Policing the Colonial Order: State Crime, Settler Colonialism, and the Penological Architecture of Genocide

Abstract:

In arguing for the inadequacy of a criminological theory of genocide, this article suggests that criminologists need to attend to the structures of colonial and settler colonial governance that both enable and explain the possibility of mass killings. With reference to state crime theory, postcolonial and decolonial perspectives, and the comparative history of colonial policing and penology, the article suggests that policing and penal apparatuses functioned as technologies for generating and regulating racialized populations destined for extinction, dispossession, and erasure. The historical dynamics examined here are considered in terms of two current realities: the genocide of Palestinians today and the ongoing genocide of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples living under what is called the sovereign entity of Australia. To develop a critical criminological understanding of genocide as part of the structure of colonial modernity, we must shift away from criminology’s tradition as a state- and administration-centered field. We need to engage the authority of those people who have survived the genocidal processes.

Keywords: genocide; settler colonialism; colonial policing; penology; decolonial criminology

I. Introduction

When Raphael Lemkin coined the term “genocide” in 1944, he was not merely naming a legal category but designating a mode of organised political violence directed at the destruction of human groups as such.¹ The subsequent elaboration of genocide as an international crime under the 1948 Convention was a foundational moment in the post-war legal order.² And yet, for all its moral gravity, the concept of genocide has remained curiously peripheral to mainstream criminological inquiry. This special issue proceeds from the conviction that such silence is not incidental but symptomatic — a reflection of criminology’s historical entanglement with the very state institutions and colonial political arrangements responsible for the crimes it fails to examine.

The task of a criminology of genocide, properly understood, is therefore not simply additive — adding genocide to the existing canon of crimes studied — but transformative. It requires a reckoning with the discipline’s own complicity in the production of knowledge that has historically served to legitimise colonial power, racialised policing, and the differential valuation of human life. This article contributes to that reckoning by focusing on the nexus between colonialism, settler colonialism, state crime, and the institutional apparatus of policing and penology through which genocidal conditions are produced, maintained, and denied.

The argument proceeds in four stages. Section II situates genocide within a theory of state crime and colonial power. Section III examines the role of policing as a colonial institution, tracing its emergence as a technology of racialised control in settler-colonial contexts. Section IV analyses the penal dimension of colonial genocide, with particular reference to Australia and Palestine as contemporary sites of ongoing colonial violence. Section V draws these threads together to argue for a decolonial reorientation of criminological method and epistemology.

II. State Crime, Colonialism, and the Problem of Genocide

A. The Limits of Administrative Criminology

Mainstream criminology has been characterised, with notable exceptions, by what might be called an administrative orientation: a concern with the measurement, management, and prevention of crime as defined by state law.³ This orientation carries within it a structural problem when the object of inquiry is genocide, for it presupposes precisely what must be interrogated — the legitimacy of the state as the arbiter of criminality. When the state is itself the perpetrator of mass organised violence, criminology’s conventional reliance on state-defined categories of crime becomes not merely analytically inadequate but politically complicit.

Foucauldian and critical scholars have long observed that the power to define crime is itself an expression of sovereignty — that the categories of the criminal and the deviant are produced through power relations that systematically exclude certain forms of violence from recognition.⁴ Achille Mbembe’s concept of “necropolitics” extends this insight by theorising sovereignty as, in its colonial form, fundamentally a power over life and death — a power exercised not through disciplinary normalisation alone but through the organisation of mass death.⁵ In settler-colonial contexts, this necropolitical power is exercised not as an aberration but as a constitutive feature of governance.

Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian has described the current assault on Gaza as revealing a “convergence of violence and pleasure” that exposes the ontological stakes of genocide studies in the present moment.⁶ For criminology, that challenge is particularly sharp: the livestreaming of mass death, the systematic targeting of civilian infrastructure, the destruction of hospitals, universities, and archives — these are not background conditions to crime but acts that must themselves be brought within the analytical frame of criminological inquiry. To fail to do so is to reproduce the logic of impunity that has historically insulated colonial states from accountability.

