A Contemporary Study of the Decision to Incarcerate White-Collar and Street Property Offender

The November article, written by Shanna Van Slyke and William D Bales, looks at the traditional understanding of white-collar offences as somehow less serious and therefore deserving of lesser sentences. They examine whether this tendency has survived the white-collar crime scandals of the early 2000s, notably the Enron episode. The research looks at the sentencing of white-collar and street property offenders in Florida from 1994 to 2004, taking into account legal and extra-legal factors to determine whether a shift in punitivism is evident.

The article provides a timely opportunity to discuss the popular perception of white-collar crime in the wider context of recent Irish events and the seeming groundswell of criticism towards bankers and others perceived to have been complicit in and responsible for the economic downturn. Is the current willingness to take white-collar crime seriously here to stay, or is it an expressive short-term reaction to events?

Venue: Mulligan's Pub on Poolbeg Street

When: Tuesday 19th November at 6pm

Same-Sex Female Relationships in Prison

This October, The Differential Association will be discussing two articles which deal with the issue of the same-sex female relationships in prison.

The first article, by Pardue, Arrigo and Murphy, Sex and Sexuality in Women's Prisons, attempts to provide a typology of the range of sexual relationships found in women's prisons. The other article by Einat and Chen, What's Love Got to do With It, explores inmates' attitudes to same-sex relationships in an Israeli prison. Taking these together, we can compare the suggested typology of Pardue et al, and assess whether we think this conforms to the empirical evidence presented. The issues of victimisation, and exploitation are highlighted in both papers, and it'll give us an interesting chance to discuss one aspect of a topic which is rarely discussed in relation to prison and criminology - sex!

Wednesday October 23rd

Mulligans Back Room, Poolbeg Street

6pm

Superheroes at the DA

In terms of sales figures, it is difficult to argue otherwise than the readership of comic books is still something of a “subcultural niche” (to borrow a phrase from Phillips and Strobl). A quick look at the sales figures show that for August 2013, Infinity was the highest seller in North America, shifting 205,819 issues, with Superman Unchained coming some way behind at 136,319. The Avengers movie, by way of contrast, sold almost 26 million tickets in the US in its opening weekend.

What is undeniable though is the huge influence the comic book industry has exerted on Hollywood in the past number of decades, remarked on in the articles under review. While movie-going does not necessarily translate into comic book sales, the characters and plots on the silver screen can be traced back to their innovation on the page. The cinematic renderings are often not truly reflective of the moral outrage which can be provoked by comic books. It is a medium with a history of worrying the conservatives, epitomised by Fredric Wertham and his crusade against the medium. Indeed, every few weeks within the industry there are fresh outbreaks of anxiety, most recently in the character of Harley Quinn. That these can sometimes translate to the films they inspire is also evident in Jim Carrey's recent decision to distance himself from Kick Ass 2, for reasons relating to its violence content.

The two articles the DA read this month (during which we were also treated to themed baked goods), explored studies on comic books and superhero television shows. Nickie Phillips and Staci Strobl’s study examined paradigms of justice in current comic books, specifically US comic books. Lisa Kort-Butler’s research focused on the depictions of the criminal justice system in cartoon superhero television show aimed at the children’s market.

Comic books often create fictive societies which remain in a state of constant crisis, depicting heroes as holding back a tide of chaos, Kort-Butler writes that “crime seems to be everywhere and the justice system seems helpless to stop it”. Crisis justification becomes the underpinning for repressive policies and extra-legal responses. Kort-Butler analyses superhero television shows from a 15-year period, examining whether they reflect the so-called ‘punitive turn’ in criminal justice policies in the US. She asks whether these depictions are ‘cultural primers’ for children in favour of the dominant views on punishment.

Phillips and Strobl highlight that structural causes are ignored for pathological, individualistic explanations of crime. They identify a post-9/11 era of comics, arguing that story arcs tend to “reproduce the existing power structures of larger society” (308). Kort-Butler too notes that the portrayal of villains accords with the offender as the neo-classical rational actor. Such a view emphasises the importance of tough sentencing, and downplays the importance of social inequality.

