Violence and the State at the Urban Margins Javier Auyero, Agustín Burbano de Lara, and Flavia Bellomi In The Civilizing Process (1994), Norbert Elias posits the existence of a mutually reinforcing relationship between the pacification of daily life in a given region and the actions (or inactions) of the state that rules over that area. The “civilizing process” means, above all, the removal of violence from social life and its relocation under the control of the state.1 Elias’ insight is particularly pertinent to understand and explain the diverse forms of criminal and interpersonal violence that are ravaging the lives of the urban poor in contemporary Latin America (Imbusch, Misse, and Carrión 2011; Perlman 2011; Koonings and Kruijt 2007). Taking heed of Elias’ general proposition, and confronted with the intensification of urban violence in the sub- continent, we ask: When, how, and to what effect does the state police poor people’s disputes in the places they live? Based on 30 months of ethnographic fieldwork in a violence-ridden, low-income district located in the metropolitan area of Buenos Aires (known as the Conurbano Bonaerense), this article examines the state’s presence at the urban margins and its relationships to widespread de- pacification of poor people’s daily life.2 Contrary to descriptions of destitute urban areas in the Americas as either “governance voids” deserted by the state (Williams 1992; Anderson 1999; Koonings and Kruijt 2007; Venkatesh 2008) or militarized spaces firmly controlled by the state’s iron fist (Goffman 2009; Rios 2010; Müller 2011), we argue, by way of empirical demonstration, that law enforcement in Buenos Aires’ high-poverty zones is intermittent, selective, and contradictory. By putting the state’s fractured presence at the urban margins under the ethnographic microscope, we reveal its key role in the perpetuation of the violence it is presumed to prevent. Social scientific and journalistic descriptions of violence in what Loïc Wacquant (2004) calls “territories of urban relegation” abound in the Americas (Harding 2010; Wilding 2010;; Alarcón 2009; Castillo Berthier and Jones 2009; Pine 2008; Venkatesh 2008; Rodgers 2007; Gay 2005; Aricapa 2005; Goldstein 2003, 1998; Anderson 1999; Friday 1995). Studies consistently show that lack of economic opportunities coupled with geographic isolation foster “a climate where crime and interpersonal violence…become pervasive” (Popkin et al. 2010:721) in inner- cities, black ghettoes, favelas, villas, comunas, poblaciones, and colonias populares, just a few of the terms used to describe the urban areas where multiple forms of deprivation accumulate. Research in psychology and community studies reveal the litany of violence to which the poor are subjected and show that different kinds of violence typically “pile up” (Farrell et al. 2007:446). Although many studies highlight the high rates of co-occurrence (between, for example, community violence and interfamilial violence) and demonstrate that exposure to                                                              1 For elaborations and criticisms of the notion of “civilizing process,” see Aya (1978); Mennel (1990); Burkitt (1996); De Swaan (2001). For its application to the case of the African-American ghetto, see Wacquant (2004). 2 For the purpose of this analysis, we adopt a restrictive definition of violence as including the actions of persons against persons that intentionally threaten, attempt, or actually inflict physical harm (Reiss and Roth 1993; Jackman 2002). 1 violence seldom take place in unalloyed ways (Margolin and Gordis 2000; see also, Walton et al. 2009; Guerra et al. 2003; Garbarino 1993), our understanding of precisely how different kinds of violence associate with one another in real time and space is quite limited (see Bourgois 1995 and LeBlanc 2004 for exceptions). When the concatenation of violence involves the actions or inactions of state agents, our understanding is even more obscure. This article seeks to fill this void. This article begins with an overview of the kinds of violence emerging in Latin America and then provides a description of our field sites and methodology. The article is then divided in two main sections. In the first, we examine the different types of violence currently affecting poor neighborhoods in Buenos Aires. Informed by scholarship that asserts that “exposure to violence does not occur in pure forms” (Margolin and Gordis 2000:452) and that distinctions between private and public forms of brutality often have “permeable boundaries” (Korbin 2003:433), we demonstrate that different types of violence (drug-related, criminal, domestic; private and public) concatenate with one another and form what we call a “chain of violence.” The second section examines the nature of state presence in the area and shows the key role played by law enforcement in the reproduction of daily violence. Only ethnographic work, research that – to slightly modify Robert Zussman’s (2004) phrase – follows people in and through places, in real time and space, can uncover these hard to see connections. Accordingly, our close inspection of the links between the various instances of physical harm that affect the poor intermingled with the actions and inactions of the lower echelons of the state apparatus. New Forms of Violence Although violence has had a continual presence in the history of Latin America (Imbusch, Misse and Carrión 2011), during the last decade a new kind of violence has been emerging in the region (Koonings 2001; Briceño-León 1999; Koonings and Kruijt 2007) and is now besieging many of the new democracies in the sub-continent (Arias and Goldstein, 2010; Rodgers and Jones 2009; Caldeira 2000). This violence is “increasingly available to a variety of social actors,” is no longer an exclusive “resource of elites or security forces,” and includes “everyday criminal and street violence, riots, social cleansing, private account selling, police arbitrariness, paramilitary activities, post-Cold War guerrillas, etc.” (Koonings 2001:403). Although the “newness” of violence has been the subject of much scholarly debate among academics (see, for example, Wilding 2010), most agree in that there has been a significant change in the forms of prevalent violence since the early 1990s.3 As Imbusch, Misse, and Carrión (2011:95) assert in their comprehensive review of violence research in the region, political violence “has now receded significantly in most countries of the continent” and it has been “replaced by other forms, mainly                                                              3 As Polly Wilding (2010:725) points out: “Whether a perceived shift in actors and motives (from predominantly political to predominantly criminal) reflects a significant shift in the lived experiences of violence and insecurity is debatable. Arguably, actors have mutated but not changed; in some instances uniformed police officers are less likely to be involved in overt violence, but the same individuals may be functioning under the remit of death squads or militia groups. In any case, state violence against particular social groups, including poor, marginalized communities, as a form or result of exclusion and oppression, is an enduring, rather than new, aspect of modern society…” 2 social [i.e. interpersonal violence, domestic abuse, child abuse, and sexual assault], but also criminal” (our emphasis). These forms of violence are thus quite varied and, different from the past, they are now located mostly in urban areas. Moreover, this new urban violence affects the most disadvantage populations in disproportionate ways (Gay 2005; Brinks 2008; CELS 2009), particularly adolescents and young adults (Imbusch, Misse, and Carrión 2011) – both as victims and as perpetrators. In the case of Argentina, and particularly the Buenos Aires metropolitan area), the increase of social and criminal violence is beyond dispute (ODSA, 2011).4 Official data for the province of Buenos Aires show a doubling of crime rates between 1995 and 2008, from 1,114 to 2,010 criminal episodes per 100,000 residents and from 206 crimes against persons to 535 per 100,000 residents.5 These numbers, however, represent only a slice of the actual violence that, as we will see shortly, suffuses everyday life in the economically deprived area where we conducted our fieldwork. In contemporary Argentina, state violence against the poor takes the form of persistent arbitrary police violence, swelling prison rates, novel territorial sieges of marginalized communities, and increasing forceful evictions (Auyero 2010; Brinks 2008; CELS 2009; Daroqui et al. 2009). Nevertheless, in our fieldsite, most of the rampant daily violence is perpetrated by its residents against each other. In its target, intensity, and variety, this is a new kind of violence. Across the social sciences, research on diverse forms of violence remains “specialized and balkanized” (Jackman 2002:387): students of “family violence” (Tolan et al. 2006; Kurst- Swanger and Petcosky 2003; Gelles 1985), for example, rarely engage in conversations with researchers on street or gang violence (Jones 2010; Harding 2010; Venkatesh 2008; McCart et al. 2007; Bourgois 1995), even when the latter do recurrently detect the mutual influence between private and public forms of brutality – ethnographic and journalistic descriptions attest to the fact that violence outside the home usually travels inside and viceversa (see, for example, Bourgois 1995; LeBlanc 2004; Kotlowitz 1991). The study of violence is also highly compartmentalized in psychological studies where “very little crossover” defines the examination of violence in its multiple incarnations (Tolan et al. 2006:558).6 Although analyses of diverse types of violence have remained siloed, a number of scholars have begun to highlight their interconnection. Mary Jackman (2002) and Elijah Anderson (1999), for example, have pointed out the shared origins or similar outcomes of a wide                                                              4 On the diverse forms of violence experienced by the Argentine poor, see Bonaldi and del Cueto (2009); on fear of crime and perceptions of “inseguridad,” see Kessler (2009). 