B. Modernity, Bureaucracy, and the Colonial State

Zygmunt Bauman’s foundational argument in Modernity and the Holocaust was that genocide is not a regression to pre-modern barbarism but a product of the rationalising impulses of modernity itself — of bureaucratic organisation, instrumental reason, and the social distance that enables killing without moral reckoning.⁷ Hannah Arendt’s earlier diagnosis of the “banality of evil” pointed in a similar direction: that ordinary functionaries, embedded in institutional hierarchies, could commit extraordinary violence through the suspension of moral judgement.⁸

These arguments, however, were developed primarily in relation to the European experience of fascism and the Holocaust. A criminology of genocide adequate to the present must confront the colonial genealogy of these processes. As Patrick Wolfe argued, settler colonialism is not an event but a structure — one characterised by the “logic of elimination” that seeks not merely to exploit Indigenous populations but to replace them.⁹ Lorenzo Veracini has similarly theorised settler colonialism as a distinct political formation organised around the desire to establish a permanent settler presence on the land, a project that requires the removal or disappearance of those who were there before.¹⁰

Crucially, the bureaucratic and legal apparatus of the modern state has historically served this eliminatory project. Aileen Moreton-Robinson’s work on the “white possessive” demonstrates how property law, administrative classification, and sovereign authority have been constitutively organised around the dispossession of Indigenous peoples.¹¹ This insight is directly relevant to the criminological study of genocide: the mechanisms of colonial administration — land law, child removal regimes, population management — are not peripheral to genocide but central to its production.

III. Colonial Policing as a Technology of Elimination

A. The Origins of Colonial Police

The relationship between policing and colonial violence has a long institutional history. Chris Cunneen’s foundational work in Australian criminology demonstrated that the police function in settler-colonial contexts cannot be separated from its genocidal dimensions — that the removal of Indigenous children, the enforcement of reserve systems, and the management of racialised populations were central police functions, not incidental excesses.¹² The Bringing Them Home report documented in devastating detail how Australian state institutions systematically separated Aboriginal children from their families, in what constituted a fundamental violation of the right of a group to reproduce itself — the very criterion that defines the crime of genocide under the Convention.¹³

Irene Watson has written of the “attempted genocide” and the “continuing reality of genocide” for Aboriginal peoples, noting that the struggle to reclaim sovereign territory remains inseparable from the ongoing experience of colonial violence in its institutional forms.¹⁴ The pattern of deaths in custody, the over-representation of Aboriginal peoples in incarceration, and the continuation of child removal under contemporary child protection regimes must be read not as dysfunctions of the criminal justice system but as expressions of its colonial logic.

Deaths in custody, in this context, are not anomalies but outcomes structurally produced by institutions designed to manage and contain a population that colonial sovereignty has rendered surplus.¹⁵ Frantz Fanon’s insight — that the colonial world is a Manichaean world, divided between zones of order and zones of violence — illuminates the spatial and institutional logic of colonial policing: police do not simply enforce law but enforce the distinction between those who are citizens and those who are not, between those whose deaths register as losses and those whose deaths do not.¹⁶

B. Racialised Policing and the Production of Disposability

Biko Agozino’s critique of criminology as a discipline historically complicit in imperialism identifies policing as a central site of this complicity.¹⁷ The exportation of policing models from colonial metropoles to colonised territories was not merely an administrative convenience but a mechanism for the production of racialised disposability — the institutional organisation of which lives are protected and which are exposed to violence, neglect, and premature death.

Joanne Barker’s work on Indigenous sovereignty offers a framework for understanding how contemporary policing continues this project. The policing of Indigenous communities — the surveillance, the over-criminalisation of minor infractions, the use of force — reflects and reinforces the colonial state’s claim to exclusive sovereignty over Indigenous territories and peoples.¹⁸ United Nations Special Rapporteur reports have consistently noted the relationship between the criminalisation of Indigenous peoples and the dispossession of their lands, territories, and resources.¹⁹

Stuart Hall and colleagues’ analysis of moral panics and racialised policing in the British context demonstrated that policing functions not only to control crime but to manage social crises through the production of racialised threats — the “mugger”, the “rioter”, the figure through whom anxieties about social order are organised and displaced.²⁰ In settler-colonial contexts, this logic is intensified: the Indigenous person is not merely a figure of social threat but of ontological challenge to the colonial order itself. Policing, in this context, is always also the defence of a particular configuration of sovereignty.

The use of mass surveillance and spatial control in Indigenous communities and in occupied territories reflects this logic. The organisation of space — through checkpoints, restrictions on movement, the mapping of populations — reproduces the colonial partition of the world into zones of safety and zones of abandonment.²¹ Robyn Maynard’s work on anti-Black policing in Canada similarly demonstrates how the settler-colonial state deploys police as an instrument for managing populations whose very presence is constructed as a form of disorder.²²

IV. The Penological Architecture of Colonial Genocide

A. Incarceration, Removal, and the Logic of Elimination

The prison, in its colonial form, must be understood not as a site of rehabilitation or even simple punishment but as an instrument of population management — of the spatial removal of those whose presence is incompatible with the colonial order.²³ Angela Davis’s analysis of the prison-industrial complex as a successor to the plantation and the reservation points to the continuities between slave-era institutions and contemporary carceral regimes.²³ In Australia, the incarceration of Aboriginal peoples at rates dramatically exceeding those of any other population must be situated within this longer colonial history.

