From Nimble NIMBY to Palpable PIMBY: Anti-Blackness in George Deukmejian s California Prison Boom

When California Governor George Deukmejian assumed office in 1983, the state had not added to its twelve prisons in eighteen years. During his two terms, Deukmejian oversaw the construction of eight prisons — a 67% increase in eight years. This paper attempts to locate the impetus of this prison boom by analyzing three siting struggles in southern California. It argues that past scholarship fails to account for the interaction between the state and sited communities. Specifically, state-centered research fails to account for the power of city officials while rural-centered research fails to account for systemic factors. Accordingly, this paper introduces the term Please in Your Back Yard (PIYBY) to examine where and why the state sited a prison and how they tried to convince the community to accept it. PIYBYism complements the existing Not in My Back Yardism (NIMBYism) and Please in My Back Yardism (PIMBYism). The paper analyzes the interaction between the three terms, revealing that ideological, not economic concerns, caused the California prison boom. The prison boom emerged from a tough-on-crime moment — one that was necessarily anti-black. The three siting battles support this conclusion because anti-blackness permeated every group’s rhetoric. This paper, then, challenges the subject’s prevailing scholarship: politics lies at the base of the prison system. Even if one accepts the economic link, the economy only mattered in that it exacerbated an ongoing political movement that attempted to reassert white supremacy.


INTRODUCTION
When California Governor George Deukmejian assumed office in 1983, the state had not added to its twelve existing prisons in eighteen years. In two terms, however, Deukmejian oversaw the construction of eight prisons a 67% increase in eight years. This precipitous rise in prisons elicited a dilemma (Skel 1990 (B d 1990). Thi a e a al e he conflict from the perspectives of both the state and the sited community. For the first, this paper examines Please in Your Back Yardism (PIYBYism) where and why the state sited a prison and how they tried to convince the community to accept it. Commu i ie eac ed he a e PIYBYism in two ways: with Not in My Back Yardism (NIMBYism) or Please in My Back Yardism (PIMBYism). The former refers to a hyper-localized movement that opposes a change in this case, prison construction. These movements clashed with pro-prison PIMBY coalitions. In this a , he a e e e a di c i be ee a e a d c i di c e he i b driver and hurdles.
These discussions arise from Californian siting battles in L.A., Riverside, and Imperial Counties. In each, I chose a local publication (The Los Angeles Times, The Desert Sun, and The Calexico Chronicle, respectively) and analyzed PIYBY attitudes and the clash between NIMBY and PIMBY coalitions.1 The method encourages a holistic analysis that considers both state and local concerns and, crucially, the interaction between them. The case studies demonstrate that anti-black ideology directly spurred both PIYBYism and NIMBYism. Anti-blackness, then, drove and hindered the prison boom as it simultaneously led the state to explode the prison population while also ensuring that no community wanted to house the prisoners. Although economic desperation primarily motivated PIMBYism, its supporters, too, adopted anti-blackness. Instead of viewing the prison as a place of black escapees, they viewed them as symbols of law and order. Even though the groups disagreed with one another, antiblackness underpinned all three.

HISTORIOGRAPHY
Many scholars have explained the prison boom over the past decades. This paper qualifies and disputes their findings. The scholarship diverges into two main schools of thought: state demand lif he a e ec al de a d lif he al ec . The e a ache a e incomplete because they ignore the interaction between the community and the state; they focus on rhetoric, not discourse. Only by coupling PIYBYism and PIMBY-and-NIMBYism can scholars understand the causes and hurdles of the prison boom. This section will explain both rural-Volume 17 Issue 1 Spring 2020 54 centered and state-centered economic approaches, show how they fall short, and offer a bettersuited ideological frame.
