after he threatens to beat up a mouthy suspect in his mid-season return. All three stress over how, as Benson puts it, “everything is being looked at through a different prism now.” The show processes public pressure for an updated playbook through personal reckonings – mistakes and shortcomings shown in a new light and then absolved by good intentions.
The relative stability of juggernaut shows like Blue Bloods and Law & Order, which gesture at shifting attitudes but don’t significantly change their formula, are part of the reason why some, such as Rosenberg, have called the genre itself compromised and outdated. How can shows so closely aligned with the centering of cop narratives tell more ethical, responsible stories?
Limited series which depict the fallibility of law enforcement, such as Netflix’s Unbelievable, which adapted a ProPublica story about an investigation into a serial rapist initially botched by disbelieving Seattle police officers, or the systemic racism in Watchmen, could point the way forward. As do renewals in genres such as romcoms and teen movies, which have updated sexist, heteronormative tropes to reflect audiences’ fluid, inclusive, queer realities.
If procedurals were more accurate to real life, “I think we would be alternately bored and disgusted by them,” said critic McDonald. The question is not so much a limitation of depicting law enforcement than of writers’ imaginations in how holistic, nuanced and oriented to make said depictions – writing which “actually reflects the truth of how people live”, said McDonald, “and how their lives are affected by policing”. What would a police show that centered bail reform or abolition movements or community alternatives to policing look like?
The Rookie and Swat are two shows which have started to embrace storytelling aimed at systemic brokenness. One of the positives of 2020, said Thomas, was finding an audience “that was ready to have actually more intelligent, more nuanced conversations about race, class, the challenges that occur between seemingly disparate elements when we’re talking about the community and police”.
“I’m personally seeing a change, where there’s certain things that I’m seeing people talk about on TV, on network shows, that I never would’ve imagined they would want to talk about,” said Marston of crime shows at large. But hiring a consultant is “not a replacement for a black writer”, she said, nor a remedy for an industry-wide failure to promote black talent beyond the lowest writers’ room ranks. “I’m there to talk about the issues surrounding the communities that the black writers shouldn’t have to know about if they don’t want to,” Marston said.
“I hope that we can at some point say that this is the new standard, the old practices are no longer acceptable,” she added. “I don’t think that we’re quite there yet.”
Malaria kills 180,000 more people annually than previously thought, says WHO | Global development
The World Health Organization has called for a “massive, urgent” effort to get the new malaria vaccine into the arms of African children, as it warned that about 180,000 more people were dying annually from the disease than had previously been thought.
Dr Pedro Alonso, director of the WHO’s global malaria programme, said the RTS,S vaccine, recommended for widespread rollout in October, represented a historic opportunity to save tens of thousands of lives, mostly those of under-fives in sub-Saharan Africa.
But he warned that the global community risked “massive failure” if funding commitments aimed at boosting production and helping deployment of the vaccine were not rapidly made.
“What I think is the real barrier [is] international solidarity,” he said. “Is the world going to allow that there is a first malaria vaccine that can save the lives of tens of thousands of African children every year and they’re going to let it sit on a shelf? Or are they going to step up?”
The British pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKlein, which developed the RTS,S vaccine, has committed to donate up to 10m doses for use in the pilot programmes already under way, and to supply up to 15m doses annually.
However, with more than 240m cases globally last year, the potential demand could reach 80 to 100m doses annually, Alonso warned. “Therefore, this is a prime example of where international mechanisms will need to come into play,” he said.
“A vaccine that could save somewhere between 40 and 70-80,000 lives every year, of African children, is something that needs to be treated with the utmost ambition and sense of urgency. And therefore, a slow, gradual scale-up, if you ask me, would not be acceptable. This needs to be a massive, urgent operation to ensure that we can reach as many children as possible and as soon as possible.”
He added: “If the global health community does not respond to this challenge, it will represent a massive failure. I cannot imagine how different leaders, leaders of philanthropy or of financing institutions, are going to go to Africa and advocate for efforts to prevent childhood deaths if they don’t, first and foremost, support the deployment of this vaccine.”
Last week, the global vaccine alliance, Gavi, said its board had approved an initial $155.7m (£117m) for the rollout of RTS,S. The funding would help the introduction, procurement and delivery of the vaccine for eligible countries in sub-Saharan Africa from 2022 until 2025, it said.
Dr Abdourahmane Diallo, CEO of the RBM Partnership to End Malaria, said the announcement would give the private sector “a crucial motive to scale up” the rollout.
“We now call on leaders to step up investment to accelerate the development and delivery of more effective, transformative tools to combat the ever-evolving malaria parasite,” he said.
New figures released by the WHO on Monday underlined the scale of the problem, with a new, “more precise” method of counting estimating that 627,000 people died of malaria last year, 180,000 more than the total would have been according to the old methodology.
The vast majority of all malaria deaths – 96% – were in sub-Saharan Africa.
