When you combine an expert, artistically-motivated photographer and late 1970s New York City’s most insanely fucked up, glamorous, hedonistic, and beautiful people, you get some pretty phenomenal photos.

Images from Studio 54 are almost commonplace these days—what with all the articles, documentaries, and biographies of the super club—but something about the pictures Tod Papageorge took there seem to raise the subjects to a new level. They’re not just partygoers, but some sort of weird, artsy, celebrity, cocaine-and-champagne-fueled Dionysian cult clambering around in dinner suits and ball gowns.

Papageorge—who’s perhaps best known for American Sports, 1970: Or How We Spent the War in Vietnam, a piece of searing anti-war commentary—took the time to talk to me about the images in his new book, Studio 54, his motives for taking them, and seeing his work in the club as offering a cohesive view of the world we live in.

VICE: Most biographies of you, or descriptions of your early work, seem to focus on the "street photography" label. Is that a term you're happy with?
Tod Papageorge: Interesting question. No, it’s not. It was just the work of a photographer, working in New York City. I'm a little less sensitive to the designation now, as I get older and more benign in my temperament. But back then it was a red flag—not just for me, but certainly for Garry Winogrand and the other photographers in our crew. It seemed to be condescending, or at least that was the way we responded to it: that it was a condescending way of describing what we were doing. We thought that what we were doing was making photographs.

It’s what all photographers were doing at that time—going out into the world and capturing some piece of it, whether photographing a mountain like Ansel Adams, or Harry Callahan taking photos of his wife. "Street photography," it seemed to us, was not a very useful designation. There's a famous issue of Aperture Magazine called "Snapshot," which I had some part in putting together. It asked this same question to a lot of photographers and their replies were all negative. Like mine, right now.

Right. So, aside from the unfortunate label that was dropped on you…
Coincidentally, I was looking over some work I did in the 80s, when was making the Studio 54 pictures. I had bought a new medium format camera called a Makina Plaubel 67 that made a slightly squarer negative. Back then, when I was walking in New York I made a study of the debris thrown in the street, and over time accumulated a certain number of pictures. Recently I looked over and edited them, with the idea of doing a book, possibly. The name of the book would be Street Photographs—literally photos of debris on the street. That’s what I think of the designation; that’s how I think it should be properly used.

Well, I'm glad you've at last had your revenge on the term. As far as the work you were doing at the time—the not-street photography—how did your photos from Studio 54 fit into that?
In '77 [photographer and curator] John Szarkowski had asked me to curate an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. That is a very singular honor for a photographer, to curate an exhibition. It was an exhibition of Garry Winogrand’s work from a book called Public Relations. Every day I would walk from my apartment on West 86th Street, down through Central Park, to MoMA to work on this show. Daily I took my large 6.9cm camera with me—this was when I started working very seriously in Central Park.

Would that work in Central Park eventually become your book, Passing Through Eden?
Yes, exactly. In the daytime I would work with a fill in flash, to open up shadows, in the park. Then, in many of those evenings, I would take the same gear to Studio 54. But it’s not as if I had some kind of obsession with Studio 54. I was very fortunate to have a friend, Sonia Moskowitz was her name, who was a celebrity photographer, and very well liked at Studio 54. So she was able to get me in. Otherwise I would probably have never thought about it. I was very much a student of Brassaï, the great French-Hungarian photographer. I loved his work and had seen a major exhibition of his in 1968, and so photographing in the club sort of fitted in a kind of natural way with pieces of photographic history that I had been very moved and inspired by.

So those two books and projects were separate bodies of work, both coming from the same day-to-day working practice and interests?
Yes. In the day I would work in Central Park, and occasionally at nights I would be in Studio 54, using the same camera and gear for both. In both cases I was very concerned with the level of descriptive detail, and tonal beauty, that the larger negative of this camera was giving me. When you see the actual book, you can see the level of detail and the beauty of the prints—it's a whole different order from 35mm photography.

So you had the access granted, as you mentioned, to the club. How did people react to being photographed in that setting at that time?
Well, in truth, there were a lot of photographers there. They were generous with access because the photos got out there and it made the club that much more desirable to people. The people there were very used to cameras, so there were no bad reactions at all. There wasn't even one single skeptical reaction to what I was doing. 

I take some pains in the little essay in the book to describe my working process, which I think helped. I was already an experienced 35mm photographer, and the camera I was using had the same frame shape as a 35mm would. I could sort of see the frame of the picture without lifting the camera to my eye as I walked around. I only raised the camera to take a picture when I saw something about to happen. I wasn’t, in other words, walking about tentatively with my camera raised, looking around with it, alerting people to it, or making people wary of someone taking a picture. It usually happened almost instantaneously. Occasionally I would take a second picture, but generally I wasn’t so clumsy as to be exposing this obtrusive camera.

To compare it to another of your books, American Sports 1970: Or How We Spent the War in Vietnam, was there any political or social comment in mind with the Studio 54 work? Or Passing Through Eden?
No. Certainly much less so than the sports pictures. They were made at the height of the Vietnam War, in protest to the Vietnam War. I was pretty inflamed, politically, then.

What did you feel you were capturing? Was it more a pure, mad, visual spectacle?
I think the way you have described it is good. I was just amazed by these, in a way, complimentary, sensual worlds. People relaxing on the grass in Central Park, or partying in Studio 54. It was more work along those lines. I have always believed—well, it’s a large subject to describe or attribute work to, but these things are a vision of the world.

It relates to the idea that you have this feeling about things in general—a feeling that’s been inculcated in you through your life, through the art you love and respond to, and the music you listen to. I always trusted that, whatever the shape of that vision was, it was going to be described and articulated in any pictures that I made. And I believe it is, in those two bodies of work, just as I believed it would be. I think both bodies of work describe a coherent, or even cohesive, sense of the world. Basically it’s poetic in its nature; it certainly isn’t journalistic in its nature, and again it goes back to my experience of being an artist and having artistic ambitions and being shaped by the art I loved. But no, it’s not political at all.

Tod Papageorge's Studio 54 is available for pre-order from Stanley Barker here.

Illinois Democrat Pat Quinn, the least popular governor in America. Photo by Chris Eaves via Flickr

Pat Quinn, the Democratic governor of Illinois, is fighting for his political life in the final weeks of a reelection campaign against Republican Bruce Rauner, a previously unknown outsider candidate whose biggest claim to fame is a $150,000 membership to an exclusive Napa Valley wine club.

Over the past year, Quinn has done little to nothing to fix his image, and at 31 percent, Quinn’s job approval numbers trail only Rhode Island chief executive Lincoln Chafee among governors, making him the least-liked incumbent governor facing reelection this fall. Unfulfilled income tax promises, a crippling credit rating and an ongoing pension crisis have marred Quinn’s administration for the past six years. Even those who don’t blame solely him for the state’s financial woes criticize his lack of leadership to make a change in the state. It’s a massive hill to climb for Quinn, and it’s showing.

“The reason this is a tight election—besides the general Republican surge around the country—is because of the lower approval ratings,” said Dick Simpson, a political science professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago. “If [Quinn] had a higher approval rating, he’d be even further ahead of Rauner.”

Quinn’s campaign has worked hard to cast his opponent as a liar and a vindictive businessman who ruled over his investment firm with an iron fist. The story of the wealthy GOP corporate capitalist has been an effective trope for Democrats, one that brought the likes of Mitt Romney to his knees in the 2012 presidential race. In Illinois, this narrative seemed to be a viable strategy for Quinn, especially as reports surfaced regarding Rauner’s business practices, including the story of an ugly corporate divorce between the candidate and the CEO of a company that he had once backed. (Note for future gubernatorial candidates: Saying “If you go legal on us, we’ll hurt you and your family,” to a former work colleague is not going to help your campaign.)

“The only thing the [Quinn campaign] can do is try to beat up Bruce Rauner—make him as unattractive as possible,” said Illinois political strategist Patrick Brady, a former chairman of the Illinois Republican Party who has been described as a Rauner supporter. “You haven’t seen any ads on what Pat Quinn is going to do in the next four years... All you’ve seen is ‘Bruce Rauner has horns.’ That’s their whole campaign strategy. They will literally spend tens of millions of dollars trying to convince Illinois voters that Bruce Rauner is evil.”

