Public Enemy: A Technocratic Utopia
Written in 1952, “Public Enemy” by Kendell Foster Crossen offers a look at the future through the lens of mid-century optimism. The story happens in a Police Procedural style: Step-by-step pursuit, technical details and institutional protocols with an imagined future solving present social problems. Now, if it’s resolved in the best way; well, let’s take a look.
Plot Summary of "Public Enemy"
In the 32nd century, Brad Raynor is a newly-minted Public Police Officer, proud of his seven years of training (four at ‘Harvard’, three at the University of Public Protection, earning degrees in psychology, sociology, and criminalistics). Despite his extensive preparation, his first five days on patrol have been tediously routine—minor domestic disputes, traffic offences, small-scale therapy referrals. But, when a call comes in about a robbery and murder, Brad finally gets his wish for action, with a strange twist waiting for him.
The ‘Perfect’ Technocratic State
“Public Enemy” presents a utopian vision of scientific governance taken to its logical extreme. Every social problem has been reduced to a technical problem solvable through proper training, technology, and therapeutic intervention. Criminals are not evil—they are ‘unstable’, ‘at odds with society’, suffering from the feeling that they are in a ‘hostile environment’. The solution is therapy, rather than punishment. In addition, even murderers receive therapy rather than execution. The goal is to ‘cure’ criminals and return them as ‘smoothly-functioning individuals’ to society.
The Twist: Responsibility Redistributed
The story’s twist lies in its final reversal. We expect Brad to arraign Will Howard. Instead, he charges the Mayor. This inversion reveals the story’s ideological core: systemic causes trump individual agency. Howard robbed and murdered because he was unemployed. Why was he unemployed? The Mayor failed to ensure full employment. As a result, the Mayor is criminally responsible.
On one level, this is admirable—holding power accountable rather than scapegoating the powerless. The Mayor, with ‘considerable surplus wealth’, can afford to support Sommers’ family. Howard, once cured, can rejoin society productively. But at the same time, the implications are unsettling:
Where does personal responsibility end? If Howard is not accountable for murder because unemployment made him unstable, is anyone responsible for anything?
Who watches the watchers? If the Mayor can be arrested for negligence, who determines negligence? The Public Justice Administrator seems to wield enormous discretionary power. Indeed, what prevents this from becoming tyranny?
Can therapy really cure murder? The story assumes five to six months of treatment will make Howard a ‘smoothly-functioning individual’ again. This faith in behavioural science is extraordinary—and perhaps naive.
The Main Problem: The Technology of Control
The future Crossen imagines is a surveillance state presented as benign:
Encephalscopes detect unique brain-wave patterns, making anonymity impossible. There’s no hiding—your thoughts betray your location. Brad’s cruiser automatically films everything he passes. This evidence is routine work, collected and stored. Moreover, air-cars automatically pick up police broadcasts whether the receiver is on or not. You can’t opt out of being monitored. Therapeutic control. Yeah, “Therapy Control” is mentioned over and over but never explained. What happens there? Who decides what constitutes healthy thinking?
The story doesn’t give a damn. This technology enables the enlightened policing, but it also enables total state power. The story treats this as unproblematic—technology in service of progress. However, the parallels to authoritarian regimes are obvious, even if unintentional.
Brad Raynor: The Believer
Brad Raynor is the perfect product of his system—thoroughly indoctrinated, competent, eager to prove himself. His internal life is telling: He’s nostalgic for violence he never experienced, romanticising the “good old days” of “coppers with blazing guns.” Yet he knows in his heart those times were terrible. This tension suggests boredom with safety, longing for meaningful struggle. He’s proud of his training and the system that created him. Seven years of education, three degrees; he’s an elite professional. He’s ambitious, competitive, wants to look good. By story’s end, Brad feels “every inch a copper”—he’s found his place in the system. Indeed, he’s no longer nostalgic for chaos. The story presents this as growth, maturity. But it’s also the death of critical thinking, the acceptance of authority as naturally good.