Michelle Alexander’s concept of the “New Jim Crow” — the idea that mass incarceration functions as a system of racialised social control — has resonance beyond the American context.²⁴ In Australia, in Canada, in Palestine, and across the colonised world, incarceration and carceral regimes have served to concentrate, contain, and disappear populations that colonial sovereignty has marked as surplus or threatening. The penal system, in these contexts, is continuous with — not distinct from — the eliminatory logic of genocide.

The detention of Palestinian political prisoners — including children — in Israeli military detention facilities constitutes a dimension of this penological architecture that demands criminological scrutiny. The use of administrative detention without charge or trial, the systematic use of torture, the imprisonment of journalists and academics — these are instruments not merely of individual punishment but of the collective management of a population through the criminalisation of its resistance to elimination. They are, in Fanon’s terms, instruments for the maintenance of the colonial zone of non-being.¹⁶

B. International Criminal Law and its Colonial Limits

International criminal law has presented itself as the primary institutional response to genocide. The Rome Statute defines genocide in terms that correspond closely to Lemkin’s original formulation, encompassing acts committed with intent to destroy a national, ethnical, racial, or religious group.²⁶ The International Criminal Court, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, and the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia have produced an important body of jurisprudence. The Akayesu judgment, in particular, expanded the definition of genocide to encompass sexual violence as a genocidal instrument, a crucial development in legal recognition of gendered dimensions of mass violence.²⁹

However, as Anthony Anghie has demonstrated, international law is not a neutral framework but is itself constitutively shaped by the history of colonialism.²⁵ The same international legal order that criminalised genocide in 1948 simultaneously maintained the legitimacy of colonial empires and their practices of dispossession and population management. The selectivity of international criminal prosecution — its systematic failure to prosecute the crimes of Western states and their allies — reflects not a failure of the legal system but its structural character.

Makau Mutua’s critique of international human rights law as organised around a “savages, victims, and saviors” metaphor is directly applicable to international criminal law.²⁷ The framework positions the Global North as the provider of justice and the Global South as the site of its lack — a configuration that systematically obscures the role of powerful states in producing the conditions of genocide and in shielding its perpetrators from accountability.²⁸ The failure of the international community to pursue accountability for the ongoing genocide in Gaza is perhaps the most consequential contemporary illustration of this structural impunity.

Vasuki Nesiah’s concept of “impunity regimes” — the structural arrangements that normalise the non-prosecution of powerful state actors — is essential to any criminological account of colonial genocide.³⁰ Impunity is not simply the absence of accountability but a positively produced condition: it requires the active operation of legal doctrines, diplomatic arrangements, and epistemic frameworks that render certain acts of violence illegible as crimes. Criminology must engage with these impunity architectures not as external constraints on the legal system but as constitutive features of the colonial order.

V. Towards a Decolonial Criminology of Genocide

A. Epistemological Accountability

A central argument of this article is that the relative silence of criminology on genocide reflects not merely a gap in the literature but an epistemological orientation that systematically privileges state-centred, positivist, and administrative forms of knowledge. Alex Alvarez’s early call for criminologists to take genocide seriously was a necessary beginning, but insufficient without a reckoning with the discipline’s structural assumptions.³¹ Joachim Savelsberg’s subsequent work on criminologies of genocide and atrocity has advanced this conversation, but has not fully confronted the colonial dimensions of the problem.³²

Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s invitation to criminologists to follow her lead — to challenge colonial definitions of genocide, to centre the lived experiences of those peoples being killed, to resist the settler colonial assertion of turning the Palestinian body, flesh, geography, and economy into a death zone³³ — is an epistemological as well as a political demand. It requires that criminology take seriously the knowledge produced by those who survive colonial violence as primary, not supplementary, to any adequate account of genocide.

This is not merely a methodological point but an ethical and political one. Over 71,000 Palestinians have been killed since October 2023,³⁴ with more than 2,700 bloodlines entirely wiped out. The destruction of Palestinian families, communities, archives, and universities constitutes what scholars have called “scholasticide” — the deliberate targeting of the institutions through which a people reproduce their cultural and intellectual life.³⁵ Criminology’s capacity to respond to this reality requires not only new frameworks but a willingness to be transformed by encounter with knowledge produced at the sites of destruction.