Both studies found that traditional law enforcement was depicted as inadequate, or corrupt. Phillips and Strobl argue that this is poles apart from the depictions of the criminal justice agencies in television series, such as NYPD Blue. However, as Kort-Butler finds, in the simplified world of superhero television shows, the police and official criminal justice agencies are ultimately retrieved as the legitimate guardians of society, and all villains apprehended are sent to the police, or the prison, by the heroes.

The hypothesis that they would find a concentration on street crime turned out not to be the case for Phillips and Strobl; the actual findings showed a prevalent concern with organised crime. Perhaps its hierarchical structure and dense networks allows for greater flexibility and breadth in story-telling. They also found that the stories represented dominant, American, hegemonic views on crime and punishment.

What of the moral qualms of many of the most well-known superheroes, such as Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man or Professor Charles Xavier, which prevent them from killing when it can be avoided, as noted by Kort-Butler. Phillips and Strobl argue that even these characters exhibit views on, what they term, deathworthiness, in which the lives of some are seen as less valuable, and disposable, to protect a bigger goal.

Phillips and Strobl argue that the archetypal setting for comic book stories is the traditional, tranquil community. This seems to belie the plethora of titles which take dystopic settings for their action. The prevalence of the traditional All-American settings would seem to be further downgraded following the turn, from the 1980s onwards, which saw titles like Watchmen and Batman: The Dark Knight Returns offer greater reflexivity, and nuanced protagonists with more complex psychological profiles.

Kort-Butler found that in the superhero television shows, aimed at a young audience, these characters tended to minimise some, but not all, evidence of this darker turn. Kort-Butler has published an earlier article working from the same sample of cartoons, in which she found that much criminal activity was centred on greed, criminals could tell right from wrong and rationally chose the wrong path out of self-interest, and that criminals and ordinary persons were sharply differentiated. She writes that this notion of rational actors therefore deserving of harsh punishment matches dominant ideology on crime. Her findings in the article discussed by the DA this month show that incapacitation is prized as the best outcome, and she sees no evidence that there is any confidence placed in rehabilitation.

One of the notable comments from Kort-Butler relates to the use of guns; firearms were shown as the preserve of the law enforcement agencies, rather than the superheroes. The use of guns by the police seemed to be characterised by over-use, and by ineffectual trigger-happiness. The DA speculated that while this did not show guns in a positive light, it may also have the effect of trivialising gun use, after all, in cartoons a bullet rarely finds it mark. However, for the most part her study found evidence of a ‘get-tough’, law and order approach to justice, demonstrated by the heroes’ dismay when villains were released ‘on technicalities’, and in their willingness to go outside the law to capture their foes. However, as the heroes are outside the law, by virtue of the law’s inability and their moral superiority, the use of violence by the protagonists is presented as a desirable outcome.

However, as expressed by Maggie O’Neill and Lizzie Seal, in Transgressive Imaginations, culture can provide sites of resistance to dominant hegemony. In comic books this is demonstrated by heroes like the lesbian, former soldier Kate Kane as Batwoman, Miles Morales, a young African-American boy as Spider-man in Ultimate Marvel continuity, and Daredevil, the character of Matt Murdock, a blind attorney. Paraphrasing O’Neill and Seal, this illustrates the radical, democratic power to culturally re-present normative depictions (O’Neill and Seal, 2012). The empowerment of marginalised groups such as LGBT, ethnic minority or persons with disabilities is all evident within comic books, and recent storylines about the same-sex relationships of Batwoman, in DC, and Northstar and Kyle, in the X-Men books in Marvel, became mainstream news. The DA also pointed to the diversity on show in many of the X-Men books, books which were not part of the sample in either study, despite their huge popularity.

However it remains the case that comic books often present a women-unfriendly world. In a similar vein, Phillips and Strobl question whether ethnicity is a factor involved in deathworthiness, and whether characterisation plays into stereotypical representations of ethnic minorities. It is still true that the rosters of superhero teams are predominantly white and male. This inevitably, would appear to be the flipside of deathworthy, those characters whose lives are valued more highly.

Regarding the limitations of the studies, both articles highlight issues of race and gender which were not explored. This seems to have provided a half-realised opportunity, especially in the case of Phillips and Strobl, who reference these issues in the body of their work without going further. Information on the demographics of comic book readers might also have been interesting. Some figures estimate that almost one-quarter of readers are women, while the general readership skews towards male, and older than what might be expected, considering comic books are so often dismissed as a children’s books, or the domain of the teenage boy.

