Damaged hardmen: Organized crime and the half-life of deindustrialization

Despite frequent associations, deindustrialization features rarely in studies of organized crime, and organized crime is at best a spectral presence in studies of deindustrialization. By developing an original application of Linkon's concept of the “half- life,” we present an empirical case for the symbiotic relationship between former sites of industry and the emergence of criminal markets. Based on a detailed case- study in the west of Scotland, an area long associated with both industry and crime, the paper interrogates the environmental, social, and cultural after- effects of deindustrialization at a community level. Drawing on 55 interviews with residents and service- providers in Tunbrooke, an urban community where an enduring criminal market grew in the ruins of industry, the paper elaborates the complex landscapes of identity, vulnerability, and harm that are embedded in the symbiosis of crime and deindustrialization. primacy to perception, experience, and subjective interpretation. Interview and observational data were transcribed, anonymized, and analyzed by the project team. The interviews yielded themes and reflections that went far beyond the everyday experience of crime. Interviews with residents focused on the “mundane” experiences of living in a particular locality, and continuity and change over time. To strengthen reliability, the study used a community “co- inquiry” process, in which a subsample of 33 community residents were reengaged to discuss preliminary findings. 1 The collection of these narratives allowed for investigation of the relationship between organized crime and environmental degradation, social stigmatization, and cultural meaning that resides in the ruins of industry.


| INTRODUC TI ON
In what has been called "one of the largest assaults on organised crime in recent history" (Daly, 2020), police forces across Europe recently staged a seizure the 1,200 kg of methamphetamine and 10 tons of cocaine, resulting in over 800 arrests. Though the raids were generated in the placeless "space of flow" (Castells, 2000), via encrypted phone technology, it is notable that the targeted locales were far from random. Following a pattern long identified by criminologists and sociologists (Currie, 2016;Wilson, 1987), many arrests took place in areas associated with industrial decline. Long associated with entrenched community marginalization, deindustrialization has become a frequent reference-point in sociological accounts of crime and deviance (Hobbs, 2013;MacDonald & Marsh, 2005;Telford & Lloyd, 2020). Surprisingly, however, it has to date formed a rather spectral presence in the sociology of organized crime-operating as an inert backdrop rather than an active component of the present. In this paper, we engage with the burgeoning field of deindustrialization studies to build a clearer analytic focus on physical and environmental legacies-described by Linkon as the "half-life" of deindustrialization (2018)-for the emergence and evolution of criminal markets.
In recent years, historical and sociological studies of deindustrialization have grown substantially, particularly in North America and Western Europe (High et al., 2017;Strangleman, 2017). Whereas initial studies of closure focused on the immediate impact of widespread industrial closure throughout the 1970s and 1980s (see Bluestone & Harrison, 1982), recent scholarship has sought to interrogate the longer-term consequences on social relations, communal identity, and cultural memory (Walkerdine & Jimenez, 2012). In this literature, deindustrialization is approached not as a historical event but as a continuing presence with wide-ranging social, economic, and health consequences (McIvor, 2017;Walkerdine, 2016). Most recently, Sherry-Lee Linkon's intervention on the "half-life" of deindustrialization has been gaining increasing traction as an analytic concept. In physics, a "half-life" is the time it takes for the "slow decline of toxicity" in radioactive materials (Linkon, 2018, p. 6). For Linkon the "half-life" represents both lens and metaphor for the consequences of deindustrialization: In its half-life, deindustrialization may not be as poisonous as radioactive waste, though high rates of various illnesses as well as alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide suggest that it does manifest itself as physical disease. Equally important, though, the half-life of deindustrialization generates psychological and social forms of disease, as individuals and communities struggle with questions about their identities and their place in a global economy that has devalued workers and their labor. (2018, p. 2) Deindustrialization has to date featured tangentially in the sociology of criminal markets. In the United States, the ongoing effects of deindustrialization have been associated with entrenched levels of urban disadvantage (Wilson, 1987), racialized inequality (Wacquant, 2008), gang activity (Hagedorn & Macon, 1998), and homicide (Matthews et al., 2001). In the United Kingdom, recent research suggests that areas associated with industrial closure saw a 20% increase in youth crime, with loss of jobs leading some to an apprenticeship into the illicit economy (Farrell et al. 2019;Hall et al., 2008;Nayak, , 2006. Spotlighting the notion of the "half-life" allows a sharpened focus on the historical unfolding of these trends, offering an analytic key to relationships between crime and broader forms of economic, social, and environmental harm. In this paper, we center the concept of the "half-life" to analyze the impact of industrial closure on organized crime in community contexts. The paper is based on data from a large-scale empirical study of the community impact of organized crime in Scotland (Fraser, Hamilton-Smith, Clark et al., 2018). Many of the communities in the study were former industrial areas "suffering severe poverty and structural neglect" (Marsh, 2019, p. 129), rendering them vulnerable to "predatory criminal colonisation" (Hobbs et al., 2003, p. 219, cited in Marsh, 2019. The paper is based on 55 interviews carried out in one of the primary field sites, Tunbrooke (pseudonym), a deindustrializing urban community located in the west of Scotland. Tunbrooke was categorized by police as having a "very significant" organized crime presence as well as exhibiting several defining characteristics of deindustrialization.
Drawing on an original application of Linkon's framework, we analyze the relationship between environmental, physical, and cultural legacies of deindustrialization and the development of criminal markets. We argue that deindustrialization has acted as a centrifugal force in the embedding of criminal harm in Tunbrooke, both amplifying and extending its "half-life." In so doing, we add a historical counterweight to contemporary studies of organized crime, addressing Rock's (2005) concerns of chronocentrism in criminology, while extending the empirical range of deindustrialization studies to criminal harm.