But since taking a 13-point lead over Quinn in August, Rauner’s advantage has evaporated, and he now trails the incumbent by two points, according to the latest statewide poll. So for now, at least, it seems that Quinn is mounting a comeback that could lead him to victory on November 4. But in a state imbued with post–Rod Blagojevich skepticism and fiscal disarray, Quinn might still be screwed.

Despite gaining the lead in the race, polls also show that voters don’t trust Quinn. And perhaps with good reason. After promising to veto any bill that proposed an income tax increase during his 2010 gubernatorial campaign, Quinn signed a law that raised the income tax to 5 percent, incurring a 66 percent increase for individual income taxes. During his tenure, the state’s credit rating dropped to the lowest in the country, thanks to ballooning pension liabilities. The fiscal situation is in such egregious shambles that it has inspired the phrase “Illinois effect” to describe bond-issuing entities that are forced to pay insanely high interest rates. Basically, Illinois is so deep in debt that the state is forced to pay enormous interest rates any time it needs funding for projects like highway improvements. The problem is largely attributed to the state government’s failure to make payments on public employee retirement funds, which has resulted in a huge pension shortfall and a lack of confidence among investors that Illinois will be able to make good on its debts. According to a recent report from the Civic Federation of Chicago, the state will owe over $6 billion in unpaid bills and other liabilities by the end of fiscal year 2015.

“He’s just not a good governor,” said Brady. “Being governor requires a lot of things. And he just hasn’t shown it. We pay for it and we’re really at a tipping point right now. If we don’t get our fiscal house in order, we are not going to be in a place where we can attract good jobs to keep people here.”

Despite his proclivity for extravagance, Rauner has crafted a campaign that promises much-needed changes on pensions, taxes, and government spending. But like many campaign promises, Rauner’s reforms are non-committal, and will likely be almost impossible to accomplish. And Quinn, along with his prominent cadre of high-profile supporters, including President Barack Obama, is hoping that a national Democratic push in the final weeks of the campaign will convince voters to choose the enemy they know instead of the one that they don’t. 

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Photos by Angela Almeida  

Deep into the night, a buzz can be heard in the Brownsville Houses. Outside playgrounds, inside parking lots, and throughout courtyards, massive floodlights marked with NYPD insignias and powered by humming generators stand guard, creating the eerie look of a perpetual crime scene. It’s no shocker, really: The Brooklyn project off Rockaway Avenue is located in one of New York City’s most crime-ridden areas and is known for its high police presence amid a bevy of affordable housing developments.

For resident Adilka Pimentel, what she witnesses on a daily basis is Omnipresence in action. That’s the comically Orwellian (and completely fucking terrifying) name for the freshest tactic in the NYPD playbook. To her, the bright beams mean one thing: The cops are here until dawn.

In a city where stop-and-frisk is no longer politically, but not necessarily over, this bizarro version of community policing deploys a platoon of patrolmen at corners and in the middle of buildings and floodlights to the more dangerous neighborhoods. Eyes, ears, and lights are now on every corner, in the hopes of stopping crime before it starts. 

“It’s overwhelming. The lights shine into people’s rooms, making it hard for them to sleep,” Pimentel, a volunteer with the immigrant justice group Make the Road NY, told me. “It doesn’t exactly feel comfortable.”

Roberto Hines, a Flatbush resident who comes to Brownsville every night, says he first saw the lights go on three or four months ago, after a nearby shooting drew the cops’ attention. “They never turn off,” he told me, as we stood in the light’s reach. “The buzz from the generators never stops. There are at least five in every development.”

Hines says all of this is actually reassuring. “Now you can know when people are coming from far away,” he said. “And you can see the cops on the corner until midnight, with their blue lights on, not taking any calls. I never feel unsafe here.”

“Omnipresence is the perfect word for it,” Terence Francis, another resident of the Houses, said outside an illuminated basketball court. “You hear young kids now say all the time, ‘Damn, the cops are everywhere.’”

As a result, he agrees that the area is safer, even if it feels strange at night sometimes with all that brightness. “I just put my curtains up,” he said.

Even though some people are evidently fine with this new initiative, the NYPD doesn’t want to talk about it. If you search for Omnipresence online, you’ll mostly find Old Testament descriptions of God and His ability to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. So far, the only mention in a major media outlet of this new approach to law enforcement came in an article by Joseph Goldstein of the New York Times, who reported on the after-effects of stop-and-frisk in areas like Brownsville.

“As part of a new strategy called Omnipresence, the officers now stand on street corners like sentries, only rarely confronting young men and patting them down for weapons,” Goldstein writes. The article is supplemented by a video that asks, “Omnipresence: New Stop-and-Frisk?” but doesn’t provide an answer.

Brett Stoudt, an assistant professor of psychology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, says that this digital footprint, or lack thereof, is confounding. “If you'd look at the to-do list in my office, you would see number six says, ‘Find out more about Omnipresence,’” he told me via email.

In his work, Stoudt analyzes the psychological impact aggressive policing has on low-income communities of color in the Bronx and Brooklyn. And, with a decade of stop-and-frisk procedures in place, he's had no shortage of material. However, the subjects Stoudt has spoken with in these neighborhoods are still not sure what Omnipresence is, or whether it’s part of something much bigger.

“It is too new. Certainly there is a sense that something might be different (lots of cops standing around) on the one hand, and then there is the sense that nothing has changed (still lots of stop-and-frisks and low-level misdemeanor arrests, albeit fewer than previously)” Stoudt added. “However, I am still unclear about the impact of Omnipresence, or even what is included and if it is going to stick as a thing.”

Until recently, Pimentel didn’t know what she sees just outside her home every day even had a name. She just figured it was standard procedure; in Brownsville, this type of behavior by the cops is pretty much expected. “We’ve acknowledged it, and we recognize that stop-and-frisk isn’t over,” she told me. “Omnipresence is just another one of those tactics.”

She believes Omnipresence is an outgrowth of broken windows policing, or the idea that if you focus on lower-level infractions, serious crime will diminish, which is essentially the basis of NYPD Commissioner William J. Bratton’s career. He was supposed to offer a reset after his predecessor, Ray Kelly, was plagued by controversies over the surveillance of Muslim communities, brutality, and, of course, stop-and-frisk. But Omnipresence just adds surveillance while cutting back on actual interactions, so as to avoid bad PR. In other words, it’s stop-and-frisk 2.0.

After I reached out several times to the NYPD for comment, a spokesperson told me the department was still trying to craft a response to my basic question: What is Omnipresence? We'll update this story if they get back to us, but the hesitation further shrouds the tactic in mystery, as if even the police are unsure about what, exactly, this all means.

John Surico is a Queens-based freelance journalist. His reporting can be found in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Village Voice, among other outlets. Follow him on Twitter.

A drawing from Jim's new book courtesy of the author

The old adage “skateboarding saved my life” rings especially true with former pro skater turned children’s book author Jim Bates, who has battled clinical depression his entire life. Over the course of my 17-year career I’ve interviewed hundreds, if not thousands, of skateboarders, and I’m often asked which was my favorite interview. It’s a difficult question to answer, because after a while they all seem to blend together. It’s hard to discern one sex/drug/booze story from another, but I can say without a doubt the most memorable and difficult interview of my life was with Jim Bates for Big Brother in 2002. It rattled me to my core, and a dozen years later I still think about him.

Big Brother, for the unfamiliar, was Larry Flynt’s naughty skateboarding magazine. Its interviews were always antagonistic and confrontational. I was hired to fuck with people, and that’s what I did. That’s what I set out to do with Bates, whom I’d never even heard of. I knew I was dealing with a unique specimen when he answered my first question, “Who the hell are you?” in a very sad, meek monotone. “I’m Jim Bates,” he said. “I’m nobody.” He told me that his depression made it very difficult for him to speak with people, and that it had led him to attempt suicide numerous times. I quickly pulled the e-brake on my torturous line of questioning. I tread lightly for the rest of our conversation for fear that something I said might push him over the edge. In the end I felt like we had a pleasant  (although heart-wrenching) conversation. Just to make sure he was OK at the end of our interview I asked him, “You’re not gonna kill yourself when you read this, right?” His deadpan response: “I hope not.”