The DA would also have found a reflexive element to the articles interesting, in which the authors revealed whether they were coming to the research as fans. It was felt that the inclusion of such a reflexive element could have significantly enriched the presentation of the authors’ methodological approaches, particularly so in the case of Phillips and Strobl. Considering that such entertainments are considered ‘niche’, the difference between previous exposure or not could provide immense differences in the selection and interpretation of the content.

In a discussion of the images of crime and justice found in comic books, it should be remembered that we are dealing with a very wide and varied spectrum. Interestingly, in Cultural Criminology and Kryptonite, the authors exclude children’s comic books – a seemingly arbitrary move considering that the readership of many of these titles extends into adult demographic, such as in the newly launched My Little Pony Friendship is Magic line, or the Archie comics. The DA was curious as to the rationale behind such a design choice, and again, the absence of reflections on the authors’ knowledge and engagement with the genre was lamented. Phillips and Strobl’s study lacked definition of the terms of the study, and more concrete rationales for selecting the sample would have been welcome. The aims of their article seem to overspill its capacity, and issues that were briefly touched on, like the Judeo-Christian moralism, and gender and race, were never explored to satisfaction. Phillips and Strobl appear to be aware of this, offering acknowledgement of these limitation and encouraging future research to address such questions at the conclusion of their article. However, these issues may be explored more fully in their recent book on the topic, which should provide an excellent opportunity for the more comprehensive analysis they envision.

Perhaps the most profound insight to emerge from the articles, was the ironic moralising response to comic books considering the dominant hegemonic message they convey. However, while we may agree that the desire for retribution demonstrated in comic books and superhero television shows may be a base response, it is simplistic to say that these gut responses actually dictate criminal justice policy. The comic books, especially, act as dark imaginings of our underlying fears. As such, they may represent safety-valves, and hypothetical world-building, in which we can play out larger concepts and notions of justice. Considering that comic books cover a diverse array of different formats and themes, what can we ultimately say about the industry as a whole? Perhaps only that crime and justice themes continue to be overwhelmingly popular topics for entertainment. Considering the alternatives to the idea of retributive justice found in the sample, in Wonder Woman’s peace-making response for example, it seems that we should focus on the diversity of views. To conclude that “Best-selling comic books are a cultural touchstone for conservative, reactionary values… and reinforce the status quo with seductive and exciting storylines” (328) may be too pat a summary for such a diverse genre.

Epilogue, the story continues...

Having just finished Comic Book Crime: Truth, Justice and the American Way The DA can now answer in the affirmative one question posed above, the book is a comprehensive analysis of all those issues the article could not include within its scope. The book tackles issues of gender, sexuality and race, devoting a substantial amount of space to these analyses and presenting the figures Batwoman, among others, as examples of a counter-hegemonic characters.

The use of excerpts from focus group research are particularly fascinating, providing a telling insight into reader identification; for example, male readers expressed a difficulty relating to female characters in comic books and many participants felt a stigma attached to males reading female-led titles. Reflective of this gender bias, in their focus group research only one female participant could be persuaded to take part. However, the demographic figures suggest female readership is significant.

Interestingly, we also learn that Philips and Strobl did not come to the sub-culture of comic books as total neophytes, and had followed various titles prior to their decision to embark on the study. As the first comprehensive attempt to grapple with comic books through a criminological lens, the study is a hugely welcome addition to cultural criminological.

This months blog was written by Lynsey Black and Colette Barry.

The views expressed herein are the authors' alone.

Beyond 'So What?' Criminology

Roger Matthews, (2009) Beyond ‘so what?’ criminology: Rediscovering Realism, Theoretical Criminology, 13(3), 341-362

The Differential Association article of choice this month was Roger Matthews’ pointed critique of criminology, Beyond ‘so what?’ criminology: Rediscovering Realism. Matthews’ 2009 article was chosen following his barnstorming turn as a plenary speaker at the 9^th North South Criminology Conference, held this year in University College Cork. Matthews, as conference opener, provoked a conversation which continued to echo in overheard conversations for the two days of the conference, and indeed beyond, as is ably proved by this blog entry. His critique of the discipline, and his diagnosis that there was an ailment afflicting criminology, seemed to divide the delegates. At the conference he expressed disappointment that the argument, originally expressed in this 2009 article had, as yet, received no response.