| CRIME AND THE HALF-LIFE OF DEINDUS TRIALIZ ATI ON
The relationship between immediate job losses and long-term political, economic, and cultural legacies has been central to the burgeoning field of deindustrialization studies (see High et al., 2017). Drawing together diverse insights from history, sociology, and literary studies, this emergent body of work conceives of deindustrialization as a flexible and ongoing process that contains strong traces of the past. It is important to note, in this literature, that deindustrialization is a markedly different phenomenon than other periods of cyclical economic depression. As Bluestone and Harrison (1982, p. 15) argue, unlike the vicissitudes of the global economy, decisions to close industries are local: "conscious decisions have to be made by corporate managers to move a factory from one location to another." The immediate impact of these closures result in a surge in local unemployment with lasting effects, with the shuttering and demolition of industries a more significant visible and material change than cyclical depression.
As Clark (2017) asserts, in Scotland these differences can be visualised through comparison of the interwar depression and the period of deindustrialization. Whereas in the 1930s, the depression was symbolized by the Queen Mary cruise ship lying unfinished at John Brown's Shipyard in Clydebank, in the later twentieth century, the image is of closure, destruction, and clearance, such as the demolition of shipyard cranes and the Ravenscraig steel mill.
As Linkon et al. (2012) argue, "when old industrial buildings are torn down or transformed into condominiums, the narratives and meanings associated with a place can change." Strangleman (2017), drawing on EP Thompson and Raymond Williams, argues that deindustrialization represents a temporal "book-end" to the period of industrialization, with large-scale historical change felt at the everyday level of social relations. The industrial period was one in which a powerful "structure of feeling" (Williams, 1977) was evident; a communal disposition, hewn from both economic necessity and cultural sensemaking. This industrial habitus has a "glacial force" (Appadurai, 1996, p. 6) that it is not amenable to short-run alteration. Rather, it "develops a history and generates its practices, for some period of time, even after the original material conditions which gave rise to it have disappeared" (Nash, 1999, p. 184). For Williams, this "structure of feeling" lives on the form of a "residual culture," which is "effectively formed in the past, but it is still active in the cultural process … as an effective element of the present" (Williams, 1977, p. 122). Criminal markets in Scotland originally developed in lockstep with the industrial habitus of stoicism, gameness, and "hard" masculinity, coupled with opportunities afforded by a growing consumer economy (Mack & Kerner, 1975;Damer, 2018).
For Linkon, former industrial communities cannot be described as "post-industrial," as those living in deindustrialized communities are in daily contact with the fallout, shaping the "material and social" lives of those who remain (Linkon, 2018, p. 4). Notably, the after-effects of deindustrialization have been central to the persistence of criminal groups such as gangs (Fraser, 2015), "off-the-books" employment in so-called "fiddly jobs" (MacDonald, 1994), and the evolution of organized crime. As Hobbs asserts, "local criminal organization was always deeply entrenched in the cultures of the urban working-class, and deindustrialization and the consequent fragmentation of long-established communities resulted in their transformation into disordered mutations of traditional proletarian culture" (Hobbs, 2013, p. 230). The concept of the "half-life" offers a dynamic interpretation of the impact of economic and cultural change on criminal markets, as traces of a residual culture are grafted onto a fragmented set of illicit opportunities in the postindustrial economy.

