I am proud of what the Invisible Institute has become and, as it continues to evolve, is becoming. As the organization enters its tenth year, I want to share a few thoughts about the nature of that pride.
Over the course of a long career as a writer, I have become increasingly skeptical about conventional metrics of journalistic success such as awards received and “impact” in the form of policies changed, misconduct punished, etc. In these economically precarious times for journalism, the tendency of news outlets seeking to stay afloat to overclaim impact is understandable. It also obscures the reality that all too often even our best work, however much surface agitation it may cause, does not alter the underlying conditions that give rise to the harms we investigate and report on.
Moreover, reporting may inadvertently contribute to the maintenance of the status quo by creating the impression that change can readily be achieved through the dissemination of accurate information. Reflecting on how we came to live with the knowledge of torture by the U.S. government in the post-9/11 era, the journalist Mark Danner coined the term “frozen scandal” to evoke the phenomenon of scandals that survive their exposure and, in the process, normalize malign behavior.
The early days of the Invisible Institute coincided with the tumultuous period in which police reform emerged as a civic priority following revelations about the police murder of 17-year-old Laquan McDonald. In those days, a sense of moral urgency was widely shared. The operative principle was that we are obligated to do what we can today to reduce the probability of harm tomorrow. Some advances in transparency and accountability were made, but then the urgency passed, and public attention turned elsewhere.
There have been moments—in response to high profile human rights abuses by police and, on a worldwide scale, in response to the murder of George Floyd—when large numbers of people have experienced a collective expansion of their moral imaginations and have glimpsed how abusive policing shapes everyday life for some of their neighbors. We have not, however, been able to sustain and build upon intermittent awareness of that harsh reality.
Looking back, it’s apparent that what many hoped for was a paradigm shift in the operation of public safety. Modest improvements in the functioning of a dysfunctional system do not fulfill that aspiration.
What then is required to engender a paradigm shift in how we are safe and at home in the city we share? The challenge, as my colleagues and I have come to understand it, is to build an expanding public conversation on a foundation of rigorous evidence. We are less concerned with reaching the widest possible audience than with nurturing a public engaged by and in dialogue about the questions that animate our work.
The variety of forms in which that work appears—long form investigations, podcasts, documentary films, art exhibitions, etc.—should not be allowed to obscure the fact that it constitutes a single, ongoing inquiry into the societal conditions that produce racial inequalities enforced by apartheid-style policing.
That inquiry continues to deepen. Over time, it has yielded a body of reporting animated by the conviction that if oppressive systems can be precisely described, they can be changed by citizens acting together.
Having devoted much of my life to this work, it is my great fortune to be part of an organization that exemplifies in its own practices the values it seeks to promote. At the threshold of our tenth year, the vitality and integrity of those practices are for me a source of deep pride and robust appetite for the work that lies ahead.
Onward.
Jamie Kalven
December 2024