Scholar John Eason approaches the boom from a rural demand perspective. He suggests that prison construction does not reflect an increase in prison populations, pointing out that, although Illinois and Georgia have the same number of prisoners, Georgia has twenty-seven more prisons. Eason argues that rural demand, not overcrowding, caused the prison boom. He contends that state-ce e ed e la a i ea ci fficial a c d i f l lab a d la d ccumbing e libe al licie . Ci fficial , he a g e , c lled he i i g ce , f a i g i building as a function of local demand spurred by economic desperation. Multiracial communities, though, also demanded prisons, which Eason uses to challenge the narrative that only white communities demanded and received prisons to spur job growth. Hence, Eason separates prison construction and anti-blackness, arguing that prisons are not a legacy of environmental or structural racism; they reflect rural economic demand due to faltering economies (Eason 2017, 3, 7, 101 104 The three siting battles demonstrate that all counties featured powerful NIMBY coalitions, discrediting the narrative that rural demand accounts for the proliferation. In reality, rural demand only reacted to changes in the state. Only by understanding those changes can scholars accurately interpret the prison boom. Ruth Gilmore provides this perspective in Golden Gulag. She attributes the growth to carceral Keynesianism a form of Keynesianism that pours state resources into prison construction to secure the economy. In the post-War era, the California economy relied on Department of Defense spending. The 1969 recession, however, led to a steady decline in military spending, which a aged Calif ia ec (Gil e 2007, 35). I he e i g decade, childh d e increased by 25%, and farmers took 100,000 acres of land out of production yearly. Taxpayers e e ed hei di c e b ed ci g a e , c i li g he a e b dge . C e e l , he a e had surplus workers, land, and political capital to undertake more projects (Gilmore 1999, 174, 178). Moreover, the successes of the Civil Rights Movement threatened to destabilize the racial hierarchy. Southern farmers, meanwhile, wanted to sell their abandoned land, but there were few buyers. The state solved all three problems by replacing military projects with prisons. It realized its full capacity, employed hundreds of thousands, and tore black people from their communities while farmers sold their land at a premium. Because she applies a Marxist lens, Gilmore privileges he a e ial e la a i , a g i g ha he ec lie a he ba e f he i e (Gilmore 1999, 178). Some scholars, however, have weakened the connection between the economy and prison construction. Hagan and coauthors, for instance, dispute the connection between abandoned farmland and prison siting. They point out that acres taken out of production did not predict a siting as farmers removed acreage across the state, not just the Southland where prison construction occurred. And while the average county lost 9.8% of farmland from 1982 to 1987, prison counties only lost 5.3%. Moreover, their data demonstrates that the prison boom outlasted the farming crisis, weakening the connection even more. From 1978 to 1997, they find that cropland decreased by 3.9% in prison counties and 5.6 % in others a vast decrease from the 5.3% and 9.8% of the previous decade (Hagan et al 2015, 96 97). Gil e a al i che -picks one siting battle a case study that this paper will demonstrate was outside of the norm.
Thi a e a g e ha , c a Gil e clai , li ic lies at the base of the prison system. Even if one accepts the economic link, the economy only mattered in that it exacerbated an ongoing anti-black political moment. The prison boom emerged from a tough-on-crime movement one that was necessarily anti-black. Anti-blackness has always featured the myth of black criminality. Planters invented the racial trope to cast the slave system as beneficial to both slaves and their masters. The white people who wrote the first fugitive slave narratives, for instance, always ended with the former slave expressing remorse for their escape. Without their hi e a ia ch , he l g [ed] i he cha f hei elfi h a e i e (A d e a d Mason 2008, 7). When abolition threatened black subjugation, white supremacists once again used the logic of black criminality to rationalize black codes and vagrancy laws. As one Philadel hia e a e i , he la e e ece a kee la e f b de [i g] cie (Anderson 2017, 20). Though free on paper, conceptions of black criminality allowed whites to ee abli h la e b a he a e (Black 2008). Thi l g hi ha inextricably intertwined blackness and criminality.