| Crime as industry: The making of Scottish organized crime
The west of Scotland, incorporating Glasgow and adjacent coastal towns and villages, is an area historically associated with both heavy industry and criminal entrepreneurialism (Damer, 1990). Emerging in the context of "an enforced practical relationship with specific material conditions" (Hall, 2002, p. 45), criminal gangs converted the rugged enterprise of the urban working-class into forms of illicit enterprise based on plunder, protection, and predation (Davies, 2013). In neighborhoods characterized by severe poverty (Hobbs, 2013, p. 230), illegal forms of money-making-from protection rackets to organized theft, illicit drinking "shebeens" to money-lending-formed an aspect of everyday life that enabled communities to survive during times of economic hardship (Damer, 2018).
As Taylor argues, "[l]ike the Fordist industries that dominated each local working class area of residence, the local 'economies of crime' were highly regulated structures, with their own developed hierarchies and system of recruitment" (Taylor, 2019, p. 22). These prototypical criminal organizations were rooted in the same communities that supplied mass labor to the industrial economy, and drew strength from their collectivism.
The west of Scotland, like other deindustrializing regions (Johnstone & McIvor, 2004;McDowell, 2003), has long been associated with particular forms of violent "hyper-masculinity" (Ward et al., 2017). Arthur Thompson, the socalled "Last Godfather" of crime in Glasgow, came from a strong industrial heritage, but opted against the steelwork of his father in favor of a career in professional crime (McKay, 2004). Following a similar pattern to the development of criminal markets more broadly (Mack, 1972), Thompson first helped with illegal bookies and assisted in street enterprise before working as a debt collector. Glasgow in wartime, like London (Hobbs, 2013, p. 66), was a thieves paradise and Thompson quickly adapted to a developing urban economy where postwar affluence was creating opportunities for large-scale theft, racketeering, and armed robbery (Mack, 1964;Sutherland, 1956). Markets in high value goods such as cigarettes and whisky were established during the rationing of the Second World War, and in the 1950s professional criminals such as Thompson started to build individual reputations both inside and outside of Scotland, particularly in the west end of London with "marquee criminals" such as the Krays (Hobbs, 2013).
The evolution of organized criminal markets required "an indigenous growth in the soil of an urban industrial economy moving into affluence but retaining extensive pockets of poverty" (Mack & Kerner, 1975, p. 39), and cities like Glasgow with a "river, shipbuilding and major railway junctions" (McKay, 2004, p. 16) were suppliers to larger conurbations. The growth of postwar affluence was crucial to the growth of criminal entrepreneurialism, making possible "new stable patterns of professional crime" (McIntosh, 1975, p. 20), with a new generation of "able criminals" coming to form an occupational subculture of the urban working-class (Mack & Kerner, 1975). In the process, criminal entrepreneurialism evolved from "craft-based" crime honed through apprenticeships similar to those in other manual trades, into "project" crime made possible by the urban industrial economy, where anonymity and population density created deposits of wealth that were ripe for armed robbery, safe-cracking, or fraud (McIntosh, 1975). As these markets were becoming established, however, the industrial economy of the west of Scotland experienced a seismic shift.

| The violence of deindustrialization
While industrial contraction in Scotland took place gradually across the twentieth century, albeit with particular acceleration of negative employment effects after 1979 (Phillips, 2017), the west of Scotland "has experienced a more severe dose of deindustrialisation than the majority of the other regions" (Walsh et al., 2008, p. 125). The west of Scotland suffered sharply from industrial closure, with consistently large-scale net manufacturing job loss in each of the decades from 1951, 1961, and 1971(Phillips, 2017, and the acute losses of industry have been nigh impossible to correct (Maver, 2000). As Emery (2019, p. 6) argues, the impacts of these closures are ongoing.
Deindustrializing communities continue to live among the ruination of the industrial era, with abandoned industrial sites, contaminated land (Maantay, 2017), and poor infrastructure dominating the environment (Mah, 2010).
Former industrial areas have been found to have particular concentrations of poor health, including high levels of addiction, poverty, unemployment, and suicide. Indeed, pernicious health inequalities in the west of Scotland, and across Europe, have been attributed to the "aftershock of deindustrialization" (Walsh et al., 2008). The period of deindustrialization in the west of Scotland, therefore, accords with Bourdieu's "law on the conservation of violence" (Bourdieu, 1998): "structural violence exerted by the financial markets […] is matched sooner or later in the form of suicides, crime and delinquency, drug addiction, alcoholism", (p. 40). As we will argue, this shift has led to increased volatility and fragmentation of criminal markets.
In his investigation of former mining areas in Fife, Andrew Perchard (2014) notes that "Thatcher's children"those born after the period of intense closure-suffer extensively from unemployment, addiction, and health problems (Perchard, 2013). The experiences of the next generation make visible the long-lasting effects of deindustrialization, due to "the lack of good work, the fracturing of communal identity, the difficulty of becoming an adult in a time and place that offer few options and limited stability" (Linkon, 2018, p. 5). Against this backdrop, it is notable that the geography of organized crime in Scotland maps closely onto the landscape of deindustrialization (Fraser, Hamilton-Smith, Clark et al. 2018). A recent mapping exercise found 213 organized criminal groups operating in the country, with 65% of identified groups being based in the deindustrializing West of Scotland (Scottish Government, 2017). Young people in the west of Scotland do not grow up with the stable knowledge of labor in the large steelworks and production plants that once dominated the city's skyline. For young men in particular, the tension between industrial masculinity and postindustrial work has been seen as a particular draw toward criminal entrepreneurialism . As Hobbs notes, this has occurred against a backdrop of the transformation in criminal markets from "ducking and diving" to the "new gloves-off entrepreneurship of market society" (Hobbs, 2013, p. 93), with consumer culture replacing the traditional struts of communal life (Hall et al., 2008).