5 Sexual and domestic abuse has also been on the rise during the last two decades (La Nación, February 24, 2008). 6 Many theoretical and empirical reasons have been put forward to justify this compartmentalization. As Tolan et al. (2006) argue, “family violence” should be distinguished from other forms in that, for example, “it presupposes a relationship between those involved” (559). “Violence in the home” – to echo the title of Kurst-Swanger and Petcosky’s (2003) collection – has a private character that makes it analytically different from the public nature of street violence and that, as Gelles (1985:359) points out, “requires its own body of theory” to be explained. 3 variety of private and public, interpersonal and collective, violence. Jackman (2002:404) notes that violence is a “genus of behaviors, made up of diverse class of injurious actions, involving a variety of behaviors, injuries, motivations, agents, victims, and observers.” According to her, “the sole thread connecting [this diversity] is the threat or outcome of injury” (404, our emphasis). Anderson (1999), in turn, underlines the common source shared by many instances of violence. In Anderson’s rendition of U.S. inner-city life, the “code of the street” diffuses from the street into homes, schools, parks, and commercial establishments, permeates face-to-face relations, feeds predatory crime and the drug trade, exacerbates interpersonal violence, and even warps practices of courtship, mating, and intimacy. Diverse forms of violence, according to Anderson, can be traced back to the pernicious influence of a bellicose mindset.7 More recently, Randal Collins (2008) has highlighted the theoretical connections between a vast array of seemingly unrelated violent interactions. “[A]ll types of violence,” he writes (2008:8), “fit a small number of patterns for circumventing the barrier of tension and fear that rises up whenever people come into antagonistic confrontation” (8). In other words, distinct types of violence share a “situational dynamic” (7): “If we zero in on the situation of interaction – the angry boyfriend with the crying baby, the armed robber squeezing the trigger on the holdup victim, the cop beating up the suspect – we can see patterns of confrontation, tension, and emotional flow which are at the heart of the situation where violence is carried out…[T]he situation of fear and tension gets resolved into a minority who ride the wave of fear, and a majority who are swept along by it” (2-57). Although inspired by the literature that underscores (empirical) commonalities and (theoretical) analogies, the focus of this article lies neither in the ways in which different forms of violence originate from some shared source (or result in a similar outcome) nor in the theoretical associations between them – relationships whose close inspection lead, in Collins’ approach, to a general theory of violence. We are mainly concerned with the concatenations that diverse forms of violence – traditionally studied as separate entities – establish in real time and space, and with the ways in which they define everyday life in poor communities. In this sense, our analysis draws more heavily upon another recent strand of social scientific scholarship that calls for analyzing “peace time crimes” or “little violences” that form a “continuum” (Scheper-Hughes and Bourgois 2004; see also Bourgois 2009; Scheper-Hughes 1996; 1997; and Bourgois and Schonberg 2009).8                                                              7 For uses and criticisms of Anderson’s notion of “code of the street,” see Jones (2010), Harding (2010), and Wacquant (2002). 8 Bourgois (2009) and Scheper-Hughes (1996; 1997) focus attention on the typically obscure links between visible forms of violence – “whether criminal, delinquent, or self-inflicted” (Bourgois 2009: 18) – and less visible ones – “structural, symbolic, and/or normalized” (2009:18). Bourgois’ and Schonberg’s (2009) adaptation of Primo Levi’s notion of “the gray zone” (1986) is a case in point in that serves as a conceptual tool to examine precisely those connections: between structural violence, gender and/or political oppression and abusive interpersonal behavior, or between “structurally imposed everyday suffering” and “violent and destructive subjectivities” (Bourgois and Schonberg 2009:19).  