I’ve thought about those words for 12 years. I’ve often wondered what became of Jim—if he ever got a handle on his depression, if he’d changed his views on taking medicine for his imbalance, if he, in fact, committed suicide. Then recently I saw a post on Facebook announcing that the very same Jim Bates had written and drawn a children’s book called The Boy Who Skated with Dragons, and was doing a book signing at Skatelab. I raced down there to track him down and find out how life had changed since those dark days. I was happy to hear something of a bounce in his soft voice, and that he’d recently turned a corner on his depression. This book, he told me, was a huge factor in his newfound happiness. Order one for anyone you know who has a kid here.

Jim Bates and Eric Koston. Photo by Josh Powner

VICE: When I interviewed you for Big Brother in 2002 you were an up-and-coming skater, but you were at a bad place in your life. How have you been since?
Jim Bates: I’ve been skating every day and doing a lot of artwork. Also I just got my book published, so that’s exciting. I’ve just been focusing on the creative things I enjoy doing and sharing them with other people.

You sound like a totally different person. Your voice has some real bounce to it.
Yeah, things have changed a lot over the years. Back then I was still skateboarding a lot. That was my focus and the one thing that made me happy and got me through the day. I was struggling with depression and anxiety and being shy. It’s been difficult for me growing up talking to people, making friends, and reaching out. I think being shy led to depression and not feeling good about myself and made me forget that I have worth. I felt really alone and lost. I don’t know specifically when it changed, but I did go to therapy and at a point started to open up and was willing to try little by little. It took a long time. Many years. Small steps. I pushed myself to try new things and was able to talk more and make friends and get through that slowly. Even just recently I changed my perspective of how I look at life and all the opportunities that I have and have had. I was always grateful for skateboarding and having sponsors, but off the skateboard I had nothing. Skateboarding was the one thing that gave me a purpose in life and kept me going.

When we last spoke you didn’t like the idea of taking any medication. Did that change? Do you take meds for depression now?
No, I actually never took medication. I’ve always been against that. I’ve always been drug-free. I’ve never drank or smoked or gotten into the party scene. I wasn’t really open to medication. I just wanted to do it on my own terms and I was able to get through it somehow without them. Having the support of my family helped a lot, but it was really up to me to want that change. I finally got to the point where I started to try.

Was there one particular moment where you had an epiphany? It’s amazing that you battled depression for over 30 years and then suddenly snapped out of it.
I did read some books recently that made me look at things differently and open my mind. They were The Power of Now, and A New Earth, by Eckhart Tolle. They changed my perspective and taught me to live in the moment instead of living the past over and over and not to look too far into the future toward what may or may not happen.

What is your actual diagnosis? Clinical depression?
Yeah, mainly depression and anxiety. I was always really shy and self-conscious and insecure. I think being shy and depressed go hand in hand.

You mentioned the support of your family being so instrumental, but in 2002 you were attempting suicide, slitting your wrists, and you said your family was unaware. Did they see that interview when it came out? If so, what was their reaction?
I was pretty good at hiding it, but they may or may not have known because parents just know these things, even if their kids try to hide them. They knew I struggled with depression and was unhappy and they were sad about that.

Portrait courtesy of Jim Bates

You once told me you hated yourself and that you were really ugly. Has that changed? Do you realize now you’re not an ugly person?
I’m able to look at myself much differently. I don’t think I’m the greatest-looking person in the world but I’m not the ugliest person, either. I accept how I look and who I am. I don’t hate myself anymore. I don’t judge myself as harshly as I used to.

What advice would you give young kids, fellow skaters, who might be battling depression?
I would say to try and not take things so seriously. Look at both sides of things and have an open mind and think about how things could be a lot worse. There are people who have much less. I mean, some people don’t even have all their limbs and they’re still positive. So that’s something to be grateful for in itself. Everyone is unique and that’s what makes us special. If everyone were the same life would be kind of boring. I also think therapy can be helpful to those who are open and willing to try. I know for a long time I didn’t accept therapy. I was just forced to go so my mind was closed. But when I opened my mind I was able to work on the things they suggested and you can find the things that do work and it can really help. 

Let’s talk about skateboarding. Your claim to fame is in 2005, when you won $15,000 by skunking Eric Koston at his own Eric Koston Game of Skate. He didn’t get one letter on you. What was that like?
That was just amazing. I can’t believe that happened. It was like a dream. I was pretty nervous when they called me to go against Eric Koston—he’s someone I’ve always looked up to in skating, and every year he makes it to the finals. I figured there was no way I was going to beat Koston and somehow I won and then I went to the finals and won the whole thing. It was mind blowing. 

Mike Mo told me you were like the Valley’s own Rodney Mullen. He said he’s never seen you miss a trick. That being said and beating Koston at his own game of Skate, why do you think your skate career never took off in a big way?
I think part of it was my personality. Just not being able to put myself out there and approach other people and believe in myself and my self-worth. If I don’t believe in myself why should anyone else? It was hard for me to pursue people and get sponsors. I did some amazing things with skateboarding, like traveling and getting in the magazines, and I’m truly grateful for that. That was what was meant to happen and it led me to where I am now, so I can’t really regret anything.

If you didn’t have skateboarding do you think you would have made it through those years? When I talked to you it seemed like skateboarding was your entire world.
Yeah. I would hope that something else would fill that—maybe it would be artwork or another passion of mine, but I honesty can’t say. Skateboarding has really helped me. It’s a great thing for kids to have because you can make friends and have fun and build confidence.

What eventually happened with your professional skateboarding career?
I rode for some smaller companies that went out of business. I kept skating and stopped pursuing sponsorship and focused on having fun. I felt like I got to do a lot in skateboarding and was happy and grateful for that.

What was your biggest pro check? Aside from the $15,000 Game of Skate one.
I didn’t really make that much money skateboarding when I was pro. I think, maybe, $500 in a month.

What do you now for a living now?
I work at a printing company and I’m trying to focus on my artwork. I’m hoping to write more books and focus on my artwork and making a positive impact on kids.

Let’s talk about the book.  It’s quite autobiographical: a shy young boy can’t talk to others so he dresses up as a dragon when he skateboards and creates an imaginary world.
Yeah, I’ve always been into art and drawing and being creative. Part of the book came from life experience and part came from my imagination and I put it together and wrote and drew the story. I hope it’s a positive thing for kids to read. I think it’s a fun way to give them positive examples of how to get through struggles. It’s been great. A lot of people have given me positive feedback, which has helped me push myself to interact with the community. That’s not always easy for me.

With writing books comes doing readings. How have those been for you?
I just did my first actual reading of my book to kids at a skateshop in Moorpark, California, called the Avenue. One of the owners told the kids that I was a professional skater and one of them came up to me and said, "You don't skate." It was funny. I didn't argue or challenge his comment. Later, after the reading, I did a little skate demo on the flatbar, ramps, and flatground. He didn't say anything after that. It was all in good fun.

We started out with some coloring activities with black and white drawings that I did for the kids. After that I asked them to sit close since I have a quiet voice and all the kids and parents sat and listened as I read the whole story. I was surprised that they all sat there the whole time. Once it was over everyone clapped and I got some positive comments. It was a great experience for me to practice reading in front of people and sharing my book. I felt confident reading it to the kids and was happy that I didn't mess up or stumble any words. Being shy and insecure wasn't even a factor when I read the book to the kids. I'm not sure if it was the fun atmosphere or just the fact that kids don't seem to be as judgmental as older people, but whatever the case I was able to share my book without hesitation and my voice seemed to be solid and loud enough for everyone to hear. I'm grateful for the opportunity and looking forward to doing more with my book, artwork, and being a positive impact on kids.