| COMMUNIT Y E XPERIEN CE S OF ORG ANIZED CRIME
The data reported are drawn from a large-scale qualitative study examining the community impacts of serious organized crime in Scotland (Fraser, Hamilton-Smith, Clark et al., 2018). The study involved a total of 179 interviews over an 18-month period, with residents and community groups as well as statutory organizations and community agencies. Data collection focused on areas identified by police intelligence as having a "significant" organized crime footprint. Though the study set out to understand the community impacts of organized crime, many of the areas were former sites of industry and the after-effects of deindustrialization featured prominently. In this paper, we draw on interviews in Tunbrooke, a neighborhood in the west of Scotland where deindustrialization and the development of criminal markets were closely intertwined.

| Tunbrooke as a deindustrializing community
Tunbrooke today is a small urban neighborhood in Scotland's central belt and comprises two neighboring urban communities-East and West Tunbrooke-with a local population of 14,000 (Scottish Government, 2016). While the two areas have distinct histories, they can be categorized into one territorial space due to their geographical proximity and shared experience. According to Police Scotland intelligence, Tunbrooke has "a very significant organised crime footprint" with a number of well-known groups operating on-street drug dealing. According to national criteria, the area is "very deprived," including 11 data zones in the top 5% most deprived areas (Scottish Government, 2016).
East Tunbrooke grew in parallel with the industrial revolution, developing from a rural hinterland into a large industrial community. The area was rapidly developed to create access and housing for nearby manufacturing; the population increasing from less than 20 in 1872 to over 10,000 by 1892. West Tunbrooke is also a planned community, but with a different trajectory. The neighborhood was built following World War Two as a residential area to accommodate population overspill. The dwellings in West Tunbrooke were mixed, comprising detached houses, terraces, and high-rise blocks. As with many urban developments in Scotland at this time, the attention given to housing was not matched by a focus on amenities and employment. Workers who moved to the new estates commuted to work, while leisure activities such as swimming pools, pubs, and cinemas frequently involved travel (Jephcott, 1967).
The development of Tunbrooke since the 1970s represents a microcosm of the effects of deindustrialization in the short, medium, and long term. As part of the "tsunami" of factory, mill, shipyard, and mine closures across Scotland, local manufacturing closed. With the fallout of deindustrialization following the closure of the foundry in the late 1960s, crime firms came to form a longstanding presence, operating as an alternative form of local governance, fulfilling functions such as money-lending, debt collection, security, dispute-resolution, and protection (Boyle, 1977).

| Methods
Fieldwork in Tunbrooke involved qualitative interviews with 55 respondents, including 30 current or former residents and 25 interviews with local service-providers. Interviewees were recruited through preexisting networks and through established community organizations. Interviews took place in respondent's homes, the premises of local charities, cafes, and offices. Interviews were semi-structured, open-ended conversations, drawing on oral history methods that give "priority to what he or she wishes to tell, rather than what the researcher wants to hear" (Portelli, 2006, p. 55); giving primacy to perception, experience, and subjective interpretation. Interview and observational data were transcribed, anonymized, and analyzed by the project team. The interviews yielded themes and reflections that went far beyond the everyday experience of crime. Interviews with residents focused on the "mundane" experiences of living in a particular locality, and continuity and change over time. To strengthen reliability, the study used a community "co-inquiry" process, in which a subsample of 33 community residents were reengaged to discuss preliminary findings. 1 The collection of these narratives allowed for investigation of the relationship between organized crime and environmental degradation, social stigmatization, and cultural meaning that resides in the ruins of industry.

| S TALK ING THE RU IN S OF INDUS TRY: S PACE , ENVIRONMENT, AND DEC AY
Like "diseases caused by exposure to radiation" (Linkon, 2018, p. 6), the list of social consequences of deindustrialization is long: population decline, deterioration of infrastructure, toxic waste, long-term unemployment, mental and physical ill-health, and rising rates of addiction and suicide. Deindustrialization has caused long-lasting "psychological scars" within former industrial communities, contributing to a range of environmental and physical degradations (Perchard, 2014). One particularly notable effect, often overlooked, is the significance of the lived environment for memory, identity, and place (Emery, 2019). The effect of "industrial infrastructures abandoned, often reduced to dereliction" can be profound. In Tunbrooke, these legacies are evident in terms of abandoned industrial spaces, rundown housing stock, derelict high street space and "gaps" in the built environment. Decades of underinvestment have left Tunbrooke adrift from metropolitan life, and detached from essential services (Paton et al., 2017).
During interviews, the environmental impact of deindustrialization and disinvestment was abundantly clear.
Stevie had grown up in the area in the 1960s. For him the closure of the foundry caused the community to "lose its heart" with nothing to replace it. He told a story of housing demolition and school closure, burnt-out buildings and unused land. His memories of the 1960s and 70s became a landscape that existed only in memory as houses, schools, and community centers were demolished and not replaced. For Stevie, walking around the area now is not a trip down memory lane but something more like a faded photograph. Similarly, for Sarah and Rachelle, the physical environment of Tunbrooke demonstrates very visible signs of abandonment and decay. Industrial spaces, housing, schools, and other community infrastructure have been replaced by waste ground. Sarah and Rachelle's comments offer important insights into "what it means and how it feels to live in a deindustrializing society" (Strangleman et al., 2013, p. 20). Sarah's description of an "overgrown jungle" illustrates a lack of care and maintenance, meaning the area is "overgrown," wild, and unmanaged. Rachel's repeated use of the phrase "ripping" represents the structural violence felt when services are removed, or physical sites abandoned. There is no sense of civic improvement, but a long-term process of destruction with little foresight for what will come next.
Houses, schools, community centers, and others amenities were "ripped doon," not replaced, improved, or redeveloped. In a powerful evocation of the "half-life," the foundry itself has also been demolished, with the former site categorized as "contaminated land" (Maantay, 2017).
Amid this process of ruination, characterized by Alice Mah (2010, p. 398) as a period of "profound uncertainty," Through her lifelong experience in Tunbrooke, Michelle is able to make a direct comparison between her own childhood and that of her children. Though leisure facilities initially remained in the immediate aftermath of industrial closure, over time these closed and local residents had to travel to access facilities. As a result, her children and other Tunbrooke residents must now travel outside of the area for leisure, making the community markedly worse-off when compared with her own childhood experiences.
In common with studies of deindustrialized communities elsewhere (Walkerdine, 2016), this lack of leisure opportunity for young people was frequently connected with visible instances of vandalism, further contributing to a sense of environmental degradation. As Michael, a younger resident of reflected: "When ye look at it, four outtae five [places like this] aren't nice. Ye don't huv nice things tae look at… just auld abandoned houses. The anes along here, their windaes are aw smashed so, somebody like yerself

