Some stories are so on-the-nose, so richly emblematic of modern trends, that it almost feels unfair to comment on them. For example, a Secret Service detail having two of its cars vandalized in Lower Manhattan while they were protecting the stepdaughter of Vice President Harris.
Most obvious is the fact that this happened to a detail protecting the family of Harris, who ran four years ago as a progressive prosecutor who thought it was “outdated” and “wrongheaded thinking” to suggest that we needed to put more police on the street to fight crime. She is now trying to back away from these remarks, along with much of the other Twitter-brained tommyrot she thought would help her win the Democratic primaries. But those ideas, however evanescent, had lasting consequences for American cities. This crime encapsulates that arc all too well.
And yet, the glaring irony isn’t the most telling aspect of this story. What makes it the perfect emblem of our current political disputes is that it’s such a minor thing, an act of vandalism committed by a man who appears to be some kind of local parking vigilante.
If and when Harris is asked to defend her previous remarks, expect to hear one talking point again and again: that violent crime is down from its pandemic peak and, in many U.S. cities, is actually a smidge lower than it was in 2019, according to the Council on Criminal Justice. She’ll say this because it’s true (and because it’s great news). But that won’t necessarily soothe voters, who are worried about a lot more than the homicide rate. They’re worried about the air of lawlessness that pervaded a lot of public spaces during the pandemic and still hasn’t cleared.
Experts assessing the general crime level tend to focus on homicide because it’s easy to measure, unlike, say, vandalism, which often isn’t even reported. But homicide is also quite rare. FBI statistics show 306 property crimes for every homicide — and those are just the ones that get reported.
We have even less data on things that aren’t necessarily crimes but nevertheless make public spaces feel less safe, such as public intoxication, open drug use and vague threats shouted at passersby. Experts call these things “disorder.” But ordinary people tend to lump disorder and capital-C Crime together, and not unreasonably, because they know that both degrade the quality of urban life. And if they live in a city, or near one, they also know that both appear to have gotten worse since the beginning of the pandemic.
(A few weeks ago, my husband and I stopped by a drugstore north of Boston. “Honey!” I shouted. “They have the Tide just sitting on the shelves, where anyone can take it!” Only when I saw the pharmacist stare did I realize what a lunatic I sounded like — and what a lunatic thing had been allowed to happen to my city.)
This is what people are often talking about when they tell pollsters crime is bad. And that’s a problem for Harris because, much more than violent crime, these are issues that unite Republicans but divide her coalition.
Harris advisers told the New York Times that she plans to “lean into her record as a local prosecutor and state attorney general to burnish her image as a candidate with deep ties to law enforcement.” With 2020 in the rearview mirror and the Democratic Party hungry for victory, I’ve no doubt that’s a safe enough pivot for her politically. I’m sure she’ll be comfortable trumpeting how she locked up murderers and rapists, because outside the prison-abolition movement, there’s a pretty strong consensus that it’s good when murderers and rapists are behind bars.
Shoplifting is another matter. Collectively, it can take an immense toll on local retail and the communities that rely on these stores. But does that justify harsh treatment of individuals who get caught boosting some laundry detergent and razors? What should we do about people whose addiction or mental illness creates chaos for those around them without rising to the level of a crime? Make treatment available, yes, that’s urgent — but what if they refuse, as many do, to seek it or stick with it?
Petty crime and disorder pose both moral and empirical quandaries. Because of the disparities in data collection, it’s easier to study a homicide intervention or prison rehabilitation program than figure out the best ways to stem shoplifting or create a strong sense of public order. Homicide also feels more morally urgent. And less morally problematic, because the trade-offs between maintaining public order and protecting individual liberty are simply less stark.
These are hard questions, and I don’t have all the answers. But I hope that somewhere on the campaign trail, some enterprising journalist will ask Harris whether she does.