When the successes of the Civil Rights Movement again promised to bring about racial equality, Michelle Alexander highlights that racial conservatives once again employed the tool of black criminality to reassert white supremacy this time, without using explicitly racial language. I hi e le ic , c i i ali a d i f black e , a ki g Ji C e l i i mass incarceration. Richard Nixon used this tough-on-crime rhetoric to transform the Republican Party by attracting economically and racially insecure Democrats (Anderson 2017, 102). He denigrated black culture rather than skin, but the result was the same: they restored the inferiority f he black a a he hi e a fi ed a (Bald i 1962). Thi fea ge i g ked. In the early 1980s, a record number of Americans said they felt unsafe to walk alone in their neighborhood at night, thought there was more crime than the previous year, and had the least amount of confidence in the police to protect them (Gallup). The public fea a la ed i law-and-order policies, which quintupled the prison population from 350,000 in 1972 to over 2,000,000 in 2012. While Nixon first declared the war on drugs, Reagan transformed his rhetorical devise into an actual war. He championed draconian mandatory minimum sentences for non-violent drug offenses, gave massive cash grants to police departments who prioritized the war on drugs, and provided police departments with a deluge of military equipment. He justified all this through an in e e edia ca aig ha c a ed he edia c e he c i e e ide ic. Sensationalized stories ensued, depicting dangerous drug-addicted black men. Though the h a i g had cha ged, c i i al a d black e ai ed i he A e ica consciousness (Alexander 2012, 6, 10, 74, 105).
The e e d k lace i Calif ia, . Calif ia la ge La i la i , h gh, demands examining the intersection between anti-blackness and anti-Latinx sentiment. African American media studies scholar Travis Dixon demonstrated that the L.A. local news was 2.5 times more likely to portray black felons and 1.9 times more likely to portray Latinx felons compared to white felons. In L.A., however, Latinx people accounted for 47% of felony arrests compared to 25% for black people and 23% for white people. Moreover, even though black people committed 25% f he c fel ie , he acc ed f 44% f fel he l cal e . The e e e a true for Latinx and white people (Dixon, Linz 2000). The news ingrained the image of dangerous black and Latinx peoples but especially spotlighted black crime.
Moreover, local polling data demonstrates that Californians were tougher on crime than the rest of the country. In 1981 poll, for instance, 91% of Californians said that criminal danger was higher than a year ago compared to 54% of the national population (U.C. Field Poll 1981). Moreover, 90% of respondents disagreed that the crime problem was overstated (U.C. Field Poll 1981). They isolated the city as the driver of this crime wave as demonstrated by the 69% of polled Californians who thought crime was higher in the city a ad i i ha a alleled he edia portrayal of crime as an urban, black problem (U.C. Field Poll 1982). De k ejia c ded aci a la ed i aci licie . The Calif ia legi la e explicitly demarcated the change when it, for the first time, stipulated that P i h e f c i i al beha i i he i a e f i ca ce a i (R la d 1988, 25). Thi e a i de precipitated harsher laws that reclassified misdemeanors as felonies, causing the prison population to more than triple in ten years. Consequently, prisons were at 120-330% capacity throughout the decade with the average system-wide overcrowding resting at 176% in 1987. The prison infrastructure could not keep pace. Health services, for example, hovered at 300% capacity. The state needed the new beds to acc da e i c ea e i he i a e la i . Though Eason tried to decouple prison construction from prison populations, in California, the magnitude of the increase necessitated prisons as the destitute conditions caused prisoners to riot and assault guards (Rowland 1988, 28, 40).