4 Emphasizing more the showing than telling, we demonstrate how different kinds of violence are linked in a chain that encircles poor people’s daily lives at the urban margins. This chain not only connects forms of violence usually conceived of as discreet and distinct, but also, and just as importantly, links them with the actions and inactions of the state. If we are to understand and explain the existence and persistence of violence among the urban poor, the contradictory, selective, and intermittent state actions in marginalized urban areas are a key piece of the puzzle. After a description of the field sites and the method, our narrative reproduces the progress of our research. Halfway into the course of our fieldwork, we started to realize the different kinds of violence affecting the people in the district were, in fact, connected to one another. Detective-like ethnographic fieldwork, and careful triangulation of a variety of data- sources, including interviews with people currently imprisoned and residents involved in criminal activities, led us to focus on the links between violence in the neighborhood and the illicit activities of the police in the area. Sites and Methods Ingeniero Budge (pop. 15,000) sits in the southern part of the Conurbano Bonaerense in the municipality of Lomas de Zamora. Located adjacent to the banks of the highly polluted Riachuelo river, this poverty-stricken area is comprised of several historically working class neighborhoods, squatter settlements and shantytowns. The streets and blocks in neighborhoods and squatter settlements follow the pattern of urban zoning (known as the “forma damero” or checkerboard), while the shantytowns’ winding alleyways and passages do not. Residents in the working class neighborhoods are property owners and generally better off compared to shantytown-dwellers and squatters, both of whom have still-unresolved land tenure. The following pictures (taken by children and adolescents from the local school) provide a visual portrait of the extreme levels of infrastructural deprivation – or what Braun and McCarthy (2005) would term the material dimension of state abandonment – that characterized most of the area (unpaved streets, open air sewages, and random garbage collection, etc.).9 INSERT PICTURES 1-4 HERE But Ingeniero Budge is not totally deserted by the state. The Asignación Universal por Hijo (AUH), as the Argentine conditional cash transfer program effective since 2008 is known, and many other welfare programs (Argentina Trabaja; Plan Vida) provide assistance to most of its inhabitants. Our survey shows that 54% of adults in the area are beneficiaries of at least one program in 2011. Clientelist networks (Auyero 2000) and soup-kitchens funded by Catholic charities are also a source of assistance of those in need in the area, providing crucial resources                                                              9 As part of our fieldwork, we replicated a methodological strategy – based on photography – that one of us had successfully applied in the study of environmental suffering (Auyero and Swistun, 2009). We organized a workshop with elementary school children (6th grade) at one of the local public schools where Flavia Bellomi works. Agustín Burbano de Lara taught students the basics of photography. As their final project, the students divided themselves into groups of two or three and took pictures of their neighborhood with disposable, 27-exposure cameras. Once the pictures were all taken and developed, we talked with the students and asked them about what they had intended to portray and how they felt about the images.   5 such as food and medicine. Finally, the informal labor market contributes to many households in the area and surveyed residents most frequently report jobs including those in construction, domestic service and scavenging. Together with state assistance, charity and informal jobs, the other main source of income for the population is the largest street fair in the country located in northeast of the district bordering with the city of Buenos Aires. Known by the general name of La Salada, the fair consists of four different markets (Urkupiña, Ocean, Punta Mogote, and La Ribera) where, twice a week, thousands of shoppers attend to buy apparel, small electronics, and food.10 According to the Economic Commission of the European Union (La Nación, March 10, 2009), La Salada is the “world’s emblem of the production and commercialization of falsified brand merchandise.” Either as owners or employees of one of the thousands of stalls or as workers in one of the hundreds of sweatshops that manufacture goods sold there, many residents from the neighborhood benefit from the presence of this huge street market (D’Angiolillo et al. 2010). According to our survey, 22% of the population regularly works at the market. 