Before we end this I need to tell you that you really fucked me up 12 years ago. I ended that interview by asking if you thought it was a good interview and if you were going to kill yourself when you read it. Your response was “I hope not.” It was a Friday afternoon and you ruined my weekend. I was worried about you all weekend and Monday, when I got back to the office, I called you to ask about some photo or something, but it was really just a call to make sure you were alive and OK.  It was, without a doubt, the heaviest interview I’ve ever done.
I want to apologize. I’m sorry for that. But I’m grateful that you do care. I’m sorry that I put you through that. I’m sorry that I put other people through that, too.

You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad to hear you’re doing well and that you’re in a better place.
Thanks so much.  

If you are having suicidal thoughts, contact the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-Talk (8255).

Follow Jim on Facebook, or order The Boy Who Skated with Dragons here.

More stupid can be found at Chrisnieratko.com or on Twitter.

Image via Pixabay user saulhm

If you’ve ever seen the movie Road Trip, you’d be forgiven for thinking sperm donation is as simple as cracking one off into a plastic cup, a glorified power wank at best, a brief and rather sordid love affair between man and Tupperware at worst. There is, of course, a little more to it than that. There has to be, right? After all, one person’s clinical deposit is another’s metaphorical stork, and one man's tossed-off semen is a baby to prospective parents even now waiting in an empty nursery for the phone to ring.

According to a recent report in the Guardian, that phone isn’t going to ring for a while—particularly if you’re waiting for a vial of semen from a Brit. The UK's sperm banks are in a sorry state. Donor records began in 1992, and that year a grand total of 375 guys made a contribution. Not a great starting point, and it doesn’t get much better. Just over ten years later, in 2004—on the eve of the 2005 law change marking the end of anonymous donations—that number dropped to 239.

Figures have picked up since, with the 2010 records (the latest available) revealing a sharp improvement—up to 480 new donors—but supplies are still struggling to keep up with demand. One in four sperm donations are now being supplied from abroad. So what’s the hoodoo surrounding donation? We spoke to men of varying ages across London in an attempt to get some insight into why so many are reluctant to give up their seed.

As it turns out, the portrait of the reluctant British sperm donor is pretty clear. We asked: "What is the main incentive for giving sperm?" As 22-year-old Essex boy George put it, “You get paid, innit.” He wasn’t alone. Cash was the main incentive given by around 80 percent of the 50 men polled. The other two? "Compassion" and "helping other people." Good lads.  

When we asked men—who were, it has to be said, not exactly falling over themselves to answer questions from someone whose opening gambit was, “Can I talk to you about sperm?”—what their main fears surrounding sperm donation are, answers ranged from religion (“There’s a lot of Muslims round here—don’t think they’re allowed to, are they?” said Tommy, a 35-year-old artist) to fears of missing out on the upbringing of their children (as 42-year-old father of two Glen from Kent put it: “You wouldn’t be able to watch your kids grow up, and that’s the fun bit.").

There were also fears surrounding infertility (“No one wants to find out they’re firing blanks,” Tommy added) and the ignominy of the whole process. “I don’t want to bust my load into a little cup,” said 34-year-old estate agent Richard, summing up the general thought process among those polled. Slightly less representative was 22-year-old student Oliver, who was worried that his sperm "might be experimented on.”

There were two overriding fears surrounding sperm donation that quickly became apparent in the men we spoke to. Firstly, the lack of anonymity—the worry is that one day, 18 years from now, the fruit of their loins would return to demand an explanation and a PlayStation 6. Secondly, a fear that came from a lack of awareness of the need for sperm donation, what it entails, and and who it is for. Why give if you don't know why, or how, you'd be giving it? As Rory, a 27-year-old teacher from Redbridge, said: “It’s not in the public domain in the UK. I guess we’re more focused on female fertility than male, like IVF and stuff.”

Of the 50 men we spoke to, no one was up for donating, which is significant in itself. “The way we are in England—it’s a taboo subject,” said one man we asked, holding his little son’s hand. 

I spoke with forensic and health psychologist Robert J. Edelmann to see what other reasons men might have for not donating sperm. He told me the small sample we'd collected pretty much matched up with the general reasons men are reluctant to wank into a jar to complete a family picture for someone, somewhere in the world.

"The most frequently cited reason for sperm donation is altruism,” said Edelmann. “Although, many would not donate if payment was not forthcoming. Some sperm donors report being curious about their own fertility, and some also believe that they are contributing what they regarded as their own good genes to other couples.”

Research also suggests less willingness to donate if anonymity is removed, he explained, saying that the “fear of [potential] future financial and other demands” prevail, as well as “concerns that a future partner may not welcome the idea of another child.”

Sperm under the microscope. Image via Wikimedia Commons

“I think people in our society have difficulty in talking about sperm donation without conjuring up endless double entendres,” said Dr. Allan Pacey of the British Fertility Society. “I think we are still holding onto our negative Victorian values about sex and masturbation, and that there is a popular belief that women who donate eggs are heroes because they have to undergo a medical procedure, whereas men who donate sperm have to undergo a sexual act and are in some ways seen as smutty by many people. That debilitates the debate.”

Sperm donation isn’t just a quick, five-knuckle shuffle, though. As I learned from an informal chat with a representative from the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA), for every 100 men who start the process of being assessed as a sperm donor, around four are accepted, and that’s largely due to sperm quality (it doesn’t freeze very well) and medical history.

All this suggests that more needs to be done by the National Gamete Donation Trust (NGDT), a government-funded body set up to promote egg and sperm donation in the UK. The NGDT’s tactics to get men to donate (such as 2007's “Give a Toss” campaign) do seem to cater to the lowest common dominator. In fact, some of the practices to promote donations, cited in the Guardian, are both crass and patronizing. For instance, I doubt any man is going to donate sperm because he wants to feel "special." Men are capable of empathy and that altruism, if portrayed in the right way, is reason enough.

Empathetic or not, the issue of identifiability looms large. Ole Schou of Cryos International in Demark, the world’s biggest sperm bank, told me that the UK’s problems can be solved in one move: offering anonymity to donors, as is the norm in Denmark.

"The most important reason men don’t donate in the UK is because only very few men want to be identifiable," he said. "Anonymity has been introduced for good reason—for ethical reasons, in order to protect the child’s interest. But the problem is that nobody takes responsibility for the real outcome and the consequences of a lack of identifiable donation."

However, it doesn’t stop there. According to Schou, British bureaucracy also gets in the way. "In UK, the legislation is very strict. The HFEA is a burden," he said. "There’s additional screening requirements, additional documents required and, until now, no Laura Witjens [chair of the National Gamete Donation Trust and, as it says on her Twitter bio, "cage rattler and change maker in egg and sperm donation"]. I really admire Laura Witjens. She has all the skills and motivations to make it a success, but I’m afraid that it's not possible to attract enough donors under British laws and restrictions."

Human sperm cells (spermatozoa) magnified 3,140 times. Image via Wikimedia Commons

Schou says that the only way forward is to reintroduce anonymous donation, citing nine other countries with a similar problem. Sweden, The Netherlands, Austria, Switzerland, Norway, Australia, New Zealand, Germany and Finland all suffered at least 85 percent of all donors withdrawing their sperm after laws banning anonymous donation were introduced.

The result, Schou said, is twofold. Firstly, a "gray market" emerges, with infertile couples, single women, and lesbian couples traveling to Denmark for insemination from sperm held at Cryos, in order to get around UK laws. Secondly, something Schou calls "cross-border reproductive care," which Denmark also monopolizes, have become the leading sperm producers on Earth. They are, in effect, the testes of the world, exporting a whopping 90 percent of their "production." Much of it makes it to British shores, as illustrated by the "Invasion of the Viking Babies" headlines earlier this year.

Schou believes the donor’s autonomy—the ability to choose either anonymity or identifiability—is the main reason Denmark i thse world leader in sperm donation. He also cites lesser limitations on offspring (in the UK, one man’s sperm can only be used to provide for ten families—in Demark that figure is 25), less waiting times, more consumer selection (here we have what Allan Pacey calls a failure to "provide for all ethnic combinations") and the perhaps far-fetched notion that Danes are just more altruistic and "keen to help each other."