The e c di g c i i led h ee fea e f he a e PIYBYi . Fi , he a e a g ed that they had to build the prisons to avoid a crisis. Opposing prisons was politically costly, too, as anti-prison legislators were labeled soft-on-c i e, h ge i i g li icia i i . I he c e f hi a e , he , he a e e e e b h he g e a d he legi la e a i all no legislators who did not represent prison communities opposed prison construction. Second, the state needed to build the prisons as quickly as possible, so they sought sites that reduced transport costs and offered community acceptance. These two goals quickly conflicted, though, as the ideal urban areas resisted the most. The state tried to solve the conflict by siting the prisons in predominantly Latinx areas because the Latinx communities lacked the political power to resist. Lastly, the state also chose how to convince a community to accept a prison, leading to the third pillar of PIYBYism: the state spoke of prisons as burdens in urban settings and boons in al e . Thi di c e a c eflec he lace ie f c i e a a ba , -white problem. In the name of fairness, prison proponents argued, the urban, Latinx communities had to house the scum they created. In rural areas, they changed rhetorical strategies, painting prisons as invisible economic engines. The contradictory strategies demonstrate that the state did not care about how the prison affected the community, only that the community would accept it.
T he a e di a , c i ie ehe e l ed i c c i f reasons: fears of community corruption and political exploitation. Communities viewed criminals as toxic waste and wanted prisons far away from population centers as a result. The second fear eflec ed a e e f e le e e i he l adi g f he a e cie ill . All communities desired to feel empowered during the siting process. If neglected, these resentments culminated into impassioned opposition an attempt to reclaim agency. Crucially, though, the second tenant depends on the first because communities only felt exploited because they viewed the prisoners as waste. In two of the counties, PIMBY coalitions emerged. Although they seemed to move past their anti-blackness, they merely channeled it into different forms. Eason argues ha PIMBY g edica ed hei a g e he i ec ic i l , b he overlooks that PIMBY groups also wanted to punish criminals. Prisons became symbols of law and order of black subjugation. Anti-blackness, thus, never left PIMBY groups; it just took another form. (1982 -1992) B 1982, he a e i n population had increased by 30% in four years, causing the state to plan sites in Los Angeles, Riverside, and San Joaquin Counties (Wolinsky 1987). The move i f ia ed he al c i ie a he a he i i g a j a he e a le f ba reside i g d he de e (Ka la , Glad e 1991). Thei e e e a i e a h ed a bill that prohibited the new prisons from accepting prisoners until L.A. built theirs (Wolinsky 1987). The a ed L A gele , he d ce f Calif ia c i e, to shoulder its share of the burden. The newly elected governor, George Deukmejian, concurred and sited the prison in East L.A., a ile ide B le Heigh , Calif ia hi ic La i ca i al.

LOS ANGELES COUNTY CAST STUDY
The a e ca e f he i i g i i iall c ai ed a ke nel of a sensible argument, but as the political battle wore on and patience dwindled, the state revealed the punitive intention of the siting. The Los Angeles Times first mentioned the prison in an editorial that supported the site. They highlighted that 34% f he a e i e ca e f L A gele , ad ca e f he i a a i h e , b e ha i e he be efi f ha i g a i ea he c i i al h e . Longer distances from the city increased transport costs and meant that fewer families could visit. M e e , he a e de e a el eed[ed] i a he e e a ed a 151% ca aci (Los Angeles Times 1985). The argument displayed two out of the three tenants of PIYBYism; they underscored the urgency of prison construction and the ideal nature of an urban site without parochially imposing the prison on the community.
To the East L.A. community, the site was far from sensible. They pointed out that the area contained three county jails that housed more than 11,000 people within four miles (Olmo 1986). In what would later become explicit, the Assemblywoman cast prisoners as toxic waste that, through some unnamed mechanism, would radiate into the community. The opposition later built their case, but their initial lack of rational arguments demonstrates that opposition arose from a place of fear, not fact. . The Times on its own dedicated hundreds of articles to the one crime.2 They referred to the incident either as a a ac e a A -de , de c i g he de a i f Ke i C e . The edia fi a i on the one crime made prison escapes seem inevitable, propelling prison escapes to the top NIMBY c ce . O e Ea L.A.
he la e ed, I e ible. The e ill j be a l f e ca ed convic The kid be ec e la i g ide. E e h gh i e ca e e e e e el rare, the community envisioned an invasion of black criminals hellbent on inflicting pain on the community (Krier 1986). The state, according to the opposition, had to remove prisoners from society to end the terror. Even if the prisoners did not escape, though, they argued that their very e e ce da aged he c i . A i i leade Be a Saa ed a gge ed, Child e need role models and different things to c ide i hei eighb h d be ide a i (Wolinsky 1986). The prison itself would corrupt children. They never explained, however, how child e e e i e eci i a ed hei b e e d i g. The i e e e morally debased that their mere existence corrupted society. Thus, the same force that led to mass incarceration produced mass opposition to prison sitings.