11 This article is based on twenty formal, in-depth interviews with residents of a shantytown, a squatter settlement, and a working class neighborhood located in Ingeniero Budge and, perhaps more importantly, innumerable informal conversations and direct observations carried out over a two and a half year period of team ethnographic fieldwork (June 2009 to December 2011). We conducted half of the interviews with the residents of the squatter settlement and the shantytown and half with the inhabitants of the working class neighborhood. Both groups are split evenly along gender lines. During this period, one of the authors, Flavia Bellomi, also worked in the area as an elementary school. The article draws on the detailed ethnographic notes she took based on her students’ activities inside and outside of the school and on dozens of conversations with school teachers and parents. Finally, descriptive data are culled from a survey (n=100) we conducted in the area in order to identify residential patterns, sources of employment, levels of education, and most common problems identified by the population under investigation. We tape-recorded, transcribed, and systematically analyzed our in-depth interviews for their content. We coded and analyzed our field notes using open and focused coding (Emerson, Fretz, and Shaw 1995). Applying the evidentiary criteria normally used for ethnographic research (Becker 1958, 1970; Katz 1982, 2001, 2002), we assigned higher evidentiary value to individual acts or patterns of conduct recounted by many observers than to those recounted by only one observer. Although particular in their details, the testimonies, fieldnotes, and vignettes                                                              10 For insightful accounts of the history and workings of these fairs, see Hacher (2011) and Girón (2001).  11 Although largely unregulated, the state makes random impromptu appearances in La Salada. As Scarfi and Di Peco write (2011: 9), the state can appear in the form of the state agency “demanding property taxes; then it might appear as the Judiciary, investigating violations of international copyright laws; it can also take the share of the Department of Health, demanding sewage systems that do not pollute the Riachuelo” (see also, Hacher 2011; Girón 2011).   6 selected below represent behavior observed or heard about with consistent regularity during the course of our fieldwork. Our fieldwork began at the local elementary school where we intended to replicate the study of environmental suffering one of us conducted in Flammable shantytown (Auyero and Swistun 2009). We wanted to examine residents’ experiences of toxic assault when its source is not as visible as the petrochemical compound adjacent to Flammable. Flavia took dozens of fieldnotes on the ways in which her students think and feel about the grounds in which they live, the air they breathe, and the water they drink. We also organized a photography workshop in which they express their views about their environment. As in Flammable, children in the area see themselves as living surrounded by garbage and other hazards (Auyero and Burbano de Lara 2012). But early on, Flavia’s students began to express their concerns with the surrounding violence. As we will see in the next section of this paper, her notes are filled with occasions of physical harm experienced by her students: a street fight early in the morning, gunshots at night, a domestic dispute, a murder, a rape. As their succinct descriptions of the violence that was going on outside their school multiplied, we decided to expand the empirical focus of our research. After the first nine months of fieldwork, we moved outside the walls of the school in order to inspect more closely some of the episodes of violence reported by the students. Our approximation to violence was very much informed by scholarship in sociology and psychology that treats diverse forms of violence as distinct phenomena (domestic, drug-related, criminal, sexual, etc.). Early on, we tried to understand and explain a domestic fight as separate and unrelated to, say, a clash between a drug dealer and a consumer. The literature on the subject provides a plethora of good reasons to preserve this analytical distinction (Brush 2011; Tolan et al. 2006; Gelles 1985). However, one case of vigilante violence against a neighbor accused of attempted rape alerted us to the potential relationships between diverse forms of physical harm. What if, we asked ourselves, some the episodes of violence that Flavia’s students were routinely talking about were, in fact, connected? Our interviews with adult residents began to zoom in on the continuities between seemingly unrelated violent episodes. Later on, interviews with residents involved in crimes like car-theft and drug-dealing made us aware that some forms of local violence are linked to the state’s (illicit) activities. In what follows, we report on both the horizontal and vertical connections between multiple forms of violence that bombard these communities. The Chain of Violence During the two years and a half of fieldwork, Flavia worked with three different groups of students (3rd, 4th, and 6th graders aged 8 to 13). Among them, shoot-outs, armed robberies, and street fights are habitual topics of conversation – regularly present in their daily lives. In other words, violence does not need not be “brought up” by the ethnographer as a “theme” to be discussed and analyzed. During our fieldwork, not a week went by without one or more of the 60 elementary school children describing one or more episode involving one or more forms of violence. 