I don’t believe that the Danes are more altruistic than Britons. I’d suggest the reality of fathering a child who may one day track you down will always outweigh the altruistic act of donation, regardless of nationality. But I also think more could be done to ensure a greater social value is attributed to sperm donation aside from a monetary kickback.

If men could be shown that someone, somewhere, just like them requires sperm in order to have a family, I believe more would, at the very least, engage with the idea of donation. Instead, it’s the old ideas of sperm donation that linger. And when put into context with a debate such as this, it all seems like such a waste.

Follow Gareth May on Twitter.

As a rule, I don’t I really like conventions. Admission is charged for something which, at its core is an advertising opportunity. Yet something draws me in, perhaps it’s the people watching, though I think in the case of The Everything To Do With Sex Show it’s pretty obvious (it was the word “Sex”).

Held at Toronto’s Exhibition Place for the past 15 years, The Everything To Do With Sex Show is North America’s largest trade show relating to everything "sexy." Whether you’re shopping for a butt plug, looking to attend a seminar on giving the best head, or interested in discovering more about electro stimulation and your nipples, there’s probably something here for you. And yeah, it's all happening again this weekend.

Last year, I decided to check it out and take some photos. The place was a little quieter than I had expected, still, the crowd seemed fairly diverse, further proving the point that, yes, all kinds of people really do like sex. One of the first things that caught my eye was the guy trying to entice people to try out the Sybian. He was successful in roping in some passersby and even brought one woman to orgasm as her friends, a few strangers, and I watched. Meanwhile, on the other side of Exhibition Place a whole bunch of S&M stuff was going on where members of the public were also invited in to be tied up, spanked, and degraded in other ways consenting adults often find enjoyable.

The rest of the night included a lingerie runway show, sausages in the food court, autographs from erotic models, and a pretty lengthy scene between two female porn stars making out and masturbating as throngs of viewers (mostly college boys) gathered around.

The night wrapped up with models looking bored, as their boyfriends showed up and their booths closed down. I took off into the cool Autumn night as the couples around me dispersed, headed home to their apartments with their new toys and free lube.

Nathan Cyprs is one of VICE Canada's favourite young photographers, feel free to oogle his website, Tumblr or Instagram. They're all pret-ty great.

At Berlin’s Female Fight Club, women put men in their places—squished underneath a naked lady’s assmeat. Club founder Anna Konda is a “natural-born dom” who used to beat up boys in the schoolyard while growing up in former East Germany. Now she can be found sitting on men's faces and squeezing their heads until they are on the verge of popping between her Amazonian thighs.

She established the club three years ago as an outlet for all women—from Stepford wives to doped-up muscle junkies—to go head-to-head in wrestling matches. Either in the buff or in a dominatrix getup, women can tussle with the stereotype that being strong and dominant isn’t sexy or feminine. And men are more than welcome to jump in the ring too, as long as they’re prepared to obey.

Even though Anna’s known for her incredible strength, she doesn’t consider herself a bodybuilder. Instead, she loves her womanly curves, boobs, and ass, which she has put on display in countless internet videos. Her videos, which have been watched by thousands of people, have made her a cult figure in Berlin. These videos often feature her crushing watermelons or sheep skulls between her thighs, emasculating men, or instructing women on how to dominate. However, Anna’s not without her critics. She’s had social media accounts and videos deleted from Facebook and YouTube for being too “pornographic” even though they featured no nudity—just a powerful woman in control of her own body.

I caught up with Anna to discuss her life as a skull-crushing dom and why she believes women should always be on top.

VICE: When did you realize you were a “natural-born dom”?
Anna Konda: In my marriage. My husband took me to a gym where I trained the same way as him—none of that nonsense “lady training” that some women do. From the beginning, I could lift heavier weights than men. Of course people started saying things to my husband, like, “At home, your wife must wear the pants...” We also began wrestling each other, but I’d always end up on top. So it became less and less fun for him.

You used to beat up boys in school?
I grew up in the former German Democratic Republic where competitive sports were very important. Like many girls, I was a gymnast, which involved weight training at an early age. By 12 or 13, we were so much more muscular than the boys. Naturally, we took advantage of this. Boys who didn’t get out of our way were pressed face down into the sand. I loved tantalizing them by squeezing their heads between my legs against the ground. When I started doing this to men as an adult, I realized that so many men have a fetish for this and I’m giving them exactly what they’ve always wished for, even as little boys.

What’s been your kinkiest request to date?
There are men out there who ask for the "squeeze of death" from me. They offer me large sums of money too, like $10,000 as an advance payment. Naturally, I never accept because I'm not a psychopath and have no desire to sit in the electric chair in the US (“squeeze of death” request come mostly from Americans).

How do you differentiate yourself from S&M porn?
People always connect the word “dominatrix” to pornography, but an S&M porn star or prostitute only does what someone else wants. The only thing that matters to them is that they get paid. A truly dominant woman on the other hand only does what she wants.

So, you're a fan of domination in the ring, but not in the bedroom?
Well, sometimes the bed is the ring. [Laughs] For me, the ring becomes the bed when I sit on my victims’ faces and they lie helplessly under my thick thighs and big buttocks. I love to cum on their faces. This turns me on extremely. Even talking about it right now makes me want to do it again. It’s an amazing feeling of power.

Do people often ask you for erotic services?
Yeah. But when a man asks me to do something erotic to him, I tell him that if he drops his pants in front of me, I will slam him up against the wall so hard that he’ll need a jackhammer to get himself off again.

Can your wrestling matches get violent?
I'm not sadistic. I don’t enjoy the pain of others. I enjoy my own power and having control. I guess sometimes this can amount to the same thing for my prey. No matter how tough the fight is or if I have the opponent on the ground, I never hit them like crazy. I never want blood on my mat.

You had some trouble with YouTube and Facebook for deleting and blocking your content, right?
I find it ridiculous because it’s easy to distinguish my club from porn. YouTube deleted videos that just featured my name in them or fully clothed training videos just because I was in them. I hate censorship and arbitrariness. If I compare YouTube with the communist GDR government from my childhood, I can hardly decide which is worse when it comes to censorship!

Your body is so magnificent. Were you always a bigger woman?
As a young woman, I got so skinny that I only weighed half of what I weigh today because of the pressure to conform to the stereotypical stick-thin image. I had a wasp waist but I still had a nice round ass. I looked amazing. However, it’s not possible to keep that slim figure forever—not even with dieting. My bigger body now has many benefits. If millions of people love my videos and photos, it’s because they love the woman they see in them. Frankly, that turns me on.

Have you ever gotten any negative reactions about your body?
Out of the thousands of fans I have, there are always a handful of people who tell me how fat, ugly, and disgusting I am. But where else should I get my workout motivation from, if not from these comments? People want to see crazy things from me and these comments put me in the mood to make someone suffer. My domination acts are never purely for show. I unleash anger and aggression onto my victim and if he or she moans underneath me, it makes me feel so good and strong.

You often wear dominatrix-style leather corsets, latex, and high-heels. You must be aware that you’re serving countless fetishes?
Anyone can project whatever fetishes they like onto me. Even if it’s just liking that I wear leather boots. I don’t find my feet very sexy, but some people go crazy for them. When watching a video where my feet are visible, they get so excited because that's their fetish. For me, they’re just my feet.

What services do you offer women who are perhaps “under the thumb” of a man?
There are some women who have suffered from domestic violence and have come along to the club with their attacker. I show the perpetrator how it feels to be dominated by someone.

What relationship advice would you offer women?
Men will adore you if you bulk up and test your limits in terms of power. You can then present your man with a whole new spectrum of services. If he is impressed and intrigued, then he is the right guy for you. If he rejects you, then he is the wrong guy. In a healthy relationship, both partners must see each other at eye level.