Matthews’ thesis hinges on a three-pronged critique of criminology, judging the problem with the discipline to be a lack of theoretical integrity, lack of methodological rigour and a lack of policy relevance.

The term used by Matthews, ‘So what?’ criminology, is one gleaned from Elliot Currie’s 2007 article, Against Marginality: Arguments for a Public Criminology. It refers to highly technical and quantitative criminological research, which takes as its starting-point previous studies of a similar nature, and which therefore tends to become increasingly and alarmingly niche and irrelevant. Currie argued that this infinite regression of reference points rendered such studies beyond the interest and comprehension of lay persons, rendering it opaque to many criminologists as well.

Much of Matthews’ article hinges on the idea of public criminology. Matthews cites Currie’s call for active engagement by academics with policy-makers and the public, and a chance to engage in dialogue. He also cites the speech of Michael Burawoy while President of the American Sociological Association, in which he also argued for a public sociology. Burawoy advanced the notion of a division of labour within the discipline, something that Matthews does not.

Matthews' tripartite examination appears to suggest that the application of a sound theoretical foundation and the use of appropriate and suitable methodologies to criminological research will, of itself, herald greater policy relevance. This depiction lacks some appreciation of the realities of how political structures and administrative procedures shape the policy-making process. How, and to what degree, expert-led knowledge trickles into policy-making is a full area of study in itself. First, there is the problem of cultural translation as research moves from the academic occupational space to the sites of policy-making. No matter how rigorous criminology is, theoretically and methodologically, this data is often stripped to make it fit for political purpose. That political/policy purpose is in turn shaped by the policy-making culture and institutional rules, all of which mediate how such data is received and understood and filtered into policy. Secondly, the demands of the policy-maker and the responsibilities which underpin their work can vary between policy-making contexts, their requirements are, however, always more varied than needing to be just expert-led. Thus, and increasingly, criminological knowledge is often just another voice in the cacophony of equally vested interests such as victims groups, community activists, criminal justice occupational groups such as the POA, economists, human rights groups and the public voice more generally. This is not to say criminology should not have a place at the table, but the aim is to bring into view the tension and complexity which characterises political engagement. In addition, this problematises the idea that criminology is outside these sites of power simply because we lack underpinning theory and methodological rigour.

Matthews’ call for rigour in theory and method is a noble one, its aims inevitably desirable goals, and we should welcome the debate on the current state of research. Before research is conducted, that which is being researched should be fully understood and conceptually situated. Matthews attempts to draw a line between those who do not problematise the issue of crime, and those who go too far and deny its ontological reality; in the latter category Matthew's has created something of a straw man of social constructionism, an edifice which is then deftly pulled apart by the author. His omission of feminist methodological writings is also something of an oversight, considering his focus on the notions of truth and objectivity which proliferate throughout scientific empirical criminology. Feminist researchers were in the vanguard of the critique of the reductive approach to criminology that Matthews condemns.

The article is critical of the perceived missed opportunities of liberal criminologists following the decline of conservative influence towards the end of the twentieth-century/early twenty-first. Matthews argues that for so long the liberal school defined itself so thoroughly in opposition to conservatives, who held sway throughout the 1980s and 1990s, that when this power waned, liberal criminologists were mute. Matthews argues that their more benign policies, directed towards education and healthcare, were somewhat optimistic and toothless. From his critical realist position, Matthews argues that such policies denied the powerful and negative impact of crime. He situates this as part of the legacy of liberal influence, citing the downfall of penal welfarism as a further unintended consequence of a liberal criminology that was bereft of ideas, but content to produce studies which derided the claims of individualised justice and sentencing to reduce crime, without producing alternative policy ideas.

It seems trite to say that Matthews’ article was thought-provoking. It challenges assumptions within the academy and urges its reader to rethink fundamental conceptions and understandings. By the end, however, the most important question of all feels fundamentally unanswered: where to from here? After the plenary some of us mentioned the desire to engage Matthews in an appreciative inquiry (Liebling, 2004) – what is criminology’s best practice? What work highlights the exciting promise of this discipline? What can we hope for criminology? In moving beyond 'so what criminology', we need to move beyond only viewing criminology's negative characteristics. Surely the situation is more hopeful than this plenary portrayed.