In 1986, the Californian Assembly disregarded the opposition and overwhelmingly backed the East L.A. prison siting. A. to bring prosperity to white communities. City planners of the time viewed cities as living organisms, which were diseased by communities of color. As a result, cities nationwide used projects as a pretext to decimate communities of color (Rothstein 2017). L.A. city planners, for example, dissected East L.A. with five highways and cleared Latinx housing to make a f high i e (Ol 1986). The c i lack f li ical e f ced he a ch helplessly as the government displaced over 10,000 people and polluted their community (Sahagun 1989). The East L.A. community drew many parallels to the 1950s during the siting ce . The ie ed he a da ed hea i g a d e i e al e a he a e a e mollify concerns without changing their behavior. They accused the state of downplaying its interest in the site to hinder the community from mobilizing sooner (Salazar 1985). The state did, in fact, change the site from a reception center to an actual prison late in the process (Boyer and Hernandez 1986). Furthermore, the state designated L.A. as the only site that did not require a full environmental report (Wolinsky 1987). Their desire to build prisons as quickly as possible painted prison construction as another form of the environmental racism that the community experienced in the 1950s.  1989). The c i a he prison siting as a continuation of a decades-long struggle, one they could now win.
A month later, they did just that. After applying intense pressure, the community compelled their representatives in the Assembly to use a parliamentary procedure that rendered

The hi
f Ea L.A. c adic a d c fi ch la la a a i e . The al demand model falls short because rural communities opposed prisons, and the state sited prisons in urban, not rural areas. It does, however, reveal the power that community officials wielded power with which Gilmore failed to engage. The urban siting also undermines Gilmore because he a g ed ha he a e end goal was to make use of surplus labor, land, and political capital. The East L.A. case study, however, demonstrates that the state was more reactionary. They expended political capital to force an urban community to accept a prison a senseless pursuit if he e d g al a e e ce fa la d. Gil e a e ha Ea L.A. i i ca ed La d e f he ag ic l al alle [ ] [ ] a i l ad i ki g a e (Gilmore 1990). She contradicts herself as she highlights that the prison boom preceded economic concerns. And, as Hagan and his coauthors demonstrated, these economic arguments were not nearly as strong as Gilmore claimed. Moreover, the battle lasted ten ea , he li ha e f he prison boom. If economic concerns dic a ed he i b , he h did he a e aba d the urban location over the course of the decade? In reality, politicians reacted to a mandate from voters to incarcerate more people. Political, not economic, motivations primarily drove the prison boom.