What’s your ultimate goal with all of this?
I want to motivate women to follow my example—to do weight training and to be proud of their female form. Everything I do is erotic. So I also want to turn people on. However, it's not about sexual acts, but the overall context. A woman who builds up her strength and is proud of her body often shocks people because they think a woman with a few too many pounds should hate her body. The fact that so many men are turned on by me shows that this is bullshit.

For more information on Berlin’s Female Fight Club, visit Anna Konda’s website or Berlin Female Fight Club.

Follow Emily on Twitter.

In mid-September, Islamic State militants launched an offensive to seize Kobane, a predominantly Kurdish town in Syria just across the border from Turkey. In the following weeks, Turkey closed its border, leaving thousands of civilians stuck inside the active war zone.

On October 5, 274 Kurds from Kobane were arrested at the Turkish border and held in a large room at a police station in the Turkish village of Suruc. Authorities have not given the people arrested—including many women and children—a reason for their detention, except to say they are suspected of being members of the YPG, the Kurdish fighters defending Kobane from the Islamic State.

VICE News visited Suruc to find out the status of the prisoners and when they would be released, only to learn they are being held indefinitely. We spoke via video chat with a prisoner who described the conditions in the facility, and visited his family to discuss their unknown destiny.

The MIPIM UK real estate conference took place in London for the first time last week, playing host to investors from around the world and politicians from up and down the UK. Those in attendance listened to a speech from London Mayor Boris Johnson in which he held up a decadently pricey redevelopment project as a beacon of the affordable new London, attended various panel discussions, and chatted about the big real-life Monopoly game they control over a load of free booze.

According to the host of one talk I went to, London, currently, is “buzzing.”

“The general sentiment right now is that we’re on top of the world here in London,” he said. That was the view from inside the conference, anyway. Outside, protesters were heckling delegates as they arrived, angry that for people struggling to pay rent, living in London can feel less like you’re on top of the world and more like you’re at the bottom of the pile.

You could be forgiven for thinking the delegates inside were laughing about the plebs protesting outside while knocking back magnums of champagne and devising innovative new ways to rinse the poor for even more rent. This is only partly true. In various talks reference was made to the protests, and some mentioned the fact that housing is a huge political issue. "The real estate industry is paying attention," seemed to be the message.

That can be taken as a victory for groups like Radical Housing Network, which organized the picket line—the hecklers had forced people who would prefer to talk endlessly about real estate as a commodity to discuss housing as a thing that people actually need to live in.

That said, the protesters probably wouldn’t have been too happy with the solutions that were being discussed, particularly the talk called “Exploring Healthcare: Opportunities for the Property Industry,” during which people got very excited about making money out of the National Health Service. That panel included someone from Capita—an outsourcing company famous for processing disability benefits so slowly that a number of terminally ill people died before they got their money, and for the time it told some legal residents of UK that they were illegal immigrants who had to leave the country forever.

Asking a load of real estate investors to solve the housing crisis is kind of like asking a barman to cure your hangover. At times, this led to weird results and banal management-speak. The most bizarre came in a session about how to incentivize development, during which people were really concerned about “some sort of disconnect between the carrots and sticks.”

Foreign investors have gained something of a pariah status in the UK by parking their money in UK real estate and subsequently jacking up housing prices. In a session called “Foreign Investment in Housing: Good for the UK or Good for Investors?” it was easy to see why people don’t like them. The speakers were all very excited about Britain, and London in particular, which they saw as the “number one global city” that is seeing just the start of a wave of investment.

“London is our first choice for our international expansion platform,” said Michael Purefoy from the Chinese conglomerate Dalian Wanda Group. But foreign investors also warned that if anybody tried to tax their massive profits any more, they would simply leave.

Nick Candy, the developer behind the breathtakingly expensive penthouses of One Hyde Park, warned, “Whichever way they choose to tax it, every investor has a choice and they don’t have to choose London. There are other places in the world; there are tax-free places—Singapore and Dubai—or higher tax rates like Los Angeles or New York. They have a choice. And unless we’re competitive on a global level, London and the UK will suffer, simple as that.”

Obviously, some of Candy’s clientele are already trying their best not to pay much tax. Last (year, Vanity Fair reported that a high number of One Hyde Park apartments are owned by companies in offshore tax havens.)

Joe Burns, head honcho of “super-prime” developer Oliver Burns, said that foreign investment would provide the “expertise” to solve the housing crisis, as if everyone in the UK has just forgotten how to build homes that people could afford to live in, leaving us with no option but to consult some Malaysian venture capitalists.

He had more of a point, though, when he asked how more homes are going to be built without money from these people. The fact is, with budgets being cut, the only way local councils can afford to build houses is through private investments. But investors want to build posh flats, not affordable housing.

This was thrown into sharp relief by Lib Peck—leader of the council in Lambeth, South London—in a session called, “The Case for Investing in Affordable Housing.” She talked a good game on gentrification and the importance of mixed communities, and spoke of “seizing opportunities for inward investment that matches our politics as well.” But the tension between the two was made clear when she began to talk about “pragmatism” and “imaginative ways to bring in investment”—which sounded a lot like “doing what the developers want”—before discussing the protesters outside.

“It’s not to say that I’m not drawn to some of their concerns around gentrification—I can absolutely understand them,” she said. “But the naivety of just assuming that you can ignore the private sector when that’s where the money takes us seems to be just that—naïve—and not really dealing with some of the problems we have.”

Lambeth resident Julian Hall has been fighting for the last few years to save his “shortlife” home from repossession by the council, who wants to sell it to developers who will turn it into a much more swanky residence. He'd been at the alternative housing conference that was taking place down the road. I asked him about the “naïve” comment.

“She would say that, wouldn’t she?” he said. “The people outside were trying to make a point about the urgent need for [public] housing. The kind of deals that are being done with developers—and the percentages of [public] housing that people are getting out of them—are really not sufficient. If anyone’s being naïve it’s her.”

If councils do insist on being tied to private investors for their housing funding, and attending events like MIPIM, then the outlook is pretty bleak. The agenda of these events, and the attitude of the attendees towards housing that people can actually afford, was laid bare by the MIPIM UK Awards. 

To take a couple of examples of the victors, Michael Heseltine won the “lifetime achievement award”—his key achievement being the implementation the “Right to Buy” that sold off Britain’s public housing under Margaret Thatcher. The regeneration of Earl’s Court was given the “best future project” award. This 77-acre redevelopment will mean the demolition of two council estates—760 homes and upwards of 2,000 residents—and the Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre. The new development will have over 7,000 flats—only 11 percent of which will be “affordable.” A one-bedroom will cost £600,000 (nearly $970,000).

If local councilors continue to drink fizzy wine in places where these kinds of developments are held up as examples of best practices, rather than spending time with the communities that they destroy, we can only look forward to London becoming even more unbearably expensive for the people trying to live in it.

Follow Simon Childs on Twitter. 

Photography and additional reporting by Oscar Webb.

The US government loves to test new "non-lethal" weapons, like pepper spray. Photos via US Department of Defense Flickr feed unless otherwise noted

Late last month, the spill of headlines calling out the Hong Kong authorities' use of non-lethal weapons against democracy demonstrators gathered international attention and condemnation from NGOs like Human Rights Watch. For onlookers in the US, such news dovetailed with a St. Louis neighborhood’s standoff with riot police that spread 12 miles north, where yet another young black man was recently shot and killed by an off-duty officer.

From the 1960s Civil Rights movement to the Arab Spring, these events fall in line with a decades-long history of televised protests during which police weaponry has alarmed the media, activists, and the public. The use of non-lethal weapons on civilians (like the use of any type of weapon on anybody) is often the spark that leads to city streets devolving into war zones and the police beginning to act like an army. Deaths, accidental or otherwise, start to pile up.

But we should be clear about something: There’s really no such thing as a “non-lethal” weapon. A weapon’s lethality is, ultimately, not up to the object itself. Arguing otherwise is an attempt to shift one of our greatest moral responsibilities onto an inanimate object that has no agency.