that's naw fae Tunbrooke, tae walk doon the street, it looks rough … I was no angel growin up, I've went tae the empty houses and [smashed the windows]… it gies ye that buzz and somethin to do for an hour."
(Michael, resident of Tunbrooke) As Michael's comments indicate, the environmental legacies of deindustrialization, disinvestment and decay are tightly bound together in Tunbrooke. Echoing these comments, in a poignant walking interview, JP alternated between descriptions of empty spaces where buildings had been burnt-out, and memories of violent incidents that occurred nearby. JP pointed out a place where there had been a recent violent attack; two masked men had attacked a man with knives and made off in a dark car, later found burnt-out. As JP reflects, the lack of investment in housing is closely related to the opportunities for exploitation, indebtedness and coercion.

One woman was made four cash offers above the value ae the house. She didn't want to sell it to drug dealers. That for me is the biggest issue, the social housin, and the investment that's comin in. A lottae investment has gone intae housin, they've got tenants under pressure if they cannae keep up wi their rent, need tae come tae some kinda arrangement. … we'll provide you this house if you dae something back for us. And ah think that goes on a lottae the time.
As JP suggests, severe pressure is placed on those living within Tunbrooke to be pulled into the sphere of criminal entrepreneurs. While the woman referred to in his narrative refused the cash offers for her property, it is clear to see how these pressures will lead to residents relenting and becoming involved on the periphery of criminal activity. The embeddedness of organized crime in Tunbrooke, which became most pronounced following industrial contraction and increased deprivation, marks it as distinct from other areas in Scotland where crime levels are high. Throughout interviews, it is clear that organized crime penetrates every level, with street-level crime intrinsically linked to local criminal markets, which also manifest through violence, intimidation, and financial pressure. Furthermore, this pressure is not exerted by an unknown external force; Tunbrooke residents are aware of who exerts power and control, and the potential ramifications of challenging this.

| DEEPENING THE WOUNDS OF DEINDUS TRIALIZ ATI ON: ADD I C TI ON , DEBT, AND S TI G MA
In his analysis of former coal mining communities, Perchard (2014, p. 78) draws direct links between industrial rupture and increased addiction issues in working-class communities. One of his interviewees, Alex Mills, stated that his area suffered from the "plague" of unemployment and drug addiction, describing the post-Thatcher generation as "zombies" due to the impacts of substance abuse. Similarly, Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh (cited in Edemariam & Scott, 2009), asserted that previous generations "might have been heavy drinkers but there was work in the shipyards, so they had a reason not to get wasted." For Welsh, the links between industrial closure, job-loss, and drug addiction are evident. Scotland now has the highest rate of drug-related deaths in Europe, and marginally more than the United States (BBC Online, 2019).
Interviews in Tunbrooke revealed the extent to which drugs, and addiction, permeate day-to-day lived experiences. Eileen, a resident of East Tunbrooke in her 60s, stated that in the 1980s, "the drugs started… you had been findin needles everywhere at one point… they're aw intae the tablets now… you see people in their 40s and 50s in wheelchairs [and] walkin sticks." Having lived in East Tunbrooke her entire life, Eileen notes that the 1980s-the period of accelerated deindustrialization in Scotland-was the "start" of the drugs problem. As for the generation born post-closure, they are similarly impacted by addiction, being the group "intae the tablets" as drug consumption changed. Michelle, a resident of West Tunbrooke in her 40s, also noted the prevalence of drugs in the area, before then expanding her thoughts to discuss the other issues faced in the community: "Obviously, there's been an increase in drugs in the community… mental health [problems]