The i i g ggle, h e e , c fi Ale a de he i . A i-blackness permeated the process as the East L.A. community feared black criminals, causing their potential presence to e ge de a i i . The c i e ce i f e i onmental racism presupposed the toxicity of black prisoners, complicating the question of environmental racism. When e a i i g he a e le i a i ca ce a i , a ha e c i ici ed Ale a de f e l ki g the connection between mass incarceration and Latinx people (Kilgore 2015). In the East L.A. siting battle, even though the community viewed themselves as separate from the crime wave, the PIYBYi clea l ie ed La i e le a a f i . S e a be e ed a g e ha he a e treatment of Latinx people points to a larger pattern of white supremacy rather than antiblackness, but one must recognize that race denotes a position of power, not skin color. After all, blackness has never been a concrete category; it has always shifted to meet the goals of the white supremacist state (Lowndes and HoSang 2019). In California, the state still followed the national anti-black movement to undercut the Civil Rights Movement, but they transposed a tool of anti- ba e e al, he actual effects of the prison were unclear. What is clear, however, is that the state attempted to build prisons quickly, leading them to site prisons in historically marginalized communities to circumvent the required processes. In all, anti-black laws ballooned the prison population, necessitating mass prison construction. To build prisons as quickly as possible, the state used anti-black categorizations of criminality to justify siting the prison in a historically Latinx community evidence of political, not economic, concerns. (1982 -1986) The Ri e ide i i g he a e a al i f Ea L.A. a he ha e a similarities: they occurred contemporarily, the state sited the prison in a Chicano stronghold with a history of activism (Coachella), and the community vehemently resisted. But the Riverside County siting battle is also worth examining for all the reasons it differed: it occurred in a rural area, featured a PIMBY coalition, and revealed the opinions of farmers. A year after the 1982 a da e, he a e a ed e ial i e i Bea a d C achella (H lla d 1983). Bea immediate opposition made Coachella the frontrunner. The state approached Coachella much differently than East L.A., though. Unlike trying to convince the community to accept its vermin, he ld he c i ha hei fea e e b f ig a ce (H lla d 1984). The a e e officials to local meetings to convince he blic f a i ec ic be efi , i i g a $100 million increase in payroll taxes and five hundred new jobs (Holland 1984). They also painted i a i i ible, i g di el he blic e ce i f f e e e ca e . R al i i g forced the state to adopt this approach because, as the polling demonstrates, Californians viewed the crimewave as an urban problem. Again, perceptions of political exploitation heightened this resistance. In Coachella, Latinx people accounted for the vast majority of the population, and it was the only town in the county with majority Latinx representation (Borders 1983). Like in East L.A., their leaders charged that the state treated white-led Beaumont differently than Coachella. State officials told Beaumont of the potential siting before Coachella, allowing Beaumont to pass a resolution against the siting months before Coachella knew (Holland 1983). Moreover, Coachella residents complained that the state failed to publicize their hearings (Love 1984). Just like the East L.A. opposition groups, they accused the state of merely going through the mandated motions. These feelings of e l i a i e ace ba ed he c i e i a ce. La decla ed, The e ai i g f g lee , a d he h i g he i i ill g a a (Desert Sun 1984). The state did not care about their interests, but the community knew that through fierce opposition, they could make them care.  The petition demonstrates the power of the prison stigma. It never mentions any harms of the prison, only that the Coachella siting was likely and that two hundred prisoners will work outside the prison (Committee to Stop the Prison 1984). The petition evokes fears that the prison walls c ld kee he black i a i ; he ld e ca e a d i i h he . A Ea suggested, the prison stigma caused towns to oppose prisons by default. Poverty, though, made rural areas care less about their fear of black people and more about their wallets. Although Coachella was largely destitute, its identity as a tourist-town caused them to view prisons as antithetical to their economic interests, and their anti-black ideology worked in tandem with their economic concerns as a result.