From last year’s protests in Istanbul, where I personally witnessed people my age crumple to the ground after being hit by tear gas canisters, to the beginning stages of Russia’s military intervention in Ukraine, non-lethal weapons have killed people. Medical examiners have listed them as primary causes of death. Military analysts have debated the ethics of non-lethal weapons applications ever since chemical gasses debuted in World War I, and international political bodies have banned and restricted certain non-lethal weapons from being used in conventional warfare.

Even so, these weapons comprise a multibillion-dollar international industry that’s expected to double in size by 2020, with more and more nations allocating research and development funds toward tools of what’s called “asymmetrical warfare.” Their growth and usage won’t stop, but that doesn’t mean we should allow them to continue being sold beneath a banner that’s misleadingly innocent.

First, though, it’s necessary to point out why it is these weapons have collected the term “non-lethal.” In theory, they are a humane alternative to the bullet by way of velocity, material and engineering. Generally referred to as an intermediary to fit the gap between “shouting and shooting,” they allow service members and civilians alike to use force in a way that reduces the likelihood of taking someone’s life.

Colonel Michael Coolican, director of the US Department of Defense’s Joint Non-Lethal Weapons Directorate, attests to this. He’s one of many government personnel overseeing the technical development of non-lethal weaponry for US military usage at a Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia. Located within its walls, according to Coolican, is a group of scientists and researchers who “think and live non-lethal weapons 24 hours a day.”

“Weapons, devices and munitions that are explicitly intended to have reversible effects on people and material,” he said when I asked how the DoD defines non-lethal. “But it’s also important to point out that non-lethal weapons are not intended to replace lethal force.”

Tear gas has been a big part of the police response to protests in Hong Kong. Photo via Flickr user Leung Ching Yau Alex 

These weapons, he told me, go through a rigorous testing process before being deployed in the field. They’re run through what’s called “Human Effects Modeling Analysis,” a computerized testing system that partly relies on human body simulators to calculate the proper firing distances for effective, reversible results. They also come before a handful of governmental and independent review committees, consisting of experts from academia, law enforcement, the scientific community, and the military.

But for many of the Directorate’s weapons, the term “non-lethal” seems more like a PR gambit than an actual descriptor. Take the Mission Payload Module Non-Lethal Weapons System. Still in development, it’s a 66-mm cannon that attaches to vehicles, and, according to a DoD non-lethal weapons list, has “a high volume of fire and capability to transition from non-lethal to lethal engagements within seconds.” The title, it appears, only paints half the picture.

Another, the well-publicized Active Denial System, uses a millimeter wave to stimulate water and fat cells within a target’s skin, ultimately bringing them down with an unbearable sensation of heat. Though it's deemed “non-lethal,” it placed one soldier in an intensive burn ward in 2008, and was removed from a brief deployment in Afghanistan in 2010 for undisclosed reasons many speculate were informed by worry that the Taliban might use it to stir up anti-US propaganda. 

At the end of our talk, I asked Coolican if any weapon can ever truly be considered non-lethal. “The amount of work we do with non-lethals, and not just here in the Directorate but through those independent review panels as well, really puts the rigor in to assure that these weapons meet the Department of Defense’s definition,” he responded. “The training and rules of engagement get put in place together, and I’m very comfortable that that’s the way we should be going forward.”

Following the US military’s documented history of human rights abuses during the war in Iraq, a set of less harmful, more discerning means for dispersing urban conflict zones is welcomed. But not if these weapons have secondary lethal functions and the potential to put people in the hospital with long-term injuries.

It’s all part of a major puzzle that the Directorate, and many other weapons producers, seem bent on solving: How do you engineer the perfect oxymoron? One that doesn’t do anything horrible to the target but is so nasty that it makes the target never want to encounter it again? It also has to balance the weight of international protocols, like the 1993 Chemical Weapons Convention (which, according to information obtained by Wikileaks and Georgetown Professor David Koplow, the US hasn’t cared much for), and the 1998 Protocol on Blinding Laser Weapons.

One company believes it has the answer. Previously rooted in the police and domestic markets but now widely employed by US military, no intermediary weapons producer has been more successful (or contentious) than Taser International.

Tasers are ingrained in American culture and beloved by the military

The Taser electric current device is arguably the de facto symbol of non-lethal weapons in America. It’s such a symbol, in fact, that like Band-aid, Seadoo, Kleenex, and Frisbee, its trademarked name is now a generic noun used to describe any type of similar item.

But a Taser isn’t “non-lethal.” It’s “less-lethal”—a term that a growing number of intermediary weapons distributors have opted to use when marketing their devices. When I asked company spokesperson Steve Tuttle about this, he said the title is beyond the point.

"You’re either a firearm or you’re not,” he said. “Non-lethals can be treated just like all other weapons in court.”

He told me that the Taser, when used properly, has been proven safer than tackling a person to the ground. Later, when I asked him if any weapon can ever truly be considered non-lethal, he suggested that the question is litigious. “You can really apply the ‘no such thing as non-lethal’ argument to anything. If you put a cotton ball in a baby’s mouth, it can be lethal.

"You have to go back to how it's used," he added. "Make sure there are safe protocols, good oversight, and recurring training programs. Once you go outside those things, all bets get called off. You know, if you take a blowdryer and use it in the bathtub, it's not being used properly, and it then becomes pernicious.”

“Something like a cotton ball or a blow dryer, though, wasn’t created with the same intent as a tool of force,” I replied.

“There's no middle ground—with weapons, it's either deadly force or intermediate force," he said. "You have to follow what the courts say. A lot of the time it's the subject who chooses his own destiny. With police encounters, you are given an option to comply. If you refuse to comply, you’re at risk. Then you might be subject to violence.”

After our phone conversation, Tuttle emailed me a barrage of statistical literature showcasing Taser’s success, such as charts on how the device has saved police departments money by preventing officer injuries and thereby reducing worker’s comp claims, and reports that outline how injury rates of suspects and police officers have declined by more than 25 percent in some cities after Tasers were introduced to law enforcement.

All of which is impressive testimony, even if it exists in a realm that’s disconnected from many of the ethical criticisms leveled at Taser and other “less-lethals” over the past decade. Among others, the United Nations Committee on Torture chose to highlight Taser abuse in its 2007 report. Today, questionable police activities continue to ignite these types of criticisms, and as long as they’re still happening, activists argue, Taser and similar weapons are up for trial in the public square.

Of the various brutal incidents, none is more illustrating than the death of Gregory Lewis Towns Jr.

After police in East Point, Georgia, responded to reports of a domestic dispute between Towns and his girlfriend in April, Towns fled on foot before being apprehended by a creek. He was handcuffed, but refused to stand and walk to the police car, telling officers he was tired. Police then began using their Tasers on Towns to try and get him to move, much in the way a rancher might cattle-prod a cow. Minutes later, he was unconscious.

In the police report, officers recounted only Tasing Towns five or six times. But a computer log within the weapons revealed that the actual number of discharges totaled 13. The medical examiner ruled Towns’s death a homicide, even after it came to light that he suffered from a heart condition; now his family is slapping the officers with a wrongful death suit.

Tuttle concedes that the Taser has indeed been a key component in some police-related deaths, but argues that its actual firing mechanism has never stopped a heart. While this position is still a subject of debate, in Towns's case, it’s a tertiary concern. He didn’t die because of a Taser. He died because two police officers battered him excessively. And if police are being instructed to use Tasers on “tired” men in handcuffs, then he died because of inhumane and flawed training protocols.

This is why the terms “less-lethal” or “non-lethal” are problematic. If you’re equipped with a weapon whose title literally means “cannot kill,” and whose distributors claim has never been the primary cause of a person’s death, is it not far-fetched to assume you would use it more liberally than a conventional firearm? How would Towns’ death have looked if the officers were witnessed using another type of weapon, like batons? Thirteen baton strikes would have (hopefully) sent them to jail. Pepper spray? Thirteen applications of pepper spray would have likely brought accusations of sociopathy, or torture.

Pepper spray field training in Mongolia. Photo via the US Pacific Command Flickr feed

Stephen Coleman, a military and police ethics expert at the Australian Defence Force Academy, shares these concerns.