has increased, alcoholism's increased… I think there's mair poverty related issues than there's ever been."
In Michelle's experience, these multifaceted problems were not directly related to industrial closure, but have increased during the elongated half-life of deindustrialization. The issue of whether this interpretation is accurate in economic analyses is moot; the important aspect of these narratives is the belief-based on the experiences of those in a deindustrializing community-that socioeconomic conditions have worsened. In drawing links with the half-life of deindustrialization, Linkon's (2018) periodization of the fallout of manufacturing closure chimes with the experiences in Tunbrooke. As job losses increased dramatically, drugs became more prevalent as unemployed workers became increasingly despondent and opportunities contracted. As the impacts of deindustrialization have become more subtle, many of those born in the period after closure have been brought up in a community that seemingly offers little opportunity for work, and where drugs are readily available. As Linkon notes, "The conditions of the present include the remnants of the past" (Linkon, 2018, p. 4).
There was a strong perception that the growth in local addiction emerged in tandem with the evolution of local organized criminal groups. The "places and faces" are well known, with street-level dealing by young people the most visible sign of activity:

Cos you know, at the top of the street, there's a group-on a bad day-maybe about 15 boys, standing around… Just people standing about, and then a boy turns up on a bike, then goes away, then there's a big man on the phone. And you realise that's what's happening, peddling. But yeah, the community's well aware of it. (Malkie, Tunbrooke resident)
In Malkie's account, there is no judgment of the illegal activities involving young people, nor is there anger expressed at the harm it causes the community. The nonchalant discussion of peddling drugs on the street demonstrates its normalization. This finds echoes in and Linkon's (2003) argument that, in many deindustrializing areas, the repeated demonization of the community over time can lead to the passive acceptance of criminal behavior, rather than as a stimulus for resistance. As in MacDonald's study of "off-the-books" work, this as not a "hidden economy" but was instead "bound up with the everyday lives of working-class people who were finding alternative ways of making a living when traditional, legimitate avenues had been all but closed to them" (MacDonald, 1994, p. 529). As Jack commented: The people who are makin' all the money, aren't the ones at the front line, they're using other people to do it. And it's pretty obvious who's involved in it, ye take a walk along the street and ye'd be able tae identify that… Ye see it on every street…. They [top bosses] don't stay here. But their presence is there. And it wouldn't take ye long to notice, see the motor with the blacked oot windae. There's people and businesses, the investment is comin from somewhere … That network still exists. And it exists street by street. (Jack, Tunbrooke resident) Jack's comments reflect a frustration at the public perception of the community as one linked to crime, drugs, and violence, contrasted with the fact that the individuals profiting from the local drug trade were no longer resident locally. Crucially, popular and media reporting significantly downplays the importance of deindustrialization as an explanatory factor in increased criminality, placing the "blame" on the affected communities. In their study of Youngstown, Ohio, Linkon and Russo (2002) demonstrate that popular perceptions of deindustrializing areas changed over time to incorporate rampant criminality. An example of this shift is noted in the reporting of the Rocky Mountain News, which described Youngstown as a city of "poverty, drugs, gangs and hopelessness" (cited in Linkon & Russo, 2002, p. 191). Stevie recalled that a local newspaper had sent their crime reporter to cover a positive story in the area, as they had most knowledge of the community: He wanted a quote that [area] was a warzone-so he asked if I would call it that. I said I call it my home. There's a lot of good people in [area]. I'm happy to say I love [the area]. (Stevie, Tunbrooke resident) This construction of Tunbrooke as an impoverished area of drugs, crime, and risk accords with broader patterns of urban peripheralization and "territorial stigma" (Wacquant, 2008), and organized crime contributed to and exacerbated these issues. Nonetheless, interviews also reflected a "resilience of individuals and communities in the face of long-term economic decline" (Linkon, 2018, p. xviii). Those who opted to remain shared a memory of hardship (Mah, 2010), and worked hard for their communities and families. Several interviewees had started down a path toward criminal lifestyles but pulled back. As one resident commented: There is people fighting back, but sometime it feels like a worthless cause. But, the other side, there are lots of kids up here that have done well. But that bits never publicized. The challenge for service-providers and residents alike was to challenge these narratives while providing viable alternatives, offering mentoring and support to socialize "younger workers in to the community of memory" (Linkon et al. 2012).