RIVERSIDE CASE STUDY
In July of 1984, Blythe, a town of 7,000 people on the Arizona border, expressed interest in the prison. On the surface, the community presented a purely economic argument. City manager Dick Milk ich e lai ed ha Bl he c ld e he ec ic i ac . B he PIMBY g ie ed the prison as more than an economic engine; they viewed it as a monument to law and order. Milk ich e ded, Bl he a ac a de i able a ie a d he ld be le likel i i i h a i (L e 1984). While he NIMBY g i C achella h gh he i ld attract black people, the PIMBY group in Blythe thought it would repel them. Though Blythe officials privileged the economic argument, the fact that they channeled anti-blackness to support their argument highlights the power of the ideology.  1984). A prolonged political battle would delay the construction of critically needed beds. In the end, they chose to site the prison in Blythe. In Riverside County, when the state explicitly considered both economic and political factors, it privileged the political ones. settled in the desert. In fact, the city officials clashed with the c i ag ib i e , i g Haga a i ical a al i . Sec d, i c fi Ea a al f he e g h f local communities. In one county, three communities successfully expelled a prison. The power of a community to resist, however, d e e a c i e de a d. The a e obviously wielded this power as they mandated the prisons before any PIMBYism ever existed. They explicitly wanted to build prisons to avoid the collapse of the prison system. Hence, the a e PIYBYism stemmed from anti-black ideology, not any economic concerns. This antiblack e al ked agai he a e beca e he Calif ia lace a i-blackness led to extensive NIMBYism. Economic desperation allowed certain towns to overlook the fear of neighboring black criminals by channeling their anti-blackness into new forms. Examining the interaction between the state and the chosen community demonstrates that ideology, not economics, drove PIYBYism while ideology and economics clashed to determine he c i response. (1986)(1987)(1988)(1989)(1990) The Imperial County siting reinforces the patterns of NIMBY-and-PIMBYism. This time, h e e , he a e k e he ca e f NIMBYi a d ed he i be efi a economically depressed community with no tourism industry. They also stressed the pri isolation, assuaging any fears of black infiltration and instead, presented the prison as a way to punish black people. Like in Blythe, the town-dwelling communities supported the prison while the farmers opposed it. In Imperial County, however, two communities desired the prison one white and one Latinx. The battle between the two PIMBY coalitions revealed that when politicians viewed a prison as a political favor, they diverted the supposed economic benefits to white communities. In Imperial County, the state exploited their knowledge that economic desperation engendered PIMBYi . The i ed ha , he ec ic be efi [ f he i ] ld l la ge. The fomen ed fea f f g i g ec ic i ie b highligh i g he c ie i habi a h e e deligh ed ell [ he ] all ab he ad a age b gh b he i (Calexico Chronicle 1986). The committee asserted that a prison would revitalize the c fl de i g economy. In a later hearing, the speaker, Sam Sharp elaborated that each prisoner came with a price-ag. Beca e he ce ea i e a e be f he c i , he i e ld i fla e he c la i , a la ing to a $300,000 annual tax break (Calexico Chronicle 1988). The tax breaks, however, are a zero-sum game; by uprooting black men from their communities, they effectively transferred subsidies from black-urban spaces to rural ones. Moreover, they created rural prison jobs by removing black men from their urban employment. Accordingly, the potential benefits to Calexico represented a transfer of wealth from poor urban areas to poor rural ones.

IMPERIAL COUNTY CASE STUDY
The e a d hea i g al add e ed he c i fea f black people. The researchers e l ed he ble f i fa ilie h el ca ed f he ci , e lai i g ha le ha 1% of families did so. In doing so, they attempted to mollify fears that new prison families would e he elfa e a e, a c mmon trope surrounding black families. The anxieties of changing demographics precipitated fears of declining safety. The report assuaged these concerns, finding i e e i f a i-blackness. They wanted the town to view the prison as a place of inescapable punishment. The forum demonstrated that, though the c i elc ed he i ec ic i l , he did not extend the hospitality to its prisoners. The community sought to bar the black people from their towns while reaping the ec ia be efi f he i la ed ci i e . I c fi ha he ba le be ee NIMBY a d PIMBY attitudes was one between fears of anti-blackness and desire for economic vibrancy. It also suggests a top-down demand as the state felt compelled to print propaganda to convince the community.