7 More or less trivial occasions inside the classroom – as the mentioning of a relative’s birthday – become opportunities to talk about the latest violent episode in the neighborhood. In what follows we present a series of fieldnotes and vignettes that seek to depict the daily and quite public character of violence – both inside and outside the home. We have re-organized them according to the type of violence portrayed although, phenomenologically speaking, they appear together in the life-world of children and adolescents. March 30, 2010: “Marita (age 9) asks me if I know Naria’s father. I tell her that I don’t. ‘He is in heaven, he was shot in the head.’” April 8, 2010: “Samantha (age 11) tells me that her neighbor, Carlitos, was turning 17 this past Sunday: ‘A friend of his came to pick him up to go around the neighborhood. Carlitos didn’t want to go, because it was his birthday. But his friend persuaded him and off they went.’ Samantha tells me that she thinks they were armed. Carlitos was killed. ‘Once dead, his friends carried him around the block [as in a procession]. I went to the funeral. His eyes were still open and his house [where the funeral was taking place] was full of his friends. Carlitos had many friends. The bullet came into his chest, and made a tiny little hole there. But the bullet went out through his back, the hole there was huge.” August 20, 2009: “Victor (age 11) tells me that yesterday, a little kid was killed close to his home: ‘They were a band of thugs (chorros)… or maybe dealers (transas).’ Samantha intercedes and says that she heard the shooting. Minutes before it happened, she was hanging out on the sidewalk.” In addition to the verbal accounts of daily violence that students discussed in school, encounters with violence pervade other classroom activities. The following drawings, made as part of an exercise in which third and fourth graders were asked to describe the positive and negative aspects of their neighborhood, further illustrate a shared feeling among Flavia’s students: They see themselves as growing up in a crossfire – a sentiment shared by the anonymous author of the graffiti, sprayed on one of the walls outside of their school, who wrote: “I was born amid bullets, I was raised among thieves” [“Entre balas he nacido, entre chorros me he criado”]. In the first drawing, a third grade student portrays his barrio as defined by the “se tiran tiro” [“they shoot at each other”] and the lone presence of a police car. A year later, two fourth graders depict their neighborhood along similar terms. Drawings two and three encapsulate a common viewpoint among Flavia’s students. Most of them like “playing soccer,” and dislike “the gunshots” and “the fights.” INSERT DRAWINGS 1-3 HERE May 5, 2010. “In May 1810,” Flavia reads out loud from the social science textbook to 4th graders, “the King of Spain was deposed by Napoleon Bonaparte. Jailed in France…” “Teacher, teacher…” Carlos (age 9) interrupts, “my uncle is also in jail… I think he is in for robbery.” Another student, Matu (age 9), then adds: “Right around my house, there’s one guy who is a thief, but never went to jail… he has a new car.” Suddenly, the lesson on the May Revolution becomes a collective report on the latest events in the neighborhood: 8 Johny (age 10): Do you know that Savalita was killed? Seven shots… some dealers wanted to steal his motorcycle… Tatiana (age 9): No, it wasn’t like that. Savalita was the one who wanted the motorcycle. He tried to steal it from a drug dealer. Word, I knew him! Johny: No, it was his motorcycle… Mario (age 9): My neighbor is a drug dealer. The cops come and never do anything… Tatiana: Cops like to use drugs! Children and adolescents growing up in this neighborhood not only encounter criminal and drug- related violence, but intimate and sexual violence frequently put their lives in severe danger as well. October 13, 2009: “Julio’s mother called the school today. She wanted to talk to her son. During the break, I spoke with Julio (age 8). He told me that his mom had to leave their house over the weekend and described why: ‘my dad had been drinking and he beat the shit out of her. My dad is a slacker, he doesn’t have a job. My mom gives him money and he spends it on wine. On Saturday, my mom asked him to turn the volume of the music down and he slapped her in the face, and then he grabbed her hair and dragged her through the house. He also destroyed all the things in the house.’” October 15, 2009: “Julio’s mother came to the school today. She confirmed to me what happened a few days ago. She asked me to observe Julio to make sure he has not been beaten by his dad. In my presence, she also asked her son, Julio, to take good care of his sister because she is afraid her dad will sexually abuse her.” One specific risk is more likely to affect girls than boys in these neighborhoods: sexual violence. Referring to the presence of “violines” (those who “violan,” i.e. rapists) and