| YOUNG PEOPLE , INDUS TRIAL HAB ITUS , AND COMMUNIT Y IDENTIT Y
Like many other deindustrializing conurbations, the central belt of Scotland has largely reconfigured away from traditional industries such as heavy manufacture and shipbuilding. Despite a shift toward a service economy, however, some young remain inured to the models of industrial masculinity (Fraser, 2015). As Currie notes, "whether in Detroit, Glasgow, Paris, Sao Paulo, or Johannesburg-it is young men without good jobs or prospects who are usually the most involved in violence, as both victims and perpetrators" (Currie, 2016, p. 59). In this context, where deeply rooted community ties and working-class identities have been confronted with new logics of capital, a habitus clive (Bourdieu, 2007) can occur, wrestling between old and new : "something can become historically split off from the context of its production, yet still experienced as real inside an affective skin" (Walkerdine, 2016, p. 702). Walkerdine details the psycho-social "ruptures" brought on by the closure of a steelworks, including the young men who refused to accede to service work, hanging around the former sites of industry for piecemeal work while trashing supermarket shelves stacked by other young men Walkerdine, 2016). These large-scale shifts have been associated with a range of fractures in young people's transitions to adulthood, occasioned by "rapid, widespread deindustrialization" (MacDonald & Marsh, 2005, p. 206). Johnston and McIvor (2004), in their study of industrial masculinities in former mining communities, reveal a competitive environment where "actual bodily harm was risked for the sake of peer group status" (Johnston & McIvor, 2004, p. 2). Where this form of risk-taking and competitive masculinities once prepared young men for industrial labor, these connections have increasingly evaporated. As Linkon summarizes, "the case of displacement and betrayal that many workers felt when they lost industrial jobs in the 1970s and 1980s continues to haunt their children and even their grandchildren" (Linkon, 2018, p. 60). For young men in Tunbrooke, the decline in work in industry left a void that was filled by employment in the illicit economy. As others have argued (Hall et al., 2008), there was a measure of prestige attached to involvement in crime, interacting with notions of masculine "respect" and toughness. One youth worker asserted that young people involved have "got this kudos and this status and a lot of money because of what they're daein that they wouldnae [otherwise] have… [and] this is something they're … good at." In Tunbrooke, though some apprenticeships remained, they held little appeal: Ah've offered young people apprenticeships, and they say 'you're offerin £120 a week when ah can make £100 in an hour on the street'. Some young people accept that, and accept goin tae jail as part of their about four grand in their pocket. Like, it's, it's, that's what you're up against. (Sean, Tunbrooke resident) At the same time, however, opportunities in the criminal economy had evolved from craft-based activities such as safe-cracking and organized theft (McIntosh, 1975) to the volatile lifestyles associated with the street-based drug trade. At one time, territorial youth gangs formed part of the same street culture that more organized criminal enterprise grew out of, and in some cases provided a pathway into more organized forms of criminality (Davies, 2013), with local crime represented a source of employment, income, and status (Foster, 1990). In the 1960s, Stevie recalls, there were shillings given out to young people for taking out the bins in the local pub, and pennies for other local tasks such as bringing in the shopping or coal. In the present, the territorial street gangs of previous generations had dissolved, replaced by a noisy trade in drug-dealing-on mini-motorbikes, motorbikes and quad bikes-and had little respect for communitarian voluntarism. As one young man reflected: It is easy, don't get me wrang, where we're fae, it is easy tae get roped in, it's really easy. That's how people higher up the chain are kickin aboot in the best ae motors and hooses, cos they're not touchin anything.
So it is easy for young people, and it's up tae that young person… When yer a wee guy and yer at school, yer ma's givin ye money tae go oot wi, somebody else comes alang and offers 20, 30, 50 quid tae dae the smallest thing tae you, but it'll mean something tae them. That's when they start givin mair, gie ye mair tae slash tyres, dae this tae him. … And then it's them that get caught. (Michael, Tunbrooke resident) As these narratives illustrate, the availability of apparently easy money is a clear incentive to young people to become involved in criminal activity. As Bourgois, writing of the impact of deindustrialization on young people in Harlem, questions: "Why should these young men and women take the subway to work minimum-wage jobs … when they can usually earn more, at least in the short run, by selling drugs on the street corner in front of their apartments or school yard?" (Bourgois, 2003, p. 4). Long-term social, economic, cultural, and environmental impacts of deindustrialization, therefore, coalesce to make criminal enterprise not only attractive, but also actively desirable for some young people. This was surmised by Malkie (himself in his 40s), who explained that, for many young people, the only visible "way out" of Tunbrooke is to become a professional footballer or become involved in crime. With opportunities for young people from deprived areas participating sport becoming increasingly restricted due to poverty and cost (see Dowden, 2017;Kay, 2020), the illicit economy becomes more appealing as offering a way out. Notably, however, the consumerist fantasy of "flash cars" and easy money was often illusory. As in the licit economy, "the riskiest and most stigmatized tasks in domestic and international drug markets are left to unskilled criminal laborers who are almost invariably poorly paid" (Ruggiero and South 1997, p. 65).