S he hi e fa e did acce he a e ea i g. I ead, he f ed STAMP to oppose the Mount Signal Site and support locating the prison in Calipatria, a town in the far Northern stretch of the county (Calexico Chronicle 1989). They waged their campaign through the Imperial Valley Press, which only archived volumes from 1998 onwards, meaning that all of the information in this paper comes through the biased Calexico Chronicle. Nevertheless, the blica i e ce i f STAMP highligh he c flic be ee La i a d hi e e le. The Chronicle almost exclusively referred to he e e a e e e i g a c le A gl fa e , only once revealing that the group had over a thousand members (Steppling 1989 In the likeliest case, the farmers knew that the prison would not benefit them because they had no need for prison work and would not have enjoyed increased sales. Instead, the prison would waste precious resources. By advocating for the prison siting in Calipatria, they could enrich the county through tax breaks and the increased taxable income while avoiding the prison stigma. JOBS appropria ed STAMP la g age f ad e el i ac ed, l a age c ce f he i e e ce, b al highligh he ha ha ld c e i e . Consequently, JOBS itself explicitly viewed the economic prosperity of the area at the expense of prisoners. The group muddles common narrative that authors such as Gilmore present; Latinx communities, too, coveted the benefits of prison construction. In this way, the driving force behind prison proliferation was anti-black attitudes, not just pro-white ones. The Chronicle e e ed ha he he c ec ic de e a i j ified he M Signal site. John Steppling, the editor of the publication, elli gl de c ibed he a ea a Bagdad, efe e ci g a aba d ed hei h. Councilman Victor Legaspi concurred, i i g ha e e e k e he S he e d f he c a a d de e ed (Lega i 1989). The Southern coalition viewed the prison as their only path to prosperity because, as the c cil a e lai ed, e l i a i f S he eighb c age f l cal ci i e . Prisons, however, could not hire undocumented workers. Legaspi concluded that the prison ld ca e he ec f he h le c g e e d l (Lega i 1989). T he , prison siting reflected the need of the surrounding area. In this way, the Southern county treated prisons as any other public works project. Unlike infrastructure investment, however, the profits that JOBS sought necessitated black suffering. Prison construction, then, represented the rural c ie a e alle ia e hei ffe i g b e ace ba i g he ffe i g f ba , black communities.
In the end, the state selected the Calipatria site, promising a second prison at the Mount Signal within the year. In a iece i led SUE SUE SUE ba le c f Cale ic , he Chronicle excoriated the decision, disclosing that JOBS intended to sue the Chamber of Commerce, the State of California, the CDC, and STAMP for acting without authority. The desperate move reflected the c llec i e e e f i dig a i d e he fac ha he Cali a ia i i g ld ca e he economic benefits to leak to nearby counties (Calexico Chronicle 1989). The Chronicle blamed the change of heart on their lack of political sway and financial backing, demonstrating that they viewed prisons as a political favor to spur economic growth. The director of the CDC, James  , ie ed prisons as brimming with black filth. The constant allusions to pollution, trash, ills, and nuclear waste demonstrate that anti-blackness was the basis of NIMBYism. On the surface, PIMBY coalitions seem to escape the pull of anti-blackness as they lobbied for economic benefits, but they intertwined economic benefits with black subjugation.
These economic benefits did not materialize. Last year, The Desert Sun published a story about Bl he, a ki g Ca a ij a a a e hi 'd i g' he Calif ia-A i a b de ? (DiPierro, 2018). Unlike what the city officials thought in the 1980s, a renaissance was not at hand for Blythe. The town still struggles because the state used the prison to fix a political, not an ec ic, ble . Bl he ea ch f a i acle eli i ha b gh he a ij a a, ea i g ha a f he five thousand inmates do time for a now legal crime one that the surrounding community uses to soothe their economic woes. In the 1980s, Blythe listened to the state and accepted thousands of prisoners for profit. Now, the town will profit off the plant that put many of the prisoners there in the first place. In perhaps the best suiting metaphor, black men convicted of minor drug possession will be surrounded by fields of marijuana growing in the desert to fix a problem that the prison could not.

AKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would first like to thank my sponsoring faculty member, Professor Tim Williams. Thank you for supporting my passion, for critically editing my drafts, and for encouraging me to go beyond a term paper. Without your support, this paper would not have been possible. I would also like to Parsa Aghel, Joey Miller, Jonathan Ely, and Aaron Lewis for helping me talk through my ideas, challenging them, and helping the paper grow. Your help has been invaluable.