“The biggest issues with non-lethal weapons arise out of the fact that because they are ‘non-lethal’—or at least thought or intended to be non-lethal—the threshold for their use is much, much lower than the use of deadly force,” he told me via email. “The oversight of their use is, not coincidentally, also much less intense than the oversight of the use of lethal weapons.”

As one piece of evidence, he points to a 2009 study conducted by the Office of Police Integrity in Victoria, Australia, that found that the number of pepper spray uses reported by some Victorian police precincts was suspiciously lower than the number of pepper spray cans they continued to order.

“Any weapon, even one designed to be non-lethal, can have lethal effects if used in the wrong way or at the wrong time,” he tells me. “Even a really, really good non-lethal weapon needs to be used with some common sense, but that is noticeably lacking in a lot of cases.”

In America, incidences of carelessness aren’t going unnoticed. On October 8, Attorney General Eric Holder told a room of police chiefs in Little Rock, Arkansas, that US law enforcement needs to change. While focusing on the Michael Brown shooting, he argued for a new approach to policing tactics that would “provide strong, national direction on a scale not seen since President Lyndon Johnson’s Commission on Law Enforcement nearly half a century ago.” He also announced that the Justice Department is working with police associations to survey the state of procedure throughout the country.

Whether or not this soft indictment produces noticeable results remains to be seen. But if the White House is ready to join the path already laid down by media, activists, human rights groups, and the public, it should start with its most powerful tool: policy. We need unprecedented national policies that build a new status quo of police culture in which subjects are also seen as potential victims.

This cannot be done until we stop differentiating weapons with the innocuous language of “non-lethal.” They have killed, and they will likely continue to kill, until we stop telling police and military forces they’re incapable of causing grave harm.

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Last Thursday, at a public hearing about the “right to be forgotten” in central London, Google Executive Chairman Eric Schmidt had a bit of trouble pronouncing the names of the eminent Europeans with whom he shared a stage. But he tried his best. And he muddled his way through.

It’s an apt metaphor for the way that one of the world's most powerful companies has been struggling in the wake of a ruling by the European Court of Justice (ECJ) in May on the so-called “right to be forgotten.” The court ruled that Google (and other search engines) must allow individuals to erase certain results that appear on web searches of their names—when the linked-to information is “inadequate, irrelevant, or excessive.” The court’s reasoning: Normal people have a right to be forgotten online.

Reaction to the ruling bordered on hysterical. Depending on your view, the ECJ has either safeguarded individual privacy or heralded the slow death of the free and fair Internet in Europe. MailOnline publisher Martin Clark said that de-linking was “the equivalent of going into libraries and burning books you don’t like.”

When a site is “forgotten” on Google, it’s not actually deleted at the source, or even erased from all internet searches—but it does disappear from searches of the individual requester’s name. Now, if you Google search for a name in Europe, a notification appears at the bottom of the search page: “Some results may have been removed under data protection in Europe.”

But the court was vague in its definition of “inadequate, irrelevant, or excessive” data. As a result, Google has been reluctantly cast in the role of pan-European judge and jury of the internet's collective memory, responsible for deciding (behind closed doors) what constitutes the continent’s public interest.

Shortly after the May ruling, an evidently pissed-off Schmidt cobbled together an “Advisory Council on the Right to be Forgotten,” which includes an Oxford ethics philosopher, a former German justice minister, and Wikipedia boss Jimmy Wales. Google followed that up by launching a road trip. Last Thursday’s event was one of seven town-hall style meetings being held by the company across Europe.

Some have dismissed the tour as a PR stunt, and suggested that the company is engaging the public only to show up the clusterfuck that has been born of the ECJ ruling.

If that’s true, well, mission accomplished. On Thursday, I went to one of Google’s public meetings in London to find out who does and does not have the right to be forgotten on the internet. Four hours later, I left feeling sure of one thing: Implementing the ECJ’s decision is going to be really, really hard.

Schmidt began the day by discussing some more clear-cut cases. A victim of physical violence wanted references to the assault removed from web searches of his/her name. Google said OK. A pedophile wanted recent data about his conviction de-linked. Google said nuh-uh.

So far, so simple. But in other cases, lawyers have wavered. Google has struggled with the case of an adult who wanted reference to a teenage drunk driving incident de-linked and the case of a former member of a far-right party who no longer holds extreme political views.

In deciding whether or not to de-link, Google must consider how “relevant” online data is, taking into account factors like “time passed,” the “purpose” of the information, and the role that the data subject plays “in public life.” Google must balance “sensitivity for the person’s private life” with “the public interest.” And it must determine if linked-to data is “inadequate” or “excessive.” But what does all that it even mean, at a practical level? What terrible things can you do and then have expunged from the internet’s collective memory forever?

Photo via Flickr user Anthony Topper

Let’s start with a fairly likely scenario. You’ve been recorded or photographed doing something that the internet deems hilarious at your expense—enthusiastically making out with someone who looks really bored, dancing really energetically and embarrassingly, that kind of thing. If the web has tied that meme to your name, do you have the right to hide from the digital public? 

Gabrielle Guillemin of the nonprofit Article 19 suggested that embarrassment is not a good enough reason to request de-linking. But Google Advisory Council member Peggy Valcke, a law professor in Belgium, suggested that it could be. And anyway, argued Oxford University philosopher Luciano Floridi, another Advisory Council member, “Embarrassment comes in degrees. Social embarrassment becomes social stigma becomes losing your job… Do you we have a way of understanding when embarrassment, discomfortm and unpleasantness become harm?” Does the calculation change when the data involves a child? Or an otherwise vulnerable person? It didn’t really get cleared up.

What if the source of the embarrassing material is you? Say you posted an emo selfie on MySpace ages ago and now it’s ruining your nascent cage-fighting career. Schmidt conceded that things get tricky when requesters themselves published the data that they now want de-linked. Recently, a media professional in Britain asked Google to erase links to “embarrassing content” that he himself posted online. Google said no.

What about if you’ve done something more serious? Say you’d rather everybody didn’t know about all that embezzlement you got caught doing at your last job. Panellists agreed that de-linking information on things like criminal convictions would depend, in part, on whether the requester is a public figure. But how do we define a “public figure”? David Jordan, the BBC’s director of editorial policy and standards, introduced the hypothetical case of a voluntary school board member—a guy who's "famous" evaluating the quality of school lunches. Is this man a public figure? And so, does all his data belong in the public domain?

Photo via Flickr user fisakov

Evan Harris, a former member of UK Parliament and now associate director of the Hacked Off campaign, suggested that people might ask for information about prior fraud to be de-linked, then later run for public office. By extension, is everyone’s data in the public interest on the grounds that we’re all potential future elected officials or important people? Again, it wasn’t made clear, but to stand a better chance in that election, you should request that Google forgets before printing your campaign posters.

Already, many de-link requests have come from criminals. Schmidt gave the real-life example of a convicted criminal served his time and who now wants reference to the conviction erased from search results. Should old convictions be “forgotten”? How old is old enough? This was also left—you guessed it—unclear.

Increasingly, advocates on both sides of the line are joining together to issue a common plea that these critical decisions be made in European courtrooms rather than in Google boardrooms. They also insist that Google’s decisions be subject to external review. Currently, there is no appeals process for content publishers who disagree with a Google de-linking decisions. That may change, and soon. European regulators are already at work, beefing up the continent’s data protection policy, with an eye to codifying the right to be forgotten.

Philosophy aside, Google is faced with a logistical nightmare. The company has reportedly hired dozens of lawyers and paralegals to deal with de-link requests on a case-by-case basis. “It’s not obvious to me that this can ever be automated,” said Schmidt on Thursday. Already, Google admitted to errors—and has re-linked some of the half a million de-link requests that they have fielded since May.

And yet, for now, there remains a simple  way to maneuver around this new European internet. Going to google.com (rather than, say, google.co.uk or google.fr) transports European internet searchers to virtual America—and thus gives them access to the entirely “remembered” internet that they once knew. On Thursday, Schmidt was asked whether European searchers should simply start using the .com site. “I am not recommending that,” he said, with a wry smile.

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