| CON CLUS I ON: FROM ORG ANIZED CRIME TO ORG ANIZED HARM
This paper has sought to interrogate the environmental, physical, and social aftermath of manufacturing closure within a former site of industry in the west of Scotland. Breaking with existing scholarship, however, the paper has extended the analytic reach of these legacies to the area of criminal harm. Tunbrooke was an area where the aftereffects of deindustrialization were keenly felt, with debt, addiction, and poverty featuring heavily in residents' experience. Enduring levels of social and economic exclusion create populations with high levels of need and high levels of demand for state services, making them disproportionately vulnerable in the face of service and welfare cuts. In this context, criminal entrepreneurialism has come to play an embedded role in the community, deepening the wounds of deindustrialization through the normalization of criminal harm. Importantly, too the dislocations brought on by deindustrialization resulted in a shift from organized crime as an occupational subculture of the urban working-class (Mack & Kerner, 1975), to a fragmented, volatile criminal marketplace where the stable props of territorial identity are unsettled (Hobbs, 2013), with major implications for young people.
The centering of deindustrialization in the sociology of organized crime has several implications. First, existing studies of deindustrialization largely overlook crime. Despite the work of Linkon and Russo (2002), examining criminality in Youngstown post-closure, overall there has been a reluctance to interrogate the ways that crime can become embedded within deindustrializing areas, and provide illicit employment where the licit economy does not. In seeking to provide an "appreciative" understanding of life in a deindustrializing area, issues such as involvement in crime have been neglected, with more focus on examining the violence and harm committed on affected communities. In acknowledging the role of organized crime in deindustrializing communities, and placing its influence within the context of the half-life, we argue that embedded criminality is an additional manifestation of deindustrialization's legacy. Rather than seeing deindustrializing communities and organized crime as inherently separate issues, it is more useful to recognize that deindustrialization deeply interwoven with organized crime, and that criminality manifests itself as illicit, "organised harm" on communities such as Tunbrooke.
Second, with notable exceptions, criminological research often positions organized crime as an "alien invader" (Hobbs, 2013) that infiltrates and exploits hapless communities. By drawing a close connection between the legacies of deindustrialization and the emergence of criminal markets, we complicate assumptions of agentic predation, instead demonstrating a relational web of structural, cultural, and historical forces. As McIvor (2017, p. 14) notes, the health impacts of deindustrialization are multifaceted, incorporating ill-health and disability from the industrial era (such as lung disease, industrial injuries), as well as the "mental trauma and physical damage caused by job losses and job insecurity." Criminal groups exhibited a keen knowledge of vulnerabilities in the local areadebt, addiction, ill-health, lack of family support, and old age. Against this backdrop, local criminal groups have leveraged the opportunities afforded by environmental, physical, and social degradation of the community to build defensible fiefdoms. Like a fort on a trade route, these "communal havens" (Castells, 1997) are not simply defensive, but allow connection with flows of illicit commerce elsewhere (Clark et al., 2020).
Third, in centering deindustrialization as simultaneously a historic event and a contemporary social force in areas suffering from its fallout, we have sought to address Rock's (2005) abiding concerns of chronocentrism in criminology. As Churchill (2019) has recently argued, criminological scholarship often relies on a periodized, epochal view of historical change-dominated by events and paradigmatic shifts-to the detriment of more fluid, path-dependent views of incremental change. The concept of the "half-life," importantly, captures both views of history-drawing a connection between significant events and their ongoing legacy. The vocabulary of the "halflife" allows for a refreshed analytic focus on a range of social, cultural, and economic consequences of deindustrialization, with a focus on trace elements of an "industrial residual structure of feeling" (Linkon, 2018, p. 5) in the community experience of organized crime. As Hobbs notes, criminal markets "have an unerring habit of emerging on the same fertile ground" (Hobbs, 1995, p. 124;cited in Marsh 2020 p. 35), often in communities experiencing enduring poverty, marginalization and social suffering. The after-effects of deindustrialization have created fertile soil for the growth and mutation of organized criminal markets in Tunbrooke, adding a further layer of violent toxicity.
Finally, in bridging these literatures we have sought to contribute a meaningful historical sociology of organized crime in the west of Scotland, an area that has suffered a unique fallout of deindustrialization. In seeking to regenerate Scotland as a future-facing country, built primarily on the finance and tourist sectors, there have been numerous attempts to improve "place image" in former industrial towns and cities (Clark & Gibbs, 2017).
But as Walsh et al note of the aftermath of deindustrialization, "mortality in Scotland (but especially the West of Scotland) is high and rates of improvement are relatively slow compared to other areas in the UK and Europe that have also experienced industrial decline" (Walsh et al., 2008, p. 8). By bridging these disparate literatures and disciplines, we argue that the relationships between deindustrialization, sociology, and criminology offer insights for understanding the social, economic, historic, and cultural influences on organized crime as it manifests itself in deindustrializing communities. These links allow for an extension of both the study of deindustrialization and organized crime, appreciating the "enduring legacies" of closure on young people, communal identity, and social relations in the twenty-first century.

ACK N OWLED G M ENTS
The authors would like to thank Niall Hamilton-Smith, Dick Hobbs, David Nettleingham, and the editor and reviewers at BJS for their invaluable commentary on earlier drafts of the paper.

DATA AVA I L A B I L I T Y S TAT E M E N T
Research data is not shared due to privacy or ethical restrictions.

E N D N OTE
1 For further discussion of methods, see appendix to Fraser, Hamilton-Smith, Clark et al (2018).