suggesting one of the ways in which different kinds of violence relate to each other, Noelia (age 9) tells Flavia that “my cousin was almost raped yesterday [a few blocks from the school]. Neighbors went to the home of those “violines,” and kicked their door down.” “What are the ‘violines?’” Flavia innocently asks the class. “Those who make you babies,” eight year-old Josiana answers matter- of-factly. This was hardly an isolated episode. As illustrated in the following testimony, vigilante violence against sexual predators is a common feature in the area. Mabel, a mother, explains to Flavia the origins of the bullet that her daughter, Melanie (age 10), has lodged in her leg. December 9, 2010: “See, that son of a bitch wanted to rape her. It was on December 24th. We have a big family; so we had asked a neighbor to roast some meat for us. This is a neighbor I’ve known all my life. My brother-in-law brought home some of the food, but some was missing so I sent Melanie and my niece to pick it up. When they got to the neighbor’s house, he was drunk, and had a knife in his hand. He wanted to rape them. He 9 told Melanie and my niece that if they didn’t suck his dick, he was going to kill one, and then rape and kill the other one. Luckily, they were able to push him aside – maybe because he was really smashed – and they escaped. They ran home and told us what had just happened. My husband, my brothers-in-law, my brother and some other neighbors went to his house and beat the shit out of him (lo recagaron a palos). They beat his face to a pulp, he was full of blood. They left him there, lying on the floor, and came back home. After dinner, around midnight, that son of a bitch came to my house, and shot at Melanie. Luckily, the bullet hit her in the leg. All the men in my house went back to his house and beat the shit out of him again. I had to run to the Gandulfo (local hospital 30 minutes away). I spend the night of the 24th and the 25th there. They checked her out very well, to see if she had been raped. Luckily, the guy didn’t get to do anything to her.” Interpersonal violence in the neighborhood, as the above fieldnotes and testimonies attest, has an ordinary, routine character. Different forms of violence (or what community psychologists call “stressors” [Farrell et al. 2007]) are part of residents’ daily lives and concatenate with one another. The following vignette further illustrates a fact first hinted in the above story: diverse forms of violence oftentimes merge, reducing the distinction between private and public, domestic and street, inside or outside the home, to fuzzy and porous divides (Margolin and Gordis 2000; Korbin 2003; Farrell et al. 2007). Far from unique or idiosyncratic, the following story, reconstructed over a period of three months, illuminates many of the empirical relationships between the different forms of violence that we uncovered during two and a half years of fieldwork. Violence, this reconstruction shows, form a “continuum” (Bourgois and Scheper-Hughes 2004) – a chain that encircles the lives of the most vulnerable populations. María (age 45) lives in a precarious house made of bricks, wood and metal sheets for a roof. The house bears the marks of her son, Ezequiel’s (age 17), addiction to the smokable cocaine residue locally known as paco.12 A big wood panel covers a hole Ezequiel made when, in desperate need of cash to buy his next dose of paco, he broke into his own house and stole Maria’s clothes. Clothes are not the only thing that Ezequiel has stolen from her mother and siblings. The list, María tells us, is quite long. It includes a TV set, brand new sneakers, plates, pot, pans, and a new portable washing machine. Just a few blocks from their house there is a shop that specializes in buying items from desperate addicts and then re-sells them to either their original owners or anyone interested for a higher, oftentimes double, price. These days, María seldom leaves the house (she stopped taking his little son to day care and she failed to show up at the local hospital to give her two little children mandatory vaccines) because she is afraid Ezequiel will take whatever items of value remain – “the little TV antenna… he broke it, he uses it as a pipe to smoke.” But Ezequiel doesn’t just steal from María. Recently, he has begun to take clothes from one of her other sons, Carlos. Carlos is an alcoholic and last time he discovered Ezequiel’s robberies, a huge bloody fight broke between them. “They threw rocks and bottles at each other…” María tells us. And                                                              12 For journalistic reports on the effects of this drug among the marginalized youth, see “Lost in an Abyss of Drugs, and Entangled by Poverty,” New York Times, July 29, 2009; “Perderse en la garras de la muerte,” La Nación, September 20, 2008; “A New Scourge Sweeps through Argentine Ghettos: ‘Paco.’” Christian Science Monitor, April 5, 2006. For an ethnographic account, see Epele (2010). 10