B. The Structural Preconditions of Genocide Revisited

Wolfe’s insight that settler colonialism operates through a “logic of elimination” — not as an event but as a structure — has profound implications for criminological prevention frameworks.³⁶ The conventional focus on “early warning signs” and escalatory models, while useful, tends to locate genocide as an exceptional rupture rather than a potential endpoint of ongoing colonial processes. If settler colonialism is structured by eliminatory logic from the outset, then the criminological question is not merely “what conditions produce genocide?” but “what conditions interrupt the elimination already underway?”

Ilan Pappe’s analysis of the Nakba as ethnic cleansing — not a consequence of the 1948 war but its purpose — provides a historical framework for understanding how the current moment in Gaza represents the continuation and intensification of a colonial project rather than a departure from peacetime normality.³⁷ Green and Ward’s state crime framework, which identifies the elements of state crime as the violation of human rights norms by state actors, provides useful analytical purchase here, though it must be supplemented by an account of how colonial sovereignty produces the conditions in which such violations become systematic.³⁸

Watson’s insistence on the “continuing reality of genocide” for Aboriginal peoples similarly challenges the periodisation of genocide as historical event rather than ongoing condition.³⁹ Cunneen’s work has shown that the removal of Aboriginal children continues under contemporary child protection regimes, that the over-incarceration of Aboriginal peoples continues unabated, and that the dispossession of land continues through administrative and legal mechanisms.⁴⁰ The criminological category of genocide must be adequate to these ongoing realities, not merely to the spectacular violence of the past.

C. Teaching, Method, and Institutional Transformation

The implications of this argument extend to the teaching and institutional practice of criminology itself. Bauman’s observation that the Holocaust took place within, not against, the currents of modernity has its parallel in the observation that the production of criminological knowledge has taken place within, not against, the currents of colonial power.⁴¹ This means that the decolonisation of criminology cannot be achieved merely by adding new topics to the curriculum or new scholars to the reading list, but requires a fundamental rethinking of the epistemic foundations and institutional arrangements of the discipline.

Agozino’s “humanifesto” for the decolonisation of criminology calls for the discipline to align itself with the struggles of colonised peoples rather than with the administrative needs of colonial states.⁴² This is a call that this article endorses: criminology must place itself in solidarity with those peoples who experience ongoing genocidal violence, and must produce knowledge that serves their struggles rather than the managerial needs of the institutions that perpetrate or enable that violence.

Gregory Stanton’s ten-stage model of genocide, while useful as a pedagogical tool, tends to organise genocide as an escalatory sequence culminating in destruction, followed by denial.⁴³ A decolonial criminology must supplement this with an account of how denial is produced institutionally, epistemologically, and legally — through the operation of impunity regimes, through the gatekeeping of academic and media discourse, and through the suppression of knowledge produced by those who experience genocidal violence. The criminalisation of campus protests against genocide, the dismissal of Indigenous scholars who name colonial violence as genocide, and the institutional censorship of criminological work on Palestine are not peripheral concerns but central to the criminological study of genocide today.

VI. Conclusion

This article has argued that a criminology of genocide adequate to the present must engage seriously with the structural conditions of colonial and settler-colonial governance through which genocidal violence is produced, institutionalised, and denied. It has traced the role of policing as a colonial technology of elimination, examined the penological architecture of colonial genocide, and interrogated the limits of international criminal law as a framework for accountability. Throughout, it has insisted on the centrality of decolonial epistemology — on the authority of knowledge produced at the sites of colonial violence — as a condition of criminological validity.

Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s call for criminologists to become witnesses to the violence being livestreamed from Gaza is a call to a form of disciplinary accountability that the field has historically resisted.⁴⁴ This article has attempted to respond to that call by demonstrating that the tools of criminological analysis — state crime theory, critical analyses of policing, comparative penology, and the sociology of law — are adequate to the study of genocide, but only when reoriented by a commitment to the epistemological authority of those who survive it. The silences of criminology on genocide are not absences to be filled from within the existing paradigm but refusals that must be named, contested, and overcome through sustained intellectual and political engagement with the realities of colonial violence in the present.

The criminologies of genocide that this special issue calls for are not, therefore, simply academic contributions to an emerging subfield. They are a form of disciplinary self-reckoning — a recognition that criminology has a responsibility to the human beings who live and die within the structures of power it studies, and that this responsibility has been too long deferred.