Matthews may be a proselytiser for our conversion to critical realism, but such an approach seems too imperialist to create a truly engaged and reflexive discipline. Consequently, what appeared at the outset to be a call to arms for criminology, may instead be a recruiting call for critical realism. However it behoves criminologists to regularly pose the questions highlighted by Matthews, albeit with the awareness that many will come up with different answers.

We Don't Need Another Hero?

In September The Differential Association celebrates superhero month! We'll be reading two (short) articles which explore the superhero genre from a cultural criminological perspective.

The first of these, 'Justice League?: Depictions of Justice in Children's Superhero Cartoons' by Lisa A Kort-Butler, deals with the representations of superheroes in children's cartoons, a study which throws up some fascinating insights, for example do these portrayals undermine confidence in the criminal justice system. If the police were effective surely there would be no need for Batman! As children lap up images of cartoon justice, are we instilling a normative ideology which reinforces dominant values?

The second article, 'Cultural Criminology and Kryptonite: Apocalyptic and Retributive Constructions of Crime and Justice in Comic Books' by Nickie D Phillips and Staci Strobl, examines paradigms of justice in American comic books, suggesting that the picture which emerged of content was more nuanced than they had anticipated, but that the enduring response was always one which operated outside the rule of law, motivated by vigilantism and a need for revenge.

Date: Tuesday 24 September
Venue: Mulligans Poolbeg Street
Time: 6pm

Beyond 'So What?' Criminology: Rediscovering Realism

The Differential Association returns, surfing the high of the 9th North South Criminology Conference in UCC, with Roger Matthews' article Beyond 'So What?' Criminology. Professor Matthews was one of the plenary speakers in Cork, and provided an electrifying and contentious talk based on the arguments made in this 2009 article, arguing that criminology was making itself irrelevant through lack of theoretical and methodological rigour and by its negligible impact on policy.

If the debate sparked by his plenary in Cork is any indicator, the article should prompt plenty of discussion on the current state of criminological research.

Date: Thursday 25th July at 6pm
Venue: Mulligan's back room, Poolbeg Street, Dublin 2

Michael Ignatieff's 'A Just Measure of Pain'

Michael Ignatieff's career may have taken him to the Canadian parliament and back, but for criminologists and penal historians he will remain entrenched in the mind as the author of the seminal 'A Just Measure of Pain'. The text, published in 1978, emerged contemporaneously with many classic 'revisionist' works from the likes of Michel Foucault and David Rothman - all presenting a retelling of the development of penal and coercive institutions. These authors took the period from the mid-eighteenth-century to the mid-nineteenth-century and attempted to account for the emergence of institutions of confinement and, for Foucault and Igntieff especially, the birth of the penitentiary.

Ignatieff seeks to explain the emergence of the penitentiary, epitomised by the opening of Pentonville Prison in 1842 as the first 'model prison', in the context of the Industrial Revolution and the dramatic societal upheaval this sparked. Ignatieff presents a comprehensive exploration of the period 1750 to 1850, incorporating social history and the biographies of key persons, such as penal reform entrepreneurs John Howard and Elizabeth Fry, to weave together a convincing argument to explain the place of the prison in history. Ignatieff argues that the prison emerged primarily as a result of middle-class fears of men displaced by the coming of the Industrial Revolution, which supplanted an earlier age in which strong bonds of allegiance and fealty held people together in rural communities.

He also suggests the presence of an ulterior motive behind the continued success of the prison as the default solution to crime. Despite the emergence of voices critical of the penitentiary project, going back as far as the mid-1800s, including claims that it could not rehabilitate nor did it reduce crime, the institution has persisted and thrived. This leads Ignatieff to question its purpose, stating that it may have served other ends than those official goals stated. He argues that the extension of democracy in the period was paralleled by increasing state power and control, and a decreasing tolerance for those members of society considered 'deviant'.

The comprehensive nature of the exploration in 'A Just Measure of Pain' is successful partly because it is built around 'levels of why', and an awareness that it was the interplay of myriad contingent factors which contributed to the emergence of the prison. These factors include the importance of the role of individuals, sudden crises sparked by over-crowding as a result of wars and the cessation of transportation, military demobilisation, a fear of 'masterless men', as well as broader philosophical ideas.