Faith in Science
Post-WWII America was drunk on scientific achievement: atomic power, jet planes, early computers, antibiotics. The belief that science could solve social problems felt plausible. Crossen’s therapy-fixes-crime premise extends this faith to human behaviour. Furthermore, The New Deal and post-war economic boom created belief that full employment was achievable through proper planning. Keynesian economics dominated policy. All the same, The 1940s-50s saw growing awareness of police corruption and violence, particularly in urban areas and against minorities. B.F. Skinner’s behaviourism dominated 1950s psychology, suggesting humans were programmable through environmental manipulation. “Therapy Control” reflects this: crime is learned behaviour that can be unlearned through scientific intervention. The story’s assumption that criminals are “at odds with society” and need therapy to become “smoothly-functioning individuals” remarks the 1950s pressure for conformity. Deviation from social norms was pathologised—communists, homosexuals, non-conformists all needed “treatment.”
Author: Kendell Foster Crossen
Kendell Foster Crossen was born in Albany, Ohio, and worked varied jobs from carnival barker to insurance investigator before becoming a writer. In the 1930s, he worked on public writing projects before becoming a pulp fiction editor and author, creating the Green Lama, a crime-fighting Buddhist superhero. His pulp work spanned detective fiction, superheroes, and radio scripts. Crossen began publishing science fiction in February 1951 with stories in Amazing and Thrilling Wonder Stories.
Along with that, Crossen wrote across genres—SF, detective, espionage, young adult. His 1967 novel The Acid Nightmare was a cautionary tale about LSD. He also wrote for TV shows including 77 Sunset Strip and Perry Mason. “Public Enemy” represents Crossen at his most optimistic about technocratic solutions—contrasting with his later, more cynical espionage work where institutions are often corrupt and individuals must work around them.
My Thoughts
Crossen is the lone optimist—the only author who believes systems can actually work. This makes “Public Enemy” both the most dated story (its faith in behavioural engineering feels naive now) and the most revealing (it shows how ideology blinds us to our own authoritarian tendencies). Crossen wrote a genuine utopia—scientifically-governed society, educated police, rehabilitation over punishment. But it’s also a surveillance state with thought-crime and mandatory therapy. He couldn’t see the dystopian implications because he had total faith in technocratic governance.
There’s no irony, no hesitation. Crossen presents this future as without a doubt better.
On the other hand, read through modern eyes (repeating), it’s a surveillance state with thought-crime, where deviation from “smoothly-functioning” norms requires mandatory therapy. The story assumes therapy is objectively beneficial, like medical treatment. But psychological “health” is culturally determined. In 1952, homosexuality was considered mental illness requiring treatment. Beyond that, in Crossen’s future, there are no moral dilemmas, only technical problems. This makes “Public Enemy” more chilling than deliberately dystopian fiction.
Wrapping Up
“Public Enemy” is funny because it’s accidentally dystopian. Crossen wrote a utopia, but created a surveillance state with thought-crime and mandatory re-education. I don’t know; maybe I got it wrong.
The story reflected post-war optimism, faith in expertise, and behaviourist psychology’s dominance. Seventy years later, we know better—or think we do. We’ve seen surveillance states, therapeutic totalitarianism, systems that punish systemic victims while absolving systemic causes. We recognise the patterns Crossen missed. In short, it’s a time capsule of genuine hope. The belief that we could solve everything if we were just smart enough and systematic enough.
Other stories from Dynamic Science Fiction
Another vintage pulp magazine:
Science Wonder Stories, Vol. 1, No. 2
Astounding Stories of Super-Science, Vol. 1, No. 1
Original Dynamic Science Fiction issue at the Internet Archive.
Disclaimer: The story featured on this page is in the public domain. However, the original authorship, magazine credits, and any associated illustrations remain the property of their respective creators, illustrators and publishers. This material is provided for informational and educational purposes only and may not be used for commercial sale.