Footnotes

Raphael Lemkin, Axis Rule in Occupied Europe: Laws of Occupation, Analysis of Government, Proposals for Redress (Carnegie Endowment for International Peace 1944) 79.
Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (adopted 9 December 1948, entered into force 12 January 1951) 78 UNTS 277.
Penny Green and Tony Ward, State Crime: Governments, Violence and Corruption (Pluto Press 2004) 2–3.
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (tr Alan Sheridan, Penguin 1977) 136.
Achille Mbembe, “Necropolitics” (2003) 15 Public Culture 11, 12.
Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian, “Five Pillars of Zionist Genocidal Apparatus: A Palestinian Problematization of Genocide Studies” (2025) Journal of Genocide Research 1, 3.
Zygmunt Bauman, Modernity and the Holocaust (Polity Press 1989) 17.
Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (Harcourt Brace 1951); Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (Viking Press 1963).
Patrick Wolfe, “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native” (2006) 8 Journal of Genocide Research 387, 388.
Lorenzo Veracini, Settler Colonialism: A Theoretical Overview (Palgrave Macmillan 2010) 4.
Aileen Moreton-Robinson, The White Possessive: Property, Power, and Indigenous Sovereignty (University of Minnesota Press 2015) xii.
Chris Cunneen, “Criminology, Genocide and the Forced Removal of Indigenous Children from their Families” (1999) 32 Australian and New Zealand Journal of Criminology 124, 125.
Bringing Them Home: Report of the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families (Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission 1997).
Irene Watson, “Buried Alive” (2002) 13 Law and Critique 253, 255.
Boni Sones and others, “Aboriginal Deaths in Custody: The Royal Commission and its Aftermath” in Chris Cunneen (ed), Aboriginal Perspectives on Criminal Justice (Institute of Criminology 1992) 1.
Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (tr Constance Farrington, Grove Press 1963) 38.
Biko Agozino, “Humanifesto of the Decolonization of Criminology and Justice” (2019) 1 Decolonization of Criminology and Justice 5, 7.
Joanne Barker, “For Whom Sovereignty Matters” in Joanne Barker (ed), Sovereignty Matters: Locations of Contestation and Possibility in Indigenous Struggles for Self-Determination (University of Nebraska Press 2005) 1, 20.
UN Human Rights Council, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, UN Doc A/HRC/39/17 (10 August 2018) para 14.
Stuart Hall and others, Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the State and Law and Order (Macmillan 1978) 3.
Dean Wilson and Adam Sutton, “Open-Street CCTV in Australia: The Politics of Deployment and the Challenge of Evaluation” (2004) 17 Surveillance & Society 317, 319.
Robyn Maynard, Policing Black Lives: State Violence in Canada from Slavery to the Present (Fernwood Publishing 2017) 23.
Angela Davis, Are Prisons Obsolete? (Seven Stories Press 2003) 27.
Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (The New Press 2010) 4.
Anthony Anghie, Imperialism, Sovereignty and the Making of International Law (Cambridge University Press 2005) 6.
Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (adopted 17 July 1998, entered into force 1 July 2002) 2187 UNTS 90, art 6.
Makau Mutua, “Savages, Victims, and Saviors: The Metaphor of Human Rights” (2001) 42 Harvard International Law Journal 201, 204.
SR Ratner, JS Abrams and JL Bischoff, Accountability for Human Rights Atrocities in International Law (3rd edn, Oxford University Press 2009) 28.
Prosecutor v Akayesu (Judgement) ICTR-96-4-T, Trial Chamber (2 September 1998).
Vasuki Nesiah, “Doing History with Impunity” in Karen Engle, Zinaida Miller and DM Davis (eds), Anti-Impunity and the Human Rights Agenda (Cambridge University Press 2016) 97, 104.
Alex Alvarez, Governments, Citizens, and Genocide: A Comparative and Interdisciplinary Approach (Indiana University Press 2001) 12.
Joachim Savelsberg, Crime and Human Rights: Criminology of Genocide and Atrocities (Sage 2010) 44.
Shalhoub-Kevorkian (n 6) 8.
Al Jazeera, “Israel accepts Gaza’s 70,000 death toll: A record of denialism, lies” (30 January 2026) <https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2026/1/30> accessed 10 April 2026.
Adam Jones, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction (4th edn, Taylor & Francis 2024) 17.
Wolfe (n 9) 393.
Ilan Pappe, The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (Oneworld Publications 2006) xii.
Green and Ward (n 3) 107.
Watson (n 14) 259.
Cunneen (n 12) 131.
Bauman (n 7) 91.
Agozino (n 17) 9.
Gregory Stanton, “The Ten Stages of Genocide” (Genocide Watch 1996) <https://www.genocidewatch.com> accessed 10 April 2026.
Shalhoub-Kevorkian (n 6) 11.

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