Ignatieff's work is perhaps best viewed as a history of ideas, and in this guise it succeeds wonderfully, presenting a history of the prison with a firm cultural grounding and as a product of the confluence of a variety of schools of thought. Ignatieff explores the religious philosophies of Quakerism and sects of NonConformist Protestantism and the importance of this ethos in an emerging approach to industry and social control. He delves into the idea that men could be improved, if subjected to carefully weighted influences, hard work and self-restraint. Enlightenment philosophy and utilitarian ideas also came together in this time - advocating rationality and scientific method - and evident in the work of thinkers like Bentham and Beccaria.

What becomes clear from the work is that the question of how do you punish humanely has been a perennial. Many of the measures designed to remould criminals were at first designed as civilised responses to the earlier implements of punishment, such as shackles and chains and expressive punishments like whipping and branding - however it was not long before the detrimental effects of many of the more progressive means of control were also exposed as harmful. For example, in this litany of 'humane cruelty', the use made of solitary confinement was criticised by many, including John Howard who saw the ill-effects it could unleash on individuals. Likewise, the early institutions used work as a means to numb the prisoner, rendering them malleable to benign influence. The departure from this approach evidenced by the current practicalities of prison work, intended to up-skill and prepare a prisoner for life on the outside, is interesting and speaks to the initial goal of prison as a place to capture men's hearts and minds. 'A Just Measure of Pain' is a stark reminder of the impossibility of eliminating the prospect of cruelty from places in which people are confined and subject to the care of others.

Also evident in the writing is the absolute importance of architecture, the period of prison building of the early nineteenth-century has little parallel in history, something akin to a modern period of castle-building. The architecture of confinement constructed throughout the nineteenth-century proved lasting, and very difficult to dispense with. Of such permanence was the architecture that it may go some way to explaining why today the concept of prison seems inevitable. However, the asylums which had emerged in the same period as the penitentiary, have now largely been supplanted by more modern means of dealing with their populations. This again raises the question of the ulterior motive of the prison, the idea proposed by Ignatieff to explain the continuance of the prison despite its seeming failure to deter or reduce crime.

Lucia Zedner, writing in 'Women, Crime and Custody in Victorian England' argues that Ignatieff's rose-tinted view of pre-Industrial Society was something he later qualified. Ignatieff posits that prior to the Industrial Revolution, the communitarian nature of justice allowed for the informal resolution of disputes, and the hierarchical structure of society meant that masters often handled crimes committed by their employees or peasants living on their land in a way which dealt with the matter effectively. In 1983, Ignatieff did indeed roll back on some of his arguments from 'A Just Measure of Pain':

"the history of the institution between 1780 and 1840 can be described as a passage from squalid neglect to hygienic order… Foucault’s work (and my own as well!) remained captive of that Weberian equation of the ancien regime with the customary, the traditional and the particularistic, and of the modern with the rational, the disciplined, the impersonal and the bureaucratic" ("State, Civil Society and Total Institutions: A Critique of Recent Social Histories of Punishment" Social Control and the State, Ed. Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull, Oxford, Robertson, 1983, 75-105)

Zedner argued that the penitentiary project had not been completed by the opening of Pentonville in 1842, something which Ignatieff seemed to accept in 1983. Zedner and Mary Bosworth have both argued that the 'revisionist' texts, including 'A Just Measure of Pain', also neglect the position of women within the penitentiary system. Another notable absence in the book is any mention of Norbert Elias' concept of the 'civilising process' as well as the lack of reference to Emile Durkheim's work on the consensus of the majority, and the imposition of this consensus.

The final chapter of the book is certainly the weakest. Lacking the masterful use of historical and cultural detail which is evident elsewhere, it presents propositions which seem unrelated to the central thesis, lacking evidential backing or coherent argument.  His argument throughout, that the prison emerged partly as a response to middle-class fears of this new class of 'masterless men', the threatening working-classes, is coherently constructed however, and provides the depth of social context lacking from a purely Marxist interpretation, such as the work of Rusche and Kirchheimer, for example. Ignatieff's comprehensive overview of the period is absorbing and adds welcome historical details to the phenomenon, details which were largely omitted by Foucault; rather, 'A Just Measure of Pain' provides an awareness of the importance of the distinct factors which prompted the emergence of the prison.

This month's blog was written by Lynsey Black.

The views expressed herein are those of the author's alone.