In its annual malaria report, the WHO said the “doomsday scenario” some had predicted at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic – that deaths from malaria would double as a result of disruption to treatment and services – had not materialised.
Nonetheless, it said, deaths had risen by nearly 70,000 last year, an increase of 12%, of which nearly 50,000 were attributable to disruptions during the pandemic. One main cause of disruption was that more than a quarter of insecticide-treated bed nets – the backbone of WHO efforts to combat malaria – were not distributed in 2020.
Faced with a slowing of progress in the fight against malaria, the WHO believes the vaccine could be a crucial new weapon, even though questions have been raised over its limited efficacy. Over four years of trials, RTS,S was found to prevent 39% of malaria cases and 29% of severe malaria cases.
But Alonso rejected concerns. “A reduction of 30% [in] severe cases of malaria means a massive public health impact, larger probably than any other vaccine against any other disease being used right now,” he said.
Fresh violence at anti-vax protests in Brussels
Belgian police fired water cannon at violent anti-vaccination protesters outside EU buildings in Brussels for the second weekend in a row on Sunday. More than 40,000 people also protested against lockdowns in Vienna Saturday. Several thousand people also protested in Utrecht, in The Netherlands, as well as in Berlin and Frankfurt, where German police used batons and pepper spray after being attacked by a radical minority in the demonstration.
‘They see it in corridors, in bathrooms, on the bus’: UK schools’ porn crisis | Pornography
Barnardo’s works directly with children who are victims of abuse or display signs of harmful or risky sexual behaviour. In 2020-21, they worked with 382,872 children, young people, parents and carers.
In a recent survey of their frontline workers across England and Wales, staff reported a rise in the number of children participating in acts they have seen in pornographic videos, despite feeling uncomfortable or scared. They describe porn as having a “corrosive” effect on child wellbeing.
Child sexual abuse expert Sarah works with children who are displaying signs of inappropriate sexual behaviour. She also trains other professionals who work with children
“I started out as a primary school teacher eight years ago, and I’ve been worried about children seeing porn ever since. Children don’t have to be able to type to see porn – it can be sent to them or shown to them on someone else’s phone. They see it at school, in the corridors, in the bathrooms, on the bus. There is just no censor on any of it – one video leads to another. If you can imagine it, it exists as porn, and children are seeing it.
“I am working with a teenager who was sexually abused by a family member. This young person had been exposed to porn and it was perpetuating what the abuser told them – that this is normal, that it’s not abuse.”
She is particularly concerned, as are her colleagues, about the increasingly extreme nature of the porn freely available on mainstream sites.
“A common role play theme on porn sites is intra-familial abuse – on mainstream sites you will see fetishisation of grandad and granddaughter sex, or stepfathers and stepdaughters. This may lead to a young person not disclosing or getting the support they need. From both angles it is dangerous; it puts the child at risk and encourages the perpetrator.
“The impact of porn shows in children harming others or themselves because they either don’t understand or are so ashamed of sexual urges. Shame is very prevalent and is often hidden.
“We are working with a seven-year-old who has been exposed to porn and is now displaying sexualised behaviour. They had free rein on a device, and someone hadn’t deleted a browser history. Once a young person sees porn, they may feel a need to come back again and again – porn is designed to meet a need. That is a form of sexual abuse against that child.”
Brian* is a senior social worker who has worked with children for over 30 years
“Unfortunately, porn is a feature for the majority of the children who come into our service. The children we support are very damaged. They would be likely to have experienced multiple forms of abuse – sexual, physical and domestic. Porn in and of itself is not the cause of their behaviour but it becomes a compounding factor when it hits that history of vulnerability.
Adult sex offenders can give children a distorted rationalisation for their behaviour, and the messages that are given through porn then fit with that distortion.
Lucy* has worked within the field of child sexual abuse for 16 years.
“We know children find porn distressing – they are telling us that themselves. We have done research with children in schools so that we have a cohort to compare our vulnerable children to, and they are saying the same thing.
“This is not what could be described as erotic or soft porn. They may start on porn sites and quickly begin to see very hardcore material. Or [extreme material] lands in their social media feeds, and they can then feel compelled to go back and look again.
“Children are less able to manage sexual arousal, and this material is designed to be arousing. Lots of children can feel guilty and distressed by what they see. We have 14-year-olds telling us they have to watch it as soon as they wake up. They describe being preoccupied with accessing porn to an extent that impacts upon their day-to-day life.
“We also regularly work with children with learning disabilities, another group vulnerable to the harm of porn. They may be shielded from sexual information and then reach 13 or 14 and take away the wrong learning from porn. They may learn that no means yes, that if you persist, women will enjoy forced sex. These messages are harmful for any child but for children with learning needs or who have developed unhealthy beliefs around sex as a result of abuse, it’s particularly bad.
“After lockdown, we began to get more calls from parents where there is no other obvious trauma, just the exposure to porn. I’ve been doing this 16 years, and children have far more access to porn now.”
* Names and some details have been changed to protect identities
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